#to the point where I was actively bored when they were crawling across the sand to each other and wanting to get back

[winepresswrath]

lbfad gets increasingly handwavey on the exact mechanics of things and braincells are sometimes tossed out for scenes with Feelings(fair), and you can tell that lbfad rewrote the script some as it was filming(like the cut xunfeng/danyin plotline), and some things get kind of janky as a result but i DID enjoy the overall tasty meal!

I was so charmed, especially by Ronghao (Rong Hao?) and his very specific deal- his instincts are to be very decent! He loves changheng very sincerely! and yet. Also he's just very funny, truly a character of all time. Love it when it's revealed his evil schemes are "cash in a favour I earned by not being a dickbag several millennia ago." Also love his beatific expression when he realizes he'll probably be executed. Exuding "worth it" from every pore. My frustrations are really an outgrowth of my affections- it's so delightful! It could be just a tiny bit better! I would have been very into a danyin/xunfeng plotline, especially if it brought danyin and xiao lanhua back in contact- I really enjoyed their early interactions and thought they were pretty shippable in their own right. ps. Ronghao's minion should have been Danyin's mom.

Aside from the general continuity mess/ rushed pacing of the last few episodes, I wish they'd made xiao lanhua's perspective and goals a little clearer in the second arc so it doesn't just look like she's desperate to go home and finish being tortured to death, and in general that the moon kingdom conflicts were a bit tighter (Jie Li are you a literal kleptomaniac? why are you stealing from the most powerful man in the universe? is this an expression of your death wish and self loathing). I thought Dongfang Qingcang's personality shift at the very end was a bit too extreme, but my #1 petty irritation is definitely with the way they handled Changheng/Lanhua. I can believe that her feelings changed, but they sold me way too hard on it in the first act for me to believe she didn't have romantic feelings for him at all, and they didn't even bother to come up with something faintly plausible to explain why he left Dongfang Qingcang alone with her soul-seed. He'd never! His whole arc is about how he's actually if anything more willing to ditch his job for her than Dongfang Qingcang (incidentally I love them very much for giving the main ship the real duty vs. love problems. yes!!! thank you for the food). Anyway "the other war god is back I've got to go" is the worst line in the whole show and I can't believe they had a whole thing where she got her memories back but it's never made clear if she remembers him falling in love with her (which is presumably her falling in love with him too!!! Like I really thought at some point they'd address that she has a feelings hangover from something she can't remember and how that ties in with her original magical amnesia but NO! I was denied).

[brattyfics]

Beach Bums

Summary: Used a few prompt lines including: “I like this outfit. Easy access.” and “I can’t wait until we’re alone. There are so many things I want to do to you right now.” “We’re in public, you know?”

Pairing: EZ Reyes x Black!OC

Warnings: Public sex, sandy beach sex, unsanitary sex (cause of the sand), exhibitionism, a little angst.

Word Count: 3.2K (I hate that I’m so long-winded)

Lena listened to waves lap at the shore of the beach with a relaxed smile on her face. The smell of saltwater tickled her nose while sand tickled her toes with each step. The chilly California night made it so she wore a flannel over her loose-fitting, flowy dress. 

To her right stood her Knight in a Kutte, AKA EZ Reyes. A rare, genuine smile graced his own face. She couldn’t remember the last time they were together and he wasn’t on guard. There at the beach, none of the club bullshit mattered.

For that reason alone, she was happy she accepted his invitation for a one-day getaway. She had work she should be doing, and she was sure he had club business to attend to, but they were together in spite of it all. 

EZ and Lena were on and off again high school sweethearts. The two of them didn’t see each other often anymore— Lena moved a few cities over to begin the next chapter in her life while he rebuilt his life in Santo Padre.

“What you thinking ‘bout, mamita?”

She found herself admiring his dimples. “You.”

“Yeah?” They deepened even further, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “What about me?” 

She rolled her eyes and decided to mess with him. “I was thinking your head is kind of funny shaped.”

“What?” He asked, eyebrows shooting up. He jumped at her causing her to shriek and take off. 

He chased her a few yards before reaching to grab her up by the waist. She side-stepped him and pushed, giggling even though her heart was racing as if she was really running from danger.

Lena’s mouth fell open as she watched EZ tip over in slow motion like a cow. Her hands reached out to steady him but it was too late, his big ass landed with an ungraceful plop in the sand. He looked just as shocked as she felt. She was stuck somewhere between being speechless and wanting to apologize. When their eyes met, the only thing they could do was laugh. 

She clumsily sat down beside him, grabbing a hold of one of his big arms. She couldn’t get an apology out because she was laughing so hard. 

“You’re cold blooded! You just tried to kill me!” 

“I didn't expect for you to fall like that!” She managed to wheeze out in between laughter. “It’s not even all my fault. It’s all that damn wine you had at dinner. I tried to tell you, it sneaks up on you!” 

A few fellow beach goers eyed them with amusement. EZ straightened when he saw the attention they garnered, face flushing at the attention. She tried to quiet down for his benefit but when he began dusting his sand-covered side, she fell into another fit of giggles.Soon enough, everyone went back to what they were doing. 

To their left, a group of teenagers burned what she was certain was an illegal bonfire. To their right, people were scattered loosely, sitting on beach towels while watching the stars or walking the shore. Almost no one was left in the water. It was too late and too dark for a swim. 

She crawled over to sit directly in front of him, her back against his chest, his arms holding her tightly to him. They sat in silence watching neon city lights dance across the dark water, enjoying the warmth the other provided in spite of the cool night.

EZ let his hands roam, lighting her body up with each stroke of his fingers. The two of them had many risky sexcapades back in high school. He could never wait until a party was over before he was trying to sneak them off somewhere. Then there was the time they missed half of senior prom.

“Can I ask you something?” Lena asked, gazing at the night sky.

He let out a fake sigh. “If you must.”

“Do you miss me?” Her eyes focused on him, ready to hyper analyze his response as she often did.

“How can I miss you when you’re right here?” He joked, trying to keep the mood light.

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He seemed to consider it, avoiding her eyes. Finally, he decided on a response. 

“Of course I miss you.”

“Like a lot?” She hated how needy she sounded.

He smiled. She wasn’t always forthcoming with her real thoughts and emotions, especially since she had been disappointed by him before. His eight-year stint in jail wasn’t just hard on him. He liked when he saw flashes of the old her, the her he knew when they first met, before he hurt her. 

“A whole lot, chula. You know that.”

She wanted to ask him how she was supposed to know that. He had been different since they reconnected. He could be distant, avoidant at times. She understood he lived a complicated life, but she wanted him to want her enough to fight for a future.

Her chest tightened every time she thought about the fact their love was fleeting. She snuggled further back into him, choosing to let it go. There was no sense in ruining a good night, one she could remember long after they were done. 

EZ worried about them too. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she had no room for him in the new life she was building. He thought about her more than she would ever know. All around Santo Padre there were reminders, memories of her. Every day he passed the high school he remembered the day they met. 

They both felt the tension of the unspoken words between them. When he could no longer stand it, EZ defaulted to sex. It was the one thing that was never wrong between them.

“I like this outfit, easy access.” He joked, pulling at his flannel until he could see the thin straps of her dress. He tugged at one of them until it fell, nibbling on her bare shoulder.

“I can tell.” She grinned naughtily, grinding her ass against him. Like him, she just wanted to forget all the bad stuff. 

“I can’t wait til’ we’re alone.” He noticed there were only a few stragglers left on the beach. It had thinned out for the most part, the bonfire now an abandoned pit of soot. “There are so many things I want to do to you right now.”

She eyed their fellow beach goers, calculating the risk. “You know, you don’t have to wait until we’re alone.” She wanted him bad. Her heart lurched. She knew she was being driven by insecurity but she couldn’t help herself. Even if they didn’t last, she wanted to hold a place in his heart forever. She wanted him to remember she was his best and dirtiest fuck. 

She turned to look him directly in the eyes. “I wanna fuck you right here.”

“I don’t think---”

“Are you kidding? You’ve been teasing me all night.” She pouted. His hand had been under her dress all night, pinching her thighs, tickling her legs, but never touching her where she needed.

“You’re trying to kill me.” 

He’s one to talk.

“No I’m not.” She said in faux innocence. “I'm just trying to make you feel good, baby.”

“We’re in public, chula.”

“When has that ever stopped us before?” 

He snorted. Points were made, so he wasted no more time, his resolve gone.

“You gotta relax though.” He hissed when she grabbed a hold of his dick. “Turn back around.” He instructed, pulling the big flannel from her shoulders so that he could use it as a makeshift blanket to hide their activities. She held it close to her chest while he went to work at unbuckling his pants. She kept turning around to peek at him.

“But I wanna see.” She hummed impatiently, stretching her legs out. “Have I ever told you how pretty your dick is?”

“You tell me that every time.” He tried to sound unimpressed, but it came out more strangled than anything. She knew all his tells. He was as desperate as she was. 

She watched with open fascination as he stroked his dick. She sucked on her bottom lip as she watched it fatten up under her gaze. Fuck, he’s going to stretch me out. He leaned forward to kiss her, thinking about how he wanted to use her lips for other things. 

After a long kiss, he pulled back with a groan, looking to see if they had gained any admirers. Once he deemed it safe he leaned in to kiss her again. He sucked on her lip this time, hands tugging her loose-fitting dress up until it rested underneath her breasts. Their legs were the only bare skin touching and he wanted more. He wanted her naked and underneath him where they could be as loud as they wanted for as long as they wanted, but a quickie would have to do. 

When he pulled away from the kiss again, her eyes bore into his. He froze. 

Her eyes were so expressive-- he knew when she was disappointed, angry, turned on. In that moment, she looked at him like he hung the stars and the moon just for her. He felt the same about her, taking her beautiful features under the moonlight. 

Her thick hair blew over her shoulders in the breeze, the smell of mango invading his nose. He loved her smell. He leaned in to rub his nose against hers, giving her an eskimo kiss because he knew it would make her smile. Her lips parted slightly, her pink tongue wagging at him in a teasing manner. He shook his head, smirking. As much as he found ways to make her smile, she did the same. 

“Come here.” He lifted her so she hovered just above his crotch. The flannel slipped down slightly.

She reached for his dick anyway, gasping at how hot and heavy it felt in her hands. She probed at her wet slit with his tip. Lena wanted to ride him the right way, chest to chest where they could kiss and hold each other. She held in a whine, doing her best to look normal as if nothing was happening. Underneath her, his hips surged forward, desperate to get inside her.

“Stop moving.” She bossed him the way he sometimes liked. The club looked to him to fix and handle everything as their prospect. He looked to her for grounding. She reminded him he wasn’t invincible, humbled him. 

Her stalling wasn’t just for his benefit. It had been months since they were together. If she didn’t mentally prepare herself first, she’d be shouting his name for everyone at the beach to hear. 

“Hurry up.” She could hear the frustration in his voice. The awkward position they were in, the contrast between the cool night air and her warm center on his dick, the strain of holding her hips up, and his flannel slipping down had him nervous and impatient.

“Be still, baby.” She whispered sweetly. She used the mushroom tip to tap her clit and though she had been expecting it, she jumped up moaning. 

His fingers dug into her hips as a warning, head on a swivel for any peeping Tom’s. 

“Fuck. Me.” She listened to him, lining his cock up with her entrance. His hips lifted as best they could in his position, pushing past tight resistance until he was inside her. 

They did their best to be quiet. She bit down on her lip and pinched one of his thighs. He closed his eyes, holding her as he tried to adjust. It had been too long since they were together. 

Lena was as wet and warm as he remembered. Even tighter than he remembered due to not being stretched out first by his fingers or his tongue. He loved playing with her pussy, watching the way she would tremble and try to hold her moans in. 

“You feel so good.” He buried his face in her hair momentarily. 

“Mhmmm…” She was having a hard time forming words. She used her hands on his thighs for leverage to ride. “...you too.” She couldn’t ride him the way she wanted, but she did her best, squirming in his lap at the slight discomfort. “You’re too deep.” She pouted.

“Relax.” He moaned into her hair, burying himself to the hilt. She let him work, lifting her up and down on his dick as best he could without causing a scene. Each time he hammered her hard and deep. The slow, but bruising pace made the filthy act that much more intense. 

“Fuck, nena.” He grunted as his forearms burned. “Take that dick.” And she did. Sans a few escaped mewls, she took all of him with no complaints, letting him use her in the best way possible. 

As much as he hated himself for it and wished he could focus, all EZ could think about was her being with other people when they were apart. It was hypocritical of him he knew--he had gone on a sex binge with Vicki’s girls as soon as he got out, but it didn’t change the way he felt. 

“I love this dick, baby.” She purred, looking over her shoulder into his eyes. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes, daddy. It’s my favorite.”

He pounded her harder, angry at the admission. 

“You fuck other guys like this?” 

Lena moaned to avoid the answer. She had definitely tried to get over him while under other men. Eight years was a long time. One of his hands left her hips to tug her hair. She was forced to take over the majority of the grunt work, bouncing in his lap despite the awkward angle. 

“Do you?” She winced as he got aggressive, knowing her scalp would be tender the next day. 

“No.” She finally moaned, sounding defeated.

“They don’t fuck you like I do, mami?”

“No!” It came out louder than intended, catching the attention of another couple on the beach. Neither Lena or EZ let it bother them. 

“Be quiet.” He gritted out, continuing to pound her out. Her walls constructed around him, sucking him in deeper. He could feel her wetness dripping down his shaft onto his balls. 

“Wait—“ Movement to their right caught her attention. The couple had risen from their spot. One of the girls gathered their things into a tote bag while the other rolled their towels up. 

“Baby—“ she tried to warn him, pushing at his thighs. She felt like she was going crazy. Overwhelmed was an understatement. At that point, holding her breath was the only way to keep from yelling his name out. 

His hand left her hair to press against her tummy. “You feel that shit?” He was being mean, holding her in place so she couldn’t do anything but take it. 

“Babyyyy.” she whined. 

“What mami?” His face was buried in her neck and she could feel him leaving what would be hickeys on her brown skin. He couldn’t keep her with him forever, but he could scare his competition away for a few weeks if he marked her good enough.

“I think they’re watching us.”

His head lifted from her neck, dark eyes searching for bodies in the night. He saw them. The two girls were still several yards away from them, but headed their way. They spoke quietly to each other, giggling every few seconds. 

He made a decision. They were too far gone to stop, potential audience be damned. 

“Then you better hurry up and come.” Her stomach tightened at his words. “Don’t stop.” 

“I won’t.” She sobbed, concentrating on her hardest on being quiet. 

“You better not. Fuck that dick until we both come.” His fingers dug into her hips painfully as their skin loudly slapped together. “I don’t give a fuck about some gringos watching.”

The combination of the time they spent apart, the fact they could be caught, and his dirty words were too much for her. She came so hard tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, needy moans spilling from her lips. If EZ could see her face, she’d be embarrassed at the way she went cross-eyed. 

The flannel slipped down to their legs where it barely covered anything. Lena silently thanked gravity that her dress had also slipped down so she wasn’t completely exposed. That didn’t mean she didn’t look the part of a desperate slut. 

Tears fell freely from her eyes, leaving a trail of mascara in their wake. Judging by the looks on the girls’ faces, they were concerned. She flushed at the attention, but was too overstimulated to disguise her dick-drunk state. 

EZ showed her no mercy, drilling her like she hadn’t already come. He didn’t give a fuck about the two curious set of eyes on them. 

Picturing her with other men had his mind racing and it made it hard for him to concentrate on his release. “Tell me it’s mine.”

“It’s yours.” She panted immediately, eyes wide and pupils blown. She couldn’t believe what they were doing. He didn’t show any signs of stopping so she talked him through it. 

“It’s always been yours, daddy.” He hammered into her. 

“I love that dick.” In. 

“I miss it so much.” Out.

“It’s too good.” Her voice got progressively lower as the girls got closer. They seemed to have figured it out, their footsteps purposely slow. She was embarrassed, but couldn’t stop until he joined her in bliss.

“I want your cum! I want it so bad. I don’t care who knows.” 

Her eyes met one of the stranger’s. One the girl’s mouth split into a sly grin. They definitely knew what was going on.

“I don’t care about anything when your dick is in me.” She mewled loudly, locking eyes with one of them. 

“I’ll fuck you anywhere you want, whenever you--” He bit down hard on her shoulder, an animalistic growl rumbling out of his chest. She winced at the sting, knowing he’d left yet another mark. The other girl tugged her along, clearly scandalized.

His dick pulsed inside her, massaging her insides. If she hadn’t already come, that sensation would have done it. She collapsed against him, lazy, and too fucked out to care anymore. 

He seemed to share that sentiment, assaulting her neck without a care in the world, sloppily tonguing it down as if it were her pussy. Each lash of his tongue was a promise for later. He would eat her alive when they were in the comfort of their hotel room. 

They both huffed and puffed, trying to catch their breath. Sweat and sand covered their skin, the smell of sex mingling with the night air. Neither of them knew how they would muster the energy to make it back to the car, let alone the hotel room.

“I love you.” He murmured softly, placing one final kiss against her neck.

[writingisjustsweatingblood]

Merlin did not often come to the magic forest alone. While walking through the forest was invigorating, it bore the reminder of what he had to leave behind when he joined Arthur’s side. Things he could never return to.

He had been collecting moon shade flowers, when he felt the magical energy. It was different than the rest of the magic in the forest. It came from something human or humanoid.

There wasn’t any magic residue from spell casting but just that happened to radiate from a natural spell caster. It was thin the type of magic that wasn’t used to being shaped. If Merlin’s magic was soil, ready to molded and put to use, then this was sand. Useful but it had a tendency to run through your fingers.

He followed the new magic, stopping when he caught sight of a figure. He moved himself to hide among the trees and watched.

The figure was flittering around, trying to catch something it seemed. Their hair was thick and it hid their face from all angels expect from straight on. They had a tendency to crouch and stalk on all fours growling slightly when they couldn’t catch their quarry.

They looked quite disheveled sticks in their hair, dirt streaked clothes and hands but they seemed not to care about it at all. They seemed content in what they were doing. For a moment he was sure that it was a fay creature of some type. A dirt stained hand shoved some hair behind an ear, to reveal a perfect curled ear. Not a point in sight.

The slapped their hands together and cackled pleased with their catch. They turned towards Merlin and stood up for the first time since he was watching them.

His eyes widened when he caught a full look of their face. It was human and from what Merlin could tell a little girl as well.

She was short and had a fullness to her face that spoke to youth. He guessed that she couldn’t be more than thirteen years old, if even that. She looked a wild beast, and she reminded him of the druids of past times, old magic causing nature to naturally bend to their will. She even had patches of moss growing on her clothes, grass growing taller where she stood.

She pulled out a bottle that contained what Merlin now recognized as was fire beetles. Bright red and orange beetles crawled around the bottle glowing faintly.

He couldn’t leave her out here. Not for sentimental reasons, Merlin rarely ever had feelings of sentiment it just wasn’t his nature anymore. It was a practicality, she was powerful, she was young and she could cause problems if left unchecked for longer. If properly trained, she could become a force of good, for all of humankind.

He stepped out of his hiding spot and stood parallel to girl.

Her head snapped upward like a dear, her eyes grew wide and she turned and started to run without a second thought. Merlin could feel her magic begging to be used to help her escape but her panic was too much to even hear it. It was something that you had to train yourself when you were a magic caster, magic first, feelings second.

With ease he set up a wall to stop her. She ran into it headfirst unable to sense it. He sighed, not at guilt of hurting but how little she used her magic. She had so much power at her fingertips and couldn’t access most of it. It was a tremendous waste. She spun back toward him, down on all fours like an animal.

He stepped forward and she hissed, so he took a step back. His plan had been to pick her up and take her back to Camelot, but that plan was already beginning to fray. What if she couldn’t even speak, what if she was just feral? He couldn’t have Arthur seeing a feral magic user running around the castle, child or not.    

“Can you talk?” He asked. Something sharp glinted in her eyes and she put her weight on her feet freeing her hands, palms facing him as if she was readying a spell.

“Fuck you.” Ah, it had been indignation. Her words had a growl to them and a foreign accent that Merlin wasn’t sure he could place. What if she had been raised by animals? It was possible that the forrest recognized her magic and like called to like. He thought of the Roman brothers and winced. Even they had been found by a sheep herder.

Vines and various plants were now growing slowly toward him. It would take a single stamp of his staff and it would stop but he kept it still.      

Maybe tact was the best option in this case. “What are you doing out here alone child?”

“Why do you care? Just leave me the hell alone, I’m not doing anything.” Her hands had moved gripping the strap of her her little satchel now, and worry etched into her face. She was looking less wild as more time passed. Merlin was pleased by this or as pleased as he ever was. If he said the right words he could get her follow her out of the forest.

“You are wandering around in a magical very dangerous alone. You are a child. It’s not a matter of you doing anything wrong but of you getting hurt.” He stayed very stern using all of his years of child rearing to use just the right tone to get his point that she was a child and he was an adult. It had worked well on all of his students before.

“I’m not alone.” The wince that followed was so powerful you could see the aftershocks throughout her body. Merlin took this as a lie, or something she couldn’t possibly prove, or something that wouldn’t help her case.

“Well, where are they then? Maybe I can talk to them?” He made as clear as possible that he was not just going to let her say that and he would drop it.

Worry was replaced with some mix of emotions he couldn’t name, she looked close to tears now. “Just leave me alone.” She pleaded. “Please.”

He felt himself soften, just slightly. She looked her younger now much more like a human child who had gotten over her head. She was genuinely scared of him terrified of what he could do to her. She had no reason to trust him in the slightest.  

“I can’t leave you alone here and the fact that you tried to run is highly suspicious.” He felt his resolve strengthen. He couldn’t leave her out here, what would happen if Merlin’s knights were the next ones to come across her? What would that mean for her and them?

“You’re wearing armor.” Her voice was quiet and softer now, gone was the malice and anger from before. “You’re going to try and hurt me.”

He had forgotten about his armor entirely. He didn’t interact with other magic users well except Douxie and he had know who Merlin was right away. Too late but maybe still worth something he casted a spell that had him change his clothes. His armor was now on a stand somewhere in his quarters. He know wore a a simple blue robe like he did in his younger years.

He leaned forward and held out a hand. “I’m a mage like you,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” If it was anyone but Merlin, they would have softened their voice, maybe crouch down a little, the very extra cuddly types would have smiled. Merlin just stayed his ever stern self. This was about as cuddly as he got.

She glanced to his hand to his face to sightly behind her. He could see she her shift away from his hand just a minuscule amount. Irritation was starting to creep in. This was taking too long for his taste. She was a child and he was much too old to be playing these kind of games. Arthur and Morgana never gave him this kind of trouble, Douxie caused problems but in a a way that wasn’t malicious in any way.  

Finally she spoke. “I’m not going with you. My family is here and I’m not leaving them.”

Merlin stood back up and sighed. It was time to use more, active measures it seemed. Lying was one of the many things that actively annoyed him. He casted a simple truth spell on her.

Her eyes widened as she felt the energy hit her. There was panic but also anger in her eyes and her hands curled into fists.

“Tell me about your family then.” He said brushing the dirt off his robe, waiting for her to speak.

“They left me alone in the forest.” She slapped a hand over her mouth this time. The anger was gone now panic being the only thing her face. He gave her a stern look, as if he was getting ready to scold her for lying. “But,” he could see her fighting the spell, the muscles in her arms were shaking trying to keep her hand in place her magic was starting to dim as well draining from the spell. It was an added bonus, “the,” Merlin waited patiently knowing the longer she struggled the quicker the rest of the information could come, “trolls saved me. Humans left me to die but they saved me. I am not alone, they are my family.” Fatigue was visible on her face and she looked as if she wanted nothing more than to crawl and sleep for a few years. Fighting spells was near impossible for humans, mages could do it but at a tremendous cost of their energy. She took in a few long breaths, swaying slightly on her feet, before looking back to Merlin her eyes lit with righteous anger. “And if you try and hurt them,” she said, fury burning at her palms, “I’ll kill you.”

Trolls.

That complicated things greatly. It also explained so many things about her. Now he could see the troll influence in almost everything she did. It explained the accent, the moss, the body language, the lack of spell knowledge. It also spoke to her dislike of the armor, if she had been living with them she would share their hate of Arthur and what he had done. She looked ready to make good on her threat so they must have treated her well. Which was a surprise in-itself, while Merlin knew that not all Trolls like human flesh he also knew that almost all of them distrusted humans. The very idea that they would have taken in a human was unheard of. He brushed off away the thoughts of confusion as again like calling to like. Both had magical abilities, both were hunted. Parental instinct might have played a part as well. He was curious to know how old she was when she was taken in.  Depending on how long it had been, she most likely wouldn’t want to leave the only home she’d known.

But he was sure he had a way to get her to leave. “And do they teach you magic?” He asked. She cocked her head slightly at the question.

“Some, yes.”

“And they treat you well?”

She dimed slightly and she nodded. “Better than humans ever have.” This was going to be harder than he thought but he still had an ace.

“I see,” he said “What is your name little mage?” He asked.

She tried to fight the truth spell again but she relaxed when she realized it was more trouble than it was worth. “Lume.”

Not a human or a troll name really. He might have to give her a different one later.

“Well Lume, I am Merlin and I would like to take you on as my apprentice.” She blinked a few times, looking to the ground and then looked back to him.

“What does that mean?” She asked.

“Well an apprentice is a sort of,” Merlin started not surprised she wasn’t familiar with the word if she had been raised by trolls.

“I know the word means!” She snapped. “What would it mean for me?”

Oh that was much simpler to explain.

“You would come live with me, and I would train you to be a master wizard.” He thought about Douxie. Things would probably had gone much smoother if he had been here with Merlin, someone who would explain what it would be like first hand. Douxie was much better getting people to trust him. Merlin suspected it came from his checkered past.

“Its illegal,” she said. So she had some first hand experience with Arthur and his knights.

“Not for me and those who learn under me.”

She thought on it for a moment. She looked down at her bag and then shifted to the ground in front of her. It was clear she was giving it a fair amount of thought. She nodded to herself before addressing him.

“No,” she said. And then she added. “Thank you.”

Merlin was not expecting to be denied and he did not like it one bit. His more prideful side was telling him to pick her up and tell her she didn’t have a choice in the matter. But his calm logical side told him that she did take the offer seriously and part of her wanted the training he had to offer. He had to just tip the scales in his favor.

He mulled over how he was going to phrase what he was going to say next.

“You’re not a Troll you know,” he said finally.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said defensively. He had hit a cord with somewhere in her. Something knew she couldn’t change no matter how much she wanted to.

“You can only deny your true nature for so long.” He said motioning to the plants that were still making their way to his feet. “The Trolls may care for you but they can’t help you grow to your full potential. If you really want to help them, you might need to leave them.”

She didn’t say anything but he could sense the a flicker of guilt across her features.

Then he taught her a simple spell. She learned it perfectly with in a few minutes. “If you change your mind, use this spell and I’ll come get you.”

After he was sure she could do the spell, he flicked his hand and the wall disappeared. She sprinted away with full speed and he watched her depart and stayed in his spot for a few moments. He dragged his hand over his face and felt his full age weigh on his shoulders for just a few moments.

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Sweet Dreams Chapter Six

Lucid dreaming: The process of being aware that one is dreaming. Some researchers believe that in lucid dreaming, the individual may be able to change the outcome of the dream or control their degree of participation in the imaginary (dream) environment.

Description: Lee Eunbyul has been plagued with hellish nightmares since she was a child. Not the sort of nightmares you may be familiar with. There are no monsters to evade, no serial killers to outrun, no auditoriums of classmates in front of whom to stand naked. Instead there is just…darkness. Endless darkness. With professional help, the dreams come less frequently. But after moving away from home to live with her sister, Eunbyul’s nightmare returns, only this time it’s different. This time…she’s not alone.

What would you do if you had the chance to change the outcome of not only your dreams, but your life?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Pairing: Namjoon x (f) OC

Word Count: 7.2k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Producer!Namjoon, Bookstore Clerk!Seokjin, Potter!Jimin, Producer!Yoongi, Dancer!Hoseok

Warnings: Frequent mentions of mental illness, infrequent swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: Hey guys! Here’s the newest chapter~ I hope you guys are enjoying this series! I’m really enjoying writing it. This chapter in particular was v fun to write. Anyway, I hope everybody is resting enough these days! Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

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Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Namjoon

“K-i-m-N-a-m-j-o-o-n-.”

I startled a little and rubbed my eyes, squinting at the person who’d roused my attention. Jisoo stood beside my desk, furry brows raised. It had been a few days since he’d bothered to check on me, and seeing the look on his face now I was sure he regretted not coming sooner.

“Been trying to get you to notice for a minute, dude,” he said, patting my shoulder as he raised a mug of hot coffee to his lips. He stared over my shoulder at the monitor before me. “You making good progress with the commercial soundtrack?”

I swallowed hard and stared at the half-finished track on Cubase. Uninspired. The project window was home to several presets from the preloaded packs on the software, nothing like what I’d use at home on my own. It sounded fine so far, or as fine as it could. But there was no heart in it, not really. Instead, it sounded as hollow as it did commercial. I was sure the client would like it. What concerned me, really, was finding the strength to finish it.

“Uh, yeah. Should be done by tomorrow,” I said, and even my voice was lackluster. I pinched my nose bridge and rubbed circles, squeezing my eyes shut.

“You okay?” asked Jisoo, but it was clear from his tone that he was only halfway interested.

“Yeah, fine,” I said, waving a hand. “I’m cool. Just…tired I guess.”

He hummed. “Gotta sleep well if you wanna be a producer.”

I nodded, but couldn’t help but think of Yoongi. He was working as a real producer, and there wasn’t a single night in recent memory when I could remember him going to sleep before the sun rose.

“Thanks, Boss,” I said, offering a smile.

He patted my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, okay? We can’t afford to lose you,” he said with a laugh. It was the uneasy sort of chuckle you give someone when you want them to reassure you.

I nodded. “I don’t have anywhere else to go anyway,” I said as he smiled and walked back out to the floor. I sighed and again pinched my nose bridge.

“Hey,” said Jungkook from his desk, staring at me with knitted brows. “You really don’t look so good.”

I smiled and waved my hand. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Saying that makes me more worried,” he said, resting a round cheek in his hand. “What’s going on with you? For real?”

I inhaled sharply and sighed, shutting my eyes. “Just…I dunno, I feel kinda sick today I guess. Haven’t been sleeping well, and I woke up…forget it, alright? I’m fine.”

“No, keep going,” said Jungkook, and coming from anyone else I might have thought he was teasing me. But this was Jungkook anyway, and he only seemed to know how to be sincere. He kept his eyes on me.

I shrugged. “Woke up kinda sad.”

Jungkook raised his brows. “Huh?”

“Forget it.”

He shook his head. “No reason for it?”

I thought a moment, puzzled. “Well…it’s not like usual, you know? Like when you just feel sad and you can’t really diagnose it,” I said, nodding. “It feels like there’s something really important that I’m missing.”

Jungkook hummed. “Maybe it has to do with work?” he offered, tilting his head with a sigh. “We all know working here isn’t your number one choice.”

I quieted down, staring at the project on my screen with furrowed brow. While I was sure it wasn’t something so simple, that the real cause was still evading me, his words unsettled me. “Maybe…,” I said, shaking my head.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone, typing a message as quickly as I could before returning to the track.

Namjoon: Hey, Hoseok. Haven’t seen you in a few weeks. Wanna go to the beach?

Hoseok: huhuhu…u gonna collect crabs the whole time?

Namjoon: …

Namjoon: Crabs are fascinating…

Hoseok: looooooooooooool

Hoseok: nerd

Hoseok: i’m in either way :-D

I sat crouched on the shore, poking my index finger into the little holes I saw along the sand. Every now and then, something would bulge and shift beneath the sand’s surface, a sign of life. Smiling, I worked my thumb beneath one of the bumps.

“I thought I said no crabs,” grumbled Hoseok as he licked his popsicle. The thing was already staining his tongue and lips violet.

I hummed as I grabbed a small crab from under the wet sand. “You did say that,” I said with a chuckle as I smoothed the pad of my finger along the crab’s back. I flipped it over in my hand and presented it to Hoseok. “See this plate right here?” I asked, pointing to the smooth shell of the crab’s stomach. “That means it’s a female!”

“I don’t care,” said Hoseok with a heavy sigh.

He leaned back on his palms, three separate leashes hooked around his wrists. The dogs themselves were behaving well enough. The golden retriever was resting his blonde head against his paw, eyebrows shifting as he looked around the beach. The collie panted beneath the unrelenting sun, laying on her stomach with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. And the pug simply sat on Hoseok’s lap, eyes shut.

I set the crab back down and crawled over to where Hoseok sat with his legs extended in front of him, taking up an entire blanket by himself. I smiled and collapsed beside his thigh. “Feels good to get out.”

Hoseok sighed and, with his free hand, gave my upper arm a firm smack. “Because you never get out to begin with,” he scolded.

I laughed. “Not all of us can be dog walkers.”

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have what it takes,” he said with a sigh, biting off a chunk from his melting popsicle. “Endurance, perseverance, patience, understanding-,”

“Are you saying you have all of those things?” I teased, glancing at him over my shoulder. I laughed as he reached a hand out to hit me again. “Sorry!”

As my laughter died down, I felt Hoseok’s gaze boring into my skin and, uneasy, I turned to face him properly. His narrow eyes seized on me, scrutinizing. “You seem weird,” he remarked with a cocked brow.

I inhaled quick, ready to refute him, but as soon as I met his inquiring eyes my breath escaped in a sigh end I rubbed my forehead. “I’m…not myself lately.”

He patted my back with an open palm. “Anything I can do?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s been building for a few days. Things just…aren’t settling right for some reason. In my head, I mean.”

“Hm…,” began Hoseok, chomping down on his popsicle as he gazed out at the waves. “I wonder if there’s one cause.”

“Probably not,” I said with a soft smile. “Never is just one thing.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m fine,” I said, nodding once as I swept my eyes out across the glittering ocean horizon. “Honestly.”

“Mhm,” said Hoseok as the pug on his lap stretched, letting out a yawn. He rubbed its back, a fond smile on his face. “You know, dogs are pretty clever.”

“Huh?” I asked, turning to face him.

He chuckled and nodded. “Might not look like it right now,” he said with a pointed look at the panting collie. “But they’ve got shit figured out.”

I smiled. “How so?”

“Well…for one thing, they understand the value of a pack. A close circle to watch their backs,” he said, nodding. “They’re loyal, won’t ever intentionally hurt someone they love.”

“I guess.”

“They’re honest.”

I raised my brows, eyeing him. “Hm?”

He was still stroking the sleepy pug’s back, smiling gently. “They don’t know how to be any other way. They don’t know how to pretend.” He lifted only his eyes to meet mine. “When they’re upset, they can’t lie and say they aren’t.”

I stiffened. “Well…they can’t speak.”

He laughed. “That’s not what I mean,” he said, easily leaning back on his palm once more, watching as sugary purple syrup began trailing down his forearm. “They can’t put on a brave face and go about their day like nothing’s wrong. When a dog’s upset, they howl. And they keep howling until they feel better.”

I exhaled slowly. His words weren’t lost on me. I knew well what he was trying to say. And as I took a look at him over my shoulder, I could see from the way his eyes implored me how deeply he wanted me to understand. I gave a smile and nodded.

“Sometimes you gotta just let yourself howl, Joon,” he said, lifting the dripping remains of his popsicle to his mouth and biting it whole. He pocketed the messy stick — much to my dismay — and patted his legs, moving the pug so he could stand. “What do you say I show you someplace cool?”

Me, Hoseok, and three panting dogs enter a pottery store, I thought to myself as Hoseok began calling for the quaint shop’s owner, like bulls in a china shop. The dogs took to sniffing every crevice and corner they could reach, pushing damp noses against delicate pots, pawing at shelf legs, scratching the many ornate rugs on the floor. I watched with a cringe as the golden retriever began jumping beside one of the organized shelves, likely trying to explore the higher levels.

Hoseok corrected the dog with a soft jerk of the leash and continued calling. “Jimin! Park Jimin!”

“Jesus!” called someone from the back of the shop. From the doorway there emerged a young, wide-eyed, flushed guy with a messy apron and knitted brows. He scanned the floor and saw the pups wandering about, immediately wincing. “Jung Hoseok! I told you to stop bringing the dogs!”

Hoseok laughed and shortened the retriever’s leash, wrapping it around his wrist once more. “They’re behaving!”

“Behaving — my ass,” said the young boy, grumbling as he rubbed his forehead. “If any one of them puts their cute little snouts into any of my vases and knocks it over, you’re paying double.”

Hoseok smirked. “Don’t act like you aren’t happy to see them,” he teased.

Jimin opened his eyes with a sigh, brows still furrowed. “I’d be happier if I saw them outside.”

“Heh,” breathed Hoseok, petting the collie on her head. “Anyway, Jimin this is my friend Namjoon.”

Jimin’s eyes slid over to meet mine and he blinked a few times. “That’s a tall friend,” he remarked. He wiped his right hand on his apron a few times and took a half step toward me to shake hands. I took it with a smile. “Nice to meet you,” he said gently.

I nodded. “Likewise.”

“Now you,” said Jimin, pointing a small, accusing finger at Hoseok. “Didn’t I tell you to warn me when you decide to come over?”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “Do we have to do that among friends?”

“Shut up,” said Jimin, crossing his arms. “I was in the middle of glazing and now my employee’s gotta do it on her own.”

“You got an employee?” asked Hoseok, clearly surprised.

Jimin paused for a moment before smirking. “Mhm,” he said, smug. “And she’s pretty good too. Really interested in pottery.”

Hoseok scoffed. “Don’t tell me…,” he began.

Jimin raised his brows. “Hm?”

“You didn’t hire her because she’s cute, did you?”

Jimin laughed and patted his leg. “Ah, well…it’s not like she’s not cute,” he began, then sighed and shook his head. “Nah. I just…wanted to give her something to do, I guess.”

The words hit me strangely. Was this employee wandering too? Curiosity began to grow in my stomach. “Anyway,” continued Jimin. “How do you two know each other? I’ve been stuck with you since diapers and I’ve never met your tall friend,” he said, eyeing me sidelong with a smirk.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, I had extended family out here, so I visited often as a kid. He lived near my grandma’s house, so we played as kids.”

“He moved here in elementary school. We were in the same year, so we hung out more,” said Hoseok, waving his hands. “Anyway, if you’d gone to our school instead you would’ve known before.”

Jimin laughed. “I also wouldn’t have been bullied,” he joked. I stiffened. Was that something he could be so nonchalant about? “Gotta laugh so you don’t cry, right?” he asked me once he noticed my reaction. He chuckled. “Ah, but what did you want anyway, Hoseok? I can’t really leave my employee by herself too long.”

“Cheeky,” said Hoseok and Jimin only rolled his eyes. “I figured you could show Namjoon how you make pottery.”

“You want a demo?” asked Jimin, dry.

Hoseok nodded. “Mhm.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“With no warning?”

Hoseok pursed his lips. “I figured a great potter like you could do it on the spot…”

“Ugh,” mumbled Jimin, running a messy hand through his hair. He glanced between me and Hoseok a few times, jaw locked, before sighing. “Alright, let me tell Eunbyul first.”

“Eunbyul?” I asked, and the name fell off my tongue in a way that felt…familiar.

He nodded. “My employee. She can handle it on her own, but I don’t know if she knows that,” he said with a laugh. “Just give me a second.”

Jimin turned on his heel and jogged back through the doorway in the back and, unable to deny my curiosity, I followed behind and peeked my head in. Although the place was big and fairly organized, there were large pieces of machinery blocking my view of Jimin. But nonetheless I could see the back of a girl’s head, slightly shorter than him, waving dark hair restrained with an old newspaper rubber band. She nodded once and glanced down at the tray of freshly glazed cups in her hands. I couldn’t hear her, but Jimin smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze. She seemed to sigh before turning and walking quickly to the kiln. With her back still facing me, she set the tray down and grabbed cups in both hands, placing them in the kiln. It took her all of thirty seconds to get all two dozen in, and as she turned and strode toward the vat beside the massive kiln, I watched a few stray strands of hair loose themselves from her rubber band.

I glanced down at my wrist, at the hair elastic I’d nearly forgotten about, and briefly considered offering it to her. But she seemed busy as she dipped chalky cups into the glaze, pulling them out shiny. She set them aside one by one, and there was something oddly confident and precise about her motions. Even the way she used the front of her wrist to push the locks of waving hair behind her ear seemed exact, focused.

Strangely, I found myself envying her.

And, as I watched her back, I felt the unmistakable sensation of an under-the-skin kind of itch, the kind you can’t scratch, even if you try your hardest.

Jimin approached and grinned at me. “Checking out my employee?” he teased.

I flushed and turned away quickly. “I didn’t even see her face,” I said, pouting a little.

He laughed and clapped my shoulder. “Let’s do this demo.”

And it hit me as Jimin began setting up the potter’s wheel and clay. Wordlessly, I sat down on the stool beside Hoseok and the dogs and fished around in my pocket for my phone. I yanked it out and pulled up my photos, scanning them. Sure enough, that photo I snapped at Hyejin’s the other day. The girl with the baseball cap. I saw her, sandy skin barely visible beneath the brim of her hat, Somi’s shoulder in the foreground, the girl drowning in clothes several sizes too big.

“That girl…,” I said, thinking aloud as I stared down at the photo.

Jimin turned his eyes to me and smiled. “Hm?”

“I…I’ve been seeing her everywhere lately,” I said, chuckling.

Hoseok sighed and leaned over his lap to get a better look at the shapeless clay Jimin was beginning to mold. “Make it into Justin Trudeau.”

Jimin paused a moment and squared his gaze on Hoseok. “The Canadian prime minister?”

Hoseok nodded. “Yeah. Do it.”

Jimin sighed and shook his head, not even bothering to respond, as I took turns looking at the photo on my phone and at Jimin’s deft hands working the clay carefully. It was impossible to explain, but the way he moved was inexplicably similar to that girl. Perhaps because she was his employee…

But that didn’t seem right.

It was more that they were both endowed with the same nameless quality.

A precision that only comes from—

“Passion,” said Hoseok in a whisper, leaning over to me.

I flushed, my attention now entirely on Jimin as he molded the clay into the vague shape of a flowerpot. “Huh?”

“That’s what makes Jimin so…,” he began, then chuckled. “It’s what makes him so Jimin.”

I was quiet for a moment. “I see,” I said. I might have been nervous that Jimin would overhear us talking about him if it weren’t for the unwavering focus captured in his eye. He probably wouldn’t have even heard an earthquake. “It’s mesmerizing.”

Hoseok chuckled. “Mhm,” he said. “Reminds me of when we were in high school.”

I raised a brow with a smirk. “How so?”

He hummed. “I remember during study hall, you’d always have your laptop out,” he said, laughing. “Mr. Kang hated it.”

I smiled softly. “Yeah. Told him it was for class president duties.”

“But all you did was make beats.”

I was quiet for a moment. Again, I understood what he meant. It was hard not to with a guy like Hoseok. As kind as he was, he was equally clever. He knew how to say something without saying it. I turned to him and we locked eyes. Instead of speaking, I just nodded my head and offered a smile. He returned it, patting my knee.

“Thanks,” I said as Jimin finished up with the main body of the pot. It was gorgeous, an elegant, long shape that tapered toward the bottom. Looked like the kind of pot you’d put a bonsai in.

“For what?” asked Hoseok, feigning ignorance with wide eyes.

I chuckled, squeezing his shoulder. “Just thanks.”

Cubase. God it had been a while since I’d used it on my home computer.

I sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, staring at the project as evening slowly became night. Yoongi still wasn’t back from work, likely putting in long hours finishing up that big collaboration he’d been working on for months. He wouldn’t tell me who it was with, but his excitement told me enough to know it was big.

I rested my cheek in my hand and sighed, tapping my fingertips against the coffee table. The song was nice, kind of slow. It felt a bit…melancholy but still hopeful. I shut my eyes and thought a moment. Could use vocals.

Quietly, I flipped through my lyric book and paused on a single word. Everythingoes. Written sloppily in the margins of a song I’d never finished. I cocked a brow. Back when I was younger, going to therapy, the doctor had told me something to that effect. Everything goes. Every moment, every pain, every trauma. I sat up straighter. Something about it rolled nicely, both in English and Korean. The lyrics beside it were meant to go with it. Perhaps if I recorded myself with Yoongi’s mic…

I changed a few things around, added some lines where I felt the words weren’t enough, and stewed over it for a long moment.

Everything has to hurt.

That line stood out to me. Silently, I padded into Yoongi’s room and grabbed the mic he kept hidden in the second drawer of his work table. I’d take the scolding later. I fell in a heap once more before my laptop and plugged in the mic. After a few tests, I cleared my throat and began recording the rap. If nothing else, I could find someone else to sing the chorus.

“Like morning comes after night, if summer comes after spring,” I began, and didn’t stop, didn’t stumble. “And every day I stay, because people and pain all die eventually.” I kept going, and even though I was rusty, I could feel some power in it. In the words. “Pray that this wind will pass like all winds do.”

I stopped to catch my breath, pausing the song and pulling the headphones off my ears with a sigh. I patted my cheeks a little, shook my head, and opened my eyes slowly.

But when I looked around, I saw something that hadn’t been there before. More specifically, a darkly clad someone standing with crossed arms beside the arm of the couch. I screamed before I could stop myself as Yoongi crossed the living room floor and sat on the couch beside my head, hunching over his knees to inspect my project with squinted eyes.

“Sounded good,” he said with a nod. I swallowed hard. Without looking at me, he continued. “Can I hear the beat?”

“Ah, uh, it’s still really rough and-,”

He turned to face me with one cocked brow. “Can I hear it?”

I hinged and unhinged my jaw a few times, but he was scanning me and I couldn’t stall long. I clamped my mouth shut and cleared my throat. “Um…yeah, sure.”

I unplugged the headphones and played what I had from the start. “I…I wanna add vocals here,” I said as the song began. “Something kind of…like a chant. Repeating, I think. Like a mantra.”

“Mm,” said Yoongi with a nod, brow low as he listened. I’d have liked if he didn’t listen quite so intently.

“Um…and then here I think I want the piano to get a little quieter.”

“Mhm.”

I nodded and decided to stay silent. He wasn’t giving me any feedback anyway, just listening. Instead, I just sat there like a kid, awaiting my parent to tell me if I did well or not. The song closed and I glanced over my shoulder at Yoongi who by then had his chin seized between his two palms, almost like he was praying.

“So…?” I hedged, eyeing him.

He nodded. “Really good.”

My eyes went wide and I stared at him like I was seeing him for the first time in the dark living room. I could just barely see his lips tilting in a bare smile. “R-Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie,” he said, leaning back with a nod. “Why haven’t you shared your work with me before?”

I stiffened. “Um…well, when we met you were already almost graduated with your degree, and I was just this young kid following you around. I…kinda figured someone like you wouldn’t want to listen to my shit.”

He cocked a brow. “It’s not shit though.”

“I just…I mean, you were a pro from the start, you know? Just…super confident from the beginning. And by the time I started to get really serious about it, you were already working for the label and I was getting recruited by a contract company,” I said, shaking my head. “I figured that alone was enough to show the difference in our leagues.”

“League?” asked Yoongi, brow furrowed.

I sighed. “I dunno. You’re…you’ve always been great. And I’m just…a sound engineer, really.”

Yoongi shook his head. “I’m telling you this because I mean it, alright?” he asked, crossing his arms. “If you got in with the right label, you’d do well.”

I sat up straighter, twisting to look at him properly. But instead, he was staring at my project, still smiling just barely. “Huh?”

“I’m not just saying that,” he said, nodding. “You could be a really successful producer.”

I was about to respond, perhaps pick his brain, perhaps thank him, but my phone began buzzing on the table and I jumped at the sound. Quickly I grabbed it, ready to silence the phone and return the call later. But I saw the name on the screen and paused. Hani. And at this hour…

Yoongi patted my shoulder. “Take the call,” he said, chuckling. “I know you don’t have a choice.”

I turned to stop him, but he was already striding towards his room. He didn’t even mention me borrowing his mic…

Sighing, I slid the phone open and took the call. “Hey…,” I said, and even I could hear that my voice was glum.

“Hey, uh…,” she said, her tone fragile.

I rubbed my temples. “What’s up?”

“It’s…it’s just Sooyoung. The divorce is almost final and they’re talking about custody and she’s kinda caught in, like, the crossfire or whatever. I’m worried,” she said, speaking too fast for me to keep up with.

“Have you talked to her?”

She sighed. “No, she’s not taking my calls. My parents texted me to look out for her, but she hasn’t even seen my texts,” she said. “I’m worried.”

“I understand,” I said gently. “Maybe go home for a few days and spend time with her, you know? Maybe she needs you there.”

“I know I’m just…I guess I’m kinda scared, you know? Like to go to my childhood home and see everything changing…it’s weird,” she said. “God, can I just come over tonight? Like movies or something?”

I stiffened. “Ah…jeez, Hani. I’m…I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“I know, I know. Joon, I’m so sorry. It’s just…I really don’t wanna be alone right now,” she said, voice breaking.

I felt my chest pinch a little. “Hani, why don’t you go home then?”

She sighed. “I told you-,”

“But if you can’t be alone, the best place is home,” I said, staring at my half-finished song. The one that would surely stay half-finished if she came over.

“I think it would be too hard.”

“Then what about your friends? Joohee lives close by anyway,” I said, desperate.

“Joon…,” she began, letting the word die in the air.

I sighed. “It’s not good for me, Hani. I wish you’d respect that.”

“I know. It’s selfish, and I know that. But…I just need to be with you right now, you know?”

“Don’t say that,” I said, pinching my eyes shut. But, to my surprise, my heart didn’t race like it used to. Instead, only annoyance.

“I mean it-,”

“Hani!” I shouted, slamming a hand on the table. I saw there on my wrist that hair elastic. What was it about that thing? “I’ve told you so many times, haven’t I? I’ve told you it’s not healthy!”

“Don’t yell!”

I shook my head, heart pounding now for an entirely different reason. “I’m not yelling,” I said, leveling my tone. “I…Hani, do you have any idea what it’s been like?”

She was quiet. “I…”

“Do you have any idea how hard it was? When you told me on graduation night. The years after. How you knew I knew you were still messing around on me,” I pinched my nose bridge. “I promised myself I wouldn’t make you feel guilty for it. That you yourself felt bad enough. That that would be enough for me too.”

“Joon…”

“But you can’t keep hurting people and expect them to give you the love you need,” I said. “You can’t keep putting me through the pain of reliving everything. It’s not fair.”

She said nothing. For a long time. But I heard the ambient sound of life on the other side of the phone, and I knew she was still there. Still listening, waiting for me to continue. But I didn’t have it in me. I’d said it. I’d finally howled.

“I…I don’t know what to say, Joon,” she said finally.

I nodded. “Me either.”

“I…can’t we meet up and talk this out in person?”

I exhaled, long and slow, and shook my head, eyes falling to the hair elastic on mu wrist. “No, Hani.”

She sighed. “Namjoon…”

“Go home, okay? Do it for Sooyoung,” I said before ending the call and tossing my phone onto the couch behind me.

Quietly, determined, I pulled my headphones back up around my ears, straightened my sweatshirt, and got back to work on the song.

“Namjoon!” someone called as I opened my eyes.

I didn’t even have a chance to react, because the girl who’d called for me had already wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her head in my shirt. It was familiar, this scene. Looking down at the top of a strange girl’s head in the middle of the darkness. Feeling her arms tighten around me. I might have resisted, might have pulled away, if I didn’t feel that same itch beneath my skin as I had watching that employee earlier today.

“Eun…Eunbyul?” I said, testing the name in my mouth.

She stiffened and pulled away, and once our eyes met the memories returned. Everything. Unwillingly, tears welled in my eyes and everything made sense. That wistfulness I’d been feeling all day, the sense of profound melancholia. After leaving the dream the night before, being so close, seeing something so painful, and having not even a spare second to console her…

Instead of saying anything, I swept her up in my arms again and let my head fall into the crook of her neck. She held tight too, like I might slip away if she didn’t keep her grip strong. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and the faint, barely-there scent of clay.

She breathed a shaky exhale and nodded against me. “I’m so fucking happy to see you,” she said softly.

I nodded, unable to summon words for a moment. “I…I saw you again today. At the pottery place.”

She nodded. “I saw you too. Walking away with Jimin.”

“I wish I would have gotten a good look at you,” I said.

“Me too…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

We stayed that way, embracing, for a moment that felt endless. Eunbyul was the first to break away, adjusting her glasses as she did. She sniffled a little, rubbing beneath her nose, and averted her eyes. Neither of us said anything, but it was clear something had shifted between us. Our relationship…whatever it was…was changing.

“Let’s…let’s do something fun tonight,” I said with a nod.

She smiled softly, pushing her hair from her face. She nodded. “I’d like that.”

Gently, I took her hand and shut my eyes. I tried to remember every detail of the place, every lamppost and vendor’s booth. I tried to conjure the cobbled walkways, the ferris wheel, the lanterns strung up in rows overhead. And when I opened my eyes, it was sunset and we were there.

“An amusement park?” she asked, chuckling. “And…wait, is this in Sangdo-dong?” she asked.

I nodded. “You know it?”

She stared, mystified and wide-eyed, at the park splayed out before her. “Um…yeah, actually. I think I mentioned it before, but…something kind of scary happened to me when I was young. It was pretty nearby here.”

I stiffened. “Shit, I can take us somewhere else-,”

She turned to me and smiled, shaking her head. “Don’t,” she said. “I wanna go on some rides.”

I blinked down at her, at the big sleep shirt with shorts just barely peeking out, at the bed hair, at the flush in her cheeks. And I felt myself flush too. I cleared my throat and began strolling toward one of the coasters.

“Do, uh…do you think the rides will work?” I asked.

She hummed. “I dunno. You’ve never tried?”

I shook my head. “I…also had something scary happen when I was a kid. Here at the amusement park. So I haven’t been back.”

“Oh,” she said, pausing in the walkway. “We can go someplace else.”

I smiled and rubbed circles into her hand. “No, it’s fine. It’s just…the only amusement park I could remember. And I remember it pretty vividly.”

She nodded. “Alright.”

“Here, let’s go on this one,” I said, pointing to the swinging pirate ship.

Her eyes glittered in the sunset as she stared at it. “Whoa,” she said, glancing around. “Who’s gonna operate it?”

I paused a moment and pursed my lips. “You sit down first and I’ll push a button or something.”

“Push a button?” she repeated, laughing.

I rolled my eyes and gave her shoulder a shove with mine. “Maybe two buttons,” I said, shrugging. I released her hand she gestured for her to go ahead onto the ride.

She waved at me over her shoulder and took a seat at the farthest row, the one right by the back of the ship. She bounced a little as she waited for me, smiling in my direction as I examined the control panel. Perhaps because I’d never seen it, I couldn’t quite imagine what it would look like and in its place was just a blank metal podium.

I sighed and rubbed my chin. “I mean…,” I began, talking to myself, “if it’s a dream, I can make the rules, right?”

I shut my eyes and imagined a big red button on the podium, one that would give the start a delay so I could take my seat with Eunbyul. As I opened my eyes, there it was and with a smile I pounded it. Told you, I thought, just one button. I heard the machine whirring up and sprinted as fast as I could toward the entrance of the ship. I bumped my shin on the way down the aisle and Eunbyul suppressed a laugh with her hand. Luckily, just as the thing lurched to life, I fell into the spot beside her with a heavy sigh.

“You ready?” I asked, smiling.

She laughed and nodded. “Been ready.”

I rolled my eyes as the ride began to swing like a pendulum, gradually increasing in speed and height. Soon, we were rocking back and forth, sent high into the air and then hovering, weightless, for a fraction of a second before plummeting back down to earth. Beside me, Eunbyul released a joyful scream, throwing her arms in the air as we swung up and down, back and forth. The wind whipped her hair around, and on each descent she had to squeeze her eyes nearly shut. She laughed as we swung and swung. If she’d let me, I’d liked to have kept sitting there forever, watching her smile and laugh as the pirate ship lurched.

But my brain seemed to know approximately how long a ride should be, and before too long, the ride slowed to a steady stop. Eunbyul, with her hair now windswept and waving and her eyes alight, turned to me with the brightest smile.

“That was so fun,” she said, laughing.

It was the first time I’d seen her with such unbridled happiness, an easy joy in her features. And she was beautiful. I wanted her to stay that way, stay smiling, stay messy, stay joyful.

I smiled. “What next?” I asked.

The two of us traveled through what I remembered of the park. It had been a long time since I’d seen the place, but it seemed the memory was nearly imprinted. After all, it was the last place I’d seen with Dad. I ambled easily by Eunbyul’s side as she explored my memories, and we stopped at nearly every ride. The log ride, the coaster that nearly blew out my eardrums, the haunted house sans actors to play the ghosts.

“Let’s go on that,” she said, pointing at the ferris wheel as it sat juxtaposed against the forever sunset.

I raised my brows. “Oh, sure.”

She turned to me and smiled. “Hey, Namjoon?” she asked, almost shy.

“Hm?”

“Thank you for…you know, taking me here,” she said, laughing lightly. “Lately, I’ve been feeling a little better and I think it’s because I’ve been able to spend time with you.”

“Eunbyul-,”

“Ugh, let’s go before I get sentimental,” she said, waving her hands with a pinched expression. I laughed as she led the way to the ferris wheel.

Once I’d pressed the identical red button and scrambled to join Eunbyul in the closed ferris wheel box, the two of us fell into a comfortable, easy silence. She gazed out the window as the blurry horizon that my mind couldn’t conjure, the place where all the colors blended together. And I watched her, silhouetted against the violent yellow sun as it descended into reds and oranges.

“So…,” I began, watching her keenly. “How do you know that pottery guy?”

She paused for a moment before pursing her lips and offering a shrug. “I met him recently. I was spying on him through the window.”

“Spying?”

She nodded. “Because it looks so nice when he throws pottery.”

I smiled softly. “It was really mesmerizing.”

She turned to me with a smile. “He’s a nice guy,” she said. “I think he believes in me too much.”

I shook my head. “I saw you working today, Eunbyul. You were…really competent. It was like watching Jimin make pottery. I couldn’t look away.”

Her skin went a little red in the cheeks and she cleared her throat, smoothing her palms over her kneecaps. “Well…”

“You’re better than you think you are.”

She sighed, letting her gaze fall. “Anyway, how do you know him?” she asked, letting my eyes again.

I smiled. “My friend Hoseok took me by today. He was trying to…embolden me, I guess. Get me back into my groove.”

“Your groove has been off?” she asked, brows raised.

I nodded. “For a while. I’m…stifled. In a lot of ways.”

She nodded. “And did it help? Seeing Jimin?”

I smiled softly, remembering that song. “Yeah. I…I made a song. For myself. Something I believe in.”

She smiled at me and reached out across the small space between our legs to pat my knee. “Namjoon! That’s amazing,” she said, chuckling. “That Jimin. He’s good, I’ll give him that.” She paused and glanced at me. “Let me hear the song sometime, okay? When we finally meet in real life.”

I swallowed hard and rubbed my neck. Nervous as I was for her to hear it, the offer was irresistible. I nodded. “And…just Joon is fine.”

She stared at me, blinking, before she chuckles breathily and nodded. “Ah! O-Okay. Then, uh…call me Byul, okay?”

“Byul…”

She went red and cleared her throat, laughing again. “God, it’s embarrassing to hear you say it,” she said.

I smiled. “Do a lot of people call you that?”

“No,” she said softly, watching her hands as the ferris wheel rolled lazily toward the top.

“Does that bookstore guy call you Byul?” I asked, unable to stop myself.

She stiffened. “Who?” she asked, then snapped her fingers. “Ah, Jin?”

I shrugged, pouting. “I dunno. The guy who was flirting with you at the bookstore.”

She laughed. “He wasn’t flirting, just…bored,” she said with a nod. “God, I guess…I guess I have a crush on him?” she said, but the way she furrowed her brow made it seem like she was unsure. “But these days, it feels a little different. Like…maybe I don’t.”

I smiled, just a little relieved, and nodded. “I feel the same way with my ex.” Eunbyul’s eyes snapped up to meet mine, wide and brown. “Um…she called tonight. Hani.”

She inhaled as if to speak, but only let it go and nodded. “Oh.”

“I told her she can’t come over anymore.”

I watched her expression change, like she was relieved too, and she exhaled slow. “Good job,” she said, meeting my eyes again with a smile. “That must have been hard.”

I shook my head. “It’s like you said. Like…the way I feel about her is different now. Even in real life.”

“Wonder why,” she said idly as she glanced out the window at the empty park below.

I felt my heart thundering in my chest and swallowed hard. Say it, Namjoon, I thought. Say it now or regret not saying it forever. “I can…think of a few reasons,” I said slowly, watching her for any sign to stop.

She stiffened a little and turned to me with wide eyes. “Huh?” she asked. Surprised, but not disgusted.

Slowly, I leaned across the small space between us so that our faces were close. “Byul, I…,” I began, chuckling as the nerves made my words catch in my throat. “Sorry, nervous,” I said, unable to stop myself from telling her the truth.

She nodded and gently took my hand. “It’s okay,” she said.

I took a steadying breath and met her warm, dark eyes. “I think I have feelings for you.”

She was still for a moment, still holding my hand, before slowly she let her eyes drop and her fingers slipped between mine. It was small, but the gesture felt intimate. And the space between us was charged, trapped in this small ferris wheel box. I knew it was stupid, that there was no way it could work. I knew it would be nearly impossible to meet her in real life if I couldn’t remember these dreams, and I knew that even meeting, even seeing her properly, might not be enough to make me remember. I knew it all. I knew it was stupid, and that this moment was finite and that in the morning I’d forget it ever happened.

But right then, I needed to kiss her.

And so I tipped my chin just enough for our lips to touch. It wasn’t the sort of kiss you see in movies. Passionate and frantic and desperate, hands clawing at each other, panting. No, it was…softer. Gentler. She jumped a little at the contact, but I watched with half-open eyes as she shut her own eyes and leaned into me, her fingers still laced in mine. Tenderly, I lifted a hand to rest along the line of her jaw, touching her just barely. I felt her tilt her head to the side and took the initiative to deepen the kiss, just enough. Smooth and slow, like butter melting in a pot. Smooth and slow.

I pulled away first, hand still holding her jaw, her hair fluttering against my knuckles, and stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Sorry,” I said in a whisper. Everything felt hot, so hot I thought I might pass out if it weren’t a dream.

She shook her head and tightened her grip on my hand. “Don’t apologize.”

“I know it’s really impossible, but…,” I began, but stopped as I felt the pull once more in my chest. “Fuck,” I breathed, resting my forehead against hers.

“I know,” she said with a nod, shutting her eyes with a shaky exhale. “We…we’ll meet. We have to meet, okay?” she said.

I nodded against her forehead and shut my own eyes. Even though I knew it might be a lie, nonetheless I responded sincerely. “We will.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“You’re right.”

She nodded and sighed. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Joon.”

“See you tomorrow, Byul.”

And in an instant, she slipped away.

[here-there-be-drag0ns]

It's A Good Kind Of Madness

The first thing Curtis saw when he when he stepped into Midnight Caffeine was her. She was leaning against the decorative bookcase in a tank top and ripped up jeans. She was shivering. Of course she was. Sandy Hollow got cold after sunset and the sun had set hours ago. He wondered why she didn’t put on the flannel shirt tied around her waist.

She looked up when the bell above the door rang and his eyes met hers. She seemed to stand straighter. He pulled out his earbuds and looked away, choosing instead to approach the tired-eyed barista behind the counter. “Small coffee, one cream, two sugars,” he requested. The barista nodded and tapped a few buttons on his screen, then silently moved away to busy himself at the coffee machine.

He spared the girl a glace out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at him. He looked away.

The barista put his coffee down on the counter. Curtis passed over the cash and took a seat on one of the plush chairs.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. His psychology test tomorrow was going to suck. He’d been running on six hours of sleep for the past three days. Staring at the ceiling for hours was getting boring.

When he blinked his eyes open again, someone was standing in front of him. The girl he’d seen before lowered herself into a chair across from him. He startled, but she didn’t seem to take notice.

“For 10 p.m. this place is busier than I would have expected.” She said nonchalantly.

Curtis paused for a moment and looked her up and down. He realized that although she was wearing makeup, it didn’t coat her face the way most girls he saw wore their make-up. Her brown eyeliner accentuated her deep blue eyes. And her hair was dyed similarly. The end of her braid – swept loosely over her right shoulder – faded from brown to a brilliant navy blue.

He gathered himself and smirked. “You must be new in town. Welcome to Sandy Hollow, a town full of insomniacs,” he swept his hands around the shop, gesturing to the clusters of people around them.

She laughed. “I’ll fit right in, then,”

Curtis chuckled. “I’m Curtis,” he said extending a hand.

The girl tilted her head down almost imperceptibly. Looking up through her eyelashes in a way that sent shivers down his spine, she took his hand. “You can call me Ava,”

“Alright, Ava, what brings you to Sandy Hallow? We’re not quite a touristy place.” He asked, mulling over her word choice. Was her name actually Ava? Or was it just a name she gave people until she got to know them?

Ava shrugged, humming. “I’m checking out the campus for this coming semester. Switching colleges.” She waved her hands in the air. “Change of scenery and all that,”

Curtis nodded and sipped his coffee. “I can’t tell you much about the scenery, but Jordan University is pretty good.”

Ava furrowed her brow. “Are you new here too?” She asked.

“No, I’ve lived here my whole life. Why do you ask?” He said, confused.

Ava’s mouth had dropped open. The look she gave him made him shift in his seat. He dropped his eyes down to the coffee in his hand. He took a sip and met her incredulous gaze again.

“You’ve lived here your whole life and you never explored?”

Curtis shook his head.

“Why not?”

Emotions swirled in his gut, clichés he’d tried to explain before, a feeling he couldn’t put into words, an explanation that he could. “It just… doesn’t feel right to do it on my own. Exploring is something that I want to share with someone else, if that makes sense,”

Ava nodded, threading her fingers together in her lap. “It does.” She stood up and stuck out her hand. “Come on,”

Curtis blinked dully at her hand for a moment, his brain sluggishly trying to process what was happening. “What?”

“We’ll explore together,” she said.

“Together,” he said, nodding. He smiled and took her hand. She hauled him to his feet. “Let’s go then,”

The street was dark and quiet under the moon. A few houses had lights on, but most windows showed no signs of activity.

“So what do you study?” Ava asked, hands in her pockets. Curtis could see her fighting back shivers and was tempted to offer her his sweatshirt but she didn’t seem like the kind of girl to look for clichés.

“Psychology,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve also got a minor in creative writing,”

“’Colorless green ideas sleep furiously,’” Ava murmured.

“Noam Chomsky,” he said with a jolt. Eyebrows raised, he looked to her and saw her smirking back.

“Also a psychology major, but I have a minor in songwriting.”

“Written any hits yet?” He asked curiously.

Ava laughed. “I’ll get back to you on that one,”

“Okay, okay,” he snorted. “So what’s the plan here?”

Ava paused and seemed to think a bit. “You said this is a town of insomniacs, right?”

Curtis nodded. “I did, but it was a bit of a general statement-”

“I want to see how busy it is downtown. It’s…” she flicked her wrist up and tapped the screen of her smartwatch, “almost 10:30. I’m curious,”

He considered downtown Sandy Hallow for a moment. It wasn’t much, just a slightly more business-oriented couple of streets in the small town, but he could think of a few stores that were probably still open. “Okay, let’s go,” and he took off running.

He heard her shriek but she was laughing, and so was he. She caught up to him quickly with long, fluid, powerful strides and his breath caught. She was intimidating and beautiful; a lioness chasing her prey. He started to notice the lean muscles in her arms and realized they must be the power in her legs too. She was almost overtaking him and yet she didn’t seem anywhere near out of breath. Beautiful, he thought again, beautiful.

The colorful lights of downtown painted the pavement a myriad of colors. Curtis slowed and doubled over panting. She jogged back toward him, having overshot by a few steps.

“You,” he wheezed, “are fast,”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Ava said with a smirk.

Curtis gestured vaguely at the storefronts around them, varying in lights on or off. “Where to?” he asked. He was curious to see where she chose to go.

She set off on the sidewalk ahead of them, pushing past several groups of people, swinging her hips and her head held high. Despite having lived his whole life in Sandy Hollow, Curtis felt as if she were showing him around instead of him leading her. “There,” she said, pointing at the music store across the street. The light was on and he could see various instruments in the window.

He crossed the street with her, thankful for the lack of cars on the road at this hour. Most people walked after 9:30, anyway, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.

Ava was nearly pressed against the glass windows of the store. Her eyes were blown wide, a grin on her face as she examined the guitars set out for display. “They’re beautiful,” she said.

Like you, Curtis thought.

“We can go in if you’d like,” he said instead, drawing her attention to the ‘open’ sign hanging on the door. She was inside before he could even realize she’d moved. He laughed and followed her inside.

She was walking slowly between guitar models, running her finger around the edges, plucking a string and watching it vibrate before moving on to the next one. Finally, she stopped in front of a pretty acoustic guitar. It was a warm golden brown with an etching of leafy vines crawling up the front and decorating the fretboard. She picked it up and turned it in her hands so that she held it as if she were playing it. Then she put it down and checked the price, nodding.

There’s no way she’ll buy that now, Curtis thought. He was proven wrong a few moments later when Ava purchased not only the guitar, but a gig bag with backpack straps, and a notebook.

“How did you afford that?” He asked incredulously. As a college student, he could barely afford rent. He would never be able to buy a guitar.

She shrugged, adjusting the straps of the bag. “I do gigs outside of my usual job. I have some money set aside for treats like this.” She seemed to ignore his stare. “So, to the desert?”

Curtis leaned back on his elbows, smiling. Ava was playing her new guitar blissfully and her voice was just as beautiful as she was. Her eyes were closed and her lips quirked up into a smile around the words of the song and he could not look away. Even with every star in the sky visible against the darkness, he could not stop watching her.

She paused and scribbled something down in her notebook, open in front of her crossed legs. She brushed away some sand that had blown onto the pages. There wasn’t too much sand as the deserts nearest Sandy Hallow were more rocky than sandy. Currently, he and Ava sat on an overhang that looked out on the rest of the desert.

“Your song is beautiful,” he said softly.

She smiled and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, pulling it out of reach of the breeze. “Almost. There are some adjustments I need to make.” She closed the notebook slowly, leaving her pencil between the pages she had been writing on.

“What about you? You have a creative writing minor, don’t you?” She asked. “Have you written anything?”

Curtis paused. The last time he’d shown people his poems they’d thought he was crazy. Ava, though, might not. In fact, Curtis realized, she was the most likely person to give him some actual feedback. He nodded. “Some poems,” he said, pulling his phone out and opening one of his poems.

She took the phone gently and read through it. Her face remained passive as she read and he felt his heart quicken its pace. What if she didn’t like it? He shifted forward to sit in a mirror pose to her.

Finally, she handed him back the phone. “It’s very good. Provocative.” She said, tilting her head. “Your word choice is incredible. It painted a clear picture while also leaving some of it up to interpretation. All I would say is that it almost sounds like you wrote it with a Thesaurus.”

Curtis pursed his lips. He decided not to tell her that he had. She didn’t need to know that. Definitely not.

“Maybe switch out a few – not many, just a few – of the more complex words for a more common synonym.” Ava tapped her lips. “You know, you could probably make a song out of that. We could perform it,”

Curtis smiled. She’d given him useful feedback. It felt so good to hear someone actually talk to him about the poem rather than around it. He laughed. “Perform that? In Sandy Hallow? They’d think we’ve gone mad,”

She laughed and leaned toward him. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but it’s a good kind of madness.”

He hummed in response. “Maybe it is.”

Ava didn’t pick up her guitar again. Instead, she shifted to lean against him. He could almost feel her shivering. He cautiously put his arm around her, giving her time to tell him not to. She didn’t. He pulled her closer and tipped his head back to stare at the stars.

[thiefcat-niao]

Sand and Gold (Chapter 1)

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!   Characters/Ships: Atem, Thief King Bakura, more in later chapters~  Rating: T Length: Chapter 1 / ?; 4000 words

Summary:

Prince Atem once found a small thief, and hid him for a time in the palace courtyard. The thief promised to return; to explain his hatred, and to have his vengeance.

The Pharaoh and the King of Thieves were supposed to be enemies, but neither is willing to abandon the tenuous bond they forged as children. Now the Royal Priests, Seto foremost among them, try to recover their kidnapped Pharaoh, unaware that Atem left with the Thief King of his own accord. Bakura has declared war in the name of his beloved Kul Elna, and yet wears the Millennium Ring that Pharaoh willingly gave him.

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Prince Atem loved the palace courtyard in the moonlight. He liked the way the sand, so dull and dry in the day, was turned to silver stardust. He liked the coolness of the air, in summer, and even the rare frigidity of the desert winters. He liked the quiet—the lack of voices, and the solitude that came with sneaking out of his bedroom window in the dead of night.

His father, the pharaoh Akhenamkhanen, knew of these fondnesses; told him to at least let a guard or two keep him company. But Atem had no desire to do so, and so did not heed his father. He felt safe, within the palace grounds, and indeed had never strayed outside the walls.

On one such moonless night, the young prince—with scarcely ten years to his honored name—walked among the carefully cultivated flowers that lined the western side of the palace grounds. His head hung back, eyes wandering across the distant field of stars above. Though his body was weary, from the day’s activities, his mind was keenly alert. He thought of his father, fondly.

The scritch-scratch noise didn’t pique Atem’s interest right away; the young prince dismissed it as desert rats scrabbling at the palace wall just outside. But it grew louder and more rhythmic as Atem walked. Eventually he slowed, pressing one ear to the stone beside him, and the sound jumped into focus. It was the sound of digging, surely, but it seemed unlikely to Atem that small animals could make such a sound. Not rats, then... a jackal, perhaps... or a wildcat... He wondered if there could be a desert lion on the other side of the wall. He’d never seen such a creature up close, though a beast-tamer had once been brought in to entertain his father's court at a banquet.

Across the courtyard, a single guard patrolled—Atem could scarcely make out the man’s silhouette, from his distance. Other than that, no living soul moved in the darkness. There would be more guards outside the palace’s perimeter, of course, but within the walls there was little need. Atem glanced back, toward the palace’s main section, and identified his father’s window high above. He could smell the palace kitchens nearby—a meaty and herbal scent that hung heavy in the air. He could hear the palace livestock shifting about in the stables.

Atem scrambled up; found the cracks in the wall with nimble fingers and bare toes. The top of the wall was carved decoratively, making it easy to scale. Atem paused at the summit, gazing out across the expanse of empty desert that flanked the palace’s westward side. The horizon was invisible, concealed by the night; where sand dunes became sky was for only the gods to know.

Atem glanced back at the palace, illuminated by the flames of torches and lamps. The stars paid the desert no such favors, and Khonsu hadn’t appeared in the sky that night.

The sound of scratching drew Atem’s attention once again, and he looked down. There was a shape near one of the palace’s rear gates, crouched just outside a circle of light from a torch mounted on the wall. It was a creature, surely, fixated on the ground. Atem tilted his head, then slithered down the wall. He felt a thrill of apprehension as his feet touched the sand—he was outside the palace.

Atem crept forward. The soft ground, still warm from the daytime sun, muted his steps. He realized that the creature was sitting upright and wondered if it might be a demon; he tried to recall the stories he’d heard of such beings. There was no telling what might’ve come out of the open desert behind the palace. Atem was scarcely a yard away from the creature.

Perhaps a demon, but perhaps not.

“Oh!”

The prince’s soft exclamation made the shape jerk; spin around to attention, and immediately stumble. It fell backwards, into the light of the torch. Atem drew a sharp breath; took a step back.

The shape was a child—no older than Atem himself, though somehow much smaller and frailer. His bones stuck out, sharp and unforgiving, casting deep shadows across his body in the dim light. But more horrifying was the wound—the festering clot of blood and fluids obscuring half his face, so swollen that his right eye was forced shut. Atem felt his stomach flip end-over-end; thought he might retch, but thought that would be horribly insensitive, and unbecoming of a prince besides.

The feral little child bore his teeth; tried to get up and failed, his legs folding like splintered twigs beneath him. His one eye was huge, terrified, and Atem, still hidden in shadow, saw when he started to tremble.

“Get away... don’t come any closer...!” The child's voice was a dry rasp, almost lost in the still night air; his narrow chest heaved. “Get away!”

Atem looked down; saw the claw-marks in the sand, and knew the boy had been digging. It took him a moment to realize why, however, and when he did his stomach twisted with pity.

“We bury things so the scavengers won’t find them,” he said softly, and the strange boy stiffened. “But you must’ve been watching.”

“Go away!” the thief spat again, managing a bit more volume. Atem did not obey, but crouched down on his haunches; stared, and thought.

The people who worked in the palace kitchens often buried inedible parts of food—gristly bits of meat, woody vegetable stalks, unsalvageably burnt bread—on the edge of the palace grounds, so that night hunters wouldn’t be attracted. But human scavengers didn’t rely on scent alone; couldn’t be fooled by a layer of topsoil and sand.

The thought of anyone eating the rubbish—dirt-encrusted rubbish, now, no less—made Atem’s throat close up.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

The other child shifted; gave a strange little whine, and again tried to rise. His legs wouldn’t support him.

“You’re sick,” Atem said, inching forward. The thief’s chest began to heave more violently. “That wound...”

The thief drew his lip back; snarled like a cornered animal, but seemed unable to flee. Atem stopped moving toward him, and again thought.

“Wait here. Please. I’ll be back. Just... wait here, okay?”

The thief didn’t reply; Atem could see the gleam of some liquid dripping down the right side of his face. The prince darted away, back along the palace wall. In his endless exploration, he’d found a gap in the stones, concealed from within by a patch of shrubbery. He crawled inside, ignoring the scrape of thorns as he wriggled back into the yard and dashed, quickly and quietly, back to the palace.

Prince Atem didn’t expect the thief to wait; didn’t expect him to still be there, when Atem returned. But he was, huddled up in a jumble of bones and threadbare clothes. For a moment, Atem thought he might not be breathing. As the prince neared, though, the thief startled to attention; scrambled up into a crouch, and again bore his teeth. Atem dropped down before he got too near, leveling their heights.

“Here. You don’t need to dig that up. See?” The prince held out a piece of cloth in upturned palms, upon which rested a small loaf of bread and a chunk of roasted meat pilfered from the slumbering palace kitchens, along with a waterskin. The thief’s eye—that one eye, glossy with fever and fatigue—widened sharply, and his fingers clutched at the dirt. He didn’t try to stand—it wouldn’t have worked, they both knew—but dragged himself closer. Atem wanted to move forward, to save him that tremendous effort, but didn’t; waited patiently, even as the thief hesitated.

“... Why?” the child croaked out, after a moment. His chest convulsed.

“You need it,” Atem said, and then placed the offerings on the ground.

Again the thief hesitated, eye flicking between Atem and the food and then back again. But eventually desperate instinct won out, and he pulled himself a bit farther forward. He fell upon the food, a starving animal, all growling and drool as he ate. Atem watched in morbid fascination, having never seen life pushed to such a breaking point and intrigued despite the nausea that threatened at the back of his own throat. Only once did the thief retch, a violent convulsion, but he didn’t vomit.

When the food had vanished, there was a moment of quiet—the thief’s wheezing breath was audible, but that was all. Then Atem inched forward.

“Come on.” Atem extended his hand. “You can’t stay here. They’ll find you if you come inside, but I’ll show you my best hiding place. Come on.”

The thief regarded him mistrustfully, his gaze far older than suited his small body. But he leaned forward; asked, “Why?” in a voice that did not rasp, but instead cracked.

“Because you’re hurt,” Atem said. “You might die.”

The thief stiffened; choked quietly and bent his head, shoulders shaking. “Because... I might... die...” he whispered, and Atem nodded.

“I don’t want you to die.”

“... I don’t want to die.”

The thief’s hand was calloused and dry, his fingers like brittle sticks. Atem pulled him gently along, guiding him through the hole in the wall and then deeper into the palace grounds, calling upon his knowledge of the guards’ routines and sticking to the deepest of shadows. At some point the thief managed to get to his feet and walk, and Atem wondered at the mysterious strength he possessed, even so close to death.

There was a massive statue of the pharaoh—of Atem’s father, Akhenamkhanen—at the rear of one courtyard. Looking up, Atem could see his own balcony directly above it. It had been peering down from that vantage point that he’d noticed the gap in the statue’s foundation, and upon exploration he’d discovered a small, natural cave within the stone construct, likely a crack that had widened steadily since the statue’s creation. It was nearly impossible to detect from the ground, and it was that spot that Atem took the tiny thief to. The thief shied away, for a moment, glaring up at the stone effigy, but then steadied and followed Atem inside.

Once they were deep within the stone, the thief dropped Atem’s hand; collapsed, his strength spent. Atem crouched beside him. In the near-pitch-black inside the statue’s base, the gruesome wound on the thief’s face was scarcely discernible.

“Who...?” the thief gasped out family, and Atem hesitated.

“I live here.”

“A... servant...?”

Atem remained silent, and the thief didn’t question him further.

“... I’m going to bring some more food and water, but don’t eat it all now,” Atem said, after a moment. “Sleep, and you’ll have it here when you wake up. I can’t see to treat your wound now, so I’ll be back in the morning, when there’s light.”

The thief didn’t speak—only watched Atem with that one shrewd, almost-but-not-quite-hostile eye of his. Atem nodded, if only to reassure himself, and then wriggled back outside. By the time he had returned—with not only more bread and water, but with bedding—the thief was unconscious. Atem gazed at him for a moment, perplexed by the turn his life had taken that peaceful night.

“Rest...” he murmured, and put the supplies down. “Rest. I’ll be back in the morning.”

... ... ...

Atem was weary, come morning, and irritated by his father’s oblivious good cheer. He suffered through breakfast and his morning lessons, then slipped away from Mahad at the first opportunity to check on the foundling stashed away in the base of pharaoh’s statue. He half expected the thief to have fled, but found the child exactly where he’d left him. The statue’s cracks allowed a fair amount of daylight into the little cave, and Atem saw, for the first time, the full extent of the damage to the thief’s tiny body. He was emaciated, the shape of each bone clear beneath his dried-papyrus skin, which was scuffed bloody in several spots. His gray hair was hopelessly matted. Most troublesome, the mass of flesh on his face was a menagerie of angry reds and purples, white ooze contrasting starkly against it.

“I brought more food,” Atem said; what he’d left the night before was gone.

The thief, while still physically shaky, seemed more alert. He accepted the parcel Atem offered; unwrapped it. He ate slowly, with relish laid bare despite his attempts to hide it, and sipped water. He didn’t speak.

“I brought medicine, too,” Atem said, after some time. “Can I look at your wound?”

“Your own pharaoh’s men did it,” the thief said, his voice muffled by bread. “To mark me as a thief.”

Atem swallowed; said, “I’d guessed. But the punishment for thievery isn’t death.”

“You’re right. I don’t die if I steal—I die if I stop stealing. I starve.”

Atem shifted, uncertain of how to reply. Eventually, he motioned to the loaf of bread. “You didn’t have to steal that.”

“You’re right,” the thief said again. “You stole this.”

“I did not,” Atem said, a bit indignant. “That’s from my own breakfast.”

That seemed to catch the thief off-guard, and he didn’t reply.

“I’m going to take a closer look,” Atem asserted, after another pause. The thief didn’t speak, but fell still when Atem leaned in. He smelled of rot, sour, and the prince struggled to keep his nose from wrinkling. The damaged area was feverishly hot, and Atem took great care in cleaning away some of the dried blood and scabbing. The thief didn’t move; scarcely seemed to breathe as Atem worked. When Atem reached the flesh itself, though, the thief’s teeth grit subtly; he began to occasionally flinch, as Atem cleaned the wound.

Once the worst of the debris had been cleared, the shape of the wound became clear: a long slash, starting just above the eye and ending at the bottom of the cheek. There were a couple of smaller, lateral tears in the skin along the sides of the main cut.

“It didn’t get your eye?” Atem asked—the first words that had been spoken since the process began.

The thief said, quietly, “No.”

Atem sighed. “That’s good.” He finished cleaning and dressing the cut, treating it with the powerful herbal poultice that his father’s magicians made. When he’d finished, he shuffled backwards. “There.”

The thief blinked his good eye; touched the dressing lightly. Atem didn’t expect thanks, and didn’t receive them.

“If I live... and do terrible things...” the thief said at last, “you’ll have to live with that.”

“Why would you do terrible things?” Atem asked, genuinely perplexed. “You mean like thieving?”

The thief shook his head. “I hate your pharaoh. I’ll kill him, one day.”

Atem felt a chill down his spine, but didn’t let it show. “Why?”

But the thief didn’t answer; stared off to the side, growing quickly listless. Atem didn’t press.

“I’m going to run off,” the thief said, after some time had passed. “I’m not going to do anything to repay you. As soon as I can, I’m just going to disappear, and you can rot with the rest of your kind.”

“That’s fine,” Atem answered, and again had the satisfaction of catching the thief off-guard. “But please don’t leave before you’re ready. You might die.”

The thief gave a little snort—almost a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Atem said. “Stay here as long as you need—or as long as you want.”

The thief didn’t reply.

... ... ...

Atem returned that evening with food and fresh dressing for the thief’s wound.

“Palace food,” the thief said abruptly, though a mouthful of meat, “is even better than I ever dreamed.” 

It was the most emphatic thing Atem had yet heard him say, and it made the young prince laugh. “I’m glad.”

“Though rotten fish would probably taste good, at this point,” the thief said, a dry note of humor in his voice. 

“Maybe, but palace food is a lot better than rotten fish.”

“True.” The thief paused; he was watching Atem carefully, out of the corner of his good eye, as Atem worked on his injury. “... You’re not going hungry, right?”

“What?”

“You said it was your food you brought me, this morning.”

Atem felt a surge of surprise. “No. I’m okay. It’s okay, really.”

The thief’s eye narrowed, just slightly. “Either you’re lying, or you palace folk sure eat richly.”

“We do,” Atem said, almost apologetically. He didn’t usually avail himself of the near-limitless food available to him on a daily basis, but for once it was proving useful. Egypt was a prosperous place, since his father had brought peace to the war-torn country with the mysterious Millennium Items, and the pharaoh and his chosen enjoyed the best fruits of that prosperity. “A little too richly, for my taste.”

The thief seemed to consider that, then shrugged and closed his eyes. “It benefits me, right now, so I’m not complaining. Judging, for sure, but not complaining.”

Again Atem laughed; finished with dressing the thief’s wound. He waited until the thief was done eating, then said, “I could bring some water, if you’d like to bathe. There isn’t much room in here, but...”

The thief nodded slowly; said, “That’d be... nice...”

Atem slipped out; fetched a couple of pitchers of water and soap. He brought some of his own clean clothes, as well.

The thief took great care to clean the grime from his skin. It seemed to Atem, observing the behavior, that he must have lived with every human dignity at some point, and that saddened the young prince. What led you to this...? he wondered, watching as the thief meticulously untangled his hair; rinsed it twice, then once more for good measure. Where is your family...? With how well you speak, how you act... you couldn’t have been raised by the jackals...

When the thief had dried himself, he pulled on Atem’s clothes; sighed quietly at their softness before he could check himself. He cleared his throat crossly.

“Feel better?” Atem asked.

“Human,” the thief answered, unwittingly echoing Atem’s earlier thoughts. “I feel human.”

“Because you are.”

“Yeah...”

For a moment, neither of them moved or spoke. Then Atem gathered up the pitchers and dirty cloth; said, “I’ll be back.”

“Do what you want,” was the thief’s muttered answer.

Atem smiled; repeated, “I’ll be back.”

... ... ...

Atem visited the thief briefly the next morning, and returned once again in the evening with a senet board tucked under one arm.

“What’s that?” the thief asked; his voice, muffled by a mouthful of roast meat, wasn't hostile, and that warmed the young prince.

“Senet. Haven’t you ever played it?”

“Have. Like mehen better.”

Atem laughed, surprised. “I’ll bring a mehen board next time, then.”

The thief looked at him curiously, cleaning the grease from his fingers with long, languid strokes of his tongue. “Huh? You want me to play?”

Atem tilted his head; he’d placed the board down between them. “I thought you might be bored.”

Then it was the little thief’s turn to laugh; it was a surprisingly warm sound, and Atem smiled. “Bored? I could eat and sleep like this for years and not get bored of it.”

“Do you want to play a game of senet?”

The thief smiled—a touch wryly, the wrappings on his face crinkling with the movement. “Sure. Let’s play.”

They played far more than a single game—they played, indeed, until the light was gone and they were forced to quit. Atem promised to bring a mehen board the next day; the thief thanked him.

... ... ...

“You’re in a good mood, son,” Pharaoh Akhnamkanon commented, smiling across the breakfast table.

Prince Atem nodded; he was busy tucking food into his pockets while still trying to sate his own hunger (as he had, despite what he might tell the little thief, been going a bit hungry). It had been nearly a week since Atem had first encountered the thief, and still he was hiding beneath the statue of the pharaoh.

“Have you got a new friend among the palace children?” the father asked gently. Atem gave a small, noncommittal shrug. “Well, I hope you’re having fun.”

“I am!” Atem exclaimed, and beamed at his father—at his pharaoh, whom the little thief claimed to hate. Atem wondered, yet again, why that could possibly be. He resolved to ask, during their game of mehen that day.

“Why?” The thief answered question with question as he rolled the dice; moved his marker and took a bite of bread. “Because this is all his fault.”

“What is?” Atem pressed, picking up the dice; giving them a shake before tossing them, and then moving his own game piece accordingly.

“You’ll understand, some day. When I’m older, I’ll come back and explain it.”

The little thief’s strength seemed to be returning, bit by bit, and his wound was healing well. Each day, Atem expected to find that he’d run off; each day, the thief was still there, waiting for his visits.

“Where do you come from?” Atem asked, watching with slight anxiety as the thief’s game piece closed in on his own. He rolled the dice; got a three.

“A place that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Atem wasn’t sure how to reply; the thief overtook him, rounding a curve in the snake.

“Your family?” Atem asked eventually.

“They don’t exist anymore, either.”

“I’m sure they’re living well in A'aru.”

“I’m sure they aren’t.” The thief’s voice was bitter, and Atem tilted his head.

“Why do you say that?”

The thief didn’t reply; moved his game-piece to the center of the board, and said, “I’m the snake, now.”

Atem nodded; rolled the dice, and set his marker to fleeing back in the other direction.

“Their ba and ka were destroyed, along with their bodies,” the thief said, after a moment, and Atem stiffened. “There’s nothing left of them to be judged, or to make it into the afterlife.”

“That can’t...” Atem murmured, and caught the gleam of tears on the thief’s cheeks. He fell silent.

“Got you,” the thief said softly, as his game piece reached Atem’s. He swept them both off the board; asked, “We’ll switch to senet?”

And Atem replied, “Sure. Senet it is.”

... ... ...

Several days later, Atem arrived at the statue at dusk; it had been more difficult than usual to slip away from his friends among the palace-folk.

“Sorry...” he gasped out, upon finally squirming into the little alcove. The thief looked up, unruffled. “It’s too dark now to play anything, I think...”

“It’s fine,” the thief said, an oddly sad note to his voice. When Atem made a questioning noise, he said, “I’ll be leaving, tomorrow.” Atem laughed breathlessly, and the thief tilted his head.

“I’m so glad you told me...” the prince murmured, and the thief looked away.

“Yeah... well... whatever...”

Atem edged forward; the food he’d brought, for once, sat untouched. “You don’t have to. If I talk to Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen, vouch for you, I’m sure—“

“No!” The thief’s voice was sharp; furious. It dropped again, though, immediately. “No... sorry, but... no. I could never... I mean... I hate your stinking pharaoh. I stand by that. I’ll kill him, one day. And everyone close to him.”

Atem felt a deep stab of remorse, but didn’t argue.

“I’ll come back, one day, I swear it,” the thief said. “Then you’ll understand. If you’re still here, at the palace...”

I’ll be here, for sure... Atem thought, with a trace of humor. What he said aloud was, “I’ll look forward to it.”

The thief didn’t respond; unwrapped the meal that Atem had brought him. The wound on his face had improved—it would leave quite the scar, but it was no longer open or raw. It would heal. He ate slowly, with relish, chewing thoroughly before swallowing each bite. He looked far less hollow than he had; his bones were still visible, prominently, but he no longer appeared frail and skeletal.

“You’ll miss the food, won’t you?”

The thief chuckled. “I’ll miss that. I’ll miss a few things.”

Atem stopped short of asking what else he would miss. The thief wouldn’t be convinced to stay, he was certain. Atem had no desire to sour their farewell with an argument.

“Do you need anything? Before you go?”

The thief shook his head; didn’t reply. Atem sat patiently while he finished his meal, and then they shared the silent stillness of the statue’s interior. When Atem made the slightest move, though, the thief reached out; caught his wrist. Atem stiffened, surprised, and met the thief’s gaze—both his eyes, clear and bright in the darkness. His grip was strong; his fingers no longer like brittle twigs.

“Stay with me tonight. Please?”

While there was no trace of vulnerability in the thief’s voice, it was laid bare in his eyes. And, although aware that it might cause trouble, Atem could do nothing but nod.

“Sure. I will. Of course.”

Atem leaned back against the stone; was surprised when the thief lay not only beside him, but against his shoulder. After a moment, the thief snuggled further into him, pressing their small bodies close.

“Is this okay?”

“Of course... it’s fine, of course...”

When Prince Atem woke, the defused dawn light rousing him, he was alone. The golden bangles he’d been wearing were missing, and that made him happy.

[lotsasmilesphoto]

Day 4 of our backpacking bear adventure was a bit damp.  We woke to moisture on the tents, and we really couldn’t avoid packing up wet gear. The tides once more amazed me.  While I had been brushing my teeth fairly close to camp the night before, the morning routine required a decent stroll.  We were in no hurry, so we took our time eating breakfast after sleeping in; we didn’t hit the trail until almost 2pm.

Most of us walked with a camera out for quick shots.  I struggled choosing between my wide 10-22mm and my bazooka 70-200mm, as it was quite the hassle to switch lenses.  I liked the former for the beach shots, but the latter was better for depth of field and spying on wildlife.  I also had my Sony commuter at the ready, mostly to snatch some video clips for Aaron (who insisted I bring back some footage for him to play with).

One of our party also carried a massive 400mm lens that wouldn’t even fit in his pack.  So he carried it… all 28 miles.  My arms would have been killing me!  As it was, when I had the bazooka on my camera, I could make use of the tripod attachment ring that conveniently hooked onto a strap on my pack.  Most of the weight was supported by the strap, with minimal effort to just keep it in place.

By this point, we were all kind of tired.  But it was also a bit exhilarating.  We fell into a routine, and the freedom from society was liberating.  No one cared that we stank or that I didn’t wear makeup.  No one judged us for wearing the same outfit for the 4th day in a row.

And six people – some of which barely knew each other – became a close-knit tribe.  I learned so many things about my fellow campers, and I loved seeing how we all came together to help each other out – be it in looking out for bears, assisting in river crossings, or serving as bathroom buddies.  It was fascinating to witness those dynamics developing.

Regarding distance, it was a short day.  We only had about four miles left to the trek, which was good, as we were also finally beginning to see some light precipitation – nothing more than a gentle mist in the air.  We saw ATV tracks in the wet sand (which was quite soft and a bit difficult to walk in), and we even passed a cabin or two.  So much for the “backwoods.”

As we reached our fourth and final camp, we encountered our first real swarm of bugs.  We had expected to be battling mosquitos nonstop, but bugs were pretty nonexistent for most of the trip.  Perhaps it was the moisture we had also fortunately avoided until this point, but they certainly made their presence known, and we had to finally whip out the fly nets.

We set up camp about a mile short of the lodge – our pickup spot – near another river where we hoped to get fresher water.  This still proved somewhat brackish, but we made do.

Behind our camp was a stunning backdrop of pristine mountains and a field of sedge grass.  We grabbed our cameras and went searching for bears.

…and found them.

This was one of my favorite spots.  We saw several bears come down to the water’s edge – to lounge, to drink, to swim… it was amazing just watching them.

Our trip leader and bear guru was delighted to capture one actively drinking – a sight he hadn’t seen before.

Shortly thereafter, another bear wandered down to the water, turned around, and took a fat dump.  We weren’t too keen on drinking from that river anymore, especially considering we were downstream.  I just laugh at this picture now, as the bear was sporting a hilarious expression.

My favorite bear, though, was the one who went for a swim.  He plopped into the water and paddled a bit before stopping and perking his ears up.  Then he brought his paw up and gave them a little scratch.  He swam to the other side (our side of the river), crawled out, walked up to a large log on the shore, and stretched across it to give his belly a scratch.  So fun to watch!

We got back to camp to discover a visitor: a beautiful red fox.  He was hunting a mouse – and caught it.  A couple of my fellow photographers got some better pictures of him pouncing, but I’m pleased with the photos I got as well.

This campsite was far from boring, as we then went down to the beach to photograph another bear for a while.  We followed him as he clammed and scared the seagulls until our SD cards were sated.

All in all, I’d consider the day a success – so much wildlife!  And we still had one more day to enjoy.  Our trip was quickly drawing to a close, and I’d be sad to see our last bears, but I was also ready to sleep in a real bed again.

Stay tuned for the final installment after the new year!

Image created by Adam Cornwell

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Backpacking Alaska – Day 4: Rain Day 4 of our backpacking bear adventure was a bit damp.  We woke to moisture on the tents, and we really couldn't avoid packing up wet gear.