#celtic mythology x reader

[nyxirrationalstories]

Mythology open request

Summary: Very few are against the gods, many are the charlatans who claim to deny their existence (to live outside their yoke). The godslayers are not born from abandoning their faith, but from having met their creators. Even with the pain in his heart, with all the lives and deaths he suffered, the godslayer would raise his sword for that soul he swore to protect.

A little bit of lore to make the mythology asks. See the tags to know what mythologies I do (Sorry for the masive tags).

The boy of many names ran with the soul of that person he swore to protect, of that person who promised him that no god would play with his destiny and of that person who promised himself that he would not end up like Agnes.

--- I promise that, whatever it takes, no one will harm you. I will give you your freedom --- whispered to the soul, which approached the lips of the young man as a sign of a kiss --- No matter the deaths and lives, I promise to give you moments of joy and freedom.

--- Argenis --- whispered the soul --- Thank you.

Asier looked at his nanny as in past lives he had seen her before: A friend, a sister, a lover, a confidant… a person to protect.

He knew that Hades had already had his eye on the young woman, it was not difficult to identify: in his first life, his first name and prophesied curse: Argenis, had spent time with the once called uncle. He knew the traces left by the gods, this one in particular was that of Hades.

Asier, even with his child's body, would protect the girl from the madness that the god of the dead was committing. Didn't he realize that he was condemning his beloved? Persephone would be so cruel to the poor girl that Minthe would seem like a wise mercy.

Worst of all, Asier suspected that more gods had taken notice of the human. The boy knew that he would not be able to take them all on, that it would result in his death.

But an oath, a promise and his word had to be kept, that was what he had been taught by his parents in the past: Ares, Athena, Lugh, Urd, Ibejis and many more.

And he hoped not to face them, to avoid the pain it would cause in his spirit and heart.

--- Asier, did your father buy me a sack of rice? --- asked the nanny looking at the sack with her name on a little card. The boy gave a sigh and shook his head, pushing the woman away from the sack. He thought he still had time to get rid of it, but he was so busy burning the black tiger that he forgot about the sack of rice.

--- No, maybe it's something he' s going to donate to the trough.

--- Ugh, thank goodness, I was already scared.

Asier was happy for her, but he was the one who was now more terrified and worried.

#yandere #greek mythology x reader #Egyptian mythology x reader #celtic mythology x reader #Greek Mythology #Norse Mythology #Egyptian Mythology #Celtic Mythology #African Mythology #Mesopotamian Mythology #Hindu Mythology #Slavic Mythology #Chinese Mythology #Japanese Mythology #Polynesian Mythology #North American Mythology #Mesoamerican Mythology #South American Mythology #Abrahamic Mythology #Arthurian Legends

[coffeedrawingandwriting]

Meet Me Under the Stars (Pooka!Sans x Reader)

A pooka is a creature from irish folklore! It's a mischievous spirit who often takes the form of a horse.

More facts about the pooka will be shown at the end! Warnings: Innuendos, but mostly fluff (and kisses)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun beat upon the harvester's back, shining fiercely as you gritted your teeth, swinging your grain cradle. 

Swing to side, cut, lift over shoulder and deposit. 

Swing to side, cut, life over shoulder and deposit. 

And over and over again. 

Your family and all the neighbors around had been working before the crack of dawn to get the harvest in... rain was coming, and all knew that if the rain hit the wheat now, it could ruin the grain before it could get milled. 

A sharp whistle from your father, gesturing for you to switch with your sister. You handed her the scythe, stretching your sore muscles. 

He handed you a glass of milk wordlessly, eyeing the people hard at work. 

"We're naht going to get it dahne, lass. dere's too much." 

You sighed, looking at the fields. Despite your best efforts, only half of the biggest field was done, with other families still working hard on others, almost done. Your field had gotten three inexperienced workers, slowing your process as your father had to berate them over and over again. 

"Maybe not by day, but into twilight?" You suggested. Your accent was softer than your father's, due to your mother having served under a more refined family at one point. She had taught your siblings and you to speak with refinement, even if you got made fun of it at times. 

"Dat's cutteng it awfully close to w'en de fae roam, lass."  

"Well, maybe just me, den," you offered. 

"Lass, even if yooehr luck has been extrahrdinary in avoideng any encounters, I don't want to risk it. What if a dullahan comes a-rideng by?"  

"I'll cover my ears," you defended. 

"Y/N..." Your father shook his head. "I can't in good conscience let you do somet'eng like dat."   

You paused, biting your lip in thought. 

"What if I cut it down to a quarter, and leave it for de pooka?" 

"Well.... if you're out 'ere cutteng fhr de pooka..." Leaving behind a portion for the pooka was nothing new, but it was usually all harvested by then. It did instill fear in what the pooka would do if the grain wasn't all done. 

"It is a new moon- I blessed myself and our family, so I should have good luck." 

"Alright den lass. Since it's a new moon and you did as you should." He patted your shoulder. "Are you sure you want to do it by yooehrself?"

"It's our family plot, I'll be fine." 

He nodded, handing you another scythe. "Get a-going lass, we've only got an hour of daylight." 

You grinned, running to assume a line. 

The sun set faster than anticipated, yet you continued on, your father explaining the situation. They stacked five bundles of wheat at the end of the field. 

"If you see the pooka, tell him that's his portion, so he doesn't get cross," your mother fretted. "And make sure you find a four-leaf clover if you feel unsafe, or call for Soot." Soot was the family cat, pure black with amber eyes. 

"I will, mum." You pressed a kiss to her cheek, watching her wrap a shawl around you. 

As they walked back to the house, you began to cut again, wincing as your muscles screamed at you. 

Sunset began to occur, the rays of the sun winking out behind green hills, lights appearing in the village. 

You wiped sweat away, looking at the dirt road stretching into the forested hills.

A whinny caught your attention. 

A black horse stamped up to a rise across from you, the last traces of light illuminating a long and ragged mane. Smouldering yellow eyes caught yours. 

A small smile tugged the corner of your mouth, watching as it galloped down towards you. You didn't move, waiting. 

The horse galloped up to you, trotting around you, twisting and turning. It seemed to be showing up, tossing its mane.

"What's this? A human, out after night? How brave," a disembodied voice came from the horse.

"Shush," you warned. "You're going to attract attention with that form."

The voice came, slightly teasing. "Are you saying that I'm a distraction?"

"Very much," you agreed, smiling. "Hello, Sans."

The horse seemed to shiver, pressing its muzzle into your hand. It nickered softly, closing its eyes. "I love it when you say my name..."

You couldn't help but smile, stroking the long muzzle. "I'm more than happy to say hello, but I have to finish the harvest." You pointed over to the pile of grain for him. "That's your portion."

The pooka trotted over after sniffing at you, bending his head to inspect the grain. "It'll do, although I'd much rather have you."

"Tough luck," you teased. When you had first met, you had questioned his voice, not recognizing the accent- but it seemed fairies had perfect voices. You would never tell him that. He would love to hear how his voice sent little shivers down your spine, causing a faint blush, how it seem to infiltrate your thoughts at the worst times... at church, at the fair, or even in your dreams.

"Do you really have to finish all this?" Sans questioned, trotting back over, breaking you from your ruminations.

"Yes, I promised my father I would." "Speaking of your family, have you shared about the misfortunes of your great uncle? I can share it again if you like~"

"And hear it for de tenth time? No thanks. We don't like to dwell on de past." You began to swing your scythe again, minding its closeness to Sans. You had met Sans a few years ago, when your family had first moved out here after your great uncle had died. One day, you had decided to walk to the next town over, not expecting to get caught up in friends' gossip and news. It had been late when you had attempted to go home, clutching your shawl around your shoulders as you hesitated at an unfamiliar crossroad.

That's when he had appeared, but as a rabbit, inspecting you curiously. You had politely greeted him, asking, somewhat jokingly, if he knew the way to your house.

The next moment, his horse form had been in front of you, offering you a ride.

Normally, you would've politely refused. But something in the way he asked struck a chord within- and you had mounted his back, clutching onto his mane as he rode off into the hills.

And he had taken you home- after trampling through several gardens, jumping walls and knocking down fences. You had manged to stay on through sheer fear and will alone. You had never been more grateful to see your home. Sans had commended your riding skills, but had laughed as you fell over once you had dismounted, shaking like a leaf.

Sans had since then taken a shine to you, visiting at the dead of night to lure you into rides and gallops across the countryside. He shared stories of families who had lived there for years before you, or of the animals, or on rare occasions, stories of the fairies.

This was the earliest he had ever decided to find you, and you weren't sure why. You hadn't exactly stayed out past dark for the purpose of meeting him, but you couldn't deny that a tiny bit of you was happy to see him.

His muzzle pushed into your shoulder, nickering.

"You're moving your arm funny," he commented.

"I've been doing this all day," you confessed, stretching. "It'll be better in the morning."

"Does this mean you can't ride tonight?"

"Probably not at full gallop..."

"That wasn't a no." His voice filled with excitement. You grinned, mentally thanking the gods for the horse not actually speaking. That would've been weird.

You swing, grunting as the last of the wheat fell. You grimaced. "No, but I don't want my parents to see me gone, when dey know I'm out here."

"Nonsense, they're all asleep, trust me."

"Trust and the fae don't exactly go hand in hand."

Sans snorted in mock offense. "Hey now, watch it." 

I grinned, setting down my scythe. I walked over to a fence, using it as a mounting block. Sans obliging held still, waiting.  "Excellent," he tossed his head, once I had mounted onto his back. "Shall we?" "Take it slow," I warned. "I can take it slow~" "Sans."

"Yeah?" "Shut up or I'll smack you."

Sans laughed, whinnying as he walked onto the dirt road. He began to trot, letting you find your comfort level. Your back hurt, but not to the point to where you were doubled over in pain. You tapped his side with your foot, signaling he could go faster. He neighed, going into a gallop, springing a fence to go over a hill, stopping briefly as he surveyed his path. He began to run again, leading you into the forest. "Where are we going?" You called over the wind. "It's a surprise!" Sans galloped through deer paths, splashing through streams as he went deep into the forest.

You held your breath, gazing at the depths of the forest, black. No moon was here to illuminate the night, only the stars. Branches threatened to knock you off, your head ducked into Sans' neck as you waited for the path to clear.

Finally, Sans slowed, walking through thick bushes to a small glade. "We're here!"

You slid off, bouncing on the balls of your feet to ease the ache in your legs.

"Where are we?" The glade was simply enough, a circle surrounded by trees, moss and grass making a lush carpet, with small fairy rings of mushrooms dotting the greenery here and there.

"A secret place of mine." His ears twitched.

"Really? I'm flattered."

"You should be... few see a place of the fae."

"A place of the fae?" Confusion brushed over your face, but you were distracted quickly, gasping as lights began to twinkle underfoot. Fireflies rose from the grass, their abdomens twinkling as they floating above you. Males stuck to the ground, shining their own lights in tandem to other males.

"Whoa..... dis is amazing," you breathed. "Mhmm.." Sans flicked his tail. "Would you mind if I slipped into a more comfortable form?"

"Your true form?" You asked, sitting. "Yes.... one of them at least."

You nodded, not bothered by his last comment.

Sans' body glowed, his form dissolving into a more humanoid shape... before a skeleton appeared before you, eye sockets crinkled in amusement. This form no longer as alarmed you as it once had. He wore crisp trousers and a long coat, leaving his ribcage exposed as he sauntered over. If he had been anything but human, you would've been mortified. Strangely, with Sans, it didn't ever register the same as him being shirtless. "Like this place?" He asked,coming to sit beside you. You nodded, staring at the fireflies. One flew over to use you as a landing perch, its light softly flashing as it perched on your forehead. Its legs tickled your skin.

"Sans.. this place is amazing!"

"I'm glad you think so... I've been waiting for someone to share it with."

You fought a blush, waving it off. "I doubt I'd ever find this place again."

Sans chuckled. The two of you stayed quiet, looking at the fireflies.

"You know..." An arm snaked around your shoulders, pulling into his side, fingers tapping along your arm. "I couldddd bring you back here sometime." "Yeah?" Belatedly, you registered his touch, shuddering a bit under his arm, the chill of his bones reminding you of his status as fae.

"Yeah... for a small payment." Your eyes met his eye lights.

They were a slight gold color, white centers gazing at you. In this form, you could see every small chip in his bone, how his smile crooked up the corner of his mouth, how his constant smile set you on guard and yet completely disarmed you.

You leaned back in his hold, grinning. "I'm listening."

"You see, I can't do too much for free. I need a bit of encouragement, a little something to goad me into doing it. Get me?"

"What do you want?" An eyebrow on your face raised, skeptical and wary.

"A kiss."

"A.... kiss."

"Yep." Sans nodded enthusiastically. "Just one, for now~"

You pretended not hear the last bit, thinking about his offer.

Did you really want to go through with his offer? Sure, you were attracted to him... but a kiss seemed a lot to ask for when he never gave you a hint of his own feelings...

"Is kissing a fairy considered good luck?" You wondered aloud.

"Want to find out?" Sans offered, running his hand up along the back of your neck, angling your head towards him. He didn't press forward, analyzing your reaction. You stared up at him, meeting his gaze. His eye sockets seemed to droop, half lidded. Eye lights fuzzed to mere blotches of golden light, mimicking the fireflies. "Yeah," you whispered, leaning in. Your lips met his teeth, his other hand coming to run through your hair, careful not to tangle your hair between his fingers, his other hand keep your lips firmly planted on his teeth. Behind closed eyelids, you saw spots of golden light as fireflies began to float among the two of you.

You began to understand what magical meant.

He pulled back, his hands moving to cup your face.

You blinked, dazed as you tried to regather yourself.

I just kissed- I just kissed a fairy. I JUST KISSED A FAIRY!!!

Sans chuckled, pulling you into his arms, pressing a skeleton kiss to your cheek.

"Well? Do you feel lucky?"

You snapped from your internal meltdown, finding yourself wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"... Lucky enough for another kiss?"

Sans' eyelights flashed, his grin widening. "Better, I can give you a ride-"

The smack that occurred from your slap was probably heard from the next town over, the pooka laughing as he fell onto the grass, a red hand print on his cheek.

"I warned you," you grouched, folding your arms. You tried to rid the blush that had taken over your face, even making your ears hot.

"Yes, yes you did..." He sat back up, dusting himself off. "But in all seriousness, it's midnight... and you might want to get some sleep before the day comes." He stood, holding out his hand to you. You took it, rolling your eyes as he pulled up into his arms again.

"Shall we?" He asked, grinning. "When will I see you again?" You blurted out, not wanting to still seem upset with him. You truly weren't, except a tad mortified.

Sans' expression softened. "As soon as I can, dear." He brought one of your hands up to his face, kissing it. "I'll definitely take you here again.. next new moon?"

A smile took over your features. "I'd love that," you said shyly.

"Good, because I doubt I could get all the fireflies here again on short notice."

"Again? Wait.... did you plan dis?" You began to laugh, as Sans actually blushed.

"Come now, a fairy's got to keep his secrets." His voice was full of mischief, yet slightly defensive.

"Aw, I think it's sweet." Your hand clasped the side of his skull. You couldn't help but beam at him.

He softened, a skeletal hand coming to cover yours.

"I'll walk you home?" He asked.

"Walk?"

"I believe the humans consider that more endearing that you riding a black horse into the village."

"Usually," you agreed. The two of you began to walk, his hand entwined with yours.

As the forest thinned and parted, the stars blazed from their heights, lighting the world in front of you. You could see storm clouds in the distance against the stars, your elders' predictions correct.

A quiet whistle broke out from Sans. He stared at you with blurred eye lights, smile soft.

"You look beautiful under the stars..."

You blushed, hiding your face for a moment with your free hand.

"I'm so glad I get to see you at night, under the stars."

"Me too," you admitted. His hand yanked you towards him, his teeth pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

"And you're even prettier when you're all flustered," he teased, pulling away to let you recover.

"Shut up," you grumbled as he laughed, turning onto the dirt road home. ---------------------------------------------------------------

Quick Info Dump!!

A Pooka is a mischievous spirit from Irish folklore. It is often portrayed as taking the form of an animal, such as a rabbit or a horse, and is known for playing tricks on humans. In some stories, the Pooka is said to be a benign but mischievous presence, while in others it is portrayed as more malevolent, with the ability to bring harm to those who cross its path. The Pooka is also associated with the Otherworld, a realm of magic and mystery in Irish mythology. An important thing to always remember about a Pooka is that they have the power of human speech and when inclined make great sport of those they talk to as they like to embellish the truth. In Ireland, the Púca seems to be the most feared Faerie possibly because it appears only at night and enjoys creating havoc and mischief. We feel this is doing the Pooka an injustice because there are no recorded incidences of a Pooka actually causing a human bodily harm.

Blessing yourself under a new moon is an actual sign of good luck from Irish folklore! More omens include: if you find a horseshoe, spit on it and throw it over your head and you will have good luck; if you pick a flower on May Eve it is said that the fairies will come and take you away with them; and if you drop a fork you will have company.

Say hi to me at my AO3! -writefromtheheartandsoul

Have a lovely day/night!

#sans x reader #irish folklore #I had a blast writing this #fluff #kisses #skeleton kiss #female reader #x reader #au sans #sansxreader #undertale au #shapeshifter sans #shapeshifter #pooka #púca #irish #celtic mythology #au sans x reader #so much fluff

[yeyinde]

WICKER PYRE | Dragon!Price x Reader

All things considered, you should have expected it. You know better than to make deals with dragons.

WARNINGS: 18+ | light smut—no descriptions of anatomy used for the reader; possessive undertones; dragon trickery; blink and you'll miss it Celtic Dragon mythology and folklore WORD COUNT: 1,5K NOTES: They tempted me with hellfire and pretty imagery, so. Here we are.

It smells of biochar, pyrolysis. The incendiary heat sparks to life around you; a thick, impenetrable wall of stifling warmth, and you blink through the haze, the heat mirage, that swims in front of your eyes, trying to clear the clouds from your vision. 

It's hot. 

Hellfire. Inferno. Absolute. 

Paradoxically, it edges into dry heat—wildfires: burning forests, charred logs, crumbling charcoal, ashes—but your skin is drenched in sweat; sticky, tacky. Hot springs. Lavascape. 

You're drowning in Phlegethon, hands clawing at molten skin to stay afloat. 

"Shush, shush—"

It's a wheezing rasp. A rumble that rebounds against the carverous, limestone walls and echoes in your ears. The vibrations of it rattle through your chest and dislodge the panic from between your ribs. 

"Easy, now."

Despite the smoked-cured softness of the voice above you, around you, in you, it booms through your marrow; the sudden shift of the plates. A tectonic shockwave that bludgeons into you. 

"Can't—" you start, words a desperate, aching whine. "Can't—John—it's so hot—!"

His answer is a grunt; a rolling, monstrous sound that shivers across your skin. It's easy, with his front pressed against your back, his words hissed into your crown, to forget that he isn't a man. That his body is made of the valleys: carved from chiselled andesite, graphite, and limestone. Coursing through his veins is ichor and brimstone, fed from the burning pyre inside his chest that blooms tuffs of smoke, and reeks of ash. 

He quiets you with another low pur, and feeds the tips of his steel claws into your flesh, anchoring you tight to his body.

And then you hear the fire-painted voice speak from between his nicotine fangs: "I know." 

And you suppose he would. 

Molten blood. Igneous skin. His voice is Pyroclastic: tephra falling from his heaving chest. 

With the exception of his pointed, angular claws, his hands almost look human. Almost. 

But when they grip your hips tight, the skin of his palms feels too thick. Too velveteen. Like the soft underbelly of a reptile.

Those claws hold you steady as he slides the full, burning length of himself into you. The blunt press of his cock splitting you apart, and the rasp of his knuckles, rough with blackened osteoderms protruding from his thick skin, makes you shiver. It feels like sandpaper when it prickles over your flesh. 

You try to gasp but the oxygen in the room is swallowed by the flames. Try to move but his weight on your body is a plutonic ash bed. A prison. 

Jewels and gems nip at your skin when you ramble to find purchase on the treasure trove of his nest, to find something to hold onto while your body is slowly consumed by the unrelenting heat of him stretching you into a shape you do not recognise. 

"Tryna run?" He mocks. "Thought you could handle it, mm? Wasn't that our deal? Do you know what happens to little humans who try to break their promises?"

You want to bite back something scathing, something dripping in venom and cruelty, but the words are ground into peat salt when he presses the full weight of himself onto you, using the momentum to snap his hips harder, faster, than he was before. 

(You swear, swear, you feel the white-hot tip of him digging harshly into your sternum.)

But he's merciful—to a degree—and his hand lifts, drops in front of your nose, claws gleaming in the flames that surround his den, his prison, his home. 

You take in the sight of his heat-scorched skin—a chromosphere of living magma: blistering red dusted with fine ash. It's pretty. Stunning. You're mesmerised by the ripples of fire running in thick rivulets beneath his carbonised pelt, and you know, then, why he's so sought after. Respected. Feared. 

(Who would try and run afoul around a man, a being, a beast, who has hellfire burning in his veins?)

The brief respite splinters when he shifts forward, pushing himself as deep into your body as he can possibly go, and the world around you lists sharply on its axis when he pulses, branding you from the inside out, turning your body into a magma chamber that only fits him—

You can't breathe—haven't been able to since you rocked up to the smouldering cavern on the side of a mountain, and demanded he make a deal with you. It's hard to acclimate to the carbon-rich air that thrums around you like a thick curtain of plasma, threatening to consume you whole. 

"Easy, now, pretty thing," he purrs again and the deep rumble that spills from his expansive chest seems to glue to each bone in your body, reverberating deep within your liquifying marrow.

His elbow falls, chin presses into your crown. He breathes you in, and the world around you shudders, and ripples like the glimmering sea of a heat haze. An optical illusion. A mirage. But one that flexes around you like water; moulding to your body, and filling in all the crevasses and canyons until the plasmic air clings to your skin. 

Smoke billows with his exhale. You scent charred tobacco leaves, brimstone, crushed granite, and burning rock—sharp and acrid. The smell sticks to the back of your throat and colours your lungs in a fine layer of rock dust.

The world around you shakes when he growls into your crown, nose pressed tight to your sweat-slicked skin. 

It feels like an earthquake rattling inside of you, shaking loose the paper-thin threads of sanity that keep you still beneath his bulk.

"Ah, John—"

His forearm slides closer to your gasping mouth, and you scent guncotton on his skin. Thick. Heady. It makes your head swim, and a fever bloom in your veins. 

"There," he huffs into your hair, and the plume of his voice heats the world around you by several degrees. "Now you have something to hold on to, love." 

His voice is pinched with something that sounds mockingly cruel, mordant, but there's a softness in the way he holds you close; a tenderness that biles the roughness of his hands, the sharp drag of his claws against your flesh. 

"Now," he continues, hand tightening on your skin hard enough to bruise your tremulous bones. "Be good, and let me fuck you." 

With that, he snaps forward until he's once buried to the hilt. Fangs prickle across your shoulder blade when he lowers his maw to your skin. Each heavy exhale through his nose leaves a scorching mark over your flesh until it's blistered and raw. 

He sets a brutal pace, and each time he sinks in deep, you feel something inside of you splinter, break. It's unlike anything, anything, you'd ever felt before—a liquid pleasure and pain that melts together into burning heat. It feels like euphoria and punishment in the same breath: an equilibrium of salvation and condemnation.   

Each growl that leaves his heaving chest shakes the cobwebs from between your ribs, and fills them with ash and smoke. It seeps into your bloodstream, poisoning you with each harsh stroke. 

(You forgot that he was poisonous—)

But it's too late. 

Lost in the delirious cloud of heat, ozone, and John, all you can do is wrap your tiny hands around the thick of his forearm, nails barely leaving a mark on his thick pelt, and cling to him as he takes what you offered with greedy claws, and gluttonous eyes, pounding you into his bed of furs, and stolen gems and gold. Treasure toppled to the ceiling of the cavern they warned you to stay away from. The precious clutch of a monster who protects his wares with fire and madness. Raining wrath and fury, white-hot rage and red-hot desperation, down on anyone who dares to get close. 

It's too much, too much, but you knew what you were getting into when you tried to barter with him.

("Let's make a deal—"

And he'd said, "you must be desperate. Don't you know what I am—"

His noctilucent eyes burned in the dark. 

Mocking. Cruel. Hungry.)

All you can do now is hope, somehow, that you make out in a single piece. That all your vibrating atoms stay whole; intact. That you don't lose yourself inside the madness of heat, and burning fire. 

That you'll make it out, alive.

—if, of course, he lets you go—

But those hopes are dashed when his molten tongue flickers out, laving a burning path across your neck. 

"You'll look so good in all my gold," he snarls, a thundershock right into your core. 

And then he sinks his fangs into your neck. 

You should have known from the start when he looked at you with hunger, rapacious greed in his keen, sharp eyes that you were not leaving his den again. 

(The most precious piece in his hoard.)

Your body is a wicker pyre made to be burned. From the charred ashes, something new will rise. A phoenix trapped in the paws of a beast who likes pretty, shiny things, and will never let go. 

(And really, what else did you expect when you decided to tempt a dragon?)

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #i hate tagging stuff #ughhhhhh #dragon!Price #COD Monster AU #john price #captain john price #captain price

[ofsappho]

Magindara

When invaders threaten your home, life, and people, you, a sirena, strike a desperate bargain with Dream of the Endless to save them all.

Dream of the Endless x mermaid!reader, one shot (for now)

Tags: war, gore, torture, death/murder, mentions of SA, slavery, things that generally come with colonialism

Inspired by the episode “Jibaro” from the Netflix show Love Death + Robots. This one shot draws heavily from Filipino mythology, culture, and history. I ENCOURAGE and INVITE people who don’t come from a Filipino background to read this story and enjoy! There is so much beauty to be had in cultures of color, for everyone. Just as I have read many stories steeped in Greek, Celtic, Norse, medieval England, etc cultures, without coming from those backgrounds, I humbly ask you do the same and entertain this little fic. Thank you. I may write a follow up if there’s interest. Glossary at the end.

-

From the banks of your river, you can hear the horses.

Metal plate clangs and screeches against itself, swords jostle in their sheaths, and shields bump where they rest on armored backs so loud that you want to scratch your sensitive ears out, just to make the sounds stop.

Your ates and kuyas hide deep below in the caverns known only to your kind. When you close your black eyes, you feel them tugging at the edges of your mind like little lights in the deep darkness of the sea. They believe that will be enough to save them.

Only you have braved the surface, because only you know what these strange men upon their strange beasts want.

They want the gold in the dark, fertile earth. You don’t understand why - it’s just shiny metal. Only the dwarves under the hills covet it. But the men who ravage your lands and your kin like wildfires, grasping everything and destroying it in the same breath, care very much. They want the never-dying orchids that line the banks and the brilliant emerald green vitality bursting from every leaf and vine that could keep a mortal alive for a thousand years. They want to feed their glory on your broken bodies. They want to take the people you protect for slaves, the women shamed and disgraced and the men subservient and humiliated.

You’ve seen it for yourself.

You’ve tasted the water of streams running red with blood, the iron like acid on your blue tongue.

You’ve swam farther and seen enough to make you hate. Families torn apart, children with their hair cut off and given names in an ugly language, forbidden to speak their own - the same language you speak. Fathers dragged onto large ships, larger than a butandíng, never to return. Altars burned. The men put your red sisters who live in the balete trees, their hair tangled with vines and lovely, fierce, flickering yellow eyes, to the flame. You witnessed their dying howls and curses for vengeance.

Some of the white-haired annani have already begun to clip their pointed ears, tear the crowns of flowers from their hair, and even cut out their tongues so as to lock away the magic these men desire, never to be spoken again. “There is no place for us,” Those tall, graceful elves told you. “We will be gone in a generation, by sword or by starvation.”

They’re coming.

The jungle is quiet as it has never been in a thousand years.

You could no more hide your tail, glittering blue and turquoise, with long, sweeping fins like ferns, than you could hide the long sweep of hair that reaches your waist, or the ink-black lines embedded on your skin, painting your face, your neck, and your arms with the story of your people and your home.

The calls that echoed from the depths of the river have stopped. It seems that your family has accepted that you won’t come back.

You look at your webbed hands, test your claws against your flesh. What is one magindara to a hundred conquistadors?

When the men spear you, they won’t just be slaughtering a mermaid. They’ll be killing the stories you keep. Centuries of stories. Countless names. Each pearl around your neck is a tribe, full of the old songs of grandmothers and the new rhymes of babies. You’re draped in thousands of shimmering strands of pearls.

You may not be the cleverest, or the most beautiful, or the one with the sweetest voice…

But you can be the bravest.

“Lord Morpheus,” You intone, frowning as the syllables ripple wrong and harsh from your throat.

You’ve never spoken to any of the gods beyond your islands before. “Dream of the Endless.” All you can do is hope and pray this one listens and comes to you in time. Will they be kind? Will it be merciful? Will he, or she, save your home?

Perhaps such a god does not exist at all, and you are praying to wind and sunlight, and soon your guts will color the cerulean water purple and black. The strange men will defile your body, no doubt. A week ago, you crawled from your river to cut down the corpse of a long-gone ate from a stake, jagged holes ripped into the tail of her corpse that made you vomit and her dead eyes full of pain.

Once you’d laid her to rest in the water, she dissolved into nothing. “Prince of Stories,” You sing. That is what faces everything you’ve ever loved if you fail.

“I beg you, save us. Save our stories, our dreams. We call for your aid.”

The men bark at each other. Any moment now, they’ll see you, your hands raised and your face tipped towards the heavens, inky flowers blooming on your forehead and cheeks and crocodile teeth tattooed on the sharp line of your jaw.

A new quiet falls over the world. Like nighttime, when things are resting, not dead.

You have called, and I answer.

A being stands on the banks of your river in the shape of a man. His hair is blacker than Bakunawa’s maw and his eyes are filled with gold and silver stars brighter than any you’ve seen before. His pale skin carries no markings.

He is as grotesquely, menacingly beautiful as the razor’s edge of shark teeth, as a great python curling in a tree, as an eagle with its claws stuck in the beating, bleeding heart of a monkey.

You feel the weight of his gaze on your brow heavier and hotter than the sun on the longest day of summer, burning out the truth in your heart. “I would bargain with you, Dream Lord. For my people, and my land, and my home, which I love more than my own life.”

What would you have me do? When Lord Morpheus speaks, his voice pours through your mind ringing like the purest, clearest freshwater.

The many jewels around your throat, pearls, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, plates of beaten gold, click as you swallow nervously.

The dream king stands so tall that he could touch the sky if he reached up. And he doesn’t look away or blink. You can’t read the inhuman planes of his face whatsoever, you can’t find any familiar sign in his long limbs that might bring comfort. For all you know, you’ve spelled your doom.

“Keep them alive. Keep our names and spirits alive. Bring our stories into your kingdom so that we won’t be forgotten. That is what the men want. They want to raze us to the ground and rebuild the world in their image but we will not go.” You pause. “We will never, ever go,” You growl, fierce and deadly, around a mouth full of fangs. In your words you pour the horrors you’ve seen, combined with the beauty surrounding the two of you.

The hot, muggy air, the warm rain, the scent of night-blooming jasmines. Orange mangoes, bursting with sweetness, bamboo sticks clacking as joyful youths dance in and out of them, laughing gaily. Rolling drums. Bright feathers tucked into black hair. A toddling child reaching out to her grandmother with a chubby-cheeked smile, pressing the back of the withered, ancient hand against her little forehead. Love, so much love.

I have not walked these lands before.

You found traces of Lord Morpheus scribbled in the margins of paper and in the back alleys of lost dreams. Your last and only hope.

When you went to Diyan Masalanta, she wept and showed how the soldiers bound her hands. When you cried out to her brother, Apolaki, the sun god called back and said the invaders took his shield.

Bathala is gone. Mayari is gone. Lakapati is dead. The conquistadors stripped her naked, cut her ribs from her chest, and planted her bones in the fields they set their slaves, your people, to work.

“They say you are Endless. You preside over all beings in all places. Please, I beg you, preside over us. Are we not worthy of your favor? Do we not deserve to live in your dreams and nightmares?”

If Lord Morpheus refuses you, you’ll cut your throat before you let your enemies have you.

He tilts his head like he can hear your thoughts. One shining hand stretches out, almost as if to touch your face. You sing prettily, little siren. You draw back with a start. Why is there hunger in his voice? A hollow, all-consuming, terrifying hunger?

You know what it feels like to starve when the fish are scarce. This is leagues away, a typhoon to your trickle of rain. Shadows bloom under his hollowed cheeks. His pupils eclipse his brilliant aquamarine irises.

He’s-

He’s aching.

Morpheus flashes his bone-white teeth as he bends at the waist to examine you further. His gaze traces your tattoos, your large, frightened eyes, and your body beneath the necklaces and bracelets.

As scared as you are, as convinced that you’ll bleed the instant his fingers brush your blue-streaked skin, your numb lips move.

“I vow to you now, Lord Morpheus, before every god and being I know, that should you render us this aid, I will give you anything within my power to grant that you wish.”

Anything?

“Name it, my lord, and it shall be yours.” With that, your eyes flutter shut as you await his judgment.

You can’t hide from him, even in your mind. You don’t see him, but you feel a straining pressure build where he prods at you, pushing on the fragile edges of your being like he’s cracking a duck egg. He claws and scrapes until-

I will aid your people.

You open for him like a sampaguita flower. Dream of the Endless picks through your soul like he’s picking blossoms, you feel how much he wants with every brush, every long moment where he sticks his fingers in and relishes the feel of you. Nothing has ever touched you like this before.

He’s on his knees on the riverbank, the dark soil pressing into his clothes. His hands clench the rocky edge of the bank. Your wet hair sticks to your back as you rise up, close enough that you can count his night-black eyelashes. There’s a dizzying amount of them.

“Thank you. Thank you. Salamat-po. And your price, majesty?”

You’ll do whatever he wants. Does his thirst demand souls? You’ll harvest them by the dozen. You can picture Lord Morpheus unhinging his jaw, swallowing those soldiers whole. Their swords wouldn’t even scrape him going down. Riches? You have no use for them if you’re dead. He can take every speck of wealth to be had.

You. I want you.

Your sisters and brothers wail. They sense the foreign king tearing at the flesh binding you together. They feel him taking a knife to your indigo heart and cutting it loose from your body. Your head tilts back as you gasp for breath and see him hold the organ aloft. Dark blood trails in rivulets down his wrists.

“I-“

There are no creatures like you in my realm. So I shall have you, in every way that I wish, and you’ll obey. Those are my terms.

Your tail lashes in the water as if you fight hard enough, you can swim away. The cavity pulses with searing, unholy pain. You’ve made a mistake. You’ve summoned- He is an aswang, a devil, a soul-eater, you’ll never see your home again, you’ll never touch the water you’ve known since birth.

Lord Morpheus brings your heart to his mouth. His lips are beautifully-formed. You can’t find it in yourself to hate such a wondrous creature. Even your amethyst ichor looks more beguiling when he’s covered in it.

It was never a question. “Yes, my lord. I accept these terms.”

His white teeth stain purple when he sinks them into your heart.

-

Glossary:

Ate (ah-tey) - sister

Kuya (koo-yah) - brother

Butandíng - whale shark

Balete tree - very cool large tree native to Southeast Asia

Annani - elves from the stories of the Ibanag people, who look like humans with pointed ears. They are kind guardians of the forest and often share healing knowledge with humans if treated with respect.

Magindara - mermaids from the folklore of the Bicolano people. Beautiful half human, half fish guardians of rivers/streams/lakes/the oceans, who sing to lure fisherman and warriors to their death but leave children unharmed.

Bakunawa - a great mythic serpent and god/goddess of darkness. Various myths place Bakunawa responsible for eclipses.

Diyan Masalanta - Tagalog goddess of love, war, childbirth

Apolaki - Tagalog god of the sun and war, patron saint of warriors, soldiers, modern day patron saint of Filipino traditional martial arts (Kali/eskrima/arnis) practitioners

Bathala - the Tagalog supreme creator god

Mayari - the Tagalog goddess of the moon, war, revolution, and justice. She fought her brother Apolaki for dominion over the heavens.

Lakapati - the Tagalog goddess of fertility, food, bounty, balance, and prosperity. She represents both male and female and has both male and female genitalia. Patron saint of queer/trans people.

Sampaguita - the Filipino name for sambac jasmine, the national flower of the Philippines

Salamat-po (sah-lah-maht poh) - thank you (utmost respect) in Tagalog

Aswang - overall name for the malicious/demonic/monstrous beings in Filipino folklore. Vampires, zombies, ghouls, organ eaters, cannibals.

I hope you guys liked this! Let me know if you have any questions or want to read more from this.

#the sandman #magindara #sandman #the sandman comics #sandman comics #the sandman tv show #sandman tv show #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x you #Dream of the endless #lord morpheus #lord morpheus x reader #lord morpheus x you #Morpheus #morpheus x you #morpheus x reader

[deng-tsing-shiu]

Lawrence(?) X Reader

《Heart》

Synopsis: You assist in the death of “lich” Lawrence.

(One small question, will Gato make a Lawrence-related DLC for TPOF?)

Word Count:4.9k

It's my first time writing a homoerotic novel in English, and my first time posting my work on a non-Chinese platform.I wrote it on 14 February,but...Anyway，

I hope you will enjoy my Chinglish writing(?).

Background information:

In TPOF, MC1 from “You made a friend” ending is tormented by nightmares and voices after returning to modern society. MC1 contacts the Exorcism Guild, and the human world discovers the existence of this monster. During the investigation, they discover a related case: MC2 (from BTD2), who had contact with him 26 years ago(which is the time interval from BTD2 to TPOF.), left behind a strange written legacy. Out of sympathy for Lawrence, MC2 hoped that future generations could end the wandering behavior of the monster on the River - but now no one knows its real name:Lawrence Oleander.

MC1 had seen the Lawrence’s miserable condition and understood that eternal life is a curse, not a blessing. MC1 regards it as a “friend” who saved their life, but also fears becoming a monster like it. MC1 talks to it as much as possible, trying to awaken its human emotions and feelings. MC1 discovers some of its scattered past and its numerous attempts to die, but it couldn’t.

With the help of the Exorcism Guild, MC1 can escape Lawrence's control and die.

Lawrence’s existence is a potentially valuable research topic for the Exorcism Guild. How do humans become immortal monsters, and how can the curse of immortality be ended? The Exorcism Guild has set up a special team and established a base near its hiding place. Because they don’t know its original name, for convenience in future research, they refer to it as “Cernunnos,” which is derived from the mythological deity of ancient Celtic mythology in ancient Rome. It means “the horned one” and is in charge of hunting, fertility, animals, plants, wilderness, and also has the power to rule the underworld. Experts in various fields of human research, such as dream interpretation, unknown creatures, and black magic, gathered here for years of research. They came to a unanimous conclusion: Cernunnos must become human before it can be killed.

Opinions on how to resurrect it vary. The reason for being human is because it has a beginning and an end, life and death: some say that it only needs to regain its original name to awaken its memory, emotions, and human qualities so that it will recall its “beginning.” During the period when it regains its human form, it can be “ended” again. However, after decades of research, no one knows its real name.

Finally, people turned to another way. This sentence comes from "The Peony Pavilion", an ancient oriental book that records the secret ceremony of how to "resurrect" nonexistent people:

Emotions rise without a known start

Love once begun will never end

It makes people die or alive

“情不知所起，一往而深。生者可以死，死可以生。生而不可与死，死而不可复生者，皆非情之至。”

Therefore, the solution to resurrecting Cernunnos is also very simple and old-fashioned: it only needs to regain human “emotions”, such as love, angry ,fear and so on.But how can it obtain “emotions?” MC1, one of the few people who could communicate with Cernunnos, had already passed away, and as for MC2, that had been half a century ago.

“Cernunnos” learned about the human’s efforts to kill it through the Exorcism Guild members’ dreams, and began to observe the human’s behavior, watching the busy people working hard for it, its loneliness briefly disappearing.

It reached a tacit understanding with the Exorcism Guild. So, who will be the experimental subject? Even if they know Cernunnos’ hiding place, the corrupting effect is so terrible, and it’s so difficult to be close to it from a physical distance that the investigation has stopped.

Until Y/N appeared - that’s you. You were born with elements that can resist corruption. That means even if you come in contact with it, it won’t affect you. And your identity has countless connections with MC1 and MC2: historically, MC2 once adopted a child and used “Oleander” as the surname of the family. The child later developed his own family, and the descendants of this family later related to the descendants of MC1 through marriage. Therefore, you have information about the two families at the same time. It is most appropriate for you to come forward and let Cernunnos gain “emotions.”

Let the story begins.

You have always been lonely until you join the Exorcism Guild. This can relieve your loneliness when you are busy.

"Miss Oleander, it's up to you next!"The exorcist guild gives you an important task. Oleander is your family name. To be honest, after you know about the task, you really don't want to accept it. But the guild's promotion is close, you have to take, your competitors wish you immediately refuse. Of course, if you successfully complete this legacy of history, your future will be bright.

You didn't mind the task at first. You planned to loaf on the job, and finally told your superiors that you had done your best. You casually write a project plan. It’s very simple: you plan to treat him as your boyfriend.

It can’t be but who cares. This study lasted nearly half a century and no result. You are not an exorcism genius and you don't think you can complete the task.

Unluckily, Cernunnos notices your presence and “happy” to assist you in your task if you can really make it die. Cernunnos is so active that you can only bite the bullet and continue working. You don't want to know the consequences of offending him.

You come to the swamp and get up close and personal with His skeleton, and It was the first time for you to observe the “lich” in the real world: His skeleton changes and changes, but what remains the same is the skull of the broken antlers - the bone cavity of the head overflows with an ethereal blue flame, the charred heart hangs in its dried chest cavity, and its heart also emits an ethereal blue light - even after half a century, the heart has not decayed?

Cernunnos will assist you in your "mission", which is what It wants: death. According to your program, it will first have to learn to be a “human being". You put your hand on the top of its forehead, and you make sure that even this level of contact does not cause damage to your flesh. Someone in the guild has experimented with Cernunnos, and its corruption will not only work on living beings, but its ability is a magnetic field-like presence that interferes with the operation of the electric field, and the mechanical body cannot function properly around it.

You know a lot about it from previous research materials. The heart of the body is where the humanity exists, MC1 company to restore him a lot of emotion as a "friend" , his heart began to beat again.This kind of “creature” will still live without a physical heart, but it will make it completely lose the humanity, which makes it more difficult for you to communicate with it. The beast still feels lonely, indicating that he still has a little human nature and his heart is still functioning. You sympathize and promise him:

"I will help you obtain the heart of humanity."

You had no systematic plan and went completely on a whim. Surprisingly, this old monster was so cooperative. However, Its corrupting effect was so severe that not an inch of grass grew where it passed. You applied to the guild for amagic tool that could suppress the corruption.The guild threw an uninjected-energy junk to you. You were not discouraged, you inscribed on it the talisman that best matched Cernunnos’s physique and enchanted the spell, which was your first gift to him.

It is impossible to keep dating in the deserted forest that is not normal. You applied to the guild for the tool of illusionary disguise. It’s so perfect that his appearance looks no different from ordinary humans while using it. Interestingly, this device does not use magic. It is entirely a product of technology instead. The principle of this device is to adjust the shape through physical light and shadow, and has a similar function of reading the heart, and can generate the corresponding expression on the face according to the frequency of heart contraction and beating.

This is a visual trick, this technology is mainly developed by the guild, and today this technology is still in the internal testing stage. His decay has been partially suppressed with magic spells and this high-tech product can function now.

He has no special ideas, his appearance scheme is automatically generated by the AI: an ordinary young man with blond hair and blue eyes. the AI even gave him a random pair of tattoo:He stared at his arm band tattoo and his expression looked really strange. The expression is generated by the AI according to the condition of his heart, which greatly facilitates you to read his emotions, although he is mostly expressionless.

How can you go on a date without the money? You have applied for another project fund from the Guild and you are going to use this mission fund for a vacation. You brought him to the human community and he is silent most of the time. It has been too long since he has been in this place. The human world has changed over the years, urbanization is highly developed, artificial light all over the streets, in human cities can rarely see pure darkness, he felt uncomfortable, and even a "disgust" emotion.

You take his hand, and it is the first time his skeletal body touches the flesh of a living human being. Although his perceptual nerves are out of order, he can still "feel" the pulsation of your veins under the skin perceiving from the depths of his soul. There is a strange vitality that surges in you and he is curious to scratch the surface of your body to see how the roots and stems of the human body work. He "asks" you politely with his hoarse vocal cords: whether he can do that or not. MC1 taught him that human courtesy.

You agreed.It’s able to cure your skin with today's technology - as long as He avoids your heart area.

His bones have worn down to a point where they are not sharp enough. He’d rather to cut through your skin with his fingertips themselves but he couldn’t. You give him the knife and his cold skeletal hand touches the back of your head and he begins- seemingly testing the knife? As he turns to slice open your front chest and abdomen and you feel his hand shaking slightly as he holds the tip of the knife.

Just slashing away, He did not act further - because He was confused, He cocked His head in confusion, He did not know how to deal with these extra feelings inside. You find as if his heart has sprouted flesh and become slightly bulging.Is it your illusion? Are you contemplating how you are going to finish your report on "Cernunnos".Maybe he likes SM? Or is it an indication of a suspected compulsive skin peeling disorder?

You have a fondness for growing plants. You have various varieties of oleander growing in your home. The flowers are difficult to care for, but you take great care of them. You also planted some laurel, which is the raw material for making exorcism vessels, and you always use it. He observed you pruning the plants. You sensed his gaze and handed him the gardening shears, cultivating a hobby is also some kind of "love". He trimmed the leaves just as you did, and he was as skilled as if He had done it a thousand times before.

You took care of him like a flower. He is used to being around you.

You tell him that the flowers you planted are called "Oleander", which is also your last name, and that the plant He is pruning is called "Laurus". You think of one of the Guild's programs which has already abolished: find his true human name. Even plants have names, and becoming human should have a human "name" too.He must give himself a name - the original name "Cernunnos" that is too long to spell.Also you feel that he is not like a deity, "Cernunnos"doesn't fit him .

According to human marriage customs, the woman can choose to take her husband's surname when the man and woman get married.

What about the name? He gazed longingly at the plant and said it with a low voice:

"Laurus... I like it."

You heard it as "Lawrence," which is a very common name for men. There's even a river called the Saint Lawrence River.

He now has his own name: Lawrence Oleander, When you call out his new full name, he looks incredulous.It is the first time for you to see his volatile emotion and you can even see his azure pupils tremble slightly with the blue flames(or water?) spilling out of his eyes. He opened his mouth, and finally said nothing.

He likes to hear you call him by his name. He began to feel what it was like to be alive as a "human". He lived in the silence of the swamp for a long time, and when he was bored he would look up at the unreachable starry sky above him. You took him to a hill in the countryside, and you climbed to the top and looked out with him at the city lights. You think this is a very romantic date. The human city is shrouded in fog so the stars are invisible at night, but the lights of all the houses at nightfall are the starry sky of the city.

The city is bright, warm and lively, which was completely different from the dark, cold and silent swamp.This vitality does not suit him which can’t make him calmly settle down,either. The mountaintop is just you and him, and he likes the atmosphere.He somehow believes that you can bring him the ultimate death.

But since he regained his name, there has been no progress on your mission. After the Guild project team read your progress report, they shook their heads and they made the following "constructive" comment.

"Didn't you say you wanted him to be your boyfriend? Why didn’t you even have any intimate acts?"

Are they crazy? Make love with a skeletal monster ......?

"At least, you should kiss and hug. How else are you going to develop a relationship?" Someone laughed. They just want to see the "Beauty and the Beast" . You grit your teeth.You have to be patient because these assholes will give you a score for your assignment. You are a candidate for the future president. After you get that position, you will liquidate them one by one afterwards.

You return home and indignantly turn on the TV to relax. But the TV signal in your home is manipulated by those jerks. No matter which station you tune, it's all porn. You turn off the remote control, and the TV will automatically turn on again. You can imagine the mocking looks on their faces. You unplug the power.

You're so angry that your face turns red and you realize after the fact that you've been screwed by a competitor and that this damn mission shouldn't even exist. He looks at you in confusion. He's seen images on television of people hugging each other and then people pressing their mouths and lips together, an act that indicates intimacy. He has also seen countless scenes of human dreams, people seem to enjoy this. It's called "kissing", right?

You'll prove them wrong, you'll be able to do it-

You're in a fit of rage, and you ask him for a kiss. He's “surprised” for a moment; after all, he's in a decaying form. You don't care whether he agrees or not, you press your lips between his upper and lower jawbone with a flourish. His hyoid bone protrudes from between his jawbone and his throat, tentatively probing into your mouth, and you unexpectedly find that there should still be a few pieces of flesh hanging from his hyoid bone, as you feel the texture of the flesh.

A demented look comes into your eyes as you unclothe yourself. Your skin is pressing against his hard bones that are sinking into your soft flesh which makes him warm and comfortable.

He has no human lust for desire is based on flesh, generated by the nervous system and endocrine system together.He kind of laments his long-rotted, frame-only form again. But he likes doing this with you which means getting closer to you that way.

Is there anything crazier than that? You feel a pang of revulsion. But you can't show it in front of him. Maybe it is wrong to join the Exorcism Guild. No one can understand you.

"I understand ...... your loneliness." He knew your dreams.

You broke down and wiped your eyes. Your exorcism ability was nothing special.It only works on yourself and you cannot purify others. You've always wanted to be recognized in the Exorcism Guild, you've worked hard, you've studied a lot of magic formations, and even though you've worked hard, you can't match the innate "superpowers" of the other members. It’s impossible for you to be the leader of the guild.They promised the moon to you.Like the carrot dangling in front of the donkey, you will never be able to eat it in your life. You worked hard but you are still at the edge of relationships.

You can't use magic, and the guild won't entrust you with serious exorcism missions until you join the "Cernunnos" project team.They are right: you are the best human to get close to Cernunnos.

Damn the quest, damn the guild - and damn the world. You lost your calm in front of Cernunnos (and now his name is Lawrence).

His skeletal hand touches your cheek as he watches you. Looking at your tearful expression, his heart inexplicably feels a sadness that has not been felt for a long time.

"Do you want to see ...... that river?" He asked. This is the way he can think of to comfort you, the river can make people feel calm.

His habits have been mapped out by the Exorcism Guild, and he will have different emotions for people who have also visited the River. You are reminded that the first of the "Ten No's" of the program's code is: "Never follow them to the river." This is a paradox. If you want him to have "feelings", you must have died at least once.

You agree. Maybe only monsters in this human world can understand you. You come to the edge of the swamp.

Your vision is blurred. Did you really see the River? Or was it an illusion on your part? Why is his appearance in the river so similar to the one disguised by that apparatus simulation? Wasn't his soul a monster? Why is he in that human form in the river? The longer you stay around him, the weaker the connection with the River. Maybe you can return to earth yourself without him. The River does not bring you peace. Perhaps "corruption" is the trait closest to the River, and "resistance to corruption" is not compatible with the River's temperament.

You weakly returned to the flesh of the earth, the residual pain of death still exists, he looked at you with a very different look.

Your mission was wrong from the beginning. He is not a monster, his soul is human.

Was his soul always human? Or did your plan work? But he doesn't have a human body ......

You are under a lot of stress, will you still be able to complete your mission? You feel abdominal pain, nausea and dizziness.

"So, you failed your mission?" Your rival looks at you with interest, there is only one spot for this career advancement, you are competing for the same spot, she is provoking you, she says sarcastically, "That’s all? So much for your learning."

You clench your fists, your nails digging deep into your flesh, and you pull out a sneer, "Don’t jinx it."

"Oh, what a pity... it's so hard for you to get an assignment and it turns out to be like this." This is also your first assignment.

Is this a hallucination? The heart under Lawrence's ribs seems to have recovered quite a bit, but you always feel that something is missing. It seems that "love" is not enough to bring him back to life, not to mention that he can not seize the full human lust.

Your mission is not accomplished. You saw this coming from the beginning, but even so, you became anxious and fearful. Your previous efforts are going to be in vain. You are about to be expelled from the guild.

"Actually, there is another way," your rival says, leaning over your ear, her voice seemingly compelling, "that formation of transferring flesh - aren't you the best at that? "

She's annoying, but she also reminds you. If Lawrence's soul is restored to normal, all he needs is a human flesh body ...... and then, again, to use the human flesh body to die.

You made up your mind. You will prove they are wrong. Your name will be stamped on the page of history .You will become an epic poem sung by people for generations to come - and you want ...... Lawrence to never be alone again.

That's February 14th. You know the date, "Valentine's Day." In the 3rd century A.D., the Roman emperor declared all marriage promises abandoned so that more unattached men could take to the battlefields of war. A priest named Sanctus Valentinus continued to perform church weddings for young men in love. When the matter was denounced, Father Valentinus was hanged on the gallows on February 14, 270 AD.

You think you are the warrior woman who is going to the battlefield. That day, when you finished the last word of your project report, you figured out the third way to end this “lich”, and you would fight the perfect battle: if the ritual went well, you and Lawrence would share the same heart, your souls would merge, and you would be able to manipulate Lawrence to lie down in the river while he could only watch it happen - -you die together. You are in a good mood, you dress up and ask Lawrence if you can go to the tavern for a drink? For a long time, it's been you who says where to go, and that's the first time you've asked his opinion.

It's a bar called "The Jackalope". You hand Lawrence the glass and you ask him to drink it. He agrees, which he usually doesn't do, he doesn't need to eat, his hollow skeletal body can't be loaded with human food.

Can you imagine the liquid slowly flowing through his bones and finally spilling out from his hip bone in one stream, or is it already spilled when the liquor reaches his jaw? You cover your stomach and laugh so hard that you end up laughing out loud. He's staring at you the whole time.

Enjoy the feeling, Lawrence Oleander, and after this night, you'll have human flesh.

Slightly drunk, you take him to the place you have prepared for the ceremony. He looks at you, he is finally able to die - why does he have a little bit of attachment to this cold world?

You pull him into the magic formation you have prepared in advance, you gesture for him to sit cross-legged, you sit opposite each other, the light and shadow camouflage on his body have been lifted, and he turns into dead bones, which is his real appearance.

You take out the special knife for the ritual, which is engraved with runes. You aim it at your heart, you can't do it alone, you ask him to help you, he hesitates and agrees.

"I will help you get the Heart of human." You are weak and this formation will briefly sustain your life force and ensure that you see the ritual through to its completion.

"And then ...... you will be totally dead ." You smile. Then, your actions will be remembered by the Exorcist Guild and go down in history.

Within his skeleton, where the core of his heart is located, the original dried up heart of his has been replaced with yours. Your heart turned into a red pearl, red and bright, hot and unusual, as if burning red iron, this brightness shone all over his whole body bones, and the heat spread all over the bones. In the bone marrow cavity inside the bones, the red filaments, which are tightly connected, are like the tungsten filaments in a light bulb, emitting red light, getting brighter and brighter, all over the bones of the body.

His muscles are born little by little: all ten toes, the palms of the feet, the heels, the calves, the knees, the thighs, the abdomen,the central organs, the fingers, the palms of the hands, the arms, the elbows, and the head. Finally, the two antlers on his head should be broken, he has a human body.

And your body is decaying so fast that while you can still hold the knife, you should take it and stab it into his body, after which he will obtain true death.

With your last voice you say to him:

"Happy Valentine's Day."

He strokes up his heart and he looks at you in confusion. He feels one more thing in his heart - what is it?

His heart hurts, and this pain is enough to bring tears to his eyes.

What people fear more than life and death is loneliness.

______________

[You killed him]

"Happy Valentine's Day."

You got out the knife in time, and you used your last strength to stab it as far as you could into Lawrence's newly flesh-generating heart.

He looked at you in confusion. He feels one more thing come out of his heart. His heart hurts, and this pain is enough to bring tears to his eyes.

You melt into one. In the River, your vision is his vision, and he sees the same as you. But he cannot manipulate your actions; you lie down in the river, you drift together, you die together.

The Exorcist Guild remembers your sacrifice, your name is engraved forever on the wall of honor of the Exorcist Guild, and you have earned the respect of your opponents. But what does fame mean to the dead?

[You didn't kill him]

You hesitated at the last second. Whether to live or die, you have to give him the choice.

Your flesh withered quickly and you could no longer hold the knife, which fell to the ground, stained with your blood. You turn into bones, and your skeleton falls helplessly on his body.

He strokes his heart, and he looks at you in confusion. He can feel his pulse.

He feels something extra in his heart, and his heart aches, an ache that is enough to make him shed tears.

You disappear.

He walked down the street alone.

Why did you give up at that last moment, when you should have stabbed the knife into his heart? He wasn't grateful.

He felt that he was getting further away from the river as it turned out. Your heart, a blessing and a curse. His regenerated flesh was normal, he had never felt so healthy, seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching - the senses were so sensitive. He thought about stabbing that knife into his heart, and the pain made him stop halfway.

Things were back to square one. What was the point of his life? He didn't fit into this society. The world was alien to him, and he wandered aimlessly in it. Observing the people around him, the whole world is white with bones.

He sees the person you hate. She takes your place, and your hard-written project reports are tossed aside. They are nothing but a white skeleton too, nothing to hate.

He sees someone you like. He is also a white skeleton, there is nothing to love.

No matter how beautiful or ugly the appearance is, all people will be turned into white bones.

His hand presses his beating heart through his skin. It was yours.

It made him feel like you were always around.

And it did. Your soul rests inside that heart, and you feel like you're imprisoned inside Lawrence. You can see his every move, and his physical body is your prison. You can't manipulate his actions. When he dies and his soul comes to the River, you remain the same.

Whether he chooses to go downstream or continue to wander.

From now on, you will not be alone.

#Lawrence oleander #btd x reader #tpof x reader #Lawrence x mc #btd Lawrence

[rikusempai]

“Cute Cat”

[Satan x Reader][fluff]

N O T E : I’m taking song themed requests now so please send away! I love learning new songs and I’m open to anything! Please read rules prior to requesting!!

It was a peaceful afternoon in the house of Lamentation, it was a dreary day. It was rainy, chilling the normal piping hot heat.

The steam was lifting off the Devildom pavement creating a misty atmosphere, fitting as they we’re literately in the underworld.

The pattering on the window was pleasant to Satan as he sat on his bed reading one of his many books, todays title “Celtic Mythology: Into The Unknown.” He sighed, resting his eyes to look up at the dark cloudy sky.

To be honest he loved days like this, the rain was somewhat charming. Not acid rain, but normal human realm rain.

It didn’t burn to the touch nor did it leave scotched marks on the ground. The sky is full of mysteries untold, that even he didn’t know about—the true philosopher stone. Sure the sky couldn’t turn base metals into precious ones, but it was equally as mystical.

The house was very calm that day, with no chaos in sight. It was unusual for his brothers to not cause disturbances throughout the household but not rare.

You see, his youngest brother was mostly likely sleeping, Beel was probably in the kitchen once again, Asmodeus was in his room doing Diavolo knows what, that otaku was cooped up in his room and for Mammon, Satan could care less, and his dear older brother, Lucifer, was probably drowning himself in work. He deserves it.

But the blonde then thought, “what about MC?” He looked to his door, half expecting MC to waltz into his room but he knew they were to polite for that.

Every since he snapped at them they’ve been more cautious around him, sure other the months they learned a lot about each other but still. Satan knew they were still on edge.

He missed them, as much as he hated to admit it. They were so alluringly him. MC was smart, kind, and had an sort of spice to them that you’d never know what was coming next. Unpredictable, but than again, quite ditzy. He craved their presence. Their soul is so pure. Not an evil bone in their body and no brimstone tainted skin in sight.

Satan sighed, not wanting to disturb even a mouse, he closed his book once slipping a bookmark within it’s pages. Placing the leather bounded book on his bed, he made it to the floor and tugged on his normal blazer. He slips back on his shoes, grabs his D.D.D, and starts to head out. At the door, he finds the need to turn around and once he does, the shadow of a wet cat walks past his closed window. Alluring but mysterious…the creature was quite like MC themselves if Satan thought hard enough.

As he turned down his lanterns and turned off his lights, he walks through the hallway in search for the human.

Alluring can be shortened to Allure, and an acronym for Allure can be anywhere between Captivation to Enchantment to more scientific words such as Fascination and Intrigued. All the more words to describe MC. Mysterious, they were too. Always hiding secrets of their past, Satan nor any of his brothers being able to truly understand the highly guarded MC enough. She was an enigma; the definition being: a person or thing that is mysterious or difficult to understand.

At times they cried, wailing hopelessly on the shoulder of somebodies but not his own, then to gasping for air as they laugh as hard as their gut could manage. ‘The human behaviour is interesting,’ he thought as he walked through the halls. Just as he gazed over at the window to the pattering water he spotted something odd. A hunched over figure in rain coat, the sky spat down on them. It was odd—the figure, that is. The figure didn’t seem dangerous nor unnerving, just…odd.

“I guess…I shall check anyways…”

Satan went to the closet exit, and gazed out onto the dreary misty back yard of the mansion. The figure was still crouched over, it’s arms seemed to be moving though and (H/L) (H/C) hair seemed to be peeking from the sides of the hood.

Satan slowly approached the figure while putting his blazer above his head to act as a shield from the thick wet forest. “Hello?” He spoke, a pace away from the figure. He then herd a familiar ‘meow’ of a cat. As the figure turns around, the wet black cat from earlier daintily made their way to Satan. The figure was MC.

“Satan?” MC looked up at him with deep (E/C) eyes. Before she could speak again, Satan stood behind them, shielding them from the rain… “It’s you…what are you going here?” They asked.

“I could ask you the same thing, MC.” Satan smiled a bit but MC seemingly didn’t get the hit since they started scrambling through their head.

“I-I was just—I saw him—I MEAN the CAT all wet and—um, I couldn’t just let him stay out in the r-rain s-so—“

“So lets get inside. The both of you.” Satan smiled wider with tender eyes. MC, this time, got the message.

“Okay,” They said with a genuine smile and soft eyes. With their hands, they picked up the cat and cradled him softly in him in their arms. MC stood up and looked to their side to see Satan holding his blazer overtop their heads.

“Lets get him dried up, and…” Satan came even closer to MC and looked at them intently. MC could feel their heart racing as the sweet smell of parchment and a mix of cologne wafted into their personal space. “You as well. You seem cold so…let me over you some tea.” He said. As he spoke, his breath could be seen in the cold air. “It’s raining quite hard so…we should make haste.”

MC blinked their eyes, quickly drifting back to reality. “O-oh—um, yeah. We should get in.” They adjusted the cat in her arms, pulling the feline closer to their chest. MC then looks up at Satan, feeling their close proximity as his chest meets their back.

“Cute…” Satan starts.

“Hm—wha—” MC blushed a thousand yards deep pink. Satan then gestures to the cat with his eyebrows. His face still neutral and his lips thin like paper.

“The cat. He’s very cute…He’d be quite the addition to our house but I think between you and I, we can take care of him quite well. Don’t you think?” he asked with a slight smile as MC gains back their composure.

“Yes—the cat. I think so as well. Lets keep him.”

—

Un-Edited

2023

Masterlist

#obey me #fanfiction #shall we date #oneshot #obey me fluff #obey me short fic #satan headcanons #satan obey me #obey me satan #om! satan #x reader

[sailoryooons]

The Iron Ring | Chapter III | pjm (m)

❀ Pairing:  fae prince! Jimin x human! female reader

❀ Summary: After finding a mysterious ring while cleaning out your late grandmother’s attic, you receive the unlikeliest of visitors: a fae prince who claims you have something that belongs to him. Discovering the fairytales your grandmother told you are true is the least of your problems when you’re taken to a world dangerous and unfamiliar.

❀ Word Count: 19,940

❀ Genre: fantasy au, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, graphic depictions of death, graphic depictions of gore, fighting and action scenes, depictions of anxiety attacks and minor traumatic memories from battle, intense sequences of fear and fighting for life, angst, self-doubt, reader being maaad confused for a bit, sexually explicit content including making out, hand job, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, emotional sex, discussions of 'reaping' magic and pain, graphic details of pain and suffering, UNEDITED sorrryyyyy

❀ Published: June 5, 2022

❀ A/N: I'm not even going to be humble when I say it's absolutely crazy that I finished this in time for posting on the weekend. When I started writing yesterday, this update was only at about 5k words. I finished last night's session at somewhere around 13k and finally managed to get to 19k today and actually finish where I planned. The next chapter reveals a LOT of things that have been mentioned throughout: who Khione is (by the way, I kind of like the idea of writing a story about her and Yoongi??), WHAT Khione is, what the other are, why grandma told reader that Jin killed her grandpa, and how grandma stole King Malik's power. Anyways - thank you so much for the feedback I've had on this recently. You guys are outstanding and thank you for being patient - I know updates two weeks or one week at a time are a little frustrating but I promise I'm working hard to finish this. Right now I have an anticipated end at chapter five for this story :) Let me know your thoughts! If you know anything about Celtic mythology, you might be able to make a wild guess at what Khione is (even though her name is greek hehe) also this is unedited because i've had covid for like five days and i don't wanna edit today heehe

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Terror shoots through you. Your pants are barely buckled, the heat of the moment evaporating as you step over the dead faerie. The camp is chaos outside, fire crackling on canvas, the ring of swords. The smell of singed hair and skin makes you gag as you look at the iron rods shoved into the ground. There is roughly a dozen, five feet tall and spaced about three feet apart each.

“Come on!” Jimin yells through the tent. His tone isn’t harsh, but urgent.

Licking your lips, you grip one by the door, yanking. It doesn’t move, sunken in the ground firmly. You pull harder, grunting and squeezing your eyes shut as you pull. Your hands slide on the metal, burning with friction. You make a distressed noise, squatting low to pull with more force at the lower point. The pole moves a bit and you grit your teeth, pulling hard and twisting.

The iron rod comes free with a weird suction-release feeling, knocking you backward. You pant, the sky swirling above you. A terrifying face hovers over you, making you scream in surprise and terror. It's some sort of goblin, eyes black with no pupil, sneering over your face.

You can hear Jimin screaming your name, snarling. You watch as the goblin lifts it’s clawed hand toward you and you feel the scar on your chest throb with familiarity. You don’t think. You thrust the rod upward, cross-checking the goblin across the chin with the iron.

It screams and falls backward, the smell of burnt skin prominent. You realize you’re holding iron – toxic to faeries and what’s keeping Jimin warded in the tent. Rolling to your feet, you gasp for air as you hold the pole, watching as the goblin gathers its wits and gets to its feet. You don’t let it, holding the rod like a baseball bat and swinging.

There's a sickening crunch and the sound of sizzling flesh.

“Hit it again!” Jimin snarls from the other side of the tent. You don’t know how he knows, but you do as he says until the goblin isn’t moving. You're shaking all over, breaths coming out in panicked gasps. “It’s okay,” Jimin calls. “Work on the rods – I'm right here. I just need you to remove enough near the entrance that I can pass with mild burns.”

You drop the rod. You're trembling all over and you feel bile creep up in your throat. Knees buckling, you hit the ground hard, rocks digging into your palms, stinging your hands. You vomit into the grass. It burns like gasoline, scraping your throat as you cough.

Terror claws at you. You trying to catch your breath, gasping.

You can’t get enough air.

Your chest is getting tighter and tighter and you can’t feel that tiny node of energy that exists within you.

The black splashes of Nox and Nyx throb in your vision.

You can’t get enough air.

There's no room to breathe and there is darkness pressing against you, tunnel vision making it impossible to see how to navigate out of this.

“Enaid.” Your head snaps up.

You can’t see Jimin, but you can feel him. Through the panic, through the thunder heart. You know he’s on his knees on the other side of the canvas, hands pressed against the fabric even though the iron is singing him. You don’t know how you know but you know.

“Deep breath,” Jimin murmurs. “With me – one, two, three. Now out – one, two, three.”

You follow the exercise, looking desperately at where his hands press against the tent. Your heart slows and your shaking comes to a stop. You’re no longer gasping, levelling out. “Killing is not easy.” Jimin’s voice is almost a whisper. “I am sorry you are here. But you have to get the iron out of the ground, okay? Get the iron out and I can help you.”

You lick your lips and stagger to your feet. “Okay.”

“I’m right here,” Jimin promises. “You did a good job. You can do this.”

“Okay.”

Licking your lips, you move to the next rod.

A cracking sound makes you flinch and turn around. Hoseok has his back to you, taking a firm stance. Fire curls around his wrist, the whip moving on the ground. He glances at you over his shoulder and nods. “Remove the rods, I’ll cover you.”

You try not to look at the dead goblin as you work on pulling more rods from the ground. You flinch every time you hear the crack of fire behind you, too afraid to turn around and see what Hoseok is fending off. There is mounting chaos in the distance, making you scream in frustration as the poles take all of your energy to pull.

Finally, you rip the last one from the earth, collapsing backwards and red in the face. You're gasping for air as Jimin surges from the tent, darkness writhing around him in a furious, dark storm. You look up at him, dizzy with effort. He picks you up carefully, brushing the hair from your face.

“Okay?” he asks. You nod. He disappears in the tent and reappears, handing you the bow you’ve been practicing with and a quiver. You’re wide-eyed, the bow shaking in your hand. “Just don’t miss.”

It's ridiculous advice but it has the desired effect. You laugh immediately, feeling a little better because it’s still Jimin, despite what happened moments ago.

With trembling hands and a flipping stomach, you shoulder the quiver and pull and arrow, careful not to catch the arrowhead on the lip of the quiver. You nock it, though you’re not confident you could pull and aim right now.

Blinding, white light pulses from the center of the camp. The three of you turn to look at it. Fae with black are rushing toward it, weapons raised.

“Taehyung,” Jimin says, watching as the light fades. “These are solitary fae that don’t belong to courts. Goblins and orcs – look at the eyes. They're being controlled by other.”

“To the king?” Hoseok asks

Jimin nods. You're surprised that they want to help Taehyung and not use the moment as a distraction. Something in your heart flips at Jimin’s decision, watching him storm forward with his sword in hand. He spins the sword as a goblin creature runs by, his wrist moving like a painter as Jimin lops the head off easily.

You don’t have time to be disgusted. The three of you jog through the camp, Jimin and Hoseok clearing the path. You're slammed by the noise and the chaos of it, watching faeries in white with the crest of the Day Court fighting and falling. There are more goblin creatures than Day Court.

A group of creatures scramble toward your trio. You gasp in shock, forgetting about the weapon in your hand. Jimin doesn’t hesitate, a shadow pulsing from him. It hits the goblins, making them scream and collapse, writhing as whatever magic Jimin has used killed them.

Light surged again as you reach the middle of the camp, warriors in white surrounded Taehyung. It's hard not to pause as you look at the King of the Day Court. He radiates light, golden skin glowing pearlescent as he thrusts his sword through the chest of a large creature – an orc, perhaps. None of these creatures make sense to you, but you push forward.

Behind Taehyung a guard is cut down, a hulking monster moving toward the king’s back. Instinct vibrates through you as you pull the taught string of the bow. Aim down the arrow. Don't squeeze your bow hand. Touch the string to the corner of your mouth.

You release the arrow. You swear you hear it whistle as it cuts the air, hitting the monster in the eye. You make a surprised sound, Jimin and Hoseok both whirling around to look at you. Sensing the danger, he was in, Taehyung turns to look at the fallen creature than back up to you.

“Well do more of that!” Jimin hollers, cutting down a troll. “As much as I loathe to save Taehyung after he imprisoned me, we need him as an ally.”

You remember the dark stains on the stone of your bedroom. The cup of water left out for you. The food.

You steady your breath. A cool calm washes over you, soothing the shaking hand. You nock an arrow, pull the string, aim down the shaft and release. You move in a rhythm, the noise of battle fading behind you. Behind the firm calm is terror, but it’s kept at bay by the image of Nox and Nyx murdered.

Anger simmers there too.

Jimin fells anything that gets too close for you to hit. Your aim isn’t perfect – you miss and some of your shots aren’t lethal, but they make the creatures falter, crippling them enough for a member of the Day Court to slay one enemy without fear of being stabbed in the back.

You enter the circle of the fray with Taehyung and his guard. Jimin turns to Taehyung. “How many of your court are outside of this ring?”

Taehyung’s face is stormy. “None. Do what you will.”

Jimin nods and spins his sword, swing up and plunging it down tip first. It sinks into the ground. Day Court warriors circle tight, the creatures making a thick ring and chittering, closing in on you. Jimin spreads his hands part, palms facing one another. Darkness gathers there, twisting and shadowed. There are sparks there, like lightning lancing through darkness.

“Duck,” Jimin orders. You hear the command of a king there, voice firm and loud.

Everyone drops to their knees. Jimin throws his hands out, casting a disk of shadow. It feels like oxygen is pull from the air and you gasp, as though you’re in a vacuum for a moment. There is a sharp sound like bones snapping. You look at the enemies surrounding you, creatures frozen and gaping. Slowly, like the early raindrops of a storm, the top halves of the creatures start toppling to the floor.

A hand claps over your mouth as you watch the ichor and blood spill. Organs topple from bodies sliced through stomachs, chests and heads. You cannot tear your eyes away as the ground soaks up the black blood, bubbling and steaming.

Not a single creature remains standing.

White clothes with the sun emblazoned on them are littered among the dead. None of them move. Slowly, you begin to stand. You realize that the tents and poles are you have bene severed in half. No splints, no tatters, no threads. They’re singed as though they have been cauterized.

You look at Jimin.

You haven’t even seen a flicker of my power.

On unsteady legs, you look at the carnage around you. The members of the Day Court tentatively start picking through the remains, looking a little lost and dazed. You don’t look at the dead or the bleeding creatures or even think about the reeking smell that is beginning to drift toward you.

Jimin sheaths his sword and then looks up at you, green eyes dark. “What?” he asks, adjusting his weapons built and bending to pick up an arrow you dropped. He holds it out to you. “I told you – you've barely seen my power.”

“What was that?”

“Something that should be done seldom,” Hoseok answers. You glance at the summer prince. He's watching Jimin with a guarded expression. “Summoning pure night like that is reckless and can kill you.”

“Would rather not be killed by solitary faeries that are possessed, Jimin sniffs. He turns to Taehyung, who remains motionless and staring at what was once a camping ground.

Following Taehyung’s stare, you realize that out of the dozens of faeries who had accompanied him to this corner of the Day Court, there are only a few left. It sets in that there are not only monsters dead around you – there are willow men and woman and creatures who were loyal to their king that are now covered in grime and death.

Something abought the thought flips your stomach. You turn and retch, nearly vomiting on Jimin’s boots. He doesn’t seem to mind, handing going to your back. You flinch away from him, remembering that only moments ago he had summoned night and used it as a weapon. You didn’t understand entirely what that meant, but Hoseok’s expression was enough to know that it wasn’t normal. Or expected.

Jimin takes a few steps back from you, retracting his hand. You glance up to see that the princely mask has fallen into place. Gone is the man from the tent who had kissed you and tasted you with hunger you’ve never experienced. Gone is the man who admitted he craved touching you from the moment you met.

“I saved us,” Jimin mentions. When you and Hoseok say nothing, he turns to Taehyung. “You owe me a life debt.”

That makes the handsome faerie glare. “I suppose I do.”

“I’m asking you to let us pass through your lands unchecked.”

“Permission granted.” Taehyung looks at you. “They were going to your tent before I flashed my power. Take your ring and get it out of my court and do not come back through my lands until you have banished whatever evil your grandmother has let into this world by killing the High Tree.”

The words land like a slap. You feel their sting, hot against your face. Tears burn your eyes as you look at the empty eyes of Taehyung’s court. Your fingers shake. A faerie somewhere lets out a loud sob and you turn toward it. A satyr leans over a dryad, howling.

Since the moment you stepped into Faerie, you’ve been so sure your grandmother was a hero. She spent her entire life telling you have her great adventures, of the people she saved by defeating the High King and hiding his power. What could be so wrong about that?

But you look at the faces of the dead, faces tilted up to the warm sun. And you realize that they cannot feel it. Immortal beings who believe they will live forever snuffed out because of this thing – these creatures – that come through some sort of door that your grandmother has opened.

And it occurs to you: was the cost of so much life worth a temporary peace?

The answer chokes you. You feel your throat tighten and you look at Jimin, eyes burning. And though you can’t tell what he is thinking or feeling, you think... he understands what is racing through your mind. That he knows that you’re realizing the cost of her actions.

And it’s fucking heavy.

Jimin dips his head to Taehyung in thanks. “King Taehyung.”

Taehyung repeats the motion. “King Jimin.”

The horses are blessedly alive. Umbriel and Asfaloth paw at the ground, throwing their head up and down nervously. Hoseok shushes them, approaching slowly with a hand held out. A warmth radiates from him – magic, you think – and they grow calm enough to mount.

Jimin urges Umbriel into a fast canter, peeling off toward the north.

No one speaks. You don’t look at the ruined camp, instead closing your eyes as Jimin urges Umbriel faster, wind cutting at your eyes. You can feel your eyes water, tears slicing past your temple.

Nothing makes sense. From hat you know, solitary faeries are those who belong to no court. They prefer to keep their business to themselves – so why attack the Day Court? Taehyung’s accusation that they were coming for your tent haunts you. Were they there because of you? And how were there so many?

Tension twists your neck and shoulders. It feels like there is an intense pressure crushing on top of you, grinding you until you’re nothing. And you want to be nothing.

You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be afraid. You don’t want to be anything.

Jimin says nothing from behind you. The comfort he offered you before is gone, replace with a cool exterior.

The horses carry on. Day turns into twilight and the wind gets colder. You shiver in the saddle, looking up at the sky as blue fades to grey.

The Winter Court looms ahead.

-

Winter wind tears at your face. It scrapes its nails down your cheeks, bites at the flesh of your lips, making them blood and peeled. Your bones ache with cold, even though Jimin has stopped the horses to change into warmer clothing. Though fae are not as affected by temperature fluctuations, even the two fae princes cannot fight off the sting of winter.

Grey skies and clouds stretch overhead. Something feels off about the world here. The Day Court and the Night Court were thriving with life and magic. Dread fills you here, almost as deep as the cold.

You want to ask Jimin about the Winter Court, but the image of his power ripping through the solitary faeries plays in your mind over and over again. You have no idea the extent of his power, but you know that Hoseok has been just as standoffish.

So instead, you turn to the prince of the Summer Court. “It feels wrong here.”

Hoseok looks up at you. He's fixing a buckle on his boot. He nods as he looks back down, fingers shaking in the cold before he finishes and slides gloves on. “Like the other courts, the Winter Court is powered by the Winter Tree and the royal family who are tied to it. They have suffered incredibly losses – more than what you just witnessed at the Day Court. It takes faeries time to heal. We do not have many children.”

“They also chased out their best heir, Jimin mutters. “That kind of counts for their downfall.”

Hoseok gives Jimin a hard look before standing and looking at you. “You won’t find much happiness here, but the Winter Court is full of people. Sure, there are a few bad apples – every court has them.” Hoseok looks pointedly at Jimin. “Anyway, we’re going to the Nightingales, you don’t need to worry about the royal family.”

“What are the Nightingales?”

Jimin helps you onto Umbriel. You rub your palms together and pull your cloak closer. Jimin leans a little more into you than previously, making you flush. Even in the state of things, it’s hard to forget the way he licked and sucked at you, making you writhe and curl and-

“You okay?” Jimin’s voice is a purr. You go rigid and nod your head, though you get the sneaking sense that he knows where your mind was wandering off to. “The Nightingales are some of the most powerful fae in Faerie. They’re the keeper of secrets and have ancient knowledge of the world. They were started thousands of years ago as an assassination ring by the Winter Court, but they’ve since transformed their use and purpose.”

“Do they still assassinate people?”

“Do you really want the answer to that question?”

You don’t.

Instead, you let yourself get ensnared in your own thoughts.

A mixture of shame and confusion circle you and Jimin. You have no idea where the heated moment between you came from or what it means. You had thought up until that point that you were a tool at his disposal. But the way he had kissed you and blinded you with mindless pressure makes you shiver in the saddle.

You don’t know how to feel. Jimin is... abrasive but kind and he is constantly contradicting himself. He is the epitome of the chaos of the fae, and you struggle to understand the motivations and the machinations of his mind.

Trying to guess the rhyme and reason behind him eating you out like a man starved is impossible.

You think about the pull you constantly feel with him, the way you feel like there is a tiny string dragging you along toward him until you’re united once more. The realization that maybe Jimin feels something similar.

It gets colder as you’re consumed with your thoughts. No one speaks, but your breaths come out in puffs. A terrible tremble rattles your spine and you pull your cloak tighter. Jimin presses his chest against you and you feel warmth bloom at your back. You make a startled noise, going rigid.

“Relax,” Jimin grunts. “It’s just a little magic.”

“You should conserve your magic,” Hoseok warns. “Teach her how to use her own instead. You're going to exhausts yourself after summoning night like that and keeping two bodies warm.”

“What does that mean? That you summoned night?”

Jimin huffs, breath clouding. “Most fae have general magic about them. A banshee predicts death, a brownie can make things appear and reappear, a dryad can sing trees into shape. Hoseok and I can perform basic magic – warming, some elemental magic, a little healing. But we are members of the gentry as well, the strong fae that make up the royal court. My gift in magic really lies within a skillset unique to the Night Court.”

“So that’s why Hobi can summon a whip of fire?” You ask. Hoseok nods. “You can manipulate fire to a certain degree because its unique to the Summer Court?”

“Exactly. Those bright flashes of light you saw when Taehyung was fighting was him summoning the day – he was pulling on his own life force and re-creating the very essence of the day and frying and blinding the other.”

“So you summoned night and... what, exactly?”

“Used it like a blade. I made it solid, pure darkness of the night sky fashioned into something sharp.”

“It was dangerous,” Hoseok grunts. “To do that in the Day Court where you’re weakest? You’re lucky you could do it at all.”

You turn to look at Jimin over your shoulder. For a moment, you can’t help but think how good he looks, even in the Winter Court. His eyes hair matches the background, black hood pulled over his head. His eyes are lighter – like jade – than they were before. His eyes meet yours, intense and unrelenting.

“You were weakened in the Day Court?”

“It is my natural opposite,” he admits. “But we were not so far from home like we are now. We’re also very near the High Court.”

“Are you in danger?”

He cocks his head. “Worried about me?”

You flush from head to toe. This tone is playful, eyes dancing. “No.”

“I thought faeries didn’t lie,” he whispers, leaning forward a bit. His voice is soft, the same voice he used when he had you under him, panting and naked. Heat drops in your stomach like a furnace. “You’re part my personal court. It makes sense to fear for me.”

“She’s in your court?” Jimin’s eye twitches in annoyance. It is the single most human expression he’s ever had as he looks at Hoseok, lip curled upward slightly. “Yes,” Jimin answers through his teeth. He has no right to be annoyed, but you can feel the irritation, like something vibrating up an invisible tether between you. “Is that okay with you?”

“You’ve never had a court. I’m just surprised, is all.” Hoseok looks at you and his brown eyes light up and he smirks. “Or maybe I’m not that surprised.”

“Is having a court special?” You ask, a little dubious.

“Only your closest confidants should be in your court,” Hoseok answers. “People you trust with your life, people you rely on more than anyone. You care for them, you love them.” Hoseok smiles as he urges Asfaloth faster. “Jimin has never had enough friends to make one.”

The prince of the Night Court has no response for Hoseok.

Instead, Jimin tries to teach you to warm yourself. It seems hopeless at first. Now that your terror has subsided, you can feel the little piece of energy there. You poke and prod at it with Jimin’s teaching. It doesn’t give away like before, like there is something between you and accessing it.

You work at it. Jimin grunts when you fail again to reach that spark inside of you and opts for a new method. Motivation, Jimin thinks, will drive you to your goal faster. He withdraws the warmth he has been feeding you and lets you go numb again, your extremities screaming as you begin to tremble, the wind and cold an entity out to kill you.

It seems in viciously. Your teeth chatter, your hands tremble. You can’t really feel your legs in the saddle beyond a dull ache. You start to get angry as Jimin pushes you, his patience fraying.

“I’m t-too cold t-to d-do this,” you get out. “J-just warm m-me for a m-moment t-to try again.”

“No.”

“F-fuck you, I’m g-g-g-” you cut off, and angry yell leaving your mouth as you struggle to say the words. “I-I'm going to f-f-freeze to death.”

“You won’t if you tap into it.”

“L-let me d-d-die then.”

“You’re being dramatic. You feel it there – the access to it. It is yours. So take it.”

“I h-hope you f-f-fall of the horse when I d-d-die.”

Jimin’s breath is warm as he leans into your ear, whispering, “Do you need a better motivation than living?”

Jimin nibbles at your earlobe. You burst with heat from the action, surprised. Even more surprising is that you explode with real heat, tapping into the magic and shooting torrents of heat through your body. The force of the heat surprises Jimin, making him yelp and jump backward. He falls from Umbriel and though you want to see him eat snow, he lands in a crouch, looking up at you.

The freeze melts away from you as the fever blooming at your center spreads to your limbs. It's almost painful, the way it chases out the cold. Jimin straightens as Hoseok laughs and jeers at him, but he ignores the summer prince. He narrows his eyes at you before leaping back up onto Umbriel.

“Can you soften the heat a little?” he’s back to his instructional voice. “Just pull back a little – like releasing your bowstring slowly.”

You imagine just that, letting go of that taught energy slowly. The heat dampens to a hum. Your hands are red and you feel flushed like you’re standing in front of a fire, but it’s better than the alternative.

“Would you look at that,” Jimin notes. “My tongue is still a motivator.”

“Shut up,” you snap, looking at Hoseok who has returned to leading you. “I just wanted to knock you off the horse.”

“You worried about Hoseok knowing that I've fucked you with my tongue?” You squirm at his words. His hands find your waist, squeezing. “Worried what he’ll think about how you were going to let me spread you open for my-”

You elbow Jimin. He cackles, knowing that he’s won. You say nothing, focuses on trying not to pass out from embarrassment. Jimin is right, though. You were about to let him do exactly that and the thought of anyone knowing how pliant you were for faerie you barely knew, for a faerie who was mean to you and who had dual motivations and who had kidnapped you and brought you here.

It was mortifying. And Jimin knew it.

-

You had never been more thankful for having a member of the Summer Court with you than when Hoseok started a roaring fire, lighting up the dark, winter sky. You pressed yourself close to the fire, letting the flames warm your face and hands. You were exhausted, a kind of tired that you were unfamiliar with.

Jimin called it burn out. You were still new at using what magic the ring had given you – and the dagger, for that matter – and the constant heating of your system had exhausted you.

This you remember from your lessons. A faerie can only use as much magic as they have energy. Accessing magic and using it is just like being an athlete – the more conditioned you are to using it and the more stamina you have, the more you can use and the bigger the magical feats you can perform.

Warming yourself at a consistent rate was incredibly impressive, according to Hoseok. What you don’t tell him is that for the last hour and a half as you entered the dark line of woods in the Winter Court, you had been struggling to do it at all, sagging in the saddle. You suspect that you would have frozen again if Jimin had not been there.

You don’t dare look at Jimin as he rolls out a sleeping pack. You're focused on the way the flames crack, sparks drifting upward into the shadows boughs of the trees.

The woods feel omnipresent. You can’t really make out much beyond the orange ring of light Hoseok’s fire casts. You see a shimmer of darkness – Jimin's magic a protective ward around your slice of camp, you think. You've brushed the leaves in piles, gathering soft moss to place under your sleeping pack at Hoseok’s instruction.

The ground will suck up your warmth he mentions. Always sleep on top of brush if you can.

Though neither of the faerie princes look alarmed, you can’t help but feel a nervous energy humming through you. Hoseok nibbles on dried, salted meat and Jimin sips on freezing water from his waterskin. Rubbing your hands together, you strand on stiff limbs, groaning.

Jimin glances up at you. “Thighs sore?”

You stare at him, eyes narrowed at the teasing lilt to his voice. Hoseok doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t care about your conversation. On weak legs, you crawl into your bed roll. “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay to have sore legs. Being spread like that makes the muscles ache.”

You whip your head at him, images of him prying your thighs open flashing through your mind. Is he that enamored with what happened? You have no idea what it means, that he’s still so enthusiastic about it. You try not to let it coax you into false assumptions, but it’s hard when your heart skips a beat.

“I’m going to sleep,” you growl.

Jimin wiggles his fingers in a taunting wave and Hoseok murmurs a good night to you.

Neither of them chats as you wiggle further into your sleeping bag. It's warm, aided by the flames. Taking a deep breath, you try to close your eyes and relax. But the scenes from the Day Court flit behind your eyelids.

Red, blood-soaked earth. Charred corpses with empty eyes. Bodies of creatures split open, entrails spilled like ink.

You squeeze your eyes shut so hard you see stars behind them. You will them away. You don’t want to see anymore death. You don’t want to see any more blood and carnage.

These are the stories your grandma left out. The dead bodies, the brutality of fighting. She never described the sour feeling that kills the pit of your stomach. Acid creeping in and melting you from the inside out until you’re vomiting from the sights and sounds.

It had sounded so glorious when she told you about her sword made of night, the crown of stars full of power.

Children’s stories. She had left out so many details, so many truths.

A tear slips out of your eye and you wipe it viciously. You're careful not to sniff, not wanting to alert the two fae behind you of your predicament. But you can’t help it. You have never felt farther away from home. Never doubted your grandmother this much.

You think back to that place of twilight, where she whispered her fear of Jimin, to beware of Seokjin.

The king’s name sours your face. There is still that mystery to unravel, to discover what reason the king of the Night Court could have possibly killed your grandfather for.

Your kind, gentle grandfather. The softness to your grandmother’s edge. You miss the smell of him, like sunlight and warmth. Had Seokjin done it because he hated your grandmother? It seemed to be a common thing among the fae. Even Taehyung spoke her name with venom in his mouth.

Frustration stirs inside of you. You try to shove away the images but they keep coming and coming. The sound of crying in your ears, the ring of swords, the screaming. It throbs and throbs and throbs. You sense the tiny pebble of power within you and reach for it – maybe you can force the fears away.

You seize onto that tiny part of magic in you and something pulses.

Your eyes snap open as that small bead of power ruptures, vibrating outwards. You imagine ripples on a calm lake, ring after ring expanding and rushing outward.

“Y/N,” Jimin says, voice cryptic. “What was that?”

You sit up, sleeping back forgotten. You feel a tremor behind the shadow of Jimin’s magic. Your heart quickens. The three of you stare east in silence.

The quiet grows unsettling. It yawns into existence, opening up its maw and swallowing sound whole. You look at Jimin but he puts his finger to his lips. Slowly, he climbs to his feet. His movements don’t make a sound, Hoseok echoing the movement.

Nothing happens but you don’t feel relieved. Anxiety amounts and something oily and sharp brushes against your thoughts. You flinch backward, falling on your ass. Jimin is up and moving, throwing his shadows out in a solid arch. Hoseok diffuses the power.

“Fuck,” Jimin swears, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you upward. “You sent out a fucking wave of magic. What did you do?”

“I don’t know!”

“You just announce to this entire forest where we are. You have no idea the dark creatures that are in this forest – this wood is ancient.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Jimin drags you to Umbriel, nearly shoving you up onto the horse. What’s happening?”

“You woke something up,” he growls. He leaps onto the horse. Neither he nor Hoseok bother to breakdown camp. They rein their horses and urge them north. “We have no idea how far that echo you just sent went, but it screamed power.”

Fear climbs up your spin. You leave the camp and rush through the woods, Jimin driving Umbriel at a dangerous pace rushing through the trees. You don’t turn around – you don’t think you would see anything even if you did. But something is there in the distance, a heavy silence sweeping over the trees.

“What is it?” Jimin doesn’t answer for a moment. “Jimin?”

“The Callieach.”

“What’s a callieach?”

“Not what – who. the Callieach is not a faerie. She’s... like the Maker and lives deep within the Winter Woods. She is winter itself and can appear in many forms.”

“And she’s... mean?”

Jimin startles you with a laugh. “She’s not good or evil. She’s ancient – but you just sent out a High Court shockwave. It feels like her kind.”

“Maybe she feels lonely,” you jest, though there is a sliver of terror in your chest. “Like maybe she thinks oh – feels like home.”

“She was banished here and trapped in the body of a faerie to keep her out of the Maker’s home world. I don’t think that is the case, Enaid.”

“Will you ever tell me what that word is?”

Despite the terrifying situation, you feel Jimin’s smile when he says, “Perhaps if we survive the Callieach, I will.”

The ride is cold and brutal. You reach for that spark of magic again to warm yourself but Jimin tuts at you, telling you to save your magic. That sends a deeper chill into your bones. You cannot imagine having to fight with magic.

You think of the pulse you felt emit from you through the forest floor. It had been an accident – you had reached for the magic out of fear, an instinct. You had tapped into it and unleashed something. It felt different from the flames you had been working on conjuring which meant… could it be High Court magic?

Thus far, you haven’t managed to summon an ounce of power from the ring. At least, you don’t think you have. All the magic you’ve been able to spark was heat and occasionally shadow fire, which had earned you the Shade title and King Seokjin’s hatred.

It was frustrating. You wished you could tap into your magic and use it for something. The image of Jimin summoning night and slicing through the others comes back unbidden. You shiver, but this time, not from the cold.

Jimin is far more powerful than you thought. You knew as a prince of the Night Court, he had to be strong. He walked confidently and people respected him – but now you also knew why they feared him. Beneath the surface and the words laced with sweetness, he was still deadly.

You remember your first meeting, the way he had thrown you to the ground. Left you in a prison. The forceful way he handled you and how everything out of his mouth was a grinding insult. It’s different from the Jimin behind you now. You’re not sure how, but the Jimin now seems fonder of you.

And certainly more devious. Heat creeps up your neck and you curse yourself for once again remembering the way Jimin ate you out like a creature made from hunger and passion.

Snow began to fall. White sheets of it, blinding and colder than before. It felt like a knife was slicing the bits of your face that were not hidden by the hood of your cloak. Jimin slid closer to you, shivering against you as the wicked fingers of the cold scratched and clawed at you.

The blizzard grew violent. Hoseok slowed his horse as you navigated through blinding, white snow. The world was no longer grey, but a bright, starling white. You could barely see the back of Hoseok. You only knew he was there at all because of the flame he summoned to melt away the ice that was now crackling beneath the horses feet.

An uneasy feeling crept up your spine. You hear voices on the wind, quick and too soft for you to follow. You swiveled your head, trying to catch them as the wind roared around you. Jimin said something in your ear, but you couldn’t hear him over the screaming of winter’s fury.

You turn to him, trying to hear what he’s saying. At the same moment, Umbriel bucks, her terror lost in the wind. You feel yourself scream more than hear it as you tumble from her back, landing in the snow.

Cold like you have never felt it before grips at you. You gasp, startled as you roll over. Icy nails dig into your skin, needling you and holding you there. You blink up at the sky, but the snow is flurrying so hard that you cannot see or make out what direction you fell from. Your limbs are being buried faster than you can peel yourself from the ice.

You look down and your stomach drops. Ice spiderwebs at your feet, crackling and growing toward you. It feels alive and you shriek, pulling your feet from the mounting and snow. Your steps are sticky and stilted as the ice pulls at you.

Spinning in circles, you scream for Jimin. Cold air reaches into your mouth and cuts you. Blood blooms in your mouth as the cold reaches down your throat. You don’t try to scream again but you are lost and freezing and black is pulsing on the edge of your vision.

Everything hurts. You stumble, covering your eyes as you try to see. A flare of orange barely lights the white sheets and you try to run for it, legs stiff and locking. You stumble again, scraping your hand. The ice cuts your palm, red bright against the ivory snow.

You look up and again your sense of direction is lost. You’re sure that the flash of Hoseok’s fire had been right in front of you, but doubt curls in your mind.

Teeth chattering, you reach for your magic. Pain seeps into your bones. Cold pain like you have never experienced. Your knees buckle as you reach for it, but you feel like there’s an icy wall around it, the energy muted.

Fuck. You realize you’re going to die. Ice climbs up your ankle. You focus your attention on that tiny bit of magic, stretching, screaming, crying for it.

The icy wall around it shatters. Magic shoots at you like an arrow, frying your nerve endings and making you gasp as hot, shadow fire licks around your body. You scream in shock – the flames do not hurt but they’re like acid against the snow, biting at it and chasing some of the cold away.

Wind howls harder. You try to expand the flames as you stand on unsteady feet. A figure appears in the snow and you sigh in relief, stepping toward it. You call Jimin’s name but as the shadow materializes, his name dies on your lips.

Though you have burning, consuming fire at your hands and arms now, a woman steps through the snow and you feel fear.

The howling wind fades. You can hear it as though it is on the other side of a pane of glass, screaming muted. There is a circle of silence between you and the faerie – or whatever she is – as she regards you. The snow does not fall here, in the tiny bubble as you stare at her.

She is a vision. Hair whiter than the snow, eyes that are so blue it looks like she stole the. Her skin is so pale that she almost blends into the background. If it weren’t for the blue cloak twitching in the silenced wind, she’d have been hidden to you.

Nails like talons tip her fingers, which look cruel and bent like claws. Her lips are blue as her cloak as she tilts her head, white hair shifting. She looks faerie but she feels so much stronger. A finger of cold brushes against your mind and you recoil. It’s the same eerie feeling that came right after the pulse of magic you sent out, a psychic touch.

I am so lonely, a voice whispers through you. Won’t you take me with you?

You blink and it’s your grandma looking at you. You open and close your mouth. The world around you is softer, like you’re in that forever twilight. You take a step toward her and she looks at you with stars in her eyes.

“Grandma?”

It is so lonely here. Let us go home.

You take another step toward her. Your fire dies a little as you do, hypnotized by seeing her again. Millions of questions flutter through your mind, stopping you short and you shake your head. “Your stories,” you whisper. “They feel all wrong. Why have you only told me half-truths?”

Come, I will tell you all. Let’s go together to the warmth.

“No, I want you to tell me now.”

Haven’t you missed me? I have been so alone without you.

“Tell me why you sealed away the magic and opened a door! Why you did it knowing it would hurt this world? So many people are mad at you – mad at me because you took the power and ran.

Your grandmother hesitates, tilting her head. Her face blurs for a second. You think you imagine it, that suddenly it’s not your grandmother but of course it is. She smiles at you and…. It’s all wrong.

Where is the door? Let’s go there together, back home.

You frown. “What do you mean? You know-“

Where is the door open, child?

Her face blurs again and Jimin’s words come drifting back to you. She is winter itself and can appear in many forms.

Shadow surges from you. Your grandmother – who is not your grandmother – leans away from you, eyes flickering colors, flashing a kaleidoscope of grey and silver. Ice melts and turns to charred soot beneath you were the flames lick, and you set your teeth.

“You are not my grandmother.”

Where is the door? the Callieach hisses. She is no longer the kindly image of your grandmother. She is a terrifying woman, beautiful but sharp, with eyes too big for her face and teeth razor sharp and too large for her mouth. Tell me where the door is and I’ll eat you quickly.

You don’t answer her. You thrust your hand out, remembering the way you attacked Jimin at Hoseok’s cabin. It feels so long ago, but your body follows the movement so easily. Fire shoots at her but she’s fast – faster than the eye can catch.

The world is swallowed by wind and snow again. You screech as it tears at you, the shadowy flames dimming a bit. You focus on keeping yourself warm and keeping the worst of the snow away from you. It bites and claws at you, a living storm trying to pry your mouth open and stick its hands down your throat.

The Callieach appears in front of you, face contoured as she lashes. Her nails catch your arm as you hold it out. You both scream, her hand coming in contact with the flame and her nails ripping open cloak and skin. You feel hot blood well on your arm, running down to your hand as you pull away from her.

Smoke sizzles from where she touched you – but her hand is not ash. Blackened and flaked, but it does not crumble like the plant had where your flame missed Jimin.

Snow and ice blast you. You can’t see, can’t feel. Tumbling backwards, you fall to the ground hard, head cracking against ice. Your vision pulses. Pain explodes. Your fire gutters out, shocked at the pain and the cold and the burn of the ice.

The Callieach slinks towards you. Your hands push the ground, trying to crawl away. Ice climbs up your fingers, making them freeze. A scream works its way up your throat as little veins of ice snatch you, keeping you in place. The wind blows harder.

You look up, watching the ancient being approach, her hair wiping and silver eyes glowing. This isn’t a faerie. This isn’t a creature. This is a god and now she’s going to make you a meal.

Your heart palpitates. Every breath hurts. The world starts to go quiet. Your vision grows hazy and you realize that you’re freezing to death. You can’t breathe, your tongue led in your mouth, frozen. You can barely look to the side as your limbs become ice and you become one with the ground.

The world slows and so does your heart rate.

Thump thump.

You feel it, beating painfully as it struggles to keep you in the land of the living.

Thump thump.

It’s throbbing. The Callieach approaches as your vision starts to go black at the edges.

Thump.

Ice crusts your lashes. They flutter open and closed. A figure appears beyond the Callieach and you think you feel a pulse. You don’t know. The world is cold and you no longer feel pain. Your eyes flutter shut.

Thump.

A screech makes you open your eyes one last time. It’s such a funny sound. You don’t see the Callieach. Instead, the Grim Reaper has come to take you. Dressed in all black, hood pulled up. The Grim Reaper rushes towards you, mask pulled over the lower half of its face as it leans over you, ready to take you into the afterlife.

Thump.

You look up. At least you feel nothing. The cold has burned away the pain. You are nothing. Feel nothing. The Grim Reaper has one blue eye, one black.

It’s the last thing you see.

-

You are dying and Jimin feels it. He screams as he drives his sword through another creature made of eyes. There is frostbite on his fingers. He feels like they are going to snap when he swings his sword again, screaming his rage and pain into the face of a shattering ice monster.

Behind him, Hoseok’s flame whip lights up the winter storm. Hoseok is using unsafe amounts of heat and fire to keep them from dying and to keep the Callieach’s snow soldiers at bay. Jimin knows the summer prince will not be able to manage this heat and fire for much longer. In any normal situation, Hoseok could fuel heat and fire for days.

The Callieach’s winter is not normal. It is biting and eroding, pulling at Jimin’s skin and peeling back layers of flesh. Jimin feels like every time his skin heals, it’s sealing in the cold, letting it drip down to his very bones and soul.

His soul.

Jimin’s soul screaming. He can feel the panic and the pain ripping through the storm at him. He can’t feel where you are but he feels the mounting terror, the slowing beat of your heart. Jimin blindly runs in the direction that he thinks you’re in – he has no way of knowing in the Maker’s damned storm.

Hoseok follows, flames licking at their enemies.

A tremor runs through the ground. Jimin barely pulls up short and misses the explosion of ice lancing across the snow. Mist and frozen ground spray in the air, momentarily blinding him. Jimin shields his eyes with his hand as it all comes down.

The snowy minions pause, half of their numbers obliterated. Jimin turns to look north, a shadow appearing in the white blizzard screaming around them. Relief floods Jimin’s system as the figure in black throws a black-gloved hand forward, another torrent of grown and snow rippling. The earth cracks as it hits the the Callieach’s figures.

Jimin and Hoseok launch into action, slicing through them as their new ally falls into battle with them. Jimin sees the black blade glinting as it cuts through their enemies. The winter storm lessens around them, almost coming to a complete stop as the ice continues to lash up from the ground like a whip, cracking and destroying the remaining figures The Callieach summoned.

The dark figure turns to Jimin, only his eyes visible under the heavy black hood and mask pulled across his lower face. Inky, feline eyes stare back at Jimin and he realizes who has come to help them.

Yoongi.

“Help me!” Jimin begs. “The Callieach is killing her!”

“Khione will take care of it.” Yoongi’s voice cut through the winter like a command. And Yoongi is of the Winter Court – of course his voice can stop the snow and mute the wind. His eyes are dark and dangerous under the Nightingale hood. “You are both going to freeze to death. Come.”

Jimin doesn’t listen. He can feel you now that the the Callieach’s fury is dying down. It feels like a thread is tied between the two of you and Jimin runs for it. Yoongi snarls at him, going after Jimin and grabbing him. Jimin is hurt. He can feel the bite in his fingers, the tremble in his legs and the raw burns from where the storm has peeled at him.

“You are going to get yourself killed.”

Jimin growls at Yoongi. “You don’t understand.”

“I have a mate too,” Yoongi snaps at Jimin, pulling the prince up short. He can’t see Yoongi’s face, but he sees the eyes. There is understanding there – not pity, but empathy. “And my mate has her. Let’s go.”

“Please,” Jimin asks and Yoongi seems to understand. Yoongi nods once, his eyes glazing over for a moment. Jimin feels a second away from breaking, squeezing his hands on the sword that is still in his hand.

He doesn’t know when he acknowledged the thread connecting the two of you. He felt it the moment he stepped into the attic, but he thought that perhaps it was a sense of familiarity. You looked so much like Yvaine that Jimin was sure the tingling at the back of his senses was familiarity.

When he took you to Faerie with him, he thinks perhaps that’s when he knew. He could feel the pain radiating from you after knocking yourself out. He could feel the anxiety and the fear like it was his own, two emotions that he wasn’t very familiar with.

Jimin had not truly been afraid in a long time. He worried for his people and he stressed over his own search for the power that had been stolen from his father and in turn, him. He had spent years and years going over Yvaine’s journals and belongings, trying to find out where she went. Trying and hoping and failing.

But despite all of that, he had never truly been afraid.

Jimin is afraid now. As he was when Taehyung took you from him for questioning, as he was the night the others attacked you in your room and slaughtered Nox and Nyx. Jimin doesn’t acknowledge where this fear comes from. To say it out loud is to give it a name and names are powerful things.

But that fear is driving him now, making him step toward Yoongi as it eats away at Jimin’s nerves, corroding him from the inside out.

Yoongi’s eyes flash and he zeroes in on Jimin. “She’s alive.” Jimin sags with relief, pain on the edge of every feeling in his body. “Come.”

Despite the screaming terror inside of Jimin, all focused on a single, half-faerie girl, he complies. Yoongi cannot lie, and he knows that he’s checked in with his other half. The telepathic talents of the Nightingales makes Jimin shiver. He had never understood what rituals they perform to become what they are, but they are faerie and they are more.

Yoongi leads them to a massive wolf waiting patiently – Jimin realizes it’s a Fenris, one of the rare giant wolves native to the Winter Court. It’s midnight black, coat absorbing the light reflecting off the snow, a dizzying effect. It sits and watches the faeries approaching, larger than both Umbriel and Asfaloth. The horses paw at the ground nervously, ice flaking their coat.

“Thank god they lived,” Hoseok breathes, rushing to his mount.

Yoongi casts a wary eye. “They didn’t. Thank Khione for that.”

Hoseok pales and Jimin’s stomach turns as he looks at his horse. She looks fine and she is warm to the touch when his trembling hand brushes across her neck. “A generous way to use her gift,” Jimin notes carefully. He studies Yoongi. “One might call it frivolous.”

“What can I say.” The wolf lowers himself to the ground on all fours, letting Yoongi mount him. The leader of the Nightingales looks tiny but terrifying on the back of his Fenris. Jimin wonders what Jungkook would think if he ever saw them – the Dread Wolf has never left the Night Court a moment of his long life. “She likes animals. Take better care of yours.”

Jimin keeps looking over his shoulder as Yoongi leads them north. Jimin had not realized how close they were to the mountains – granite-colored peaks shoot up toward the sky like the spine of some ancient creature, capped with snow.

Dark woods lead up to the foot of the mountain. Yoongi leads them into the shade of the tree. There is heavy silence around them. Jimin looks back the way they came, but sees no sign of you.

Yoongi senses Jimin’s apprehension. “You won’t see them.” He looks forward, nearly blending with the Fenris he rides. The rock face of the mountain comes into side, covered with shrubbery and snow. “Skadi is white and blends right in. Khione turns her armor white when she rides.”

“Stealthy,” Hoseok notes.

Yoongi makes a sound that has a touch of warmth.

It’s been a long time since Jimin had seen Yoongi. The Nightingale is elusive and has been focused on helping rebuild the Winter Court and the Nightingales. The last time that Jimin saw the quiet faerie, he was threatening Seokjin to keep his nose out of Winter business.

Even as a king, Seokjin knew threats from Yoongi were to be taken seriously. He was older than most of their ages combined and he wasn’t just a faerie – he was something ancient like the maker, bound in his oath to protect the Winter Court the knowledge of the Faerie.

Nightingales were rare and they were powerful. It took years of brutal training, renouncing your loyalty to your family, and undergoing some sort of ritual and transformation that was unknown to Jimin. Yoongi had been the captain of the Nightingales as long as Jimin had known him. He had no idea what ties the faerie had to the Winter Court before him, but he was part of the reason the original regime was torn down.

Though Khione was more the reason for that.

A shadowy alcove appears in the rock face. Jimin can’t see the ward, but he feels the veil of magic they pass through. The tunnel into the mountain is shadowed but warm. It’s comfortable and he relaxes only slightly as he lets Umbriel follow without direction.

In the darkness of the tunnel, Jimin closes his eyes and reaches.

He can feel you there, faint like the flutter of butterfly wings. You are alive but you feel barely there. He grits his teeth and reminds himself that Yoongi’s mate is the best faerie that you could be with. There is the reason the Callieach does not come to the mountain.

The Khione that Jimin knew as children is not just Khione anymore. Just like the Callieach was someone else once.

Dark blue fae light hovers above. Jimin has only been to the Citadel once before. A massive, circular antechamber with circular ceilings sits at the center of the mountain. Multiple doors are set in the stone, each leading to different parts of the mountain and Citadel. Hidden stairways, sloping tunnels and long forgotten rooms makeup the inside of the mountain like a beehive.

It was once filled with dozens of Nightingales. Now there are only a dozen, mostly new who are far too young to be members, but who have nowhere to go in the wake of war.

Yoongi slides off the Fenris and whistles, long and low. A young Nightingale appears dressed in a black tunic and black breaches, her hair the color of the deep ocean. She bows deeply at the waist to Jimin and Hoseok and presses a fist to her chest when she bows to Yoongi. He returns the motion with a shallow nod of his head instead of the bow, and instructs her to care for their horses.

Still in armor, he gestures for them to follow.

Yoongi sheds the hood as they do. His dark, inky hair is longer than Jimin remembers. The armor he wears looks like second skin, black plated leather and metal that interlock like dragon scales. There is fine detailing in black, but Jimin does not know what the patterns mean. He assumes they’re sacred to the Nightingales, so he doesn’t ask.

Fae light hovers throughout the hallway. They don’t run into anyone else, a city too large for the few people that live in it.

They’re taken down into steaming pools of saltwater. Jimin can smell the salt before they get there. The air is humid, steam cleaning to the walls and dripping. The fae light down this hall is softer, glowing orange instead of blue and they are spread farther apart than before, casting most of the hall in shadow.

Yoongi gestures to a hole in the wall.

Inside is a soft, milky pool of steaming water. Orange veins of magma course through the wall, looking liked fiery roots digging it’s fingers into the earth. Jimin feels the moisture bead on his skin. Glancing up, he sees stalactites hanging over the ceiling, their teeth menacing.

“Bathe,” Yoongi instructs. There is soap at the west side. The salt will help your wounds and the warmth will melt that child from the Callieach.” He looks at Jimin with heavy meaning. “You need to raise your temperature and keep it consistent. The Callieach’s cold will bite away for longer than you can imagine.”

Jimin opens his mouth. “She will be in the medical wing with Khione. You can go there when you’re done.” Yoongi almost melts into the darkness, eyes flashing silver as he warns Jimin, “Thirty minutes.”

Silence fills the space as Jimin and Hoseok strip. Hoseok’s flesh is burned and blackened with the cold touch of the Callieach, blood and scrapes crusted over with ice. Guilt rolls through Jimin like a thunderstorm. He averts his eyes, knowing that his friend is far too precious for what Jimin is putting him through. For what they have planned together.

The warm water seeps into Jimin’s skin. It chases away the cold, making him sigh. He goes deeper into the pool, submerging to the neck as he closes his eye. He drifts to the far side of the tubs, finding hard, lavender scented soaps. He scrubs at his skin with one and is pleasantly surprised to find it’s mixed with arnica.

“She’s your mate,” Hoseok murmurs. Jimin looks up. It’s not a question, but an observation. Hoseok doesn’t look at him, busy scrubbing away at his skin. “She is, right?”

Jimin looks down at his hands. The knuckles are pink and raw after scrubbing them. The word trembles through the very making of Jimin. He knows what it means to have a mate. His farther losing his mate is what started the entire mess they were in. The pain, the suffering, the aimless drifting after losing his mate is what had driven King Malik to madness.

Having a mate is something deeper than love. It is fated, it is instinctual, it is a bond at the soul level. When a soul matches yours entirely.

Jimin thinks of you. The way you fight his every move because you have a mind on your own despite being afraid. The way you stand your ground. The way you have adapted in impossible conditions. Or your smile when you think he’s not looking. Your eyes when you find something else about this new world of yours fascinating.

Your voice. The way you smell like rose and vanilla – sort of like the palace at the High Court.

You. His enaid.

Jimin nods, voice barely above a whisper when he answers Hoseok, “Yes.”

-

You were never made for poetry. Stories and novels were always something you excelled at, taking your grandmother’s stories and turning them into something fuller. Bigger. But as you drift somewhere – you're not sure if you’re dreaming or not – Robert Frost’s poem floats around your mind like a haunting song.

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

The cold of the Callieach’s power feels permanent. Like a hateful poison deep in your tissue, making a home in your skin, your cells, your very being.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

You remember Jimin. The way he kissed you, like he had been starving for centuries for you. Just you. The way his fingers pulled and scratched you, digging to your soul. Devouring you whole. Desire incarnate.

But if I had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

It feels like the ice is eating you from the inside out. It is hateful and cruel and cold, burning away at your very being.

And then it stops. The warmth starts very slowly, drip drip dripping into you like the softest rain drops.

More. You want more. It begins to trickle, a steady stream of rain tap tap tapping warmth into you. You relish in it, hoping that it stays forever.

You do stay warm like a fever, but the pain starts to arrive. At first, it’s dull and quiet. Then it mounts to a steady roar, waves of pain deep to the marrow. You moan, turning over on your side and curling into a ball, hoping that if you make yourself smaller it will go away.

It is unbearable. You try to hide from it but it’s there and it demands to be felt.

Something soft brushes against your back and you hear gentle words but it’s hard to understand them. It smells like orange blossoms and the deep air of night, and you feel something soft settle over you. Though the pain is still there, there is also comfort.

The word you hear finally makes sense.

Enaid.

And though you don’t know what it means, it pries the sleep from you, peeling it from your skin. Part of you is angry – the pain is ten times worse when you wake up, eyes feeling like they’re cracking open and burning.

You groan.

“Morning,” Jimin laughs. You croak some sort of response, blinking and looking up at him. “You sound a bit like a frog.”

You’re in a dark room lit by red fae light. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you realize you’re in a cave. The bed underneath you is more a cot than a bed, but it’s warm and comfortable. It smells like herbs and salt, the air damp as you roll over and let out another pained sound.

“I feel dead.”

“You almost were,” Jimin admits. “I would have been very annoyed if you had.”

“Yeah?”

Jimin grins at you and it’s the most beautiful thing. Something deep inside of you stirs. You swallow down the feeling of butterfly wings He taps the ring on your finger. “Valuable, remember?” It's nearly impossible to hide the disappointment on your face. Jimin must see how swiftly the flush of embarrassment rises to your cheeks because he squeezes your hand. “I was kidding. Faeries can’t lie, but we can jest. You are valuable, but it’s not the ring that makes it so.”

“Thanks.”

“How do you feel?”

“Awful.”

“Better than dead.”

“I thought I was dead. I swear I saw the Grim Reaper come for me.”

Jimin frowns. “The Grim Reaper is a being from your world, not mine. We have banshees, but that’s it.”

“Well it was something in all black and it was terrifying.”

“Ahh.” Jimin is still holding your hand. You try not to look down where his palm warms yours, fingers curled around yours. Steady electricity hums through you like a current where you touch. “You mean Khione. The Nightingales dress in all black, though I hear she occasionally wears white. She probably wanted the Callieach to see her.”

Someone sweeps into the room. You feel the power before you turn your head to see her. You flinch in your bed, cowering into Jimin and whimper, the cold fingers that had tried to slaughter you coming back. The faerie who walks into the room is a replica of the Callieach – at least her face.

Black hair that is almost blue swirls around her face as she approaches. Her skin is pale and smooth, shining with radiance like the moon. Her face is stunning – high cheekbones, narrow nose with a soft end, almond shaped eyes with heavy lashes. Her mismatched eyes are hypnotizing – one black, one blue.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, voice soft and deeper than you were expecting. She sounds nothing like the haunting whispers of the Callieach. “I know I look like it - I’m not the Callieach, though.”

Jimin holds you, letting your fear subside. The woman doesn’t move any closer, giving you your space. You can feel the power ebbing around her and as you slow your panic, you realize it does feel different than the Callieach. She feels like darkness and death.

“My name is Khione,” she says gently. “I’m just here to help your healing. May I approach?”

You lean away from Jimin, but his hand stays wrapped around you. You nod and Khione smiles. Her two-toned eyes are mildly alarming, but she approaches carefully. Jimin lets her sit next to you on a stool, rolling up the sleeves of her black tunic to the elbow. Despite everything, you trust Jimin’s judgment to let her near you.

Rubbing her palms together, she slowly holds her hands over you, ghosting them over your skin as she concentrates on something. You feel a soft prodding that makes you squeak in surprise. She gives you a sheepish look. “Sorry,” she admits. “I haven’t done this in a while. My skill lies more in death than life.”

“I see.”

“Don’t worry, I had practice earlier.” Khione jerks her head to Jimin. “He let the horses die. I wasn’t too excited so I brought them back.”

“What?” you demand, looking at Jimin. “How dare you?”

“I was a bit busy running after you,” Jimin grunted. “Perhaps you didn’t notice, but the Callieach’s wind ripped you from me. And we were dealing with snow soldiers while she was trying to rip the power from you.”

“Is that what she was doing?”

“Sort of,” Khione answers. “I think it thought you could take it home.”

Her hands are warm as they skate over your chest, throat and head. She drops them into her lap when she’s done, but you miss their warmth.

Up close, Khione is even more beautiful than you originally thought. It's similar to Jimin’s, an ethereal shine that you cannot help but feel blinding by.

“What happened? I only remember you appearing.”

She sighs. There is a weariness in the corner of her eyes and pinched shape of her mouth. Her one blue eye looks bright and young, while the dark black eye looks ancient. You cannot see the pupil the iris is so dark.

“Yoongi and I were hunting. There have been strange things lurking around the boarder. Usually the Callieach keeps them away – they're either too afraid to go near the woods or they get eaten. I felt the pulse of magic and we decided to investigate.” She looks at Jimin. “You’re lucky we did. You shouldn’t have been in those woods, knowing it was there.”

“We were in a hurry.”

“Haste is death.”

“Well thankfully you were around.”

Khione rolls her eyes, not impressed by Jimin’s argument. You have to admit, you aren’t either. You look at him skeptically. “You knew that thing was in the woods and we went anyways?”

“I didn’t anticipate you sending a ‘hello here we are’ signal into the world.” He grimaces. “But yes, I knew that she was in the wood.”

“Yoongi and I came to help. We were just in time.”

You can see the frustration when she looks at Jimin, which tells you just how close you were to dying. “So she’s dead?” Khione looks at you. “The Callieach?”

“No. But it won’t be coming out now that it knows its sister lies in the north.”

It. You notice that Khione has not called the Callieach she like you and Jimin have. She consistently uses the word, refusing to acknowledge that the Callieach is a person.

“Is the sister a terrifying evil hag like the Callieach?”

Khione is amused as she leans back on the stool and crosses her arms. “I don’t know. Am I?” Jimin rolls his eyes despite smirking at the revelation. You realize now why they look so similar – the Callieach is Khione’s sister. She must see the confusion on your face, because she gives you a sad smile, filled with an ancient hurt. “The Callieach is my sister in two ways.”

“That’s... confusing.”

“You have met the others that come in through doors to our world?” You nod here. “The Callieach comes from the same world. She is a host to a creature like the Maker.”

“A god,” you murmur and Khione shrugs. “It was like the power of a god crushing me.”

“There are all types of names for them in all types of realms. It is a creature that is not from here though, that is very old and very powerful. She was banished here by her own kind and bound to a faerie body. She is severely weakend that way, but still formidable.”

Horror creeps into you. “The host she’s bound to is your sister.”

Khione nods. “Beira sacrificed herself to keep the Callieach from tormenting our people. We had hoped she would keep her mind but she has not. At least, not fully. It sticks to its little corner of the Winter Wood and stays there.”

“I’m sorry. That is incredibly sad.”

Khione nods. “It is an ancient hurt.”

“But hurt nonetheless.” She smiles at you. “You said you were a sister to her in more way than one?”

“Ah, that.” Khione taps a finger on her knee and opens her mouth to tell you when she’s interrupted.

“Khione.” You turn to look at the deep, rasping voice.

Another faerie enters the room. He is dressed in all black, long hair like spilled ink curling at the nape of his neck and behind his ears. His coal-colored eyes are keen like a cats, milky skin flushed as he approaches. His tunic is sable with matching breeches, the shadowy colors looking like they shift with his movement.

Something about his gaze is not particularly friendly and you feel cold, dropping your eyes as he stops at the foot of your cot. There are rings on his fingers and your eye is drawn to one. You sit up in your bed, fixated on it.

“That ring looks like mine.” You point to his thumb. “Did you make this?”

You hold your hand up to him to flash it. His dark eyes fall on it. He remains expressionless and says nothing for a few long moments. Your heartbeat picks up, remembering what Jimin said about potential makers of the ring.

“What have you brought into my home?” he growls. “Yvaine asked me to make that cursed ring for her without telling me what she would use it for. She perverted my magic and used it for her own devices.”

“Yoongi,” Jimin says softly.

The faerie – Yoongi – holds his hand up. “No. You demand too much of the Nightingales just like Yvaine did. What I did to put that power into the ring is unspeakable. I will not relive my faults for you.”

Yoongi says nothing more. He storms out of the room, a raincloud over his head. Khione sighs as she goes, rubbing her temples. She gives Jimin and you an apologetic glance.

“Sorry about him,” she murmurs. “He is under stress. The Nightingales don’t pass the trials like the used to and he feels at fault.” Her eyes flicker to the ring and she gestures for you to hold out your hand. You do, her fingers hovering above it. You feel power in the tips of her fingers. She pulls her hand away. “There is no power in the ring.”

“That’s not possible,” Jimin says. “She used it when she called the Callieach.”

Khione hums thoughtfully and leans forward, brushing her hands in a motion over your chest. You feel that flicker of power again, fading as she pulls her hand away. “Your power is not in the ring. It’s in Y/N.”

“Not possible.”

“I am the second in command of the Nightingales and the last namer in faerie, princeling.” Khione stands, eyes narrowed. “You don’t have the faintest idea of what is possible in these realms.”

-

Jimin doesn’t let you talk about the power further. He waves you off and promises that it’s a conversation for another time. You still feel pain and he nudges painkillers in your directions, telling you that you can take them again.

Hoseok appears, yawning and rubbing his eyes from a well-deserved sleep. He sits down on the cot next to you, all smiles and asking how you are. He brandishes warm rolls from the kitchen and a jar of honey. You tear into them, not realizing just how hungry you are. They laugh and offer to take you down to the kitchens for food.

Together, they tell you that it’s the middle of the night and you’ve been asleep for a day and a half. Jimin had taken up residence next to you, which makes you warmer than you care to admit. He stays closer to you now, leading you down the winding call just a touch out of your reach.

It’s nice.

Both of them keep talk light, giving you an impromptu tour. You can’t help but feel like they are distracting you from what Khione said.

The High Court power isn’t bound to the ring. It is bound to you. Though you’re not entirely sure what it means, Yoongi sounded final in his decision, face haunted. You don’t know what he had to do to make the ring, but you know that even if it almost kills you, you have to be rid of the power.

Cool wind fills the empty stone halls of the underground city. It feels far too empty for how large and grand it is. Jimin and Hoseok tell you that there used to be dozens of Nightingales and a school of initiatives, all protecting the knowledge of the world and the Winter Court royals.

Now, they’re a little more neutral. Though they don’t discuss what Khione is, you get the sense that she isn’t just a faerie.

Your curiosity can wait. You enter a hall with wooden tables and benches, warm light hovering in the high, curved ceilings. There are other Nightingales around, snacking on meats and cheeses. Hoseok vanishes into a back room and reappears with platters of meats, cheeses, bread and water.

The food is delightful, packed with flavor. You try to eat slowly as to not make yourself sick, but the hunger gnaws at you like the cold that you felt during the Callieach’s attack.

For what it is worth, they do a good job at distracting you. The walk you through the brutal fight with monsters made of snow and you laugh at Hoseok’s frustration at how do you kill snow? It's nice to sit and talk to them, even though the knowledge that somehow you have the power of the High Court sits heavy with you.

You elbow Jimin as you bite into a piece of bread, chewing. “So are you going to tell me what enaid means?”

Jimin’s eyes go wide over his wooden cup. “Hmmm?”

“You said if we survive you’d tell me.”

“I said I might tell you.”

���Tomato to-mah-to.”

He furrows his brows. “Is that another one of your turns of phrase?”

You wave it off. “I think we’re pretty lucky to be alive. I think maybe you should tell me in the event that I die while trying to give you this power back.”

He scowls and Hoseok clears his throat, putting his hands on the table. “I’m exhausted, I’m going to head to bed.”

Jimin looks up at him. “You just woke up.”

“Yes - I did. You know fighting and saving the world and killing snow monsters is hard on the body. I need a nap. Have a great night.”

It doesn’t take a genius to know that Hoseok wants no part of whatever conversation you’re trying to have with Jimin. You glare daggers into his back.

Jimin dusts off crumbs from his hand. “We should-”

“No,” you growl. “What does it mean.”

“I already told you, it means a lot of things to a lot of different people.”

“What does it mean to you?”

Jimin doesn’t answer. He shuts his mouth and the open, vulnerable expression he has taken to wearing around you the last few days zips tight. You can no longer get a read on him, beautiful face a smooth canvas. It looks like the Jimin you first met, the impassive prince who cares nothing for you.

It slices like a knife. You push yourself up from the table, wiping your hands on your tunic as you glare at him. “Here I was thinking we were friends,” you snap. “I forgot you do nothing but withhold information and move everyone the chessboard like your little pieces. So much for that fucking oath you swore to me.”

Jimin says your name as you storm off. You don’t know why his refusal to tell you what the word means eats at you, but it does. You hate it. Because you know it means something and the way it makes you feel cannot be fake. The way Jimin makes you feel when he says it has to mean something.

And him not telling you what it means feel like he’s not admitting something important. Something vital.

Jimin isn’t being honest with you and you hate that it bothers you.

Jimin calls your name again, but you don’t listen. You don’t know where you’re going, rushing through the halls with tears burning in your eyes. You've been through so much together and yet he can’t even say it.

You run into something solid, startling yourself. You look up to apologize and the words lodge in your mouth. Yoongi takes in your sudden years and the way you’re rushing, obsidian eyes watching. He flicks his gaze above you, as though he can sense Jimin and beckons you with a tilt of his head.

“Come along,” Yoongi murmurs. “Let’s chat, just you and I.”

It does not feel as though you can protest. Anyway, you want to get away from Jimin and whatever torrential feelings regarding the prince.

Yoongi moves like a shadow. He vanishes between shadow, reappearing in a shaft of light farther ahead of you. He makes you feel like he’s left you, only to reappear again a second later. It’s eerie, the way he becomes the dark.

Though you’ve seen Jimin among the shadows of night, this is different. The dark pockets through the caves that he leads you aren’t just dark – they are void of any light, like they don’t exist in this world. You run your hand through a shaft of darkness as you pass – you almost feel it.

“Khione can feel when you do that,” Yoongi hums. You flinch, realizing you’ve almost walked into him. He’s stopped at a wooden door, turning a key in it. “The shadows are a part of her.”

“Sounds ominous.”

He smirks. “Yeah, a little.”

Burning cedarwood and the smell of wax greets you as you walk into a comfortably warm room. Candles flicker from wooden bookshelves and tables filled with books and scrolls. A fireplace crackles on the far side of the wall, a massive sleeping wolf in front of it. You freeze, staring at the creature. It’s fur is pure white, like untainted snow and you know without a doubt that it is larger than Umbriel.

Yoongi strolls into the room unfettered, glancing back at you when he senses your hesitance. “That’s Skadi, she won’t hurt you. She’s Khione’s.”

“You have a pet wolf?”

“They’re not wolves – not really. They’re older and perhaps what wolves evolved from. They’re called Fenris’ and they originated in the Winter Court. One of the first Queens of the Winter Court struck a bargain with them. They serve the royal family.”

You slid your eyes to Yoongi, who is now sitting on one of the couches surrounding a low table. He fixes himself a steaming cup of tea. You have no idea where it came from. “Khione is royal?”

Yoongi hums and nods his head.

The library is much larger than the one at the Night Court. You crane your neck upwards, looking at the endless ceiling. It spirals up and up and up. You realize the library is at the center of the mountain, going up the hollow center with stacks and stacks of books. Pixies flutter among the shelves, their light like stars in the night.

“Why is she here, then?” You venture, sitting stiffly on the seat across from Yoongi. “You guys are more of a neutral organization now, aren’t you?”

“Neutral for the most part, but we’ll always feel bound to protect the Winter Court.” He waves a hand over his tea and it cools. He sips from the porcelain cup, leaning back to look at you with those inky eyes. “Why are you here.”

“I told you, because-“

“No,” he holds up a hand, cutting you off. “Why are you here?”

An easy question with a complicated answer. You stare at Yoongi mouth opening and closing.

Why are you here?

Because you want to give the High Court it’s power back.

No.

Because you had spent your entire life thinking that your grandmother was the hero of your dreams. She slayed monsters and saved innocent people from dying, all with the wit of her mind and the tip of her sword. She fought against evil kings and broke the rules because someone had to do it, someone had to step up.

Grandmother was like that for you as you grew up, too. She always stepped up when your mother refused to talk about fantasy stories or read you children’s book with magic. Grandmother helped mom take care of you when she was busy making an empire – doing anything to free herself from needing help from her mother.

Grandmother was there when dad passed away, letting your mom scream and yell at her and tell her over and over again that it was her fault. Something you still don’t understand.

Your entire life, you knew she was good. And brave and strong.

Then you came to Faerie, the root of her stories, of her heroics. Only to find that she was hated, looked down on and scolded for her choices. Everyone looked at you and saw your grandmother. Looks just like her. No doubt, that is Yvaine’s heir.

Because your grandmother is a clever little witch.

You’ve stolen the power of the High Court and quite frankly, your grandmother was not quite loved by this court.

You’re ill-received because Yvaine went on her little hero campaign without consulting any of the courts and without care and without considering that the consequences in the future might be worse than the consequences of delayed processes among the courts.

Everyone looked at you and saw the mistakes of the one person you held higher than everyone else and you had no idea how to reconcile that. Was it not your job to make good on her mistakes? Was it not the penance for her actions, for her blood and heir to fix what was broken?

It felt like fate had brought you here to reconcile yourself with the hero you dreamed of and the woman she was. She was not perfect – she had faults like any other living creature – and though her intentions had been pure, she had made choices that led you here, sitting with Yoongi and trying to fix what she had done.

Because it felt like your burden now. And there was no way to return home knowing that she had done something that was causing insurmountable loss.

“It would certainly be prophetic for you to fix the High Tree,” Yoongi acknowledges. You don’t realize that you’ve spoken your despair and burdens outload. You look up at him with tear-stained eyes. “Yvaine was not a terrible person and she perhaps, does not deserve the contrition you have felt by other members of her court.”

You wipe tears from your eyes. “However, fae are immortal beings and have hundreds of years to gnaw on their hatred for someone or their opinions. It takes far longer for them to change their minds about something. In another hundred years, they may be singing her praises.”

“That’s stupid.”

He smirks. “Perhaps so. I appreciate what you’re trying to do to right your grandmother’s wrongs. But try not to think so harshly on her actions. Guilt and regret that do not belong to us rot the soul. It is how you humans birth generational trauma.”

“How do you know about humans?”

“I’m the captain of the Nightingales. It’s my job to know about the realms.”

You nod. “Can I ask you something?”

“I surely couldn’t stop you.”

“Why are you so afraid of this ring?”

A shadow drifts over his face. “I’m not so afraid of the ring. The ring is empty – that power has bound itself to you now. The ring can be removed, the power cannot.” He licks his lips and leans forward, showing you his hand where a similar ring flashes. “These rings act as leaches. They are enchanted to pull from a power source. When I made one for your grandmother, I made one under the guise that she was looking to pull power from one of the thousands of ancient artifacts in this world. These rings were not uncommon once upon a time. They store magic until it is unbound.”

“So it had King Malik’s powers until I put it on and they transferred to me.”

“Precisely. But to steal another faerie’s magic with these rings is the highest perversion of this creation that I can imagine, and for that, I cannot forgive her. It is like stealing a person’s soul, because the soul and your magic are linked.”

“Is that why you won’t take the power back from me?” You ask gently. “Because it might damage my soul?”

“Yes. And a faerie without a soul is exactly what happens when the others take over your body.” Yoongi leans back. “Jimin told me one of them right to possess you.”

“Yes. It was the most painful thing I have ever experienced.”

“Because it was trying to rip your soul out and take its place. What you want me to do – and don’t lie to me, I can see it in your eyes – is to pull that magic from you and risk shattering what makes you. It’s called reaping, because it almost always ends in death or a shattered mind.”

Something occurs to you. “My grandmother… she reaped Jimin’s power as well.”

“Yes.”

“She… she almost shattered his soul? How has he not killed me?”

Yoongi’s smile is soft. “The reasons of the heart are often tangled and complicated. Perhaps you should speak to Jimin about the effects of ripping out magic. I don’t believe he is so keen to continue with your plans, now.”

“I don’t care what we wants. If there is a chance I can give him the High Court power and close the gate, we have to do it.”

Yoongi wavers. “Talk to Jimin about how it feels. If you still want to do it afterward… I will help you – but only if it’s you who wants to do it.”

You sigh, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. Yoongi laughs, like an elder amused by something the younger generation has done. You’re not so scared of him anymore, even though he doesn’t answer your questions directly, like Khione being a royal and Khione being something else like the Callieach.

Yoongi seems more protective over her than anything else.

Khione enters the room behind you – you can feel her presence, the darkness and something else pressing up against you like an invisible barrier as she ghosts through the room toward Yoongi. You don’t see her but you see him.

Yoongi straightens, looking past you to her and he smiles – gummy and blinding, eyes crinkling with affection at the corner. His eyes that have remained so dark and bottomless sparkle now, as though there are a million constellations scattered across their sky.

Yoongi looks at Khione with unchecked affection, a devotion that is so raw you have to look away. You see her walk by him, running her hands softly through his hair. “Hello, enaid.”

That word makes you look up. They’re not looking at you. Khione is smiling down at him as Yoongi murmurs something to her, his face tilted up like he is basking in the sun that she brings him. It’s a tender moment, but your heart is roaring in your ears.

That name. The word. Spoke by Khione to Yoongi in a soft croon, drawing the softest gaze from him.

As delicately as you can, you excuse yourself from the room. Yoongi thanks you for the talk, but his attention is back on the woman that he so obviously loves.

Outside the library, you shut the door, heart pounding. Each beat says that word, two syllables punctuated by the pumping of your heart.

En-aid. En-aid. En-aid.

-

Once upon a time, there was a maiden who was born of night and had stars in her hair. She was not born with a crown, but she stole one from an evil king.

But this story is not about how she stole the power from the evil king. This story is how she fell in love with the prince who smelled like summer rain and warmed her very soul. About how she found that every soul has a match, two stars in the sky meant to shine together.

The maiden found her star, the prince of summer and they fell in love because they were meant for one another. He made her feel loved when her family did not, and he spoke in sweet whispers and promised to give her the world.

When Faerie was dark and hiding from evil, the prince of summer helped the maiden save the world. Two stars adrift in space, not favored by their families, they decided to run away together and grow old, their magic fading with time but their love stronger than ever.

Once upon a time, there was a maiden who was born of night and had stars in here hair, and though she thought she would never find love, she found her soul mate.

The story of how your grandparents met rattles through you as you storm through the dark halls of the Nightingales. You don’t know where you’re going, but you can feel Jimin. Just like you had the moment you met him in the attic, just like you had throughout your entire journey with him.

A string tying you together, pulling you along.

Thoughts race in your mind. Flashes of Khione affectionately calling Yoongi by that name – by that word. A word that has always rattled your soul when said to you by Jimin. It had no effect when Khione said it, but the way you shiver, thinking of the feeling when Jimin says it is not a coincidence.

The way Jimin refuses to tell you the meaning.

The way Jimin kissed you like his life depended on it.

The way Jimin kept you alive even though the easiest method would be to kill you.

Jimin had proven that he could be deceitful and his methods could be cruel when it suited him. He had told you time and time again on your first days in Faerie that his methods were cruel, but they were a part of who he was. He would always serve the interest of his people his way.

Wouldn’t the best way to do that be to rip the magic from your body, no matter what happened to your soul?

There was little doubt that if this were another person, that Jimin would do just that. You don’t know why you know this, you just do and that makes everything worse. This feeling of instinctual understanding, some sort of unexplainable but fundamental understanding of Jimin.

You find him in the room assigned to him. You don’t bother knocking, you enter the room with a vengeance, your anger sweeping behind you like a cape. Jimin senses this, standing up and looking you up and down warily, tensed for a fight.

“Tell me what it means.”

Jimin remains motionless. “Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Because I want to hear you say it. If you can’t say it, then what is the point?”

“The point of what?”

You ball your fists. “Don’t play coy with me!” You scream at him. Your voice echoes along the stone walls of the room and Jimin flinches. You don’t know that you’ve ever seen him flinch, the motion making you pause. “Tell me,” you beg him. “What it means? Why do you call me that? Why do you care for me one moment and you’re distant the next? Why did you kiss me? Touch me? Tell me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Faeries cannot lie. This truth will not set you free.”

“Why do you want to lie to me? Why why why? Why Jimin?”

“Because it is cruel!” Jimin shouts at you. His eyes are a dark shade of green, the shadow of a forest. “Because you make you my mate is the unkindest of fates. Because I wish I could hate you the way I hated your grandmother for almost killing me without thinking a moment of it. Because to save my people, I need to rip that magic from you. Because you are mortal and I am not. Because you know nothing of this world. Because you and I are a terrible match and yet fate demands it. I don’t want this - you do not want this.”

There it is again. That word: mate. Taehyung called Jimin your mate in the tent in the Day Court. It is a word you’ve heard in your reading about faeries, about how every faerie soul is born with a matching one. A true mate, someone they can love and understand without boundaries.

And Jimin does not want to be yours. You can see it in the way his vision carries thunder. His fists curled. The rigidity of his jaw. Fate has given him you and he does not want it. Does not want the heir to a woman who would sacrifice him. Someone who cannot live as long as he can. Someone who is standing in the way of saving his court.

It hurts.

Like a physical pain, a knife whittling into your chest as it begins to carve carve carve.

Carve your heart out. Because Jimin may be nice out of an instinctual – no a divine – need to protect you and to care for you, but it isn’t real. He only helps you because the stars or Maker or whatever it is they believe in have paired the two of you. But it isn’t real and Jimin doesn’t want you.

“I will tell Yoongi to prepare.” Your voice is foreign, unaffected. You are vacantly proud of yourself for remaining unaffected. “The worst scenario is that I die. But you get your magic back, and you’re unbound from me.”

“Is that what you think I want?”

“How can I know what you want when you covet every desire you have?”

“I don’t want you to die.”

“Which part of you is saying that?” You demand. “The unwilling soulmate or the prince of his people?”

“Unwilling soulmate? There is no such thing as-“

“I get it,” you cut him off. Your voice wavers now and you hate it. “Who would want to be mates with me? My grandmother did terrible things to you, I’m a human who is despised here, and you did not choose me. I get it, you don’t love me, but you could have told me.”

“You are not listening to me.” Jimin steps toward you and you back up, making him pause. “It is not that I do want you, Enaid. It is that I do not want me for you. I have no court because Hoseok spoke true, I have no friends. I find it difficult to give myself freely to others. I am of this world of cruelty and deception and you have a life, a home, a family and friends that will be there for you when you get back. How could I, someone who is undeserving of such an honor to be your mate, tell you what you mean to me, as my enaid, my soul mate, my fated heart, when all I want for you is happiness and to return to your home?”

Jimin looks at you in a way that makes you cry then. He is pleading, and the pain in his face is evident now. He says the words freely, each one of them direct. Faeries cannot lie, and you realize that it’s not you Jimin despises. It is himself.

Jimin is a product of his environment.

A bastard son split between courts.

Jimin is a product of his environment.

The son to a mad king and a queen who is dead.

Jimin is a product of his environment.

A sacrificial lamb to Yvaine’s plan.

Jimin is a product of his environment.

Alone. An heir to a throne he cannot have. Serving a court that does not want him. Brother to a king that is not bound by blood.

“Is that not the love of soulmates?” Jimin whispers. “To want your happiness more than my own? To hide the truth from you in hopes that you never hear it, never feel bound to a place you do not want, to a faerie you do not need? I did not hide this from you to be cruel and hateful. I hid my truth from you because I cannot bear binding you to a world that could not make you happy.”

“Do you love me?”

“I know little of love, but I know that I care about you and that I want you to be happy, that I will not let you give up that magic if it means risking your life.” He crosses the space toward you. This time, you let him. He lifts a hand, cradling your cheek, green eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I know that I am afraid when you are in danger, and that despite you being an annoying brat, I am fond of the fire inside here.” His hand drifts from your cheek to your chest, flat against your tunic. You wonder if he can feel your heart racing, feel the pounding in your rib cage at his confession.

“I do not know if that is love,” Jimin admits softly. “But I know that I will do all to protect you. Even if it means doing things you believe are unkind.”

“I don’t think you are unkind.” You grip his wrist softly, holding it to your hand. A warm, lush feeling rolls through you. Jimin’s hand is trembling at he watches you. Bravery surges through you. “I think,” you say slowly. “That it is easier for you to hide behind wrongs to protect people you care about, because the methods of saving them are unsavory.”

He laughs. “You’ve got me figured out, huh?”

“And I think,” you continue. “That I knew what enaid meant, and that I wanted you to say it because I was afraid that I was losing my mind. Afraid that I was a stupid little human girl, who doesn’t know what she is doing and who was having her heart stolen by a faerie.”

Jimin clutches your tunic and pulls you closer. “Is that not what happened?” His voice is like silk and your eyes flutter, warmth spreading through you. Your heart is screaming for him. Yes yes yes yes yes yes. “Am I not the evil prince in this story?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

His lips are almost touching yours. You smell orange blossom and night, feel the soft touch of his rough hand, twisting in your shirt. Your grip presses on the bones of his wrist, desperate to keep him there. To keep his touch. “I don’t think you are nearly as evil as you or I thought.”

“Tell me to go away. Tell me to leave. For if I don’t let you go, it will be evil of me indeed.”

“Then perhaps it is evil of me to ask you to stay. For if I let you keep me, it will be evil of me indeed.”

You fall forward as Jimin yanks you to him. He crushes your lips to his and everything you’ve ever thought about vanishes. Every fear, every anxiety, every doubt is erased with the fire of his mouth on yours, the burning sensation as he pulls you to his chest, hands going around your hips and digging into your flesh.

You kiss Jimin back, mouth folded against his, eyes closed and arms wended around his neck. He smells like everything you’ve ever dreamed of, he feels like the soft pages you write your stories on, tastes like the warm sweetness of a tangerine.

Jimin’s lips are hungry for you, parting briefly to smile and find your mouth again. He bends slightly, hands sliding to the back of your thighs. You know what he wants, just like you know that Jimin is being open and honest now, is acting on something he purely desires. You jump into his grasp, only breaking the kiss to look down at him as he carries you.

Your hair makes a curtain, hand cradled against his jaw. He looks up at you and there are millions of stars in his eyes. It’s like when Yoongi looked at Khione but this time, it’s Jimin looking at you. His gaze makes you tremble.

Gently, Jimin lays you on the bed. Your hair fans out around you on the sheets. Jimin crawls over you, but his lips don’t go back to yours. He kisses your collarbone, pillowy lips leaving invisible stains of want and desire. You gasp underneath his exploration.

This is different than the night in the tent. He doesn’t eat at you, doesn’t try to devour you. He is gentle, worshiping your skin as he kisses up your neck and to your jaw, his hands slowly tracing up your curves.

You get impatient, grabbing his jaw and bringing his mouth back to yours. You feel him smile as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth, tongue brushing against it. He makes the softness noise, eliciting a breathy laugh from you.

Jimin pulls away from a moment. One hand balances him over you, the other tracing your jaw with light fingers. “You have to tell me what you want,” he whispers. “I only want what you want. But if you want me – truly – I don’t know how to let you go home without me. I don’t know how to live apart from you, if you will have me.”

“Can we figure that out later? I do want you – I’m afraid of how much that I do.”

“Don’t be,” he promises, leaning down to capture your mouth in his. You arch up into him. He parts gently. “As long as you want me, you will never be without me.”

Sweet kisses fill the space between you. Jimin pulls at your tunic, tossing it further onto the bed. This time, you pull his clothes with yours, wanting this to be about you both, not just you. Jimin’s skin is a marvel under your hands, warm and tan. There is strength in every ounce of him, a warrior undoubted but he melts under your touch, abs jumping as you skim up to his chest, fingers tracing the contours.

Jimin’s touch is awed, fingers feeling the curves and dips of your body as his mouth descends. You feel a whip of fire crack through you as his wet mouth takes a nipple in his mouth, tongue sweeping over the peek. You gasp, pushing your chest toward him. He hums, making you writhe.

It feels so good. Everywhere he touches you there’s a fire. His teeth pull at your nipple, eliciting a deep moan. He smirks as he looks up at you with those dark, siren-eyes. His tongue snakes out between his teeth as he grins, flicking the other nipple experimentally. You moan again, more at the carnal vision that is Jimin than the feeling.

“I love the way you sound,” he whispers, kissing the valley of your breasts, the top of your chest. He leaves no skin unmarked. “So beautiful, the only music I could listen to for eons.”

“Kiss me.”

“Anything you ask.”

Jimin kisses you again as you both work off your pants, tangled limbs and shaking fingers. He breaks to kick the trousers off his ankles, giving you a view of his cock and oh my god. There is no part of Jimin not perfection, no part blemished. His cock is proud and weeping with precum, swollen tip flushed.

He settles next to your legs hands tracing your calves and prying you open. Your hand snakes up to him, curious and exploratory. You wrap your hand around his velvety shaft, making Jimin drop his head and moan. It is the sweetest sound and you want more of it. Slowly, you swipe your thumb over the crown of his cock, spreading the arousal to make your leisurely pumps glide smoothly.

Jimin’s breath is unsteady, his entire frame rattling as he closes his eyes. He grips your thigh as you stroke him, watching every single reaction. His skin is growing flushed and his hips twitch forward. You are entranced, squeezing experimentally and drawing a beautiful, deep moan from him.

“Fuck,” he pants. His hand shoots to your wrist, holding your hand still as his cock throbs in your hands. “I will cum if you keep doing that. You have got hands fashioned to touch me, Enaid.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You are,” he promises. “But when I cum,” he drawls, hand swiping between your leg and making you gasp. “I want it to be in your pussy.”

You whine as Jimin snickers, fingers brushing up and down gently, gathering your juices and circling your clit. You twitch under his hold, hand dropping from his cock to fist the sheets. The pads of his fingers generate amazing friction, your eyes shutting and head rolling to the side as you focus on the feeling of his fingers.

They circle your clenching hole, dipping enough to stretch you but not split you open. You make a high-pitched keen, smacking the bed angrily as you open your eyes to glare at him. “Why are you teasing me?”

Jimin’s eyes are dangerous as he grins. “I’m not. But I need to stretch you a bit. Wanna make sure you can take me.”

You don’t reply as he shuffles, leaning down and claiming your mouth in a lazy kiss, tongues dancing as Jimin slowly sinks a finger into you. You nearly purr, moaning into his mouth as he drinks you in, slowly thrusting his finger, setting a smooth pace that has you shaking with pleasure.

It feels so good. You cannot recall the last time you felt this good. Your skin is sticky with sweat as you pant between kisses, which has devolved to tongues and teeth. Jimin finds that sweet spot inside of you, stroking it and earning a loud gasp from you. You through your head forward, bumping heads as he laughs.

“Yeah?” he asks, half-lidded eyes looking down at you. He looks dazed just from fucking you with his fingers. You nod, squirming under him. He slows and presses another finger to you, waiting. “More?”

“Please.”

Jimin silences your moan with his mouth, swallowing it whole.

You feel that familiar tingle of your orgasm coming. Your heels dig into the mattress, your toes curling. You pant through it, feeling the coil in your stomach wind up. Jimin can sense it, driving his fingers faster, making wet, sloppy noises between your legs as he fastens his mouth to your neck, nibbling.

“Come on,” he pants. “Cum for me. Make it nice and wet so I can fuck you.”

“Jimin,” you gasp, head thrown back. “Please please please.”

Jimin sucks on a soft spot on your neck and you see stars. You cum around him, gasping hard and clutching his shoulders. You can feel him chuck against your skin, but it isn’t a malicious laugh. You can feel how effected he is by you, the way he is enthralled with drawing sounds and pleas from you.

Your orgasm slowly fades as he shuffles himself between your legs, picking you up by the thighs so that the back of them rests against him as he kneels. He leans down again, nearly bending you in half as he steals a kiss.

“Still want me?”

You look at him, stars in your eyes. “If you want me.”

“I will always want you.”

“Okay.” You kiss him. “Then I want you.”

His smile glows like all of the constellations in the sky.

You feel the tip of his cock push at your hole, making a wanton noise slip from you. He smirks at you before he drops his head to look at where he pushes into you, moaning at the side of his cock slowly sinking into your warmth.

It’s a tight fit but it burns so good. The ache there settles, melting into something better, something warm. You sigh in relief, like a puzzle piece drifting into place finally. Your hips are angle upward and he grabs a pillow, sliding it under you for support. Jimin is pink and flushed, shaking as he grabs your hips and slowly starts to pump into you, powerful thighs flexing.

“It feels so good,” you whisper, voice barely rustling the room. “It feels so good, Jimin.”

“Fuck, you feel divine, baby.” You’re giddy at the new nickname.

Jimin’s cock strokes you slowly, his hands firm on your hips. Your hands travel to his thigs, running aroud nails down the smooth skin. It pulls a deep noise from him and you do it again as Jimin speeds up a little, shifting himself so that you’re pulled just the slightest bit up and holy shit.

Every brush of the tip of his cock hits your g-spot before it kisses your service, making you squeal. He grins, knowing what he’s found and he does it again and again and again. You can’t keep your eyes open, world spinning as Jimin completely takes over your pleasure, driving you to the edge of insanity with every stroke.

You reach for Jimin. You don’t have to tell him that you want to be closer. He knows. He shifts, leaning over you and pressing your chests together. You love the way he feels against you, legs wrapping around his narrow waist and arms around his neck as he presses his forehead against you, rolling his hips.

Jimin’s breath is on your lips, nose brushing against yours. “You are mine,” Jimin growls. “That is what enaid means to me. It means you are everything, my soul, a call that I will always answer. I will always choose you, I will make it my life’s goal to do what you want. Even if it isn’t me. Even if this isn’t enough.”

When he says the words, you feel it. Stronger than before. That word awakens something in you and you feel it unfold, like you’re rattling the stars. You glow – literally. A light hums on your skin, surprising you both. Jimin’s eyes glitter as you light up, filled with him, filled with understanding what it is to be tied to someone. To want their own happiness.

Jimin will die for you and you know it.

“I think,” he pants. “You’ve tapped into the High Court power.”

And you have. Because your fear of Jimin is no longer there. Your fear of what it means to have it is gone. Your fear of Faerie and of this world that you don’t yet understand completely no longer exists.

“Shut up,” you huff, laughter between you. “You’re such a- ohhh.”

“Such a what, hmm?” Jimin’s thumb circles your clips as you go mute beneath him. “Always have a mouth until I’m touching you, huh?”

You nod as your orgasm approaches again. Jimin fucks you faster, thumb firm on your clit. The slide of your bodies heats you up, the air between you filled with panting and cursing.

A swell of music comes to you like a memory. String instruments singing in the night, painting a picture with their melody.

A kiss as soft as a butterfly wing – Jimin’s lips.

Rough hands like silk against your skin – Jimin’s hands.

The smell of orange blossom – Jimin’s skin.

A deep wanting worse than anything you’ve ever felt, finally fulfilled.

The color green – Jimin’s eyes.

A voile like silky wine – Jimin’s voice.

An ache so powerful that you’re gasping, finally relieved.

A silver tree taller than any you’ve ever seen before.

Two moons in the sky, circling one another in a dance – you and Jimin.

Your orgasm snaps suddenly. You scream Jimin’s name as the rush of a thousand waves breaks through you. You feel every muscle tightened, clenching down on Jimin as it washes over you. You say Jimin’s name over and over like a prayer answered.

Finally, you know what the music was telling you. Finally, you understand the song of your soulmate, and you can hear the words that he has been singing all the while.

Jimin cums as you clench around him, the same word leaving his lips. Enaid. My Enaid.

The word still sends a rush through you, stronger now that you know what it means. Stronger now that you’re brave enough to listen to when Jimin’s soul speaks to yours.

Eventually, Jimin collapses next to you. You don’t waste a second, pulling him to you, curling into his side. For all that you don’t know about Jimin and this magical world, you know that Jimin is yours. You know that his soul reflects yours – the ugly parts and the beautiful – and that if nothing else in the world is true, that at least Jimin caring about you is.

You have another half. You have someone who understands.

“Thank you,” Jimin murmurs.

“For what?”

He kisses your forehead, sweet as midnight rain. “I’m not alone anymore.”

-

Stepping around the shadows, you pull the cloak closer to you. It is freezing in the Citadel at night. The warmth of Jimin’s bed and skin has left you as you try to retrace your steps. You follow the orange fae light, wishing they believed in torches that you could warm your hands on.

You’re dressed in Jimin’s tunic, you’re pretty sure – it smells heavily of orange blossom and just… Jimin. It makes you smile, but the smile also brings pain, because you know you’re going to hurt him. But what he said about wanting to do what is right by your soulmate is true.

You want to do right by Jimin. But you’re going to hurt him. You know it will.

I’m not alone anymore.

You try not to think about those words as you step into the library. Yoongi is at a desk, looking over a scroll. He looks up as you enter the room, wavering in the doorway. Khione and the white Fenris are nowhere around, but there is an even larger, black Fenris at Yoongi’s feet.

“Don’t mind him,” Yoongi says, sensing your fear of the creature. “Hodr is a bigger baby than Skadi is.”

“Your wolves are terrifying.”

He smiles. “What brings you here?”

“I want to do it.” He says nothing to your curt response, so you push forward before you can backout, before you can think of the way Jimin played with your hair until he fell asleep. Before you can think of the way that the moon seems to glow in his skin, even when he is in the darkness.

I’m not alone anymore.

You shove down the words. Ignore them. Hide from them.

“I want you to do the reaping.”

Previous Chapter |  Next Chapter

#jimin smut #park jimin #jimin fanfic #park jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin x reader #faerie jimin #park jimin bts #jimin bts #bangtan boys #jimin fic #park jimin x reader #fic: the iron ring #minors dni #minors do not interact

[narcosfandomdiscord]

narcos october masterlist iii

This masterlist is for days 11-20 of the @narcosfandomdiscord's October 2023 prompt event, which you can read about here.

For days 1-10 of the event, check out masterlist i. For days 11-25, check out masterlist ii.

(Note: character x character indicates a romantic/sexual relationship; character & character indicates a platonic one.)

October 26 — Day of Echoes

Pick a quote from the show that you love and use it as inspiration for your fanwork. Then share what the quote is at the end of your post.

↳ Side Eye by @proceduralpassion — Walt x Sal, Walt x Dani, ficlet

Create a fanwork inspired by any mythological story (Greek, Norse, Aztec, Celtic, etc. get weird with it. Bible counts as mythology, fuck it)

↳ Miguel as god of the subgenius fanart with animation by @tofuwildcard

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October 27 — People of Color Day

Create a fanwork about an original character or reader character who is explicitly a person of color.

↳ How? by @proceduralpassion — Carrillo x OFC of color + other OCs, ficlet

Create a fanwork about a canon character of color (e.g. Truijllo, Enrique, Kiki, Rafa, Azul).

↳ Down-Time by @drabbles-mc — Trujillo & OC Diego Ramírez, 1.7k

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October 28 — Day of Friendship

Create a fanwork inspired by somebody else’s fanwork, or including a cameo of somebody else’s original character (fanvids, fanart, moodboard, etc included — just please ask for permission from the original creator to use inspo before you do it!)

Quote prompt: “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

↳ Maybe one day by @artemiseamoon — Marta & OFC ficlet

↳ We're Friends, Aren't We? by @proceduralpassion — Carrillo & OFC ficlet

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October 29 — Day of Horror

Create a fanwork inspired by your favorite horror movie.

↳ It's Gonna Be A Scream by @proceduralpassion — Javi x Reader, several Narcos characters, ficlet

Prompt: came back wrong.

↳ The Beast inside by @artemiseamoon — The Arellanos & OCs, 1.5k

↳ Palliative Care by @drabbles-mc — Carrillo, 1.8k

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October 30 — (penultimate day, October 30) Day of Amnesty

Post a fanwork you started for any previous prompt but weren’t able to finish in time.

↳ The sweet, sweet sounds of Dinarrón by @hausofmamadas — playlist and commentary for Dina x Barrón fic, prompt from day 3

↳ Take You Home by @proceduralpassion — Amado x Reader ficlet, prompt from day 18

↳ So much for my nine lives by @hausofmamadas — Barrón & Benjamín, Midnight Mass-esque horror, 1.2k, prompt from day 29

↳ Andrea surrounded by narration fanart by @tofuwildcard — prompt from day 21

Quote prompt: “I forgive you.”

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October 31 — (final day, October 31) Day of Legacy

Create a sequel or counterpart to a fanwork you posted previously this month.

↳ Be Safe Out There by @proceduralpassion — Walt x OFC ficlet

#narcos fanfiction #narcos imagine #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos #narcos mexico #narcos mexico imagine #narcoctober

[nyxirrationalstories]

Oh, little Asier

Summaries: Continuation of the story to request mythology scenarios. It's something I already had written, but I added more things to it so that it doesn't only focus on the lore of a secondary character.

You can say that it has to do with the headcanons of yandere Atenea and the future ones about Ares (and other non greek gods).

I hope you enjoy the songfic. PD: Almost in the end, there is a little bit of Loki x Reader (fem, but if you ask can be male).

Leaves of the vine Falling so slowly Like fragile little shells Drifting in the foam

Life… What really is life? No one knows concretely as each person has a unique concept of what life is whether it is fantasy or realistic. Ironically, one only tends to talk about these subjects when one feels lost, when one loses someone or at the end of it, more often in the second and third situation.

Little soldier boy Come marching home Brave little soldier Come march home

Athena stared petrified at the letter that Ennius was reading aloud while Ares exploded in anger, smashing things with unimaginable force, tears of sadness and pain in his eyes. They had no body and now they had no soul for their rites:

Ares had the Thracian funeral rite that lasted three days, with exposure of the corpse, while it was mourned by relatives and friends. During the first day animal sacrifices were performed; the second day was for different competitions and on the third day a ritual meal was offered for the family and participants of the funeral rite. At the moment of burying the deceased, jokes were told to remember the deceased with some joy.

Athena had some funeral rites quite long and with more phases: in the pre-depositional part the Prothesis and the Ekphora were performed; then in the depositional part, at the moment of pouring the earth, libations were made on the coffin if it was a burial and on the urn if it was a cremation. In this second case, wine was used to extinguish the last embers. Then, one of the relatives put the ashes in an urn. Finally, in both cases, the trousseau was placed next to the mortal remains. And in the last post-depositional phase, a perideipnon was made so that thirty days later the triakostia was performed.

As one rite was too short and the other too long, both gods agreed to make the Spartan funeral rite: it lasted eleven days, the twelfth day was relieved after having made a sacrifice to a cow: it was forbidden to mourn publicly for the deceased but not to wear as a sign of mourning mourning mournful costumes.

But the body never arrived

Ashes in the snow Falling so slowly Like fragile broken hearts with nowhere to go

For Ares, losing a son was common but it hurt in the same way and with the same intensity as if he had been the first son to die. Depending on the cause of death, the god seemed to deal with the loss differently. In the case of Argenis was no exception but the anger he felt was more intense; he refused to "let go" of one of his sons without having said goodbye properly.

In the case of Athena, this pain was something new: it is true that she had cried with the death of Pallas but losing a child was a sensation that was so painful, a tightness in the chest and a choking in the throat that for a moment she wished to feel the punishment of Styx which is pain that had no words to describe.

Losing your partner makes you a widower Losing your parents makes you an orphan but losing your children? There is no word that can contain such pain

Little soldier boy Taken from home Forced to fight in a war That wasn't his own

A few hours until Tyr showed up, the day for Argenis had a somewhat gloomy air, feeling that something bad was going to happen causing him to behave in a distant and somewhat cold way at breakfast time. This atypical behavior of his did not go unnoticed by those who knew him and they began to question him if he was well, causing him to become somewhat evasive, and if insisted on too much he became aggressive. At one point his left arm began to burn a little, when he put his eyes on where it hurt he saw the rune of Tyr illuminating; at the time the young man thought it would be Loki with some of his orders but fate had prepared a bad trick for him.

Athena did not remember how the discussion had started, not even that they had argued, but when for some reason Argenis asked in pain "Mother, don't you love me?" the goddess only answered "I think I can love you" the young man's face expressed a pain as deep as if he had been pierced by an arrow in the chest. In a cold way he withdrew from the room, holding his pain and crying to release it in solitude. Athena regretted her words but let Argenis have some time to unburden himself and apologize to each other.

But… that would be the last time they crossed words.

When Tyr arrived, the first one he crossed paths with was Ares; both greeted each other until the Hellenic/Tracian god questioned his appearance. Tyr told him that he came for the young man who was from time to time in the service of Loki as he had his rune "tattooed" and as they were looking to expand in the territory that belonged to the Tuatha Dé Danann for which every warrior served him.

Ares was going to protest against it but Argenis appeared, having heard everything, and agreed to go. He told his father that he wanted to prove his worth as a warrior and that he would return home with riches and the enemy's sword to make them proud of him. Ares knew that this was a promise that was not easily kept but his son had convinced him to let him go right then and there.

The truth was that the runes Loki had placed on his arm were a call he could not refuse. Argenis remembered the time he refused to answer the call of the runes causing him the worst suffering, he even cried and vomited in pain until he finally appeared before Loki. Dying but in the end he did what he had to do, when the god of deception saw him he was quite surprised by the punishment imposed by the runes.

Loki could be quite strange but he was a good guy when he wanted to be.

When Argenis heard what Tyr said, he knew that his destiny was to go to that war, yes or yes.

Little soldier boy Cold and alone Brave little soldier Never made it home

Argenis fought fiercely as he had been taught but he also kept his wits about him in battle, never succumbing to hubris and always fighting with honor. He was also not very comfortable destroying homes and kidnapping people to the point that he let children, old people and women live, making sure no one saw what he was doing.

But there was a time when a maiden had given him a necklace with a pendant with a strange symbol but what he remembered most was that the redhead had given him a kiss as a thank you leaving him somewhat astonished and spellbound by her at the same time.

Although their allies were strong, the enemy knew their lands quite well so every time they faced each other the "berserkers" lost but left heavy casualties to the enemy. It was in one of these battles that he lost his life, three battles before the "Norsemen" decided not to continue with this war.

When the young Hellenic was dying leaning on a stone, who received a strong and grotesque axe in the right shoulder by one of his own because he saw that he let a maiden escape, he only waited for the Furies to pick up his soul. The good thing was that he no longer needed coin for the deal he had made with Hades but he felt sad that his body would not be buried. He closed his eyes for a moment but when he opened them again, instead of seeing the Furies, in front of him was a lady of warlike appearance and black hair.

Her name was Morrigan and since he was in her territory she would be the one to take his soul, but the goddess told him that since he had saved Aine she had asked her to be merciful to him. The Celtic goddess saw the necklace that the maiden, Argenis supposed it was Aine, had given him; Morrigan observed it carefully and with a snap of her fingers, Argenis breathed his last breath and bled to death.

Leaves of the vine Changing so slowly Like empty fallen souls Searching for a home The little soldier Thought he could fly Brave little soldier Fallen in the war

With the only thing they could recover was the shield and sword that were now displayed in their respective temples: Athena the sword and Ares the shield.

Argenis was not warlike but he knew how to defend himself as if he were of that nature; he liked to explore and discover new things, he had the dream of traveling beyond Greece… a dream he made but with a disastrous destiny.

The saddest thing of all is that Argenis would be remembered by few, only his family and his few friends could not say that he was their son. He would be publicly denied, just another name in a common pile.

Although some of his objects would be preserved, they would slowly fade and vanish, leaving only ghosts of what once was, but never would be.

Dreams, aspirations, desires, pain, anger, sadness, happiness, mistakes, successes, problems and solutions… life that will never return, life that I was not lucky enough to fully express.

Argenis did not return, the only thing that came back was his sword and shield, and he will not return.

My little soldier boy I need you at home Brave little soldier Come march home

The greatest sadness for these gods is that they were never able to say goodbye to their son properly, always with the promise that he would return.

Athena regretting her last words to someone she loved.

Ares regretting that his vigor for war had blinded him to let his son "prove" his worth, even though Argenis was valuable to them.

A little soldier who should not have left A little soldier who will never come back.

Lugh watched in amazement as the white swan with the black beak handed him a small creature, sleeping peacefully among the cloths. The god held the baby gently and watched as the swan transformed, as he suspected, into a fairy and disappeared to leave the man and the little one alone.

---And where did they steal you from? --- asked the great Samildanach, uncovering the little one a little, as he did so he saw that on his chest lay a triquet revealing the nature of the baby ---Ah, I see. I wonder what god took pity on you so much or that you pleased enough to give you the gift of life again---he covered the little one again, remembering with brevity his son Setanta (Cú Chulainn) making his paternal instinct arise again--- Mmm, in that case I will make sure that your second chance will be pleasant… your name will be Arawn…. Arawn Mac Lugh (or Arawn O' Lugh since it means the same thing), you will be a great craftsman like me, your father --- he said, walking away from the lake to go with the little soldier boy to his house, to his home.

And finally, Asier woke up. His eyes were wet and red, his cheeks were still wet because the tears had not stopped.

--- In what life will it be when the gods get bored of me and let me die in peace? --- he cried in frustration, wiping away the bitter tears of a restless soul.

--- Hey Asier… oh, are you okay? A nightmare? --- the boy looked at the young lady, trying to hold back his tears for her. There were times when you could be weak, there were times when you were allowed to cry; but, when people depended on you, sometimes it was better to keep it private.

--- It's just… I thought you were leaving. I didn't mean to disturb you.

--- You don't bother me, you're like my little brother. You can trust me, is something wrong?

To tell her, or not to tell her, the question that will lead to madness or mockery. He couldn't say anything as an annoying red-haired man approached them.

--- Oh, he's awake at last, I'm glad. I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to my little friend --- commented the man as he stroked the little boy's head.

--- loðbrók --- barked Asier with such genuine irritation that it seemed that at any moment he would hit him hard.

The red-haired man just smiled, and with a wave of his hand he dropped an object from another room.

--- I'll be right back, I'm going to see what that was. Please behave with Asier, he is a very nice boy… and sarcastic if he gets annoyed. --- said the nanny before leaving them alone.

--- Underpants- Hairy your mother, Argenis, so many lives and you have already become insolent at such a young age. --- commented the yellow-eyed one as he crossed his arms.

--- Don't tell me what I am and what I am not, Loki, because for another one of your imprudences you are going to cause another Ragnarok and this time not only within the Nordic pantheon --- Asier reproached him in a serious tone, but his childish body made him see all this in a comical way. --- Leave her alone! and leave me alone. And, of all the gods I've known, I had to see you again, in every one of my damned lives.

--- Oh, Argenis-

--- Asier, my name is Asier.

--- The girl is adorable in her innocence, and you are my best warrior. My great comrade, my good messenger bird and apparently a good watchdog. --- Loki scoffed, squeezing the boy's cheeks --- you sure do make these games fun. I mean, I heard the other day that Hades got caught seeing the human thanks to you. I also heard that the rice Inari gave the human ended up being eaten by other people and don't get me started on the tantrum Tlaloc threw just because a kid made himself throw up so his nanny would take him home.

--- I hate you

--- I know, and for that, I love you

#mythology x reader #norse mythology x reader #loki x reader #yandere loki x reader #yandere loki #athena x ares #greek mythology x reader #yandere greek mythology #fem!reader #original character #celtic mythology x reader

[7ndipity]

Sean-Norae (preview)

Selkie Taehyung x Reader

Summary: Selkies are shape-shifting beings from Celtic mythology, able to transform between seal and human by taking on and off their fur coat. Some legends say that if you find and return their coat to them, you're then bound together as mates.

Warnings: supernatural/fantasy themes, swearing, idk what else

A/N: Two Tae posts in one week? Yep! Here's a lil sneak peak at part 1 of another series I'm looking forward to beginning work on.(Supernatural soulmate academia cafe AU, Aka: How many favorite tropes/elements can I cram into one series? Idk, we'll find out I guess!) The full version of pt.1 will be out next month, let me know if you like it!

The song used toward the end is 'Where Love Is' by Kurt Elling.

(Sean-Norae is pronounced 'shan no-ray')

Spooktober m.list

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It was a cold, drizzly November evening, the kind that reminded you that winter was looming ever nearer. Along the city's riverfront, all was quiet, the sidewalks empty, the water relatively calm until a small face with broke the surface, it's dark eyes peering about cautiously, making sure the coast was clear before flopping up onto the bank. Seals were not a normal sight in this area and the last thing Taehyung wanted was to draw any unnecessary attention to himself at this moment.

He squirmed uncomfortably as he began to shift forms, working carefully to wriggle free of his coat, the sleek fur begining to feel like a diving suit a size too small against his now human skin.

Stretching his limbs, he sucked in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly to rid it of any clinging moisture.

He hadn't planned on going swimming today, but something in the weather had brought out a nostalgic note in him, reminding him of home, and he just couldn't help himself. Sometimes, being in the water wasn't so much a choice for him as a necessity or compulsion.

The cold air now pricking at his newly sensitive skin, he quickly redressed in his human clothes, still where he had left them earlier on the bank, continuing to keep a watchful eye out around him as he did.

'Such a hassle.' he thought to himself ruefully, as he yanked the thick brown sweater over his head. The amount of time and effort required to shift between forms irritated him greatly. It may have been considered one of the greatest abilities of the Selkies, but it was also one their biggest weaknesses.

The entire process of changing was an intense ordeal; it was not simply taking the coat on and off, his entire body had to completely restructure itself, bones and muscles twisting and dislocating to accommodate the new shape. It was painful and disorienting and took a toll, leaving him fatigued and queasy as he grumbled to himself while tying his shoes. 'What's the fun of it, if you can't just pop back and forth?'

Climbing to his feet, he picked up the now discarded 'coat' and flipped it inside-out, folding carefully it so that it resembled a soft leather jacket, at least so long as you didn't look too closely.

Deeming himself presentable again, he made his way back up to the main road and set off to what had been his original destination for the evening, a smile creeping across his face as the half moon sign came into view, Café Sean-Norae.

Sean-Norae was a artist's paradise. The owners were married musicians who had wanted to create a space where artists could mingle and find inspiration. And, in his opinion, they had more than achieved that goal.

The walls were covered with all different styles of photography and paintings. In the corner, there was a small stage setup for music. By the counter, there was small bookshelf of plainly packaged 'mystery envelopes' containing poems or short stories for purchase. Even the name itself was a combination of cultures. The owners, Song-hwa and Patrick, had used their Irish and Korean heritages to make up a word that meant 'old song'.

Tae knows he hangs out a little more often than he should, especially for someone who hates coffee, but it was such a relaxed, bohemian atmosphere and he adored it.

"You're late today."

He looked up at the familiar voice, smiling in greeting as you cleared the table next to him.

"I was on a secret mission." He said putting a finger to his lips. "Very hush-hush."

"Clandestine, I like it." You chuckled. "You want your usual?"

"Yes, please."

"Coming right up." You said, giving him a quick smile that made his heart do a little flip.

Okay, so maybe there was another reason he was so taken with the cafe.

From the first moment he'd spoken to you, he'd been absolutely smitten. You were bright and friendly and sharp witted. You had excellent taste in music, often recommending new songs or artists to him. The two of you seemed to have a fair bit in common, both having moved here on your own for university.

He grinned as you returned with his drink.

"So, you noticed I wasn't here." He smirked. "Does that mean you were worried about me?"

"Only that I might have to walk home alone." You replied dryly.

"C'mon, you can just say you missed me." He teased.

"Not happening." You turned your back on him, as he laughed under his breath.

By this point in the evening, the cafe almost empty. The last of the open mic singers had left, leaving the space uncharacteristically quiet, aside from you and one of the other waitresses, Sophie, arguing about some drama you'd been watching, as you and the others prepared for closing time.

"Hey, y/n, why don't you sing something?" Song-hwa asked.

You looked up uneasily. "uh, I don't know."

"Why not?" Sophie asked, "I don't think I've ever heard you sing."

"That's because I don't sing in front of people." You stated, but she persisted.

"Oh, come on, I bet you're great. Please?" She whined, hanging on your arm.

"Ok, fine! Just stop doing that!" You laughed, de-tangling yourself from the younger girl.

"Yay!" She cheered, making you roll your eyes.

You went and picked a song that Patrick could accompany you with on the piano before stepping awkwardly up to the mic.

There was a brief pause before the piano the first notes drifted together, and you began softly.

"Dear heart, why will you use me so?

Dear eyes, that gently me upbraid.

Still, are you beautiful,

Oh, but how your beauty is raimented."

He froze as a strange, dizzying sensation crept over him, slowly raising his gaze to you. Your eyes locked and it was like a shot of whiskey flooded through his veins. His thoughts seemed to slow, he couldn't focus. Something was wrong, he felt like he was under some sort of spell or-or...

Siren song?

No. No, that wasn't right, you couldn't be. Surely he would've noticed before, right? You didn't fit the descriptions from the stories at all.

He looked around, struggling to focus, but nobody else seemed to be bothered by your voice.

His mind was beginning to blur, as if he were drunk, his breaths coming unsteadily. He couldn't take it. He had to get out of here.

He managed to stagger out the door, catching a glimpse of your confused expression just before the it closed behind him.

Swaying slightly, he made his way down the street, trying to put as much distance between him and you as possible.

The cold air on his face helped clear his mind a bit, but he still felt too warm, his skin too dry. The familiar ache came back into his bones. He needed to get in the water, fast.

Ducking down the alley alongside one of the shops, he followed the familiar path down to the water wall and slipped over, ditching his coat on the riverbank in the process, too rushed to bother with changing and dove into the water, fully dressed.

He surfaced, spluttering from the shock of the cold water on his human limbs, but he didn't care, at least he could breathe again properly.

He stretched out, floated on his back, feeling his heartbeat beginning to calm as he breathed deeply.

Able to think more clearly now, dozens of questions began running through his mind. What the hell had happened? The memory of your voice was still echoing in his mind. Even just thinking about it brought back a faint buzzing in his ears. He shook his head in frustration, trying to clear it away.

What were you? Some sort of Witch? Siren? Other? Did you know what he was?

His thoughts darkened. What if you did know? What if you were just playing some twisted game with him?

"What the hell are you doing, the water's freezing!"

He started at the sudden voice that rang out from the shore. Ducking towards the bank, he looked up to see you scrambling over the wall to come to his aide.

Crap, why were you here?

"Are you okay? What were you doing?" You fussed, trying to brush his hair out of his eyes.

"Felt like going for a swim." He said blankly, pushing your hand away. He couldn't be around you right now.

"We need to get you dry."

"I'll be fine." He tried to assure you, but you weren't having it.

"You're gonna catch pneumonia, are you crazy?!" You said.

"I said I'm fine." He snapped, straightening abruptly and walking away.

He only made it a few yards before you called out again.

"Wait!"

He turned around, freezing immediately as his eyes landed on you hurrying towards him, holding his coat in your outstretched hand.

"You forgot this" You said, offering it to him.

Fuck.

#taehyung #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x reader #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts drabble #taehyung fluff #bts supernatural au #taehyung scenarios #taehyung reactions #7ndipity #spooktober #cafe au #selkie!taehyung #taehyung imagine

[blushingbucky]

daisy | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader (written by a f!writer, but I did try my best to keep it pronoun/race free)

word count: 885

summary: someone’s been leaving you flowers. You set out to catch the culprit.

warnings: a teen wolf reference, pure fluff, teasing, mentions of norse mythology/celtic legend

trigger warning: brief mention of parent death, feel free to skip!

author’s note: more-spencer-fluff-july! catch me showing off all the flower research I did as prep :)

gif isn’t mine, credits to the creator @fortheloveofwonderland !

The first time a flower’s left on your desk, you don’t think much of it.

It’s not much of a thing—a simple daisy, really, maybe one placed by mistake—and you place it into the bin without a second thought. You weren’t someone who warranted flowers, anyway. Sure, you were incredible at your job, rising to the ranks of Supervisory Special Agent and cementing your place in the BAU, but you’d never had any real admirers.

Until now, it seemed.

—

The second time a flower’s left on your desk, you start to wonder.

Two flowers in one week is quite the coincidence, you note, maybe the UnSub’s escalating? But that would imply more flowers to come, and you hardly believe yourself worthy of that potential. The flower joins its twin in the bin, and you stare at the two flowers for a moment, their stems carelessly intertwined.

Then Hotch calls the team together, and you forget the daisies for now.

—

The third time a flower’s left on your desk, you become suspicious.

One is an incident, two is a coincidence, three’s a pattern. If you thought about the flowers as victims and the giver as an UnSub, your conclusion would be a serial who would only escalate their behaviour until caught and captured. This was less serious than a serial killer hunting surrogates for his estranged ex-wife, but you couldn’t get the flowers out of your mind.

Who was leaving these flowers, and why?

—

The fourth time a flower’s left on your desk, the team begins to notice.

“Looks like someone’s got a secret admirer,” Prentiss teases.

Morgan joins in, giving your arm a nudge with a smirk.

JJ and Penelope exchange grins, happy to see the chronically single agent receiving some attention.

Rossi only raises his eyebrows, Hotch with a faint smile playing on his lips.

Reid doesn’t meet your eye.

—

The fifth time a flower’s left on your desk, you enlist Penelope’s help to catch the culprit.

Flicking through surveillance footage from 4:00 to 5:00 to finally 6:01 a.m., she pauses the footage to reveal the person leaving flowers on your desk.

He’s caught red handed, looking around cautiously before placing the flower and moving on toward his own desk. The man sits as the rest of the team fills the screen, one at a time, questioning why he’s actually on time for once with knowing smiles.

His face accidentally catches the camera, but you knew him from his lanky silhouette and printed vest that doesn’t quite match the colour of his shirt.

Penelope gasps, and you stare in stunned silence at the image of Dr Spencer Reid leaving a daisy on your desk.

—

The sixth time a flower’s left on your desk, you’ve been waiting for him since 5:50 a.m.

Some might call it paranoia to wait ten minutes before the scheduled 6:01 drop off, but you wanted to be sure you wouldn’t miss him. This was worth the early start. True to his schedule, Reid walks into the bullpen just as the clock ticks over to 6:01 a.m., daisy in hand.

He stops when he sees you, moving his hand behind his back in a futile attempt to hide the flower. You both know he’s your UnSub. With a sigh, he holds the daisy out to you.

“You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“I know, but I needed to be sure it was you.”

Of course you’re sure, but you needed to witness it in person to be certain. Now, standing in front of you with the infamous flower, you find your theory confirmed.

“What gave it away?” He’s shy when confronted, hardly able to meet your gaze. Spencer shifts his feet, placing the daisy in your hand without really looking.

“My favourite flower isn’t exactly common knowledge, Spence.” You find you can’t meet his eye either, cheeks hot and palms sweaty in the pockets of your jeans.

“Right,” he responds.

You can feel him prepare himself for rejection, to hide at his desk and never speak of this again, if that’s what you wished. Can see his withdrawal into himself, the readiness to dismiss his feelings. But you can’t bring yourself to stamp out the hope in his heart, the small whisper of what if?

Instead you reply, “Do you know why it’s my favourite flower?”

He looks up from studying his anchor-printed socks, and finally, finally makes eye contact with those beautiful eyes of his. Hesitantly he asks, “Why?”

“The daisy was Freyja’s favourite flower, and so they took on her character of motherhood, innocence, the like. When my mum died, they became a comfort.” You shrug, and he finds the courage to take your hand in his. “But I’m sure you already know about Norse mythology.”

“Actually, according to Celtic legend, God covered the earth with daisies whenever an infant died, in order to comfort the parents,” he murmurs. “That’s where its meaning comes from.”

“Of course you’d know that.”

He returns your smile, your hand still clasped in his. He’s still holding your hand when you kiss him, him tucking the flower behind your ear. And he’s still holding your hand when you join the others in the briefing room, to the response of cheers, whistles and JJ’s “Finally!”

#spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fic #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gray gubler one shot #spencer reid fluff #matthew gray gubler fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds one shot #derek morgan #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #jj #aaron hotchner #hotch #david rossi

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

About Face: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"Now what else is the whole life of mortals, but a sort of comedy in which the various actors, disguised by various costumes and masks, walk on and play each ones part until the manager walks them off the stage?" - Erasmus

Spencer is still sleeping, but you wanted to bring him breakfast in bed. After last night's activities, it's best that he fuels up for the day. No one else is in the apartment, so you cooked breakfast in all your naked glory. Spencer isn't a light sleeper, but you know that he would wake up at the smell of bacon cooking.

You bring the tray of food into the bedroom right when he opens his eyes. It takes him a few minutes to register what he is seeing, and then his eyes widen.

"What are you doing?"

"Bringing us breakfast."

"You were naked the whole time?"

"What? It's not like there is anyone else here, and it's nothing you haven't seen before," you grin.

You get into bed and kiss him gently, laying the tray between both your bodies. You made bacon, eggs, misshapen pancakes, and two glasses of orange juice. It's a nice way to spend the morning with the man that you love. Breakfast lasted as long as you wanted it to last, and after that, you two got ready for work. You weren't able to have a shower this morning because you took too long to eat, but you don't care about that.

Besides seeing you naked with a tray of food, Spencer is excited for today because it's the day before Halloween. It's the only holiday that he is truly passionate about, and he makes it known to everyone in the office. People at the Bureau like to decorate for the holidays, and this one is no exception. Spencer practically decorated the entire office himself.

Derek isn't into the holiday as much as Spencer is, but that doesn't stop your boyfriend from scaring the daylights out of your friend. Spencer bought two masks, one for you and one for him, to wear when you got into work. Derek doesn't know what's coming to him, and it's going to be hilarious when he sees your masks.

When you walk in with the masks on, JJ and Emily spot you two instantly. They smile, but you put your finger to where your mouth is supposed to be even though it's not showing. You don't want them warning Derek before the scare. He's sitting at his desk with his back turned to you, so he won't see you and Spencer coming. You and Spencer creep up behind Derek, getting as close as you can.

"I'm waiting for you," Spencer says in a weird voice.

Derek jumps and makes a small noise of fright.

"What the fuck," he whispers. You laugh and remove your mask, patting him on the back. "You're lucky we're at work."

"You love us," you grin and take a seat at your desk.

"Happy All Hallows Eve, folks," Spencer says, sliding his mask up so that it's hanging off his head. "To paraphrase from Celtic mythology, tomorrow night all order is suspended, and the barriers between the natural and the supernatural are temporarily remooooved!"

"See, that right there is why Halloween creeps me out," Derek says.

"You're scared of Halloween?" you snicker.

"I didn't say I was scared, I said I was creeped out. There's a difference there, youngster. You should look it up."

"What creeps you out about it?" Emily asks.

"I don't know. People wearing masks. I don't like folks in disguises."

"That's the best thing about Halloween. You can be anyone you want to be."

"Nah, I'm pretty good just being me," Derek shrugs.

"Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?" Emily laughs.

"You know what, though? On the flip side, it does provide a pretty good reason to cozy up with a scary flick and a little halloween honey," Derek smirks.

"Halloween honey. Now I'm creeped out," Emily jokes.

"Guys, he's here," Spencer says.

The person replacing Gideon is going to be none other than David Rossi. He is coming out of retirement for reasons unknown to you, but you're eager to get a read on him. He's just another person to tell your secret to, and another person that might not believe you. Rossi enters the bullpen and locks eyes with you, and you try your best to read anything about him. He doesn't give you the chance as he's already gone from sight and walking up the stairs to Hotch's office.

"Did you get a read on him?" Derek asks you.

"He's very similar to Hotch, but a bit more passive-aggressive and humorous. He didn't give me much to go on."

You and your co-workers try to peer into Hotch's office, but the blinds are covering most of the action. It's not long until the two men walk out and into the bullpen.

"SSA David Rossi, this is SSA Emily Prentiss," Hotch says.

"Sir," she smiles and holds out her hand for him to shake.

"SSA Derek Morgan."

"It's an honor, Agent Rossi," Derek shakes his hand next.

"Please, just Dave."

"Dr. Spencer Reid."

"Sir, if I could talk to you later about your work with the Scarsdale Skinner. Psycho-linguistics is an incredibly dynamic field, and the fact that your profile of his reading habits ultimately led to his capture is something I find so incredibly intrig--"

"Reid, slow down. He'll be here for a while. You can catch up with him later," Hotch chuckles.

"Sorry."

"No problem, doctor."

"Maybe you guys can talk on the jet."

"The jet?"

"We have a jet now. It comes in handy."

"Last but not least, SSA Y/N."

"It's nice to meet you," you smile and grab his hand.

If you couldn't read him before, you can now. He's very arrogant at times, he's been through a lot of shit that made him into the man he is now, and he's hiding something from the team. There is another reason for why he decided to take the position here, and it wasn't to get back into the game.

"Are you okay?" he asks, noticing the look on your face.

"I am so sorry. This is so rude of me," you apologize and take your hand away.

"She's a psychic," Spencer says proudly.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm an empathetic psychic. I connect with the dead and people's auras/energies. It's how I'm able to help with the cases here."

Instantly, you feel distrust and skepticism coming off him--maybe even a bit of annoyance. He doesn't believe, and he almost has a hatred for people who claim to be psychics. The energy in the air shifts, and it's one of those that everyone can feel.

"Come on, JJ is waiting," Hotch clears his throat.

Rossi is the first to leave the group, and you bite your lower lip nervously. You follow the two men into the conference room where everyone gathers. You take your seat next to Spencer and fiddle your fingers together underneath the desk where people can't see. However, Spencer does notice so he reaches for your hand with his own. He interlocks your fingers with his, and you give him a reassuring smile that you're okay.

"Carrollton, Texas is a suburb just outside of Dallas. Four days ago, Michelle Colucci found this flier on her front door."

She brings up a picture of a missing persons poster with Michelle's face on it.

"She found it? As in, she isn't missing?" you ask.

"Yet. She took the flier to a friend's husband, Detective Yarbrough at the Carrollton police department who told her it was probably just a Halloween prank, and he sent her home."

"Well, I don't blame him. Halloween brings out the fool in everyone," Derek shrugs.

You look over at Rossi to see him writing in his small notebook, observing the team quietly.

"Still, he stopped by Michelle's house later to check on her. The door was open, and when he went inside, he found this." She pulls up another picture which is of her bedroom with hundreds of her missing persons flyers on her walls. "He still thought maybe it could be some kind of a prank until yesterday. Michelle was found floating in a small creek just outside of Carrollton. She had been sexually assaulted and her face had been removed."

"Removed? It wasn't animals or fish?" Rossi asks.

"The Dallas County ME says that the edges of the wounds were smooth, not torn. A very sharp instrument had been used. He also found water in her lungs."

"Oh, my God. What is that?" Penelope gasps.

You turn to see the technical analyst standing at the door with a horrified look on her face. She immediately looks away to shield herself from the horrors. JJ takes the pictures off the screen to protect her.

"Technical analyst Penelope Garcia, this is SSA David Rossi," Hotch introduces.

"Is it gone, JJ?"

"Yeah, you're safe."

"Okay. Carrollton, Texas, has nearly 117,000 residents, a diverse population with a... it's all in there," she stutters and hands over the file she put together. "I'm sorry. Very happy to meet you, sir. I'll be in my office. Sorry."

"She's different," Rossi says once she leaves.

"You have no idea," Hotch chuckles.

JJ puts back up the pictures so you can discuss them. There is a picture of a mask that was left behind. It's a plain white mask with the number one painted onto it in black.

"So, the unsub tells her she's going to go missing to psychologically torture her, then tortures her physically. Textbook sadist," Emily says, getting back on track.

"Number one," Derek says about the mask.

"That particular mask is known as a false face. It's most commonly worn during Halloween and Mardi Gras."

"Creepy. I rest my case."

There is something about the masks that makes you believe that the unsub wants to stay anonymous as much as he makes his victims out to be. With you in the picture, it's going to be very hard for him to keep this persona up.

"Local media has the story. It broke big."

"Tell Carrollton we'll be there first thing in the morning. Let's stop this one at one."

"Yes, sir," JJ nodded.

"If you want to take some time to get situated, maybe start on the next case?" Hotch offers Rossi.

"I'm not back to get situated, Hotch, I'm here to work."

"Everybody get your things together. We're going to Texas."

Your team used the jet early in the morning since there wasn't any time to waste. Rossi is sitting all by his lonesome, away from everyone else. You know he is brand new, but he must have some social skills if he's ever worked here before. This man unnerves you, and you're having trouble figuring out why.

You leave the small bathroom after washing your hands and start to head back to your seat. You have to pass by Rossi to get there, and you look over at him to see what he could be doing. He is holding a small bracelet with three names on three different charms. Connie, Georgie, and Alicia.

He holds such passion and sadness for the three names, and those emotions reflect onto you, giving you flashes of images. Small children, blood everywhere, two dead parents. You can only imagine that Rossi was involved in a case with these three children, and maybe that's his reasoning why he came back to the BAU.

He has unfinished business.

Without talking to him about it, you walk back to your seat next to Spencer and grab his hand to hold.

"Let's go over victimology. Would you like to join us, Dave?" Rossi gets up without another word to join the group, and Hotch turns to your boyfriend. "Reid, what have you got?"

"Michelle Colucci was single, lived alone with no boyfriend and no ex-husband. There's nothing in the reports that suggested she was dating."

"She was an architect. Friends and co-workers say she's a classic workaholic. Basically a loner who rarely went out of the house. She's extremely low risk."

"If it wasn't someone she knew personally, it's possible she was being stalked."

"Interesting," Rossi mutters to himself.

"What's that?"

"I'm just thinking out loud."

"Something to add?" Hotch asks.

"No. Sorry to interrupt."

Rossi doesn't work well with others, you can tell. That will change in the future because if he wants help with his unfinished business or wants to keep his job in the Bureau, then he needs to learn how to work with others.

"Well, she's pretty," Derek states. "It could be that the unsub met her casually and made her part of some kind of fantasy. Maybe he tries to act on it, and she rejects him. Could be the stressor."

"So, he tortures her out of anger?"

"Masks often represent a state of mind. This one's blank--expressionless. Doesn't really coincide with anger," Spencer says.

"Reid, it's hard to imagine he did this out of anything less than rage."

Penelope's face pops up on the computer that is set up on the table for everyone to see.

"Hey, guys. I have a list of Michelle Colucci's clients. She designed office space. Mostly big corporate remodeling plans."

"No private clients, one-on-one contact?"

"Doesn't look like it, no."

"Thanks, baby girl," Derek says, and she nods once before hanging up the call.

Since you left Virginia so early, you got to Texas before nine am. The detective on the case is waiting for you at the crime scene. There is another missing person, two crime scenes. Your team is going to have to split into two, and you can only assume that you're going to be stuck with Rossi.

"Detective Yarbrough?" JJ says once you touch down.

"FBI? We got another flier--this time in Metro Dallas. Enid White. Her roommate called Dallas PD this morning. Enid never came home after walking her dog last night," Detective Yarbrough shows the flier he snagged.

"Wait, she's actually missing?" you ask.

"Well, he wallpapered the neighborhood with fliers for two blocks around her apartment."

"Outside? That's different. No one saw him putting them up?"

"Dallas PD is still canvassing, but nothing so far. They're waiting for you on the new scene."

"Morgan, you and Prentiss go to Michelle Colucci's house. JJ and I will talk to Enid's roommate. Dave, do you mind walking the disposal site with the detective, Reid, and Y/N?"

At the mention of your name, you can feel the hostility come from Rossi. He doesn't want you to be here, but you're going to prove to him that you're not a fake. You're the real deal, and he needs a chance to see that.

"Whatever you need," he says finally.

"We'll regroup in an hour."

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#about face #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #cm #cm fic #cm fiction #cm fanfiction #cm fan fiction #cm fanfic #cm fan fic #cm fluff

[surroundedbypearls]

Blue Neighbourhood X Celtic/Irish mythology X Greek mythology

To Catch the Sea

Serving the Dragon King as one of his own is the highest honour, and what Adam always knew he would become before he ever had the choice. He always knew dragons' magic was of fire, and of sun. Chimeras' magic was of storms, and of poison. Unfortunately, the chimera who plays the piano at every banquet and walks the beach at twilight is the only one who’s ever made him feel.

And when a new recruit drowns under Adam's watch, suddenly, he has more important things to worry about than wooing a boy who doesn't know his name.

Themes

Forbidden love

Coming-of-age

Power

Change vs tradition

Current Stage in Writing Process: Proofreading, Beta prep (see Wip-relevant links if interested!)

Art related to wip

(I've made so much art for this WIP that limiting it to one was not easy)

Wip-relevant links

WIP intro post

Character posts: Adam / Shay / Caleb / Sara / Ivy / Olena

WIP playlist

Some of my favourite edits (with excerpts): Blue & Golden / Storms / Manticore

WIP tag (see more art and excerpt here!)

Fill in this form if you're interested in becoming a Beta reader! (May-Jun)

Content warnings

Child abuse

Burning/fire

Drowning

Death

Mentions of child death/miscarriage

Like or reply to be added to the taglist!

#MSPW: pitch #MSPW: ownvoices queer rep #MSPW: PoC rep #MSPW: queer rep #MSPW: YA #MSPW: fantasy wip #MSPW: romance #MSPW: high fantasy

[scarlet--wiccan]

Idk if you’ve read/kept up with x men green at all but curse reminds me of Wanda, specifically her early powerset… Wanda points and “something” happens, but she can’t control what, sometimes it’s bad for her. Curse says something and it happens but not always the way she wants; it has to hurt someone or she’ll get hurt. It’s colorized and described as wishes like Billy’s powers, which are very much based on wandas powers. Wanda learned magic to control her powers. Curse should go to strange/academy learn from Wanda.

I was thinking the same thing! Her powers were specifically described as "probability manipulation"* at one point, which is exactly how Wanda's hex power used to be defined.

I think Curse is a great illustration of how the Council, and Krakoa in general, are still capable of failing mutants who needs specialized care and support. I know that everyone gets math class uploaded into their brain, but there's so little actual training and education happening on this island, that it's no surprise kids slip through the cracks. Look at how things went for No-Girl. Yes, Curse's gift is dangerous, but she's not going to get the help she needs when there there are people on Council who would just condemn her outright for the power she was born with.

In the 70s and 80s, Wanda's probability powers were distinctly separate from her learned magic, but the discipline of practicing magic helped her hone her mutant powers. I do think that distinction makes for slightly better storytelling, as the growth and control feel more earned.

Most mutants with magic powers are like classic Wanda-- their mutation and magic are two separate things. The line gets a little blurry with the Externals, but that's a different conversation. Excalibur did play with the idea that mutant powers, especially mutant circuits, lend themselves to magic, but it didn't go very far outside of Rictor becoming a "druid." In Rictor's case, nature-based magic overlaps with his natural connection to the earth.** There's definitelty potential for mutants with elemental powers or reality altering abilities to use those gifts as an inroad to magic, and I'm surprised that this wasn't explored more fully, considering how much focus was put on magic and Otherworld in the early Krakoan era.

*There are actually a lot mutants with reality- and probability-altering powers, and it's a little frustrating how some of those characters are treated as being too dangerous or unstable to live, and some of them get a free pass because they're necessary for Krakoa's interests. Everybody's come around to Proteus's side and measures are put in place to make sure he's stable, because he is a vital part of the Five. Jamie Braddock's history gets swept under the rug because it was very fucking useful to the Council to have a mutant installed in Camelot. But g-d forbid Curse get any sort of help.

**This was one of those soft-retcons that never gets explained or justified, it just happens and readers are expected to run with it. Sometimes that's okay, sometimes it's not. I find Howard's pacing and dialogue disorienting, so a lot of her magic stuff felt like an unfinished thought to me when reading. The expansion of Rictor's natural powers was definitely one of those things.

Also, that's not what druids are! Contemporary media typically uses "druid" to describe wizards and sorcerers with earth or forest-based nature powers, but that's not historically accurate to the role of druids in pre-Christian Celtic societies. It's not really that big a deal, but Excalibur is a book that's largely concerned with British national identity as well as the mythology and folklore of the British isles so I would have expected a little more care, in this specific context.

#curse #x-men green #robintext #excalibur

[bondsmagii]

hello, it’s me, ya boi (can’t read becade of adhd and also needs constant distractions or i perish to the brain worms)

I forgot that I also used to write. I’m my “prime” I wrote…interesting things (YouTuber x reader in scrumptious format) at the ripe old age of 13 but I turned 20 a few months back and getting back into it is awful. I used to be able to write nice informative papers and I have the creativity but im insecure about my writing. I wanna read some cool books and I know you know a lot about folklore and that’s actually an interest of mine so…book recommendations that involve that? If there’s an audiobook format of it somewhere too that would help a lot because it’s hard for me to focus. Anything would be appreciated ^^

losing my mind over the wording of "scrumptious format" like rest assured you still have a gift for writing anon because that was Evocative™.

anyway you're on the right track. the one piece of writing advice that I think is actually legit and not very much "your mileage may vary" is that if you want to write well, you have to read a lot. mythology is a useful place to look because that's where basically all our stories come from, either rooted or inspired, and there's a reason that they've stuck around for so long. I am fortunate to live in a place that's full of it, but unfortunately that means that a few of my favourite mythology books are local collections that were printed in the 70s or some shit and so copies are not easy to come by lol. two of my high-rated and more readily available books are Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman and The Mammoth Book of Celtic Myths and Legends by Peter Berresford Ellis. Norse Mythology is available as an audiobook; unfortunately I do not think The Mammoth Book... is, but the myths and legends contained in it vary in length and a lot of them will likely be short enough that you should be able to get through them.

as for other things that are folklore-aligned... Unexplained: Supernatural Stories for Uncertain Times is excellent, focusing on a handful of paranormal mysteries/unexplained events and containing a very interesting chapter on internet folklore, and how creepypasta is basically folklore for the modern era. it's also available as an audiobook, and best of all is actually based on a highly successful paranormal podcast, itself called Unexplained. so if listening is what works for you, this might be a good place to start!

#anon #asks

[ancientpathwayswitchcraft]

Join us as we delve into a transformative tarot reading guided by the enigmatic Morrigan. Today's spread features the VI Lovers, the introspective Knight of Swords (reversed), and the harmonious X of Cups. Let Morrigan's insight illuminate the path of love, choices, and the rich tapestry of destiny.

#2023 #August #August10 #CelticGoddess #Choices #Destiny #KnightofSwords(reversed) #LoveTarot #Morrigan #Tarot #VILovers #Wisdom #XofCups