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supercalvin · 3 years

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Hello, may I request a Merthur ficlet where they’re teens during war ish times and they dance to O Children I just know you’re a potter head and thus there is no way you don’t know which scene I’m referring to 🤧 (Also I’m actually frequently on your page and we’ve interracted and I’m so fun and quirky that I decided to go anon for this one just to spice things up hoho) BONUS POINTS for soft cheek touching and sweet first kissing but whatever yk not that important 👉🏼👈🏼

This is a hilariously late reply to this prompt. Thank god tumblr doesn’t put dates on asks, because I’d be too embarrassed to post this ficlet. Anyways. I had to look up this scene lol, but it was very cute and I loved this idea. Soft cheeks kisses here we goooooooo.

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The radio on Merlin’s shoulder crackled, and he quickly turned it down. The forest was quiet, and Merlin’s magic hadn’t detected anything besides animals in a mile radius, but that didn’t mean he was going to let a radio give away his position. He crouched down and waited for a minute, listening to the sounds of the forest around him. The pack of supplies dug into his shoulder, but with only a mile left to go, he knew he had better keep it on his back and feel the relief later, rather than try to get it back on his sore back.

With another quick spell to ensure that no one was around, Merlin continued on his route. His boots crunched in the autumn leaves and the air was crisp. Merlin could feel the magic in the forest like electricity before a storm.

There was limited access to electricity in the forest, it was mostly used for lights and any emergency medical equipment that Gaius needed. Otherwise everyone endured without it and magic was used when it wasn’t being used to defend the camp. Before the war, the thought of living without constant electricity seemed unreal, but after three years of living in the forest and running supplies between encampments, it was hard for Merlin to remember what life was like before.

When Merlin pictured the end of the war, the only luxuries he longed for was a warm bed and a large bath. Mostly he wished for his people to be free once again.

When Merlin entered the edge of the camp, he felt the wards shimmer around his form. Although invisible to most people, Merlin could always see the magic, it glimmered in the light like dust motes in a sunbeam. As soon as he passed through the wards he heard the commotion. His hackles raised and instinctually looked around for danger, before he realized that the sound wasn’t screams of fear but rather the raucous sounds of celebration.

The supplies tent was at the back of the encampment, where it could best be protected. Merlin wound his way around the tents until he found the large green tent. When he stepped inside, he was greeted by a young Druid woman, Ferridel.

“What’s happened?”

“Oh Merlin, you’ve returned. The battalion came back with news of victory while you were gone. We’ve taken the valley.”

Merlin nodded, his heart racing in his chest. Too many questions to ask, he was left dumb.

Merlin dropped off the supplies, but he was too anxious to stay and speak with Ferridel. He rushed to the center of camp, where a large bonfire was blazing and soldiers were gathered with tankards in hand. Their coats and rifles were strewn about the benches around the bonfire. Some soldiers raised their hands in greeting, but Merlin was looking for a familiar face.

“Looking for someone?”

Merlin whipped around to see exactly who he was looking for.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, his breath leaving him in a whisper.

Arthur smiled, looking far too pleased with himself as he cocked his head to one side. “You look awful, Merlin. What have you been doing? Rolling in the dirt while we fight this war?”

“You’re an ass,” Merlin said, but his harsh words were soon softened as he engulfed Arthur in a tight embrace. Arthur’s arms wrapped around him and he could feel Arthur shake a little. Despite his bravado, Arthur wasn’t a fool. Every time he stepped onto that battle field, it could be the end. Merlin knew that when Arthur left last month, it could have been his last time seeing his best friend’s smile.

Arthur pulled back and gripped Merlin’s shoulder, “Now you look like a man who could use a nice glass of scotch.”

“You have scotch?” Merlin said.

Arthur tilted his head towards the residential tents. “Come on,” He tugged on Merlin’s jacket.

Before Merlin knew it, Arthur had gotten Merlin a warm basin of water and a large pile of food. As Captain of the battalion, Arthur was granted some privileges, and usually Merlin would tell Arthur he was a spoiled prince for it, but now the warm water felt nice and the Merlin was starving. When he was travelling between encampments Merlin usually only ate jerky and whatever bread hadn’t gone stale.

As Merlin ate, Arthur told him about the battle. He was brief, very limited in his details. Merlin was grateful. He hated hearing about battle plans but he also knew that for every positive note Arthur said about the battle, there was a price they had paid. Merlin knew that as the men celebrated their victory, they also mourned their fallen brethren.

“So where is this infamous scotch?”

Arthur smiled, crooked and sly. He opened up a trunk and pulled aside clothes that cushioned a large bottle of amber liquid. Merlin raised his brow. Alcohol was hard to come by nowadays. Merlin ran essential supplies between encampments, and alcohol was rarely on that list.

Arthur cut the wax seal with his pocket knife and poured a heavy serving for both of them.

“To victory,” Arthur raised his glass.

“To freedom,” Merlin said, and clanked his glass against Arthur’s.

The scotch was warm as it ran down his throat. He coughed, not used to the feeling anymore. Arthur laughed at him and pounded his back. They drank and told each other stories of friends and foes alike. They talked about before the war and they dreamed about afterwards. Soon enough, both of them were laughing in drunken delight. Perhaps on a different night the scotch would have made them somber. But not tonight, after an essential victory.

Music had started to play outside and Merlin could hear the shuffle of people dancing and drunkenly singing along to the music.

Arthur stood on unsteady feet, a warm smile on his face as he reached for Merlin.

“What are you doing?” Merlin laughed as Arthur hauled him to his feet.

“Dance with me, Merlin,” Arthur whined, pouting like a spoiled child.

“You don’t want to see me dance, Arthur. You know how clumsy I am.”

“That’s not true,” Arthur pouted. His hands had settled on Merlin’s waist. He was warm from the alcohol, and it burned Merlin to be this close to the sun. “You’re not clumsy when you do magic. Come on, do some magic for me.”

“You’re such a spoiled prat.” Merlin held his hands against Arthur’s chest, but did not push him away. Despite his words, Merlin was not one to deny Arthur anything, especially when he was inebriated. So he let his magic loose. Dozens of small lights filled the tent, bobbing in the air like fireflies.

“Beautiful,” Arthur said, but he hadn’t turned his head to look at the lights.

The song outside was slow, but the tune was uplifting. Arthur took Merlin’s hands off his chest, cradling one in his palm and the other he slid up so that it rested against Arthur’s shoulder. They danced, albeit horribly, but nonetheless they did dance. Merlin stumbled over his own feet and Arthur did not know how to keep a beat, but they laughed and that was more important than skill.

As the music dwindled, they heard cheers outside. Someone was speaking to the crowd by the bonfire. Then someone started playing a somber tune, the same they always played at the end of any victory or defeat. They lost men, no matter the outcome. Their mood had changed just as quickly as the songs had changed.

Merlin felt his throat close up. He reached up to touch Arthur’s face, cradling his jaw in his palm.

“Thank the gods,” Merlin said, the rest of his sentence stuck in his throat. The thought of losing Arthur was too overwhelming, any words to express it were lost to Merlin.

“I’m right here,” Arthur said, holding Merlin’s wrist, “I’ll always be here.”

Merlin shook his head, “You can’t promise that.”

“I’ll always come back to you.”

Merlin shook his head, feeling tears run down his cheek even as he closed his eyes against them. He was always an easy crier, and usually Arthur would make fun of him for it. But Arthur stayed silent this time.

“Oh, Merlin. I hate when you do this…” Arthur shook off Merlin’s hand and cradled Merlin’s face in his own hands, wiping the tears with his thumbs. “I fight this war for you… For your freedom. For your happiness. One day, I will never see you cry again.”

Before Merlin could answer, Arthur leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Merlin’s cheek and then pulled away and kissed the other, right at the edge of his lips.

Merlin gripped Arthur’s wrists, his eyes flickering between Arthur’s trying to read his expression. But he was so grimmly serious, as if Arthur was vowing that he would fight every enemy soldier himself just to protect Merlin.

“Live through this war...that’s what will make me happy.”

“I will,” Arthur vowed with a solemn nod.

Just a few inches of air separated them, but they felt like miles. Arthur looked Merlin in the eye, and then down, and before Merlin could register what was happening, Arthur was kissing him. Merlin gripped him tight, feeling Arthur’s hands tighten on his jaw.

Arthur pulled back, “Is this...? Are you alright with…?”

“And you say I talk too much,” Merlin said, and shut him up with a kiss.

***

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#merthur #merthur fic #merthur fanfiction #merlin fic #ficlets

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dailytafsirofquran · 2 years

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Tafsir Ibn Kathir: Surah Al-Imran Ayah 45-47

In the Name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.

45 (Remember) when the angels said: "O Maryam! Verily, Allah gives you the glad tidings of a Word from Him, his name will be Al-Masih, `Isa, the son of Maryam, held in honor in this world and in the Hereafter, and he will be one of those who are near to Allah.'' 46. "He will speak to the people, in the cradle and in manhood, and he will be one of the righteous.'' 47. She said: "O my Lord! How shall I have a son when no man has touched me.'' He said: "So (it will be) for Allah creates what He wills. When He has decreed something, He says to it only: `Be! _ and it is.''

Delivering the Good News to Maryam of `Isa's Birth

This Ayah contains the glad tidings the angels brought to Maryam that she would give birth to a mighty son who will have a great future.

Allah said,

(Remember) when the angels said: "O Maryam! Verily, Allah gives you the glad tidings of a Word from Him, a son who will come into existence with a word from Allah, `Be', and he was.

According to the majority of the scholars, this is the meaning of Allah's statement (about Yahya) (Believing in the Word from Allah), (3:39).

His name will be Al-Masih, `Isa, the son of Maryam, and he will be known by this name in this life, especially by the believers.

`Isa was called "Al-Masih'' (the Messiah) because when he touched (Mash) those afflicted with an illness, they would be healed by Allah's leave.

Allah's statement, (`Isa, the son of Maryam), relates `Isa to his mother, because he did not have a father.

Held in honor in this world and in the Hereafter, and will be one of those who are near to Allah.

meaning, he will be a leader and honored by Allah in this life, because of the Law that Allah will reveal to him, sending down the Scripture to him, along with the other bounties that Allah will grant him with.

`Isa will be honored in the Hereafter and will intercede with Allah, by His leave, on behalf of some people, just as is the case with his brethren the mighty Messengers of Allah, peace be upon them all.

`Isa Spoke When He was Still in the Cradle

Allah said,

He will speak to the people, in the cradle and in manhood, calling to the worship of Allah Alone without partners, while still in the cradle, as a miracle from Allah, and when he is a man, by Allah's revelation to him.

Muhammad bin Ishaq recorded that Abu Hurayrah said that the Messenger of Allah said, No infant spoke in the cradle except `Isa and the companion of Jurayj.

Ibn Abi Hatim recorded that Abu Hurayrah said that the Prophet said, No infant spoke in the cradle except three, `Isa, the boy during the time of Jurayj, and another boy.

And he will be one of the righteous, in his statements and actions, for he will possess, pure knowledge and righteous works.

`Isa was Created Without a Father

When Maryam heard the good news that the angels conveyed from Allah, she said;

"O my Lord! How shall I have a son when no man has touched me.''

Mary said, "How can I have a son while I did not marry, nor intend to marry, nor am I an indecent woman, may Allah forbid''

The angel conveyed to Maryam, Allah's answer, He said: "So (it will be) for Allah creates what He wills.

He is Mighty in power and nothing escapes His ability.

Allah used the word `create' here instead of the word `does' as in the tale about Zakariyya (3:40), to eradicate any evil thought concerning `Isa.

Allah next emphasized this fact when He said, When He has decreed something, He says to it only: "Be! and it is.

meaning, what Allah wills, comes into existence instantly and without delay.

In another Ayah, Allah said,

And Our commandment is but one as the twinkling of an eye. (54:50),

meaning, "We only issue the command once, and it comes into existence instantly, as fast as, and faster than, a blink of the eye.''

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skyward-floored · 7 months

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Got any good Wild fics? Anything and everything

I don’t read specifically Wild-centered fics a lot these days, but I went looking and found some I know are good! Here you go :D

What’s the opposite of tunnel vision? Wild and Hyrule get lost, it... doesn’t go well. Very whumpy, but there’s comfort too.

Forged with Fire is a fic centered on Four and Wild, this one is really interesting! A fascinating look at Four, gives him a neat backstory. Wild shines here a lot :)

Grace Fics Three fics with lots of Wild + Mipha’s grace angst hehe. The third one will make you cry. It makes everyone cry. (mind the tags for that one especially!)

Whistling on Deaf Ears Wild plays a prank, with disastrous results. Lots of Wild and Twilight, they struggle a lot in this fic but it’s soooo good.

And I’ve written a few myself, but I think the one that has the most Wild focus is Brethren in a Cradle. The chain end up with a baby. Turns out there’s a lot more to it then that.

#voila #answers from the floor #thatonedragongirl #linkeduniverse #linked universe #fic recs #lu wild

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peonybane · 3 years

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Beyond the Veil: Part 1

Pairing: Choi Youngjae (GOT7) x Psychopomp!Reader

Word Count: 8.3 k

Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, Angst, Psychopomp AU, Doctor AU

Warnings: Mentions and depictions of death (I don’t know how to word this as… this is a story about a Grim Reaper), Pining (so much pining)

Summary: Life is a gift. Every Spirit of Death knew this. They weren’t allowed to touch Life — weren’t allowed to experience it. Every once in a while they can, the unspoken rule being that Death can only fall in love once with Life. And never again.

Author’s Note: Thank you to everyone for your patience with me on this. Especially since this was suppose to be a one-shot and I’ve learn my lesson that it is not. Thank you to the platonic love of my life, @ropeseok for putting up with me through this whole process.

If you’d like to notified/tagged when PART 2 comes out, please reblog this part!

White. Sterile. The overwhelming use of anti-septic burned your nose slightly. A hospital. Here you were again. You practically lived here. Though, you supposed there was worse places you could end up as a Spirit of Death. You could’ve ended up like some of your brethren, always seeming to be summoned to battlefields. Or worse….

You shook the thought from your head. No, things could be far worse. Besides, Death was inevitable. No one could run from it. No one could fight it… not really. It was just a matter of how each soul would meet their escort.

You wandered the halls, the humans not noticing you at all. Looking down, you watched as the threads of your dress — thin, wispy grey tendrils, really — swayed and snaked around you, eventually fading away into nothing as they connected to the souls that you’d eventually escort, all varying shades of grey. One of the threads pulsed and darkened — this was the reason why you were here today — you were here to escort a soul.

Wandering around the hospital, you kept an eye on the thread — you had some time before you had to collect the soul. No need to rush being a voyeur to pain and grief.

Instead, you wandered over to the ward that was your secret pleasure: the maternity ward.

Babies were… fascinating to you. After all, most of those you interacted with were the aged and sick. You dealt with the inevitable. But birth… birth was practically magic to you. Despite the tales told by humans, your kind was not omnipotent — you just knew a few more certainties than humans did. But birth… was the greatest mystery of all….

It was the greatest forbidden fruit.

But more than just the babies, you came to this ward for a particular reason: Dr. Choi.

You nearly missed him — his back facing towards you, the white lab coat obstructing his figure before he turned at the last moment. He was excusing himself from a patient’s room, just down the hall from you. You probably would have missed him entirely if it wasn’t for his laugh. The place where you should’ve had a heart gave a small pitter patter when you saw him. He was… so full of life. The dedication he had for his patients. His zest for life. His laugh. He fascinated you in ways you never knew was possible.

He still made you feel the way you had the first time you saw him.

You got lost, actually, ending up in the wrong operating room. As an OB/GYN surgeon, he was skilled as he performed a c-section. What fascinated you was that as he was performing the operation, he kept speaking to the mother, reassuring her of how well she was doing. Even cracking a joke or two when he realized she was starting to freak out.

You were so distracted in that moment, you almost missed getting the soul you needed to retrieve, lest their soul wander free and reek havoc, haunting the world as they looked for their bodies or searched for the Forest.

Dr. Choi (you’d yet to hear his first name, you didn’t want to, you didn’t want to get too attached) adjusted his sterile blue scrubs before he made his way towards his office. You were tempted to follow him, just to watch him from afar… just like you always had.

“If you stare at him any harder, you’re going to set him on fire.”

You jumped at the sound of Jaebeom’s voice. “Dammit, Jaebeom! Don’t do that.”

You turned around, staring up into the dark eyes of Jaebeom, a named Spirit of Death — your brother in some sense. His shaggy, long black hair was pulled away from his face, showing off his piecing dark eyes. He smirked down at you, his stance utterly relaxed under his own Death Shroud, a duster jacket. On his shoulders, his Bombay feline familiar, Haneul, laid across his broad shoulders, her sleek, black fur almost disappearing under the blanket of Jaebeom’s own hair, her bright yellow eyes staring at you sleepily.

“Long time no see, little Morana.”

You rolled your eyes at him. You hated it when he called you that. Though to be fair… you didn’t have a name. None of the Spirits of Death did; instead — they’d take on a title of sorts, using names the humans made up if need be. The only way to have a Name, one that no one could take or abuse, was to live a Life.

A Life which Jaebeom lived to the fullest.

“It’s good to see you, Jaebeom.” You looked around. “Where’s the kittens?”

Jaebeom laughed. He reached into the deep pockets of his jacket and with withdrew his two other familiars, Yugyeom and Kunpimook. The older of the two, Kunpimook was lovingly called BamBam for all the trouble he caused as a lanky, white haired, green-eyed Oriental Shorthair. Yugyeom was a giant, blue eyed, fluffy, grey Maine Coon. Both of them looked at you, almost angrily, having their naps disturbed.

You smiled as Jaebeom passed off Yugyeom to you, the big boy immediately purring into your arms. Jaebeom smiled as he cuddled BamBam in his own arms. “He missed you.”

You smiled a little. You couldn’t hear Jaebeom’s familiars. Only he could. His mind was connected to theirs, their bond cemented when the foursome was human.

“I can tell.”

Everything was silent for a moment. Even the sound of nurses wandering around the ward seemed to have quieted down for a moment. You hadn’t seen Jaebeom for a while. Not since he came back from living amongst humans. You, Jaebeom, and Haneul were inseparable for the first few years after Haneul died, helping Jaebeom return to his previous duties as a Spirit of Death.

“What are you doing here, Jaebeom?”

Jaebeom practically bristled. Well, Haneul did anyways. “It’s your 1,500th year, right?”

You sighed. Of course. That was why he was here.

Yugyeom nuzzled further into your touch, smushing his face into the crook of your arm. Jaebeom continued. “I just... I heard that you were thinking about not accepting Hermes’ gift for once. You’ve always accept his gift before. Do — Do you want to talk about it?”

Sighing, you looked away from Jaebeom, no longer able to meet his gaze. He leaned down to be eye level with you. Haneul pushed off his broad shoulder a little to head butt you to get your attention. “Do you want to talk about him?”

You scoffed. “I’m not in love.”

“Could have fooled me. Besides, I never mentioned anything about love.”

Biting your lower lip, you asked, “Am I actually in love with him? Or do I just want what you have and see him as a means to an end? Either way — I shouldn’t tempt Fate.”

He was silent as he thought about it. “Only you can answer that. But I would give him a chance, either way. I wasn’t sure if I was truly in love with Haneul. But I trusted my instincts. How could I not take a chance when I couldn’t take my eyes off her? How could I not want her with me forever from the moment her gaze fell upon me? Not through me.”

His voice grew softer as he continued. “Our existence is a lonely one. Do you know why Hermes lets us live as humans for just one day every 500 years? Or why we’re allowed to live amongst them for a single lifetime?”

Swallowing, you shook your head. In comparisons to Jaebeom, you were practically a baby. Hermes was distant. He didn’t interact with his… children too much anymore.

Jaebeom stroked your hair, his gaze growing soft and tender. “Because he wants his children to have what he never could: to experience Life. To find companionship. There are nearly a million of us. But each of us is alone; our existence just an inevitable truth. A kindness. A tragic truth. We are alone, even when we’re together. But a lifetime with humans — the memories are fulfilling. We can fall in love —“

Haneul nuzzled Jaebeom, purring. In Life, they were married. For a moment, you wondered if their souls (or at least whatever your kind had) were entwined from the beginning of time. “— We can have a family.”

His gaze fell to the cats happily snoozing in both of your arms. In Life, they were Jaebeom and Haneul’s adopted sons, Jaebeom never being able to father any.

“Please… talk to me. Out of all our nameless brothers and sisters, I worry about you the most.”

Sniffling, you wiped the tears threatening to fall from your eyes, nearly dropping Yugyeom in the process. “I — I don’t want to condemn him. Like you said, our existence is a lonely one. And — And he’s just so full of Life. How could I surround him by death? Human always see us as a horribly dark thing.”

Jaebeom kissed your forehead. “Don’t make that decision for him. Let him choose.”

You opened your mouth to reply, to argue, then you felt the pull.

It was time.

It was time to collect the soul.

As if sensing it, Jaebeom took Yugyeom from your arms again, cradling the two overgrown kittens like babies. Your dress slowly started to change. From the simple dress, your Death Shroud changed into that of a military uniform, the grey threads unweaved themselves then reweaved, forming the new garment as it paled, turning white. Like it always did when it was time to guide a soul.

You no longer felt your body change — you had long since lost interest in the change. Your form changed to whatever the soul needed from you to find comfort. Sometimes it was just your face. Other times you might physically regress back to the form of a child, making the tragic loss a little less painful. At times, you might have ‘aged,’ providing comfort in being a quiet companion in their final stroll. And on rare occasions, your sex would change — a moment of familiarity or perhaps even safety, a small reassurance that everything would be ok — that you were nothing like the monsters they were finally escaping.

Glancing up, or rather, to, Jaebeom, your gaze no longer turned upward to meet his piercing eyes. Ah, probably meant you either resembled someone much taller than you’d normally stand, or your apparent sex had changed.

Looking you over, Jaebeom gave you a solemn nod. “Whatever you choose, little one….”

“I know,” sounding the same to your own ears, but probably vastly different to Jaebeom’s as his eyes widened slightly.

You gave him a casual salute before walking off in the direction of the soul you needed to collect. Glancing around, you tried to catch another glimpse of Dr. Choi. But he was nowhere to be seen. You let out a small sigh, disappointed before you headed towards the intensive care ward.

You phased through various walls until you found yourself in the right place. You could practically smell his soul becoming weaker and weaker. Your gaze following the thread that led from your Shroud, the thread this time at your left wrist, to his right hand, having wrapped around it along his life line.

There, in a hospital bed, laid an old man on a ventilator, his wife sitting next to him, her hand clutching his. His heartbeat grew slower, his eyes glassy. Slowly, you joined the two of them as you stood to the opposite side of the bed of his wife. He let out an exhale as his eyes focused in on you, finally seeing you.

It was time.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his forehead. He took his last breath, his eyes falling closed. The heart rate monitor flat lined; his wife began to sob.

As you pulled away, you grasped his now lifeless hands, gently coaxing his soul from his body. Standing before you was not the withered, old man that laid in the bed. No, instead, it was a man in his prime, adorned in a perfectly maintained uniform and various medals on his chest.

You smiled at him. “On your feet, Captain. It’s time for your next mission.”

He looked around, dazed. He seemed solid enough. At least until he reached out to touch his wife, his hand going right through her. Staring at his hand, he asking you, shakily, “Am I dead?”

Gently, you replied, “Yes,” taking his hands in yours.

His eyes grew large. You squeezed his hands, trying to help him keep calm. “What… What about my wife?”

You glanced over to the woman, still weeping for the loss of her husband as a nurse entered the room. You were not her guide. You didn’t know when exactly when she’d die. But you could tell… she had a few years left in her.

“Do you have children? Grandchildren?”

He nodded. “Three daughters. Four grandbabies with two more on the way.”

You smiled at him. “She’ll be ok. As long as she has them, the rest of her life will be good. Even as she misses you. But you’ll be together soon. You just have to wait for her on the other side.”

He nodded again, slowly. He let go of your hands, turning back towards his wife. He leaned over and did the best he could, kissing her forehead. He whispered, “I love you, yeobo. I’ll wait for you.”

Turning back towards you, stood at attention, saluting you. In turn, you returned the gesture. “Shall we go, Captain?”

“Yes.”

You nodded. At your hip, you reached for your Sickle. Instead of the small, practical instrument that usually hung at your hip, it too had transformed to accompany your Shroud. At your hip was a ceremonial saber. How appropriate, you couldn’t help but think.

Unsheathing it, you admired its elegance. A small part of you wished your Sickle could have been a sword or a saber. Perhaps then humans wouldn’t fear a monstrosity of a sickle, fearful of it taking their souls by force. Taking a deep breath (despite not really needing one) you swung it in front of you, it’s blade cutting through space and time, opening a hole to the Forest.

The portal expanded, the edges shimmering as you sheathed the saber once more. You held your hand out again for him. “Come.”

As he took your hand, almost hesitantly, you led him through.

The Forest. Or, at least, that’s what you called it. Like everything else, it was nameless. But it had to be called something. Some called it Eden. Shangri-La. Arcadia. Xanadu. Yomi. Purgatory.

So many different names… and yet none of them quite correct. Perhaps the closest was Axis Mundi— where Life and the Afterlife met.

Your charge looked around the Forest in wonder as you closed the portal. You were surrounded by giant trees — trees that were sturdy even before Hermes began his sacred duty. In their bark was inscribed with uncountable names, each one belonging to a single soul that’s passed over. Their large leaves overhead provided ample shade, creating the illusion that there was a blue sky and shining sun above you. But there was nothing. It was just an endless void up there.

But that didn’t matter.

Not with the thousands of flowers blooming at your feet and the countless tendrils of ivy and moss dancing across the multitude of trees. Between the trees, you’d sometimes catch glimpses of other psychpomps out of the corner of your eye, finding themselves in comfortable silence with their familiars — whether as beasts or as humans. Wind rustled the leaves above, creating a sweet, comforting melody as it engulfed you in the familiar, loving smell of the flowers that were in eternal bloom. But there was no chattering of squirrels or the jubilant song of a bird, just the sound of leaves rustling and the bubbling of the creek up ahead.

No.

This was no place for them. This was no place for the living — no matter their form.

Your charge turned back to you. “Is — Is this Heaven?”

Smiling, you shook your head. So, he was the hopeful type. “No. This is only the threshold between your Life and what comes after this. Come.”

He followed behind you as you led the way down a very well worn path, the grass and flowers long gone. Even the top soil had been eroded away, leaving an almost polished alabaster stone path exposed. You led him down the path towards a creek, a bridge, born from the over grown roots of many trees, running over it.

“What… What is this?”

“Like this Forest and me, it has no name. But, I suppose humans would think of it as something like the River Styx. It’s a threshold into the Afterlife.”

His voice was strained as he looked between you and the bridge. “What — What comes next?”

You sighed, gazing at him in sympathy. You hated this question. “I don’t know.”

His anger fueled gazed turned its wrath upon you as he cried, “What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I’m a Spirit of Death. I am bound forever to this plane, this side of the threshold between Life and what comes next. I cannot ever know what is beyond this point. But, I can tell you that you will not cease to exist. There is something after this. I just don’t know what it is.”

He seemed to have calmed down a bit. “Can I wait for my wife?”

You shook your head. “If you wait here, your soul will become restless. You’ll forget who you are. You’ll wreak havoc not only here, but also in the human world. You’ll be condemned to wander for eternity until one of my kind must Reap your soul.”

He glanced at the saber at your hip, understanding your meaning. “And your wife will not have you with her.”

He swallowed, absorbing what you’re saying. “So… do I just crossover? And that’s it?”

You smiled at him, nodding. “Yes. I’ve heard that supposedly, someone will be on the other side of the creek to greet you.”

He saluted you, one final time before he headed for the bridge. You stood there, watching him as he found his footing on the bridge. Your Shroud and Sickle slowly returned to their natural form, your body shifting as well back to its natural state.

As he walked further and further away, he began to glow, his luminosity increasing, a light that almost rivaled the sun until… he disappeared. The thread of your Shroud connecting you to him snapped, the sound as sudden and as loud as thunder. It took you awhile, but you at least no longer jumped at the sound.

Walking forward, you reached your hand out towards the bridge. You stopped just short of it, your hand shaking as you slowly tried to cross over that threshold, muscle memory reminding you that this wasn’t a good idea. And just as it had the few dozen thousand times before, the barrier zapped you, forcing you to retract your hand. You hissed, holding onto your slightly burnt fingertip as you glared at the barrier that now shimmered and rippled.

“I see you still haven’t learnt your lesson.”

You jumped, turning to face Hermes. He stood before you, intimidating and beautiful as always, this form suiting him well… even if the sight of him set you on edge.

Ebony skin glowed, a stark contrast to his billowy white cloak. His hood framed his lovely face as he looked down at you, almost making him appear angelic. And in a way, he was. At least in the sense that humans would think of him. It instead set you on edge when he changed his form to be… more ‘approachable.’ Like everything else here, he had no name — instead choosing to take on various mythical mantles: Hermes, Azrael, the Grim, Charon, Anubis, and so many others. You knew him as Hermes.

From his back emerged a pair of large, iridescent, black wings, the feathers fluttering with the wind. You couldn’t help but notice how a couple of the feathers were barely hanging on, signally that once they’d fall from his wings, new Spirits of Death would rise from them.

Bowing your head, you said, “No, Lord Hermes. But I want to answer their question. Almost all of them ask me the same thing over and over again.”

His deep voice rumbled, “And I wish I could give you that answer. But I cannot. I do not know what lies beyond the Veil. And we will never know.”

You nodded in understanding. The same answer… as always. He continued, “I heard that you do not want to accept my gift. Why is that?”

You cringed. You completely forgot about that. Silent, you hesitated to answer.

He sighed. “What are you afraid of? Is it answering the question of what comes next? Are you afraid of rejection? Are you afraid to Live?”

You shot him a glare. You hated this. Hated that he knew. Hated the fact that Hermes was connected to all of you, knowing your deepest, darkest secrets. All because he shed you as a Feather.

He smirked at you, crossing his arms across his chest. “Ah… I see. You’re afraid to Live.”

You hissed back, “I can’t live! I was never alive to begin with.”

“You are very much alive, my child. You just have to go and discover it.” He waved his hand, a gust of wind spiraled around you. Instinct took over, raising your arms to shield your face from the cyclone of wind and leaves. But still, you glared daggers at Hermes as he took away your choice once more.

Irony dripped from his lips as he muttered, “Happy Birthday.”

—~—~—~—

The sky was still dark in Seoul. The sun hasn’t risen yet. But you could see the sky taking on intense shades of blue and grey — the world quiet and still outside of the temple you found yourself in.

With a groan, you stood up from the cold wooden floor, goosebumps rising on your skin uncontrollably. You shivered. At least when you weren’t masquerading as human temperature never bothered you.

“Ahh. I thought her vision didn’t sound quite right. I’ll go get you a different set of clothes.”

Turning around, you came face to face with the caretaker of the temple, a young priest. Slightly bowed, his obsidian black hair barely hid the darting of his eyes, looking everywhere but you. He was dressed in a simple, traditional hanbok as he stood there, a pile of red clothes in his arms.

Ahh…. A seer must have mistaken you for some other kind of spirit. Some sort of Pyro or Asmod if the colors and style were anything to go by.

The priest continued to look everywhere but you. You tilted your head in curiosity before you remembered — oh, humans and their modesty. Glancing down at yourself, you noted breasts and the small patch of hair upon your mons pubis. Oh, good. At least this time you’re in your preferred form it seems.

Clearing your throat, you said, “Thank you, Priest — ?”

“Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung.”

You smiled at him, covering up yourself as much as possible, for his sake. You didn’t particularly care. “Thank you, Jinyoung-ie. And yes,” You glanced at the clothes he held tightly in his hands. “I would like a different set of clothes.”

He gave you a curt nod before scurrying off to get you something more appropriate.

You sighed.

24 hours. 24 hours of being human. The last time you were human… you were in Venice. Boy was that an interesting time with the Renaissance and all. Had… had it really been that long?

There was a knock on the door. This time it was a girl’s voice. “Grim? I’ve brought you your clothes. I’d also like to apologize for the mistake in my vision.”

Grim. Out of all the things humans called your kind… it wasn’t the kindest… nor the most horrendous.

“Come in.”

The door opened and a girl entered, her gaze was to the ground as she held a bundle of light grey clothing. She looked young, perhaps no older than 20. Certainly not of the age to know exactly what she was seeing in her visions. She had no control of what she’d see. She would probably just be finishing learning how to identify various demons and spirits from her visions if you had to take a guess.

She knelt before you, laying the clothes on the ground before bowing. “My name is Chaewon. I’d like to apologize, Grim. It was my mistake that my brother brought you the wrong type of clothes.”

You picked up the bundle of clothing, starting to dress yourself. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re the youngest seer I’ve seen in a very long time. I’m curious though, what did you see?”

Chaewon looked down, her face flushed and she turned red all the way to her ears. Oh?

Her voice shook. “I... I saw a man. He was naked. His face covered in shadows. And he made,” she paused, turning even redder before she continued, “a noise. A very… happy noise.”

“Oh.”

You felt your own face heat.

You may have lived for well over a millennia, but you still had some sense of shame. Or at least hers made you hyperaware of your own. As you finished dressing, you replied, “In that case, I don’t blame you for thinking I was an Asmod. A vision like that… I don’t know if I would have chosen any differently.”

“But I should’ve —“

“How old are you?”

You knelt down in front of her, your simple cotton dress pooling slightly around you as you knelt to get down on Chaewon’s level. She finally looked you in the eye. A small thrill went through you — the Living never looked you in the eye.

“Seventeen.”

Just as you thought. “You’re young. Younger than I would have expected. Despite your age, you interpreted what you saw well. If you saw sex, anyone would assume that it were an Asmod or some other daemon.”

She did not look reassured. You continued. “Do you what my kind typical do on our one day amongst the Living?”

She quickly shook her head. You smirked a little.

“We wander. The one day we’re allowed to interact with the Living, we tend to do what we did before: observe. Perhaps, we’d join in on festivities. Perhaps, we spend the day at a park, watching children play. Perhaps, we play with them. But sex? Sex is not something we are particularly interested in. You interpreted correctly.”

She didn’t say anything, but you knew she understood — that she didn’t make a real mistake. She interpreted what she saw correctly. But what she saw… concerned you. Why? Why you would you have… sex? It was such a… human activity. Your kind, especially those who had yet to live a Lifetime, didn’t understand it. It wasn’t like you could reproduce, so it never really made sense to you.

Your quiet moment was broken by Jinyoung clearing his throat. You looked up at him, he had changed into ordinary clothes. “Grim? Please let me know where’d you like me to take you. I’ll take you anywhere in the city.”

Standing up, you nodded. “Thank you, Priest. Lead the way.”

You made your way past Chaewon, following the young priest down the hall. He brought you to an entryway, several cubicles lined up with shoes. He indicated for you to take a pair. As you sat down to slip on a pair of black, flat ankle boots, he rejoined you. When did he disappear?

In his hand, he held a bag. “These are for you, Grim. Inside you’ll find money and other amenities you’ll need.”

You took the bag from him, looking at the contents. “I’m surprised you’re able to give me this much. Especially since I’ll only be here a day.”

He shook his head. “The Guardian Spirit of this temple makes sure that when you return to the Veil, the things we gave you find their way back here in due time. There is no need to worry.”

Smiling, you nodded. You stood up, ready to follow him. Nodding, he lead you out to a car. It wasn’t the fanciest car in the world, certainly not one of those sports cars you never bothered learning about. But it looked well taken care of.

Jinyoung opened the passenger side door for you. You nodded to him in thanks as you slipped inside. After shutting your door, he quickly made his way to the driver’s side.

After a brief explanation on how and why you should be wearing a seatbelt (How were you suppose to know that, at the very least, you could get him in trouble if you didn’t wear one?), he drove you out of the temple.

“Where would you like me to take you?”

Biting your lip, you hesitated to answer. Did you want to see him? Or did you want to avoid him completely. Before you could completely think it through, you found yourself replying, “Jung-gu. Near the hospital.”

He made a small noise of confirmation, taking you towards the district.

—~—~—~—

The drive was longer than you had expected. Who knew Seoul traffic was so congested?

Glancing out the window, you caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time, nearly jumping out of your skin. Normally, you had no reflection. The rare times you’d ever see your own reflection would be if you caught a glimpse of it mirroring you in the creek back in the Forest. Staring at yourself in the passenger side mirror, you couldn’t help but touch your face, brow knit together in concentration.

“So it’s true then.”

The sound of Jinyoung’s voice made you jump. Phoenix farts, why were you so jumpy lately? Turning to him, you noted the smirk on his lips and figured that behind those sunglasses his eyes were full of mirth.

“Is what true?”

“That you don’t see your reflections.”

You swallowed. “Rarely. Very rarely. Even when we do… they’re not quite as… solid as they when we’re occasionally human.”

He made a small noise of understanding, turning his full attention back on the road. Outside of the car, for a brief moment, between the shadows of buildings, you caught a glimpse of the hospital. It was an unusual feeling, but your heart thundered in your chest. You couldn’t tell if you were excited or scared. A part of you wanted to beg Jinyoung to take you somewhere else in the city. Anywhere. But another part of you, the stronger part, wanted to be there, to be near him.

All too soon, Jinyoung pulled into a parking space. You struggled for a moment, thinking that just tugging on the seatbelt would set you free before putting two and two together that there was a button. Heat flared up in your cheeks out of embarrassment — such an unusual feeling, not one that you’re sure you’ll ever get used to, you don’t think. Stepping out of the car, you politely bowed, ready to walk away from Jinyoung.

It’s a shame really… even as a human you would have been able to see the thread wrapped around his hand, following the pattern of his life line if he was a soul you were to collect. You would have liked to speak to him once again.

“Saja-nim!”

You paused. There was one you hadn’t heard in a while. A rather polite one at that. “Yes, Priest?”

His gaze was almost painful as he looked you in the eye. It was unnerving really — having someone looking directly at you like this. With utter certainty, as if he just knew, he cryptically said, “I look forward to speaking with you again.”

Before you could inquire further as to exactly what he meant, he reached across the passenger and pulled the car door shut and practically shot out of the parking space like a bat out of hell. What a weird priest.

Stepping away from the street, you took in your surroundings. The sun was out, filtering through the buildings of Seoul, this part of the city still relatively quiet though, still just early enough for most people to have not quite left home for work. It was peaceful. It was Life. And you could close your eyes, take a deep breath, and take it all in — truly take it in.

A piercing cry of “COCO-YAH!!!” broke your peace and quiet.

Turning towards the voice, you lost your footing as small white ball of fuzz on four legs bolted towards you, or rather, attempting to bolt past you. Attempting was the operative word. As you teetered backwards, sort of regaining your footing, the almost panicked ringing of a bicycle bell was the only warning you got before making eye contact with a startled bicyclist.

If you weren’t fighting instinct, perhaps you would have moved. But time and time against, you never had to worry about moving — danger would just move right through you.

But not now.

No, your brain had shut down in shock. Of course you would get hurt the one day you were human.

Before the cyclist could collide with you, you were harshly pulled out of his way. Instead of someone colliding into you… you were the one doing the colliding.

Foot catching on uneven cobblestone, your center of mass shifted, your body landing against a very warm, soft, yet very solid body, nearly taking him to the ground.

A sweet voice, one that sent shivers down you spine — one that you almost dreadfully recognized — asked, “Are you ok?”

Hesitantly, you looked up, holding your breath, trying to imprint this memory of his warm hold on you forever into your skin. When yours eyes met… you finally understood what Jaebeom was talking about.

You were absolutely and utterly fucked.

It was the moon-like face you’d seen from a distance more times than you could count. Except unlike the moon, he was close enough to worship with your lips if you tried. From afar you had always thought he was handsome, but up close, he was deadly — the combination of soft and sharp features were too tempting and dangerous.

Your eyes flicked for a moment to his lips, his breath faltering for a moment across your face before you dared to finally look him in the eye.

Definitely fucked. Hopeless fucked, really.

His eyes were gentle, in spite of their sharp, intense shape. So curious. So full of concern. And there was something else. You had seen it before, though you couldn’t place it where. All you knew was that you could get lost in those eyes… and happily so.

The spell was broken as his large wire-framed round glasses slowly slipped down the bridge of his nose. You pulled away from his hold, regaining your footing as you cleared your throat, hoping to buy another moment to clear your mind. Get a hold of yourself, you said you wouldn’t get involved with him. But, oh, the thought was so very tempting.

Your voice cracked. “Ye — Yes. Thank you for catching me.”

He nodded, wiping his hands on his pants, almost unsure of himself. At your feet, a couple of small barks got your attention. The little white dog from earlier was at your feet, barking, her little tail wagging as she gazed up at Dr. Choi.

Dr. Choi exclaimed, “COCO-YAH!!!!!” as he picked up the little, almost contrary, cotton ball.

Lifting her up to eye level, he asked, “Yah! What was that for? I lose my grip on your leash for a moment to grab the mail and you just bolt? No! Don’t you try that sweet act on me, you spoilt, little princess.”

He sighed in defeat as she wagged her tail, tongue flicking out to lick his nose, his face scrunching up cutely in response. You couldn’t help but laugh as he brought her in close, coddling her even as he continued to look exasperatedly annoyed.

He turned his gaze back on you, his eyes soft as he took a moment to wet his lips. He held his hand out to you. “I’m Choi Youngjae. And this little, fluffy, white hell spawn is Coco.”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

This was the last thing you needed. You swallowed, a poor attempt at controlling your breathing. You placed your hand in his.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

There was a pause for a moment before Youngjae — no — Dr. Choi (he had to stay as Dr. Choi), smiled gently at you. Bending at the hips, he lowered himself just enough so he could tilt his gaze up to look up at you, a small smile on his lips as he cutely asked, “And what is your name?”

The usual spike of anxiety that would come with this question never came. Instead, automatically, almost as if you had answer this questions hundreds of time like a human, you gave him a name.

Not Morana. Nor Saja. But an actual name. It was… your name.

He repeated it quietly to himself. It struck you like lightning. This must be the feeling Jaebeom told you about so many times but never understood.

For a moment it was silent between the two of you. You wanted this feeling to last, whatever it was. You had never known such an inner warmth. What you wouldn’t give to have him whisper your name once more.

Of course, Coco had to ruin the moment, having had enough. She started wriggling around in his hold, desperately wanting to be free to reek havoc like she had before. Dr. Choi sighed, bending down further to place her back on the ground. A firm hold on the leash this time.

As he straightened up, he looked at you shyly from behind his glasses. “So, umm, where are you from? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before?”

You swallowed. Never in a million years would you have thought you’d have to answer such a simple question.

You blurted out, “Visting! Umm, just for the day.”

“Well, umm, I guess I should let you get back to it then. I’m sure you must have plans.”

He went to turn, his shoulders slumping. “No!”

Dr. Choi turned back to you, eyes wide and eyebrow raised at your outburst. More calming you repeated, “No. Umm, actually, I don’t have plans. Despite wanting to come here for a while now….” You laughed out your response, “I have no idea what I’m going to do now that I’m here.”

A moment of clarity graced his features before the brightest smile you had ever seen revealed itself.

“In that case, how would you like a local to show you around?”

A smile found its way onto your lips. “I’d like that very much.”

He offered you his hand. You hesitated, glancing between the soft and dexterous hand and his hopeful face. “I know a great dog friendly cafe near by if you’d like to join me.”

You found yourself squeaking out a reply, barely above a whisper, “I’d love to.”

You placed your hand in his and for a moment, you swore sparks flew. His palm was warm, a stark contrast to your own chilly one. Dr. Choi gave a small laugh. You glanced up to him, brows knit. He licked his lips almost nervously before he shyly replied, “It’s just something my mother used to tell me: the kindest, most caring people are so worried about everyone else that they don’t even notice when their hands are cold.”

For some reason… him just saying that… it created a pressure in your chest, an almost overwhelming feeling, as if you were a pitcher ready to overflow with emotion. It was… it was gentlest thing anyone had ever said to you.

You felt the tears threatening to overflow, but you kept them hidden. After all, why would anyone cry at that?

All you could do was purse your lips as you look down at the ground, half-heartedly nodding your head, hoping that it was enough to hide the emotion threaten to escape. If Dr. Choi noticed, he didn’t say anything. He simply made a hum of acknowledgement, squeezing your hand before gently tugging you to an unspecified direction.

Little Coco couldn’t seem to make up her mind on whether or not she wanted to be carried or to lead the charge. Either way, Youngj — Dr. Choi — seemed to give in to her each time, never letting go of your hand no matter what. Coco was in his arms when she realized where we were and she started swimming frantically in the air, barking excitedly.

You couldn’t help but giggle as Dr. Choi sighed in defeat, setting the little hellion on the ground as she tried to mush her way through the people trying to go about their lives as she focused in on one target: MeongMeong Cafe.

The little cafe was on the ground floor, almost tucked away between the buildings, the light pastels and sepia tones a strong contrast to the grey buildings around it. The sun rise hadn’t quite yet turned this part of the city golden, the tones still a cool blue, just waiting to be woken by the spell of the sun. But that little cafe, with its little picket fence surrounding a small area of grass and it’s sepia shingles waiting for the sun to bring them to life, was already bustling to life inside. The cafe owner you presumed, was running about inside, setting up tables for the day and placing bread in the display cases.

As you approached the cafe, through the window, you saw the cafe owner look up, a look of surprise graced his features before a gummy smile took over as he opened the front door to the three of you. “Youngjae-yah!! Coco-ssi!! Welcome back!”

Dr. Choi returned the warm greeting, letting go of hand for a moment to wave at him, leaving your hand almost unbearably cold. “Hello, Mark-hyung! How’s it’s going?”

Coco’s barks suddenly came more rapidly as she pulled Dr. Choi after her even harder as a small (but most definitely larger than Coco), white poodle looked around the corner of the door. The shop owner, Mark, muttered something as he looked down at the dog at his feet, prompting the dog to sit down at him feet, its little paws tapping in excitement as it sat there.

Mark shook his head with an exasperated sigh, smiling slightly as Coco continued to lead the charge towards the cafe. “You know how it is, Youngjae-yah. But that’s besides the point.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Who is this lovely lady?”

Your face flushed with heat and you couldn’t help but look down at your shoes. Youngjae — no, Dr. Choi — gently entangled his fingers within your own, giving your hand a very gentle squeeze in assurance. He introduced you to Mark. “She’s from out of town and I’m giving her the local’s tour of the city.”

Mark’s eyes crinkled in the corner as he shot you a smile. “Then welcome to MeongMeong Cafe.”

You muttered your thanks as Dr. Choi led you inside to a table in the corner.

Sitting down, you noted that the cafe was the same on the inside as it was on the outside with pastel and sepia colors furniture all over the place. Nothing was a matching set it seemed, almost like repurposed yard sale items, but all dog friendly. In the corner of the shop was a blackboard, the menu items scrawled across it in different colors with their prices trailing after it.

Mark wiped his hands on his apron before pulling out a notepad from his apron pocket, the poodle (while Dr. Choi affectionately greeted as ‘Mimi’) following him, seemingly waiting for a command. He shot Dr. Choi an almost pointed look. “The usual for you and the cottonball, I take it?”

Dr. Choi glanced sheepishly at you before turning his gaze back to Mark. “Yeah.”

Mark hummed his understanding and jotted it down then turned to you. “And for the lovely lady?”

Your insides clenched in anxiety? What did you want? You looked past the two of them at the chalkboard covered in what felt like hundreds of choices. Did you want something sweet? Savory? Salty? Sour? Did you like bitter? 500 years was a long time between meals.

Dr. Choi placed his hand over yours, grabbing your attention. “If you’re up for it, I suggest the mocha latte and the croissant of the day.”

Mark piped in, “Which is Eggs Benedict, by the way.”

You swallowed looking between the two of them. “Um, then I will go with that then.”

“Alright then. Come on, Milo.”

Mark smiled as he jotted down your orders on his little notepad before making his way back towards what you supposed was the kitchen, Milo hot on his heels. You turned your attention back to Dr. Choi and you found yourself shrinking in on yourself, blushing under the intensity of his gaze.

Is this what it was like to be human? Is this what Jaebeom felt like? To feel constantly overwhelmed?

“Since you mentioned that this was the first time in Seoul for you, where do you live?”

For a moment your reply caught in your throat. Nowhere, just a forest between life and death.

“Busan! Yes, it took quite a while to get here.”

Dr. Choi smiled. “Ahhh. An overnight train ride then. I love Busan: the architecture, the food!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that. He leaned back in his chair as he hummed. “And the people, so it seems.”

You knew that wasn’t true, but nonetheless, heat rose to your cheeks like an inferno. Youngjae — no, stop it — Dr. Choi asked, “Tell me about what you do for a living?”

Yeah… ‘living.’ Laughable.

Chewing on your bottom lip for a moment, you thought on how to answer it. “I’m in the family business.”

Dr. Choi sat forward, interest piqued as Mark returned with two coffees on adorable little plates, decorated with watercolor paw prints. “What does your family do?”

Before you could think better on it, you spat out, “Funerary services: cremations, burials, wakes, and the likes.”

Mark… poor Mark paused, his expression unreadable before he quietly excused himself. Dr. Choi on the other hand surprised you; he laughed. You stared at him, jaw slack and brow knit.

“I’m sorry…. I shouldn’t have laughed. I found it ironic. You give souls their final farewells while I welcome them into the world.”

Again, your heart gave a stuttering tap as a tsunami of emotion washed over you. How could he know the words you needed to hear? Or at least the ones that made you feel real at the very least. You took a sip of your coffee to try to distract yourself from the squall of emotion in your chest, only to hiss as you burn your tongue.

Dr. Choi is immediately at your side. “You ok?”

You touched the back of your hand to your mouth, looking away. “Yes, I was just being stupid.”

He laughed again and you couldn’t help but shoot him a pointed look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Just that, some times watching you do things is like watching a child discovering something new for the first time.” He smiled down at you sweetly. “I think it’s endearingly adorable.”

Your throat felt try and your face hot and your chest felt heavy. Adorable? You? You looked away from him, trying to appear as if his words didn’t do anything to you. As if your attention was taken up by something else on the far side of the shop.

But out of the corner of your eye, as he raised his own cup of coffee to his lips, there was a twinkle of mischief and mirth in his eye. Taking a chance, you lifted your own cup to your lips, blowing on it before taking a tentative sip. Immediately you hummed in appreciation. It was delicious.

Mark came back over with another set of adorable plates, one was your croissant (looking absolutely delicious covered in Hollandaise sauce) and Dr. Choi’s waffle. From the pocket of his apron he produced some sort of gourmet dog chew setting it down on the ground for Coco to try to conquer. You thanked Mark, who gave you a gracious but overly exaggerated bow before he excused himself.

You turned back to Dr. Choi as you mentally went over a game plan on how to tackle your delicious looking (and smelling) food. “You said you welcome souls into the world. What do you mean by that?”

You knew what he did. Did it count as stalking if you’re not alive and they’re just a form of entertainment between reapings? But you had the forethought to be mindful of that. You didn’t want this illusion to burst by muttering something suspicious.

He hid a small laugh as he took a bite of his waffle. “You promise not to laugh?”

You mimicked the way he cut into his waffle, the same way with your croissant, albeit it didn’t go as smoothly as his. “Promise.”

He took a moment to chew, almost thoughtfully before he said, “I’m, uh, well… I’m an OB/GYN. I deliver babies.”

You smiled at him as he tried to hide his blush behind shoveling food into his mouth. Barely above a whisper, you replied, “I think it suits you perfectly.”

He shot you a brilliant smile, looking away from you as his cheeks began to glow a nice shade of pink. As you sat there in the golden hours of the morning, you admired his features, realization dawned on you.

You were hopelessly in love with Youngjae.

Want more like this? Check out the following:

STAR-CROSSED, a science fiction series with Jackson Wang of GOT7

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

Also, please note that I do NOT do tagging lists. Please see my FAQ for why.

GOT7 Masterlist

Masterlist

#got7 #got7 youngjae #youngjae #choi youngjae #youngjae got7 #got7 fluff #got7 angst #Beyond the Veil #BtV #peonybane #got7 jinyoung #got7 jaebeom #got7 bambam #got7 yugyeom #got7 mark

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hisunshiine · 4 years

Text

—who said I was an angel? |pjm|

⟢ pairing: Jimin x f!reader

⟢ genre: established lovers | smut, fluff | oneshot | wedding au

⟢ rating: 18+, nsfw

⟢ summary: Sex with Jimin is a religious experience, to say the least.

⟢ warnings: themes of christianity used in what could be considered sacrilegious LOL but honestly, I think it was written very beautifully and poetic.

⟢ kinks: semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink (minor)

⟢ word count: 777 words

⟢ author’s note: includes links to audio that sound like Jimin to enhance your reading pleasure...listen at your own risk! I suggest with headphones and NOT around others, especially family.

His hands tangled in your hair as he held your head still. The lewd sounds of you sucking him deeper into your mouth, spit coating his cock every time he plunged in too deep causing you to gag.

(Audio)

You looked up at him, eyelashes wet with unshed tears and his eyes took in your face, the way your cheeks were hollowed, the way the apples of your cheeks were warm from exertion, and the way your eyes pulled him in… he threw his head back as his hips stuttered,

and the way his blonde hair eclipsed the dim lighting in the back of the church stacks made him look like an angel. You eye the length of his neck into his chest, which disappeared behind a white button down that was unbuttoned several inches down, his tanned skin showing.

His lips, pink and plump from his constant biting parted, a beautiful moan flowing from him like heavens trumpets as he continued to flex his hips, slipping himself into your warm and wet mouth, his weight on your tongue… You knew he was close.

“Fuck, you take me so well angel,” he groans, looking back down at you on your knees, like a congregation member at an alter.

You would worship Jimin’s cock like it was your saving grace, and he would bless you with endless orgasms until you were calling for your salvation, nerve-endings alight in omnipresence and the feeling of floating through heaven.

“Angel, I want to cum in you,” Jimin demands, pulling your mouth off of him with a wet ‘pop’ sound, his thumb reaching to wipe the lingering string of saliva stuck to your face off and sucking his thumb into his own mouth.

The sight sends pulses to your core, and your trembling legs almost fail you. Jimin helps you up, attaching his lips to yours with a fierceness of God’s mightiest, walking you backwards until your backside meets the old wooden table. He hikes you up onto it without separating his lips from yours and his hands run the length of your thighs, pushing up your dress. In seconds he has rid you of your lace panties; they were drenched and useless.

“Oh God, Jimin, please,” you plead, and he answers your prayers, his thick length is breaching entry into your tight, pulsing center. You sigh out an ‘amen’ as your walls stretch deliciously to accommodate him.

“Fuck me, Jimin, please, don’t stop...” your lips brush his neck as you pull him closer to you, a communion of your mind, body, and spirit as his precum mixes with your own slick and he thrusts, nailing you to the wood, the old table creaking in protest as his muscular thighs drive home. Your hands grip his ass and you feel the flex as he fills you repeatedly, your body close to ascension.

“Angel, I’m close… you’re so tight, and wet, fuck... ”

“You made me this way..” you coo, praising his ministries and his glory bequeathed inside of you.

You can feel when he releases, the way you fill with his seed, it leaking out around his still semi-hard cock as he pumps the last few spurts inside of you and drops his head to your shoulder.

(Audio)

You cradle him, silent vows only heard by a higher power as you both breathe heavily, knowing this shouldn’t have happened here, but happy that it would continue happening again and again because you were only flesh, only human, and his angelic voice had called to you from the choir every Sunday that you sat in the pews watching him, God’s grace shining from his body until you answered the call.

Jimin pulls back to kiss you softly, gentle butterfly kisses as he slides out of you, the wet baptism pooling between your thighs a witness to the consummation of your marriage.

“Angel, let’s get out of here and back to the reception, before your mom comes to find us and kills me,” he says as he grabs tissues to clean you both up.

“If you’re giving her grandchildren, she’ll be more than happy to lock us in here until the next service, husband.”

“Oh, I’m giving her grandchildren, dearest wife.”

His kiss was rapturous as he pulled you off the table and into his arms, your white dress smoothed back down by his wandering hands. He is your paradise, and you will follow him wherever he shall lead.

In this instance, it is back to the reception hall to be greeted by his brethren and rejoice in your c̶u̶m̶i̶n̶g̶ coming together as one…

... in more ways than one.

♡

#hisunshiine #hisunshiinewritings #park jimin #Jimin #jimin smut #jimin scenario #jimin one shot #park jimin scenarios #park jimin scenario #park jimin oneshot #bts jimin #bts jimin smut #bts jimin one shot #bts jimin scenario #bts jimin scenarios

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bread-elf · 4 years

Text

DWC 2020 - Day 14

Silence

The Long Vigil - Childhood A pair of large hands cradled the small child, cradling her carefully as she slept. Soon he too would sleep, for a long time, to rejoin in the vigil. A final kiss to his mate before returning the child, having left one more seed planted in her belly that he won’t get to meet for a time. The slightly older boy watched with a confused expression, and he reached to ruffle the boy’s hair, nearly the same shade of green as his own hair. And then he left, to sleep with his brethren. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As a small child Jiroki couldn’t remember her father. A Druid of the Claw, he slept in the Talon Dens, the barrow dens of Stonetalon Mountains. Her mother, Sheradel Glaivefall, was a Sentinel, but with the help of other Kaldorei in the region she was able to successfully raise three children. A woman of deep purple hair and markings of the Owl on her face, she was strong and raised them with a firm, but gentle hand.

Brethilon, the eldest, looked more and more like his father as he grew in height and stature, though his hair did not match the same shade of green. A young boy running around with his friend Rydras Feathergrazer up the path, his bright blue hair bouncing behind him. The middle child, Jiroki, led by the hand of her mother, her hair pulled back into a fishtail braid as she moaned and groaned in complaint as they walked up the slope of the hill. And then the youngest, Estal'anar, a toddler carried by their mother as the timid child looks around curiously, forest green hair tied in little pigtails while her arms wrap around her mother's neck. Sheradel ignored the whines as they ventured to the Talon Dens, where the children would meet their father for the first time. Or at least see him. Rydras was the same age as Brethilon and Sheradel had high hopes that they would walk the same path in druidism, though that had yet to be determined as the two had far more interest in competing with each other and rough housing as boys do. But nonetheless, she brought Rydras along to learn more of the druids who sleep. The barrow dens were like a maze to Jiroki, having an urge to run off and see how far they go, but with the pull of her mother’s hand she’s taken down winding paths and slopes downward. They passed by many rooms and alcoves, some with bears curled up in balls or a person laying on a mat, resting peacefully. Watchers kept watch of the druids as they rested, as well as some Sentinels that patrolled mostly the entryways higher up. A tiny rock jutting out from the ground causes Jiroki to trip, but her mother keeps a firm grip to prevent her from falling, and then the group enters a specific chamber. There in the back, nestled in a dug out pit to accommodate his size, slept a grand bear. His body heaved gently with each breath, having ashen colored fur and having different druidic ornaments hanging about his body. He snored lightly, and the children watched with caution from behind Sheradel. Sensing their hesitation she sets down Estal, sitting the toddler down as she herself stepped closer to her sleeping mate. Kneeling beside him she carefully runs a hand over his head, petting the druid before leaning down to plant a gentle kiss atop his head as well. Brethilon and Rydras looked on with curiosity at the creature, the son having memories of the father and trying to put the pieces together. Jiroki did not, and instead paid more attention to her baby sister, who glanced around and had begun to crawl onto her hands and knees, getting ready to stand. “Come closer, Brethilon.” Sheradel beckons her son closer, who still hesitates. “Say hello to your An’da.”

Brethilon does as such, a bit timid of the bear, as if he were an animal. Rydras comes closer to, with a bit more confidence and a deeper curiosity, even daring to pet along the muzzle as well. Sheradal doesn’t stop him, letting the boys gauge the druid much closer. Estal had managed to get onto her feet, able to stand on her own but still wobbles when walking. Jiroki came to help her baby sister, fond of the living being smaller than her. “Jiroki.” Sheradal calls for her, catching her attention. “Bring your sister over here please.” Jiroki pouts, getting moody. She didn’t want to come here, not to see this thing. But she obliged, gently grasping Estal’s tiny hands and walking backwards, helping the toddler to walk. They get closer, Estal finally giving notice to the sleeping druid, stopping in her steps and her wide silver eyes looking on. A child’s stare, processing what she is seeing for the first time. But at the beckoning from the woman that Estal knew and recognized, with a happy giggle she starts to walk that way, forcing Jiroki to quickly move and accommodate her assistance. Sheradel scoops up the small child once she’s in reach, placing her down to lean against the druid. Estal feels how soft the fur is, starting to feel around with tiny hands, then gives another childish giggle as she pats her hands against the bear. Brethilon came up to help stop the patting hands, cautious that she would wake their father. “Oh Arileath, I wish you would have waited a bit longer.” Sheradel sighs out, watching the children interact with her. Jiroki had walked off though, starting to explore the little den they all sat in, Rydras going to bother her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jiroki fumbles with the tiny flowers, her brows knitted together as she tries to get the stems to tie together. But she’s a bit too rough, and she huffs as some of the flowers tear. “Slower, Jiroki. Patience.” Sheradel reaches over to assist, aiding the middle child to get the flowers to tie together to create a crown. “You cannot rush these things. But don’t stress, it doesn’t need to be perfect. Your An’da would appreciate them nonetheless.” The pair sat out in a flower field in the forest, Estal sitting with them as the three worked on making flower crowns. Estal, now a young girl, her delicate hands much more apt at the fragile task compared to her older sister. Brethilon and Rydras standing at a nearby stream, pant legs rolled up as they tried to catch tiny fish. “Brethilon isn’t making any.” Jiroki grumbles, watching as the boys play, sighing as she’s made to do this task instead of splashing in the water with them, especially watching Rydras as he laughs out loud. “That’s because he already has his gift prepared.” Sheradel pulls her hands back, turning to glance at Estal’s work, but just watches as the youngest carefully weaves the crown at her own pace. “Once these are done, then we may go.” “An’da isn’t even going to see it, I don’t want to make one.” Jiroki gets more and more frustrated from the flowers, putting them down with a huff. “Jiroki!” Sheradel quickly turns to look at her, her eyes narrowed sharply in a way that Jiroki would learn to mimic when far older. “Why would you say that? Your An’da loves you, all of you, you should be showing your support.” “Well I don’t want to!” Jiroki stands upright and suddenly runs off, going into the forest. She hears her mother call out to her but she keeps running, following the stream further on. Sprinting as fast as she can she eventually trips over something, falling hard into the gravel and sand by the stream. Groaning in pain she pushes herself up onto her knees, feeling the scrapes begin to sting on her hands, elbows, knees. Looking up she notices the part in the stream where it widens, turning into a river, and further up ahead there are other elves. Standing on a rock is a man, fishing rod in hand as he reels in a catch, a shorter elf beside him with a fishing net. An older son, it looked like, as he jumped down into the water with the net and helped scoop up the catch his father works to keep on the line. Jiroki finds herself staring for a time, sitting on the damp shoreline as footsteps run up behind her. “Jiro!” Rydras had followed, panting heavily as he caught his breath, faster than Brethilon. “You ran away.” He simply states, nothing else in mind as he expects a response to that simple line. “I don’t want to go.” Jiroki begins to pout anew, sniffling as tears sting her eyes, looking at her hands to see the scrapes. Rydras comes up beside her and crouches down on his feet, hands on his knees as he peers at her hands. “Don’t you like seeing all the bears?” Rydras plops back onto his rear. “But they’re so cool though! My Min’da says I can be one if I wanted!” “No!” Jiroki squeaks out in protest, high pitched enough to catch the attention of the other elves further upstream, and it startles the boy beside her. “Don’t be like my An’da! Then you’d just sleep all the time, and do nothing!” Jiroki starts to sniffle some more, rubbing at her eyes to try and stop the tears, she didn’t want the boy to see. “And you’re already lazy!” “Am not!” Taken aback by her sudden jab, but he notices the blatant tears, the snot bubble forming on her nose as she can’t hide her emotions well. “I guess it would be kind of boring to sleep all the time… I don’t have to sleep though! I don’t think.” Scratching his head, his words not comforting Jiroki. He glances around awkwardly, the rest of her family not in sight. “Er-... Do you want to share my An’da?” “Huh?” Jiroki looks over at him, confused. “Yea! Well, I don’t know, my Min’da says he won’t give another baby to be my sibling.” Scratching his head again, confused by the process. “But I don’t like it when you cry, you’re not nice when you cry. But, I kind of share your Min’da, don’t I? I feel like I have two Min’das sometimes! You can have two An’das!” “I don’t know…” The suggestion both confused her yet calmed her all at once, Rydras as much a part of her as the rest of her family. But she sighs, unsatisfied. From behind Sheradel watched carefully, silent like a saber watching over her cubs. Brethilon stood by her, remaining quiet as it seemed his friend was doing a good job at settling down his sister. Estal never was as vigorous in activity as her older siblings and peers, catching up and jogging to her sister, carrying some flower crowns. “Jiroki!” Fretful, near to tears as her voice makes the two turn. Once Estal is standing by them she holds out what would have been Jiroki’s flower crown, all finished and made. “I- I didn’t mean to make you angry! I just really like making these, I've been practicing!” Hiccuping, as if she were the cause of Jiroki’s initial anger. “I- I finished it for you! Please don’t be mad!” “No, I wasn’t mad at you!” Jiroki quickly stands up, and Rydras does too. “You dummy! Don’t cry!” She is quick to embrace her smaller sister, soothing her before the onslaught of tears, and the gesture eases the youngest elf’s heart. Sheradel walks forward as Brethilon goes to join the small entourage, waving at the other elves to indicate the children had a supervisor. Then she turns her gaze down to Jiroki, a penetrating gaze that began to make the child squirm as she let go of her sister. Sheradel says nothing, continuing to do as such until Jiroki could no longer handle it. “I’m sorry Min’da…” Jiroki says quietly, gaze downcast as her hands grip at the hem of her shirt, fiddling with it. She expects retribution from the stoic woman, a spanking or some form of punishment. A hand reaches over, making her squeeze her eyes shut, but Sheradel just smooths Jiroki’s hair. “I am upset too.” Sheradel admits, for a moment being gently honest with her children. “I wish your An’da was awake to be with us, more than anything. But he cannot, not for now, or for a long time. While he Dreams, we must remain vigilant for him.” Reaching her hand down to tilt Jiroki’s head up. “Do you understand?” “Yes Min’da…” Jiroki didn’t, setting her gaze downcast again, but Sheradel knew. Accepting it as is for now she draws her hand away. “Come, let us go now, before the flowers wilt.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “You’re getting better.” Estal comments as she and Jiroki weave flowers together into a wreath, sitting in front of their sleeping father. Today it was just the two of them, their mother having duties to attend to. Brethilon and Rydras were with them, but then suddenly ditched them. The two teenagers decided to honor their mother’s words and go do their weekly visit with their father, but they had plans to get the boys in trouble later. “I’m trying…” Jiroki grumbles, still not quite used to the fragileness of the flowers. She much preferred the feel of the bow in her fingers, having begun to learn archery under her mother’s tutelage. “I still don’t think we should use flowers.” “But An’da likes flowers.” Having been told as such by their mother, Estal had taken it to heart. “Better than the rocks Brethilon leaves, I think. I’m pretty sure An’da wouldn’t like rocks as gifts!” “Well you don’t know that.” Jiroki still felt a lingering bitterness as their father continued to sleep. But she had begun to learn the curvatures of the barrow dens, the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping druids like a song on repeat, how easily she could now point out the features on her father compared to the other druids. Though Jiroki still trips on that little rock jutting out of the ground nearby every now and then. Estal just sighs and continues her task diligently, having great pride in how well she had learned to weave flowers. Together they were making one large one, their father sleeping soundly. He moved and rolled over slightly, and the two paused, waiting with bated breath to see if this was it. But no, it isn’t, and they resume their weaving. They understand better now that when druids slept they weren’t actually ‘dreaming’, just off in some sort of faraway land, one they could get to as well if they had the talent for it. But they were very young, and Jiroki admired the strong woman who stood with the Sentinels more, like her mother did. Estal herself had recently become infatuated with a Priestess, admiring her and even wearing her hair in a similar fashion to the older woman, a braid dangling over her shoulder. “There, all done!” Estal exclaims happily, admiring their work as the flower wreath that’s dotted with different colored flowers. “Alright, carefully…” They’ve had instances in the past of their work suddenly falling apart as they lift. Together they stand and carefully hold the wreath, bringing it towards their father. They drape it over his head, it being larger so they extend a part of it back over his thick neck. It doesn’t fall apart, and they watch as the druid just sleeps with it on. It begins to slip, and a part of it slides down onto his snout, and his nose wiggles while an ear twitches. The display elicits giggles out of Estal, which encourages a small smile on Jiroki. But the bitterness shifted into sadness. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jiroki felt her stomach drop, seeing her mother kiss another woman. The sight confused her, her brow furrowing as Sheradel cupped the woman’s face. Not only that, Jiroki recognized the woman to be Rydras’ mother. The child, though grown and barely just scratching the surface of her fifties, takes a step back behind the tree. She had come out here to search for Rydras and her stupid brother who were supposed to meet with her to practice hunting, yet had stumbled upon something she felt she shouldn’t have had. But her mother had great prowess, hearing the tiniest of steps crumpling the grass. Her head swiftly turns, and Sheradel sees her eldest daughter running off. Jiroki didn’t know why she ran off once being spotted, but she couldn’t help herself. After some distance she slowed down, out of breath as the confusion built up, and it began to meld into anger. Hearing footsteps behind her she turns, and for the first time she sees her mother panicked. “Jiroki-” Sheradel herself out of breath from sprinting after her. “I can explain.” “I dont’- I don’t understand!” Jiroki speaks her mind, feeling she deserved answers, and demanded them. “I thought you were waiting for An’da! But you’re kissing someone! Rydras’ Min’da of all people!” That confused her more than anything. She knew both their mothers were close, they seemed to be the best of friends, yet… “I-I know, I…” Sheradel does her best to keep face, but she can’t stop the embarrassed flush crossing her cheeks. But she sighs, defeated. “I feel we should talk.” Together they sat, under the stars as Elune sat in her zenith, and they remained quiet for a time as Sheradel tried to think of what words to share. “I love your An’da dearly, he is my other half. I will wait forever for him if he were to never wake up again.” Sheradel knew that wouldn’t be the case, yet the thought stung her heart, and it offered no comfort for Jiroki. “I am not the only one who has a loved one sleeping. But, I…” Now having to tread carefully. “I am just a mere being. Without your An’da, I feel empty inside. If I did not have you three to nurture I would be in a worse state than I am now.” Sheradel rarely spoke of how she felt, the type to keep things to herself, something Jiroki had begun to pick up on. But Jiroki listened carefully as her mother opened up to her. “But I miss him, and I’m very lonely. I am close to Rydras’ Min’da, and she helps ease my stress. I care very much about her.” Her head tilts to look at Jiroki, full of shame. “Do you hate me?” “No, I don’t…” Jiroki herself felt the pain of not being able to speak with her father, even if she could still see him and know he was well. But she couldn’t imagine what that must feel like for her mother. She tried to put herself in her mother’s shoes; if Rydras went to sleep and did as such as her father… Jiroki couldn’t even imagine the sweet boy being in a deep sleep for so long, so lifeless. “You will encounter many lonely souls in this world. They all will have different ways of coping.” Sheradel looks back up at the sky. “Lonely souls are drawn to one another, I feel. Some will seek others for comfort, emotional or… Physical, like kissing.” Hoping upon hope Jiroki’s imagination won’t run wild. “Or even less subtle ways; not so obvious. Like someone pouring themselves into their work, or constantly on the act of duty to achieve many great things. If you learn early enough how to tell these signs, you will find that there are so many like me. Like us.” “Like us…” Jiroki stared down at her knees, hugging her legs into her chest. She took in her mother’s words, trying to process them, pick them apart, find deeper meanings. Jiroki did feel lonely, she wished she could speak with her father, wished she could draw Rydras’ attention more. Though Jiroki wouldn’t learn true loneliness until she’s much older. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “I think we should kiss.” “What?!” Rydras nearly chokes on the almonds he had been snacking on, quickly swallowing them and coughing before whipping his head towards Jiroki. “What the- What kind of statement is that?!” The pair sat beneath a tree, in front of their favorite flower field. They were alone, as of late they had been spending their free time here when it was just the two. Jiroki herself couldn’t believe the words that came out of her mouth, but they did, and she rolled with it. “I just…” Starting to fumble with her words. “I’m lonely.” Jiroki blurts out. “And I… I heard once that people kiss when they’re lonely.” “... What?” Rydras just becomes even more confused now, looking at her skeptically. “I don’t think that’s going to help any…” He eyes her up and down with that face. “Shouldn’t you do that with a boyfriend?” “Well you’re a boy!” Jiroki motions a vague hand at him. “And a friend, so…” “You know that’s not what I meant!” Rydras gives a heavy eye roll, though his cheeks begin to heat up. “I don’t know how to kiss! I never have!” “Well me either!” Jiroki huffs in turn, cheeks bright. “But I’m sad! Please? Just one. What if I embarrass myself with someone else for my first kiss?” “Like anyone would want to kiss you.” His rebuttal earns a smack on his arm. “Ow!” “Ugh, you’re so rude!” Jiroki turns her head away, grinding her jaw as her arms cross. “Fine, nevermind…” Her ears droop a bit, indicating her sadness. Rydras stares at her for a bit then looks away, heavily thinking as an awkwardness fills the air. Then, he sighs heavily. “I-I mean I guess…” The blush never fading from Rydras’ cheeks, even getting a darker flush of purple as Jiroki whips her head to look at him. “R-Really?” She didn’t think he’d so willingly accept, feeling her own cheeks get even hotter. Butterflies began to dance in her stomach, and he squirmed as if they danced inside him too. “Y-yea. I mean, I guess I could use the practice too.” Trying to act as if it wasn’t a big deal, though when his brightly lit gaze glances at her it seems to look even further then that. “O-Okay, well…” They do nothing for a moment, but she moves first, turning herself to face him. He does the same, the two sitting as they stare at one another. More awkwardness begins to brew, it palpable against the skin. “So…” Rydras stalls, the pair unsure of how to go about this.”I guess… Um. Halfway, maybe?” His voice even cracks. “Yea, that, uh… Seems fair.” Jiroki clears her throat, unable to hold his gaze for any length of time as they constantly flick around. The stalling continues, pursing her lips together, and then she squeezes her eyes shut. “O-Ok! Let’s- Let’s just do it!” Jiroki kept her eyes shut and she leaned in, puckering her lips out far, unable to handle the thought of watching him come closer. He must have done the same, because they bonk their foreheads together. “Ouch! Hey, I said kiss, not smack heads!” Jiroki complains as she rubs her forehead, and he shakes his own head partially from the bonk. “I-I didn’t do it on purpose!” He retorts, his pride hurt. “Fine- just don’t move! I’ll move in, you big baby!” Jiroki huffs, but she does as told, squeezing her eyes shut and staying still. Though her face was contorted into a grouch, her heart beat fast in her chest, feeling the blood rush to her ears. Rydras stalls for a time, his own heart pounding in his chest, threatening to leap out. But, with an audible gulp, he carefully leans in, watching this time to make sure he doesn’t miss. Carefully his trembling lips press against hers, and her lips react in kind and pucker out. They hold for a few seconds before drawing back, now glancing at each other. “That…” Jiroki’s mother was right in saying it helped with loneliness. Now Jiroki was filled with embarrassment, having kissed her childhood friend of so many years, her brother’s best friend. “That wasn’t so bad…” “Y-Yea…” Rydras glanced away, unable to meet her gaze. It occurs to her then that this may have put a splinter in their friendship, feeling an awkwardness creep. “I-I’m sorry,I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have made you…” Jiroki looks downward. “Just- sorry, I-...” “H-Hey, don’t be sorry.” Rydras looks back to her, sensing her building dread. “It wasn’t bad! I mean, I don’t think it was…” His hands clench one of his legs as they sit, anxious. “I, uh… Can we do it again?” “Huh?” She looks up, genuinely surprised. “I-I mean, I can totally do better, I think…” He tries to laugh it off. “You said to practice, right? You could get better at it too, if anyone actually is actually crazy enough to want to kiss you…” Taunting playfully as he’s prone to, though there was a certain softness in his eyes, something that stole her breath away. “O-oh, well, ok…” The butterflies erupted, her breath catching in her throat. But as Rydras comes in a second time for a kiss she meets him halfway, and they practice for many times after. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In her haste and grief she tripped over that blasted rock again, giving a frustrated groan as she moved on. Some of the guards had watched her warily when she came in, but they knew her, and knew where she would be going. “An’da…” Jiroki hiccups, tears streaming down her face. Blossoming in her hundreds she falls onto her knees in front of the sleeping druid, having come here by herself, needing sanctuary. Jiroki’s hands come up to cover her face. She hadn’t brought anything as a gift with her, having dashed here after witnessing something heartbreaking. Rydras had got close with another girl, having seen him walking with her from time to time. She didn’t think much of it, until they held hands and he gave her a tender kiss as lovers would. After Jiroki already had given all of herself to him. “I’m s-so, so stupid!” Jiroki clenches her hands and smacks the top of her head a few times to vent her frustrations, trying to keep everything in and not exploding. But it breaks her down further, beginning to sob amongst the sleeping druids. There’s a small shift and she looks up, seeing her father roll onto his side. His peaceful serenity just infuriates her more. “Do something! Say something! Anything then just sleep!” Her voice rising a bit, it began to bounce off the walls. Nothing happens though, and she slumps in defeat. “Why am I even here…” She adjusts her legs, sitting on her rear and letting her legs cross, hanging her head down. “You’re not going to wake up. Why do I bother.” Looking to the side she saw a few of their gifts her family had brought over time. Estal’s most recent flowers must have wilted, because they were gone. But a few small rocks stood in a pile nearby, oddly shaped rocks and some shiny stones that Brethilon would find, making some sort of makeshift altar. A wood carving beside that of a glaive, crafted by her mother, set aside and her only gift. Her other gift to him were their children. “Can you even hear me?” Jiroki looks up at the druid, but is only met with no reaction. “We've been visiting you for years. Do you even know you have three children? Do you even know that Min’da is seeing others?” She brings her legs up to hug her knees, resting her head on her knees. “Can you even tell how much pain I am in right now?” Silence. Arileath continued to sleep, on his side and snoring softly as a bear would. Jiroki sighs, letting go of her legs as she feels exhausted from her emotions, still very much heartbroken. “Now I want to sleep…” Looking at his fur, it always felt so soft. Glancing around, no one was there, at least from what she could see. Though against her better judgement she moves to join him in his pit, leaning herself against the druid and feeling his warmth. He felt so warm. “I could probably tell you anything in the world and you wouldn’t even wake up.” Sniffling a bit as she adjusts herself, laying against his proper. Her body shifted with the movement of his breath, but her weight didn’t off balance his rhythm in the slightest, just like a giant pillow that moved. But as she rests against him she feels oddly soothed. Letting her eyes drift closed and just sharing his warmth. Though the pain in her chest felt like a stab from a knife, she could share her heart's woes with her An’da, and he would still accept her into his warmth. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thereon, Jiroki continued to visit her An’da, even mostly. She had found comfort in his silence. She could talk of her day, vent out her problems, spew out her innermost thoughts, and he could not judge her. She liked to think that he wouldn't judge her, either. And she continued to visit up until she finally had been deemed ready to be a woman. “This is it…” Sitting in front of him again, feeling anxious of her coming rite of passage. “I’m nervous. Min’da won’t speak of it, but I think she’s nervous too. I just hope I do well…” Breathing in an unsteady breath, then letting it out slow. “So… Yea. I got this. I know I can. I just can’t help. I wonder if…” Her thoughts begin to drift, to a face of a boy now a man, though she clicks her tongue in annoyance. “Ugh. I doubt it would make a difference with Rydras. I don’t know why I’m so…” Hanging her head, feeling the mixture of emotions inside of her. Though he no longer spent time with that girl, nor any girl really, the bitterness remained of how he betrayed her. “I’ll worry about that later, I need to focus. I’m going to do my best.” Jiroki lifts her head up, looking down at her father. Having brought flowers with her, she once more begins to weave a flower crown, fingers still fumbling with as she grumbles in mild annoyance. But she gets it done, having years of practice with her sister. Taking it she gently places it atop her father’s head, then leans down to kiss his snout. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After everything was said and done, Jiroki couldn’t stop staring at her markings. Even days after it looked so strange, and she could still feel it. Staring down at her reflecting in the stream she touches her face, tracing over the mark of the Claws. So new to her, yet so fitting, it resonated with her as felt pride within herself for finally having achieved this. Her mother was proud, as was her brother. Little Estal still seemed a bit timid to undergo this, though surely soon she would too. Jiroki wished her father could see, but she had plans to go and tell him of it later in the week. Turmoil still tugged at her heart, about a boy she couldn’t get out of her head. A boy turned man, who often cast his eyes towards her… “JIROKI!!” The now-woman jolts in shock, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest in pure fright, and she scrambles up. Looking around she spots Rydras running towards her. Though it was not uncommon for men to have long hair, he still preferred his on the shorter side, the bright blue hair trimmed but having a beard to match, it tied with ringlets. He ran hard and fast, eyes wide as he skids to a halt. “What’s wrong?!” Jiroki had never seen him in this sort of state. “Did something happen?!” “You won’t- You won’t believe this!” He stammers, trying to catch his breath, sounding as if he had been running for some time searching for her. “Your An’da, he’s awake!” Jiroki never thought she’d hear those words, and they seemed so foreign to her. She blinks a few times, expecting him to say something else, but he gives her a bit of an exasperated look. “Well?! Come on! He’s awake, we have to go!” “You’re serious?!” The adrenaline began to rush through her veins life never before, nearly feeling light headed, but her feet started to move. “Where!? How did you hear?!” “Hurry up, come on!” He turns and runs, leading the way, and she runs after him. “I saw him! He went to your home!” The pair ran like the wind through the forest, and Jiroki soon passed him and continued on, needing to see for herself. Could he really be awake? The druids had been asleep for thousands of years before her birth; she had learned that her father woke up to finally be with his mate, but after bearing children had to return. So why now? Running to the home all her family lived in she nearly tripped and stumbled multiple times, until she stopped hard upon reaching her house. And there he stood. At first she thought she saw the back of her brother, then realized he had the exact same shade of sea green as her own hair. He held her mother fiercely in his arms, the two looking inseparable. Estal stood nearby, in disbelief as her hands covered her mouth, staring at the strange man as their brother Brethilon stood beside her. He looked moved to tears, his long hair tied back in a massive braid, and from where she stood Jiroki could see his chest heaving with sobs he tried to contain. Rydras skids to a halt beside her, slipping on the dirt, then staring ahead as well. Sheradel lifts her head up, fresh tears on her cheeks as she smiles at her daughter, then begins to pull back from her mate. “There she is.” She says, and Arileath turns. Jiroki couldn’t move. With wide eyes she stared at her father, a man with crows feet and wrinkles on the sides of his lips. But those wrinkles vanish as he begins to smile, a wide one that left permanent marks and a youthful gleam in his eyes. He begins to step forward, slowly as he approaches his child, cautious at their first official meeting. Rydras himself begins to step away, giving the two their space as he moves to stand with the others. “Look at you…” He breathes out, his deep with a gentle lilt. “You’ve grown up so much.” Arileath stands before her, the two just looking at each other. “... Are… Are you really?...” Jiroki’s eyes scan his face, looking for similarities. He could see traces of her siblings, little details. Not only that, she couldn’t help but feel she knew this face very well, able to pinpoint the details on a more grizzled, furred face. “That I am, that I am.” Arileath chuckles lowly, tilting his head to the side, some of his shifting along. “We met once before, you probably don’t remember. You were such a little thing, I could carry you with just my hands…” He brings his hands up and looks down at them, mimicking how he had held his daughter all those years ago. “I knew you would have my hair, you had a head full of it when you were born. And it’s so long too.” “I…” Still at a loss of words, eyes brimming with tears. It was all so hard to process, and she didn’t know how to feel. A thoughtful look crosses his face, and then a boyish curiosity. Leaning forward, he whispers something for only her to hear. “I kept hearing whispers in my dreams.” He whispers ever so softly, a father sharing secrets with his child. “Sweet ones, sad ones… But the same voice, many times. But only-” Holding up a finger to idly wave it. “Only in these recent years. Only after you all grew up.” His smile grows with warmth, looking at her softly. “Did you wake me from my sleep, my beloved daughter?” A sob escapes Jiroki’s lips, unable to hold back the emotions that wanted to burst forth, and she embraces the man. And he in turn holds her in a fierce hug, a mighty one that could rival the strength of a bear, after years of only providing her with his presence. Now, the silence is broken, and he can hug her when she comes to him for solace. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Why did you want to go fishing?” Arileath asks in mild confusion, laying on his side and propping his head up while by the river. A flower crown sat on her head, made by his youngest. Estal sat with the fishing rod, excitement fluttering in her heart as she zeros her focus on keeping an eye out for fish at her father’s advice. Sheradel sat nearby too, creating a wood carving as she’s in perfect bliss. “That’s what I’ve seen fathers do!” Jiroki protests, huffing at the man as he so nonchalantly lays around while she and Estal do all the work. This had been her idea after all, but she had expected a different outcome. “I thought you would do the same!” Arileath lets out a hearty laugh at that, a jovial man, good natured and the opposite of his mate. “Now where did you get a silly idea like that? Anyone can fish. Look! Estal is doing wonderfully!” Estal beams, but Jiroki wasn’t buying it. “You’re so LAZY!” Arileath laughs some more, causing Sheradel’s smile to brighten, but she in turn starts to chuckle when Jiroki reaches over to smack his arm and he protests. “Ouch, hey, don’t hit your An’da!!” Nearby Brethilon and Rydras continued to still act like boys. Racing each other by climbing the trees as fast as they can, and then find the fastest way down without severely injuring themselves. “Okay, well, I need to stretch my legs!” Arileath stands, placing his hands on his low back and stretching himself out. “I’m just so stiff from all that sleeping! Come my dear, walk with me for a bit.” He extends his hand out to his mate, giving her a stubble wink. Sheradel’s cheek begins to flush in color, and she takes his hand and stands. “Ugh, we’ll never catch anything at this rate!” Jiroki rubs her face, patience not her virtue as they had yet to catch anything. “Ooh you will eventually, don’t fret. Patience is virtue. Brethilon! Rydras! Help your sisters, they’re having trouble.” The father drapes his arm around the mother’s hips and they begin their walk, heading further upstream. “Catch something good for dinner! We’ll be back!” “Uuugh.” Jiroki falls onto her back, laying in defeat. “This was your idea, don’t complain.” Estal gently chides, determined to see the task through as she continues to be in charge of the fishing rod, though Brethilon comes and sits beside her. “Here, give me that. You’re all being noisy, that’s probably why the fish aren’t biting.” He takes it and Estal lets him, content to sit with her brother and enjoy the atmosphere. “Yea, yea.” Jiroki rubs her face then sits back up. Rydras sits himself down closer towards Jiroki but says nothing, looking over at the river. Jiroki glances at Rydras for a bit, then leans herself back a bit to watch her parents while they’re still in sight. They walk together, an arm wrapped around each other, not a care in the world as they’re finally together. They looked so happy, yet they had been parted for years, thousands even. Her gaze flickers towards Rydras, and the memories flood in. Their childhood antics, their first kiss, their first time, their first heartbreak. Despite everything, the feelings lingered, and she couldn’t get them to go away. His head begins to turn and she quickly glances away, looking back down to the water, and she thinks some more. Though they were not ready for one another, her heart was stubborn just like her. She can wait. (( @daily-writing-challenge )) (( I never thought I’d get to write up something about Jiroki’s child hood, and it became so much more fleshed out than I anticipated! For any of you that took the time to read this, thank you SO much, and please let me know if you did! ))

#stories

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nijjhar · 10 months

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Prediction based upon the Chosen People, a Nation of Priests. ATOMIC WAR.. Prediction based upon the Chosen People, a Nation of Priests. ATOMIC WAR SOON AFTER 14 NOV. 2023. https://youtu.be/rg7ZCqwesu8 Predictions based upon the Chosen People of Yahweh. Matt 13v24-30 is getting fulfilled. Tares would be burnt. https://youtu.be/xCP4_8JQ2ws PREDICTION BASED UPON THE "CHOSEN PEOPLE" OF THE DEMIURGE YAHWEH, BRAHMA, KHUDA, ETC. www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/CPeople.htm We are very lucky to have a demonstration nation of Priests, the moral teachers, through whom we learn all the moral laws. Abram was of the Semitic race and was loved by both the black Negros and the white Aryans and he, a Nobel Man, was picked up from the Iraq area, the cradle of humanity to settle in the Middle East as Adam, Sarah as Eve and Yahweh gave them the "Promised Land" as the Garden of Eden. So far, the generations of Abraham remained faithful to Abraham and Yahweh, the sons of Man called "Salt of the earth", they enjoyed the best fruit of the earth whilst when they had become liars and murderers, John 8v44, then the same land became barren and the unfaithful "Saltless" people were kicked out of the Promised Land called exodus remembered as "Sukkot" in which they had to leave for a foreign land (Egypt, the land of the faithful Elder son of Abraham, Ishmael) as "slaves". Jesus told this story in the Parable of the Prodigal son Isaac and how they suffered under the cruel Pheroh and Moses, the First Prophet liberated them as the repentant faithful sons of Abraham in which case, there was no more "rift" among the brethren as Moses had made them faithful to Abraham, Father bof the Faithful sons", creating "Eros, the tribal love" among them called the snakes (rifts) were lifted up in the wilderness. But this trait of the Jewish patriarchs did not vanish but became stronger at the times of Christ Jesus depicted in the "Crucification of the Most Righteous Person Jesus" by these thorough "Saltless" people on earth called the "Tares", trouble makers and their fate is foretold by Christ Jesus in the Parable of the Farmer, Yahweh, Matt 13v24-30 when the End of this Dark Age called "Kalyug" comes, I will bundle up the Tares in Israel and burn them yjrough the Atomic War expected on 14/11/2023 wjen Israel is 75 plus six months of intensive war in the name of Yahweh whilst in the Seventh Month, the Middle Candle of Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc. represented by all merciful Christ Jesus, the ATOMIC WAR in which the faithful tribal sons, Wheat Plants, that are found in Africa and the Brazillian jungles will survive. The Cycle of the Four Ages is represented by Swastika. Much more in my Youtube Videos; channel One God One Faith. All this you learn through "intuition" taught not by the humans but by God within you if you are not greedy but contented with your lot. The "Blood Money" as depicted by the Temple High Priest and his stooges, especially the American Jews controlling Mammon and Media belongs to the sons of most High Satan Al-Djmar Al-Aksa who will vanish from the planet Earth leaving the 144000 tribal people to enjoy the fruits of the earth. Finally, let us glorify our Supernatural Father of our supernatural "soul" Elohim, Allah, ParBrahm, etc. by Eating the flesh of Jesus and His second coming "Christ = Satguru Nanak", "His Word" Preached by them by lending our ears, Mouth, and take it to our heart, the Stomach and digest it by the teeth of "Logical reasoning" to Brew "Logo" and Preach it from the Rooftops called Drinking the Blood of Christ within our own heart called the "Innerman" and not the inner woman, the Disciples of Pope, Rabbis, hireling Dog-Collared Priests working for Mammon and not God that deliver the sugar-coated sermons of falsehoods far sweeter than honey that creates sectarian riots such as Catholics and Protestants. Jesus established the Church of God, One Fold, the Fellowship of the Royal Priests, headed by One Shepherd, the unbiased like the little children Christ Jesus and His Second Coming Christ = Satguru Nanak. A typical example of the Church of Satan is the Church of England headed by King Charles whose soldiers are not like the serving ones of the Salvation Army but the killers and looters. Brethren, wake up from your SLUMBER. Greatest Blasphemers and Killers Blair and Bush:- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qHdTpTXHvE&list=PL0C8AFaJhsWz7HtQEhV91eAKugUw73PW1 Blair and Bush’s blasphemies against Holy Spirit are bearing Fruit in economic chaos created by Virus https://youtu.be/0WBYOmpDuCs Shoe throwing at Bush by the Soldier of God Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc., a HERO. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bush_shoeing_incident#:~:text=%22Arab%20moment%E2%80%9D.-,Event,Bush. This is America - Israel in Disguise:- Grim American Jewish Reaper waving sickle to kill more in Venezuela as they did in Iraq, Libya, Syria, Ukraine, etc. www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/GrimReaper.htm Full description:- www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/Rest.htm Trinity:- www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/trinity.pdf .

#youtube

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schrijverr · 3 years

Text

Arrival on Queen Herman (The Truth)

How Miekka found themself aboard Queen Herman and why they decided to stay.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: slight recovery from loosing an arm. Tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Miekka woke up disorientated. Their right side was burning and they were pretty sure that opening their eyes would make them pass out from the pain again. They were about to give up on even trying to get back when a voice called out: “You’re awake, eh?”

They groaned and the person laughed: “I can imagine you’re feeling like that,” then continuing with a more serious tone, “but I need you to wake up a bit more. You need to drink this to gather a bit of your strength.”

“Who’re you?” their voice sounded liked it was hanging on by a thread, which was quite similar to how they were feeling overall.

“I’m the Doc.” the Doc answered, “I’m here to make sure you don’t die, alright. Let’s just focus on that.”

“Tha’s not really a name.” Miekka slurred, not entirely sure why they were still attempting to talk at all.

“I know.” there was something they couldn't place in her voice as a big hand cradled Miekkas head, bringing it up to help drink a bit, “You can also call me Adora if you’d like, but most just call me Doc or the Doc.”

Miekka hummed noncommittally and just focused their strength on swallowing, not having the energy to ask what was going on nor the energy to hear much of what the Doc told them. The broth was soothing, though they fell asleep halfway through.

When Miekka woke up again they were feeling much better, but that was compared to the first time, so the bar was low. They still felt terrible, just less so.

“Hello?” they called out, not moving their head to see if there was anyone in the room with them.

“Awake again, I see.” that was the Doc, a name faintly tickled the side of their brain, but it floated away before they could grasp it.

“Yes, I am.” Miekka answered.

“And more coherent too.” the Doc sounded pleased with that.

Miekka smiled weakly and nodded, before they asked: “Where am I? What happened?”

“We found you nearly knocking on deaths door with a bunch of sirens trying to make you their lunch. You’re lucky you made it out alive.” the Doc answered, “We’re the crew of Queen Herman, glad to have you aboard.”

“Queen Herman?” the name sounded familiar, but Miekkas pain-addled brain couldn’t figure out which connection it had to make.

“It’s the name of the ship.” the Doc told them, thinking that was their question, “But that’s enough talking for now, here I’ll apply some numbing salve to your side. Then I got some more broth for you.”

She applied the salve gently, before getting the bowl. While she fed Miekka the broth, she talked them through what their options were from here. The Queen Herman would be able to provide them with a new arm, but they would have to stay in order to help pay it off or they could drop them in the nearest port with a decent hospital.

“You don’t have to make a decision now, especially when we’re still a good while from any ports and you should focus more on healing, but it is certainly something to think about.” Doc said.

Miekka made a noise of agreement, their mind already twisting with possibilities and choices. If they were to stay to could have it all. A new life, a chance at glory, no more Company with shitty regulations that didn’t care for the people that made them big.

In the back of their mind a voice reminded them of Bertrand and the others. Would it be a betrayal to grab this opportunity of freedom without them? Another harsher voice told them how alone they’d been, how no one had come for them, cared enough to follow. Why would they sacrifice even more for them? Were they not betrayed as well?

Hadn’t they done enough?

Their mind was already beginning to set on of the options, but they stayed silent. No need to bind themself just yet, just in case.

The Doc seemed to catch on to their thoughtful mood and left with a soft goodbye, telling them to just call if they ever needed her and to get some rest, they were going to need it.

And so the days passed. Miekka saw the Doc from time to time when she came to check up on them and make sure they rested. They fell in and out of their surroundings until they were healed enough to start moving again.

When they were able to get out of bed and walk to the table on their own the Doc announced it was time to make a decision: “Captain’s told me we’re closing in on a port. He wants to meet you properly and hear of your decision.”

“I shall be delighted to meet the leader of my saviors.” Miekka said, “What is to be expected of me? Any courtesy that is meant to be granted?”

The Doc huffed lightly, then said: “Just make sure to call him Captain Redfright and be sure to have a plan. He doesn’t like hesitation.”

“Thank you, good doctor, I will remember that.” Miekka smiled.

They ate their meal and got ready to meet the Captain. They got some new clothes that actually fit them and looked presentable as well as. Allowing the Doc to buckle their belt that held their sword, they wondered how they had managed to hold on to it.

Doc lead them through wooden halls stacked with crates and they could hear the sounds of life all around them. No one stopped them, but Miekka saw all sorts of different people glance at them, sizing them up.

Unconsciously they straightened up their spine, trying to appear taller and more in charge, though they doubted they were very successful with their small stature and mangled side.

When they were standing in front of a dark green door with an impressive handle, Doc turned to them and said: “Well, I’ll be going then. Good luck.”

Miekka appreciated the sentiment useless as it was, especially when the door seemed to loom over them and the realization hit them that they had no clue of what to expect behind those doors.

They swallowed and knocked.

The short silence that followed seemed to stretch out until a heavy voice called out: “Enter.”

Not wanting to be told twice, they opened the door and did exactly that. Inside there was a big desk filled with maps, books and measuring equipment. Behind it sat a man with a thick black beard dressed in a red coat and a big hat resting crookedly on top of his head.

“You’re alive I see.” he grinned, showing off a gold tooth resting between yellowed brethren, “We weren’t sure you were going to make it for a while there.”

“What can I say, I am amazingly talented at survival and tough as nails. No one takes me down without a fight.” Miekka responded, the words spilling out of their mouth without thinking about them.

Luckily it seemed that Captain Redfright didn’t seem to mind, he just let out a hearty laugh and said: “That’s the spirit, young-en’,” then he turned more serious and continued, “Speaking about spirit. Do you have the fighters spirit to stay or are you going to depart when we reach land? Siren hunting is not for the faint of heart, nor is piracy.”

“I did not nearly die to be called a coward, Captain Redfright. I’m not going anywhere if I have the chance to get back at them.” they answered.

That was apparently exactly the answer he was hoping for, because he extended his had with a grin: “Your words prove that you are not. Welcome aboard the Queen Herman, Miekka. I will inform the Doc to get you that prosthetic. Now get going.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

#RR writing #RR Original #Miekka 'Siren Slayer' Walraven #The Tales of Miekka 'Siren Slayer' Walraven #Adora The Doc Genlyd #Captain Redfright #pirates #Pirate OC #tw: recovery #Queen Herman

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kylermalloy · 4 years

Text

Set in the boyking!Klaus AU

He is losing Elijah.

Mikael watches his sons lounge under a tree side by side. They hold hands. Niklaus plays with Elijah’s fingers, running his hand over them one by one.

After some time, Niklaus guides the same hand to rest on his thigh, where he continues to stroke Elijah’s fingers.

It’s the expression on Elijah’s face—slightly unfocused, enraptured, breathless. Ecstatic.

From a simple touch.

That is what convinces him.

He needs to tear Elijah from Niklaus. The devil child has sunk his claws into Mikael’s second son, and he must do something about it.

Esther is perplexed when he informs her of his plans. A hunting trip? Now? We have enough meat for another moon.

Finn and Elijah, he hedges. They’re growing up. They need more experience.

Esther shrugs.

Elijah responds with quiet acceptance, as he usually does. That is, until he is informed that Niklaus will not be coming along.

He bites his lip, winding one arm around Niklaus, who clings to him like a lifeline.

How many days? he asks.

As many as it takes, Mikael says. His gaze is on Niklaus, whose lip has begun to quiver. His bright blue eyes widen, filling with tears that begin to flow and do not stop.

Elijah places a consoling hand on Niklaus’s golden hair, his own expression despondent.

As long as it takes to shake that blight from your mind, Mikael adds silently.

Elijah reluctantly prepares to depart, gathering weapons and provisions and a fur pelt for the cold nights. All the while Niklaus trails after him, tears spilling down his cheeks as he pleads with Elijah to stay.

Mikael waits impatiently with Finn by the large oak while Elijah kneels before Niklaus, thumbing the tears from his cheeks and speaking quietly to him. Brushing the hair from his face. Gripping his arms assuredly. Enveloping him in an embrace, kissing his forehead.

Niklaus places one hand on Elijah’s face, thumb stroking his cheek. Elijah spasms. His eyes close.

In the brief moment that Elijah is not looking, Niklaus turns his head and looks directly at Mikael. Through his tears, there is a fury in his face that no boy of eleven years should carry.

The hair on the back of Mikael’s neck prickles, as though sensing a predator—or an attacker.

Then the moment is over. Elijah stands, slinging his bow over his shoulder. He walks away from Niklaus, toward Mikael and Finn, who straightens from his crouch and remarks, Finally.

No one else has seen. As always, Mikael is left alone in his knowledge.

Elijah’s face pinches with emotion as he nears Mikael. Niklaus watches him go, face shining with tears. Standing alone, shoulders slumped and face smudged, he looks almost as helpless as he should.

Almost.

As they leave the village, Niklaus follows them to the edge. He clings to a tree at the border, staring after them tearfully.

Elijah glances back until Niklaus falls from sight.

Mikael breathes a little easier.

Esther watches her sons say their goodbyes. Both are pained by the separation, but Niklaus appears inconsolable. Tears spill from his big blue eyes like they haven’t since he was an infant.

She follows him to the edge of the village, ready to console him as Elijah, Finn, and Mikael disappear into the trees.

But as soon as they are gone, something changes.

When Niklaus turns around, his face is calm and composed. He passes a hand over his cheeks, wiping away the tears—which have stopped flowing almost alarmingly fast.

His brow is smooth, his eyes clear. His lips press into a thin line.

Niklaus? Are you all right?

He meets her eyes coolly. I will be, Mother.

Mikael takes them far.

Finn and Elijah follow unquestioningly, deeper and deeper into unknown woods. They do not stop—not for the deer Finn sees in the distance, not for the burrow of rabbits that could be trapped.

Elijah continues to look back from time to time. Looking, searching for the cursed child he left behind.

Mikael watches him closely, waiting for the spell to break. How far must he travel? How many days must they spend apart, before Elijah is whole again?

Niklaus seems adrift without Elijah.

Esther watches him wander the village aimlessly. His fingers flutter empty at his side. He sighs often, long loud breaths meant to catch others’ attention, for them to ask him his troubles.

Esther did wonder if Mikael’s impromptu trip was another of his attempts to separate Elijah from Niklaus.

Although her secret is safe from Mikael, her husband still harbors an intense grudge against Niklaus.

Her sweet, golden boy. Her secret joy.

He becomes petulant and cross without his brother to temper him.

Rebekah tries to console him. She follows him all day, placing a hand on his shoulder, speaking softly to him. More than once he pushes her away, but she will not be deterred.

—That is, until she comes home in tears, cradling her arm, after Niklaus pushed her down a knoll.

You ought to know better, Esther chides him as she binds Rebekah’s wrist. You’re a strong, growing boy. You must know to stop before you hurt someone. Especially your sister.

He shrugs.

They make camp after walking all day. Elijah eats little. While Finn sleeps soundly, Elijah tosses and turns on his pallet.

Sleep evades Mikael. The woods are peaceful tonight, but he cannot shake Niklaus’s expression from his mind.

Niklaus haunts him day and night.

He enters the camp, having followed them undetected since they left home. He kneels over Elijah’s sleeping form, inhales his hair.

You can’t save him from me, he hisses in Mikael’s ear. Mikael is paralyzed, unable to reach for his weapons.

He’s mine. He will always be mine.

Mikael wakes with a strangled gasp.

The family next door wonders where their dog has gone.

Rebekah stays inside, playing with Henrik. She moves her injured wrist gingerly.

Niklaus returns from the woods, announcing he has found a beehive full of honey.

His hair, hands, and sleeves are inexplicably damp. He must have fallen in the stream, Esther reasons. Wouldn’t be the first time.

She recruits him and Kol to collect the honey.

The bees have all gone from the hive when they arrive, leaving a bounty of honey for them. She reminds her sons not to sample too much as they harvest it. Niklaus in particular savors the taste, licking golden drops off his fingers.

We must save some for Lijah, he declares. When he returns.

Of course, Esther reassures him. There will be plenty for him, and Finn. And Father.

Niklaus smiles his bright, honey-sweet smile. Not Father. Father can’t enjoy sweet things. He’s too bitter.

The snares prove plentiful. Finn and Elijah return from their scouting with four squirrels and a rabbit.

They lunch on two of the squirrels. Finn finishes Elijah’s portion when he declares he is not hungry.

Elijah is quiet for most of the day. He reaches out to empty air often, reaching on instinct for someone who is not there. He stares into the distance when Finn mentions home, or their family. (He knows better than to mention Niklaus by name, though.)

If it is not distance from Niklaus that will break the spell, then it must take time. Mikael vows to keep Elijah away for as long as it takes.

Niklaus has always been Esther’s special child. She has watched him carefully, gifted him an enchanted necklace to temper the bloodlust he would inherit from his father.

He hums with an energy different to his siblings. Different to Freya and Kol, her children gifted with magic. Different to Ansel and his brethren, whose blood runs a curse through their veins.

Perhaps the mix of magic and the curse created something new in him. (Something Mikael must never know about.)

Ever since Mikael has taken Finn and Elijah away, that difference has become more pronounced.

The hum in his blood is louder, a thrumming in Esther’s ears. When she catches him sitting still, he nearly vibrates with restless energy.

Niklaus, are you all right?

His head tilts to one side, golden hair falling in his eyes. I will be.

Four days in. Elijah seems tired. He has continued to eat little—a few bites of meat or dried fruit each day. Despite his fatigue, he still tosses and turns in the night, unable to sleep peacefully.

They fell a deer. Finn suggests they bring it home, but stops when he sees Mikael’s expression. He has no intent of returning home until he’s satisfied that Elijah is free.

Ayana complains of her birds going missing. She and Esther combine their magic to perform a spell to locate them—to no avail. It’s as if they’ve disappeared from the face of the earth.

Niklaus volunteers to wash his own things in the stream. She lets him, grateful for the help.

They are running low on supplies. Finn observes—rightfully—that the game will spoil if not dried soon.

Mikael sends him back to the village with their kills. He stays with Elijah, who has begun to skip meals altogether.

Niklaus runs to greet Finn excitedly, before realizing Elijah is not with him. Esther places a comforting hand on his shoulder. He’ll be back soon. In a day or two. You’ll see.

Later that day, Rebekah comes to tell her Henrik is crying at home and won’t stop.

What happened? she asks.

Rebekah shrugs. I left him with Nik. When I came back, he was in floods.

Henrik is a master of words by now. He speaks all day long, for the most part using words everyone can understand.

But none of Esther’s coaxing convinces him to tell her what upset him so badly.

Father, I don’t feel well. Elijah is pale. He hunches over on his pallet, after yet another sleepless night.

You should eat something, Finn scoffs. It’s been two days.

Elijah wrinkles his nose. He chews on a piece of dried meat, tossing it into the leaves unfinished after half a day.

He doesn’t sleep again that night.

Nor does Mikael. Niklaus glides into their camp again, eyes and skin shining like the wood alves from the old world.

He lays one hand on Elijah’s forehead. You thought he could escape me? You thought he would want to? His voice envelops Mikael, whispering in both his ears like an enchantment.

He loves me. He only fears you.

Niklaus is sprawled on his back, looking up at the sky.

It’s nearly suppertime, Esther calls to him. There’s deer or rabbit. Niklaus, she repeats when he does not answer. What do you want?

He doesn’t move. I want my brother back.

He’s burning up, Father, Finn announces. Would it not be best to bring him home, so Mother can care for him?

Mikael seethes. Fight through it, Elijah. You are strong.

He hopes.

Esther offers the little ones honey on their bread, as a treat.

Niklaus shakes his head, turning his sweet radiant smile on her. Not for me, Mother. I’m saving mine.

Nine days in the forest. Elijah has burned with a fever for nearly half of them. His voice scratches in his throat. He can barely stand.

Mikael swore to keep him away until Niklaus’s hold over him was broken.

It isn’t magic, Niklaus sneers. He grows more impatient.

There is no spell to break. I will have him because he wants me, Mikael.

Mikael shudders.

After ten days, Mikael finally relents. Esther does not need to lose another child. He and Finn hoist Elijah between them and carry him home.

Upon the hunting party’s return, Niklaus will not be torn from Elijah’s side. He holds his hand while Esther and Ayana treat him with herbs (and a few whispered spells). He holds Elijah’s head on his lap until he wakes.

When Elijah’s eyes open, he comes back to life. Color seems to return to his cheeks, the heaviness leaving his limbs. He reaches up to cradle his brother’s face while Niklaus holds him close, exclaiming softly but excitedly.

Niklaus feeds Elijah supper that evening, letting him lick drops of honey from his fingers after a meal of bread and fruit.

Esther catches him dozing upright late in the evening, Elijah’s head still on his lap.

Niklaus. She shakes him gently to wake him. Are you all right, my love?

His eyes are bleary, exhausted. There is a tangle of honey stuck in his hair. But he smiles, his blue eyes shining with contentment. Yes, Mother.

Mikael gnashes his teeth when he sees how readily the two boys snap back together. Elijah, so wearied by whatever fever overtook him in the forest, recovers quickly in the arms of his hungry-eyed brother.

Niklaus breathes Elijah in, holding him close as if to make up for all the lost days.

He made no trouble, Esther reassures him. Although he missed his brother.

Mikael is awakened in the night by harsh breathing close to his ear. He reaches instinctively for his knife, but it is not beside his pillow.

He opens his eyes to see Niklaus’s slender figure. Looming over him, staring at him with those cold, pale eyes.

Don’t you ever, he snarls, take him away from me again.

Mikael closes his eyes again and waits, through his pounding heart, for Niklaus to disappear. (He drank too much at the homecoming meal.)

When he wakes in the morning, his knife is still nowhere to be found.

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