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imnotwolverine · 4 years

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The Monster’s Lair - Thorns and Thistles

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

< Chap 2 | Chapter 3 - Thorns and Thistles | Chap 4 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - injury, references of stalking, possessiveness, kidnapping

Author’s note: I just want to let you know that I won’t be posting next week since I’ll be out on a (much deserved and long overdue) holiday. It’s going to be one week of good food, sleeping in and long, long walks. UGH..I just can’t wait! In the meantime, one more chapter to keep you entertained. Take care dear readers!

Word count: 2.923

Reading music: Le Quintet à Claques - Le diable aux fesses rouges (“the devil with the red buttocks”)

(Link to my Masterlist)

Violins, hurdy gurdy’s and drums strung another delightful tune through the dancing hall, new dance partners quickly rushing to the centre to join in.

‘Sweet Belle, would you care for a dance?’ Tomlin, the baker’s boy stepped in, making Belle nervously look around herself in hope she’d find a good excuse.

‘Oh ..eh..’ Her eye fell on her father who stood but a few feet away, his head bandaged but his spirits high as he discussed some horse-related stuff with his stable boy.

‘..I am afraid not. You see, my father..’ She bit her lip as Tomlin nodded in understanding, hurrying to find himself a new dance partner.

The little interaction didn’t go unnoticed, Arthur pausing mid-story to give Belle a warning look. She quickly looked away, knowing full well what he was thinking; “Go have fun silly girl!”

But it just didn't sit right with Belle. All this. This dance. The party. The happy people. It had been just two weeks since half the town’s centre had burned down, leaving naught but ash where families used to keep their shops, lived their lives.

The mere fact that the beast had been chased off, had been deemed enough of a reason to celebrate. People had pulled out their Sunday best, their joy not lessened by the sight of those who had been harmed that night. The butcher’s wife and their children - minor burns. The clergyman - serious burns, though mostly because he had climbed back in the fire to save his fineries. And papa.

With a somber eye Belle watched her father, his face looking even older now as half of it was bandaged up. He had brushed it off as just a silly incident, but Belle couldn’t help but feel bitter. Bitter about the foolishness that blinded the people here. The beast had become another tool that the Le Comtes used to manipulate the people into dancing to their strings - literally.

The many buildings that had burned down were partially or entirely owned by them, and they would surely raise the taxes to pay for it all, even if the country-wide tax payments already swallowed most of the people their incomes. The Les Comtes held such power over the towns folk that if they said left, all would go..

‘Your dancing partner left?’ A familiar voice awoke Belle from her pensive stare, her eyes meeting those of a smirking Ismael le Comte.

‘Sir.’ Belle curtsied, then looked back at the dancing crowd, not feeling like conversing with the handsome but obnoxious man. Ismael followed her gaze and shrugged. ‘I do understand. The boy’s barely a capable dancing partner, dare I say.’

‘Oh no. No no. Tomlin’s a fine dancing partner, Sir le Comte.’ Belle corrected before quickly lowering her lashes. ‘It’s just that I wish to not leave my fa..’ She looked to her side and noted that her father and the stable boy had disappeared into the crowd, leaving her alone with Ismael.

Oh darn..

She bit her lip and looked back at an amused Ismael.

‘Now Belle.’ He stepped closer, making her step back, closer to the wall where heavy curtains hung before high windows, the fabric gathered and tied to a hook with rope and a thorny wild flower bouquet. Ismael grinned, squaring his shoulders to make himself look even more imposing and broad.

‘I dare say I could make a fine match..’

The dance in the hall ended and with an exaggerated bow he offered his hand, making sure that all were there to see.

‘..for a dance.’ He smiled near devilishly, the spark in his eyes falling in distaste with Belle.

Swallowing harshly she stumbled even further back, her hands catching herself before she bumped into a bench she had not seen, her fall broken on the snarling edges of that same thorny bouquet.

Whimpering in shock and pain, Belle flopped down to the bench, her eyes blinking away tears as she looked at her palms, red and scratched with pillowing drops of blood.

In that foolish tumble into the flower bouquet she had not noticed how Ismael had made no effort to “save her”, as he had so often promised, his head only twitching slightly, as if bewitched, before blinkingly returning to the land of the living, his mouth turning out in a dramatic little gasp.

‘Oh dear! Sweet Belle. Your hands!’ He wrapped his large hands around her shaking wrists and pulled her up without so much as a question. ‘You are bleeding!’ He exclaimed, watching with fascination as the blood started to drip down from her palms. Looking up into her eyes, his next words were resolute; ‘Come now. We must see to that at once!’

And before Belle could stammer a protest she was all but dragged out of the hall, Ismael’s hand pushing at the back of her corset, her feet hastily following his large strides.

‘Wait..where..SIR..where are you taking me?’ She whispered nervously, watching people step aside, their heads dutifully bowing at the sight of the dark haired, handsome Le Comte.

‘Don’t fret.’ He chuckled darkly, his deep brown eyes looking like pools of evil lust.

There was something about Ismael Le Comte that made Belle’s neck hair rise. No matter how kind and handsome and wonderful everyone thought him to be..there was just something..off about him. Belle couldn’t quite place her finger on it, but she wasn’t often wrong about people.

Besides. It was a bit weird that a man of his position was so committed to her well-being, right? Didn’t he have more important matters to attend to? Ladies to woo? Dances to dance? Belle looked over her shoulder, seeing some people follow her and Ismael with their gossip-glistening lips. Oh, stories were abound to be told, she knew that much.

‘I can..see to this myself. Truly. I thank you for your..OH.’ The hand that rested on her lower back eagerly pulled her closer now they were alone in a long and spacious hallway. On the walls more prickly bouquets adorned deep blue curtains that reached ceiling high, a watery moon light trickling through the clear glass panes behind them.

‘Oh Belle. Do you not see?’ Ismael purred, his mead heavy breath warming the shell of her ear. He chuckled, amused by his own thoughts, Belle swallowing harshly again as she clenched her bleeding hands before her. Oh she was making a mess of the carpet!

Ismael didn’t seem to see her discomfort.

‘In fact. Do you see all this?’ He used his free hand to point at the gardens, the meadows, the village in the far distance, little lanterns flickering behind the windows of the cots and barns, dusk falling. Slowly Belle nodded, looking back at Ismael with a sense of worry.

Why was he so..so close to her. What was it with this..beast..no not beast..he was far too handsome for that..no..a..an evil excuse for a man!

Ismael smirked and returned his attention to Belle, his arm still keeping her close to his chest. ‘You want your father to keep his job, keep the safety we provide? Hmm…?’ He hummed. ‘You are in no position to deny him a nice life, are you now?’ He raised a wicked eyebrow, making worried tingles run up Belle’s spine, his lips now moving so very close to her neck.

And before she knew it herself, realised it herself, she had started to run. Away, away from this spiteful, hideous man.

Had he no decency?!

With great haste in her long skirts Belle ran and ran, further down the long hallway, her ears pricking as she heard Ismael’s amused laugh.

‘I DO LIKE TO HUNT!’ He roared, his hands playfully clawing at her speeding off silhouette. And with that he started the chase, his attire far less restricting and his strides far stronger and longer, making it an uneven match from the get go.

Where to go next? Belle looked around, not knowing the estate quite well enough, whereas her predatorial suitor most definitely knew every nook and corner.

And then she noticed a door, leading out to the terraces.

Without a second thought she ran out, into the light trickle of another rain shower, the blood from her scratched open hands mingling with the clear heaven water as she ran and ran, blue skirts soaking.

The gardens of the Les Comtes were immaculate. Sharp shorn bushes, straight lines, everything neatly trimmed to angular perfection - following courtly fashions to a tee. But the problems with such a garden was that hiding there was just about impossible. And thus Belle continued to run, her heart thundering in her chest and the ache in her hands near forgotten as she made a beeline for the forest.

Ever her safe hide-out when she so needed, she knew the forest paths so well that the low light of the evening fall caused her no trouble.

Unfortunately for her though, the chase didn’t end there, her eye catching the silhouette of Ismael behind her as she had made it to the tree line. And from the looks of it he wasn’t stopping, his gruesome laughter hackling in the rainy wind.

Why was this idiot of a man laughing so?

Belle continued to run. Further, deeper, faster, her breath tight in her corseted chest. Her hands were bleeding so profusely that she sure was leaving a perfect track for any true predator, her blood staining the leaves and branches she swept aside in her flight. But she couldn’t care. She didn’t even dare to think of what the forest had to hide at this late hour of the day, the daylight faded away and her eyes barely managing to see a thing now.

It was then she felt her skirts snag into something, her bleeding hands instinctively pulling at the fabric, making it rip to shreds.

And.. on she ran, the sound of Ismael’s laughter slowly dying away in the ink black darkness, her skirts continuing to brush against invisible bushes and branches.

Was he still there? Oh, how could she always get into such trouble?!

Scolding herself she refused to slow down, her feet stumbling over tree roots, hands skinned open from the rough bark of the trees, her breath panicked and short. She couldn’t see a thing, but she surely must have looked a mess.

And then she got stuck again, this time much worse, her ankle crunching angrily as she sank through a rabbit hole of sorts, falling sideways in another thorny bush. The prickly plant cut like angry knives into her skin, her hands, arms, legs and face fighting in bitter despair to get out. But like a drowning sailor at sea, she simply didn’t know what was up and down anymore, her wild thrashing only making things worse, getting her more stuck.

It was then the tears finally came. Hot and angry in the veil of night.

Belle was a tough cookie, but this? This was just too much.

As she slowly halted her attempts to free herself, she came to the bitter conclusion that this may very well be it. Stuck in a dark forest, bleeding profusely and with a dull pain wrecking her terrified, trembling body.

This may just be it. Her end. Perhaps she would become a snack for that evil monster, or, as she suspected to be far more likely; a pack of wolves or a bear.

Quiet sobs escaped her rosy lips as she tugged a few more times, her body not managing to move, her torn skirts evilly twisted like a cocoon around her limbs and her arms caught in the embrace of the brambles.

Yes. This was it. Run from one problem..and get into an even bigger one. Classic Belle.

‘Forgive me papa.’ She trembled, angry tears billowing down her cheeks. OH she was such a fool! How could she leave him alone like that?! She should have never left his side. She should have never trusted that Ismael. She had known it! ARGHH!

He could have known.

Watching himself in the tall gilded mirror he watched the flurry of scars that marred his porcelain skin. All healed. And within a few months they would be completely gone again. It was always like that. But before then he tended to watch those tiny lines and ripples in his perfect skin, reminding himself of what a fool he had been.

Again.

Could he do any good at all? It was a question that rang in the back of his skull like a tolling bell. Bell. Belle. Hmm. And there was the second thing he couldn’t stop thinking about. That night, seeing Belle so up close, had awoken something in him. And seeing that she saw him - albeit in the lingering dark - made the hungry thoughts in his mind even wilder. His still heart was once again beating with a certain excitement. Life resetting anew in his veins.

In fact. That night the hunt for his hide had been but an afterthought, the burn of his skin but an inconvenience and the sorrow for the villagers’ rejection but another mild disappointment.

She had seen him.

And no, she had not screamed, or chased him off. She had just stood there. As if she knew who he was. As if she had known all along. It was that mere idea that made his empty stomach flutter with a certain giddy excitement.

Argh yes. The empty stomach. It was time to hunt, his beastly belly growling with a need for getting his fill. And as always, blood was on the menu.

Taking his sweet time he dressed himself, hiding every bit of his pale, marred skin. A long sleeved white blouse with high neck, dark high waisted pants and, last but not least, a slightly worn but ever his favourite, burgundy red velvet vest.

Walking down the grand staircase he busied himself with buttoning his cuffs, the small coppery roses pricking awkwardly in his claw-like finger tips. The cuffs had once belonged to his father. Centuries ago, that is. But now they were slowly decaying beneath his fingertips until at some point they would break.

It was like most discomforts in life; they proved terribly hard to die easily. And his rose-shaped cuffs? They were definitely one of them.

Arriving in the main hall he picked a long coat with a hooded mantle on top. A gentleman’s getup for a gentleman that was long past his due date. Centuries past his due date. The monster peered in the mirror next to the heavy doors, his lips curling up to show two pearly white fangs, the clearest reminder of what he was.

No gentleman indeed.

The winds were picking up again, sweltering summer nights but a distant memory now as new rain clouds drifted in on the starless sky.

Walking through the unruly path of the unkempt castle garden he sniffed his nose, pricked his ears, peered into the dark. The first drops were starting to fall into his dark chocolate curls when he felt a tremor not far from the castle gardens. A strange tremor. Not like the mice that were hiding in their hollows. Not like the squirrels that were hamstering their winter’s stashes.

No, this was not an animal. But a man. Or woman in fact. Yes. A woman. Pricking his ears even more, the wind making it slightly difficult to discern what he heard, he listened closely.

Indeed, a woman, agonised whimpers escaping her trembling lips, branches crunching as she despaired.

Should he...go?

Frowning at the very idea that he was contemplating whether or not this woman deserved his attention, made him shiver. He was a monster indeed! How could he even think of leaving the poor woman out here in this stormy weather, left to her own devices and obviously being no match to the many predators that loomed in the thicket of the forest.

With his cape flying out behind him he speeded with great haste to the tiny tremor he picked up, following its echo until he could hear her whimpers more clearly. Blinking in the stark darkness he could define her body as it lay there, entrapped in an evil looking bramble. Wild roses.

Those darn roses again. How could something so beautiful be so painful, too?

Stepping in closer he studied the pale limbs, the...blue..dress. Oh no, oh no. Panicking ever so slightly he started to use his beastly strength to rip away the thorny branches, finding beneath them a bloody body.

Belle.

Her breath was shallow, but finally calm. Most probably she had lost consciousness only moments ago, her fight with the thicket having exhausted her. The monster swallowed at the sight. The pretty woman all scratched and bruised, blood crusting on her pale skin. Her blood. Her sweet, sweet blood.

His nostrils flared at the intoxicating smell, but he quickly pushed the temptation aside, his eyes flitting out to watch the darkness around him, seeing and hearing if anyone was there. If anyone was following her perhaps. But for miles he couldn’t find a single soul, all townsfolk dancing at the Les Comtes, or safe in their beds.

Oh, sweet Belle, why are you here? Alone?

Looking back at the disheveled mess of brown locks, rosy lips and snowwhite skin, he came to the fast, though uneasy conclusion that he couldn’t leave her here. Pulling the rest of the branches aside he got an even better look at the state she was in. No state to just be dropped off at home.

She needed care.

And thus he picked her up, her weight light like a feather in his log-sized arms, his cold blue eyes taking in her face now she was here, so close to him, his legs carrying them back to the castle without a slip of the foot.

For years he had watched Belle from a distance. Growing up from this quiet little girl to a caring, curious young woman, her large brown eyes taking in the world around her with such marvel that he couldn’t help but marvel at it all the same.

Here she was. Belle.

His Belle.

Chap 4 >

General Tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @mary-ann84 @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly

Vampire!Henry Tagsquad: @elinesama @i-cant-remember-my-old-login

If you want to be added to or removed from my tag lists, shoot me a message!

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #beauty and the beast au #vampire!henry #vampires #vampire #belle #stalking #kidnapping #dark fairytale #adult fairytale #long fic

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glorious-blackout · 4 years

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Junior Doctor Shenanigans - Preparing for the Second Wave:

I’m now three-quarters of the way through my Geriatrics block, which has ended up being far more interesting than I expected it would be and is fairly chilled all things considered, with the exception of the odd 81-hour week (which is probably bordering on illegal but I doubt our rota administrator cares). One of the main highlights is the interesting cast of characters among our patients. Elderly people are more prone to delirium when they’re unwell and many of our patients already have dementia, which is how you wind up having insults like ‘Bampot!’ screamed at you when you’re wandering along a corridor, or arriving to work to find out that one of the patients tried to set fire to their table overnight.

One particularly adorable 91-year-old lady was extremely resistant to our attempts to gain IV access despite needing antibiotics through a drip; managing to push us away with a surprising degree of strength while insisting she was currently on an airplane and that we would have to try again later. During one of my turns, she managed to grab my wrist and attempted to break it, though thankfully she wasn’t that strong 😅

There are clear guidelines in place for who the nurses should page in any given situation. FY1s should be paged about non-urgent tasks or unwell patients who are clinically stable, FY2s like myself should be paged if someone is more unwell and needs a senior review, and registrars (the most senior you can be before becoming a consultant) should be paged for very unstable patients who may be approaching a peri-arrest situation. The problem is that nurses don’t like paging seniors, so the poor FY1s get pestered constantly during on-call shifts when they’re already swamped, often about things which are completely out-of-their-depth. On my nights I tried to reduce the risk of this by telling every nurse I could find that if someone was really unwell they should page *me* instead of bothering my FY1, but sure enough my pager remained silent while my poor FY1 had to call me on multiple occasions to pass on the message that someone was really unwell on the other side of the hospital.

Quite a few of us on Geriatrics have moved up from the same district hospital, which has certainly helped ease the terror of settling in to an entirely new environment. I particularly enjoy when there’s a few of us on the same on-call shift and we all meet up for lunch to reminisce about how rogue our old hospital was, while doctors who have only known life in city-hospitals listen on in horror.

Despite knowing that a second wave of Covid-19 cases was inevitable, I don’t think anything has prepared us for how quickly things would escalate. Two weeks ago there were only rumours of scattered cases around the hospital and it seemed to be fairly well-contained, but now there are wards which are riddled with positive cases and staff are dropping like flies, either due to testing positive themselves or because of sick-contacts. It doesn’t help that my current hospital is nowhere near as good at updating staff on the situation as my old one was - I learned about an outbreak on one of the wards from my mum sharing a newspaper article on Whatsapp long before the hospital decided to email us about it.

On Day Six of a seven-day week, me and my equally exhausted FY1 learned three hours into the shift that two of our juniors had tested positive and that our weekend on-call team (which is fairly sparse to begin with) had to lose two members - including our senior - due to contact-tracing. Thankfully the consultant who was on with us was incredible, managing to organise last-minute weekend cover from equally incredible volunteers while leading a very busy ward-round. However, while waiting for senior cover to arrive, *I* ended up being the unfortunate carrier of the registrar’s page, which felt a little like holding a ticking time-bomb in my pocket. Thankfully it only went off once and I was standing next to the consultant at the time, so my duties were limited to taking a message before passing the phone over with a panicked ‘Help!’ written across my face.

One patient at the end of that horrid week thoroughly broke my heart to the point where I needed to have a good cry when I got home. She was a 99-year-old lady who was very unwell with a chest infection, and to make matters worse her blood results suggested she’d had a recent heart attack which had been missed (likely due to lack of symptoms). The main indicator of this was her troponin level - a cardiac protein which is released into the bloodstream when the heart muscle is damaged. In our particular labs, levels above 30 are usually a bad sign; this lady’s level was 190,000. It became clear very quickly that she was going to die and that keeping her comfortable was the best option, and because one relative is allowed to visit in these cases, we were able to arrange for her daughter to come and see her. The issue was that her daughter lived 500 miles away and would have to drive up, so needless to say we spent the day on tenterhooks hoping that we wouldn’t have to call her en-route to tell her that she was too late. Thankfully her mum was a remarkable trooper. She remained fairly settled and bright all day, and the look of sheer happiness on her face when her daughter finally walked into the room was so heartbreaking I’m surprised we all managed to resist the temptation to burst into tears.

Most of the patients/staff members I know of who’ve tested positive for Covid-19 either had no symptoms or symptoms you wouldn’t necessarily associate with the Big Three (fever, cough, loss of taste/smell). The main culprits I’ve come across have been headaches, fatigue, gastrointestinal symptoms, delirium, or falls, whereas some patients who develop sudden respiratory symptoms that fit Covid-19 to a tee end up testing negative on the swabs. Which is mildly concerning considering how prone I am to tension headaches and just feeling generally knackered...

Part of me still wonders if I already had Covid during the first wave and lucked out by being asymptomatic, but there definitely seems to be more resignation among medical staff this time around that getting it is inevitable. It’s spreading too quickly and the governmental measures to prevent it seem so flimsy this time around that we’ve just accepted that one day *we’ll* end up being the ones making our rota administrator’s job a nightmare by phoning in sick with a cough.

I feel I should end on a hopeful note, as one thing that’s become clear is that we’re so much better at dealing with the virus this time around. The hospital put restrictions in place earlier, we’re testing patients (and staff) far more frequently, and we actually have evidence supporting our treatments, whereas before our approach to management was mostly guesswork. One consultant explained that he’d seen a Covid-19 positive patient recently who was very unwell and breathless on admission and would most likely have deteriorated quickly had he presented in March, but showed improvement within a day thanks to Dexamethasone. The thought of a second wave hitting our hospitals sucks and we’re all as sick of this virus as everyone else, but we’re far less terrified of it this time around 😊

That said, if the second wave stops me from being able to rotate to Neonates in December then I swear I’m going to fight the virus with my bare hands...

#guess who's finally back on her bullshit!#junior doctor shenanigans #covid-19 #medicine #long post #rambling

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dreamthinkimagine · 4 years

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A Ticklish What?

For @the-spooky-lee - I saw her headcanons and had to do something!

https://the-spooky-lee.tumblr.com/post/185361979927/spock-calmly-bursting-into-kirks-room#notes https://the-spooky-lee.tumblr.com/post/185374062442/sulu-and-chekov-are-talking-sulu-anyway

Spock’s footsteps could be heard through the corridors, with two more pairs of feet gaining up. As he ran, his breathing rate increased and sweat covered his face. The feeling of his green blood pumping through his veins got faster and and his stomach was in knots. He figured he could outrun them, or just plain escape somehow.

Through these thoughts, which he would be - ashamed? - to say that they were illogical, he noticed the corridor was silent - they’d stopped running. He skidded to a stop and waited - not giving away a single sound as time slowly ticked away.

That’s when he felt it. A tingling in his nose growing stronger and stronger until...

“Achoo!” The footsteps started again faster than before. Spock dashed through the halls, swiftly avoiding any crewmen in his way. He had to hide, those crewmen would certainly tell his chasers which way he’d gone. He’d been running so long and so hard that it was becoming more difficult to breathe. Considering his strength, that was saying something

He ran down a few more halls when he caught sight of Chekov and Sulu having a conversation. He saw the Helmsman smirk and whisper something to Chekov, but even with his superior hearing, he couldn’t make out what he said for the life of him.

Chekov though? Chekov he could make out.

“Nyet! But I’d like to,” the Ensign practically exclaimed. Suddenly, poor Spock was on the floor and the sound of running feet got louder and louder.

He knew he shouldn’t have listened to Kirk’s illogic - something in that Vulcan mind told him it would be a bad idea. Now here he was, on the floor, about to face the consequences for his mistake. He knew it wasn’t going to end well the moment he stepped on the Bridge and Kirk pulled him over.

“Mr. Spock.” He said, gesturing to his chair. As soon as the First Officer arrived, Kirk continued. “Dr. McCoy is telling me that you have not been to his office once for a physical.”

“Quite correct, Captain.”

“Why?”

“It is illogical. I am part Vulcanian; Dr. McCoy is a human doctor. He knows very little of how to treat or examine a Vulcan.”

“But the doctors on Vulcan know much about humans?”

“More than he about my people. We function on logic alone. Vulcan doctors successfully make connections between both parts of me and are able to do so quite efficiently; whereas Dr. McCoy’s logic is not as strong and is clouded with emotion. It is only logical to contact Vulcan if I were to have a medical emergency.”

“We can’t always do that. I want you to report to Dr. McCoy now for a physical.”

“Captain-”

“That’s an order, Mr. Spock.”

***

“Well, Spock, I’ve finally got you in here,” Bones smirked. “Let’s get this over with, shall we,” he said and patted the examination bed. Spock followed the doctor’s orders, but only because his orders from Kirk were to listen to the illogical physician. “Now this won’t hurt a bit, Spock.”

“There is no reason for reassurance, Doctor. Especially when it is untrue.” McCoy sighed and got to work checking everything. His throat, heart, reflexes, everything. Then he asked Spock to lay down so he could examine his stomach. As soon as McCoy pushed down, Spock felt a strange feeling. A sensation he’d never felt before and he didn’t know why, but against his own will, his body jerked away.

“Are you alright, Spock?”

“I believe so, Doctor,” he said hoping that he hadn’t smiled. He had felt the sudden urge to laugh at the sensation and that was something the doctor did not need to know. McCoy went back to work, but the same thing happened again. And then a third time.

McCoy started to grin. “Spock,” he asked chuckling. “Ahahare you ticklish?” Before Spock could even answer, Bones went for his stomach again. “I’m sorry, Spock, but I really do have to check your stomach.” But the last time Spock was this close to laughing. So, instead of staying there, Spock jumped up and ran through the door and down the hall.

Zooming past crew members, he tried to think. Where could he go? What would protect him?

“Oh no, you’re not getting away that easily,” a voice said. Spock turned his head and McCoy was running after him. The only logical thing to do at that moment was to increase speed. Jim, he thought. The Captain’s Quarters! I’ll be safe there!.

Dodging Sulu, Spock didn’t wait to run in to Kirk’s room as soon as the doors opened. As the doors closed, Spock straightened out his uniform and spoke.

“Captain, I require assistance.”

“With what, Mr. Spock?”

“Doctor McCoy is chasing after me, with the intent to test if I am ticklish.”

“Say no more. Get in the closet,” Spock ran in and eagerly pulled the door shut behind him, letting the uniform shirts drape over him. But that didn’t matter because he heard the door open. He couldn’t see who it was, but all logic pointed to McCoy as being the unwelcomed visitor. What he also couldn’t see was Kirk’s grin.

“Jim, have you seen Spock?” Kirk’s grin grew into a smile.

“Well, he’s definitely not in my closet,” he said louder than he would have if he was actually trying to protect his Vulcan friend. Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Well then,” McCoy started. “I guess you wouldn’t mind me looking in your closet,” he said with a wink. Behind the door, Spock’s face dropped, his jaw hanging slightly open. As soon as he heard the knob jiggle as McCoy grabbed it, he swung that door open with all the Vulcan strength he could muster and dashed for the door - almost slamming Bones into the wall.

“He’s really gonna get it now, Jim!”

Or so he thought until the sound stopped, so he stopped. Then he sneezed and was on his way again. He noticed that he had been running so long and so hard that it was getting more difficult to breathe. He dodged the people filling the corridors until he came across Chekov and Sulu - who stuck his leg out causing the half-Vulcan to come to an abrupt stop on the floor.

“This I’ve got to see. You ever heard of or see a ticklish Vulcan, Pavel?”

“Nyet! But I’d like to!” As Sulu grabbed his arms and held them up, Spock saw the shadows of Kirk and McCoy rounding the corner and gave up trying to fight. Nowhere to run and certainly nowhere to hide; it was illogical to struggle.

He laid there as his heart pounded against his side and tried as hard as he could to not show any emotion; but he couldn’t even lie to himself that he felt something. He took back control of his mind, his inner scientist took command - he no longer felt fear, but curiosity.

What exactly was this feeling? McCoy called it “ticklish,” but what did it mean? Why did he feel the need to laugh? To run? Especially since it was light touches? He was stronger than they were, so light sensations should not be overwhelming. There was nothing like this on his planet, so it must be a human thing. It certainly seemed to be when Chekov sat on his shins, looking him in the eyes as he practically bounced with excitement.

That prompted another question - why were humans so fond of the activity? Why did they want to take advantage of it? What made it entertaining for them?

McCoy and Kirk rounded the corner and slowed down at the sight, approaching their victim. Spock himself was almost glad that they were there - almost glad - now he could get some answers.

“How - “ Kirk started.

“I might have been passing by your Quaters and overheard everything.”

“I was going to ask how you two pinned him.”

“Sulu tripped him and grabbed his arms.”

“But he’s got three times human strength,” Bones said.

Spock paid no mind to their words as he laid on the ground, still thinking things over.

‘He was winded when we got him,” Sulu answered.”Must’ve been running for a while. I think he’s alright now.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Bones said and knelt down next to his side. He started feeling different parts of the half Vulcan’s body and, while Spock was sure he was actually checking - especially since he never did finish his physical - it was still ticklish.

He found himself twitching once McCoy began. The others were grinning, but Spock couldn’t focus on that. He had to analyze this thing - but it was much harder than he had thought it would be. It was difficult to focus when an inescapable physical sensation verberated against his skin - which he never knew was so delicate until now.

Despite all of this, he noticed his body making small twitching movements instead of pushing Sulu, Checkov, and McCoy off and running again. He could do it, he knew he could. He had three times the strength of humans, and McCoy wasn’t even pinning him. But that just raised a new question - why? Perhaps his body was in a defensive mode? That must be it, because no matter how hard he tried to do anything, he couldn’t - other than twitch of course.

Well, even if he could do something, he couldn’t now - as the doctor finished, Kirk had just leaned down at his other side. He did not have the strength of four humans. And the only way to prove or disprove his hypothesis, was to be free to move.

“If I am to study this phenomenon, it would be most beneficial if I were not held down.”

“What?”

“I have many questions concerning this anomaly. The most efficient way to study it is without restriction.”

“You’d just run,” McCoy said. “Now I just finished your physical. You’re fine, but I want in on this, so stop stalling.”

“I am not, stalling, Doctor; but it is my ability or inability to escape that I should study first as per this current situation.” He looked to Kirk, “Captain.” Kirk paused, and then let go; the others following their leader.

“What are your questions, Spock?”

“Whether I can control my body to escape or not, Captain. As well as what it is, why it does what it does, and why it is so captivating to humans.” There was a beat of silence.

“Only Spock,” McCoy sighed, rolling his eyes.

“As a scientist, Doctor, you should understand curiosity.”

“If he wants us to tickle ‘im, we’ll tickle ‘im,” Kirk said. “Even if it is for science. Besides, we could learn; we don’t have all the answers.”

“Such as?”

“Well, Spock, we don’t really know how it works. We don’t know what causes it. Why it’s fun. Everyone is different with tickling, so it’s kind of hard to answer.”

“So even if you do discover something, it will only most likely be for you specifically,” McCoy finished. Spock took a moment to think. When presented the opportunity to learn, and to not take it would be illogical. Even if it was just about himself, it was still learning. He had no other choice.

“You may commence.” Immediately Bones, Sulu, and Chekov squeezed, prodded, and poked everywhere they could reach. Kirk took a moment to look at Spock trying to keep laughter in by holding his breath as he squirmed with each new touch. Kirk smiled his little smirk, the one he showed at Spock whenever he thought he was funny.

Kirk thought the whole thing was really funny honestly. He laughed himself when Spock almost got up, but was stopped by Sulu digging into his stomach. Spock’s eyes closed even tighter and his legs came up to protect himself, so Sulu moved to his hips. All the while, Chekov kept up at his underarms. He kicked his feet, trying to ease the feeling.

Spock jumped and scrunched his shoulders up when McCoy scratched the backs of his ears. A sound definitely came out and it was at that moment that Kirk knew he couldn’t hold off any longer. He reached out and, ran his fingers up Spock’s ribs. He was not disappointed. He squealed.

Spock squealed.

Kirk kept at it, forcing laughter out of his half-Vulcan friend. They all paused for a moment, and listened to the sound. A sound that until a few minutes ago, they didn’t even know existed. Spock included. His laugh was nice, relaxing. It sounded human.

Spock was taking mental notes throughout though. He realized that sometimes he could control himself, and other times not. He noticed his laughter eventually had to come out, and when it did, it wouldn’t stop.

But soon they were all at it again and Spock laughed even harder. He noticed that this time he folded up into a ball to try to shield himself, but that that only left his right side vulnerable. That spot wasn’t too bad, not as bad as his ribs or stomach, but bad enough to make him straighten out. Spock sat up and tried to bolt, but Kirk just squeezed his ribs gently and Spock went down and landed on his stomach.

He tried to crawl away when they attacked again. The backs of his ribs and neck were attacked and had his squirming and ineffectively clawing at the metal floor. What really got him was when someone touched his shoulder blades. The screaming laughter’s sound waves bounced against their ears, but they kept it up for another minute as he lay there - completely not in control of his movements. Well, he definitely had one question answered. By the time they stopped, Spock was out of breath.

“Fascinating,” he, with as much air as he could, whispered to himself.

That night, after he was back at his quarters, he thought about what he had learned. He analyzed every single thing he’d discovered. Especially how to tickle.

He would have a lot of work to do tomorrow.

#ticklish!spock #I might have quoted the headcanons I can't remember off the top of my head #even Spock's spots and reactions are based off one of her headcanons #some dialogue is directly from Star Trek TAS

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scriptaed · 5 years

Text

a lion’s gilded tooth 01. (m)

genre: angst; fluff; mature content; soulmates!au; dystopia!au;

characters: jimin x reader x hoseok;

length: 11.7k;

synopsis: in a secluded village of 500, the concept of soulmates is used as a mere means for survival and reproduction. when classmates mysteriously disappear and the future with your first childhood love is threatened under the hands of fate on mating day, your once peaceful life begins spiraling into chaos. now, the only hope to unveil the truths behind humanity’s purpose lies in the secrets of the village and its magical ruins.

“Client 151019, please head up to Counter 190525. Again, Client 151019, please head up to Counter 190525.”

The monotonous voice of a familiar female authority echoes incessantly across the vast room—lifeless and desultory, yet at the same time, ever the more daunting. It's a scene every child has witnessed from the lips of their very own mother, the very year in which a child's wildest imaginations crumbled under the confines of the world's creeping ends. The entirety of adolescence spent outside roaming about in the fields, harvesting the appropriate assets for a befitting pair of viable individuals, enduring the lectures of very adult in the village whom had warned you to take Mating Day seriously—none of the eighteen years would ever be enough preparation for anyone to fulfill their sole purpose of fertility.

The white tiles lining the floor cut by dozens upon dozens of black and red lines of tape running in every which way reflect an unpleasant flood of light from its similarly white-coated ceiling. The stark contrast of the numerous rows of black chairs organized into three sections across the room were impossible to miss in the mostly monochromatic room. You had heard countless rumors from school regarding the haunting cold air of this room, but myths tend to exist on the sole vitality of a teen's fleeting attention span; this time, however, experience has proven you wrong. Three hours of sitting in this room was enough to send you longing for the earthy vibrancy of your rural village—the eye-soothing tones of the grass, the scent of wood freshly dampened by the rain the night before, and the familiar back of his as he frolicked through the meadows with your hand in his.

Please prepare two forms of photo identification and the appropriate documents...

Chills ricochet down your spine and manifest into waves that flood your extremities, where your fingertips fidgeted with the metallic underside of your uniform black seat. The short-lived breath of wind as people bustled about before you in an effort to reach their respective destinations didn't help to cease the growing pain of anxiety mixed with a touch if adrenaline burrowed within your chest.

...to ensure a quick and easy check-in. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.

The sole source of sanity keeping you from screaming at the eeriness of the woman’s directions is the remaining constant in the entirety of your livelihood… him.

When he rests his hands upon yours, the warmth wades you gently through the directionless waves toward reality; and when you lift your gaze to find him grinning at you with that oh-so-familiar soft smile of his, you’re once again left assured, for you know what lies on the other end of tomorrow's testament of fate.

You’ve always known.

"Hey, baby, you okay?" his voice cooed as he strokes your head with a prolonged kiss to your temple; with each of his electric touches against your bare skin, the blinding white of the lights disintegrates into reality.

You blink slowly, once and twice, until the curve of a grin belonging to the longtime beholder of your affections elicits a skip in tempo against your chest; and before you know it, as if ingrained into your very blueprint, your hands lift to cup his dewy cheek as your thumb runs along his plump, bottom lip. The crescents of his eyes thin even more so, weak with endearment under the embrace of his love.

It’s just as the legends say: the finding of a soulmate is enough to stop even the infinite magnitudes of time itself.

“What do you mean, Jimin,” you let out a nervous laugh, “I’m fine. It’s just that this room is… sort of sucking the life out of me.”

The boy frowns when his hand lays over your cold ones on his cheek, “are you sure? I can always grab a permit from Mr. Wang and see Dr. Li with you.”

“I’m fine, Jimin. Every teacher and nurse in this village will be onto us if you don’t stop overreacting to my every drop in temperature,” your joke incites a pout from him. “Plus, what in the world do I have to be scared of when I have you right here—”

“—booooo,” an irking voice hollers from the row of chairs across you. The sheepish giggles from Jimin morphs into a series of cackling, his head thrown back and his hands cover his burning cheeks in embarrassment; whereas you, on the other hand, shoot an unapologetic glare at the boy who just shrugs. With arms spread over the empty chairs beside him, one over the shoulder of a girl, who noticeably fails to hide the lift on the corner of her lips, the boy persists in his antics, “I didn’t sign up to watch this lovesick fest, so at least give me some drama! Fight or something!”

“Fight?” you ask rhetorically but his smile only widens along with his eyes.

“Yeah, slap each other or something! God, do you guys ever fight?”

“Okay, I don’t know about you and Soyeon, but Jimin and I never fight,” you cross your arms and Jimin wraps an arm over your shoulder, gaze fixated on you with a sweet smile to cheer you on while Hoseok pretends to vomit to the side. “I guess we know which couple is breaking up on Mating Day.”

The couple before you shifts uncomfortably in the lack of a quick rebuttal, particularly Soyeon, whose glance darts to the floor in shambles, and you begin to wonder if you had taken it too far—that is, until Jung Hoseok opens his big mouth again.

“Tch, not us,” he scoffs, the intense gaze of his challenges you to a silent duel of grit, “because at least we’re not acting all lovey-dovey out in the open. If anything, I’m betting the teachers will split you up before tomorrow morning even arrives—”

—and you snap.

“Oh, that’s some big talk, especially coming from you,” your hands would have been completely ready for a fight, as was Hoseok, judging by the twitch of his now furrowed brows accompanied by a death glare, but Jimin holds you back with his two arms hugging you back into the seat beside him.

“Alright, alright, calm down guys. Today’s supposed to be one of the most important days of our lives, let’s not fight, yeah? Why are you two always fighting?” Jimin’s laugh elicits a pressing frown from you and your opponent. The peacemaker simply chuckles again and squishes your cheeks together with one hand, “and Y/N was just joking, right, baby? You didn’t mean to take it that far, yeah?”

The one-sided duel persists as your arms are held tightly against your chest and Hoseok refuses to budge except for turning his attention elsewhere—anything but you.

“Hm?” Jimin nudges you gently.

Begrudgingly, you admit to yourself Jimin was right. Attacking Hoseok’s family name was a low blow, but his well-calculated jabs at your future with Jimin made your blood boil. He knew the next two days would be a tremendously precarious time for you two, he knew how you felt about Jimin and your uncertainty, so why would he go out of his way to knock you off your feet during your lowest of lows? Especially when it was such a rarity for him to do so?

“Client 151020, please head up to Counter 190715. Again, Client 151020, please head up to Counter 190715.”

“Oh, I guess that’s my turn. Gotta go!” you blurt, evidently relieved by an escape route as you grab your documents and jump to your feet. Just as you pivot on the balls of your feet, a firm hand swiftly whirls you back around until you’re met with a large, orange envelope.

“You almost forgot this. Could you be any more clumsy?” Jimin hands you the file, head tilted to devote his sole attention at his girl above. His eyes glimmer and lips stretch into a cheeky grin, fully expecting a reward. Without missing a second, you blow him a kiss and he dramatically pretends to collapse to the floor, overwhelmed by your grace. Hoseok groans once again, surprisingly accompanied by Soyeon’s giggle, and you catch sight of Jimin shrugging as you turn your back on them. “Sorry, Hosoek, but you know I’m always on Y/N’s side.”

The sweet taste of victory manifests in the power of your strides, but alas, all good things must come to an end when you find your dirt-stained, gray shoes bumping into a mahogany podium. Gulping, you take a deep breath and force your eyes to meet those of whom could soon dictate your very future—

“—Y/N!”

A puff of air escapes the labyrinth of knots within your chest; because to your surprise, an old acquaintance sits before you amidst the waves of nostalgia that submerges you chest-deep.

“Why if it isn’t—” the jovial color of her voice is abruptly replaced by a split second, perhaps because of the slight discomfort hidden beneath your subconscious or the restrictions of her current profession, “—Y/N, it’s been so long since we’ve last spoken, hasn’t it?”

You struggle to dedicate your wary gaze on a single subject before finally settling on the woman before you. From your lower angle, neck craning and lips ever-so-slightly quivering, it’s almost as if the clock had been reverted to ten years back. “...yeah, it has been.”

“How are your parents?” she asks while meddling with your files.

“They’re doing well,” you mentally scramble to fill the impending silence, “and how are you doing, Ms. Jung?”

“I’ve been…” she pauses, intentionally keeping her hands preoccupied with the shuffling of files, “...alright.”

For being a direct relative of Hoseok’s, his mother is much more composed and you feel obligated to press further.

“Are you sure? You seem very tired, Ms. Jung. Is there something on your mind?”

She takes a deep breath and sighs the heaviest of sighs. The mother is evidently troubled by an unspeakable matter for nights, weeks, months on end. Hair short, thin, and gray, the worn condition of her sleepless eyes are kept hidden as she persists in keeping them peeled to your files. “I’ll be fine, darling—” another sigh “—it might be difficult for you to understand at your age, but as big of a day this is for you children, it’s just as nerve-wracking for us parents, if not more.”

“Ah—” a surge of guilt overcomes you for the remark you had made on Hoseok’s accursed family name “—no, I understand, Ms. Jung. I could only imagine how hard it must be to send your child off with someone who might very well be a stranger.”

You catch the mother biting her tongue in a fruitful attempt to stop the words from flowing; on the contrary and to your disliking, your lips fail to seal the years of burden.

“I mean, we get married to someone we might not even know, then we’re expected to suddenly start a family of our own, and we don’t—actually, no one—has a say in what the future holds for us all because of this thing we call fate… sometimes I don’t understand who, why, or how this system was even made. How does it help any of us?”

The mother redirects her attention from the paper and onto the child before her, clearly taken aback by their anxious state of mind, for she had never witnessed the child delve into adult matters.

Your vague silhouette reflects in her widened orbs and you begin to wonder: maybe, just maybe, somewhere hidden deep, buried and shunned, lies your greatest fears of tomorrow.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a complete stranger,” the mother reassumes her spot in the committee. “You children know every other child there is on this land. In the worst case scenario, which, mind you, could never possibly arise, your mate would be a classmate you’ve exchanged glances with but never spoken to. Nothing a bit of conversation can’t fix. If fate says it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.

You gulp the impending wail in the back of your throat and force yourself to look her directly in the eye, “and… how does fate know it’s meant to be? Why don’t I, the bearer of my very own flesh and being, not have a say in my soulmate? I know who I love, I know who loves me—”

“—sh,” the woman harshly cuts you off, leaning forward to whisper a warning in the form of a matter of fact, “trust the system.”

At surface level, her eyes are devoid of empathy akin to the cold rules of the system, but the glimmers of her wavering gaze reminds you of the mother who fears for the future of her child. Powerless against the hands of destiny, you remain silent.

“I’m required by protocol to ask this of you,” the mother clears her throat as she gathers the piles of papers, “have you engaged in any form of the following activities?”

Handholding?

“No.”

You deny having grazed the soft skin of his hand for the first time in the meadows, concealed by the golden tall grass, far and away from the intrusive eyes of others. The callus which had just begun developing on his palms as a helper of the harvesting season, the first sign of maturation, still burns vividly in your memories.

Skinship?

“No.”

The radiance of the sun had never shone so brightly before; his hair glowed of light brown, nearly blond, the dewiness of his skin reflected the gift of God, and when he whirled around with his hands clenched firmly around yours and a smile plastered across his lips…? You had never believed in celestial beings, but if you had to on that very day, Jimin would have been the closest to an angel.

Relationships?

It takes you more than a second to respond, because how could someone ever deny the existence of feelings as fervent and real as this? Everything blazed of gold that day, his hair, his eyes, his smile, his very being, your heart, and you’re determined to protect them. This memory belonged to you and him only. No one could strip you of this right, not even destiny.

“No.”

Ms. Jung watches you for an uncomfortable second of a pause before nodding her head. She proceeds to pour a string of melted red wax onto your envelope as a seal of approval until, suddenly yet calmly, she catches sight of her son striding across the room from the corner of her eyes. “How’s Hoseok doing?”

“Hoseok?” you almost choke at the mention of his name, a stark contrast to the composed mother across from you. “Uh, I mean, he’s doing fine. I think. Yeah, he’s outscoring everyone in class if that says anything.”

“I know that, I’m his mother,” she laughs. “What I don’t know, however, is his life outside of home and work. His friends, hobbies, and… interests, things like that. You, Jimin, and Hoseok used to be so close. Where did all that time go? It's hard to believe you three are all grown up and ready to be wedded. Sometimes, I wish things could’ve stayed like that.”

“...yeah,” you utter under your breath, “I wished so, too.”

The mother sighs in fondness over the decades that had flown by in the blink of an eye. “I remember when I was 18. Mating Day was all the girls ever fussed about back then. We’d make bets on who ended up with who and some daredevils even vied to be paired with our crushes… is it still like that for you girls?”

“Um,” you pause, wondering if anything you say would be used against you before proceeding with caution, “I… don’t think so. At least I don’t.”

“Really?” she frowns. “Well, that’s good. I would advise you all not to let your hopes get the best of you. Sometimes, things end up for the best even if it doesn’t seem so at the forefront. I guess that’s why they instilled this system in the first place. If humans can’t find their soulmates, maybe magic is our only option. Perhaps marriages never worked out before our age.”

“You think so?”

“We could only make our best predictions all day and still end up with an indefinite answer,” her sighs come to an abrupt stop along with the shuffling of your papers, “and… do you know if Hoseok…?”

Oh, she must not be aware of Soyeon. Contrary to the tightly knit bond he had seemingly bore, Hoseok has refrained from introducing his one living parent to the lady of his future. Understandably, his mother’s spot in the Committee could play a role in his decision, but it still struck you as odd.

Three clients down the line, you manage to spot his head as he hands his own envelope to the staff before him. Peculiar that you had never noticed it until now, but from your angle, Hoseok appears much more capable of an individual than you had previously presumed. Perhaps it’s that taller stature and unwavering gaze of his, but he almost resembled a boy undergoing the coming of age.

The whole world has only just begun crashing down on you, a child still unfit for the harsh realities of the many years to come; but for Hoseok, that stern demeanor of his, determination ablaze in his orbs and shoulders ready to uphold the burdens of the future, bellows a silent warcry against any adversity who dares to pose a threat.

The boy presses on, eyes glued to the task before him, but something in you knows he was more than aware of your gaze. Truthfully, you don't mind his disregard for your states—in fact, you would rather keep it this way—but how peculiar is it that a mere human being could hear the unspoken motives of another? If someone were to ask you how you could be so sure of his disregard, you would have no proof but an instinctive feeling backed by baseless confidence and an intangible connection.

Conclusively, you hate to admit it, but he’s undeniably more capable than any boy or girl under this roof.

“He’ll be okay, Ms. Jung,” your hands instinctively reach out for hers before you could stop yourself; nevertheless, the pressed upturn of your lips makes its best effort to comfort the mother of a childhood friend. “He’ll get through whatever life has in store for him. I promise.”

“Ay…” she drawls, retracting her hands to quickly wipe the premature waterworks from her cheeks, “what am I worrying about? Tomorrow will be a new beginning for you children, I couldn’t be happier.”

“Right,” you force yourself to nod with a grin.

“Here are your files,” the mother returns the envelope over the counter. “The initiation will begin at dawn, so be in bed and asleep by midnight. When you awaken, that’s when the initiation officially begins. The terrain will resemble the village exactly, it’s like lucid dreaming. Instead of waking in your bedroom, however, your new location is decided by the system. The rules are as follows… One, you are free to roam. Two, violence is prohibited. Three, self harm is prohibited. Four, the first individual of the opposite sex you come across is officially your mate. Five, soulmates can not be traded or switched under any circumstances. Failure to participate and violations to any of the preceding rules will result in dire consequences. Any questions?”

How dire could the consequences be?

If it weren’t for the stress of her words and the haunting cases of missing classmates over the years keeping your mouth shut, curiosity would have gotten the best of you today.

“No, I understand. Do I need to sign anything?”

“No, the system only requires an oral obligation for the accountability of your actions,” the mother takes a deep breath and draws out a heavy sigh. For the first time since that fateful day buried deep in your recollections, Ms. Jung looks you eye-to-eye with utmost sincerity—one adulterated by sorrow. “I wish you nothing but happiness for the future.”

“Thank you, Ms. Jung.”

You’re only able to mumble your last words, for the buildup of tension drained you of vitality as you gather your belongings and make a strong, right turn toward the direction you came from. Quickly, you realize Hoseok had already finished checking in and gathered with Soyeon and Jimin from across the room. Soyeon keeps her head low, the platinum blond strands of hair providing curtains over her shifty eyes. On the other hand, the two boys watch intently as you approach them, one beaming with glee at the exuding confidence of his beloved and the other arching a brow at you in curiosity rather than concern.

“What took you so long?”

“Tch,” you click your tongue, “I take back everything positive I ever thought about you. I was talking to your mom, dumbass.”

“You? Positive? About me?” he clarifies grotesquely. “Good, I’d rather you take it back.”

“It’s fine by me no matter how long you take,” Jimin sing-songs, cheerfully embracing you and rocking you side to side but your eyes never ceases to shoot death glares at Hoseok. “As long as I have my baby back!”

“Why are you even here still?” you point at the boy accusedly.

“Actually,” he wraps an arm around Soyeon’s shoulder and she nearly jumped in surprise. “I wanted you to bring Soyeon along with you to the graduation ceremony.”

“Wait, why? I mean, I don’t mind, but why doesn’t she just go with you?”

Hoseok snorts, “are you dumb?”

Jimin hugs you even tighter and bursts into giggles when he notices you preparing to pounce at your enemy with fists raised, “we still have to change into our caps and gowns, remember?”

“So what? They’re dating, they can change together!”

The reactions that follow greatly vary as Soyeon’s cheeks turn beet red, Jimin’s cackles increases in volume, and Hoseok only scoffs.

“And?” he crosses his arms, tilting his chin as if to point at Jimin. “Have you ever seen Jimin naked?”

“Well, I mean, no,” you gape at his promiscuous remark. The smirk of victory plastered across his lips nearly gets your blood boiling as you huff in defeat and Jimin begins laughing so hard he has to nuzzle his head against your temple. “Fine, you win. Soyeon would have a much better time with me anyways, right?”

“Huh?” her eyes pop and she barely utters under her breath. “...I don’t know.”

This time, Hoseok joins Jimin in his fit of laughter and you’ve finally had enough. With a punch to Jimin’s arm, you retract yourself from his embrace, “you having fun laughing, huh?”

“I… I didn’t mean it that way!” Soyeon’s clutch to your arm surprises you.

“It’s fine,” you grumble, finally managing to break free from Jimin’s bear hug. “C’mon, Soyeon, let’s go.”

“Nooo, baby, I’m sorry!” Jimin tries his best at apologizing, tumbling over his incessant giggles. He taps at his cheek like a puppy looking for a prize, “at least give me a kiss before you go, hm? Please?”

Instead of succumbing to his desperate albeit adorable pleas, you answer with the link of Soyeon’s arms and marching off into the distance toward the doors. While you were determined to storm off without a glance back over your shoulder, Soyeon’s muffled giggles piques your interest.

“Nooo,” Jimin cries, hands dramatically reaching out toward you, “Y/N! Don’t leave me with him!”

“Him? It’s not like I want to be with you either,” Hoseok emphasizes, holding Jimin back and scolding, “quit it unless you want to get in trouble.”

“I’m sorry for being a bother… you really don’t have to accompany me,” Soyeon says ever-so-softly. “It’s just that I’ve always spent my breaks with Hoseok and I don’t really know any of our classmates…”

“Oh, it’s totally fine. I spend most of my time with Jimin, too,” you assure her with a light tug at your left arm which linked with hers, “just to set the record straight, I’m at war with Hoseok, not you. Although, you could have pretended to side with me for just a second—”

“—oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you…” she dips her head along with her voice. “The words just slipped before I knew it…”

“It’s okay! I was just joking!” you laugh nervously at her sudden timidness. How does someone as gentle and pristine as Soyeon handle someone like the rash and blunt Hoseok? If Soyeon was the lamb taming the lion Hoseok, then what would you and Jimin resemble? Unbeknownst to you, it would be a question left unanswered for the endless years to come. “You two do make a great couple, though.”

It’s the first time you hear Soyeon laugh so gleefully and something in you just knows the next two days would surely be a first of many.

The next of firsts arrives much earlier than you had unexpected and unpleasantly so. Previously, you had the false presumption of having made acquaintances of your every classmate, but when you skim around the classroom and fail to identify the explicit reasoning behind an inkling of uneasiness, you begin to doubt yourself.

What were their names? What did they look like? Where did they sit?

The shroud of questions only elevates the discomfort of having all the answers on the tip of your tongue yet arriving to none.

Today marks the first time a classmate of yours fell victim to one of the many missing cases.

“Well,” a man clears his throat and the booming, gruff voice of his snaps you back to reality.

The stout homeroom teacher paces in front of the green chalkboard but your eyes remain peeled to the opposite side of the classroom, where you suspect your missing classmates must have had resided. On your immediate right, Hoseok shoots you a quick glimpse, brows furrowed for a split second before redirecting to the front of the classroom. Jimin, to the left of empty spots where two desks would have fit so perfectly, blows you a kiss along with a cheeky grin, crescent eyes beaming with a transient joy that warms your heart.

“Today will be your last day in this classroom. Some of you never paid attention—” he directs a stern look at Jimin, who scrunches his shoulder and slumps into his chair in preparation for a disciplinary lecture that never comes “—some of you slept through class and still passed with flying colors—” this time it’s your turn to duck “—and some, well, one of you were the best model student I could have asked for—” Hoseok is shot with fourteen pairs of death glares but he remains neither content nor bothered “—nonetheless, you all made it.”

Maybe it’s the monumental step you’re all about to take, or maybe it’s the tears welling up in the figure of admiration you all had held at some point along the past fifteen years, but the air remains deafeningly silent, as if in a vain attempt to hold back the impending sobs. Everyone knows one another in this classroom, their stupid habits, fleeting hobbies, fervent crushes, and so, for the last time ever, everyone’s eyes remains on the graying elder pacing between the rows of desks.

“I’ve had the pleasure of teaching you rascals, every single one of you. I’ve watched you all grow from the little kids that you were into the wonderful men and women you are today,” he removes his square-framed glasses to rub the waterworks off his cheeks and his words become incomprehensible by the chokes that ensue, “and I hope that when y-you… h-have children, you’ll b-bring them to m-me, a-and—”

“—booooo,” everyone stares at the boy who had hollered, taken aback for a split second before bursting into laughter; even Mr. Wang begins choking on his laughs intermixed with jovial sobs, and you can finally confirm your long-held suspicion Jay had his own silver linings as a troublemaker. The boy’s lopsided grin is accompanied by snickers, “how long are you going to lecture us, Mr. Wang? I thought you said this would be our last!”

“Alright, alright,” the teacher lets out one last chuckle before gesturing to the boy beside you, “well, then, would you do the honors for the last time, student representative?”

The boy nods, pushing his seat back effortlessly and standing to his feet with one swift, confident sway. His gaze remains fixated neither on the teacher nor the classmates, rather, his laser-like attention devotes itself to a far more intangible phenomenon invisible to anyone but him—and it could have just been you or the entire class, but you’re incapable of looking away.

“Everyone, stand,” Hoseok orders and everyone obeys with a loud screeching of chairs. “Ready and bow.”

In a fleeting moment of unity, the students bow in respect for the retirement of the past caretaker and in the face of the daunting future.

“Thank you, Mr. Wang!”

“You kids are really going to make me cry,” he shakes his head yet the grin sits proudly on his face, “you are all officially dismiss—”

—the words just barely escape his lips when the class erupts into a roar. Classmates dart for the front of the class, pushing you along into the mass of students. You’re forced to follow the lead of the swarm when, suddenly, the teacher is thrown into the air and brought out into the hallway, intentionally joining forces with the neighboring classrooms. Despite being squished, pushed, and pulled in a mob of barbaric students, you can’t help but break out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter; and all the while, Jimin is the only one on your mind.

“Jimin! Where are you?” you call out to him and turn gleefully when someone taps you on your left shoulder. To your surprise, you spot an unexpected face of a bellowing classmate; and amidst the chaotic confusion, a familiar pair of lips plants a firm kiss to your right cheek.

It goes without saying, your heart swells into an immediate mush and you can’t help but laugh.

“Right here, princess,” Jimin links his arm around yours, nose wrinkling in the company of his cheeky grin. “I finally got my kiss.”

You shake your head, “but I didn’t kiss you.”

“No, but I kissed you and that’s even better,” he coos.

“That’s not playing by the rules, though.”

“No? Then I guess you can punish me… with five more kisses!”

You can barely respond amidst your giggles, “how is that a punishment?”

“You’re right, what could possibly be better than my kisses?” he pouts, fluttering his eyelids to feign innocence.

Hastily scanning the hall for the peering eyes of teachers, all of whom are too preoccupied with being thrown into the air, you intertwine your fingers with his. “Actually, you know, I am kind of disappointed that none of the teachers know about us…”

“Aw, baby, I would want the whooole world to know if I could,” Jimin sulks, “but we’ll have to wait until tomorrow, so five kisses for now would be easier!”

The corners of your lips stretch even wider and you could even feel your cheeks growing sorer by the second when you crane your neck back to avoid Jimin’s oncoming puckered lips.

“—hey Y/N, if that man doesn’t stop disrespecting you,” the both of you glance wide-eyed at Jay, who follows along at the side of the swarming crowd. A sharp gasp inflates your lungs when the boy winks, clearly neglecting Jimin’s scowl, “you know who to get. Match with me tomorrow?”

“What?!” Jimin’s shouts of fury are buried by the cheers of the crowd. Jay only shrugs nonchalantly, preparing for a sprint down the hall when Jimin raises his fists. “I’m not disrespecting my baby! She enjoys my kisses!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night—”

“—quit interrupting our banters!”

...and just like that, the boys disappear into the distance, one giving chase and the other snickering tauntingly.

Shaking your head, you could only roll your eyes at what had just played out before you. The euphoric adoration for Jimin had been enough to numb the pain of being shuffled around mercilessly in the crowd, but it doesn’t take long until your body comes to acknowledge its toll.

“Alright, quit it! I’m out!” you try to maneuver your way out, yet to no one’s surprise, the flashmob misconstrues your pleas as a cheer to fight on. Groaning as loudly as you could, you yell, “stop pushing—”

“—get out of the way if you can’t handle it, then,” the familiar husk of a voice irks your ears when a firm pair of hands settles on your shoulders and moves you to the outside of the crowd. Peering up at the boy, you grimace at his backhanded gesture of an aid. Hoseok ignores your glare with a question, “did you see Soyeon anywhere?”

“I don’t know. I’m in the same class as you, dumbass.”

“Whoa, okay, calm down tiger, just asking,” Hoseok throws his hands up in defeat.

In the midst of rolling your eyes, you spot Jimin at the opposite end of the hall. Completely devoted to showing Jay a piece of his mind, Jimin proceeds to slap the boy, who ducks from his attacks, along with several jabs to his bottom with a knee. Eyes diverting to the more proximal boy whom you could catch staring at you from your peripheral vision, you quirk a brow at Hoseok’s snide, lopsided grin.

“What?”

“Nothing,” an impertinent chortle follows, “I’m just trying to stop myself from puking after witnessing just how smitten you are.”

“I swear, you’re going to be the death of me someday,” you raise a threatening hand but Hoseok’s gaze remains fixated on you, hands buried in his pockets, and stance unbudged.

You hadn’t noticed until now, when that devilish smirk of his gradually shifts to a genuine symbol of bliss more resembling to the childhood friend you had once known, you finally realize the fortunate spot you had taken amidst the crowd. While you suffer little to no impact, Hoseok's widened stance jostled, arms constantly bumped into and legs nearly tripped under the endless stream of incoming passersby.

"Yeah?" he arches a brow. "You look awfully happy to me right now."

"Of course," you quickly add, "because of Jimin."

"Why?" his smile grows wider. "Because after today you'll finally be allowed to kiss your boyfriend in public?"

The sheepish chortle that slips from your lips is enough of an answer.

"Well," Hoseok chuckles, the burning gaze of his still fixated on you, "I'm glad at least one of us is happy."

"What?" you frown. "Are you not?"

The boy refrains from answering, or perhaps he did, for he simply presses a thin, small upturn of a smile at you and takes a step to the side. Your body nearly collapses to the floor when several students forcefully weave their way in between the two of you.

There it is, again, your sheer, utter confidence of his indifference toward the look of concern plastered all over your face as he redirects his attention to the teachers being flying into the air; but before you could inquire any further, an arm links with your right elbow and tugs you to the back and away from the crowd.

"Jimin?"

"C'mon," he has to cup a hand over your ears, lips grazing against your burning red ears. "I have something to show you."

"Wait, but our celebration—"

"Would you rather waste your time in this chaos or spend your time alone with me?"

The beat of a heart is all it takes for you to squeeze his hand in agreement and his to squeeze yours.

"Ahh, how lucky am I to have someone as cute as you," he gushes and you can't help the rush of blood that rushes to your cheeks, "I always knew we were meant to be."

The words didn't need to be said, for your silence is enough of a declaration to the universe.

I did too.

…and so, the Prince whisks you away into a land only fathomable in the reminiscence of a dream.

At a brief, magical fragment in time, when the cheers fade into the distance of the past and the hollers become a facade of the present as they remain ringing in your ears, golden hour strikes.

You could tell from the way the Sun screams into the skies—loud, red, ethereal.

You could tell from the way the meadow is set ablaze into a treasure chest of gold.

You could tell from the way the zephyrs brushes gently past two pairs of shoulders and trails along the field akin to the blue waves in the aftermath of a calamity.

You could tell from the way he breaths, slow, soft, and cautious to prolong the delicacy of this moment in time, from the way he keeps his gaze fixated on one too abashed to reciprocate, in fondness and complete awe, from the way neither of you spoke yet proclamations of affection deafen the gray silence.

This undeniable connection could never be put into words.

“I guess this is our last time in the school yard, huh?” you speak, finally mustering the courage to meet his tender gaze. The smile dancing on those pressed lips of his only widens in response. “You know, we’ve watched the sun set here together so many times, but I don’t think it’s ever looked this beautiful.”

“Mm…” Jimin hums. “Maybe the sun is celebrating with us today?”

“Celebrating?”

“Yeah—” he lets in a small gasp and points to your left “—what’s going on over there?!”

“What?” your neck turns so abruptly that you could almost feel a strain coming on. “What’s going on?”

In a magical spur of the moment, a gust of wind passes by as it rustles the meadow and trees beneath its wing span. The breeze serves as a perfect cover-up for the boy who lets out a muffled huff while the wooden bench dips and his foot stomps to stir the dirt beneath.

“Jimin, I literally don’t see anything,” you squint one last time off into the distance of the empty meadow before whirling back around only to stumble upon another one of his antics.

There, sitting still and basking in the warmth of the sun flooring upon his cheeks and yours, Jimin grins cheekily with a bouquet of white flowers.

“—tada!” he sings, handing you the arrangement. “Congratulations, Y/N.”

“Wha—but for what?” you hold the flowers close to your chest, still agape by the surprise.

“For graduating.”

“But you graduated, too…?”

“...and for your birthday,” he continues.

“My… birthday…” you narrow your eyes at him, “is next week… did you already forget?”

“I know, I know,” Jimin laughs, smile wider than ever until he settles into the whispers of the ephemeral breeze. He watches you tenderly. “How would I ever forget my baby’s birthday?”

You struggle to speak as he pinches your cheeks, “then why are you handing me this now?”

“Mm…” the grin remains even as he presses his lips, eyes gazing off to the skies before returning to you, “because this is more romantic and now you’re ruining it!”

“Ah…”

“What? You don’t want it? Fine, I like flowers too, you know,” Jimin attempts to retract the flowers from you in a fit of laughter but your bear hug to his arm prevents him from doing so.

“Nope, too late, they’re mine,” your head rests comfortably in the crook of his neck, “and just so you know, I don’t need presents anymore. You’re the best one I could ever ask for.” The boy only chuckles softly, head turning to place a firm kiss to your head. His hand weaves through your locks of hair as he patted the back of your head gently before wrapping an arm over your shoulder to pull you in tighter. “Hey, do you remember the first time you ever gave me a flower? And I say a flower because it was literally one flower.”

Jimin erupts into cackles and you smile just knowing the sheepish look on his face right now as he throws his head back in embarrassment. “You mean the first time I ever broke the law and stole something from work just to officially ask you out four years ago?”

“Yep,” you join him in his laughter, “didn’t we meet back here, too?”

“Mhm.”

“Would you count that as our first date, then?” you ponder.

“Maybe,” he pauses and chortles, “but I like to think that Hoseok was just third-wheeling on our dates before high school.”

A transient set of laughter ensues before the two of you bask in the silence, vicariously reminiscing over the memories of the other.

It had never been easier to leap through time.

“So this is it, huh? Our last day together as students.��

“Soon we’ll be married and having kids of our own,” he turns to place another kiss to your forehead.

“Do you… feel like you’re ready?”

“Well, we just finished school and now we’re suddenly expected to become full-fledged adults, not to mention parents. It’s a bit overwhelming,” he sighs but you could feel the rise of his cheeks pressed against your head as he smiles, “but I’m ready for anything as long as I’m with you.”

“Oh, what’s this? Jimin is actually being serious for once? As much as I enjoyed it, I have to say you were awfully needy today.”

His nose scrunches at your teases when a mischievous grin replaces his discontent.

“Then can I have my kiss now?”

“You already have! At least three times by now,” you stress.

“Ay,” Jimin bashfully laughs with eyes fixated on your lips longingly, “you know what I mean!”

An innate reflex of self mechanism brings your hands to your prized possession but the flush of beet red on your cheeks gives you away. “You can tomorrow.”

His laughs become a homogeneous mix of nerves and frustration, “why tomorrow? I want to kiss you nooow.”

Why tomorrow? He’s right. Why tomorrow and does it have anything to do with the burning anxiety that gnaws at your chest, constricting your airway and highlighting the fear of this very moment’s transience in that when you awaken tomorrow morning, he could and would no longer remain by your side?

Hastily, you nuzzle your head into his shoulder once again in a fruitless attempt to mask your greatest nightmares. You point to the tall, sturdy oak tree that had aged like fine wine throughout your childhood years, “think about it, we’ll meet out there in the fields where we first met, where we fell in love for the first time, and we’ll meet out there again in our dreams, have our first kiss, and start our future together all under the very same tree.”

His silence has your heart dangling at the edge of a cliff and you lift your head to find him gazing off into fields, perhaps sulking or reminiscing but most definitely riddled with deep thoughts.

“Yeah, Jimin?” you gently shake his arm. “Let’s meet over there tonight. It doesn’t matter where and when we start initiation. We can wait for each other. Yeah?”

“But we don’t need to do that.” the corner of his lips curve ever-so-slightly as he finally gives you a soft smile. “The system functions on the basis of soulmates. Who could be a better match than us two?”

“I know, but… but what if it doesn’t work?”

“It’s always worked, Y/N. How has our village survived and repopulated for all these years?”

“I know,” you emphasize, brows furrowing at the orchestration of pain hammering against your chest with each beat. “I know, Jimin, but does the system really always work? I mean—” you scramble to gather the thoughts that stings within your bloodstream “—did you not notice how two of our classmates are missing? It’s terrible, I can’t even remember their names but I could have sworn I knew them, and even if I don’t know who they were, the memories of when we talked and when we laughed, they’re all gone and no one seems to notice!”

“Y/N…?” Jimin lets out a nervous laugh. “What’re you going on about…?”

“You don’t remember, do you?” The myriad of incessant, sleepless nights come crashing down on you all at once. “The missing numbers in our village, the abandoned houses made out to be new infrastructure, no one questions it and I’m starting to wonder if I really am going crazy—”

“—Y/N,” his apathetic tone adorns the stoic look on his face and he meets the wavering gaze of yours straight on, “I don’t know what’s been going on recently, but it will be okay. It will work. Questioning things is useless, it’ll just bring you more stress. Try not to worry for me, even if someday for whatever reason I’m not there to remind you to, please don’t ever carry the burden all by yourself okay?”

“Fine, but just,” you struggle to take a calm, deep breath of air amidst the wavering waves that escapes, “just promise me this once, okay Jimin?”

“It’ll be ok—”

“—Jimin!”

The both of you are taken aback by your cry and you’re riddled with regret at the sight of unforgivable guilt plastered on his now softened features.

“Okay,” he utters under his breath, squeezing your hand, “I promise.”

Are you truly descending into madness? Or is this a momentary shock from the overwhelming fear of the unknown? The mysteries of the village and the horrid consequences of the system could have been conjured from the nightmares amassed throughout the months leading up to tonight, but lit in the darkness of uncertainty, the warmth of Jimin’s hands, beckoning for you to come forth, is enough of a reason to forget, even if just momentarily.

“Plus,” Jimin breaks the stillness of the air with a chuckle, “the only person we should be worrying about is Hoseok.”

“Oh—” the thought had completely been overlooked “—you’re right. If the system truly works, then why is it that the Jung’s always have the worst luck of the draw?”

“I… don’t know. There isn’t anything we can do about it and I’ve always hated how I’d spend hours and hours just wondering what I could do, but I don’t know.”

The sun draws its color from the skies with it, leaving traces of its wake along the impending night soon to befall upon it, and all you could do was watch.

“It’s scary,” you hug Jimin’s arms closer to your chest and he glances at you in utter awe, “to be a mere child and have everyone warning you about who you meet and who you play with and how you could very well meet the catalyst of your own death simply because of the blood you’re born with.”

“Aww, is my baby actually concerned for Hoseok?” Jimin cackles at your scowl. “Well, everyone knows about the curse of being married into the Jungs, but that doesn’t seem to stop girls from fawning over him, does it? He is smart after all… and tall…”

“What,” this time it’s your turn to tease, “are you jealous?”

“Nope!” he nuzzles his head against yours. “I don’t care how many girls like me because I only have eyes for you.”

“Right, right,” your laughs are whisked away by a breeze. “Who knows? Maybe Hoseok might even end up with Soyeon. I hate to admit it, but they’re a pretty good match. I can tell she really loves him. I don’t know about Soyeon, but she must be his soulmate. Hah, wouldn’t he just love that?”

“You think so? I have a feeling he’ll be okay,” Jimin hums passively but when you glimpse at him, his eyes scream ‘I will save you.’

A pause ensues.

“You know, as much as I dislike that boy and regardless of how long it’s been since we hung out six years ago, he’s still our friend. To be honest, a part of me doesn’t want tomorrow to ever come. Things are perfect the way they are now. We’re together and Hoseok is fine and happy with Soyeon. I feel bad for using his name against him today.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We all make mistakes. I’m sure he won’t hold it against you. I don’t know how but we’ll save him if it ever comes down to it, right, Y/N?” he smiles softly when you nod timidly. “Most importantly, don’t be scared of tomorrow. We’ll get through whatever life throws at us together, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So…” Jimin utters under his breath, low, raspy, nearly inaudible, but you could sense the oncoming cheekiness of his. “Can I kiss you now?”

“I said tomorrow!”

Your attempts to avoid his watchful gaze prove to be in vain when heat flushes your skin and you catch Jimin grinning in amusement from the corner of your eyes.

Heartstrings are tugged—plucked, even—as he leans in to place his lips against your right cheek. He waits, prolonging the momentary freeze in time, before finally pulling away and squeezing your hand.

“Come on, let’s go. It’s getting dark now.”

Despite his beckoning, the boy allows you to take the lead home. Your hand remains snug in his, guiding him forward with small, reluctant strides until he finally comes to a stop. The world spins as you’re whirled around by a tug at the hand and you find yourself stranded in the middle of a field in the arms of your love.

“Jimin?”

Your words fall upon deaf ears, for the stern, intent look of his eyes that stirs your beating chest and the butterflies in your stomach.

“Can I kiss you?”

His hands trail up your arms, grazing your skin along the way, until they cup each of your cheeks. Gradually, ever so slowly, he approaches, watching your every motion. He held you, firmly yet gently, and you just know he could see through your every emotion, from the electricity that runs to your extremities to the flip of your heart that waits in anticipation with each inch of his encroachment; for just before your eyes flutter closed, you spot the curve dancing in the corner of his lips.

Finally, he closes the remaining distance.

Time comes to a halt.

His flesh is soft, warm, and dewy against yours. He caresses you softly, as if fearful of breaking his most prized delicacy in his very own hands.

Tender and with love, you share your last firsts of today; but when you pull away, his hands stop yours from leaving the nape of his neck.

“Again.”

...and again, and again.

Having completed its grand finale, the sun sets and reluctantly so.

The magnitude of the challenge that comes with tonight finally dawns upon you.

You could still feel the reminiscence of his touch on your lips as you lay on your bed, too stirred to fall asleep. Staring at the ceiling above, you shut your eyes and bask in the rarity of complete silence within your now empty household.

You have two options. One, you knock yourself out into sleep now and get this initiation over with. Two, you sneak out of the house, risk being caught, possibly miss the start of initiation, and tire yourself out into sleep.

As with every Mating Day, every parent should be gathered in the headquarters of the village where you had checked in earlier today, so you figured no one should be roaming outside. Even if there were to be unexpected spectators, stealth came second to your innate senses, for you had snuck out to meet Jimin in his house or the schoolyard countless times before.

In reality, there isn’t anything but answers that could halt these restless thoughts of yours. Jimin’s adamant trust in the system, his reluctance to meet with you, and the missing classmates that had gone under the radar strike you with concern on the most important of nights. You needed assurance from another perspective; and so, you find yourself creeping along the plain fields, the absence of tall grass keeping you completely out in the open where, fortunately, only the moon bore witness to your rendezvous.

“What’re you doing?”

The sound of his voice incites goosebumps on your arms along with the chilly, still air of the night.

“What took you so long? I’m freezing out here,” you glare at the boy who stands at his doorside; the moonlight illuminates the thick locks of his chestnut locks, fresh out of a shower, and you catch a golden reflection of light glowing from somewhere within his house.

“Who told you to come here?” Hoseok scoffs. “Never mind freezing, what if you’re caught sneaking around with that dumb stance of yours?”

It takes you a long second to realize what he was referring to. Straightening your back and dropping your hands to your side, you cough in a failed attempt to clear the air.

“And what about you? You’re not supposed to be opening doors for strangers, for anyone, actually, tonight.”

Hoseok quirks a brow at your rebuttal, chuckling lowly and adorning a lopsided curve of the lips. “Fine, you win. Come in before anyone catches you and you’re really left for dead.”

“Wow, are you really that freaked out by tonight because the Hoseok I know would never give up so easily.” The boy only shrugs mischievously, stepping aside as you step foot into his household. “Welp, fine by me—”

—but your words are cut short when wind is knocked from your lungs and you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders, whirling and pushing you around against the closed door. In the blink of an eye, you find yourself in a familiar household of your childhood with an unfamiliar boy hovering above you with darkened eyes.

“And you’re not supposed to be entering stranger’s houses tonight, huh? What do you think about that, Y/N?” he cocks his head.

“You’re,” you huff, struggling to hold your breath in the proximity of his face to yours, “you’re not a stranger.”

“Oh but I am.”

“We might have stopped talking a long time ago—” the way you stumble nervously over your own words reminds you of just how long it’s been since you had been alone with Hoseok “—but I still know you. It’s not like you’re a stranger all of a sudden.”

“Yeah?” he raises a brow, finally dropping the hand that had hovered over you next to where he pinned you onto the wall. He takes a step back, crosses his arms against his chest, and cocks his head to the right. Following his gesture, your sights land on two flowers perched on a shelf, one with gilded petals that reflect the golden glow of the display lights and another with similar petals that seem to have just begun withering. “What’re those called then?”

“What does that have anything to do with this?” you frown when he remains unbudged, waiting for your answer. “Uh… I haven’t seen anything like that in our textbooks.”

“Then you don’t know me,” he leans against the back of a couch in the living room, “and I thought you were ranked second in our school.”

“It’s a flower in your living room,” you groan when he refuses to see any insight to your argument. “Alright, what’s it called then, Student Representative?”

“A dandelion.”

“A what?”

“A dandelion,” he chortles, eyes diverting to the display as it glows a vibrant gold. “Some people call it a Lion’s Tooth because of its petals, but when it wilts into a white puff of seeds, something as weak as even the breeze can destroy it like the lion it never was. Pretty neat, huh?”

“Nerd,” you scoff. “Plus, doesn’t the wind disperse the seeds so it can repopulate in other areas?”

“Nerd,” he mocks, returning his attention to you with a crooked grin. “So? Why’re you desperate enough to spend time alone with me and not Jimin?”

“Is your mom home?”

“Would I have let you in if she was?” Hoseok deadpans. “She’s not exempt from the rules. She’s at headquarters with the rest of the parents.”

“Good, because I have something… serious to ask you about.”

Hoseok raises both brows inquisitively, seemingly taken aback by someone whom had never sought aid from him before. “All ears.”

“Did you happen to…” you beat around the bush in consideration for the promise you made with Jimin.

“Would you spit it out already—”

“—did you happen to notice two of our classmates missing today?”

Eyes shut and heart pounding, Hoseok’s silence is deafening.

“...three.”

“Huh?” your eyes snap open and you find him looking off to the side.

“Three rows of desks,” he continues, the stoic gaze of his meeting yours, “none of them were missing. In other words, no.”

Ironically, the sunken weight in chest tells you something in his observation had disappointed you; but what do you have to be disappointed over? Jimin was right, you had nothing to worry about. The excessive stress is starting to get the best of you through these imaginary classmates of yours.

“Oh, haha…” you force a nervous laughter, scratching your neck in the loss of a purpose. “I guess I really am going crazy then…”

Hoseok only watches you, arms crossed and gaze hardened, each one of you wondering just what was going on in the mind of the other.

“Did you come here just to ask me that?” Hoseok finally breaks the silence. “Why didn’t you ask Jimin?”

Should you tell him about the conversation? Would it be odd to confide in a long lost friend over your love conundrums? Instead of answering, you cross arms in defense.

“What? Is this your first fight with him?” he muses, standing upright and pulling the gray hood of his outerwear over his head. You could only watch in bewilderment of his accurate prediction as he walks past you and out the door. Following in his footsteps, you shut the door behind you. “C’mon, it’s getting late. I’ll walk you home.”

“What?” you profusely shake your head. “It’s fine. I can walk myself home. Go get some sleep.”

“Look, I’m not doing this because I want to, but I’m not an asshole and I don’t want to hear Jimin yelling at me if anything were to happen to you,” he beckons again, tilting his head in the direction of your home and burying his hands in his pockets. “C’mon.”

The walk home seems to take much longer than your way on up here now that the reality of the surreal moment had settled in. You had just visited the house of a childhood friend now coined acquaintance, and now you’re walking home with said boy without a single subject that tied the two of you together other than the past.

“So…” your breath’s penmanship manifests in puffs of white amidst the night air. “How did you know it was me?” Hoseok turns his head to quirk a brow at you. “I mean, I know you’re not dumb enough to open the door for just anyone tonight, especially… not you.”

Hoseok stares at you long enough for you to become self-conscious, obviously contemplating on the omission of truth. “I could always tell it was you whenever you knocked.”

Eyes widening, the implications of his answer dawns upon you as his hands lift toward the sky and his raised forefinger casts a shadow onto the grass. His moonlit tan, honey-like skin and glimmering orbs are a near carbon copy to the friend you once knew.

“We have maybe an hour or two left until initiation begins. What’re you gonna do if you miss it? You scared?” Hoseok teases fall short when he glances over at you to find an apathetic look on your face. “Whoa, I was just joking. You think I can actually tell time like this—”

“—Hoseok, are you scared?”

“That’s not even a good comeback—”

“—no, I mean,” you blurt, “I don’t know if Soyeon or anyone’s ever checked on you, but given your family name, are you scared?”

Hoseok stares at you, lips fallen slightly agape and expression too hard to read for a mere acquaintance like you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. Please just ignore—”

“—sure I am,” he answers and you could no longer feel the subsequent rapid heartbeats that follow. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn't. Wanna know a secret?” The boy continues despite the lack of an answer. “I’ve spent every single night for the past couple of years theorizing and compiling a list of all the possible outcomes of tonight.”

“...and?”

“I think I’ve narrowed it down to who it might be.”

The boy’s gaze remains fixated on you, perhaps out of curiosity, amusement, or even concern over your lack of a response. The truth is, you weren’t sure how to comfort him if that time were to come.

“Who it might be…?”

“You know. Of all people, you and Jimin must know,” he muses. “My accursed mate.”

“Oh,” you dip your head low, hoping to conceal the windows to your soul, “I’m sure that’s just a myth, Hoseok. The system works, doesn’t it? You’ll be fine. You’ll probably end up with Soyeon anyways. You guys really compliment each other.”

“Yeah?” he stops abruptly in his path and you do the same. “You think she’s my soulmate?”

“And you don’t?”

Hoseok lets out a soft chuckle, “I could only hope.”

I’ll save you. Jimin and I will save you.

The thoughts could never find its way out of the labyrinth of your mind.

“Alright, I’d rather have you screaming profanities at me again than watch you stare at me with pity.”

“Um,” you pause, “I feel bad for whoever ends up with you to be honest.”

The boy erupts into cackles, one that hasn’t seen the light of day in years—or at least to you.

“Yeah, I hope I don’t end up with her either,” he muses, pacing a few steps back away from the front doorsteps of your home. He calls out from afar, “anyways, go get some rest and live your happily ever after with Jimin. Thanks for the concern, but I’ll figure things out on my own.”

“Are you sure…” you say weakly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “I always have.”

With one last soft smile, he makes a run for home, far off into the inconspicuous distance.

The long-awaited night comes to an all-time proximity when, out of the blue, a thundering clatter to your window rattles you awake. The night must have been aging, for the room is pitch-black and the village is left in utter silence as people drifted off to sleep.

Nothing should have been outside your house.

Moonlight seeping through the slit of your curtains, you rub your dreary eyes and climb off your bed to wearily draw open your curtains—

“—Y/N! I know you’re in there!”

“What—” your fury grows with each second as you pull open the curtains and step out into the balcony, glaring at the boy on the first floor of your yard, “—what the fuck are you doing here, Jay?!”

“I told you… I’d come,” his words are slurred and you surmise the involvement of alcohol, a forbidden substance for those underage, to be a main catalyst for his summoning, “waltzing in… for you if Jimin doesn’t...”

“Go home, Jay. You disgusting animal,” you hiss. “If you stay here any longer, you’re gonna get caught and you might even miss initiation!”

“C’mon,” he beckons and begins climbing the vines along the walls of your house before falling multiple times in his drunken state. “We can start initiation toge—”

“—Jay, for the last time,” your eyes pop open and you begin to wonder whether you were truly dreaming when you spot Jimin grabbing Jay at his air and pulling him to the floor. “I’m going to beat your ass dead if you don’t fucking go.”

Jay attempts several sloppy punches that land in thin air and you nearly grimace at the wheezes of air forcibly knocked out of his windpipes.

“Tch, go!” Jimin points to the direction opposite of your house. “Now!”

Leaving the boy on the ground, heaving for air, Jimin swiftly climbs up the familiar vines, grabbing your hand and leaping into your balcony. The neglect for rest seems to take its toll on the boy’s body when his knees buckle on his landing, sending the both of you tumbling to the floor. In mid-flight, however, Jimin somehow manages to break the fall, for you find yourself on his chest instead of the hard concrete.

“Jimin,” your eyes widen at the boy who only grins cheekily at you, “am I dreaming? Why are you here?”

“Real question is, why is that guy here?”

Having forgotten the fallen boy, the two of you hastily stumble to your feet and peer over the balcony.

Empty.

Except for traces of blood that marks the floor, no one is in sight.

“Where’d... where’d he go?” you shudder in the cold wrath of the night and the tingles that run in your adrenaline-driven blood. “He just… he just disappeared—”

“—Y/N, look over there!” Jimin hisses under his breath.

Following the direction of his pointed finger, you squint hard enough to spot a familiar figure walking off in the distance. A petrifying chill runs down your spine.

“What’s Ms. Jung doing out here?”

The next thing you know, Jimin clutches your hand and shoves the both of you into your house, quickly turning around to slam the balcony door shut and locked.

“What’s she doing out there?” you repeat. “Patrolling? Did she catch Jay? What happened to him?”

“I-I don’t know, Y/N,” he walks you to your bed, gently seating the both of you against your bed frame.

“Should we report to her what just happened? Does she know? Are we going to miss initiation—”

“—sh, Y/N, shh,” his cupped hands thaw the ice of your cheeks. “I’m sure Ms. Jung has it all handled. She’s probably patrolling to make sure things like this doesn’t happen. What matters is that we’re safe and we have enough time to start initiation, alright?”

“R-right…” you follow Jimin’s lead and take numerous deep breaths. With his hand in yours and your arm wrapped around his, you lay your head on the crook of his neck. It’s difficult to resume a normal pace of breathing, even in the comforts of his embrace, but you had no choice but to shove matters into the back of your mind. In the wake of Mating Day, time constraints force you to delay matters into tomorrow’s hands. “Wait, what’re you doing here, Jimin? How did you know to come?”

“I didn’t,” he squeezes your hand. “I felt bad for the way things happened earlier today. I just wanted to be with you tonight and happened to stumble upon Jay… I tried to stop him from coming here but I didn’t know how rough I had to be until I saw him toss a rock at your window...”

“Oh,” you mutter and force your eyes shut, hugging the boy even closer to your chest. “Well, I guess it was meant to be. Thank you… for always being there for me.”

“Yeah, I’ll always be there for you,” his words are muffled as he kisses your head, “soon enough, we’ll be marrying and starting a family in a house of our own and I can be there for you as many infinite times you want.”

“Okay,” you grin, “that sounds good.”

“But before we can do that,” he gives you one last kiss, “we should get some sleep.”

This would be the final silence of the night before Mating Day—long, formidable, and ear-splitting. With so many words left unspoken, the both of you know that eventually, somehow, and painstakingly so, you would be able to find comfort in the confinement of the other, notwithstanding the difficulty of recovery; and so, eventually, you’re able to mentally sigh in relief when drowsiness dawns upon you.

“Hey, Y/N?” Jimin’s gruff indicates to you that the both of you would be entering dreamland soon enough, together.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“Mm,” you hum with a smile.

“I love you.”

“Mhm.”

“I’ll always love you.”

“Okay,” you hold him even tighter, “and I’ll always love you.”

Daylight breaks sooner than expected, for your eyelids squint even tighter shut in the wake of the sun’s blinding rays. As your senses awaken along with your body, you gradually become conscious of your unusual surroundings. Your fingertips plant into a pool of warmth rubbles akin to dirt and your skin from head to toe basks in the kiss of the sun. You could smell the earthy scent of the meadow intermixed with freshly watered plants and you could hear the soft rustling of the wind against the tall grass.

You could identify this place anywhere, even in your sleep.

This must be the start of initiation.

Smiling to yourself, you stumble to your feet as blood rushes to your feet and you flutter your eyes open to the familiar schoolyard.

With the exception of the excessive beams of the sun, everything is exactly the same as you had memorized it in reality.

There isn’t anything to be scared of.

Your next step is to find the tree, which, if you were correct, should be right behind you; and, as if in sole happenstance or the works of fate, you have an inkling of the beholder to your promise standing, waiting for your turnaround.

A euphoric rush of relief and bliss in knowing that it was meant to be all along, you whirl around and call out to your heart’s content.

“Jimin—”

—but your heart stops just as abruptly as your beckoning and as cutthroat as the wails knotted in your throat; because off in the distance, the silhouette of your mate is a stark contrast to your one and only.

Chestnut hair tousled by the breeze, eyes heavy-lidded by the daunting future neither of you desired, and a prim demeanor resting on his lips, you finalize reach an epiphany.

You had been his curse all along.

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willfulbeautya · 5 years

Text

Lyanna Stark and the Possibility that she’s a Greenseer

I would like to preface this headcanon by saying that this is borne out of my own imagination + analysis of the text + hours of conversation with @prphecybound. There’s a very high possibility that I’m completely off the mark and of course, you don’t have to agree with me on this. But as far as this interpretation is concerned, I’m adapting this headcanon in all of Lyanna’s main verses, and things will have to change. I may have to drop threads which are no longer relevant because of the changes introduced by this headcanon, so I thank you for your patience and understanding in advance.

TLDR: Right before the tourney at Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark had a run in with a wildling who possessed the greensight. This was the first time she heard of the “prophecy” and she was told to “follow the path of blue roses”. During the tourney, after he found out that she masqueraded as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, Rhaegar Targaryen crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty and laid a crown of blue winter roses on her lap. On the way home to Winterfell from the Riverlands, the She-Wolf contracted a fever. It took some time for her to recover, and she had fever dreams and green dreams while she suffered through her illness. The green dreams would continue even after she regained her health.

I’m in danger of repeating some key points that I’ve already discussed over and over like a broken record, so I’m just going to list them and you can ask me questions about them ( if you have any ), in which case I’ll probably talk your ear off:

PS. You can skip through the bullet points to get to the important parts!

Lyanna is the Knight of the Laughing Tree. I think this is as good as canon at this point.

Rhaegar found Lyanna out. As a sort of acknowledgment, he crowned her The Queen of Love and Beauty by the end of the tourney at Harrenhal. It doesn’t go any deeper than that ( a.k.a. they’re not secretly in-love, sorry ).

The Mad King also found Lyanna out and ordered for her arrest. I’ve written extensively about this here, but pretty much the mad king was triggered by the KOTLT and couldn’t let shit go.

In connection to the above, here are some of the popular beliefs about Lyanna and her character that I don’t really buy and will NOT be adapted into this interpretation:

Lyanna ran away with Rhaegar to escape the betrothal with Robert. While I don’t think Lyanna was the most eager to be married to Robert Baratheon ( or to be married at all ), I also don’t think she ran away with Rhaegar to escape her betrothal. She could have run away, point blank period. But with a married prince? I don’t think so. ( Considering too, that Lyanna’s initial reservation against Robert was his inability to keep to one bed. Based off of that alone, I don’t think Lyanna would willingly participate in infidelity of any kind. In this separate essay I will – )

Lyanna was not dutiful. True to a degree, if only because she was not raised to be dutiful, exactly. She won’t inherit Winterfell, unlike Brandon. The expectations of her were quite different compared to the expectations of her brothers. Her purpose was to marry and have children and that’s that. So yeah, she’s not exactly as committed to duty like Brandon could have been or Ned was, but that didn’t take away from the fact that she adored her family and she had a strong moral compass.

Lyanna was selfish. I see this around a lot and it’s the most mind-boggling of all. This was the girl who, at 14 years old, was ready to throw down against three grown squires to defend the honor of her father’s bannerman. She later fought in a tourney and won, and asked the lords that the squires served to teach them manners. If she would go that far to defend a sworn bannerman to House Stark, who was not just being bullied but also discriminated upon because of his culture, then I’m pretty certain she’s the type to stand up to injustice without regard for herself. In that similar vein, I don’t think she would besmirch her family’s honor on a whim, knowing how seriously she took the meaning of that honor as made clear by her defense of Howland Reed.

Now that we’ve gotten all of those out of the way, it’s time to dive in into the void.

As is already previously established by canon, all Stark children are wargs. I know this mostly pertains to the six children of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, but there’s literally no reason why it could not extend to the generation of Starks that came before them. Brandon and Lyanna for example, possess the legendary “wolf-blood” of the Starks of old, and thus are tied very closely to the Stark mythos of being descended from the First Men. According to AWOIAF, “Greenseers had the greensight and were wargs as well.” While not all wargs are greenseers, we have evidence in Bran that the greensight is definitely alive and well in the Stark line ( and in the North, as evidenced by Jojen Reed, a crannogman, and Brynden Rivers a.k.a. Bloodraven, whose mother was a Blackwood ).

Following this logic, I don’t think it’s extremely far-fetched to say that Lyanna might have been a greenseer. The ability in Bran was triggered by his fall, whereas it almost came too easily and too naturally to Rickon. Rickon and Bran shared the same dream about Ned’s death ( which they predicted even before Maester Luwin made the announcement ), and Rickon also knew when Catelyn and Robb left that they would never see them again.

In Lyanna’s case, I don’t think she knew what she was ( I don’t think the Starks ever realized how closely they were tied to what’s left of magic in the world ). She knew she was said to have the wolf-blood, and I’m guessing that that had something to do with her temperament ( a trait she shared with Brandon ). By all accounts, Lyanna was wild and brave; she thrived off of independence and did not do well with restrictions. She rode horses like she was half a horse herself according to Roose Bolton, and maybe that’s because she understood horses like no ordinary human could?

I’ve already headcanoned that my Lyanna was a warg, so I’m going to take it a step further and say that she was a greenseer as well. No, she’s not as good at it as Bran, mainly because it was not a talent she cared to develop. She knew how heavy the weight of the prophecy hung on Rhaegar’s shoulders, and she would not want to carry the same burden.

I need to write a drabble on this and I will, but basically, here’s how I see it playing out: right before Harrenhal, during the year of false spring, Lord Rickard Stark’s men caught wildling raiders not far from Winterfell. Now we all know the northern tradition that whoever passes the sentence should swing the sword, and as Lord Paramount of the North, Rickard had to be the one to do it. Lyanna and Benjen caught wind of this execution and went ahead of their father’s men to see the wildling raiders for themselves before they went on the chopping block. This was mostly at Lyanna’s insistence, and Benjen was happy enough to follow where his elder sister lead.

When they reached the field where the execution was to be held, they saw the wildlings manacled inside a cage ( not unlike the one that held Jaqen H’ghar and his two companions ). One of them, a wilding woman, saw Lyanna and Benjen and knew exactly what they were: wargs. But that was not all. Lyanna caught much more than a passing interest from the wildling woman who beckoned the she-wolf closer. Against Benjen’s wishes, Lyanna went, and when the woman seized her arms, the wildling’s eyes rolled back inside her head so far that all Lyanna could see were the whites of her eyes. And then the woman spoke:

Beware, child. The endless night is near and it will swallow the world. You must bring forth the song of ice and fire and pay in blood to stay the cold that never ends. You must follow the path of blue roses where it leads. One day the mountain will crush the sun and the lion will bleed the streets dry. One day –

( This sucks but bear with me. I’m not George R.R. Martin )

Before the wildling could utter more, Lord Rickard arrived and caught Lyanna speaking with the wildling. Needless to say, he was not happy, and grew ever more incensed when the wildling leaned in and whispered something in his hear. Lyanna never figured out what the wildling said and her father never felt inclined to share. Lord Rickard also decided that since she and Benjen were already there, they might as well stay and watch the execution. They both did. They held hands, but they didn’t look away.

Anyway, cut to Harrenhal. Lyanna was just given a crown of blue roses by Rhaegar Targaryen, and the wildling woman’s words were ringing in her ears. On the journey back to Winterfell, Lyanna who rarely ever got sick, caught a fever along the way and started to have odd fever dreams. In these dreams, she saw a castle burning. Dragons were flying all around, trying to escape the fire, and in the middle of the chaos was a girl dancing round and round, with flowers in her hair.

Lyanna dreamed of the same castle, now in ruins, and a short woman with floor-length white hair stooping against a cane. A harp was playing somewhere and the woman was weeping, calling out for someone named Jenny. She also dreamed of a sandstorm, with the air whipping around her face in tumultuous gusts, smelling of blood and roses.

The she-wolf dreamed of a great many things, not everything she remembered when she finally recovered from the fever. Afterwards, the dreams would continue, and though not as vivid as before, there was always a sense of urgency in them that she could not explain. Sometimes she would dream of a night sky, viewed from below, as though she was lying down on a stone floor looking up. In the days leading up to her encounter with Rhaegar Targaryen in the Riverlands, she would dream of the Isles of Faces, which was where she knew she had to go to, to make sense of whatever was happening to her. She would meet Rhaegar there eventually, and along with him, the Ghost of High Heart, whom she already had visions of prior ( the short woman with floor-length white hair ).

It was the Ghost of High Heart who eventually convinced Lyanna of the role she had to play in fulfilling the prophecy of The Prince Who Was Promised / Azor Ahai. Combined with the words of the wildling and her own green dreams, it became difficult for her to deny that she was somehow involved in the foretelling that Rhaegar was so obsessed with. The Ghost also repeated something the wildling had said to Lyanna prior, which was that she would “pay in blood” to fulfill her role, which Lyanna interpreted as her imminent death.

You might be thinking “well, that’s stupid” and yes, it kinda was. The thing with Lyanna though was that she really did not have anything going on for her aside from a betrothal, which she was not feeling every keen about. This prophecy though… was something bigger than herself, and was something which can potentially save the realm from an ominous threat. The KOTLT incident showed us that Lyanna had a strong sense of morality, and also a penchant for risky yet grand gestures of bravery. Saving the world was the kind of thing that she would not even think twice of doing, no matter the cost to herself.

Things Lyanna did not foresee: Brandon’s reaction to the news that she was missing and Brandon’s fast assumption that it was Rhaegar who took her. At most, Lyanna expected they would notice her absence and would assume she ran away from her betrothal, but for her brother to accuse the crown prince and storm the capital while doing so… did not occur to her. Also, IMPORTANT: Lyanna and Rhaegar had no idea about Rickard and Brandon’s death until after the Battle of the Bells, when Gerold Hightower finally found them in TOJ and asked Rhaegar to return to King’s Landing. By this time, Lyanna was already pregnant.

Whether or not Rhaegar and Lyanna were right about the prophecy… doesn’t really matter here. They could be completely wrong. Dany could be the TPWWP and not Jon. Heck, it could be Aegon ( if he truly was Aegon lmao ). Basically, this was just how they interpreted the prophecy, and they both paid in blood for it. Since they’re alive in mine and Bubbles’ main timeline verses, the blood is of their loved ones, which was infinitely worse for both of them than if it were their own blood.

Is this a ship now? Well, no. At least not during TOJ, and heck, not many years after that. Lyanna was miserable in that tower and I can’t imagine Rhaegar was all too happy either. They’re doing what they thought they had to do, and Lyanna was going into it thinking she would die. All things considered, that might have been her preferred outcome, now that she knew just how much blood she had to pay to assume the role that would make the prophecy come true. The only real consolation in the aftermath was Ned’s forgiveness and the fact that Jon was kept alive because her brother loved her enough to give up his honor for her. But even then, it was a bitter consolation, and Lyanna would spend all her life trying to make up for her mistakes.

#( headcanon. — they saw her beauty‚ not the iron underneath )#this is very badly written #if you read it i'm sorry #but i finally fucking wrote it #fixed the stupid tenses bc they were all over the place rifp me

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screamingatanemptyroom · 6 years

Text

Fictober18 Day 13

Original Fiction

Prompt “Try harder next time”

This is a continuation of Day 12!! First Part HERE.

“Everyone, quiet down, before we begin class we have a new student who transferred in to introduce.”

The teacher waved her arms, trying to get everyone’s attention until the general noise of the room quieted to a dull roar. There were a few moments of initial silence, however shortly after her announcement the class all began talking loudly, speculating amongst themselves about who would transfer in during the last year of school

“We’re getting a new student?!” Erin’s best friend Olivia rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Think of all the money I could make if I get the scoop on their story and sell it around!”

“Don’t bother them.” Erin muttered in reply, rolling her eyes at her friend’s money obsessed strategies. She glanced around uncomfortably at the class, noticing that a few students who had been at the practice grounds yesterday were looking sidelong at her.

No, there’s ten different classes at our level, even if he transferred in, there’s no way my luck is that bad… Just as Erin was thinking this, however, a familiar young man walked into the room.

“Hello everyone!” Gerald waved cheerfully at the class, causing many in the class to sigh in admiration. Erin buried her head in her hands wondering if it was too late to call in sick for the day.

He wouldn’t mention the proposal thing again in class right?

The teacher smiled at the new arrival. “Hello there, welcome to our class. Please introduce yourself.”

Gerald squared his shoulders, making a bow towards the class. “I am Prince Geraldo de Riciancia of the Ellurine Alliance.” He straightened up, contrasting the previous formal gesture with a casual grin. “Feel free to call me Gerald though.”

“Alright Gerald, is there anything you would like to tell the class about yourself? Perhaps a goal that you wish to accomplish?” The teacher prodded the new student, making Erin groan in frustration.

Please don’t say to get married to me… please don’t say to get married to me….

“To learn as much as I can, and apply it when I return home, and make my nation stronger and more prosperous.” Gerald’s serious expression startled Erin, who had been viewing him as a fairly silly person.

I guess I judged him to quickly. She thought ruefully. I can’t believe I was so conceited as to think he would declare he wanted to marry me in front of the class…

“And of course my other goal is to marry Erin and bring her back to my country as the strongest bride in the history of the Ellurine Alliance!” He was smiling again, looking at Erin with bright, innocent gaze.

Kill me now. Erin put her head down on her desk, trying to ignore the stares and exclamations of all the surrounding students.

“Umm… How… straightforward, Gerald… Why don’t you have a seat, and we’ll get started with class.” The teacher was obviously confused at Gerald’s declaration of his intentions, but trying to move past it. Gerald nodded and moved forward to sit down at the empty seat between Erin and Olivia.

“You witch! How dare you get engaged to a handsome prince and not even tell me! I’m cutting you off!” Olivia pouted as she studied Gerald with a curious gaze.

“We’re not engaged, Olivia.” Erin sighed as she spoke, rubbing her forehead.

“Not yet at least! But I haven’t given up yet. Now… Olivia, was it?” Gerald chimed in, reaching out to grasp the smaller girl’s hand. “Are you a friend of my future wife?”

She looked slightly dazed as she took his hand in her own and shook it. “Best friend, actually.”

“So I have to do my best to get on your good side then!”

“Ooh, I like him!” She laughed and gave a thumbs up gesture to Erin, who ignored her.

“Quiet, class, we’re beginning the lesson now.” The teacher rapped on the desk a few times to gather everyone’s attention, and then started to speak regarding magic relativity.

Erin tried her hardest to listen, but unfortunately, she already knew this material very well. She noticed that Gerald was writing notes diligently throughout the lesson, while Olivia spent most of the class trying to send her paper notes using her wind magic behind her back. Erin silently gathered them, and then incinerated them to ashes without reading them with fire magic. She ignored the death glares that Olivia sent her afterwards.

Finally it was self study time. Gerald turned to face her with an excited expression.

“Can we start the tutoring now?”

Erin looked away from his puppy dog eyes. “Why in so much of a rush?”

“Well, although my nation is very advanced with regards to nurturing magical abilities, the theory and science that goes behind magical advancement as well as artifact creation and use are simply non-existent there.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “You’re my only hope!”

She rolled her eyes. “No need to be so dramatic, I’ve already accepted your money for tutoring sessions.”

“Hooray!”

“Hold it!” Olivia jumped in, her eyes wide. “So you’re using the old ‘please tutor me’ trick to get closer to my best friend, eh?”

He shook his head. “No, I desperately need help with the material, she’s the top scorer in the school in magical theory. Even if I weren’t proposing to her, I would have asked for her help.”

He paused, thinking it over. “Although I have to admit it is a great chance to get to know her better.”

“You know…” Olivia grinned. “I’m the best resource in this school regarding all the Erin trivia you would want to know.”

“Shouldn’t I learn that from her?”

“Well, all the major stuff yes, that’s for bonding. But the small things, like her favorite colors, favorite gifts, date ideas… you need someone with the inside scoop!”

Gerald’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He stood up and bowed before the girl. “Olivia, will you be my teacher with regards to courting your best friend?”

She stuck out a hand. “It will cost you.”

Erin felt she had to stop this, as the poor guy was already searching his pockets for cash. “Olivia, what are you doing?! You can’t sell information about me! And Gerald, don’t let yourself be taken advantage of so easily!” She placed her hands on her hips and glared. “Do I make myself clear?”

They both hung their heads down. “Yes, Erin.”

“Good, now let’s start the tutoring session.”

She pulled out a piece of paper, drawing as she spoke. “Starting from the basics. Magical theory all comes down to two major concepts: capacitance and induction speed. Capacitance is the amount of magical power a person has at their disposal.” She drew two circles, one large and one small.

“Think of it like a body of water. You know that a level 1 fire ability might be able to shoot sparks or light dry wood. Now a level 4 would be able to burn this whole school down without breaking a sweat.” She pointed to the large circle. “The capacitance of a level 4 compared to a level 1 is like a lake next to a puddle of water.”

Gerald raised his hand diligently. She chuckled at the sight. “Yes?”

“What about the capacitance of a level 5?”

She grinned. “It would be like an ocean compared to these two. A level 5 fire ability could turn the whole country to ashes.”

He nodded and turned to Olivia. “So your healing abilities would be considered quite rare then?”

She raised her eyebrows. “How did you know I have level 4 healing abilities?”

Erin shook her head. “He has Insight.”

“That’s how I know that Erin is the strongest student in this school, and is the perfect bride.”

Olivia snorted. “At least you have good taste.”

“Continuing on!” Erin interrupted, coughing uncomfortably. “ Induction speed in the time it takes to utilize your magic.” She drew pipes next to the two circles. “Think of it has a pipe to pump out the water. The faster your induction speed, the more magic you can use in a single spell.”

Olivia smiled. “So even lower capacitance magicians can be more effective if they have a higher induction speed.”

“Exactly.”

“Of course, both of these factors will change throughout your life, but the time of the most rapid change is during puberty, typically age 13-19.” Erin shrugged, drawing arrows within the circles pointing outwards. “People experience the relatively the same amount of energy exerting their capacitance and induction speed to grow during this time, so this has a much greater effect on people with lower level abilities.”

Gerald nodded, writing notes. “Why is that?”

“The smaller container of magic, experiencing the same amount of energy, will be forced to grow more to accommodate that. So a Level 1 ability may grow 1-2 levels during adolescence, whereas it is very rare for a level 3 or above ability to change levels at all.”

Gerald was silent for a few moments. “What if you could forcibly restrict a higher level power to a level 1 power, would you then experience greater growth during that period of time?”

Erin felt the blood drain from her face. He guessed it. She looked down at the ground, avoiding his gaze, trying desperately to think of an excuse.

“Don’t be silly Gerald, there’s no such ability like a ‘restricting’ power!” Olivia laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Could you imagine the impact such a power could have on our military? We depend on magic to defend ourselves! If you could simply restrict someone’s ability…” She shuddered. “It would be chaos.”

Gerald smiled, but it didn’t quite seem as sincere as his earlier expressions. “I see. That was a foolish question.” He turned back to Erin. “I apologize.”

“N-No that’s’ umm… that’s ok.” Erin shook her head, and continued on with the lecture.

The study time ended without further incident, and at the end of the class, the teacher made an announcement.

“Everyone! Please be aware that there have been several incidents of students found unconscious on school grounds.” She shook her head. “I will remind you all that unsanctioned dueling is NOT allowed. Now, report to the practice field for the remainder of your practical training.”

Erin walked forward to hand in the previous weeks assignment, and when she headed back to her desk she saw Gerald and Olivia sitting together. Olivia was lecturing while Gerald was furiously taking notes. Erin leaned over, groaning when she saw the contents of his paper. She snatched it up, reading it.

“Erin’s favorite foods?” She sighed. “Olivia, what did I tell you about selling my information?”

“Oh don’t worry, I didn’t charge him.” Her friend took the paper back and handed it to Gerald. “I’ve decided to whole heartedly support your love.”

Gerald held the paper tightly, his eyes shining. “Thanks Olivia!” He turned back to Erin. “I have your friend’s approval! Makes you really rethink this whole ‘not marrying me’ thing right?”

“No.”

Olivia patted him on the back. “It’s ok. Try harder next time.” She grinned. “With my support it’s only a matter of time before you win her over!”

“Stop playing around guys, we have to go to the practice field.” With a sigh Erin dragged the two of them behind her, heading out to the field.

As they all lined up, Olivia headed off to the sidelines with a wave. As her abilities were all healing oriented, she was excused from dueling, and was charged with healing all the participants of battle. Gerald smiled and held out a hand. “Would you like to duel?”

Erin shook her head. “You’ve seen the extend of my battling abilities, you would be better off facing one of the higher ranking students.”

“I don’t think I can find a stronger student though…”

“What nonsense!” A strident voice called out, interrupting their conversation. “She’s the lowest ranked student in the Academy!” A young man walked up, a prideful expression on his face. Immediately behind him stood Wilhemina, who glared at Erin smugly over his shoulder.

He held out a hand towards Gerald. “I’m Frederick de Rochester, the top student in this academy.”

The prince stared cooly at his outstretched hand, not moving to take it. “Prince Gerald. Can I help you? You’re interrupting a private conversation.”

“…” There was an awkward pause as the smile slowly slipped from Frederick’s face. As the student council president, there weren’t many students at this school who didn’t treat him like royalty. Erin found that her opinion of Gerald just improved a bit. She smiled at him and continued their conversation.

“I’d be happy to duel you.”

The prince’s face lit up, “Really? That’s great! Winner gets to marry the loser?”

Erin rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother.”

He shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

They were about to take up positions in the practice field, when Erin felt a strange fluctuation of power off to the side. It felt like…

Oh no.

Using all the physical strength she could manage, as well as a gust of wind magic, she pushed herself towards Gerald, grabbing him and throwing him to the ground… Just as a flash of fire magic passed over their heads. The edges of it brushed past Erin, burning through her uniform and scorching her shoulder. Her breath came out between clenched teeth as the pain of the burned flesh hit.

“What the heck are you doing?!” She turned and glared at the attacking individual, Frederick.

“Just a friendly prank, Princess, no need to get worked up.” The boy’s grin was nasty. “If you two are strong enough to brush off the student council, then you should be strong enough to fight us.”

That’s it!

Something within Erin snapped, and she launched herself forward at three times her normal speed. She felt a tearing pain as she forced more magic than the restriction spell allowed out into the world.

Frederick’s eyes widened. “What the…” He didn’t have any other time to react before Erin’s fist struck him in the face. He went flying, filling Erin with satisfaction. She was about to attack again, when the pain from rebelling against the restriction went from a bad headache to feeling as if her head was being cut open. With a groan, she fell to the ground, clutching her head between her hands.

“Erin!” Gerald’s concerned shout didn’t reach her, as her eyes glazed over with the pain.

“Think you can get away with hitting me? Try dodging this.” Her vision blurry, she could barely make out the sight of Frederick standing over her, his face enraged, his hand coated in flames as he prepared to attack her.

It’s over.

Erin could tell the power behind the attack would be lethal. She wanted to dodge out of the way, but still the rebound from the restriction spell held her firmly in place.

Am I going to die here?

Just as she thought that, however, a shout startled everyone, pulling the attention away.

“HELP! A student’s been attacked near the dorms!!!”

Frederick sent a final glare at Erin, before extinguishing his flame and turning towards the commotion.

“This isn’t over, Worthless Princess.” He muttered, rubbing his bruised face as he stalked away.

She watched him walk away, breathing through the intense pain in her head until it slowly faded.

I lost again.

“You’re right. This isn’t over.” She muttered, resting her head back on the ground. “Not yet.”

#fictober18 #short story #writing #part 2 #magic #training #fighting #violence #powers #Erin/Gerald

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ianullrich77-blog · 5 years

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#watch tips

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yukiwrites · 5 years

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True Feelings Hidden in a Dream

Thank you so much for commissioning me, @lightningbug-lane! This pairing was so good to write for, I didn’t want to stop! ;v;)b I hope you like it! ;D

Summary: The Black Knight and Azura -- two souls burdened by the weight of their loyalty. Two stoic people who apparently had nothing in common, down to the pure white of her dress in contrast to his pitch black armor. And yet, they found in each other a company greater than anything they’ve ever felt.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

The rainy season in Askr was not kind to its inhabitants -- otherworldly or not. The downpours would start as sudden as they would stop, to the point that it was almost impossible to predict when it would rain again, as the very air turned damp for the duration of the season.

The sun rarely came out from behind the clouds, and when it did, it would quickly hide itself again, giving the entire continent an air of dreariness.

Still, the Order of Heroes had no time to rest, despite the foul weather. The war against Embla raged on, the usually traversable terrain turning into large wetlands, troubling any kind of unit, regardless of their movement type.

Horses were slower due to the mud, so were infantry and armored soldiers -- the fliers, on their hand, could barely see a thing in front of them unless they flew above the clouds, but being that faraway from Kiran's orders could compromise any operation, so that was a rare occurrence.

"Soldiers are adaptable." Anna had said to Kiran more than once during the Summoner's moments of hesitation. "Don't be afraid to put your trust in their skills and they'll repay you by bringing results."

Trusting the Commander's words, Kiran -- alongside every single Hero summoned she summoned -- knew she had to get used to this strange weather if she were to help save Askr from its invaders.

It was decided, then, that the Heroes would go forth to their missions in groups of four, ideally of mixed movement types so they could aid each other traverse the terrain.

In one of such missions, Kiran dispatched the Black Knight, Azura, Olivia and Clive so they could aid in reclaim a fort taken by Embla a few days previous -- they would to stay on standby at the fort's secret exit so as to ambush any enemies fleeing from the front assault.

Due to the emergence of a far-reaching wetlands between their starting point and goal, no carriages would be able to carry them there. The middle ground was too unstable for a horse, so Clive took Olivia with him so they could circle the area while the Black Knight and Azura would go through the middle: they would arrive roughly at the same time due to their movement restrictions, instead of marching at a foot soldier's pace through the longer path to accompany the only mounted knight.

Once everything was set, they began their march -- Clive and Olivia through east while Azura and the Black Knight took the middle route.

Azura's pure white dress and stocking immediately got stained the moment she stepped inside the wetlands. Despite the water under their knees looking clear, the soft earth under it rose quickly with their heavy steps, turning it into mud.

They walked in silence for a good part of the morning, both of them quite comfortable with not talking and focusing on the task at hand. It was only when they reached a quarter of the way that the ground started to harden under their feet, and soon they were walking on (mostly) dry land as the sky threatened a heavy rain since the day before.

"Why, I imagine Sir Clive could have come with us, after all." Azura blinked as the Black Knight offered a hand for her to get out of the shallow water. She peeked over his shoulder to the long, long way they still had ahead of them. "There are only plains as far as the eye can see, from this point onward."

The Black Knight nodded, turning his back to the princess so as to keep the march. "The ground is still too soft for a horse, however; especially one carrying two riders." He put pressure on his next step, feeling it sink a bit under his heavy armor. "Clive made the right decision."

Azura hummed in response, slightly pressuring her feet, not finding the softness her companion demonstrated. She then noticed how the Black Knight's steps left heavy trails on the ground, whereas her soft, bare feet barely got dirty from the mud all around. "What a heavy burden it must be, to carry this armor," she whispered to herself, almost unable to imagine how hard it should be to even walk while carrying such weight, let alone fight under it.

Were his face visible, it would be able to discern his gaze falling on her before turning back to the march. "It is a burden I carry in order to fulfill the task given to me by the one who holds my loyalty."

"Oh!" Azura took one hand to her mouth, as though to stop herself from saying any more unnecessary things. "How uncouth of me to assume. Please, forgive me."

The Black Knight shook his head, dismissing Azura's apology. "There is nothing to forgive, princess. Although the armor is indeed heavy, there are other burdens I carry that are heavier still." His voice echoed inside his helmet towards her, the wind carrying it through the open plains.

Azura's hand inadvertently reached her pendant, clutching it carefully. "I can understand. Regardless of whom I bid my loyalty to," the princess let out a forlorn smile, remembering her long-lost cousin, "there are burdens I carry that no one but me will be able to understand."

He nodded, closing his eyes to breath in. For a split of second, he thought that the both of them could be similar in a way, but soon dismissed such egregious idea.

A princess, her steps so delicate they barely drew a sound compared to his heavy feet, had nothing similar to a man whose goal in life was to master and die by the blade.

Still, he couldn't deny that, out of the large majority of the Heroes he was paired with, marching alongside Azura felt the rightest -- she didn't mind the long draws of silence nor did she try to start any small talks to 'break the ice', as he'd heard on occasion. When they did talk, it felt neither forced nor unpleasant. Every time he was paired with her, he knew that he could focus himself wholly on the mission and that she would do the same for her part -- straight-forward and gracious as only she was.

Azura thought quite the same of her masked companion. Never once had she seen his face, but that hardly mattered during battle: he took blows meant for her and rained destruction with his Alondite from afar, making her task of supporting him almost an easy one. Besides, she enjoyed the silence as much as she enjoyed singing on her own, so being paired with him was always a great time to put her thoughts in order -- because she knew he wouldn't disturb them.

What would disturb them, however, would be the sudden downpour.

"Oh, my!" Azura let out a weak 'eek' of surprise once the cold droplets turned into large showers over her skin. "I suppose we should have seen it coming."

The Black Knight breathed out, squinting to see through the thin eye-slit of his helmet. There weren't any trees for them to take cover under, though that was beside the point -- they knew it would rain one moment or another, and their timed mission didn't allow for any stalling, foul weather or no.

Both of them knew as much, so they simply kept walking as the ground turned more and more muddy under them. "I see now what you meant earlier, Sir Black Knight." Azura wiped her eyes to avoid the large droplets of water from falling on them, ultimately deciding to adjust her tiara so it would cover more of her forehead. "Sir Clive would have gotten stuck here if he had come with us."

He blinked, struggling to see clearly -- the rain was coming down so hard one could barely see their own hands stretched out in front of them -- due to his helmet's limitations. He sighed deeply, unwilling to unmask himself in front of someone, but soon remembering that Azura didn't hail from his home world: hiding his identity in front of her meant nothing.

"Watch your step, princess. We are about to witness the birth of a wetland." He said as he sharply took the helmet off, shaking his head once his face finally got out of that stuffy air.

"Oh, my. Sir Black Knight!" She blinked in surprise, taking a few steps forward so as to finally look at her companion's face. However, a thought soon dawned on her. "Ah, how thoughtless of me! I suppose it would be rather hard to see while wearing such restraining helmet."

He slicked his hair back so it wouldn't get onto his eyes, "faraway we are from our target, we cannot let our guard down -- I would rather reveal my identity than putting you at risk for not being able to see the enemy coming."

Azura placed her hand over her mouth, feeling her cheeks warming in response. "How dashing," she smiled, the sound of it bringing one to the knight's lips. "Then, allow me to repay your thoughtfulness the same way." She took a deep breath and close her eyes.

The unmasked knight tilted his head to the side, watching as the princess lifted one hand overhead.

Oh, Aqua! ♪

From a sacred prayer to our connection with life ♫

Please bestow upon us your protection ♪

Oh, Aqua! ♫

Hide us within your breast, ♪

And allow us to walk amongst you! ♫

She sang in a peppy tune, her movements flowing like the water all around her. As she danced, the raindrops followed close behind, further and further away from her.

Soon all the water falling above their heads danced all around her instead, making only the area around them dry and safe for them to walk on -- and see in front of, as well.

The knight watched, mesmerized, as the rain seemed to avoid him as he walked. "Princess," he began once she walked back to him with her soft steps, her pendant glowing by her chest.

"Please, call me Azura." She smiled softly, clutching on the pendant so it wouldn't float. "It doesn't feel right to be called by an alias while looking at the real face under the helmet."

He felt the smile widen by his lips, unused to the sudden warmth washing over his chest. "Azura, then." He said, his voice now clearer than ever, without the helmet's echo nor the rain's noise to muffle it. The princess felt something tingling at the edge of her body, as though she could simply drop her head on his shoulder, close her eyes and be safe. Truly, rightfully safe. "Thank you, Sir Black Knight." She said without barely thinking it, as though the simple act of hearing her name by his unclouded voice were a gift she would hold close to her heart.

He closed his eyes for a moment, the bubbling sensation in his chest gaining shape when it reached his throat. "Zelgius." He said in a huff, their steps never failing to march. "The man under the helmet is called Zelgius."

"Zelgius," she tasted the name in her lips, licking them right after. "Thank you, Zelgius. For telling me your name."

The knight looked ahead, an almost self-deprecating smirk growing at the corner of his mouth. "I should be thanking you for the gracious display, Azura. Think nothing of the name of a masked man."

The princess hummed in response, not realizing she touched his armored shoulder. Quickly she retracted her hand, enjoying the shy smile that teased itself on her face. "Worry not that I shan't call your name once you are back to being the Black Knight, Zelgius. For now, however..."

"Yes," he blinked slowly, wondering if the mission could be prolonged for a while longer, "for now..."

Over the course of the next weeks that soon turned to months, Zelgius and Azura felt themselves drawn to each other -- even outside any missions. Be it by coincidence or fate, they even went to the same places, as though one's presence there brought the other's.

As much as the princess longed to gaze upon his handsome face again, Zelgius didn't take his helmet off often -- hardly ever, honestly -- but the few times he did, he would make sure that they were truly alone lest someone from his world discovered his secret.

Their meetings really shouldn't be called as so -- they mostly enjoyed each other's presence silently. Sometimes Azura would release the feeling bubbling inside her chest as a song followed by a dance, turning them into private spectacles, almost. Zelgius would most surely take his helmet off during such occasions, so he could listen to her melodious and far-reaching voice with the most clarity he could.

It was as though her words seeped deep into his throat, towards his chest; like her delicate yet rough hands pressed themselves against his bare chest, digging further into his heart.

It was breathtaking.

The princess felt the same turmoil inside of her, knowing her heart beat more wildly by her chest whenever she thought of or spoke with him. Even her eyes felt light, wanting to simply close themselves and give her entire being to his unbreakable defense; to the surely strong arms that rested under his dark armor.

The topic of her control over water sprang up one day, making her clutch her pendant with both hands as they waited the rain out under a tree. They weren't in a mission, no, they were simply taking a walk a ways of the castle when the rain started, catching them by surprise.

Immediately did the knight take his helmet off, as though the rain were an excuse for him to look clearly at Azura. He noticed how serious her gaze became as she looked nowhere in particular, her hand never letting go of the pendant.

"I suppose I have been feeling so... uncharacteristically happy lately that I almost forgot the weight the burdens related to these powers carry."

Zelgius felt the brand on his back almost burn, his expression mirroring Azura's. "I cannot say I do not feel the same." He tentatively looked at her, somehow never wanting to tear his gaze away from her graciousness.

"Once my role in this world ends, I will have to fulfill my true calling," she turned to him, her body being drawn to his cold armor -- to his warmth under it. She hesitantly reached to his face, longing to feel his skin. "The calling to live under a curse that might either seep me of my life or wash it with salvation." She said bitterly, and Zelgius knew that whatever waited for her back home would most likely result in her death, much like his own fate back in world.

"I suppose we indeed are more like than I thought." He whispered, taking a step towards her, allowing her thin fingers to brush through his wet hair. Closing his eyes to finally enjoy her touch, he slowly took her hand on his, the clunk of his armor a distant sound tingling his ears. "I, too, discovered a side of myself I never thought existed -- by being by your side."

Azura could feel his free hand sliding from her waist to her back, pulling her closer to him.

Ahh, the visceral need she had to rest her head on his shoulder; to allow herself to be simply a woman in the arms of a man who truly understood and supported her. She felt her heart beat in sync to his, feeling his shallow breath on the tip of her fingers. "Zelgius..."

He brought her hand to his cheek, holding it over his face as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to break down the walls he had built around his heart -- so its full, raw force could thump inside his chest and bring him the elation he only felt whenever Azura's eyes were on him.

"I have a duty I must uphold in my world, as I carry the burden of the mixed blood within me. They are what define me as a soldier, devoted to the blade from the moment I could wield one." He tilted his head to her hand, enjoying how she tangled her fingers through his hair. "Yet, what defines me as a man stands right in front of me." He opened his eyes, piercing his gaze into Azura's.

She felt the breath leaving her body, opening her mouth to reply.

Zelgius squeezed his hand on her back, a silent plea for her not to speak. "I must confess that I lack the experience needed to put a name to this feeling; however, for the first time in this existence of mine, I shall let my heart speak for me." He finally brought her to the closest he could, longing to feel her body on his, away from this restrictive armor. "I love you, Azura. Most fervently." He huffed, his heart thumping by his chest like never before.

The princess felt her eyes welling up with tears, her lips trembling. "Oh, Zelgius!" She pressed her forehead on his chestplate, weeping softly. "Do I have the right to feel this happiness while the one who holds my loyalty fights? How long can I allow myself to hold you and make you mine before I decide to shirk away from my duty?"

The knight finally, finally caressed his beloved's soft, long and wet hair, wanting to rid himself of his gauntlets so as to feel its sleekness on his skin. "This world is not our own -- it feels as though we are in a dream." His low voice reverberated through his armor right into Azura's body, making her legs go weak. "Will you not enjoy this short-lived dream alongside me, Azura?"

Warm tears flowed from the princess' eyes, Zelgius' soft touch on her chin making her lift her teary gaze to him. "We might finish our roles here any day, now. Next month; next week... Tomorrow, even." Her voice cracked, her body wanting so very much to be held by him, her feet stood on their tips. "Still, will you have me, my knight, my... Zelgius? Will you be mine for as long as this dream lasts?"

He closed in as she spoke, their breaths intertwining. "Even another hour in your presence, Azura," he brushed his lips on hers, his eyes on the verge of closing so as to enjoy her taste, "will be enough to drive me to go on through the battlefield that plagues my life."

"Oh, Zelgius..." She whispered before the impending kiss, their lips a perfect fit on each other. His roughness with her softness; their drenched bodies under a faraway tree, becoming one.

Their kiss started timid -- neither of them had experience in that regard, after all -- but soon they started exploring each other's mouths as Zelgius supported Azura after her legs gave out. She wrapped her arms around his neck, digging her nails on his scalp (finally she could feel it; caress it!) as he bent over towards her, exploring her semi-nude back with his gloved hands.

It was a strange yet overwhelmingly wonderful experience, to be held by someone they've longed the touch of for so long. Zelgius could feel his senses heightening and dulling at the same time: he was hyper-aware of their surroundings, yet overly conscious of how much force he should use so as not to hurt Azura in contact to his armor. He felt his increasingly hot body crave for hers, wanting nothing more than to embrace her and never let go, for as long as their dream lasted.

The dream of being accepted, of being understood, of being touched and touching in return. The dream he never thought he dreamt before he had met her, and yet the dream he saw most fervently each and every night after.

His mind and body had always been focused on mastering the blade. Her heart and soul had, from childhood, embraced the bleak future that awaited her. Both of them were certain their hearts wouldn't be fazed by anything, and yet...

Yet their bodies matched so well. Their tastes felt so right. Their minds, ideals and views of the world, although different, complemented each other.

The moment their dream began, they realized. Under that heated kiss and promises of never again sleeping apart, they realized.

They realized that they would have to make a choice, in the near future: To continue living the dream and turn their backs to reality, or live knowing that the one will always hold a piece of the other. That they would never live a life as a whole again, no matter how short-lived it would be.

They would have to make that choice -- tomorrow, next week, next year -- for as long as that sweet and binding dream lasted, they would live with these thoughts. However, for now… For now, they were the man, Zelgius and the woman, Azura.

Their duties at the back of their minds, they would, for the first time in their life, throw themselves to the unknown that it was following their hearts -- together, hand in hand.

#zelgius #azura #zelgiura #fire emblem heroes #fanfic commissions #fe heroes #my writings #Yuki's Commissions

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facefile67 · 2 years

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valkyrieofvalhalla · 6 years

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Weight Loss - Day One (Kinda)

Soooooo

I almost never make oc posts on tumblr BUT since I can’t really do this on another platform HERE WE GO

I am an obese woman. I’m 23 years old, 5′4 and I currently weigh 268.8 lbs. I am determined to lose weight, so I’m going to track my “journey” (blergh) on tumblr (even tho the communities here can be a little... adverse to weight loss).

So, I calculated my TDEE; I eat about 2300 calories a day just to maintain this weight. I’ve decided to eat ~1700 cal/day to lose weight, as well as exercise. Today I’ve eaten 930 calories (but don’t worry ya’ll I’m not done I still have dinner to eat haha).

I’m gonna use tumblr to post about it because honestly I want to talk to people about it but I also don’t want to use fb or instagram due to the fact that people know me on those sites and may also find constant posts annoying (whereas on here you can just blacklist these posts if you don’t like em). Which, btw, the tags that I use on this post are what I’m going to use on every subsequent post, so feel free to blacklist that shit if you don’t wanna see this (honestly can’t blame ya).

LONG POST AHEAD

So I wanna share my background with you lovely people.

I have not always been obese.As a child I was underweight, then as a teenager (for a number of reasons) I became 30 lbs overweight. For most of my teenage years I was like that until I was 17. Then a lot of things happened which caused me to balloon up to the weight that I’m at now.

My deadbeat dad lost his job and refused to search for another one. I was under a ton of stress from suddenly having to become the breadwinner for my family while also going to high school. I was also stressed out from trauma I experienced much earlier in life that I was still learning how to deal with. Both of my parent’s health also started declining (my dad havin strokes n shit). The second semester of my senior year things kind of imploded for me.

I had a friend who was severely morbidly obese - she was about 450 lbs. I started going to her house every single day after school to hang out, and as a result I picked up her eating habits. I also smoked a lot of weed to self medicate, which made me constantly hungry, and I drank a lot too. In the span of four months, I went from weighing 160 lbs to 290 lbs. That’s how much I was eating.

Honestly, I recognize now that I was self medicating with food (and drugs and liquor). BAD.

But at the time I didn’t really care. As I gained weight, I made excuses for myself.

“I’m still pretty.”

“I can still jog and swim.”

“I’m still active.”

“My weight isn’t a reflection of who I am.”

And so on and so forth.

When I hit 250 lbs, I knew something was wrong, but I pushed the bad thoughts to the back of my mind and continued to make excuses for myself. I also stopped tracking my weight altogether.

Then, for about two years I did not step on a scale. Not once.

I willfully remained ignorant because I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth that I knew, which was that I was at an extremely unhealthy weight and that I didn’t feel good about myself anymore, in any regard.

I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why, but for some reason I got the urge to step on a scale and see how much I weighed for the first time in years. I was 19 and fat and curious about myself, about the actual number.

Well, when I saw the actual number I FREAKED THE FUCK OUT.

I mean that.

FREAKED. OUT.

Like straight up panicking.

I weighed 293 lbs.

And suddenly I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. It very obviously wasn’t healthy, and I was very scared for myself. I was 7 lbs away from being 300 and I was really afraid I was going to die.

So then I started dieting. Things were still stressful for me, still difficult, but I calorie counted (restricted to about 1500-1600/day). By the time I turned twenty (in a little under a year, actually) I went from 293 to 244. I was (and am) very proud of myself. I can’t tell you the kind of discipline it took to do that. It takes a lot of willpower.

Well, I lost it.

You see, my friend died and I struggled to cope with her death. I didn’t care to count calories anymore. I started self medicating with food again. And unfortunately, in a few months time I gained twenty pounds.

For these last two years I just lived with it, even though I didn’t like it and I felt extremely poorly about myself. I just couldn’t find the willpower to start all over again, even long after I’d learned move on from my friend’s death. I kept telling myself that I would start again soon, that I would go back to losing weight “when the time is right”.

See, the thing about that kind of thinking is that it’s incredibly self-destructive. There will never be a “right” or “perfect” time. The truth is you can’t wait for the planets to be perfectly aligned and for everything to be in place before you can/should start something (not just weight loss, but other stuff too).

I didn’t acknowledge this truth, however, until I left my old job for the one I’m at now. At my old job, I was in a position where I had to be really active for a good 12-16 hours a day. Constant walking and standing for most of the day. Due to that, I was able to keep from gaining more than those 20 lbs.

BUT now I’ve gone on to a MUCH, MUCH MORE sedentary position, where I am quite literally sitting for nearly nine hours a day. And then to go home and sit and play video games for another four hours?

Yeah. Well, that’s how I gained those 8.8 pounds.

And now I’m done. I’m just done.

I don’t want to go back to 290. I’m scared of it. And I’m scared of wasting more of my youth. At this point, I have spent five years as an obese woman, and I’m doing myself a disservice by living like this.

I very recently turned 23, and when I did so many of my coworkers told me “Oh man, to be in my twenties again.” or “Oh, the things I’d do to be 23 one more time”.

It made me realize that I’m not really living the kind of life I want to live. Men aren’t attracted to me. I don’t like what I see in the mirror. My knees hurt and they shouldn’t. I can’t go to amusement parks anymore. I get winded going up some stairs.

I will die young, slowly, and painfully if I continue living like this.

“We must each suffer one of two things: suffer the pain of discipline or the pain of regret.”

Well, I’m not going to miss out on my entire twenties, or the rest of my life. I’m going to lose weight, I’m going to be healthy and strong and I’m going to live the kind of life I want to live, and be happy with myself.

And that starts today.

Today, I’ve eaten at a deficit. Yesterday, I exercised. Tomorrow, and for the rest of my life, I’m going to do both (until I hit my goal, then it’s eat at a caloric maintenance of course).

According to LoseIt! I have 487 days to go until I reach my goal weight of 130 lbs. I should be there by Jan 2020.

I will be there. Because I know I’m strong enough to accomplish it.

486 days to go.

#weight loss #health #diet and exercise #diet #exercise #healthy living #goals #weight loss day one #weight loss day 1 #fitblr #fitness #female fitness

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molly-kosutic · 3 years

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Sophie Calle

Sophie Calle is one of the originators of multiform autobiographical art and the themes of love, loss, spying and sexual obsession which recur in her book and exhibition ‘Exquisite Pain and video Double Blind’.

In the works Calle makes, you can sense the adventure, walking along the border between art and life. Every time she has a failure in life e.g love story, anything emotional, she feels the need to share it and doesn’t feel the need to share anything when she’s happy. When something wrong happens in her life, or when something doesn’t go right, making something and showing it is like revenge on the situation but not the person.

In 1997 she made ‘The Chromatic Diet’ in which she restricted herself to foods of a certain colour on any given day. She would only eat one colour of food each day for a week. It is a photography and performative piece. She would photograph the full meal and then eat the food which is part of the piece. The use of colour is very influential even to this day as using a single colour in photos is heavily used in Instagram. The food itself and the photos are very simple in presentation, because you could only use one colour the food itself was very bland; unseasoned fish laid upon a bed of white rice. However, it’s the idea that is very attention grabbing, putting yourself through the challenge of eating the same colour of food.

A different part of her practice includes Calle following strangers around the streets because she didn’t know anybody and would take photos of the people she followed. To me, it comes across a bit creepy and stalker like, to document a strangers movements without their knowledge seems very unethical. She’s sit down and write about what she did and where she’d gone, using strangers itineraries to speculate about their lives and in some cases, to compose brief imaginary biographies. It was a way to create emotion in her life when she was lacking, for example, she became attached to a man she followed and wanted to know everything about him. There was no reciprocities so she was not in danger, he cold not make her suffer, she can decide to leave him whenever she wants because there was no exchange in words. She would track someone who she had a crush on or who enlightens the fantasy in her and also in order, in a sense become part of their lives uninvited. It is interesting if you look at the gender doing the following, it would be very different if a male was following someone doing the documenting, as it gives the impression of predatory nature. This piece overall doesn’t sit well with me. She seems unhealthily interested in other peoples lives, so much she was bordering on stalking but never interacted with them to become a stalker. With that in mind, I think its very clever and brave to follow someone with the fear they could catch you, it seems she gets off on the adrenaline of not being caught and this shows in what she documents.

In ‘The Shadow / La Failure’ 1981, she got her um to hire a private detective to follow her around the city. They would take several pictures of her and recorded her movements. This was more of a collaborative piece, with herself being the centre of attention and someone producing the physical art piece. She felt the desire to be followed herself since she followed other people. It’s like she begging someone to stalk her, she wants someone to be obsessed with her, they way she became attached to the male she previously followed. It also looks at whether what she documented is on the same level as what the private detective documented, whether it would be as detailed and specific as each other. It would be interesting to see the comparison between the two pieces. However, with that in mind, there is always the knowledge that Sophie Calle knew she was being followed, therefore could have adapted her behavior to seem more interesting or boring.

Her work heavily focusses on following and stalking, so much that she took a temporary job as a chamber maid in a hotel in order to gather information about its guest, but not in a ‘intrusive or compromising way’ said Calle in the documentary. This piece and all the information she collected is put in a piece called ‘The Hotel’ 1981. In this specific piece, she comes across more of a detective than an obsessor or stalker. She is collecting information on the occupants of the hotel without interacting with them, to almost prove a point a stalker couldn’t do. She would intentionally avoid guests and restricted herself to observe the guest from the object in their room which she had access to due to the temp job. She would take photo of the objects and invent life stories for them based on the evidence that was available to her, which is the opposite to what a detective would do. A detective would go out looking for evidence to prove the impression they have on someone is right, they already have a person/suspect they look into, whereas Calle views the guests that are there by chance, despite myself having a view that she was coming across as a detective.

She kept following the same man before she lost him and then discovered him at last and walked behind him like a shadow for the rest of the week taking photos, documenting every place he went to. It was a complex and disturbing experience for, left you feeling like she’d abandoned her life for a certain nothingness, as though she’d been taking photos of things that weren’t there. She was attached to this fictional idea of this man and this fantasy. She stated that the camera was no longer used to record instances, but making the world disappear by fixating on a single person. There is a sense of loneliness to this, attaching yourself to the one person you find attractive. A lot of Calle’s art is based of communication, communicating ideas on how hard it is to communicate, and this is shown through the following of people, and photographing these people without their knowledge. Its communicating the miscommunication, how difficult it is for her to communicate verbally to these people.

Calle collaborated with author Paul Auster, and Auster used Sophie’s life to create a character (with her permission) and wanted to use the life of a character to make it real. Calle asked Auster to write a novel and she would obey to it completely, do whatever the character does in the book. This made is Auster very reluctant to do it, thought he would be getting into dangerous territory. It almost is like the Auster is Calle’s stalker and Calle wants Auster to be her stalker, controlling and influencing what she can and cannot do. As I said previously, stalking is a central theme in work, what does it mean to be a stalker, the link between lore and stalking – perhaps stalking is at the centre of love in Calle’s eyes rather than a creepy aspect on the side. The book was like personal instructions Auster set for Calle, and one of the instructions were on how to improve like in New York City and was asked to find a place and think of it as your own, beautify it and take care of it. She chose a telephone box to beautify and decorate and called it ‘Gotham Handbook’ 1994. She placed various items in the telephone booth such as, flowers, photographs, cup, orange juice etc. In this phone booth people would leave their reviews on a slip of paper and leave it there, which then became part of the installation. The installation also replies on the public’s reaction even though it was a set of instructions meant for Calle. After this piece was made, it turned out it was against the law to tamper with a phone / phone booth. When the project was winding down the NYC police or FBI (Paul Auster couldn’t remember) were making inquiries on who’s responsible for altering the pay phone. Sophie got away and didn’t face any punishment, which always seems to be the case ironically. I think it’s funny that that aftermath is exactly why Auster was afraid to write the book which Calle would obey without intentionally doing so. The overall installation is very interesting, taking an everyday object on the street and almost turning it into a mini home for Calle, which people would review.

Her film ‘Double Blind’ is all about love and loss. The film describes her journey across America with her partner Greg Shepperd, in which she got married in Vegas as part of this film. Throughout the film, it shows the ups and downs of their relationship and at one point they stopped talking altogether. In the film, both Sophie and Gregg describe why the relationship didn’t work and lift on the road with each other etc. When they had a fall out after the road trip they didn’t speak for a year and this was due to Sophie violating Gregs trust by reading his letter; Sophie, however, didn’t see it that way. I think Sophie, in the film, in a sense invented the relationship, he wasn’t really interested in her was she was in Greg, as Greg only got married for the film and that he was also talking to another girl, which is discovered by Sophie reading his letters, while Sophie was interested in marriage. It has been argued whether the film and its contents were real or fabricated, and the answer is both. It was real in that everything you see on camera actually happened, their relationship, the fights they had on the road and even the wedding at the end on their journey. However, it was fabricated in the sense that the film was telling the life of two people from one year of knowing each other, they never truly knew the other person in the relationship. They had documented over 60 hours of footage and it took, ironically, 9 months of editing to make a 1 hour and 15 minute movie. The film actually sounded like it would be a Hollywood movie; getting married on the road while taking a road trip, discovering the ups and downs of their relationship, and the fact that this was actually her life was very interesting. It was also like a home movie, in they recorded it on one camera with zooms and disrupted sound etc. It was almost like a vlog in the style of a film. It also shows Calle’s reoccurring theme of loneliness, as she was again left alone when Greg was talking to another woman and they hadn’t spoke for a year after that. She it trying to grasp on to a man to have a happy moment, instead of documenting and producing work based on her negative experience.

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dailykhaleej · 4 years

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A journey through Romania in the time of coronavirus | Romania

For weeks, I’ve had coronavirus information for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight snack.

You speak to colleagues, and it’s the solely subject. You speak to folks, and it’s the identical. Associates, too. In my social media bubble, everybody appears very conscious of the state of affairs and its gravity, even when there’s nonetheless the occasional joke.

However I used to be curious to see how different individuals see it. And I wanted to work, to do one thing.

So, along with my companion, I made a decision to make a journey throughout Romania, to doc how each day life has modified. With lodges closed and different lodging unsafe, we took a motorhome provided to us by the rental firm Joy2Wander.

The day after Romanian authorities imposed restrictions on motion, we set off.

Day 1, March 24 – 762 circumstances, eight deaths

I’ve by no means seen Bucharest so empty. It’s the first day since a army ordinance demanded that individuals keep at dwelling. With our baggage packed, provisions made and batteries charged, we drive on virtually abandoned streets to the place outdoors city the place we’ll decide up the motorhome.

I at all times needed to go on a visit like this, however I by no means imagined I’d be utilizing the motorhome for the function of self-isolation.

In the combat towards the unfold of COVID-19, Romania needed to maneuver quick. It closed faculties early on in the disaster and imposed restrictions on motion earlier than the demise toll reached 10.

On March 24, the day we set off, there are 762 confirmed circumstances in Romania and eight deaths.

We transfer our baggage to the motorhome, pack the little fridge and hit the highway. Not lengthy after leaving Bucharest my father calls. On Facetime. I’ve not instructed him about the documentary journey, so I hesitate over accepting the video name. I don’t wish to fear him. However he’ll see the photographs quickly, I motive, so I reply.

Gusts of wind rock the motorhome as we drive. There are primarily vans on the highway and some automobiles. Behind most of the windshields, is a driver sporting a masks.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

Our first cease is the market in Alexandria. Behind a stall with carrots and celery, Estera wears white rubber gloves. She is going to flip 60 subsequent month and are available rain or shine or virus, she involves the market to promote her greens.

Estera takes some precautions, like utilizing disinfectant and sporting gloves, however her ease of thoughts comes from the indisputable fact that there is no such thing as a case of coronavirus in Alexandria. No confirmed case anyway, as Romania has been gradual at testing.

It felt unnatural doing documentary images with out getting near individuals; to hearken to their tales whereas protecting them at a secure distance. However I knew that I couldn’t get nearer than two metres, that I needed to steer clear of crowded locations, that I couldn’t contact any surfaces and that I needed to wash my palms totally as quickly as I returned to the motorhome.

Dumitru Subtirelu, 52, sells potatoes close by. “I’ve only had 10 customers since morning,” he says. He’s afraid his produce will go unhealthy.

On our manner again to the motorhome, we cross a pastry store. A girl in a pink uniform serves her prospects through a crack in a thick plastic display that covers the store’s window.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

As we journey additional south, alongside the Danube, the radio frequency picks up a Bulgarian channel. I don’t perceive something they’re saying, besides coronavirus.

At the border crossing at Bechet, the queue of vans ready to cross spreads over kilometres.

The villages we cross are empty.

We park for the evening on the financial institution of the Danube. The silence is sporadically damaged by the barks of a canine.

Day 2, March 25 – 906 confirmed circumstances, 13 deaths

Driving the motorhome looks like being in a circus. All eyes, although few, are on us as we cross by. Some individuals wave.

After media studies of COVID-19 circumstances related to a priest utilizing the identical Eucharist spoon for dozens of individuals, church buildings have been banned from holding providers – they will solely transmit their sermons on-line.

In Drobeta-Turnu Severin, the sermon sounds as we cross by a church. A few worshippers are gathered in entrance of it, near the audio system. They don’t seem to be allowed inside. One girl sits additional away on a bench, holding a pink umbrella, as she listens.

At the market, persons are shopping for groceries, ladies are promoting flowers. If not for the face masks, it could appear like nothing had modified.

Throughout the avenue, a girl sells newspapers. She used to have seven newsstands, now she has solely two. “Sales have dropped and I cannot afford to hold on to employees. We will die of hunger, all of us with small businesses,” she says.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

On the radio, as we once more drive through empty villages, there’s a lot of speak about the coronavirus: steady reminders that we don’t wish to turn into the subsequent Italy.

I see teams of 5 – 6 automobiles, some with overseas quantity plates, escorted by police or ministry of inside autos. Many Romanians who had been working in Italy, Spain or different European international locations have been compelled to come back dwelling. As they return, they’re positioned in quarantine.

For lunch, we cease in a subject. It’s sunny for the first time in a pair of days. We eat cheese with recent radishes and wild garlic we purchased from the market earlier. An previous farm surrounded by tall timber in the distance is our view through the motorhome’s window.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

It’s virtually sunset after we attain Timisoara.

As we stroll previous the baroque buildings in the direction of Liberty Sq., it resembles the set of an apocalyptic film.

There are few sounds to interrupt the silence right here – simply the heels of a passerby on the cobblestones, a tram in the distance, a pigeon.

The vacancy is each exhausting to bear and comforting.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

There are rather a lot of police on the metropolis streets, even when they’re virtually empty. It’s the first time we get pulled over and checked.

Earlier than the day is over, we make yet one more cease in Arad.

It’s my birthday at the moment.

Day 3, March 26 – 1,029 confirmed circumstances, 17 deaths

I get up by the river Mures. On a hill close by, there are the stays of an previous fortress. A flock of sheep make their manner throughout the subject.

This place appears removed from COVID-19 and the whole lot.

By the aspect of the highway from Arad to Deva, in just a little forest, we meet Vasile, 63. He has been a forestry employee for greater than 42 years. Initially from Maramures, he now lives in Paulis together with his spouse. Their youngsters are all grown up and have left dwelling.

“Nature hasn’t made anyone sick,” Vasile says about coming to work as of late. “There hasn’t been a disease like this one, not in my lifetime. Not to be able to shake someone’s hand, not to get close to people.”

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

A little additional down E68, truck driver Dan, 35, is extra nervous.

“Come Easter we won’t have a job. There is no more demand for certain goods. Our company has 70 trucks. In two weeks’ time only 10 will be rolling.”

The daddy of two is on his manner again from Belgium to his hometown, Sibiu.

“Maybe it will be a good break,” he says. “For years, I’ve been driving and driving. I am at home only two days a week, at best.”

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

In Deva we cease at a McDrive. I’m craving fries.

However the motorhome is simply too excessive to enter and they don’t serve pedestrians.

In the automobile park, a taxi driver sporting a visor and inexperienced rubber gloves tells us he would gladly assist us if he weren’t together with his spouse and toddler.

We hand over on the thought of fries and transfer on.

In Alba Iulia, a police automobile patrols the metropolis centre, urging individuals, through a megaphone, to remain indoors. Neighbours chat from their balconies.

Day 4, March 27 – 1,292 confirmed circumstances, 24 deaths

Final evening we parked in an previous oak tree reservation close to Sighisoara. We discovered the place through the park4night app.

In the darkness, I didn’t see the magnificence that surrounded us. However come morning, I wake to search out the enormous canopies of previous oaks guarding us like valiant protectors as birds sing throughout.

We resolve to spend the day there.

Later that morning, a soldier from a close-by army base visits us. He has been tasked with informing those who they need to keep remoted at dwelling.

“What can I say, more isolated than this you cannot be,” he says, smiling.

He’s pleasant and lingers for a chat. He believes that tighter restrictions must be put in place, that individuals must be allowed to buy groceries solely as soon as each three days.

He’s additionally nervous that costs are going up. “You could buy the green onion with three lei, now it is six.”

He’s one of solely 5 individuals we see that day. The others are a person using his bicycle together with his canine, one other strolling 5 – 6 canines and a younger couple taking a stroll.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

Being in nature makes me really feel secure, as if no pandemic may attain me right here.

However in the night we watch the information, as we do each night now, and the tranquility and reassurance of the day is generally shattered. However not totally. That occurs after I learn an article in The New York Instances about the state of affairs in Italy known as We Take the Useless From Morning Until Night time. I cry like a child and really feel actually scared for the first time – not for myself, however for my dad and mom.

I message them each, telling them to take care, to remain secure. I am going to mattress with a heavy coronary heart.

Day 5, March 28 – 1,452 confirmed circumstances, 29 deaths

A woodpecker wakes me up. I make espresso however spill most of it in the grass and can’t make one other as a result of we’re out of milk.

My thoughts remains to be on the article I learn the evening earlier than, and the silence right here feels extra heavy than comforting.

I preserve writing issues down in my pocket book and spot that, for the first time, my notes are extra private than observational.

I believe that documenting what’s going on could also be what’s protecting me targeted, and even sane.

As I sit, ingesting what’s left of my espresso, a person drives by in a van. He waves. On his manner again, he stops to speak, rolling down his window.

“Are you staying here until the madness is over?” he asks laughing.

“No, we’ll be on our way today,” we are saying.

He kindly presents to convey us journey types – the ones you need to carry in response to the army ordinance – in case we do not need any.

At the market in Sighisoara, rather a lot of persons are going about their enterprise. Perhaps as a result of it’s 11:30am, and people aged 65 and above are solely allowed out of their properties between 11am and 1pm.

Many are shopping for fruit and greens. The masks are, as soon as extra, the solely signal that we live in particular occasions.

Sabina, a 75-year-old mom of two, says she longs to go for a stroll. However apart from that, her life has not modified a lot.

As for protecting in contact with pals, she says the cellphone is essential proper now.

“The greatest joy these days is to see my family healthy. Still,” she provides.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

In Odorheiu Secuiesc we have to cease for petrol and water.

At the petrol station, the dark-haired, 40-something-year-old man who helps us fill the water tank is nervous about the future. Administration is contemplating stopping the evening shift as a result of of the evening journey ban, he says. This implies some of the employees there must keep at dwelling or work fewer hours.

Our subsequent cease is Miercurea Ciuc. It’s fully abandoned. Just a few taxi drivers sit in their automobiles close to the metropolis centre.

We cease to purchase provides at a grocery store. A few different persons are doing the identical. I see a younger couple, each sporting masks and gloves, holding one another. I shortly take their image. At a time after we should steer clear of different individuals and never even hug our dad and mom or pals, a gesture like this creates a fleeting sense of normalcy.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

Day 6, March 29, 2020 – 1,760 confirmed circumstances, 38 deaths

I pull down the blinds of the home windows and see a frozen mountain lake surrounded by wooded cliffs.

After we arrived in the darkness of evening, this place was one huge unknown.

The Purple Lake (Lacu Rosu) has a wierd legend. It tells the story of a wonderful, black-haired and emerald-eyed Estera who someday met a good-looking boy at a good. It was love at first sight. The boy purchased her a sky blue scarf and requested her to marry him. However he was despatched off to conflict earlier than they might. One Sunday, as she was sitting by the spring, considering of her cherished one, an outlaw kidnapped Estera and took her to his shelter in the mountains. She requested the mountains for assist. The cliffs listened to her plea and a July storm, like no different earlier than, made the mountains tumble, burying alive each the woman and the outlaw.

In line with the legend, that’s how the lake was created.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

It’s a place standard with vacationers, however now all the terraces are closed, their chairs and tables stacked up inside.

We cease in Piatra Neamt. The streets are empty. We cease in Bacau. The streets are empty.

In entrance of a hospital in Bacau triage tents have been arrange. They’ve been positioned outdoors hospitals throughout the nation.

Suceava municipal hospital, the place studies recommend greater than 180 medical employees have been contaminated in consequence of a scarcity of private protecting tools (PPE), has turn into the epicentre of the pandemic in Romania.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

Crossing a bridge as we enter Galati county, I see a bunch of males fishing in the river beneath. One of them works as a truck driver and used to drive to Italy. Upon returning, he spent 14 days in quarantine.

They don’t seem to be afraid of the virus, they are saying; no circumstances have been reported in their village, Cosmesti.

It’s the first time we spend the evening in a metropolis. We cease in a carpark, however a safety guard tells us to depart. So we transfer the motorhome to a parking space for vans and sleep there. It feels disconcerting, particularly with the curfew. However it’s late and we’re too drained to search out some place else.

Day 7, March 30 – 1,952 confirmed circumstances, 44 deaths

I open the blinds and see vans, a grocery store and a girl jogging with a masks on.

As we enter the metropolis, we’re stopped at a police checkpoint. The policeman smiles and asks about the motorhome; he needs to have a look inside. He checks my press badge and lets us cross.

Galati isn’t quiet. On a avenue close to the metropolis centre, with police standing at the nook, aged individuals sit on benches, having fun with the solar and chatting. Individuals stand in line at an ATM, at a retailer, at a pharmacy. Most preserve the required distance from each other. However nonetheless it feels totally different right here, one way or the other too energetic.

[Ioana Moldovan/Al Jazeera]

In Braila, it feels the identical. At the market, Metropolis Corridor workers disinfect the pavements round it, wanting like one thing out of Ghostbusters, I believe to myself.

We take the ferry to cross the Danube. In line with the ferry operator, fewer automobiles are crossing this week.

“You can tell there are restrictions. In fact, it’s the fines that did the work,” says Marius, a 35-year-old father of two.

For 18 years, Marius labored in building. He solely began his job as a ferry operator final week. “If I get scared and don’t come to work, who will pay my bills?” he asks.

He believes most individuals are questioning the future, asking what’s to come back.

“This coronavirus thing makes you think long term, puts things in perspective, changes your ideas and brings a fear … the fear about tomorrow,” Marius provides.

We cross through Tulcea, which is abandoned, and cease in Sarichioi, close to the Razim lake.

The wind rocks the motorhome like a ship on waves. It has been per week since we left dwelling making an attempt to doc the each day life of Romanians in the time of coronavirus.

On the night information, we hear about the sixth army ordinance. The sixth in 13 days. Suceava is in full lockdown.

I go to sleep fascinated by what Marius mentioned, fascinated by tomorrow.

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