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agentstarkid · 2 months ago

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WHAT THE GODS TRIED TO BURY ✦ 01

✦ WORD COUNT: 2.7K

✦ WARNINGS: violence, gore, language. no beta'd, we die like the suriel.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: I should be packing up my room bc I'm running against the clock, but what am I doing instead? starting a new series for azriel 😅 I told myself I wouldn't post this until I had a couple of chapters done but what I lack in self-control I make up for in anxiety so here we are 🤪 also this is a way to celebrate the first time any of my works reached 1k notes, so thank you so much for all the love on you are the one (to make me lose my mind)!!!! 🖤

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She stood atop the highest peak, the wind tangling through her hair like it knew her, like it had always known her. Below, stretching far beyond the horizon, was a kingdom unlike any she had seen in waking life.

Towers kissed the sky, carved from pale stone that shimmered like trapped lightning. A river, dark and glimmering with untold power, cut through the land like a vein of liquid night. The sky overhead churned with clouds, the edges pulsing with something raw, untamed.

This place—this kingdom—felt like home.

But she did not know its name.

A voice, neither friend nor foe, drifted on the wind.

“Daughter of the Storm, the hour draws near.”

The words slithered down her spine, familiar yet foreign. She turned, searching for the speaker, but found only shadows stretching long over the stone. The air was thick with the scent of rain, with the electric charge that filled the air before lightning struck. And then—

Screams.

The sky split open, the clouds fracturing like shattered glass, and from the wound in the heavens came the storm. Not rain, not wind—lightning. Bolts of pure, burning energy lashed at the earth, turning stone to fire, reducing towers to rubble. The river ran crimson red with blood.

She tried to move, to run, but her body was frozen, her feet anchored to the cracking ground beneath her.

Then, in the smoke and ruin, she saw them.

Eyes—gold, argent, cerulean—staring through the chaos. Eyes that burned with recognition, eyes that pleaded, eyes that condemned.

Her heart thundered against her ribs as words, ancient and powerful, filled the air.

“When the heavens fracture and the land weeps, a forgotten soul shall rise from dust and ruin. Their name lost, their fate unwritten, yet bound to shadow and storm alike. Should the storm be unleashed, the world shall bow—or be undone.”

Lightning struck the ground at her feet, the force of it ripping the world apart. She was falling—falling through fire, through time, through memory. The voices screamed around her, words lost in the cacophony, and for one breathless moment, she saw herself standing amidst the destruction, wreathed in crackling power.

She saw herself becoming the storm.

Then, nothing.

The scent of damp earth and aged wood clung to the air as she jolted awake, the remnants of the dream still crackling through her bones. Her breath came fast, shallow, her pulse thrumming against her skin as if her body still remembered the lightning that had torn through her mind.

The shack around her was barely more than a ruin—four crooked walls of rotting wood, a sagging roof patched with old cloth, and a stone hearth where the last embers of a fire smoldered weakly. The floor was hard-packed dirt, littered with dried leaves that had been carried in by the wind through the cracks in the walls. It wasn’t much, but it had been enough. Enough to keep her hidden, enough to let her rest between the endless wandering.

She exhaled, pressing a trembling hand against her wrist, where the faded marks started to run upwards like veins of pale lightning beneath her skin. They were barely visible unless caught in the right light, etched across her arms and shoulders in branching paths—proof of a power she did not understand, a claim she had never given permission for. Even now, the markings felt warm, as if something within them still stirred, waiting.

Shaking off the last shivers of the dream, she swung her legs over the side of the makeshift bed—nothing more than a pile of furs and stolen blankets. The cold bit at her bare feet as she stood, stretching the stiffness from her muscles. She rolled her shoulders, testing herself. The dream always left something behind, something lingering in her bones like an ache that had no name.

Outside, the air was crisp, thick with the scent of fallen leaves and distant smoke. The Autumn Court was beautiful in a quiet, cruel way—the trees forever caught in the dying embers of the season, the sky a dull gold in the early morning light. But beneath that beauty was rot, hidden beneath layers of leaves and centuries of oppression. She had seen it in the faces of the fae, in the way they kept their heads down, in the desperation that lurked behind their eyes.

A sound pricked at her ears—high, keening, raw.

Screams.

The breath in her chest stilled.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she was still trapped in the dream, if the bloodshed and ruin had followed her into waking. But then another scream rang out, sharp and desperate, carried by the wind from the path below.

She knew that farm.

A poor couple, lesser fae farmers who had nothing but the dirt beneath their feet. She had seen them when she first scouted this place, had watched them tend to their meager crops with tired hands. They were no threat to anyone.

And yet—

Another scream, followed by the sharp clang of metal.

She didn’t think.

Her hand found her weapon where it lay against the wall—a curved, double-edged blade, long enough to slice through armor but light enough to wield with speed. The hilt was wrapped in worn leather, fitted perfectly to her grip, and the metal itself bore no ornamentation—just dark steel, unyielding and deadly.

A gift. A remnant of another life.

She moved swiftly, slipping through the broken doorway and into the early morning mist. The wind howled through the trees, rattling the branches like bones, but she barely noticed. Her steps were silent, practiced, and by the time she reached the edge of the farm, she had already assessed the situation.

Raiders.

Four of them, clad in patchwork armor, their faces hidden beneath crude masks. One had the farmer on his knees, a rusted blade pressed against his throat, while another tore through their modest home, searching for whatever scraps of wealth they might have. The female was sobbing, struggling against the grip of the largest raider, his hand fisted in her auburn hair.

She inhaled slowly. Cold. Controlled.

The rage did not own her.

She owned it.

And then—she struck.

She moved like the storm she had always been.

The first raider didn’t even hear her coming. One moment he loomed over the farmer, his blade pressing into the trembling male’s throat, and the next, a sharp whisper of steel cut through the morning air. Her curved blade sliced clean through his arm at the elbow, the severed limb falling to the dirt with a dull thud.

The raider screamed—a raw, gut-wrenching sound—but she was already moving, twisting the blade in her grip and driving it into his throat before he could turn on her. Blood spattered across the cold earth as she yanked the blade free, pivoting just in time to dodge the wild swing of another.

Lightning cracked in the air around her, snapping like a living thing—wild, restless, waiting to be unleashed. It coiled around her limbs in barely contained fury, a silent promise of destruction should she allow it to slip free. The remaining raiders didn’t notice at first, too blinded by their own arrogance. But then the scent of ozone thickened, the fine hairs on their arms stood on end, and the air itself hummed with warning.

The second raider lunged, but he was slow. Sloppy.

She ducked beneath the heavy axe that came for her head, feeling the wind of its passing ruffle her hair. Before he could recover, she drove her elbow into his ribs, hard enough to crack bone. He staggered, gasping, and in that moment of weakness, she struck. Her blade arced in a wicked curve, slicing through the exposed flesh of his thigh. The wound sizzled, the scent of charred flesh thick in the cold morning air. Not from fire. From the lightning that arced along her blade, sinking into his body like the storm had chosen him as its next victim.

He dropped, writhing, his screams swallowed by the crackling energy that still snapped at her heels.

Not dead. Not yet.

She let him bleed.

The largest raider—the one holding the female—finally released his captive, shoving her to the ground as he turned to face this new threat. He was broader than the others, his armor thicker, his sword heavier.

Good.

She welcomed a challenge.

“Fucking witch,” he spat, his voice laced with fake bravado.

She only smiled. Let him believe that.

He came at her with brutal efficiency, his blade a blur of steel. She parried, deflecting the first strike, then the second, her feet moving effortlessly across the dirt. He was strong, but she was faster. He swung low, aiming for her legs, and she leapt back, just out of reach. His mistake.

She surged forward, closing the distance between them in the space of a breath. The moment her palm met his armor, the crack of electricity sent him jerking violently, his body convulsing as sparks danced across his skin. With one hand braced against his armored chest, she drove her knee into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He stumbled back, gasping, and she didn’t give him time to recover.

Her blade flashed—once, twice.

One deep slash across the inside of his wrist, forcing him to drop his sword from numb fingers. Another across his throat, clean and precise. His eyes went wide as he gurgled, trying to hold his neck together with trembling hands.

He fell.

The last raider had already started running.

Coward.

She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders as she debated chasing him down. But the farmer's wife was still sobbing. The fight was over. The real battle—the survival—was theirs to endure now.

She took a slow, steadying breath, forcing the lightning back, pulling it into herself until the air around her stilled. Until the only thing left of the storm was the faint, lingering hum in her veins.

The second raider laid on the ground, the charred wound on his thigh exposed muscle and tendons. His breath came in ragged, wet gasps, blood pooling beneath him, soaking into the earth like an offering. His hand clutched at the gushing wound, but it was futile. His eyes—wide, full of terror—locked onto hers, silently begging.

She did not grant mercy.

With a single, fluid motion, she drove her blade into his chest, piercing through flesh and bone with practiced ease. His body arched once, a strangled gurgle escaping his lips before he slumped back, lifeless. Blood splattered in warm droplets across her face, her chest—bathing her even more in its sticky embrace.

She exhaled slowly, flicking her blade to the side, shaking off the excess crimson.

She turned to them, her blade painted red, her breath steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her. The farmer was staring at her—not with fear, but with something close to awe.

“They won’t come back,” she told them, voice low and firm. “But if they do, you run. Don’t hesitate. Just run.”

The farmer nodded frantically, his wife barely able to lift her head from where she wept into the dirt.

She wiped the remaining blood from her blade with a torn scrap of cloth, slipping it back into its sheath as she turned away.

She had been careful. She had stayed hidden for centuries.

But today, she had left a trail of bodies behind her.

And in the Autumn Court, where power was hoarded and fear was currency, someone would come looking for the one who had wielded the wrath of the storm.

The tavern door burst open with a violent crash, the scent of spilled ale and damp wood mixing with the stench of sweat and fear. Conversations halted, the low murmur of low-life patrons replaced by the heavy, ragged breathing of the figure that stumbled inside.

The raider was a mess of torn leathers, grime, and blood. His face was a map of terror, pale and slick with sweat, eyes darting wildly as if expecting death itself to follow him through the threshold.

“The storm,” he gasped, voice raw, fractured. “It walks—it walks among us.”

A few patrons turned back to their drinks with unimpressed grunts, uninterested in the drunken ramblings of a failed thief. But others leaned in, intrigued, watching as the male staggered toward the nearest table, gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“It was a ghost,” he went on, more desperate now. “A demon cloaked in lightning. It—It cut through us like we were nothing. Like we were already dead.”

A bark of laughter rang out from a lesser fae male nursing a tankard near the hearth. “Lost your nerve, have you?” he sneered. “Was it a farmer’s stick that did that to you?”

The raider’s wild eyes snapped to him. “You don’t understand.” His voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “It moved like a shadow—like death. And the lightning—it came from her.”

A ripple of unease trickled through the tavern.

In a dimly lit corner, a hooded figure sat in perfect stillness, the flickering candlelight failing to reach beneath the heavy fabric obscuring his face. He had been there for some time, silent, unnoticed, watching. Listening.

His presence was unremarkable, a shadow among many, a whisper that did not stir the air. And yet, nothing in that tavern escaped his notice. Every shift in movement, every tremor in a voice, every flicker of candlelight against a blade’s edge—all absorbed in silence.

But this—this tale of lightning made flesh—this had his full attention.

Slowly, he set his untouched drink aside, gloved fingers tracing the rim of the glass once before withdrawing into the folds of his cloak.

The raider was still muttering, half-delirious. “She isn’t real. She can’t be real. But I saw her. I saw her eyes.”

The hooded male rose from his seat in one fluid motion. No one saw him move. One blink, and he was there—the next, he was gone.

The shadows swallowed him whole.

The night was thick with mist, the kind that curled around the trees like grasping fingers. His steps did not disturb the ground, his presence barely a whisper against the howling wind.

The clearing was empty—at least, to anyone without the right eyes to see.

But he knew where to look.

A shift in the shadows. A figure, standing at the base of a gnarled oak, cloaked in midnight. The air around him seemed still, as if the very world was wary of him, holding its breath.

The spy halted a few paces away and bowed his head. “I bring news.”

Silence. Then—

“I’m listening.”

The voice was low, quiet. A blade unsheathed in the dark.

The spy exhaled. “It’s more than a rumor this time. A raider—one of the thieves we marked—came into a tavern, raving like a madman. He spoke of lightning. Of a storm given form.”

A pause. Barely a shift in the air, but the wraith felt the change, the interest sharpening like a knife’s edge.

“Go on.”

“She slaughtered his crew.” The spy lifted his gaze, though the hooded male remained still, unreadable. “He swears lightning came from her. That it was part of her.”

For a long moment, there was nothing. No response. No reaction. Just the sound of the wind whispering through the trees. Then, finally—

“Where?”

The spy barely suppressed the shiver that threatened to crawl up his spine. “A farm, not far from one of the villages. He believes she was staying nearby.”

Another pause. Then a shift, the subtle movement of a predator setting its sights.

“Do you think she's real?”

The figure at the tree tilted his head slightly, as if considering. The faintest gleam of hazel eyes flickered through swirling shadows, sharp as a hawk’s, unreadable as the night itself.

Then, the shadows curled around him, swallowing him whole.

By the time the spy blinked, his master was gone.

And somewhere, beyond the reach of drunken fae and murmured legends—within a grand manor nestled along a broad, winding river that shimmered like the deepest sapphire—violet eyes watched and waited, yearning for word of something, or someone, that could change the course of his people’s fate.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel spymaster x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel fanfic #azriel fic #azriel drabble #acotar drabble #acotar x reader #acotar x you #x reader #what the gods tried to bury #wtgttb

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winxanity-ii · 4 months ago

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⌜Knot in Time | Chapter 01 Chapter 01 | severed bonds⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Knowledge of EPIC: The Musical isn't technically needed; this can be read with just common knowledge of Greek mythology.

The first man died before he even realized it.

One moment, he was raising his shield, lips parted in a war cry; the next, a spear ripped through his throat, and the sound gurgled into nothing. He crumpled, twitching, hands clawing at the wooden shaft as though he might pull the death out of him. He wouldn't.

The next man fared no better—his skull split clean through, bone and brain matter spilling onto the trampled earth. The battlefield became a writhing mass of bodies, metal, and the thick, wet scent of opened flesh.

You watched from above.

It was always the same, this great wretched dance of war. Men cried out for their gods, for their mothers, for names that would never answer back. Their blood ran thick into the dirt, soaking it deep until the ground itself seemed to drink greedily, as though the earth was as starved for death as the men who fought upon it.

You didn't care for their screams.

You weren't there for them.

Their threads were severed by lesser hands—you and your sisters' attendants, those who wove and tangled and cut in a steady rhythm. But this war, this bloodletting, held a name too grand to be left to another's shears.

Telemachus.

Son of Odysseus.

Heir of Ithaca.

A man whose name was heavy with the weight of gods and stories, whose fate should not be handled by an unworthy blade.

That's why you were here.

You watched him now, below, moving through the chaos like something carved from the same lineage as war itself. He wasn't his father, but the blood sang true—his sword arm swift, his shield catching blows with precision rather than desperation. He didn't hesitate when he killed. That, more than anything, told you he had long since shed whatever softness he once had.

A shame. You think you would've liked to watch that happen.

But that wasn't your purpose.

You were there to cut.

And you would do it yourself.

So you followed after him.

The battlefield parted around you like mist, but you didn't move through air—you moved through carnage.

Bodies lay where they had fallen, some still twitching, others already forgotten. You stepped over the broken remains of a soldier, his face caved in where a blunt force struck true. Another beside him had been cleaved from shoulder to sternum, his insides spilling in steaming ribbons across the mud.

Blood flew in wide arcs, cast off from swinging blades and collapsing throats, but it didn't touch you.

It never did.

Telemachus didn't see you, but you watched as he moved with the ease of one who no longer hesitated. His sword dragged slightly at his side, its weight softened only by the blood still dripping from the edge. His shield was strapped firmly to his forearm, scuffed and dented but unbroken. He fought as if the war was a foregone conclusion. As if he were already stepping over ghosts.

A voice called out from behind him.

"Captain!"

A soldier—one of Ithaca's own—approached, panting, his face streaked with sweat and filth. His helmet sat askew, knocked loose in the fray, but he did not stop to adjust it. He clasped his spear against his side, fingers tight around the shaft as he bowed his head slightly.

"We've taken the palace, sir," the soldier reported between breathless gasps. "We drove them back through the southern gates. Their leader—he's fled inside. We believe he's taken to the throne room."

Telemachus didn't waste words. He nodded once, already turning toward the shadowed structure in the distance. The palace stood like a gutted carcass, its walls charred, its banners torn. The screams had dulled, but they still echoed within—faint, like dying embers.

He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward.

And you followed.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

Inside, the air was thick with the weight of crumbling stone and lingering death. The corridors stretched long and dark, the flickering remains of dying torches casting weak light against the bloodied walls.

Telemachus moved like a wolf in familiar terrain—silent, shoulders drawn tight, his fingers adjusting their grip against his sword's hilt.

A body slumped against the far wall, a jagged wound staining his tunic. His hand still clutched at it, frozen in place even in death. The hall stretched further, its silence more damning than the battlefield outside.

Telemachus didn't trust the emptiness.

Neither did you.

The room he entered was vast but bare. Once, it might have been a meeting chamber—columns stretched toward the ceiling, cracked but unbroken, while the long wooden table had been overturned, its contents scattered. Chairs lay in ruins, splintered by force, and the scent of spilled wine mingled with the copper sting of blood.

Telemachus stepped forward, slow. His eyes scanned the space, wary of shadows. His grip tightened.

It was time.

You readied your shears.

Telemachus didn't know you stood at his shoulder, watching.

He didn't hear the steady beat of fate ticking toward its inevitable end. He was oblivious to the delicate silver thread stretched before you, glimmering in the dim light. It swayed, pulsing faintly with life. With his life.

You pressed the blades around it, ready to cut.

But then—

A flicker of movement.

The air shifted behind him.

A blade was raised high—silent, swift, aiming for the back of his neck. A single strike, meant to end him before he could even turn.

Not just any blade, but the captain's—the very man Telemachus was hunting for.

You began to close the shears—

Telemachus moved.

He twisted, dropping low in an instant as the blade swung through empty air.

The captain, thrown off balance, staggered back, but his eyes burned with recognition and scorn. "You are but a shadow of your father, boy!" he hissed as he regained his footing.

Telemachus' response was a cold, dangerous smile. "A shadow, maybe. But even shadows have their strength."

They clashed again, metal shrieking against metal. The captain was fast, his movements trained and precise, but Telemachus met him blow for blow, relentless in his advance. His shield caught the captain's sword with a resounding clash, and in the next heartbeat, he drove his knee into the captain's ribs. The air whooshed out of the man's lungs in a strangled gasp.

The captain's dagger clattered to the floor.

"You fight with the desperation of a cornered animal," Telemachus taunted, his voice low and steady as he advanced.

With a grunt, the captain scrambled back, reaching for his fallen weapon, but Telemachus was quicker. His boot pressed down hard against the captain's wrist, pinning him to the ground. "And you talk too much," Telemachus retorted, kicking the dagger away.

The captain's free hand clawed toward the empty air where his dagger had fallen, his fingers grasping futilely. But it was too late. Telemachus shifted his weight, pressing his knee down onto the captain's chest, pinning him against the cold stone, cutting off any final act of defiance.

With his fate sealed, the captain's eyes burned with a mix of fury and resignation. He spat at Telemachus, his voice laced with venom, "You may kill me, but you'll never command the respect he had. You'll never be half the man Odysseus was! You're nothing but a pale imitation!"

Telemachus' response was a grim nod. "Perhaps. But today... I just need to be the man who ends you."

Then, with one final, shallow breath drawn by the captain, Telemachus raised his sword and drove the steel clean through his throat.

The captain jerked once, a sharp, convulsive twitch as his life began to ebb away. Then, stillness.

Blood pooled beneath his lifeless form, a dark, spreading stain seeping into the cracks of the stone floor, mingling with the dust of conquest and decay.

Telemachus didn't move, not immediately. He lingered, watching the light fade from the captain's eyes, his sword still buried in the flesh as the pallor of death settled over the man's features. His once fierce countenance was now slack, the harsh lines of anger smoothed into eternal silence.

Telemachus finally withdrew his sword with a measured, almost reverent motion. The sound of metal scraping against bone echoed hollowly in the chamber. He stood over the fallen captain, his expression unreadable—a victor shadowed by the weight of his necessary deeds.

He had won.

And yet—you are intrigued.

How?

He shouldn't have seen it. Shouldn't have moved in time.

The sequence of fate is meticulous, a weaving of moments so delicate that no mortal should be able to step outside of it. And yet, Telemachus had. His thread had trembled in your grasp, the cut you had begun to make slipping from your fingers.

But instead of rectifying the mistake, as you always do, you let him go.

Just this once.

You will watch. You will see where this leads.

A/N: n/a

#xani-writes: knot in time #x reader #epic the musical fanfic #jorge rivera herrans #the ocean saga #epic the musical x reader #greek mythology #greek gods #the odyssey #telemachus of ithaca #telemachus x reader #telemachus x fate #telemachus x fem reader #reader insert #slow burn #telemachus

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lordgrimwing · 2 years ago

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Foundlings #01

“Hello,” Nerdanel said softly to the boy sitting on the dinner table, his torn pants rolled up past his knees so she could clean the scrapes and cuts on his legs. “I’m Nerdanel. What’s your name?”

He had a tangled mess of dark brown hair, twigs and leaves sticking out from where they’d gotten tangled. His twin—so perfectly identically there could be no mistaking it—looked no better as he clung to Maedhors, held protectively in her eldest son’s arms.

“Elros,” The one in front of her said in a tiny voice roughened from whatever he’d gone through in the forest.

“Hello, Elros,” She set a wooden bowl half-full of warm water on the table next to him, then held up one of the soft green hand towels Fëanor wove last winter. “I’m going to clean up all these cuts and put a salve on that will help you feel better.”

“Elrond’s hurt worse,” The boy protested weakly, pointing one trembling finger at the drying blood on his brother’s face from a cut on his forehead. “I’m okay.” His voice shook almost as much as his hand.

“He’ll be okay, too,” She assured, dipping the cloth in the water and dabbing away the mud and blood on his shins.

Liquid welled up in his eyes.

“Does it hurt too much?” She asked, softening her touch still further though she was already being as gentle as she would be with a newborn lamb or goat kid.

“Where’s our mom and dad?” he asked instead, tears forming tracks in the dirt on his face.

That, she could not answer save to spare a glance up at her son. He shook his head slightly, either not knowing or not wanting to say until the twins were safely taken care of and tucked into a bed to rest. She feared the worst. They all heard the unnatural wind howling through the trees last night.

“You don’t worry about that right now,” She settled on, scooping two fingers into a jar of pungent, brown ointment. “You’re safe now. Just let the grown-ups worry about all that.”

He flinched when she wiped the numbing salve into the largest cut just under his right knee. She murmured soothing words to him as she worked.

As she finished, Caranthir came over with two mugs of tea made from the roots and bark of several useful plants she harvested every fall. He’d sweetened the drink with honey to hide the bitter taste for children, though he’d refrained from adding goat milk as she’d directed. Milk sometimes reduces the tea’s somnolescent properties.

“Here you go,” She said, passing the mug to the young boy’s hands. “I want you to drink all of this while I take care of your brother. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay,” He whispered, raising it to his lips and sipping the warm drink.

Outside, the sun sank down through the trees, casting a rose gold light across the land.

Fëanor paced in front of his second son, sitting on the step just outside the kitchen door so he could go in quickly if he was needed for something. Besides the two of them and the wandering chickens, the yard was deserted, everyone else away and busy: Celegorm left two days before to hunt an elk at Nerdanel’s request; Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras went into town; and Curufin took his son to catch fish for dinner. Fëanor’s skin itched at having them all so far apart.

“Where did you find them?” Fëanor asked, rubbing a twisted wood and hair figure between the fingers of his right hand to block unnatural ears from listening to the conversation.

It would watch the homestead closely for any sign of the children his sons stole from it. The scrutiny would wane eventually, but until then they must be extra vigilant in keeping it at bay. He’d need to make sure everyone remembered to wear their amulets and keep their talismans close to hand. Celebrimbor, especially, needed to be careful; small as he was he might easily be lured away. Fëanor clutched the figure tighter.

“About an hour passed Lone Lark peak,” Maglor reported. “We found them just before dawn and rode as hard as we dared to get back here.”

The slopes near Lone Lark were steep, with ample loose slate to send any unwary traveler tumbling down the mountain.

Fëanor looked to the north, toward that spot, though there was no way to see it from this side of their mountain. Not so close then, but close enough for it to find them if it wanted the children.

“We didn’t find their parents,” His son continued, his slim shoulders falling. “But I’m sure they’re dead.”

“Why?” He asked sharply. He had to know everything so he could keep the family safe.

Maglor looked up from the grass blade he’d been tearing into thin strips. “Mae found what’s left of the camp. It looked like a bear or a panther attacked them: shredded tent, claw marks on trees, a lot of blood. I can’t guess how those boys escaped and got all the way to Lone Lark.”

“No, no, don’t you see?” Fëanor asked, taking his son by the shoulders, one hand half clasped around the figurine. “Have I not taught you to recognize this? This is Its doing!”

The presence lurking in the trees finally struck again.

“Whatever spared those boys, fate or luck or some greater power, it will come looking for them.”

A terrible feeling deep in his gut told him this was only the beginning of a great and dreadful awakening.

Maglor’s mouth fell open.

“Did you do anything to hide your path back here? Tie mugwart to the horses’ feet? Burn vervain so the ashes fell before you?” He asked.

“No,” Maglor whispered.

“You led it straight here!” Nowhere was safe or totally free from the creature’s reach, but he’d rather it didn’t know exactly where to come looking to finish them off. If the children saw it, it would surely be here soon, seeking to devour them entirely after that small taste. If only his sons hadn’t found them, or else had the sense to ward off any attention before bringing the foundlings home. He had only one choice now.

He unsheathed the sharp knife he kept on his belt.

Maglor stood suddenly, arms out, blocking the door. “Stop, Pa.” He commanded, his gentle voice turning hard. “They’re children. What are you doing?”

Fëanor raised the black knife and pointed it at his son. “Your hair,” He snapped.

“My hair?” The younger elf repeated, teetering on confusion as he realized he may have been hasty in his assumption of ill intent.

“Yes, I need it. Maedhros’ too—and the boys’.” He reached for his son’s long black hair as he spoke. “We saved Celegorm. We’ll save them, too.”

He failed Fingolfin, so many years ago. He wouldn’t let it claim these children too, not now that he’d learned so much.

Maglor untied his hair and bowed his head to Feanor’s blade.

“Something to obscure them, first.” He continued, the pattern and weave appearing in his mind. “Bind you four together to confuse its senses. You’ll need to wear the talismans at all times until I can weave them into the family’s protections.”

He took a handful of hair and severed it near the roots, then wound it several times around his hand, catching the wooden figure under the strands to keep it pressed to his skin.

“I’ll start tonight, with the stars at their brightest.” He could not finish until Celegorm came back and he could take fresh hair from him, too. There was no telling how long that would be, but of all his sons, his third had the keenest senses for the terrible presence haunting the mountains. He may already be riding back toward the safety of their home.

Maglor opened the kitchen door for him, and they went inside. He quickly claimed what he needed from Maedhros and the two drowsy boys sitting on the table.

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thewhumpening-thesequel · 10 months ago

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Oswald's Torment AuguSnippets: Day #01 - Stalked (Bonus Prompt)

@augusnippets Contents: Living doll whumpee/non-human whumpee, non-human whumper and stalking/being hunted. Wordcount: 624 (Oops...)

“Little lamb, little lamb, oh where are you, little lamb?” A raspy voice called out to Oswald, causing her to flinch. Something had been following her for a while now, something that knew she wasn’t able to get away yet slowly stalked anyways.

Her little plastic heart pulsed loudly in her fluff filled chest. Oswald felt her small tail limply blow in the wind as she glanced behind her, embroidered eye searching for the source of the voice, but just as before, found no one.

She bleated out quietly in distress, the small plush doll’s pace quickened. It wouldn’t be enough to get away from anything that moved at even a normal walking pace. Her soft felt was wet with dew, cotton stuffing saturated. Oswald jumped and startled at every little sound, paranoid as the hours crawled by. A low cackle from her left, the crunch of fall leaves behind her, the snap of a twig from the darkness in front of her.

Oswald was prey, even if she was only a plush toy. Her wobbly little steps left her with a slow gait, easy pickings for anything that’d hunt her. She whimpered when she felt something breathe against her neck, however, when she turned around nothing was there.The plush doll was so close to home, all she had to do was get up those big steps and into the doggy door and she’d be safe. But it was so far for such a small, waterlogged lamb dolly to travel.

She flinched as she stumbled, letting out soft, drowned whimpers. Oswald’s purple braids tangled and got stuck in some muck and pebbles. It took her multiple minutes of tugging to get free, several threads close to fraying by that point. She pushed forward, finally reaching the steps that towered over her. Oswald lifted her long, slightly flimsy arms upwards, pawing at the edge of the stairs.

A clawed, black hand landed harshly next to her, causing the loamy earth to shudder under the pressure. She screamed from shock, scrambling wildly to get onto the step. Her screeching garnered more attention than she bargained for from the predator slowly stalking her. Oswald reached for the next stair, the strain pulling on the fibers of her limbs. This was just cruel of the wolf hunting her, it was right there yet not going in for the kill quite yet.

The plush doll knew it was only a matter of time before the beast did, however. Oswald would soon be crunched in its dark, slavering maw. She slipped, nearly losing all the progress she’d made up the deck stairs. Her heart clenched in that moment but she got her grip back.

Oswald’s pace quickened, small body trembling violently as she forced herself up another step. Splinters caught in her wool, little plastic hooves scraping against them. She soundlessly wailed in relief as she once again got unstuck, though some of her felt was torn. Another loud slam right next to Oswald sounded.

Hurriedly she pulled, pushed, and tugged herself up the steps, foaming at her embroidered mouth for safety. She flung herself onto the deck, releasing a sigh at the feeling of solid wood. That’s when the beast struck, jaws lunging for the plush. Barely dodging, Oswald rolled to the side, squeaking.

Oswald scampered to her hooves, rushing to slam through the doggy door. Falling to the floor, she bounced roughly on the kitchen tile. The wolf, a Nightmare in reality, shoved its face against the window, snarling. Its growls sounded like thunder cracking down on the fields.

Oswald stared up at it with all the defiance her little fluff filled body could muster. However, that didn’t stop her trembling or the fear festering within her.

#Bea's Whump Posts - Writing #Bea's Whump Posts - Events #whump writing #augusnippets day 1 #augusnippets #Oswald (OC)#non human whumpee #nonhuman whumper

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sunlaid · 9 months ago

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# 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌

࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ 𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭, 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘤𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋. announcing the arrival of isra of house martell, the princess of sunspear. whispers among the court name them to be both aspiring and pixilated in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in snake charming. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of the current of a river pushed and torn between two unmoving mountains, form laid upon the scorching sands of a sunspear dune, dreams of a distant yet peaceful past. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with dorne.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 . . .

# 𝗯𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

official name: isra nymeros martell. nicknames: none. noble title: princess of dorne. date of birth: 02/01. age: twenty5. birthplace: sunspear. home: dorne. nationality: westerosi. gender: cis woman. pronouns: she and her. orientation: heterosexual. monikers: the desert rose. languages: the common tongue, dornish. accent: soft, barely there.

# 𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

faceclaim: cemre baysel. hair: lower back length, always kept down and untangled. eyes: molten gold. height: 5'3". build: lean. scent: morning dew, honey. dominant hand: right. allergies: none. scars: none. distinguishing features: freckles and beauty marks all along her arms. clothing style: light fabrics, golden, bronze, pale orange.

# 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒

label: the desert rose. mbti: esfp. enneagram: the enthusiast. element: water. star sign: aquarius. temperament: phlegmatic. character inspirations: archangel gabriel, jack dawson, luke castellan, carlisle cullen. deadly sin: wrath. heavenly virtue: diligence. godly parent: apollo.

# 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌

hobbies: snake charming, traveling. religion: lord of light. alliance: house nymeros martell. personal goals: a united family and a free dorne. would they choose family or power? family.

# 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌

father: prince doran nymeros martell. relationship: strained. mother: princess carynne nymeros martell nee tba. relationship: positive. spouse: none. relationship: tba. sibling: various. relationship: various, dependent.

𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 . . .

freedom.�� carynne purposely named her youngest so, as the last to bare the martell name, far removed from the seat of sunspear. never to be tangled into the dornish politics, or the fight for her father's title. a child that could spread her own wings, fly the skies of dorne without fear of clipped feathers. it was her wish, her hope for isra. growing into her skin, isra made good on her name. showing no restrain, no bias in her love for the siblings that shared her father's blood.

but father's words of indecision towards the heir put a strain on familial relationships. the seat would not be hers, this she was content with. but she became a wall flower in her own home following the grand announcement, watching from the background the fight to usurp the power from each other. love turned to despise when it came to doran, youngest turning honeyed eyes that were once full of affection, now consumed by hurt, away from the father that stole that happiness from her.

she felt suffocated within the walls of sunspear. four walls that would have once felt safe were uncomfortable to look at. the princess fled, then. stayed within dorne, at first, but when the letters of mother and father kept finding her, begging her to come home, she stepped outside of the confines of home for the first time.

the union between dragon and essos serves as the first time in years that isra approached her family. came to congratulate, but as the gods would have it, she is lost within the war. pushed onto essosi ship to escape the damnation of the red keep. she does not go home, not to the home that had not felt like home in moons. friends offer her sanctuary from the war across the waters. but her presence is requested yet again, asked via letters from mother, to sail back to westeros, in hopes of re uniting family.

# 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌

found family: ladies in waiting

bastards of dorne, they double as isra's personal guards, the sand snakes. each of them is close to the princess, as if they were sisters from birth, and were raised by her side. all have followed isra as she fled the walls of sunspear, although the princess has had her reservations in taking them away from their family. her own relationship is strained, but dorne is welcoming to bastards, so its utp if the ladies have a positive one with their family, and if they miss them.

#westeros.intro

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leahgrxy · 4 years ago

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It seemed that Leah was the only one out of the dozen or so people surrounding Jeremy’s dining table that didn’t hold any breath of surprise for the red head across from her as she snapped the lacy black underwear she’d just removed beneath the table and flung them across the table towards Jackson. More cards fell, much like the usually arrogant smirk held by Justin’s best friend. Inevitably, the laugh that rang out from between Leah’s lips was partnered with an equally as lackluster eye roll as she reached for the bottle of sambuca being passed around. Undoubtedly, she adored Sarah, but she was under no false impressions of what she was up to when she’d announced a game of strip poker some time before hand. If she’d paid any mind to the weird kid she’d bumped into earlier, perhaps Sarah wouldn’t be on the hunt, as she usually put it. The sickeningly sweet taste of liquorice didn’t sit long enough on her tongue to enjoy before Liam snatched the bottle back, “No fucking way, you don’t get the bottle. You suck at sharing.” Difficult to share when it took far more to feel the effervescent heat rising in her palms that noted the light buzz of intoxicity. ‘Oh, I don’t know,” Justin’s voice buzzed lightly against the shell of here ear, his arms folding tighter around her waist, “I’ve never had any problems with her sharing.” And that was out there. The raised brows as those close enough to hear processed the very few things that could have been alluded to only sought to match her own as she pulled herself out of his hold and tossed Sarah’s panties back at her, “Come on, we’re doing shot and you know these losers can’t keep up.” A hand brushed through Justin’s hair, the slight tap to the back of his head almost completely unnoticeable in comparison to his hand reaching out to tap her gently across her rear. “You know that Jackson is a total skeez. The only thing you’re gonna get from him is like...” The red solo cup in her hand lifted as she tipped back the double shot of ouzo, features contorting at the taste before the cup was tossed aside on the breakfast bar, “the clap, and that’s if you’re lucky. I don’t think that guy has made anyone cum since.. Ever.” The corner of her mouth undoubtedly lifting at the near outrageous.. and disappointed look on the red heads face. “I know but..” And there it was, the infamous pout and baby tantrum. Noted only by the slight wiggle of Sarah’s bare legs as she flung herself back into the counter and reached for the bowl of punch, pushing aside the flowers floating across the top to scoop up a cup full, “He’s just so...--- Actually, did you see that guy that you bumped into earlier?” That was a near definite negative, when had Leah Grey ever paid any mind to anyone around her besides... well, herself? Confusion settled on her features, mockingly and as if she expected far more from the one person who knew her. “Did I see.. fuck.” The petite brunette laughed, “I didn’t see shit, I don’t know why you bother, everyone here looks like Freddy haunts their dreams.” Which, upon drinking back the cup Sarah had given her, might have been purely based on how much flammable liquid had been poured into the near neon green concoction she’d just swallowed. “The hell did they put in this..” Wiping at her mouth, she moves towards the bowl and watches the flowers move gently across the top - she recognized them, figured they might have been some kind of edible psychedelic plant that he wanted to push everyone onto. Still, didn’t stop her from drawing up another cup and dragging Sarah back through the crowd of students - half of which she knew didn’t even go to Delphian but had simply heard about it through... well, Justin.

While most people learned only a small handful of years ago, that hot air rose, it was something that Leah was taught over a century ago. The heat of intoxication for instance, usually prickled it’s way up through the fingertips and toes, into a persons legs and arms until finally settling into the back of their head, blurring vision and sentences all too easily. This, however, started in the small of her back. Twisting, and reaching up beneath her spine in a way that only she understood. It turned in her stomach, collided with the underside of her ribs and before Sarah could even think to notice, Leah bolted. Ducking through the mess of bodies, ignoring any protest from those with spilled drinks or toes stepped on. Half moons might have appeared a permanent fixture in the palm of her hand if they didn’t seek to heal so quickly. The moment of pause overcame her at the halfway point of the staircase, the open window showing no signs of a moonlit sky, everything hidden behind the fog of clouds. It’s not the right time.... Still, the prickle that had now reached the back of her neck told her otherwise, except, the overwhelming sickening twist in her stomach drove her upwards, two steps at a time, slipping on the floor outside the bathroom as she grabbed hold of the guys shirt who’d been about to go inside, “Get the fuck out!” The door slammed behind her, though the latch never clicked, Leah unaware as everything in her stomach came up. It was only when she’d finally sought to reach for the sink what felt like hours later, to turn on the tap that she caught sight of the door pressing open and the hand that pushed it. “I’m not done in here, how hard is it to knock?”

#01. tangled and torn

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waitingforwinterwinds · 2 years ago

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ASOS; Steel and Snow: 01 JAIME I (pages 18-32)

Brienne and Jaime, accompanied by Ser Cleos, begin the long journey to King's Landing under Catelyn's orders.

An east wind blew through his tangled hair, as soft and fragrant as Cersei's fingers.

I feel like this tells us so much about Jaime, but also nothing we didn't already know. The boy is besotted.

...Jaime... stop calling Brienne 'the wench'... and also stop talking like that kind of asshole just to try and regain some of your perceived power in the situation, you're not in charge, you're just being an asshat.

"Lady Brienne?" She looked so uncomfortable that Jaime sensed a weakness. "Or would Ser Brienne be more to your taste?" He laughed.

I mean that depends on whether you consider Ser to be a man's title or a knight's title. irl the female equivalent of Sir/Ser is Dame. Dame Brienne of Tarth.

But also if he doesn't stop heckling, I'm going to bust out the steel chair and bop him.

"Let Robert do as he pleases. I'll go to war with him if I must. The War for Cersei's Cunt, the singers will call it."

'Cunt' = 🥛

Oop, Jaime confirms he did not try to have Bran killed, and doubts Cersei was the culprit either, the suspects narrow!

We know who did it. But Jaime doesn't. I like that GRRM doesn't magical-hive-mind information, with as many characters as he has, it can be so hard to keep track of who knows what, and what the audience should know at any given point in time... actually, since I know from watching the show, I remember Tyrion had some very strong suspicions on who the culprit was, but I can't remember if he's wheedled a confession yet. That is the down side to only reading a chapter a day, by the time a play pans out, I've forgotten it was in the works, or the inverse, I remember that someone set a trap and forget it was already sprung XD

... okay, I'll admit it, Jaime's idea to give himself the Walter White aesthetic was a good one. Easy disguise with no magically appearing prosthetics, flips the traits he's known for and lets them stay lowkey on the journey.

A few one-room shacks came and went, perched on tall poles that made them look like cranes. Of the folk who lived there they saw no sign. Birds flew over head, or cried out from the trees along the shore, and Jaime glimpsed silvery fish knifing through the water. Tully trout, that's a bad omen, he thought, until he saw worse-one of the floating logs they passed turned out to be a dead man, bloodless and swollen. His cloak was tangled in the root of a fallen tree, its color unmistakably Lannister crimson. He wondered if the corpse had been someone he knew.

oooh, packed a bit into that paragraph. some lowkey world-building, a reminder that Shit Has Gone Down in the area, and a brief flash of humanising for Jaime. The wondering if he's known the dead feels like the first bit of sympathetic thought I've seen from him so far that's not self-or-cersei-centered. Oh, it's not exactly empathetic, like he doesn't sound like he's mourning this poor fallen John Doe, but it matters that he cared enough to wonder, implies connection to the Lannister men besides all being team Lannister. Jaime doesn't just know them, he knows some of them.

They sailed past villages but no villagers. An empty net, slashed and torn and hanging from some trees, was the only sign of fisherfolk. A young girl watering her horse rode off as soon as she glimpsed their sail. Later they passed a dozen peasants digging in a field beneath the shell of a burnt towerhouse. The men gazed at them with dull eyes, and went back to their labors once they decided the skiff was no threat.

You know what would have been hilariously ironic, but in the most frustrating way possible?

If that young girl with the horse had been Arya. If they had been so close to recovering Arya in that moment, but she noped out, there-by saving herself from the Red Wedding. (Assuming her recovery at this point doesn't change things like getting Rob caught up on the fact Roose Bolton is absolute (competent) garbage.)

Below, Jaime made out the smouldering remains of a large building, and a live oak full of dead women.

Hanging tree.

*suddenly, a volcano erupted directly under Roose Bolton and his forces, with more wrath and speed than expected, as if an angry god was responsible, the molten stone spewed forth and swarmed over those responsible for the atrocities, burning them to a crisp.*

Actually, fun fact, because lava and magma are liquid stone, the density means that human bodies would float, or, well, bob. The Golem scene from the end of the Lord of the Rings trilogy should be reversed, the Ring sinking and Golem bobbing back to the surface and slowly burning until his buoyancy is low enough for him to sink through the superheated sludge. I mean he'd likely be dead pretty quick from breathing superheated air before the meat really got cooking, so he would suffer for long, and that's assuming he survives the fall. People die from that height falling onto unbroken water and stone. guy totally should have died.

... sorry. too morbid?

Brienne moved the tiller and the skiff sheared left, sail rippling. Jaime watched her eyes. Pretty eyes, he thought, and calm. He knew how to read a man's eyes. He knew what fear looked like. She is determined, not desperate.

yay Brienne! Go! Go! Go! (and good job finally making some good observations Jaime... and he's already back to 'wench.')

... oh, but he's covering for Brienne's lack of cover by pulling aggro! Nice, TeamWork!

I mean, let's not start the bromancing just yet, at this point he's doing it because Brienne and her plan are his best chance at getting back to Cersei.

!!!! Brienne casts Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies! (well, not the TPK version, but she drop a rock "the size of a cow"! I love her so much!

Ser Cleos turned the skiff towards her. Thankfully, Jaime still had his oar. One good swing when she comes paddling up and I'll be free of her. Instead, he found himself stretching the oar out over the water. Brienne grabbed hold, and Jaime pulled her in.

See, it's moments like this that give me such confliction with Jaime, it makes me want to say "because at heart he is a good man, who, though he struggles with it, wants to do the right thing, to be the Good guy."

And then I remember he threw an eight year old child out a window to his presumed death with zero hesitation, and I think "well clearly not, actually."

Ahhh, our first Jaime chapter, it's a little jarring to see inside his head, how he cares so little for people in general, like, his whole world is Cersei (and maybe Tyrion and their dad?) and everyone else doesn't seem to register much, but at the same time, there is some level of care, Jaime does show a goodness despite his attempted child-murder and treasoncest. Whether his care is long buried for tragic backstory reasons, or whether it's something that's never really had a chance or reason to grow... I guess we'll see.

More importantly: Jaime&Brienne BROadtrip: Commence!

We'll see how it goes in comparison to the show.

#a storm of swords #steel and snow #a song of ice and fire #jaime lannister #a chapter a day reading #asos #asoiaf

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fireheartfaery · 4 years ago

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Day 2: “Because I know when I open my eyes this will all turn out to be a dream and I’ll lose you again.”

masterlist; my links

non descript

CW: grief

They say you can always figure out if you're dreaming or not by looking for certain signs. 1. you can't read. 2. Faces are usually blurry or distorted or unlike their own in some way. 3. You may have trouble counting or telling time.

Rowan Whitethorn is not dreaming. But he wants to be. Gods, he needs to be. Maybe then seeing the face of his fiancé wouldn't hurt so much. But he can see the clock flashing 03:09 and he can make out all the beautiful, intricate features of Ruhn Danaan's face and he can read the poster above their bed that says "never on time, but I'm always there when you call." A gift, and a promise to each other. One they had kept for seven years, and one he had hoped to keep for seventy more.

"Baby I need you to say something," That soft, rasping voice pierces all the darkened corners of his heart.

He continues to look at the scene before him, unmoving, unblinking, as if his body is not his own.

Ruhn reaches out, blue eyes shining with unshed tears, and cups his cheek. The gesture is so familiar Rowan can't help but whimper, leaning into that warmth like it is the only tether keeping him to this world.

The male before him let's out a tangled breath, relief floating on the wings of the early morning.

"Please my love," Ruhn tries again, "Say something. Say anything."

His eyes shift to the black hair, still as silky and choppy as it was three months ago. "It's gotten longer." His fingers reach up to play with the strands, weaving through it.

"I—" His fiancé chokes, pain like drowning sirens flashing behind his eyes. "I didn't have a chance to cut it. Even my undercut has grown too long."

Rowan sits further up in bed, losing the gentle warmth of the hand on his face, but gaining the advantage of seeing everything a little more clearly. The curtains billow softly, leaking in the last dregs of moonlight. The trees outside the window scrape against the wooden paneling of the house, and it is a comfort to hear such a familiar sound. It is almost a substitute for the rushing river they'd once lived by. One he may still live by if he weren't such a coward, if he hadn't run away.

"Why are you not at home?"

"This is my home."

A sharp inhale sounds like a gunshot in his ears. "Why did you leave?"

He turns his attention away from the window and pins his green gaze directly on that heartbroken face.

"I couldn't stay, I couldn't bear to. Not without you."

Ruhn collapses onto the bed, head falling into his hands, sobs wracking his shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I'm—I'm sorry."

Rowan looks away, torn between wanting to go to him and wanting to curl into a ball and wish away the pain hurtling in his chest.

"I told you I'd come back for you. No matter what." The voice is small, but it is full of conviction. "I told you I'd be there when you called."

"I didn't realize you could come back from the dead to honour your promise."

"I'd come back from hell to honour us."

"Why are you saying these things?" It is an explosion, a tornado of anger and pain and endless heartache.

"Because they are true!" They are volatile in their anguish. "Because we did not die and die and die again just to leave each other." Blue eyes fracture like weak ice.

"Why do you not believe me?"

“Because I know when I open my eyes this will all turn out to be a dream and I’ll lose you again.”

His fiancé bows over as the words strike every chord in his crippling heart.

"Come here." He holds his arms open. If they only have this time, he would rather spend it holding the male that carried his body across a battle field, and carried his heart across time itself.

Ruhn crawls into his arms, head resting in the crook of his neck. Their heartbeats match and something inside Rowan crumples.

"I love you." His fiancé whispers.

Rowan Whitethorn runs a fading hand through that beautiful black hair and whispers the words back, over and over again. Like a beating drum. Like an echo. Like the start of forever.

And then he closes his eyes, and sleeps at last.

***

Ruhn Danaan wakes up to an empty bed and sheets wrapping around his legs, like a noose. He looks at the poster above him.

never on time but I'm always there when you call.

A stray tear dares to escape. He swipes it away with enough burning anger to start a fire, and stands up. His feet feel the cool tiles of the bedroom floor.

With a deep breath, smelling of pine and snow, he starts another day without Rowan Whitethorn.

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

Tags (If you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know. all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01, @simping4bookboisngrls

#Rowan x Ruhn #Ruhn x Rowan #FDS Valentines challenge #Crackships keep fandom alive #FDS fanfic #FDS series #Day 2

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tremolo · 4 years ago

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Bradford - Thirty Years Of Shouting Quietly

01. Greed And Peasant Land 02. To Have And To Hurt 03. Gang Of One 04. Always Torn 05. Lust Roulette 06. Adrift Again 07. Radio Edna 08. Everything At Once 09. Gary's Going Down 10. Skin Storm 11. A Wounding 12. In Liverpool 13. Boys Will Be Boys 14. The Loss 15. A Pint Of Bitterness 16. Tattered, Tangled And Torn [Stephen Street Version] 17. Headful Of Dreadful [Stephen Street Demo Version] 18. Saturday Insanity [Elephant Version] 19. Laughing Larry's [Village Demo Version] 20. Gatling Gun [Strawberry Version] 21. Quality Of Mercy [Strawberry Version] 22. Here Endeth The First Lesson [Stephen Street Demo Version] 23. Little Boy Lost [Stephen Street Demo Version] 24. Hard Feelings [Stephen Street Demo Version] 25. Lift Your Eyes To Where She Dwells [Square One Demo Version] 26. Fallen Open [Square One Demo Version] 27. Swim [Castleford Demo Version] 28. The Swing Of Things [Castleford Demo Version] 29. Gang Of One Revisited [Stephen Street Version] 30. Skin Storm [Single Version]

#Bradford

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cutaepatootie · 6 years ago

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Cold Iced Americano - 01

→ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Warnings: too many sarcasm, as always.

A/N: Happy Birthday to the boy who makes my heart shake. Talented, kind, big-hearted, that is our Yoongo <3 This is a story I’ve been writing for quite some time, but what better time to post it than on Yoongi’s day? It will have four parts, each one of them portraits a different year of university and a different stage of the relationship between Yoongi and the reader. Enjoy!

It is lazy Sunday mornings like this, when you remember him the most.

Clouds covering the sky and casting grey shadows all over the still awakening city. The rain hitting rhythmically the glass of the small window of your room, just like his fingers hit the keys of his beloved piano. And, outside the little world that is your room, you can hear the relaxing sounds of birds and the angry horns of cars, such a contrast between heaven and hell, just like his cold iced americano in the middle of December. Just like him.

Tangled in your white sheets, you think of him every lazy Sunday morning like this.

You think of him while the strong scent of freshly made coffee fills your nostrils, while you stretch in bed trying to awaken your limbs, while you open your eyes getting rid of your blurry vision.

You think of him as an old rap song starts playing on the radio, the sounds of the beats blending in with the sound of the rain hitting the window, the happy birds and the angry horns of the cars outside your small room.

And just like every other lazy Sunday morning like this, while you remember him, you think of all the things that brought you together and that tore you apart.

You guess everything started on your first day of university.

As you ran – nearly half an hour late you must admit – to your first class, you wondered how could you have ended up like that despite all the planning you had been doing the previous week.

You blamed it all to the torn map in your hands. The paper was so damaged that you could barely distinguish the different buildings from the green areas that were the gardens of your campus.

“Shit,” you murmured under your breath, taking a sharp turn to the left just as you were about to enter the Physics building instead of the History one – the one you had been looking for the past fifteen minutes.

But the torn map wasn’t the only responsible of your delay.

The old alarm clock you had brought with you to your dorm decided to stop functioning that same night at 3 AM, so it didn’t ring at 7 AM as it was supposed to do. Your first class didn’t start until 9 AM, but you wanted to take a walk around the campus first so you could get familiar with the place and, luckily, pick a good seat at your first class. All those plans went o out of the window the moment you opened your eyes at 8:30 AM.

After a ton of “shits” and “fucks” you woke up from bed and went to your wardrobe so you could pick a decent outfit for the day. To your surprise, the wardrobe was completely empty. And as you murmured another round of “shits” and “fucks” through clenched teeth you remembered that you had been so tired the previous day that you had decided to go straight to bed instead of organizing your new room.

The idea of the nice outfit and makeup went out of the window with the rest of your plans as you chose the first hoodie and pair of jeans you found in your suitcase.

But, of course, that wasn’t the end of your misfortune that September morning. That was just the beginning.

While you were stepping into your shower and your feet touched the freezing water, you remembered you hadn’t turned the water heater on the previous night either, so the water of the shower was as cold as the iceberg that sunk the Titanic. After ten long minutes under freezing water, you finally dried and dressed yourself, not even bothering in washing your hair.

“I still have fifteen minutes to eat some breakfast and still be on time for my first class” you thought as you grabbed your backpack and closed the door to your dorm, sighing, because everything that could have gone wrong that morning had already happened, so, what else could go wrong? Nothing, right?

Well, it turns out you were wrong.

“He dumped me!” the girl at the other side of the counter said, sniffling as she waved her arms dramatically in the air.

“What a bastard!” the other girl exclaimed, pouring some coffee in a small cup.

“Can you believe it? Him? Dumping me? It should have been the other way around, he is such an asshole. I don’t even know why I was with him in the first place!” the first girl continues her monologue in between angry and sad tears – and you say angry and sad at the same time because you couldn’t quite decipher if the girl was sad or angry.

You cleared your throat, indicating you were there.

“Oh! Excuse me sweetie! What do you want?” the girl said, wiping her tears away as she looked at you.

Fuck those fifteen minutes and fuck being on time for your first class.

Of course, you had to miss the bus that would take you to the campus - which was only a fifteen-minute walk from your dorm, but those precious fifteen minutes had been snatched from your hands by the barista who had been dumped by her boyfriend, breaking their two-year relationship.

While you waited for the next bus, you opened your backpack, trying to find the map of the campus that you had put in there. It was only when you emptied the whole backpack, that you found the map. It was there, lying in the depths of your old, black backpack, torn from the weight of the notebooks and laptop that had been lying on top of it.

You tried not to cry – and not to punch someone in the face at the same time – as you stepped on the next bus.

And that’s why you were entering the History building at 9:35 AM on your first day of university, because of the broken alarm clock, the empty wardrobe, the cold shower, the crying barista, the missed bus and the torn map. Such a long list of coincidences that led you to that exact same moment in which you bumped with a hard, unknown object, in the empty corridors of the History building.

“Ouch!” you exclaimed as you felt a cold liquid splashing on your hoodie.

“Shit!”

At the sound of the deep voice, you lifted your eyes from your stained hoodie to find that the hard, unknown object was, in fact, a boy.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” you said, your eyes widening as you saw that the boy’s t-shirt was definitely more damaged by the collision than your hoodie.

The boy looked at you with angry, dark eyes, as he held his empty cup of Starbucks, the iced americano that had been in it now splattered all over his Stranger Things t-shirt.

“Shit…” the boy repeated, averting his eyes from you and examining his stained t-shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” you said as you quickly searched for a pack of tissues in your backpack.

Once you grabbed the pack of tissues, you handed the boy one tissue with trembling hands.

“I’m truly sorry…” you kept saying, anxiously looking at the boy, who looked angrier by each passing second.

Eventually, he stopped trying to clean his t-shirt with your tissues and lifted his eyes to you.

You went to hand him another tissue, but he refused, signalling you to stop with his empty hand.

“Leave it,” he sighed. ��It’s useless.”

“I’m so sorry, really…” you repeated. “I can give you money for another coffee, or money for another t-shirt… Or for both!”

You started searching for your small wallet in your backpack.

“No,” the boy said, shaking his head, trying to calm his temper.

“No, no. Here, take it, you’ll have enough for both things,” you said, handing him some money.

He refused but you didn’t give up and kept offering the money to him.

“Stop! I told you I don’t want your stupid money or your stupid tissues!” he said, raising his voice and making your eyes snap up to him.

You observed him properly for the first time since you had bumped into him.

He was small, barely taller than you by a few inches, and despite that, he made you feel as if you were Frodo Baggins next to him. His sharp, dark eyes piercing into you with a glaring fury, his presence, imposing.

“You should fucking look where you’re going, instead,” he spat, making you frown.

“I could say the same to you,” your voice turned serious, all softness disappearing from it. “Two doesn’t bump if one of them is looking where they’re going.”

The boy scoffed, and you scoffed back, holding his gaze while he tried to intimidate you. You had tried to be nice to him and apologise for bumping into him – which had been an accident, not a murder as he was making it out to be – but your morning was already being shit, and the last thing you needed was for a rude asshole to ruin it even more, so you didn’t budge.

“Fucking great, my morning’s going fucking great!” he cursed, finally looking away from you, pulling from his t-shirt angrily and then, letting go from the damp material.

You put the pack of tissues and your wallet back into your backpack and adjusted it on your back.

“Here,” you forcefully shoved the money on his hands. “Buy some manners along with a new t-shirt and a coffee.”

And with that, you averted your eyes from the boy and strolled past him and down the corridor towards your History of Art class, cursing under your breath.

. . .

It turns out you weren’t the only whose alarm clock had decided to stop functioning that day.

You were sitting on the last row at the back of the lecture hall, picking your laptop from your backpack, when a girl entered the lecture hall from the back door – just the same way you had done it just five minutes before.

“What have I missed?” she asked as she breathlessly plopped down on the seat next to yours.

“Uh… Sorry, but I’ve arrived late too, and I have no idea what the professor’s talking about,” you whispered, smiling softly.

She looked at you for a moment, as if she was examining you thoroughly.

“You arrived late on your first day of college?” she asked finally, narrowing her eyes. The smile disappeared from your face and you were about to ask her who was she to ask you something like that, when she spoke again. “I thought I was going to be the only one, phew… We need to be best friends.”

And that’s how you met Max, a whirlwind of laughs, screams and life. She made you feel as if you could be yourself without being judged, with your stupid comments and silly laughs, and you both connected immediately.

Of course, it wouldn’t be the last day one of you arrived nearly an hour late to class.

From that day on, you became inseparables.

If you arrived late to class, Max arrived late with you. If you needed some books from the library to do some research for your Romanticism essay, Max helped you find them. If you felt like grabbing some coffee before class, Max grabbed some coffee with you. If you wanted to go to the cinema and watch the last Marvel movie, Max went with you. If you didn’t feel like going to class that day, Max skipped class with you. If you wanted to buy a new pair of Vans, Max bought another pair of Vans with you. If you wanted to go the bathroom, Max went with you.

And precisely, going to the bathroom is how you met the third member of your crazy, but lovely, group of friends.

“I hate her so fucking much,” you said, opening the tap and washing your hands with the horrible university soap that smells like bathroom floor with pee all over it.

“Ugh,” Max said, rolling her eyes and not even thinking about washing her hands with that disgusting soap. “Leaving that bitch aside… How can you wash your hands with that shit? I would rather stick them into a toilet.”

You lifted your hands and brought them to your nose, so you could smell them. When the scent of the chip soap filled your nostrils, you scrunched up your face in disgust. “I don’t even know, but the thought of all those bacteria running through my hands makes me sick.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s plenty more bacteria on your hands after washing them with that soap,” Max said, throwing you a roll of toilet paper for you to dry your hands with it.

“Ew! Please, don’t mention the soap anymore!” you said as you struggled to grab the roll of toilet paper in the air as Max threw it to you.

“Okay, what I’m gonna mention is Mrs. I-Kang-Fucking-Know-Everything,” Max scoffed as she mentioned Kang Seulgi, the known-it-all from your class.

“And don’t forget to mention how we have an exam next week because of her,” you said, smiling sarcastically.

“Ugh!” Max screamed, dramatically clasping her hands over her face. “I can’t stand her. She’s always so perfect and arrogant. She sits with her back straight, I mean, who the fuck sits with their back straight?”

“Someone who doesn’t want to get scoliosis,” a voice said as a girl emerged from one of the closed stalls of the bathroom.

You and Max both fell silent as you observed Kang Seulgi herself walking towards the sinks, her bangs perfectly falling over her forehead as always, her hair shiny and so straight.

“Fuck,” you heard Max murmur under her breath.

You stood there, not knowing what to do or say as you observed Kang Seulgi washing her hands, the roll of toilet paper still in your hands.

“Can you pass me the toilet paper?” Kang Seulgi asked once she finished washing her hands.

“I… I…” you stuttered. “I… Of course,” you ended up saying, handing her the roll of toilet paper delicately.

Kang Seulgi grabbed it from your hands in a harsh movement and dried her hands.

The lump in your throat was becoming uncomfortable, and the tension in the bathroom was going to make all the mirrors and fucking sinks explode. You could still feel embarrassment all over your body and heat on your cheeks, and just the thought of Kang Seulgi walking out of the bathroom knowing that she was important enough to piss two other girls off, was unbearable to you. That arrogant bitch wasn’t going to sleep that night knowing she had two more enemies in her long black list.

“Kang Seulgi,” you called her as she was about to exit the bathroom. “I fucking hate you and your arrogance, and because of your know-it-all attitude we all have an exam next week.”

When those words left you, your felt two things: the first one was the need to pee because you were really nervous – you had never faced someone like that before. And the other was relief, because you had nothing to hide anymore and you could be clear to her from then on.

“I’m just saying that, in case you go around there thinking or saying that we speak behind your back,” you continued, not knowing how to interpret the look on Kang Seulgi’s face. “Well, we don’t, I just told you what we both think. I hope you don’t take that as an insult and more as constructive criticism instead.”

Kang Seulgi stood there, in the threshold of the bathroom door, a perplexed look on her face. Max was just as perplexed as Kang Seulgi was, and she couldn’t stop looking at you with her eyes and mouth wide open.

“I…” Kang Seulgi stuttered.

Suddenly, her bitchy known-it-all attitude was down and there was just a pretty girl left on its place.

You flinched when you saw the girl starting to walk towards you in a fast pace. You closed your eyes and clenched your teeth as you waited for the harsh slap to arrive. But it never did.

Instead of slapping you, Kang Seulgi hugged you and laughed.

You blinked a few times, looking at Max, who was observing it all as if she was in some sort of out-of-body experience.

“Thank you,” Kang Seulgi sighed as she broke the hug.

You stood still like a statue as the girl took a step back and smiled at you with a hand on her chest.

“T… Thank you for w-what?” you stuttered, blinking a few times.

“Thank you for saying what everyone thinks but never tells me,” she said.

You frowned. You had just said you hated her, that she was arrogant, and a bitch and she was… She was thanking you? It had to be the fucking university soap that smelled like bathroom floor with pee all over it. You had smelled it and you were now hallucinating.

“I’m so done with all those fake friends telling me how funny and clever I am. I know I’m fucking funny and clever, I don’t need a reminder of it,” Kang Seulgi kept saying. “I’m arrogant, and I’m a know-it-all because I know it all and I take pride in it and I take pride in fucking other people up because of that.”

You blinked a few times. You were never going to wash your hands with that fucking soap ever again, let alone smell it.

“That’s what I need a reminder of, because I sometimes forget how much I can fuck people up with my words and actions. Like this morning, for example, when I told Mr. Kwon how you all plotted against him and his subject yesterday through the group chat.”

And that’s how you met Seulgi, an arrogant bitch and a know-it-all, but also, the funniest and kindest girl you had ever met. That kind girl was just hidden beneath layers of arrogance and beauty – and designer clothes – that Max and you slowly took off – you’re obviously talking about the layers of arrogance and beauty here, not about her clothes. You fell in love with her ability to brighten up your mood even in the cloudiest days, and with the way she always told you the truth, even when it hurt.

You guess everything started on your first day of university because, if your old alarm clock hadn’t stopped functioning, if you had tidied up your dorm the day before, if that barista hadn’t broken up with her boyfriend, it you hadn’t missed the bus, if you hadn’t arrived late to your first day of class and bumped into that asshole, you wouldn’t have met Max, and you wouldn’t have met Seulgi, your main source of support through your university years.

. . .

In the blink of an eye, it suddenly was February and your first final exams were over.

With Seulgi’s help – because she still was a know-it-all and the most intelligent girl you knew – you passed all your exams. You struggled a bit with Mr. Kwon’s subject because that first exam fucked you up so badly, but you still passed.

“No…” Seulgi sighed for the tenth time as she tried to explain something to Max. “It wasn’t in 1491, Michelangelo finished the Sistine Chapel in 1481.”

“So what?” Max pouted. “Why do I need to know the date of the year in which Michelangelo finished the Sistine Chapel?”

“Why the fuck are you studying History then?” Seulgi asked.

“Because she didn’t know what career she wanted to study, so she flipped a coin to decide which career she would study, and History was the chosen one,” you said in a bored tone as you scrolled through your Twitter timeline. Max had already told you the story of how she chose History as her career a thousand times, so you knew it even better than your own.

“Not all of us are passionate about History, okay?” Max said. “Respect that.”

You shook your head as Max and Seulgi kept arguing about Michelangelo and his divine Sistine Chapel, an incredible work of art.

“Speaking of works of art…” Seulgi said in her usual devilish tone that made your eyes snap up from your phone and look at whatever – or whoever – had caught her attention.

You followed her eyes until you found a small group of boys walking through the doors of the library and towards an empty table not far from yours.

You rolled your eyes as you recognised the boys.

“Seulgi… You have no solution,” you sighed, focusing on your phone once more and laughing at the video of a dog barking as if it was Beyoncé. “Look at this dog.”

Max leaned towards you and grabbed the headphone you were handing out to her so she could watch the video that was playing on your phone and she laughed lowly at it, the both of you ignoring Seulgi and whatever she was saying.

“Never mind,” you both heard her say before watching her standing up and starting to walk towards the table in which the boys were sitting at.

“Seulgi!” you whispered as you eyed the librarian from the corner of your eye – you didn’t want her scolding you once again and kicking you out of the library.

But Seulgi was way too occupied with her new mission to pay attention to your hushed calls of her name.

“Oh God…” Max whispered, letting her head fall onto her hands.

You shook your head as you observed your friend placing both of her hands loudly on top of the table, startling the boy who was her target: Park Jimin.

She had been crushing on the boy ever since the first day she had seen him at campus. “Look how handsome Park Jimin is.” “Look how nice he dresses.” “Look how good his hair looks today.” “Look how hot he is.” “I can’t help but think of dirty things as I look at those plump lips.” Park Jimin this, Park Jimin that…

And, even though Seulgi had told you it was nothing but sexual tension what she felt for him, you knew it was a little bit further from that. You could see it the first time she approached him at the cafeteria and returned to your table with sparkling eyes. You could see it every time she spoke to him or every time you walked past him in the corridors.

Kang Seulgi, the cold and heartless queen who wasn’t looking for a relationship, only no-strings-attached flings, was catching feelings for Park Jimin, the sweet – yet hot – boy every girl drooled over at campus.

Him and his group of friends weren’t exactly the typical group of boys who spent their university days drinking at random parties and hooking up with every girl on campus. They were more on the laid-back, chill group of cool and handsome guys side, the ones who ignored drama and gossip. But still, you could see through that chill façade that made all the girls crazy for them, and the further away you were from them, the better.

You kept observing your friend. She grabbed a strand of hair that had fallen from her messy ponytail and started playing with it, twisting and untwisting it around her finger as she giggled and spoke with Park Jimin.

After what seemed like an eternity, Seulgi walked back to your table and sat on her previous seat with a smirk on her face.

“Girls, we have plans for this Friday night,” she said, winking at Max and you.

. . .

“It isn’t fair,” you protested, stepping out of the taxi while glaring at Seulgi, who was impatiently waiting for Max and you to get out of the taxi.

“Oh, c’mon…” Seulgi said, rolling her eyes. “As If you had anything better to do.”

“Yeah!” you protested. “I had something better to do!”

“What?” Seulgi asked, daring you with her feline eyes.

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Watch the new episode of Criminal Minds, duh.”

Seulgi rolled her eyes and grabbed your wrists, dragging you towards the bar, pub, club… Whatever it was.

“What’s this place?” you asked, looking at the neon lights that hung above the front door with judging eyes.

“A bar.”

“Hey! Thanks for waiting…” Max said sarcastically, running to catch you both up.

“Sorry, I was so excited to enter the pub that I couldn’t even wait you,” you said, with equally as much sarcasm as your friend.

“It’s not a pub, it’s a bar!” Seulgi protested.

“It’s leviosa, no leviosá,” Max joked, teasing Seulgi as you both laughed.

Finally, you entered the bar – which looked like a pub and not like a bar, to be honest.

The first thing you could see was a neon sign that said Verse – just like the one above the front door outside- hanging from the wall. A security guard asked for your ID cards before you walked through two thick velvet curtains.

Immediately, Hip-Hop music filled your ears along with the voices of the people that were sitting at the different tables of the bar. The lights were dim, and it smelled like beer and smoke.

From the walls hung all sort of Hip-Hop posters. Pictures of Jay-Z, Kanye West, Nas, Dr.Dre, Eminem… filled the glass shelves behind bar counter. The bartenders mixed drinks and poured beer on big glasses. People spoke animatedly while sipping on their drinks and sitting at the black leather couches spread all over the bar.

In the middle of the room, a round scenario was empty, only a stool and a microphone on it.

“Hey!” you heard a soft voice say amongst the noise of the bar.

The three of you turned your heads to find Park Jimin waving at you. He was smiling, his eyes forming two small slits as he held a big glass of beer with his vacant hand.

Seulgi glared at you both as you started approaching the group of boys.

“Don’t say anything I wouldn’t say,” she said to Max and you through clenched teeth, smiling at Park Jimin as if she hadn’t just threatened her two best friends.

You looked at Max and smiled devilishly just to tease Seulgi.

“Sure,” you shrugged.

“Trust us,” Max said, winking at you.

Throwing a last glare towards you, Seulgi greeted Jimin with a hug, they boy’s hands lingering on her waist more than they should have.

You glared at the boy, warning him with your eyes. But either he ignored your silent threat or he was to stupid to get it.

“These are my friends,” Seulgi introduced you to Jimin, though she had already introduced you to him a couple of times. “Max and Y/N.”

“Hi,” you and Max politely greeted him, too politely for Seulgi’s liking.

You were plotting something behind her back, she was sure of it.

“Hey, nice to meet you,” he said, sending you one of his bright smiles. “Lemme introduce you to my friends.”

You followed him to a small table surrounded by two black leather couches. The table was full of empty glasses of beer and some jars.

“Hey guys!” Jimin announced. “These are Seulgi and her friends, Max and Y/N.”

The three of you smiled awkwardly as Jimin introduced you to Seokjin, Hoseok and Namjoon, the last one sending you a dimpled smile that nearly sent you flying against one of the leather couches. You hadn’t seen them around campus. But he then introduced you to Taehyung and Jungkook, the ones you always saw with the shorter boy.

Seulgi quickly sat with Jimin on a more secluded couch, and Max, being the social butterfly she was, started playing Clash of Clans with Taehyung, Hoseok and Jungkook, leaving you alone on a couch, taking small sips from your drink as you glanced at the dimpled boy out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey,” he greeted you once the other boy, the one named Seokjin, disappeared with a girl. “Y/N, right?”

“Yeah, and you were… Namjoon?”

“That’s my name,” he said, sending you another one of those smiles. “So, you know Jimin?”

“Not really” you said, shrugging.

Seeing the doubt in the boy’s eyes, you went to explain yourself.

“We go to the same university as Jimin. Seulgi and him have spoken a few times,” you quickly explained, not wanting to get into much detail about it.

“Oh,” Namjoon nodded, taking a sip from his beer. “And what are you studying?”

“History of Art.”

“Whoa, cool.”

“Yeah,” you smiled.

“I’ve always loved art, and history too, so the two of them combined… It must be so cool to study that.”

“It is,” you nodded.

Why couldn’t you articulate more that two words each time the handsome boy spoke to you?

“I will ask you to go with me to a museum one of this days and give me a tour.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “But it won’t be free.”

Namjoon arched a brow and you averted your eyes from him shyly. Was he flirting with you? Were you really flirting back with him? Whoa.

“I’ll invite you to have dinner afterwards then,” he said in a playful tone.

“Sounds good as long as there is good food involved,” you answered, still not being able to look him in the eye, afraid he would see your reddened cheeks.

A man stepped into the empty stage suddenly and started checking the mic, making Namjoon and you turn your heads towards the stage and stop flirting with each other.

“Hey, hello… Can you hear me?” the man said.

“Yeah!” the crowd cheered.

“Okay!” the young man said animatedly. “How are you feeling tonight!?”

The crowd screamed something that sounded like “great!”.

“The week has finally ended and what a better way to start the weekend than with a free mic night!” the man screamed through the mic.

“Yeah!”

“Who’s ready for tonight?!”

The crowd kept cheering as the man introduced the names of the participants of the rap battle. You had never been in a place like that, and you were enjoying its cheerful and chill atmosphere.

You rested your back on the back of the couch, clapping when the crowd did and cheering when the crowd did.

“Okay, okay,” the man said. “Our first participant of the night is the King of tongue technology himself. We’ve had the pleasure of hearing him before and we can’t wait to hear him again tonight! Suga, ladies and gentlemen!”

The crowd clapped and cheered like crazy, and you followed them, clapping as you observed a small, dark-haired boy stepping into the stage

“What’s this?” you asked Namjoon, raising your voice a bit above all the noise. “Some sort of competition?”

“No, it’s a free mic night,” he said. “Whoever wants, can step into the stage and rap. You can sing too, but since this is a Hip-Hop bar I don’t think you would be very welcomed…”

“I wasn’t planning on stepping into the stage and singing, but thanks,” you laughed softly.

The boy who was climbing on the stage, was wearing a black hat on top of his head. It was one of those hats old people use when they go fishing, and you were sure you would have hated it had it not been for the style with which the boy was wearing it. Style? Swag? What was the word? The hat and his black fringe blocked the view of his eyes and nearly half of his face, as the lights casted shadows all over it. Still, you could glimpse his plump, rosy lips and his round features. His small frame was covered by baggy clothes that looked too big for him. A black hoodie and ripped jeans.

The crowd went silent as that boy named Suga cleared his throat.

The music started playing, a loud bass followed by the electronic sounds of a keyboard, and then, a voice. It filled the entire room and it made you swing your body to the rhythm unconsciously.

It was as if you had suddenly been bewitched and you couldn’t control your movements, only the voice could. It was deep, strong, powerful… It was hypnotizing.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off the boy, not even when you felt Namjoon leaning towards you.

“That’s Yoongi,” Namjoon whispered in your ear. “He’s another friend of us.”

You could only nod at his words, as you were still too mesmerized by the boy’s voice to be able to form any coherent words.

Each movement, each word… trapped you more and more until you found yourself sitting on an empty room. Namjoon had disappeared, the rest of the people had disappeared, the tables, the leather couches, the posters on the walls… Everything was black, dark, except for the bright lights that lit the stage in which the boy was pouring his soul onto every word.

You could hear his raspy voice on the highest notes. You could hear his anger, his emotion, his passion, and they were all so vivid you felt as if you could reach out and touch them.

The song came to an end too fast for your liking, and suddenly all lights were back, Namjoon was by your side again and everyone was on their seats, or standing up, clapping. The posters were back, the tables, the leather couches… But your eyes could only stare at the boy who was now putting back the mic on its tripod and waving at the crowd awkwardly.

You clapped, still in a daze. You were a huge lover of music, of Hip-Hop specifically, but you had never felt like that while listening to any song or anyone rapping.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Namjoon said, looking at you with his eyebrows raised, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, he is…” you whispered, your cheeks turning red because you had been caught red handed.

The boy stepped out of the stage and greeted a couple of people on his way towards your table.

As he arrived, Namjoon stood up, just like the rest of the boys, to greet and congratulate him. You stood up too.

“That was amazing man!” Namjoon said, punching the other boy in the chest with one of those stupid greetings boys use.

The smaller boy returned the gesture, and you silently observed behind the shadows how he took off his hat… And all the magic disappeared.

You had seen that face before. It was way sweatier than when you had first seen it, but that permanent scowl on his features and that hunched figure… You would have recognised it anywhere.

Ever since that fatidic day you bumped into him and spilled his iced americano all over his Stranger Things t-shirt, you hadn’t seen him again, nor around campus, nor around anywhere. And really, you weren’t expecting to see him again – or wanting or hoping. Not at all.

You gritted your teeth as you contemplated him, wondering how someone who had just rapped like that, with so much emotion and passion, someone who was being hugged by friends and being congratulated, could still look so grumpy and annoyed.

“Man, this is Y/N,” Namjoon said, pointing at you with his hand as you gave him a quick nod of the head as your greeting.

His dark, small eyes fell on you and you saw recognition washing over the pale boy’s features before they returned to their usual impassible-angry-annoyed self.

“Hmm,” he simply nodded, before turning around and facing his back to you, turning his attention to the other boys.

“Err…” Namjoon said awkwardly, seeing the blush on your cheeks – mistaking it as an embarrassment blush, when it was an angry one. “Forgive him, he’s still high from his performance.”

“Sure,” you shrugged, sitting back on your couch and taking a long sip from your beer.

. . .

You rolled your eyes again as you walked down the corridors of your History of Art building. Again. Because Seulgi was speaking about Jimin. Again.

Wasn’t there a topic that had nothing to do with Park Jimin and his friends? Apparently, no.

Sure, they were nice, and Namjoon looked like he was an interesting guy, but you would rather drown in bitter iced americano than see that Yoongi guy once again.

He was boring, unpleasant and rude, and you had to refuse the urge to spill another drink all over him as he stood all Friday night on his phone, rudely ignoring you and your friends.

“He’s just the sweetest,” Seulgi kept saying.

“He’s the sweetest because he knows he still doesn’t have you in the palm of his hand. Once he has you all over him, he won’t be that sweet, believe me,” you said in a low tone of voice, a bitterness hidden behind your words.

“Whoa, you’re moody today. Didn’t you sleep last night or what?” Seulgi asked, looking at you with wide eyes.

You shrugged. “I just don’t get it. They are normal guys, nothing out of the blue, why are you so obsessed with them?”

“I had fun with them,” Max added.

“Yeah, and they were nice to us, they even paid for our drinks.”

You rolled your eyes. Again.

“So, if a guy invites you to a few drinks he automatically wins your heart?” you said, looking at Seulgi.

“Hmm… Yeah? Not everyone invites you to a few drinks these days,” she said, arching a brow. “Why are you like this all of the sudden? I thought you liked Namjoon?”

“And I did, he was cool, but that doesn’t mean I want to marry him and bring his children to this world.”

Now, it was Max and Seulgi’s turn to roll their eyes.

“I guess you won’t be coming to my party on Thursday, then,” Seulgi said.

“Why would I miss your party?” you asked, frowning.

When had you missed one of your friend’s parties? It wasn’t that you loved partying, but you did love a good party at a good house.

“Because I’m inviting them all.”

“What? Why?” you dramatically cried. “Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s my party and I choose who I invite and who I don’t.”

“And you’re choosing those boys over me?”

“No,” Seulgi simply shrugged. “I’m just inviting you both.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s unfair, you’ll be paying attention to the boys and I’ll be left alone.”

“You can talk to Namjoon, I see future in there,” Max chimed in, winking an eye at you.

. . .

“I see future in there,” you mocked Max’s voice as you walked towards your next class, books clutched under your arms and your eyes fixed in the screen of your phone. “They’re choosing a bunch of boys over me, their best friend…”

You were grumbling under your breath like an old woman, but you just couldn’t believe that Seulgi was throwing a party and that she was willing to let you out of it because of Jimin and his friends. Fuck Park Jimin and fuck his stupid friends.

So absorbed in your own thoughts and checking your Instagram feed, which sucked a bit lately, you barely had enough time to sense a body approaching you with no intentions of dodging you.

The collision was unavoidable, and you clashed harshly against a body no bigger than yours.

As your books fell to the floor, you felt a cold liquid soaking your jumper.

“Ouch,” you said, looking at your books on the floor helplessly.

Lifting your eyes from the mess on the floor, you gasped as your eyes found those tiny, angry eyes that belonged to Min Yoongi.

“What’s wrong with you?” he spat, his empty cup of Starbucks in one hand as the other pulled from his white hoodie.

Who wears a white hoodie while drinking coffee anyways? It’s like he was asking for it, provoking the stains. Pff.

“With me? What’s wrong with you?! You get lost in the feeling each time you drink iced americano and don’t pay attention to where you’re walking or what?”

“Yeah, I do!” Yoongi said brusquely as he looked down at his ruined hoodie. “Fuck, I’m wearing this hoodie for the first time!”

“Well, what a pity,” you shrugged, crouching on the floor to collect your coffee stained books.

You could sense Yoongi’s glare from your crouched position on the floor. You opted for ignoring it and checking how damaged your books were.

“Aren’t you going to apologize or something?” he angrily asked as you stood up.

“No,” you simply said, shaking some coffee off one of the books.

Yoongi looked flabbergasted, and angry, really angry. If he was waiting for you to waste your time in apologizing to him like you had done the first time, he could sit and wait.

“Well, rude.”

“Aren’t you going to apologize or something?” you repeated, mocking his tone.

“No.”

“We’re even, then,” you said, nodding, with the intention of running towards the toilets to clean your jumper – which you were also wearing for the first time, the dark stain on its front making you want to cry – but you would never admit that in front of Min Yoongi.

“We’re not even!” he said once you had started walking away.

Rolling your eyes, you stopped dead on your tracks and turned around to look at him.

The scene almost made you pee yourself on the spot.

There he was, powerful – yet small – Min Yoongi, piano teacher by day, underground rapper by night, standing in a pool of spilled iced americano, with an empty cup in one hand, a huge stain on his oversized white hoodie, and a scowl over his soft features. You had to keep a straight face and nod towards him.

“I’m not giving you any money again!” you said back. “You clashed against me just like I clashed against you!”

People looked at the two of you as they passed by your side, staring weirdly at Yoongi, and ever weirder at you.

“I hadn’t even started drinking my americano, and I need coffee to function during the day!” he answered.

You shrugged and faked a look of pity.

“So? Go buy yourself another one,” you said, starting to lose patience because you were going to arrive late to class.

Yoongi scoffed, as if he couldn’t believe what you had just said. “I would, but I only brought five bucks with me this morning and I spent them all in that coffee and a muffin.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you buy in Starbucks, you become poor.”

“I’m being serious. You spilled my coffee, for the second time. You owe me.”

“I gave you money last time I spilled your coffee, and you nearly spat on it.”

You didn’t know if it was Yoongi’s glares or the glares of the people that passed by and that winced every time you two screamed at each other from opposite sides of the corridor, but you ended up missing your Prehistorical Art class and going with Min Yoongi to Starbucks to buy him another iced americano.

“There you have it,” you angrily said, handing him his large iced americano – he couldn’t buy a small or a medium one, no, he had to buy a fucking cauldron of coffee.

He didn’t even thank you, as he grabbed the plastic cup from your hands and took a large sip, all while still glaring at you. You grabbed a straw and followed Yoongi towards one of the tables at the back of the cafeteria.

“Why are you following me?” Yoongi said, taking a seat on the nicer and softer armchair, leaving you to sit on the wooden, hard, and uncomfortable chair.

“Well, excuse me but because you so desperately needed your coffee, I had to skip class, and I’m not going to sit around doing nothing, so I’ll drink a warm chai tea latte, thanks.”

Yoongi grumbled something under his breath as he just stared blankly at the ice cubes floating around the dark liquid in his vase.

You observed him, the scent of your hot tea relaxing you. Maybe that was why you decided to start a conversation with Min Yoongi.

“Can I ask you a question?” you asked, taking off your coat and relaxing on your chair.

Yoongi lifted his eyes from his coffee and looked at you with questioning eyes. “It depends.”

“Can I or can I not?”

“Go ahead,” he ended sighing.

“Okay,” you cleared your throat, trying to add some intrigue to the situation. “Why the heck are you drinking iced coffee in the middle of February?”

It was brief, but you swore Min Yoongi was struggling to keep a straight face. However, he swallowed saliva and returned to his usual poker face.

“Because I want to.”

“Okay… Rude,” you mumbled, taking a long sip from your tea.

You winced when the liquid went down your throat. Fuck, Starbucks, is it necessary to serve your beverages boiling?

You both kept drinking your respective beverages, an awkward silence surrounding you both. Your eyes were focused on the table as you thought about how different you and Min Yoongi were from each other. You only had to look at your drinks to realise it.

While he was a cold, dark and strong iced americano, you were a warm, sweet and soft chai tea latte – or so you wanted to think.

The clearing of a throat brought you out of your comparisons.

“Err…” Yoongi awkwardly said. “So… You study at university?”

You looked at him with wide eyes. Was he really trying to start a conversation…? With you? Was he drinking coffee or pure whiskey?

“No, I just enjoy walking around campus and spilling people’s beverages all over their clothes,” you answered sarcastically.

Yoongi scoffed and leaned his back on the armchair he was sitting on, clearly putting distance between you both.

“Gosh, I was just joking,” you said, laughing softly. “Don’t you have a sense of humour, Min Yoongi?”

“I do have sense of humour, I just choose whom I show it to, and whom I don’t.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“Okay, since you clearly don’t want to show it to me, I’ll answer your question like a boring person would. I study at university, yes.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, taking a sip from his iced americano.

“And you?” you asked, already knowing the question, since Namjoon told you about Yoongi on Friday night.

“No, I’m too old for university.”

“I have to agree with you in that.”

Yoongi glared at you, but you simply sent him one of your best smiles.

“I was joking, again, I tend to joke a lot, but I always forget you don’t,” you added. “It’s never too late to study or do anything you really want to do.”

“And what are you studying?” he asked, clearly trying to change the topic.

“History of Art,” you answered, swirling your straw around the paper cup.

“Ah, cool,” is the only thing he said before silence surrounded you once again.

Not being able to bear awkward silences, you said the first thing that came to your mind and kept talking about your life as if Min Yoongi was an old friend and you were just catching up.

“But, if I’m being honest, that’s what my mother wanted me to study since she’s a history teacher,” you said, your gaze lost in the magical beige colour of your chai tea latte. “I always wanted to be a writer and publish my own series of books… Like J.K. Rowling or maybe George R. R. Martin. Just something amongst the lines of fantasy. You know, create my own world, somewhere I could immerse myself into, evade from reality in it and let people do the same. Then create its characters, their stories, maybe invent some language for them and just show it all to the world”

“That’s ambitious,” Yoongi said, looking at you intently.

His eyes were piercing into yours with so much force you were starting to think he wasn’t that cold and uninterested boy any more. You noticed they weren’t as dark or small as they seemed, and that they had a lively shine you had never seen before, but that he used to keep bottled up in the depths of his poker face.

“But impossible, too,” he added, averting his eyes from yours and returning to his I-don’t-give-a-flying-fuck persona.

“Well, thanks,” you sarcastically said, his words somehow reminding you of your mother’s.

“You’re welcome. It’s the truth,” he simply said. “In five years, you’ll thank your mother for making you study a degree.”

He quickly finished his iced americano, making some uncomfortable and loud noises with his straw. Leaving the empty cup on the table, he stood up from his seat.

“Well…” he said. “Enjoy the rest of your tea.”

And just like that, Min Yoongi left the cafeteria after practically inviting himself, leaving you with a wallet four bucks emptier, a nearly cold chai tea latte and a stain of iced americano on your new jumper. Oh, and a crushed dream.

. . .

You usually enjoyed Seulgi’s parties the most. They weren’t too crowded, nor were they too loud. Seulgi’s apartment wasn’t too big, but it was far better than your single room at the dorms of Max parents’ house.

Instead of getting pissed drunk, people focused more on meeting new people, talking and playing nerdy board games – which, you must admit, you were a huge fan of. There was always pizza and mojitos involved, and soft music played on the background.

But that night, you weren’t specially enjoying yourself.

Sitting on the couch and taking small bites from your four-cheese slice of pizza, you couldn’t keep your eyes off the group of seven boys standing around Seulgi’s kitchen island. As you glared at them, a bitter feeling filled your whole body.

There they were, your two best friends, who had denied you when you had asked them to play Twister with you, ignoring you as they laughed at whatever story Hoseok was telling them. They had obviously chosen boys over their best friend, and that was against the world’s rules.

The thoughts swirling around your mind kept making you more and more bitter, to the point where it looked like you could stand from the couch at any moment, grab a knife and stab each one of them.

But then, your eyes landed on a dark figure slumped on the kitchen counter, apart from the rest of the group. A beer in hand, a black hat darkening his features and another one of his oversized hoodies, Min Yoongi observed the group in front of him with an equal bitter expression.

Scoffing you finished your slice of pizza and stood up to grab another one.

“Y/N!” You heard your name being called just when you were stealing a piece of bacon from another pizza and stuffing it in your mouth, your free hand holding the other two new slices of pizza you had grabbed.

Without moving from your position, you turned to look at the place where the sound of your name had come from.

You found Seulgi waving at you, smile wide as ever.

“Hehe,” you faked a laugh when a girl that was grabbing a slice of pizza looked at you weirdly. “Just grabbing some slices for my friends.”

The girl raised her brows and then, turned her attention to the pizzas. Awkwardly, you took advantage of the situation and walked towards the group of people formed by your two friends and the other seven boys – all of them looking at you.

As you arrived to their group, you placed both slices on a napkin and continued to munch on them.

“Hey,” you greeted them with a nod of your head, smiling softly when you looked at Namjoon.

While the rest of them greeted you back, Seulgi grabbed you by the arm – acting as if she was just giving you a friendly hug – and pulled you towards her.

“What are you doing?” She asked you through clenched teeth, while smiling to the rest.

“Eating pizza,” you answered, knowing fully well that wasn’t what she was asking you. “You want some?”

You shoved the pizza in Seulgi’s face and she quickly slapped your hand – and the slice of pizza – away.

“I don’t want your fucking pizza,” she growled, pulling you even closer to her. “All I want is for my best friend to act like one.”

“Oh, sorry,” you feigned concern. “Am I being a bad friend for not kissing the floor these guys walk on like the rest of you are doing?”

“Yeah,” she said, ignoring your sarcasm. “Why can’t you act around them the same way you act around us. You look like a cold stuck up bitch, when you’re far from that.”

“And why would I want to act cool in front of these guys? I owe them nothing.”

“But you owe me, your friend.”

You sighed and looked at her, who was looking back at you with puppy eyes.

“Fine,” you ended up giving in. “But just because you’ve invited me to that sushi place I like so much… Next Saturday. Yeah, I think I’m free then.”

“What? I haven’t invited you to any… Oh, oh!” Seulgi glared at you when she realised what you had just done. “I hate you.”

“And I hate your boyfriend’s friends,” you shrugged.

“He’s not my boyfr - “ she said, raising her voice and turning everyone’s attention to you. “I’ll call the restaurant tomorrow and book a table for two.”

“Nice!” You clapped, already thinking about those delicious avocado maki.

“Book a table just for two? And what about me!” Max protested, she had clearly overheard your conversation.

“You can FaceTime us, that restaurant is expensive as hell and I’m not inviting anyone else.”

Max kept protesting, but eventually, they stopped paying attention to you and you were finally left alone with your two slices of pizza. Caressing the delicious melted cheese with your fingertips, you let yourself salivate at the sight of the food in front of you.

“Hey,” you heard a voice saying, making you lift your gaze from your beloved pizza.

As you looked upwards and found Namjoon’s eyes staring into yours, you saw a dark shadow moving behind the taller boy. You almost laughed at the thought of Min Yoongi always looking like a dark shadow luring around, but you kept a straight face and observed how Min Yoongi’s features hardened as he stopped to look at the two of you, then he gave a sharp turn and walked away from you.

Was it possible that he had tried to approach you and talk to you?

Nah, he had probably been mad that you were blocking his way. That’s all.

“Hey,” you smiled back at Namjoon.

“I didn’t even know you were here.”

“Yeah, I was just eating pizza over there,” you said, pointing towards the couch where you had previously been sitting on.

Namjoon laughed softly and nodded his head towards your slice of pizza. “I see,” he said.

“It’s the best thing about Seulgi’s parties, you want some?” You asked, offering him your other untouched slice of pizza.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, accepting the slice you were offering him and devouring it in just a couple of minutes.

A silence filled the space between the two of you as you ate your pizzas. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence or an awkward one, it was a friendly one and you felt comfortable in it.

“Anyways,” Namjoon said, breaking the silence. “How’s your week been?”

“Boring,” you shrugged. “The only day I did something other than going to class or the library was on Monday.”

You paused when you remembered what had happened on Monday, and why you had broken your routine and went out for one of your beloved chai tea lattes.

“Oh my God,” you said, laughing as you remembered the incident with the iced americano and Min Yoongi. “I spilled Yoongi’s coffee all over his hoodie once again, and he made me go to Starbucks and buy him another one.”

“Wait, what?” Namjoon said, confusedly looking at you. “You spilled Yoongi’s americano all over him?”

“Yeah.”

Namjoon burst out laughing and you soon followed him.

“He must have gotten mad like hell!”

“He did,” you said in between laughs. “But the other time was worst, to be honest.”

“What other time?”

You frowned. “On the first day of uni, I was running late and I bumped into him and spilled his coffee all over his t-shirt. He was an asshole, basically.”

Namjoon laughed even harder.

“You didn’t know?”

“No, he didn’t tell us anything.”

“Oh,” you murmured.

“Don’t think too much about it, Yoongi never tells us anything,” Namjoon said as he observed your confused expression. “But now it makes sense, why he treated you so coldly last Friday. He holds grudges over everything, but he doesn’t want to show it. He’s probably still bitter over it.”

“Well, he acts like a five-year-old kid, then.”

“He’s a nice guy, though, I just don’t know why he acts this way when other people are around. When it’s just the seven of us, he’s the coolest guy, really laid-back and funny.”

“Funny? Min Yoongi? Are you sure we’re both talking about the same person?”

Namjoon laughed at your words and you followed him.

“Wait until he gets comfortable around you, and you’ll see.”

You looked around the room and spotted Yoongi sitting on one of the couches, the same one you had been sitting on previously.

“That’s if he ever gets comfortable around me…” you thought to yourself.

It looked as if he felt out of place, his beer still on one hand as he looked around the room with bored eyes. For a moment, you felt your heart swell at the idea of the lonely boy.

As if sensing someone was staring at him, Yoongi turned his head towards you and his sharp eyes found yours, but you quickly averted your eyes from him, too shy to hold his gaze.

“And you? How was your week?” You asked Namjoon, ignoring that feeling in the back of your neck of being stared at.

. . .

You were biting your lip, doubtfully looking at Yoongi’s figure slumped on the couch.

You weren’t one to approach guys first, but something about Yoongi dragged you in, made you want to know him more, better, discover what was under all those layers of cold façade and indifference.

You had been chatting with Namjoon most of the evening, and you were having a great time, but you couldn’t help it, your eyes searched for a certain small boy every two minutes. You wanted to blame it all on the alcohol, but you hadn’t had any, unless four-cheese pizza had some vodka topping.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Namjoon had announced after finishing your last round of The Wolves.

The rest of the people had stood from the small circle you had formed on the floor of the corridor and they dispersed, leaving just you and Namjoon. But now that Namjoon had also disappeared, you were left alone.

It was your last chance. The boy was alone, you were alone, and no one was paying attention to either of you. You would regret it later if you didn’t approach him, you knew it. But you would regret it even more if you approached the boy and he ran away…

“Stop being a coward, Y/N,” you scoffed to yourself.

Slowly standing up from the floor, you started thinking about the pros and cons about approaching Min Yoongi. Namjoon had told you he was actually cool and funny once you got to know him better, weren’t you also like that? People usually misjudged you and thought you were distant and cold, but once you started being comfortable around them, you started being yourself and they… Well, they eventually thought you were distant and cold, but also funny and nice. Plus, you had seen him trying to approach you in the kitchen when Namjoon greeted you, you were pretty sure you hadn’t made that up.

“Fuck it, he’s just a boy,” you encouraged yourself. “You’re just trying to be friendly with him… For Seulgi.”

And taking a deep breath, you walked towards Min Yoongi. You were tired of liking boys, and because of your shyness, insecurities and fear of being rejected, never approaching them to just regret it later when you were alone, in the dorms, eating pop-corn and watching old episodes of CSI Miami.

Hey, it’s not that you liked Min Yoongi… You just wanted to approach him.

“Hey,” you said, smiling at Yoongi as you took a seat by his side on the couch.

The boy lifted his eyes from the screen of his phone and looked at you. You saw a flash of surprise in his sharp eyes before they went to their usual uninterested self.

“Hey.”

“By any means, you don’t happen to have an iced americano around here that I can spill all over your clothes, do you?” You joked.

Yoongi just stared at you with that same bored expression.

“No.”

You frowned as his eyes went back to the screen of his phone. What was wrong with that boy?

“Relax, I was just kidding,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

But the mood was as thick as those mirrors they use in interrogatory rooms. Those bulletproof and soundproof and everything-proof mirrors. You frowned, confused by the change in Yoongi’s behaviour. Sure, he wasn’t the funniest person you knew, but the other day at the café he had seemed… Nice.

“Don’t you wanna play The Wolves?” You asked, trying again.

“Does it look like I play that stupid game?” He answered brusquely, not even tearing his eyes away from his phone.

You felt something inside you deflate. Maybe it was your pride, maybe your illusions, maybe the fact that you had been brave enough to approach someone for once and you had been slapped across the face… Either way, fuck the mood and fuck Min Yoongi. You had tried to be friendly with him more than you had ever tried with anyone else, and each time, he had been rude to you. Fuck him.

“Oh, sorry,” you answered, your tone now bitter and harsh, just like his. “I forgot you’re an underground rapper, you’re too cool to play The Wolves,” you mocked him.

Yoongi finally looked at you, but his eyes were a bit aggressive as they stared at you. Your nostrils flared as you held his gaze.

“What do you want?” He spat.

“I just wanted to be friendly with you because Seulgi asked me to be friendly with Jimin’s friends, but I see it’s impossible to be friendly with someone like you,” you spat the word ‘you’.

“Phew,” he dramatically said. “You finally realised it.”

If looks could kill, Min Yoongi would have died that night, on Seulgi’s couch, under your cold glare.

“Well, if you insist on having coffee with me, it’s a bit difficult to realise anything.”

“I didn’t want to have coffee with you, I just wanted you to buy me another coffee, because you spilled the one I had bought for myself. It’s not my fault you misunderstood everything and followed me to my table.”

You went to answer something, the first thing that had come to your mind, but you bite your tongue. It wasn’t worth to waste any saliva on Min Yoongi. Your cheeks were crimson red, and your skin felt hot from humiliation and anger. While you were fuming, crumbling down, Min Yoongi looked so calm and composed. You guessed you had been wrong, he had nothing behind those layers because he was all those layers. He was distant, cold and rude.

“You’re right, I misunderstood you then, but I don’t tend to make the same mistakes twice,” you said, standing up from the couch as composed and relaxed as you could.

But your ego – which was a bit big, let’s be honest – had been damaged, and it was making your body tense and slow as you stood before him. Damn, that’s why you never approached guys first.

“Don’t misunderstand me now, Min Yoongi,” you spat, looking down at him from where you stood. “Go fuck yourself.”

And with that, you turned around and disappeared from the rapper’s sight.

. . .

That night at Seulgi’s apartment would just be the beginning of your stormy ‘relationship’ with Min Yoongi.

After that first Friday, and the meeting at Seulgi’s party, meetings at the bar became a routine for your group of friends and the other seven boys – unluckily for you and Yoongi. You would finish your classes after three, meet with Namjoon at the library to study for a while, and go to the bar where the rest of the boys, Max and Seulgi would be waiting.

At first, you weren’t too fond of that new routine, but one Friday passed, and then two, three, four… And suddenly, four months had passed, and summer holidays had begun.

You started liking Seokjin’s dad jokes, Hoseok’s loud screams of excitement, Namjoon’s random facts about life, Jimin’s clumsiness – and the love glances he threw Seulgi’s way – Taehyung’s weird but unique taste in clothing and Jungkook’s unending energy. And suddenly, you had started calling them ‘your friends’ and not ‘Park Jimin’s stupid group of friends’.

Of course, you couldn’t say the same about Min Yoongi.

He was still cold, rude and boring. He always looked bitter and uninterested, and every time you would say something out loud – whether it was something funny, anecdotic or random – he would scoff and avert his eyes hastily from you. You, of course, wouldn’t stay quiet and would sent some snarky remark his way, which would lead to an unceasing battle of snarky comments and rolls of eyes – to the point where the rest of the group was so used to it that they wouldn’t even try to stop you anymore and would continue minding their own business as you two argued.

That summer, you fled home to see your parents and spent all summer holidays there, bathing in the warmth of the sun and nature of your hometown.

The beginning of your second year was much different from the beginning of your first year.

The night before, you prepared everything so your alarm clock sounded at seven AM, your clothes were are neatly folded inside your wardrobe and ready for you to pick them, your shower ran properly – with warm water – and you had breakfast in a different cafeteria you had discovered with Namjoon the year before after a long morning in the library. Because of all that, you didn’t run towards your first class, and you didn’t storm into the History building like you had done the previous year.

That morning, you didn’t bump into a certain grumpy boy and you arrived early to class.

592 notes · View notes

codynaomiswire · 6 years ago

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TTS/RTA - “Destinies Collide” Initial Reaction

Note: Spoilers and some unpopular opinions ahead.

Ok, so...I’m going to go ahead and be honest right away. Overall...I didn’t actually like this episode very much. Not all of it was bad to me, but I also can’t say that I thought it was very great. Here are some of my general thoughts and opinions on it at this point for those interested:

Things I did like:

- As always, the animation, voice acting, and soundtrack were all really good in this episode. Kudos to the animators, VA’s, sound design team, and music team for all their hard work on it! You all did a great job!

- Special shoutout to Zachary Levi for his vocal work on Eugene’s song!

- Lance figuring out that destroying the statues would stop the ghosts from re-spawning! Such a great moment for him, and he was honestly one of the best things about this whole episode in my opinion. (Also the little acknowledgement between him and Adira was cute, and his complimenting Cass on her bravery when she went to retrieve the gondola from the middle of the gorge was really nice. Was great to see those fleeting but sincere moments of him reaching out to other characters he doesn’t talk to all that often when he’s on screen. It was a nice touch!)

- Adira running around like an old-timey cartoon character to catch Pascal as he was falling. That was cute and funny! xD

Things I didn’t like so much:

- The fact that the episode was stuffed to the gills with plot twists and red herrings. Like a lot of fans, I do love a good mystery, and plot twists when implemented correctly are terrific. But a lot of the twists in this episode felt really forced in my opinion, were too heavily concentrated, and the overall plot felt really rushed and chaotic. Especially when we get such big developments as Eugene finding his long-lost father and Cass going turncoat, I think it would’ve been worth it to spread out those plot elements a bit more and to flesh them out better over the course of more episodes perhaps. Probably would’ve been good on that note to take out some of the other non-plot-related episodes earlier in the season (ex. “Goodbye and Goodwill,” “Curses!,” “The Eye of Pincosta,” etc.), and instead give more time and attention to other plot-related elements that could’ve used it. (It also feels to me like Disney in general has been trying to chuck out a TON of plot twists in their latest works, and that’s starting to get a bit wearing in my opinion. Creators shouldn’t be afraid to use clichés or linear story lines if they happen to work out for the best. Not everything has to be super surprising or edgy in order to be satisfying or captivating to the audience. Don’t force it if it doesn’t work.)

- Eugene being revealed as the Dark Prince. Ok, ok, don’t get me wrong here. I don’t totally dislike this development. I do think it’s good that the series has endeavored to give us more of Eugene’s past, and yes, I do congratulate those fans who figured it out/had the theory before the big reveal. (Way to be observant guys!) But I personally do feel like there are a few problems with this development:

Was it just me, or did Eugene seem surprisingly...unfazed by this latest discovery? I mean, yes, he did have a song about having an identity crisis over it, but even then, I felt like he seemed to get over it pretty quick? I know he’s been increasingly unfazed by all the weirdness of their adventures, but man, this takes the cake on that point. He also didn’t seem to question it for very long (which is kind of odd, especially when Edmund himself is...a bit strange), he didn’t seem the least bit miffed with Edmund about sending him away when he was a baby, or really show much emotion at all over things save for a few words and shifts in expression. I’m sure all this needs time to sink in for him, ok, but still. His reaction wasn’t very realistic to me.

The fact that King Edmund seemed to just send baby Eugene away in the care of his nanny and...that was it. Like, I know the show can’t go into tons of detail on things, but honest to goodness! It looked like King Edmund just sent baby Eugene away into the wide, dangerous world with only his nanny to take care of him and to guard him. Like, there were no other guards with her or a foster father as well or anything! Nope. Just send your kid off into the wide world with minimal security and resources and hope for the best. Way to ensure a secure future for your child Edmund. Way to go! xP

The time spent on this development felt super rushed. I think it would’ve been better if there had been a whole episode dedicated to Eugene’s past as the Dark Prince, and not just have it as a B plot for the season finale. It is supposed to be kind of a big deal, right!? I think it would’ve been worth it to give this development its own episode.

I also find it strange that Edmund identified Eugene as his son simply by looking into his eyes. I mean...sure, I do think I see a resemblance between Edmund and Eugene, so it’s probably right anyway. But I do wish there had been a bit more of an explanation or more evidence for the truth of this theory instead of just, “We have the same eyes.” (Who knows, maybe we’ll get another twist in season 03 where we find that Eugene was not actually Edmund’s child, and he had been mistaken all along. But yeah, at this point, I would not be fazed by that.)

It seems like this development came along in order to bring about some sort of deep conflict for Eugene, but honestly...I don’t feel like it brings a whole lot of conflict at all? I mean, sure, it’s great that he’s come to find that he has a family and whole lineage that he can now learn about, and that’s a big change for Eugene on a personal level. But otherwise it doesn’t really do much to change the trajectory of his life or anything. I mean, if the Dark Kingdom were still a functioning place, I can see where this would present a conflict. Eugene could’ve felt torn between his obligation to rule the Dark Kingdom as its heir, but then his love for Rapunzel would be the opposing pull that could tear his heart in two over the whole thing, and cause more tension between himself and King Edmund who would’ve wanted him to stay to rule, etc. But that’s not really the case. The Dark Kingdom is dead, and everyone has left. So there really is no Dark Kingdom left to rule. So...Eugene can just go ahead and marry Rapunzel and live his dream in Corona anyway. No conflict really.

I also feel like the development does do a detriment to how Eugene’s character was played up in the Tangled feature film. One of the things that Eugene’s character was supposed to do in that movie was put a twist on the original fairytale, where instead of a prince saving Rapunzel from her tower, it was a thief that people assumed was just a good-for-nothing nobody. But he became the hero of the story through his own bravery and self-sacrifice, and not because of any royal blood in him. So yeah, I kind of feel like this development undermines that whole aspect of the original film.

And just a quick personal opinion: I feel like Cassandra being revealed as the Dark Princess would’ve been more compelling than having Eugene as the Dark Prince. Could’ve also been another reason why Cass seized the Moon Stone for herself, if that was the trajectory the writers would’ve taken things in any event. If she was the heir to the kingdom in charge of guarding the thing, it would make sense that she could see it as a kind of birthright for herself or something.

- And thus leading into the biggest one for me...the whole Cassandra plot twist. I know some fans think this is a fantastic plot twist, but I don’t really like it. Here are my reasons as to why:

It feels like a rehash of Varian’s betrayal, but bigger, with a lot less buildup, less reasoning behind it, and fewer sympathetic qualities. Now, I’m sure that something big happened to Cassandra beyond that mystery door in the shell house, and I do kinda hope that we’ll get to see just what exactly happened in season 03. But wow, I gotta say, it’s going to have to be something super compelling in order to excuse this degradation of Cassandra’s character. Especially after Cassandra had so much character development throughout both seasons 01 & 02, this really felt like it came out of nowhere and didn’t make much sense at all. I know there’s a theory that it’s not really Cassandra (that she’s either a clone/doppelgänger or is somehow possessed by some evil entity), and that may be right. Heck, with all the crazy plot twists peppering this series, most anything could be a possibility at this point. (She could be Zhan Tiri’s vessel, or Mother Gother retroactively reincarnated before she fell out of Rapunzel’s tower, or a young Mother Gothel before she time-taveled back to the past or something. Who knows at this point!?) But from what we know right now, it just seems to be a spiteful action with purely selfish motives on her part. (“I’m fulfilling MY destiny!”) We don’t even see her struggle with her decision (unlike Varian, who did have his moments of second-guessing), or show any signs that she’s making it out of interest for others. I mean, yeah, who knows? Maybe we’ll get yet another twist in season 03 where she did do it to protect Rapunzel somehow, and it was necessary for her to be perceived as an awful person in doing it for...some reason? But...sigh. (Especially when her solo song before this point was largely about her wishing she had the glory she felt she deserved...that whole thing just really rubs me the wrong way. Again, don’t get me wrong, I feel like “Waiting in the Wings” sounds amazing, and I would sympathize with some of the lyrics talking about missed opportunities, feeling like you’re meant for something more but not being there yet, etc. But it seemed like Cass was increasingly becoming some sort of glory hound, and nobody admires that or finds that sympathetic. (“Selfishness has never been admired.” ~ C. S. Lewis) At least Varian was trying to save his dad in what he was doing. Yes, he was going about it poorly, and there were some elements of selfishness in it to be sure, but at least he was understandable in his motives. Not excused for sure, but there was at least an explanation that made sense and was beyond “Me me me me me.”)

It’s also strange when Cass’s life was really pretty good before that moment, so what could she have hoped to gain from taking the Moon Stone for herself? She had her friends, a loving father in the Captain, a loving community back in Corona, a steady job, a dream to work towards, etc. It just...makes no sense, and feels more wrong than epic to me as a big reveal. Again, maybe there will be a good explanation for it in the future, but from what we know right now, it just seems to make her character a twist antagonist for the sake of having another one, and it just feels frustrating currently.

The weird transformation sequence when Cass grabbed the Moon Stone. I mean, I can certainly can get behind the glowing white-blue hair and eyes (something that the moon![insert character name here] theorists got right!), but...wow, the crew really went anime trope on this one. Which I’m not totally opposed to. I think anime references are cool. But this one just...felt a bit weird? I mean, I know the Moon Stone is way more extra than the Sun Drop, so sure, perhaps the alterations it makes to someone’s appearance when being infused into them could’ve been a bit more than just a change in hair color. But I think it would’ve made more sense if the armor Cass already had on became a different color or something (btw, RIP knight!Cassandra and armor, you were short-lived and will be missed), but instead it gave her what basically looked like a moon superhero jumpsuit. From a purely aesthetic perspective, it does have a great design, and Cass did look quite striking in it. But even though it looks great on a purely aesthetic level, I also don’t feel like it fits the tenor of the rest of the TTS/RTA aesthetic. I just..feels kind of out of place to me.

On a personal note: I also think it makes more sense for Varian to have been the moon vessel/the one to take the Moon Stone in the series, so this development also honestly had me disappointed in that way. I know, I know, yes, there is a bit of a bias to this opinion, but I also do think that Varian’s character had a TON of evidence to suggest this would’ve been more than plausible for his character, it could’ve tied into his motives to free his father, and he already had deeper connections to the Dark Kingdom than we’ve ever seen of Cass, and it would’ve been a great way to reintroduce him into the series.* And hey, if not Varian, I feel like it would’ve made more sense for Eugene to take the Moon Stone instead of Cassandra, with Eugene being all, “I’m sorry Rapunzel, but I can’t let you do this,” or something like that. I think that would’ve been way more compelling than Cass just doing it because of “destiny,” which she believed she had because of...reasons? Perhaps I’ll be proven wrong, but as it stands right now, I don’t think Cass was the best choice to go turncoat and to become the vessel for the Moon Drop. Or at the very least, they probably should’ve shown some sort of conflict in her over the decision. I know she’s not a very warm character, but pure malice doesn’t seem to fit her either. Just...weird.

*On the topic of Varian, I also have my opinions regarding how he as a character and a lot of the Varian fans have been treated in the aftermath of season 02 (by both other fans and some of the TTS/RTA crew members actually), but I won’t talk about that in this post as it’s not in the actual contents of the episode itself. And while I may get into it more in another post, I don’t feel like getting into that drama right now, especially when things are so fresh off the tail end of the finale. Just wanted to drop this note here though, as it’s another unpopular opinion I have related to this episode and to season 02, and I feel like the fandom and crew members could’ve done better in their responses to Varian’s fans. Just saying.

So...yeah. I guess that’s about it for now for my initial reaction to this episode. You don’t have to agree with me on it, but these are just my own honest thoughts on the topic for anyone interested.

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rjzimmerman · 6 years ago

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Excerpt from this essay from Earth Island Journal, published by Yale Climate Connections:

We are old climate veterans who have tried to do our part, in every way we know how, to keep our fossil-fuel addicted civilization from driving off a cliff. Are we tired? Sure. Discouraged? Absolutely. Pissed off? Yep. Sad? Call it broken-hearted. Quitting?

It might be time. Game over, friends and experts tell us. We’re doomed. It’s true that the news about global warming is awful. More and bigger wildfires, great swaths of drought, stronger and wetter hurricanes, floods of all kinds, coastal villages a few storms away from destruction, feedback loops kicking in as methane leaks from melting tundra and heat-absorbing soils replace reflective ice, hundreds of thousands of refugees looking for safety as weather turns cruel. Destructive ways of living are skillfully protected by tangles of profit and power around the globe, and we are running out of time. The IPCC now gives the world twelve years to cut global greenhouse-gas emissions in half, if we are to stop warming at “only” 1.5 degrees Celsius. Don’t think quitting hasn’t crossed our minds.

Last month, on the way from one meeting to another, we stopped along the coast to watch a red sun set through purple clouds. While parents gathered up their families, lingering children stood ankle-deep in pink water, looking out to sea. A flock of gulls flew north. Why do we keep doing this climate work? we asked each other. Maybe to our surprise, answers to the question flooded out, one reason after another.

We stayed at the beach, mulling over our reasons to stay in the fight, until the stars came out and the breeze came up. Then we walked back to the car on a mossy trail through a tunnel of spruce trees. A Swainson’s thrush sang and would not stop singing, even in the deepest dusk, and that also was a reason. The deep moss was a reason. So were the ancient trees. So were the children standing in the swash. We can’t quit now.

Here are some of their answers. Click/tap on the essay to read them all:

Because I promised my newborn children: I will always love you. I will keep you safe. I will give you the world. I didn’t mean, I will give you whatever is left scattered and torn on the table after the great cosmic going-out-of-business sale. I said, I will give you this beautiful, life-sustaining, bird-graced world.

Because climate change is unjust. It threatens the greatest violation of human rights the world has ever seen. But injustice is cowardly and fragile; it crumbles when people stand up for what is right.

Because I am wearing my Dad’s rubber boots. They are too big for me, but my own are old and torn. So I am walking in the boots he wore at the edge of all the marshes he defended until the day he died. If you are walking in the shoes of a hero, you can’t exactly turn back.

#climate change #climate activism

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magicalsalamander · 7 years ago

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The Firefly that Guards the Fox VII

Pairing: BTS Taehyung ⇆ Reader

Words: 6.9K

Warnings: Overall story rated mature; Explicit themes, action/ violence, bloodshed, death of minor characters.

Summary: His mother and father weren’t supposed to fall in love. They weren’t supposed to find a mate in one another.

They weren’t supposed to.

After losing his father years ago, Taehyung vows to find and avenge the injustice his family has gone through. You were childhood friends with Taehyung. The four of you Taehyung, Hoseok, your older brother and you were inseparable. You were torn apart from Taehyung, your fox who’ve you’ve always vowed to protect and be with, without a warning. He called you Firefly, you called him Tae-Tae the fox. Was your fate supposed to end there in the past with your childhood?

A/N: Orig post date: 01|11|18; Updated intro 12|12|19. Part of the KLF Universe.

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Her giggles were infectious as I splashed water at her. She was relentless though, fighting back with waves back at me. I wrapped my arms around her waist and spun her eliciting a scream of happiness. “I got you firefly!” She smacked my arm, “put me down Tae!” I shook her in my arms taunting her further, “Tae! Stop!” The anger behind her tone didn’t hold any value, she didn’t really want me to put her down. However, she reached over and pinched my ears between her nails. I let go of her with a yelp. She splashed carelessly into the knee-deep water and stuck both thumbs in her ears wiggling her fingers finishing her move by sticking out her tongue. A squeal then a laugh drummed out as I run to chased her. I latched onto her falling backwards letting gravity take over. I submerged us both into the water with a splash.

I didn’t come up from the water; the girl in my arms faded as I twisted and turned to lie on my back. I felt lint balls from the fabric under my fingers, a mix between knotting suede and a thin mattress. I blinked back to a clearing light. I woke up to my mom putting my backpack together in our basement home. “Honey, please get up you’re going to be late!” I tossed the blanket over me walking only a few steps over to my mother. The room smelled of pungent, stale, reheated coffee and concrete dust. His mother turned to him with her everlasting smile. Her hair was a vibrant color and her ears a habanero orange. She handed me my backpack, “hurry along now.” I took the bag and ran towards the door letting the blinding morning light in.

He pushed through the metal exit door stumbling onto the side walk. He was giggling like a boy in elementary school. He hung onto a woman, who giggled mindlessly and hiccupped from over drinking. Her face blurred every time he looked her over. It was certain he didn’t want to take her home, none of his dates ever made it there.

He stumbled through the parking lot pulling her into the backseats of his car. Their lips and teeth knocked in passion. The heat from their bodies and tension fogged up the windows. She grinded against his crotch, rubbing him in the right way. He trailed his hand up her thigh slipping under her ‘barely considered a dress’ dress. She left his lips, kissing sloppily down his jaw, sucking generously on his neck. She had no true trajectory, she just wanted him. He leaned his head back looking through the back window of the borrowed car of his friend. The street lamp directly above his car was so bright. He squinted tight and everything faded to black.

One squint and a blink through the haziness you pried your eyes open, greeted by a white ceiling. The noises of the room sounded distance, but within moments they cleared and beeped into normalcy. With the strength of a thousand newtons, you turned your head away from the bright fluorescent lighting towards the EKG monitor and other medical devices. The streamline of my heart and other saturations ran consistently. Your eyes bounced along with the inflections of your heart rate. You groaned as you turned back attempting to right yourself. The pressure on your wrist excited every nerve and was an instant reminder that everything wasn’t alright. A lightning bolt shot up from your left false ribs shorting your breath. Your vision blurred shortly with the electricity flowing through each vessel finding a point of interest around your temples. Things weren’t alright. The plastic tubing attached to you creaked and made a racket creating their own orchestra number.

Your napping brother stumbled from his seat in the corner of the room. He shot out of his seat finding a spot next to you on the bed in a less than graceful manner. He adjusted your IV pole and the tubing making sure he wouldn’t pull anything. He laid you back down searching you over with worry in his eyes, “God, I was so worried about you. Do you know how terrified I was hearing you were in an accident? My baby.” He mumbled on about his woes, but I couldn’t help but crack a smile at him. You didn’t know how you looked, but from his reaction you could guess it was bad. Your smile turned into a laugh at the end of his speech. He still called you a baby even though you were at the prime age of twenty-seven. You weakly maneuvered your bruised hand and stitched arm carefully not to twist your throbbing wrist, “how long have I been out?” Your brother took your hand delicately in both of his, encapsulating it in tender warmth. His calloused fingers grazed over your bruises like he was tracing roads in a map, “a few days, I took time off. Mom and Dad couldn’t make it up to the city.” You groaned, “you told them?” He nodded, “they said they were sorry, but that if you were in my care they could rest easy.” You smiled at him in short delay, the nausea was coming back. When the haze cleared you took in your brother, he was still in his uniform; a distinct sore standing out from the hospital’s dreadful, white walls. He really must’ve rushed here.

A warning knock sounded at the door and then a nurse strolled in the room. “I heard the monitors come back. Welcome back to the world, Ms. Y/L/N.” She looked at your brother and a faint pink dust coated her cheeks. You shook your intertwined hands slightly and wiggled your eyebrows at your brother in an all-knowing smirk. He glares at you momentarily mouthing out, “stop it, not now.” You rolled your eyes at the bachelor, but he politely left your side giving room for the nurse to work in. She checked all over your vitals and monitored receipts form the machines, “everything seems to be fine, a doctor will be in shortly to consult further with you. Are you in any pain currently?” You wanted to shake your head, but that would be a mistake, “I’m sore. My head and side are tender.” She nodded her head, “we’ll give you some more morphine for the meantime, I’ll be back with the doctor.” She picked up her chart and walks toward the exit, but you called out to her, “Where is the man I came in with? Where is Kim Taehyung? Is he alright?” Your brother did a double take, squinting at you while he took a seat next to your bed again. The nurse looked down at her chart then back to you, “I’m sorry miss, I don’t know. I’m sure the doctor will, please ask him then.” She slid the door close, leaving you with more anxiety than before.

Your brother tangled your hands again bringing your attention back to him. Your breathing became rougher and you winced with every short breath. “Calm down Y/N. Taehyung? Do you mean the fox hybrid from back home Taehyung?” You nodded slowly at the pace of a calm grandmother, ”yes…but it’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything soon, I need to know if he’s okay first.” Your brother smoothed over your hair smoothing out the knots, “that’s a promise Y/N.”

Through the same door the nurse returned with a doctor, who looked by far more than exhausted you did, “Hello Ms. Y/L/N.” He went over a routine checkup repeating steps the nurse took earlier, then stood at the edge of your bed flipping through the charts. “Ms. Y/L/N, in your X-ray we found two broken ribs on your left. They didn’t penetrate anything vital but remain stationary for the time being. It will take at least six weeks for them to fully heal. We did an CT scan and MRI just for assurance for anything major, but luckily you have a mild-concussion. That won’t take long to heal, however, you will experience some of the residual effects for a while. We will admit you for ten days and when that is up you will be assessed again to make sure you’re alright to leave. Any questions?” Honestly, he spoke so fast and it was heavy with information most flew over your head; so you turned to your brother for affirmation that he caught it all. He laughed and nodded, “I got all that Y/N. Don’t worry.” You turned back to the doctor, “is Kim Taehyung okay? The man I came in with?”

The doctor looked you over assessing your charts once more and with a huff in his words, “he’s currently in a coma.” Your heart sunk, feeling the thin strings of your heart being pulled to their limits. “He was induced into it. The injuries aren’t severe, but as a precaution to the head injury we’re giving him time to rest.” The harp player in your heart plucked softer, but they still tested your limits. You didn’t have enough in you to cry, but the thoughts were painful enough. In last comfort the doctor could offer, “you’ve been through a lot Ms. Y/L/N. We will do everything in our power to make sure you and Mr. Kim are okay.” The doctor offered you and your brother one last polite bow, then left.

In attempts to ease your mind, your brother spoke about his recent deployment. He went on and on and at the end of each sentence he reminded you how much he missed you. His stories faded into a lull hitting its end, so you started your own. Regressing back into his attentive way, he listened intently like a mother would, but with a face of a stern solider. He clutched onto your hand in intervals of softening and squeezing with each new bit of information. It wasn’t angry, but sweet and patient. You left out some details of the Taehyungs dad, no matter how close you were, there were legalities on the line. He rubbed his thumb over your hand while you come up to date. “You’re truly a strong person Y/N, are you sure you’re my baby sister?” I pouted my lips together holding back the laughter, but it erupted full force. It was easier to laugh, than cry. He still chooses to joke after I revealed a secret to him, only he would do such a thing. It hurts, it hurts so bad to laugh.

My heart rate went through the roof, and a distraught nurse swung into the room. Her forehead was sweaty, probably from running a mini marathon to the room, and panted out, “miss, what’s wrong?” Your brother stood at attention, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing wrong.” She clutched her chest waving to us both, “no, okay—that’s good to know. Excuse me then.” Attempting to catch your breath you nudged your brother as the nurse turned around leaving the room, “go, go chase her. She’s interested in you. Don’t let this chance go to waste.” A blush crossed his face, the first time you’ve ever seen it, so you nudged him further, “I want to sleep. Go home for the night. I’m fine, I’m in good hands. Come back rested.” He looked from the door to you contemplating, but you assured him you truly wanted to sleep. He smiled down at you and saluted, “good night Y/N. I’ll be back tomorrow.” You raised your right arm and saluted him back, “go get her tiger.”

You’re weren’t allowed out of your bed for a few days. Your brother argued with you daily that he should stay the night, but you convince him that staying at home would be better. It puts less pressure on you and you get to sleep easy knowing he’s resting well. On the fourth night you make your way out of the room wobbling down the hall with your IV pole. You steadied the IV bag and hung onto the tubing with every cautious step towards Taehyung’s room. Your hospital gown didn’t give you must protection against the strong AC. You counted the rooms, until the chrome numbers 45730 reflected against the fluorescent lights. You held your breath, feeling a throbbing pulse in your neck and wrist, it was a reminder you were alive. You shoved the pole first, then yourself towards the sliver of a window on the door. Searching the small room, that looked just like yours, your eyes rested on the back of a hunched over woman.

You knocked softly on the door, just enough for the woman to hear. She didn’t respond initially, so you kept knocking. She turned around in her stool and walked towards the door. Tears built up in the corners of your eyes, but you wiped the buds before they trailed any further. You stepped back away from the door as the door slide open. His mother expected the nurse, “nothing has changed since the last time you came in.” She lifted her face revealing darkened circles and reddened eyes. Her face softened up when she saw you. She stepped out into the hallway closing the door behind her, “Y/N, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” The once composed woman became a blubbering mess as she brought you into a hug. You winced and hissed at the pressure, she released you almost immediately. Wiping away tears she pleaded, “oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She truly was lost. You brought her into another hug this time, “he’s going to be okay Mom.” You didn’t know if that was for yourself or her. She looked you over again and again grazing her fingers gently over any blatantly obvious bandages. “I’m fine Mom. I have a minor concussion and fractured ribs, but they said it shouldn’t inhibit me too much.”

Instead of my words bringing her comfort, her frown depended into her smile lines. “Thank you. Thank you for being with Tae. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” She cupped your face rechecking everything over again. “You saved him.” You bit back and swallowed the knot in your throat. “It’s really nothing Mom.” She wanted to argue back, but she held her tongue. “Do you want to see Tae?” You nodded cautiously, and Mom helped move you into the room.

The first thing you noticed was his peaceful expression. The monitors read out steadily but in a low frequency. The bandages wrapped around his head and arms concealed the healing wounds. You turned to Mom as she grabbed your hand, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more Mom.” She clutched your hand, “no, you did enough Y/N. If it wasn’t for you Tae wouldn’t be here.” She helped steady you into one of the chairs beside Tae. You watched the soft fall and rises his chest. This madness has to stop.

The rest of the night went by with small chatter between you and Mom. She gossiped about her neighbors and how expensive it was to buy milk, anything to keep conversation going. She wore herself out and dozed off with her head bobbing back and forth. You attempted to get up without bothering her, but her ears were still sensitive. “Where are you going?” You pointed to your low IV bag, “I have to get back to my room. I’ll stop by again tomorrow, I’ll even bring my brother, you remember him, right?” Her face lit up slightly, “yes, I do. The kindest boy for miles. I’ll walk you back to your room.” She walked with you making the most of the small distance between the rooms. You reminded her that you were okay as she checked over you for the millionth time. You held back the nausea and pain, she had more than enough to worry about. You finally shooed her away when you were back in bed and a nurse came to check on you for a nightly routine visit.

Poking and prodding woke you up the next morning, when your nurse went through her routine. She was a rosy red and you connected that to the same rosy red on the solider across the room. You just woke up, but anyone could see the hearts in the air. This situation may be damming, but at least one good thing came out of it. “Everything is fine. Your healing is on track with our predictions. With the way things are going you may get to leave early.” The nurse bowed her way out of the room and your brother served you breakfast. You asked how he was doing, your situation was obvious.

After he watched you eat, you told him you wanted to go see Mrs. Kim and Tae. He wanted you to rest more, but with your persistence he walked you to the room. You gripped onto his arm, while he dragged your IV pole. Once you were stable, your brother knocked softly on the door in three rasp. The soft call of his mother allowed us in. Mom embraced your brother without an inkling of a greeting. She was overjoyed to see him, mumbling the same way when she first saw you. They lead you to sit first, then Mom wouldn’t let your brother go.

He recounted everything he could while catching glimpses at Taehyung. She was so impressed by his achievements in the military, “my son has really grown up!” Your brother blushed madly, a bit taken aback by the extent of her compliments. She asked you, “Is it okay if I steal your brother and go to the cafeteria for some food? I haven’t eaten yet. Will you be okay?” You nodded and even jokingly,” please take him.” He glared at you, but you shrugged the best you could more with your right side. She smiled dipping out of the room to recount even more with her estranged son.

You sat next to the bed and took Taehyung’s condition in. His breathing was shallow and the bruises on his face were deep. You looked down at your fist, saddened that you couldn’t do more for Taehyung at the moment. You sat in silence listening to the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor. You slowly raised your hand to bring it to wrap around his. You spoke softly, “Tae Tae, remember that time I fought off those boys and saved you. We even got ice cream afterwards. I think back to a lot of the times we shared together. Those were my happiest moments of my life. I haven’t been the same since you left. I was so shocked to see you. You’ve grown up and turned into such an amazing person. It’s also great that you turned out to be pretty handsome.” Pausing in your monologue to laugh at how sappy you were being, “I really missed you Tae.”

I plead into the phone, “Uncle please…don’t hang up! I need you to tell me what happened!” The man on the other end of the line begged back, “I really don’t know what happened afterwards. Look, I’ll talk to you later okay?” I spoke into the phone with more force, “Uncle, don’t hang up. I need to know what happened to my father!” The line went dead, all he was left with the dial tone.

The ringing faded into a familiar voice. “Tae, Taehyung, Tae!” The child he once looked at wasn’t young anymore, she was a beautiful woman that sat across from me. She rested her head on her hand watching me intently. I rambled on, “they didn’t think that a hybrid could be educated enough or—or,” raising his voice,” have the logic enough to think on a human level!” I could see the conflict in her eyes the way she watched me as I let emotions spill. She spoke back to me, but I only caught every other word, “I think back…happiest moments of my life…I missed you Tae.” She began fading again. I stood up in a rush pushing the chair to the floor behind me. I lunged towards her, but she dissipated, and I fell into darkness.

Suddenly Taehyung gasped air violently into his lungs deeply, mumbling out words. In his mind he yelled out, but in reality it was a jumble of incomprehensible words. His pupils retracted like a cat hissing, the light was sudden and painful. You shifted closer to his bed taking his hand in yours, “Tae, it’s okay, calm down Tae.” His eyes relaxed and squeezed your hand in relief. This was real. He croaked out, “Y/N? Where am I?” He tried to sit up but you stopped him, “don’t get up, I’ll call the nurse and your mom.” You stood to reach to press the button to call the nurse, but he stopped you grabbing onto your wrist. “What happened Y/N? Explain things to me first?”

Hesitating on the thought you sat back down and told him everything you could remember. You mentioned the man with the black mask and hat, but you couldn’t elaborate any further. He listened patiently and then followed up groggily, “and you? Are you okay? Are you in pain?” Answering honestly, “I have a few fractured ribs and a minor concussion. It’s not serious. The medicine dulls the pain, and I’ll be out of her soon.” He winced when his expression turned sour, “I’m glad you’re okay.” Your hand stopped mid reach for the button again. This whole time he’s been nothing but uptight and mean towards you. The old Taehyung was peeking through the hard exterior of a mask he put on. You titled your head, “I’m glad you woke up Tae.”

You buzzed in the nurse and his mom came back with your brother shortly. It was another reunion all over. The atmosphere was so nice. His mom, Tae, your brother and you were laughing and chatting like it was an afternoon back at their house on their low platform hanging out.

You spent more time in Taehyung’s room than your own. Mom was peeling fruits for you both, when a knock sounded at the door. Taehyung sat in his bed nibbling on slices of apples, “come in.” Two familiar faces peeked around the corner, the teen was a bit reluctant, but he brightened up when he saw you. “Mrs. Miller?” David came up next to you, “Ms. Y/L/N, are you okay? Tell me who did this to you!” You giggled at his protective agenda. Taehyung eyed the kid, “hey settle down kid. She’s stronger than any man.” You side eyed Taehyung, it was hard to know if that was a compliment or something back handed. He cheekily smirked at you. Mrs. Kim greeted the woman and offered her a seat next to you. She looked you up and down and took your hand in hers, “Ms. Y/L/N. I’m sorry this happened to you. Will you be okay?” She held her voice strong despite the shakiness behind it. David placed a hand on your shoulder. I reassured them with a nod. Mrs. Miller cleared her throat, “I’ve decided to go ahead with the appeal. After I heard what happened to you, I don’t think I can sit back anymore.” You righted yourself too fast agitating your tender ribs, “wait, really? Are you sure Mrs. Miller?” Her eyes glistened with tears splaying her fingers out in a fan across her breast bone. Her ears stood at attention, “yes, they need to be stopped.” Mrs. Kim set down her plate rounding around the bed smoothing a hand over the back of the woman. You turned to Taehyung who was staring at you. Adoration filled his eyes as the window light filtered in his eyes. David distracted you by telling you all about what he was doing in school and how he visits that sandwich stand often now that the auntie gives him discounts now.

But of course, nothing good last for long.

You were sitting facing the door listening to the banter go back and forth. A flash of black burned past the rectangle window. It was a blimp, but it was enough to notice something out of the corner of your eye. Your brother was so busy telling them a story that no one else noticed. The shadow passed by once more and stared at you for a moment. You recognized the face, or at least those same eyes. They walked away when you locked eyes. You dropped the fruit piece you were nibbling on onto your lap. Your nostrils flared, you couldn’t let him to get away again, not after he hurt Tae. “Hey, uhm, I’m going to pick up a sweater from my room. I’m a little cold. I’ll be right back.” Your brother broke conversation, “I’ll come with you.” You insisted, “no, no, I’m fine it’s only a few doors down anyways.” He glared at you, but yours won out on him. Tae whined out, “Y/N, let your brother go with you.” You turned your glare to Tae, “I need to do things on my own. I’m almost a 100% better now anyways.”

You slid out to the empty hallway and saw the tall figure walking down and turned at the end of the corridor. You speed walked following as fast as you could with your obnoxious pole. You paused before you rounded the corner, peering over the edge into the empty hallway. You stepped out into the open and frantically moving towards the other end. You were certain he walked this way. A calloused hand emerged from the darkness and clasped around your mouth. His other hand reached for your forearm and ripped out your IV. You screamed under his palm, the warm feeling blood and solution ran down your arm. He sucked you into the dark and drug you through the exit doorway into a cement stairwell.

He forced you up against the wall with his thick forearm blocking your airway. From the impact alone, it was disorienting your vision blacken briefly. When you opened your eyes immediately afterwards, black dots danced in your eyes. You could feel the stiches on your arm ripping, but most importantly your broken ribs felt like razors in your chest. You grasped the arm that was on your neck and dug your nails deep into his skin. This man had every intention to kill you.

You took a good look at him this time, a freckle dotted under his right eye and one eyebrow was partially missing. He must also still be recovering from the accident. With that in mind you removed one of your claws shimming in between the both of you, and dug your thumb into the guys eye. The squishy texture sent goosebumps along your skin, but you didn’t stop until he let up on your throat. He stepped away from you hunching over cradling his eyes.

You caught your breath but didn’t waste time and lunged towards him. You started kicking, beating him to pin him to the floor. He looked up at you with one eye and you screamed, “Who are you? Who sent you?” He didn’t respond knocking you off with a punch across the face. The adrenaline was running through your veins and you were angrier than ever. You kicked him in the stomach and rolled him over to be under you again. You landed a few hits but gained traction and punted you off. He stumbled onto his feet making his way down the staircase.

You weren’t going to let him go without an answer.

You clutched your side sliding on the cement floor but followed him. You sped down the flight of stairs but crashed straight into the wall. Your vision faded to black momentarily and the acid was building up in your throat. You felt like throwing up with a sudden rush of nausea. You panted in a cold sweat as you heard the footsteps of the man get farther and farther and eventually the door to the parking garage open. The silence filled you. You were in so much pain that only silent screams left you.

Your brother watched the clock. It’s been taking longer than it should have for you to grab a sweater. He stood up and went out to check up on you. Tae’s mom insisted on going instead, but he said, “I’m a special agent, Mom. I think I can handle wrestling a sweater.” The hallway was empty no grubby girl with an IV pole in sight. He made his way down to your room, but he opened it to an equally empty space. The private bathroom in the room was unoccupied as well. Goosebumps formed over his flesh, every sense honed into. He just felt it his baby sister was in danger.

He went back into the hallway and down the opposite direction. He looked up and down the halls of the ward for you. As he turned the corner out of a inner hallway he noticed the reflection of a fallen IV pole sticking out the hall. He ran towards it and the clear it got; the IV bag and tubing was leaking solution on the floor. There were specks of all sizes of blood that trailed into a metal exit door.

He slammed open the door with his shoulder. He looked around only to take a second look down the stairwell to see you breathing rapidly with blood soaking your gown. “Y/N!” He skipped every other step and made his way to you. “What happened?” He pulled your head up to look at him, but you could barely keep your eyes open. He picked you up in his arms and raced back up the stairs. He ran down the hall yelling for help. All staff in the hall that wasn’t immediately occupied approached him. They directed him to take you back into your room.

Tae’s mom heard the commotion in the hallway and opened the door to look outside. Her jaw dropped as she saw you in your brother’s arms with your arms limply swinging. She covered her mouth with his hand and yelled, “Y/N!” Taehyung sat up from his bed and stumbled his way behind his mother supporting himself with one arm on the wall. His other arm was in a sling, but he peered over and saw you. His heart dropped seeing you almost lifeless in your brother’s arm. Your brother sped by with a whole medical team trailing towards your room. His mother turned to him and said, “Tae, you shouldn’t be out of bed!” Her voice was unstable as she tried to scold him. She was equally as worried. He tried pushing past her to go to you, but his nurse stopped him. “Sir, she’s going to be taken care of, please return to your bed.” He looked at his mother and struggled back into bed. He knew he couldn’t do anything at the moment. He threw a pillow across the room, he felt truly helpless.

It took the medical staff an hour to stabilize you, but you came back to life. The security in the hospital escalated. Taehyung, in his decrepit state, stayed by your side guarding your room with your brother. The cops, along with Jungkook, questioned both Taehyung and you on the previous accident and today’s accident. As upset as it made Jungkook, he told us they weren’t able to recover anything from the accident. The site was clean. You sighed in relief internally, luckily you had back up documents at the office, credit cards were replaceable, so the only loss was time. Someone was sweeping things under the rug, someone very close to us.

A four days later you were discharged from the hospital, but Taehyung already left since hybrids heal faster. He wasn’t a hundred percent, but he was able to do basic things again without being supervised. He stayed with his mom, not wanting to burden Jimin and Hoseok, since they were busy prepping for the upcoming tour. It was weird living back with his mom, but he realized how much he missed it when she would cook meals for him. Your brother took you back home and was on guard 24/7. You assured him that he shouldn’t worry and it was rare for a criminal to come back for a third attempt. The punk would be stupid to attack again so soon. Your brother requested further time off to take care of you. The workaholic in you kept up with the office by working from home. You kept in contact with Taehyung, updating what little you found out.

A week later, when you weren’t constantly nauseous and could breath normally, you made it back to the office. Your brother couldn’t take off any more time to insist for you to stay home. You took the bus to work and walked in your second home. The receptionist came up to you and hugged you, “I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you’re back. Mr. Kim has been living in his office and the courthouses. He’s trying to catch up on all the cases he’s been behind on. The other lawyers didn’t want to take on his work.” With a scowl you made your way to your desk, greeted by your team. Kibum held onto you, but Krystal peeled him off to get her shy turn at a hug. Once they let you go you left for Tae’s office. You knocked on Taehyung’s door and he answered curtly; he was back to his normal self. You stepped in, also stepping back into your professional attitude as well, you closed the door and called to him. “Mr. Kim, I have the documents and cases you asked for.” He looked up and took them. You looked around noticing the multitude of coffee cups and pillow and blanket on the couch. You looked at him and spoke, “Mr. Kim have you been staying here.” He hummed in response not breaking his concentration on work.

He must’ve let the words go in and out his ears. You knocked on his desk making the tired fox look up at you. “Tae, why are you over working yourself?” Like a melting candle, his scrunched expression softened. The fox whined outstretching his hand towards you. You laughed at his cute antics. You walked around his desk and the suffering fox rested his head on your stomach. He wrapped his arm around your waist clutching to the back of your blazer. He nuzzled his head and in the best way you knew how to comfort him, you combed your fingers through his hair. It was greasy and matted, “how long have you been here?” He mumbled a number into you, truly it didn’t matter, he needed to go home. “Tae, go home. We can take care of it here. I’ve done enough work at home, we will be fine.” An audible growl left him as he pulled away, “no. I have so much to finish.” You brought both of his cheeks into your hands and he brought his to rest at your sides. “We will win, but we’re not going to win if the hero can’t fight his own needs. Go home Taehyung.”

He pulled you into his lap and nuzzled his face into your neck. He traced the edge of his nose up and down your jaw. “Just give me a moment with you. I missed you.” I almost lost you, he spoke internally to himself. You allowed him the time he needed, because you needed this too. You wiped away at his dark circles hoping they would go, but they only got deeper when he smiled. After many back and forth of “five more minutes”, Tae finally went home.

He gripped the frame in his hand, petting over the wooden edges as if it was a cat. From a rumble to a catastrophic roar, he fast balled the memory across the room. The two attendants in the room remained motionless standing at attention with their hands behind their back. His perfectly gelled hair strung out of place as he steadied himself with two open palms on his desk. The rumbling anger of his heart beat fast in his ears. He could feel his instincts brimming. He fought against the memory, but they just clawed at him. Flashes of his mother smiling at him calling him his familiar name, “Bo, my love.” Then flashes of documents, “Sexual Assault and Rape Report.” The print flashed by faster in his mind the more he struggled against it, “hybrid…victim of random circumstance…child was carried to term.” He scratched the surface of his desk leaving imprints and curls of iron in its remain. A sergeant spoke with hesitation, “Sir, we can’t dig Yates out of this one. He was caught with too many witness.” The police chief smoothed back his fallen hair breathing and seething through his teeth. “Get him out!” He paced around the room manically, “it’s all that foxes fault. It’s because of him and his…god forsaken family!”

“It’s been a chaotic drop in the stocks industry ever since Yates arrest. His lawyers spoke out claiming his innocence, and they will pursue any charges full on. Yates was released this morning on bail.” The stream switched to a video of Yates being wheelchaired out of prison. His face was covered by a mask protecting him from the numerous flashes coming from the hungry photographers. The same anchor voices over the video, but you stopped paying attention to her voice. You watched the footage of Yates play his game.

The door of the break room opened followed by the clanking of the coffee pot kissing another mug. Taehyung stirred his cup of coffee until it was appropriate to taste. He picked up his cup and stood shoulder to shoulder next to you. Ever since the accident, you’ve spent more time together. It was more like he was never too far from you, always within his peripheral. The new warmth didn’t distract you from reading the dialogue as the woman chatters on about useless details. You didn’t bother turning to him, “want to go home?” His ears twitched choking on his coffee doing a double take at the insinuation, “what?” You looked over at him brushing his loose bangs behind his human ears, “you’ve caught up on all the other cases, let’s go back to the countryside and find the shelter your parents were at.” Taehyung ran over his schedule in his head brushing his tail on the back of your thigh, “I can only take off this weekend. We can go Friday and come back Sunday night. We’ll be back by Monday.” You nodded, “I’ll bring some work with me too then, we’ll make it a work weekend.” His ear flattened, he wanted to spend time with you as well, not just work the whole time.

Taehyung came by to pick you up bright and early Friday morning. The drive will take two hours but who’s to say about traffic. You wanted to rub your eyes to cast away the sleep, but you already had light makeup on. The handsome fox stepped out of his car with aviators on, but he’s dressed casually wearing jeans and a white button up. You looked down at yourself with the same idea of casual wear being jeans and a white shirt. You joked before greeting him, “should I go change? Were matching.” He laughed taking in the resemblance, “no I think it’ll help me keep track of you.” You scoffed at his jester but forgave him instantly. You truly didn’t want to walk all the way back up the flight of stairs. Like a gentleman, he took your luggage for you placing it in the trunk. You set your messenger bag with your laptop and files on the passenger seat floor and find yourself situating in the seat.

In the first half of the drive you called your parents, wanting to stop by for a short visit, but they were busy. They said they would leave some goodies by the door for us and call again before we would leave. The second half was just chatter over the radio, there wasn’t a dull moment with Tae. You found out more about him. The same comfort and ease we shared as kids came back like there wasn’t a gap in time. The closer we got to our hometown, the chattier Tae became.

We walked down the familiar dirt road, instead this time we were unfamiliar. The air still smelled clean and the acres of farmland around us still bared fruit and vegetation. The trenches we created in the road from our back and forth journeys have filled back up and the road was flat. Taehyung parked away purposely because we thought the road wouldn’t be suitable for vehicles. You watched Tae’s tail flick like a hungry flame behind him. His lip was red from his teeth gnawing at the flesh, making the bud of his lower lip plump to its maximum. You thinned your own and laced your fingers in his bigger hand. Instantly, his hand encased yours and you ran your thumb over his knuckles. You slowed before you came around the bend in the road, “do you want to take another lap around the road?” He squeezed your hand bringing it up to his cheek then his nose for a moment. You flinched a little at his hot breath on the back of your hand. A hot blush was creeping up your neck turning your ears carmine. If this was going to comfort him, you could yield.

“No, let’s go.” He pulled you with him but kept his pace slow and even. Around the corner stood the weathered white house. It stood up against time, as if it was patiently waiting for us to come back to it. The grass in the yard was over grown, the paint on the walls chipped and the windows had at least three inches worth of dust. It was still home. Taehyung smiled towards you, “I was worried I wouldn’t remember this place, but one look and it’s all there.” You couldn’t help returning the expression, so you beamed back at him, “welcome home Tae.”

The picket fence was rusty, but it swung open with a creak and squeak from the unused metal hinges. He switched our hands, making sure he held onto you some way, and fished for the house key his mother handed to him. The key turned in the lock, but it took a grunt and a shove of a shoulder to turn and open.

A cloud of dust fell on you both. You coughed and waved away the dust stepping in after Tae. The house looked untouched. An open crayon box sat on the coffee table and an unfinished drawing next to it. You took Tae’s hand again patting it with your other, “let’s search around and clean it up before it gets dark.” You tested the light switches flicking them and after a few attempts they lit, but they faded not too long after. “We’re going to have to work fast.” You followed Taehyung around the house going through every room. The house was stuck in a time warp of twenty years ago. The furniture and style of the home was outdated. Taehyung’s ears twitched occasionally when he would pick up things, but he would set them back down. He saved his parent’s room for last. He opened the door to a messy room. The closet doors and drawers were open with clothes strung everywhere. Empty picture frames splayed across the bed. Even though you knew exactly what happened, it was hard looking at the mess. She really was in a hurry the day they left. You traced your fingers over the frame picking it to place it back next to the bed side table. Pick up the pieces, and eventually you’ll see the puzzle. You turned back to the stoic fox, his eyes were busy taking everything in. He said nothing the whole time we went through the house.

You came up behind him, gliding your hands through the gap between his arms and sides clutching him tight. “Are you okay?” He removed your hands turning you in his embrace. He brought you into his chest nuzzling against your hair. You were the only familiar scent in this home, everything else felt foreign to him, even if he remembered these walls. The only memories coming back was the one he shared with you and the rest of the fireflies. He spoke into your hair, “thank you for coming with me.” You smoothed your hand up and down his back, “before you thank me, let’s get things done.” He nodded into your hair taking in your scent as much as he could before you go to work. The blush has expanded past your ears for sure.

You set your phone up on the kitchen counter and connected it to Bluetooth and put on cleaning music. Taehyung twitched a brow to you watching your corny dance moves. You swayed to the beat as you tied up your hair into a messy bun. You mouthed along with the lyrics and obnoxiously pointed to him. He hunched over laughing, but soon joined you in a small dance in the living room. With a few beats you bumped the side of yours his hip with his, eliciting giggles out of you both. The house felt alive again. Your parents lent you cleaning supplies, along with some other goodies they left outside their door for you to pick up. You felt like Cinderella sweeping across the floor as Taehyung opened the windows letting light in. Taehyung left momentarily and parked out front bringing our luggage inside. You kept cleaning and by the time the sun set, you were content with the kitchen, living room and one room being cleaned out.

Taehyung was outside cleaning the patio, while you cleaned up the aftermath of tonight’s dinner, two cups of ramen. You cut up some fruit for dessert that your mom gave you earlier. You carried the plate out the door waiting for Taehyung to lay the matt over the low platform. The wood was old and splintering, but with a little love it would come back to life. Taehyung set the latten in the center of the matt and tapped the empty spot next to him.

You adjusted yourself on the soft cloth. Taehyung let the tranquility take over. He laid on his back crossing his forearms to a makeshift pillow under his head, “I haven’t been this relaxed in a while.” In his head he counted the stars but lost track after the twentieth when all the lights in the sky clustered too close together. You bit into an apple savoring the sweet crunch. You looked towards the tree line recounting the many times you’ve played there, where the stream you played in was bone dry. The place you meet Tae. “Tae, do you remember the first day we met?” He hummed in question not hearing you the first time. “do you remember how we met?” Tae inhaled a deep breath leaving it in a heavy sigh, “I really don’t remember it well, but I do remember the night where I told everyone what the stars were. Kids really do believe everything.” I laughed handing him an apple slice, “yeah, we may have been kids, but…it helped me through a lot of times.”

He glanced over to you watching your expression. Because of specs on the lantern, the orange light displayed a disco ball effect on her; like fireflies dancing on her skin. The perk of her nose, the flutter of her lashes, the petals that were her lips all hypnotized him. Her hair was a mess, fly-a-ways sticking out of her messy ponytail, but she looked perfect. The perfect combination of calmness and calamity. He traced the contours of her face with his eyes, mapping out things he’s never had much chance to do before. He wanted…no…needed her to want him too.

With all the experience of partying and dating he had, nothing could compare to the confidence he chalked up now. “You know, Y/N, if you get too comfortable with me, I think I should have you call me Mr. Kim again.”

The soft atmosphere broke, you couldn’t help laughing and hard. It was hilarious now thinking back to Taehyung, you meant Mr. Kim, the stern lawyer in his almighty office. He feigned being upset with your taunting, so he sat up. “What’s so funny Y/N?” A cheeky smile bloomed on his lips as he inched closer. You fell on your back laughing, “sorry Mr. Stern-Lawyer, I guess I am forgetting.” He swooped in tickling your sides violently. You could hardly breath and tears were brimming in your eyes. You placed your hands on his chest pushing him away, “Tae, stop! I can’t—I can’t breathe!” He rested both hands by head giggling to himself as he loomed over you.

Once you could open your eyes clearly enough, the fox above you was staring at you with something else in his eyes. Something you’ve never seen in them before.

He studied your face carefully, he watched your pupils expand and contract. He could hear your heartbeat in his ears. Your lips were parted glossy like dewy petals. You swallowed hard, the position was making your mouth dry. You spoke out breathily, “Tae—.” He dipped down brushing your noses together, you could feel the peach fuzz of his chin rubbing against yours. He nudged your noses together causing you to arch your head back. He watched your lips move with his name on them. His elbows caved down and caged you in even further bringing your hands to your chest. His body heat radiated to yours. A low content purr grumbled in his throat as his tail stiffened. He whispered your name against your lips, before he pecked lightly. The heat from him started a fire in your stomach. He came back for more, kissing you soft but hard each time. Your hands slid up cupping his neck and cheek tangling in his hair, anything to bring him further into the kiss. You could feel the rumbles of his purr from your hand on his neck.

You had to pull away for a breath of air, but he couldn’t wait long, so he began peppering kissing around your face. Once on each eye, each cheek, your forehead, then nose appreciating all of you. I had to, “Mr. Kim, this isn’t appropriate office behavior.” He kissed you again, and again seconds melted into minutes. He took your breath away.

He pulled away from your bruising lips looking you directly in the eyes, “I’ve made up my mind, don’t call me that…ever….” I slapped his chest laughing, he was insufferable. He pecked my lips one more before he flopped on his back sighing in relief. You didn’t quite catch what he said, but it sounded similar to the word, “mine.” His. The both of you were flushed, but you were especially nervous to look at him. He laced his fingers with yours and his tail tickled your thigh. The music playing from your phone filled the atmosphere with lyrics, even though they weren’t our own, they said everything for us.

Under the fireflies, this moment was more than perfect.

You cleared out some space in the living room and laid out your sleeping bags. We couldn’t trust any of the mattresses. We eyed eachother blushing occasionally thinking back to the kiss before. You crawled into your sleeping back, letting him turn off the lantern. The fireflies were dancing in your stomach. You fell asleep and somewhere through the night the bags came together, and our hands intertwined. It was admittedly the best sleep he’s ever had.

In the early hours of the morning you’re at the kitchen table typing away at your laptop and Taehyung rested his head on your shoulder reading the open webpage. “We should head out soon.” He nodded passing you a quick breakfast, more ramen. Within thirty minutes you were on the road, we drove forty-five minutes to get there. “Riverwood County Shelter,” the words read out boldly on the sign in their lawn before Taehyung turned into the parking lot of the dreadful looking building. The town was nice, but there was something off. Maybe it was the clear bias towards this place? No, it felt too quiet.

You looked over to Tae before you went inside, “if you want me to go inside I can, you can wait in the car.” He shook his head, “no, I want to see the place my parents grew up.” Taehyung held open the door for you, immediately leading into a receptionist lobby. A woman with glasses hanging low on her nose sat behind the curved desk. She typed away at her computer and slowly blinked up towards us. She did not want to be here, that was for sure. Taehyung approached the desk, “Hello, we’re from—.” You stepped harshly on Taehyung’s toe. A huff left him along with a deep grunt, he side eyed you full of questions. You took over conversation, “hello, were looking for a…baby to adopt. I can’t have children of my own and I always wanted to have a child with my husband.” You wrapped Taehyung’s hand in yours and brought his hand up to your lips. You pretended to blink away tears. The woman at the receptionist desk blinked back at you slowly. Taehyung seemed to catch on halfway, “My wife and I really want a fox hybrid. Something that would look like me, maybe.” The woman began typing shortly then stood up, “let me get the file and ask my manager if they’re letting people observe today. I’ll be right back.” She picked up an empty clipboard and pen disappearing down a nearby hallway.

You waited for her footsteps to fade before you rounded the desk taking her seat. Taehyung harshly whispered, “what are you doing Y/N?” You brushed hair off your shoulder, “hush, be on the lookout. Warn me if she’s coming back.” You jammed the USB into the monitor and went to town on their database. His eyes were working a thousand miles per hours, “when did you bring that?” You raised your brow at him, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me Tae.” A smirk crossed his face cheekily leaning on the table, “a man should know his wife.”

You willed away the blush crossing your cheeks and searched through their outdated system. You transferred the files of employees from twenty years ago, hoping it would give some intel about the people who knew his parents. You pulled out your phone bringing up the two long numbers that his mother gave you. Their ID numbers. A young photo of his mother popped up and in big read letters above the biographic information read, “MISSING.” You searched for his father’s data, but your fingers stopped typing on the keyboard when footsteps approached in the hall.

Taehyung winked at you, “leave it to me, honey.” He walked towards the receptionist, “you were able to convince your manager, right? My wife…she’s really been upset with the whole infertile thing. I can’t live with the anger anymore or the tears.” He spewed out the first things that came to his mind, using his years of practice as a lawyer to spin a believable story. Your fingers flew across the keys. You unplugged the USB and shoved it into your pocket tucking it deep. You closed all the documents back to what it originally was and stood leaning against the desk attempting to look distressed. “Dear, you know what I don’t want to look today. I don’t think I can handle it.” Taehyung came running up to your side, “but honey.” You held up your hand twisting your face up as if you were going to cry, “no…I can’t.” You pushed through the doors to hear a belated sorry towards the receptionist from Tae. You both got in the car and drove away.

Back at home you pulled out your laptop again and plugged in the USB immediately. Taehyung sat next to you watching the new information load in multitude of files. You passed him the laptop allowing him to go over the info first. He put on his glasses reading the information intently. When he scrolled past a photo of his father he stayed on it studying the face. “I honestly don’t remember his face besides the one in the photo. He was gone a lot as a kid. He looks so much like I do here.” You leaned into his side resting your chin on his shoulder, “look he has the same freckle on his nose like you.” You booped his nose right on the freckle. He rubbed his nose, “I guess we really do look alike.”

He opened file after file, you ended up working longer than expected. You missed the timing to go over to your parents for dinner. You opted to make a small meal, something besides ramen. You were prepping when he called you back over to the laptop. “Hon—Y/N, look tell me you see what I see?” The image of the man before you was familiar, but without his signature trademark. Under the security guard’s employee archive, was the face of a brutish man, but he lacked the scars on his face. As you leaned in forward your hand almost slipped and missed the table, “isn’t that the police chief? Police chief Archer...Robert Archer?”

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