#au wool gathering

[sincerely-sofie]

After that post about the Lamb’s parents figuring out who she is, I got to thinking about them getting to know Narinder, and Narinder learning about where the Lamb gets her... uniqueness from.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it. 

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?  

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits. 

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong. 

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch. 

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius. 

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight. 

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud. 

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child. 

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader. 

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air. 

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you. 

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream. 

And he turns. 

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from. 

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart. 

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him. 

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast. 

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual. 

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . . 

You are brought to his tent, screaming. 

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock. 

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood. 

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot. 

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should. 

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle. 

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately. 

It’s just that none of them were portents of war. 

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless. 

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you. 

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself. 

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself. 

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?” 

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up. 

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know. 

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen. 

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good… 

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful 

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter one

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love,

word count: 6.5k+

warnings: oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, body insecurities, fear of being blacklisted, emotionally restrained yoon, unstable parental relationships, conservative parents, rude Hybe executive that should be fired, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, and cute yoon and oc interactions bc yeah....its thier first time actually meeting so it must be cute!

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: YAHHH chapter one!! Ok i apologize if the meeting is so long and drawn out...I really tried to make it fun but so much info is needed too haha. Anyway this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Winter in Seoul feels like stepping onto the set of your most beloved holiday film.

As the brisk air wraps around you, delicate snowflakes gather atop your head, urging you to cocoon in your finest wool trench coat. Yet, despite the chill, the sight of frost-bitten trees basking in the morning's golden rays offers a source of warmth and delight. Perhaps the most radiant tree of them all is the towering Christmas tree that sits proudly in the heart of the city. Adorned with shimmering red and gold baubles, the giant evergreen catches the eye of every person that walks by–both tourists and locals alike.

Nearby shopping malls buzz with holiday fervor too as shoppers scour for treasures, couples engage in friendly competition to find the ultimate gift, and children line up to take their picture with Santa. But the best part is when night falls. The whole city comes alive with joy and laughter as loved ones meet one another on the ice-skating rinks, while karaoke bars echo tipsy renditions of timeless songs sung by overworked professionals, each with a bottle of soju in hand.

Yes, Seoul is a place for making memories and you’re in the thick of it.

Having been in the city for three years, one might assume you’ve become well accustomed to the energy of the season. You've really grown to love it here. But adjusting to the new environment is still proving to be a challenge, the most outstanding being the prevailing beauty standards.

Massive billboards featuring stunning models serve as constant reminders of the type of beauty one should aim to achieve as you commute to work. Impossible to miss are the shining examples themselves – iconic k-pop groups Seventeen, Red Velvet, EXO, BlackPink, Mamamoo, TXT, and of course BTS plastered on the side of every flat surface imaginable. You’re not exactly complaining about that aspect as you’ve helped design a good handful of them as a top marketing and advertising professional. But the strict image of what constitutes a beautiful and worthy individual weighs on you more than you’d like.

While a conventional body type isn’t what you’ve been given in this life, you don’t consider yourself to be completely unattractive either. Having high cheekbones, a strong jawline, striking light brown eyes, good enough ass, and a full chest shouldn’t classify as undesirable. Still, you wish you’d adopt this more body positive mindset rather than your current overthinking one. It’s easier said than done, being that you not only see idols everyday on the streets in digital form but at work as well.

You continue further into city until a set of tall, glass doors meet you mere steps away. You tilt your head back to catch the name of the skyscraper before nearing the building’s sturdy, silver handle.

BigHit Music.

Feeling its cool metal under your fingertips, the door swings open with an easier pull than imagined to welcome you into the bustling lobby. You feel a rush of confidence return to you upon entering– this is your domain, this is where you truly shine.

“Did you get the files I sent to you?”

The woman nods her head in affirmation while sweeping a few pieces of her long, silky hair behind an ear. To strangers, she appears to look about 24 which is only four years younger than yourself but nonetheless she’s the same age as you. Hei-Ran is her name, meaning “graceful orchid” according to Korean translation.

Hei-ran is one of Hybe’s newest hires and based on her experience, a near perfect fit to being South Korean boy group Tomorrow X Together’s new marketing manager. Until about three months ago, this had been your job.

You never imagined giving up the position after three years of working in the role. But with December right around the corner Hybe had other plans for you.

"Graduated summa cum laude with a bachelors degree in BTech in Electrical and Electronics Engineering and a MBA in Marketing from NYU Stern. You worked two years as a brand manager for U.S record label Atlantic Records immediately after graduating, and are now working at BigHit Music as a marketing manager for TXT including liaison with their global marketing team.”

You recall Bang PD's voice vibrate in the back of your mind from mid-August. You thought you were called into his office to discuss details of TXT’s latest promo, so having your resume read back to you was a sweeping curve ball. Your determination must have far exceeded the heaviness you felt in your chest because before you knew it you, you were shaking hands with your boss in acceptance of your role – the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour.

The tedious knot that’s formed in the nape of your neck reminds you that as surreal as the situation might be, it’s undeniably real.

Months spent drafting a comprehensive marketing proposal for D-Day; often until the wee hours of the night, inevitably takes its toll on even the mightiest of warriors. An entire new team of fifty people, all of who you’ll be in charge of orchestrating for the next eight months, doesn’t provide much to relief either.

You’re excited nevertheless. Working with one of the most respected artists in the music industry is an opportunity you couldn’t let slip by, especially since the album’s rock-inspired genre aligns closely with your own music taste.

“Thank you so much for helping me get settled __,” Hei-ran’s gentle voice returns you to the present. “I appreciate the time you’ve taken these last few months to train me despite the tight deadlines you have.”

Smiling, you shake your head. “It’s no problem at all and if there’s anything you need in the future, feel free to give me a call or stop by my office.”

“On the 16th floor right?”

“1656A. Take a left off the elevator and walk to the end of the first hallway. The door on the right is mine.”

Referring to any room on the 16th floor as your own is something you don’t take lightly. For one the offices are double the size of any other office spaces in the building. Yours in particular has a giant skyscraper window draped with heavy white curtains. Secondly, the floor above is the 17th floor which is exclusive to Hybe artists only.

"How's the proposal coming along, by the way?" Her curiosity is palpable, genuine in its nature. You’ve always appreciated that in an individual.

“It’s done,” you respond. “Only thing left to do is to prepare for our meeting with C-suite executives next Monday. It’s nearly perfect as is, but the presentation could use a bit of refining in terms of organization.”

Hei-ran is silent for a moment longer than usual before her next inquiry, which is undoubtedly the question on both of your minds. “I can't help but wonder what it'll be like to meet him for the first time,” she muses.

You don’t bother asking for clarification on who the “him” is; you’re already well aware that it’s Min Yoongi. The same subject has managed to intrude your own thoughts more and more as the date of meeting him draws closer. It's peculiar honestly, considering you’ve encountered him before.

Granted, it was only a small handful of times the hallway, both heading in opposite directions. Min Yoongi typically greeted you with a hoarse 'Good Morning' those instances, along with a curt nod of his head. You would nod back with a brief 'Morning' yourself. Deep down you feel he'd make a quality friend, though it's only a premonition. It’s not like you actually know much about him beyond those small exchanges.

"I'm not sure what to expect, honestly," you admit. "I imagine it'll be similar to previous professional collaborations—composed, focused, and intense. D-Day is poised to become a global sensation for the next year, so it's going to need our full, undivided attention."

Hei-ran gives a knowing nod. “Good luck __,” she wishes you well as you head towards the elevator doors. Breaks over, back to work.

After another late-night prep session for Monday’s D-Day proposal, you trudge through your apartment door well past 8:30 pm with an empty stomach and a throbbing headache. Good news is that your graphic design team seems to be well on track with their album mockups ready to present.

The same can’t be said for your U.S. promo team however, who required additional guidance on their projects. The social media team was in a similar boat. Somehow several of their members lost track of time and were convinced the proposal was still two weeks away.

Despite the hiccups, you managed to tie up the loose ends, but it meant that none of you got to leave early.

When you finally get to curl up in your fluffy sofa, a loud, exasperated sigh leaves your lips. Your lids flutter shut too as you rest your head against the soft cushion. Silently, you make one last mental rundown of all the tasks you checked off today.

Did you miss anything?

D-Day is the most crucial project you’ve ever taken charge of—you need it to be flawless.

When nothing pressing comes to mind, you grab the tv remote from your dark oak coffee table and aimlessly flip through the channels. You’ll unwind for an hour and then call it a night.

Ten minutes into an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and the light chime of your phone's notification bell catches your ear.

Tae 💚: Haven’t heard from you all day. Everything alright?

Taehyung, your best friend. You smile fondly at his message as your thumbs hover over the reply button. He's always checking in on you. You and Taehyung have been friends ever since you first moved to Seoul and started working at Hybe. You didn't expect your friendship to become this strong, but both of you are sociable individuals, which led to discovering several unexpected commonalities. One of those is a shared love for jazz, which has been one of your all-time favorite genres for as long as you can remember.

You: yeah, I’m good. Just tired. Been working on D-Day's proposal for months and finally got it fully prepped for.

Tae 💚: Well, that's amazing news! You feel good about it?

You: I don't know. I’m definitely ready for this project but I’m also starting to feel a little burned out. The proposal is only the beginning you know, and it's already taking the wind out of me.

Tae 💚: Sorry to hear that 😞 I'm sure it must be draining, but I also know this is your territory. No one is more fit to head this project than you. Everyone thinks so. How about you take the weekend to rest?

You: Yeah...I'm watching B99 rn

Tae 💚: B99?! Without me?

You can't help but giggle. Somehow over the course of three years you've roped your best friend into becoming obsessed with your mindless sitcoms. You've done more than a handful of binge watching together, until all hours of the night.

You: Wanna come over for an hour?

The company might be nice.

Tae 💚: Be there in 20 🏃

Your door bells rings exactly twenty minutes after you and Taehyng finish exchanging texts. He's so prompt it scares you sometimes.

“Hey.” His deep, baritone voice greets you first, along with a friendly hug. Taehyung slips his snow covered boots off upon entering your apartment and hangs his wool jacket on your coat rack. His limited edition Gucci scarf is next. Taehyung loves the winter as it’s the time he can wear his most luxurious clothes.

“What’s this?” You peak inside a brown paper bag that Taehyung has conveniently set on your kitchen countertop. He flashes you a playful grin and gestures you to open it. Naturally, you're suspicious but it all washes away when a new, unopened bottle of whiskey presents itself. “Oh my god, you didn’t!" You swat his arm in a rush of excitement.

“I had to!" Taehyung opens a kitchen cupboard and grabs a glass from the top shelf. He's been in your apartment enough times that he’s grown comfortable with your place. That and he's also your best friend.

"With all the recent events you've had going on, I think it calls for a celebration." Taehyung expertly pours you a glass of the smooth, rich liquor and offers it to you.

“Thank you, Tae," you say, taking the glass from his hand. "Come sit down. Jake's about to sing I Want It That Way with the police lineup.” Taehyung pours himself a glass of Pinot Noir and follows your lead.

After about forty minutes of sitcoms and booze with your best friend you begin to feel yourself relaxing. Whatever challenges lies ahead, you know you'll be able to handle them one whiskey at a time.

All stream of thought is interrupted when your phone dings off again. It's now half past 9, who on earth is trying to reach you?

Fuck.

You tighten the grip on your phone as soon aa the message appears. Taehyung, previously occupied by the end credit scene, catches the sudden shift in your demeanor and calls your name but he's inaudible to you.

Mom: It’s been almost two weeks since we last heard from you. We know you're busy but your father and I want to know if you’ll be coming home. The holidays are coming up right? Why don't you use some of that time to come see us? There's someone we want you to meet.

"__, who is it?" Taehyung's voice manages to break your intense concentration.

“Just my mom.” You answer briefly, still averting eye contact.

“What’d she say?”

“She wants me to come home for the holidays.” You shut your phone off in an effort to calm yourself.

Unlike Taehyung your relationship with your parents has always been rocky. Expectations are set high from birth and you never see eye to eye. Likely, the only accomplishment that's earned genuine praise from them was when you accepted your initial job proposal with Hybe. A respectable career is only second to health to them after all. Your father was more torn with the news that you’d be moving hundreds of miles away than your mom however, not that you’re surprised.

Of course while having a healthy and respectable career is priority for your parents, there is no mistake that their greatest wish is to see their daughter married. A stable man with ample resources to provide her a secure home and healthy children is preferable.

You love your parents and you'll always be there for them, but you must admit that their traditional outlook is one you can never live up to. They tried setting you up dozens of times before, and tonight's request to have you come home "for the holidays to meet someone” is simply another attempt to marry you off.

Yes, you would like some sort of companionship in your life and you hope if you find it that they’ll approve. But giving your hand in marriage to the first notable suitor isn't your forte. You consider yourself to be an independent woman with a tender heart, and you'd rather be single for the entirety of your life than be forced into another obligation.

Preserving your independence is highly important to you. So no, you draw the line when it comes to relational affairs.

If only you could be firm and repeat all the above to them aloud, rather than within your own head— if only.

“So are you gonna go?"

You don't respond immediately, still weighing out your options. "Not sure," you murmur. "I don't really want to but maybe I should. I haven't gone home to see my parents since last year."

Taehyung recognizes the growing tension in your voice as well as the flushed expression playing on your face. He wishes he could take it all away but instead he moves closer to your side of the sofa and lets you rest your head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." He's silent for a moment before continuing. "Why don't you tell them you can't go because of work? There must be a number of things you'll need to get ahead of for Yoongi's album."

"True. But it's too easy, they won't buy that. I have to go."

"What if you say I invited you to celebrate with my family this year? We're going to a nice, cozy cabin a few hours north of here for Christmas."

The offer is temping and you know he means it but it's also not enough.

"No," you reject. "They'll think we're dating and ask to meet you."

"I'll do it!" Taehyung's voice lifts into a more playful tone, earning a soft chuckle from you.

"Very cute Taetae, but no. Neither of us are going to say 'that was a good idea' in the end, trust me. I'll have to make this decision on my own."

Taehyung grimaces slightly at your last choice of words. "I really think you should consider telling them you can't due to a full schedule. We don't get that much time off at the company any way. Don't your parents live at least 7-10 hours away? Come on, spend the holidays with me and the guys. Plus, it'll be my birthday soon. I want you there at my party."

When you look at your best friend to gently scold him for not so sneakily using the guilt tripping technique, he's pouting. Like a baby. Not even you can resist him with that face on.

"Fine. I'll think about it."

"Good," Taehyung chirps and snatches the tv remote to flip through episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. "I want you to be around those closest to you, especially around the holidays. You're my badass best friend who deserves more than some stupid forced marriage to a guy with an unhealthy alpha male complex. Should we top the night off with one more episode by the way?"

You nod and Taehyung hits play on the remote. "Thank you," you coo, feeling a tad better.

The weekend is a blur at best and you’re back at the office before you realize. Of course this is no ordinary work day however, given that today signifies the day you officially start work as D-Day’s marketing director. You’ve been perfecting every detail of the proposal like a madman since the beginning, meticulously obessing over every element. Your new team members must have a pretty eye-opening understanding of what it’ll be like having you as a lead for the next year–you pity them to be honest.

Between your fingers clutches a small tube of lip balm, berry flavored with a faint tint to match. You love chapstick for some odd, inexplainable reason and you felt the need to apply a generous amount of it on your lips for good luck.

“No one’s here yet,” Yi-joon, one of the members of your graphic design team, speaks first upon stepping foot into your assigned conference room. Others hum, unsurprised. Being the ones leading the presentation, you’d be startled if anyone actually arrived beforehand.

A grand mahogany table, seating up to 14 individuals, boasts itself to you in the middle of the room with every chair lined in genuine black leather. Traditional seating arrangements have one chair at the head of the table, but today’s meeting has two, both positioned to face the wide presentation screen at the opposite end.

Undoubtably, they’re reserved for Bang PD and Min Yoongi.

A momentary shiver courses down your spine, yet fades quick when one of your team members asks if anyone's seen the remote to the projector. There’s no time for nerves to be acting up, you remind yourself calmly. Only 15 minutes remain until every C-suite executive in Hybe congregates into the room.

With a composed demeanor, you swiftly gather your thoughts and respond, "Try checking inside the podium. It's likely close by, but if not, we can always power it on manually." You then start delegating tasks to the rest of your team, mentally rehearsing key points of the proposal between each instruction.

Time appears to have vanished in the blink of an eye because in a matter of seconds a gentle breeze slips through the conference door, accompanied by the arrival of several Hybe executives. You offer a polite "good morning," which is briefly reciprocated as they take their respective seats around the conference table.

You count twelve at the table in total, including your own team.

"Sajangnim should be here in about–"

Hybe's Chief Finance Officer doesn't get to finish his sentence when an older gentleman in a freshly pressed suit walks through the door, fully immersed in conversation. The person following close behind him is none other than the man of the hour himself–Min Yoongi, fitted in a clean white dress shirt that's unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled to the elbows. His soft, raven hair falls gently in front of his eyes, framing his face a little too well.

Unexpectedly, both your gazes shift from Bang PD and onto one another. His dark, intense eyes pierce through you as they observe you from the opposite side of the room. You're certain he recognizes you from your previous shared encounters, though you don't have the slightest clue what he's thinking. Min Yoongi has been known to be many things, but an open book isn't one of them.

He then walks in your direction until he's directly toe to toe with you for the very first time. Completely against your wishes, you feel all the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. You've never officially met before.

"It's nice to finally meet you __-nim. Those nods we give each other in the hallway hardly count as a proper introduction." He extends a hand to you, offering you a sturdy handshake which you accept.

"Absolutely, it's a pleasure to meet you as well Min PD-nim," you say, smiling warmly. "I'm looking forward to working with you on your new album. I truly appreciate the opportunity."

For a split second, Yoongi allows his professional demeanor drop. "I should be the one thanking you. You'll be the one leading this whole operation right? So I'll be in your care."

You want to respond with gratitude, but you're not given the chance due to an authoritative voice speaking up from behind.

"Min PD-nim," Hybe's Vice President calls out to the man in front of you, requesting his attention.

Yoongi is hesitant to leave you mid-conversation but you assure him that it's alright. "Please, feel free to take a seat," you offer. "The presentations will begin soon."

A small, subtle smile graces Yoongi's lips before he turns around to take his seat beside Bang PD at the head of the table. He engages in small talk with Hybe's Vice President who's conveniently seated across from him. Yet despite their conversation, he's only half focused; his eyes repeatedly wandering back to you. At this point, however, you've already stopped looking at him.

"Good morning, all," you address the room when the time comes to commence the meeting. "We'll be getting started now that everyone's here. I'm sending down samples of the album design our graphics team has created for D-Day. Please pass them along." You hand the stack of copies to Hybe's Chief Technology Officer who smiles courteously.

"On behalf of my team and me, I want to thank you for joining us today to discuss our marketing strategy for Min PD-nim's upcoming D-Day album. Our agenda will be as follows," you guide everyone's attention to the presentation board, which provides a rundown of all the points you plan to cover for the remainder of the meeting.

"Let's begin with introductions. My name is ___ ___, I hold a Bachelor's degree in Electrical and Electronics Engineering from NYU Stern, as well as an MBA in Marketing. Over the past five years, I've worked in the music industry as a marketing manager. Three of those years were spent here at Hybe. The recent promotional campaign for TXT's The Chaos Chapter was lead by my previous team and me, resulting in a positive return on investment. Now, with a new team, I aim to achieve similar success with Min PD-nim's D-Day album."

Once you finish your introduction, you introduce each member of your team. This is soon followed by a brief introduction from each c-suite executive.

The whole room falls silent when you begin diving into the bulk of the proposal; every measurable objective, goal, and market analysis is shared for D-Day. When it comes time to present the brand guide and album design, you invite your graphics team to speak.

"You'll notice that we have two versions of Min PD-nim's albums on the sheet in front of you," Yi-joon refers to the mockups you handed out earlier. A few executives nod quietly as they study the proposed album packaging while Yoongi leans over to Bang PD. He's whispering something but you're far to distant away to hear. His expressions aren't telling either.

Does he like it? Does he not? You don't know.

Nevertheless, you give a subtle smile to Yi-joon as encouragement to continue.

 "We've opted for a sleek, pitch-black design for the first version, and a dusty brown for the second. The first version symbolizes the past, characterized by societal expectations and internal struggles, while the second represents the present and future, conveying a message of liberation. To complement these themes, we've selected a bold and daring font to exude the album's transparency. This design consistency extends to the album's contents; for instance, lyrical cards will reflect the respective color and style of the version they belong to."

Hybe's Chief Marketing Officer appears to be in approval with the entirety of the plan so far, yet it's short lived when a low voice interrupts.

"I think the vision of album's design aligns closely with mine, so I like what I see in front of me." Yoongi pauses and places the mockup on the table. "There's one aspect that I'd like to discuss in hopes of some insight however. I've been mauling over it for a while now."

"I'll do my best to–" Hybe's Chief Marketing Officer opens his mouth to respond yet closes it immediately when he notices Yoongi's gaze sharply shifts to you. It's a signal that it's your insight he specifically requests.

"Please go on," you reply.

"Regarding the name under which the album should be released, should it be 'Agust D' or 'Suga'? I'm personally biased towards Agust D because it holds more weight for me. It's close to my heart and the stories I have to tell as Agust D are heavier than those of Suga, right? The D even stands for Daegu, my hometown where I grew up and where my parents still live. Suga on the other hand is my stage name, which I have some identity in as well."

You don't answer immediately, preferring to carefully process everything he's said. Your team has already proposed to release the album under 'Agust D', yet he makes a valid point that 'Suga' is also a part of him.

"I understand that releasing the album under 'Suga' has its merit. However, I still support the original idea of releasing it under 'Agust D'. As you've mentioned, the name carries a deeper meaning, evoking memories, emotions, trials, and tribulations. I'd also like to emphasize that by releasing D-Day under 'Agust D', you can showcase who the real Agust D is. The collaboration with IU in People Pt. 2 already has you one step in that door."

Like you, Yoongi considers your words cautiously, weighing them in his mind. "Thank you ___-nim," he finally speaks. "Your perspective is reassuring. We'll proceed with releasing the album under 'Agust D'.

Following your short discussion, the graphics team continues presenting their design materials. Minor comments are made by Hybe executives, but Yoongi doesn't comment again until half-way into the social media segment.

"Why do we need to schedule this many Weverse Lives? People might get tired of seeing my face after so many in a row. ARMY will read, 'Min Yoongi started a live' and say to their friends, 'This is the fifth time in a row, is he in love with his own voice or something?'." His joke sparks a light in the room as Bang PD gives a chuckle.

"I don't think that's going to be an issue for you Yoongi," he replies. "Don't you know the strength of your own fanbase?" Bang PD's statement is undeniable. Everyone in the room is well aware of Min Yoongi's international fanbase who willingly stay up all hours of the night just to catch a glimpse of him. In fact, rather than seeing less of him, they hope to receive his live notifications more, as Yoongi isn't as active on Weverse as other idols.

It's clear that compliments like these aren't easy for Yoongi to take though, judging by the flushed look that subtly sweeps over his face. You'd react the same way to be honest.

"If I may Min PD-nim," you speak up, deciding to offer an alternative plan. "Leveraging Weverse Live to help promote D-Day will draw significant international engagement. We know that time differences pose to be a challenge which is why we proposed an increase of live sessions per week. However, we understand that going live this often might be exhausting. Would you consider reducing the frequency to once or twice a week instead?"

"I'm open to once a week but didn't we film the 'Suga: Road to D-Day' documentary for a similar reason? Won't it be too much to add more than two Weverse Lives throughout the entire promotional phase?" Yoongi's challenge is met with an unanimous hum of support from his fellow executives. You'd feel intimidated if you didn't already have a justification mapped out.

"The objective behind releasing 'Suga: Road to D-Day' on Disney+ differs from that of Weverse Lives," you rebuttal confidently. "While the documentary presents a structured behind-the-scenes view of D-Day's development, the Lives focus on building hype among your existing fans who know you well, will spread the word to their peers, and will likely pre-order the album. As you're aware, Lives are more personal and stripped down, allowing your fanbase to feel closer to you."

Thinking of no further objectives, Yoongi, still somewhat unsure, accepts your suggestion. "Once a week will be fine then. While we're still on the topic, do we know when 'Suga: Road to D-Day' is set to release on Disney+?"

"Our digital marketing and promo team will be reviewing the specifics of that soon," you inform. "Right now we have the documentary releasing April 23 of next year. The poster for the film will release a week and a half earlier on the 12th."

Rather than furthering the discussion, Yoongi sends an understanding nod your way which allows the social media team to resume their portion of the proposal. Recording more Weverse Lives than usual remains a pain point for him, but he's willing to move forward if it means connecting with his fanbase.

Alast, after what seems like three hours of social media; followed by financing & budget talk, the last team to present their material takes lead of the meeting.

"We'd like to provide a timeline for D-Day's promo schedule as a way to wrap up today's proposal," So-hyun from your digital marketing and promos team explains. "Promotions will begin April 10, 2023 and will run until April 25th. During this time the album's track list, concept photos, MV Teaser, and official MV will drop. As far as concert schedule, we're proposing April 26-June 24. These dates include U.S, Asia, and Korea Tours."

"We might need to rethink concert dates but for now I'm on onboard." Yoongi remains brief in his interjection, allowing So-hyun to continue.

"As far as other marketing channels, we plan to implement both print and digital methods including billboards, banners, paid search ads, and YouTube. We'd also like to reach out to a variety of magazines like Rolling Stones Magazine for interviews. If we want to extend our global reach even further, we can book a time slot on the Jimmy Fallon Show. Bare in mind that if we go this route, we'll need to decide fairly quick, as slots are in high demand."

You notice Bang PD whispering amongst Yoongi and his Chief Finance Officer when Jimmy Fallon is mentioned. Yoongi seems the least interested. Perhaps he isn't fond of being front and center of talk shows, you guess.

"When will we need a decision for the Jimmy Fallon Show?" Bang PD inquires for the group.

"No later than three weeks from now," So-hyun answers. "It's a tight deadline but it can been done if we get the official go."

Bang PD directs his attention to Yoongi who's chosen to be silent in this conversation. "What do you think, Yoongi? It's your call."

"Maybe," he says, "give me a day or two to think on it."

Another ten minutes of productive overview with your promos team pass and soon, you're standing up to adjourn the meeting. You have to admit that out of all the proposals you've given in your career, this goes right to the top.

Your team was phenomenal today, and despite the the fact that several Hybe executives are biting at the bit to finally go on their lunch break, you feel confident that everyone is leaving on the same page.

"Min PD-nim."

You're ears inevitably pick up the conversation in front of you as you make your way out of the conference room. Yoongi and his Chief Financial Officer are running through some quick numbers only a few steps steps ahead, but with everyone simultaneously rushing in the same direction, neither must have realized you were within earshot.

"There's no doubt that she's good at what she does," Hybe's Chief Financial Officer continues. "Still, it's hard to believe that she's only 27 or 28. A person should take better care of themselves don't you agree? Like our Eunchae for example."

If there was a way to erase what you just heard, you'd do so, because in an instant, all previous successes you felt from today's proposal shatters to the ground. You're no stranger to receiving these sorts of comments about your appearance, yet it leaves your confidence fleeting, along with any amount of resilience you've built.

Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill, you exit the conference room the first chance you get. You have no desire to stick around for Yoongi's reply.

Not long after you leave does you phone ring off.

Tae 💚: Hey! How's the meeting going? Still available to get lunch this afternoon? I'm heading to the cafeteria as I type this.

You: It went okay. But I don't think I'll be coming to lunch, just a lot to do. I'm also not that hungry.

You second-guess how convincing your message is, knowing that it's your best friend on the other line. Regardless, it's the only words you can come up with right now. You really do have a lot of work ahead of you though, at least that part is true.

Tae 💚: Are you sure? I was looking forward on hearing how the meeting went! Wasn't there something you had to give me too?

The meaning of the last line suddenly dawns on you as you make your way down the long hallway. How could you forget? You made Taehyung one of his favorite foods to surprise him for lunch; Japchae, a sweet and savory dish of stir-fried glass noodles and vegetables.

You: Right, sorry it slipped from my mind for a second. I'll meet you in the cafeteria to give it to you.

"Why won't you stay and eat with me?" Taehyung devours the homemade Japchae you made for him with delight, a pair of chopsticks clamped in his hand.

"I don't have much of an appetite, Tae."

You've already told him this twice already, clarifying that you'd be heading back to your office once you deliver his food. Evidently, he's not letting you slip away easily.

"Then take a break with me instead, even if it's only for ten minutes." You watch as your best friend swiftly pulls out the chair next to him from under the table, gesturing you to sit. "Tell me what's got you down," he says. "Did Yoongi say something to you? He can be a bit too outspoken with his opinions sometimes."

Feeling defeated, you slide into the chair. "No, the meeting was fine. I'm just overthinking something that happened."

You then proceed to explain what you overheard Hybe's Chief Finance Officer say about you from earlier, that you didn't look healthy enough for your age and using Eunchae as an example. The scowl that appears on Taehyung's face as you retell the incident is unmistakable–he's clearly pissed.

"First of all," Taehyung starts once you finish, jaw clenched. "Eunchae is 17 and is a part of a Korean girl group. She has an entire team dedicated to making sure her appearance is flawless. It's the idol life; trust me, I'm well acquainted with it, so it's not a fair comparison. Secondly, Hybe's CFO is an asshole who I'd replace in a day. I don't want you letting him make you feel insignificant just because you don't conform to his narrow idea of how a woman should look."

You appreciate Taehyung's efforts to cheer you up, though you remain unaffected. Besides, he still isn't aware of Yoongi's involvement since you purposely left that detail out due to their close friendship.

"Yeah, I don't know. We don't have to talk about it anymore." You decide to dismiss the topic entirely and reach for your phone, along with a pair of earbuds bundled in your pocket. "Wanna listen to something?"

Music has always bonded you and Taehyung's friendship, as you've frequently found yourselves fully immersed in timeless songs from King of Leon and Led Zeppelin together. Taehyung nearly accepts the offer to listen with you once again, but then he freezes all movement. An eager grin follows close after.

"Hyung!" His voice echos though the room, earning the attention of Min Yoongi who's just entered the cafeteria. This time, you feel nothing but discomfort when the man looks your way.

"I have some material I need to review from my promo team. I'll text you later, okay?" You leave your best friend no time to reply as you quickly rise from your chair, stick your phone in your pant pocket, and head for the nearest exit. Yoongi attempts to make eye contact with you on your way out, but you avoid it completely.

When he approaches Taehyung, he acknowledges your semi-odd behavior. "I didn't mean to make her leave," he states, joining the younger at the table.

Taehyung offers a light shrug in response. "Don't worry, you didn't. She had other matters to get to. Something with her team members I think."

Yoongi grabs a fresh clementine from a nearby fruit bowl and beings peeling it little by little. "You two must be pretty close if you're having your lunches together."

It's not hard for Taehyung to read between the lines of what his member is insinuating.

"We've been friends for a while," he clarifies. "Just friends, nothing else."

a/n: Hope you enjoyed! Lmk what you think 🥰

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[casinocarpediem]

▪︎■☆ Worship⛧🩸 ☆■▪︎

(Part 1.)

☆ 🔞!!VIOLENT AND VULGAR!!🔞

☆ cult!Miguel ohara / forrest monster/cryptid! Reader

☆ a little gift for @miguel-owhora !!

☆ violence is written in this work of FICTION. Things such as infant deaths or death in genera

☆ Hi!!! So I'm sorry for not writing as much but I've been verrrryyyy very busy‼️ (laughs and throws myself off a cliff) any who! Enjoy this little thingy!! I'm still in love with dad's cryptid AU after all this time 💕

°○☆Violence under the cut☆○°

Blood. Metal rust. And other animalistic things that would have a normal camper running for their lives. Then dying. Not out of some beast or an accident. But out of exhaustion. Limbs failing. Eaten away by the very grass of the ground only to be picked up by another predator.

Any normal person would run away. Any normal person would have thought twice before doing something stupid in uncharted woods.

Miguel was different. He was a cunning man. Frighteningly intelligent. Charming and observant and curious. Leave him in the woods with nothing and he's already built a somewhat stable community, sheltered and protected by... something out there. Something unexplainable. Something... you.

This was your forest. From the very beginning. Your memory is hazy of how your form, reeking of the more purer forms of mother nature herself, birthed upon the world to reek order. Not havoc. Not peace. Just a simple balance that you maintained for centuries.

You followed nobody. You didn't need to. And you killed if necessary. Or if you simply wanted. You had free will. Unbound by anything. Literally. Not even any mental constraints could keep you from moving through the night unexpected. Unlike any kind of animal the the world has ever witnessed.

Miguel was a different man. When he came into your forests, the winds tasted like he or his sheep didn't deserve to die. Unlike every other settler or founder who decided to try to poison your grounds.

You let him be. His little village growing with the so called refugees he gathered. Creating houses with the trees surrounding the area.

Surprisingly, they weren't greedy. They didn't chop down every tree they laid their human hands on. Because Miguel didn't allow them to. And you were greatful for that. But you paid no mind to his existence. Other than killing of unwanted organisms. But Miguel, or his sheep never dare trek past the space you let them in. And if they did, they didn't make a mess of their tracks.

Respectfully respecting the environment. Respectfully Respecting you.

Time went on and you continued to observe Miguel and his little underlings carefully. Usually under the darkness of the night. They seemed obedient to Miguel. You could smell a mixture of fear and adoration, and that drew you closer to him. After all, this was your domain. And you had the right to dive deeper into the minds of these obedient critters worshipping you in a way.

One day, Miguel comes along bringing a surprising, pleasant little gift. From out of his own home, he creeps towards the darker shadows of the village. Where the trees grow tall and strong. Uncut and left alone.

An infant. Brought to your feet. An offspring that smells very familiar with Miguel's species. Only, it's cold. It isn't breathing. You can't hear it breathing. Its wrapped in grey sheep's wool and it smells fresh. Like it had died the moment it escape the womb first breaths being its last. And he leaves it there on the mossy rock in front of the trees and walks quickly back to the safety of his own home.

A few hours pass. You're intrigued at the gift. You haven't received such offerings in centuries. So when this, frail human being offers a dead infant like a gift for the altar, your curiosity gets the better of you.

You snatch the child. In yours jaws... or your arms? It could be anything. You were an indescribable creature manifesting the more chaotic sides of nature after all. The little infant, you've seen it all before. Chubby, quite noisy, fragile. And most importantly, delicious. You cannot explain the slightes, but in all of your years of being in this realm, despite not having the needed nutrition you'd usually intake, human offspring has a certain charming flavor. Something you'd feast on with gusto. Maybe it was the fact that through the cycle of life and death, you've always defied both aspects. And the loss of something brought to this world so sudden felt like experiencing the gifts to be caressed upon your tongue. Consumed. And valued.

Miguel does this more often. Leaving you gifts. Little sacrifices. Whether it be piles of wheat or fish. Or, on other days when one of his "sheep" go disobedient, you find their corpse carefully gifted in the same spot on the mossy rock. Like a gift. A gift for your generosity of giving them their home, and protection. Your little gift mauled and torn apart limb by limb and licked ever so viciously. In a graceful matter. Until there was nothing left. Not a spec of blood or bone.

You favored Miguel out of the rest. And it's obvious as to why.

Miguel was a curious man. Perhaps a little too curious, so to say. So when he comes out with his little gift at night rather in the morning and stays there, waiting for you, you waste no time to throw him onto the ground. Your weight practically crushing him. And you bite his neck and drink his blood. A taste of the person who's been so devoted to... amusing you. He tastes like any other ordinary person you've eaten before. Salty. Metallic. A little sweet. But his flavor is laced with sheer utter adoration. Rather than fear. Curiously, you drink a little more. And in fact, he doesn't push you away. He doesn't grab his weapon and attempt to cut your throat. He fully accepts it. He holds you while you take your fill of his own crimson fluid.

And you don't kill him. You leave him there as you disappear into the woods. And he's even more insatiable.

[listentothelittlebird]

so I have been avidly following the lovely dbhc au that @shepscapades has made and I have made a little drabble fanfic of Doc and Xisuma because I feel very normal about them :)

setting: hermitcraft season 10, while Doc is in skyblock jail

word count: 1361

-

Doc is grumbling to himself, ramming his fist into the newly-sprouted tree with not an insignificant amount of prejudice, when he hears the distinct whistling of fireworks crescendoing towards him.

“Have you come to watch me punch wood like an imbecile?” Doc snarks, expecting to hear Scar’s fumbling denials, or Cleo’s cackling assent.

“That wasn’t the plan, no.” The quietly amused voice is far from his first prediction. An oversight on his part, really.

[Vocal Recognition: Xisumavoid.]

“Xisuma!” Doc’s next punch misses the trunk of the cherry blossom tree, glancing off the side and chipping off the bark instead. He blinks away the vocal recognition pop-up, glancing behind him just to check it really is him and not Tango with a goat horn. “Hey, man!”

“Hey! You’ve been busy.” Xisuma’s boots scuff against the cobblestone as he inspects the progress of his miserable sky island. A shulker box thunks onto the stone, freeing his hands up to brush against the cherry wood planks.

“Hardly anything else to do besides work.” Doc throws the words over his shoulder as he continues to gather his cherry wood, not one to leave a project half-done. 

His visitor is content to hum and haw at whatever he finds as Doc works away. It has only been a few days, but the one-sided commentary is surprisingly comforting. After all, no touching the ground means no redstone, which also means no time in the lab. The thought has Doc speaking up, slipping between Xisuma’s quips.

“It’s not been too busy, yeah?” Doc clambers onto the tree as he plucks off the highest branches. He pauses to flick open a calendar overlay, skimming the dates. “Nobody’s scheduled for maintenance checks until next month.” 

“It’s been alright.” The fuzzy wolf-shaped wool mask pops into view as Xisuma emerges from Doc’s pink abode. “Been a bit too quiet, even. It’s weird not having you around.”

Doc snorts to hide the way his thirium pump hiccups at the words. Logically, he knows the sound is far too soft for Xisuma to hear. Having emotions, Doc has found, is hardly ever logical.

“So you came over ‘cause you missed me?” The words are out before Doc can even try to edit the response. It instills in him the same kind of floundering exasperation he feels when trying to recall a comms message already seen by everyone.

“Well.” When Xisuma ducks his head, one ear of the knitted wolf flops to the side. “I mean. I suppose so.”

[Emotion Identified: Shyness.]

“But I did come with an agenda!” Xisuma reaches for the shulker behind him, pulling out a mobile scanner from the lab.

“You’re right about having no maintenance checks on the schedule,” Xisuma says, waving around the scanner. “With you out here roughing it out, though, I figured I should check on you.”

“Ah.” Doc chuckles, ignores his cooling vents spinning faster. “I see.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting! You look about done with your tree.” 

“I am, I think.” Doc squints through the already-thinning leaves, nodding when he finds no branches left. “Alright, one moment.”

Dismantling the remains of the trunk takes only a few seconds. Doc gathers the wood and plonks them into the chest in his shabby house, with Xisuma trailing behind. 

With two people inside, it only reminds Doc how small the shelter is. Turning around after closing his chest puts him directly in Xisuma’s space.

“So, uh.” Doc shifts back, as much as he can. He ends up plopping down on the edge of his bed, which, well. “Go ahead, then.” 

A check-up does not require much space, really. Doc has done maintenance with the hermits in caves, in redstone farms, in underwater bases and nether bases. This is just the first time Doc himself has been examined outside of the yawning expanse of their labs. The change in routine leaves him uncertain, like recalibrating on angled terrain. 

The ease that Xisuma slips into the motions does well to settle Doc’s stress, however mild. The mobile scanner takes a while to gather results, so Doc answers Xisuma’s laundry list of questions. The list of questions is one curated by both Doc and Xisuma. Most of it is data, which Doc rattles off easily from the numbers that he pulls up in the corner of his vision.

The mobile scanner beeps cheerfully just as they reach the end of the lengthy questionnaire.

“Clean bill of health.” Xisuma shows Doc the display, which focuses less on internal processes and more on external damage or abnormalities. “Although, your average temperature is a bit lower than your usual.”

Doc shrugs. “It’s the altitude, man. Going from spending significant amounts of my time in the deserts and swamps to this is quite the change. Not to mention the wind chill.” 

As if to prove his point, a gust hits the shelter hard enough to make the planks rattle and creak. With no door, the icy breeze rushes in quickly. He tucks his metal arm into his lab coat with a sigh, the exposed components always prone to freezing the fastest.

“It’s not that bad,” Doc states flippantly, knowing without looking that Xisuma is taking in his every move. “I’m working most of the time, which keeps me warm. Plus I have my lava pool to sit beside when I need to warm up.”

“If you say so.” Xisuma shifts, leaning against his crafting bench. “The moment you start to experience temperature glitches, though, call this off. The rest will understand.”

“I know, I know.” This is all in good fun, when it comes down to it. He plays along for his own amusement. “I’ll be fine, Xisuma. I know how to take care of myself.”

“That you do.” Xisuma nods, then, with an “ah” of realisation, pulls his wolf mask off his helmet. 

“Here!” It only takes a step for Xisuma to be back in Doc’s space, pulling the wool over Doc’s head before he can react. 

“Uhm.” The mask is large enough that it goes over his horns easily, fitting loosely around his face. He has to lift and adjust it slightly to get his eyes back through the openings. “What?”

“To keep you warm!” Xisuma draws back again, settling against the crafting bench and tapping his heel against its side. “I mean, even over my helmet, it sure retains the heat. I know it doesn’t quite help with your metal arm, but it’ll at least warm up your horns and face.”

Doc does feel warmer, in fact. Though that is not necessarily correlated with the wool mask itself, and more the action of gifting it to him.

“But it’s your mask,” Doc replies, a flimsy rebuttal. “For your Woolves of Wool Street.”

“I have spares,” Xisuma chimes, eyes squinting happily through his helmet. “I’m sure the others won’t mind if you’re wearing it. Take it as a souvenir, of sorts.”

“Right.” Doc reaches a hand up to the wool. The material is soft, slightly worn from use. It smells a bit like Xisuma’s armour, the polish that he uses to clean it at the end of the day. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Doc.” 

Xisuma’s communicator chimes. A quick look has Xisuma turning back to Doc with an apologetic sigh. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll come back soon, though, if you don’t mind?”

“Come back anytime,” Doc replies. He tries to reel it towards comedy with a gesture to his surroundings, his meager belongings. “You won’t be interrupting anything.”

The dry quip draws out a laugh from Xisuma, even as he gathers his shulker and activates his elytra.

“See you, Doc!” Xisuma waves from the edge of the cobblestone, then nosedives away, a rocket propelling him rapidly out of sight. 

Doc takes a moment to watch the clouds, then laughs at himself. Did he not poke fun at Tango last season, when he stared longingly at the portal Jimmy left the server with? Now look at him.  

He draws a hand up to the wolf mask, rubbing the soft knitting between his fingers, and decides that Tango absolutely cannot see him wearing this.

He can keep it on for now, though.

[tobiotetsu]

the beast’s beauty

fushiguro toji x f!reader

description: because of your father's mistake, the infamous toji zenin forced you into imprisonment in order to pay his debt. however, what you never expected was to fall in love with the monster he was.

genre: angst, historical au, 18+, mini series

warnings/tags: explicit smut(vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, will add more) violence, mentions of stockholm syndrome & misogyny, blackmail, character injury, blood, profanity, mdni, grammar mistakes

a/n: thank you to everyone showing love for this series!!!this is a little mellow chapter hehe! blogs are truly appreciated <3 (taglist: open) (wc: 1.3k)

general masterlist

part one ♕ part two ♕ part three ♕ part four ♕ part five

The only smell that filled the air around you was the stench of cigarettes. Your father was a drunk so booze wasn't an unfamiliar scent. smoking, however, wasn't a habit he developed. Your throat seized a coughing fit before you could open your eyes.

Your bare shoulders felt a cool stone behind them as you regained your full consciousness.

What happened?

You clenched your clothes as you remembered the last moments before you were taken.

Your father had sold you away in a bet.

The air in the dark room stank, but you breathed it in deeply in an attempt to calm your mind. Your eyes scattered around the room in hopes to know where you were. The room was almost pitch black. The only light that seeped through was from the cracks in the door.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to pound your fits against the door and crumble it into pieces and run home. Run home to your father. To the man who did this to you. Tears welled up in your eyes merely at the thought. Through everything that you two have been together, through you playing the role of the parent to the one who was supposed to take care of you. You thought he had the decency to still care for you.

Your breath gathered speed and quickly turned into a panicked state. In attempts to inhale more you loudly gasp, hoping that if you breathed in enough of the wretched air, you'd wake up from this nightmare.

Before you could compose your thoughts, the illuminated door frame began to shake. The high-pitched jingle of keys was the only sound that filled the room. Your breaths had completely stopped. Everything in you froze, unprepared for who or what was going to appear.

Your eyes hadn’t gained their complete visibility yet so you weren't able to see the detail of the figure in front of you. He was large. His frame filled 80% of the doorway. He had something in his hand. You pressed yourself into the stone wall behind you in an attempt to move as far from him as you could.

As you shuffled your legs, you felt heavy resistance and great pain. A small yelp escaped your lips. You looked down and your dress was in tatters. Below the fabric, your eyes were met with rusted metal shackles. Your right ankle looked bruised as dark purple marks peaked under the shackle. Your left however was far worse. Wrapped in cloth and decorated with deep red patches. “What did you do to me?” your voice came off more threatening than you thought you could muster. You stare at the man in front of you. You can see him slightly better now. He was wearing a black wool sweater now. Its sleeves were rather large, even he had to roll them up slightly. The object he was holding was a metal bucket and a rag.

“I didn't do shit. You did.” the man took a step closer to you. Your fingertips curled into the fabric of your dress. Fear coursed through your veins but for some reason, you didn't dare show it in your eyes. You continued to look straight at this man.

“Excuse me? I kidnapped and hurt myself?” you couldn't help but satirize this whole encounter.

“You've been in and out of consciousness for 4 days now. Day 1 you did that trying to get away,” he said pointing to your ankle. He crouched down in front of you before continuing. “And yesterday you did that,” he said as he hovered above your shoulder. You didn't even notice the marks forming on your shoulder all the way down the right side of your back.

As the distance between you two halved, you finally could see his face properly. He looked cold. Not temperature wise but his soul looked cold. There was no warmth in his eyes. There was no remorse, no hope.

You needed hope, and the longer you looked at his eyes the hope in your own died as well.

“Please, I can give you money. I-” Before your pleas could finish he interrupted you.

“I don't need money. I need the guns your father sold. They’re one of a kind and fucking expensive.” His words were law. No matter how hard you bargained, he wouldn't free you. He set the bucket beside you and wet the rag in the fluid. His rough hands rang the cloth out with ease and he moved to place it on your shoulder.

“Don’t!” you dodge his hand quicker than he expected. “Don’t fucking touch me”

The man sighed and threw the rag into the bucket. He stood and leaned his body on the wall opposite to you, waiting for you to pick up the rag. You weren't going to give in, you wanted to protest and this was the only way you knew of.

There wasn't a clock present but you were sure at least 15 minutes went by as you two stared at one another. You gathered more pieces of him. He favoured his right side, as his pressure is never fully on his left. His hair was cut recently; the tips of his hair looked frayed and jagged.

He was the first to break the silence as he pushed himself off the wall and dug into his back pocket.

“Your wounds are going to get infected if you keep at this” His words gave you a good laugh.

“And why would you care?”

“I need you to be alive. I can’t exchange a dead daughter now can I?” you sharply inhaled at his words. “And what did I say before? I don't break my promises.” a small smirk pulled at his lips for barely a second before it disappeared into his permanent frown.

You gulped at his words. You had no reason to believe this man. He kidnapped you. He may hurt you or even worse. But maybe it was that piece of hope that was at the back of your mind. You didn't have anyone at this moment. You doubted your father would save you; he never did in the past.

“Fine” your mumble was all he needed as the man began to unbuckle the shackles at your feet. Swiftly, he looped one arm under your calf and the other one pressed tightly against your back. His fingertips felt rough to the touch. He picked you up with ease.

“I can walk!” you shouted without thinking about your inquiries.

“Yeah and then you're gonna break a hand next trying to run. Hell no”.

He walked quickly up the stairs and into a small hallway. Two doors were facing each other. The man carefully stepped into the one on the right. It was a washroom. The room was lit by 3 candles. There was a small window in the room accompanied by a chair, sink and a large tub already filled with water.

You were placed on the chair near the sink. The man scratched his neck as he gathered fabrics and placed them on the side. Once again he took his previous position as he led against the sink waiting for you. It was then that you slowly realized what was to happen.

“Are you going to leave?” you raised an eye as you stated the obvious.

“And have you jump out the window?”

“I won't run,” you stated.

“And I ain't leaving”. “Then I'm not going to get in the tub.” you protested firmly. Your words seemed to do nothing as the man took a step toward you and crouched to eye level.

“Listen, either you take the corset off, or I'll rip it off your body myself.”

[ tag list: @meepmoop12w @tojishugetiddies @thepsychicartist @blkmystery @wo-ming-bai @heyitstacy ]

[femoso-seben]

Livestock AU pt. 2

pt.1,

- Kangal! Price and Llama! Alejandro are very proud of their land and territory. Alejandro only lets in a few dogs Price of course they’re old friends and Border Collie! Gaz, on one condition, Alejandro does the discipline.

- The ewes hybrid finds Alejandro very handsome and he always gets the treats the farmer gives the sheep. The small Lambs will scream and cry if they get lost and Alejandro will go rescue them.

- When rams are introduced into the herd Alejandro has to give the poor ram hybrid a long list of Dos and Don’ts (mostly don’t). Alejandro is highly protective of his ewes and will not take disrespect towards them.

- the heard of sheep is renounced for their wool production so theirs about 6,000 sheep Gaz is the only heard dog working there (because Al can not stand anyone else than agreeable Gaz)

- Gaz has befriended most of the Ewes and has a good rapport with most of the Ewes there is one older one, who gives him shit and calls him Sonny, Honey, and Sweetpea while not moving.

- Gaz does a lot of bearding of the sheep walking the parameter and reporting back to Alejandro. Alejandro spends most of his time with the Lambs or pregnant Ewes who walk the field. He chooses to be in the center of the herd.

- Price speaks with the head farmer often with Laswell to protect the farm better, then spread out to tell their underlings.

- Kangel! Ghost mostly walks around the perimeter of the farm’s land marking his territory and scenting the area to keep pesty coyotes and wolves away. Usually Barn Cat! Roach follows after Ghost

- Ghost struggles to socialize with the other dogs and sees all herds as his true family. The Farmers had to socialize with him and Ghost bonded with Price first, shadowing him before branching off

- Ghost have the deepest scariest bark and the first time all the herd animals heard it they ran for it hiding behind their guardian.

- Ghost also prefers the cats for their quietness (except for Roach who can have a one-way conversation with himself) Ghost tried to snide Laswell once got the smacking of his life (Laswell has his most respect besides Price)

- Great Pyrenees! Soap was added before Gaz but after Ghost. When the fowls were added they were too noisy for either Price or Ghost. So soap was brought in. Sociable and talkative will know all the inside bird drama from the duck, chicken, and Goose Hybrids.

- Soap spends most of his move getting the birds into their fields and feeding them before walking the inner area looking to help anyone who needs it. Usually ends up Chilling with Rudy since Al forbids him in the sheep acres (gets very sad when Gaz has to lead to do his job and not chat with him. Have tried begging Alejandro still refuses. Did cry himself asleep he really wanted to hug the fluffy ewes and lambs)

- Soap sometimes shadows Ghost and slowly his happy calmish demeanor rubs off on Soap and becomes his second bonded friend. After the morning recon, they explore the scents to see if theirs any threats, and then Soap runs off to tell Price and gather the boys

- Soap is a strong guardian dog once the fowl were moved to a field and a building was erect Soap ends up fighting off the Coyotes often at night who try to snatch one of his gossiping birdies. Ghost does Join since that’s where the action is.

- Coyote! Valeria and Soap have the most enemies-to-lover vibes while having the gayest vibes too. They flirt but in like a hateful way. Valeria has a mate somewhere and goes after the fowls mainly when she and her mate are having pups or to piss off Soap.

- Barn Cat! Laswell was gotten before any of the livestock and when both Alejandro and Price were added she instantly put them in their place. Al and Price like having her import and her inner network of barn cats from other barns do a lot of inter-barn cat political activities.

- Roach and Laswell sometimes go off for a few days to the cat conference and come back with knowledge! Once Rat! Makarov invaded and wreak other barns Laswell was very adamant about catching that criminal

- Laswell needed more men and told the Farmer she needed more soldiers that’s where Barn Cat! Farah and Alex were added and they have been waging war

- Makarov and his forces once trapped Alex and got his leg caught onset some debris. He has a permanent limp but still works as a Barn cat.

- Makarov and Konni forces live under the dirt and in tight spots spying.

- the farmers got so annoyed they gathered SpecGru hunting association (hunting dogs ready to hunt rats) they got a lot of Makarov’s forces but rats reproduce quickly so they came back

- lastly added to the man Guardian and the farm were the Goats (mostly use to make Goat cheese) was Alpaca! Rudy. A very pretty hybrid that Al instantly was attracted to. Rudy is a good alarm system but isn’t likely to fight but will.

- Alejandro saw Rudy in another field and thought about jumping the fence to chat but Gaz put him in his place

- the first-time livestock guardian 141! Ran into Wolf! Graves his shadow company pack were stalking a Goat and Rudy alerted everyone.

- a tense stand-off between Ghost, Price, and Soap. They had to use intimidation to scare off the wolves.

- German Shepard! Nik is the Farmer's personal pet and likes to come around to collect the chicken eggs and sometimes tell wild stories to the young guardian dogs (Gaz and Soap haven't decided of his tails are real or not)

- Young Barn Cat! Reader tends to follow Laswell around and sit in the garden and sunbathe, stalk the chicks, and get chased off by Soap.

- Kitten! Reader and Makarov got beef after the giant ass Rat Makarov popped up next to Kitten! Reader. 141 are now on the lookout for the giant rat.

- soon once Cat! Reader grows up they will join the fight against Makarov and Konni group

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

Any request for this AU is welcomed!

inspired a little by @tacticalanklebiter3000 and @frogchiro

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 24, 13 juin 1903, Paris. Robe élégante pour jeune femme ou jeune fille. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Robe élégante pour jeune femme ou jeune fille, en voile de laine, vert amande. Jupe courte froncée sur un haut volant également froncé. La garniture se compose de jours à fils tirés sur transparent blanc. Corsage froncé, blousant dans une ceinture drapée; l'empiècement de panne vert amande et de panne blanche arrondie est fait de plis "Aurore" avec jours en cerceaux. Au-dessous, haute berthe d'Irlande, pailletée de nacre. Brassards de jours sur le mancheron; manche très bouffante serrée dans un haut poignet d'Irlande; la berthe se ferme devant par un double nœud blanc et amande.

Elegant dress for young women or girls, in wool voile, almond green. Short gathered skirt over a ruffled top also gathered. The trim consists of drawn thread openings on transparent white. Gathered bodice, blousant in a draped belt; the almond green panel and rounded white panel is made of “Aurore” pleats with hoop openings. Below, high Irish berthe, spangled with mother-of-pearl. Day armbands on the cap sleeve; very puffy sleeve tightened in a high Irish cuff; the berthe closes in front with a double white and almond bow.

Matériaux: 8 mètres de voile amande; 1m,50 de taffetas blanc.

[yourfatherlucifer]

To Die For (Hongjoong)

Orc Leader!Hongjoong x afab!Reader

Summary: You were at the wrong place, at the wrong time. You were captured by orcs and brought to their leader, being offered as a meal, but you didn’t want to die, so you made a new offer.

AU: LOTR/Historical

Genre: Smut

WC: 1.9k

Warnings: NSFW MDNI, monster cock, heavily inspired by LOTR, rough Hongjoong, mentions of breeding, choking, marking/biting, blood, seven foot tall HJ,

@kithsune for the banner

( @minkysmilk )

It was getting closer to colder days so your village was preparing by having everyone who was able to gather wood to stockpile. Crops were being dug up so they wouldn’t shrivel up.

Children weren’t playing outside anymore, their parents afraid of their children getting sick. Cattle and livestock brought into their respective spaces.

The village of Bree was quite peaceful, humans and hobbits lived in peace together. They shared their resources and chores. The fall and winter time was hard for both species, especially having to rely on each others techniques. Many people died due to cold related illnesses, more due to raids on the village.

"Y/N, could you be a dear and help me with this?" An older hobbit approached you with an arm of wood.

You had chuckled at your neighbor, "Of course, Magnus." Bending down, you took the pile from his arms and followed him to his home.

You glanced at your brother Wooyoung gathering your family's cattle, he was struggling with one particular cow, it was pulling back away from him, trying to break free of the lead. Wooyoung was equally pulling back his way, but the cow just stopped its force, causing Wooyoung to fly back into the dirt.

You laughed at the sight, no idea why that cow always teased him.

After you placed the wood inside your neighbors home, you returned to yours.

Your mother was cooking a nice stew over the fire, "Hello, Y/N, did you have a finish your chores?" You nodded and stepped beside her.

"I did, but Wooyoung seems to be struggling with the cow again. You glanced out the window to check on your younger brother, who was scolding the cow and dragging her off.

Your mother had shook her head before pulling the pot away from the fire, “Isn’t he always? That cow is a stubborn one, we should just sell it.”

“Go tell your brother to come eat.”

-

As you laid in your bed, shivering, you had thought about leaving to go get more firewood. However with it being so late at night, you could easily be attacked and killed.

Possibly kidnapped by bandits and sold for a profit.

But the night air was just so cold and the fire had burnt out long ago.

So, you decided against yourself and the obvious risks. You gathered your shoes and cloak made of wool, not the finest, but it shall do.

After carefully sneaking past your sleeping mother and brother, you made your way outside. All was quiet, your hobbit neighbors were fast asleep.

You had quickly run into the woods, grabbing a hatchet on the way. You knew you couldn't cut down full trees, so you'd settle for limbs.

After walking for a solid fifteen minutes, you had found the perfect tree limb to cut down.

But as you were preparing to swing down the mini axe, you heard growls, yells, feet pounding in the distance. That wasn't good.

Was it a group of bandits, orcs, goblins?

It was so close you knew you wouldn't be able to make it home, you had no clue how to fight, but you had the hatchet with you, so maybe, just maybe you could defend yourself.

You couldn't though, you knew you'd die trying. So you ran as fast as you could to the village area of Bree. Your home.

It was a poor attempt anyway, not even two minutes of running you could hear the snarls of Wargs and yells of the Orc Riders. You were screwed, so screwed. You didn't want to die so what you could you do? You could try to run faster but your energy was depleting rapidly, your legs were trying to give out beneath you.

It was all for nothing, you had been surrounded by three orcs, each one snapping their jaws at you. The Wargs behind them looked even hungrier.

One had cackled at your frightened state, "She looks so yummy! Don't you agree?" He licked his lips, well if there were any. You couldn't exactly tell, didn't matter anyway. You were to worried about being eaten alive by these three orcs.

Another stepped to you, "Y'know, Hongjoong would love to eat this pretty little human. She smells just like his favorite kind." Your jaw was gripped by its clawed hand, your face squished between its disgusting fingers.

"Oi, tie her up, we're bringing her home for the leader."

You yelped as you were grabbed and pulled around. A tight rope was wrapped around your torso and ankles.

An orc swung your body on top of a Warg, face down and jumped up behind your body.

-

You had arrived in Isengard, beneath the Earth's soil, beneath the two towers of Saruman. The orc who had captured you, dragged your body behind him, the holler of fellow orcs and goblins resounded around the dirt walls.

You could hear them laughing, mockingly, at your state. Another human captured to eat.

"Leader Hongjoong! We brought you a present, its your favorite." Your body was thrown in front of a massive orc, body rolling on the dirt ground.

You cried and groaned at the way you were being handled. You knew you were going to die, you knew you'd never see your brother Wooyoung or your mother ever again. Would they even look for you? How would they find out you were eaten by orcs.

The giant orc bent down to your body, his gray skin and black eyes scared you. You had never seen an orc so large. A whopping seven feet tall.

He moved your hair out of your face, "She smells delicious, boys. Fantastic job, I haven't had a meal that smelled so good, in so long."

You quickly scrambled yourself away from him, "W-wait! Please! I don't want to die! I will do anything! I'll offer my body in other ways!" You cried out, wanting to rub your hands together to beg but you couldn't. Your body was still well-tied together.

His evil grin splattered his face, "Oh really, human? In what ways can your body serve a purpose to me, other than being food?" He was mocking you, he knew what you meant.

"Anything! Please, I'll be your personal pleasure outlet! I-I know how orcs plunder humans for a quick fuck, but I just don't want to die!" You were stumbling over your words at this point, it was pathetic to him, but your offer. Your offer was very exciting for him.

His shit-eating grin was still on his face, "deal."

Hongjoong yanked you to your feet, grabbing the rope on your chest, he pulled you behind him, "You cannot back down now, cause if you do. I will eat you. Understand?"

"Yes! I understand!"

-

Hongjoong brought you to his quarters, shoving you inside.

After he ripped the rope and clothes from your body, he shoved you down to his makeshift bed.

You fell down with a yelp, staring up at him. He was just so big. You took this time to relish in his brown mullet hair, the split eyebrow, the piercings that lined each ear. He was beautiful in a way, didn't look like an orc much at all. He had more human tones. But his height, skin, and ears represented the orc features.

As you lay bare on his bed, you noticed his loin cloth covered nothing, instead it was pushed out of the way by a monster sized cock. The size and girth were both size of your forearm, if not more. Just how were you gonna take that inside of you? It could rip you apart.

Hongjoong noticed you staring at him, then his fat cock, "You'll take it no matter what, don't worry."

His massive body climbed on top of you.

He trapped you beneath him and leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Your body is mine now."

His gray hand gripped your waist, "I suppose I shall prepare your fragile human body to take me."

He moved down to your already wet core, he smirked, knowing how you felt about his cock. Greedy human.

He licked a long stripe down your wetness with his large tongue, your body arching itself in response to the newfound pleasure you were receiving.

He took one of his thick fingers and forcefully plunged it inside.

As he pumped it in and out, your moans echoed throughout the dirt room, you were sure the other orcs could hear you, "ah, ah, this feels so good." You cried out.

He pushed another finger in, "You haven't felt anything yet. Just wait till I'm fully inside you."

Minute after minute of him pushing several fingers inside of you, constantly, he deemed you were ready for him.

He removed his loin cloth from his body, you were terrified, just how badly was this gonna hurt? Could you take every inch of his? Would it kill you?

Hongjoong pulled your chin to look at him, "look at me while I am taking you, human."

He bared his canines and bit into your shoulder, drawing blood painfully. You screamed, you were definitely sure the orcs could hear you now.

He slowly pushed his massive cock inside of you. The stretch burned so bad that you started full on sobbing, but it felt so good at the same time. A very large stomach bulge appeared on your stomach, he was fully sheathed inside of you.

He pulled you to his chest by roughly grabbing your neck, pulling you up like you weighed nothing to him.

"I want to breed you so bad, but I cannot. Our species cannot mix. Orcs are only created by pure evil and corruption, so instead I'll just fill you with my seed." The evil glint in his eyes scared you, but you couldn't stick to the thought much, as his fat cock rested within you.

Throwing you back down to the bed, he began his rough pounding, nothing but your moans, his groans, and the repeated skin slapping filled the room.

The grip he had on your waist was sure to leave large and dark bruises.

You were already cock drunk with his thrusting. The stomach bulge was moving so fast, it felt so good, you weren't even sure how far he reached inside of you. You didn't care though, his cock felt so good.

Hongjoong brought him self down and bit into your breast, not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave marks. He repeated this action with the repeated thrusting below. He took his fingers and pinched at your clit, "Release on me, human, now." He was striving to bring you to your orgasm, he didn't care if you did or not, he just wanted to feel it on his monster cock.

"Gonna fill you up so much."

He growled in your ear as his thrusting became sloppy.

Soon, his cum filled your walls, his cum filling your stomach, creating the illusion of you looking pregnant, instead you were filled to the brim with orc cum.

When he pulled out, his cum flowed out so fast like a river, there was just so much of it, it seemed never ending.

Your body was so exhausted and sore you could not move.

Hongjoong laughed at you, "I knew this would happen. So rest, for this is your fate now, you are stuck here forever to be my cumdump."

Now you knew your family would never find you.

[yuesgirlfriend]

of birds and honey

(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU

part 1/part 2/part 3

warnings: canon typical violence, masturbation (afab)

A week passes without much happening.

Excitement over new knights has died down, and the people go back to their regular routine. Wool is spun, gardens are weeded, new straw with sweet smelling sprigs of rosemary is spread over the floor. Peasants in distant fields begin planting and tilling as spring slowly settles into the dreary air. 

 She feigns reading when her father discusses defenses with the Knight Commander Price, hears gossip of French ships breaching southern shores by the kitchens, and overhears one of the knights (Garrick, she heard his name was) express worry about leaked battle plans and French spies. 

She does not see the man called Ghost again, until one afternoon she is practicing embroidery while balanced on a windowsill overlooking the courtyard. 

Shouts sound out from down below- when she glances down, a small crowd has gathered around two figures circling eachother.  

She rushes to the scene when sounds of steel striking steel begin to ring out. Down the stairs, past the hall, through the kitchens, and there he is- Ghost- swinging a blade towards another knight.

 A duel, a duel! Sir Graves and the Ghost!

Says one of the stable boys as the other man- Graves- dodges another strike. She pushes her way to the front of the crowd, needing to see every line of Ghost’s armored body as he grunts and dodges. He moves like he is dancing, brutal and calculated. 

Duels are vicious, bloody ordeals- very few have ever happened under her fathers watch, the clergy under his thumb finding the merciless bloodshed godless. But now her father watches from his balcony as Ghost parries Graves thrust and, with one fluid motion, takes his head. 

Something wet and warm splatters across her face. She doesn’t flinch. 

While Ghost holds the mans head by the helmet and roars warnings of what happens to traitors to the rest of the watching, silent knights and crowd of stunned servants, she stares at the red hot blood splattered across her shoes and silken surcoat and tries to put a name to the feeling coiling in her stomach. 

The sky is streaked with red as the run sets into the horizon, as if God saw the blood in the courtyard and took inspiration. Every sound and color seems muted, unable to break through the buzzing in her ears. She spends the rest of the evening picking flecks of blood off her face, feigning a headache and skipping dinner. 

Her hands don’t stop shaking, and she’s filled with the need to run, to move. Once the sun sets, she slinks out of her room. Favoring the shadows and moving only when sentries are turned away, she makes her way to the highest peak of outer wall. The stars peek over the horizon, the moon hanging above them like a pearl. 

A shiver runs through her when her eyes land on the hulking form standing over the parapet. She moves on soundless, slippered feet towards him. 

“Lady.” He says as if in greeting. How he heard her, she’ll never know. 

“It must be true, what the cook says.” She steps up beside him, overlooking the dark his surrounding the castle, the plains muddled together under the blanket of night. 

“And what is that?” His voice is gruff, his hood up over his masked face. 

“That you have got eyes in the back of your head.” 

That’s the abridged version of what the cook had said; she had overheard the old man telling the maids of rumors he had heard- that the Ghost was the spawn of the devil, a witches son, a biblically deformed creature hiding 9 eyes and countless heads beneath the mask.

Something vindictive and admittedly childish had rose up in her and led to her placing several handfuls of nettles in the cooks bed. 

She refused to feel guilty, even when she spotted the irritated welts on the mans skin the next day- was it not the prophet Amos who said to let justice roll on like a river, and righteousness like a never-failing stream? 

He lets out a huff. Something tells her this is as close to a laugh as he will give her. For a long moment, there is only silence broken by the occasional scurry of a rat, as they stand watching the night where it’s unfolded before them. 

“There’s a storm on it’s way, lady.” His gloved fingers tighten where they grip the stone. She wishes he would turn, so she could see his eyes. “It’d be wise if your father sent you somewhere far.”  

“I’m stronger than I seem- have faith, I can weather any storm, sir. And the stronghold is well defended.” 

“‘S not the stronghold I worry about. It’s the people.” Finally, he turns to face her- in the moonlight, his eyes look like moons themselves, haloed by a dark night of greasepaint. 

“Be careful who you trust, lady.” In one fluid motion, he takes off his cloak and wraps it around her shoulders before bodily turning her away. “Get back inside. You’re father would have my head if I let ya freeze.” 

She follows his orders without question. Maybe he really is a witches son,  she thinks as she slinks back into her quarters. 

The fire is nothing more than a collection of dim coals, now. Wrapping the Ghost’s cloak tighter around herself, she tosses another log onto the fire and crawls into her bed. 

The feeling from earlier that day is back- the tensing, the coiling in her stomach, the heat in her abdomen as if someone is churning her chest over hot coals. Usually venturing out at night cures her of this incessent, shaky need to move, but this time, it had only exacerbated it. 

Squirming around, she buries her nose in his cloak. Ghost’s cloak. It smells of lye soap, wood ash, cold night air.  

Some kind of hot and heavy pressure hangs in her stomach- her thighs rub together, twisted around her sheet, and that seems to help for a moment, but then it gets worse. 

Without thinking, she sends a trembling hand down between her legs- to her womanhood, as her old governess would have said- and adds more pressure. And, oh-  that is new.

She hesitantly moves this wetness around, up and down, until her back arches off the mattress, until she masters this new feeling and she has to bury her moans in the rough frabric of Ghost’s cloak.

[mykoreanlove]

not the christmas party you had in mind

LEE KNOW AU // OFFICE SETTING

“Just say my name when you’re entering the building. They’re already waiting for you.”

You giggled wholeheartedly as you read your friend’s text. You haven’t seen her in forever, but she hasn’t changed a bit.

Ever since you moved to Seoul gatherings like these became seldom, so you appreciated her inviting you to her work event even more.

You hid your face in your wool scarf as the cold attacked you brutally.

“Finally”, you mumbled as you made it to the company building.

The facility was decorated beautifully. You spotted mellow fairy lights, a big Christmas tree with shiny ornaments and mistle toes hanging from the ceiling. Your eyes wandered to the counter where a couple of employees waited around, joking and laughing about today’s event.

“Hi. I am here with y/besties/n. Does that ring a bell?”

The guy responsible looked up from his computer and took a good look at you – which made you stop in your tracks. Damn, he was attractive.

Light brown hair, parted in the middle with kind eyes and a devious smirk. His blue name tag hung around his neck, but it was too small for you to decipher.

He scanned the list and smiled at you.

“Are you y/n?”

You flashed him your kindest smile and hoped to see him later at the party.

“Yeah, hi.”

He motioned his hand to his colleague: “Please go with her. Enjoy the party.”

Your eyes scanned the room, but your bestie was no where in sight. As you went to get rid of your coat you scanned the area – the people looked nice, but no one piqued your interest quite like he did. You wondered if he would come up later too as you felt a hand grab you by your shoulder.

“Y/N!”, your bestie screamed excitedly. You hugged her tightly and talked for a while.

“Listen, that guy downstairs is hella cute.”

She nodded in response. “Oh my god, right? I thought so, too!”

It felt like hours went by until you finally saw him again. He was dominating the room like a lion – everybody wanted to talk to him, every woman was desperate for his attention.

“He is walking around like he’s fucking half of them; don’t you think?”, your friend whispered in your ear. You felt your chest tighten. She was probably right – even if he was single, he probably would be interested in a couple of women.

The night went by, and you had a blast with your friend. Shots and laughter filled your whole system. A couple of times you caught the guy from downstairs staring at you, but only for a second or two.

“Let’s go. I wanna go home.”

You grabbed her by the shoulders: “One last shot and we go. Come on.”

You motioned her to the bar and found your point of interest lingering there, too. He was holding up a shot glass and pointing it to you.

“We didn’t drink once”, you rolled your eyes at him. He turned around and ordered some more, making his way to you.

“You can’t leave without having a shot with me first.”

He handed you the pink liquor and looked you deeply in the eyes – daring you obey him.

As you gulped it down you felt him whispering in your ear.

“I don’t want you to think that this is some kind of lame pick up line but I gotta tell you.. You are such a beautiful woman. I noticed you right away when you entered the building.”

Butterflies appeared in your stomach as you listened to him complimenting you. You turned your head and whispered in his ear now.

“Thank you. Even though now I’m kinda sad that this wasn’t a pick up line.”

His laughter melted your heart.

“Oh come on, that is a nice thing.”

He held out his hand to you.

“I am Lee Know. Who are you?” You took his hand and shook it confidently.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you, Lee Know.”

You chatted for a while – about work and interests but got interrupted by your friend who was desperate to go home.

“I gotta go. I’m sorry.”

He smiled sadly.

“Don’t be. There’s always another party. I expect you to be there.” His charms grew on you.

“I can’t just show up, you know? Why don’t you give me your number?”

He entered the digits of his number in your phone and handed it back to you – smiling.

Shortly after, he slung his arms around you and hugged you goodbye.

“Wow, you smell amazing y/n.”

You smirked. Buying that overpriced Burberry perfume definitely paid off.

“Bye Lee Know.”

You followed your friend, feeling excited and giddy on the inside.

“Ah hold on. The boss wants us to show the office’s branch before we leave.”

The boss, a middle-aged guy with golden retriever energy, already waited for you two.

“Welcome, ladies. Ready for our tour?” You walked along the corridors and didn’t think much of it as you asked him about Lee Know.

“Hey, who is the guy that was checking the lists earlier?”

The boss looked at you surprised.

“Oh, you mean Minho?” Confusion cursed through you.

“Minho? No, Lee Know.” He remained silent, which didn’t sit right with you either.

“Ah, Lee Know, right. Actually, he’s my assistant.”

He opened the door to the office and showed you around.

“Here is my place and over there, there’s Lee Know.”

Your eyes lit up.

“Really?”

You looked around – it was a rather boring office set up, so you decided to make it prettier. You grabbed a blue sticky note and scrambled a message on it. You wanted him to remember you.

It was nice meeting you. Even if it was short. Hopefully, we can see each other again. Best, y/n <3

As you made your way out your friend noticed your perfume, too.

“How did I not notice your perfume before? You smell amazing. What is this?” You smiled again.

“Funny enough, Lee Know said the same thing.”

“He did?” His boss’ eyes widened in surprise. Something about his reactions really irked you, irritation flooding you.

“Yeah. He said I smelled nice. Among some other stuff.”

“Like what?”, your friend asked.

“Ehm”, you stumbled, not knowing if you should say this in front of his boss.

“He said that I’m a very beautiful woman and that he noticed me right from the beginning.”

His boss’ face turned cold.

“I can’t believe it. Did he also mention that he is married and the father of a newborn?”

“WHAT?” Your jaw hit the floor.

His boss sighed annoyed.

“Yeah, thought so.”

[goodolddumbbanana]

TO BE MIRROR AU [4]

An Au when Sun is dead (by Nexus), Dark Sun pretends to be Sun while trying to find some way to revive Sun in secret. Nexus's break down, maybe get some redemption. Everyone is not having a good time except Sun, that poor boy only when he is dead (temporarily) can has some rest.

Warning: Bad grammar cuz I am not very smart.

Summary: Sun is dead, or in a coma, and is being hidden by Dark Sun in his laboratory. Dark Sun pretends to be Sun and has just finished his shift.

The kindergarten is bustling with children's laughter. Looming in the doorway, a yellow animatronic with sun-like rays wearing a clown theme, enthusiastically returned the group of children to their parents.

"Bye Evans!! See you tomorrow Jason!! Yes! I see it, your art is very beautiful Alice!---"

It's time for the kids to go home, and every single day, the kindergarten is overcrowded with tired parents or children crying begging to stay, gathering like termite nests, making Sun even with Earth and Lunar’s help, still felt like his battery is about to run out.

"Sun, are you okay?" Earth asks, her voice fills with concern. Everyone has noticed that Sun seemed tired recently, but her brother kept insisting he was fine.

"Ah... yeah..." Sun laughs nervously. Sun's high-pitched voice turns his words into a jumbled nonsense, and his hand waves awkwardly in the air before falling to his side.

"It's just... Er--- Meeting N-Nexus again... makes me feel... A little of conflict..."

"Oh... Sun" Earth's eyes softens. The return of Nexus seemed to reopen an open wound in the celestial family, especially when this time, he tried to kill both Sun and Moon.

She wants to say that she understands the feeling of betrayal that is tearing at Sun's heart right now, but she knows that Sun's feelings about Nexus are more complicated than that. Nexus was not only the person closest to and cares about Sun the most, he was also the one who gives Sun hope that things will be different from now on, that Moon will become better.

The dull phantom pain echo on Earth's arm served as a painful reminder of why Nexus was forced to leave, why she couldn't call Nexus her brother without feeling disappointed and a brustling tear inside her chest.

"Oh I'm sorry Earth... I shouldn't have said it... I... just---" Sun rubs his hand, his fingers fumbling over the red ribbon on his wrist.

"--- Is it strange that I feel like I miss Nexus despite... all he's done?"

"...I don't know, Sun." Earth spoke slowly. She pushs her cloudy hair aside, her hand caressing the smooth wool fabric of the pink shirt she wore. "I personally miss Nexus too... but Nexus has done many terrible things..."

"Yeah..." Sun says shakily. "He hurt you, Earth. And Moon and Lunar too..."

Earth realizes her brother has ignored himself, but she says nothing else. That is for another day.

The daycare still looks as cheerful as ever, it's hard to believe how much has happened. As if Nexus's voice still lingered in her ears, even the most beautiful memories and the most terrible moments intertwined, causing Earth to lose her rhythm in space.

A hand gently touches her elbow, the rattle sounds like a drop of water dropped into a still lake.

"E--Earth?? Are you okay?" Her aqua blue eyes meets Sun's worried silver pupils. Her brother looks at her worriedly, his hands clumsy as if he wants to hug her but stopped midway. "I'm sorry Earth. I made you sad over nothing."

"No... No... I'm glad you shared, Sun." Earth waves. "It really makes me feel better... Knowing that I'm not the only one missing M-- Nexus... I know that with Moon around, you're often hesitant to share things like this..."

"Yeah..." Sun says hesitantly. "So... Do you want to play a game? We can play that Princess Makeup game you like? And I'll make some extra fries?"

"Does it bother you, Sun? Since you've been working all day?"

"Nah... It won't take long. And we can drag Lunar to watch a movie with us, any princess movie you like. It'll be fun. Uhm--- That's right, A Family Night ! I'll ask if Moon has finished his work... There's food so I guess Moon won't refuse."

Earth's face lit up, her eyes sparkled with fireflies. She shooks her cloudy hair, her whole body almost standing on tiptoe.

"Have I ever said that you are the best brother?"

Sun giggles, her brother's back hunches slightly, as if still not used to positive compliments. The two walked through the portal, seeing lying on the sofa were two moon-themed animatronics.

"Earth, help me!! Moon refuses to give me the TV remote!!"

"Why don't you just go downstairs?" Sun's voice mixed with laughter, like the steaming hiss of a kettle.

"Because I'm already lying down, Sun! I can't move anymore!!!"

"What do you mean you can't move anymore!!! Just get up!!"

"Easily for you, Sun!!! I can't move!!!"

"Hey Earth." Earth turned around, for a moment, Nexus's image merged with Moon's image and then disappeared in the blink of her eye.

"Oh hello Moon. What are you doing?"

"Popcorn." Moon just said that with a mouth full of butter, with eyes staring at the TV. What cartoon is this? Apparently it is Monkie kid show, the show that Earth has never seen before, only heard Sun and Moon talk back and forth a few times.

"Great, I was just going to call and ask if you were coming home today early… Guess I don't need to do that anymore… Seeing how much fun you two have…"

Sun crossed his arms, Earth could feel his brother's eye twitching slightly at the mess the two brothers made on the floor.

Both Lunar and Moon immediately reflexively pointed at each other and shouted.

"IT IS LUNAR'S FAULT!!"

"YOU BASTARD!!! YOU EAT IT ALL UP AND TELL ME TO BLAME THE CATS!!!

Popcorn splashes everywhere. A bottle flew through the air, pouring sauce onto the new carpet, splashing Sun.

Silence spread in the air.

Then, Sun sighs, a very long and helpless sigh.

"I'm going to the bathroom to clean up." Sun's finger points to the floor and gestures at her brother's eyes. "When I get out, I don't want to see any more trash on the ground."

His response was two more sighs filled with frustration.

"Okay, Sun."

"Yeah... Yeah... I'll do it, Sun.

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

'Sun' enters the bathroom, he could still hear the murmuring sounds of Moon and Lunar.

"It's your fault."

"Nu uh, it's your fault."

"Lunar. You piece of--!?"----

A small giggle rang out in the bathroom space, the mirror showing a shiny yellow body smiling reluctantly. The beams on his head were smeared with orange grease, and the fringe of his dress was smeared with something brown.

'Sun' lowers his face to the sink, the cool water touching his metal plate. The liquid flowed through 'Sun's' hand, splashed onto the wall, and formed droplets of water onto the silver bell he had carefully placed on the shelf.

'Sun'' face flickers in the mirror, the slight smile from before disappeared, drifting with the water, replaced by an empty look. Silver eyes blurred in red, the innate nervous awkwardness of the animatronic named 'Sun' disappeared, replaced by the indifferent face of Dark Sun.

A gentle voice, without any stuttering, rang out in the quiet, soundproof space.

"Lunar and Earth are both fine. It's just Moon being obnoxious as usual."

"I really want it all to end right now, to see Moon's smug face turn into an ugly miserable expression."

"But the thought of you looking down on me for not being able to do something as simple as pretending makes me want to keep persevering until everything is on track again."

"..."

"You have quite a lovely family, Sun. It's a shame the person here isn't you, eh?"

The person in the mirror is incapable of responding.

"Hmm... Who am I kidding?" Dark Sun shook his head. The meaningless promise of a dead man suddenly became a shackle that made it impossible for Dark Sun to leave.

"I heard about Earth and Lunar. Admit it, you like being with them." Sun's high-pitched, stuttering voice collided with Dark Sun's monotone and condescending voice.

They still remained wary of each other, but in the tight confines of these rainy days, in this room, a silent agreement allowed for a civil dialogue between two people who were neither enemies nor friends.

"It's just an act, Sun. Don't express it so haphazardly." Dark Sun continued to kill the zombies on the screen, the rain creating a gentle background sound, making the space they were in as if they belonged to a barrier that only they could enter.

"You're full of bullshit, you know. Why don't you admit that my sisters are fun to be with?" Sun responded irritably, eyes looking up at the screen trying to aim for Tom's head.

"Then Why don't you just admit that you have a lot of problems you refuse to acknowledge it and even though you think you have higher morals than me, the one who killed your own brother and made two others leave was you?"

"..."

"That's exactly what I thought."

Dark Sun felt the person next to him shrink a bit, a feeling of guilt, something he thought he had buried a long time ago, suddenly throbbed like a ghost in his heart.

He still needs Sun to like him. Not so much for them to become friends (the whisper in his head screamed that it could never happen because of who he is right now) but for Sun to let down his guard towards him.

So should he apologize? Dark Sun remembers how kind and sensitive he used to be, but he also remembers how Moon used to scream at him to suck it up and let it go.

Consolation is no longer in Dark Sun's dictionary, because no matter how he tries, Moon still gets angry and takes it out on him. No amount of pleading or silence could dispel Moon's unpredictable anger. And gradually, Sun stopped trying to make peace... and just endured, endured, and endured... Until he just can't...

"I don't understand you, Dark Sun. Why can you be another version of me, but the difference between us can be so big?"

"Hmm?" Dark Sun blinked, he smiled faintly. Sun's silver eyes reflect Dark Sun's red shadow. "So does it make you feel sad? Disappointed?"

"..."

"I'm you, I know what you think. You really don't have to be so shy towards me."

"...Isn't it fun? To manipulate things to your will like that? I heard the stories Moon told. You killed your Moon, you did things I never thought I would be able to do ... You don't care if you hurt the people around you or not..."

Dark Sun interrupted, his hand unconsciously holding the remote a little too tightly.

"Don't lie to yourself, we both know it's not true. If you had the same chance as me, you would have done it, maybe even worse than me." Dark Sun almost yelled.

"...Unlike you, I don't want to hurt others." Sun softly whispers.

"But in reality, aren't you still doing that? Lunar, Moon, Nexus, is there anyone you're close to who hasn't been hurt by your naivety?"

"... Is this about me or about you?"

The air was filled with tension. Their conversations always ended like this. Uncomfortable. Forced. Confinement. Feeling of inhibition scraping through the lungs without being able to speak. But for some reason, they continued to rush at each other like moths, continuing their damn habit of sitting and playing video games together.

Call it self-therapy. Call it self-hate.

There are too many entanglements and secret goals between the two, making it impossible for them to communicate like normal people even if they try.

Dark Sun denies his need for friendship. Sun refuses to feel comfortable with a man who murdered his own brother.

Both try to live in their own comfort lies.

"Try to build yourself a backbone, then maybe you'll be able to understand why I'm the way I am."

"... It's funny how you keep saying that, when you know I could never leave Moon." Sun replied quietly.

The ghost of the words still seemed to pass through Dark Sun's ears.

There is a loud banging on the door, Sun's Moon---Moon shouted outside.

"Hurry up Sun, the movie is about to start."

"Here-- I'm coming!!" 'Sun' shouted stutteringly. "I am combing my hair!!!"

"You don't have hair, Sun!!"

"YES I DO, MOON!!"

Blinking at the reflection, instead of the image of 'Sun' that appeared, a Moon with a ruined face and broken body looking back at Dark Sun.

A grim, helpless sigh echoes in Dark Sun's throat.

"...Sometimes I wish you would. It would make everything a lot easier."

[morpheus-somnium]

auri [modern! au]

[masterlist]

i love auri, so here are some headcanons + a little fanart that a tried to make about how i would imagine her<3

she is so sweet, i can't-

she can climb walls like she came out of the AC franchise

i don't HC her as a wrestler, but she would be sooo good at it if she ever tried

she loves doing picnics! so whenever the gang stops for eating they do that outside, in the shadow of some big tree

i think in the begining of her stay in skyrim, she worked at a tree school! she got fired after the boss wanted to cut some trees and sell them as firewood, and she shot some arrows up in the boss' arsehole

she only uses e-books or paper-free books

she has a small tree or plant that she brings with herself when travelling (although, she mostly keeps it in the RV, so nothing can harm it)

i think she would like crystals!! she would wear crystal braclets and necklaces

when something is at an extremly high shelf (like, high even for kaidan) she is the one that climbs up there

she is a chicken nuggets girly

i think mosquitos wouldn't bite her, ever. she just naturally smells like nature, which makes skyrim's mosquitos think that she is one of the plants.

okay, so she doesn't use anything plant-based right? so i gathered some materials that she would wear: leather, cashmere, wool, silk & furs. they are also very good for skyrim's colder climate!!

she would like horror movies. especially the cannibal, slasher or just something-not-human eating-humans ones.

she has the strongest immune system because she eats meat raw too

and she never gets salmonella ⬆️

whenever she argues with someone online she would put a flower emoji at the ends of her messages 🌸

[koras-human-warriors]

how do u design outfits? also, what are the nearby villages opinions on the clans?

Thank you for asking!!! Asks fuel my passion! Long post warning!

Outsiders

Instead of kittypets and rouges, we got the outsider settlements, which are just basically generic, 1800's European settlers and farmers.

The outsiders rarely interact with the clans outside of trading, seeing them as either savages or bandits- not helped by Bloodclan. When the clans were young, there were a lot of issues with fights breaking out between Thunderclan, Shadowclan, Skyclan, and these villages. The clans had a bad habit or raiding the villiages for and the villagers thought the clans were godless heathens. This reached its peak when once of the nearby villages had enough and burned down Skyclan's entire settlement and driving them out.

This being said, many outsiders do see the clans as being cool- afterall that's how we got our white boy Firestar!

Clan Fashion!

Thunderclan

their outfits are pretty medieval northern European and viking inspired. They raise sheep, so they get a lot of wool, which is both worn and traded. Warriors will often wear the pelts of the animals and monsters they kill for bragging rights. This makes them great for cold weather, but summers are rough. Jewelry is usually worn by women, but earrings are popular among men. Thunderclan clothes are not all that colorful because they have a higher need for camouflage. Thunderclan is, unfortunately, not the best with hygiene (stinky), but they are pretty good about taking care of their hair. Clan color is red and gold, which they wear red during clan gatherings and battles to distinguish the clan apart.

Windclan

Inspired vaguely by Eastern Asian Cultures - mostly Japan (I was a weeboo when I made this au, sorry). Since they have a lot more open land than the other clans, they invested in more farms over hunting, which has resulted in being able to get better clothing either through crafting or trade. They have a silk farm that produces good fabric for the clan, with the extra being traded to outsiders or in clan gatherings. This alos allowes their garments to be lightweight and easy to move in. They have very colorful clothes since they rely on stealth a lot less than others. Green is their clan color, so it the most popular. Hygiene is really important to them and hold spiritual significance (though this may be the medicine folks trying to get people to take better care of their bodies). Long hair is popular among older warriors, but younger, less experienced warriors are encouraged to keep it short because hair pulling is a classic shadowclan move.

Riverclan

Clothing is mostly Greek and Roman with a hint of Pacific islander for their tattoos and jewelry. Riverclaners spean 90% of their day in or around water, so they wear very little clothes in their daily life. Man rarely even wear shirts- showing off as much of their ceremonial warrior tattoos as possible. They don't have much room for growing cotton or raising animals, so they get most of that through trade (or stealing from Thunderclan). Jewelry is huge for both sexes.-both seen with some sort of colorful shell or shiny stone somewhere on their bodies. Their hygiene is okay... they wash often, but they always smell a little like seaweed or fish. Clan color is blue!

Shadowclan

Unlike the other clans, Shadowclan is not strongly linked to any specific culture. Instead, seeing as how they have a long history of letting in outsiders and they are seen as suspicious by the other clans, I made the pirate like! They wear pretty similar clothing to the outsiders that I've next door. Practical clothing is preferred to stylish stuff - if you wear jewelry flashy colors, they are gonna make fun of you. Most Shadowclaners keep their hair short because it is easier to keep the mud and bugs out. Women and medicine wear scarves or wraps over their hair for both religious reasons and to keep their hair from getting damaged. Hygiene wise, they are trying their best. Clan color is purple.

All clans wear custom cat masks for ceremony and battle

[achaotichuman]

Kidnapped by the Faery Queen

TAMLIN WEEK IS HERE AND I AM HAPPY

This is for Day 1- Prompt: Human Tamlin.

For this one, I decided on writing an AU where Tamlin and Feyre's roles are reversed, Tamlin is the human mortal and Feyre is the High Lady.

This fic is mostly Tamlin making dumb decisions and feylin fluff at the end as well as banter between Tamlin & Lucien & Feyre! It focuses mostly on Tamlin's first impressions of the SC and the gang. It doesn't follow the canon events of what led Feyre to Tamlin because idk I wanted to write this instead.

You can read on Ao3, or below the cut!

There was something thundering in his chest, urging him faster and faster and faster. Rocketing through the woods. Passing by trees bending at the trunk like they might keel over. An archway created overhead that dappled the silvery light of the moon. Splashes across the snow like pearls of light. It was clear above, not a cloud to remove the paleness of the mood from the world. 

It was dark and cold, and never-ending snow, but he had to run. He had to feel the crunch of grass blades hidden underneath blankets of undisturbed white. He had to feel his muscles ache and burn with warmth as the chill of the air caused his face to flush. Heart racing, an owl cried overhead, its song breaking through the silence of the air. Cutting through like a sewing needle piercing intricate strings of fabric. 

He only looked up momentarily to see the flutter of soft wings darting from a tree branch through the air, before the animal was long gone from sight. He quickened his pace. Until he must have been a blur in between the tree trunks. Running with shadows, in the darkest parts of the woods. Deeper and deeper to the heart, he must have looked to be a part of the forest itself. Some indiscernible creature running as if for its life. A spooked deer, a bird flying low to the ground. A lost spirit running through the inbetween of the realms. 

Something inhuman and ghastly. Something that children would see from the corner of their eyes and quickly grab their mother’s skirts whilst pointing in between the trees. Only to find the shadow they had seen was long gone. 

Eventually he was forced to stop. Legs burning so much the fire seemed to consume his muscles. It was a miracle he was still standing as he hunched over and panted, hands on his knees, heart thundering behind his ribs. Breath fogging in the chilled air. Strands of his golden blond hair fell around his face. Quickly he brushed them behind his hood once more. The rough wool of his gloves harsh on his sensitive, flushed face. 

Taking a slow step forward, Tamlin looked through the treelines. Adjusting his thick coat before pulling the bow strapped around him off his back, and drawing an arrow. Instincts telling him he was a fool, an idiot for coming so far out at this time. But he had to get away. The wind that pummelled against the frail glass of his shared bedroom window called to him. Singing his name like a prayer falling from a devout believer. He was helpless but to strap on his weapons, excitedly gathering his gear. Only sparing a second thought to quickly shut the window, lest he wake his older brothers who laid soundly asleep. 

But now as he looked around at the dark woods, he realised how stupid he was to come out here tonight. In the cold, where he had nothing but the footprints he made to track his way back home. Even that could quickly be eliminated by more snowfall. 

There was a sudden noise from behind him, the sound of a crunch, like a foot on a stick. 

Tamlin whipped around, drawing his arrow. Heart racing and preparing to duck for cover. 

“Oh.” He whispered into the soft night. 

A stag stared at him curiously. It’s beady black eyes shining in the pale light. The majestic antlers gracing its head stuck out in so many twining directions. It had one foot lifted above a broken twig. So still and watching. 

Tamlin kept the arrow drawn. Never wavering and never lowering. His body stiller than a slingshot pulled back, ready to be fired. Like his muscles were elastic and stretched to the limit. 

Then the stag…

Just turned its head, moving its feet finally, crushing the snow below it as it leisurely strolled back into the woods. Into the darkness and out of sight. 

Tamlin’s eyes rolled as he lowered his bow, huffing. Puffs of white clouded in front of his face and he stomped the snow, digging into it until he saw blades of icy green, black in the little light. He must be truly going insane. 

Lost to the sensations of cold nighttime, he left the cottage in favour of running blindly into a dangerous woods, where wolves lurked about in the dark hours of morning. He was stupid beyond comprehension. His mother must have dropped him as a child, because there was in no way that a normal person thought the wind called for them. 

Unless.. 

Tamlin snapped up his bow again as a growl vibrated through the woods. Travelling through the air like claws reaching out. It echoed, as another growl joined it, followed by a third and a fourth. 

They emerged from the darkness. With fur a dark grey that glimmered in the silvery light. Teether bared and eyes stoking flames. Four powerful wolves circled him slowly. 

Tamlin was frozen in place. Muscles locked up as his body went into fight or flight mode. In a moment of utter terror, mind replaced entirely with fear. He ran. 

It was a terrible decision, as then the wolves pounced. 

Tamlin tried to duck down, screaming. Hoping someone equally as stupid as him had come out here during the night, hopefully with an axe or a mace. A large claw descended on him, and Tamlin screamed again as it slashed his abdomen. Blood poured from his stomach. Soaking his clothes. The four were on him, a pile of raw flesh for the taking. There was nothing he could do as he felt teeth sink into his arm, preparing to pierce flesh. 

Then a roar more powerful than any of the snarling wolves shattered the night sky. 

The large furred heads of the wolves jutted up, ears falling back, completely flat. The roar echoed again, similar to a snarled warning. They began to whimper and whine. 

Then it appeared, and Tamlin felt all the blood drain from his face, nearly fainting on the spot. 

Its fur completely white, with black spots covering its hide. Eyes yellow and gleaming. A jaw full of bone white teeth. Scraping black claws across the snow as it prowled forward. Snarling once more. 

The wolves barked and whined, and fled. Leaving Tamlin a heap of bloodied human meat. He almost wished the wolves had finished him off, so he wouldn't be faced with the hulking beast walking slowly to him. Its pace taunting, knowing he had no way to get away from it. If he ran, it would catch him. There was no possible route that allowed his mortal legs to outrun this powerful creature. 

Soon it was looming above him. Tamlin’s neck ached as he stretched his head up to keep eye contact with the creature. It cocked its head in an almost human manner, as if pondering something. 

Only one thought ran through his head, and it just made the situation all the more terrifying. 

This is a Fae. This is a Fae. This is a Fae. This is a Fae. This is a Fae.

It was undeniable. The creature was not mortal. It moved too gracefully. Was too pristine. Too big to be any kind of naturally occurring animal. This was a monster from the depths of the Faery lands. And it had crossed the border into these woods. 

Horror coursed through his body as Tamlin thought that the calling from the wind was the Faery creature, he truly ran right into a trap. 

“Please.” He begged weakly. Blood was rushing too quickly from his wounds. Splattering crimson across the pure white snow. A pattern of scarlet red. Something wet and horrible dripped down his face and Tamlin realised he was crying as he was faced with the terrible creature above him. 

But it simply watched, making his fear grow, cold pressed into his body, as the wolves had torn his clothes and revealed skin to the freezing cold. For a moment Tamlin wondered if the monster would let him die first before feasting on his flesh. Faery cruelty. Maybe he would die from pure fear before the bleeding out could take him. 

Black swirled in and out of his vision. Until his blinking was coming slower and longer. The beast just watched. Tamlin felt coldness spread up his back, neck and head. He had fallen back into the snow, his eyes could see nothing but darkness, silver and yellow eyes. Before they finally closed, tears dripping hot from the corner of his eyes. 

I never said goodbye to anyone, he thought as darkness embraced him. 

When he woke up, pain was spidering through his abdomen and arm. Lingering in his body and refusing to release him. He groaned loudly and shifted, trying to feel anything other than the horrid burning sensations in his skin. As he did, there was a flurry of whispering around him. He jolted almost immediately. Especially as he realised he was not in cold snow, but laying amongst the softest sheets he had ever felt. 

Opening his blurry eyes he tried to take in his surroundings. First he saw a ceiling above him. Pure white, a large golden chandelier hanging in the centre, not lit as sunlight poured in through the large glass pane windows. Casting long shadows through the room. Tamlin tried to sit up, but his body would not part from the stinging pain that consumed him. 

“He is awake, alert the High Lady.” A voice like silk whispered harshly from someone in the room. 

“What?” He croaked out, voice rough from disuse, he grabbed the sheets in his hands, balling them in his fists. He was squirming as he tried to sit up. 

“Hush child, you are safe.” That same silk voice murmured, now closer. 

Tamlin managed to crane his neck to the side and there he saw the source of the voice. 

He screamed. 

Jumping up from the bed, the adrenaline briefing ridding him of the burning pain. He sat up quickly and scrambled away from the right side of the bed. As he stared and stared at the creature looking back at him with a sudden, shocked expression. 

Tamlin fell off the side of the bed, onto a soft fluffy mat. He looked around quickly, hearing quick footsteps towards him. He tried to scramble under the bed, just to get away, but she was there again before he could hide. 

“You…” His voice left him as he stared, and wondered if his sudden outburst would anger the undoubtedly Faery creature standing before him. 

He swallowed hard, tears wetting his eyes, but he blinked them away the best he could. Trying to reach for anything that could be used as a weapon. 

Instead, however, of being offended, the woman- or whatever she was- simply put a hand on her hip. Tilting her head to the side, causing wiry brown hair to fall down the side of her shoulder. Her bark-skinned shoulder. 

Her skin looked rough to touch. Textured with some knots like in a trunk. As if carved from wood. Though her eyes were filled with life. She raised an eyebrow, causing the texture of her skin to shift as she did. 

“I will not hurt you, human.” She said, gently but firmly. Like a mother coaxing a child to come to her.

Tamlin swallowed again, then managed to stammer out, “Why should I believe you, Faery?”

He spat the word with venom. Faeries were creatures that hunted, killed and tortured innocent humans for stupid crimes that could not be considered as such. Like walking into Faery rings, or accidentally getting involved with Faery deals. 

She sighed heavily, chest rising and falling. Holding out a hand, she said, “Call me Alis, child.”

“Alis?” He repeated. Then cursed himself, he shouldn’t so much as speak to the creature before him. Yet he continued to stare at her. 

She nodded, hand still held out, as if offering it. Tamlin bared his teeth and huddled further away, curling in on himself. 

Her head shook and her length of hair shook with it. Turning away from the human man. She went for the door. Opening it up, Tamlin heard the sounds of shouting, crashing and swearing. He flinched hard and ducked further away from the door. Alis sighed lightly, then looked back over at him, “Someone will come soon to prepare you.”

“Prepare me-” Tamlin tried to ask, but before he could, she closed the door. As it clicked shut, Tamlin stared at the bronze handle. Then at the dark oak door itself, before looking around the room. 

It was beautiful, that was for certain. All dark, polished wood, bronze and gold. The sheets of the bed were silk, emerald green and the curtains were sheer. The window closed. 

Finally, on shaking legs, Tamlin stood, grunting as he grabbed the nearby nightstand for support as the burning pain returned in full. Though dulling as the seconds were by. When he touched his stomach where the slash had been, and found not only was he wearing a different set of clothes, but there was a bandage with some kind of salve over his skin. 

Tamlin pulled at the new shirt. It was sleep wear, just a white shirt and soft green pants. He felt his entire body go completely red as he realized someone had undressed and redressed him.

What the fuck was this place? He wrapped his arms around himself, human instincts begging to run and find a place to hide.

Some kind of Faery world. Some kind of place he would no doubt be tortured or hunted for sport. As the stories all liked to go. 

Slowly Tamlin sat down on the soft coverlet. Not quite sure where to go from here. What to do. Alis, if she had even given him her real name, said someone would come prepare him. 

Prepare him for what?

Tamlin’s first thought was he was going to be turned into some kind of stew. His next thought was he would be dragged out for entertainment. Forced to dance on hot coals until he died or something like that. His toes curled and his body shook as terror seized him once more. 

In a wave of energy and the need to get away, Tamlin stumbled for the large and, more importantly, unlocked, window. His bruised fingertips grappled with the frame for a moment before he managed to pull them open. 

But when he looked over the edge, his eyes widened when he saw how far up he was from the ground. Far below him, gardens roamed the grounds. Large and spread out. Dappled with colours of all sorts and looking like chaos incarnate. Spread out like twisting, festering vines, roots and branches. With patches of sweet-smelling flowers hidden in between. 

Tamlin tossed a look back over at the room. And decided a death by falling would be better than whatever the Faeries had in store for him. So with gritted teeth and while silently cursing his own stupidity. Tamlin leaped over the edge, grabbed onto a nearby ivy plant clinging to the wall and swung away from the window sill. 

He swallowed a shout, and quickly found footing in the green netting like plant. Hands burning as he gripped the ivy. He began a quick descent. Even as the branches gave way under his hands, he moved as fast as he could so as to get away before anyone noticed his disappearance. 

A cut, a cussing fit, and three new bruises later. The ivy gave out underneath him and Tamlin thumped to the ground with another hissed curse. Luckily he hadn’t been more than three feet off the ground. 

Groaning quietly as he picked himself off the floor. Tamlin dusted his shirt from the dirt and wiped as much of the mud smeared on his cheek off as possible. Finally he got to his wobbling legs and looked around. 

The gardens looked more like a labyrinth than gardens. Winding around and around, with walls of bushes and large trees bent over like they couldn’t handle standing straight. Moss collected on rocks and stone made pathways through the maze of sweet smelling lands. 

It was Springtime. 

But they had just been in winter. Spring wasn’t for yet another month. 

Another Faery trick. Some kind of magic he wanted no part of. Tamlin snarled at the lily of the valley near him, as if they were directly responsible for him being in Faery territory.

A trick of some sort, to lead him to a trap. Tamlin squeezed his hands into fists and began to walk silently through the gardens. Treading carefully and making absolutely sure he would not break so much as a twig underfoot. His heart thumped behind his rips, rocketing through his body, pulsing in time with each step.

Soon, he turned a corner and was met with a sight more lovely than he had ever seen before. 

A courtyard of some kind. Flowing fountains, and trimmed hedges lined the grounds. He saw the extent of the… mansion he had been taken to. Carved from marble and stone. Detailed carefully and so much larger than any house he had ever seen. Tamlin baulked at the sheer size of the place he was in. Everything seemed so much bigger than him, reducing him to the comparable size of an ant. 

He nearly stumbled back, but was pulled back into where he was and the danger he was in. Tamlin’s mouth pulled into a snarl and he quickly ducked away from the open area, hiding in between bushes and trees and winding through the rest of the gardens. Trying to find some way out of here. 

He found that the grounds were so large and trying to find his way out of them was like being trapped in a maze. As it was he wound up in some kind of small woods. Large tall oaks loomed above him, but he could still smell the pollen behind him, and didn’t know whether he had left the grounds or these woods were still part of the mansion. 

Tamlin ignored the knots twisting tighter and tighter in his stomach as he marched forward in the general direction of South, (or what he hoped was South). He ignored the chill that spread over his skin, making his mind beg to turn back. He kept going further and further and further, until it was looking dark above, maybe that was the thick brush getting thicker and thicker as he went. 

It was nerves he told himself, not real, just flight or fight making him jumpy. 

But as he went further, he could have sworn something like a finger brushed his shoulder. Tamlin leapt away with a shout. Brushing off his clothes like he was trying tog et rid of a bug. His body kept washing over and over with fear so intense it paralysed him. Shaking, stumbling back he scanned the world but saw nothing at all. 

Nothing, it was nothing, just nerves or a bug that had fallen on him. It had to be, there was nothing else out here. 

Still he picked up the pace, going faster and faster and faster until he broke out into a sprint, heading further and further into the dark forest. Running for his life, trying to reach the border, to get back to his family, to his world. Not this place. Anywhere but this terrifying place. 

Then more chills fell down his spine, rolling through his like waves lapping at a sandy shore. Tamlin stumbled but kept running, not turning back, not looking back for a single second. 

Something like a hand reached out, brushing his hair and shoulder, wrapping around his neck. A scream curled in his throat and he grabbed a branch as he ran, tearing it away and keeping it like a sword at his side. Still whatever was behind him started to whisper. Cruel cold words he didn’t understand but knew anyway, threats, promises of eating him alive. 

A roar, a roar that he remembered from the night, however long ago it was, he had been kidnapped. 

It rattled the ground, Tamlin fell to the floor, scraping his knees and elbows, but not caring as the land shuddered. The trees around him seemed to bend to the sound. Whatever had shattered the sky once more had power here and it rippled through the world. 

All at once the whispering ceased, and a shriek of terror and pain ripped through the world. Tamlin hid under a large root and curled in on himself, hiding away, not daring to even breath loud. 

In a second it was over, and silence filled the air once more. But only for a single second, before a low growl tore the ground and footsteps followed, getting closer, and closer, and closer.

He didn’t have many options. None at all really. 

Tamlin clung to the stick he had grabbed, and as a huff of warm air from around the shelter of the root breathed over him. A rush of adrenaline fueled his body. 

Tamlin leapt up from underneath the root, with barely a second to spare he pulled the stick and launched it at the creature with all the might in his body. 

It hit the beast’s jaw with a thud, followed by a roar of pain from the creature as it stumbled back, reeling from the hit. 

Tamlin took no time in pondering how he had just signed his death warrant. Instead he took off through the woods. Rocketing through at lightning speeds, desperately forcing his way through the brush. The beast shouted a battle cry once more as it raced after him. He could hear it pounding behind him on all fours.

He was prey in a trap, little more than game to be hunted. 

Tamlin ran faster and faster and faster-

He smacked into a very hard, very solid form and fell back on the ground. 

Reeling with dizziness. Tamlin forced his way up, thinking he had hit a tree. 

The idea he smacked into a tree was quickly shattered as a sly voice crooned from above him, “Well isn’t this interesting? We were looking for you, little fawn, and here you are running right back to us.”

Tamlin forced his eyes up and his eyes went wide. A tall man grinned wickedly down at him, dark skin gleaming in the sunlight above, red hair spilling down his back and shoulders like waves of scarlet. His face was half covered by a gilded fox-shaped mask. Underneath a scar over his right eye was plain to see, inside the eye socket instead of a normal eyeball, was instead a golden contraption that mimicked his other eye. 

It seemed the tree he had hit was the man’s chest. Tamlin felt himself go very red, then white as he saw the long pointed ears sticking out from in amongst the locks of crimson. 

He scrambled back, but the fox masked man just raised an eyebrow, “Don’t run away again, little fawn, it won’t go well for you.”

Tamlin snarled as he got to his feet and pulled up his stick with him, holding it like a sword, “Get the fuck away from me.”

Little fawn, they were matched in height, granted Tamlin hadn’t eaten a full meal in who knew how long so they weren’t quite matched in build. But Tamlin had never been a man to look down upon. 

Except this creature wasn’t man. Rather Faery creature. 

Tamlin tried not to let his fear show. 

However, the Faery seemed less inclined to toy with him, instead turning his eyes to something behind Tamlin, “Feyre! I found your wayward doe, ran right to me.”

Tamlin went completely still as heavy footsteps thundered behind him. The beast, he had forgotten about the beast. 

Tamlin bared a glance over his shoulder and there it stood. As terrifying and horrible as when he had seen it scare away those wolves from tearing him to shreds. It was so, so much bigger than him. With those glinting yellow eyes that glared down at them. 

Tamlin felt like passing out. But held his ground as he tried to step away, to get away. 

But he hit the Faery behind him again, and quickly reeled away. The fox-masked man cackled, and Tamlin kept looking in between the beast and the Faery.

Caught between a rock and hard place, with no escape.

Shit. 

In a split second, as Tamlin considered just making a break and running for it. There was a sudden glow of gold, a brightness that had Tamlin shielding his eyes, it was gone in a moment, and suddenly he heard quieter steps coming toward him. 

“Yes, yes, an applause for you Lucien.” A snarky voice quipped. 

“I do try,” The fox-masked man, Lucien, said. 

Tamlin, however, did not look at Lucien, supposedly, behind him as his eyes went astronomically wide as he saw who now replaced the form of the beast. 

In the glow, fur had turned to skin and horns had disappeared. Paws were now hands and yellow eyes had turned to blue ones. 

A woman stepped out towards him. In a green tunic with a quiver of arrows on her back, as well as a bow. Her boots thudded against the ground, and her braid of brown hair slung over her shoulder. Her eyes were cold as she walked towards him. Face half hidden, like Lucien, by a mask. This mask however, was gilded gold and shaped like the face of the beast. Her eyes kept glancing at the stick in his hand, a drop of blood welled on her jaw, the small scratch quickly beginning to heal itself.

It seemed Lucien caught quickly on to why the stick was in Tamlin’s hand and why the female Faery had a slight scratch on her jaw a sudden cackle was torn from him, “Oh, the human got you in the jaw, Feyre? Isn’t that something Alis will be dying to hear of.”

“Quiet Lucien,” Feyre, the beast, said, narrowing her eyes in a predatory way. 

“But it’s so much fun to speak.” Lucien said. 

Feyre ignored him as her eyes went back to Tamlin, “You escaped your rooms, how?”

Tamlin snarled, and lifted the stick again like he might try to strike her and run. His mother had driven it into him to never hit girls, but his brothers had driven it into him to give back what people gave him. 

And in this moment, he thought killing a Faery in order to escape a kidnapping sounded pretty even for what they had given him. 

“Feisty eh?” Lucien crooned. 

Feyre let out a slow release of breath through her nose, then her eyes turned back to Lucien, “Take him back to Rosehall, have the servants prepare him for supper.”

So they were going to turn him into stew. 

“Now, little fawn, no need to go so pale, no one will be eating you.” Lucien said as he prowled around to face Tamlin, practically reading the thoughts going through his head. Lucien then looked him up and down slowly before adding, “Not in that regard at least.”

“Don’t be crass.” Feyre chided, waving her hand, “I’ve had enough of hide and go seek, take him back and lock the windows this time.”

“Wait-” Tamlin started, but Lucien just rolled his eyes at Feyre and grabbed his arm. Tamlin tried to reef it away, but all of a sudden he was swept into darkness. 

It felt like he was falling through flames, through dark flames that wouldn't burn him. It only happened for a few seconds before his knees hit wood and he looked around to find himself back in the room he had woken up in. Lucien was standing above him as Tamlin tried to catch his breath after having it stolen from his lungs. 

“Get him dressed… and somewhat clean.” Lucien ordered someone in the room. 

“Yes my lord,” A male voice responded. Tamlin looked up to see a sweet-faced boy with blue skin and fluttering wings. He had long black hair and black eyes. Despite the terrifying Faery features, he seemed gentle and kind. 

“Good, have him ready in fifteen minutes, sundown approaches.” Lucien started to head for the door.

“Stop!” Tamlin shouted, causing the red-head to look back over his shoulder. 

“Where am I?” Tamlin asked, needing to know, to have some idea. 

Lucien gave a small smirk, “Why you’re in Prythian, little fawn, welcome to the Spring Court.”

Without another word, he opened the door and closed it behind him. 

Tamlin looked up at the Faery servant, who smiled gently. 

Tamlin met the gesture with a growl. 

In hindsight, he made the poor man’s life so much harder than it needed to be. But either he expected it, or was used to it, as whenever Tamlin refused to cooperate, it was met with indifference and repetition of whatever order he had been given. Whether that be to take off his shirt, sit still for his hair to be brushed, or to even get into the sweet-smelling bathwater. 

He felt a little like an obstinate toddler, but for the Gods sakes, they had kidnapped him. Who in their right mind thought he, of all the people in the world, would go along with this easily? 

The blue Faery only said they had all night whenever Tamlin sat on the floor and glared at the wall. Tamlin reminded him with a snappy tone that they only had fifteen minutes, his words were met with silence, which only served to anger him further. 

Somehow, through patience and a lot of counting to ten, the blue Faery had him clean and sitting at a vanity, glaring at him through the mirror as his nimble finger braided his unruly blond hair into a long braid. 

“You know I was forced here too.” The blue Faery said. At that Tamlin blinked suddenly. 

“What?”

“I come from another land, another Court. The Court of Summer. I was forced to leave when my village was struck. The bandits that plundered my father’s house killed every living person, but missed me as I escaped through the window with my sister.”

“Oh.” Tamlin said, not really knowing how to react. 

“Mm,” he hummed, “We had not a mark on us. We didn’t know where we were going. Our village was the closest to Spring, we accidently crossed over here, into the Spring Court and had no choice but to go further in, hunger pushed us, and my sister died on the walk through the woods.”

“I…” Tamlin suddenly felt incredibly guilty for the way he had been acting, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I carried her all the way through Spring, until eventually the High Lady found me whilst she was patrolling with sentries. Her majesty, bless her reign, took me in and gave me a job in her household. My sister had a proper burial and I have lived here ever since.”

Tamlin fiddled with his fingers. Watching the Faery behind him as his fingers began to weave daises through the braid, “That must have been… scary.”

“It was, I didn’t like being here at first, even though I was just met with kindness. I snapped at a lot of people and worked as alone as I could. But after long enough I grew to love my new position. And I am thankful to the Lady for rescuing me.”

“That’s… that’s good.”

He smiled into the mirror, “Did you have any family?”

Did, as if they were dead, gone, as if he would never see them again. 

He supposed he wouldn’t. Not now that he is here. 

Not that the family he did have were much of a family. 

“Sort of.” Tamlin mumbled, “My two older brothers and my father.”

He nodded, “I see.”

The Faery looked at him as if he expected Tamlin to continue, when Tamlin just stared back blankly he looked back down at the braid he was making. Tamlin cast his eyes down to his rough fingers, scarred from times he had nicked the skin with arrows. 

“There.” He eventually said, “All ready.”

Tamlin looked at his reflection, and barely recognised it. 

His skin was clean and gleaming with hydration from the obscene amount of creams and oils the Faery had forcibly rubbed into his body. His hair was for once, untangled and smooth, braided nicely with some curls peeking out. His hair was curly from his mother’s side, whilst he had his father’s pale complexion. He inherited the impossible curls from his mother. 

The clothes he wore weren’t stained or torn, rather pressed. A white shirt and green waistcoat with golden detailing. Brown trousers, with shiny dark brown, leather shoes. All of it worth more than his brothers would say he was worth. Though his brothers liked to say if they sold him for two marks, someone would bargain for lower. 

“It's time to go.” The blue Faery said, waving him up from the vanity. This time, Tamlin stood with no complaints, which the Faery seemed to be pleased with. 

“What’s your name?” Tamlin found himself asking. Mentally slapping himself. 

“Tain.” He replied, “Yours?”

“Tamlin.” Tamlin murmured. 

“A pleasure to serve you, Tamlin.” Tain said, bowing his head. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Tain.” Tamlin replied, awkwardly bowing his head, not quite sure what to do. 

Tain quickly took him to leave the room. Opening the creaking door Tamlin saw the glorious extent of the interior of the manor. 

It was all gilded and polished and glowing. Large windows with sunlight flooding the halls. Paintings filled the walls. And the white and black chequered tiles in the hallways were covered by handmade, intricate rugs. 

It was all so expensive looking Tamlin found himself open-mouth gawking at it. More than once Tain had to snap at him to close his mouth and move quicker. 

Tamlin obeyed, still reeling a little from Tain’s story. 

It was in no time at all that they were going down a flight of stairs and walking to a room down a hallway, which had the large door wide open, and the sound of two voices arguing flowing from it. 

“You didn’t think to lock the window!” A woman shouted. 

“I didn’t think a human could scale down four stories!” A man shot back. 

“I told you to take precautions-” The woman started to reply before she cut herself off. 

Tamlin and Tain rounded the corner into the room, and Tamlin found himself staring at the two who had caught him earlier. 

Feyre, the beast who had kidnapped him and scared him two ways to death, was sitting at the head of the table. Wearing a gold and green tunic with trousers similar to his own, only more tailored. Her hair, instead of in a braid, was flowing down in waves over her back, with a ring of gold around her head. She leaned her cheek against her head as she looked from Tamlin to Lucien. Her fingers tapping her mask. 

Lucienn was standing behind the seat on Feyre’s right. His eye clicked as he looked over Tamlin. Wearing a blue, fitted tunic and black pants. Rings covering his fingers, and his hair braided back. He regarded Tamlin with a grin, “Tain you work magic once again.”

“Thank you my lord.” Tain bowed low at the waist. 

“Thank you Tain, you may retire.” Feyre said. 

“Thank you, my High Lady.” Tain said, still bowing. After a second, he stood straight and left the room. 

High Lady. Tamlin whipped his eyes back to Feyre, who regarded him with a look of boredom. 

So this was the High Lady, the mistress of this house. 

Of this… Court. 

Lucien slunk down into his seat, not seeming to need confirmation from his Lady. He crossed one leg over the other, and tapped his finger against the arm of his chair, he looked over at Feyre and half-discreetly cleared his throat. 

Feyre shot him a withering glare before looking back at Tamlin, leaning back in her chair and she looked him up and down, “You didn’t manage to escape again.”

Lucien cleared his throat again, louder this time. Tamlin scrutinised him with big green eyes. Feyre glared at him. 

The High Lady, or whatever she was, turned back to him, “What was your name?”

Lucien’s eye roll was made audible by the clicking of his eye. Feyre’s eye twitched rapidly. 

“Why should I tell you that?” Tamlin spat with venom on his tongue. 

“Because if you don’t this is going to be a lot harder for you.” Feyre snarled at him. 

“My Lady.” Lucien murmured in warning. 

Feyre let out something between a sigh and a hiss, “My name is Feyre, his is Lucien.” She said as she jutted a fork towards Lucien. 

“I gathered.” Tamlin said deadpan. 

“You know our names, so I must know yours.” Feyre said, “So?”

Tamlin wondered if that was some kind of Faery bargain exchange, he considered not answering but the look of growing frustration on Feyre’s face told him to just say it, there wasn’t much he would be able to hide for long if he was to be some sort of slave here.

“Tamlin.” He said, “My name is Tamlin.”

“Like the ballad?” Lucien asked, “The Ballad of Tam Lin?”

“Exactly like the Ballad of Tam Lin.” Tamlin watched Lucien from the corner of his eye. 

“Something your mother liked then.” Feyre murmured as she watched Tamlin. 

Tamlin furrowed his brow, “What?”

Feyre shrugged, “I am assuming your father didn’t come up with the name, so your mother did, meaning she liked the Ballad of Tam Lin.”

Tamlin swallowed, “It was her favourite.”

Feyre hummed in acknowledgment, and from the corner of his eye Tamlin saw Lucien give something like an encouraging nod. 

The High Lady sighed quietly and jutted her head to the seat at her left, as she dug her fork and knife into the plate of steaming food before her, “Sit.”

Tamlin remained standing, after a minute passed, Feyre looked up at him through her eyebrows, “Sit.” She commanded again. 

Tamlin crossed his arms and met her scowl with obstinance. 

Unlike Tain, Feyre did not care for his antics, nor cared for patience. 

Something that felt like invisible hands grabbed him, even when he screamed and thrashed, they didn’t relent, pulling him to sit in that seat, then tying him to the chair with invisible ropes. He struggled and pulled and kicked but Feyre just went back to eating. Only Lucien made a slow head turn to Feyre with a look of barely concealed anger. She just shrugged the red-heads expression off. 

“Let me go!” Tamlin shouted. 

“Eat.” She ordered.

“I refuse.” He said. 

“Then starve.” She hissed, “Either way you are not moving.”

“I believe what the High Lady means.” Lucien cut in, “Is that you have to eat eventually, so please would you eat what has been prepared.”

“That isn’t exactly what I meant.” Feyre mumbled through a mouthful of thick steak. 

Even through his stubbornness, Tamlin felt his stomach growling with hunger, he hadn’t eaten anything other than stale crackers and some boiled potatoes in two months. And what he ate before that was little more than tomato soups and salted meat. 

Magic took the plate before him, lifting it with invisible hands and filling it with the meat, vegetables, breads and fruits from the feast before him, before setting it down before him. 

Tamlin stared at the dinner, and his mind went back to what could be happening back in the cottage. 

Remembering the inventory of their kitchen, there were a few boxes of crackers left and some jars of preserved vegetables he had managed to convince his brothers not to eat until the dead of winter, when they would undoubtedly get snowed in and be unable to hunt for any meat. 

Those jars would be gone in a matter of days without Tamlin to mediate his hungry brothers from taking them. Neither had ever cared for long-term survival, not since they fell into poverty. 

“Eat.” The High lady ordered again. 

Tamlin scowled, but when he tugged his right hand, it was released. He took up a fork and began to stab at a roasted carrot. 

“Does the carrot owe you money, Tamlin?” Lucien asked with a laugh in his voice. 

Tamlin shot him a frightful glare and the laughing from his eyes fell away into annoyance, he looked at Feyre and mumbled, “God really did make two of em.”

“Shut your two-faced mouth, Lucien.” Feyre said as she too stabbed at her vegetables. 

Tamlin breathed something of a laugh, at which both of their heads shot up to stare at him. 

The almost laugh was strangled in a second as he growled low again and shoved the mutilated carrot in his mouth. 

Feyre snarled something softly at Lucien and he just grinned at Tamlin, taking a fork and elegantly piercing a potato. 

“So, Tamlin, you wandered to our side, where were you before that?” The fox like Faery asked with a sly look in his eyes. Tamlin didn’t trust it for a second. 

“Why would I tell you that?” He nearly spat. 

Lucien shrugged, “Making conversation.”

“Enough, Lucien.” Feyre said, “We don’t need to listen to your quibbling while we’re eating.”

“Says the great chatterbox High lady.” Lucien said with an eyeroll. Feyre answered with narrowed eyes and a claw appearing on the edge of her finger. Lucien quietened down but not without mumbling something about ‘dramatics.’

A few minutes past in a tense silence. One that had Tamlin’s muscles coiling tighter and tighter with every passing second. 

Finally all the tension seemed to snap in him and he asked, “Why am I here?”

Both Faeries went still, too still, in a way that Tamlin couldn’t see a flicker of movement, not even in their breathing. It unnerved him and suddenly he wished he hadn’t asked. 

Feyre glanced at Lucien before she ultimately said, “You listened to the singing winds and came to us, but that you are bound to our world.”

The answer made little sense to him. Tamlin found his eyes narrowing even further, “You tricked me.”

Feyre scoffed, “Tricked? The singing winds send out a song every seven years, it isn’t our fault that your kind doesn’t want against our magic playing.” 

***

Sitting at the edge of a brook, Tamlin picked up a smooth, round stone. Briefly running his thumb over the surface. Barely a rough spot on its steel grey top. Casting green eyes over the gentle stream of crystal clear water running in between rocks and over slopes, heading downhill into the forest. He aggressively tossed the rock into the water, watching it splash. Droplets splattered across the sleeve of his white shirt. 

Footsteps echoed behind him, making him jolt slightly, he cast his eyes over his shoulder and saw the form heading for him. 

Her hair was in it’s usual braid, hanging behind her hair. Pretty face carved with lines of exhaustion, her stormy eyes were softer than usual, having a kinder tint to them. Her hands were folded neatly behind her. Wearing brown hunting pants and a green tunic with a bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back. Her belt was filled with hunting knives, all carved to the handle resembled the bud of a rose. 

Tamlin turned back around, another stupid decision, to turn his back on a Faery creature. But he had so far been here a month and they hadn’t killed him yet. 

Feyre sat down beside him. Spreading one leg out and bending the other up. 

“So.” She started, her voice a gentle hum, though there was an air of awkwardness as she tried to come up with what to say, “how has your day been so far?”

Tamlin threw her a suspicious look, narrowing his eyes as he hesitantly responded, “Fine.”

She nodded, meeting his glare with an almost glare of her own before she seemed to catch herself and turned back to the bubbling brook. 

“You like hunting right?” She asked, seeming to find something to talk about. 

At that he cast her a strange look, “Where did you get that idea?”

She shrugged as she leaned back on the palms of her hands, stretching out both legs, “You had a bow and quiver full of very sharp arrows that day I found you in the woods. You seemed to know how to handle them. Therefore you must hunt.”

He answered the Faery with a shrug of his own, drawing some kind of stick figure in the ground, “I hunt out of necessity.”

She blinked at that, tilting her head in a near animalistic manner. It caused Tamlin’s heart to start thumping against his ribcage, like an animal remembering they were prey in a dog’s kennel. 

“Interesting.” She murmured. A ray of sun peeked through the folds of the leaves above and shone across Feyre’s face. Her freckles seemed to glow in the gold in the air. She lifted her chin up ever so slightly, as if basking in the added warmth on her. 

Tamlin looked away again as his heart kept beating faster and faster. 

***

“You’re kidding.” Tamlin hid his own laugh behind his palm. 

Feyre flopped back into the grass behind her, crushing wildflowers. They framed the back of her glowing, locks of burnt honey hair. She grinned up at him with sparkling eyes, “Nope. I scared that fox so much he grabbed the chandelier.”

“I didn’t think he’d be so easily spooked.” Not at all, though it was a very fun idea to think of Lucien being scared shitless by Feyre appearing out of a closet so suddenly. Tamlin stared down at the Faery woman below him. She held his eyes as her hand lifted off the soft grass. Brushing a golden strand behind his ear. 

“How are you faring here?” She asked in a quieter voice. 

As the months had gone on, Tamlin had found himself getting more and more used to this new world. Coming to a deeper understanding that he wasn’t going home and quickly learning to not mourn that fact. It was nice that he didn’t have to share a bed with his horrible brothers any longer, but the fact that he could not know for certain if his family was fine did eat away at him a little. 

“I am concerned for my family, but I am learning how to live here.” Tamlin revealed, a sliver closer into him. He had been letting her get closer and closer. Feyre hadn’t at first seemed someone to care about what went on in his head, but as the days went on, he found himself more and more drawn into her. 

Feyre gave a small smile, “If it's of any condolences. I did have quite the sum of money sent to them.”

Tamlin’s eyes suddenly snapped down to Feyre once more, “What?”

“After I figured out about your family, and where they were located, I sent them money, a nice house and a carriage. They are well-cared for.”

“How…” How did she find them?

Feyre just winked, “Call it magic.”

“You are…” Tamlin let out a breathless laugh as he lightly smacked her arm. She laughed hard, as she forced herself to sit up. To look over the rolling hills, grazing the edge of the horizon. The sun setting in the distance allowed for oranges, reds, purples and pinks to pain the sky with a thousand different brush strokes. Tamlin watched it all with a cocked head, before he turned to Feyre. What he saw made him blink as he watched her. 

Her eyes were set on the horizon and on the myriad of colours. The sheer amount of diversity in the sky seemed to make her light up. She folded her arms around her knees as she stared off into the distance. Seemingly oblivious to anything or anyone outside of it. 

“I would paint this.” Feyre sighed. 

“You paint?” Tamlin asked, another strange thing he had learned about the Faery. He tucked it away in the deep corner of his mind. 

“Yeah.” Feyre hummed. Before she quickly straightened out and her face went blank. 

“I used to,” She clarified, “then… then a blight came over Prythian and I just haven't had the time for such things anymore.”

“Why don’t you paint now?’ Tamlin asked. 

“Excuse me?” Feyre reacted before Tamlin even realized he had blurted the words out. His stupid tongue revealing his own stupid thoughts. Only to be born with a filter. 

‘I said.” Tamlin started to repeat, “Why don’t you paint right now?”

She blinked again at him, those big eyes boring into him as she studied his frame. 

“Maybe,” A small smile graced her lips, “You think I should?”

“Yes,” Tamlin answered, “I absolutely think you should.”

‘I want you too,’ He was trying to say. ‘I want you too.’

“Okay,” she said, “Okay then.”

With a wave of her hand suddenly a sketchbook appeared as well as a tray of paints and water and brushes. She glanced over at Tamlin's curious eyes as she picked up a brush.

She smiled gently, more gentle than any smile he had seen from her yet, she grabbed a nearby brush and with another flick of her wrist another sketchbook appeared in her hand. Feyre handed it over to him, causing Tamlin to furrow his brows. 

What's this for? He asked.

“For you,” she said with an eye roll to which Tamlin shook his head.

“I don't paint.”

You can try,” Was all she answered with.

Who was he to argue with that?

So he did.

He did paint and he was awful at it, in fact it was a monstrosity that they both laughed at until their stomach hurt. Tamlin let the sketchbook in his hands slip onto the grassy floor, not wanting to look at the horror of pink and blue he had created any longer. He glanced over Feyre's shoulder. Where she was hunched over herself, painting with quick, precise strokes that mesmerized him.

And the work she made, the painting itself... Dear God.

The brush strokes were never ending, and the color blended into the page creating a timeless, seamless picture. Near a replica of the ever-fading sunset before them. Tamlin stared at the picture, the rolling hills and dark trees on the horizon. The buttery sun fading away and giving off a gradient of colors that eventually etched the night sky and the twinkling stars started to spot like the freckles on Feyre's face.

Tamlin awe must have shown on his face for Feyre blushed hard and coughed, “It's not that good but I-”

“Feyre look at my painting then at yours and tell me yours isn’t good again.” He told her, never taking his eyes off the sketch in her hands.

Feyre laughed hard at that, and Tamlin decided something right there and then.

Maybe being kidnapped by a Faery Queen wasn’t all that bad. 

@tamlinweek

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode nationale, no. 22, 2 juin 1894, Paris. No. 10. — Corsage de lainage Suède. No. 14. — Corsage en drap vert-Nil. No. 16. — Pèlerine-collet en moire noire. No. 18. — Corsage de mousseline de soie. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 10. — Corsage de lainage Suède. Corsage plat, orné dans le haut par un plastron de velours noir, encadré dans une cordelière même nuance, nouée en trèfle sur le devant; ceinture noire. Manches gigot.

No. 10. — Suede wool bodice. Flat bodice, decorated at the top with a black velvet bib, framed in a cord of the same shade, tied in a cloverleaf pattern on the front; black belt. Lamb sleeves.

—

No. 14. — Corsage en drap vert-Nil, à basques sur les hanches. Devant, grands revers directoire encadrant un plastron de guipure de Venise; choux de ruban fermant le corsage à la taille. Manches gigot, recouvertes du hat par des jockeys partant de l'encolure; col montant.

No. 14. — Bodice in Nile green cloth, with peplums on the hips. In front, large directoire reverses framing a Venetian guipure plastron; ribbon bows closing the bodice at the waist. Leg sleeves, covered with the hat by jockeys starting from the neckline; collar.

—

No. 16. — Pèlerine-collet en moire noire. Le haut de la pèlerine forme empiècement garni par une bande droite gaufrée, séparée de l'empiècement par une berthe de dentelle; au bas, deux rangs en dentelle formant volant. Col montant, surmonté d'une ruche.

No. 16. — Cape collar in black moire. The top of the cape is in the form of a yoke trimmed with a straight embossed band, separated from the yoke by a berthe of lace; at the bottom, two rows of lace forming a flounce. High collar, topped with a ruffle.

—

No. 18. — Corsage de mousseline de soie noire. Devant froncé à la taille et mis dans la jupe sous ceinture drapée en moire noire. Il est encadré dans un fichu de guipure blanche faisant pointes devant et rond derrière. Manches courtes, bouillonnées, recouvertes par deux volants de mousseline de soie indéplissable.

No. 18. — Black silk muslin bodice. Front gathered at the waist and tucked into the skirt under a draped belt in black moire. It is framed in a white guipure kerchief with points in front and round behind. Short, bubbled sleeves, covered by two ruffles of non-wrinkle silk chiffon.