#I just returned from a nightmarish journey I am never going back I love you guys

[anyataylorjoys]

Bro how does anyone still have a twitter account at this point... watched D'Angelo's twitter video and there are so many conservative gays who are transphobic on there it's insane and it's more than a corner community, it's like everyone on there being openly transphobic, homophobic and racist, the algorithms of twitter actually promote this kind of rage-bait to your dashboard no matter how many times you attempt to curate your space to not see that type of content. That place is a cesspool and needs to be destroyed it's actually terrifying and worse than I knew about.

[sillybayo]

A Welcome Surprise

(Originally posted on AO3 on 3/10/23. You can also read this on fanfiction.net)

A post-verdant wind/golden deer route t4t Khalid x Byleth fic, with fluff and only mild discomfort.

~~~

The giggling couple rushed into the bedroom, and Khalid shut the door behind him singlehandedly as Byleth tugged his shirt and kissed him deeply. They weren't planning on doing anything intensely private anytime soon, or at all. Both of their feelings on the matter were complicated, and would rather save that for another time. But what they did want to do right now was show how much love they've been holding back for years. Khalid has just returned from his time opening Fódlans throat, and after months of reunions and greetings, he and Byleth finally have time to themselves.

Though mostly shaved, his beard still prickled the end of Byleth's chin the longer their lips locked on his. They figured to kiss him elsewhere, so their hands trailed down his chest and they pressed gentle kisses down his neck, which got a good few giggles out of him. Byleth smiled at that, they never knew Khalid was ticklish until then. But they continued their journey, and steadily unbuttoned his shirt all the way down to the bottom..and once they were finished, they found a pleasant surprise.

It was scars.

Two dark brown scars underneath where Khalid's breasts would be, lined carefully in a semicircle like shape. In between it was a decently sized patch of hair, enough to tell it was still growing, but it seems like it's been there for a while.

It shocked Byleth at first—they thought they were laying their eyes on yet another nightmarish wound on someone close to them, and Khalid was going to faint any moment now and never open his eyes again. But once they took the moment to ground themselves, they felt excitement bubbling up inside. Finally, after so long, they've met someone who ended up changing their gender. And that person was no other than their soon to be husband.

Meanwhile, Khalid's breath was hitched and his eyes were awaiting. He knew Byleth wouldn't think differently of him, they too have changed pronouns and names. Although, their body and how it developed was much different than everyone else's, but they didn't share the details due to reasonably stating the question was too invasive. He found great comfort in being close to someone who went through the same struggle to an extent, of going through such a big change that required so much support. He even admired them for being so brave to share something so personal. He just…hadn't been able to tell them about it.

Not that he was ashamed—far from it—he just didn't think it was that important. There were much more pressing matters like grades, training, fights, and a whole war. He always wondered what his friends and fiancée would think..would they shower him with love, or continue treating him the same way? Both were supportive responses, though he still felt a difference between the two. Hatred was another option that he didn't want to think about. He pushed the possibility out of his mind, such unreasonable malice would never come from the one and only Byleth. But the possibility still haunted him in the back of his mind…

But now here he is, alone with his love, his shirt opened and reassignment scars exposed, and Byleth stared.

"A-are these surgery scars?!"

"Yeah..uhm.." Khalid finally regained his breath and found his voice, returning to his usual confident tone. "Do you like them? Don't be ashamed, you can stare as long as you'd like." He instantly cringed at that statement, but it only made his beloved chuckle.

"I love them..in fact, I think they make you even more handsome." Byleth planted a kiss in the area in-between his neck and shoulder, and another little laugh came out of him. "I'm glad to discover this about you, you're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Warmth creeped up on his face, and his heart felt full. "I sure am." Khalid says, relieved. What was he so nervous about again? Their smile was so sweet, and their voice sounded like a melody. The moment made him forget about all of his worries, as if they're the only people in the universe. As if there weren't countries and kingdoms to look over.

Byleth continued to place kisses on his naked brown chest, in contrast to their beige hands gently holding his sides. He, too, held them closely into a hug. His cheek rested on top of their head, and he hummed sweetly at the affection. He hasn't felt so warm and safe in years, and he didn't want to back away anytime soon.

[star-going-supernova]

Fanwork creators self rec! When you get this, reply with your five favorite fics/art/podfics/etc. that you've made, then pass on to others. Let’s spread the self-love 🌼

(No pressure if you don't want to though!)

What a wonderful ask to wake up to! A tall order, tho, so I had to think about this for a bit, and it was harder than I thought it'd be. I've got a lot of favorites! Here are my top five favorite works of my own, not in any particular order:

The Art of Being Alive — Bendy and the Ink Machine

What would you expect if your former best friend wanted to see you again after seven years of silence?  Not this, Henry thought viciously as he swung his axe back and forth, like a murderous metronome. Never this. Or; an AU where Joey invites Henry back after less than a decade, because he discovers that only Henry’s drawings work in the Ink Machine. It's all downhill from there.

Of course this story is on my list. TAoBA was my first big project, fic or otherwise, and it will always hold a special place in my heart. I learned so much by writing this story, and while I'd do some things differently now, after years more practice and experience, TAoBA still makes me so incredibly proud. I met a lot of friends and amazing people through this fic, genuinely had so much fun with it, and I credit it and BatIM as a whole for where I am today as a fic writer.

• • •

Side Effects of Friendship — Little Nightmares

Six deciding to save Mono in the Signal Tower was only the beginning.  (this is a good-end, no-loop AU of my own making, as part of my quest to give these kids a happy ending)

Is it cheating to put a whole series as just one entry? I say no, lol. This AU and series is one of my favorites for a number of reasons. It's a very cohesive story, which I'm super proud of, and the journey I put the kids through mentally, emotionally, and physically was just so dang fun to write. I was super excited as I worked up to and hinted at the surprise twist at the end, and I really enjoyed taking this nightmarish world and expanding it in my own way. The themes of healing really seemed to resonate with a lot of people, and that also makes me super proud of this set of stories.

• • • 

Flood and Firestorm — Bendy and the Ink Machine

But it must have paused near his corridor because there was no way to ignore it. And the words registered. “…the Ink Demon’s refusal to terminate. Keepers have administered quarter hourly sessions of physical tortures—” Henry’s eyes snapped up. The kindling caught. (Henry overhears a Keeper making an audio log about how they're torturing the Ink Demon and goes ballistic.)

I've got a lot of BatIM fics that I'm super proud of, but this one makes the list because I am just so pleased and proud of a lot of the language in this fic. This was one of the first ones I wrote upon my return to the BatIM fandom, and I love it a whole lot. Henry gets to go a little bit feral, too, and that was a genuine blast to write. I've returned to reread this one a whole bunch of times.

• • •

93% Stardust — Godzilla

Indignation on his behalf, lingering irritation at Monarch, determination to help—she held on to those feelings. They’d gotten her this far, and if she forget why she was about to throw herself headfirst into the head of a giant mech with Ghidorah of all monsters at the helm, then she might as well give up now.  She slid the helmet on, squeezing her eyes shut as she did, and it was like being struck by lightning.  It was like becoming lightning. (I can't be the only one who wanted Maddie to get in the pilot seat, c'mon)

This one makes the list solely because of how much I love the final product. The abstract section was so much fun to write, and I still love the idea of Maddie getting into Mechagodzilla's head. The self-indulgence for this one was off the charts, which makes this one of my favorites!

• • •

Poetic Justice — Five Nights at Freddy's

tumblr prompt: In one world, Glitchtrap is nothing but Afton and code, forcing Vanessa into the role of Vanny in order to create Afton a new body. In another, Glitchtrap is Spring Bonnie’s original personality (before Afton), and he and Vanessa are looking for the last remains of Afton in order to destroy it for good… and just watched Gregory casually find it after months of searching. (Or, Vanessa's going to have a headache by the end of tonight.)

This one might be a surprise to some people, but I absolutely love this one-shot. The concept, the characters, the potential... it all just ticks a few very specific boxes in my brain, lol. I've gone back to reread this one many times, and I usually end up imagining different first meetings between Gregory and Michael afterward.

• • •

Honorable Mentions:

Taking the Plunge — Godzilla

This one didn't make the cut only because I had other favorites. If the list was a Top 6 or 7 favorites, this one would have been on it too.

Heavy as a Hurricane — Godzilla

I still hope to finish this one eventually, but it's an honorable mention because every time I reread it, I go "dang, hope the author updates someday, this is really good" before remembering that... ah. Yes. The author is me.

Body and Soul — Bendy and the Ink Machine

It was my first story back in the BatIM fandom after years away. Love, love, love the concept still.

the line between freedom and surrender — Bendy and the Ink Machine

This one nearly made the list because it really hits the spot for me. I'm really proud of the dialogue in this one.

see what i've become (i will no longer feed the machine) (strings 'verse) — Five Nights at Freddy's

I'm very proud of the healing in this series, in the first and last stories especially.

[jooniyah]

Poison Apple : The Second

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Fem Reader ; Min Yoongi x Fem Reader

AU: Yandere!au, Moneylender!Taehyung

Genre: Angst, Mature, Smut rated R

Warnings: NON CON, Hard Yandere behavior, kidnapping, implied forced pregnancy, emotional abuse, violence, blackmail, character death, voluntary starvation, degradation and physical abuse, slapping, cum play, manipulation, profanity, smut, blood, knives, guns, assassins, and murder.

Word count: 22.91 K

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction and I do not condone any of the actions of the characters in this fiction. This is to be treated as pure fantasy, and should not be misconstrued to be demeaning the idols in any way. If any of the above warnings cause you discomfort, kindly refrain from reading.

This is a non-consensual setting, please proceed only if you are not triggered by the warnings. All warnings for Chapter 1 apply. I repeat, please be sure to read all the warnings carefully.

Author’s note:  This is the second chapter of the Poison Apple Trilogy. Please make sure to read Part 1 before proceeding. 

Chapter 1   |    Chapter 2 

The man clad in black adjusted the scope of his M107 rifle, making sure his reticle was in perfect position. As he waited for his target, he did a quick sweep of the terraces of the adjacent buildings. No one was about. A faint slippery sheen of dew covered the cracked floors of the terrace he was positioned on. Any time now. He looked at the neon digits glowing on his watch.

Overhead, his skilled ears could pick out the droning of an approaching airplane. His skin felt clammy, possibly due to the side effect of his beta-blockers. Well, he’d finish the job and go have a well-earned vacation. Cold hands weren’t a big side effect, not when his pills gave him razor-sharp precision at shooting. The gangway of the cruise liner was slowly opened to allow passengers on board. The time had come.

He carefully combed his eyes through the influx of passengers, seeking the one face he was looking for. He didn’t even need to take the photo out of his pocket. He had committed the face to memory. And no disguise could fool him, he was ready for everything the target might try to pull off.

Time ticked on. People were walking on the gangway, boarding the ship, waving to their loved ones. But the target was not to be found anywhere. The described person hadn’t arrived, and the sniper had assumed that he could catch the target on the gangway. But as his professional eyes raked through the humans on board, he knew he was wasting his time. He remained in position, watching on as the ship sounded the final horn before gliding smoothly out onto the sea. He dialed the only number on his burner phone.

“Yes?” The tone sounded shrill and eager.

“A no-show. I repeat, it was a no-show.”

“What? Are you sure you didn’t miss-“?

“I never miss a target.”

There was a deep frustrated sigh.

“Fine. Abort and return.”

The sniper proceeded to pack up his gear and prepared to leave.

On the other end of the line, the figure exhaled sharply, muttering curses and bemoaning the failure. Just then, a dark outline materialized in the doorway, causing the figure to jump up, body numb with defeat.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I won’t repeat my question again, Mrs.Min.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Then, answer me.”

You remained motionless, staring at the hard-grey table, fingers interweaved.

“Well?” The officer raised his voice, rapping on the table.

“I told you the truth.”

The man scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

“Listen, lady. You know your story sounds shit stupid, right?”

Your voice broke into a whisper.

“But it is true.”

He rolled his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Mr. Kim killed your husband? For you? He’s obsessed with you?”

“Yes.”

“You are giving yourself way too much credit, lady.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to look at him. He clicked his tongue.

“Well, if your absurd story is true, where is your husband’s body?”

“I don’t know.”

He tsked under his breath. “So what proof do you have to tie Mr.Kim to this alleged murder?”

“None.”

He got up abruptly, shaking his head in irritation. He pointed a finger at you.

“You’re wasting my time. And for the record, Mr.Kim has been nothing but helpful in this investigation.”

You slowly raised your head. “What? What did he say?”

“Do you good to hear it and weave another absurd story, wouldn’t it?”

You watched him hesitate at the door, his hand resting on the handle. “If you are so innocent, Mrs. Min, why didn’t you report your husband missing?”

An angry fuse went off in your brain.

“Why would I report him missing, if he was already dead?”

“Can you afford an attorney, Mrs.Min?”

“I-What?”

The officer stared at you, pursed his lips, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The court-appointed attorney was a tall, curvy woman in her early thirties. She looked calm and had an air of high maintenance about her. You wondered how she could have accepted to defend you. Maybe the woman did pro-bono work. She probably had rich clients. Rich. You were once rich. When Yoongi was alive. Yoongi. A bitter feeling coursed through your heart.

Another detective accompanied the officer who had previously interrogated you. They settled across you and the attorney, scraping chairs on the floor as they took their seats.

“Well, Mrs. Min,” the officer began, “we understand you have mortgaged all your property.”

“Yes.”

“So, what happened to the money?” The officer flicked through papers on a clipboard. “50 million dollars, wasn’t it?”

The second detective pushed himself forward. “More importantly, where is your husband?”

A dull throb started in your temples and seared across your skull. You could shout yourself hoarse that Yoongi was dead, but none of these people would believe you.

When he received no reply, the detective persisted.

“You got rid of him because you wanted the money to yourself, didn’t you?”

The attorney interjected in a harsh tone.

“My client will not answer that.”

“You hid the money someplace, so you could go and retrieve it later.”

“Officer, you will not harass my client like this.”

“I won’t, if she agrees to speak the truth.”

The woman turned to you; harsh impatience evident on the curl of her lips.

“Not a word, Y/N.”

You nodded weakly. You had told everything to the cops already. No one believed in you, not one soul believed that Kim Taehyung murdered Min Yoongi to obtain you. It was nightmarish to go on a walk, people threw such malicious looks your way. What had you ever done to deserve this?

The officers poked and prodded for some more time, and finally packed their papers and left. While you walked out of the interrogation room, your attorney asked you to join her for lunch. You attempted to decline; you weren’t in the mood for lunch. Or anything for that matter.

But you had nowhere to return to, except straight into Taehyung’s world. It was better to prolong the journey back. Besides, the attorney told you that she wanted to discuss a few case details with you over lunch. Automatically, your feet started following her.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The minute you sat down to lunch, you understood that it was a ruse. She neither ordered food for herself nor did she suggest you to. As soon as the waiter turned, she dipped her head low and spoke rapidly:

“I hear that they are bringing in a solid witness to testify against you.”

The surprise caught you off-guard.

“But I didn’t do anything. What is the person going to testify about?”

“That you knew Yoongi was mortgaging your property and you jumped on the opportunity to get the money.”

“But that’s insane! I never-“

There was a haughty roll of her eyes that sparked bitter anger in you. She looked at you as if you were kidding.

“Oh, come on, doll. You can tell me the truth. I’m the only person you can trust.”

Her judging gaze made you want to punch her in the face.

“You think I – I am guilty? You don’t trust me?” Your tone grew louder and a few people turned to glance at you. “Why the hell did you agree to defend me then?”

“Pipe down,” she hissed, looking around herself self-consciously. “They have a witness and a story that sounds better than yours.”

“And that means I’m guilty? Because my story sounds ridiculous?”

She shrugged as if she didn’t care. She took her phone out, swiping on it mindlessly. There was nothing except for the clink of glasses and cutlery around you before she spoke again.

“I want you to consider a plea deal.”

“And why would I, when I’m clearly not guilty?” You folded your hands defiantly, surveying her with a hard stare.

“This is not a simple Missing Person search. You are a person of interest in this case as a possible murderer.”

“They haven’t yet found the body.” Your tongue had a metallic taste when you uttered the word.

“Yet.” She let the words sink in. “But they have proof that you stole the money.”

“Stole? That’s my husband’s money! I was taking it to save him.”

“You know what, Y/N? This story is so silly. You are going overboard with the obsession angle.” She leaned back and lit a cigarette. “You know what really happened?”

She paused and exhaled smoke in your direction, tilting her head to look at you more closely.

“You knew your husband owed Kim Taehyung money. You urged him to mortgage your property. He was probably unwilling. So, you pledged all your property and got the money. The money was in your house. It was easy cash. Min Yoongi was anyway going to be penniless after that, so-“

“Stop it!” Your scream turned a lot of heads.

“Allow me to finish.”

“No, stop it! Stop it right now!”

She smirked lazily. “-So why lose the cash and end up with him? It’s easy, you killed him and took off with the money. You stashed the money and never intended to show up again. Not before someone reported Yoongi missing, that is.”

“It wasn’t like that! You are fucking wrong!”

She blew a smoke ring, not minding your distress in the least. “But that is what the prosecution is bringing to court. And they have a witness who saw you lugging all the money and fleeing the house in your nightclothes.” She paused to laugh. “Couldn’t wait to even get properly dressed?”

Her phone chimed, and she looked down. Just as quickly, she grabbed her coat and briefcase, making haste to get out. You stood up to follow, but she laid a hand on your shoulder and sat you down again.

“He’ll be coming now. Remember what I said, the prosecutor’s going to have a field day with your story.”

She was out of earshot even before you could frame the words: “He? Who?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You knew who was walking towards you before you even saw his face. Him. The man who had killed your husband. The man who you were trying to prolong going back to. Kim Taehyung.

He weaved his way through the tables at the restaurant, reaching your side like a piece of metal drawn to a magnet. He took his Aviators off, mussing his dark bangs out of his eyes as he sat down opposite you.

You got up to leave, and his hand shot through the air to grip your forearm.

“Sit down, honey.” His face was open and pleasant, but his eyes were unreadable. “You haven’t had lunch yet.”

The grip tightened, and you settled back down, a scowl on your face as you did so. You never dulled your scorching glare while he called the waiter and ordered food. After the waiter left, he turned to you.

“It’s been two weeks since it happened, Y/N. How much longer do you want me to wait?”

Tears pricked your eyes. Two weeks before, you had kissed Yoongi in Taehyung’s basement for what you hadn’t known would be the last time ever. You had been taken to another cottage of Taehyung’s after it happened. You had refused to eat or talk; you had been consumed in grief. Suddenly, a day ago, Wo Bin had tossed you in a car, and he had dropped you off at a hotel room. That same afternoon, the cops had found you and taken you in for questioning.

“Y/N?” Taehyung’s deep voice broke into your thoughts. “I’m talking to you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you.”

“I’d rather go to prison; I’ll at least be free from your clutches.”

He snickered, flashing a boxy smile at you. If you didn’t know better, you’d call that an innocent grin. He leaned towards you, the smile still turning up the corners of his mouth.

“You? In prison? Oh , baby, that’s not a place for a princess like you.” His gaze dropped down before he looked into your eyes again. “Especially a pregnant princess.”

He watched the way your face twisted. The waiter brought the food, laying down the plates swiftly before you. Taehyung smiled at him in amiable politeness, waited for him to leave and resumed without missing a beat:

“You will have to give birth in prison, you’ll lose your baby after 18 months anyway. You don’t have relatives, so your baby will most definitely go into the system for foster care. Do you want that?”

You had no answer. You hadn’t thought of it ever happening, to be honest.

“It’s also possible you’ll be sentenced to many long years in prison. By the time you get out, your baby would be an adult.”

He saw the way your lips trembled as you digested the facts he was presenting. He bent down and sipped a spoonful of his soup. You looked at his bent head, weighing your options.

“It’s better than-“

Before you could say any further, he cut you short, raising his hand.

“I must say I look forward to adopting your baby.”

He grinned smoothly as he saw you sputter in dismay. God, you were so cute.

“What? Why would you? You don’t care about Yoongi’s baby.”

“Well, true, but the baby is part bastard and part angel. I like to focus on the fact that half of you will be with me as I await your return.”

He slurped the noodles in his soup with a flourish. “I can pull some strings to get the baby assigned to me.” He wiped his mouth with a tissue delicately, watching you the entire time.

“Don’t make me hate you even more, Kim Taehyung.”

He reached over the table, trying to take your hand, but you flicked it away. He sighed and shook his head.

“Eat up, Y/N. That attorney of yours kept you waiting without even offering food.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. She was probably working for him. He seemed to have a lot of people wound around his little finger. Except you. You fell silent, eating without looking up once.

The table was silent until he cleared his throat.

“I want you to think all this through and decide if you want me to help you.”

You scoffed at him. “Help me? How? Do you own the Justice Department too?”

He looked unfazed. A tiny smile played on his lips. “Eat and we’ll talk at the hotel.”

You fell silent again, but the question wormed its way out of your mouth despite your control.

“Why am I staying in that hotel? You didn’t take me to your house.”

“Because you mortgaged your house, you ran away with the money, and I don’t know you apart from the occasional meetings in the elite parties. In the past, when poor Mr. Min was alive, of course.”

“You don’t know me? Are you fucking kidding me, Taehyung?”

His boxy smile returned. Though these were not exactly favorable circumstances, the fact that you were so prettily angry made his heart warm. You were mad at him because he said he didn’t know you? A small jealous part of his heart sang in joy. Even if those words were uttered with hate, he was certain you would love him if you got to know him better. Until then, the subtle undercurrent would have to suffice.

“Like I said, we’ll talk about this at the hotel, Y/N.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

When you reached the hotel room, Taehyung opened the door, motioning for you to go in.

“After you, my darling.”

Once you were inside, he took off your coat, brushing his fingers against your bare arms, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. You could hear him sigh heavily behind you, and you spun around to face him.

“Get on with it.”

He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “You mean, get on with making love to you?”

You swatted the hand that was ghosting your shoulder, your tone drenched in spite.

“You know what I meant, Taehyung. What the hell were you talking about at the restaurant?”

He pouted his lips and his face fell. “Oh. That.” He sighed again, walking over to the bed.

He sat down, patting the bed to indicate that you were supposed to sit down too. When you didn’t comply, he yanked you by the arm, making you sit in his lap. A hand reached to your side to pinch you in case you squirmed. By then, you knew better than to resist. He rested the side of his head on your shoulder, whistling softly.

“Baby, you’re going to be sent away for a long time.”

“For what? Don’t play your games with me, Kim Taehyung.”

He turned you so you were facing him. There was animation in his eyes, so unlike the usual blank stare. It looked almost as if he were sad.

“You’re going to be tried for the murder of your husband.”

You tried to jump up, and a sharp pinch stilled you into position. “But I didn’t kill him.”

He used his free hand to brush away the tears, his touch feathery light and exceptionally gentle.

“Even if they don’t find the body, there’s a lot of evidence for reasonable doubt, and that’s enough for the jury.”

A sudden tic made your lips tremble. He held you patiently, waiting for it to subside.

“What evidence?”

His eyes softened.

“Some blood. DNA.” He watched your expression as he added: “The fact that you mortgaged the property, got the money, and fled.”

“But I didn’t-” Your brows furrowed for a second before it struck you. “Bong Ju.”

He nodded without answering. He watched you work things out in your mind. He always admired your smartness. But after Yoongi died, you had become kind of slow at thinking through stuff. He wished you would get better quickly so he could pounce on you.

“So, what happens next? You kill my husband, put me in prison, and then take my child?”

He didn’t say anything, quietly looking at the beaded tears on the corners of your eyes.

“I can help you. I can make it all go away.”

Something made you squirm on his lap. To your utter horror, you discovered what it was. You hit his jaw, making him gasp. Pushing yourself off of his lap, you screamed, boiling with rage.

“You’re hard? This is making you hard? What kind of sick bastard are you?”

The scream didn’t have any effect on him. He kept staring at you, eyes burning with primal hunger. Watching you stand before him, face red in anger and nose flaring, made him feel things.

His voice was soft, almost inaudible. “You do that to me.” He reached out to grasp your hand again, and pulled you down so you were almost straddling him.

“Listen Y/N. You have made me wait long enough. I will say this only once, so you better pay attention.”

You struggled in his arms, trying to get away from him. But a hand firmly cupped your jaw and pulled you close to his face.

“Fucking. Listen.”

You nodded wordlessly, and he relaxed his hold on your jaw.

“Two scenarios. One, plead guilty and go to prison. They’ll try you for the murder too. Two, plead innocent and still go to prison. I’ve planted enough evidence to support both scenarios. And you’ll lose the baby in both cases.”

He looked at you chastely, eyes wide and sincere.

“I have both the prosecutor and the defense attorney ready to handle it either way. Any proof of your innocence turns up, your attorney will quash it down. She is very thorough. Your friend Jung Hoseok is already being watched.”

“You bought both the prosecutor and the attorney?”

“Money, baby. It’s what drives them all.”

“And? You want me to dance to your tune, don’t you? What is it?”

He smiled again, and the smile reached his eyes.

“Three, you walk away from all this. Innocent. Your baby lives.”

“In exchange for what?”

His eyes sparkled, and his hands softly squeezed the side of your hips.

“Marry me.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“What do you want, Se Jong?”

The man perched on the hood of the car didn’t flinch.

Wo Bin exhaled in irritation. He had other pressing matters to deal with. He had errands to run for his boss. The white folded paper was still in his pocket, making his mind itch to get on with it. The boss had given him the paper and asked him to find the man matching what was written on it. Strange order, but his boss probably had his reasons. He shook the thoughts away and focused on the man who was eating his time.

“Unlike you, I have work to do, Se Jong. Spit it out.”

The man addressed as Se Jong shrugged his shoulders, leaning back lazily on the car’s windshield.

“I don’t know man.”

Wo Bin ground his teeth.

“Why did you ask to meet me then?”

“I want more.”

“You already get more than enough.”

“Not as much as you do.”

Wo Bin’s nose flared. Having served in the military, it always hurt his pride to be compared to a civilian goon.

“I am not a bank robber like you, Se Jong. You’re not even a good shot. It’s a mystery why the boss still has you around.”

It was already a known fact that Kim Taehyung only employed the best of the best.  Wo Bin often wondered what a dimwit like Se Jong was doing in his Taehyung’s fleet.

“Banker. How do you think the boss stashes his money if he doesn’t have people in the bank pulling strings for him?”

“Get to the point, Jong.”

“I said it already I want more. I want you to talk to the boss for me.”

“Consider it never done.”

Wo Bin turned his back and stormed away, leaving the man on the car seething in anger. Little did he know that Se Jong wasn’t as harmless as he seemed.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The courtroom was jam-packed. Your attorney had told you that the first sitting was just to warm the jury up to the facts of the case. But the sheer number of people in the gallery made you feel intimidated. Well, it was a case concerning the Min family. More importantly, Min Yoongi’s wife was on trial.

The prosecutor, Kang Minsook, made his opening statements, addressing the jury and accusing you of grand larceny. You watched on, neurons firing in your brain, as the prosecutor spun a splendidly woven tale of how you married Yoongi for money, felt cheated when he fell into debt, decided it was time to take the money for yourself, and fled.

Kim Taehyung was seated in the spectator area, dressed in his best of blacks, watching on as the prosecutor piled wrong information, wrapping up the lies smoothly with a few bits of truth so that it looked dirty, but believably so.

Your attorney made her opening statements, but they fell flat in front of the prosecutor’s powerful story of lies. One glance at the jury told you that none of them were buying the version of the case that the defense was presenting.

The judge turned to you.

“Mrs. Min, in this accusation of grand larceny, how do you plead?”

Your eyes swept over the jury. No soft glances were aimed towards you. You then looked at Taehyung, sitting with an air of regality as if he were presiding over the courtroom. Stretching yourself to your full height, you replied quietly:

“Not guilty, your Honor.”

A smile slowly spread across Taehyung’s lips.

The prosecutor was on his feet as soon as he got permission to start.

“I’d like to call the prosecution’s first witness, your Honor.”

You strained to see who was the witness. A tall man you knew only too well rose from the bench and took the witness stand. It was surely not the bald man you were expecting to see.

“Mr. Kim, please state your name and occupation for the sake of the court.”

The man looked straight ahead, flexing the muscles in his jaw. It made him look arrogant, giving off vibes of a man not to be messed with.

“I am Kim Namjoon. I’m the Executive Director of Park and Kim Motors Inc.”

“And how were you related to Mr. Min?”

“We were family friends.”

“Please elaborate on the nature of your relationship, Mr. Kim.”

The witness gazed at Minsook, and suddenly his eyes wore a brooding look.

“Min Yoongi and I were friends through our parents’ societal ties. I used to play Chess every evening with Yoongi before he got engaged.”

“So, your friendship with Mr. Min goes long back.” The prosecutor stopped to wipe his spectacles, leaving you wondering what he was up to.

“May I ask, Mr. Kim, as to why you stopped playing Chess with Mr. Min after his engagement?”

Your counsel shot to her feet.

“Objection, your Honor. The prosecutor is wasting the court’s time with irrelevant questions.”

Minsook looked at the judge with surprised eyes.

“But it is a relevant question, your Honor.”

“Overruled.”

Smiling broadly in a way that made your insides turn, the man turned again to his witness.

“Well, Mr. Kim?”

Kim Namjoon stared at you, so much malice concentrated in his eyes.

“His fiancée didn’t want me spending too much time with Yoongi.”

There was a pause. And then with a condescending tone, the next question was thrown:

“Maybe there was an innocent reason, Mr. Kim? Maybe the defendant wanted all the attention to herself?”

Once again, your counsel stood up with a loud “Objection, speculation, your Honor.”

“Sustained.”

With a wicked grin, the prosecutor threw a careless apology to the judge, looking at the witness expectantly.

“I don’t know. But now I know she wasn’t as innocent as she seemed.”

“Why exactly do you say that, Mr. Kim?”

Namjoon glared at you again.

“She didn’t even bother to search for Yoongi. She ran away.”

The prosecutor took a sealed evidence bag in his hand, turning so he was facing both the witness and the jury.

“And who filed the Missing Person report about Mr. Min?”

“I did. She didn’t. Because she was too busy counting the money.”

“Objection!”

“The prosecution will advise their witness not to make assumptive statements.”

But the damage had already been done.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You sat and listened as your husband’s best friend told the court how Yoongi had been increasingly agitated in the months prior to his disappearance.

“He was in so much trouble, it was clear as day,” he said.

“And did he tell you what was bothering him, Mr. Kim?”

Namjoon clenched his jaw again. “He was missing his mother very badly.”

The wicked gleam in Minsook’s eyes returned.

“What happened to his mother, Mr. Kim?”

“His mother had been institutionalized. His wife and mother were not on good terms. It broke Yoongi’s heart to part with his mother like that.”

“So, Mr. Min’s wife sent her mother-in-law away?”

The jury watched Namjoon affirm that with a curt “Yes.” Your attorney made no attempt to object. Things were beginning to look dark for you.

“Why do you think the elder Mrs. Min was sent away, Mr. Kim?”

The judge waited for your counsel to object citing speculation. But she made no move. With a withering glance, the judge advised the defense to not indulge in speculation.

The question was rephrased with a sly grin.

“What did Mr. Min tell you about his mother being sent away?”

Namjoon looked at the jury with sincere eyes.

“He said that his wife was in danger because of his mother. Mrs. Min accused her mother-in-law of trying to stab her with a knife.”

“Did Mr. Min say that the accusation was correct?”

“He only arrived in time to separate them. So, there’s no proof of who instigated the fight.”

Your palms started sweating. A delicate web of lies was being spun around you, and the spider at the center of it all sat watching with quiet enthusiasm.

“Did you know that Mr. Min was in huge financial debt?”

Taehyung watched the witness shake his head, followed by a curt “No.” He slid his hand to his pocket where his phone buzzed. There was a single message on the notification shade.

“Done.”

He looked back at the man who was talking, turning his phone’s display off and allowing himself a smile.

The prosecutor was going on.

“Why didn’t Mr. Min confide in you, if you were such close friends? He could have even borrowed from you.”

Namjoon shifted in his seat, his thick brows crumpling slightly as he processed the question.

“I don’t remember exactly, but I heard in passing that his wife shopped extravagantly. I assume it was his wife who wrung him dry. So, he was probably unable to confide in me about his wife.”

The prosecutor beamed.

“Naturally.”

Your attorney interrupted with an objection citing speculation, which was sustained.

At that, the prosecutor produced another plastic bag of evidence.

“These are the receipts that prove Mrs. Min purchased exquisite jewels, your Honor.” He flourished the bag at the jury, eyes bright with emotion. “Each purchase cost more than the previous one, amounting to millions of dollars.”

Wearing a proud smile, the prosecutor thanked the witness and gave your attorney the nod to cross-examine the witness. The woman slowly got up, adjusting her robes as she approached the witness box.

“Let me start with the easiest question, Mr. Kim.” Her face took on an innocent expression. “Wasn’t Mr. Min already very rich? Why would he ever get into debt? He already owned the Min Group.”

Namjoon looked at her in confusion. “He didn’t own the Min Group. His father did.”

“The late Mr. Min?”

“Yes. Yoongi was only the executive director of the Min Group until his father died.”

You watched your attorney look suddenly uncomfortable. You didn’t understand the need for this line of questioning. The jury looked confused too. Until the next question tore through the silence.

“How did the late Mr. Min die, Mr. Kim?”

“He was involved in a car accident. He died of multiple organ failure.”

“So, both of Mr. Min’s parents were out of the picture shortly after he married the defendant?”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Was your own attorney suggesting that-?

“Yes.” Namjoon’s voice interrupted the thoughts racing through your mind.

The judge looked sharply at your counsel. Was she out of her mind, to hand such an insinuating lead to the prosecution?

“Are you going anywhere with this, counsel?”

Your attorney nervously bit her lip.

“No, your honor.”

She turned to Namjoon.

“Couldn’t the defendant have purchased the jewels even when the elder Mr. Min was alive?”

Namjoon wondered if this woman had even researched her case properly. What kind of attorney gave away their client like this in court? He looked at you, weighing his words.

“Mr. Min handled all the finance of the Min family. Yoongi could have bought her the jewels, yes, but his father had to okay any big expenses he made.”

“I see. Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon was excused from the witness stand. You were in utter disbelief. You were being framed. By your own attorney. Taehyung was right. You were going to prison.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

 You couldn’t bring yourself to munch the sandwich that was before you. It was court recess, and your attorney was by your side, eating busily. She was completely oblivious of your apparent resentment towards her.

“How could you give me away like that?”

She looked up; eyebrows raised.

“Like what?”

You had to control yourself from shouting at the top of your lungs. Clutching the table hard, you rocked yourself, trying to be calm.

“You almost accused me of killing my father-in-law.”

She rolled her eyes with a blank “Eh.” On seeing you intensify the burning stare; she grumblingly munched the last bit of her steak.

“You’re already on your way to prison, dearie. Nothing I say or don’t is gonna help you.”

“You are my fucking lawyer!”

A few lawyers seated on the adjacent table murmured in disapproval in your general direction.

“Mind your fucking business!” You shouted at them, eyes blazing in anger. The woman clucked her tongue in disapproval.

“That temper won’t help. Don’t incriminate yourself even more. I did tell you to accept a plea deal, Y/N.”

Three tables away from yours, Kang Minsook was seated with his associates, deep in discussion.

“Something about this case makes me feel weird,” an associate was saying. “Why would the defense point out the senior Mr. Min’s accident? It only makes sense if we do. What is that attorney up to?”

Far back in the cafeteria, Taehyung sipped a cold strawberry milkshake as he watched you. Ugh. He had to endure the disgusting milkshake just for you. For you. Yes, he would do anything for you. But the obvious artificial strawberry flavoring was almost too much. You would pay later for making him drink such cheap stuff.

As his juniors droned on about the case, Minsook glanced over at your gloomy figure staring down at the table. It made him wonder how you were going to handle what was coming next.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You were sure you were going to be called up for cross-examination as soon as the court was in session. Bunching the hem of your skirt tight, you bent your head in apprehension. They were going to call out your name. They were going to prove that you killed Yoongi. They were going to send you to prison. Your knuckles tightened around the fabric, the dampness of your palm transferring onto it.

“The prosecution summons Mr. Kim Taehyung, your Honor.”

All the fear in the world rolled into one tight ball that got caught in your throat. Taehyung was going to testify?

The black-haired man took confident strides as he made his way to the witness stand. Everything about him suggested a successful, genuine, and well-respected man. The ladies in the gallery murmured about how rare it was to see not one but two families in the elite circle pitted against each other. The thumping of your heart was so loud and deafening. Taehyung composed himself with a sincere look in his dark eyes.

“Please state your name and occupation for the sake of the court.”

He raked his eyes through the jury. “I am Kim Taehyung. I am the CEO of Kim Automotive LLC.”

Minsook considered the witness carefully.

“What kind of relationship do you have with the Min family?”

“We were both rich families.” Taehyung masked the bitterness in his voice. “We met at social gatherings.”

“Do you know the defendant?”

“Yes.” The answer was abrupt, leaving unsaid words hanging in the air. The prosecutor pressed on.

“How do you know her?”

Taehyung batted his thick eyelashes innocently, looking square into the eyes of Minsook.

“She came to me trying to pledge the Min estate.”

There was a sharp gasp from the spectators and the low murmuring started to grow louder before the judge pounded his gavel.

The prosecutor waited for all the hushed voices to completely dribble down into sharp silence before asking the burning question:

“The defendant sought you out by herself?”

You closed your eyes lest someone see the beaded drops that were threatening to fall. All the memories of what happened half an hour ago flashed in your mind in full throttle.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You had been walking back to the benches outside the courtroom, when a man bumped into you, causing you to gasp out loud. As you clutched your shoulder and glared crossly at the retreating figure, you noticed chewing gum on your suit. Wincing in disgust, you tried to peel it off when you noticed a small neatly folded bit of paper sticking to it. You opened it, only to find four words written on the slip.

‘Barristers’ chambers No. 3. -KTH’

Turning just in time, your eyes caught Taehyung as he slowly watched you and walked ahead, leading the way.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

“Well, sugar? Ready to change your mind yet?” were the words that greeted you upon entering the chambers.

The blinds were drawn, lending a dark ambiance to the room. Taehyung was half-leaning on the table, supporting the weight of his body on both his arms. He watched you, fascinated by the pencil skirt and the tailored suit jacket that fit you so well. It was a shame that you had to go through all the court drama. The worry on your forehead made him want to reach over and kiss all the tension away. Only if you let him. He sighed.

He pushed himself off the table, reaching you in determined strides, his face alight with emotion. With an arrogant flick of his wrist, he crooned in his deep voice:

“20 more minutes before the court is in session, darling.”

His long fingers gripped your jacket, pulling you into his chest. The fingers roamed on your person, finding purchase at the nape of your neck. The heat of his body accompanied by the firm grip of his fingers left you frozen in place.

Taehyung rang his tongue over his upper lip, curling his mouth in a suggestive smirk.

“So, yes or no?”

“I- How can you make it all go away?” your voice came in a bare whisper.

“Baby, I always get my way. Do you still doubt what I’m capable of?”

He nuzzled his forehead against yours, sighing deeply in content. His eyes fluttered closed, the steady rise and fall of his chest falling in rhythm with yours.

“So? What is it? Endure me, or spend a lifetime in prison wondering what I did with your child?”

“Plea-“

His finger shushed your lips, stopping you from saying anything he didn’t want to hear. His eyes were still closed, but there was a soft smile kindling in the corners of his lips.

“18 minutes left, Y/N. Say it. Yes or No?”

Your mind was a maze of emotions. Say yes and live with Taehyung? The man who killed your husband? You’d have to be insane to do that. Say no and go to prison? What would you do without your baby? Why did all of this happen? Where exactly did you go wrong? Why were you trapped in a room with your husband’s killer draped all over your bosom?

“15 minutes.”

A giant sob rocked your body, tears streaming down your face as you spat it out:

“Yes.”

His eyes opened slowly, a euphoric smile making his face glow in radiance. You could have sworn there was a glossy film on his eyes that suspiciously resembled tears.

“Oh Y/N. I love you.”

He peppered soft kisses on your cheeks and nose, leaning back reflexively at the wetness of your cheeks.

“Why the tears, my sweet?” He brushed the trickling tears with the tip of his thumb. “Anyone would think you hate the idea of marrying me.”

When he didn’t get a reply, his eyes went from soft to dangerous in one quick flash. He leaned over you so that you were arching yourself backward, his hand supporting the small of your back securely. He made as if to kiss your jaw, but flicked his tongue out instead. His hot tongue swept over the trail left by the tears, licking your face from jaw to cheekbone in one long stroke.

His other hand gripped your squirming hips hard, the dangerous glint was fixated on your pupils as he continued his stroke above your eyes, stopping only momentarily when your eyes fluttered at the wet feeling of your lashes. He finished the trail at your eyebrow, landing a soft kiss on the arch of your eyebrow.

“No makeup,” he observed, looking deep into your eyes. “And just as beautiful as always. Delicious too. Pity you didn’t wear lipstick; I’d have loved to have your lip prints on my cock.”

His grip of your waist loosened, and you pushed yourself upright, shuddering all over. You tried to wipe off his saliva with the sleeve of your jacket, but his hand stopped you with a harsh jolt.

“Never, remember, never wipe off anything I give you.”

You glared at him, the sticky wetness still bothering you.

“You disgust me, Kim Taehyung.”

His eyes crinkled in delight. “Aw, I love you too, darling.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung considered the question, ruminating on his thoughts.

“Yes.”

Minsook chose his words carefully.

“Can you tell the court what Mrs. Min said, Mr. Kim?”

“She said ‘My husband is in debt and I want to mortgage our property. He doesn’t want anyone to know, so I came to you instead of going to his friends.’ She looked very upset. “

“And you didn’t talk to Mr. Min about this before agreeing to the request?”

Taehyung looked annoyed.

“I trusted Mrs. Min’s words.” It looked like referring to you by that title made him sick. “I didn’t want her husband to feel uncomfortable, especially because she said that he wanted it to be discreet.”

You felt bile rising to your chest as you watched the bastard stack lie upon lie as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

Minsook considered the witness closely before asking his next question.

“Do you have witnesses to corroborate your story, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung simply smiled, his eyes briefly flitting over to you. He ran his tongue over his lips as if your taste was still on them.

“At least twenty of my staff were present when she arrived at my mansion.”

Wrong. There were more than 50 guys that day when you went to him, dragging a suitcase in your pajamas. Of course, they would testify against you. The case was going to be a nightmare to get out of.

Taehyung was excused in haste. Turning to the judge, Minsook spoke so fast that you almost couldn’t keep up with his flow.

“Your Honor, the state pleads more time to prove that the accused mortgaged the Min property, took the money- “he glanced at the jury with emotion “-and killed her husband to get rid of liabilities. We have enough evidence for reasonable doubt.”

He appealed to the jury with strong words, trying to rock them in his favor.

“An innocent man loses all his money, his wife flees, she never reports him missing, his house is a bloody mess, with blood matching his DNA all over the place. The police found one airplane ticket in the defendant’s personal effects. Just one. Not two, if she is to be believed.”

He let the magnitude of his allusion sink in before throwing the next bombshell.

“As the defense uncovered, the elder Mr. and Mrs. Min were conveniently removed from the defendant’s life. The defense also confirmed that the defendant alleged that her mother-in-law was a threat to her life and sent her away. This raises doubt into the elder Mr. Min’s tragic accident.”

You were shocked into silence; the pain was overwhelming. You felt like you were floating above your body, detached and dead from all the pain and hurt.

Minsook was going on.

“While we can’t definitively prove that the defendant was involved in it, we do have the responsibility of looking keenly into the case at hand to make sure that justice is served.”

There was a brief interruption as the side doors opened, and a man walked in, making straight to your attorney. He handed her a package, whispering into her ear. She immediately stood up and asked for permission to speak. All eyes were on her, and no one noticed the brief looks exchanged between Taehyung and the mysterious messenger. Except you, of course.

“Your Honor, the defense wishes to continue this hearing in camera.”

The judge peered over his glasses at the counsel.

“What is the necessity for it, please?”

You saw the defense attorney wave the package at the jury, addressing the judge and jury at the same time.

“We have proof that Min Yoongi is alive.”

What? You gasped in shock, the news bringing you back to reality and grounding you. The brief respite was replaced with deep hurt when you looked at Taehyung. His single raised eyebrow uttered the unsaid. He had gotten his way. Just like he had said he would.

A loud babble of voices broke out in the spectators’ area, the droning of voices so loud that the judge pounded the gavel furiously.

“And what proof is there to confirm this news?”

Your attorney passed a few pieces of paper over to the clerk.

“These are Min Yoongi’s shell company records that prove that he is in possession of the 50 million dollars, your Honor.” She passed on more papers. “This flight manifest shows that a passenger named Soo Yeongguk was on board, carrying a passport with the same name.”

“And?”

“These surveillance camera pictures show that it was Mr. Min who used a fake passport in the name of Soo Yeongguk to flee the country.”

Minsook sputtered, “But Your Honor, the blood and DNA,” he was wringing his hands, “He couldn’t have flown with those injuries.”

It was explained away by the defense as non-conclusive.

“Mr. Min could have easily planted his blood just like he did everything else to frame his wife, your Honor. There is no hard evidence that he bled to death. Or even died, for that matter.”

“Why has the defense wasted the court’s valuable time when all these facts were already known?”

“We only got confirmation of the false identity a few minutes ago, your Honor.”

The judge rose up to stand, and immediately the whole courtroom followed suit.

“This will be further discussed in camera.”

The judge turned and left, and both the prosecution and defense scurried to fetch their documents and hastened to the judge’s chambers. The bailiff escorted the jury and left.

There was pandemonium and confusion after they left. People were restless, talking in hushed tones about all the drama that had just happened. As for you, it was pure shock that kept you standing on your feet. Shock at how easily justice has been swayed.

It felt like you were treading clouds when you were taken into the judge’s chambers. How could they have cooked up all the proof? You saw your husband’s death with your own eyes. Was there not an inkling of sunshine at the end of the tunnel? Not a drop of justice in the universe?

You felt numb and empty as you stood watching the judge reprimand your counsel for wasting the court’s time and resources. He also fined the defense. You weren’t listening. You didn’t care. Because you were declared innocent. And condemned to marry Taehyung.

You didn’t stay back to see Taehyung and the judge shake hands in solidarity. Nor did you hear Taehyung whisper:

“Good show. Expect the money in one hour.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The cold water pricking your skin did nothing to assuage the hurt eating away at your heart. The incessant flashes of the cameras as you exited the courtrooms, the reporters calling your name out, the overpowering smell of sweat and stale coffee, everything came back with such force that you squatted in the shower, hugging yourself.

You had come back to the hotel alone. No Taehyung. Because he apparently ‘didn’t know you that much.’ Snake. And you couldn’t find a way to escape him. He had kept his side of the bargain. You had to keep yours. The cold water was a far better company than the man outside your door.

“Y/N!” The knocks on the bathroom door were growing impatient. “Come on out already.”

You looked at the flimsy contraption that was dividing you and him. You had to go out. He couldn’t be avoided forever.

“Want me to break the damn door?” The deep voice hollered in irritation.

Taehyung couldn’t wait to see you. You were now his. No force on Earth could take you away from him. Not on his watch. He had already received a text from Wo Bin. So that matter had been taken care of. He was in a jubilant mood.

The lock clicked, and you emerged, wrapped in the hotel’s complimentary white bathrobe. Taehyung thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. Wet hair clumped in loose coils around your shoulders, slowly dripping water on the robe. His heart sang, believing that you had been cleansed of Min Yoongi and his touches. You looked angelic; damp body covered in nothing but a robe. A strange feeling raged up from his gut, catching in his throat and smothering him in emotion.

His hand reached you as if it had a mind of its own. The fabric was rough. Wouldn’t it chafe your delicate skin? He balled his fist to contain his annoyance. His slender fingers bunched around the sash, pulling you into his arms. He gasped at how cold you were.

“You’re so cold, Y/N.”

Your face was blank. He got no response. Tracing his steps backward, he landed on the bed, pulling you into his lap.

“So cold,” he repeated again, gently nudging the robe away from your shoulder blades to press soft kisses. You squirmed, and he didn’t like it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he snapped, cupping your jaw.

The hurt was too much and you broke.

“It’s- I – Yoongi.”

He held you in his arms, waiting for the violent sobs to subside, gently shushing you. He didn’t like that you were still thinking of Yoongi. But he had foreseen this. And he had already made arrangements.

“What about Yoongi, baby?”

You sniffed, unsure if you were supposed to tell him. Hell, what else did you have to lose?

“He- I- “More sobs and hiccups before you continued: “-I want to see him.”

He blew out his cheeks softly.

“And what good will that do?”

He attempted to wipe your tears, but you slapped his hand away.

“I’m his wife.”

“Not anymore. He’s dead.”

The words twisted into your heart like a cold iron dagger. The fighter in you returned with a vengeance.

“But Yoongi is alive. At least legally. You just proved that in court.”

He chuckled, the vibrations of his chest transferring onto your own body, sweeping you into the reverberation too.

“Yes. And unfortunately, he died an hour ago.”

You tried to push yourself off him in vain. The hold grew tight, and his eyes became harder. Your voice broke again.

“What do you mean?”

He cradled your head into the crook of his neck, and you revolted angrily by hitting his jaw and pulling back.

“Tell me, you fucking prick!”

He grinned, his irises dark, the danger swimming in them climbing out and coloring his features with malice.

“You’ll find out yourself.”

He sat motionless, looking into your eyes, as you hurled cuss words at him, shaking his shoulders, demanding an answer. You grew tired eventually, and stopped your tirade, choosing to go silent instead.

It was all quiet in the room, with Taehyung holding you in his lap, sniffing your wet hair, when the ringing of a cell phone screeched and cut the silence. The sound was coming from his pocket.

“Take it,” he urged, his voice dark and mysterious. “It’s for you.”

Grimacing, you dug your fingers into his pockets, scowling when he moaned at your touch. Upon finding the phone, you accepted the call and breathed out a shaky “Hello?”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I don’t have the faintest idea why Yoongi did this,” Mrs. Park said, dabbing her eyes as she patted your hand. “He was such a good boy.” She shook her head sadly. “Maybe I didn’t know him that well after all.”

To say that her words amplified your hurt would be an understatement. You were surrounded by people who were willing to believe that Yoongi had deserted you, ending up dead by a twist of fate. Your Yoongi would never do that. Never.  Yet, the groups of people clustered in the hall seemed to think otherwise.

You looked around at the familiar yet strange faces. Did any of them even care? You thought not. And yet again, the man who destroyed your husband made his appearance, weaving his way through the flood of faces.

“My heartfelt condolences, Mrs. Min.”

You shook your hand free from his clasp. The venomous anger bubbling inside you made you choke on your words as you bit out a forced “Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

“Talk about Karma,” he went on, unmindful of your hostile countenance. “He left you desolate and Karma caught up with him.”

Before you could snap, Mrs. Park nodded her head, acknowledging his words.

“Mr. Kim is right, child. Yoongi got into trouble because he left you. No decent man fakes his death and pins the blame on his wife.”

She became agitated, the sorrow of losing her best friend’s son hitting her hard.

“I wish he hadn’t gotten involved with the mafia, though. He might have come back to you. Alas.”

More tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to Mrs. Park. How you wished you could scream that Yoongi was dead only because of Taehyung!

“I’ll call on Sung-Hee at the Klammer when I leave.” She patted your shoulder delicately.

You nodded with a soft whisper: “Please give her my love.”

Kim Namjoon had come to bid his friend farewell. He was silent as he surveyed the closed coffin, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he controlled his choked emotions. He paused to hiss in your ear when he was leaving:

“You killed him, bitch.”

The funeral was very difficult to get through. People kept walking up to you, expressing their disappointment at the way your husband had met his death. And all the while the killer stood at a corner of the hall, not caring in the least about the gross injustice Min Yoongi was being subjected to, even in his death.

When everyone left, you were standing alone in the hall, working up the heart to bid goodbye to the love of your life. Taehyung had left long ago, playing his part of an innocent visitor.

Your fingers traced the wood, feeling the ridges and following the embossed floral patterns. It was going to be very hard. Biting your lip to contain the trembling, you slid a finger under the coffin lid.

“I would advise against that.”

You looked up with a start. It was him again. You glared at him as your fingers pried under the lid again. He stepped forward with an urgent whisper.

“Y/N, don’t.”

You had already seen the worst happen right before your eyes. What more would frighten you?

Taehyung wasn’t fast enough, and you had already screamed and leaped back when he arrived at your side.

“I told you not to.” His arms embraced you, holding you tight while you continued screaming your heart out. You turned on him with vengeful fury, hitting his chest, throwing a volley of punches with your balled fists. He let you punch him, not even trying to shield himself.

When you were spent from all the screaming and punching, he hugged you as softly as he could.

“I hired the best mortician. But-” he sighed heavily “-yeah; Min still looks bad.”

He was met with no response. He continued hugging you, rubbing soft circles on your back.

“But-”

He bent down to look at your red eyes. “Hm?”

“Where’s his…” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “… his wedding ring?”

Taehyung shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know.”

It didn’t matter. You knew that the man inside the coffin was Yoongi. You would recognize those fingers from anywhere. Those long beautiful fingers that had traced lines of love on your skin ever so often. He was indeed gone.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was silent as he watched the numbers on the elevator as it climbed up to his penthouse office. It had been three days since he had last seen you. You were at his mansion, alright, but you had locked yourself in a room and had refused to come out. He hadn’t seen you ever since the funeral. He idly wondered if you were still wearing the black dress from that evening. A small conscious cough interrupted his thought train.

So Na Yeon, his personal secretary, nervously fished in her pocket for a kerchief. “Please excuse me.”

He didn’t react. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone. Her lipstick was a shade too bright for his taste. She was interesting to look at. But no one could ever match to you. And thus, he found himself thinking of you yet again.

When the elevator dinged and opened, she followed Taehyung briskly, sailing into his office right behind him. She waited for him to be seated, and then got on with briefing him about his appointments for the day. But when Taehyung waved her away, she remained in place, biting her lip anxiously.  

“Well?”

She creased her forehead, deciding if she should tell him.

“Mr. Wo Bin reported that one of the men is rebelling, sir.”

“In what way?”

“It appears that he asked for a raise and Mr. Bin turned him down.”

“What did Bin say about it?”

She shook her head.

“He said that the man isn’t good enough and that he’s already a waste of your money.”

Taehyung lost interest. He wanted to get his work done with so he could think of you more.

“If Bin said so, I don’t doubt his opinion. Tell him to handle the guy in whichever way he sees fit.”

“Yes, sir.”

She turned and left. And Taehyung noticed her short business skirt for the first time. She seemed really proud of her figure. And then she faded out and his mind wandered to you once again.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

You could hear him fiddling with the doorknob. You knew he had a master key. You had expected to see him break into the room angrily as soon as you had slammed yourself in. But Taehyung did nothing of that sort.

Every morning, before he left, he would try the doorknob. Every evening, as soon as he arrived, he would do it again. There would be heavy sighs outside the door and he’d leave. It was like a ritual, and it went on for six days since the funeral.

On the seventh day, however, he lost his patience. He had waited and given you time to come back to him. He wanted you to walk into his arms willingly. But his patience was wearing thin.

“Open the door.”

He was pressing his forehead against the wood, gritting his teeth in suppressed anger. When there was no sound of movement, his voice rose to a high growl.

“I said open! Now!”

His large palms made contact with the wood as he pounded on the door. Suddenly, the door gave way and opened, the darkness inside the room making it hard for him to see you. It didn’t help that you were wearing black too. At last, he made out your outline.

He reached over to flick the light on, and gasped as soon as the light hit you. There were deep dark circles under your eyes. The straps of the dress were loose and ready to fall from your shoulders.

“God, Y/N, you look like Death.”

He cautiously approached forward, running his eyes over the clavicles that were jutting out sharply.

“It’s been six days. Seven, almost.” He took your hand, pressing it gently. “Come out.”

“No.”

Your voice was so low that he tilted his head to catch the words.

“You need to eat.”

“No.”

He tugged on your hand hard, anger rising in his chest.

“It’s not good for- ” he eyed your belly, “-that thing inside you.”

Hatred lit a spark in your blank eyes.

“It’s a baby,” you hissed, pushing against his chest with all your might. “It’s Min Yoongi’s baby.”

“Yeah, whatever. Do you want it to die? Come out and fucking eat.”

The glaring eyes were better than the blank ones, he noted. He liked you better when you were all animated and furious.

“I wasn’t starving myself. The mini-fridge…“

“I don’t think fruit would nourish your bastard enough. Stop arguing and come out.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung knew the answer before he even asked the question out loud.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You were dressed in a soft cashmere sweater and jeans. Yoongi used to love that sweater. He would always comment on how it made you look like a fairy cloud.

Taehyung knew the clothes only too well. He had seen you wear the sweater on multiple dates with Yoongi while he was following you around. It made him mad to see you still dressing up for him.

You didn’t even turn his way, throwing the answer at him sullenly:

“My husband’s grave.”

Taehyung leaned back on the sofa, propping his legs up on the coffee table.

“And who exactly is buried there?”

You turned and stared at him, confused.

“Min Yoongi?”

Taehyung chuckled heartily, crossing his arms and gazing fondly at you.

“Oh honey, how naïve you are!”

“What do you mean?” Anxiety pooled in your chest as he continued chuckling without answering.

He took his sweet time to answer, leaving you standing puzzled.

“Do you honestly think I’d let you visit that bastard in his grave, Y/N? Just so you can make him a martyr? Do you think I’m a fool?”

“What- what do you mean?” you repeated again, feeling your chest tighten.

“He isn’t buried there. There’s another dead guy matching his description buried in his stead.”

“But- the coffin-“

“Oh, yeah it was him in the coffin, all right.” He yawned lazily. “Switched bodies on the way to the cemetery.”

He watched all the emotions flashing on your face, the quiver of your lips, the unblinking eyes as you grasped all the information he had just stated. Finally, a cold blank stare replaced the myriad of emotions that had lit up your face. Slowly, you walked back into the bedroom, locking yourself shut. Taehyung sighed deeply. You were finally his.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

It was obvious to Taehyung that you were suffering him just for the sake of your baby. It was bittersweet to him that the only reason you would stay alive was Yoongi’s child growing inside you. He wished fervently to get rid of that tiny Min seed, but he knew the aftermath would be disastrous.

You talked to him in barbed tones only if it was absolutely necessary. The rest of the time, it was as if he was invisible to you. He had forced you to sleep in the master bedroom with him. But it hurt him to see the wide gap in the sheets between him and you every night.

Sometimes, he would turn in his sleep and a finger would brush against you. And he’d stay wide awake watching you huddle on the corner of the bed, sobbing quietly. It became increasingly apparent that you weren’t sleeping at all. If he so much as shifted in his side of the bed, you would immediately flinch.

Part of him wanted to understand, to hold you, and say that he loved you and wouldn’t hurt you. Another part of him was fueled by jealousy, that even in death, Min Yoongi was winning your attention. It was frustrating to him that his enemy wasn’t alive. Who could fight a dead man’s memory?

It was that part of him that broke loose, when he saw you crawl on your side of the bed, wearing an oversized hoodie that reeked of another man. Not letting him touch you was already a sore point. And the hoodie just made him go ballistic.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Huh?” You looked down at Yoongi’s hoodie. “I am cold.”

“Wear something else or strip naked for all I care.” His nose was flaring with the exertion it took to control himself.

You glared at him for a hot second.

“Fuck yourself.”

Without another word, you turned your back to him.

There was a sudden jolt as he pranced to your side, pulling you so you were lying on your back. His whole countenance was flashing with murderous rage. His knees were on either side of you, his arms pinning your shoulders to the bed. Hot breath fanned your face as he dipped his head down.

“Throw everything away. Everything that belonged to Min.”

You stared at him in defiance.

“What about me? I belong to him.”

His lips twitched ominously.

“He is dead.”

You didn’t back down in the slightest.

“Yes. You killed him.”

You could see the internal struggle he was going through to stop himself from hitting you.

He took a deep ragged breath and dipped his head even closer to your face.

“Listen, Y/N. Everything I did, I did because I love you.” He gripped your jaw hard when you rolled your eyes. “I went through a lot to get you. And I will not let you screw this up for me.” He paused with a haunted look in his eyes.

“Why is it so hard to love me?”

He looked at your lips as if they were curling around the words that would be his lifeline.

“Because you are not Yoongi. You killed him.”

His hot sigh fell on your lips, the heat sucking all the moisture from the soft flesh. You were scared that he was going to kiss you.

He leaned back a bit, catching hold of the hem of the hoodie.

“Are you going to remove this, or should I?”

He got off you, turning his back to you as he rummaged in his closet. Without looking back, he tossed his grey oversized sweater at you. He didn’t wait before adding:

“Wear that or sleep naked. Your choice.”

It gave him wicked joy to see you dressed in his clothes. His scent would be all over you, washing away that bastard’s. He made a note to throw away everything you owned and buy you new ones. Nothing should remind you of Min. Even the most inconsequential thing would have to go. He looked at your back wistfully. Everything but that thing inside your belly.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Two weeks passed uneventfully. Taehyung had given you a restricted phone. You could only call Taehyung with it. Calls to Hoseok and others never went through. You felt like your world had suddenly shrunk to one individual.

There was nothing to do in that big house. You weren’t allowed to work, because, apparently you were ‘not ready yet.’ Sometimes, it crossed your mind that you hadn’t received any letters or calls from your clients and friends. But it was probably because Taehyung screened everything. You were sure he’d filter the air you breathed if he had a way to.

You wondered how your mother-in-law was. Why was it that she went crazy but you didn’t? Had your love for Yoongi not been strong enough? Were you not anchored deeply with Yoongi as Sung-Hee had been with her husband?

Would you end up in a room next to your Yoongi’s mother? But you were sure they would take away your child if you went to the Klammer Institute. No, you shivered in disgust. You would never let Taehyung destroy the little piece of Yoongi left in the world.

The next morning, you emerged from the bathroom, body drained in exhaustion. Nothing you ate seemed to stay in your tummy. Wearily, you padded over to the full-length mirror in the dressing table.

You were pulling the shirt up and gazing at your belly when there was a click behind you. Taehyung stood immobile at the doorway, mouth agape.

His eyes were fixed on the mirror, looking at the tiny flab on your erstwhile flat belly. You had been only a couple months pregnant when Yoongi died, so the bump hadn’t shown. But nature was going her way, and soon you would be heavily pregnant, belly rich and round with child.

Taehyung gazed silently, not uttering a word. It was as if he were on mute. When he opened his mouth, at last, the words that shot out were:

“Time to marry.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Your plea to wait longer fell on deaf ears. Taehyung didn’t want to delay marrying you. He wanted to protect his ego. He would marry you before your pregnancy showed.

You pointed out that people would call you an unscrupulous woman who remarried even before flowers took root on her husband’s grave.

“Do you want everyone to hate me?”

He didn’t even flinch.

“Everyone already hates me. At least you’ll be on my side.”

No matter how you pleaded, he refused to listen. He reminded you of the jail time he had saved you and your baby from.

“It wouldn’t take me a minute to get you arrested again, you know.”

He looked at your midsection. “Want me to sign up for foster care?”

There was no way out. You slumped your shoulders in resignation. It was part of the deal, after all.

“Nothing lavish.” You licked your lips nervously. “Just take me to the fucking courthouse and get it over with.

Taehyung smiled, eyes dancing. The sunny smile lit his face aglow, a strange softness shading his sharp features.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Y/N, you really are a mystery. So soon?”

Mrs. Kim didn’t care to lower her voice.

“Leave her alone, Mrs. Kim.”

Hoseok’s tone was clipped, annoyance evident on his face.

Bo Na was holding your hand, patting it slowly, her eyes assuring you that she understood why you had to do what you did.

Taehyung smiled, finger grazing the rim of the champagne glass. He was wearing the tux he had bought months before you married Yoongi. He had spent countless nights running his fingers over the dreamy satin, his mind dreaming up heady concoctions of how sparkling you would look as you walked down the aisle, on his arm. He had woven all his dreams into the very fabric of that tuxedo, and the fact that he had, at last, attained what he wanted, made his heart warm.

“To tell you the truth, Mrs. Kim,” he sipped some champagne, waiting until all the attention was on him, “Y/N is pregnant with Min Yoongi’s child.”

Bo Na gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to contain the shock.

Mrs. Kim looked just as shocked. She couldn’t stop lowering her eyes to your belly.

Taehyung continued:

“She needs a person by her side, especially after losing Yoongi so tragically. I was Yoongi’s friend, and I can’t let Y/N suffer by herself.”

You wished the champagne were laced with poison. When had you become so weak? How was it that you let him puppeteer you into silence? Should you have tried and killed him before things got so complicated?

“Lost in thought, lamb?”

Taehyung grinned. No water on Earth would have doused the fiery glare you threw his way. Mrs. Kim called out to her son who was passing by.

“Namjoon!”

Yoongi’s best friend clenched his jaw and exhaled loudly before making his way to his mother.

“Yes, mom.”

“You were wrong about Y/N, boy. The poor girl is pregnant.”

His thick eyebrows arched at you in surprise.

His mother went on.

“And Taehyung only wanted to help, poor darling. Such a good man, he is.”

Namjoon’s eyes locked onto Taehyung’s. The air felt electric as they stared each other down. Namjoon deflated eventually.

“Yeah, I’m sure he is. Excuse me, please.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

There were no words to describe how embarrassed you were by the whole wedding affair. Everything was the opposite of nothing lavish. The decorations were all extravagant, sophisticated, and gaudy in the face of the fact that you had been widowed only months ago.

Taehyung had invited every person who had attended your first wedding with Yoongi. It was almost as if he wanted to flaunt you and brag about how he had fooled them all right under their noses. He was everywhere, flitting from one guest to the other, flashing his boxy smile, playing his part of the perfect host.

The guests were confused if they had to offer their condolences or wishes. It was very awkward for you, the little rip in your heart deepening with each guest’s flustered greeting.

Wow. Everyone pretended as if Yoongi never existed. As if he had never been killed. Killed by the man who danced through the halls as if he were the epitome of innocence.

Hoseok took your hand, leaning in to whisper.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I wish I could kill Taehyung.”

You blinked away the tears.

“Yeah, so do I.”

The sound of a spoon tapping a wine glass cut through the chatter.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please!”

Everyone stopped chatting and looked expectantly at Taehyung’s uncle, who was all smiles.

“I’d like to say what a fine boy Taehyung is, deciding to take Y/N under his wing, after the terrible misfortune that befell her.” He raised his voice to a higher note. “Especially because he didn’t want her child to be fatherless.”

If you ever had the power to vanish, you would have loved to use it at that moment. There were several gasps and turned heads that looked your way.

“Congratulations, to the new couple!”

Taehyung’s uncle raised his glass, and scattered applause sounded, and grew louder as people digested the news.

Taehyung stood with his head bent, a shy smile painting his cheeks pink.

That devil.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Going through the whole ordeal of the wedding was emotionally taxing. Every little thing about the ceremony reminded you of the gummy-smiled beautiful man you had married with so much love. When Taehyung slid the ring on your finger, you felt a wave of nausea that certainly wasn’t related to your pregnancy. He lowered his head to kiss your knuckles, loving the way the beautiful cushion-cut diamond adorned your pretty hand.

As you were walking out, trying not to cringe at Taehyung’s grasp on the small of your hip, a woman stumbled and dropped her glass, splashing wine all over the front of your dress.

“Oh! I am so sorry!”

Your brain couldn’t get irritated enough to lose your temper. Not when a man had already forcibly married you and assassinated your darling Yoongi’s character just before your eyes.

“It’s alright, Na Yeon.”

Taehyung waved her away, not angry in the least. He then leaned in to whisper in your ear:

“I’m going to rip that dress off your body anyway.”

The ride to his mansion was the longest. You had been living there, yes, but as Mrs. Min. You had hidden behind that name as if it were a consecrated circle. But this time, you were going as Taehyung’s bride. Nothing was going to stop him from claiming you.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Kim,” Taehyung sang to you as the car pulled into the driveway.

“Taehyung-“

He laid his slim finger on your lip, shushing you.

“Call me Tae.”

You scoffed in disbelief.

“You really think I’d call you that? What, do you think I love you?”

He grinned happily.

“You do. You just don’t accept it yet.”

There was a battle of stares and you turned on your heel, stomping away to change out of the stupid wine-soaked wedding dress.

It was confusing when you stopped outside the bedroom door. Because the knob wouldn’t turn. You were fiddling with it for a good five minutes when Taehyung’s chuckle fell in your ears.

He was leaning against the banister, a set of shiny keys in his hand.

“It’s customary to give the lady of the house all the keys,” he drawled, twirling the silvery loop that jangled in his hand. “Our bedroom is upstairs, Mrs. Kim. Newly decorated just for us.”

Irritated, you plucked the keys out of his fingers, huffing your way up to the damned bedroom. When you threw the door open, you understood that he was telling the truth.

The whole room was painted in pastel cream colors, books and music stacked neatly on the glass shelves. There was a huge closet, with mirrors for doors. The closet directly overlooked the giant white bed. Rose petals were strewn across the bed to make a big flower heart.

You knew he was behind you when you heard the brisk step of his shoe.

“Like it?”

You could almost hear his smile in those words.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The petals stuck onto your thighs as you rolled out of bed. Taehyung was sleeping, his chest pressing against the bed, his arm strewn over a pillow. His rhythmic breathing confirmed that he was asleep.

You shuddered at the shrunken petals, crushed under the weight of your bodies. Taehyung’s dark hair fanned over his arm, and you could see his veins bulging underneath his skin. So strong. Yet, he hadn’t thrown himself at you as you had feared.

In fact, he had gone straight to shower upon entering the new bedroom. You had changed into shorts. Strangely, all your long night pants were missing from the new closet.

Taehyung hadn’t made any sudden moves. He had emerged from the bathroom, stood before the closet-mirrors, tightened the cords of his pajamas, and turned to you.

You had been absolutely sure that you were going to be claimed harshly. But he had simply knelt down, both hands on either side of you, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. Accompanied by the distinct sniff of his habitual smelling of your hair. And then he had risen up and gone to his side of the bed.

Sneaking a look at the man sleeping across the bed, you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t thrown himself at you forcibly. Had he not done it in the glass room?

The bedside clock ticked on, and you decided to pay your parents a visit. You hadn’t been to see them in a long time, ever since Yoongi had started having money troubles. The last time you had visited them, you were Mrs. Min. Something inside you just wanted to get away from the sudden overload of being married to your husband’s killer. Your mind craved something to keep you from going insane. Something that was a constant in the troubled times of uncertainty.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Months ago

Yoongi was at home, all alone. An empty whiskey bottle was lying on the table, rolling to the sides a teeny bit every now and then. He couldn’t believe he had gotten into so much trouble. All those years of hard work his parents and grandparents had put into the Min Group, all the effort, it was all falling apart. Because of him. The heir who wrecked the family. He could almost see the headlines in the newspaper.

His breath was probably smelling like whiskey. You would find out. He sighed.

You. Beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful you. Why had things gone so bad? Why did he ever trust Wo Bin, that bastard?  A thousand questions raced in his mind, the drunken haze making them even louder. How could he ever tell you that he had let you down? That he had let his entire family down?

He glanced at the digital clock on the counter. 3 pm. You would be home soon. Good gosh, was it Wednesday already? Kim Taehyung had threatened to show up at the Min house if he didn’t pay up by Friday. What was he going to do in such little time?

A clang of the doorbell startled him. You carried your own key. Who else was at the door?

Yoongi stood up and the headrush made him stumble around a bit. When he finally opened the door, a delivery girl was standing outside. She was carrying a bouquet of lilies. Lilies. They were your favorite. He was confused. Who sent you lilies at your home?

“Delivery for Mrs. Kim?”

Yoongi stood stunned. What the hell?

“You’ve got the wrong address.”

He tried to shut the door, but the girl persisted in a shrill voice.

“A person called Y/N? Does she live here?”

“Yeah- why…?”

The girl thrust the bouquet in his hands, grinning cheerfully.

“Then these are for her.”

She hopped away, leaving him standing at the porch, wondering what in the world just happened.

When Yoongi went back in, his gaze fell on the little card attached to the bow on the stems. It read:

‘To the future Mrs. Kim.

All the love, KTH.’

The words made Yoongi so angry that his fingers started shaking alarmingly. There was a band of sweat under his collar, even though the AC was on full blast. Anger coursing through his veins, Yoongi clawed at the card and tore it to pieces. He had never been so insulted in his life.

Outside, the delivery girl dialed a number and waited for the man to pick up.

“I delivered the flowers to him, Mr. Bin.”

She paused to listen.

“Yeah, he was alone.”

Yoongi was on his way to dump the flowers in the trash can when his phone rang. Swearing under his breath, he threw the bouquet on the counter and picked up.

“Min Yooooongiii…”

The deep booming voice drawled in his ear. Yoongi felt his cheeks heat up. Sweat was beginning to trickle down his forehead.

“Quit playing your games with me, Taehyung.”

There was a throaty chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Do you think your wife will like the lilies?”

“I swear I’ll-“

“I am sure she received another delivery at her studio.”

Yoongi went mute. What did the card on that one say? He started panicking.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Kim Taehyung.”

The caller laughed in a way designed to specifically irritate Yoongi.

“We’ll see. Remember you only have till Friday to pay up.”

The line disconnected and Yoongi was left fuming, unable to collect his thoughts. He needed alcohol. Something. Anything. Just to douse the white-hot fire burning in his chest.

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

“Mrs. Min?”

You had moved into the new studio only a couple months back. You primarily operated from home, but the studio was needed when you met other clients. Yoongi had set you up with a beautiful studio complete with hand-picked designers who assisted you.

“Yes?”

“Miss Yung is requesting to meet you tomorrow, for lunch.”

You looked at the calendar. Thursday was when you always went to see your parents. But Yung Min-Ji was a wonderful client, and you did have a lot to discuss with her about the styling of her new condo.

“Tell her I’m available.”

“But your usual schedule-“

You smiled lightly.

“I’ll go today instead. No worries.”

It wasn’t a sentiment to go only on Thursdays. It just happened to be that your schedules were light on that day of the week. You glanced at the time. 2 pm. You could use some fresh air.

There was a cool breeze when you stopped by the florist to get your mom’s flowers- carnations. You were walking absent-mindedly, coming to a stop in front of the headstone. You looked at the grave, confusion creasing your eyebrows.

There was a beautiful bouquet of white carnations laid neatly on each of your parents’ graves. The flowers were fresh as if someone had just laid them out. But no one was around. You were the only living person in the cemetery. You knelt down, finding a pool of molten wax. It was hard to the touch. Someone had come by earlier. Further inspection showed that both graves had indeed had carnations and one small lit candle on them. But, they were left by whom?

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

The sound of gravel crunching under the tires of your car woke Yoongi up. His head was throbbing. He held his head, steadying himself before getting up.

“Baby, I’m home!” your melodic voice chirped at the door.

Before he even got to hug you, he was met with your screeches, as you were hollering in excitement. You were jumping up and down in his arms, eyes shining in delight.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongiii-yaahhhh,” you crooned, grinning eagerly, “The flowers- was that you?”

There was a catch in his throat while Yoongi racked his brain.

“Uh- yes. Liked them?”

You swung yourself on his arms, giggling.

“Like? I loved them!”

Oh shit. He remembered the forgotten lilies on the counter. He had meant to throw them away. Damn. How would he explain them?

“Y/N,” he whispered, catching hold of you. “Go on and shower, I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, suddenly transported back to reality.

“Yoongi- you smell of whiskey.”

He turned his back to you, advancing in swift steps to grab the cursed lilies.

“I’ll be back.”

You made your way to the bedroom, mind still buzzing in happiness. You hadn’t even looked at the lilies.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Present day

The soil was wet under your shoes, from all the dew. The guards had shut up and let you leave on foot, without insisting on approval from their boss. Fucking privilege of being Mrs. Kim, ugh.

The faint smell of cut grass kissed your nostrils as you walked absently. It was still early in the morning, and the cool air helped ease your feverish tension. A man was raking leaves near your parents’ graves.

You walked faster, reaching his side just in time to see a bouquet of shrunken white carnations, withered and sad. There was molten wax on the cold marble, just like there had been before. The man sank to his knees, scraping off the wax gently. He didn’t even look your way.

But the flowers and candles? Who was it?

“Excuse me, um, sir?”

He raised his head, one good eye looking expectantly at you, while the other was clouded with cataract.

“Yes, miss?”

You gestured towards the graves.

“Those flowers… do you know who-“

“Aye, them flowers,” he shook his head, “I don’t know nothin’ about who leaves them.”

You crinkled your forehead.

“But you were cleaning the wax, so I-“

“Aye, miss. I been paid to keep these two graves clean. Good money for an odd job.”

Your heart started fluttering wildly.

“Paid? By whom?”

He made a stern face as if he were concentrating.

“Dunno. I been paid to take care of the graves as long as I live.”

He resumed scraping the wax, talking slowly.

“Man paid five grand, one time. Said ‘em graves should be kept spick and span.” He paused to turn around self-consciously. “He said he be checking on me, makin’ sure I ain’t skipped town with them money.”

You didn’t know what to think. It was a weird piece of information to process.

“How long since he paid you, sir?”

He closed his eyes, maybe he was thinking.

“Four years? Maybe five-ish,” he said when he finally opened them.

“Miss, tell him I be doing the work all right!”

The man hollered at your retreating back, nervous that you were spying on him.

You nodded, walking rapidly away. It was incomprehensible. It was a dream. Yes. You had probably dreamt it up. You would wake soon and find your husband’s killer draped all over you.

When you returned gloomily to the mansion, Taehyung was lounging on the sofa, flicking through the pages of a business magazine. You ignored him and made straight for the bedroom. It was only when you hit the shower that you remembered what day it was. Thursday.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I’m going back to work.”

Taehyung lowered his glass, eyelashes almost dusting the rim of the glass.

“Doing what?”

You folded your hands, staring him down.

“Designing homes and offices.”

He grinned, sipping juice innocently as you tapped your foot in impatience.

“And who do you think wants Mrs. Kim to design for them?”

You hadn’t forgotten that the title alienated you from the rest of the elite. But hadn’t you a uniqueness of your own? You were sure they wouldn’t discriminate you. They were all your friends and Yoongi’s, weren’t they?

“I have friends.”

He took another long sip, smacking his lips just to annoy you.

“No, baby, you don’t. To them, you’re nothing but a traitor.”

“I’m not.” You were sure that he was just manipulating you into his twisted theories.

He tilted his head like a confused puppy.

“Don’t believe me?” He thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, extending it to you. “Go on, try calling someone.”

Your instinct was to dial Hoseok’s number. But you knew he would stay by your side forever. Calling him would be like mistrusting his friendship. You thought hard. Maybe you could call Mrs. Park.

You dialed her number feverishly, hoping she would pick up. You didn’t know you were holding your breath until the line clicked and a voice spoke out:

“Yes? Mrs. Park here.”

“Oh hello, Mrs. Park, I’m Y/N, how ar-“

She cut you off swiftly.

“Y/N? What is it, child?”

You nervously looked at Taehyung out of the corner of your eyes. He was leaning back, a bored look on his face as he blew raspberries. Twisting the hem of your tee, you chuckled consciously.

“I was wondering if you knew anyone who’s looking to-,” you licked your dry lips, “You know, to redo their apartments and stuff.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Ah Y/N, I wish I could help you. But you know, Jaewon found a new designer who specializes in Earth tones and my daughter says it’s the craze right now, so-“

“I see.”

Mrs. Park heaved a deep sigh.

“So, yeah, everyone is more interested in following that trend, naturally,” She was rambling to neutralize the awkwardness, “Besides, you’re pregnant and… I hope you don’t mind, dearie.”

“No, Mrs. Park, it’s fine.”

“Call me if you want anything, Y/N.” More like ‘Don’t disturb me again, Y/N.’

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You couldn’t bear to look at the gloating face that smirked at you. He was right. Everyone loved you only when you had been a Min. But as soon as Yoongi died, their allegiance had crumbled to dust.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to hate them, though. You had married Taehyung just months after Yoongi died. Married Kim Taehyung, of all people. It was a wonder that Mrs. Park had even picked the call.  

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Every morning, you stood before the mirror, gazing at your belly. There was no significant bump, but you could just feel the little piece of Yoongi stir inside you. It made your heart sing. How happy Yoongi would have been! How wonderful life would have been with him! Raising your child together, loving each other, looking into each other’s eyes, watching your skin sag and wrinkle; growing old, but your love never lessening.

It was ironic that every day felt like an eon with Taehyung. You were in constant tension around him, like an elastic band stretched to its maximum limit. Even his slightest moves made you nervous. If he reached over for salt, you were left trembling. If he walked out of the shower in his boxers, your heart raced. Everything about him kept you on edge, scared that he would pounce on you without a moment’s notice.

Things came to a head the next Tuesday. You were getting ready to go out for your doctor’s appointment. Taehyung emerged from the shower, rubbing the towel against his wet hair as he walked to the closet mirrors, standing next to you.

His studied your yellow floral dress, only the slightest hint of belly was proof that another human was growing inside you. A tight thread of jealousy snapped inside Taehyung. Yoongi had made love to you, cummed in you, leaving you pregnant. He fumed in jealousy, getting into his pants and picking out his shirt.

He was adjusting his tie when he saw you swirl the tube of lip balm. The same brand you had used for years, lending that delicious glossy sheen on your lips that kept haunting him in his dreams. His tie was left forgotten, and he reached his hand out to gently pull you closer. The sudden rigidity of your body reminded him of a startled kitten.

“What, babe?” He crooned, drawing you nearer. “Go on, wear it.”

When you didn’t comply, he plucked the tube out of your fingers, smearing a glossy coat of lip balm on your lips. He could see the visible heaving of your chest as you struggled to maintain your composure.

Pinning you with your back against the closet mirror, he dipped his head to ghost his breath over your lips. The fruity smell made him go crazy.

Without warning, his tongue licked a hot trail over your upper lip, following the natural curve of your cupid’s bow. He smacked his lips, groaning in lust, and went in to savor your lower lip too.

“Your lips look better with my saliva, baby,” he murmured, gently nibbling on your lips and sucking on the plump soft flesh.

He was heady with need, nibbling harder and pushing himself closer against you. When you tried pushing against his chest, he got mad.

“How long do you think I’ll wait? Huh?” His voice was thick in a mix of anger and want. “Think I’d just fuck my hand forever?”

Your throat felt hollow and itchy when you voiced out:

“I don’t want to-“

His face crumpled in anger.

“Well, too bad, because I want to.”

Still in his pants, he thrust his clothed crotch into your pelvis, the floral skirt allowing him to feel the mound between your legs. He used his knee to keep your legs spread, while he went on thrusting against you. The friction made him curse out loud. One of his hands sneaked to catch hold of your throat, and he nestled his forehead against your shoulder blade, never stopping his thrusts.

His moans grew louder, quicker, and more intense. He bit the soft skin on your shoulder as he reached his climax. He panted in your ear, deep breaths reverberating through his body. With a heavy moan, he licked the bite mark and straightened his back, watching you warily.

Your eyes were closed, face frozen and impassive.

He hadn’t been able to control himself. When he thought about it, he hadn’t even touched his dick once, and yet his seed was all over his underwear. That was how much you affected him.

When he pushed off of you, you still hadn’t opened your eyes.

“Thought I’d change,” he drawled lazily, biting his lip. “But on second thought, I’ll go to work in my creamed pants. It’ll remind me of you all day.”

A drop of salty water rolled down your closed lid.

There were only sounds of him moving around, grabbing his phone, keys and stuff, and then silence.

He hadn’t even touched a button on your dress. But you had never felt so open and vulnerable in your entire life.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Taehyung was in a serious discussion with his board when the intercom rang. He threw an angry glance at Na Yeon, who bowed so deep he could see her cleavage clear as day.

She hurried to answer, looking at him beseechingly.

Taehyung did not like his meetings interrupted. Calls were always screened while he was in discussion. Only an important person or an important matter could bypass the screening.

“What?”

“I am to put it on speakerphone,” Na Yeon replied meekly.

“Do it then.” He was losing his patience.

“Kim Taehyung, you fucking son of a bitch!”

Everyone in the boardroom was startled, looking at each other in panic.

“How dare you take advantage of me like that? You insufferable, disgusting prick!”

Taehyung leaned back in his chair, playing with his pen.

“You miserable bag of shit, I swear I’ll cut your balls off!”

Taehyung drummed his knuckles on the desk, waiting for the tirade to stop.

“You are the vilest asshole on earth!”

The line went dead, and a stunned silence prevailed in the room. Taehyung rose again, going back to the whiteboard. He huffed at the mute people staring at him. He didn’t lose an ounce of his cool.

“So, let’s pick up where we left off…”

After everyone left, Na Yeon stayed back to apologize. Taehyung noticed that there was a beauty mark on her chest, right near the button of her blouse. Well, it wouldn’t have been visible if she had buttoned up her blouse. Maybe she felt sexy. Whatever. He didn’t really care.

“I’m sorry about the phone call, Mr. Kim.”

“It was nothing.” He shrugged it off, he wasn’t very bothered.

She continued unmindful of his disinterest.

“I should have tried to cut the call, I shall screen her next-“

His features suddenly flashed with annoyance.

“She is my wife. She should never be screened. Besides, she has every right to yell at me.” He sneered at Na Yeon as he bit out his words. “You don’t have any right to cut my wife’s call.”

With that, he stormed out of the boardroom, leaving his secretary shocked into silence.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

That evening, when Taehyung returned home, you were in the sitting room, legs crossed. Your mouth was set in a straight line. You were giving off a stubborn aura, and Taehyung fought the smile that threatened to curl his lips up.

“Aren’t you gonna kiss your husband, Mrs. Kim?”

The hot glare didn’t alarm him in the least.

He loosened his tie, sighing in that deep voice of his. It made the hair on your arms stand up. He settled down on the couch, just next to you.

“I enjoyed the telephonic love note today,” he said, fiddling with his cufflinks. He proceeded to unbuckle his belt.

“Especially because my pants were crusted with cum.” He threw his belt on the floor. “Thanks to you.”

You jumped to your feet, wagging a finger at him, screeching in mutiny.

“Don’t ever do that again, you scumbag.”

“Why not?” Mock surprise danced on his face. “Didn’t you agree to marry me?”

“I didn’t agree to be violated, Kim Taehyung.”

He puffed out his cheeks, disinterested.

“You didn’t leave me any other choice.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Did he expect you to jump on his lap and love him? After he snatched everything you loved away from you? Was he insane?

You threw your arms up, scoffing incredulously.

“How on Earth do you think I’ll ever love you?” The very idea made you gag. “After you killed my husband? Do you have no regret?”

He scanned his fingernails, pouting his lips in mock hurt. His voice was soft.

“I didn’t kill him on my own.”

“What?” The tic on your mouth made your face twitch. “What the fuck are you saying?”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours.

“Everything I did was because I loved you. For you.”

You stared at him, no words coming to mind. You had been sure that you were only the spoils of the war between his family and Yoongi’s. You didn’t believe for one second that Taehyung loved you.

“When you think about it, the reason I killed him was you.”

Your jaw dropped. The sputtering of your mouth made it impossible to frame comprehensible words.

“Me?”

“Mmhmm. In a sense, you killed Yoongi.”

No, no. this wasn’t happening. You had never done anything to hurt Yoongi. He was your love, your precious baby. No, Taehyung was babbling nonsense.

“Shut up,” you whispered, voice shaking.

He smirked at you.

“Think, baby. He wouldn’t have died if you had said ‘Yes’ when I asked you nicely.”

Memories of that fateful day at his office, clad in pajamas and feeling his bulge pressing against you came tumbling back.

It was a struggle to find your voice. “No.”

“Accept that you killed him, Y/N.”

Your vision blurred with tears and you repeated again, “No.”

A shit-eating grin spread on his face. He unzipped himself, sliding into a more comfortable position.

“Would you rather say you killed him or suck my cock?”

The first drop rolled down your cheek, and he repeated his question, voice darker and laced with lust.

You grasped for words. “Don’t do this to me.”

Your plea made him impatient. He wanted the cold war to end already. How long were you going to mourn Yoongi? He didn’t really want to fuck you when you were heavy with that man’s child.

“Either suck my cock or admit that Min died because of you.”

He waited with bated breath, observing the whirlpool of emotions flashing on your face. And then, to his utter delight, you wordlessly sank to your knees.

He unzipped his pants, giddy with excitement. Your face was devoid of emotion. The tears had stopped, leaving stains on both your cheeks. He waited for you to reach and touch him. When it didn’t happen, he lifted his hips off the couch, annoyed.

“My cock isn’t gonna pop into your mouth on its own, babygirl.”

Nothing.

He reached out and grabbed your head, pulling you in so your nose was against his clothed dick. He felt like he would burst at the feeling. He moaned out as he rubbed your face against him, the groans coming out harsh and strained.

He couldn’t wait for you to take him out, so he fished himself out of his boxers, grazing the tip against your lips. The blunt disgust on your face only made him even hornier, and he coated all his pre-cum onto your lips.

“Fuck, Y/N, my cum looks better on you than my saliva does.”

He pressed the sides of your jaw to pucker your mouth open, placing himself inside your warm mouth.

“Go on, baby. Suck.”

He caught your eyes and added in a dangerous tone, “Don’t you dare bite, I’ll fucking kick that bastard to death.” He looked ominously at your belly. He knew your sore point.

Swallowing your pride, you let his muscle glide in and out of your mouth.

“That’s not sucking, babygirl.”

Your spat at him in fury. “Fucking suck yourself.”

He made as if to kick your midsection, and you screamed in alarm. The tips of his toes made slight contact with your ribs and you yelled for him to stop.

“Stop it, stop it, don’t,” you never wanted to sob in front of him, but it just happened out of your control.

“Well, suck it then. And don’t close your eyes.”

You worked on him robotically, trying to trample down the sick guilt that rose up in your chest with each bob.

He groaned and growled, cursing at the sensation of your velvety tongue. He wouldn’t mind if he died and went to heaven. Before he even knew it, he was close to his release. He panted out, cumming hard into your mouth.

You remained in position, not attempting to swallow. He knew you were going to spit it out as soon as you humanly could. His fingers closed around your neck.

“Swallow. Now.”

The pressure slowly increased, threatening to choke you. Your delirious brain conjured a coroner’s report. Cause of death: Choking on cum.

Reflexively, your body fought by opening and closing your pharynx, effectively making you swallow his slimy essence.

Taehyung felt the bob of your throat, his chest puffing up with pride. He lifted you up gently, holding onto the nape of your neck. He gazed at your glistening cupid’s bow, and slowly pressed his lips on yours.

He had never seen your naked breasts, but that could wait. He was already swimming in rabid delight.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“Thank you for agreeing to do this interview, Mr. Kim,” the man said, setting up his notepad and pen.

Taehyung grunted in answer. His mind was somewhere else. He had been in a fight with you over names. He had wanted you to officially change your family name. But you had refused. He hated the Min that rang along with your name. It made him want to puke when someone ever addressed you that way.

“I will not change my name,” you had said, stubbornly set in defiance.

He adored your stubborn trait, but when it came to matters involving that damned Min Yoongi, he hated your obstinacy.

“You fucking will.”

“Make me.” You had folded your hands, indicating that you would not be swayed.

Taehyung was at his office, thinking of ways to coerce you into taking his name. That was when the reporter arrived for a quick interview.

The man started off with questions about Taehyung’s business, his financial turn over and assorted boring stuff, which he answered robotically.

Out of nowhere, the question popped up, making him raise his eyebrows mildly.

“Is it true that Mr. Min and you were friends?”

Taehyung shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

“Of course, we were.”

“But, Mr. Kim, a lot of people expressed surprise at your claim of being friends with him.”

“People like who?”

“People who thought you married Mrs. Min a bit too soon.”

Taehyung snapped in annoyance: “She’s Mrs. Kim now.”

“Exactly my point, Mr. Kim.”

Maybe you would consider changing your name if he compromised. But how?

“Well, Mr. Kim?”

“Huh?” Taehyung had a hard time not thinking of you. “I wanted to help her out, especially after he deserted her, while she was pregnant.”

“How did you know she was pregnant? You testified in court that you didn’t know her too well.” The man leaned forward eagerly. “How did she consent to marry you so soon?”

Taehyung could smell a bait from a mile away. The man wasn’t interested in him after all. He was scoping out facts about you.

“What is it that you want?”

His tone made it clear that he knew what was going on. The man cut to the chase abruptly.

“Did you kill Mr. Min?”

Taehyung swiveled on his chair, taking his sweet time.

“Yes. I killed him.”

The abrupt admittance started his opponent, making him open and close his mouth like a goldfish. When he saw how flustered the man was, Taehyung continued:

“You got your answer, what more do you want to know?”

“But- but why did you –” the man was bewildered. “Mrs. Min, she was on trial, you testified against her.”

“Yes, I did.”

“She could have gone to prison.”

“Right again. Don’t beat around the bush.”

“Was it-” the man swallowed, “-an affair? Did you both plot to kill Mr. Min?”

Taehyung laughed. How he wished that had been the case. He would have been spared a lot of trouble if that were true.

The man wiped his forehead nervously.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing, I’m just imagining how your head would look like on a stake.” Taehyung smiled fondly. “You know, my children would happily play with it.”

Children. Name. Maybe he could compromise on that bastard child’s name? Would that make you think again?

Taehyung’s attention snapped back to watch the man gulp several times, obviously shaken.

“So, did you get the answers you wanted?” He exhaled lightly, adding, “My secretary has your name and contact details, my men would pay you a friendly visit if you blabbered anything anywhere.”

“I- yes, I understand.” The man got up in a hurry. “Please excuse me.”

── ⋆✩⋆ ──

When the reporter left the building, his phone vibrated with a message.

‘Any news?’

He called the sender.

“There’s nothing to report. I’m pretty sure neither Mr. Kim nor Y/N had anything to do with Mr. Min’s disappearance.”

The call ended, and Namjoon sighed. He knew something had happened. Something had gone wrong.

But the reporter couldn’t glean anything from Taehyung. The seeds of doubt took root in his mind. Was it possible that he had imagined the conspiracy? What if there had been no conspiracy and Yoongi really had fled?

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“I have a proposal.”

You looked up from your curled kitten position on the deckchair, overlooking the pool. You were cross that Taehyung had interrupted your attempt at sketching Yoongi.

“Not interested.”

He pranced forward, plucking the sketchbook and tossing it away. The splash of it hitting the water sent droplets flying up and raining on your feet.

“What the hell d’you do that for?”

The reflection of the sun in the ripples of the pool made his face light up and sparkle. He placed both his hands on the armrests, trapping you.

“You will take my name.”

“Forget it.”

“In return,” he whispered softly, “You get to name your baby whatever the fuck you want.”

“I am the mother and I don’t need you to offer me what’s already my right.”

He butted your forehead with his own, clucking his tongue in impatience.

“You really don’t want your baby to see the light of day, do you?”

The scowl on your face was reflexive. It was a bother that he always used your baby as an excuse to get his way.

“Fuck off, Taehyung.”

He threw himself bodily on you, willing a strangled gasp to escape your lips. He spread your arms and upper body to align them with the chair, opening your torso up to him. He was already panting, cursing out as he spread your legs with his knee.

“C’mon now, babygirl, stop being so stubborn.”

He sunk his whole weight onto you, crushing your body underneath him.

The graphite pencil you had been using to sketch was still in your fingers. Mustering up all your strength, you dove it into the back of his neck.

He hissed in pain, jerking involuntarily and pulling the pencil off your grasp. When you struggled to let it go, he placed a well-aimed slap on your cheek, making you freeze in shock.

“You little brat,” he spat out, still pissed about his neck. His palms made contact with your cheeks twice more, sending your face jerking left and right.

“I’ll teach you to stab me, you little-“

He bunched both your hands by the wrist, holding them up above your head. His other hand sneaked between your legs, pushing your thighs apart.  When you tried to wriggle and throw him off, his knee dug into your midsection.

“Want to destroy what we have?” He sunk his knee a little deeper. “Huh, sugar?”

His finger was rubbing circles on your core, making you bite your lips from moaning out.

“Fuck, I’m permanently hard around you.”

His hard length was obvious in the tent of his pants. But as before, he humped against you, not unzipping himself. The friction was making him go wild. He thrust his hips into yours, the knee remaining ominously on your navel.

“Ah ssibal,” he cursed, throwing his head back, consequently making his long dark hair flip and reveal his glistening forehead.

“Oh… Oh.. I’m cumming,” he breathed out, spasming violently all over you, digging himself out of you and spilling his cum all over your clothed belly.

“Ew, Taehyung, you bitch, you’re fucking disgusting,” you screamed, pushing against his chest even as he shuddered in the aftermath of his orgasm. He smiled dumbly, panting out in ragged breaths. He placed his mouth near your ear, tickling your earlobe with his hot breath.

“I want to cum inside you.”

He sighed deeply as if he was thinking quietly about it, before adding:

“Soon.”

He pushed off you, grinning as he ruffled his hair back into place. Whistling softly, he walked away, leaving you trembling in a mix of shock and anger, looking down at your ruined dress.

He had cummed exactly on your belly, like he had carefully meant to.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The annual costume ball invitations reached your house, one addressed to Mr. Kim and one addressed to Mrs. Min. Taehyung had torn the envelope into pieces before handing you the card. It was probably a snide attempt to snub Taehyung and you knew that it had worked, judging from the annoyance on his face. You wondered if the hosts had intended to send you late invitations, because the ball was slated to happen that night.

You threw it on the coffee table, not caring in the least about some stupid party. But Taehyung had other ideas.

“We’re going tonight. Get ready.”

If the stuck-up Min empaths thought they had made a statement by sending two fucking invitations, they would have to think again. He would show them what fools they were. You were his Mrs. Kim.

The burgundy dress had a cowl neckline, which he absolutely loved. He had picked it out carefully, mind giddy with excitement on how perfect it would look on you. Finally, a day had come for the glamorous dress to do you justice, flattering your body, much to the envy of those losers.

“Wear the burgundy dress I bought you. And the studded heels.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He opened his closet, apparently searching for something. When he turned, a classic Tiffany box was nestled in his palm. He opened it, and a sparkling silvery bracelet was reflected in your eyes, lending them a beautiful twinkle that made his heart sing.

Delicately, he placed it on the dresser.

“This will compliment you.”

He stood silent for a second, thinking if you would wear it on your own. Something told him you would just leave it sitting on the dresser forever.

“Here,” he took your hand in his, gently placing the bracelet on your wrist. He clasped it and admired the way it looked even more beautiful on you. To him, each fiber of your being was infinitely more precious than the rarest diamonds in the world.

He had never seen anyone more beautiful, and he wished not to. When you descended the porch steps, he felt like a footman taking out a princess on her ride. He was mesmerized by the simple yet graceful features that taunted him, inviting him in.

Taehyung had Wo Bin drive you both to the ball. Taehyung handed you a sparkling rhinestone mask, the wings around the eyes rising gracefully in showers of gemstones. The costume ball was essentially a masquerade, and he had gotten the best masks he could lay his hands on.

“Take my hand, remember, no silly behavior.” He briefly glanced at your belly, driving home his point.

“Stop fucking threatening me all the time, bitch,” you hissed, scowling when he responded with a lazy grin.

The entire ballroom was abuzz with people clad in their best clothes, complete with masks of every color, style, and material. Taehyung’s chest was stretched to the max with pride as he waltzed through the floors with the most beautiful woman that night on his arm.

A couple hours later, you were weary to the bone. “I’m tired, I wanna throw up.”

He rolled his masked eyes. “Right. Stay here, I’ll get you water.”

He turned around as an afterthought. “Want me to walk you to a bathroom?”

You shook your head, indicating you were fine enough to just sit.

“ ’Kay.”

He went off, leaving you seated in a comfortable chair.

He was, however, interrupted mid-way by a woman dressed in a jade green dress with a deep neckline that left almost nothing to the imagination. The Venetian mask lent an air of mystery to her ombre eyes.

“Mr. Kim,” her voice was hauntingly thick with desire.

She placed her index finger delicately against his tux, poking him. “I’ve been fantasizing about you for years.”

He couldn’t form a coherent comeback. He was a man who prided on never being tongue-tied while facing a woman. But the simple statement had such force that it knocked his thoughts out like bowling pins.

“Uh, excuse me, I have to-“

She traced her fingers on his arm, patting him slowly, whispering:

“Please stay.”

He couldn’t believe how tongue-tied he was. He flashed his left hand at her, declaring in a harsh tone:

“I’m sorry but I’m married. Very happily so.”

“Is that true, though?” Her voice dropped even lower. “You are married, yes, but have you been loved back? Why pine after a hopeless fruit while another aches for you?”

He shook his hand free, annoyed. Very much annoyed that she was stating the bitter truth that his heart refused to believe.

“Excuse me, I have to go back to my wife.”

“Maybe you could at least dance with me once?”

His jaw tightened.

“No, thank you.”

She pouted her crimson lips, sadness clouding her eyes.

“I thought so.” She touched his elbow with a smooth “At least a peck on the cheek for your admirer?”

He bent his neck, intrigued by the strange woman, but she took him by surprise, going instead for his lips.

Her tongue snuck out and outlined the curve of his upper lip before her mouth pressed against his. Startled, he took a step back and his gaze dropped to the cleavage she was generously offering. She giggled naughtily, winking at him. Damn the woman.

The hot feeling in his cheeks didn’t go away for a good five minutes, and he was still pink when he returned with the glass of water he had set out to get.

He frowned when he saw a tall man talking to you, bending in half to address you.

“You, you are just a gold-digging bitch, you whore,” the masked man was saying, just as Taehyung materialized behind him.

“Excuse the fuck, did you just fucking insult my wife?”

The man straightened up, turning to glare at Taehyung. His mask did nothing to hide who he was. The hooded eyes, the tall lithe frame, the rich timbre of voice, all screamed Kim Namjoon.

He dug his hands into his pockets, staring at Taehyung with menace.

“Yes, I called her out for jumping on another dick as soon as she could.” He focused his most hostile leer at Taehyung before adding “The dick being attached to you of all people.” He didn’t stop, spewing more hate as he addressed you:

“Are you sure the baby is Yoongi’s, Y/N? Did he ever know what a cunt you are?”

The anger was so hot that Taehyung felt like his brain would short circuit. He balled his fists, ready to shatter the mouth that had spoken so ill of you.

Before he could do any damage though, you grabbed hold of his hand, tugging at him harshly.

“Take me home, I feel sick.”

He sent Namjoon one withering glance and exhaled angrily. Namjoon would pay later. He would make sure of it. He guided you out, practically shaking in fury. He texted Wo Bin to meet both of you on the porch. He was zoned out, and you asked something that just flew out his ear. When you slapped his elbow, he caught your words just in time.

“Is that lipstick on your mouth?”

Taehyung creased his eyebrows, turning back to consider something. The masked woman, she had licked his mouth before kissing. It was a kink of his to lick your lips. How did she know that he loved doing that to you?

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

The way Namjoon had spoken to you felt like a cold slap to the face. If that was what he thought, was that what everyone else thought of you too? The whole social circle of which you and Taehyung were a small intersecting arc, did it think you were a gold-digger too?

The shame enveloped and consumed you, the flames of hatred licking at your heart. Your entire life was ruined by Taehyung. Only he was responsible for all the mess. Everyone seemed to focus only on you. He was in the background like an innocent bystander; but all the while, he was the puppeteer who pulled all the strings, bending everything to his will.

A bitter cold war was brewing between you and him, growing in intensity by the second. You had avoided him for days, slipping like an eel whenever his footsteps sounded. Every night, you slept on the couch, only to wake up on your side of the bed in the morning.

It was hard to sleep. Because you were constantly worried that he would violate you while you were sleeping.

You didn’t know that Taehyung spent three-quarters of the night perched on the steps of the staircase, waiting for you to drift to sleep. He silently swooped in and carried you to bed each night, making sure to tuck you in comfortably.

A few weeks later, you dressed up in a loose black hoodie and attempted to sneak out for a walk. But just as always, he caught you. He had casually blocked you with an outstretched hand, looking at you oddly.

“What the heck are you wearing?”

You tried to force your way out, but man was he strong.

“Get out of my way, Taehyung.”

He blew out his cheeks, shaking his head in disapproval.

“That hoodie is the opposite of flattering on you, honey.”

Curling your fists, you hit him on his arm, trying to make him move.

“I don’t care, so let me go,” you hissed at him.

“I care about my wife’s fashion choices,” he replied, reaching out to grab the hoodie. But just as quickly, he drew his hand back in shock.

“What the…” he whispered, horrified, reaching his hand out again.

His fingers gingerly pressed against your belly, feeling the small bump that was evident to the touch. He started back in horror. It really was growing. The reality hit him like a harsh slap. Min’s child was really growing inside you.

In one swift motion, he gathered you up in his arms, deciding that he couldn’t waste any more time. He couldn’t wait forever.

Dragging you upstairs to the bedroom, he led you to stand by the bed. His face was ablaze with hot emotion, his dark eyes gleaming with fiery hunger. He shrugged his suit off in haste. Long slender fingers gripped your hoodie, lifting it up to reveal the soft protrusion he had touched earlier. He looked panicked, like a guy who had missed the last airplane bound home.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he breathed, gently trying to undress you. “Forgive me, I am out of time.”

He pressed kisses on the side of your neck, lifting the hoodie up inch by inch until the cups of your bra were visible.

“Oh, Y/N, I-“ his voice was strangled, “- I can’t,” his hands found purchase at the small of your back. “I can’t take you when you are ripe with his child, I can’t wait that long.”

He eased you out of the hoodie, holding your hands to prevent you from covering your bra-clad breasts. He had only entered you once, he hadn’t forced himself into you since the day Yoongi died.

It had been his desire to wait for you to want him. But nature always liked complicating things. He couldn’t bear to think that you would be heavy with child in a few months, and would be busily occupied with the baby for months after that. No, he had no choice.

He was sliding your pants off when you half-choked out: “You could just… let me go.”

The wetness of your cheeks broke his heart. But your words had hurt him more.

“No. No, I can’t. You are all I have.”

“You know that’s not true,” you whispered.

The pained look returned to his face.

“No. It should have been me.” He gestured to your belly. “That should have been mine.” A tear rolled down his cheek, and he sniffed. “It should have always been me.”

“Taehyung- “

His lashes were moist and he shook his head, not wanting to listen.

“You were meant to be mine. Don’t you see?” His haunted eyes were tender, his raw feelings on display just for you.

“Do you- do you even like me?”

You remained silent, nothing but underwear bridging the gap between you and nakedness. His face contorted in pain.

He shuddered and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling both your hands above your head and pinning them in position. His other hand gingerly traced the outline of your bra. He licked his lips, looking into your eyes as he dipped a finger between your breasts, running it along the elastic strap and leaving your skin riddled with goosebumps.

His finger continued running down your midriff, stopping at your belly button. He closed his eyes and pretended that the bump didn’t exist, hurrying to slip his hand into your undies. It fanned his ego to feel your wet folds.

“See, your body likes it, hm? Why do you rebel so much?”

He leaned down to sniff your hair, greedily inhaling the scent like a man dying of thirst. He removed the hand pinning yours with a warning squeeze. Just as quickly, his hands flew to your breasts. His touch was ever so tender. He gently kneaded the soft flesh, moaning out as a little bit of areola peeked out of your bra. The self-control snapped, and he pulled the cups down, exposing your squished breasts.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he sounded so raspy, “Fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

Like a man in a trance, he dipped his head in the valley of your chest, nestling there, letting out the weakest of whimpers. His fingers worked feverishly to get the damn bra off you. He threw it across the room, burying his head in your bosom with a contented sigh.

There was a stark contrast between you and him. He was fully clothed, and you were in only your undies, entire chest open to his view. It led you to feel even more weak and vulnerable. When your hand tried to shield your breast though, he caught it, his voice came out from between your soft mounds in a muffled whisper:

“Don’t.”

He gathered both your breasts in his hands, moaning thickly as he rubbed his face against them. His tongue found your nipple, giving tentative licks before full-on sucking on the nub. He was a passionate man, and your breasts were glistening with saliva by the time he was done worshipping them. His mouth let go of the nipple with a soft plop, the dark eyes focused on your own the whole time.

His tongue drew a line from the middle of your ribs down to your navel. He paused at the elastic band of your undies, working on tugging it down. But impatience got the better of him, and he cursed, ripping the fabric easily as if it were the weakest of paper. He touched the wet patch on the crotch and looked at you, dangling the ruined fabric above your forehead.

“See. Y/N? See how wet you are for me?”

You didn’t reply. He gripped your chin, yanking it so his breath fell directly on your mouth.

“Kiss me, Y/N.”

When you didn’t attempt to kiss him, he straddled your hips, crashing his mouth down on yours. But the kiss wasn’t passionate, nor was it anywhere near romantic. You just wouldn’t open your mouth and let his tongue in. He could have kissed a pole and gotten a better reaction than yours.

It kindled the embers of rage in his heart, and he undid his tie, tying it around your neck like a noose. His shirt and pants were still on, and he rolled the long end of the tie until the fabric started tightening around your neck.

“Up,” he said, tugging the tie and making your head rise from the bed a bit. Holding onto it like a leash, he pulled your upper body was hovering precariously above the bed, both your hands holding onto his shoulders lest you fall and snap your neck.

“Now,” he hissed, “Lick my tongue”

The tie-noose tightened around your neck, threatening to cut off your airflow. You hoisted yourself up, shaking as your sight started to blur.

“Can’t” you heaved, “breathe.”

The fabric didn’t relax one bit.

“Hurry up and lick my tongue then.”

You blindly slashed at the air to find his mouth. Right on the verge of blacking out, you thrust yourself at him, begging entry into his mouth with desperate licks. Once you felt the hot muscle, you lapped at it, and just as quickly, the tightness eased, making you gulp mouthfuls of him, your body struggling to get your respiration back to normal.

“You bast-“

He thrust himself at you again, muttering:

“Shh. Lick me again,” and dipping his tongue into your mouth.

He moaned, chest vibrating against yours with the intensity of his strangled groans. When he broke the kiss, a string of saliva connected your mouth to his, a big bead hanging in the middle, the weight making it drop and splotch on your thigh.

He leaned back working on his shirt buttons. They didn’t open fast enough, and he started ripping the buttons off, eyes locked on your nipples. When he tore the fabric away from his body, his whole wide chest was naked, save for a thin chain around his neck. It had what looked like a silver key for a pendant, you weren’t sure as it kept dangling with his every move.

He remained in his pants, gathering your body and pressing you against his chest. A strained moan escaped his lips, and he trailed kisses down your neck, past your shoulder blade. His tongue flicked out to reach places his lips couldn’t.

One hand cupped the slight hint of your bump, prodding gently but also warning you against doing anything stupid. He pulled your hand towards his crotch, placing it on his clothed bulge.

“See,” he moaned, “See what you do to me?”

He stroked his bulge with your hand, fighting the urge to close his eyelids and lose himself in bliss. He had been hard for so long. Too fucking long.

“Take me out.”

His whisper sent a shiver up your spine. But you didn’t move. You didn’t have a choice to stop it. But you had the choice to not comply.

He cursed, too impatient to reprimand you. He unzipped his pants, leading your hand to his hard dick. He closed his hand over yours, effectively jerking himself off with your hand.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” he threw his head back, snapping his eyes open just as quickly when you gripped his dick too tight. Intentionally, of course.

“What the fuck?” He pushed you onto your back, dragging you by the legs into position. All the tenderness had evaporated from his countenance.

“You really want to screw this?” He hovered his body over yours, menace evident in the curl of his lips. The squirming pissed him, and a swift slap landed on your cheek, accompanied by an angry “Fucking behave, Y/N.”

“Get off me,” you bit out, aware of the drool sliding down your chin.

“No,” he said, humping his dick against your pelvis. “You are mine. Don’t fight this. He’s not coming back. He’s dead.”

He saw the tears kindling, and added cruelly:

“Because of you.”

“Stop saying that,” you screamed, trying to knee him in the groin. But he only laughed.

“You always complicate things, Y/N. I only want to make love to you.” He sighed innocently. “But you just make it so difficult.”

His forearm dug into your neck, preventing your head from moving. His other hand snaked down to your soaked clit, rubbing circles on your sensitive pearl.

“Who was always a bitch in heat for Min’s dick, huh?”

The question left you speechless. He smirked.

“Who loved to ride his thigh and get her ass spanked?”

“Shut up, shut up.” you couldn’t think of any other reply. How did he know all of that?

He simply shrugged.

“Okay, sure. I’d rather fuck you than talk about your dead man.”

He really wanted to eat you out. But he knew you would kick him in the face if he tried to. Maybe he should get restraints before trying that. Besides, his dick was already aching with being hard for so long. He slid his pants off completely, getting in position, aligning himself with your entrance.

He placed his forearm against your belly, deciding it gave him better leverage that way. Looking down, he inched himself forward, watching in fascination as he disappeared into you, your bodies becoming one. Just like they had always been meant to be.

The silky walls were tight around him, and he held on for dear life. You were going to be the death of him.

“Fuck, ah, fuck,” his breath constricted, the finality of actually being inside your velvety folds driving him crazy in exhilaration. He set a fast pace, snapping his hips into yours as if his life depended on it.

“Tell me how it feels, baby,” he cooed, “to know you killed Yoongi for this cock.”

Your whole face burned in rage.

“No, you tell me, how it feels to know you killed a good man for a piece of pussy.”

He chortled, not slowing down in the least.

“Awesome, really,” he panted out, licking his lips as he kept thrusting. “I can kill a whole army for this pussy.” He was not ready yet to say ‘It’s not just your body, it’s you I want. The whole you.’

He pulled the tie around your neck, telling you to get on all fours.

“I can’t dumbfuck, I’m pregnant,” you spat out.

He simply flipped you over, crossing both your hands over your chest so you were kneeling on the bed, with his hands pressing your wrists against your breasts.

“Shit, baby, how are you so tight? Guess he never filled you like I do, huh?”

His tongue licked the back of your ears as he kept thrusting. You were doing your best to not make any sound. You didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

“Tell me,” he panted, driving himself deeper, “Tell me I’m bigger than him.”

His finger slipped into the tie-noose, twisting the knot.

“Say it.”

You were sure he wouldn’t stop. Panic flooded your body, jumping into escape mode.

“Fine, you’re bigger.”

A dark chuckle rang throughout his chest, making your breasts bounce as aftermath.

“Be more specific, baby. Describe it.”

There was another tight twist, and you gave up.

“Your dick, it’ bigger, it’s- Fuck, I can’t breathe- It’s thicker, it’s longer, okay?”

He smiled into your skin. Gently loosening the tie, he kissed the light welts around your neck.

“Let me hear it again.”

“You’re bigger than him,” you repeated in defeat.

“Fuck yeah, that’s my girl. Cum around me, baby.”

His groans were loud and animalistic, like those of a man possessed. His pounding got frantic, rattling the headboard and eliciting curses from your parched throat.

God, how he wanted to fuck Min’s spawn out of you and fuck his seed into you instead! The thought sent him spinning into his climax, releasing hot ropes of cum into your tight walls. The growls from his chest chilled your blood. He held you incredibly tight against him, riding his wave out, clutching onto your ribs in passion.

The shivering sigh blew against your ears, and he gently pulled out, kissing down your shoulders and back as he did so. Your knees gave out, sending you collapsing down, but his hands caught you just in time.

When he had finished prodding and poking his fingers in your clit to feel his cum, he uttered in a ghost of a whisper:

“You cummed for me, baby.”

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

Were you ready to kill Taehyung? To be frank, you didn’t really know. It was an idea that had crossed your mind millions of times. But taking another life was too horrible to even comprehend. On the other hand, it was a fact that he would continue to make your life hell.

It was a difficult decision, but one you had to face. Were you doomed to live forever with him? Take all his obsessed declarations of love for you? Live in constant fear that he would hurt your child?

Was it worth killing a human for peace? You looked down at your baby bump. He was going to be a terrible father to your baby. The orange canister by the lawn was just alluring. Was all the solution you ever needed in a can of garden pesticide?

The throbbing of your heart was so loud you were sure the guard could hear it. But now you were not just any woman. You were his boss’s wife. Hell, every guard in the fucking house addressed you respectfully.

“Mrs. Kim?” The man stepped towards you with a question on his eyebrows.

“I want the lawn to myself for some time.”

Usually, there were no guards by the pool. Taehyung would pluck their eyes out if any of them snuck up on you while swimming. But the lawn was a different story. There were a lot of guys walking around with guns. It surprised you to see them file out of the lawn like a bunch of disciplined kids.

But you knew their focus would be on you anyway. They didn’t serve you, they served Taehyung.

Making an elaborate show of tending to flowers and picking weeds, you loudly muttered at the gardener’s apparent failure to keep the flower beds weeded out. Kneeling down near the orange can, you unscrewed the lid with an air of ignorance.

“Foul smelling shit, what the hell is it?”

The can toppled over your dress, soaking the cotton. Just like you had expected, a man shot out of nowhere, hurrying to your side.

“Are you alright, Mrs. Kim?”

You batted your eyelashes inoocently at him.

“I- yes, I need to change. I think gardening and I don’t mix.”

He accompanied you inside, turning back to leave. Once upstairs, you nervously wrung out the poison from your soaked skirt.

✧ ═════ ✥.❖.✥ ═════ ✧

“What’s that?”

Taehyung had asked sooner than you had expected. You feigned surprise at the question, looking over to where his eyes pointed.

“Oh, nothing.”

Much to your chagrin, he nodded and went back to tapping on his phone. What if he didn’t ask again? Well, you could try again later. Patience. You couldn’t get caught.

Getting up slowly, you danced your way to the fridge. You peeked at the contents, closing it with a sigh. Turning to look at the counter, you absently reached for the cup. You were cradling it in your hands, and just as you let your lips touch the rim, he raised his head.

“Coffee?”

You shook your head. “Protein shake.”

He placed his phone on the coffee table, gazing intently at you.

“Well, aren’t you going to drink it?”

“Oh, yes.”

You sipped from the cup, not minding his stare boring into your face. He leaned back, spreading his arms on the sofa. His face was unreadable. When your throat bobbed after the last bit of drink, he raised his eyebrows mildly.

“Done?”

You shrugged your shoulders, without answering. He considered your face for quite some time, before his curiosity got the better of him.

“So, should I call the ambulance?”

You bit back a grin.

“What for? I’m not in labor yet.”

He watched you suspiciously before giving up.

“I know about the pesticide.”

You stifled a yawn. “Of course you do. And?”

He knew you were smart. You were a fighter. There was no way you would drink a cup of poison to get away from him. The poison surely had been intended for him. But he had just watched you down the cup without flinching.

“And,” he said, face serious, “Why don’t you get on with it?”

“What exactly do you mean?”

His passive demeanor broke, leaving his face twisted in vulnerability.

“You want to kill me.” You flinched at the word ‘kill’.

“So, go on and kill me, Y/N.”

Your eyes met, and you reached for a cup wordlessly.

“Not a fresh cup. I want to drink from yours.” He pressed his fingertips together, watching you as you poured out milk. He hated coffee. And you knew. He saw you drop one sugar cube in, just like he liked. The warm flutter in his heart died just as quickly when he saw you reach into the spice cupboard, extracting a pill bottle.

You tipped the bottle and liquid fell out of it, rippling and disappearing in the small white whirlpool of milk. Without a word, your fingers reached for a spoon and stirred the cup. His stare was burning into your skin. Your own heart felt like lead, so heavy and drenched with guilt.

His fingers had a subtle tremor when he reached to accept the cup. Placing it on the coffee table, he smiled at you.

“I love you, Y/N.”

It was a lie, you were sure. He only wanted to ruin Yoongi. He never loved you.

There was nothing to say. You didn’t believe him.

He drew a sharp breath, meditating if he wanted to speak his mind.

“If I die in your hands, your baby and you will be left alone, Y/N. Penniless. But you will get your independence, yes.” He paused, a suspicious watery film glinting under his lashes. “You can be happy and raise your child on your own. But you will return to me in the end.”

The arch of your eyebrows creased your forehead, asking the question your lips failed to.

The smile reached his eyes, a manic shadow casting a fearsome look on his face.

“Whenever, wherever you die, you will be interred in the Kim crypt, just next to me. We will be together even in death.”

The entire breathing mechanism of your body stopped working.

“What? But that’s –“

He flowed on, seemingly uninterrupted.

“And Y/N, the place where Min Yoongi is buried, the secret, it will die with me.”

Without hesitating, he grabbed the handle and drew the cup to his lips. The warm milk touched his lips, the fumes from the poison overwhelming his nose.

[lordoftermites]

OF CLOVER & IRON

Part Two

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: continued from here, but this one hurts more and I'm barely sorry.

Rating: T? it's just fuckin sad ok

Each breath I left behind Each breath you take is mine Walking on a line ten stories high Fear a fall, you're asking why Leaving the things we lost, oh Leaving the ones we've crossed I have to make an end so we begin To save my soul at any cost

Roiben was almost confident he had solved the first act of Kaye’s query long before this. At least, in part he had. And she hadn’t quite so much voiced the question as her face had expressed it plainly. It was a simple thing then, to speak without needing to flex the truth, because she had asked so simply. She had not yet won the faculty with which to confine him—her very own blackbird that came when she called—whether he wanted to or not.

It's your shirt, back from the dead.

A lament that had been, because he hadn’t truthfully wanted to return it: he liked the scent that lingered in the black, machine-woven fabric he had carefully stitched back together during the sparse moments in the solitude of his quarters— the very same fragrance that had drifted from the blonde tangles of her hair and caught his inhale when she clutched the possession between her fingers. It had been so pleasant it set his mouth to water. And it had been that which had him smiling down at her— a genuine reaction, something he hadn’t done in so long, neither before nor since the night in the woods—she had drawn that one from him then just as easily—that he had almost reserved himself to simply being incapable of it.

Like you.

He remembered the cool, wavering indifference of Kaye’s response, a betraying contrast to the gentle pink that bloomed over her cheeks, until she finally awarded him a grin in return. Perhaps it had been nothing to Kaye, but for Roiben, it was a delicate spell that charmed him, wholly and throughout.

He had had a revelation in that moment, had made to himself an ardent vow: he would have done anything for her to smile at him again. For that to be his smile alone.

He would have killed for it then—and he had done, more than once. Resolutely, he would again.

Roiben was bound, as was she—as the entirety of the Host was, by that imperceptible governance that dispossessed him of his ability to lie. But that same authority did not demand he renounce the overabundance of whys he clutched to him like a precious thing—not those Kaye would have him hand over now, not those she hadn’t known to ask for. Like why those days following their first meeting had been fraught with fitful, broken sleep, while the nights were a fruitless pursuit of a mortal girl, to return something as insignificant as an article of clothing. Why he had repaired the thing in the first place, fingertips raw from the needle scraping and pricking ad nauseum.

Why, even after she had prized the true name from his throat in some form of vengeance for the death of her friend. Ignorant of that insuperable, concrete power she balanced like a blade on her tongue. Much may the knowledge please you, he had said then.

Yet, even through his seething, Roiben still had wanted only to be near her. And when she had unwittingly given her first command and his mouth had immediately and dutifully obeyed its new mistress, he’d hated himself for how much he enjoyed it. Hated that he’d yearned to touch her again in spite of himself.

That tempestuous conflict between his longing and the conflagrant fury at relinquishing his name had curdled his insides there in the diner; he’d barely made three strides from the door when he’d retched, involuntarily and violently, emptying the asetose contents of his stomach behind the parked car he would watch her climb into moments later.

There was nothing that compelled him to confess that night he had followed her home, had waited in the cold shadows beneath the clouded window of her bedroom, heart clambering against the cage of his bruised ribs as he savored the ghost of her skin brushing his mouth, praying for just a glimpse of her through the glass.

This multitude of questions and reasons had never been spoken aloud, not even as a whisper to the shadows to abate Roiben's torment.

He knew, reprehensibly, that he had not given her the answer she sought—never, not in any measure at all.

Perhaps, in their tangled past, if she had waited only moments more, she would never have anguished in her own wonder as she did now. She could have instructed him to spill his insides onto the checkered linoleum before her, in naught but a whisper, and Roiben would have only been able to marvel at the ruby candor of his own lifes’ blood pooling at the soles of her favorite boots. Perhaps after, she would have been able to go back to the blissful, ignorant mortality she knew better than this one, free of the duplicitous whims of the twilight creatures she tangled with now; she would be free of him, as he from his subjugation.

But that had not been the design of whatever power held their fates.

Roiben drew a weary breath, scrubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes; he couldn’t meet the untamed, sable intensity of that stare. The pattern was not lost on him, as it was very rarely that he found he could hold her gaze, such was his repugnant cowardice.

What seemed a century ago, Kaye had been in this very room, in the exact spot Roiben lay now, though the occasion had been something quite entirely life and death in contrast. Even then, befuddled with magic that aimed to keep her compliant to her death, that same vehement look on the stolen face she masked her own truth with bored into him, as he felt it knifing into him now.

The past was crumbling, upending itself, it seemed, and Roiben was loath to discover himself, yet again, the recreant.

Pulling himself out of his own memories, he tentatively reached out to take Kaye's hand. She didn't protest, but her fingers were stiff as Roiben laced them between his own. "I will explain, as thoroughly as I am able." he finally said, thumbing small, idle circles over the top of her hand while Kaye watched him in attentive silence.

"In truth... I didn’t know why, at first. Or, more like, I disallowed myself to know. As a knight, I thought I had trained myself to the virtues that title holds, that I had sworn myself to. I’d vowed, if only to myself, to use my station for righteous things. Good things.”

He took another breath, bemused by how much he was allowing himself to say. He had grown so used to his measured responses, only speaking when he was compelled to—a habit born out of clarified spite. Just as well, he never much liked the sound of his own voice. Even now, with no master or mistress to twist his words like a knife in his gut—save for Kaye, who was markedly his chief possessor, body, soul, and whatever lay between. ”In my servitude to Nicnevin," he continued, "I felt those virtues... slipping—no, tearing away from me, as the claws of a beast tear at the flesh of its prey. The…The things she commanded of me, Kaye—"

Shame seized his throat and strangled him silent. Nightmarish visions of blank death-stares turned whatever he might have said to rotten ash on his tongue, made him choke. His own blood thundered tumultuously in his ears.

The small body of a fae trampled beneath the hooves of his steed. A goblet sloshing with fresh crimson gore, coating the inside of his mouth in warm metal.

The terrified, pleading scream of the one he loved as his blade bit into her skin.

He mashed his eyes shut and gripped Kaye's hand tightly, desperately, in some hope that the action would wash away the horror of his own memory.

A feeble hope it was, because he knew the absolute, incontrovertible truth: those images would remain carved stone upon his mind's eye, tormenting him until he met his own inevitable end.

It took some time for him to pull himself out of the waking nightmare of his mind, but after forcing himself to swallow the bile searing the back of his throat, he went on; for Kaye's sake, because she deserved to know the truth, definitively.

And for his own, because he feared that now he had begun to syphon the poison, he could no longer keep it from devouring his soul.

"I… I believed that my time in the Night Court, carrying out whatever new task its queen dreamt up for me, each one more abhorrent than the last, had soured my nature. What I had convinced myself was a meticulously cultivated, unsulliable rectitude, Nicnevin befouled in less time than the blink of an eye.

"When you stumbled into those woods…" He leaned forward, the sudden, acute need to be closer to her driving him to shake, rattling his very bones. He let his forehead fall against hers; he was overwarm, and the comforting coolness of her skin calmed him. He closed his eyes again.

"I had been courting Death." Roiben avowed. "I pined for it, as one would pine for a soft bed at the end of a long journey. But you—" he paused, conjuring the memory of her kneeling before him, the trembling timidity in her hands as she grasped the branch jutting from his chest, "with your kindness, kindness I had not earned nor held any claim to, awakened something in me that I feared long dead."

He felt the gentle stroke of Kaye's fingers against his cheek. He opened his eyes to be met by her own, their depths no longer aflame with the unhinged ferocity he had seen in them previously. In its place was the same tender, empathetic gaze from that night in the woods—the one that had burrowed itself deep into the glacial prison encasing his heart.

"That is why I chose you." He brought her hand to his scarred chest, held it there against the reverberant palpitation beneath his sternum. "Because you have shown me that perhaps I am not as monstrous and irredeemable as I believed myself to be—that my soul is not the blackened, twisted thing I was convinced it had become.

"You have brought me back from the dead, Kaye Fierch, and never again shall I let a moment pass that would leave you to wonder anything different."

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 16

Tommy fell asleep in the Cadillac.

He didn’t mean to, and he didn’t doze for very long. Bubby’s erratic approach to driving made sure of that; he yanked the vehicle around like it was a bull instead of a car. Tommy was in the middle of wondering if this man even had a license when he drifted off, head lolling toward Gordon’s shoulder.

He’d been running without sleep for nearly four days, adrenaline jumpstarting in his veins over and over again by their nightmarish circumstances, and the seat cushion of the Caddy was the softest thing he’d sat on since the week began. He was too exhausted, even, to think about Gordon’s thigh pressed against his in the backseat, or their shoulders jostling together as the car whipped through the garage.

When Bubby crunched into a wall, Tommy snapped awake again.

Gordon nudged him enthusiastically and pointed through the front windshield. “Good thing Benrey’s our hood ornament,” he said, leaning in close to be heard over the roar of the engine. “He can’t die.”

Tommy’s returning laugh was tired. He rubbed his face, accidentally elbowing Gordon as he did so. There was no reason for him to sit this close to him - the rightmost passenger seat was wide open - but he appreciated the proximity. Gordon was warm and solid, and would have made for a delightful spot to nap on if the sound of distant gunfire didn’t startle him back on the alert.

“Bubby, get the fuck outta here, the Marines are coming!” Gordon shouted.

In the rearview mirror, Tommy could see Bubby baring his teeth in a grimace as he cut the wheel one way and the other. The car inched bit by bit out of the alcove he’d gotten them all stuck in, bobbing the heads of his passengers back and forth with each press of the gas pedal.

“All you need to do is parallel park,” Dr. Coomer said, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder at the soldiers charging in their direction.

“Learn how to park,” Benrey added. He strolled across the hood and stepped lightly over Coomer’s head, settling into the open seat on Gordon’s right.

The man paid him no attention, practically standing in the back seat as he craned his neck toward the immediate danger.  “We’re not parking – god, we’re in an Austin Powers situation!” he growled in exasperation. A sudden jolt of the vehicle made him lose his footing and he ducked down again. “Fuck this!”

Bubby finally manhandled the car into a driveable position and peeled out, cackling madly as gunshots whizzed over their heads.

“Fine work!” Coomer patted the other scientist’s arm approvingly. “Positive thinking in action.”

Gordon finally noticed Benrey lounging in the seat beside him when the entity smacked him in the face with an elbow as he put his hands lazily behind his head. Gordon grit his teeth and rubbed his temple, expression soured by the company.

“Oh, hey, Benrey,” he grumbled. “Welcome to the ride.”

“There’s – there’s a-“ Benrey’s razor teeth glimmered as he broke off to laugh. “There’s a pungent smell right beside me, I don’t know.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, shut up.”

The Cadillac glanced off the side of the tunnel as Bubby swung them around a dangerous curve. The HEV suit colliding with Tommy’s ribcage just about knocked the wind out of him.

He pitched forward, gripping a hand on the back of the driver’s seat as he called to the prototype. “Do you know how to drive?” he asked.

Bubby revved the engine and didn’t answer.

The sped out of the parking garage, leaving the Marines behind in the wake of squealing tires and the smell of gasoline. The Caddy was making a loud juddering sound as it careened through the tunnel and, while Tommy was no mechanic, he guessed that most Cadillacs weren’t supposed to make that noise. Still, it was preferable to the sound of Benrey screeching about a road trip at the top of his lungs.

“Gentlemen, we don’t even need to go to the Lambda Lab,” Coomer declared triumphantly as they cleared the garage and emerged into the bright sun of day.  We’re going home!”

“We’re going to the moon!” Benrey interjected.

What they were going to do was crash, Tommy realized. Bubby gunned the vehicle straight toward the parking compound’s heavy metal door.

“Yeah! Fuck it!” Gordon said, throwing up his hands. “Leave the world as it is! Oh, no, no-no-no-n- d-“

Their necks collectively snapped forward from the impact as the Cadillac crunched in on itself against the gate. Tommy groaned and held his head in his hands while Benrey chuckled darkly to himself.

“Bro!” Gordon burst out once he recovered.

Bubby was calmly climbing out of the vehicle, giving the smoking hood an unconcerned look. “Oh, the engine stalled,” he said neutrally.

“The whip- the whiplash!” Gordon insisted, rubbing his neck and wincing. “Come on. Come on.”

Tommy hastily found the handle and popped open the door as soon as he registered the ominous hissing sound coming from the front of the car. He slid out and hustled to a safe distance, trusting the others to follow his lead.

“Yep, it’s fucked,” Bubby muttered as he strode out of harm’s way.

Coomer, following suit, gave him a light tap on the small of his back. “You’ll just have to repair the Cadillac after the test,” he reassured him.

God, that never got old, Tommy thought as he snickered. He reached a hand behind him to tug Gordon along and was met with empty air.

Bubby’s voice rang out across the yard. “Gordon, you have to bail!”

Tommy whirled in time to see the car turn into a fireball with Gordon inside. He reacted without thinking, flinging up a psychic barrier between him and the explosion right before the blast took him. Gordon was launched thirty feet backward and tumbled into the dust, singed and smoking. There was a beat of silence where the man was worryingly still, but then he let out a groan and shielded his face from the sun with his arm.

Gravel crunched under Tommy’s shoes as he hurriedly approached him. “Mr. Freeman, that was so close,” he said, fighting off the tightness in his voice as he knelt beside him. “Why didn’t you get out of the car?”

Gordon’s eyes slowly focused on Tommy’s face, still disoriented from the impact. “Cause I didn’t – cause I-”

“Gordon, it’s dangerous to remain in a vehicle when the engine’s on fire,” Coomer interrupted, sounding concerned.

Carefully propping himself into a sitting position, Gordon’s gaze fixed on Benrey, who was studying the two of them with an amused smile, head tipped to the side. “Did this bitch put glue on the seat?” he demanded, flinging a hand in the entity’s direction. “My ass is sticky.”

The pile of wreckage that used to be a perfectly handsome Cadillac hissed and smoked in the following silence. Tommy glared at Benrey, knowing full well that he intended to kill Gordon before this journey was over. He’d had his fun, he’d gotten bored, and he was ready to discard him. Tommy helped an unsteady Gordon to his feet, keeping piercing eye contact with the entity as he did so.

Benrey just cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered across the yard, “You got pranked!”

He was lucky he was a healthy distance away from both of them.

---

No more nodding off, Tommy vowed to himself. The fifteen seconds he’d snatched in the backseat of the car would have to be enough to see them through the end of this. Now that he was certain Benrey had it in his head to put Gordon in the ground, he couldn’t afford to doze.

At the top of a communications tower, he set to work figuring out how the machine operated, focusing on the knobs and dials so he wouldn’t wander off to snoozeville. They were surrounded on all sides by heavy compound walls, strung up tight by electrical fencing, and it seemed like the only way out of this area was back underground. Gordon and the other scientists crowded around the radio while Benrey loitered on the edge of the tower, kicking his legs out over a ten story drop. The burning blue sky seared down on all of them.

Gordon’s soldier impersonation made a reappearance and Tommy had to bite the inside of his cheek to contain his laughter.

“Breaker, here, uh,” he stammered into the receiver, pitching his voice down to a hesitant rumble. “Delta – al – uh – zeta, um. I love… ch- killing innocent people… I am sole b-“

He was cut off by a cacophony of commands in the code they had intercepted earlier. As the static shrill from the machine grew louder and more insistent, Gordon and Bubby took the radio out with gunfire until the thing went quiet. Tommy shook out his shoulders as his ears rang. They could have just turned it off.

Dr. Coomer spoke up in the following silence. “Gordon, my ex-wife taught me all about military jargon before we broke up,” he informed him. “Would you like me to translate?”

Gordon nodded. “Yeah.”

“We’re fucked six ways from Sunday,” he said grimly.

In the meantime, Benrey had wandered over to the control panel for the device and was pressing buttons indiscriminately. “I’m scanning your feet,” he said, raising both his voice and his eyes toward Gordon.

Tommy folded his arms. Not this again. He had put up with years of Benrey’s bizarre feet obsession, and he was beginning to suspect it had less to do with a sexual association than it did with the fact that the entity probably didn’t have feet. He couldn’t be entirely sure - the last time he’d asked him about it, the entity had broken Tommy’s wrist.

“What?” Gordon asked, glancing down at where he stood atop the coordinate platform, “What is this?”

“It’s scanning your feet,” Benrey repeated, leering. “This is FootScanner HD, we’re gonna get high-res pictures of your feet, bro.”

Tommy caught a ripple of revulsion cross Gordon’s face. “I don’t want you to have pictures of my feet,” he responded, “I don’t s- I don’t want you to have pictures of my feet.”

Not to mention he was wearing heavy boots and he wasn’t even standing on a scanner, Tommy mused. He watched carefully as Gordon stepped down from the platform and belted the entity with his modified arm, sending him careening off the tower.

“Y’know what? Get off!” he growled.

Benrey was unfazed even as he fell. A distant call of “Gordon Feetman!” echoed off the compound walls.

Gordon folded over on himself with laughter. “He called me Gordon Feetman,” he giggled in astonishment, unable to form an appropriate comeback.

Tommy cast a surreptitious glance over the edge of the tower, searching until he caught sight of the entity uncrumpling himself limb by limb below. He shuddered and returned his attention to the machine while Gordon stepped back onto the platform to gain a better vantage of their surroundings.

This seemed relatively straightforward - punch in the coordinates, move the array, hit the button. He’d seen something similar at the VLA, about two hours outside Albuquerque, but those radio telescopes were used for observation while these were, well, for destroying everything. Shame.

Gordon’s voice tugged at his attention. “Have you scanned my feet enough times, Tommy?”

Tommy flicked his eyes up to meet Gordon’s and made a face of distaste. He liked the guy, but he didn’t have a particular interest in his feet.

“We’re not scanning your feet, dumbass,” Bubby snapped, equally put-off.

“Gordon, this is a radio array for calling down an air strike,” Coomer explained patiently.

He glanced down at the grid on the platform again, realization dawning on his face. “Ohhh. Oh, that’s what that is. Okay,” he stepped off the machine with a heavy clunk of his boots. “So Benrey was lying.”

“If you’d listened to the radio you would have known that,” Bubby huffed as he fiddled with the dials.

An astonished laugh shook his shoulders. “Tell Benrey to shut up!” he shot back defensively. “Tell him to stop – get him to stop! I need help.”

“No you shut up!” floated faintly from somewhere below them.

Tommy spared another look over the edge at the spot on the ground that was rapidly reconstituting itself. Benrey was getting worryingly fast at coming back to life. He pondered if the Resonance Cascade was affecting his abilities while Gordon continued to chuckle nervously.

Several stories beneath their feet, Benrey held up a middle finger, a gesture made all the more grotesque as his shattered arm knitted back together. Tommy frowned. Ass.

Chapter 15 <-----> Chapter 17

[theritualofourexistence]

Odes to Old Gods

I started this year intending to journal about things I survive. Then at the end of the year, I could look back on my challenges and think about them in a more positive way--wow, look at what I overcame! The plan was to document everything, both good and bad, so that I could think about them more as experiences and lessons learned than as... good and bad. 

Needless to say, I stopped keeping track of those things in April. 

Earlier this month, I pulled out the journal again to update the list. I ended up quitting on that too. 

I do think, though, that in a less chaotic year, thinking about my life this way would be good practice. So, here I am, sharing my list with you in the form of an end-of-year, wrap-up blog post. 

A few quick caveats: 

This year was hard for literally everyone except maybe Jeff Bezos. 

It is not healthy to compare challenges or struggles or suffering.

I am not sharing this because I am looking for sympathy... I believe that being vulnerable is a very important part of the human experience but we can all also use a reminder that we never really know all of what anyone is experiencing. We shouldn’t need that reminder to treat others with love... but the older I get, the more I think those reminders might be necessary.

Things I have survived in 2020:

- A bit of a stalking experience in January which has since been resolved.

- Losing my job, hunting for a new job, securing a new job, training for the new job.

- My first Harry Potter tattoo for my ten-year tattooiversary.

- The fires in Australia.

- An absolutely wonderful trip to NYC with my dad when I got to see both Beetlejuice and Hadestown and have an enormous strawberry cheesecake milkshake from Junior’s. 

- Losing Kobe Bryant.

- Parasite absolutely CRUSHING the Oscars.

- Having a really, really good visit with my grandparents in March before all hell broke loose. 

- Weinstein being convicted and sentenced.

[Everything after this point happened during a global pandemic.]

- Losing Grandmom. I was unable to attend her funeral and still have not had the chance to grieve this loss with my extended family. 

- Losing my health insurance.

- A Zoom party for my Grammy’s 80th birthday.

- Losing Breonna Taylor. And George Floyd. And so, so many others. This is the first year I have really committed to understanding the current race-related issues this country faces and BOY, do we have work to do.

- The stress but success of orchestrating a safe family trip so that I didn’t have to go an entire year without seeing my brother.

- Losing my shifts at my primary job due to virus-related concerns.

- Countless other family happy birthdays over Zoom.

- My 60-year-old mother returning to work face-to-face with a student population that largely ignores all virus-related guidelines despite her working tirelessly for months this spring to offer UHS providers an adequate work-from-home option. 

- Being diagnosed with hypertension.

- A nightmarish friend trip. Despite our best laid plans for a safe and healthy visit, Mother Earth decided to trap me 90 miles north of my best friends for 4 days. I eventually got to see them for about 12 hours and honestly, it was worth it. That is the only time I’ve gotten with them all year.

- Losing Ruth Bader Ginsberg.

- The selection of Amy Coney Barrett to the Supreme Court.

- Our sweet girl Clio being diagnosed with a seizure disorder and then coming down with a life-threatening upper respiratory infection. 

- Learning that my grandmother would be voting for Trump in the 2020 election.

- The actual election.

- Losing Rooster, my sweet, sweet boy.

- Learning that my uncle has been diagnosed with esophageal cancer.

- Missing Thanksgiving with my extended family.

- Getting really excellent holiday gifts for my favorite people.

- Missing Christmas with my extended family.

- Safely spending some holiday time with my immediate family.

That is FAR from everything. But I don’t have the energy? Capacity? Time? to sort through everything.

Here are the things from this year that I am still currently surviving:

- A global pandemic! And all the associated chaos. With my asthma and high blood pressure and obesity, I am considered high risk and am still not able to safely return to my primary job. 

- Hypertension! More on this later.

- Grieving Rooster. In the days after we said goodbye, I wrote a memorial that I will eventually share here. Psychology has recently analyzed data suggesting that losing a pet can be equivalent to losing a relative... I have never felt grief like this. It’s been over a month. I cry every night. 

- Managing Clio’s health. She is still adjusting to her seizure medication, which she gets twice a day, and is still on medication to help with lasting symptoms of the respiratory infection. She is fussy about food and her weight fluctuates a lot week to week. She is also a feral rescue who has only ever been handled by me, my mom, and our vet. If mom and I are ever going to vacation together again, we will need to find someone who can manage catching and pilling her twice a day... no easy feat. Fortunately, at the moment, vacations aren’t really a thing for either my mom or I and I am working hard to approach these concerns in a cross-that-bridge-when-we-come-to-it way.

----

This year has been overwhelming. The last two months alone have been overwhelming. And they would’ve been overwhelming without the added spice of a global pandemic. The number of Americans we have lost to this virus has doubled since I last posted here in mid-August. Some time this week we are likely to reach a point where we’re losing 4,000 Americans per day. PER. DAY. This year has been overwhelming.

----

There were some good things this year, of course. I am so, so thankful for all the time I got with my immediate family and the very brief but vital time I got with my friends. Fortunately I am only ever a text away from my closest friends and we are able to message pretty much every day. I am also extremely glad to have found a place in the fantasy enamel pin community. The family I’ve found in pin-land has carried me through some of my lowest points this year. I spent more time in view of the ocean than I typically do in a given year... even though much of that time was still riddled with anxiety. I did art this year. I read books this year. Some really important ones, in fact. If you read nothing else in 2021, read The New Jim Crow. I also got tattooed! I’m going to include those here because I think the significance of each reflects something interesting and important about all I have survived and am surviving this year.

----

In January, I got my first Harry Potter tattoo! My favorite quote from the entire series is delivered by Hagrid during the Triwizard tournament:

”What’s comin’ will come, and we’ll meet it when it does.” 

I got that incorporated into a tattoo. In January. 

Also in January I got a “Prisoner of Donuts” tattoo... because life just wouldn’t be manageable at all without donuts.

In March, I got a bird of prey carrying a book to represent one of my all time favorite poems, “On Thought in Harness” by Edna St. Vincent Millay. The final lines of that poem:

“Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen. Depart, be lost, but climb.” 

In July, I was able to safely navigate getting a tattoo that symbolizes the saga told in The Lord of the Rings trilogy. LOTR is my first and oldest fandom and the story is still so, so important to me today. The lessons I learned from Tolkien when I was a kid also carried me through some of my hardest moments this year.

Also in July I got a Plumpy tattoo. That’s right. Plumpy. From Candyland. If you haven’t played the game in a while, you may not remember Plumpy. He’s one of the first characters you meet on the game board... and one of the worst cards to see when you’re close to winning the game. You could be three damn squares from the finish line and pull the Plumpy card and back to the beginning of the board you go. Plumpy is a really great reminder that even when we have no choice but to lose ground, we can gain that ground back again. And hey, once you pull the Plumpy card from the deck, you likely won’t see him again for a good long while. 

In October, I was able to safely navigate getting my second Harry Potter tattoo. Neville has always been one of my favorite fantasy characters and I chose to carry him with me permanently. His courage, despite so, so much bullshit, inspires me every day. I also got a nautical tattoo for my mom’s ancestors who came to this country and fought in the Revolutionary War. Just as my family has a long and proud history of fighting for what matters, I too will carry that banner, even if it looks very, very different in the modern age. My third tattoo of the appointment is a cuckoo holding playing cards, a nod to one of most important stories I’ve read: Ken Kesey’s “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” This book has informed not just my personal journey with mental illness but my passion to work in the field as well. My final tattoo of my October appointment, less than a week before the 2020 election, is a weeping Lady Justice. 

----

This year has made me look critically at things I very comfortably ignored for a long time. I would hope that it has done the same for most of you. Very little if any of this year was easy for me... but the most important lessons are never easy to learn. I’ve spent this year more worried and more angry than I’ve ever been before... and all I hope to do moving forward is use that fear and that anger to make this country, this world, a better place. Miss me with your resolutions this year. Every single day we should prioritize surviving and treating others with understanding and active love. I worked hard to do that this year and I will continue to work hard to do that every day. I’m proud of the work I’ve done. And in case it wasn’t clear, I’ll be dragging as many of you as I can on this journey with me. If you really feel the need to make a resolution this year, resolve to learn. Resolve to understand. Resolve to read The New Jim Crow and then TAKE ACTION. Take action with your votes and your voices and your money. Resolve to act.

----

This year wouldn’t let me escape it without being put on blood pressure medication, despite my best efforts to lower my blood pressure without it. Although I had gotten back down into a healthy range for a few weeks, RBG’s death and the landslide of utter shit that followed that completely wrecked all the progress I had made. I’m not happy about adding a new medicine to my regimen. I’m not happy about adding a new chronic diagnosis to my already lengthy laundry list. I did not expect 30 to look like allergy pills and three daily moisturizers and foot stretches and Metamucil and acid reducers and migraine medication and iron supplements and six prunes a day and chronic pain and blood pressure medication... but here we are. I’m exhausted from working so hard to be healthy just to have all that work not be enough. I feel very much like my body is giving up on me... and that is a feeling I am struggling with a lot right now. My soul is a vibrant but powerless passenger in a car speeding towards the edge of a cliff.

I’ll keep trying though. I start my new medication tonight. Hopefully it helps. Hopefully the side effects are manageable. I don’t really feel like I can handle much more... but I guess we keep going until we can’t.   

----

I have no expectations for 2021 to be better. I don’t have much hope for it to be better either. This vaccine will saves lives and that’s really good news. But a lot of other things will be difficult, will stay difficult, will become difficult. I’m going to try to keep fighting, and I hope you do too. 

“What’s comin’ will come, and we’ll meet it when it does.” 

[pluviophile-bookworm]

Thoughts/ reaction to AWAE 3x8

I’m honestly afraid of what I might see in this episode. I have been crying almost all week at the mere thought of what last episode did to Anne and Diana and Jerry, and I’m 100% ready to get that all resolved - but I’m afraid it might not happen. Also, with the Shirbert on-off-on-off pattern that has been going on this season, my hopes aren’t very high for those two. Here’s hoping my worries are in vain.

Ka’kwet is back. Unfortunately, she’s not back, if you know what I mean. I hope she gets out of that place - the “White Man’s Burden School”, as I call it - sooner. 

That nun is not acting like a good Christian. Tragically, that is what people really were like - and in some places still are - to people of colour. This cold open is truly nightmarish. I’m starting to fear my worries were not in vain and that I, and the whole fandom as a community, have been set up for much more suffering than any one of us might have expected. 

Looks like Ka’kwet will be back after all. That girl’s really smart, but she’s been through a lot. I hope things might be better for her back at home. 

I see things are still awfully tense between Anne and Diana - and “tense” doesn’t even begin to describe it. I hope this hot mess is resolved by next week - at most. 

I should have been ready for the sight of the schoolhouse burnt to ashes. But I don’t think anything could have prepared me for Anne’s reaction to it. Now I’m crying. I know this is supposed to be a symbol for the end of their childhood or something, but it’s still as devastating as we feared it would be, and then some. 

Once again Miss Stacy proves that the world needs more teachers, nay, more people, like her. Managing to find a silver lining and turn the situation around when she was clearly just as devastated as anyone - that was a true heroic act if you ask me. 

Wait, where is Anne going?

But of course, she’s immediately holding accountable for the situation whoever she thinks should be held accountable - in this case, Rachel Lynde. Interestingly, she didn’t even know what happened. I mean, she was the only woman in a council of men who tried to speak for her fellow women, wasn’t she? Rachel did some good last episode and she is not at fault for that vile act of cowardice and whatever else Miss Stacy called it. 

How is Ka’kwet supposed to find her way back to Avonlea? Is she even going to get back home? I’m worried for my girl.

Everybody being just crammed at Miss Stacy’s is the type of atmosphere and environment that just calls for something bonding and intimate to happen... and Shirbert are there, sitting together, talking... this is like a direct continuation of the porch scene from last episode. I might be clowning, but I think the loop has been broken. Or we might be in for a bigger step backwards next time. I’m clowning. 

Bash’s mum seeing Delly warms my heart. We need more wholesome scenes and less suffering. But we’re probably not getting any of that.

Ok, Ruby really is over Gilbert, so much that it’s like she was never “under” him. The fact that she can now talk to Anne about him and Winnifred - right in his face, at that, is a huge step away from the years and years of crushing. Also, she’s totally right that a person can be studious and romantic at the same time. But I’m not sure our Gil here is the best example of it. 

I sense some parallels between the scene with the class at the Green Gables barn and this scene at Miss Stacy’s - teasing Gilbert about his “fiance” while Anne is listening reminds me painfully of the “does he have  a farm girl” comment about Jerry. And the Anne/ Diana parallel this creates is just pouring salt in the wound their fight gave me last week.

The framing in the next scene is beautiful and reminds me of Shirbert, but I think that’s the only beautiful and romantic thing about it. 

Jerry just won’t stop saying “I’m not good enough for you”, and, frankly, he shouldn’t. I just hoped he’d say more. What I really wanted from this episode was for him to give Diana a piece of his mind on the way she made him feel last episode. 

“Rude and aggressive”? Jerry? I don’t think so. I didn’t really blame Diana for the way she acted last time, but I do blame her for even thinking that. Is he not allowed to have his own feelings and express them? And what is wrong with telling Anne? If anything, it was wrong of both of them not to tell her sooner. She’s supposed to be Diana’s bosom friend and Jerry’s sister, for goodness’s sake! It shouldn’t have taken hurt feelings to finally let her in on the way things are; or rather were, as they’re certainly not anymore. I can’t believe I’m saying it. but maybe it’s for the better. Even if multiple hearts, including mine, got broken in the process. For something to be fixed, it first must be broken, some say. Then so be it. 

Aunt Jo is in Avonlea? Things just got better. And she wants Diana to take the Queens exam. I think she should, too. But it breaks my heart again that she’s apparently not brave enough to try and fulfil her potential. So she was bold enough to kiss Jerry at the fair, thus leading both him and herself on, but not to fight for her own future? I love her and I just can’t sit and watch her do that to herself. But why am I doing this to myself, then?

Mrs. LaCroix acting like a servant and calling Gilbert “Mr. Blythe, sir” was very awkward to watch - for me and Gilbert alike, it seems. But I sort of understand why she did that. Except it’s not making me feel better. It makes me feel worse, if anything. Because I knew she was acting that way because Gilbert is white and she’s not. And that’s not alright. That she’s lived in a society that thought that was alright, was wrong. I hope things get better.

“Uncle Gilby”... Bash has me rolling on the floor laughing once again. And Delphine is still the cutest - she can’t do much more than be cute yet, can she? But I hope she gets to hear a certain love confession about Anne soon. That is the wholesome content we need in these trying times.

Oh my, Ka’kwet, get off that rail! I feel like a worried young mother with this kid. One thing I sure am, and it’s worried. I hope she’ll be safe.

The contrast between the awkwardly stiff atmosphere at the Barry house and the high-level pressure of the class is starker than that between day and night. That’s poetic cinema alright.  

Wait, Diana’s doing it! Is my girl back? My girl’s back. I think. I don’t want to get my hopes up too high. 

So Gilbert never returned Anne’s pen? I can see why. But it put her in a really uncomfortable position. I’ve been there, and I don’t need to tell you what going into an important exam without the proper tools can do to a student’s psyche. But I know Anne knows better than to let that get to her in this very important moment. 

Last episode’s climax left a very big impression on both Rachel and Marilla, didn’t it now?

Are they trying to push Bash and Miss Stacy? I think it would be highly inappropriate. First of all because I don’t think Bash is ready to remarry at all - he might as well never be - and second of all because I don’t think Muriel Stacy of all women needs a man. And I ship her with Prissy now, but that’s another story. 

Now that’s another feeling I know all too well - finishing your exams and celebrating your freedom. And I’m glad Diana got to be part of that. I just hope she and Anne can make up soon. That’s pretty much all I can think of.

If Winnie loves Paris so much, let her go to Paris. She shouldn’t need a man for that. Certainly not one whose mind has been occupied by one girl since the day he first saw her. I ship Shirbert as much as the next person and then some, but I also don’t want Winnie’s heart to be broken at the end of all this. She’s a nice girl. She deserves better. Let her go to Paris. No need to drag Gilbert into this for too long. 

Let me tell you, Anne’s hair flying loose, lit by the fire, is pure  poetry. If I were Gilbert in that scene, I would propose on the spot. But we know that’s not happening. 

Anne’s not making any sense and if this were any other couple in a similar setting, this is where he would shut her up with a kiss... but I’m clowning, ain’t I?

“Will you marry me?” Shirbert, and the ring and the dictionary, and the parallels... I’m nearly speechless. Why can’t they just spit it out? Does Gilbert have to go through with the proposal for the final realisation to come?

And... here we are. Except - we’re really not. “My Aunt is visiting me”. That felt like a firm step back on Diana’s part. Will they ever make up? Or will I have to cry for another week straight at just the thought of everything that played out?

Leave it to Aunt Jo to dish out wisdom... hope she can help Anne in this situation, or else the entirety of Shirbert might be at stake. 

“Asked Anne”? You didn’t ask anything. You just made her more confused than ever and now she feels this great responsibility about her whole life and yours, too. You shouldn’t have made her feel that way. But I can’t blame you. You two are the two most confused individuals I’ve seen in a long time. But I love you both the way you are. And I know you’ll get there someday. 

“She said no”. Seriously, Blythe, were you and I listening to the same girl talk last night? Because I never heard her say no. Or yes. Or give any kind of cohesive answer to the big question you DIDN’T ASK!

Rachel and Marilla are really doing that, aren’t they? And Rachel all cool pouring water while serving one of the most delightfully ironic of ironic echoes I’ve ever seen... “No need to be hysterical”! Ha! #started from the bottom #now we’re here

My, my! Ka’kwet has been through quite the journey... but she’s finally home. Wonder what will happen when the “whites” find out, though. 

Goodness! Minnie May’s really had it, hasn’t she? Honestly, it was about time someone in that family said something about the lives they lead - it was time someone told it like it is, and... why did I actually expect it to be Minnie May? Why does this little girl have to do the grown-ups’ job? I guess it’s just the way of the world. I just hope this doesn’t end in disaster. 

Okay, I’ve been waiting for this all week, and it’s even more beautiful than I could have imagined. Far more beautiful.

Wow, that was some realisation! “I’m in love with Gilbert Blythe”. Took you long enough, Anne! Now go do something about it before it’s way too late. Gosh, we will be clowning so hard next week. 

To sum up what we saw in this episode: Ka’kwet finally escapes the “White Man’s Burden” school of nightmares and takes the long road home; lots of tension between Anne and Diana; the school is ashes and those responsible for it aren’t getting away; Gilbert thinks he’s sure about Winnifred; Derry is dead; lots of parallels, all heavy on Shirbert; Bash’s mum “knows her place” - or does she really?; Diana takes the exams with zero preparation (respect!); Rachel and Marilla tear down the patriarchy; Minnie May does the grown-ups’ job; DiAnne is back; Anne sets us all up for a lot of clowning.

[sideshowyelling]

Penance

@folkloric-love

A villager of The Hamlet blames The Abomination for a missing person. The Flagellant defends him.

Even in The Hamlet the quiet times were few and far between.

The tavern, and all of it’s seedy connecting rooms, tended to be tad bit too overwhelming for The Abomination to take most days. The very first time he had wandered in after his initial arrival in town, it had felt as though all eyes were on him the moment he walked in. It wasn’t as if he were even the strangest looking person there between all of the travelers and hired mercs that could be found trying to relax and decompress after various harrowing journeys in such a desolate land. He’d managed to convince himself that they weren’t all staring at him like they knew just what kind of a freak he was, and he’d had a few surprisingly decent drinks that night, but in the end he had come to terms with the fact that the tavern just wasn’t the place for him.

The Abomination was truly unwanted in the town center though. He’d pass through from time to time, often seeking news about when he would next be expected to venture out and do the job he was being paid to do, terrible as it may have been. It had taken a while for the townsfolk to learn exactly who he was, and to pass the rumors of what beast lay trapped just beneath the surface around town to one another. The more whispers and muttering The Abomination heard around him though, the more foul looks and sneers he noticed coming his way. He’d learned long ago to keep his head low, look to the ground, and don’t give anyone the chance to do gods knows what to him.

It would have been nice to be able to say it was the tactic that had kept him alive all these years, but he knew well that when it came down to it that it was the very curse that had him shunned that protected him from the most dangerous of the civilized world, in the very most gruesome ways.

No, the town center was not for him, and neither was the Sanitarium, even though he had often figured that he may be able to engage in some interesting conversations there, discussions of science and the alchemical treatments that could aid in curing the ill. He’d ventured in once, out of necessity more than anything else, and the entire experience had left him absolutely shaken with nightmarish flashes of his past coming back to haunt him once more.

Though… it wasn’t an entire loss. His time in the Sanitarium was what had first brought him into the sanctity of the town’s Abbey. Perhaps the only quiet place in town, there were very few who would dare disturb the relative peace that could be found within it’s walls.

And so The Abomination had found himself, once more, at a point in his life when most of his free time was spent hiding away in a church and seeking what refuge he could. He’d only returned to town hours ago, exhausted and still damp from such a dreadful traipse through The Cove. Though his traveling companions had survived the endeavor, the journey had been harrowing and now that they had returned safely all he desired was a night’s rest somewhere dry and indoors. They all needed time to wipe the horrors from their mind, and ease the stress that had been building up for days now, and they all did so in their own ways.

Despite the fact that the Tavern and it’s pleasures tended to be a more popular choice for the resting adventures, the Abbey was never empty, and never completely silent. Vestals and Crusaders alike could be cloistered away muttering quiet prayers to themselves and pouring over verses they had long since learned by heart, and they tended not to look towards The Abomination as he passed, and for this he was quite thankful. He knew them well, and that to them he was nothing but a blight on their church. The few times they did lock eyes though, they had said nothing. The Abomination was silent as he said his own prayers, and though they knew not what he prayed for, he caused no trouble for them and so he was left to his own devices. Today he shuffles past without a word, and they seem to take no notice, their murmuring going disrupted. It’s a surprising comfort, really.

There are a few lingering souls using the Transept, and as The Abomination makes his way towards the frontmost pew, a strong stench of alcohol hits his nose, and as he looks for the source of it he finds a man knelt before one of the grand idols built in the room. There was a mostly empty bottle in one hand, and a damp handkerchief clenched tightly in the other, and the man was more so letting out choked sobs rather than effectively praying.

“Please… please- by the gods please bring her back to me.” He whispered, but in the quiet of the church it was all to easy to hear just what the man was muttering to himself, and The Abomination felt an uncomfortable chill run down his spine as he took his seat on a pew a short ways away from the man. “The vile monsters of this land have already taken so much from me- from all of us -I… She’s just a little girl! I can’t lose her too!”

There was an uneasy air that settled in the room over everyone who was attempting to seek answers through prayer, and as hard as The Abomination tried, he simply couldn’t tune the troubling words of The Villager out. He bit the inside of his cheek and stared down at the floor before him as he listened to The Villager snivel and cry, muffled only by his hand and the handkerchief he had pressed against his face. He thumped the bottle in his hand against the ground, and for a moment The Abomination was worried that it might just crack and shatter, spill what little of the bitter drink was left. Instead The Villager used it to push himself back and up, dragging his hand down his tear-stained face. He swayed where he stood, rubbing at his eyes before he let out a heavy sight and turned to leave, only to stop short when he saw The Abomination sitting only a few strides away.

“You...” The Villager muttered, the tail end of a growl lacing his words as he took a half step forward. Then, without another word he reeled the bottle that had been hanging loosely in his grasp back, and he hurled it at The Abomination.

Thankfully The Abomination wasn’t drunk, and with wide eyes he quickly jumped out of the way before the bottle could smash again him. It shattered against the back of the pew he had been sitting at only a moment before, and just like that all eyes were drawn to him at the sound of shattering glass. Everyone else in the room watched, The Vestal, The Crusader, and the few others who had wandered in seeking refuge. Nobody moved, nobody spoke, and The Abomination took a shaky breath as he held his hands up to show he meant no harm.

“Please, I’m sorry, I-” The Abomination said, unsure of what exactly he was apologizing for, but there was a look of rage on the man’s face that he hadn’t often seen in anyone, and The Abomination could only hope that his only weapon had just been broken over the back of his seat.

“Smithy said he saw a monster done took her….” The Villager slurred, gritting his teeth as he balled his fists once more, and he shuffled closer to The Abomination. The look in his eyes… The Abomination had seen this look before. He’d seen it in the eyes of his traveling companions as their minds broke under the stress as they delved deeper and deeper into each hellish crevice this land had to offer. The look of a man who had no desire but to hurt, to break others down until they felt the same pain he had. “Never seen a monster dare rear it’s ugly head here in town though. Aside from one that is...”

It didn’t take a terribly smart man to figure out exactly what was meant by that, and for an instant there was a chilling cold that ran through The Abomination’s veins. The monster’s blood, poison…

“I am not a monster...” The Abomination said, his voice strong and sure. He’d said this a thousand times to a thousand different people. “I’ve hurt no one here, and I’ve no desire to do so. I’m so sorry for your loss, but your anger is not with me it’s with whatever beast out there has taken your child...”

“They drag all of these… these mercenaries, they bring them in to protect us, and what happens? They let the damned monster in too! Tell us it’s gonna keep us safe, all’s gonna happen is we’re gonna get our throats slit in our broken homes after everything good’s been taken from us.” The Villager rambled, and as he stumbled forward, he took a wide, almost flailing swing, and The Abomination raised his hand to grab The Villager’s wrist, pushing against him to try and shove him back. By the gods he was exhausted, fatigue long since having taken hold of every limb, of every muscle that was keeping him upright, and he could feel his strength failing him. As the two of them struggled, The Villager pushed down against The Abomination, and with a grunt The Abomination was felled, dropping to a knee and holding his arms above himself to shield himself from whatever blows would surely come his way.

The chill that had run through his veins shifted, growing hotter and hotter with fear and rage at such mistreatment. He felt as though he were being ripped apart from the inside out, something dangerously close to breaking free as he simply held his arms above his head to shield himself as a heavy handed fist rained down strike after strike on him, and he knew his forearms would be covered in bruises the next day, if he survived the night that is. Unhindered attacks like this always had a terrible risk of being taken well beyond the attacker’s original intent…

Pain bloomed, his defense wavered, and shame flooded him because he knew that the Vestal and Crusader would simply stand by and continue to watch, let him take this beating for simply being who he was. For a brief moment he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if- when -the beast within him truly came out. Would their fragile tolerance of him shatter? Would they too take the chance to try and cast him out once and for all?

Just as quickly as it all went down though, the blows ceased and with a grunt The Villager was yanked back and away from The Abomination, and with just a bit of hesitance The Abomination lifted his gaze to see what had halted such a furious assault.

“The penance hall is downstairs.”  

The Flagellant. A man dressed in rag that still managed to hold such a strange, commanding air about himself. Perhaps it was the acrid smell of blood that seemed to hang off of him at all times. Perhaps it was the light tint of it that stained his clothes, his skin. Maybe it was the loud, heavy thud of his flail hitting the ground as he let it hang loosely in his free hand, his other wrapped painfully tight around the man he’d found beating his fellow mercenary. Silence fell over the transept save for a few quiet gasps and the sound of shuffling feet as the others backed away, and The Abomination found himself at the feet of both The Flagellant and his attacker, looking between them with wild, almost glowing eyes.

“A man… who would protect a monster is no better than the monster himself...” The Villager slurred, quickly yanking his wrist away from The Flagellant, and he did so with ease to the point that he almost stumbled back as he did so. “Holy man such as yourself ought to know better..”

“And a man who seeks salvation and guidance such as yourself ought to know better than to come in here starting trouble.” The Flagellant said, his voice low, the barest hint of a growl tainting his words as he stepped closer to The Villager, effectively placing himself between him and The Abomination. “The Transept is a place of peace and solace, and yet here you stand attempting to dole out punishment that is not yours to give.”

The emotions that flashed across The Villager’s face could only be described as nothing short of volatile. Drunken rage mixed with absolute despair, with shame and desperation and confusion that such a prominent member of the Abbey would stand against him and guard such a terrible beast. “Neither is it your place to stop me!” He bellowed, stumbling forward towards The Flagellant until their chests bumped and they were nearly face to face. He raised his hands and gripped the tattered remains of what had once been a cloak tightly, yanking him closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “A man who protects monsters deserves nothing, perhaps only to be beaten in their place...”

There was a grin that spread across The Flagellant’s face in that moment, twisted crooked and long since broken, and behind him The Abomination could only watch in a mix of awe and terror as his protector dropped his only weapon and raised his arms instead. He would shield The Abomination from harm, and welcome it home instead.

“For him? I would take all you could give without hesitation, my friend.” The Flagellant said.

“No,” The Abomination finally called out, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Please stop, just leave us be...” He said, before The Flagellant held his hand up to silence him. His pleas would fall on deaf ears once more, just as they always had.

It truly did look as though The Villager wished to spew more vile words at the two of them, curse them for their stance and demand that The Flagellant stand down and let things be as they were, but there was a flash of concern in his eyes as he took in the sight of The Flagellant so ready and willing to suffer at the hands of a stranger for someone who the Abbey had at one point shunned entirely. The Flagellant, a beast in his own right, thrived in this hesitation.

“I’ve stood by this man in the darkest pits that the land has to offer, where the truly most vile beasts lie in wait. There are horrors down below that make men far stronger than yourself break into nothing more than empty shells of who they once were, who feast on the bones of those who fall at their hands and haunt the dreams of those who manage to escape and live another day. He’s a man who has traveled where even the light can no longer help you, and all that we have left is blood tying you to this world, and though I may not care for his tainted form and damned soul, we’ve fought side by side and truly lived. I know for a fact that you are wrong my friend.”

And The Flagellant reached forward with surprising speed, grabbing the front of The Villager’s shirt and bringing him all the closer, knocking their heads together in an aggressive way.

“He is but a horrid abomination in this transept, but I have learned in my time that simply because one is a monster does not mean that one is guilty.” The Flagellant snarled, his upper lip twitching back to show missing teeth. “And so I say once more, if you so feel the need to lash out, then turn your violence on me. His suffering shall be mine and it will be divine!”

There is a moment of tense silence that falls over the Abbey halls, punctuated only by heavy breaths coming from The Flagellant himself as he stares down The Villager who had dared to disturb the sanctity of this holy place he so often sought his own salvation in. His grip on the man’s shirt slowly eases before The Villager is let go entirely with a small shove, sending him stumbling backwards until he could right himself proper. There was fear in his eyes, perhaps of the possible retaliation that might await him if he so much as tried to face The Flagellant again, or simply of what a man as unhinged and entirely devoted to such an extreme ideal could do to him with little to no provocation. He looked like a wounded animal, hunkered down like he expected a beating of his own. Instead, The Flagellant simply turned and pointed back towards the entrance of the Abbey, and barked a single order that had The Villager scrambling away as fast as his feet could carry him in his state.

“Leave!”

The man left with the sound of heavy footsteps echoing behind him, growing more and more distance until the slam of a heavy wooden door could be heard, and all at once it was like a collective exhale had been released. The Vestal and The Crusader slowly made their way forwards once more, back to their seats in complete silence and perhaps shock, but The Abomination paid them no mind. His head was swimming and he could still feel his heart pounding in his chest, but the burn of toxic blood had begun to die down and it no longer felt as though he were about to be completely overtaken by a force well outside his control.

The pain in The Abomination’s arms began to flare up though, and he sat back for a moment to push his shackles up just a bit further and rub over the abused skin. His eyes were locked on The Flagellant as he turned back towards him, bending down to pick his flail up from off the floor, and he cleared his throat to get rid of the shakes as he pushed himself up onto his knees. The Abomination may not have ever expected The Flagellant of all people to be his one and only protector, but by the gods was he grateful. “You didn’t have to-...” He said, only for The Flagellant to cut him off before he could even begin to thank him for coming to his aid when nobody else would have.

“On your feet now, Abomination. I know you’ve done nothing to hurt the people of this town, but despite what I said, you and I both know you’re are far from innocent. You seek salvation from a curse brought on by your own hubris, yes? You do not belong up here with the truly holy folk. You belong down below, taking absolution by your own hand rather than waiting for prayers to be answered.” He said, stepping around The Abomination without a care to head back towards the stairs near the upper left corner of the Transept that lead down to the Penance hall. The heavy ends of his flail scraped across the ground as he went, making a truly wretched sound that sent chills down The Abomination’s spine.

“Follow me, and pay your toll in blood…”

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION.NET

TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 10: CHILDREN OF MAH

QUEST SUMMARY:

The Mahjarrat are dying, and they want answers as to why. To get them, they must journey back to Freneskae at the behest of Zaros, who promises them freedom from their Rituals once and for all. When Zamorak gets wind of his intentions, it leads to the two deities meeting for the first time since the great betrayal…

CHAPTER 4 - DYING LIGHT

According to legends, muspah were created when Mah had some of her most vile nightmares.

There were two ways to banish them - either pray to Mah that only a few had manifested and try to fight them off, or perform the Ritual of Rejuvenation.

They were thick, clawing creatures in putrid shades of purple, yellow and crimson. Spikes protruded from the rocky shell that covered their back, twisted and contorted in different angles that left no opening, no weakness. Their dagger-like teeth were skewed and positioned haphazardly throughout their cavernous mouths, instant death for anyone unfortunate enough to get a good look. Their forked tongue resembled a crude blade, hurriedly smithed in a sickly green ore, dripping with gurgling venom. Eyes, by the gods their eyes… they glowed so brightly that in the darkest depths of Freneskae, through the thickest fog and the heaviest storms, you could see the end approaching.

“Everyone huddle together!” Wahisietel commanded, backing into the centre of the Ritual circle. “If they attack, we-”

But it was too late. Suddenly, the muspah were among them. They had jumped, sprinted, maybe even teleported among the Mahjarrat, who scrambled away from their predators, firing wildly at the foul monsters.

Zaros was shaking. The effort it took to uphold the spell was hard enough without the threat of muspah swarming them. As it stood, he had no way of defending himself. “I cannot lose this connection to the Marker and to Mah. Azzanadra, shield me. If this link is disrupted, there may be no way of reestablishing it.”

“Yes my lord!” Azzanadra hurried to his god’s side, darting his eyes in all directions to retaliate against anything that dared threaten his lord.

Unlike his Mahjarrat brethren, Khazard had never encountered a muspah before. So when he saw the clawed abomination dash over the horizon, looking barge straight into him, he was too stunned to dodge out of the way. Grunting as he was bowled to the floor, Khazard could barely see through the dust and tears in his eyes, so the muspah was nothing but a nightmarish silhouette above him, claws raised and poised to strike.

But then it struck; a light, brilliant and shining, like a concentrated crystalline burst of energy, right into the back of the muspah. The creature shrieked and howled in agony before crumbling to the ground, right next to Khazard. Panting, Khazard scrambled to his feet, wide eyes locking onto the being that saved him.

Seren stared straight back, her many eyes fixated upon the Mahjarrat. Then, she flew down from the cliff edge and next to Zaros, disdainfully regarding her brother as she demanded, “What are you doing here, Zaros?”

Zaros turned his head slightly towards Seren, the energy pulsing around him still locking him to the Marker. “I have been pulled here, same as you, sister.”

“I came because I felt Mah’s distress,” Seren contended, a bitter edge to her voice. “I assume you are here for your own selfish ends?”

“Not so, sister. You have felt the draw. Mah is draining us of our lifeforce. If something is not done, we will all wither,” he motioned with his head to the Mahjarrat. “And they will go first.”

“A Ritual, then?”

Shaking his head, Zaros replied, “It is not enough to sustain them. Not this time.”

When Seren turned back to the Mahjarrat, she saw another muspah gaining on Bilrach, zooming in from the rear while Bilrach was distracted with another opponent. Seren shot a blast of her energy at the muspah, connecting to the rocky protective shell of its back. She expected it to topple over instantaneously; the strike should have been fatal, but instead, it merely seemed to aggravate the creature further. Fortunately, Bilrach was aware of his predator now and managed to gain some distance. Shocked, Seren forced another blast of energy at the muspah, launching what she thought was an excessively overpowered strike at it.

Finally, the creature crumbled. 

Looking down at her hands, Seren couldn’t understand. She could exterminate hoards of muspah with ease if needed - why were these causing so much trouble? Deep down in her core, she had an inkling, and she sensed that Zaros knew too.

Wahisietel was just as terrified as he was baffled. The musaph had never moved like that before, and they had never penetrated the Ritual Site. Something was wrong... 

“We have to perform the Ritual,” Akthanakos wearily shot down another muspah, his life essence being sucked out of him with every attempt to defend himself. “It is the only way to banish these apparitions!”

“But we can't perform the Ritual with these things clawing at us!” Enakhra shouted back, panting heavily as she fought off another attack.

Hazeel was shaking his head, his eyes glazing over with the exertion. “I don't understand. Why are these muspah so different?”

“As Mah grows weaker, she grows more desperate,” Zaros explained, acutely aware of how vulnerable he was, even with Azzanadra’s protection. He turned to Seren. “These nightmares will only continue to grow stronger with each passing minute. Sister, we must do something to rid the Ritual Site of Mah’s nightmares before they overwhelm us.”

“What would you have me do, Zaros?” Seren snapped, feeling the anguish of the gathered Mahjarrat infect her very core. “I cannot fight her manifestations by myself while you perform the Ritual!”

“And you will not be able to. As long as Mah draws breath, we will succumb. If not to her manifestations, then to her drain on our lifeforce.”

Zaros’ insinuations slithered their way into Seren’s mind. Her eyes widened. “No!”

“Do you think this is what Mah wants?” Zaros’ sharp tone had a pleading edge to it. “If she was conscious of the consequences of her actions, do you think she would accede to them?”

Seren was incredulous. Her seething tone quivered, “I will not let you kill our own mother!”

“Then you must do it,” Zaros solemnly but firmly declared, emphasising, “They will all perish, sister...”

Seren’s hollow eyes held Zaros’ for a long while before wandering numbly over to the gathered Mahjarrat. They were fighting for their lives, for the survival of their race, just like they were the first time she came to them on Freneskae.

Gulping, Seren let the guilt wash over her once more. If her greatest mistake was the curse of tethering she inflicted upon the elves, then her relationship with the Mahjarrat was a close second.

Lowering her head, Seren said nothing as she flew up to Mah’s side.

The elder god was grumbling, groaning, her stone-assembled features creaking with every bitter movement. The nightmare pulsed though her, tearing through her psyche like daggers through flesh. So many times Seren had seen Mah in this treacherous state. Once Zaros departed Freneskae, Mah was devastated. She was barely lucid, and even when she was, she was unable to separate dreams from reality. Her screams would echo across the mountains, causing violent earthquakes as her pain intensified.

Creations spawned from her dreams - the Children of Mah, their race was known as, and tribes formed among them. The Mahjarrat were the only remaining tribe. Seren theorised Mah was trying to create another Zaros, to fill the void his absence had created. Instead, she created a race of lost, scared and weak creations, left to build a society out of the ashes of their harsh world. Seren came to them, and she taught them all she could to survive on Freneskae... but at a cost.

When Mah’s screams shook the world, Seren encouraged the Mahjarrat to perform a Ritual of Enervation - it would drain Mah of some of her power, settling her fury and allowing the Mahjarrat to breed. When Mah’s nightmares caused the creation of muspah, Seren encouraged the Mahjarrat to journey to the Ritual Marker and sacrifice one of their own to banish the creatures, returning to Mah some of that lost power.

Mah loved her creations. Seren knew that, as she saw countless parents love their children upon leaving Freneskae. But her love was overwhelming. Zaros felt smothered by Mah and left Freneskae, leaving Seren alone to care for her. Those were dark days, her moods travelling between deep depression and intense fury. Seren alone had to handle her. But nothing lasts forever, even for an elder god.

“I was powerless... nothing I did or could do would ever be enough…” Seren found herself whimpering, heavy eyes resting upon the deity.

Eventually, Seren had left Freneskae too, hoping to find something in the cosmos that could help Mah’s suffering. She had found so many wondrous things in her travels, including the heart of the universe itself - Gielinor, a perfect world.

But nothing to save her mother.

“I never wanted to abandon you, Mah.”

The sounds of battle below the clifftop echoed and reverberated around the world, alongside the low rumblings of an impending earthquake. Mah’s face contorted again, a pained shriek settling into a hollow scowl, lava dripping from her cracked features.

Tentatively, Seren approached Mah, holding out a hand to rest against her cheek. “I am so sorry, mother. I think I always knew in my heart that it would come to this. If I had only known sooner... I could have saved you so much pain. You deserved better. You gave us all your love, in your own way. So great and complex, forever doomed to be misunderstood. You will suffer no more, and your children will thrive. Forgive me…”

Seren’s hand started to glow a fearsome shade of icy white, tendrils of energy sprouting out and wrapping around Mah like vines.

It was over quick, hauntingly so. A creature as old as the universe, gone in a heartbeat.

Seren watched Mah’s head lull lifelessly to the side, excess lava dripping out of her mouth until it was nothing but a trickle.

“Curse you, Zaros…” Seren clenched her fists, her entire body shaking and quivering. Seren knew there was a web her brother had weaved, and it had led to this very moment. She couldn’t quite explain how, or why, but she knew. She knew her brother like a mirror image of herself, and she would never forgive him for this.

Due to their weakened state, the Mahjarrat were struggling with the onslaught of muspah. Overly powered muspah at that, ones that subverted a lot of what was known of the creatures. What’s worse was that one of the Mahjarrat’s most powerful numbers, Azzanadra, was occupied protecting Zaros.

Wahisietel didn’t know how long they could hold out, despite reassurances from Zaros that the muspah would disappear soon enough. He had a plan, and Wahisietel did not wish to question his deity. But as another muspah shrugged off an ice barrage, Wahisietel found himself wishing for the hastening of Zaros’ plan.

Then, suddenly, the muspah he was tangling with collapsed into a blurry haze of smoke and ash.

Breathlessly, Wahisietel let the spell he was preparing disintegrate in his palms. Shooting his head around, he saw that the rest of the muspah had met the same fate.

The rest of the Mahjarrat looked equally confused, alongside their relief. Azzanadra was the first one to speak up, beginning, “My lord, what has-”

Suddenly, the surrounding Mahjarrat were engulfed in a blinding white energy. It lifted them high into the air, weaving its way around their bodies and into their very core. The entire sky erupted into a wave of light that emanated from the Marker.

When the Mahjarrat were dropped to the floor, their skin had returned - no longer were they weak and skeletal. What’s more, Wahisietel felt a power surging through his veins like no other. No previous Ritual had made him feel this… alive. This powerful, this invulnerable… like he was walking one step closer to godhood. Turning to look at Azzanadra, he saw traces of fear in the stoic Mahjarrat’s eyes. With this new power that has been bestowed upon them by Mah, Wahisietel felt like he was something more than a mere Mahjarrat. Azzanadra, being their tribe’s strongest, must have been feeling the weight of that burden tenfold.

“ZAROS!” A voice bellowed down to them, shrill yet commanding, cutting Wahisietel from his thoughts. Seren descended from the mountaintop, storming over to challenge Zaros. “You knew this would happen from the start. Your actions resulted in the death of our own mother. How could you?”

Zaros did not come close to matching the palpable emotion in Seren’s tone when he replied, “She is truly gone? Then we did her a kindness, Seren. Her entire existence was pain.”

“Her existence was beautiful,” Seren’s voice wavered, her entire body trembling. “She had the power to create life and she dared to do so, something you will never achieve.”

“Perhaps not, but now I am one step closer.”

“I thought death would have taught you humility, but you are just as arrogant as before…”

“Wait…” Zamorak had just finished dusting off his robes while intently watching the back and forth between the two other deities. All the while, his brow kept furrowed, the cogs in his head starting to turn and pull him towards a dangerous realisation. “If Mah is dead, then why do I still feel that aura? That… pull.”

He turned towards Bilrach as if seeking confirmation. He received it in the form of a shallow, grave nod of his head. Ever so slowly, he turned his head back to Seren with a glare as fiery as the lava falls around them. “You… you cunt! It’s been you all along, hasn’t it? Seren, goddess of the elves. You came to us posing as Mah all those years ago. You taught the fucking Rituals to us. You made us believe they were the fucking will of a fucking Elder God!”

Zamorak’s barely contained rage snapped the other Mahjarrat into silence; they could practically see the ferocious anger pour out of his skin and the venom drip from his tongue. It was a terrifying intensity that would not easily be forgotten.

“No- I... I was trying to help,” Seren held up her hands, a gentle motion. “I could not foresee what would become of your race. How could I?”

But Zamorak was having none of it. Sweeping a dramatic hand towards Seren, Zamorak announced, “Mahjarrat, this is Seren, your false Mah. Bilrach will confirm, SHE is the one who came to your ancestors and taught them to murder one another. SHE ALONE bears the responsibility for what our race has become!”

“Please!” Seren’s voice cracked. “I never meant to-”

“Millennia of anguish and suffering for our race is on HER hands!” Zamorak roared, practically shaking with fury.

At this, Zaros stepped in, “Leave her.”

An interruption not welcomed by Seren. “Do not defend me, Zaros,” she snapped. “You will never stand beside me again.”

Wahisietel was still having a hard time letting all of this sink in. “Surely it cannot be. Our greatest tradition was never anything but a facade?”

“Mmm, yes, it is true,” Bilrach solemnly confirmed. “I remember the visit, somewhere in my mind. Aeons ago, it was. You looked somehow different, Seren, but you are not Mah. You are a pretender.”

“It was all lies?” Hazeel clenched a fist so tight that his claws began to draw blood from his palm. “Our race has dwindled to such a paltry number for nothing…”

“It was not for nothing!” Seren desperately defended, heart in her throat. “If you had not performed the Rituals to give energy back to Mah she would have torn this planet apart. Your whole race would have been annihilated!”

There was a fury in Azzanadra’s narrow eyes that rivalled Zamorak’s own. “And sacrificing our own kin was the best you could think of? With all the power and wisdom you have been gifted… THAT WAS THE BEST YOU COULD DO?!”

“I was naive, yes. I have made many mistakes. I bear the guilt of my actions every waking moment,” Seren quivered, trembling under the weight of the Mahjarrat’s judgement.

“You may bear the guilt, but not the consequences,” Enakhra snarled. “We sacrificed our children for you. Our kin! Look what you have done to our glorious race! Look at what is left of us!”

“You taught us to kill one another. Made us rely on it. You led us to the very brink of extinction!” Wahisietel growled, eyes blazing with fire. The sacrifices they had endured… all for nothing...

Seren took an involuntary step backwards. Her face was a portrait of sorrow, of unbridled guilt and shame in the face of their anger. “Please, I am sorry… so, so sorry…”

“You do not get to be sorry,” Zamorak rounded back on Seren. “You are the cause of so much loss, so much motherfucking misery… you cursed our race and then you cursed the elves! You’re a monster!”

It was too much for Seren to bear; all the sadness and guilt she felt inside overflowed and manifested into a vicious, ear-splitting, ground-shaking scream. The surrounding Mahjarrat dropped to their knees, clutching desperately onto their ears in a weak attempt to block out the worst of the sound, crying out in anguish as they did so.

Even Zaros was affected, hunching over and trying to cast a small protection spell to lessen the impact of his sister’s scream. “Seren, stop, please!”

But Seren didn’t listen; the ground began to split apart, rocks from cliffs above started to crumble and crash down around them.

“Sister, you will destroy them all!” Zaros pleaded, thankfully loud enough to get through to Seren. The screaming stopped, as did the shaking ground, and the Mahjarrat began to make their way to their feet.

Seren stumbled backwards, looking down at her trembling hands. She couldn’t look up again, couldn’t look at the Mahjarrat she continued to hurt. “I... I cannot stay here any longer. But it is not over between us, Zaros. Not this easily. You will pay for what you have done here. Mah's death is on your hands, and while I still draw breath, I will stand against you.”

With that, she flew away.

Wahisietel was feeling numb, his life on Freneskae flashing before him. All the unnecessary deaths, all the pain he endured in Rituals… the whims of a naive god, nothing more. “How could she do this to us…”

“My sister did what she thought necessary,” Zaros explained, his monotonous voice betraying no allegiance or emotion. “You must understand, Seren has always been caring to a fault; blind to the fact she smothers the subjects of her affection. Her heart ached for Mah, watching her pour what little energy she held into the creation of new beings - the Dreams of Mah. To sustain Mah - to save her from death - Seren taught those creations to transfer their energy back to her in small doses. It was the only way for Frenesake to survive.”

“Pah! 'These creations',” Zamorak spat. “We were born the same way as you were, Zaros. Our lives did not matter less. Seren came to us, posing as Mah. She created the drain on our energy, made it necessary to either kill one another or die out. Think of the Mahserrat,” he looked towards Hazeel, a former Mahserrat himself. “They chose to deny the Rituals, and then they all perished. If it weren’t for Seren, that never would have fucking happened.”

“She was only doing what she believed was the right course of action,” Zaros repeated.

Zamorak bared his teeth. “Do not argue for her, Zaros. You have made an enemy of her now.”

“Then let us dwell on her no longer. There is something far more relevant. I have kept my word, Zamorak. When Sliske holds his endgame, you will be my Legatus Maximus once more.”

“Do not taunt me, Empty Lord. I owe you no fealty.”

“We shall see.”

Ignoring the remark, Zamorak turned back to the Mahjarrat, lifted his chin and declared, “You are free now, Mahjarrat. Time is on your side - there is no Ritual looming ahead, no pressure to avoid sacrifice. Make the most of your immortality.”

“Just remember, it was I who gave you this freedom,” Zaros pointed out, stepping forward to address the crowd. “Under my guidance you have all shattered your limitations. It is… inspiring. But remember, Zamorak, I made good on my promise. For now, you belong to me.”

“But you should also remember, I owe you a single action,” Zamorak countered. “Choose it wisely.

“Believe me, I will. But for now, there are other matters that require my attention. I will see you at the eclipse.”

With those words, Zaros took to the skies and flew away, leaving the Mahjarrat alone once more.

In the silence, Akthanakos was the first to speak. “Just because our gods have a truce, doesn’t mean I’m willing to bury the hatchet with all of you,” he glared at Enakhra. “I do not put my trust in snakes.”

Enakhra scoffed. “Don’t get caught up in the moment. I have no need for Zarosians in my life.”

Azzanadra declared, “You brought down the Empire, Zamorak. I will never forgive you. But… Zaros needs you. I will not jeopardize my lord’s plan.”

“Unless our gods are at war, we have no reason to fight,” Wahisietel argued, stepping between the heated glares of Azzanadra and Zamorak. He looked Zamorak in the eye, feeling bile form in his throat as he bitterly remembered that fateful day in the Throne Room.

But he swallowed it down.

“Indeed,” Zamorak replied, a cruel smile dancing on his lips as he saw the flickers of fury dance across Wahisietel’s features. But for once, he decided to be above baiting, above taunting. This day was too important, after all. “After Sliske’s game, all bets are off. But for now, let’s keep things civil.”

Khazard, who had remained silent throughout all of this, finally raised his voice, a simple question on his mind, “F-Father… why wait until now to tell me?”

Hearing his voice made Zamorak soften slightly. He turned away from the anger of the Zarosians and around to his son. Shrugging, he replied, “I thought he was going to kill us all. Figured it was as good a time as any. You and I should talk, Khazard, and we should all leave this wretched place once and for all.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[olivia-lovecraft]

Tea with Barnaby Pt. 1

[The following is an rp scene between Olivia and @draenei-barnaby. They spend the afternoon catching up until an infamous black envelope interrupts.]

Olivia was starting to spend a lot of time thinking on the subjects of love, family, and friends since the beginning of the year, and in doing so, she found herself thinking of friends with whom she had grown distant. It was never her intention to drift away from people, but life always seemed tumultuous so very suddenly, and things like social commitments fell through the cracks.

Tea with Barnaby, the man who had once saved her from bandits, was Olivia’s best attempt to make amends for the time that passed between them.

With respect to the Draenei’s enormous presence, Olivia spent the entire morning moving all unnecessary furniture out of her parlor. A few end tables, two chairs, and a pair of crates filled with research were all stashed in her spare room in preparation. Moving the sofa back a couple of feet, to give her guest more room to sit comfortably, took all the strength Olivia possessed, as well as more than a few attempts. In the end, though, the living room looked spacious enough to accommodate the man and his tail.

With an hour to spare, Olivia quickly freshened up, doing her hair and makeup before slipping into a casual green and ivory gown with an empress waist. She wore house shoes instead of her typical heeled footwear and whispered around the house to get everything out and just so. With a half hour before his intended arrival, Olivia put on a kettle and prepped the tea pot, choosing the pot meant to serve a large crowd, as she assumed Barnaby would drink more than a single small cup.

Finally, when there were no preparations left, Olivia retired to the sitting room to put on music and resume reading a book about the customs of ancient Troll tribes.

Barnaby was delighted at being invited to take tea at Olivia’s home in Stormwind. He rode his stocky horse, Dumpling, from his cabin in Redridge, through Elwynn Forest and into the bustling human city. Although Draenei were an uncommon sight, enough time had passed since they’d arrived on Azeroth that most of the city-going folk were acclimated to their presence. Still, the small children that pointed and gawked at his unusual appearance pleased him, his tail curling in pride.

When he knocked at Olivia’s door, she found him wearing a red flannel shirt and trousers and carrying a basket of covered food on one arm. He looked pleased to be there, his face radiating happiness. “Ah, Olivia! How good it is to see you again, you’re looking beautiful as ever!”

The draenei squeezed himself through the doorway and managed to get himself situated at Olivia’s table with a minimum of bumping into furniture. He set the large basket on the tabletop and uncovered it, taking out a savory-looking homemade meat pie and a loaf of flavorful homemade seed bread. “I thought I’d bring a few things for us to share over lunch.”

“I am so glad you could make it darling,” Olivia greeted with an equally radiant smile.

As Barnaby entered and made himself at home, the small woman went back to the icebox to take out a spring salad with small edible blooms sprinkled in it for color. With her free hand she took out a rustic looking plain cheesecake and balanced it on the top of the salad bowl so she could grab a bowl of mixed berries as well.

“I did not make the cheesecake, so it is not burnt in the slightest,” she assured her guest as she brought the cool items to the table. “I did make the salad and arranged the cheese board.”

Once those items were arranged, she went to see to the teapot.

“How are you? I hope the winter treated you well.”

With the addition of the spring salad, cheesecake, and berries, between them Olivia and Barny had assembled quite a delicious spread of food on the table. Barnaby started cutting the hot meat pie into sections.

He reflected on the past winter. “We had one or two large snowfalls... I had to do some repair work on the shed, and remove a couple trees that were felled by a windstorm. That’s nothing too unusual, though. The biggest news, was that I had a houseguest for a time.”

The draenei fell quiet for a moment. “It was an unusual case. A woman, the likes of which I’d never seen before. Calling herself a ‘roegadyn’... She said she’d gotten lost, and I had to help her find her way home, after a fashion.”

Barnaby looked as if he was daydreaming fondly for a moment, then shook his head and began to slice the loaf of bread. “Thankfully, it all worked out in the end. And yourself? I imagine snowfall is quite picturesque in the city.”

With her back turned to Barnaby, he wouldn’t see her furrowed brow nor her silent attempt at saying the word ‘roegadyn’. There was no way she could know what the woman was, but she also believed it would be rude to pry, so instead the word was stored away with minimal context.

“Oh, the city is lovely with fresh snow. It quickly turns grey with the traffic and smoke, but it is lovely while it falls,” Olivia replied wistfully as she returned to the table with the tray of tea, cream, and sugar. “However, I spent this past winter in Drustvar. It is equally beautiful in the snow, more so, perhaps, because there are these great ribbons of light in the sky at night. It was a breathtaking sight, as I wasn’t exactly enjoying a vacation. I was conscripted by the military to help with research into the witches there. It turned into quite the eventful winter and I am relieved to be back in Stormwind.”

Olivia poured tea for them both and smiled at the large man. He was a lovely, comforting presence and she hadn’t realized how much she missed having purely social engagements with kind souls.

“That pie smells amazing. Is it game or livestock?” She transitioned upon realizing she was starting to stare.

Barnaby looked up at the mention of Drustvar. “The Kul Tiran island, then?” He listened to the rest of Olivia’s story with interest. He’d heard of the island, but never gone to see it himself. He recognized her description of the aurora, but only because he’d seen them before in Northrend. That had been a nightmarish place. He wondered if Olivia’s experience with these Kul Tiran “witches” had been similarly haunting… and dangerous.

The thought of Olivia being in even the remotest danger caused his brows to furrow. He chose that moment to take tea, reminding himself that Olivia had surely taken adequate precautions.

“Were they hospitable to you - The Kul Tirans, I mean?” he asked, curiously. At the question about his pie, Barnaby sat back in his seat and smiled with pride. He hadn’t been certain Olivia would like meat pie. “It’s venison, I hunted it.”

“Yes, actually. The people I met were generally very friendly. They have their prejudices against mainlanders, but it surfaces more as a sort of superiority rather than blatant hostility,” Olivia replied, smiling with odd fondness. “I met a few rude individuals, but you’ll have that anywhere, I imagine.”

She put a few things on her plate after accepting a piece of the meat pie and settled in with her napkin on her lap.

“Venison is my favorite. I wanted to be a huntsman when I was little so that I could eat as much venison as I wanted. I just always liked it,” she commented with a grin.

Olivia cut a bit from the pie and chewed thoughtfully. The hum of approval was immediate, and she nodded as she finished chewing and swallowing the bite.

“This is delicious, darling. Truly. It reminds me of meals I had when I was younger.”

She reached out and grasped at the air subtly, as if she were reaching for a stemmed glass rather than her teacup. The gesture was corrected, hopefully before he noticed, and she took a sip of tea wishing it was wine.

If Barnaby noticed Olivia making a curious hand gesture as she grasped for a wine glass that wasn’t there, he didn’t show it. Rather, he only seemed to grow more pleased at being praised for his cooking. His grin became smug, his sideburns fluffed out extra fluffily, and he made a pleased sound low in his throat. “You are too kind, Miss Olivia. I’ll remember to make it more often, now that I know you enjoy it.”

His smile took on a decidedly roguish bent when Olivia answered that she’d met a few rude Kul Tirans, despite an overall pleasant experience. “Perhaps I should accompany you next time. Then they will think twice about being anything less than perfect gentlemen.”

A peal of delighted laughter overtook Olivia, and she quickly nodded along with his suggestion.

"I have no doubt in my mind that you would inspire manners in your very wake," she beamed.

However, the expression wavered and was replace with something a bit more pensive. She considered the makeup of the Alliance military and those travelers she saw. There were so few Draenei in Boralus, but there were Lightforged Bulwarks outside of Arom’s Stand, erected to hold back the attacks from the Horde.

“You know, my cousin, a native Kul Tiran, he still hasn’t met a Draenei. There were some of the Lightforged in Arom’s Stand, so he has seen your kind, but has never met you. I do not know what reception your people received in Kul Tiras, but I do hope they remembered their manners. Isolationism can warp the way people see outsiders of any kind.”

It was a somber thought, and one she wouldn’t dwell upon. She would let Barnaby have his say before renewing her smile and moving onto something lighter.

“But, if you like seafood, I have found no other place with such variety as Boralus city.”

Barnaby paused his enjoyment of their delicious lunch to listen to what Olivia was saying. A cousin! This was the first time he could recall her mentioning her family, and as such, he paid close attention. “You have a cousin who is Kul Tiran? I take it you met him when you journeyed there with the army?” He took a big bite of the buttered bread. “...How did it go?” It was possible she had never met him in person before, or if she had, it could have been a long time ago.

At the mention of Boralus’s variety of seafood, his smile became huge. “It’s settled, I’ll have to make a trip out.”

"It was a little tenuous, at first,” Olivia admitted. “Only because I was raised to believe my mother’s side of the family suffered great losses in a conflict. That my mother had only a sister, my Aunt Marian. However, by fate, I discovered some of my mother’s siblings survived the conflict and went on to marry into a strong family that kept them safe. So, I have met a few cousins actually. Some of them are twice removed, but no matter the case, it is a strange thing to have family when I thought I had none.”

She dipped a piece of the bread into some of the gravy that was escaping the meat pie and ate quietly a moment, smiling at the thought of her found family.

“I highly recommend it. The people of Kul Tiras are larger folk, on average, so their accommodations will likely be more comfortable than a human or elven inn,” she grinned. “I know my own room, the one I rent there while visiting family and friends, has a bed that at last five more of me could sleep in.”

Barnaby listened to Olivia’s story about her family as he ate. He found he could imagine the way she was feeling. He’d lost his own family during the tumults on Draenor, when he had been a boy. He’d been young enough that he didn’t remember much of his parents - only flitting visions that came to him during moments of subconscious, such as in dreams. Now and again, he found himself wondering if any of his biological family had survived. How would he, now an adult, connect with possible siblings, or other family members, he might not have seen since he was a child?

“It’s a blessing, I think... Even if we cannot immediately see it as such,” he murmured. “To learn of family we didn’t know about.”

Barnaby blinked in surprise to learn that the Kul Tirans were “larger” folk. That was something that had escaped his notice until now. He wondered how tall they were. Were they draenei-sized? The thought both unsettled and intrigued him. Would that mean he wouldn’t automatically be able to intimidate a Kil Tiran? He’d gotten rather used to being the tallest man in his circle of acquaintances and friends. “Are they, now. How… interesting.”

“They are indeed,” Olivia nodded with a soft giggle. “Of course, I am not the greatest judge of height when almost everyone short of gnomes are taller than me. I can’t imagine they are as tall as you, but perhaps their furniture and doorways will be more comfortable.”

She shrugged a bit and laughed, still amused at her own realization. Everyone was larger than her.

“If you visit, let me know. I could act as your guide, and perhaps we could just get lost together. Oh! Actually, you’d be a brilliant help with the hedge maze, I imagine. You could probably see right over the hedges. There is a tavern at the end of the maze that I have yet to find.”

Barnaby seemed somewhat settled by Olivia’s reassurance that the Kul Tirans were not, in fact, likely to be taller than he was, but the doorways and chairs would be more comfortable for him. He nodded and returned to the important business of putting meat pie and salad into his mouth.

He looked delighted at the idea of visiting Kul Tiras casually with Olivia. At least, until she mentioned the tavern at the end of a hedge maze. “Who would be so cruel as to put a tavern at the end of a hedge maze?” he questioned, brows furrowed. He apparently thought this a serious question. “But yes, I think I would enjoy visiting Kul Tiras with you sometime, Olivia.”

"It is rather cruel, isn't it?" Olivia tittered. "Especially if one were to imbibe too heavily and find themselves lost in the maze. I imagine--"

Her sentence was interrupted when the mail slot opened, and a black envelope dropped into the catch basket.

[ To be continued...here. ]

[royal-loki]

Thorki Playlist

Sometimes you just want to hang out on your own blog and listen to tunes that remind you of your OTP. I made a playlist that you all can listen to on my tumblr as you scroll through posts. I also wrote a narrative to describe the events in the movies as they fit with the songs I chose. Hope you all enjoy my Thorki mixtape! (Sometimes ads play before the music starts but they are in the order listed below; to skip the ads just go back and forth between the songs)

Thor (2011)

Bad Blood - Taylor Swift

Loki feels extreme jealousy and resentment during Thor’s coronation and plots to interrupt his brother’s big day. All those years of living in his golden brother’s shadow has created some bad blood between them, at least in Loki’s mind. 

Somebody That I Used To Know - Gotye

Thor is stunned by Loki’s treacherous actions towards him and their father. After Sif and the Warriors Three arrived on Midgard and told Thor of Loki’s plans, he was heartbroken. He can’t comprehend why Loki would betray him. They were raised together, played together, fought together, and now Loki is just somebody that he used to know.

Wrecking Ball - Miley Cyrus

During Thor and Loki’s showdown on the Bifrost Bridge, Loki expresses his rage in the battle against his brother. He never meant to start a war, he only wanted Thor to let him in. But Loki can’t live a lie, and like a wrecking ball he breaks the memories of his old life that their deceitful father had created and lets himself fall into the abyss.

It’s My Life - No Doubt

Loki had survived his fall but now finds himself amongst the bitter outcasts of the Nine Realms. Hurt by those closest to him and finding an ally in Thanos, he constructs a plan to get revenge on his brother. “It’s my life,” sneers Loki, “I am no longer bound to the throne of Asgard thus I shall create a new kingdom on Midgard.”

The Avengers 

Break The Ice - Britney Spears

It’s been a year since Thor last saw Loki, believing that he had perished in the abyss. In his fury, he pulled Loki out the mortal’s aircraft and brought them down to the cold ground below. Now seeing him under the moonlight, after all this time, has been like staring at a ghost. He’s alive, thinks Thor, thank the Norns. “I thought you dead,” Thor utters to Loki, attempting to break the ice. He doesn’t want to scare away his brother. He just wants him to come home. He wants to hold him close and never let him go ever again.

Circus - Britney Spears

Loki wrought down a nightmarish invasion of Chitauri soldiers and giant leviathans that are wreaking havoc on New York City. Watching the Avengers scramble around to stop the Armageddon has been amusing. Loki feels the adrenaline moving through his veins, he has never felt more alive. Thor surely will see him as an equal now. As Loki stands atop of Stark Tower, he thinks, “All the eyes on me in the center of the ring, just like a circus.”

Sorry - Justin Bieber

The battle is over, Loki has lost. Thor leads his brother to where they will depart from Midgard and return to Asgard where Loki will face judgement from the Allfather. The Avengers surround the two Gods as they grip the Tesseract on opposite sides. Loki’s mouth is covered with a guard to prevent him from bewitching anyone. His silver tongue can’t get him out of this situation. He knows that he may have severed the last bit of trust Thor had for him. “I know that I let you down,” Loki ruminates while looking up at his brother, “Is it too late to say I'm sorry now?” 

Thor: The Dark World

The Kill - 30 Seconds To Mars

Loki stands before the Allfather in chains. He is still proud despite the dire situation he finds himself in. Coolly, he addresses his father yet Odin doesn’t seem to understand the pain he has caused his adopted son by lying to him. Just as Loki finds himself on the losing side of the argument, Odin goes in for the kill, “Your birthright was to die!” Come, break me down, Loki thinks, bury me, I am finished with you. He is led away to the dungeons, spared from death but crestfallen. 

Numb - Linkin Park

Loki passes time in prison without a single visit from his brother. Weeks pass as he begins to shut down emotionally. Frigga is his only visitor and the only one that begged Odin to spare Loki’s life. The Queen tenderly attempts to comfort her youngest son, trying to reason with Loki to spare the fragile relations that struggle to keep hold the bonds between the Asgardian royal family. Loki reaches out to his mother, numb yet longing for her touch. His hand passes through her skillfully crafted illusion, the same seiðr that she taught him as a child. As he watches her disappear, he dejects to himself, every step that I take is another mistake to you.

Vindicated - Dashboard Confessional

Thor recruits Loki to fight the Dark Elves. Although Thor claims he doesn’t trust Loki, his younger brother knows that if that were the case he would have never come to him for help. The fate of Asgard depends on Loki’s cooperation. Thor’s faith in him is but a faint glow in the dark void that Loki feels in his heart, yet his brother’s love makes him feel vindicated. Loki finds the morale to fight alongside his brother once more, and to avenge his fallen mother. 

How To Save A Life - The Fray

Loki lay in Thor’s arms. “I didn’t do it for him.” His younger brother whispers as sinks deeper into Thor’s grip. If only Thor had studied the healing arts like Loki did then maybe he would know how to save a life. Sitting there, helplessly, he cries out over his brother’s motionless body. He knows he has to keep going, to pull himself together to save the Nine Realms but at that moment he wonders what is there worth saving now?

Look What You Made Me Do - Taylor Swift

As Thor walks away, Loki lets the seiðr illusion of the Allfather slip. What other choice did he have? Go back to the dungeons for thousands of years until he wilts away or take his birthright and relieve the Mad King of his duties? Look what you made me do, thought Loki. A smile begins to creep up on his face. 

Thor: Ragnarok 

Feeling This - Blink 182

Thor comes back to Asgard after defeating Surtur and finds Loki on the throne instead of their father. Upon finding out that Loki is alive, he feels no anger. It has been years and all he wants to do his grab his brother and take him to his chambers. Thor begins feeling this strange mix of animalistic desire and heavenly relief. Yes, they will go look for their father where Loki had said he left him on Midgard but for now... 

E.T. - Katy Perry

Loki looks on in horror as his brother rolls up in the Grandmaster’s harness chair. Happy that his older brother survived Hela’s assault but terrified of his reaction to Loki’s part in all that has taken place in the past few weeks (or days in Thor’s case). Loki suddenly feels like an E.T. in a room full of strange aliens. Without hesitation, Thor senses Loki’s presence and calls him over. Later, in their shared chambers, Loki tries to calm Thor from erupting in rage and sorrow yet he can’t stop the storm brewing inside his brother. Sparks of electricity surround Thor as he grabs hold of Loki. In this unfamiliar place, Thor only can think of one way to take his mind off of the despair that is clawing at him over the death of their father, being lied to his whole life and the fate of Asgard. He places a firm hand on Loki’s neck as he has done countless times before and kisses him.

Take Me On The Floor - The Veronicas 

The elevator ride turned sour very quickly. Loki had expected his brother to beg him to stay yet he was indifferent. As Loki attempted one last trick on his brother, Thor caught him off guard and turned on the obedience disk. The God of Mischief falls to the ground. Impressed by Thor’s cunning and equally turned on, Loki looks up at him and quips, “Take me on floor.” Thor smiles sheepishly, and turns off the disk. He wants Loki to enjoy every minute of their last encounter. 

Stellar - Incubus

“I’m here.” Loki says catching the glass top. Thor suddenly feels a rush of warmth flow through his whole body. In this stellar spaceship floating through the heavens, he starts to move towards his brother. They’ve lost nearly everything, their home, their parents, and most of their people. Thor embraces Loki in his giant arms in a tight hold. He can’t let him go, not again.

Avengers: Infinity War

The Ghost Of You - My Chemical Romance

Thor struggles to get to his brother’s body. His own body barely moving from the torture that Thanos inflicted on him. Only Thor’s anguish animates him. Hunching over Loki’s body, he lets out a hopeless cry, “I shall be with the ghost of you soon, brother!” Thor holds Loki close to him and resigns himself to die with the only family he has left. 

All That I’ve Got - The Used

Thor wakes up among the Guardians of the Galaxy, a rag-tag group of heroes that are also seeking to get their revenge on Thanos. Thor tries to hide his sorrow by making light of the situation but he can’t stop thinking about Loki and everyone that he has lost. “All that I’ve got is the satisfaction from the vengeance I will inflict upon Thanos,” Thor whispers to himself. He scavenges the food supplies aboard the Guardian’s ship as the rabbit prepares their shuttle for their long journey to Nidavellir. All I want inside, I still am empty, Thor thinks to himself, so deep that it didn’t even bleed and catch me...

Titanium - David Guetta

Thor holds his new battle axe in his hands. The newly formed power of Stormbreaker is almost too much to bare. Mortals may only know of strong metals like titanium but a God knows otherwise. His weapon, forged in the heart of a dying star, will be his tool to avenge Loki. “Nothing to lose,” Thor mutters to himself as he sets off to Earth using the Bifrost. 

[soabas-world]

Barufel [The Greatest of Families] - Snippet

Episode Three – The Road Goes On

May 19th, 3, Fourth Age – Rivendell

“I rather believed that your husbands were never going to allow you out of their sights again, Gwathelion,” the Lord Elrond remarked wryly, when Bilbo tracked him down inside his uncle’s private library. “Nor were any of your Dwarven Kindred, for that matter.”

Elrond did, in fact, have good reason to believe this, Bilbo acknowledged, as his husbands, nephews, and brothers had been consistently behaving in a manner that one could rightly classify as overprotective since Bilbo had properly reunited with them all. They all seemed to be of the opinion that their Hobbit might vanish into thin air if they did not keep a proper watch of him on a constant basis. Bilbo rather despaired to imagine how much worse they were all going to behave once they were on the road and away from the safety of Rivendell.

“I snuck away while my older faunts were distracting them with their archery lessons. Tauriel and Lindir were ‘not arguing’ about the proper way to wear a quiver – and my children and the Company seemed to find such a conversation exceedingly amusing – when I slipped off the training field,” Bilbo admitted, shrugging. “I needed to talk to you and to give you this,” Bilbo nodded his head toward the grey cloth-wrapped parcel in his arms, “Without an audience.”

“You may always come to me, at any time and for any reason,” Elrond knelt down so that his dusk-silver eyes were level with Bilbo’s own, a tinge of regret in his voice. “I am quite loath to send you so far away from me, nephew mine, even if it is the best way to keep your physical person safe and the only possible means we have of healing the wounds that your soul carries.”

Bilbo smiled at his uncle with gentle affection, “I know, Emelmuindor. I shall miss you so very much after we depart tomorrow. Sometimes, I rather wish that the world were not quite as large as it is. It would have made the journey to Mordor a shade less difficult.”

Elrond chuckled and agreed, “Perhaps a shade.”

“Oh, here,” Bilbo offered the medium-sized bundle in his arms to his uncle, “This is for you.”

Bilbo’s Elven uncle accepted the soft package and deftly unwound the cloth, which was protecting the gift inside of it, in a single, swift motion to expose a tapestry that had been folded ever so carefully. Elrond let it fall open and then gasped in wonder and bittersweet delight as he took in what Bilbo had painstakingly depicted on the shimmering fabric.

It had taken Bilbo two full months to weave, because of both its size and his desire to ensure that it was absolutely perfect before he presented it to his uncle. The tapestry portrayed that which could never again be real – Elrond and his wife, Bilbo’s aunt Celebrían, with their children, Bilbo’s parents, and Bilbo himself in a field of pink verbenas, smiling and carefree. Bilbo had carefully covered the front of the tapestry with a clear polish that would not crack as it dried and had blown a very thin layer of silver dust onto it, giving the scene a hazy quality, as if it were a memory that you could view with your eyes and not just your mind. The border was dark silver with Quenya runes that spoke of family and unyielding love embroidered on it in a lighter shade of the same color.

“Bilbo,” Elrond breathed out, his voice thick in his throat as he spoke, “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bilbo replied softly. “I know that the loss of them still affects you greatly during the summer months; I hoped that this might help, a bit.”

“It shall,” Elrond agreed, pulling Bilbo into a warm hug. “And you are right, the summer is when their absence is the hardest to bear – I lost both my wife and my sister during the pinnacle of that season… and then I nearly lost my nephew as well. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you survived your trials in Mordor, Gwathelion.”

“Because of your tireless efforts,” Bilbo reminded, returning the embrace. “That I lived, despite the thick poison in my lungs and the damage wrought to my soul by the Ring, was because you refused to give up on me, when even the Lady Galadriel feared that I would not survive. You toiled for a solid week without rest to heal me, expending much of your power to do so, Uncle.”

Gandalf and Galadriel had relayed as much, when Bilbo had finally awoken from the unnatural sleep that had claimed him after the Ring had been destroyed. Bilbo could only just remember that choking sleep, the thick black that had done its best to consume him, but what he recalled best about that nightmarish time was the warm light that he clung to, for it made him feel safe and reminded him that he was still loved, and that he had followed back into the realm of life. That light, Bilbo now knew, had been his Elven uncle obstinately refusing to abandon his Hobbit nephew to the clutches of death.

“I would have given it all, had it been necessary,” Elrond insisted seriously, pulling back so that Bilbo could see the resolve writ upon his countenance. Bilbo grinned, his tone as sure as his faith in his favorite uncle, “I know.”

“It truly was that close?” Dwalin’s voice sounded from the doorway, making Bilbo start. He spun around to see Dwalin and Thorin hovering just outside of the room.

Elrond did not react as if he were surprised at all by the sudden presence of Bilbo’s husbands – he probably had known that they were there all along, lurking outside of his private library and listening in on what was supposed to be a private conversation between uncle and nephew – he simply raised an eyebrow at the pair and surreptitiously folded the tapestry over his arm, concealing the image sewn upon it. Bilbo, for his part, had to suppress an exasperated sigh, because he truly had not wanted his husbands to know that the perpetuated fallacy of his death had very nearly not been an erroneous account of those particular events at all. They worried enough about him and as much as Bilbo’s heart and soul sung at the obvious care and concern that they displayed for him, he worried that their overly defensive actions were spurred more by guilt for their mistakes than by anything else.

Bilbo knew that Thorin and Dwalin loved him and that they had missed him terribly, but after that first emotional day of being together again he had started to fear that once their guilt had faded, once their elation at knowing he was alive settled into something more temperate, that they would remember he was the Hobbit whom they had been so unsure about keeping for months, the person whom they had so adamantly wanted to change even after their marriage vows had been uttered. Bilbo could never be a Dwarf, would never value many of the things that Dwarves did, like gold and combat and glory, and once they truly realized that… well, what if they decided that he was not good enough again? What if the proud and suspicious people of Erebor, who already called him Prince Consort with such gladness even in his absence – as Balin had cheerfully reported to him – dismissed him as unworthy because he could not properly relate to them?

As resolute as Bilbo had been when first asked, he now had serious doubts about returning to Erebor. Oh, he still wanted to go – because even the idea of parting from his husbands and brothers and nephews made his soul ache something fierce and wretched – but fear pounded at him incessantly and anxiety gnawed at his heart mercilessly.

It did not help that Thorin and Dwalin had avoided touching him as much as they possibly could over the past week that they had rested in Rivendell. They would hug him and hold him when he asked it of them, but only when he asked and never of their own volition. They refused to kiss him, or sleep with him – innocently or otherwise – and even when they did embrace him, their hands did not wander as they nearly always had before, during the Quest and while they rested in Erebor following Smaug’s very timely demise. They let Bilbo touch them, on their arms and shoulders and backs, as much as he desired to, but they rarely reciprocated and never initiated anything but brief and entirely innocent caresses when they seemed to believe that he needed such from them.

Bilbo’s current misgivings about his place in the Mountain and his husbands’ behavior were, of course, the very subjects that he had wished to converse with his uncle, in the strictest of confidences, about as he hoped that Elrond would provide some measure of reassuring clarity regarding their actions that Bilbo was apparently incapable of perceiving on his own. But he could hardly do so now, not when Dwalin and Thorin had entered the room and were all but hovering over his person.

“It was closer than anyone would have liked,” Elrond tactfully replied a few tense moments later, when it became blatantly obvious that Bilbo was decidedly not going to confirm Dwalin’s all too apprehensive query, would have rather marched back into the heart of Mordor than do anything of the kind, “But Bilbo survived and has recovered well from those wounds. My magic played a part, but his own strength saw to the rest.”

And there it was, the afore mentioned guilt, flashing like lightning across the finely chiseled features of the Dwarrow whom Bilbo loved beyond reason. Sadness lanced through Bilbo’s heart, but he managed to keep it off of his face and hidden from his husbands and uncle with only a little difficulty. He had quite a considerable amount of practice at concealing his true and more unpleasant emotions from others, after all. Hobbits used manners like a mask to obscure what their relatives and neighbors might find disagreeable and Bilbo had been no exception to this rule – what confidence he had gained to bluntly express his feelings and thoughts during the Quest had been stripped away in the aftermath.

“We should have been with you, Khajmel,” Thorin spoke mournfully.

A vision of Thorin and Dwalin shorn and shackled – the prisoners of Orcs – swirled into his mind’s eye. It was but a remnant of a waking dream, one of the many that he had been forced to endure during his journey to Mordor thanks to the thrice-damned and wretched Ring, but the flashing images still horrified him as much now as they had then.

“No,” Bilbo denied emphatically, shaking his head to rid it of the horrible scene. “No, I’m glad you weren’t. That you two, that all of the Company, were safe in Erebor was an immeasurable comfort to me, Fy Alawon. It was one less thing for me to fear as I journeyed South; that Sauron was incapable of harming any of you to punish me for destroying the Ring.”

His husbands, rather unfortunately, did not seem to have been made one whit happier by such a declaration. Perhaps, Bilbo acknowledged, he should refrain from making remarks that even slightly eluded to how frightened he had been while on his own. It would only increase their guilt and that was the last thing that Bilbo wanted.

A soft knock on the open door of the library silenced any reply that Thorin or Dwalin might have had and then an Elf with hair so blonde that it was nearly white glided into the room and inclined her head respectfully, “I beg pardon for my intrusion, my Lord Elrond, but a missive has arrived from Caras Galadhon for Ernil uin Glaur that bears Mithrandir’s mark.”

“Gandalf,” Bilbo murmured, enormously relieved to see the sealed dark green parchment resting on the silver tray in the Elven maiden’s dainty hands. If his Godfather was well enough to write then he could not be too terribly injured.

“Thank you, Vanlanthiriel,” Elrond said as Bilbo accepted the proffered letter eagerly.

“Yes, thank you,” Bilbo agreed, waiting only until the attendant had departed from the room before breaking the letter’s seal and beginning to read.

My Dear Godson,

I can not fully express in a mere letter how glad I was to learn that you are safe and out of Saruman’s tainted reach, for I feared the absolute worst when I discovered his foul plans. I am so grievously sorry for the fate which has befallen the Shire, befallen your gentle people, and regret beyond regret that I was unable to prevent it from happening. The White Council exists to ensure that such things never happen and yet we utterly failed to protect Yavanna’s Light in Arda; I cannot deny that this was almost entirely due to our own collective arrogance and our willful blindness regarding the faults of one of our own. That your people paid the price is a tragedy, a travesty, one that I and the rest of the Council shall grieve for the rest of our lives.

Rest assured, my dear Bilbo, that the fallen Istari shall not remain unpunished for the atrocities which he has committed in his devastating madness. He shall be dealt with, shall be banished from Arda, one way or another, to meet the divine justice of the Valar. I swear it shall be done.

Your uncle, the Lord Elrond, has made known to me and the rest of your kin here, in fair Lothlórien, that your Dwarves have come for you and mean to bear you to the Kingdom of Erebor. If this truly pleases you, then I am pleased as well – I do believe that you will be happiest in Erebor, even if Thorin and Dwalin hardly deserve you. Do inform them, from me, that I can and will turn them into toads, if the need should arise.

May Yavanna ever bless you with love and laughter and Green, dear Bilbo.

Gandalf Greyhame

Post Script: The Lady Galadriel has informed me that I ought to relay my improving health to you. I am perfectly fine and there is no need for you to concern yourself over my person. I have been injured far worse than this, on many occasions.

Bilbo felt himself choking on air in stark incredulity as the final few sentences sunk in and then he thrust the letter toward his uncle unceremoniously, “Read the last bit.”

Elrond took the piece of parchment without question and focused on the bottom of the page, his left eyebrow quirking upward in a combination of disbelief and resigned exasperation. After a long moment, Bilbo’s uncle sighed, “Mithrandir certainly has a way with words.”

“I love him, but sometimes I really do want to hit him over the head with his own staff,” Bilbo muttered. “Honestly, telling someone who is already worried that, ‘I have been injured far worse than this, on many occasions,’ is not at all helpful.”

“Believe me, nephew mine,” Elrond returned the letter to Bilbo, “As tempting as the urge is, it won’t actually help. His skull is simply too thick.”

Thorin snorted in startled amusement at the implied admission, “When?”

“When he marched himself into my home and informed me that he was taking my untrained nephew to face the last of the Great Drakes,” Elrond replied dryly.

Come to think of it, Gandalf had gone to bed early that first night that the Company had been in Rivendell during the Quest, Bilbo recalled, as the Grey Wizard had claimed to be suffering from a minor headache. Bilbo had not thought much of it, at the time, because he had been significantly distracted by his uncle and cousins, whom had tried very, very hard to convince him into not continuing to head eastward with the Dwarves. If the Company had not slipped away like shadows in the night, while Gandalf had kept the White Council busy, then it was very likely that one, if not all four, of Bilbo’s cousins would have chased after him with the intention of dragging him back to the Valley of Imladris.

“I knew how to use a bow,” Bilbo protested. “And I was fairly proficient, even then.”

Elrond shot him an unimpressed look, one that made him feel as if he were once again a wild fauntling with a penchant for getting himself into trouble, “Yes, but you didn’t have one until you got here and by that point you had already encountered Orcs and Wargs and had nearly been eaten alive by three Cave Trolls.”

“He has a natural skill with short-blades, both when it comes to throwin’ knives from a distance and in usin’ daggers in a close-range fight,” Dwalin relayed in Bilbo’s defense, pride ringing in his voice and clearly visible in his countenance. “And his sword work was improvin’, in leaps and bounds, durin’ each trainin’ session that we had on our way to Erebor. Faster than most of the Dwarves that I trained back in Ered Luin and they had years to advance their skills.”

Having pride directed toward him was, Bilbo supposed, much better than the leaden guilt. At least it was not the apathy or the disdain for his person that he secretly dreaded might come. Bilbo was not overly fond of weapons or fighting, quite the opposite in fact, but he knew that as long as he pushed himself to become stronger and faster – less helpless and weak and like a grocer – then he could, at the bare minimum, retain a modicum of his husbands’ respect as their guilt dwindled, day by day. Being esteemed as a capable warrior would be better than them thinking him worth nothing at all.

So, Bilbo did not hesitate in deciding to say, “I’ve hardly mastered any of those skills, though, or any of the others that you wanted me to learn. You said that you wanted to establish regular training sessions once the Mountain was secure. If you’re both still willing to teach me, I enjoyed learning from you.”

Dwalin and Thorin looked immediately pleased by the request, proving that Bilbo had made the right choice in asking. He had not lied to his Melodies, not really. As much as he despised battle, he did understand why having the ability to defend oneself and those whom one loved was such an obligatory and vital skill to hone if one planned to traverse the Wildes of Arda – and he had derived some satisfaction from knowing that he could protect his Kindred, if need be, because of the instruction that he had received during the Quest. He had discovered that the exercise which naturally came with the training was an excellent way to relieve stress and irritation, as well. Plus, having his husbands’ undivided and physical attention was something that he craved rather desperately and he was willing to go to extreme measures to get it.

“Absolutely, Laslel,” Dwalin replied eagerly, his arm and shoulder muscles flexing ever so slightly. It was, Bilbo knew, an inadvertent indication of his excitement for such a scheme; one of the many things that Bilbo had missed so much about his Melodies.

Thorin’s eyes sparkled, as if starlight was reflecting off of twin sapphires, “We can go back down to the training fields now, if you like. There’s time enough until Luncheon for us to run sword drills with you.”

And if Bilbo wished that his husband had been speaking more in the figurative sense than in the literal, well, he kept it to himself and just nodded, managing a small smile, “I would like that very much.”

[violetsystems]

#personal

I had a vivid dream in New York while sleeping by myself in a hotel room overlooking the World Trade Center.  There’s a large period of my life where I didn’t dream at all.  Purchasing a Chinese branded bed frame from everyone’s favorite bad guy helped for the record.  Everybody has their feelings about this, that and the other thing these days.  In all that I empathize but have never really felt much love back.  It’s very one-sided like I’m just sitting here in the stands.  Often I live my life on the sidelines of something I can’t quite connect with.  Like witnessing a trio of white people on bikes harassing an Asian cab driver for what looked like a centimeter infraction into the bike lane.  Or by witnessing a motorcycle crash on my way to cross the Brooklyn Bridge and casually instructing people not to try and move the injured.  None of these are dreams mind you.  Including the man urinating himself at five in the morning at the Woodside bus stop off the seven.  If this seems like some dream to you then welcome to my nightmare.  This is America unfiltered.  That’s the name of my coffee blog.  I travel the world in search of the finest, most expensive coffee and drink it by myself.  I don’t own a coffee blog.  But I do have dreams about you.  This one was strange in that you were projected from someone else’s phone.  Your face on the screen speaking to me with someone else holding it.  A mediator between the screen that I understood could be trusted.  But there was a wall between us but more for our protection.  One that somebody else crossed for me as if to beam you to me like a satellite.  A woman’s arm and voice helping you to speak on a crowded bus.  A cry out through a series of codes and hidden messages perhaps.  Possibly from a satellite high about powered by Verizon or something.  Unlimited LTE is some real shit.  5G in America not so much.  Security in America is top priority.  That’s quite apparent as you sit on a roof by yourself looking over the damage of years of shitty foreign policy.  I never got to see the towers in person.  I never had that kind of relationship with New York until now.  I would sit both mornings at Blue Bottle over coffee trying to write you something.  And sitting in a literal ghost yard I couldn’t help to think the same mantras we’d been taught.  Never forget.  We shall overcome.  I have a dream.  I didn’t have what Martin had.  Martin Luther King has always been a hero.  Malcolm too.  But they were part of a fight that never seems to end.  A fight for human dignity.  A chance for us to live in peace together.  At what cost I ask myself often in the checkout line.  A dark spectre of consumer capital looming over me and a watchful eye from the shadows.  Maybe that’s why I go to bed at a decent hour on a Saturday night and dream about you.  However complicated these things might be.

I remember you talking about dream jobs.  I head back to work on Monday.  I wore my school’s sweatshirt on the flight home.  When you talk about school spirit, it’s easy enough to talk about it or write an album as a dropout.  That’s neither here nor there.  I never quit.  The truth is I’ve been employed for a really long time.  I’ve seen myself grow in and out of things like an untrimmed invasive plant.  Sort of like Dhalsim from Street Fighter.  I only have had the time to practice a few basic poses but yoga and dance for me are interlinked.  So is running.  I got to run Central Park Saturday morning.  I walked around twenty more miles that day.  I navigate a city like a cat.  Dodging and weaving through crowds sometimes undetected.  Sometimes with dirty looks.  Often times completely invisible to the naked eye.  Overlooked for sure as we have all come to know and love this about my aesthetic.  I’ve worn a certain Japanese brand for years.  People’s interpretations of that have evolved into a mutation of sorts.  A nightmarish hallucination of public transparency.  I’m famous but not at the same time.  People acknowledge I exist but prefer not to talk about it.  These days some of my biggest “fans” in the real world could be adversaries if you looked at them the wrong way.  I’m tough but nobody knows the reason.  They have their theories.  But nobody has put up with my writing enough to have empathy for the winding journey I’ve set myself up for.  I did end up getting my pin for 30k in March.  Everybody was nice at the Nike store in Soho in my sweaty, stinky Gyakusou shirt.  There was an amazing display for the 720 which introduced me to Frank Rudy, an aeronautics engineer who is responsible for the air sole technology.  I walk a lot.  The only car I ever own was taken from me in a failed relationship.  I figured that was a sign to move forward.  Shoes helped me do that over the years.  So did clothes and obscure aesthetics that boosted my visibility for better or for worse.  Up in the mix of things in the streets isn’t something I’m new to.  But people underestimate me still after all these years.  Just another white guy I suppose.  As far as my dream job this honky returns Monday morning like nothing ever happened.  Just like I used to disappear to Korea for a month at a time.  Except it’s not safe for me to leave the country these days by myself.  Queens at five in the morning I’m in my element.  Urine aside.  For all the shit anybody talks in this world there are people out there living it.  One drop at a time.

And from what I’ve seen with my own two eyes there are things I’ve never wanted to be a part of.  I also didn’t want to be a showoff or throw it in anybody’s face prematurely.  The court of public opinion has burned me more often than not.  And I feel whatever bridges I’ve burnt have burnt themselves at this point.  I’m more interested in the ones I’ve been building just by being myself.  Walking the urine stained streets like it’s some runway in gear nobody gives a shit about.  I walked the Brookyln bridge by myself eating Burger King.  BK to the fullest.  Someone from Instagram randomly commented that it was a vibe.  I felt that was a real observation.  Sometimes that vibe causes trouble simply by breathing.  If there’s any great secret there are a ton of people that just don’t like me.  They’re jealous, envious, awkward and judgemental at the same time.  And there’s a ton of people on the street that do.  It’s not something I can’t even recreate at this point.  It follows me around.  The book I’ve been reading has talked a lot about the effects of globalization.  How the innocence of private space can often be encroached on if spaces overlap.  Chaos, noise and culture ensure.  How do you find privacy let alone intimacy in all these overlapping systems of public space?  How they are accessed, controlled, and moderated is subject to power.  Whoever holds the power dictates the rules.  In a relationship focused on respecting feminism and independence, one might revoke control to their romantic partner.  I would do that for the record.  I don’t think many could do what I do.  People build intimate partnerships on compromise and understanding.  And then people build malls on grave sites with very little understanding of the underlying issues that toppled these structures to the ground.  People have often told other people they understand me.  They know people like me.  So and so is into this too.  You should meet so and so.  There’s another Tim out there just for you.  A better one that plays nice with the power structures that circumvent respect for people of color, genders, and religions.  One that doesn’t resist the obvious.  That the dead are restless.  The memories offer no closure and no understanding for the pain suffered.  That I am haunted and in pain in a very similar way.  More of a philosophical way than a Poltergeist sort of way.  Although I did mysteriously break my chemex making coffee at 3 in the morning before this trip.  Maybe I’m just white and clumsy.  Maybe I’m just lucky and in love.  <3 Tim

[protectorsofthewood]

Abby and Wendy - Episode 41

FOLLOWING THE VOICES

A thin white mist covered the land. The pale glow of the moon could hardly be seen. Abby saw it was the perfect time to be invisible, and enter the underground unseen. Still, she took every precaution in choosing her way to the back door of the churchyard. Drizzle was falling through the warm and humid air. She felt the key in her pants pocket as she surveyed the churchyard wall from the cornfield. Nothing moved. Without a sound she crossed the dirt path, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Standing still, she heard the rain and the wind in the leaves. The click from locking the door was almost inaudible. Things were going perfectly.

Abby walked along the Birdwatchers’ Path to the cave of vines, and crawled inside. Gently pushing aside some branches, she found the narrow opening into the thicket of brambles and vines. She could barely see, but knew where she was going. In moments she touched the large flat stone covering the entrance to the underground.

A very faint murmuring had begun. As she pulled the stone aside, the murmuring increased. The darkness below was thick, and seemed almost infinite... She went in feet first so she could pull the stone back into place, but kept getting stuck. Her backpack was in the way. She took it off and pushed it under brambles and leaves. Saying a prayer, she slid down the hole and sealed the entrance with the rock. Claustrophobia overwhelmed her, but there was nothing to do but go on, sliding slowly down and down.

Finally, she reached the level path, and by feeling the dirt wall found the entrance to her small underground room. It seemed years since she had been there, but had been only a week ago. Groping blindly to the corner, she unwrapped the mapstick. The light gleamed with astonishing beauty and clarity. Abby saw the map of the underground in her mind, and knew it was a just tiny part of an inconceivably enormous world. The voices were suddenly louder. They seemed to be coming from a certain spot, somewhere below Hidden Valley.

But the voices were coming from other spots as well! Both louder and softer, bigger and smaller. It was a cacophony of sounds, totally confusing. Abby had no idea what to do, but in her heart, she felt that she must do something. Otherwise the voices would haunt her. Perhaps she could find her way back to the fork in the tunnel where Wendy had warned her. But perhaps Wendy was just warning her not to chase the voices. They had other big plans for that day.

Abby sat in the old chair, amazed that it didn’t collapse beneath her. Everything in that underground room looked a hundred years old. There is a quality about this place, she thought. The mapstick seems more powerful, my mind is working. Let’s see if I can find just one good clue. The mapstick will help me. What clues do I have? Voices coming from so many places, but one is the strongest. And that location may be the Root Cavern, with the writing on the walls and the colossal dreamstone sphere. Definitely a powerful spot. But I’ve been there and heard no voices. I didn’t sense the presence of what I’m dealing with today...

Her mind went blank. She heard the opening lines of the rhyme: When you go down under jutting stone Following the way alone

In a flash she realized that it was a song. It had a tune she had heard before, probably a very long time ago. She repeated it in her mind. No instruments, just a voice, perhaps an old voice, telling stories. The rhyme is part of a story. Grandfather Walker! Sonny’s father! It must be him. The Young Warriors’ Club, long, long ago.

She knew that with luck she could catch the rest of the song. She let it play in her mind, feeling the words at her fingertips. And then:

When you go down under jutting stone Following the way alone Very few have found the way From the stream of ghosts back to open day

A warning everyone should know There is no safe way to go The invisible door I’ll tell you true Depends on what’s inside of you

Look for the stone that’s on the wall If you’re the one who hears the call Don’t forget when the voices start Take a look inside your heart They come from the lake of broken hearts

Got it! Got it! Abby let it play over and over. Okay... now what does this tell me? Lots of things! It was a part of the Young Warriors Club. It was probably a part of a story that included the Ghost Girl. No one else explored underground. I was the only Queen of the Underworld. The voices must be really there, if Grandfather Walker made up that rhyme. No... he didn’t make it up. It was passed down to us from long ago.

This rhyme is advice from the ancient past. What can I learn? Well, the voices come from the Stream of Ghosts. It’s dangerous, very hard to return. There’s no safe way except the invisible door, and what happens next depends on what’s inside you. If you hear the call, look for the stone on the wall. That sounds like dreamstone, definitely a door. Maybe that’s a way. When the voices start, take a look inside your heart. They come from the lake of broken hearts. Okay... the voices have already begun. I hear the call from a place of broken hearts. I need to look inside my heart.

Abby immediately realized that she was living with a broken heart. She was jinxed and disappointed in love, and had very little confidence in her mission from Wendy. But without that mission she really had no life to live. She would be a failure, and it would be almost impossible to recover and begin again. Part of her was depressed most of the time.

Okay, that song is certainly meant for me. Do I hear the voices because I have a broken heart? And how will I get out of there? I want to do something and then come back. I’m certainly not looking to stay, so... I must not be completely depressed.

All right, what’s next? Hmm... I would like the best invisible door I can find, and that is the dreamstone sphere that Wendy showed me. It’s already helping me understand myself. I need to go back there, and with the help of the mapstick I can probably find it. I can see it on the map in my mind, I’m pretty sure. But I don’t have any time and energy to waste.Abby studied the map again, trying to be sure of her route. I don’t dare get lost! And even if I don’t get lost, I can’t endure the hours of hiking there and back. I want to be at my best. Maybe I should just get some sleep and do this tomorrow night. No. I can’t bear living like this.

She listened closely to the voices again. The sounds were in the shape of words and sentences, but she couldn’t understand anything. Wave after wave of gibberish washed over her. Even the emotional content was obscure. The result for Abby was truly frightening, nightmarish. I simply must deal with this. If I don’t confront it, I’ll be sucked into it.

The voice of the mapstick spoke in her mind: I’ll show you a shorter way, much shorter. Look at the map again.

She stared at the three-dimensional maze of caverns and tunnels, full of signs and signals whose meaning she could only guess. Certain caverns appeared with a bright light, and some like faint stars she could barely see. It was hard to keep track of the levels of her route. There were passageways that moved from one level to another. Some displayed a glittering light that Abby guessed were rivers.

Trust me, came the voice. Remember how I got you to Wendy’s garden? I know a way.

She felt that she had no choice but to have faith. If she rejected the voice of the mapstick, she would never find the source of the muttering. The incomprehensible voices would continue to pursue her. Her only course of action would be to flee to Wendy again for help.

I need to at least try, she told herself. If I can’t find the way I’ll return, or take the route to Wendy’s.

And so she set off down the warm dirt tunnel. A rat scurried out of the way. She passed by the trap door over her head to Sammy’s Coffee Shop. After a long walk downhill she was under the river. The clamoring voices grew louder and louder. But since she had made a decision, her mind was clear.

The tunnel opened up into the damp caverns with water dripping down from the ceiling, making shapes like icicles. Don’t miss the turn,came the voice. On your right.

At that moment there was a passageway on her right, one she remembered from her journey home with Chi Chi. But am I going all the way back toward the jutting stone, and then all the way to the Root Cavern, and then all the way back? I can’t do it. Of course not. There’s another way. You’ll see. It’s hard for me to trust anything or anyone, Abby told the voice.

I am only a part of yourself, a part you need to listen to. And after you pass under the haunted house, watch for the hard-right turn.

The mapstick shone with great power, shedding a light that was soft, but illuminated everything down to the smallest detail. The slightly blue glow was easy on the eyes, not at all like a spotlight or the headlight of a car. It had the same illumination at the tip of her staff as it did on objects at a distance.

Abby found the right turn to another gentle tunnel cleared of stalagmites and stalactites, a way that must have been used by people long ago. The breeze began to smell like cool water.

I must be on the way to the river from Hidden Valley, a very difficult hike.

No, watch for a left turn. You’re going deep under the Horn. You’ve heard about it before. You’ll be there soon.

Ah! thought Abby. I’m not going to the Root Cavern. I’m going to the dreamstone mirror! I have indeed heard about it. Phoebe went there a few months ago, and I was so jealous. Oh, I can’t wait...

She almost missed the left turn. It was no more than a hole in the wall. Coming closer, she saw a level tunnel that suddenly seemed to end. Crawling slowly forward, she recited the Jutting Stone poem to prepare herself, and keep her mind off the terror of getting stuck, imprisoned far from rescue.

Suddenly the floor just ahead seemed to drop off into nowhere. Approaching it slowly, she saw a steep downhill climb, full of rock and clay. The ceiling was far above her. This level of the tunnel had collapsed long ago.

But Abby had climbed in places like this before. She used the staff, her other hand, both feet, and moved from one sitting position to another. It was arduous but safe. This can’t last forever. But it felt that way.

The avalanche finally leveled off, and she could walk. A few minutes went by. With the corner of her eye she saw what seemed to be a hole in the wall on her left. I recall you have to crawl into the Mirror Cave. Only two entrances, both of them terrible. But at least I’m almost there. Here we go.

On hands and knees with the mapstick leading the way, she crawled for about a hundred yards. With no transition the tunnel opened up into a glorious cavern. The mapstick shone across wide oval shape and a high ceiling. Gemstones shone with many colors like a thousand stars. It was breathtaking.

The voices were right next her, as if only a thin curtain separated her from an aimless mob, a million lost souls. But there was no sign of dreamstone on the ground level. She walked around the oval and stretched her cramped muscles. A couple of old wooden chairs and wooden crates made a few places to sit. Burnt out candles left wax on some chinks in the rock wall. And a giant piece of burlap covered a whole piece of the wall.

That’s over eight feet high, and twice as wide. What’s it doing there? She pulled back a corner and saw the smooth translucent blue of dreamstone, shining like a glowing planet in the light of the mapstick.

Oh my God. I have such little faith. Here it is! How do you get this covering off the wall? She put three crates on top of each other and inspected what turned out to be hooks in the rocky surface. She gently pulled the burlap, and it suddenly fell, exposing an immense dreamstone surface, flat and glowing like a mirror in the light.

Don’t look, she told herself. Get ready first. Powers that be, come and help me! Oh! Please let me do something good. Please, I promise, I’ll struggle to do good my life long.

There was a crate about ten feet from the giant dreamstone door looming in front of her. She sat down, took a deep breath, and raised her eyes.

[tellytantra]

Holding on and letting go Part one 'Ammi' amidst the low voices of dignatories inside the board meeting she was jolted by the sudden voice. Her concentration was disjunctured and across the room she could see her father gazing at her with a concerned look. She tried to convince I'm with a smile but inside her there was a storm brewing to explode.  Wasim Siddiqui quickly walked past people after the meeting ended towards his daughter only to find her in a state of utter shock. He stared at the screen of her mobile to that displayed around fifty missed calls from her relatives including his wife and younger daughter.  "Abbu..." She clasped her father's hands, that panic stricken face of his daughter always gave Wasim that chill in the spine. Zoya did not know how she was taken to Mumbai with her father handling all the phone calls, throughout the journey she felt like she blacked out. It was only when their car reached Hooda house that she rushed towards him.  A tight painful grip on her arms stopped her track, 'Where do you think your going? Don't you think it is a little too late for all this dramatics. "Mom, this is neither the time nor place for all this", Arjun interfered with gritted teeth.  Zoya rushed towards the bedroom to see him lying peacefully with Noor sitting beside him. Her steps automatically slowed down whereas her heart pounded violently, it almost felt like she was choking. 'Appi' her sister's voice returned some sanity to her as she weakly patted Noor's cheek. She finally knelt down next to him, her trembling hands pushed back the hair from his forehead. "Ammi, don't cry I missed you too". Her son's voice was like a faint light in the darkest caverns to her ears. She clasped her four year old to her chest and tears bust out with her entire body shaking. Noor softly carressed her sister's hair pleading her appi to stop crying.  'What kind of mother are you leaving your child for a business trip when you knew he was unwell?'  Her mother-in-laws sharp tone had never mellowed down in all these years. She clasped Noor's hand for she knew her sister was about to reply back to their mother-in-law. 'Hooda house can never be a happy place till you are here.' Anjana threw daggers through her words that pierced through Zoya's very being. "I think that will be enough for today." Zoya clutched her son tighter as she heard a deep masculine voice from behind. "We all should relax now,  doctor said that Meer had a slight fever  which is gone now besides Zoya will take it from here, mother's knows best". Her husband's calm voice soothed the raging storm within her but she refused to turn back and hold his eyes with hers, she knew he was desperately longing for a glimpse of her. But a part of Zoya was plain exhausted, she knew if she turned her back she will be in Aditya's arms all undone. Why could not she handle things on her own? Why could not for once Aditya depend upon her? Why was it always the other way round? Her heart sank at the thought of being a delicate flower that Aditya protected all the time, for once she did not want to burden him.  Aditya stared at his wife with clenched jaws hoping she would look at him but to no avail. Her long hair cascaded till her back while she gently rocked their son to sleep. For once he just wanted to act on his impulse, stride two steps crush her in his arms and break past through all the invisible barriers she had created. But he did what was sensible at the moment, to reason out with his mother who had stormed out of the room deeply hurt. Aditya took a deep breath and left the room after exchanging a warm smile with his sister in law. + "I am so sorry Tim for not being there when you needed me the most" her eyes flooded with tears as she held him closer to her. 'I was a good boy ammi, you can ask Pa also' her little Tim replied. Writer: White rhododendron You are all I have Aditya walked towards his parent's bedroom only to meet his father who tapped him on the shoulder with a defeated smile silently telling him that only he can handle his mother at this moment. After taking a deep breath he knocked the door.+ "Apne patni ki saamne mera insult karke bahut khush hoga na Cheeku? Granted your respective wives are more important for both you and Arjun but am I suppose to turn a blind eye to my grandson's well being also?" Arjun who had just entered the room was about to say something but Adi stopped him, 'Ma, nothing happened to your grandson, he had a slight fever and now he is alright besides if anyone is suppose to be blamed then it's me I was to be with him but due to emergency meeting had to leave him with you all.'  "Bas Adi stop defending your wife I am your mother I know what happens in my son's life,  every time you have to take all the responsibilities. Woh toh abhi bhi apni abbu ki shehzadi hai." 'Ma please' Aditya closed his eyes trying to reason out with his mother, he was kneeling in front of his mother caressing her hands gently.  'You will never give her a chance ma I am well aware of that but please try to understand that she is also the elder daughter of her family with some responsibilities towards her parents. Her father needed her the way you need me ma".  'When you brought Pooja to me saying you want to marry her I was more than happy" 'Where is this conversation going ma' Adi cut her a little annoyed, what he was unaware of was Zoya's presence outside the room that had inspired Anjana to bring in the past to hurt her daughter in law. "Pooja was an MBA but she opted out to stay home because you needed her, she was there always by your side ever since you were twelve. But Zoya, she is not home even for her son forget about the husband." Anjana was more than glad to blast her son regarding his beloved wife. I cannot believe we are still having this discussion after so many years. Pooja was my best friend ma and had I even seen a glimpse of Zoya before the debacle I would have instantly realized that what Pooja and me had was deep friendship mistaken for love and I am sure it would be the same for Pooja had she met Yash earlier.' Aditya's eyes glistened for all he wanted was his mother to understand her. 'She is my everything ma' Anjana could see the hurt in her son's eyes as he rushed out of the room. Siddiqui house Wasim was brought out of his deep thought when he heard the sound of the coffee mug being placed loudly on the table. 'Aap itne gusse mein kyun hai?' he asked his wife feigning innocence. "My grandson was suffering from high fever and his mother was forced to leave her son and attend her father's meeting, why wouldn't I be angry?" Wasim had never seen his wife so hurt. 'Have you seen the way that Aditya's mother treats our daughter, humiliating her at every given occasion I am sure she must have extended their humiliation to our Noor also and that Harshvardhan Hooda with his cold demeanour. They are all so repelling Roshnaq can't you see it". "Aditya is your grandson's father for God sake Wasim you need to accept the fact that she has never been more happy in her life than with Aditya. Let go of the past Wasim before it's too late." Wasim Siddiqui stood silent as his wife left the room. Hooda House "How is he feeling now?" His deep voice startled her from her deep thought but she continued stroking her son's forehead without looking up at her husband. She knew how he hated her silent treatment but the happenings of the entire day drained her to such an extent that his presence itself made her want to come undone and vulnerability meant burdening him once again.  'If your doing this to hurt me then you are actually succeeding' she closed her eyes as she sensed him leaving the room with tired steps. A part of her wanted to turn around and stop her husband but at that very moment the phone rang, 'hello Zoya beta ab humare Meer ki tabiyat kaisi hai?' Her ammi's voice brought a sense of relief in her. Zoya wanted to tell her mother that a part of her deep down knows that she is never a dutiful wife to Aditya and can never give him the happiness that he deserves but before she could utter anything her mother continued, 'Beta Aditya ko aap ki bahut zarurat hai unki saari khushiyan  aap se hi toh hai' her mother's words were like an awakening call. The moment she hung the phone she a pair of chubby hands embracing from behind, she smiled instantly when her little man planted a soft kiss on her neck, it was his thing and she knew his great dislike even if his pa kissed her neck 'accidently' in his presence.  "Tim, how is my baby feeling" Zoya placed him in her lap carressing his chuby cheeks, Aditya often feigned annoyance for their little boy resembled Zoya more than him. That oddly placed dimple, curly brunette locks were very similar to Zoya.1 'I missed you ammi' her son hid his head on her chest, "I missed you more baby" she kissed his thick hair. 'I hope you did not trouble your pa?' she asked gently rocking him. "No ammi , I even rode Pa's plane" he grinned those green orbs resembled that of his father. "I took care of pa as you had asked me too I even slept next to him you know ammi pa cried at night and when I asked him he said he was missing you." 2 Zoya chuckled at her son's statement and indulged in maternal bliss with her husband's hurt eyes burning at the back of her mind. If only the world knew Warning: Matured content ahead. She opened the door softly to witness him sprawled on the bed on his stomach lost in his own thoughts with a book in his hands that he was not reading at all. Zoya was overwhelmed to see her husband looking like a little lost boy for it reminded of the man child that he was when they first met during those nightmarish circumstances. His childish antics faded gradually ever since they married for he stepped into the role of the most responsible husband, her heart ached every time the thought crossed her mind. "Aditya"  he closed his eyes for she had a peculiar way of pronouncing his name in that deep husky voice making him her captive without her realising it.  "Woh aap fresh ho jayi kaafi tired honge hum bed ready karde te hain." Saying this in her hesitant voice she was about to leave when  she felt a rough pull and in no time her back crashed on his familiar strong chest, a gasp escaped her lips unaware of the fact how it turned her husband wild with yearning for her. His large hand removed her thick mane from her right shoulder and plunged his mouth hungrily kissing, sucking and biting whatever he could turning her into a moaning mess. He flipped her fragile frame and she snaked her hands gently around his neck breathlessly resting her forehead on his. The tears on her face calmed the storm within him making him stop for sometime as she traced his face with her delicate fingers. Their eyes understood each other's silence, Zoya could see the hurt in her husband's eyes mixed with a dark pool of desire. Her brown orbs apologized to him expressing her insecurities through her tears.  "Hum bahut darr gaye the Aditya I'm sorry I thought I was losing both of you." She hid her face on his shoulders breaking into loud sobs. 10 'Sshhh Zoya kuch nahin hone dunga main, tumhe aur humare bete ko." He hugged her tightly, protectively kissing her forehead. Zoya was at peace for she was tucked in the safest place in the world, her Aditya's arms. Soon she was being carried towards their large bed he placed her gently at the center as his large figure hovered around her. She pulled him towards her softly  kissing his lips and he responded with eagerness crashing his lips on hers, he trailed his lips along her long elegant neck showering her chest with wet hot  kisses. He placed his hands on her breast making her moan his name as she pulled him by his hair and kissed his lips with all her strength while his grip on her breast tightened. Soon their clothes were strewn throughout the bed, Aditya intensely stared at his wife's body bathed in moonlight as she shyly covered her breast with her hands. It fascinated him to see her so hesitant to stand naked in front of him even after six years of marriage. Aditya pinned her hands on the sides of the bed and after admiring the beauty lying beneath him he plunged to take a mouthful of her right breast  a loud cry of pleasure was her response as she wrapped her legs around his waist and her hands clutched his thick hair. He continued sucking and squeezing her breast one at a time till she  pulled him to kiss his mouth. She made him sit up and climbed on his lap breathlessly kissing his chest and collarbone, sucking his earlobe on intervals. Her husband's body drived her wild, his chiseled muscles those protruding veins all over his body. Aditya lied down closing his eyes letting her continue her kissing his abs and stomach invoking a sense of relaxation and recklessness rolled into one. When her teeth gently scratched above his manhood he could not take it anymore and flipped her around making her gasp at his strength. He placed himself between her legs he stared into those doe eyes wondering when he fell for them something at the back of his mind shouted that it was the first time his eyes met hers. She whimpered as his mouth sucked the hot molten love flowing from her womanhood his deep groans made Zoya bite her lips. She eagerly pulled him to her face, "Please Aditya..." she begged.  He obliged and entered inside her core making her bite  his shoulders while her long nails scratched his back. This was his safe haven, everytime he entered inside her he felt the safest as for her it was only he coming undone made her a complete woman. She reached her climax and fell on his arms while his thrust intensified filling her with his seeds, he rested his face on her shoulder while she wrapped her arms around him after he reached his pinnacle.  Later in the night Zoya opened her eyes to find her husband's face peacefully resting on her breast, she kissed his forehead smiling lovingly at his handsome face deep in slumber. As softly as she could she untangled herself from his arms caressing his cheek gently when she noticed a frown on his face when he sensed her absence in his sleep. She softly went out of the room putting on a robe to her son's small bedroom adjacent to their room. Aditya himself had done all the carpentry of the room while Arjun and Noor decorated it as Aditya was rooting for a baby girl so he was half of the time clueless. She stroked her son's forehead fondly remembering the time he was born, it was so painful yet it gave her solace while remembering.  "Not fair Zoya you will make him break the tradition of Hooda men, ma accuses us of being henpecked and Meer Hooda will grow up to be a Mamma's boy you just wait and watch".  They both chuckled as she hit him playfully on the shoulders.  'Aap mere bete ko chidhaana bandh karenge' she feigned being hurt.  "He has all your attention and I hate when any man attracts your attention, he nuzzled her neck encompassing her in his strong embrace. Aditya sat on the nearby chair letting Zoya caress their son a sight which always have him 'sukoon'. Meer's chubby hands pulled his mother more towards himself as she hugged his sleeping form.  'When did the fever start? I should have never left him today.' She stated with a shaky voice. "Zoya, we had this talk earlier, Abbu needed you and I leave you and Meer for so many days when I have long distance flights nobody questions me. Why do people have to point a finger at a mother or a woman". Aditya replied a little irritated. 'I don't know at times...' "You are a wonderful mother Zoya don't ever forget that and as a wife you healed me of all my scars Zoya taking care of all my needs giving me the extra care that a man with distressed childhood always  demands." 1 She smiled at him warmly and he knelt in front of her with his hands on her knees caressing Meer's hair who was nestled in her arms.  "He thinks his pa is wolverine the whole day I had to wear only white briefs." They chuckled softly,  "and when I accidentally called him Tim he politely corrected me that only his ammi calls him that he says he has no problem of I call him laddoo like his dadi does."  Zoya placed their son on the warm bed while Aditya looked at them lovingly, she turned towards her husband and kissed him on the lips muttering a silent 'thank you'. "Thank you more Zoya Siddiqui for choosing me as your husband."  If they had each other they could fight any odds in their ways for 'love' found its way when it came to Zoya and Aditya.1 The end.

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