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blossom-hwa · 4 years ago

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Time and Time Again - CHANGBIN

I cannot believe this is finished??? I feel like I say this every time but genuinely I didn’t think this would get done until maybe bin’s birthday in August but I somehow finished it the second day of January?? Anyway, I really loved this (the concept LITERALLY came to me in a dream), and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

(The idea that prompted this response to a @quillstarters challenge is the same one that inspired this story :D)

Pairing: Changbin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, reincarnation!au, soulmate!au

Triggers: death, mentions of suicide, blood (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 10.8k

A vengeful god curses one hundred lifetimes of your love.

SKZ Masterlist

In your first life, the life that starts it all, your mother knows magic.

She’s a healer, one whose patients come from all walks of life, all over the world. From that first lifetime, you remember the heavy, comforting smell of dried herbs, the softness of her hair tickling your face, the shimmers of magic emanating from her practiced fingers into bubbling pots.

You sort of remember a father, hazy memories of a smiling man who wasn’t home very often but when he was, liked to pick you up and swing you around the room. He isn’t around by the time you’re six, maybe seven, though.

You know not to ask about it. The first time you did, your mother’s face just turned sad, an awful sort of sad that looked more like regret and repentance and anger and desolation. It takes a few more slip ups, but eventually you learn to ignore your curiosities. For though your mother never outright dismisses them, they upset her, and you never get a straight response.

Until the god arrives.

They appear in a shower of blinding light. Cold, white sparks burst into brilliant rainbows that fade in the air. You watch, mesmerized, even as your mother drags you away.

The god is beautiful. Fine, androgynous features, red eyes as soulful as song, lush locks of hair that tumble around their shoulders. But it is the severity in their face, as well as the bloodred bow and the bone-tipped arrow nocked in their hands that tell you who they are.

“You hid yourself well, disciple of Hekate.” Cupid’s beautiful lips curl in a mocking smile that doesn’t even attempt to disguise the anger in their eyes. “Eight years. I applaud you.”

Three slow, ominous claps echo loudly in the room.

You look up at your mother, heart about to leap out of your chest. Her face has gone pale, devoid of color. It only scares you more.

Cupid’s eyes flicker to you, clutching your mother’s skirts like a toddler. They freeze you in place. “So she never told you.”

Told me what?

“You never wondered where your father was, child?”

All the breath stops in your throat.

My father?

The god shakes his head disapprovingly. “It’s the least you could have done, sorceress.”

“What would you have me do?” Your mother’s voice brims with desperation and anger – though aimed at whom, you aren’t sure. “How could a child ever understand?”

“You should never have made the mistake in the first place.”

Understood what? Your eyes flit between the god and your mother. “Mother?” you whisper, tugging at her sleeve. “Mother, what do they mean?”

The story spills out in broken fragments. Your father had a liaison with your mother and she found she was pregnant with you. She loved him, but he didn’t want to stay. So she dabbled in forbidden magic. Gave a love potion to a man who did not care for her.

You were born. He realized, eventually, what she had done. Then he left, leaving you without a father.

You can’t even try to speak when the story is over. It feels as though you can’t breathe, can’t feel, can’t see anything beyond the god’s blood red eyes. Fingers cling to your mother’s skirts numbly as you attempt to process the flow of words that just passed through your ears.

Dimly, you register your mother pulling free from your hands to kneel on the floor. “Do with me as you see fit,” she whispers.

“With you?” Cupid laughs. The sound tears at the silence in the room. “What use would that be? No, I think your child will pay for your crimes.” They pin you under their gaze. “Yes, I see many lifetimes of pain in these eyes that would suffice.”

You don’t understand. You can’t understand. What does the god want with you? What have you done to anger them? It was your mother who committed the error, not you. Why must you pay for it? Your heart pounds faster and faster as their eyes refuse to waver.

“Yes.” They nod, finally satisfied. “A heart broken one hundred times will pay for your crime.” Cupid lifts their bow and arrow, aiming at your heart.

Your mother’s head snaps up. “You would condemn my child’s love to centuries of turmoil?” Her voice shakes with barely controlled anger. “You would punish my child for my mistakes? Take me instead!”

Cupid’s cruel eyes flicker between you and her. “Love is hardly fair, as you should well know,” they snarl. “By meddling in my affairs, you have secured your child’s fate.”

Their gaze fixes on you with the intensity of a thousand suns. You shrink under their glare, even as their eyes gain some semblance of softness. For a moment, it seems as though the god will take pity on you.

Then the arrow sinks into your chest, exploding into a shower of the god’s cold sparks. No blood flows but your chest throbs.

Through a dim haze of pain, as though they speak through water, you hear the god speak their final words.

“A hundred lifetimes will pass before I will allow your love to rest.”

. . . . .

It takes years, really, for the information to sink in. You don’t fault your mother entirely for her actions – raising a child alone is hard, you come to know as you grow older. But at the same time, you can’t find respect for a man who would abandon a woman he had a relationship with over the birth of a child. You can’t understand why your mother would love such a person, can’t quite understand love in general. You know you love your mother, of course, but what does such an emotion really mean?

You learn the meaning at age twenty in your first life when you meet Seo Changbin.

Your mother rushes into the house that day, almost collapsing under his unconscious weight. You immediately zero in on the huge gash on his leg that’s still leaking blood, despite the makeshift bandage, and start pulling down the necessary salves and potions.

He doesn’t wake up for a week. Other patients filter in and out of the little hut as the days go by and you dutifully do your best to treat them all, gently treating scrapes and brewing tonics. There’s something about the man lying unconscious and feverish at the back of the hut, though, that draws you in like a moth to a flame. Day by day, you sit by him when you can, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with cool cloths, forcing brews down his throat and dabbing creams onto his leg to fight the infection.

He doesn’t look like one of the gentlemen that sometimes come to town. He doesn’t seem like he has the stately grace of Hwang Hyunjin, the lord’s heir, nor does he exude the cold elegance of Choi Chanhee, the magistrate’s son.

So this man is probably a commoner, if your deductions are correct. But you know almost everyone in the village – they’ve all come to the healer’s hut at some point and met you – and this boy’s face is new. You don’t recognize him, not at all.

You wake up to a soft crash in the middle of the night, then the sound of a loud curse. For a moment, you lie back down on your pillow. Probably Mother.

Then you sit bolt upright. That was a man’s voice. Not your mother’s.

Thieves?

Then you realize.

He’s woken up!

Large, terrified eyes glow in the flickering light of your candle when you enter the healing ward, carefully holding your hands in a purposeful gesture of surrender. “Hello,” you say, trying not to fixate on the beauty of the boy’s eyes. “My name is Y/N. My mother found you in the forest with an infected wound and brought you to our home for treatment.”

He glares at you, still distrustful, but speaks. “How long have I been here?”

“Almost a week.”

The boy visibly tenses. “One week?”

“Yes.” You step forward. “And I would advise you not to leave for at least another two, given the condition of your leg. Wherever you’re going, if you go now, the infection will kill you before you get far.”

“How long will I have?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you suicidal?”

For several tense seconds, you stare at each other, neither backing down. Finally, the boy lowers his gaze. “Fine,” he says, the fight leaving his voice. He smiles a little, apologetically. “I’ll stay. Thank you for treating me.”

“You’re welcome.” You help him back onto the cot. “Now try to sleep. I’ll come back to check on you in the morning.”

Just before you fall asleep, you think of large, brown eyes and petulant lips. For some reason, they make you smile.

. . .

His name is Changbin, you come to learn after several days of pained grunts, spilled salve, and muted conversation. He won’t tell you where he comes from, but a name is far better than nothing. At least you have confirmation that he isn’t a local, and he smiles too much for you to suspect him as a murderer.

That would be unpleasant.

And Changbin is the opposite of unpleasant. He has this smile, a smile that no matter how small, is bright enough to light up the room. He’s so smart when it comes to life but he’s also a little dumb, really, telling bad jokes that make you roll your eyes but laugh anyway. He snorts when you tell your own stupid stories and insulting jokes and as a result, you think of more and more for him, more tall tales and bad puns just so you can hear that beautiful laugh that sounds like a cross between wedding bells and a pig’s snort.

He stays for your recommended two weeks, then another, and another. Your mother doesn’t mind, only smiles at him like he was her own son. Changbin isn’t useless, after all – he helps you tend to the herb garden, chops wood for the fire, and is receptive to the eventual lessons you give him on the basics of healing.

(And if you stare at his muscles when he lifts heavy pots over the fire, what of it?)

The boy your mother found so many weeks ago in the woods lights up your life in a way you’ve never experienced before. Even though it makes you feel guilty, sometimes you’re glad that Changbin injured himself in the forest. Otherwise, you might never have met the boy who sits with you shoulder to shoulder on the bank of the river that runs through the woods, laughs ringing through the trees.

“Y/N,” he says on one of those quiet days by the river. When you look up from your feet dangling feet in the swift current and when you look up, you find Changbin staring at you with something so soft, so deep in his gaze that you can’t decipher it.

(It makes your heart thump.)

“Hm?” You pull your feet out of the water, feeling almost shy as you meet his eyes.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

When Changbin kisses you that afternoon under a green canopy of leaves, golden light showering his dark hair and tanned skin, you can’t think. There are no thoughts of anything in your head (and certainly none of Cupid’s curse) except the euphoria of his lips against yours. With his mouth pressed softly to yours, you feel like you’re flying, drifting on the breeze without a care in the world. It’s bliss, pure bliss.

Your mother knows when you walk back into the hut, suppressing an uncontrollable smile. Her gaze remains carefully neutral for the rest of the day, but when Changbin has gone outside to chop wood, she speaks. “You know about the curse.”

Dread mixes with the bliss in your heart. Your head hangs over the herbs you’re grinding. “Yes, Mother.”

“Darling, look at me.” She turns you around, and you see the tears building in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

There’s bitterness in your chest and mouth, tingeing the tip of your tongue, but this is your mother, the woman who bore you and cared for you alone for so much of your life. Though angry words rise in your throat, they never make it past your lips.

“It’s okay, Mother.” You brush the tears away, valiantly holding your own back. “I can’t blame you for a mistake you made in the name of love.” Blind, blind hope rises in your chest. “Maybe the god forgot. Maybe they will have mercy.”

Your mother just looks at you with dreadful eyes, eyes haunted by the knowledge that your words will prove false. But Changbin’s already coming back inside and the fluttering happiness in your heart from seeing him expels all negative thoughts from your mind.

One year passes in domestic bliss. Your mother never brings up the curse again, and you push any thought of it to the back of your mind. Changbin’s kisses do much to dispel any worries of yours, anyway.

Late one night, curled in a blanket next to the fire, Changbin tells you the reason he came. “I left because of a family dispute,” he says, almost ashamedly, staring into the flickering flames. “I had a falling out with my father, and he told me to leave. Even though I knew he really didn’t mean it, even though my mother pleaded with me to stay, I… I left anyway.”

You hold him closer under the blanket, comforting him with your warmth. In the light of the fire, his eyes look ghostly against the dark.

“I’m telling you this now because I want to go back.”

Your heart freezes.

Back? He wants to go back to his village, go back home… and leave you behind?

But Changbin’s smiling now, slightly. It settles your heart a little – he couldn’t speak of leaving you forever and smile in the same sentence, could he? You look at him, eyes pleading with him to continue.

“I want to go back to apologize,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I want to go back to make amends. But I’ll come back to the home I have here.”

“Can I come with you?” you can’t help but ask, even though you’re sure you know the answer.

He shakes his head, and your heart sinks. “No, I think this is something I have to do myself. But I won’t stay, I promise you that. I’ll come back home.”

“Promise?” you ask, voice barely a whisper over the crackling flames. Your fingers clutch his desperately. He has to come back, or you’ll go with him.

“I promise.” He lifts a thin silver chain from his neck, a necklace he’s never taken off since he arrived, and loops it around your throat. “That’s my promise, all right? I’m leaving this with you because I know I’ll return. And when I do…” He sweeps one of your hands out of the blanket and places a gentle kiss on it. “I’m going to marry you.” A note of uncertainty enters his gaze. “Unless you… uh, unless you don’t want to?”

You tug your hand out of his and punch him in the arm. “Are you stupid, Seo Changbin?” you ask over his yelps of mock pain. Eyes turning shy, you smile. “Of course I do.”

Your heart explodes in bliss when he kisses you, the fire’s warmth dancing on his lips.

. . .

“No more than two months,” he promises you the day he leaves. “I’ll come home.”

He keeps looking back and you keep waving as he starts out into the forest, green leaves beginning to shroud his path. The last you see of him is his bright smile as he disappears between the trees, the gentle pressure of his lips still a memory against yours.

One month passes, then two. You wait outside the hut eagerly every day, waiting for a sign of his returns.

Then another month goes by. And another. Winter settles in, heavy snow coating the forest in cold, white blankets.

“Perhaps he was held up,” your mother says, guiding your shivering body back inside the house. “He couldn’t travel in the winter, so he’s probably staying somewhere for the time being.”

You want to believe her. You really do, with all your heart and soul. But Cupid’s curse remains in the back of your mind, twisting and turning in its depths, whispering to you that Changbin is gone, that he will never return.

Winter has passed and a month of spring gone by before you decide to find Changbin’s family yourself. It takes several months because really, you don’t have any guide other than the name of his old village, but eventually, exhausted and almost losing hope, you find them.

A stooped woman answers the door with a confused smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Um, hello.” You swallow. “Is this the Seo residence?”

“Yes, can I help you with anything?”

You pull the necklace from under the collar of your shirt. “Did Changbin come visit some months ago?”

For a single moment charged with hope, you see the widening of the woman’s eyes and believe that she will say yes, that Changbin came and is just having a hard time returning.

Then she shakes her head, and the world begins to crumble at the edges.

. . .

You stay just long enough to tell Changbin’s family who you are and what he set out to do, then flee back home as fast as you can. Tears stain the forest floor and when your mother opens the door to the hut so many months later, it only takes one look for her to fold you into her arms as you begin to cry on her shoulder.

He could be alive, you desperately hope. He could be somewhere, lost, unable to find his way back home. You know your Changbin would never break a promise to you, not if he could help it.

One year. Two years. Then three. The months pass with no sign of his return.

And you know, dead or not, he isn’t coming back.

It hurts. Everything reminds you of him, of Changbin, of what could have been and what should have been. You curse Cupid, cry for the god to come down so you can scream obscenities at them face to face, but they never answer your pleas.

The silver chain Changbin left you burns around your neck, but you can’t bring yourself to take it off. It’s the last thing you have of him, the only thing you have of him. You clutch it on your worst days, imprinting the tiny chain links into your palm when you fall sick, wasting away without a desire to live.

This is what it feels like, you think, delirious with fever, to have lost your entire world.

Your crying mother stays by your side as you wither, sponging your forehead, feeding you soup, whispering apologies into the blankets she covers you with. In moments of lucidity, you clutch her hand and tell her it’s not her fault. That you understand, now, what it means to love someone with the force of the universe.

Weeks pass in a feverish daze until winter seizes control of the earth. Numb with cold and sweating with warmth, you pray to the heavens above to release you from this pain.

The day you drift away is bitterly cold. You’re wrapped in at least five blankets, your mother shivering beside you as she grips your hands, trying desperately to warm them.

There is one brief moment of absolute clarity. You sit up, eyes wide, and cup your mother’s cheeks between cold, cold hands. “I love you, Mother.”

She kisses your forehead. “I love you too, my darling child.”

Her tears drip onto your cheeks. You don’t remember anything more.

In your first life, in the dead of winter, you die of a broken heart.

. . . . .

Your second life begins in a poor family, though happy. Sixteen years of life pass in ignorant bliss, with no knowledge of soulmates or vengeful gods. A week after your birthday, hope filling every step, you set off for the nearby village to try your skills at sewing. Luck paves your path and you find a kind mistress who values your quick fingers and eye for color. The village is bright and cheerful, you’re making money to send back to your family, and life is peaceful.

Then the dreams come.

The first vision is barely there, just a quick glimpse of green trees and a disappearing smile wedged between the scenes of your mind’s musings. You wake up, an uneasy feeling in your chest, but the image is already fading. You shake the discomfort away and get to work.

The second dream is longer, more vivid. You hear a voice, feel a gentle touch, see a mop of dark hair and a pair of gleaming eyes. In the moment, you feel happy, so happy in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s pure, this happiness, something so deep that your entire body feels warm when you wake, even as a chilling breeze seeps in through a crack in the window.

The dreams continue for several days, and each morning, you only grow more curious about the strange man who keeps wandering into your mind. Who is this man? you wonder as you sew, poking your fingers with the needle more times than you’d like to admit. Who is he, and why does he make me so happy?

Why does it feel like I should know him?

After a week of lovely, warm, but deeply unsettling dreams, it hits you all at once.

Needle in hand, you’re about to push the sliver of metal through a silk shirt, ready to begin embroidering the next leaf on a flowering vine. Taking a second glance at the embroidery you’ve already done, you blink in confusion.

This kind of vine doesn’t exist in your little village. In fact, you’ve never seen it before. But each leaf, each flower is so perfectly stitched that it doesn’t seem possible that you just made this up on the spot.

Oh.

Green leaves, sturdy trunks, water rushing down a river. Firm muscle, a flowering vine curled into a crown, fingers placing the circlet upon your head. A brilliant smile, bright as the sun, and a peal of snorting laughter that sounds like wedding bells.

One name hurtles through your mind, the name of the dark-haired, lovely-eyed boy who, by now, is a frequent visitor in your dreams.

Seo Changbin.

The needle embeds itself in your palm.

. . .

It’s hard to explain away your frazzled state when your mistress comes into the room to see you staring at the embroidered silk, palm dripping blood onto your clothes. Voice trembling only slightly (and you’re proud of yourself for that), you tell her that you just made a mistake, really.

Never mind the fact that the needle stuck itself far enough into your hand that you really have to pull it out, releasing a small spurt of blood that raises your mistress’s eyebrows so far they look like they’re about to jump off her forehead.

Shakily, you get back to work. Years of practice have steadied your fingers so that the stitches remain even, but as you sew, your mind races with memories. Memories of a trembling mother, a red-eyed god, a gaping leg wound festering on an apothecary table. Memories of boys you’ve never met in this life, a Hwang Hyunjin and a Choi Chanhee, but most importantly, a strong young man with sweet lips and a raspy, whining voice named Seo Changbin.

“Seo Changbin,” you murmur, testing the words between your lips. Just saying his name sends a rush of warmth through your chest and brings a small smile to your face.

The smile disappears, though, when you remember how the story ends.

Night brings dreams again, full, vivid scenes that begin with joy and happiness and warmth. You see your mother from another life, smell the comforting scent of herbs wafting through the air in the hut. You see your love, Changbin, feel his arms wrapped around your body, see the flush in his cheeks when you press your lips to his in a kiss.

The day he leaves is vivid, too. Sharp greens against a bright blue sky devoid of clouds, his smile disappearing into the forest as he begins his journey home.

A journey that you know he will never finish.

You know what will happen next and you don’t want to see it. You beg yourself to wake up, to stop these visions before your heart breaks, but sleep pins down your limbs and forces you to watch, to experience, to live the turmoil of emotions that flooded your heart those last few years of your life.

The next morning, you look so ill that your mistress forces you to take the day off, despite your pleas that you can work, you really can. The last thing you need is more sleep, after all, more time for vengeful gods to replay past lives for their leisure.

So after sixteen years of blissful ignorance, you know. You know of your love, you know of the curse, you know of the life that began it all. Sick emotions mix in your heart, syrupy and viscous and heavy, hope for a love as deep as your life before and terror for the heartbreak that will inevitably come.

And this time, you don’t have a loving mother who knows of your predicament.

You imagine Cupid laughing in the heavens as you face his wrath once more.

. . .

It happens by chance, purely by chance. On your days off, you sometimes like to visit the marketplace, see if you can find some fun trinket to send back to your family or to keep for yourself. Today is no exception.

Something makes you pause in front of a jewelry stand, a stand you don’t usually visit because your apprentice’s pay, though enough to support your family, doesn’t allow for expenses on jewels. However, a thin chain necklace catches your eye as you walk past.

It’s silver, shiny, not a hint of rust on the metal. A small black stone hangs as a pendant and you’ve never seen it before, but you can’t shake the suspicion that this is a necklace you wore in a past life.

A necklace Changbin gave you in a past life.

Uneasiness grows in your mind the longer you look at the chain. How did the jeweler even get this chain? Who took it away? You’re pretty sure you wore it until your death, and you don’t believe your previous mother, based on your dreams, would have taken it away.

You think you want it back.

Pointing at the chain, you look up at the jeweler. “How much is this?”

“Eight gold pieces.”

Your heart sinks. A day’s work gives you five silver pieces, and there are twenty silvers to a gold. Most of your money goes back home, leaving you with only a little pocket money of your own – certainly not enough for a piece of jewelry worth eight golds. Lips pressed thinly together, you nod before beginning to walk away.

A voice stops you, a familiar voice you’ve never heard before. Not in this life, at least.

“Wait!”

You turn around, slowly, slowly, as Changbin’s voice asks the jeweler, “Eight gold pieces, you said?”

It’s him, you think faintly. It’s really him. Different hair, skin a shade lighter, but his eyes… his eyes are the same. The absolute same.

He doesn’t look at you with any recognition, though, and he’s dressed in silk, indicating high status – at least, higher than yours. So you politely avert your gaze, trying to calm the pounding in your heart.

Eight golds appear on the counter, exchanged for a small silk pouch with the necklace inside. You’re about to walk away – why did Changbin stop you, anyway? There’s not a single chance he would give it to you – when the pouch appears in your line of vision, held by a familiar hand.

You blink once, twice, then look up from the pouch to the man holding it in his palm.

Only one thought runs through your mind.

There is no way, in two consecutive lives, that Seo Changbin would offer me the same necklace.

Your confusion must show, because he laughs. “It’s for you,” he says (and oh, gods, his voice makes you want to just sit and listen to it forever). “It looked like you wanted it, no?”

Thankfully, your vocal cords remember how to speak, even if your mind doesn’t. “I couldn’t possibly take such a gift, sir,” you say, stepping backward slightly. “You paid for it – it’s yours.”

“Then it is also mine to give. And I believe you would appreciate this much more than I.” He unstrings the pouch, slips the chain into his fingers. “May I?”

For any other person, you would have said a polite no before speed walking into the crowd, hoping to disappear between the stalls. Now, though, you stay in place, rooted to the ground under Changbin’s steady gaze.

You nod.

His hands are gentle in their feather-light touch against your skin, clasping the chain around your neck. The pendant hangs at the base of your throat, cold at first, but slowly warming with the afternoon sun.

It feels right.

“Thank you,” you whisper when he’s finished, sinking into a low bow. “Thank you so much.”

Changbin smiles, loosely taking your hand. He drops a butterfly kiss to your knuckles and you physically have to restrain yourself from gasping too loudly, because – oh, because –

The spot where his lips touch your skin sends warmth spreading throughout your body.

“It was my pleasure,” he says, still smiling. “My name is Changbin.”

I know.

“May I know yours?”

“Oh.” You smile, hoping your lips don’t tremble too much. “I’m Y/N.”

His smile widens at your words, making your heart flutter in shy embarrassment. “I hope to see you around once more, Y/N,” he says.

A sudden burst of courage turns your smile a little teasing. “Just once?”

Changbin’s laugh – it’s shy, it’s a shy laugh, your heart can’t take it – makes you want to melt into the ground. “Maybe not,” he finally says, ears red. “Maybe many times more.”

. . .

He keeps his promise of many times more, appearing again on your next day off, then again, and again. If possible, you seem to fall in love with him even more than you did in your previous life, his laughs tickling your heart, his smiles like sunshine against your skin.

Deep down, you know this won’t last. If Cupid took your love away so harshly in your last life, he won’t hesitate to do it again, possibly with even more malice. But Changbin is intoxicating, pulling you toward him like a leaf on the wind, forever fluttering in the breeze, only resting when the air does.

It’s not even just Cupid. At least before, you and Changbin were on equal footing – one a healer, the other a poor runaway. There was no status difference. Now, though, Changbin wears silk while you clothe yourself in homespun fabric, finer perhaps than a peasant’s, but homespun nonetheless. No matter how daintily you embroider the cloth with leftover threads from your work, it will never match up to the rich, gorgeous clothing of the nobles with whom Changbin must walk.

Such differences inevitably drive a wedge into a love that could have been.

It starts after you go to the market once, twice, three times, and Changbin doesn’t meet you at any of the stalls. It feels empty, walking around with no one by your side, and you’re just wondering if something’s happened when you receive a note written in your love’s handwriting, asking you to meet him at midnight where you first met.

He arrives a bit later than you, footsteps softly padding across the empty market. For a moment, you only stare at each other, faces lit just barely by the light of the moon.

Changbin breaks the silence. “I’m getting married.”

The words send a knife into your heart, but you try to ignore the pain. It was expected, you tell yourself, expected of someone with Changbin’s high status. The two of you could never end up together, not a sewing apprentice and a member of nobility. “I see,” is all you say.

For the first time since you’ve met, Changbin looks broken. It hurts your heart and you want nothing more than to hold him close until that expression disappears, but you can’t. You’ve barely even touched – you don’t have a right to hold him the way you’d like.

“I don’t want to be,” he says.

Your hands shake slightly with your reply. “Why?”

“Because…” Changbin’s voice almost fades into the silence. “I think I love you.”

His words should make you feel happy, should make fireworks burst in your heart the way they did when Changbin kissed you in your past life. And yes, a small part of you jumps for joy. But a larger part withers with disappointment, with pain, with the knowledge that none of this will come to good.

“Y/N.” His voice turns insistent. “Don’t you… don’t you feel the same?”

You swallow. Take a breath. “I do.”

A lovely brightness enters Changbin’s eyes, hope filling his face. You hate yourself for having to crush it. “But you have a duty to your family.”

“We can run away,” Changbin says, taking your hand. You want to melt yourself into his touch, rest in his warmth forever. “We can run, Y/N. We don’t have to stay.”

Only the greatest force of will allows you to pull your hand away. “I have a family, Changbin,” you say, trying not to focus on the light that’s fading out of his face with every second. “I have to support them. And you… you have a duty to the village.” You swallow. “We can’t run. It’s too selfish.”

He doesn’t blame you, you know. He understands what you’re saying, has probably already thought of it himself. Still, it doesn’t stop pain from breaking the glass in his eyes, gaze becoming fragmented as he nods once, twice. “I know. I just thought…”

Changbin never finishes his sentence. In fact, you never speak again. He walks you back to your mistress’s house that night, squeezes your hand once under the moonlight, then disappears back into the darkness.

And with that disappearance, he leaves your life forever.

Over the years, you hear stories of Changbin’s lovely partner, her flowing hair and vibrant face and pretty smile. You hear stories of how much they love each other, the children they have, how well they watch over the village together.

It doesn’t matter how much your heart hurts, you tell yourself every time you hear one of those stories. It doesn’t matter at all, not even when his wife commissions a dress from the shop you now own, years later. It doesn’t matter when Changbin comes with her and stands in the main room silently as you take her for fitting, and it doesn’t matter when his eyes linger slightly on you when you lead her back out.

You exchange no words that day, but you’re certain Changbin sees the black gemstone still resting at the base of your throat. He makes no obvious expression, but when his eyes flicker over it, their light dims the slightest bit.

In this life, there are no kisses, no hugs, none of the passion you shared in your first life. Instead, you love through vivid conversations, knowing smiles, and in the end, the barest brush of his hand against yours before he leads his wife out of your shop.

In the end, you never marry. Instead, you spend the rest of your life sewing until your eyes go blind, leaving you all too much time to contemplate everything you’ve lost.

Which is worse, you wonder, losing your love to death or to societal pressures and another woman? Which is worse, never knowing how Changbin suffered as he died, or knowing that he’s doing well without you?

Which is worse, having your love die in a land unknown, or having him live so close, yet so far away?

. . . . .

It continues, over and over again, endless cycles of living, remembering, loving. He’s a thief and you’re a merchant. You’re a shop owner and he’s a soldier. Both of you are orphans, living on the street. None of it matters, not gender, not occupation, not social status – no matter what, you end up apart.

With every lifetime, the dreams grow more vivid, as though to make sure you don’t forget a single instant of the love you experienced, the love you could never see to the end. You’d think that the lines between each life would grow blurred as each one passes, but they only grow sharper, more defined. It’s impossible to forget how many lives you’ve lived, not when Cupid forces each one to remain in your mind, endlessly playing in your dreams time and time again.

On your twenty-ninth reincarnation, you experience a month’s worth of dreams in your silken bed, the bed of a noble heir who can have nothing to do with the boy who stays by their side day and night as a bodyguard and nothing more. You wake up every night stifling screams resulting from twenty-eight lifetimes of broken hearts, muffled cries and tears that bring Changbin running into your room, asking if you’re all right, reminding you that you’re safe.

Physically, you agree. You trust Changbin entirely – he’s proven more than capable of protecting you after multiple attempts on your life – but mentally? Emotionally?

How can he protect you from a god’s wrath, a wrath he doesn’t know of, when you can’t even protect yourself from that same wrath you’ve known of for twenty-eight, soon to be twenty-nine lifetimes?

You try to harden your heart, speak to Changbin a little less, spend more time focused on your lesson books and less on Changbin’s lovely face, but it’s impossible, you find after several months of this forced silence. It’s impossible to ignore the allure of your guard’s lips, his entrancing eyes, impossible to ignore the gentleness of his strong, roughened hands guiding you through life.

But with every chaste kiss, with every stolen hug or brush of skin, you know, deep in your heart, that something will befall your love. Something will tear you two apart.

When he dies, stabbed in the chest by a traitor to your family, rage drives you to take the knife that fell out of your love’s hand and shove the blade into the attacker’s heart. It drives you to cry, to weep, to wail to the sky as Changbin’s skin grows cold, the remnants of his last “I love you” still hanging on his lips.

Watching your love die in front of you, you decide, is the worst punishment of all. Nothing, absolutely nothing could be worse than this, knowing that Changbin died because of you, for you, without a singular doubt in his mind as he did it because he knew you would do the same for him.

Moonlight streams through the windows, illuminating Changbin’s blank face and the blood on his chest. As people begin entering the room, pausing at the carnage next to your bed, you raise your head, tears still flowing down your face.

“YOU SELFISH GOD!” you scream at the cold moon, resisting the arms tugging you away from the body of your love. “YOU SELFISH GOD! I GAVE YOU TWENTY-EIGHT LIFETIMES OF MY LOVE, AND YOU WANT MORE?”

Someone’s speaking, trying to make you hear their words over the raging of your voice. You don’t care, violently wrenching yourself out of their grip to stay thrown over Changbin’s body, tears mixing with his blood. “COME DOWN AND FACE ME!” you gasp. “COME DOWN AND TAKE MY LIFE, DO ANYTHING, I DON'T CARE! FACE ME, YOU COWARD!”

Strong hands, too strong, containing none of the gentility Changbin used to show you, begin pulling you away. You thrash in their grip, still staring at the moon. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME!” you scream as they drag you out of the room. Blood stains your nightclothes, sticky against your skin. “I WISH HE NEVER MET ME, NEVER DIED FOR ME, DO YOU HEAR?”

. . . . .

The god grants your wish.

. . .

You regret it more than anything in all of your now-thirty lives.

. . .

To know of your love, but to never experience any semblance of it in your entire life? To know of a certain Seo Changbin, but to never meet him, never know how he is, never see him once in over fifty years of living?

Torture.

. . .

From your sixteenth birthday, when you begin having the dreams, until your death well into your fifties, there’s only pain, endless pain, marred by a piece of disgusting hope that rests in your chest, a piece of hope that keeps you praying that you will see him just once in this lifetime, that you’ll know his face and he’ll know yours.

. . .

It becomes so clear as you grow older that you will never know the Changbin of this lifetime, if he even exists. You will never touch his skin, see his smile, bathe in the glory of his laugh. You’ll never kiss, never experience even the briefest joy of seeing his face.

But your heart hopes, anyway, even though your mind sees reason. It prays, refuses to accept the truth.

. . .

Hope, you decide, is a weapon. A weapon far deadlier than the sharpest sword or the heaviest club, a weapon wielded by only the most intelligent of tyrants.

. . .

Apparently, you go mad towards the end of this life. You can’t blame those who eventually put you in an institution, over fifty years old and withering away. They don’t know who Changbin is. They never will.

You never will.

. . .

You blame the dreams. If you didn’t know of your previous lives, if you didn’t know Changbin existed, you might have lived happily – well, maybe not happily, but you’d be content, at least. You wouldn’t be wishing you were dead every minute of your existence.

. . .

You die in that institution, supposedly of a wasting disease, but more accurately of a broken heart, a heart even more broken than the one Changbin left behind that first life when he never came back.

. . . . .

Your forty-sixth life is first one in which you end the love with death, not Changbin. Looking back, it was probably better for you, you suppose, because you didn’t have to feel the pain of losing your love. Maybe this was Cupid’s laughable attempt at some sort of mercy.

You loathe it anyway, loathe it almost as much as the lives – yes, plural by now, which automatically cancel anything Cupid tries to do to make up for it (if the god is even trying) – where you dreamt of certain sparkling eyes and a lovely smile but never met them face to face. It’s not quite as horrible, but nearly.

To know that your love had to deal with any measure of the pain you’ve felt for so long, the pain you wouldn’t impart on even your worst enemy, is unimaginable.

It’s ironic, too, considering your occupations in life. You’re a healer on the battlefield, wearing the strip of blue silk on your arm that denotes your immunity to the opposite forces. He’s a soldier on the same side, though he has no protection other than his skill from enemy swords.

You are sworn to heal. He is sworn to kill.

Isn’t it strange, then, that fate wills you to die first while forcing Changbin to live?

You weren’t supposed to be killed in war. Your healer status, that piece of blue silk tied around your arm, was supposed to protect you from enemy blades. But some unsuspecting enemy soldier, perhaps not seeing the blue amidst the dust of the battlefield or genuinely just not caring for the rules of war, drove their blade into your back as you knelt over a fallen man of your side.

Within minutes, you had succumbed to darkness. The pain of dying, the blade in your back wasn’t even the worst part.

All you could think, after all, as you lay there gasping, was that he would have to learn of your death from finding your body, that you wouldn’t even get to say a proper goodbye.

. . . . .

It’s a pitiful, desolate figure who sits on a clifftop fifteen lifetimes later, blankly staring at an expanse of open ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below, contemplating every single one of the sixty-one lives you’ve lived so far.

You married Changbin in this one, this sixty-first life. You married him for the first time in sixty-one lives, made your vows with him, kissed him under a shower of flower petals.

It didn’t change your fate, not even when, unable to have a baby of your own, you adopted your first, then your second child. It didn’t change anything, not when Changbin had a duty to this village that you couldn’t interfere with. It didn’t change anything, not when pirates came ashore and massacred the village population, killing your two children and half of the rest of your family.

Changbin threw himself from this very cliff, you remember, threw himself to a watery death rather than die at the hands of the pirates who came to raid the town so many years ago. He was brave to the last, fending off invaders even when countless others had thrown down their swords, and he never lived to see the defeat of the pirates whom he died fighting.

You hug your shoulders tightly, staring down at the waves crashing against the rocks. With all that’s happened to you over sixty-one lifetimes, who would blame you for tipping off the edge the same way Changbin died, albeit much less heroically? Who would blame you for giving up in this life, giving up in every life if you knew just how badly it would end every time?

“You’re right,” a rich voice sounds behind you, a voice that you once heard in person, many centuries ago. “Who would blame you? Not even I would.”

Your eyes slam shut, refusing to gaze into blood red. You don’t speak.

A sigh passes from the god’s lips, breath puffing softly. Where the air hits your neck, you feel your skin curdle with disgust.

“It’s no use not speaking,” he continues, a hint of amusement tinging his voice that makes your hands curl into fists. “I can hear your thoughts.”

A snarl twists your lips. “They must be very loud,” you snap, words dripping acid.

More silence.

“You hate me,” he finally says.

You breathe in, out, in, out. Calm, you tell yourself.

“Why wouldn’t I.”

A pause.

“Perhaps you can elaborate.”

For the first time since they appeared, you turn around, eyes blazing, to stare into the red gaze of the wrathful god who cursed you. “I would rather throw myself off this cliff,” you seethe, “than relive my lifetimes in front of you.”

Is it remorse that glitters in ruby eyes, pity that rests in their shadows? Whatever it is, it makes you smirk without mirth, lips curling without cheer as you turn back around to watch gray waves crash against the cliff. It doesn’t matter how a vengeful god feels after lifetimes of revenge. Apologies from the curser mean nothing to the spite of the cursed.

“I made mistakes,” the god says simply. “I acted rashly. I should not have taken my anger out on you, and certainly not with so harsh a punishment.”

You want to snort. “I am ever grateful you realize after sixty-one lifetimes of wrath,” you say, acid practically burning a hole in your tongue. “Now quit with the blather.” You don’t care that you’re staring at a god who could smite you down a thousand times over with a single flick of their finger – they’ve already hurt you too much for it to matter anymore. “After so many years of never answering my calls, you finally come, unbidden. Tell me why you’re here, or I will jump off this cliff.”

“I’ve come to offer an exchange,” they say. “It is impossible to erase a curse, but I can impart it on someone else.”

In a flash, you’re standing, staring the god dead in the center of their bright red eyes. “You said you could read my thoughts,” you snarl. “Tell me, God of Love, what I’m thinking right now.”

They raise an eyebrow. “You don’t want it,” they say calmly, though surprise coats their words. “You have no one, then, on whom you would impart this curse?”

“When I tell you,” you snap, “that I would not wish this curse on my worst enemy in all of my sixty-one lives, I do not lie. That –” you take a breath – “that is how much you have hurt me.”

Astonishment shows itself in the god’s gaze. “I don’t understand,” they say, for the first time looking bemused. “I have given you everything, dying first, dying last, watching him die in front of you, never seeing him in a lifetime –”

“You don’t need to remind me,” you cut him off. “I know it very well.”

“Then you would not even give this curse to me?” they ask. “Not to the god who has shown you so much pain?”

That almost gets you, almost. The desire for revenge claws its way through your chest, begging to be released in a monstrous cry of pain, but you rein it in with a scoff. “For a god of love,” you say, turning back around, “you really understand nothing of it.”

More silence.

“I will leave you with two gifts,” the god finally says. “Two gifts to try and make up for what you have lost.”

You suppress another snort.

“Your love will remember you on your one hundred and first lifetime,” they continue. “When the curse is over, your love will remember you, will know how you have lived one hundred lifetimes without him.”

The words, acerbic with derision, fall from your lips without missing a beat. “Will I remember him, then, or will you take that away from me too?”

A short pause. The air seems to grow slightly warmer, as though the god has been angered, but it cools quickly. “You will remember him,” they reply, voice thinner with a tinge of frustration.

You smirk.

They clear their throat. “The second gift you will find when you return home.”

You give no response to that, only stare resolutely at gray waves, feeling the ocean spray tickle your skin. The god must disappear at some point, because when you finally turn around to return home, they’re gone. But once you enter your empty house, there’s something on your table, something that sparkles in the last glimmers of sunlight peeking through the window.

You pick it up, eyes narrowed, and almost immediately drop it.

A thin silver necklace, polished to shine, with a small black gem as the pendant.

Though there’s no way to prove it, you’re sure this is the very same piece of jewelry that Changbin gifted you so many centuries ago, two lifetimes in a row.

The chain trembles on your shaking fingers as you place it back down, carefully, so carefully, like it’ll explode any second. You go to bed that night wondering if the necklace will have disappeared by morning, but when you wake up after a fitful rest, it’s still there, glittering on the table.

You wear it for the rest of this lifetime, hiding it beneath your clothing so no questions are asked. And when you feel you will die soon, you carefully place the chain in a small box and bury it just outside your home.

You’ll find it in your next life. You’ll find it in the next, then the next, time and time again until the end of your hundred-lifetime punishment.

It’s a small comfort, that simple silver chain with the little black jewel, but it’s a comfort nonetheless, a piece of your love to carry with you until the end of your times. Even if it was given back by the god who cursed you.

. . . . .

Years trudge along, years of waiting and waiting and more waiting for the torture to end. More death, more illness, more societal pressure to drive you two apart. In five lifetimes, you die first. In the others, Changbin either leaves you to face the world on your own, or you never know him at all.

It seems that even though Cupid may have felt some remorse for your curse, that didn’t stop the god from finding new ways to hurt you.

At some point, the lives finally begin to blur together. There have just been too many. If you tried, you could probably piece them all together, work out the details of how the two of you lived and how you were ripped apart, but after seventy, then eighty, then finally ninety lifetimes of broken hearts, it becomes too painful to relive.

(As you near the ninetieth lifetime, if you’re lucky enough to be born to a family who cares, someone always comes running in for months to the tears that stain your cheeks through dream-filled nights. You must have helped send so many people to an early grave with the endless screaming they would wake up to on the nights you dreamed of particularly painful lives.)

There are two saving graces to this pain, and as much as you hate to admit it, they came from Cupid. The god never deigns to meet you again (something you’re grateful for), but their gifts keep you from losing all hope as you near the end, the blissful end of your punishment.

One, the necklace. In every lifetime, no matter how painful, no matter whether or not you find Changbin, you find the thin silver necklace from your previous life. And no matter how rusty the chain gets, how dull the jewel becomes after years of wear, it shows up shiny and polished the next time you find it.

Two, the knowledge that Changbin will recognize you that first lifetime your punishment is over. You don’t have to keep track of your lifetimes, don’t have to count them until the hundredth has come and gone, don’t have to live any unnecessary lives with the fear that Changbin will be taken away from you suddenly and horribly.

As much as you loathe saying it, these gifts give you the slightest bit of hope that keeps you going.

So you trudge through lives, living as a tailor falling for a shoemaker, a nurse who comes to love a bedridden patient, a rich socialite who wants to marry the son of your family’s sworn enemy (this one’s interesting, quite like Romeo and Juliet, really. In your next life, when you dream of it, you wonder if Cupid met Shakespeare after the playwright’s death and decided to have a sick laugh at your expense). Seventy passes at some point, then eighty, then ninety.

By your hundredth life, you aren’t entirely sure what number you’re on. You think it must be ending soon, what with all the dreams your seventeen-year-old self had to suffer through, but it hurts too much to pick them apart and count. When Changbin doesn’t recognize you, though, a student at the same university as you, you resign yourself to several more lifetimes of heartbreak. It’s too much to hope for at this point, too much to hope that you’re on your last cycle of punishment, that the next time you live, you will be able to love Changbin wildly, freely, without a care in the world.

The dreams come once more in your hundredth and first life. It makes you despair that your punishment isn’t over, not even now (because though you don’t dare to freely pray, hope still buries itself deep in your chest, allowing Cupid to wield it like the monster he is).

Cupid assured you on his second and last visit that you would remember Changbin when you met him, though. You don’t like it, but hope only grows when you recall his words. Blind, blind hope.

It’s a cold morning, bitterly cold, when you roll out of bed to go to work. Eyes blinking blearily, you fumble around the cabinets for a package of coffee before remembering you ran out yesterday.

Just my luck, you think, scribbling “coffee” onto the grocery list on your refrigerator. You shove the piece of paper into your pocket, hoping you remember to go shopping later for whatever’s on the list. Your roommates are out of town, so you can’t rely on them to get anything this time.

Bitter wind slashes at your face as you walk to the small café just down the street for your daily fix of caffeine. By the time you’ve reached the shop, your nose is already stiff with cold, and the steaming cup of coffee the barista presses into your chilled hands only briefly warms your skin before you have to step back into the cold.

The bus will be coming soon, you note, checking your phone for the time. Steps quickening, you bend your head into the wind and set off for the stop.

So focused on your destination are you that you don’t notice the person until it’s too late. You smack right into them, sending them lurching into a nearby pole. They fall to the sidewalk as you spew apologies from freezing lips, holding out a hand to help them up.

They take your hand, squeezing with a grip that seems a little too familiar to be coincidental. A familiar sensation of warmth, a lovely, dreadful warmth, spreads through your body, emanating from where the stranger’s hand touches yours.

You freeze, eyes hardly daring to look up and gaze into someone who might be Changbin, who might be the love of one hundred of your lifetimes. You don’t even know whether to hope it is him, because if it is, will he finally recognize you after so many cycles of pain? Or will this just be another love that ends in heartbreak?

Slowly, slowly, your gazes meet.

It’s him.

Lovely brown eyes, eyes that throughout twenty, fifty, ninety years of pain, have remain unchanged in their depth and gentleness, stare into yours. Your breath catches. The coffee in your hand drops to the ground.

It’s really him.

Belatedly, you realize he’s still on the ground and give a quick yank to pull him up. You try to apologize, both for hitting him and for the coffee that’s spattered onto his shoes, but your vocal cords won’t work. All you can do right now is stare.

He doesn’t recognize you. He hasn’t reacted to your touch, hasn’t given any indication that this is anything more than a chance meeting, an everyday occurrence where a stranger bumps into him (albeit a little harder than normal). You’re about to retract your hand, to force your vocal cords into giving an apology for smacking into him, but then he opens his mouth and speaks words you never dared to believe you would hear.

“It’s you,” he breathes, gripping your hand even more tightly, almost involuntarily, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded to the earth. His eyes, now wide with confusion and awe, search your face greedily. For what, you don’t know, but you’re doing the same, even though you’ve seen his face millions of times by now over a hundred lifetimes.

“It’s you,” he repeats once more, raspy voice breathless with emotion. “It’s really you.”

Finally, your throat manages to choke something out. “Changbin?” you try, words small and soft, conveying all of your disbelief in that one single word, that one single name. “Changbin?”

He says your name, then, says it once, twice, as he keeps staring into your eyes. It sounds like honey on his lips, sweet in a way that makes you heady with bliss, and only the biting wind keeps you rooted to the present, reminding you that this is real, this is not a dream, that this is real, completely real.

Slowly, naturally, one of your arms curls around his waist, just as his hands rise to cup your cheek. His fingers are cold against your bare skin but you lean into his touch, pulling him closer, closer, until your faces are only inches apart.

“It’s you,” Changbin murmurs, still as though he can barely believe it. “It’s really you.”

A strangled sound escapes your throat, something between a sob and a laugh all at once. “You remember,” you choke, eyes beginning to fill with warm, salty tears. “You remember, Changbin.”

He cups your cheek with an ungloved hand, cold skin brushing against yours with a gentleness that makes you want to melt. “I do,” he replies, voice almost cracking with emotion. “I’m only sorry I didn’t remember before.”

In your previous lives, time and time again, you kissed Changbin’s lips. It was always lovely, absolutely lovely, lovely in a way that made it feel like a field of flowers blooming in your chest, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. But there was always a lingering desolation on your part, a despair born of the knowledge that this love would not last, that Cupid would not allow you to see it to its natural end.

Today, Changbin’s lips taste of sunshine and honey, dew on green grass on a summer morning, the excitement of a first snow, nothing reminding you of a lingering heartbreak to come. You can’t even feel the bitter wind with him pressed so closely to you, lips molding against yours as his hands cup your cheeks.

The last walls on your heart crack down, walls formed with the knowledge of your hundred lifetimes of punishment. From the broken walls springs a new warmth, a sparkling warmth that you can’t even find the words to explain, a warmth that spills through your body and makes you feel full, happy, joyous in a way you’ve never felt, not once before in your hundred lifetimes of heartbroken love.

When you break away, tears are streaking down your cheeks. Changbin’s eyes glitter, too, but the smile on his face is radiant as he gazes at you.

Cupid’s punishment was cruel, you know, crueler than it had to be. It was harsh, evil, almost wicked in the pain he inflicted on you. But even though the vestiges of that pain still line the edges of your heart, it’s easy to ignore it in favor of staring at your love standing in front of you as a wobbly smile of the purest joy finally begins to curve your lips.

Is this real? you wonder to yourself. Is this truly real, your punishment finally ending, Changbin remembering who you are and the lifetimes you’ve shared? This bliss, this love, this warmth… it all seems too good to be true.

As though he can read your thoughts (and perhaps he can – a hundred lifetimes of love have probably given him a window into your soul, the same way it’s given you one into his), Changbin grins, vibrant, radiant, warm even in the bitter cold. “This is real,” he says, lovely lips curved into a brilliant smile.

“It is?” you ask, soft, wondrous, childlike, hardly daring to believe.

He brushes away a tear on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with the gentlest touch. “It is,” he whispers. “As real as your love for me, and mine for you.”

Time and time again, you burned your heart for Changbin, burned it with the love you felt for him over one hundred lifetimes of a curse. Time and time again, you swore at love, swore at the god who inflicted the curse on you without so much as an afterthought until sixty-one lives had passed.

But now, as you crush Changbin close, fitting your lips to his once more, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind and lose yourself in a kiss finally free of pain.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 slap in the face for Cupid fuck them)

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jiminsproof · 3 years ago

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tag game ✨️

i was tagged by my lovely tag game fairy @singingtillthemorn to spell my url with songs and tag as many people as there are letters. thank you sonja, hope you're having a lovely day 💗

j - july by betcha

i - idea by taemin

m - miracle, baby by nothing but thieves

i - inception by ateez

n - nanana by got7

s - should have known better by sufjan stevens (thanks for the rec jimin!!)

p - ... pandora's box by j-hope or the song that is half of my personality now

r - red lights by skz

o - oh my god by gidle

o - on the road by post malone, meek mill, lil baby

f - for youth by bts

tagging some lovely people, feel free to ignore babes: @sugaggukkie, @ki-limepie, @yoongsi, @pjmsdior, @textsfrombangtan, @starcatching, @starlostjimin, @wistfulocean, @thispenguinrocks, @lesovoj, @proofofyoongi.🌸

#hope everyone's having a great day too!! im catching up with all the tag games now so... pls bear with me..........#tag game #other

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hongism · 4 years ago

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tbz ateez and skz mama 2020 + kingdom theory

now that i’ve had time to Think and Stew on ideas and analyze the mama stage, here’s my theory surrounding kingdom and how everything ties together. buckle tf up because this is LONG!!

the boyz are the current rulers since they won road to kingdom, but also they are ‘royals’ bc of the allusions to persona/phantom thieves/persona 5 royal in rtk. they used the phantom thieves are a big concept point then turned that into a game of chess with check mate where they were the royals on the board. and they had the three person chess board in their checkmate performance, which now could be seen as a hint to the three contestants of kingdom. the goal of chess is of course to win, but you win by taking out the other person’s king (ie the crown used as a central piece in the mama performance)

but what are the boyz’s goals. i think some of that can be seen in the lyrics of reveal and their choice of reveal as the song (moreso than just for performance quality):

I can see you I was gonna go to you But I stopped in place because of a different sun Spreading with the sunset - the boyz are going somewhere and looking for something specific. a new kingdom? more power? a place with a different sun? the underworld perhaps?

the boyz also bear the sword as their ‘weapon’ which could mean that they are moving forward and looking for something to conquer with their swords, but we also see juyeon on the throne so it could also mean that he is defending his kingdom and his place on the throne

stray kids are an invading nation and it holds lots of references to sparta and the movie 300. in 300, the king leonidus leads his army against the persian army who is much larger than they are, and there’s a state of war between persia and greece. in this case, tbz could be persia and skz could be greece, seen in skz’s use of props and set design. tbz also used a sword as their ‘weapon’ in the statue backdrop while skz used a shield which could mean that tbz are invading their space and trying to take from them. it’s also confirmed that they kinda based it around ares so that would tie in later with ateez being hades which means tbz could possibly be zeus?

i think skz are trying to take the crown from tbz tho and they are aiming to win against tbz for it, and they’re confident in doing so as seen in their choice of victory song for the performance. but in changbin’s rap he says

‘don’t you know who we are, you can’t defeat us, this is our kingdom, bring it on’

which could be seen as a mocking sort of threat to the boyz saying like ‘hey yeah your crown is ours’ because at the end we see hyunjin taking the crown

i think ateez plays a super special role because they were strategically sandwiched between tbz and skz which i think it very intentional. ateez have cerberus in the back drop as well as a hammer as their statue’s weapon. typically with hades, the symbol used to associate with him is a key or a cornucopia or cerberus himself HOWEVER (and this is an extreme reach) in the game God of War there is a weapon called the maul of hades which is a two-handed hammer which has a helmet resembling hades on one end, and the head of the hammer is fashioned with spikes

NOW i think a huge hint lies in the title of the boyz’s performance ‘open the gate of hell’. ateez are very clearly emulating demons (in my opinion demon pirates), and if the boyz have decided to open the gate of hell, that would mean that ateez have come out of hell. tbz either did this because they were greedy for more power and wanted to invade the underworld, or they thought they could use demons against skz to win against them. we also see the dancers with ateez crawling on the floor as though they are zombies or creatures that are not alive/human (yall doing great by the way i see ur effort and i love it). we see the scenery look very red and hellish, things that are typically used to depict the underworld as well. so either tbz summoned ateez before the fight with skz (which would explain why ateez is sandwiched between the two) or tbz are trying to invade the underworld and ateez is rising up to stop them from doing so.

a huge thing it that both the boyz and stray kids focus a lot on the crown itself. however, ateez places a lot of focus on the throne, seen with hongjoong sitting in the throne at the end of the performance

i think this is meant to show that hongjoong (and ateez as a collective) is already the king of the underworld, so in this case, hongjoong would be hades the ruler of the underworld. it could also be that he is taking the throne from juyeon and tbz tho and asserting dominance in doing so (taking the throne instead of the crown)

the choice of song tho i think ateez could very well have done just inception and thanxx and called it a day, but i think they very decisively chose answer for the full length song bc that song has lyrics like these:

Let’s cheers like a thunder - typically something said after a victory or a toast

Call call call us right now - tbz calling ateez out of hell to help them against skz

Every day is a finale show As if tomorrow is the end of the world Don’t let the heat die down - tbz second performance title was ‘the beginning of the end’ and answer has the lyrics ‘as if tomorrow is the end of the world’

We say the end is just a faraway beginning - again alluding to the beginning of the end, perhaps ateez see this as an opportunity to start a new rule or a new era

I’ll fill you up until you overflow - showing power and dominance

in the collab stage, we see san with hyunjin and juyeon and we see the crown present, so this could allude to these rulers of the underworld coming out to conquer the world and take the crown.

each group has their own colors and animals as well. the boyz has blue and a snake, stray kids has red and an eagle, and ateez has green and cerberus. the boyz are also the only ones wearing white for their performance, which i think it meant to portray them as ‘the good guys’ whereas red is typically associated with aggression (skz invading and taking the crown) and green is associated with evil (ateez rising up out of hell to conquer)

cerberus is the gatekeeper of hell. he lets you in and makes sure no one leaves. there are three heads to represent the past, the present and the future. this could be used as a symbol to show that ateez do not want the boyz to come into their kingdom or try to take it

eagles represent three things: freedom, courage, heraldry of change. the changing of power to a new king, the courage to fight, and possibly the freedom from the boyz’s reign as rulers

snakes can represent rebirth, transformation, immortality, and healing. this could be the rebirth of a kingdom, the transformation of a good ruler to a bad one, or the desire to be known as immortal rulers.

so to sum it up, i think the boyz are either trying to guard their power or spread their power. skz is either invading or being invaded. ateez has risen from hell to spread their rule and take over more, or to keep the boyz from taking their kingdom in hell.

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joshuas · 4 years ago

Text

the playlist

♫ pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

♫ genre: college/university student!au, slice-of-life, crack (at the end, really), fluff

♫ word count: 1.4k

♫ warnings: Nil of note!

♫ prompt: #You made me a Christmas playlist but it's just Mariah Carey's "All I want for Christmas is you" and I can't tell if you're hitting on me or if it's a joke. - if anyone is aware of the owner (?) of the prompt, please let me know so that I can credit appropriately :)

♫ a/n: The first addition to my Christmas drabbles! Enjoy this lowkey chaotic fic!

♫ skz christmas drabbles: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

[16:23] 10th Dec.

Entering the cafe your friend Chan was working at, you sighed contentedly, inhaling the smoky aroma of freshly ground coffee. “I need caffeine like right now.” You slumped against the counter dramatically. “Exams were that bad, huh?” He smiled sympathetically, starting up the espresso machine. “Not bad. Tiring, but not bad. I’m honestly just erasing any memory of them as we speak.” You sighed, propping your chin on your hands. “Well, regardless, I did make you something as a gift for completing those... things that you’re currently forgetting.” “You did? I mean you didn’t have to.” Your eyes lit up though, negating any attempt at masking your excitement and curiosity. “Okay, well I should clarify. It’s nothing big. My professor set us a task to make a playlist for someone, basically for the purpose of getting us to consider the audience that we’re making music for... so I chose you. Just think of it as something to relax to after a long week of exams.” He explained, tone slightly laced with trepidation that you payed no heed to. “Well, I’m flattered that my best friend considered me to be their... muse for this assignment? In fact, I’m super curious as to what songs you put on it. Send it to me tonight and I’ll listen to it!” You grinned, grabbing your coffee and waving as you exited the shop. “Yeah, okay...”

“Don’t spill the flour everywhere!” Your friend, Felix, stressed, pushing the bowl of cookie batter closer to you.

“This whole process would be a lot more fun if we could listen to music, as well.” You rolled your eyes at his hotheadedness. “Hey, you’re the one that wanted to make gingerbread for Chan because of the whole playlist thing, which is highly romantic by the way. Also, we all know what happens when you get distracted while cooking.” He smirked, mixing through the batter. “I’m pretty sure friends can make playlists for their friends. Besides, I have you to help this precarious venture not go sideways.” You flashed him a smile, opening up the playlist and pressing shuffle play, before quickly redirecting your attention to to the cookie trays. All I Want for Christmas Is You blasted out the speakers, you laughed awkwardly as Felix raised his eyebrows pointedly at you. Odd song choice, but okay.

Half an hour later, with Mariah Carey playing on loop for almost 10 times, Felix rubbed his temples,

“Either Chan has an extremely unique sense of humour, or it’s an extreme declaration of his undying love for you.” Parcelling the gingerbread away and neatly tying a bow on top, you looked at him, “It’s weird, though. All the songs on the playlist are the same. I don’t think Chan would do that... it’s probably some network glitch or something like that.” You resolved, thoughts whirling as you cleared the kitchen. You had known Chan since childhood. Growing up, the two of you were as thick as thieves, causing enough grief to last both your parents a lifetime. It wasn’t until late high school that you’d started viewing him differently. Every little act of kindness that he did out of friendship made your heart both burst with happiness and twinge at the fact that he didn’t share the same sentiment as you. You hadn’t ever really considered the possibility of him liking you back. You never wanted to venture into that territory, afraid that you’d get your hopes up and your friendship, something you valued more than anything, would be ruined at the cost of your curiosity and feelings. You considered it as too selfish to even entertain the thought. However, some nights you couldn’t help but daydream on how it would feel to have his soft lips on yours, and to be wrapped in his warm embrace every night. Yet, whenever reality dawned on you, you shut down that part of your brain, reinforcing to yourself that the two of you were only friends. “Hey, Y/N? Sorry to interrupt whatever internal monologue you’re having but I’m going to leave now. Regarding the Chan situation, I’m not telling you to read into it too much, but considering Chan, I doubt it was just a joke.” Felix gave you a tight hug, snapping you out of your reverie. Sighing, you shut off the speaker, heading to your bed, your thoughts provoking as you tossed and turned, unable to drift off.

[18:39] 12 Dec. You had actively avoided the cafe and Chan over the last few days, fleeting texts often with one worded answers being the only form of communication between the two of you until you had sort of wrapped your head around the whole playlist situation. You knew it was bad to keep Chan in the dark like that, but you weren’t ready to see him, regardless of what his reasoning was. It wasn’t until Felix had forced you out of the house to give him the gingerbread you had baked that you had to face your fears and him. The door jingled as you stepped into the place, Chan in the same place you last saw him, humming to, wow, he really likes this song, none other than All I Want for Christmas Is You as he wiped down the counter, “Sorry, we’re closed.” He called out, not glancing up as you approached. “You must really love Mariah Carey.” You raised your eyebrows at him as he glanced up at you, startled, “Y/N? You’re alive?” “No. I’m the ghost of christmas past... Of course I am. I came bearing gifts. Particularly Christmas ones since you’re going home tomorrow.” You placed the gift bag in his arms, avoiding his gaze. “Thank you.” He said quietly, putting the bag to the side. “So, about the playlist—“ You both started. He stopped as you continued. “Was it a joke?” You blurted out, silence pursuing as Mariah Carey belted in the background. Santa won't you bring me The one I really need Won't you please bring my baby to me “This is really poor choice of music... anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re my best friend.” Your heart twinged in disappointment as your throat tightened, casting your burning eyes to the ground. He grabbed your hands, “but... it wasn’t a joke. I literally put 100 copies of All I Want for Christmas Is You in a playlist to try and articulate my feelings for you.” “Wait... so you were hitting on me?” You questioned, looking up, incredulous. “I mean. Yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Cool cool cool cool cool.” You stared at each other for a while, eyebrows raised. You surged forward, pressing a quick kiss on his lips, as he gaped at you in shock. “You mean you...” “I don’t know about you, but I don’t go around kissing randoms after they declare their undying love for me, unless I like them too.” He pulled you close to him, his lips moving tenderly moving against yours. Time came to a standstill, the music distantly playing in your mind as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the two of you blissfully enjoying each other’s company. You pulled apart, breathing heavily as a smile spread on both your faces, laughing softly. “You know... your wish did come true.” You remarked. “Wish?” He tilted his head, questioning. “All you want for Christmas is... you know...” You gestured to yourself, as he facepalmed, laughing, “I guess you’re right. All I’ve wanted for Christmas is you.”

+bonus - high-key crack ((because Felix would never ever do this)) this is lowkey inspired by Chan’s Room: Ep. 69! Watching your silhouettes behind the tinted windows of the cafe lean in to kiss, Felix scrambled out of the car, eyes wide in horror as realisation dawned on him. “No! This can’t be happening! My plan...” He fell to his knees on the sidewalk, his upset tone echoing throughout the almost deserted street. He was in turmoil. He had been the one to orchestrate this whole thing - 100 copies of the same Mariah Carey song on a playlist, even with the concept of a playlist, he was sure you would hate it. However, what he didn’t account for... was that the two of you had feelings for each other. His heart twinged enviously at the possibility of Chan sharing all the pick-up lines customers (cough cough stays) had used on him throughout his day on you instead of Felix. He had to do something about this. This wasn’t the end for platonic Chanlix. He’d get his pick-up lines back.

➳ part two? | masterlist!

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starryseung · 4 years ago

Note

do u ever have this light bulb on ur head and when something triggers it you just go "!" and there's a plot idea you have?

well it happened to me while watching all in and now i have a group of thieves that steal from the rich named skz :")

sending my love to u and to sirius anon <3

ㅡ insomnia ♡

that's me 25/8 but not being able to excecute it because 90% of the time i forget it, or can't write it :')

but!!!!! that's a good plot ngl 👀👀

#insomnia anon #asks #꒰:mail:꒱♡ ༘°#sending even mor love back!! <333

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wingsofkpop · 6 years ago

Text

Finding SKZ - 1: CB97

pairing(s): Hybrid!Bang Chan x Reader, Hybrid!SKZ x Reader

genre: Hybrid!AU, Dystopian!AU, heavy Angst, Fluff, eventual Smut

warning(s): Mature language, mentions of violence, mentions of abuse

word count: 5,6k

synopsis: After rescuing an abandoned hybrid from his fate of death, he has on other favor to ask of you. Not only do you have to find his eight other hybrid brothers, but you have to keep them safe from the deadly dangers of your city: Miroh

chapter directory

The world isn’t as it was before.

Your great-grandfather used to tell you these words everytime the sun would sink beneath the horizon. You often wonder if he chose to do this on purpose, and somehow, felt safer with the absence of light. It was almost as if his comments were shielded beneath the dark of night, like a grieving wife shields her face with a black, opaque veil. Maybe he was afraid of getting in trouble. To this day, certain people still vanish into thin air without so much as a blink of the eye. Swallowed into the night without a trace.

Your great-grandfather lived in the Old World, before the devastation of WWIII and the rebirth of civilization under the New World. He used to tell stories of his time as a little boy growing up on a planet separated into continents, countries, regions, cities. During this time, different languages ranging from use of words to sounds to hands were spoken and thus, further diversified the population. This was the time before the Mass Genocide, before 95% of the population was taken out by extreme warfare and nuclear technology. Most of the languages and texts died with them, along with most other means to diversity.

Your great-grandfather’s favorite stories to repeat over and over again were those of his travels. His mother had been a successful business woman and continuously received one business trip after the other. They journeyed across the Earth together, visiting countries called Zimbabwe and Jordan and exploring cities like Budapest, Moscow and New York. He said his favorite place was Sydney as the oceans of Australia always seemed to sparkle and the sky always brightened. You’d seen pictures in history books from school, but they never brought his descriptions to justice. He was always good at putting an image inside your head.

You also often wonder what the world would have been like if the war never happened. It’s difficult to believe that your home could have been totally different if one event never occurred. If billions of people never died, would Miroh still have been created? Would the people of the earth still have united into one less than harmonious civilization? Or would there still be fighting? Even if one war could have been prevented, who’s to say the human race would have only been delaying the inevitable. Maybe fate has it set in stone for people to kill each other. The world is run by corruption, power and greed anyway.

That’s one thing that hasn’t changed in the New World.

A vibration sounds within the vicinity. You quickly connect the signal to your cell phone and retract the device from your pocket. Time away from your phone had allowed a collection of notifications to begin, the majority being text messages from your aunt.

Ever since you moved out, she had been keeping a close eye on you. Invitations to dinner, packages in the mail and calls about your day happened almost four, five times a week. And as much as you loved her and her compassionate heart, she failed to realize that you were an adult who could take care of herself. You didn’t need her help. Not anymore anyway.

After your mother’s death at sixteen, your aunt had taken you under her wing. The first few years were tough. You barely finished high school and were less than motivated to attend college. But you knew a decent education is what your mom would have wanted for you, so here you are: A student at one of Miroh’s most prestigious universities.

Your aunt wanted you to stay in the offered dorm rooms, but you couldn’t handle living with a bunch of strangers as roommates. With a portion of the inheritance your mom left, you were able to afford a nice apartment in the city only walking distance from your campus and the coffee shop where you work. And although you would never tell her to her face, you were glad to be a good couple hours away from your aunt’s home. It just made your life much more stress free that way.

You scroll past your aunt’s invitation to Sunday brunch and instead discover the original source of the vibration: Your father.

Your dad and mom divorced when you were about ten, deciding that their marriage was broken and could never be salvaged. Your dad remarried only three months after their official split, and began having children of his own only after a year. Truth be told, your father and you were never close, which is why you initially went to live with your aunt after your mom passed. Even so, you both still make the effort to meet up at least once a month just to catch up. You’ve considered completely cutting him out of your life, but then you remember your mom and what she would have wanted.

You quickly accept your dad’s request on meeting up two weeks from Tuesday, telling him to let you know which restaurant he chooses for lunch. Satisfied, you lock and put away your phone, then return your attention to the vacant cafe. You really shouldn’t be looking at your phone during your shift, and normally you don’t, but your last customer had finished his latte a little over ten minutes ago and left you to your lonesome. And you were the only employee willing to stay to close up shop today, so your coworkers left a long time ago. You didn’t mind though, it’s extra pay.

You glance at the clock across the room, discovering the time to be about five minutes after closing. With a sigh, you untie the apron from around your waist and head into the backroom to grab your stuff. The only issue about staying after late is the walk back to your apartment. It’s not that the paths are unsafe, but more so you hate walking in the dark. The streets tend to become strangely silent at night and it’s not the most easing feeling.

After tugging on your winter coat and securing your bag, you head back into the main shop. You make sure that everything is in place before turning your attention to the doors, which were already locked, courtesy of the alarm system your boss installed a couple weeks ago after the thieving incident. You weren’t there when it happened, but apparently some couple tried to break into the shop while one of your coworkers stayed after to clean. Again, you weren’t there, so you don’t know all the details. But you do know that your coworker ended up in the hospital with a couple broken ribs and a concussion.

You exit the coffee shop and prepare to go on your way, pausing to tug on the door handle just in case. Content in its rigidness, you begin to make your way down the dim and snowy sidewalk. Even though your path is illuminated by various street lamps, your muscles can’t help but tense at every shadow you catch in your peripherals. Maybe you should have considered taking the bus.

You manage to make it the two blocks to your street without fault. The nervous feeling coursing throughout your body lessens substantially now that your apartment building is in your sights. On instinct, your pace quickens and your mind wanders to the things waiting for you at home: A late dinner of ramen to ease the ache of your stomach, a nice, hot shower to take away the chill of winter and your warm bed waiting to be utilized all weekend long.

A sudden clatter has your attention returning to reality. You flinch at the noise and like a deer in headlights, pause. Peering down the alleyway, you’re able to make out a couple silhouettes through the snowflakes and the darkness. All the more reason to run the rest of the way to your apartment. And you move to do so as well, that was until another strange sound reaches your ears. You recognize it to be a cry, human-like and agonizing, as if they were in pain.

Against your better judgement, you pull out a bottle of pepper spray you keep handy in your bag and start to creep into the alleyway. In your other hand, to aim your phone flashlight toward the moving figures, who become rather alerted at your presence. Just when your about to catch a glimpse of their faces, they’re gone, having escaped out the other end of the alley.

A sigh of relief passes through your lungs as your grip on your weapon releases slightly. You turn to exit back onto the street and really return to your home, but that same pained whimper stops you. You snap around again and raise your flashlight, catching the sight of another figure just a few feet in front of you.

After getting closer, you’re able to distinguish the figure was not a human at all, but some sort of male hybrid. Your eyes widen at the wolf-like ears emerging from his blonde scalp and the fluffy tail laid limp at his side. The hybrid was naked from the waist down, exposing a concerning amount of bleeding wounds and dark bruises littering his chest. He looked like he was attacked by something, or someone. The most sickening feature was the fact he was chained to an impenetrable metal pole and had a large muzzle covering his face from the nose down. A large metal cuff encased his right wrist, and by the looks of it, it was tight enough to draw blood which had already long dried against his skin.

“Oh my god,” You murmur, lowering to kneel in front of the hybrid. His deep brown eyes stalk your every move, filled with a blend of fright and sadness which has your heart breaking even more. More cuts and bruises were painted across what you could see of his face, which was also snow white. The realization that he was out here in the cold for god knows how long with barely any clothing hits you fast and hard. Without hesitation, you rip the coat from your body and carefully move toward the hybrid. In a soft voice, you say, “Don’t be afraid, okay? I’m just going to put this around you…”

The hybrid makes no remarks, and for a moment you couldn’t tell if he understood you, much less heard you. After a couple seconds, you decide to test your luck and approach the wounded creature. He doesn’t react and easily allows you to throw the jacket around his quivering body. Because of his broad shoulders and muscular stature, the coat only covers so much of his skin, but it’s better than nothing.

You move onto the next issue: Somehow freeing him from his restraints. The task is a lot easier said than done, considering he was chained so escape was impossible. So, you decide to start with the contraption around his mouth. You warn him of your plan once more, before reaching out to pull the muzzle from around his head. When your hands brush against the tips of his ears, it was like touching ice. You need to warm him up. Fast.

With the muzzle off, more of his face was visible. You can’t help but notice his rather sharp jawline and smooth skin. Knowing yourself, you would have spent more time analyzing his features, but you have a greater concern that requires your attention first,

Gently, you take the hybrid’s wrist into your hands to better inspect the cuff. There was a hole meant for a key, which you obviously didn’t have. You couldn’t exactly break it either, so you decide on the next best option. You quickly grab your bag and pilfer through the contents to find what you’re looking for. With a sigh of victory, you take out the found paper clip and using the pointy end, try to pick the lock. After your fourth attempt, a click sounds in your ears and the metal falls from his wrist with a thud. You don’t spare the time to celebrate though, and instead help the hybrid to his feet.

The two minute walk to your apartment took over twenty, considering the hybrid could barely move and you kept crumbling beneath his immense weight. Luckily, when you do manage to get him through the door, no one is in the lobby to start asking questions (your neighbors aren’t the most private people). You drag him into the elevator, prop him up against the wall and admit an exhausted huff. The ride to your floor is oddly silent and tense, and more than once, you caught your new companion staring at you. You decide not to question it, knowing he’s probably a little scared.

You managed to transport him into your apartment fairly quick and noise free, so not to disturb your sleeping neighbors. The hybrid, for the most part, could stand on his own, which allows you the time to secure your door and toss your unnecessary belongings in a nearby corner. Your next destination is to the sofa, where you quite literally pile blankets on top of him. Later, when he’s much warmer, you’ll run him a bath. You can’t warm him up too fast.

You compile some hot towels and water bottles as well, making sure to only directly apply the towels to his neck and chest. The bottles are hidden beneath the blankets, safe away from any skin to skin contact. Making sure you’ve done everything you can for him at that moment, you rush into the kitchen to cook that ramen you mentioned earlier. Only this time, dinner for you would have to be a bit later than usual.

Five minutes and lots of nail biting later, you’re spooning the soup into a large bowl and sprint back into your living room. You nearly drop the dish in fright, noting how the hybrid’s eyes were shut. After making your presence known though, his eyelids part and expose the sad irises from before. You try not to let his sullen gaze affect you, but you were always an empathetic person and it takes a lot of will not to do so. You’re surprised you didn’t burst into tears how you found him that alley.

“Can you eat?” You ask, kneeling beside the couch to offer him the cup. “It’ll help to warm you up…”

The hybrid doesn’t answer, but moves to sit himself up. You help him, tugging aside a couple of the blankets and replacing the towel that had slid from his neck. He reaches to take the soup from your hands, but you refuse, shaking your head, “I’ll feed you. I don’t want you accidentally spilling it and burning yourself.”

Reluctantly, he nods and allows you to spoon a mouthful of soup onto his tongue. He inhales it greedily, barely taking three seconds to swallow and parting his lips for more. It takes even less time for him to empty the cup than it took for you to make the soup. Once he’s finished, the hybrid leans back and closes his eyes.

You take the time to scan his face, which thankfully had begun to flush with a little color. Like you saw before beneath all the cuts and bruises, his skin was smooth and nearly free of any flaws, mind the occasional acne scar. His nose was long and on the wider spectrum, but fit his features purposely. His lips were badly chapped, a result of time outside in the cold. You made a note to go out and buy some chapstick soon. You could always use some too.

Your eyes can’t help but trail up to his furry ears, hued a light silver. You wonder if he is derived from some sort of dog, or possibly wolf. You weren’t entirely familiar with hybrid species, seeing as this is the first time you have ever met one face to face.

From your biology class, you know hybrids were invented about half a century back. It was actually an accident. Scientists were originally looking for a cure for cancer and attempted to mix human DNA with different kinds of animal DNA. You can’t remember a lot of the details, but they somehow ended up with an embryo for the very first rabbit hybrid, which was then conceived by a human volunteer. From there, they went on to make so many different species, dogs, cats, mice, reptiles. Anything they could get to match with the human DNA. Eventually, they compiled a great enough number to where they could breed amongst themselves. Everybody at that time wanted one.

The public, for the most part, accepted the new creatures. Many people adopted and took care of them as they would regular pets, which was nice since majority of the animals died out during the Mass Genocide.

However, as time went on, life for hybrids became a lot worse. Without any rights, humans began to treat them like, well, like animals. You’ve seen so many news stories showcasing hybrid mistreatment, abuse and cruelty. Just a month ago, one of your friends told you that her dad nearly killed their family’s hybrid for accidentally breaking a plate. It makes you wonder what ever happened to him...

When you lower your gaze back to his eyes, you find the hybrid staring right at you. A couple moments of awkward silence roll by until a gentle smile emerges across his lips. His expression carries over his gratitude, which has the corners of your own lips upturning. When he speaks, or tries to, his sound is hoarse and quiet so it takes you a second to think over his words. Beneath his croak, you can trace the hit of what seems to be an Australian accent. For a moment, you can’t help but think of your great-grandfather’s story.

“I’m Chan.”

Still smiling, you reply, “It’s nice to meet you, Chan. I’m glad you’re alive.”

~~*~~**~~*~~

You didn’t know what was going through your head when you offered Chan a place to stay the morning after the night you basically saved his life. To be honest, you didn’t know what was going through your head the moment you decided to help him at all. Then again, you weren’t just going to leave him out there to die. You couldn’t live with yourself if you allowed that.

It’s been a week since the incident, and Chan is almost fully healed. Most of his bruises faded to gray and all his wounds closed, leaving his skin even more flawless than before. Your guess was right, by the way. Chan concluded that he was a wolf hybrid. You knew by the ears and tail, but really didn’t want to assume.

You tried not to let that concrete knowledge change anything, but you were still a little wary. Most hybrids were known to be derived from domesticated animals, and those that weren’t had a track record of acting out of instinct. One of your aunt’s friends adopted a lion hybrid and ended up in the hospital after it out of the blue attacked her, nearly ripping out her throat.

You didn’t think Chan was capable of such violence though, since the hybrid is sweeter than sweet could be. Yesterday, you woke up to the smell of pancakes and found that he had actually made you breakfast, knowing you had work in just a little under an hour. You felt nice after that. No one has ever done something like that for you. And Chan is a really good chef.

The two of you bonded a lot over the week. Although, you didn’t learn as much about him as he did you. Genuinely, he seemed curious about your life, and given his previous situation, you really didn’t have it in you to voice your annoyance over the issue. What you did manage to find out is vague, but tells you enough about the kind of life Chan has had thus far.

He was created in a laboratory, which is pretty rare for hybrids nowadays, and grew up there. He was thrown in the real world almost three years ago when he was purchased by some guy with a bunch of money. His owner was an asshole (a kind word for you to use honestly) and when he wasn’t beating him, he was neglecting him for days on end and leaving him to fend for himself. That’s how he ended up in that alleyway. The bastard got tired of supporting him and left him to die. You’ve never wished death on anyone before, but this guy really deserves a knife shoved down his throat.

Chan became really quiet after that and sort of shut down for the night. You didn’t mind though. Something like that cannot be easy to remember, much less handle. One thing that almost made you laugh was when Chan expressed his sympathy for the loss of your mother. Although after a while, it made you feel even worse, considering he never even had parents other than the scientists.

Anyway, you made it clear to the hybrid that whatever he decided to do from then on was up to him. You would give him the support he needs either way. However, if he chose to stay with you, you wanted him to at least stay inside the apartment when you weren’t there with him. Hybrids caught traveling without a human escort have two fates: One, they’re taken by the MHA (Miroh Hybrid Association) and put into hybrid adoption centers and pounds, or two, they’re picked up by hybrid traffickers. And even when you took Chan to the store to get some things, a lot of people weren’t happy with the fact he was off a leash. You would never do anything like that to him. And you made that very clear when Chan asked.

You hated the idea of being Chan’s “owner,” which is why adopting a hybrid never interested you in the first place. Unlike most people, you saw hybrids as other types of humans. Sure, their DNA is a lot different, but they still bleed the same color blood. Who are you to collar a hybrid, declare yourself their master and take their freedom away?

You sigh for what seems to be the millionth time in the past hour. Right now, you had no motivation to listen to your psychology professor’s lecture on Freud’s psychoanalytic theory. You already read the chapter over the weekend and completed this week's homework so you were pretty much ahead of the game. You were already studying for your final in a couple weeks. This course was probably the easiest out of your others since it’s based on the textbook. You’re really grateful for that considering you’re not doing the best in your sociology class.

This was the longest time you were away from Chan in the past few days and you didn’t like it one bit. Ever since you walked out the door this morning, your mind couldn’t help but wander to him. You were paranoid about the fact that the hybrid might get himself into some trouble and have no way to contact you. You never gave him your cell phone number, which was stupid on your part. You just hope he’s okay.

Your eyes shift to the clock mounted above the smart board and you have to physically stop yourself from crying out in glee. There was only one minute left until your professor was forced to let you and your classmates run free. You quickly pack your things while also attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible. The last time your professor caught a student packing up early, he had to stay another hour after to help him clean. You can’t afford that today since you promised Chan you would be home in time for dinner.

Once the alarm your professor sets each day before class rings, you’re up out of your seat and making a mad dash for the door. Thankfully, you make it there before the rush occurs and are already outside when everyone else exits the classroom.

You try to keep a fluid pace all the way back to your apartment, but you end up sprinting the final block. When you enter your building, you bid the security guard a quick greeting and slide into the elevator with an elderly couple just when the doors were about to close. The ride takes too long for your liking and once the ding indicating your floor finally sounds, you’re out the machine at lightning speed and fitting the key you already prepared into your door.

When you swing it open, you’re met with an uneasy silence that has your nerves standing on end. Your panic only builds after you call the hybrid’s name and receive no answer. After tossing your bag into its homely corner, you make your way through your apartment, finding both the living room and kitchen empty. Your only other option is Chan’s makeshift bedroom, which used to be your office. You find the door cracked, a single strand of light bleeding into the dim hallway. Hesitantly, you call the hybrid’s name once more and push the door ajar.

Chan was sat at the desk, typing away on your laptop. Beside the computer was a bunch of papers the hybrid had obviously printed out. He was scribbling in a notebook, rather fervidly it seemed. You notice the earbuds you bought him the other day in the wolf ears atop his head and how you could pick up the music blasting through them from where you’re standing. He couldn’t hear you if he tried.

You step into the room and prepare to make your presence known before Chan whirls around in his chair. His eyes immediately find yours and a smile lifts to his lips. He quickly switches off his music and rips the pods from his ears. Still smiling, he hums, “You’re home. Did you just get in?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a grin of your own. It still caught you a little off guard whenever he did things like that. Somehow, he always knew you were there even if he couldn’t hear you calling his name. You move across the room to stand in front of him and continue, “I was thinking about ordering pizza tonight. What do you think?”

Chan nods, “That sounds good. I actually wanted to talk to you about something first.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrows furrow at the odd request. The thought of him possibly leaving makes you sick. He’s only been living in your apartment for a week, but you’ve gotten used to having him around. It’s been hard being by yourself ever since you and your old partner decided to split. Again, you try to ignore the nauseous wave that attacks your stomach and instead say, “Okay. What is it?”

Chan sighs and angles his head to look back at the laptop screen. You’re alarmed by his sudden mood drop and peer over the chair to see what’s stolen his attention. You find an article about an upcoming new exhibit at the Miroh city zoo featuring a never before seen creature. You’re too far away to read anything other than the headline, but you can tell whatever it’s about is extremely important to Chan.

“You remember when I told you I grew up in a lab?”

You nod.

“Well, I wasn’t alone,” Chan reaches across the desk to pick up one of his papers. He checks it before handing it to you, which you accept warily. You lift the piece eye level, glancing across the various sections describing the creation of nine different hybrids. You find what you assume to be Chan:

CB97

Species: Grey Wolf

Creation Date: 10.3.2297

Diet: Meat

Behavior(s) Observed: Calm, patient, only aggressive when provoked

Interaction: Relates well with humans and other hybrids

See page 3 for full report

“I grew up with all eight of them,” Chan explains while you quickly skim through the other reports. “We were like a family.

“Woojin was the oldest after me so he helped me take care of the other boys. He liked to sing too. He had one of the most beautiful voices I’ve ever heard.

“Then there was Minho, the most mischievous and sly guy you’d ever meet. He always found a way to make us laugh, even in the worst of times.

“And Changbin, one of my best friends. He listened to me when no one else would. I remember we used to stay up for hours talking about living freely outside the laboratory… Too bad it didn’t go how we planned.

“Anyway, next were the ‘00 liners: Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix and Seungmin. The best group of people you could ever be stuck in a room with.

“And then our youngest, Jeongin. I worry about him the most. He was so young when I left… All of them were…”

“What happened to them?” You ask.

Chan shakes his head, “I don’t know. We were all separated after they deemed us acceptable to go out into the public. Woojin was the first one to sell, then Seungmin, then me.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Riddled with confusion, you toss the paper back onto the desk and look toward the hybrid expectantly. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, allowing you enough time to catch the desperation and hope embedded within his dark brown irises.

He suddenly turns again, this time reaching for the notebook he was previously writing in. Staring over it, he offers it to you and says, “Here.”

You glance across his messily scrawled notes with a puzzled expression. He had written countless names of different locations, addresses, phone numbers, basically anything you could think of.

You stare at the page, allowing yourself a moment of hesitation before muttering, “You’re going to find them, aren’t you?”

“They’re my family, (Y/N). They’re all I have.”

“You know how dangerous this is, don’t you?” You feverishly shake your head, “Chan, Miroh is the most dangerous place for hybrids. Why do you think I barely let you outside this apartment?”

“I know that, (Y/N),” Chan rises from his seat and grabs your elbows. His sudden touch takes your breath away. “And I will be forever grateful for everything you have done for me. I know you’re a kind person, which is why I’m asking you to help me.”

Your eyes flutter shut when you release a defeated sigh, “What can I do?”

“I just need some supplies and some money. Not a lot, just enough to get me around the city.”

Your eyes shoot open at his request while your head moves to shake back and forth again, “Absolutely not. I am not letting you travel around this city by yourself.”

“(Y/N)-”

“-Don’t argue with me on this, Chan.” You notice Chan’s ears flick in annoyance, but continue to make your case anyway. Like hell are you going to allow him to lead himself into a death trap. “I’ll help you find your brothers. But there’s no guarantee I’m going to be able to keep all of you safe here.”

The hybrid shakes his head, “Don’t worry about that. Once I find everyone, we’re going to find Yellow Wood.”

“Yellow Wood-” Your eyes widen at the mention of the foreign place. From your knowledge, Yellow Wood is a place outside of Miroh where hybrids are said to be free once they cross the border. The only issue is that it’s considered a myth, since whoever travels the journey to Yellow Wood is never seen again. The path to get there is a death trap, so most assume they die and the government buries their bodies. What a way to go.

“I know it seems crazy,” Chan obviously notices your doubtful expression, “But, I know it’s real.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because,” Chan reaches behind his body to grab his tail. Shocked, you watch as he parts his fur to reveal a bronze key sewn into his flesh. He continues, “Back in the laboratory when I was on observation, this one person came to see me.

“They told me that I didn’t belong in this world and that I needed to get out as soon as possible before it’s too late. They gave me this key and told me to find the door that leads down to Hell.”

You scoff, “Great. That easy, huh?”

“(Y/N), please. At least try to believe me.”

Chan’s pleading expression has your stubbornness wavering, especially combined with the sad eyes he bestows upon you. You so badly wanted to believe him, but it’s not that easy. How can you believe in a place that has no evidence of existence?

“I-I don’t think it’s a good idea,” The hybrid’s face falls at your retort. Although, you continue, “We’ll talk about it more when we get there. Right now, we have to work to get there first.”

His mood immediately lifts at the mention of the current situation. He nods in agreement, gesturing toward the paper still between your fingers, “I know for sure where Seungmin is. Before he was taken away, I was able to get the name of the person who bought him.”

“Okay, great. We just need to figure out how to get to him.” Easier said than done.

“I have somewhat of a plan. But, I need your word, (Y/N).” Chan places his hands on your shoulders this time, staring straight into your eyes. You feel your pulse race at his sudden gaze, hoping the hybrid wouldn’t notice the sudden change in your body.

“I trust you, a lot more than I really should. But I need to know that you’re with me. No matter what.”

You don’t hesitate, “You have my word, Chan. Let’s go find your brothers.”

“Stray Kids,” He corrects with a chuckle. “We used to call ourselves Stray Kids.”

You nod, “Okay.

“Let’s go find Stray Kids.”

#stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids au #bang chan x reader #bang chan au #stray kids #bang chan #woojin #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix #seungmin #i.n.#kpop au #kpop fanfic

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jisungshotfirst · 4 years ago

Text

get to know me better tag !

tagged by ; @masterninjacow thank you love <3

- what do you prefer to be called name-wise?

Kit is fine ! And Christopher, Kitty etc

- when is your birthday?

December 15th

- where do you live?

Dublin Ireland

- three things you’re doing right now?

Lying in bed :] mentally packing for a trip, and on tumblr oh and my cat just walked in so petting my cat

- four fandoms that have piqued your interest lately?

Mhmmmn.... Thai drama fandom, too the kpop group... I honestly can't think of any others

- how has the pandemic been treating you?

It's been okay I'm luckier than most. I was able to take a trip with friends as normal and I'm pretty good being by myself inside

- recommend a movie.

The way he looks ! Pure adorable gay fluff , friends to lovers , almost zero drama. It's one of my fav films of all time !

- how old are you?

- school, university, occupation, etc.?

Going into first year of uni

- do you prefer heat or cold?

Heat ! I love the sun I hate it here it's too cold

- name one fact others may not know about you.

Mhmmmmn

- are you shy?

In general not really, and if I'm in a very comfortable situation even with new people I'm not shy but if anything's uncomfortable or just off I can be very quiet

- do you have preferred pronouns?

He/him

- biggest pet peeve?

Ignorance

- what is your favorite ‘dere’ type?

I just did a quiz and got deredere and yeah that's prob accurate from the description

- rate your life from 1-10, 1 being really crappy and 10 being the best it could ever be.

I mean it's great but obvs there's a lot of stuff I'd change ... 7?

- what are your main blog + side blogs?

Only this one we die like men

- is there anything people need to know about you before becoming friends?

They just gotta be allies :]]

- relationships / breakups?

🤷‍♂️

- siblings?

One older sister

- pets?

My dearest girl Boo who's best cat

- surgeries / tattoos?

Nope but both are coming in the future I hope :]

- countries you’ve been to?

Ireland, England, Scotland, Wales, Portugal, Spain, France, Monaco, Germany, Belgium, Italy, Austria, Croatia, Bosnia, Montenegro, Greece, Cyprus, USA, Cambodia, Vietnam ... I think that's them

- been in an ambulance?

Yes but I think only once

- sang karaoke?

Yep ! But years ago

- been ice skating?

Yep I love it

- been on a cruise?

- driven a motorcycle?

It was probably a little closer to a moped but yes

- ridden a horse?

Yep twice

- stayed in a hospital?

Yes but I think only overnight once

- favorite fruit + color?

Cherries + yellow

- last text?

"I am healed 🥺" only context is yeosang

- coffee or tea?

Iced tea only

- favorite pie?

Apple ? I rarely have pie

- favorite pizza?

Throw any veggies on there bar olives and tomatoes

- cats or dogs?

Cats

- favorite time of year?

Early summer

- met a star?

I don't think who I've met would qualify, Irish stars are funky. Jedward came to my school tho , Ik y'all should be jealous

- flown in a helicopter?

Nope I wish

- been on tv?

Not that I know of

- broken a leg?

Never broken a bone !

- seen a ghost?

Nah

- been sick in a taxi?

Nope

- last song listened to?

Hot air balloon - cravity

- favorite musicians?

Skz, Ateez, tbz, day6, exo, bts .. literally every bg under the sun. Lana Del Rey, nothing but thieves, Coldplay, Lorde, panic! Etc

- last shows watched?

Love revolution for my boy younghoonie. But full shows He is psychometric

- favorite fictional characters?

Kit herondale from the shadow hunter chronicles, noah sweetwine from ill give you the sun, Dante from Aristotle and Dante, Niel Perry from dead poets society

Done :]]]

Tagging: @lucyepiccrash @loonizpink @pendulumandthepoet @timothytheowl @honeysticksandflowers if you want to <33

#taggy tags #kit shit

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honeyjaez · 5 years ago

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Maze of Miroh- Chapter 13 “Unexpected Welcome”

Ahh here it is! Sorry for the long wait.

Because it’s been a hot second since the last update, here is how we ended last chapter:

“Minho!”

Jisung’s words were drowned out as he groaned in pain. His eyes shot opened and he looked up to see a strange blonde overlooking his slumped body, a fox like grin etched on his face. The stranger opened his palm to reveal a small golden object dangling from his hands and Minho’s heart sank.

His locket.

“Finders Keepers” the boy sneered, his fox smile getting bigger and bigger.

“Hey!” Minho yelled, quickly standing up. “Give that back!”

The fox boy looked down at the locket, then turned back to Minho, eyes holding a mischievous glint to them. “Ooooo tempting…but I think I’ll pass. Think of this as payment for not killing you guys on the spot.” Despite his severe words, the fox like grin seemed to be permanent on his face and he gave Minho a cheeky wave before dashing off in a blinding speed.

Minho let out a small growl and shot up, chasing after him despite his members yelling at him to come back. He locked eyes with the strange blonde who noticed Minho following him and begun running faster, almost catching up to him. The thief noticed this and gave Minho a playful look

“Alright” he could hear him say “You wanna play? Then let’s play pretty boy.” His voice was light but Minho could hear the homicidal tone to it “Let me welcome you to The Under.”

Minho could still hear Jisung and the others yelling after him as he chased the mysterious thief down, but made no attempt to stop. His only focus was on the figure in front of him and him alone. His eyes were locked on their back as they continued to lead down a darkened path.

In hindsight, Minho knew that it was a wrong move in chasing after the thief. He was still a newbie when it came to fighting and he already could tell the thief in front of him was more than adapt at fighting than he was. He knew the stupid locket Hyunjae gave him was not worth endangering himself, but he didn’t care. Part of him wanted the locket back ...badly.

Not to mention he was rather pissed off that this fox boy thought he was just some quick score.

After running down another turn, Minho saw the blond tilt his head to the side slightly, locking eyes with him before a fox like grin appeared once again. Minho glared back and huffed in annoyance at his offhand, taunt.

“This guy hasn’t even broken a sweat yet”

And it was true. Minho thought he, himself had amazing stamina. He may not have a lot of strength, but in just the few short weeks he was a part of SKZ, he could already outrun everyone in the group but Felix.

However, dealing with this thieving blond, Minho realized that he was actually getting tired. Meanwhile the thief didn’t seem to mind at all, and as if he could read Minho’s thoughts, the boy smirked backwards, pointing a finger at him. “Getting tired old man?”

Minho took a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing and not sound so out of breath. “You…wish” he panted. Dammit.

“I’ll give you some credit though.” The annoying blond said again, ignoring his obvious attempt at hiding his fatigue “Not many can keep up with me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment” Minho snapped back.

But Minho began to grow worried. How much longer did he have in him? They must have been running for at least 10 minutes now and the young thief ahead of him showed no signs of stopping. Sweat began dripping from his forehead as the rounded another corner and his heart sank realizing he had another problem on his hand.

With every step, and every corner ran, he got further and further from the others. And after the 20th turn made, he suddenly didn’t know which way he came from which spelt bad news for Minho. Especially when they are about to step foot in a supposed underground thug city.

He needed to regroup with the others… and fast.

Minho grit his teeth as his attention went back to the blond running ahead of him. If he couldn’t catch up to him, he was going to need to stop him in his tracks.

The runner quickly reached inside his pocket for anything that might help his situation. Anything that might help ensnare the thief in a trap. Just then his hand bumped up against a small, cold object in his pocket and his eyes blew wide open, remembering. He pulled out the object and looked down at it. It was a miniature bomb that Hyunjin had given him just before they left for the Under

*flashback*

Grabbing the last of his stuff, Minho closed the door behind him and turned to head back towards the meeting room. But before he could take a step farther, he felt an arm grab him, thrusting his body backwards. His eyes were met with Hyunjin’s small ones, and before Minho could ask anything he felt Hyunjin slip a few cold objects into his hand, closing it and shoving it back into his pocket.

“They are small, but it packs a punch.” He mysteriously explained “But be careful….they react instantly when thrown against something so make sure you aren’t too close to the blast zone”

~~~~

Minho stared down at the small object, a small plan forming in his head. His worried expression now changing into that of a smirk and he knew what he needed to do.

He just needed the perfect spot.

“You spacing out old man?” the boy called out again.

Minho looked up and locked eyes with the thief, his gaze unreadable “Nope. Just thinking!” he called back.

The two rounded another corner and that’s when Minho saw it. He had lead the two of them into a rather large clearing, with the only two exits begin that in which they came from and where they were heading. Not to mention lots, and lots and lots of rocks.

This was his chance. A small opening, almost like a door with rocks overhead laid on the other side of the room. It was a perfect spot. And San’s only exit.

Minho clutched the miniature bomb in his hand, readying his arm for the wind-up. If he was going to do this, then he needed to hit his mark first try.

Just a little closer.

Once he got in range, he knew the time was now. Minho quickly threw the mini bomb as hard as he could, just over the opening, and like Hyunjin promised the bomb activated instantly, exploding the rocky wall and ceiling above. Rocks and boulders began to crumble down in large chunks, covering the opening. And before the blonde could slip through, a large chunk of ceiling fell over the opening, blocking his exit completely.

The thief seemed somewhat shocked at the turn of events, and Minho took this chance to stop and catch his breath as the room around them shook.

The boy slowly stood up from the ground, his eyes locking and staying with Minho’s the entire time. He looked at him with annoyed expression on his face, but then a second later gave him a toothy grin as he placed his hand on the back on his neck.

“You are just FULL of surprises aren’t you?” he tried teasing him with his lighthearted tone, but Minho wasn’t having any of it.

The blond didn’t seem to be making a break for the exit behind them so Minho took this chance to check him out further. He certainly had a baby face, but from closer inspection Minho realized he wasn’t much younger than himself. He had longer hair than him, strands covering his eyes somewhat, and hair bleached blond with his darker roots started to show. His face was narrow and sharp and Minho stood, rather amazed. He really does look like Fox.

The young thief let out a chuckle realizing Minho was checking him out and winked at him playfully “Like what you see pretty boy? I’m not one for old men, but for you I’ll make an exception.”

Is he…Is he flirting with me?

Minho rolled his eyes and scoffed “We are practically the same age so why are you calling me old man?!”

The blonde let out a light laugh, suddenly taking up stance, and preparing to fight. “You move just like one.”

“Do not!” he argued childishly.

The blond suddenly vanished from Minho’s sight before he could get another word out and it took his brain a few more seconds to realize. All of a sudden, he felt the boys presence behind him, like he suddenly appeared out of thin air and a quick, harsh punch to his back caused the older boy’s body to crumble to the ground. Minho winced in pain as he recovered, and rubbed the lower half of his back. He heard footsteps beside him and looked up to see the younger boy smiling at him with his fox like grin.

“Well, in your defense.” he said suddenly “Compared to me, everyone moves like an old man”

Minho bit his tongue and quickly shot himself back up, aiming a leg towards the boys head. The boy seemed unfazed and again vanished from Minho’s sight in a blur of smoke. His leg swung back around and landed on the ground without hitting anything. His brain began working in overdrive, trying to figure out just what the hell was happening, but before he could, another heavy impact hit him now in the side. Minho’s body staggered backwards a few steps and locked eyes with the rather playful blond who looked like fox, playing with its food.

What exactly is going on here? He thought “Why does it seem like he just isn’t there any-“

“Confused?”

Minho snapped his head back to reality and looked at the thief who was now leaning on a rather large bolder that fell in the explosion. Minho looked at him with annoyance and puzzlement on his face.

When he didn’t answer, the blond tilted his head to one side, an almost shocked look on his face. “You really don’t know do you?” amazement in his voice

“Know what?” Minho snapped

But the blond seemed too preoccupied with his own grief to care about Minho’s annoyance. He dramatically threw himself on the rock in exasperation. “Just my luck! Out of all the powerhouses in your group I pick the newbie to play with.”

The boy began slapping himself playfully on the forehead “Stupid Stupid Stupid”

This rubbed Minho the wrong way and he felt anger rising in his throat. “You don’t know me” he spat “so don’t act like I’ve already lost this fight.”

“Ahh!” the blonde’s innocent face was almost comical as he looked back towards Minho, sliding off the rock. “But you see, you already have lost this fight!” he shook his head in mocked sadness “You don’t even know that you are fighting a Miracle and yet you still think you can come out on top?” he shrugged his shoulders loud and theatrically “Sad really.”

Minho’s eyes went huge. A Miracle? He is a Miracle?

That would make sense. His incredible endurance. Minho couldn’t come anywhere near him. And he swears the boy is vanishing from his eyesight every single time like he disappears into thin air.

Like he could read his thoughts, the blond looked back at him, but his expression wasn’t playful anymore. He was serious, gazing at Minho with a sense of disgust aimed at him. “Do you understand now? If you intend to fight me, you’ll die.”

Minho felt goosebumps on his skin as the thief’s words finally registered in his brain. This was bad. The Order? Fine. Mindless Agents? Cool. Even fighting Hyunjae was more ideal to him at this moment then fighting a super human powered battery cell with sociopathic tendencies.

His body screamed at him to run the other way, but he quickly swallowed the fear as best as he could, gulping loudly. He began remapping everything Jisung has been teaching him in the practice room as well as what his own instincts were telling him. He fell into his own stance, and tried to match the blonde thief’s immense intensity.

“Unfortunately for you,” Minho hissed “I recently made the stupid resolve to never quit so I won’t be leaving until I get what belongs to me”

And just like a switch, the blonde’s serious expression melted away into that of a sly grin.

“Your funeral.”

And then just like that, the thief vanished from Minho’s vision once again. But Minho expected this. He quickly lifted his arms up to the side of his face, baring himself where he hoped the Miracle was aiming. A swift punch to the gut made him realize however that he guessed wrong and his body bent over as he revolted spit onto the ground.

But it wasn’t over yet. It seemed his attacker was keen on kicking him while he was down as he felt the air around him shift again. Minho spun around expecting a kick in his back, only to feel a hard stinging pain explode in his face as he was flung to the side, and hitting the rocky wall behind him.

Minho’s body crumpled to the floor, but he quickly recovered himself and stood back up facing his opponent. He could feel blood trickle down his face from where he was kicked but did his best to ignore it.

This was his new life. Blood, sweat, and dirt, and if he was going to fight Hyunjae and The Order, he was going to accept that and become stronger.

Minho tried to quickly scan the area around him, trying to think of a plan, but it seems that his opponent wouldn’t give him the chance as he vanished once more from Minho’s sight and suddenly appeared in front of him, knocking him squarely in his jaw, and sending him flying.

However it would seem he was not done yet, and before Minho’s brain could comprehend the pain from the first blow, the blond appeared overhead of him and kicked him hard in his stomach again. Minho’s body crash landed so hard into the ground the gravel below him crumbled, causing in indent in the floor.

He was getting his ass kicked and quickly needed to change the tides of this battle. His body erupted in a volcano of pain and as he rose, he let out a few ragged coughs, littering the ground below him in specks of blood.

Alright. Now I’m pissed off

His eyes latched onto the younger boys and he glared daggers into him as he shook himself. The younger boy gave a hearty laugh and turned around, his back facing Minho “4 hits from me and you can still stand!” he whistled “I’m somewhat impresse-“

The boy’s words were cut off as Minho’s fist made contact with the side of his face, sending the lanky figure flying.

It took almost all of Minho’s strength to hit him with that amount of force but to his dismay, the blonde quickly recovered himself, landing on all fours nearby. Minho noticed a large bruise forming on the boy’s right cheek however and gave the boy a small smirk. Guess his hit did something after all.

“You were saying?” Minho’s voice was rough with pain but he still managed to smile as the thief felt the side of his face and took pride as he saw the boy wince in pain.

Minho’s small victory was short lived however, and he saw the blond practically growl at him launching himself forwards and towards him. He raised his arms just in time to block the boy’s right leg from hitting him right in the face, but the experienced fighter took advantage of Minho’s unprotected lower half and swung his other leg against Minho’s own.

Minho, acting on pure instincts, quickly jumped up, causing the boys kick to miss and latched his hand into the blonde’s hair, pulling back roughly in an attempt to distract him long enough. But the plan failed, as the younger boy took this opportunity and pushed Minho’s body with his own, propelling them both forward. His back landed with a dull thud on the ground below. He gasped, needing a moment to breath, but the soft sound of unsheathing metal hit his ears and he knew he was in for it now.

Minho quickly reach at his side and whipped out his small dagger just in time to clash with the blonde’s curved short sword that seemed to appear out of nowhere and silently cursed at the pure size difference in their weapons. Since he was still new in the fighting world, Minho was still not permitted his own weapon, like Jisung’s electronic knuckles, or Felix’s twin daggers. Hell he wasn’t even allowed his own gun yet like Hyunjin or Changbin. Something about learning how to fight without a weapon in case you don’t have one or some bull shit like that, but he silently cursed at all of them wishing to have one of those things in this very moment.

The fox boy smiled down at him, almost like he was enjoying the fight. He could feel added pressure as he was trying to overpower the elder, but Minho wasn’t having any of that and they both struggled to overpower the other. Then an idea hit Minho and he looked up at him, quickly kicking the younger boy off of him.

This caught the younger boy by surprise and his body landed off near the wall. Both boys stood up, panting hard as neither took their eyes off each other.

It was the other boy who broke first and gave Minho a smirk “Okay scratch that. I am mildly impressed now.”

“Speak for yourself” Minho spat, bracing himself for another round.

But to his confusion-and annoyance the boy seemed uninterested in fighting at the moment, taking his chance to check Minho out closer, his eyes narrowing in slight excitement. “What’s your name?”

His question caught Minho off guard and he let out a puff of exasperation, clearly annoyed at the supposed bi-polar thief. He wasn’t seriously asking for his name here and now?

When Minho made no attempt to answer him, the younger boy motioned towards himself with a small smile “My name is San.” He said “Local resident of The Under.”

Minho scoffed, unable to keep silent .“Has anyone ever told you that you are crazy?” he asked.

San ignored his comment and motioned him again “Now tell me your name” he urged quickly.

He seemed so serious. So sincere.

Minho glared at him, untrustworthy “None of your business” he snapped finally. .

Still unbothered, San winked at him “So spunky” he teased “Look I don’t want to kill you.”

“Then don’t!” Minho harshly snapped back, relaxing his body slightly. He raised his hand to point towards his chest where his locket rested. “Return me what’s mine and I’ll walk away!”

Minho was so unbelievably pissed off by now and he knew that San could tell because the younger boy only smirked and dangled the locket between his fingers before giving him a side smirk. “Fine. Have it your way. You want this?” he motioned to the necklace “Then come and get it”

Minho launched himself forward with quick speed, but San expected this and did a quick side step. But Minho was quick on his feet and mocked the move, following the younger’s movements.

This seemed to surprise San for a split second, but he quickly recovered himself before Minho could take advantage of his confusion. Once again, San seemingly disappeared from his vision and he felt a kick in his back.

Minho felt his body impact with the ground but quickly recovered himself by pushing himself up by his hands. He spun around and kicked San hard in the face with his boot. But to his dismay, San grabbed hold of his boot and spun Minho back around so that his face was flushed against the younger boy’s chest. But before Minho could comprehend what San had planned, he felt a cold object pressed up against his cheek. Minho let out a loud gulp, knowing the feeling of a knife against skin too well now.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to kill me?” Minho challenged.

San let out a chuckle, bringing his lips to Minho’s ears as he caught his breath “I said didn’t, not that I wouldn’t” he growled. “Fun or not, I am a guard of The Under” the blond continued. “And you sir” he added with added pressure to the knife “are a trespasser.”

Minho struggled against the boy, ashamed that his strength was being over powered by someone younger than him. “I… ugh… we are here for help!” he exclaimed.

San’s grip on him held steady but the pressure of the knife soften slightly “Help?” he asked, genuinely intrigued. ”What does Bang Chan and his righteous group of good-doers need from us?”

“The Order” Minho began explaining through huffs “We stole a virus from them but we need someone by the name of Dowoon to help figure out what it does”

“Four-eyes?”

“Chan said he lives down here with you all.” He continued to explain in desperation “We need to speak to him!”

If I can get him on our side….

San seemed to be processing Minho’s words for a brief moment and Minho used this chance to break himself free of San’s grip, throwing his body backwards in a jerking motion. He spun back around to find San standing still in the same spot, eyes glazing over like he was thinking of something far away.

He began mumbling something incoherently, and Minho strained his ears forward to hear what the younger boy was saying.

“….Maybe this time….”

Minho titled his head, trying to figure out what the boy was talking about, but before he could ask, he saw San’s serious frown quickly change back into an almost painful smile, shaking himself, as if tiding himself of whatever thought he had. He turned his gaze back onto Minho and just like that, the old San returned, a ghost of a sly smile on his face.

“Sorry beautiful” he chirped “Last time we trusted someone from up above, it ended up biting us in the ass.” He explained, pulling out his short sword and lowing himself towards the ground. “We WON’T make that mistake a second time!”

And he vanished.

The next thing Minho knew, he felt an excruciating sense of pain coming from his right cheek.

“Agh!” his hand flew to his face as he cradled his wound and fell to the ground. A sticky substance covered his hand and he knew he was bleeding. The pain was so sharp, so excoriatingly painful that it took Minho a second to realize San was still standing behind him, weapon in hand, staring deviously at him.

Acting on instincts alone, Minho pushed himself off the ground and away from the thief, hand still cradling his wound. He stared back at San who licked Minho’s blood off the sword, his homicidal aura spiking. He vanished again but this time Minho knew what to do, and quickly raised his arms, using his small dagger to bare the short sword before it swing down and sliced him again.

San pushed himself against Minho, the two boys matching their strengths.

“Out of everyone” he suddenly said “you are one of the fastest I’ve faced.”

Minho grunted against his blade, weapons shaking as they both vied to over-power to other. San pushed his head towards Minho as he began to gain favor.

“But now I’m going to have to show you REAL speed.”

Suddenly and without warning, San pushed Minho away, crouching low on the ground and launching his body forward. As fast as his body would allow it, Minho quickly side steps to the side, just barley managing to avoid a fatal slice of San’s sword. Minho grunted in pain as the weapon still managed a small slice in his side but stayed light on his feet as San quickly spun around, chasing after him.

Minho began running backwards, trying to avoid San’s barrage of swings. But he knew it was pointless.

With all that he was, Minho was nowhere near as strong or as fast as San was. If he didn’t think of something….and fast, he really was going to die.

And as if fate answered his calls, Minho tripped over an unseen rock behind him and his body stopped abruptly, landing on the ground. Nearly a second too late, he quickly rasied his dagger up, blocking San’s attack once again. The smaller crawled onto of the older boy, hovering over him as his sword threatened to cut his throat wide open.

Shit Shit Shit he thought, struggling against his strength. This was a different San than from before. Maybe earlier he was just toying with Minho, but everything about this San here and now was much more powerful. Much more dangerous.

I need to think of something….and fast

All of a sudden, like a gift from the gods, Minho spotted something passed the thief’s head and a plan began forming in his own head. He just needed to be smart about this.

In hopes to distract the homicidal thief, he quickly let out a hearty laugh, bluffing arrogance.

San seemed to notice this change in him because he felt the knife being pushed against his throat harder now.

“What are you so smiley about eh?” he taunted.

Minho let out a small chuckle, all too aware of the knife at his throat. If he was going to do this, he needed to do it now. “Oh you know” he said “Just how I’m going to get my necklace back.”

Minho watched as San’s face contorted in a variety of emotions from confusion to annoyance and then finally settling on his ever famous fox smile. “Oh? And how do you plan on doing that? Running?”

“Nope.” Minho said, still smirking “I know now that I can’t ever outrun you”

“Then how do you plan on taking your necklace back?” there was a hint of uncertainty in the younger blonde’s eyes, as Minho’s confidence threw him off key. He slowly reached inside his pocket, feeling a familiar object, cold in his hands.

“Like this!” Without missing a beat, Minho ripped the locket hanging around San’s neck, pulling it off roughly. But before San could retaliate, he quickly threw another one of Hyunjin’s small bomb towards the ceiling, farther off and kicked San off of him, jerking him right into the direct line of rocks that were now falling down.

The blond, for as fast as he was, couldn’t move out of the way fast enough and his body vanished under a large pile of rubble.

The roaring from the bomb devoured the room and Minho was left to sit there in an almost calm silence as he waiting for the noise to die down. Eventually the rumbling stopped around him and he was left alone, a pile of rocks next to him where San had been.

Minho could barely believe what just happened. It actually worked. A stupid plan of his actually worked. His body went numb from the pure adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he stayed completely still, as he stared at the damage he had caused.

“Minho!”

A familiar voice broke Minho out of his trance, and he widened his eyes as he recognized Jisung entering in earshot. He tilted his head over his shoulder just in time to see the young brunette bolt into view, Chan and Woojin in toe in from where he originally came from. They finally had caught up to him. Minho gave the group a sheepish smile and a halfhearted wave, knowing he must have looked like crap from his fight. He saw the pure sight of relief on Jisung’s face before it settled back into an angry one, running up to him.

“You idiot!” the younger scolded, slapping Minho on the top of his head before offering a hand to help him up.

“I know I know” he mumbled.

“Do you?” Jisung challenged “because I’m started to think you really just are all beauty and no brains!” he rebuked glaring hard.

“Let me see you” Woojin said urgently, moving Jisung aside and cradling Minho’s face gently while observing him. Minho felt Woojin gently rub his thumb against the gash on his face that San had given him, and after a few tense moments he heard the elder sigh, removing his hands from his face.

“Well you don’t need stiches but I expect that pretty face of yours will now have a scar.”

“Good” Jisung grumbled “Maybe it will make him smarter…”

Minho felt a smile tug at his lips as he heard their stern, yet concerning tone. He nodded his thanks and turned his face to Chan, who was a bit slower in walking up to them. Minho was somewhat shocked to see him with such anger in his eyes, but he reminded himself that his anger was much warranted. Suddenly Minho felt very ashamed of himself. He ran off, he endangered the group, he was incredibly reckless and could have gotten himself killed. Not to mention almost ruining their plan in finding Dowoon.

Of course Chan was going to be angry.

“Hyung I-“

Minho’s words were cut off as a sharp slap sounded through the room. It came so fast that it took Minho’s brain a few more seconds to register the stinging pain on his face. His eyes looked at both Jisung and Woojin, who gazes were unreadable as they looked the other way. His eyes then found Chans and noticed his hands were shaking as he clasped them on Minho’s shoulder, bowing his head just below his shoulders.

It felt like years had passed to Minho when his leader finally lifted his head back up and stared hard at him.

“I already deal with enough idiots who run around without thinking…don’t make me worry about you as well”

Minho gulped hard, his eyes widened slightly at the pure intensity Chan was giving him. He nodded slightly and mumbled a quick apology before breaking apart, noticing Woojin stepping closer to the rock pile in which San was now crumbled under. Minho felt his heart weigh down with even more guilt. It was small enough impact, and the rocks weren’t too big, but Minho didn’t know anymore.

He watched as Woojin grabbed San’s hand which was sticking out from a gap and felt for a pulse on his wrist. Minho waited in tense silence as the doctor did his checking.

“Is he?...” he was unable to finish. Part of him hoped the younger boy was still alive. Thief or not, he didn’t deserve to die

But to Minho’s relief the black haired doctor shook his head and stood back up. “Don’t worry. He isn’t dead. Just unconscious. It takes a lot more than some rocks to hurt San…trust me”

Minho stopped dead in his tracks. Did he hear that right? How did Woojin know San’s name? He doesn’t remember saying it.

But before he could open his mouth and asked, the sound of voices and fast approaching footsteps hit Minho’s ears and he saw Woojin turn back to the group. “But that is the least of our concerns. We need to get out of here and fast.”

“But what abou-“

Woojin shook his head “No time. The Under doesn’t take too kindly to those who attack their own. We need to hide and find another way to the city”

Minho felt a hand grab his and turned to see Jisung lock eyes with him. “Are you okay to run on your own?” he asked, quickly squeezing Minho’s hand in response. Minho just looked at the younger boys eyes and found himself lost for words…..again.

What was with this stupid idiot squirrel boy and his even stupider pretty eyes and why was he making Minho’s brain stop half the time?

After another squeeze Minho mentally shook himself free and shook his head in response. “I can do it.”

But before any of them could take a step towards the door, there was a loud explosion behind them. Minho turned his head to see the other opening that he had blocked to keep San trapped had been blown free. Bodies began to pile out, each holding guns, running towards them. “There!” one voice yelled “They are over there!”

“Quickly then!” Woojin snapped.

They began to sprint towards the back entrance, Minho wincing as he felt the injuries from his fight scream at him. They were almost there…just a little closer.

Just then, from the shadows, a lone figure stood tall and still. They drew their weapon, a single longbow and knocked it with a singular arrow.

“Not so fast intruders!” the figure called out.

The arrow flew over their heads and with a drop of his stomach he realized where it was aiming. His eyes then fell down to Woojin’s back, knowing that the elder was in trouble being at the front of the pack. He froze in his tracks, eyes wide with fear.

They are going to explode the ceiling right above the entrance like I did with San….

“Woojin!” Minho screamed

The arrow hit its mark and the way they came was suddenly in an explosion of dust and rocks. This impact was 10 times the size of Hyunjin’s bombs. The whole room was shaking and he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of roaring. Gravel and large chunks of rock started to fall all around them and he unintentionally grabbed Jisung’s hand in fear. Both Woojin and Chan seemed just as shocked and confused by the sudden attack and to his dismay, didn’t see the large chunk of rock heading straight down for Woojin.

Minho’s body went into overdrive and pushed himself forward letting go of Jisung’s hand.

If he gets hit by that…

Chan seemed to notice this as well.

“Wooj!”

Being the closest to the young doctor, Chan quickly pulled back on Woojin’s sleeve, yanking him backwards with all his strength. Woojin’s body was flung back towards them and out of immediate danger, but the action of pulling Woojin back as hard as he did caused Chan’s body to propel forward.

Minho could only watch in terror as a large piece of rock fell down, hitting Chan on the head. His body slumped to the ground instantly and his heart froze he watched more rocks falling overhead.

“Hyung!” Jisung screamed

Woojin recovered himself quickly and turned back around, horror written as clear as day on his face “Channie!”

Woojin sprung himself forward and grabbed a hold of Chan’s limp body, pulling him out from the cross fire. But before Minho could breathe a sigh of relief, both of their bodies were lost in a cloud of dust and smoke.

For a few brief moments, no one moved. The room still shook, but it was getting quieter and quieter. Men dressed in green suits began to surround them but made no moves.

The perpetrator who shot the exploding arrow stood by their only exit now.

As the dust settled, Minho quickly scanned the area for two friends and felt his blood run cold when he couldn’t locate them. Jisung was beside him, frozen stiff with his own terror and Minho latched his hand onto his again, trying to both find strength and to give it.

After what felt like too long, his eyes finally landed on Woojin’s large frame sitting on the ground. Minho heart lurched as he then saw the elder boy cradling the body of their dear leader.

Both Jisung and Minho sprang forward, landing besides a rather freaked out Woojin whose eyes were wide with fear. The elder lifted his head when he felt Minho’s presence and locked eyes, tears threatening to spill down his face.

“M-Minho!” he cried “Chan! He…He….the boulder….it hit his head...” Woojin was full on sobbing now. He was inconsolable and Minho found himself quickly and quietly stroking his hand in comfort as Jisung checked Chan for a pulse.

Minho didn’t tear his gaze from Jisung’s as the younger’s gaze kept searching and searching. Finally after a few more tense moments he let out a loud, sigh of relief. “The pulse is weak, but it’s there. He is alive.”

Minho watched as Woojin looked down at the unconscious blond and cried into his shoulder with relief. “We are okay Channie.” He mumbled inchoately, rocking his body back and forth.

“We are okay”

Movement in the corner of his eye caught Minho’s attention and he knew they were far from okay at this moment. The sound of footsteps drawing near snapped his body in action and he slowly rose from where he was knelt on the ground, standing protectively over the three of them as Jisung took care of their hyungs.

It was the figure with the longbow. He appeared from the dust, his face covered by a dark hood, and said nothing, but stood very still as the two faced each other. He had a silently deadly aura much like Hyunjae’s and Minho gulped, his body still screaming from his last fight. The figure took a step closer to them, causing Minho to snap back and focus at the moment on hand.

“Not a step closer” he growled, blocking the figure’s view of his members.

The rather tall figure stopped a few yards away from the group. He still said nothing, but turned his head slightly to look at the pile of rubble that San’s body laid under and quickly snapped his head back at Minho a few moments later, his dangerous aura spiking suddenly.

“What are you doing here?” the voice was dark and menacing.

Minho raised a hand in the air to show a sign of peace. If Chan was out of commission and Woojin wasn’t in good state then he would be the one to negotiate. He is the next oldest after all. “We come from up above.” He started “We mean no harm, and only wish to find someone who lives in The Under-”

The figure interrupted him with a scoffed and motioned towards San’s unconscious body as fellow soldiers began to dig his body out from the rubble “You claim to be in peace and yet you do this to one of our own?!”

“In my defense” Minho disputed back “He started it.”

“Enough!” the figure yelled with a wave of his bow. “You!” he pointed to a nearby solider. “Take San and him-“he motioned to Chan’s body, still unconscious in Woojin’s arms “to the Healing Quarters!”

“Sir?” the soldier asked tentatively “Are you sure we should be bringing them-“

The solider was cut off as the ordering figure quickly cut his chest wide open with the sharp end of his bow. The solider let out a scream of pain and slumped to the floor. His body was quickly picked up by another solider who stood there awaiting the rest of his orders “Have Yunho check them both out.” He continued “And you-“he motioned towards the rest of them “you all are coming with me! The boss will want to know that we have SKZ rats’ scurrying in our home.”

Minho gulped. This was not going according to plan at all.

Likes and Reblogs are appreciated! let me know how you are enjoying the story, if you have any constructive criticism or just wanna talk! ~

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