#ask the reflect pledge

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia! I hope you're doing well! I have a question about Patreon membership. I currently support you in the Augus and Gwyn tier, paid twice per month. I'm very interested in the Gary and Efnisien tier, but I wouldn't be able to afford doing that twice per month. If I capped it at one payment per month it would be the same as what I currently pay, though. Are you okay with people choosing a higher tier and only paying the minimum amount for that tier?

Hi anon!

This is a great question, and I'm totally okay with people limiting their pledge, in fact I encourage this. So if you go to the Patreon About section and scroll down, you'll find this if you ever need to double check again! ->

If you want all the rewards but have a limited budget, cap your pledge and join a higher tier! You can also change your pledge amount – higher or lower – as your life dictates. This is meant to work for you, so do whatever feels comfortable. I'm happy to have you here for as long as you're happy to be here, I hope I can make your stay far warmer and cozier than what I put most of my characters through!

So yeah, I fully understand that not everyone can afford the double charge, but if you can on the Augus&Gwyn tier, then absolutely please upgrade to the Gary&Efnisien tier to get access to Constellations and the Game Theory edits! And limit your pledge so you're still paying the same amount.

Who knows anon, one day you might be able to afford more, but until then, I want people to enjoy their time on the Patreon as much as they can. I 100% wouldn't suggest it on the Patreon (or here when I remember to mention tiers on Patreon) if I wasn't completely okay with it, so you don't have to worry anon, it's really okay :)

[isaadore]

ALWAYS THE BRIDESMAID, NEVER THE BRIDE CARLOS SAINZ

pairing carlos sainz x best friend!reader

SUMMARY as you stand beside carlos on his wedding day, watching him pledge his life to someone else, memories and silent hopes haunt you. for years, you’d been his confidante, his closest friend, maybe even the one meant for him—or so you thought. now, he slips away into a future that doesn’t include you. word count 1.9k words

warnings ANGST, the reader is kind of selfish and self-centered, carlos is also kind of a red flag

note there’s a possibility of a part 2 if u guys really want to see them together 🤞

THE CHAPEL IS QUIET besides the soft shuffle of footsteps and murmured instructions as people take their places for the wedding rehearsal. You stand toward the back, watching Carlos and his fiancée laugh together at the altar. The two of them look flawless—she, radiant in a dress that reflects the soft light of the stained glass, and him, with that familiar sparkle in his eye. But this time, the sparkle is for someone else. It hasn’t been for you in a long time, and you’ve accepted that. Mostly.

The officiant clears his throat, prompting everyone to get into place, and you feel a nudge at your elbow. One of the bridesmaids is giving you a soft, knowing smile. “You all right?” she asks, her voice a whisper. You return the smile with a nod, brushing off the pang in your chest. It’s silly, really, to feel this way now. But as you turn your attention back to Carlos, his easy laughter filling the room as he looks at his fiancée, you can’t help but feel like you’re watching something break apart inside yourself. You’ve known Carlos for over a decade; shared secrets, fears, dreams—and, maybe foolishly, you thought those moments meant something deeper. You thought, someday, it would be you he looked at like this.

The wedding rehearsal progresses, and everyone goes through the motions, but you drift in and out of focus, memories tugging you backward. You see yourself, more than a decade ago, sitting beside Carlos at a karting track, cheering on racers with passion. It was the summer you met, the two of you inseparable from that day on. You’d sat shoulder to shoulder, laughing and betting on who’d win, and he’d promised he’d race professionally one day. “Formula One,” he’d said with a grin, “just you watch.”

From then on, it was the two of you tackling life together, side by side. Countless late nights, coffee cups stacked high, pouring over notes, and talking about the future. His career took off like he promised, and you watched, proud, as he took to the track just like he’d always said he would. You were his constant cheerleader, always there in the stands for his races, always beside him when things went wrong, and always celebrating when they went right. Friends, family—even strangers—used to say you two were destined. “You’ll end up together, I can see it in your eyes,” they’d say, smiling knowingly. “It’s written in the stars.”

You never said anything to Carlos about those whispers, even when you let yourself hope there might be truth in them. But life, you learned, has its own plans. Time passed, people came and went, and somewhere along the way, the idea of “someday” slipped through your fingers. Carlos met her, and in what felt like an instant, everything changed. The moments you once shared were fewer, his time was taken, his heart somewhere you couldn’t reach. And soon enough, the two of you fell into this unspoken distance. You stayed silent, letting him drift, because you wanted him to be happy—even if it meant being just his friend.

The rehearsal dinner is a warm, intimate gathering, filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Carlos and his fiancée sit at the head of the table, surrounded by family and friends, all of whom raise a toast to the happy couple. You sit a little way down, listening to the speeches with a smile plastered on, wondering how, after all these years, you’re suddenly so far away from him. He doesn’t seem to notice, caught up in the moment, until later, when he manages to break free from the crowd and find you sitting alone.

“Hey,” he says, sliding into the chair beside you. His gaze is soft, filled with that familiar warmth, and for a second, it feels like you’re back to the two of you, just as you were before.

“Hey,” you respond, a little too casually, trying to hide the flutter in your chest.

He grins, nudging your arm. “I was just telling my fiancée about the time we drove halfway across the city in the middle of the night just because you wanted to see the sunrise over the ocean. She thinks we’re both crazy.”

“We were crazy,” you laugh, the memory bittersweet. “I think I still have sand in my shoes from that trip.” It feels so easy, talking to him like this, like slipping into an old, worn sweater that fits perfectly. And for a moment, the weight of everything else fades away.

His gaze grows distant, and there’s something in his eyes, almost nostalgic. “You remember when we used to joke about getting married if we were both still single by thirty?” he says, his tone light, but you can feel the undercurrent of something else in his voice.

Your heart skips, your own laughter catching in your throat. “I remember,” you say softly. It was always a joke, something you’d laugh about in those late-night talks, back when the idea of growing up still seemed distant. But it was a joke you both wanted to believe in, at least a little.

He meets your eyes, something unreadable flickering across his face, but then he brushes it off with a laugh. “Guess we got a little off track,” he says, his voice casual like he’s trying to make light of it.

You smile, trying to hide the ache inside. “Yeah. Life tends to do that.” You want to say more, to ask him if he ever wonders what might have been, but the words stick in your throat, trapped by the weight of years unspoken.

That night, you lie awake in your hotel room, staring at the ceiling as memories play like a silent movie across your mind. Every late-night conversation, every shared dream, every moment you thought you’d get to keep forever. The reality hits hard, and there’s a sense of finality in it all. Tomorrow, Carlos will belong to someone else in a way he’s never belonged to anyone, and all those years of silent hopes and what-ifs will finally be laid to rest.

A soft knock breaks the silence, and you know who it is before you even open the door. Carlos stands in the hallway, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. “Couldn’t sleep,” he says quietly as if apologizing for being here.

Neither of you speaks as you let him in. He sits on the edge of your bed, looking around your room, and for a moment, you’re transported back to a thousand nights like this—quiet, comfortable, just the two of you in your own little world.

“Feels like old times, huh?” he murmurs, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. There’s a sadness in his eyes, something that tells you he’s feeling the weight of this moment, too.

You nod, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. You want to ask him why he came, why he couldn’t sleep, but instead, you ask the one question you’ve never dared to before. “Carlos… why her?”

He looks at you, startled as if he hadn’t expected the question. For a moment, he seems lost, his gaze shifting down to his hands, his fingers tracing patterns on his palm. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate, struggling to find the right words. “I just… I thought maybe…” You laugh softly, trying to make it sound casual, but the pain is unmistakable. “I thought we were closer, that maybe we could’ve… I don’t know.”

Carlos sighs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re my best friend,” he says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “You’ve always been there for me, through everything. But…” He trails off, searching for words that don’t quite come. “She fits into my life in a way that’s just… different.”

It’s a simple answer, but it hurts more than you’d expected. There’s no twist of fate, no reason beyond his choice, and somehow, that’s worse. Sometimes, love is just a decision, and he chose her.

The day of the wedding dawns bright and warm, and the chapel fills with guests, soft music floating through the air as they take their seats. You stand at the front in your bridesmaid’s dress, trying to ignore the weight of every whispered “what-if” that has lingered over you all these years. You can feel the stares from the guests, their knowing glances as they look at you, wondering why it was never you. They know the history you share with Carlos; they know the stories of two kids who were always meant to be something more. But life, you remind yourself, had other plans.

The music swells, and the bride begins her walk down the aisle. Everyone turns to watch her, but your gaze remains on Carlos, the way his face lights up as he sees her, the love in his eyes so clear, so unshakable. For a moment, he glances your way, and you think you see something—hesitation, maybe even regret—but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a quiet resolve as he turns back to his bride.

The ceremony is beautiful, each word of his vows carving an ache deeper into your heart. He speaks of love, of loyalty, of promises he’ll keep, and you know he means every word. And as they say their vows, you realize, finally and completely, that this is the end of whatever you and Carlos once shared. The life you’d dreamed of with him will remain just that—a dream.

At the reception, the air buzzes with joy and laughter, everyone is caught up in the celebration. You watch from a distance as Carlos dances with his new wife, his gaze never leaving her. They are lost in each other, and you feel, more than ever, like an outsider, a ghost in someone else’s story. But as the night draws on, Carlos finds you, and for one last time, he pulls you into a dance.

“Thank you for being here,” he says softly, his hand warm in yours, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think I could have done this without you.”

You force a smile, trying to mask the ache in your chest. “Always the bridesmaid, right?” you joke, but your voice cracks, betraying you.

Carlos’s hand tightens for a second, and there’s a look in his eyes you’ll never fully understand. For one last moment, you let yourself imagine that this is your wedding, that you’re the one he’s holding, that you’re the one he chose. But as the song ends, so does the illusion, and he steps back, letting you go. And you realize that this is how it was always meant to end.

As the night fades, you slip away quietly, watching from a distance as Carlos laughs and dances with his bride, surrounded by everyone who loves them. The story you’d clung to for so long is over, and as you walk away, leaving him to his new life, you feel the weight of a decade’s worth of memories finally begin to ease. Carlos will always be a part of you, and you will always be a part of him. But as you disappear into the night, the life you’d imagined fades into memory, a story that never came to be.

Maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ MAIN MASTERLIST ✷ CS55 MASTERLIST

[reasonsforhope]

Article

"The Democratic Party largely coalesced around Vice President Harris as its likely new presidential nominee on Monday [July 22, 2024], as she kicked off her campaign by promising to prosecute a forceful case against Republican nominee Donald Trump and defend the legacy of President Biden.

Hours after she delivered remarks laying out some of the themes of her campaign, Harris secured pledges of support from a majority of Democratic National Convention delegates, a forceful show of unity behind her presidential campaign that signals she is likely to officially become the party’s nominee next month.

“Over the next 106 days, we are going to take our case to the American people, and we are going to win,” Harris said during a visit to campaign headquarters in Wilmington, Del., where she was greeted by a group of energized staffers for Biden’s now-abandoned candidacy. Harris accused Trump of wanting to “take our country backwards to a time before many of our fellow Americans had full freedoms and rights.” She added, “we believe in a brighter future that makes room for all Americans.”

Biden dialed into the impromptu meeting, using his first public remarks after dropping out of the presidential race Sunday to thank his staff and ask them to support Harris with “every bit of your heart and soul.”

“The name has changed at the top of the ticket, but the mission hasn’t changed at all,” said Biden, who joined remotely from Rehoboth Beach, where he has been recovering from a case of covid. “We still need to save this democracy. Trump is still a danger to the community. He’s a danger to the nation.”

The high-energy, highly unified setting reflected the broader sentiment across the Democratic Party, in which Harris’s swift ascendancy has upended an already tumultuous and unpredictable presidential race. After being exhausted by weeks of turmoil and infighting over Biden’s prospects, relieved and newly energized Democrats across the country rushed to embrace Harris’s candidacy and unite around the goal of defeating Trump.

Less than 36 hours after Biden abruptly exited the race and endorsed Harris as his successor, hundreds of state delegates, the majority of Democratic lawmakers and governors, a group of state party chairs, and several influential interest groups threw their support behind Harris, as other potential candidates said they would not challenge her. Top congressional leaders followed suit, with Senate Majority Leader Charles E. Schumer (D-N.Y.), House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries (D-N.Y.) and former House speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.) expressing support for Harris on Monday.

While a small number of Democrats have advocated an open, competitive process, Harris appeared to have an inside track Monday to quickly securing the nomination ahead of the party’s convention next month...

After celebrating the extended infighting and discord that plagued Democrats in the aftermath of Biden’s halting performance at the June 27 debate, Trump’s allies watched Monday as Democratic leaders quickly fell in line behind Harris.

“I’m excited to fully endorse Vice President Harris for the next president of the United States,” Kentucky Gov. Andy Beshear (D) said Monday on MSNBC’s “Morning Joe” program. “The vice president is smart and strong, which will make her a good president, but she’s also kind and has empathy, which can make her a great president.” ...

Democratic Govs. Gretchen Whitmer of Michigan, J.B. Pritzker of Illinois and Wes Moore of Maryland also endorsed Harris on Monday, joining a growing list of potential rivals for the nomination that instead opted to endorse her candidacy. Govs. Gavin Newsom of California and Josh Shapiro of Pennsylvania, each considered potential candidates, both endorsed Harris on Sunday.

Democratic leaders on Monday unveiled a new virtual process for selecting a nominee to replace Biden that would conclude by Aug. 7, ahead of the nominating convention in Chicago next month. The dates for the virtual process will be announced on Wednesday.

The private doubts about Harris’s vulnerabilities and less-than-impressive polling numbers largely remained unspoken Monday as Democrats appeared eager to consolidate around a candidate and head off a messy competition for the nomination 106 days before the Nov. 5 election. During her visit to campaign headquarters in Wilmington, Harris was greeted by more than 100 staff members who gave her a standing ovation. The room was covered in newly printed signs that read “Harris for President,” though at least one lingering “Biden-Harris” sign stood as a testament to how rapidly the presidential race had shifted.

Campaign aides said more than 28,000 new volunteers had signed up to lend support, more than 100 times the typical number. Harris, who has been traveling around the country, planned to continue her campaign travel this week.

Trump had built an advantage in polls of key swing states and has at times appeared frustrated with Biden’s exit from the race, lamenting Sunday that he had to “start all over again” after long focusing on Biden...

Harris’s operation raised a record $81 million in the first 24 hours after Biden dropped out and endorsed his vice president, aides said. A group of tens of thousands of Black women gathered on a virtual call Sunday evening to showcase their support for Harris’s bid to become the first woman of color to be president...

Harris has already begun leaning into her background as a prosecutor and state attorney general as she began to cast the race against Trump in a new light.

“In those roles I took on perpetrators of all kinds,” she said. “Predators who abused women, fraudsters who ripped off consumers, cheaters who broke the rules for their own gain. So hear me when I say I know Donald Trump’s type.”"

-via The Washington Post, July 22, 2024

[pennyellee]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, religious references, implied age gap, hoseok-sshi being tired of yoongi, coercion, psychological manipulation, death, implied murder, mentions of cancer, strong language, misogyny, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, verbal confrontation, verbal abuse, suicidal ideation, "falling" from a horse, (partially fictional) lobotomy description, traditions of the clan, pledge, intimate themes, physical violence implied, psychological conflict, oral sex, fingering, handjob, vulnerability (if i forgot smth, pls i'm so sorrryy)

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 18,8K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, forbidden medical procedures, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: WELL AT LAST INNIT? Y'all I swear I’m as impatient to put this out but also so nervous coz this one was a hard one ya know. I decided to split this into two parts, and perhaps if this would be only one part I would have to write “the end” which I’m still not contemptuous with soooo yeah. I can’t believe we are almost at the end of it all. I still haven't decided whether I will write two endings or not. The ending that I initially intended prolly won't be fancied and I definitely scrapped the open ending, but you will never know coz I won't tell ya more.

ANYWAY - for those who asked a lot about Y/N’s and Yoongi’s age gap, kudos for your patience. You can finally sleep in piece babies. Also, I have another fic that is setted in the world of CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [now i’ll know if you’re actually reading these notes hihi] of which preview will come soon after this chapter, again, very excited to push it out finally AND, yes to all of you if you’re still reading this note - CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [what a promo] will come around as soon as I’m finished with UNI this year. If yall be good I can pull out a preview out of my sleeve for Christmas coz that shit - well damn, just damn.

Massive thank you goes to @chaoticpuff17 who managed to beta read it almost right after it was finished coz that shit is looooooooong this time. I LOVE YOU BECCA 🥹🫧🩵

Love you all, p.

m.list previous

seele (n.) the soul, inner essence, or spirit

Her mind was constantly occupied with thoughts she wished to speak loud, but couldn’t. She wanted to warn, to tell the young souls that their minds were poisoned. Y/N’s heart was heavy in her chest each time she lay in bed next to him, letting him pull her close and hold her for the entirety of the night. And far the biggest sacrifice and risk she had to make was giving him her body when he desired her. At least partially. He was pacing things slowly at first- step by step. 

She never thought that in order to set herself free, she would have to give herself up first. However hard it was breaking her heart that she had to stoop so low in order to turn her life on a different path, had to be endured, sucked in.

She never understood what made her body so weak for him. Why did her mind scream for her to run even as her body yearned to be touched?

Yoongi’s hands moved over her body, igniting a fire that burned deep within her. She was supposed to feel like she was suffocating, drowning in the sea. But she could not let herself fail—not this time. 

His fingers traced the curve of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. His touch was gentle yet still so possessive. Yoongi’s lips brushed against her earlobe, and his warm breath reached the softness of her skin.

He leaned in, his lips capturing hers once more, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth. Y/N moaned, her body arching against his as he pulled her closer, his hands moving to cup her breasts.

He squeezed them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, sending sparks flying through her body. Y/N shuddered, her hips grinding against his, her arousal building with every passing moment. His hands moved to the button of her skirt.

He popped the button, his fingers slipping inside to caress her warm, wet flesh. Y/N gasped, her body shuddering under his touch. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb brushing over her clit.

Her hips bucked against his hand, her arousal building with every single moment. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb circling her clit, his other fingers pumping in and out of her wet, pulsing core.

Y/N’s body shuddered, her orgasm building, her mind spinning with pleasure, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, sending her over the edge.

Y/N cried out, her body arching against Yoongi’s as she came, her orgasm washing over her in waves. Yoongi’s fingers never stopped, his thumb still circling her clit, prolonging her pleasure.

As she came down from her orgasm, Y/N felt Yoongi’s fingers slide out of her, his thumb pressing one last time against her clit before moving away. He pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers.

Yoongi’s kiss was deep and intense, his tongue dancing with hers as their naked bodies pressed against each other. She could feel his hardness against her thigh, his desire for her clear. But he knew that she was not ready. 

“I need you.” His voice was husky with pleasure and selfishness.  Yoongi pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with desire.

“You are so fucking beautiful—”  His eyes never left hers when he lowered down to lay soft kisses on her lower abdomen.

“—And so fucking mine.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at Yoongi’s words. She could feel his warm breath against her skin as he continued to kiss her abdomen, his lips leaving a trail of heat and desire.

“Yoongi,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. Yoongi’s eyes locked onto her most intimate parts. He lowered his head, his tongue darting out to taste her. Y/N gasped at the sensation, her body arching against his as he explored her most sensitive areas. His tongue was warm and wet, his touch gentle, seductive. This only happened in one of her dreams and never did she imagine this would be once a reality.

As he continued to pleasure her, Y/N felt herself getting closer and closer to another orgasm. Her body trembled with pleasure, her breath catching in her throat as she reached the peak.

With a loud cry, Y/N came again, her body shaking against Yoongi’s as he continued to pleasure her. As she came down from her orgasm, Yoongi slowly stood up, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N’s hands slid up Yoongi’s chest, her fingers digging into his skin. He reached down and began to undo his pants, his erection springing free, swollen with need. She knew what he expected of her, hence it was easier to just accept it and be done with it. 

“Can I? —” She asked, her voice trembling. She needs him to think she wants him just like he wants her. His eyes closed before he spoke with a husky voice.

“Please—” he choked out. He reached down and began to guide her hand onto his shaft, his fingers wrapping around hers to show her how to stroke him, feeling the heat and hardness of him. She could feel his pulse beating beneath her touch.

As she began to jerk him off, Y/N felt a some twisted sense of power and control. She could see the desire in Yoongi’s eyes and feel the need building within him. She increased her pace, her hand moving up and down his shaft in a rhythmic motion. Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat as Y/N continued to pleasure him. His eyes locked onto hers.

“Dove,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. She could feel his body tensing, his need for release building. With a final stroke, Yoongi came, his orgasm washing over him hard, spurring the hot semen on her hand.

He did not last long, how could he when it was she pleasuring him?

The wedding of her sister was coming dangerously close, days went by rather quickly when there were no fights to fight or battles to win.

“Did you think of a gift for your husband, my dear?” An elderly female voice echoed on the terrace as she was sipping her tea. It was still not the warmest weather but the snow was by far almost gone and the sun was peeking through the white clouds. It was a perfect day to ride a horse.

“A gift?” Y/N squinted her eyebrows, not having a single clue as to what her mother was referring to.

“The day of his birth is arriving soon.” The younger female almost choked on her herbal tea, she still kept drinking as Yoongi might be taking the activities in their bedroom slow for now, she does not know when he will stop being patient. The herbs will kill any seeds that could be planted in her womb. 

Y/N’s mind raced, her fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain cup. The bitter taste of the tea was a stark contrast to the sweetness she was expected to embody. The idea of giving a gift to the man who had taken everything from her felt like a cruel joke, a twisted irony that only deepened her resentment.

“A gift,” she repeated, the words almost foreign on her tongue. Her mother’s voice, though soft, held the weight of generations of expectations, yet Y/N could sense some undertone, a message to be conveyed. Expectations that Y/N had always felt burdened by, but now they were suffocating her, pressing down on her like a relentless tide.

“Yes, a gift,” her mother continued, oblivious to the storm brewing behind Y/N’s eyes. “Something meaningful. You must show him your gratitude, your… affection.” She hesitated on the last word, perhaps sensing the tension in her daughter but brushing it off as the nerves of a newlywed. After all, this was the life she had been groomed for—submission, obedience, and silent suffering disguised as devotion.

Until she got the taste of freedom.

Y/N nodded mechanically, her mind already drifting away from the conversation. Her mother’s voice became a distant murmur, drowned out by the rush of her thoughts. How could she possibly give him something meaningful when every part of her being still wanted to run away from him? When every night she spent in his arms felt like a betrayal of herself?

The sun’s warmth on her skin felt almost mocking, a false promise of comfort in a world that had turned cold and unyielding. The thought of his birthday, of celebrating the man who held her captive in a gilded cage, was almost too much to bear. She felt her resolve slipping, the carefully constructed facade of the dutiful wife threatening to crack.

But she couldn’t let it break, not yet. Not when she was so close to finding a way out. She had sacrificed too much, endured too much, to falter now.

“I’ll think of something, Ma” Y/N finally replied, her voice calm, betraying nothing of the turmoil within. Her mother smiled, satisfied, and turned to gaze out at the garden. Y/N understood her words clearly. She followed her gaze, but all she saw was the vast emptiness that mirrored her own heart.

Her eyes narrowed down to her younger sister, watching her mount a horse, Taehyung by her side just like he had been for the past months. Her father is not nor never will be happy with both hers and her sister’s elopements, not that it’s going to matter soon.

The sight stirred something bitter in Y/N, a pang of resentment mixed with a twisted sense of protectiveness. She spent days and nights wishing she could reverse Xiaoli’s fate.

“She has changed,” her mother spoke again. Y/N’s eyes closed whilst she breathed out a loud sigh.

“She has, indeed,” Y/N muttered back. If she can call prefrontal lobotomy ‘a change’, then yes, Xiaoli has changed very much so.

“Why can’t you be happy for her?” Her mother’s voice, gentle but insistent, grated against Y/N’s nerves like sandpaper.

“Are you happy for me, Ma?” Y/N countered quickly. The question hung in the air, heavy and charged, like the tense silence before a storm. Y/N’s mother hesitated, her composure faltering for a fraction of a second before she regained her poise. Her eyes flickered, a shadow of something unreadable passing through them, but it was gone before Y/N could grasp it.

“Your happiness,” her mother began, carefully choosing her words, “has always been… complicated.”

“Complicated,” Y/N echoed, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. It was a diplomatic way of saying that her happiness had never been a priority. In their world, happiness was a luxury, often sacrificed for the sake of duty, appearances, and survival.

“Do you think I do not know?” Y/N continued, her voice low, edged with the frustration she had suppressed for far too long. “Do you think I haven’t noticed how you and father always looked at me with a kind of pity? As if I’m some tragic figure in a story you would rather not tell?”

Her mother’s face remained impassive, but Y/N could see the tension in the way she held herself, the slight tremor in her hands as they rested in her lap. “I have always wanted the best for you,” her mother said, but the words felt rehearsed, as if she had said them a thousand times before and had long since stopped believing them.

“Then tell me, Ma,” Y/N pressed, leaning forward, her voice dropping to a whisper, “what is the best for me? Is it to be locked in a marriage where every night I lose a piece of myself? Or is it to watch as my sister being expe-” Y/N stopped herself from slipping such information out.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she realized how close she had come to revealing the unspeakable truth. She quickly clamped her mouth shut, biting back the words that had almost spilt out. Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in their depths, but Y/N forced herself to remain calm, to steady her racing heart.

Her mother’s gaze bored into her, searching for the secret Y/N had almost exposed, but Y/N refused to let it show. She couldn’t afford to slip, not now, not when everything was hanging by such a fragile thread. But her mother’s finger that softly tapped next to her ear told her that she knows more than she shows. They are listening. They always do.

The elder woman sighed just like her daughter a few moments ago. “You started to look happier these past weeks, I just thought that maybe, just maybe you’ve found your peace in your life.” The older woman continued the conversation like no other message was sent her way.

She couldn’t bring herself to meet her mother’s eyes, afraid of what she might see reflected there—pity, disappointment, or worse, a recognition of the truth Y/N was so desperately trying to hide.

Her mother reached out, placing a hand gently on Y/N’s arm. The touch was meant to be comforting, but it only served to remind Y/N of how disconnected she felt, and how far she had drifted from the person she used to be. “You deserve happiness, Y/N. Real happiness. And I want that for you, more than anything.”

Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat, choking back the bitter retort that threatened to spill out. Happiness was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not when every day was a battle to keep herself from falling apart, to protect the one person she had left in this world.

“I am trying, Ma,” she said instead, her voice barren, trying to find some semblance of peace, some way to reconcile the choices she had made. But that peace seemed as distant as the stars, something she could see but never touch.

Her mother gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. “You have always been so strong, Y/N. I know life has not been easy for you, but you have survived so much. I just hope that one day, you will not have to pretend anymore.”

Y/N nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. Her mother’s words were well-intentioned, but they felt like salt in a wound that had never fully healed. She wanted to tell her mother the truth, to explain the depths of her despair, the weight of the secrets she carried, but she could not. The risk was too great, the consequences too dire.

So instead, she buried the truth deeper, locking it away in the darkest corner of her mind. She would have to continue pretending, for now, until she could find a way out—if there even was one.

“Nonetheless, do well to remember something for me—” her head turned to face her mother once more, awaiting what else she could possibly say to her.

“You are the queen here, child.”

Y/N did not understand her mother’s words at the time, but she recalled their reunion all those months ago, hearing her say those words again.

Be a queen.

“He is getting better—” his voice resonated near her. She did not turn to face him until the chair next to her made an uncomfortable noise. He was far too busy today, busier than usual. He greeted her mother with respect each time. 

Her mother is not the enemy here, nor she ever was. Yet, she is being watched with such precise carefulness by all the Min worshipers, maids, soldiers - everyone. Wang Zemo was the unspoken enemy that her husband is secretly planning to eliminate.

They are not speaking about that sensitive subject, yet Y/N knows that it is going to happen no matter what she thinks about her father. Unless—

“How do you feel today?” he asked.

She finally turned to face him, her eyes searching for any sign of the concern she had grown used to. But today, something was different. There was an unfamiliar hardness in his gaze, a flicker of something she could not quite place.

“I am fine,” she replied, her voice steady despite the unease growing inside her. “Just a bit tired from last night’s work.”

“There is a jewellery showroom I would like to visit with you if you feel well enough—”

The jewellery store was a haven of elegance, with its sparkling displays and refined ambience. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, each piece of jewellery capturing a moment of beauty and grace. Today, however, an air of tension hung over the store, palpable even among the glistening gems and polished glass cases.

Y/N could sense all the stares angled at them, all the whispers were heard by her ears, yet Yoongi remained unbothered. She on the other hand felt uneasy by such attention. After all, it is not every day they welcome such a powerful man in their store. Such a dangerous man.

She sensed something was amiss, her own worries momentarily forgotten as she watched the store’s manager, conversing in hushed tones with an unknown man.

“Why are we here?” She asked him with a sudden turn he did not expect. His demeanour was unreadable, as always, but she hoped for some clarity in his response. Yoongi looked at her, his gaze steady and reassuring.

“Your Eomma said you would fancy a new set of pearls like hers.” He smiled softly, caressing her cheek with his right hand, Y/N sensing the balance of warmth of it and the coldness of his rings he had worn.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her scepticism evident. “But my birthday is not for another month. Why so soon?”

Yoongi chuckled, a sound that seemed to ease the tension in the room just a bit. “Consider it an early surprise. You can wear them at the wedding—”

“Your birthday is coming, we should talk about that instead—” she interrupted him, her tone still possessed a mix of frustration and confusion. Why would they talk about her birthday which is not for another month?

Yoongi’s smile faded slightly, and he glanced around the store, his eyes momentarily clouded with concern before he masked it again. “I just wanted to do something special for you, that is all. You have been doing so well, Dove.”

By doing well means, no tantrums, no screams, no broken vases thrown his way and they are living as a husband and wife, not just in the name.  It was his way of acknowledging the fragile peace they had managed to maintain, the delicate balance that kept their world from shattering. He was selfish enough to consider himself making progress with her.

Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “What would you fancy for your birthday?” She asked carefully.

Yoongi paused, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. He chuckled a little before he leaned down to press his lips softly against hers for a moment, his hand slipping down to her belly.

“You know,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve been thinking… about something we already talked about—”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?” Her gaze slipped down to his large hand on her belly, awaiting the worst.

He took a breath, his gaze steady as he looked into her eyes, while his forehead rested on hers. “I know I said that it will not help anything, but I would love to have—”

“Not here—” she said way too quickly, her voice tinged with urgency. “Let us not talk about it here, okay?”

His expression shifted, understanding, but a bit sad as his first thoughts led him to rejection.

“I am sorry, this is not the right place, —” he replied, his voice lowering to a whisper as if he feared that even speaking about it might attract unwanted attention. “But I want you to know it is on my mind, Dove.”

Y/N felt a flutter in her chest, a conflict brewing within her. The idea of a child, of a future that seemed so distant. 

“Can we talk at home?” She asked carefully. The tension in his shoulders eased, she wanted to talk about it, and his heart started to beam.

“Deal. Let us just find you those pearls for now, hm?” A little peck on his lips was enough confirmation that she was more than ready to pick up some jewellery and leave.

As they moved through the store, the vibrant displays of jewellery momentarily distracted them from the weight of their conversation. Y/N couldn’t shake the thought of Yoongi’s words, though. She knew she needed to play her role. However, she was not ready to make such a big sacrifice for the taste of freedom. She had a different scenario in her head.

“What do you think about these pearls?” She gestured towards a stunning strand that caught the light just right, reflecting an array of colours.

Yoongi’s gaze followed her gesture, and he leaned closer to examine the pearls. “They are beautiful. They remind me of you—classic and timeless beauty,” he said, his tone playful but sincere.

She laughed softly, the tension of their earlier conversation easing. “You just say that because I am wearing a white dress.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “But I mean it.” He smiled at her, his eyes reflecting the love he felt for her with the hope that perhaps when they returned home, they could explore the depths of their future dreams together. Perhaps.

The private dining room was filled with the warm glow of candlelight, the scent of delicious food wafting through the air. The large table was set with an assortment of dishes, each more appetizing than the last.

Y/N glanced around, taking in the sight of the family gathered together, a rare moment these days when everyone is put to work. Each member of the family had a role to play, each one integral to the operation and survival of the Min clan.

She and Seokjin run around the hospital doing what they can to heal and help those in need. These past weeks were especially busy after several raids on the warehouses the Min clan owns.

Taehyung worked his magic, covering every single trace that would make the whole syndicate fall.

Jungkook, seated beside Jimin who has been running the hotel perfectly, took a deep breath. “The Min soldiers are ready. We have increased patrols around the warehouses and fortified our defences. I have got the best man on it, Yoongi-hyung. We will not let anything happen again like last time.”

“Yoongi nodded, his expression serious. “Good. We cannot afford any more breaches—”

Jungkook nodded firmly. “I will.”

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, his usually cheerful demeanour replaced with a hard edge. “I have been tracking down leads on who’s responsible for the raids. We have collected some old debts and sent a clear message.”

“It has been happening way too often lately,—” Namjoon cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to the whole table.

“It is the peak of the trade season, innit?” Yoongi mused out loud. Not bothered by that at the moment, he knows he can rely on his men. His wife sticking the food around with her chopsticks, pretending to eat from the barely filled marble dish bothered him more.

They have yet to return to their conversation but that is not what occupies her mind now. Yoongi yet again wondered whether her silence meant that she was considering what he said or being tortured by that thought.

“How are things over at the sanatorium?” The right-hand man raised the question when he cleared his throat, hoping to get the young Buin to talk about the sector that was entrusted to her. Under the watchful eye of Doctor Kim Seokjin.

Yoongi, seated at the head of the table, glanced at her with a small smile. Despite the tension of the past weeks, moments like this reminded him of why they fought so hard. He reached under the table, finding her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then, with a gentle, almost tender gesture, he picked up a piece of grilled fish and placed it on her plate.

“We have zero deaths so far, thanks to—” Seokjin’s voice became a blur when she noticed his hand squeezing hers.

“Eat up, Dove—” Yoongi said softly, ignoring Seokjin’s report, his eyes filled with concern. Xiaoli looked around the table with wide eyes, still getting used to the boisterous dynamics of the group.

“Are you feeling fine, Unnie?” She pried, eating a piece of kimchi while doing so.  “You have been working a lot lately.”

“Just peachy, pumpkin,” Y/N replied with a bright smile, trying to mask the fatigue she felt. She noticed the way Yoongi’s brow furrowed slightly at her response, a subtle reminder of their shared worries, but she chose to brush it off.

Hoseok, sitting across from her, leaned in with a teasing grin. “Peachy? You have been working more hours than Jin-hyung at the hospital, Buin—” he expressed his concern.

“And I love working—”  Y/N began, her voice light, but she was quickly interrupted by Jin, who feigned horror.

“Yes, yes and yes, that does not change that you should take a little break.” Jin insisted, his tone dramatic as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Oh shut up, you do need me, Dr Kim.”  Y/N shot back playfully, her smile growing wider as she tried to lighten the mood.

“Touché,” Jin replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But that does not mean you should work yourself into the ground. You are not invincible, Buin.”

Jungkook leaned forward, a teasing glint in his eye. “Yeah, the last thing we need is for our favourite sister to pass out in the middle of surgery because she did not eat breakfast!” He noticed. Of course he did. 

Y/N rolled her eyes at him playfully. “I can manage just fine. I am not collapsing anytime soon. I promise!”

“Not with that attitude,” Namjoon said, leaning back with an amused expression. “But let us not test the limits of your endurance, okay?”

“Eat up, Dove. No more arguments,” Yoongi said firmly, though his voice softened at the end.

Y/N looked at the fish, then back up at him. “I will, but you all need to stop treating me like I am fragile, at least I am not that fragile anymore—” her voice fell down at the end of the sentence.

Nobody forgot, even though it seemed like they did. The scar on her neck is yet to fade and smooth into her skin. Before she managed to slip to those thoughts, Jimin’s voice echoed through the room.

“How about a spa day, girls?” Y/N chuckled lightly, glancing around the table, endorsing that kind of domesticity. But when she looks at her sister and sees a woman she never was before, it makes her heart ache.

October through November 1938

Fresh off the boat from China, her wide-eyed innocence was observable by many others. The scent of hay mingled with the musky aroma of leather and sweat as she walked through the stables, admiring the majestic kladrubers behind the iron bars. Reaching through them, her hands deftly brushed against their sleek coats.

She came here to forget about all the screaming that was happening behind closed doors of the room that was “politely” offered to them. Her father wanted to come home, with her sister preferably, but the young Korean Kkangpae just had to be so madly in love with Y/N that he was not willing to let her just go. At least, that is what Xiaoli observed from behind the scenes.

The younger sister did not know how it came to this nor what was his business with her father, and she will most likely never know the whole truth nor she will remember. She was not like her sister Y/N. Xiaoli knew very well that she must marry a wealthy mafia lord, a strong ally to her father at best. Hence, she made her peace with it since the first time she bled and became a woman.

The time was ticking and knowing that Y/N got to get higher education shifted the focus on her instead. Xiaoli was moulded to be the perfect, obedient and dutiful wife Y/N would never become. Not because she was not capable but because her sister had different ambitions. Ambitions that Xiaoli believed would kill her and many others. And once, she understood them. That proved to be no longer the case.

Y/N wanted to be a doctor, she wanted to help people, heal people and Xiaoli understood that was the persona she grew in.

She admired her sister for her strength and resilience. It would not take the man her sister is engaged to a second more to charm Xiaoli - in the right circumstances. He was handsome, successful, and certainly very intelligent as he managed to put the whole Triad on their feet by swaying Y/N.

The scar made him even more intriguing in Xiaoli’s eyes. There was something about the respect that vibrated through the room once he stepped in. She was not allowed to attend the meeting or meet her sister that day, and per her mother’s words, ‘it would only hurt her seeing you’.

Well, it definitely hurt Xiaoli. They spent very little time together these past years and she missed her dearly. The happiness and pride she felt on the day Y/N finally graduated was short-lived; their aunt passed away and even she was not stupid enough to not realise what it meant.

Sitting at the breakfast table in their family mansion back in Hong Kong, a rageful scream reverberated through the walls. The news that Y/N took the chance and ran for the hills.

“She barely reaches your chin, how come you were not able to stop her!”

The echoes of the scream seemed to linger in the opulent dining room, bouncing off the intricate wooden panelling and crystal chandeliers.

Xiaoli’s mother stood at the head of the table, her face twisted with fury and disbelief. The usually composed matriarch of the family was unrecognizable, her controlled demeanour shattered by the news of Y/N’s escape.

Xiaoli’s father, Wang Zemo sat in his chair with a deep frown etched on his face, his hands clenched into fists. He was a man of few words, but his silence was more intimidating than any outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating, each family member drowning in their own thoughts and fears.

The Lieutenant stood at the door frame to the dining room they were gathered in. Trembling under Wang Zemo’s hard glance.

“We did not think she would go that far,” he muttered, his voice shaky, afraid to lose his head. What he meant is that they trusted her sister to not do anything like that.

Xiaoli’s heart ached back then. She knew Y/N had been unhappy with the arranged marriage, but she hadn’t realized the depths of her despair. She admired her sister’s courage to defy their parents and the entire Triad’s expectations, but she also feared for her safety. Running away from such powerful families was no small feat, and the repercussions could be deadly.

“Stupid girl—” Wang Zemo scoffed at his oldest child’s incompetence to meet the expectations.

“She jeopardized everything!” Wang Zemo repeated, his voice rising with each syllable. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table, the wood creaking under the pressure.

Xiaoli’s mother placed a calming hand on Wang Zemo’s shoulder, though her expression was one of thinly veiled panic.

“We need to stay calm,” she urged, her voice steady but strained. “Anger will not bring her back.” Wang Zemo shook off her hand, standing up abruptly.

He turned to the Lieutenant, his eyes narrowing. “What have you done to find her?”

The Lieutenant stammered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “We have mobilized all available men. We are taking every possible lead, and every contact she might have. But... but she has been very careful, sir. It is almost like she planned this way ahead..”

‘Of course she did,’ Xiaoli thought, feeling a mix of pride and sorrow for her sister. Y/N had always been meticulous and determined. She would not have run away on a whim; she would have made sure she had a solid plan.

“Not good enough,” Wang Zemo growled. “I want results. And I want them now—”

“Your fucking failure reflects on all of us!” 

Xiaoli could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but she blinked them back, refusing to show any weakness. She had to be strong, for her sister and for herself.

Xiaoli’s mother flinched at the vulgarity, her mask of composure slipping for just a moment. The Lieutenant’s face turned a shade paler, and he nodded vigorously, desperate to appease his furious boss.

“Father,” Xiaoli spoke up, her voice surprisingly firm. “Maybe we should consider why Y/N ran away. Forcing her back might just not be the answer.”

Wang Zemo’s eyes snapped to her, his expression one of disbelief mixed with anger. “Are you questioning me, Xiaoli?”

“No, Father,” she said quickly but then gathered her courage. “I just think... there must be a better way. Y/N is smart. She would not do this without a good reason. Maybe we should try to understand her, rather than just bring her back by force.” She rephrased herself.

A heavy silence filled the room, everyone waiting for Lǎodà’s reaction. He stared at Xiaoli for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice surprisingly calm but dangerously low.

“You do not have the same sinful intentions as your sister, daughter, right?”

“Of course not.” She forced a smile.

The conversation ended before it managed to even start. Xiaoli’s voice was never heard once she spoke up, and the most devastating was that not even her older sister could advise their father or her mother. The only woman that the hot-headed Wang Zemo ever listened to was their dear auntie, but she is no longer here to prevent him from the madness he is planning to do.

There is no one to make Wang Zemo see reason anymore.

The warm sun filtered through the slats of the stable, casting playful shadows across the hay-strewn floor. There he stood, at the very edge, her heart racing as she took in the sight of him. His strong form bent over one of the kladrubers, grooming the horse with gentle precision. Xiaoli quietly watched him from a distance, adored in tailored high-waisted trousers, in a rich earth tone, paired with a fitted, button-down shirt. His choice of leather riding boots suggests functionality and style, perfect for a day at the stables.

Xiaoli’s heart raced as she observed Kim Taehyung’s deft movements. She admired not just his looks but the quiet confidence he exuded—a stark contrast to the chaos of her family. His demeanour and interaction with his brothers.

They have been talking. 

Matter of fact, they have been talking daily. Sometimes from far away, it felt like they were talking more than casually. Xiaoli cherished the moments she spent with Taehyung, often finding solace in their conversations at the stables, sun room or dining hall.

They would talk about everything—his aspirations, her dreams, the horses they adored. He shared stories of his family’s dynamics, highlighting the playful banter with his brothers, while she opened up about the weight of her own familial expectations, carefully steering the discussions to remain light-hearted. But he noticed her dissatisfaction. 

Taehyung looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face, instantly lighting up his sharp features when he saw her standing near him.

“Hey there, angel” he said, his tone inviting, “Want to help?”

Xiaoli nodded, her pulse quickening. As she moved beside him, the connection sparked an unexpected flutter in her chest. There was something about him that felt safe, a reprieve from her tumultuous life.

Their fingers brushed as they reached for the grooming brush at the same time, and Taehyung chuckled softly.

“I don’t bite–”

Xiaoli’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed lightly, feeling an ease she had not known in ages. The playful banter continued, their laughter echoing softly against the stable walls, and for a moment, the weight of her family’s expectations and her father’s wrath slipped away.

“Would you give me the honour to accompany you riding today, angel?” Xiaoli hesitated, glancing down at her hands.

“I wish I could, Taehyung-sshi, but I cannot today—” Taehyung’s smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with understanding.

“What is the matter, dear?” Xiaoli bit her lip, avoiding his gaze.

“It is just... my father’s been on edge lately, and I don’t want to risk making things worse. Truth to be told, he is not very keen on spending my leisure time with you.”

Taehyung’s brow furrowed with concern, and he took a step closer, his voice softening.

“I do not fancy your father either, but he also does not fancy any of my clan.”

Xiaoli nodded, understanding the unspoken tension that simmered beneath their lighthearted exchanges. “I know, but that makes it all the more complicated.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “You deserve to enjoy yourself, regardless of what he thinks. Life is too short for shadows.” He mused.

“I know—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Spend it with me.” 

He said softly but rather abruptly, closing the distance between them. Her eyes searched for any signs of foul play but found none. Her breathing became shaky and her mind started to spin around all the scenarios that her father would be starring in as the villain. Xiaoli’s heart raced at his words, caught between desire and duty.

“What?—” She asked, shocked. Xiaoli took a deep breath, the weight of the moment heavy on her chest.

“Taehyung, I appreciate how you feel. I truly do. But I must be honest with you.” He tilted his head, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

“I think of you as a friend, someone…someone I can confide in, but…but nothing more,” she continued stammering, although her voice remained gentle. “With everything going on, I need to focus on my family and my responsibilities. I thought you understood that–”

Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, masking his disappointment and internal anger.

“Friends it is.” He said through gritted teeth. The moment hung in the air, tinged with unspoken emotions, yet Xiaoli felt a bittersweet relief wash over her. In a world where love could be both a luxury and a burden, she valued the connection they shared, however fleeting it was.

Unfortunately for her, Kim Taehyung’s intentions are rooted far too deep to be classified as friendship.

“Tomorrow, we shall go take this boy for a ride, what you say, angel?”

Taehyung’s voice dripped with a charm that both thrilled and unnerved her.

Xiaoli hesitated, a flicker of unease creeping into her heart. “I—”

“Come on, it shall be fun! Just you and me,” he urged, his eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and something deeper, something she couldn’t quite place.

She took a breath, sensing the weight of his expectations.

“Of course–”

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, the quiet ticking of a clock echoing in the background. She had written to Y/N again. Despite everything, despite the unspoken rules the Korean Kkangpae established - as per Taehyung’s words.

She had a strong feeling that something was going to go down the hill, and she expressed this in her plea letters to her sister who is being held in a place called the Sanctuary. Nobody ever knew where this place was hidden. Hidden from all those who wished for the downfall of the Min empire the scarred leader was extending slowly.

The words flowed onto the page, frantic and desperate - whatever happens, I shall not be able to control it. I feel like the choices will be taken away from me, dear sister.

But as she folded the paper, her heart ached. She had no idea if she could send it. No idea if she would ever be able to.

A soft knock at the door startled her, and before she could even respond, Taehyung entered, his presence filling the room like a storm. His sharp gaze immediately fell on the letters.

“We have talked about this, Xiaoli, you know that that is forbidden,” he asked, his voice smooth, almost too calm. The Taehyung she was seeing now was different from the one she met when she first laid foot onto the Min grounds. He has changed, and it was her rejection that led him to show his true colours to her.

Xiaoli’s heart skipped a beat. “I just wish to tell her I miss her,” she whispered, almost pleading. His hands quickly unfolded the paper she had laid in front of her, reading the words. That is when Xiaoli knew she was destined to be doomed.

“She is my sister, Taehyung. I cannot just abandon her like this.”

“You can,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “And you will for now. She needs to adjust to her life as Buin of this clan.”

Xiaoli’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening at the mention of Buin, the title that now belonged to her sister, the role that would tether Y/N even deeper to the Kkangpae.

“I can see that you are continuing this insanity that your dear sister exhibits too. Disobedience must be running in your family, but we shall change that soon.” 

Taehyung stepped closer, his presence engulfing her, the scent of his cologne overpowering the faint smell of the letter’s ink. His fingers brushed the paper on the desk, now crumpled and discarded, and Xiaoli’s breath hitched at the coldness in his touch.

“What are you talking about again Taehyung? I thought we were done speaking about this topic.” Taehyung’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the air thickening with the tension between them.

“I shall see you in the morning, and I hope that a good sleep will bring you to your senses.” He said, his voice lowering, a cold warning hanging in the silence. Xiaoli’s heart raced, a wave of frustration and helplessness flooding through her.

“I will not let you break me. No is a no—” she raised her voice when he was about to leave the room. She lifted her chin, refusing to back down.

“Nor will you break my sister, mark my words Kim Taehyung, and be sure to tell them to that leader of yours.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Taehyung’s lips curled into a cold smile.

“You love me, Xiaoli. You do—” his bold and explicit words sent a tidal wave through her body.

“The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can live without the weight of that foolishness.”

“Good morning, angel.”

Truth to be spoken, Xiaoli was afraid to not come and a part of her knew that he would have his way nonetheless. Today, she was determined to put an end to Kim Taehyung's attempts to groom her.

Before she could reply, Xiaoli felt his lips brushing against hers, soft yet demanding. The world around them faded, leaving only the warmth of their connection, the lingering tension of unspoken words. She found herself responding,telling herself, just this once, curiosity mingling with a twinge of fear. She did not understand what was happening. Did she not make her standing in their relationship clear last night? His vulgarity shocked her. 

The air was crisp and cool in November, a hint of frost glimmering on the ground as Xiaoli and Taehyung stood close in the stable, the warmth of their earlier kiss lingering like a sweet echo. The horses shifted in their stalls, unaware of the tension that had just shifted between the two of them.

The next moment, she was observing his muscular hands saddling the horse for her, still not understanding what happened. Too shocked to speak, to even comment or reply good morning to him.

Taehyung’s posture was relaxed, but beneath the surface, an insidious obsession twisted within him. He guided his horse closer to hers, a gleam in his eye that hinted at the darkness lurking beneath his charming façade.

“Have you thought about my proposal, my beloved?” He asked, curious. His proposal was rather sudden and the change in him very obvious. He was not hiding his feelings for her anymore. At least that is how he perceived the situation.

“Taehyung,-” she called out softly, watching as he approached, his breath misting in the cold air. His usual confident stride seemed tempered by the season’s sombre beauty.

“I am not sure if I can fully embrace this. I told you so–” she admitted, her gaze unwavering. He lifted his eyesight to meet hers. Taehyung, mounted on his sleek black horse, maintained a close pace beside Xiaoli, who rode a chestnut mare. The crisp air was filled with the sounds of hoofbeats crunching through the snow.

“Do you feel that?” Taehyung asked, his breath visible in the frosty air. “It is as if the world is ours alone.”

Xiaoli glanced at him, warmth blooming in her chest. “Nature is certainly beautiful,” she replied, the thrill of the ride mixing with the tension that still lingered after their kiss.

“Just like you,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making her heart race. “I want to share moments like this with you forever.”

“Taehyung…” She whispered, her disapproval evident in her voice.

“Xiaoli, beloved—” he said, voice smooth yet edged with intensity, “imagine a life where you belong to me, where no one can take you away. You would never have to worry about your father or anyone else. Just us.” His smile was wide, but there was a predator’s hunger behind it.

“Did we not share good times together, angel?” She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, feeling the weight of his gaze.

“Taehyung, this is not what I want. I already have obligations—” 

He interrupted, his tone sharpening.

“I can become your obligation, would you not fancy that over marrying a stranger?” He stressed out.

“We have our lives, our families, and that kiss—”

“Was it not real, my dear?” he interrupted, a spark of frustration flashing in his eyes.

“Uncalled for!” She raised her voice.

“You cannot just kiss me, Taehyung, we talked about us being friends just yesterday, did we not?” she said, trying to find the right words. Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging the weight of her words.

But as they rode deeper into the woods, Xiaoli could not shake the feeling that something had shifted—not just between her and Taehyung, but within herself. The kiss replayed in her mind, its intensity causing her to question her feelings.

The snowflakes swirled around them, creating an enchanting atmosphere that felt almost dreamlike. But beneath the surface, Xiaoli knew this was not going to end well for her.

“Is this yet another strategic move of your Kkangpae?” She blurted out. Taehyung’s expression darkened at her words, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more intense.

“And if it is?” he cut in, anger and hurt lacing his tone. “I am offering you everything, and you are turning me down for what? Some semblance of duty?”

“The future I want does not include you!” she cried, her voice trembling. They cannot be friends, she has decided that it will be better to lose him than fall in line. The reality of their situation hung heavily between them, each word slicing deeper than the last.

“You do not have to part with your sister ever again!” Her mind stops for a fleeting moment, thinking about this for some peculiar proposal.

“You think this will make me fall in love with you, do you not?” she spat, the bitterness on her tongue sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

His lips curled into a cold, controlled smile, the kind of smile that made her skin crawl. “Love,” he murmured, getting closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “Love will come, in time. Whether you want it or not.”

Her body tensed, every fibre of her being fighting against the reality of it all. This is not love, she thought, her mind screaming with the agony of the truth.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, a mix of desperation and determination flaring within them. “You do not even know what you want yet, Xiaoli. You are running from a feeling that can change everything–”

“You make me feel alive,” he continued, searching her eyes for understanding.

“Taehyung, I cannot—” her tears spilt over, her voice losing its power.

“Just trust me,” he urged, his fingers brushing her arm. “Give in.”

“What are you—”

In a swift motion, he pushed his horse forward, pressing against her side. Xiaoli instinctively jerked her reins, trying to regain control. The sudden jolt sent her horse rearing back, and she lost her balance, falling hard to the ground. Pain exploded in her head as it connected with the earth, a sharp crack reverberating in the stillness around them.

Taehyung dismounted swiftly, panic lacing his features for a fleeting moment that luck was not on his side, that she fell harder than he wanted her to. But before you could blink it was all replaced by a chilling calmness.

“Everything shall be alright, my beloved. I shall make it all better,” he murmured, his voice soft yet chillingly possessive.

“I love you.”

The world spun into a blur of pain and darkness, Xiaoli’s last coherent thought was the cold touch of Taehyung’s hand, his voice a chilling promise in her ear.

When she woke, her head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the snowy forest. The room was sterile, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptics. Her body felt restrained, bound to a cold, metal table. Panic surged through her veins as she struggled to move, but the restraints held firm.

Blinking slowly, she tried to make sense of her surroundings, the sterile white walls closing in on her. Kim Seokjin, one of the seven, stood at the foot of the bed, his face an unreadable mask. Dressed in a pristine white coat, he exuded an unsettling calmness. The tools of his trade lay meticulously arranged on a nearby table.

Xiaoli knew that he was the family’s doctor, but she did not understand what she was doing in his practice.

“Doctor Kim... what am I doing here?" Her voice was a fragile whisper when she addressed the older male, barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

He approached her slowly, his eyes cold and clinical. “There is no need to be afraid, dear. I will make it all better for you now.”

Strapped to the bed, Xiaoli’s attempts to move were futile. Panic surged through her veins as Seokjin prepared the instruments, his movements deliberate and precise. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the horror of her situation sinking in with every passing second.

“Is this what you did to your fiancée?!” Xiaoli remembers the talks of the young female kicking and screaming any moment she had the chance to, just to make it harder for Doctor Kim in public, making everybody know that she was here against her will.

Seokjin paused, a flicker of emotion crossing his otherwise stoic face. For a brief moment, his eyes softened, memories perhaps surfacing in his mind. But the moment was fleeting, replaced quickly by his professional detachment.

“Her thoughts were just as confused as yours,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But in the end, it was necessary. For her, and for us.”

The drastic change in her demeanour did not go unnoticed, yet everybody chose to ignore that, calling it her “enlightenment.”

Xiaoli’s heart raced faster, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. “No, please. You do not have to do this. I can... I can leave. I shall not tell anyone that this ever happened.”

“You would leave your dear older sister here when we are offering you life within our ranks?”

His words struck a nerve, the mention of her sister pulling at Xiaoli’s deepest fears. “My sister…,” she stammered, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She couldn’t abandon her, but she couldn’t accept this twisted fate either. Y/N would want her to fight this.

Seokjin’s eyes hardened, his patience thinning. “This is not a negotiation, Xiaoli. Your sister is safe, and she will remain so as long as you comply.”

In that unfortunate situation, Xiaoli did not know that there was no way that they would do something to Y/N, how could they? She ought to be the queen of them all. They cannot risk it going the wrong way.

A sob escaped her lips, the weight of her predicament crashing down on her. “Please, Doctor Kim. There must be another way.”

“You sound just like her. Your pleas are almost identical—” Seokjin’s expression softened, but only slightly.

“There is not. This is for your own good and for the good of the family. You will understand in time that Taehyung-sshi is the best thing that could ever come your way, child.”

Xiaoli’s tears flowed freely as Seokjin moved closer, the cold metal of his instruments glinting under the harsh lights. Her mind raced, searching for any possible escape, but the reality of her situation was inescapable.

“Please...,” she whispered one last time, her voice breaking.

Seokjin’s hand rested gently on her forehead, a mockery of comfort. “Hush now, Xiaoli. It will all be over soon.”

As the procedure began, Xiaoli’s cries echoed in the sterile room, a haunting symphony of despair. “Please...,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I cannot do this.”

Seokjin approached her with a syringe in hand, his expression one of detached professionalism. The needle glinted ominously in the harsh light, a harbinger of the nightmare to come. “This will help you relax,” he said, his tone clinical and devoid of empathy.

Xiaoli’s heart pounded in her chest as the needle pierced her skin, a sharp sting that quickly gave way to a spreading numbness. Her vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting and swaying as the sedative took hold. Despite the fog settling over her mind, the panic continued to surge through her veins.

As the sedative dulled her senses, Xiaoli’s thoughts became fragmented, and disjointed. Memories of her childhood with Y/N flashed before her eyes, moments of laughter and love now tainted by the fear of losing herself. She tried to cling to those memories, to hold on to the essence of who she was, but they slipped through her fingers like sand.

“Why are you even doing this?” she managed to murmur, her voice slurred by the sedative. “Please... I will do anything...”

“Because you were not ready to accept his love and the love of this clan, my dear,” Seokjin replied, his voice eerily calm. Xiaoli’s thoughts grew increasingly disjointed, a chaotic jumble of fear, pain, and fragmented memories.

Seokjin’s voice broke through the haze, a steady drone that contrasted sharply with the chaos in her mind. “You will be better soon. You will see things clearly and understand your place.”

“Pray for your sister to not need this.”  Xiaoli’s mind shut down in a desperate bid for self-preservation. The last thing she saw was Taehyung’s face, his expression a mixture of triumph and possession before everything faded to black.

Her head was secured tightly after she lost consciousness,  Seokjin carefully lifted her upper eyelid, exposing the soft tissue beneath. The point of entry is the thin, bony orbital roof, a structure that protects the eye within its socket. He is trying to do this without having to opt for the leucotome method.

Inserting the slender leucotome, just above the eyeball he severed the white matter fibres of her prefrontal cortex, methodically disconnecting the very essence of her thoughts and emotions, enough to just reorganize her persona into something she was not. Less capable of resistance, less capable to decide for herself.

“This better work, Seokjin, I cannot lose her.” His words cut through the air, a desperate plea as his gaze fixed on Xiaoli’s still form. She had to come back as the woman he wanted—obedient, loyal, bound to him in every way.

Nobody would ever notice. After all, Xiaoli was never opposed to being a wife of a high profile mafia member in comparison to her sister.

Her thoughts, her dreams, her fears—all of them slipping away, restructured, reshaped. The woman Taehyung had demanded would emerge from this, but at what cost?

Xiaoli would no longer fight him. She would no longer question him. In time, she would look to him, and him alone, for purpose.

Her body would heal; the bruising would fade, and the scar on her scalp would eventually blend, after all, everybody will think that it needed to be done after her unfortunate fall from the horse.

“If not, I will do it on the other side too, but that is risky” Seokjin murmured, but even he wasn’t sure if he believed it. Doing it with only one side was just as risky. The woman she had been might not return, but the woman Taehyung desired most certainly would.

“Why?” Taeyhung voiced. 

“You do not want her to be a vegetable, do you?” 

Xiaoli, the girl who would fight for her sister to be free of the notorious Korean Kkangpae Min, would cease to exist.

The rest would simply be a matter of time.

The next time she wished to write to her sister, innocently, Taehyung’s hand shot out, swiftly taking hold of the letters and ripping them from her grasp before she could finish her sentence. The paper fluttered to the floor, torn and lifeless.

“You cannot write to her, Xiaoli,” he said, each word deliberate. Xiaoli could not shake off the familiarity of this moment. As if she was reliving something from before.

“You belong here now, with me, love. You owe everything to this clan. To me.”

Her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to hold onto the fragments of herself that still fought to resist. “Alright, I understand.”

“She is safe,” he said, his voice cold and final, “and if she is to remain so, she will need to embrace her new life, just as you will. You will have no more distractions, no more ties to the past. Your sister will adjust, just like you did.”

She was a shell that smiled when expected, nodded in approval when necessary, and followed Taehyung’s every command without question. She was no longer a woman who sought freedom for her sister, who fought against the weight of the world. No, she was now simply his—his to guide, to possess, to mould into the role that had been chosen for her.

The pain of her sister’s struggle was no longer her burden to bear, not when she had been given a new, more fitting role to play. She belonged here now, she understood that—at least, she told herself she did. The clan had welcomed her with open arms, and Taehyung’s presence was both commanding and comforting. He was the anchor to her existence now, and she had no choice but to submit, for it was the only life she had left.

The day of their wedding arrived, the final step in the transformation of Xiaoli into the woman she had been shaped to be. The air was thick with anticipation, the ornate halls of the family compound dressed in rich colours, the scent of incense mingling with the opulence of the setting. Guests, powerful men and women from every corner of the clan gathered in hushed reverence, all eyes on the bride as she stepped into the room.

The silk fabric, lustrous ivory, was adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to dance in the flickering light, each thread whispering secrets of elegance and heritage. Her attire was simple yet breathtaking—a testament to timeless beauty. Even though it tinged Y/N with sadness that her sister chose to wear a Korean wedding dress instead of showing off their culture. It seemed that they even took the country out of her too.

The ceremony was a blur, just like everything else. The vows, the prayers, the promises—they all felt distant, detached. There was no room for anything more. Not when her thoughts, her emotions, had been so carefully erased, so perfectly reshaped to fit this role. She loved him, because she was told to do so.

As they left the altar together, Taehyung’s hand around hers, there was a finality to the moment that left her breathless. The gold band on her finger, heavy with meaning, designed with filigree — an oval, dark red ruby sat at its centre, glowing with an almost ominous warmth.

She glanced upon her sister sitting next to her husband once the ceremony was almost at its end. Her hand was sliced with a knife, Y/N, now the Min Buin, watched in silence, her expression unreadable. Xiaoli saw only the coldness of a woman who had embraced her new role.

She recited her pledge of loyalty to them and Y/N could not help herself but sigh. She could not reverse Xiaoli’s fate. The girl she knew was long gone and the woman she became was not who Y/N knew. Although, that will not make her love her less.

Her gaze flickered to Xiaoli, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or guilt—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Xiaoli’s bloodied trembling hand remained pressed against Y/N’s belly, a symbol of sacrifice, for what was to come. Y/N looked at her for a long moment before her hands gripped Xiaoli’s to reassure her for the last time that she was here. Min Yoongi’s watchful eyes did not miss this slight change in both of them, but for now, he is determined to let it slip. 

“Blessed be the fruit of your future legacy, Kkangpae Min.”

“Lǎodà Wang wishes to speak to you, Min Buin.” Y/N has set down the cup of her today’s dose of the herbal tea and breathed in, frustrated. She sat there for a moment longer, staring at the delicate ceramic cup.

“You can tell him what you usually do, Xiu — he can schedule an audience with me whilst my husband is present—” she began. Her voice was steady, but tinged with the faintest thread of frustration as she glanced at the delicate ceramic cup in front of her. The soft scent of the herbal tea filled the air, but it couldn’t soothe the growing unease tightening in her chest.

Xiu was her father’s maid since she was a child, hence she hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. “Min Buin, this matter seems urgent. Lǎodà Wang insists on seeing you alone.”

“I have no interest in seeing him alone, Xiu—” She had kept her distance from him ever since her marriage to Yoongi.She did not protest when his command was to limit the interaction between the father and the sisters.

“I must insist, Min Buin.” Xiu repeated, her voice calm but firm. It was rare for Xiu to speak with such authority, but there was something in her demeanour that suggested the urgency of this matter was not to be ignored.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her thoughts spinning. “Alright, tell him to meet me in Kkangpae’s office. Off you go.”

Xiu bowed her head slightly, her expression unreadable, and then turned to leave the room without a word. Y/N watched her go, her mind whirling with unease. The mention of Lǎodà Wang was enough to unsettle her, but the insistence on meeting alone only deepened her suspicion. There was something off about this, something she couldn’t quite place.

Once Xiu disappeared from her sight, Y/N rose from her seat and walked toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds of the hotel.

Why now? Why is her father so desperate to speak with her alone?

Xiaoli and Taehyung have been wed and there is no tie to him now. As a matter of fact, he can set a sail back to China, anytime now. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was slipping away.

She moved to gather herself for the meeting with her father. The weight of everything she had set in motion was starting to press on her, but she couldn’t let it show—not yet. She needed her mind sharp and clear, and she had no time to waste. But Y/N could see the sharpness in her sister’s eyes as she hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“What is it, pumpkin?” Y/N’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of frustration and unease was evident.

“Are you sure you are ready to do this now?”

Y/N finally turned to face her, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. She studied her sister for a moment, taking in the subtle shift in Xiaoli’s demeanour, the way her posture had become more rigid as if she too could feel the weight of the coming confrontation. Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Are you?” Xiaoli hesitated, but nodded, solemnly.

“I can come with you,” she suggested. Y/N’s gaze softened for just a moment.

“No,” Y/N said firmly, her voice steady. “This is not your burden, Xiaoli.”

Xiaoli nodded slowly, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “But it is, innit?” She stepped forward, her voice dropping to a murmur. “This is everyone’s fight. He has always been able to divide us,—”

The truth of it was there in her words, but she refused to acknowledge the vulnerability creeping up her spine. She could not afford to waver.

“Everything will be okay, pumpkin—” Y/N gave a final, lingering glance to her sister.

“—Ha-sun?” She called. The soft sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway before the door creaked open revealing the young maid.

“Min Buin?”

Y/N didn’t turn immediately, her eyes still fixed on the sprawling grounds below, though her thoughts were far from the peaceful view.

“Get me Jeon Jungkook, armed.” Ha-sun’s eyes widened slightly at the command, but she nodded quickly, understanding the gravity in Y/N’s tone.

“And call for Kkangpae Min, say he needs to return at once.”

Without a word, she turned and left the room, her footsteps retreating down the hall.

The situation when Xiaoli and Taehyung got engaged was already volatile, but this—this felt like something else entirely. The tension was palpable, thick with layers of unspoken threats and promises.

Y/N moved toward the door, ready to face her father, Xiaoli’s voice suddenly stopped her in her tracks.

“Wait,” Xiaoli called out, standing up from the chair where she had been sitting. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and amusement as she eyed her sister’s outfit.

Xiaoli walked up to her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you seriously wearing trousers?” she asked, her tone dripping with incredulity. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her patience already stretched thin.

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

Xiaoli crossed her arms, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. “It is just… you are about to face the wrath of Lǎodà Wang, and you are wearing pants? Is it not a little… aggressive?”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as she straightened her posture, her expression shifting to one of mock seriousness.

“I am about to go confront the man who ruined our lives for years, Xiaoli. Trust me, these pants are the least of his problems.”

“What does a father have to do to see his daughter here?!” Y/N’s jaw tightened.

“I assume you have a reason for requesting to be in my presence.”

The air was thick with tension, the scent of aged wood and leather mingling with the faint traces of Yoongi’s cologne lingering in the corners.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, the shelves packed with legal documents, expensive liquor bottles, and the occasional framed photograph of her and the Min clan family men. But tonight, it was the man in front of her that commanded all her attention.

Her father, Wang Zemo, stood at the far end of the room, facing the large mahogany desk where Yoongi usually worked. He was still as imposing as ever—his tall, broad frame overshadowing the delicate space, his dark eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite read.

He turned to face her short form only for his eyes to narrow with disbelief.

“What is this?” His voice was sharp. Y/N met his gaze, standing her ground, confused at what exactly her father was referring to.

She stood in the doorway, an almost ethereal figure, wearing a beige, floral-print qipao with short sleeves and a high collar. The delicate embroidery on the fabric caught the light, its intricate petals whispering a grace that felt both foreign to her now but still strangely familiar. Her wide-leg, high-waisted brown trousers fell to her ankles, the fabric swaying as she shifted. Dark-coloured heels clicked lightly on the floor, sharp and deliberate. There was something about her—bold, beautiful, yet undeniably out of place.

“What do you mean?” She asked him, playing confused.

“Are you wearing goddamn trousers, Y/N?!” The air was thick with the weight of her father’s fury. Y/N felt the sting of his words, the disbelief in his eyes cutting deeper than she expected. Seems like Xiaoli was right after all, it did anger him.

“Yes, Father,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the sharpness in his tone. “I am wearing trousers.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered toward the desk, where Yoongi’s chair was empty, his absence adding to the heaviness in the air. She felt the weight of her father’s presence pressing on her, but she refused to let it show.

There was no longer any room for fear. She was no longer a child, nor his pawn.

“You are a woman, Y/N.” Y/N stood firm, her heart racing. Breathing this moment through, she was trying to calm herself. She cannot screw this up.

“Ah, yes, thank you for the reminder of my gender, Father. I almost forgot. Now, could you please enlighten me on the real reason you wanted to have this delightful conversation in the first place?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened as Y/N’s words cut through the air with a little bit of sarcasm. Her father didn’t immediately answer. The room seemed to grow smaller with each second.

“You have not once bothered to seek me out, child.” Wang Zemo finally said, his voice low and filled with a mixture of disappointment and anger.

“You have not exactly made yourself approachable,” Y/N retorted, her voice sharp when she touched her shorter perfectly styled dark hair.

Wang Zemo took a step forward, his expression darkening.

“Knowing your husband plans to eliminate my existence. You think I would be easily approachable?—”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face impassive. “I do not know what we are talking about.”

“Let me rephrase that, child,” he spat the words, “I have information that could dismantle the foolish scarred boy’s entire empire as I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

Her mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of his words. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know that you have not fallen into the role of obedient little wife out of love for him, am I wrong?” he said, sloping down to sit on the lowered sofa. Y/N’s eyes followed his movement with disgust.

“Fix me a drink, child, would you, please.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides but moved to the table where Yoongi stored his high-quality whiskey they started to produce just after they got married. “You haven’t answered my question, Father. Why are you telling me this?”

She did not want to get that close to her father, but there was something in his eyes that she could not decipher when she handed him the crystal glass.

“Your Aunt was not aware of Yoongi’s intentions to marry you.”

Wang Zemo expected her daughter to cry, scream and curse at the man he loathed so much. But none of that happened.

“He saw an opportunity to solidify his power and took it—” His eyes narrowed, studying her. He took a long sip of the whiskey, savouring the taste after receiving zero acknowledgement from his daughter before he spoke.

“You fucking knew!” He shouted, not spoke. His face contorted with rage and Y/N started to think if she ever saw her father calm. Y/N’s gaze remained steady, unflinching.

“I knew that, yes,” she replied calmly, not invested in the subject at all anymore.

Wang Zemo’s anger seemed to deflate slightly, replaced by a look of bewilderment. “And you still went through with it?”

“I never had a choice in this, did I?” Y/N’s expression softened, but only for a moment.

“You could have come home with me that day—” He shook his head, disbelief etched into his features.

“I wanted better for you,” he said quietly.

“And I wanted to be free,” she countered. “But we do not always get what we want.”

Y/N watched her father, seeing him not as the invincible patriarch she had once feared, but as a man weakened by time and circumstance.

“If that is all you wished to say to me,—” She dusted her trousers standing up, reading herself for the inevitable. 

“I have orchestrated the raids on Yoongi’s warehouses. I have been systematically weakening his operations.”

He said, very calmly after he took a first sip of his drink.

“I did it for you.”

Rage and fear clashed within her, but she kept her voice steady. “What a lovely early birthday present,-” She mocked him.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, leaning back, the drink sloshing slightly in his hand. “For our family and for you, you are ready to finally leave, are you not?—”

She stared at him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow washing over her. “You think this is helping me? You think this chaos is what I need?”

A violent cough shook his frame, and he covered his mouth with a handkerchief. When he pulled it away, Y/N saw the dark stain of blood. The sight sent a chill down her spine, but she forced herself to remain composed. That is her que.

“You are ill,” she said, her voice softer but no less guarded. Wang Zemo looked at her, a strange mixture of defiance and vulnerability in his eyes.

“Colon cancer, they say.” Wang Zemo’s laugh was bitter. “That boy is never going to lead my men. Let me make that clear.”

Wang Zemo’s words hung in the air, his bitter laugh echoing in the room. Y/N’s heart pounded as she processed his statement. The implications were immense, the threat unmistakable.

“Father,” she began, her voice steady but edged with urgency.

“He has taken you from me,” Wang Zemo interrupted, his voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. Y/N’s eyes widened hearing this nonsense.

“He has poisoned your mind, turned you against your own family.” His eyes flashed with anger, but his coughing fit cut him short. Blood speckled the handkerchief again, a stark reminder of his fragile state.

“I want you to end him, Y/N” Wang Zemo reached out, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength. She pulled her hand away, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

“No, Father. I will not be a part of your uncalled for vendetta.” The moment hung between them, filled with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

Y/N shook her head, her hands trembling slightly as she clenched them into fists. “You are blinded by your hatred. I have no clue why you were seeking this conversation to happen, but it is clear that you are not in the right state of mind, so let me remind you of what father you have been.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but another violent cough seized him. Y/N took a step back, her heart a tumult of emotions—pity, anger, sorrow.

“You were never there for me,” she continued, her voice steady but charged with years of suppressed pain. “All my life, you used me as a pawn in your endless power games. Do you think this is about loyalty? Family? No, Father, this is about control. You never saw me as your daughter, only as a tool.”

Her father’s gaze hardened, but he said nothing, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. Y/N took a deep breath, her resolve hardening.

“You have hired the best tutors in the world to teach me all the proper ploys of how to be a perfect wife, —” Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her voice remained unwavering.

“You made sure I could speak five languages, play the piano, and host dinners that would impress dignitaries. But did you ever once ask me what I wanted? Did you ever care about my dreams, my desires?”

“No, it was Auntie who did. Letting her send me to study was the only good decision you have ever made in your life!” Wang Zemo’s breath grew shallower, his complexion paling. But Y/N pressed on, refusing to let him off the hook.

“You orchestrated my marriage to Yamamato as a business transaction and when it did not work out, you were forced to accept this union instead. But I am no fool, Father, you did not care about my happiness then, and you certainly do not care now!” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.

“You have hit me numerous times when I was a child,—” Y/N continued, her voice trembling with the weight of her suppressed pain.

“You did not care if Ma would die in labour, all you cared about was an heir to your throne.”

Wang Zemo’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and desperation. “I did what I had to do for our family. For our legacy. For your strength!”

“Please, do not force yourself to believe such a fairytale. No father, you only care about your alliances and power. And now, you expect me to betray the man who has shown me more kindness than you ever did?”

“I will kill that kindness of yours. He will become a nobody to you. He is putting thoughts into your head!” he spat out.

Y/N’s heart ached as she looked at her father, a man who had caused her so much pain yet still sought to manipulate her until his last breath. She knew she had a choice to make.

“You did not even visit Auntie when she was dying. Who the fuck are you?” His mouth opened, but the words seemed to get stuck, tangled in the reality that was slipping away from him.

“You were never my father—” Y/N’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, the words more final than she had ever intended. They carried years of hurt, of unspoken resentment, and of a truth she had been too afraid to acknowledge until now.

“Then why are you still here talking to me?” he spat, his anger rising, even as his body weakened. “If you despise me so much, why haven’t you walked away?” Y/N’s gaze hardened. He couldn’t reach her anymore, not with threats, not with manipulation. She had outgrown him.

“Because I want to be the last thing you will ever see.”

Y/N’s voice was cold, each syllable a sharp strike that left no room for misinterpretation. Wang Zemo’s eyes widened, his lips parting in disbelief. The power in the room shifted as the finality of her declaration settled over them.

“What have you done?” his tone lowered now, as if the weight of the question had finally struck him.

“Nothing,—” Y/N’s lips curled into a cold smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet, at least. But I am the niece of my aunt, am I not?” Wang Zemo’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” he rasped, his voice a warning. Scanning the crystal glass with his dark eyes, “You have done nothing with it. You are playing games.”

“Maybe, or maybe not.” Y/N’s smile deepened, though it was anything but warm. “But you… You have done more than enough to seal your own fate.”

Wang Zemo’s hand gripped the arm of the chair as if the world was slipping from his grasp. His eyes searched hers, looking for some sign of weakness, some flicker of the daughter he once knew. But there was nothing.

“You cannot do this to me, not you—” he rasped, his voice cracking with the desperation of a man who had finally realized the price of his ambition. “You are my blood… You owe me.”

“I do not, but I will help you understand, now—” Y/N’s voice was steady, her words slicing through the tension like a blade.

“You will regret this! I was your ticket out of here!” Y/N’s gaze remained unflinching, as cold as the steel in her voice. She stepped closer, her presence a stark contrast to his fragile state, standing tall and unshaken. The difference between them had never been clearer.

“I would not care what happens with you, but it seems my husband does care, as you ought to set an example for the other clans.”

“This is foul play!” The gun trembled in his grip as he pointed it toward her, the barrel glinting in the dim light. His fingers curled around the trigger, the same fingers that had once held her as a child, now threatening to take everything from her.

“I was your father," Wang Zemo rasped, his voice cracking,”I am your father!” Sweat slicked his forehead, "and you will learn that I can still control you."

Y/N sighed. Her chest rose and fell as if the weight of everything she had just unleashed was pressing down on her. She had always carried this burden, this gnawing needs to free herself from the ghosts of her past, or at least one of them.

“I will not go quietly,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “If I must die, I will take you with me.”

“Right,—” she began.

“I will give you the courtesy and explain what will happen once you pull the trigger.”

Wang Zemo’s hand shook, the gun wavering slightly in his grasp, the tension in the air thick enough to choke. His eyes locked onto Y/N, desperate for any sign that she still cared, still feared him. But there was nothing—no hint of hesitation, no flicker of remorse. She stood there, unbroken, unwavering, her presence almost suffocating in its certainty.

“To begin, if you would have colon cancer, you would shit blood not cough it.” Wang Zemo’s face contorted with confusion. Her statement was so cold, so clinically delivered, that it sent a ripple of unease through his body.

“Now, if you decide to pull the trigger and God gives you the blessing of killing me—” Y/N continued, her tone now a chilling blend of indifference and precision “Yoongi will let you die the most painful and slow death he will think of.” Her gaze flicked downward to the gun in his hand, then back to his face.

“No, it will not be a quick, merciful death, Father. It will be something far worse—a lingering agony that mirrors the suffering you have caused so many others.”

She took another step closer, her voice lowering, a deadly quietness to it now.

“Now, the moment you fire the bullet, Jungkook will be here in seconds to save me, not you Father. Which brings us to — how do you feel?” Her voice lowered, venomous and precise “Is your heart slowing down already?”

His hand shook violently, the weapon trembling in his grasp, as he tried to process the suffocating inevitability of her presence. She took another deliberate step forward, and Zemo flinched, instinctively trying to recoil. But his body betrayed him, frozen by the terror of what her words meant.

“I am not afraid of you!” Y/N was not sure whether he was screaming at her or at death itself, but she answered for both of them.

“No, Father. You are not afraid of me. But you will be. You are drowning in your own failure, suffocated by your own decisions. And in those final moments, when your body betrays you and the darkness takes you, I want you to think of me. I want you to remember everything you have done to me, Xiaoli and Ma — every mistake, every cruelty. And remember that I am the last thing you will see.”

The words hit him with the force of a blow, and his chest tightened, each breath coming in shallow gasps. His vision blurred, his pulse racing as his mind struggled to catch up with the impossible reality Y/N was laying out before him.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, and his fingers trembled, the gun feeling heavier with each passing second. His heart hammered in his chest, a staccato rhythm that felt far too loud in the heavy silence. He could feel the walls closing in on him, suffocating him.

And then, a flicker of fear—a glimpse of his own mortality—crept into his mind, deeper than any threat he had ever made. His body was betraying him, and the weight of it crushed him.

“You will go down, no matter what choice you will make.” The gun still shook in his hand, but he felt a strange calm wash over him, a resignation that he had not expected.

His heart pounded in his chest, its rhythm erratic and violent, each beat a forceful thud that seemed to rattle his bones. A sharp pain shot through his left arm, searing like fire, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. His head swam with dizziness, his surroundings distorting into a tunnel of panic and suffocating pressure.

His grip on the weapon tightened reflexively, but his fingers felt weak and unsteady, struggling to maintain their hold as the world spun around him. The pressure in his chest mounted, a crushing weight that made it harder to breathe, and harder to think. His pulse quickened, each beat faster than the last, pounding in his temples, in his throat, until it felt as though it might burst.

His vision flickered, darkening at the edges, and a cold sweat broke out across his brow, his skin clammy as if he were sinking into the very depths of despair. His mind, once sharp and calculating, was clouded by the chaos of his body betraying him.

“You think you are clever, but you are just a wife of your husband, a mere woman!” Those last few words felt all too familiar to Y/N, but this time, she did not falter.

“Women like you do not rise, they only serve men. You think you are the queen?! What is a queen without her king?!”

“You have never been worthy of my respect, Father,” she said softly, the venom still present but tempered with the quiet certainty of someone who had finally reclaimed their power. 

“And you will not be in death either.”

His finger trembled on the trigger. The finality of it felt overwhelming, and suffocating, but there was no turning back. With a final breath, Wang Zemo attempted to pull the trigger. His hands were too weak to even handle the luger pistol as it went crashing to the ground with a loud thud, just like his crystal glass of whiskey, his body followed. The sound echoed through the room, alerting the young man standing right outside of the room.

The man who had once towered over her now crumpled at her feet, the gun useless at his side. She made no move to comfort, no gesture of sorrow or regret.

Instead, she slipped her hands into her pockets, her shoulders square, as she slowly crouched beside him. His breath still came in shallow gasps, each exhale a reminder that time, for him, was running out.

Her lips curled into a faint, cold smile.

“Nonetheless, I am Queen, and Queens do not bow, Father. They conquer.”

Y/N did not flinch. She did not need to. The man before her had already destroyed himself, in mind and in body, long before this moment had the chance to happen.

The door swung fully open, and there, framed in the doorway, stood the man she was supposed to call her endgame. Behind him, Jungkook’s sharp eyes flickered between Y/N and the wreckage of her father.

Yoongi’s gaze swept over Y/N, and then to her father. The faintest trace of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was gone in an instant, replaced with the steely composure he had mastered. His dark eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.

“Are you alright, Dove?”

A strange calm settled over Y/N whilst she was watching her father slowly die.

“I am good,” she replied, her voice steady and unyielding, “but he is not.”

Yoongi stepped closer, his eyes filled with a mix of concern but also admiration.

“Did you poison him?” Jungkook’s voice echoed behind them. Y/N turned her gaze to Jungkook, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“No,—” she said softly, “I just made him think I did.” Yoongi raised an eyebrow. When he got an urgent call to one of his warehouses where he was personally overseeing the shipment of Min whiskey with hidden snow in the bottles, he did not expect to come back to the hotel to this scenery. His mind raced through the events of this day and nowhere not even close to this, he thought that his wife would eliminate Wang Zemo on her own. That was not the plan.

Y/N knew that his father was sick for a while, but what she also knew was the hereditary condition of a weak heart that flows in their family. It was a silent killer, a ticking time bomb that Y/N had learnt to exploit. 

First, she made him think that she had poisoned him, his panic was almost immediate. She exploited his fear and turned it into a panic attack which his heart condition could not handle for a long time. His belief that he was poisoned triggered a fatal heart attack she had anticipated - hoped for. She exploited his psychological vulnerabilities to bring about his end, ensuring that the autopsy would say died of natural causes.

Jungkook nodded slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to admiration.

“You used his own mind against him.” Yoongi stepped closer, his gaze locked on Y/N, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride in her. She had done what was necessary, what was ruthless, but ultimately, she had done what needed to be done. For him. That is what he ultimately believed, she did it for him.

“He knew you were planning to kill him.” She wasn’t looking for approval or some sort of acknowledgement. She did it for herself. For Xiaoli. For her mother and little brother. The world will be at least a tiny peace better without her father.

“Well, it looks like I have missed the party,” She hadn’t heard him approach. Namjoon’s voice resonated the room, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes taking in the scene with a mixture of curiosity and something else—perhaps a flicker of reluctant approval.

Y/N didn’t smile back. She didn’t need to. She knew Namjoon well enough to understand that his words, however casual, were never without layers. He wasn’t just commenting on the spectacle of her father’s death; he was acknowledging something deeper. Something far more dangerous.

“Did you?” Y/N’s voice was cool, and smooth, as she turned her full attention to him, her eyes sharp with intent.

Namjoon chuckled softly, his gaze flickering from her to Yoongi, and then to Jungkook, who was still processing the events unfolding before him.

“I suppose I did,” Namjoon said, his tone tinged with dark humour, “this is far more elegant than what we would do,” his eyes flickered to Yoongi and she arched her brow. Y/N was not enlightened into Yoongi’s plan with her father but that did not matter to her - the outcome is the same. Today, she would sleep soundly. Because her most intrusive thoughts are becoming reality.

She knew Yoongi’s eyes were on her, studying her every movement, every nuance of her demeanour. He had expected her to break down—expected her to show some sign of regret, or at least the weight of the moment to sink in. But Y/N had made peace with this long ago.

“I did not expect you to be this calm,” Yoongi said, his voice low, almost cautious.

“I buried him a long time ago.” The words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.

Jungkook, who had been silently absorbing the entire scene, finally broke his silence. His voice was quieter, less sure than usual.

“So, this... this was not part of any plan?” He looked to Yoongi for confirmation, still processing the revelation that Y/N had acted independently, that she had outmanoeuvred them all.

Yoongi met his gaze briefly, a subtle tension in his features, before turning his focus back to Y/N.

“No. It was not the plan.” He said it with finality, though his words seemed to hang in the air with an unspoken understanding. There was no anger in his voice—only a sort of resigned acceptance.

Namjoon, however, seemed to find something else amusing in the air. His lips curled into a smirk, his gaze flicking over Y/N as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes paused at the hem of her outfit, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

“Hold on a second,” he said, his tone laced with amusement, his eyebrow quivering upward. “Are you... wearing trousers?”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, and for a split second, it almost felt like she was in the middle of some twisted dark humour comedy.

“You must be fucking kidding me” she muttered.

“That was way better than what you planned, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung said, a hint of a smirk on his face. Yoongi’s eyes flickered with irritation at Taehyung’s comment, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. Namjoon nodded in agreement.

“I knew she had it in her,” the right hand man said, almost to himself. Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative.

“Is she alright?” the doctor asked, concern evident in his voice.

“I checked on her earlier, she seems oddly calm—-” Jimin, still thinking about the moment he arrived at the scene, spoke up to answer the question.

“It is almost scary how composed she is.” Jungkook, who had been pacing, finally stopped and faced the group.

“If you would have been in the room when he attempted to drag her out of here by her hair, you would understand the hatred she felt towards that sick psychopath.”

The room fell silent as the gravity of Hoseok’s words sank in. Jungkook clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.

“We should have done something sooner,—” he muttered, guilt lacing his voice.

“Well she was just faster than us, and apparently, Xiaoli and her mother knew,” Yoongi added, his voice laced with a mixture of frustration and admiration.

Just how much these women hated that man?

“Did she tell you that?” Yoongi shook his head but recalled the lack of emotion her mother showed when they told her that her husband had passed away from a heart attack. Nor did Xiaoli shed a tear for her father, but in that case, it’s different.

Jungkook’s expression softened slightly, his concern for Y/N clear. “We need to make sure Y/N is okay. She has been through enough by now.”

Taehyung’s smirk returned, albeit more subdued. “That wife of yours is tougher than any of us gave her credit for though.”

“So what now?” Hoseok’s voice echoed in the room. His gaze swept across the group, seeking answers, or at least some clarity.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, thinking of what his wife had just done for him and their family. This was huge in his head and he could not get it out of it.

“As I know her, she will ask for something in return, or use this in whatever negotiation.” Yoongi’s gaze darkened, his expression serious.

“She took control, and she knows that.” Hoseok frowned at Yoongi’s words, stepping closer to the table where the group had gathered. Yoongi met Hoseok’s gaze, his jaw tight.

“Do you still not trust her, Hyung?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

“Her behaviour has been odd lately, let us start with that—” the right-hand man spoke up, taking the crystal glass of whiskey into his hands. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, it seemed like Yoongi might not respond.

He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping on the table, a rhythm that matched his thoughts.

“I trust her,” Yoongi said, his voice low but firm. “But all the previous experience makes me think that she sees this as her opportunity to do something bigger—” Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temple.

“She took down her own father, for God’s sake.” Hoseok raised his voice. “She is devoted to you.” Yoongi’s gaze hardened as he met Hoseok’s eyes.

“That I am starting to believe she finally is, sure,” Yoongi said slowly, each word measured. “But I get Namjoon’s suspicions of her, she did not attempt to run for quite some time, as if she is plotting something—”

“Maybe she is playing us all.” Taehyung, sensing the rising tension, leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“Playing us all?" Yoongi repeated his tone low, almost mocking. “You think Y/N is playing us?”

“She has been too calm about all this, Yoongi. Too composed for someone who just killed her father. You don’t just do that without having something bigger planned.”

Seokjin’s eyes flickered to observe Yoongi’s reaction to their brother’s words. “He is right, Yoongi. She has always been emotional, and driven by her heart. But this—" He shook his head. “It’s different.”

Jimin shifted in his seat, looking between the men, the concern in his eyes growing.

Hoseok stood straighter, his expression softening as he spoke with conviction. “She had a choice. She could have walked away or stayed neutral, but instead, she chose to act. And what she did, Yoongi, was not just for herself. It was for all of us. For you. Do not dare to doubt her loyalty, when she worked hard to finally be contemptuous here!”

Jungkook, his voice quieter than usual, spoke up listening to Hoseok’s words. “She did what she had to do. And whatever her reasons are, I trust her.” His gaze met Yoongi’s. “You should, too.”

Yoongi’s expression hardened, trying to keep his emotions in check. His mind raced, the weight of everything that had happened in the past hours pressing down on him.

Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence once again, more serious than usual.

“She has changed—” Yoongi exhaled sharply, his mind still reeling. “I just need to understand why. Why now? Why this?” His voice dropped to a near whisper, the vulnerability slipping through despite his best efforts to hide it. His heart... his heart wanted to believe in her, wanted to believe she was doing this out of devotion, not manipulation.

“Of course, she has changed!” Hoseok’s frustration was bubbling at this point. "You were nine when she was born," he continued the quiet force in his voice, not backing down.

“Nine years, Yoongi. You have had that much more time to figure things out. To live your life, to become who you are now. She did not have that—” Yoongi’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. The truth was there, raw and unfiltered, and it stung.

“She had three pathetic years to enjoy what life can be and then she went to be your wife.” He took a breath, trying to steady himself. Y/N had spent so much of her life suffocated by the things that had shaped her, by the violence and manipulation that had plagued her existence long before she ever crossed paths with him.

The silence that followed was thick, the air heavy with unspoken emotions.

His voice was quieter than it had been, softer, as he spoke the words he wasn’t sure he was ready to say. “I just… I need to—”

“Even if she is plotting some grand escape, we will stop her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s head snapped up at the interruption, his eyes narrowing at Hoseok’s words. For a moment, Yoongi’s chest tightened, the idea of Y/N plotting against him threatening to undo everything he’d been trying to hold together.

He stepped forward, his hand resting gently on Yoongi’s shoulder, an attempt to ground him in the present. “You all are too busy doubting her, instead of trusting her.” Yoongi flinched slightly at the rawness in Hoseok’s tone. He had been too caught up in his own doubts to truly see the bigger picture.

“Maybe you are right,” Yoongi muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling back to the surface.

“She is not running, Yoongi. She is not playing you. What is happening now is what happens when you have been given enough time to think.” Hoseok’s gaze softened, his expression becoming more contemplative.

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi allowed himself to take a breath, to breathe out the doubt, and let himself hold onto the belief that maybe, just maybe she was done fighting him for good.

“I genuinely hope that you are right, Hoseok-sshi.”

Y/N gave it a few days after the funeral to ask Yoongi for a favour. That well he knew her, she had to give him that. Y/N stands by the door, her posture stiff, but her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She’s been holding this request for days if not since they were married.

“What is wrong, my love?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to address her so gently, not now, not after everything that had happened. But she couldn’t hold this in any longer. She had waited long enough.

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat dry. She had rehearsed these words in her head for days, but now that she was here, standing in front of him, they felt like a foreign language.

“I…” She started, her voice faltering, but she steadied herself. There was no urgency in his voice when he spoke next, but something in his gaze suggested he already knew this was coming.

“Go ahead, Dove,” he said, his voice calm, almost too calm.

“I need you to allow my mother… and Bo Cheng… to travel to Maryland,” she said quietly, her words falling heavy into the room. “To Diayu. They need to be there. To… to live a life I could not.”

Something in the stillness between them made her heart beat faster as if he was expecting her to ask of this. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, suffocating. Yoongi didn’t speak, his gaze fixed on her with a patience that felt like it was pushing her to continue, to reveal more than she wanted to. Her hands tightened at her sides, and she took a shaky breath.

“I do not think you need them to be here anymore—” Yoongi’s eyes flickered to her hands before returning to her face, his gaze still sharp, analyzing every movement, every word.

“Bo Cheng can grow up without knowing what was supposed to be his—” Y/N continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture remaining calculated and composed.

“He is still too young to remember-” 

“Are you not going to miss having your mother near, Dove?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the question, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. For a moment, she stood frozen, her gaze flickering down to her clenched fists. She had expected him to ask something like this, but hearing the question out loud—direct and sharp—was a different kind of pressure.

She had never imagined a time when her mother and Bo Cheng wouldn’t be part of her life, but what Yoongi was proposing... it wasn’t about them. It was about her.

“They can come and visit at Christmas time or Chuseok, innit?”

“Christmas time or Chuseok?” he repeated, his voice laced with quiet amusement, though the sharpness in his gaze never faltered.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she steadied herself. She had to hold on to this. If she let herself waver, even for a second, she feared the price would be too steep. The price he would demand would be too high.

“It is enough,” she said, her voice firm, though it trembled ever so slightly. “They can come and go. They can live their lives far away from here. But I need you to make sure they are safe.” Her eyes met his, unwavering for a brief moment, before she quickly looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of her own words had just begun to settle in her chest.

“You are trying to make sure I will not use them as a bargain against you, am I right?”

She had always known how far his control could reach, but hearing him speak it so plainly… made the reality of it hit harder. She swallowed, her throat dry, and for a moment, she said nothing. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of confirming his words outright, but the truth was already in the silence between them.

“Perhaps—” she murmured. Yoongi’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

“Perhaps?” His voice dropped, low and dangerously calm. “You still do not believe in my love for you, or do you, dove?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She didn’t dare meet his gaze again, afraid of what she might see in those dark eyes of his.

“I trust you enough to keep them safe for me,” she said quietly, the words escaping her before she could stop them. It wasn’t a lie. She had to believe it because, without that belief, she would have nothing left.

Yoongi stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. The space between them seemed to shrink, his scent and warmth now consuming the room.

“But you still fear that I will take it all from you,” he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a whisper meant only for her. “That I will use them to make you obey—”

His words hit too close to the truth. Too much of her had been shaped by the fear of losing control, of being at his mercy again.

“I—” she started, but her throat went dry, her voice unable to carry the weight of the admission. She wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet. Not like this.

“You are right to be afraid, Dove,” he said softly, his voice smooth and almost soothing, but there was a steel edge beneath it. “I could use them against you. I could take them away, pull the strings again, make you bend to my will.”

His thumb brushed across her skin, and Y/N felt herself fighting the urge to pull away. She couldn’t. Not now. She had made her request, and the words had already been set in motion.

“Here is the thing, Y/N,” Yoongi continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous murmur. “I needn’t to. I already got you, have I not?”

A long silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken understanding. He didn’t need to say it. She knew exactly what he was implying, what they both knew.

“Yoongi, I promise that this is the last thing I am asking you for—”

“Answer me, dove.” His voice was quiet, too quiet, but it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken questions.

“I just need this one thing,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please.”

“Answer me first.” His gaze bore into her, unwavering, demanding. She knew what he wanted—he wanted her to admit her fear, her dependence on him.

“Yoongi, please,” she repeated, her voice trembling. Y/N closed the distance between them, her eyes locking onto his. She reached up, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. For a moment, they just stood there, the tension between them palpable.

“I will do anything—” she desperately whispered, but the words caught in her throat. He leaned in, his breath mingling with hers, and before she could lose her nerve, he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened into something more intense. Their tongues collided, each seeking to claim the other’s. Their breathing grew ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. Yoongi’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer as if he could never get close enough. Y/N’s hands shook as she cradled Yoongi's face, her fingertips brushing against his skin.

When they finally pulled apart, Yoongi’s forehead rested against hers, his breath coming in soft, ragged puffs. His eyes searched hers, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face—desire, possession, a touch of vulnerability.

“We did not have a chance to return to what we talked about at the jewellers,-” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

Y/N’s heart raced at his words, the mention of the conversation from before bringing everything back into focus. She had known this was coming, the weight of his demands still hanging in the air like an unspoken agreement between them.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her hands still trembling against his chest as she steadied herself.

“You asked me what I want for my birthday,” he said slowly, his voice laced with a quiet edge. “But you did not hear me out when I said what I needed. What I want.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, a knot forming in her stomach. She hadn’t been ready for this. Hadn’t thought he would be so direct, so blunt.

“I know what you want,” she said, her voice steady despite the nerves coiling inside her. “But it is not the same thing. I just... I need this one thing, Yoongi. This one thing, and then—”

“No.” His grip tightened around her, his fingers pressing into her skin. “You do not understand, Y/N. We are far beyond that now. You are not going to walk away this time.”

There it was. He wasn’t going to let her walk away from this. The strings were already attached, and now she was tangled in them. His lips brushed against her ear, and his voice was a dark promise as he continued.

“You said you would do anything. Anything, dove.” He paused, his lips trailing to her neck. “You want them safe and away? I will do so—.”

She closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. “What do you want from me, Yoongi?”

His response was soft, almost a whisper, but the weight of his words sent a shiver down her spine.

She always knew what he desired, although, for her sanity, she rather chose to not wander into those waters, not even think those thoughts. She was not ready to answer him. She was not ready to be confronted by him so bluntly. But there was something so mundane in Yoongi’s eyes when he said the word

“A child.” .

.

.

.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ❝𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧❞

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

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[occamstfs]

No Need to Pledge, Just Drink.

Thanks for the Warm Response! Here's a shorter piece - Occam

It’s definitely not normal that they invited me to this party. It was a direct invite too, obviously. I wouldn’t show up unless someone explicitly asked. From what I understand frat parties don’t usually have a guest list, but I am not one to just wander in. 

Judging by how unpleasant this is so far I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have accepted Derek’s invitation at all. I start to look around for the nearest exits which is when Derek finally shows his face, approaching me with two drinks in hand.

“Sup bruh! I’m so stoked you could make it! This party is gonna be absolutely killer soon so I hope you can stick around!”

“Ah, well I was-”

“I brought you a little drink broski! I know shit like this isn’t your cup of tea so I figured you’d take the assist, this stuff’ll loosen you right up.”

I take the cup from him and just avoid wretching from fumes of alcohol coming from the cup now in my hand. I assumed it was just a beer but it looks like some horrible mixed drink.

“It’s Everclear and Hawaiian Punch bro! As soon as you get past the first taste you barely notice the burn!”

He continues to stand there as I fail to brainstorm a way out of at least trying this. I see a potted plant across the room and know my next move. I’ll give the drink one chance to get Derek off my back and dump it as soon as he turns his.

It’s honestly not as bad as I thought it would be, it doesn’t even seem alcoholic actually? It’s just sweet? Almost to a sickly degree. I don’t really taste the punch either, it's just… 

I start to take another sip before noticing that impossibly, my cup is already empty. I only took a sip though? Something, something is not right. I start to freeze up before Derek starts shaking me, his hand holding a second cup of the punch high above his head shouting, “Brooo! You just demolished that! Fuck! I’ve gotta see that again!” He shoves the second cup into my hand and begins to push his way back towards the punch bowl “Everyone outta the way! This nerd has got to have more to drink!”

I watch him longer than I should have, dumbfounded holding this drink that I didn’t want. Don’t want? My vision gets blurry as I watch him maneuver his massive body through the crowd. Woah, I guess this is what alcohol does? I feel myself start to grin watching him struggle to fill a two-liter with whatever that punch is. Jungle juice? Oh Shit? Is he bringing that to me? 

The DJ switches playlists and I feel excitement quickly start to build in my chest. I fuckin’ love this song! I start to inch towards the crowd before I’m elbowed in the face and my glasses fall directly into my cup.

“Hey dude! I need those to fuc- I need those to see” I instinctively shout as I look to see my glasses just peeking out of my cup. Before picking them out though, I notice that my vision is actually better now? Which briefly starts to set my veins afire once more, why have I been going to a fucking optometrist for years I start to think, clenching my jaw before I look closer into my cup.

This alcohol must really be getting to me or Derek is pulling another prank on me or something. My hair looks so stupid up like that. I start to move my hand to fix it before seeing my arm reflected. 

Or is that even my arm? It shouldn’t be? It’s the size of my head. I shouldn't be able to life something that size if I wanted to. I need to get some fresh air, or just some quiet space. I need to get out. I need-

“Party king coming through! Sorry bro I couldn’t get the bottle to fuckin work so I hope two more cups will do” I see two cups clenched in massive hairy, may as well be, paws starting to pass back through the dance floor. My own hand flexes and I drop my drink, spilling it all over my shoes as I bolt to find a bathroom. Cheers of “Party Foul” ring out as I dash, completely ditching my glasses without a second thought.

I weasel my way through the crowd feeling less agile than usual. Finding it much easier to shove these pipsqueaks out of the way than to squeeze between them before I find peace in the second floor restroom, miraculously without a line outside. I don’t question why I suddenly know the layout of this house as I slam the door and take a deep breath. Music still comes through the door as I reach for the light and prepare to look in the mirror.

The haircut was the least of my concerns. I look like a beast as I start to hyperventilate. I feel the music outside the room quicken matching my heartbeat, my newly 20/20 eyes stare into themselves as they turn from blue to a deep brown and visibly lose acuity. I feel my biceps pressing against the sleeves of my t-shirt narrowly avoiding a deliberate flex to rip the shirt apart. 

I notice a stink other than jungle juice coming up from my feet as I feel them beginning to push against the tongue of my shoe. I collapse to the floor and quickly struggle to untie my laces before squeezing my feet out. Immediately apparent are drastically rattier socks than I remember putting on to get ready for this party. Full of holes and stains, I dread knowing whose socks these are and what is happening before recognizing them as my own. Or really they could be any of my bros socks but who cares.

As soon as this thought pushes its way into my head a pit drops into my stomach. I am an only child, I don’t have any bros, or well, I have a house full of bros now right? Getting up off the floor I again glance into the mirror. My jaw is wider, my stubble itches but just like it always does, right? I put my face in my hands creating enough strain in my small shirt to force a tear down the back. Why am I wearing such tiny tiny clothes anyway? Must be Derek hazing me again huh. I think holding in a guffaw, I wonder how he got me in these?

I tear the rest of my shirt away before doing the same to my pants which is when I learn that I have apparently been going commando this whole time. Now free of these nerdy-ass clothes I flex in the mirror. Pecs popping like always, my bros always say the hair hides my pump but who cares bro I want to look like a man. I briefly shake my cock at myself in the mirror smirking and see laid out behind me are a change of clothes that Derek must have laid out for me. 

There are a pair of slides, some athletic shorts and a massive stringer that says “Party Prince” Bro! He must have made us matching shirts! 

I quickly start to change to match with my Bro and see cologne on the counter. I’m sure bro won't mind if I use it. Each spritz I feel myself fill out my tank even more, veins beginning to peak out down my arms and my package becomes even harder to miss in my shorts. I do a few more poses in the mirror before hearing a knock at the bathroom door.

“Bro you in there? The party’s dying without you bro!”

Hearing my big bros’ cry for help I get my head in the game. I’ve got to bring it tonight. I kick the locked door open, completely shattering the door frame as I cry out- “Who’s ready to drink tonight,” tossing the awaiting cup of jungle juice into the air over the crowd.

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: war, blood, gore, depression, feelings of hopelessness, serious angst

word count: 8.3k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom @fuckingsimp4azriel @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @salvatoresister1 @imperfect0angel @stvrdustalexx

********************

Chapter 15

Azriel POV

In the days after Solstice, the atmosphere in the House of Wind shifted. Azriel began to pull away from Elain, his interactions with her growing distant and infrequent. Where he once might have lingered at her side during meals or sought her out for quiet conversations, he now avoided her altogether. His shadows seemed to reflect his inner turmoil, curling tighter around him, darker and more restless than usual.

Elain noticed, of course, her soft glances toward him unanswered, her gentle attempts at conversation met with curt responses or silence. The others noticed as well—Feyre and Mor exchanged looks, and even Cassian’s usually boisterous demeanor seemed more subdued in Azriel’s presence. Rhysand, ever perceptive, said nothing for now, though his sharp, calculating gaze lingered on Azriel more often than not.

The tension thickened further when Rhysand summoned the Inner Circle to the war room a few days later. The air was heavy with purpose as they gathered around the large table, maps and battle plans spread out before them. Rhysand stood at the head of the table, his violet eyes hard and focused.

“We’ve received word from our spies,” Rhysand began, his tone clipped. “Hybern’s troops are on the move. Their forces are gathering in a valley near the northern border of the Autumn Court. If we wait, they’ll be able to consolidate their forces, and we’ll lose the advantage. We need to strike now, while they’re exposed.”

Feyre, seated beside him, nodded, her expression grim. “An element of surprise,” she said. “It’s risky but necessary.”

Cassian leaned forward, his hazel eyes scanning the map. “We’ll need to mobilize the Illyrian legions immediately,” he said, his voice all business. “How many soldiers are we up against?”

“Thousands,” Rhysand replied. “But they’re spread thin. If we act quickly and strike hard, we can take out a significant portion of their forces before they regroup.”

Azriel’s shadows shifted restlessly as he studied the map. His hazel eyes were sharp and calculating, but his mind was clouded with other thoughts—of Y/n, her empty chair at breakfast, the painting she had returned. The faint hum of the bond in his chest ached with every passing day, a reminder of what he had pushed away. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand, burying his emotions beneath the weight of strategy and logic.

“I’ll lead the first scouting missions,” Azriel said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “We need to confirm their numbers and positions before we move.”

Rhysand nodded, his expression approving. “Do it. Cassian, you’ll oversee the Illyrian legions and prepare them for immediate deployment.”

“What about reinforcements from the other courts?” Mor asked, her golden-brown eyes flicking between Rhysand and Feyre.

“Tarquin has pledged his forces,” Rhysand said. “They’ll meet us on the battlefield. We’ve also sent word to Thesan and Kallias. But for now, we’ll have to rely on the element of surprise and our own strength.”

As the discussion continued, Azriel’s mind drifted. He thought of Y/n, of her strength, her resolve—and how he had done nothing but chip away at both.

He wondered if she knew about Hybern’s movements. If Tarquin had told her. If she would be fighting alongside her court when the time came.

When the meeting adjourned, the Inner Circle dispersed, their faces grim but resolute. Azriel lingered behind, his shadows curling tightly around him as he stared at the map, his thoughts a chaotic mix of strategy and guilt.

The war was coming, and he would fight with everything he had. But even as he prepared for the battle ahead, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the war he was truly fighting was the one within himself—the war to reconcile his duty, his choices, and the bond that tied him to the female he had let slip away.

******

Azriel POV

The following morning, the Inner Circle gathered again in the war room, the weight of their impending invasion pressing down on them. Maps of the battlefield sprawled across the table, markers indicating Hybern’s positions and the placement of their own troops. Rhysand stood at the head of the table, his violet eyes sharp and calculating as he detailed the plan for the attack. Cassian, Azriel, Mor, Feyre, and Nesta listened intently, each of them preparing for the fight that awaited them at dawn.

As Rhysand finished outlining the strategy, the doors to the war room creaked open, drawing everyone’s attention. All eyes turned to the figure standing in the doorway, and the room fell silent.

Y/n stepped inside, her black feathered wings tucked neatly behind her. She looked different—her face gaunt, her eyes darkened, her feathers dull. However, she stood tall, her shoulders squared, her expression calm and composed as she met their surprised gazes.

“Y/n,” Mor said, breaking the silence, her voice filled with shock and relief. “You’re here.”

“Y/n,” Rhysand echoed, his voice softening as he stepped around the table toward her. His violet eyes flickered with a mix of relief and guilt as he approached. Without hesitation, he pulled her into a tight embrace, her wings flaring slightly as he held her close. “It’s good to see you, little sister,” he said warmly his voice tinged with genuine affection. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Y/n replied quietly, her voice steady as she returned his embrace.

When Rhysand finally released her, Cassian was already moving forward, a grin breaking across his face. “Y/n,” he said, his voice booming as he wrapped her in a bear hug, lifting her slightly off the ground. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve come at the right time.”

She smiled faintly as Cassian set her down, his hands lingering briefly on her shoulders. “I’m ready to help,” she said simply. “To fight under your unit. Your command.”

Cassian’s grin widened, and he gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be an asset. I’m glad to have you with us.”

The room remained silent as she stepped back, her gaze sweeping over the rest of the Inner Circle. Feyre offered her a small, welcoming smile, while Nesta gave a curt nod, her sharp eyes assessing but not unkind. Mor looked as though she wanted to hug her but held back, a mixture of guilt and relief on her face.

Azriel stood rigid at the far end of the room, his shadows curling tightly around him. His hazel eyes were locked on her, his expression unreadable as he took in her presence. The faint hum of the bond in his chest pulsed painfully, a mix of longing and relief washing over him.

She was here.

She had come back.

But she wouldn’t look at Azriel.

Never at Azriel.

“Tarquin agreed to send you?” Rhysand asked, his voice calm but curious.

She nodded. “He thought it best. And so did I.”

Rhysand’s violet eyes softened. “It’s good to have you here, Y/n. Truly.”

Azriel stood at the far end of the room, his shadows curling tightly around him. His hazel eyes locked onto her, and he couldn’t pull his gaze away. Relief warred with worry in his chest, the bond pulsing faintly as he took her in. She was thinner, paler than before, her wings no longer gleaming with the same luster. The spark that had once lit up her blue eyes had dimmed, and Azriel’s chest tightened as he thought of what had brought her here.

Her determination wasn’t the kind that came from hope. It was the kind that came from resignation.

She had taken this fight, this mission, because she had nothing left. He could see it in the way she held herself, the set of her jaw, the hollowness that still lingered in her eyes. She had come here willing to die. Maybe even ready to.

And that terrified him.

She inclined her head slightly, her gaze lingering on the maps spread across the table. “What’s the plan?” she asked, her tone all business.

Rhysand smiled faintly, gesturing for her to join them. “We were just finalizing the details. Your timing is perfect.”

As she moved to the table, standing beside Cassian, Azriel’s gaze followed her every step. His chest tightened as he noticed the quiet determination in her expression, the strength in the way she held herself. But he also saw the exhaustion that still lingered in her eyes, the weight she carried from everything she had endured.

She listened intently as Rhysand resumed explaining the strategy, her sharp eyes scanning the maps and formations. Cassian leaned closer to her, pointing out key positions and quietly discussing their unit’s role.

Azriel’s hands clenched into fists as he watched her. The way she listened so calmly, the way her expression remained impassive as Rhysand described the dangers they would face—it only deepened his unease. She wasn’t even afraid. Not because she was overly confident in her skills, but because she didn’t care anymore.

She didn’t care if she lived or died.

He knew that look.

He had worn it himself once, long ago.

The thought made his stomach twist painfully. He had spent countless nights imagining her safe, happy, far away from the pain he had caused her. But seeing her now, so hollow and resigned, made him realize just how much worse things had gotten since she had left.

His shadows whispered around him, agitated by the storm of emotions swirling in his chest. He forced himself to stay silent, to remain at his post near the edge of the room. But his hazel eyes never left her, and the bond thrummed faintly in the back of his mind—a constant reminder of the connection he had tried so hard to deny.

And now, as she stood in the war room preparing for a battle she might not survive, Azriel couldn’t shake the terrible fear that he had already lost her before the battle even began.

******

Y/n POV

I stepped closer to the table, my sharp gaze sweeping over the map. I studied the routes and positions with quiet focus, the tension in my body easing slightly as I assessed the situation. My mind shifted into strategy mode, the same mindset I had used countless times during my training under Tarquin.

Cassian watched me carefully, unsure of what to expect. But when I raised a finger to one of the marked routes, my voice was clear and steady.

“They’re sending troops through this pass,” I said, tracing a narrow valley on the map. “It’s smart—it’ll keep them hidden until they’re close. But it’s also their biggest vulnerability. It’s a bottleneck. If we send a small, fast team to block this choke point, they’ll have no choice but to retreat or spread out. Either way, it’ll break their momentum.”

Cassian blinked, impressed despite himself. He leaned forward, his brows furrowing as he studied the path I’d indicated. “She’s right,” he muttered, tapping the map. “A bottleneck here could disrupt their entire approach. We’d need to move fast, though. If they make it through, it’ll be too late.”

“I can lead the team,” I offered, my voice calm and confident. “I’ve trained for this kind of terrain. I know how to move quickly and quietly.”

Cassian’s gaze flicked to me, his lips twitching slightly as if holding back a grin. “Bold of you,” he said, though there was no mockery in his tone. “But you’ve got a point. A small team would work best—fast, efficient, and harder to spot.”

“Exactly,” I replied, nodding. I shifted my attention to another part of the map. “And here, this ridge—if we station archers along the top, we can pick them off as they retreat. They’ll be exposed, and we can minimize our own losses.”

Cassian raised a brow, glancing at Rhysand, who was watching the exchange silently. “You’ve got a knack for this,” Cassian said, his tone laced with approval. “Where’d you learn all that?”

“Tarquin,” I said simply, my voice steady. “He drilled strategies into me day and night. Said I’d never be a good fighter unless I knew how to think like one.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back slightly. “Well, it paid off. That’s a damn good plan.”

Rhysand’s gaze softened slightly as he watched the exchange, though his worry for me hadn’t entirely abated. “It’s a solid strategy,” he said, his tone calm but measured. “Cassian, take her suggestions into account as you plan your teams.”

Cassian nodded, his gaze flicking back to me with newfound respect. “You’ve got good instincts,” he said. “If you ever get tired of fighting, you might have a future as a general.”

I didn’t respond to the compliment, my attention returning to the map. But Cassian could see the faintest flicker of pride in my eyes, and it made him grin.

“Alright,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get this plan in motion.”

******

Azriel POV

The room was thick with tension as Rhysand continued outlining the strategy, his voice steady as he explained the details of the plan. Y/n stood beside Cassian, her sharp eyes fixed on the maps and formations. She listened intently, nodding occasionally as Cassian pointed out key positions.

Azriel, standing at the edge of the room, couldn’t stay silent any longer. His shadows writhed around him, reflecting the storm of emotions in his chest. He stepped forward, his voice low but tight with concern. “She shouldn’t be fighting.”

All eyes turned to him, the room falling silent. Y/n’s gaze finally flickered to Azriel, meeting his hazel eyes for the first time in months. Her expression was unreadable, but her wings shifted slightly, drawing tighter behind her.

“She’s perfectly capable,” Cassian said, breaking the silence, his voice calm but firm. “You’ve seen her fight, Az.”

“That’s not the point,” Azriel snapped, his shadows curling tighter around him. His gaze never left her as he continued, his voice thick with frustration. “She shouldn’t be putting herself in danger.”

Y/n’s expression hardened, her wings flaring slightly as she straightened her spine. “I’m standing right here, Azriel,” she said, her voice cold and sharp. “If you have something to say about me, you can say it to me.”

His jaw tightened, and the bond in his chest throbbed painfully. “This isn’t about questioning your abilities,” he said carefully, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to do this, Y/n.”

“I want to,” she interrupted, her tone firm. “Don’t tell me to sit this out. I’m trained, and you need everyone. I’m not going to stay behind while the rest of you risk your lives. I’m here. To do my part. Like everyone else.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of their unspoken emotions pressing heavily in the room. Rhysand cleared his throat, his violet eyes sharp as he glanced between them. “If Y/n is willing to fight,” he said firmly, “then she will fight. She has proven herself capable. And we need every capable fighter we have.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, his gaze flicking briefly to Rhysand before returning to her. She looked back at him, her expression unreadable, before she turned her attention back to the map.

As the discussion resumed, Azriel stepped back, his shadows coiling around him once more. But his gaze lingered on her, the faint hum of the bond in his chest a constant reminder of the distance between them.

One that felt wider now than ever.

******

Y/n POV

Inside, my chest was hollow, a constant ache I couldn’t escape. But I no longer cared.

No longer cared what Azriel thought.

I didn’t feel fear, or anger, or even hope. I just felt tired. Tired of hurting, tired of existing in a world that didn’t seem to want me. If this battle could give me a moment of purpose, a chance to feel something, then so be it.

And if it didn’t… well, I wasn’t sure I cared about that, either.

******

Azriel POV

Y/n threw herself into preparations for the upcoming battle, her every movement purposeful and efficient. She immersed herself in strategies with Cassian, sparring sessions, and ensuring her weapons were sharp and ready. On the surface, she appeared focused and composed, her sharp mind working through every detail of the coming fight. But beneath the calm exterior, she was a hollow shell of the vibrant, fierce woman she once was.

Her eyes, once luminous and full of life, were dulled now, stormy and distant, as though her mind was far away even when she spoke. Her voice was steady when she shared her plans, when she gave advice or asked questions, but there was no spark behind it. Her wings, once proud and strong, drooped slightly when she wasn’t in motion, their black feathers frayed and lifeless.

Even her movements, while still sharp and calculated, lacked the fire that used to define her. She trained hard, sparring with Cassian and the other warriors, her blows precise and efficient. But there was no passion behind them, no sense of drive. She was moving out of duty, out of obligation, not out of the unyielding determination that had once made her such a force.

Azriel noticed it all.

He stood silently in the shadows, his hazel eyes following her every move as she worked with Cassian in the training ring. She moved like a predator, quick and graceful, but there was something missing. Something vital. Her strikes landed with force, her defenses held strong, but there was no energy behind them, no fire. She was going through the motions, her body present, but her soul somewhere else entirely.

His gaze lingered on her face, the sharp angles of her cheekbones more pronounced now, her lips pressed into a firm line. Her blue eyes were darker than he remembered, their depths heavy with pain and exhaustion. She didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, didn’t even engage in the teasing banter that Cassian was clearly attempting to draw out of her. She simply nodded at his words, offering brief, flat responses before returning to her work.

Azriel’s chest tightened as he watched her, the faint hum of the bond in his chest a constant ache. He wanted to approach her, to say something—anything—but every time he thought of how he’d pushed her away, how he’d let her slip through his fingers, the words caught in his throat. He had no right to her anymore, no right to ask what was wrong when he already knew the answer.

But he couldn’t stop watching her. Couldn’t stop noticing every detail, every sign of how much she’d changed. Her silence was deafening, her stillness unnatural. This wasn’t the woman he’d first met, the woman who had challenged him, sparred with him, and fought with a fire that rivaled the sun. This was someone worn down, someone barely holding on.

When she finished sparring with Cassian and walked past him without so much as a glance, his shadows stirred restlessly, wanting to reach for her, to pull her back. But he stayed rooted to the spot, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.

He didn’t deserve to go after her. Not after what he’d done.

And it was killing him.

******

Azriel POV

The day of the battle arrived with a heavy silence that hung over the camp like a storm about to break. Warriors moved with grim determination, the clash of steel and the scrape of armor echoing through the crisp morning air. Y/n stood near the edge of the war camp, her black-feathered wings spread slightly as she secured the last of her weapons. Her movements were mechanical, her expression focused, though her blue eyes were dark, shadowed with something colder than fear—resignation.

She was ready. Ready to fight, ready to face whatever awaited her on the battlefield. And if she didn’t survive, if this day became her last, she had made her peace with that. Better to die with honor than to continue this hollow existence where she felt neither belonging nor hope.

It was so obvious to Azriel.

As the war drums began to beat in the distance, Azriel went to her. His shadows arrived before he did, curling and swirling around her like restless specters.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice low but strained.

She paused, her hands stilling on the strap of her chest plate, but she didn’t look at him. “Azriel,” she replied evenly, her tone distant and cool, as if his presence barely registered.

He stepped closer, his hazel eyes scanning her carefully. She looked every bit the warrior she was—armored, weapons gleaming, her posture rigid and steady. But there was something off, something missing. The fire he had once admired in her, that had made her so uniquely her, was gone. Her wings, dull and lifeless, shifted slightly as though trying to shield her from him.

“The pass you will be attacking,” he said after a moment, his voice soft. “It’s a dangerous position—”

“I know,” she interrupted, her tone clipped. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Y/n…” His voice broke slightly, the words faltering on his lips. He stepped closer, his shadows pulling back as though trying to give her space. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re ready.”

She finally turned to him, her lifeless blue eyes meeting his. There was no warmth in them, no spark, just the cold determination of someone who had already made peace with the worst possible outcome. “I’m ready,” she said simply, her voice sharp and emotionless. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

His jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his face. “I do worry about you,” he said, his voice low but intense. “I always have.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away, adjusting the hilt of her sword. “Then save it for someone who needs it. Someone who matters.”

The words stung, but he didn’t back down. He took another step closer, his voice softer now. “You matter.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she turned to face him fully. “No, I don’t,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Not to you. Not really. So go, Azriel. Go and protect Elain. She needs your protection. I do not.”

He stepped closer, his shadows stilling around him as he searched her face. “Y/n, if something happens—”

She stepped closer to him, her eyes hard and cold, her voice cutting. “If something happens, I’ll handle it. That’s why I’m here.”

“That’s not what I—” He stopped, frustration flaring in his hazel eyes. He was trying to reach her, but she was as closed off as he’d ever seen her. She turned away from him, buckling the straps on her leathers.

Her words struck him like a blow, the bond in his chest throbbing faintly, painfully. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around to face him. His shadows swirled frantically, reflecting the storm of emotions inside him.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice cracking, his hazel eyes pleading. “Don’t—”

Her gaze met his, cold and unyielding, and she took a step back, shrugging off his touch. “Stop,” she said, her voice sharp and final. “I’ll see you out there.”

Without waiting for his response, she turned away again, her wings shifting slightly as she walked toward the gathering warriors.

Azriel stood frozen, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he watched her go. The bond pulsed faintly, weakly, like a lifeline slipping through his fingers. He wanted to follow her, to say something—anything—that might pull her back. But once he realized she was not coming back, he left to take up his position on the main lines, his chest aching as he realized how far she had already drifted from him.

******

Y/n POV

As he left me, I exhaled slowly, my hand gripping the hilt of her sword. The love I had for Azriel still present, a cruel reminder of what could have been. But it didn’t matter now. I had a purpose today, a reason to keep moving forward.

I’d thought once, not so long ago, that I’d found a home here. A place to belong. People who cared for her. But I didn’t feel that anymore. The sting of Azriel’s rejection, of his distant gazes and deliberate pushes toward Elain, had stripped me of that hope. The weight of everything had hollowed me out until I barely recognized myself.

And if I didn’t make it back? If I fell on the battlefield, surrounded by the chaos of war? At least I would go out fighting, my honor intact, and finally be free of the emptiness that had consumed me.

My hands stilled on my preparations for a moment, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The war drums had started in the distance, a slow, steady beat that thrummed through the ground. The rhythm was calming in a strange way, final and resolute. I breathed deeply, letting the cold air fill my lungs. This was the only place I felt alive now—on the edge of danger, where the fear of death made my heartbeat just a little harder.

I closed my eyes briefly, the weight of my decision settling over me like a shroud. When I opened them again, the warrior in me had taken over, and the broken woman I’d been was left behind.

I moved toward the gathering army, to ready my team for attacking the pass, ready to face whatever came next. For better or for worse.

******

Y/n POV

The morning sun hung low in the sky, its pale light struggling to cut through the smoky haze of the battlefield. The sharp, biting wind carried the acrid tang of blood and ash as I stood at the head of my unit, black feathered wings spread wide, a stark contrast against the gray sky. My face was steady and calm, my eyes scanning the pass before us—Hybern’s forces had gathered here, a choke point that could turn the tide of battle.

“Hold your lines,” I ordered, my voice cutting through the noise, clear and commanding. The soldiers at my back—Illyrians, Summer Court warriors, and others who had volunteered—responded with sharp nods and braced for what was to come.

Cassian had trusted me with this mission: take the pass, eliminate Hybern’s forces there, and cut off their ability to reinforce the main battle line. I didn’t hesitate to accept it. Now, standing at the edge of the ridge, watching Hybern’s soldiers pour toward us, I spread my wings and shouted, “Forward!”

The sound of wings beating filled the air as the Illyrians surged behind me. I dove first, my sword gleaming in the dim light as I cut through the front line of soldiers. My water magic coiled around me like a storm, sharp tendrils forming into spears that struck Hybern soldiers down with deadly precision.

The fighting was brutal. Hybern had fortified the pass with far more soldiers than anticipated, but I did not falter. I moved like liquid—each strike measured, my magic flowing seamlessly with my movements. I fought with the unrelenting focus of someone who refused to fail. Something Tarquin has instilled in me a long time ago.

My warriors followed my lead. Arrows rained down, clashing against Illyrian shields as soldiers pushed through Hybern’s lines. Swords clanged, magic sizzled, and the battlefield became a storm of chaos. I didn’t stop. My black wings beat hard against the air as I rose and dove, striking down enemies before they could regroup.

“Push forward!” I shouted, my voice steady even as blood splattered across my face and my armor. My sword swept through another soldier, and I turned just in time to send a wall of water crashing into a group attempting to flank my unit.

The battle raged for what felt like hours, but Hybern’s forces began to break. They retreated, those who remained fleeing back toward their reinforcements. I landed hard on the ridge, panting, sweat and blood dripping from my brow. My unit reformed behind me, battered but victorious.

“The pass is secure,” one of my captains reported, his voice hoarse but triumphant. “We did it.”

I nodded, forcing a small, satisfied smile despite the exhaustion pressing at my limbs. “Hold the position. Reinforce it and make sure no one gets through. I’m going to join the others.”

I sheathed my bloodied sword, my magic sparking faintly at my fingertips as I spread my wings again. Without waiting, I took off into the sky, flying fast and low toward the sounds of another battle.

The main lines.

******

Azriel POV

The Inner Circle fought at the heart of the battlefield, their combined strength holding Hybern’s relentless assault at bay. Rhysand hovered above the chaos, sending dark power rippling through enemy lines, while Feyre loosed arrows with deadly accuracy from atop a ridge. Cassian was on the ground, his sword a blur as he hacked through soldiers, roaring orders to his Illyrian commanders. Nesta fought beside him, her power a silver flame scorching through the enemies that dared get close.

Tarquin fought near them, his trident flashing with deadly precision, waves of his Summer Court magic sweeping through groups of Hybern’s soldiers. The High Lord of Summer was relentless, his face set in determination and fury as he defended his allies.

Azriel was everywhere at once, his shadows slicing through the thickest parts of the fight, a lethal force moving through Hybern’s ranks with surgical precision. But even as he fought, a part of him couldn’t stop thinking about Y/n, about her mission at the pass, about whether she was safe.

Then he saw her.

She streaked across the sky like a black arrow, her wings carrying her swiftly over the battlefield. His chest tightened at the sight of her—the calm focus on her face, the precision of her flight, even as blood stained her face and her armor, and her hair hung loose around her face. Her arrival was marked by a gust of wind and the faint echo of water rippling as her magic carried her to the battlefield. She landed beside Cassian and Nesta with a graceful, determined precision, her blue eyes already scanning for where she was most needed.

“The pass is secure,” She shouted over the clash of steel, drawing Cassian’s attention. “Their forces are retreating and reforming.”

Cassian’s grin was wide despite the blood streaking his face. “I knew you could handle it,” he shouted, pride clear in his voice. “You’re a godsdamned force, Y/n.”

Before she could respond, Tarquin appeared beside them, dispatching the last of the soldiers in his path with a sweep of his trident. He turned to her, his gaze full of pride and something softer—a deep respect for the female who stood before him. “You did well, little sister,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the noise. “Securing that pass may have turned this battle in our favor.”

She inclined her head, her expression calm despite the blood and exhaustion that marred her features. “I’ll keep fighting. We’re not finished yet.”

Tarquin’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your mother would have been proud,” he said softly, his voice barely above a murmur. “I’m proud of you.”

Something flickered in her eyes, brief but unmistakable, before she nodded once. Without another word, she turned back to the battlefield, drawing her sword and falling into step beside Nesta as the enemy’s forces renewed their attack. Her movements fluid and deadly, she cut through the ranks, magic swirling around her once more, freezing soldiers in their tracks or forcing them back with walls of crushing water.

Azriel had been fighting on the far side of the battlefield, his shadows slicing through enemy ranks with ruthless precision. But the moment he saw her land, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was a blur of motion—black feathered wings spread wide as she struck down soldier after soldier, her magic lashing out in fluid, crushing waves.

Even as he fought, clearing a path for Illyrian soldiers, his gaze kept drifting to her. To the way she moved with unrelenting focus and determination, her strength unwavering despite the obvious exhaustion in her frame. But Azriel saw it—the weight she carried, the toll this fight was taking on her.

She was fierce. She was extraordinary.

But a part of him feared what it was costing her.

“Y/n!” Azriel called, his voice cutting through the chaos as he began to move toward her, his hazel eyes locked on her figure.

She didn’t respond, didn’t even glance his way, too focused on cutting through Hybern’s forces beside Nesta. Her magic was a storm around her, her strikes so precise and deadly they bordered on effortless.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his wings twitching with frustration as he continued to fight his way toward her. Tarquin was now fighting close to her as well, his magic a perfect complement to hers, the two of them moving in tandem like waves crashing upon a shore.

Azriel’s shadows hissed anxiously as he watched her strike down another enemy, the bond in his chest pulsing faintly, a cruel reminder of the distance he had placed between them. She didn’t falter. She didn’t stop.

But Azriel couldn’t shake the worry simmering beneath his focus. She had pushed herself to the brink once already, and he feared she was doing so again. It was her strength that awed him—but it was also that strength that terrified him.

As she turned to face a new wave of soldiers, her black wings spread wide, her sword raised, Azriel finally closed the distance, slicing through a group of enemies as his shadows danced viciously around him. His eyes met hers for just a fleeting moment—her gaze calm and unreadable.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but she turned back to the fight without a word, leaving him standing there, the bond humming faintly in his chest like a warning.

And as Azriel fell back into the battle, his strikes growing sharper, faster, he realized with no small amount of dread that even surrounded by allies, even victorious at the pass— it seemed as if she still felt like she was fighting alone.

******

Azriel POV

The battlefield roared with the clash of steel and the screams of soldiers, the ground slick with blood and ash. The Inner Circle fought with a brutal determination, holding their line against Hybern’s relentless assault. Rhysand hovered above, dark power raining down like a storm, while Feyre’s arrows flew true from her vantage point. Cassian fought alongside Nesta, his sword cleaving through enemy after enemy. Tarquin’s trident flashed like a beacon in the chaos, his waves of magic crushing entire battalions.

Amidst the cacophony, Feyre’s sharp voice rose, edged with panic. “Elain! Where’s Elain?”

The question cut through the noise, and heads turned as the realization sank in. Elain was gone.

“She was just here,” Feyre said, her voice tight as she scanned the battlefield. Her eyes darted wildly over the chaos, her bow lowering as dread crept across her face. “I don’t see her.”

Azriel’s wings snapped open, his entire body going rigid. His shadows shot out like black vipers, scouring the battlefield in frantic waves. “I’ll go,” he said immediately, his voice sharp, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before he could move, Y/n stepped forward, her black wings spreading wide, her gaze steady and unflinching. “I’ll find her,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And I’ll bring her back.”

“No.” Azriel turned to her, his voice low and fierce, his hazel eyes blazing. “Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”

Y/n met his gaze, calm and resolute, her blue eyes unyielding. “The Inner Circle needs you here, Azriel. This line will crumble without you. Let me go.”

“Y/n, no.” Azriel stepped closer, his wings flaring as if to block her path. “You’re putting yourself in danger—don’t do this.”

“I can handle it,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through his protest. “I secured the pass, didn’t I? I’ll find Elain and bring her back.”

“You don’t understand—” Azriel began, his voice tight with frustration, but she cut him off.

“No, you don’t understand,” she snapped, her gaze flickering with that same stubborn determination that always left him speechless. “Elain is missing, and someone needs to get her back before Hybern realizes they have her. She's too valuable as a seer. You’re needed here, Azriel. Stay and protect the line.”

Her words hit their mark, but Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows coiling anxiously around him. The bond in his chest pulsed faintly, warning him, begging him to stop her.

“Angel, please…” His voice softened, his desperation bleeding through the cracks in his armor.

She paused at the desperation in his voice and name for her but she didn’t falter. She stepped past him, her wings lifting, her sword still clutched in her hand. “I’ll be fine,” she said, though her voice held none of the warmth it once had. “Keep fighting. I’ll see you when I bring her back.”

Before Azriel could stop her, she launched into the sky, her black wings cutting through the smoke-filled air as she soared toward the far edge of the battlefield, where Elain had last been seen.

Azriel stood frozen for a moment, his chest heaving as he watched her disappear into the chaos. A storm of anger, fear, and guilt brewed inside him. She shouldn’t have gone alone. He should have stopped her.

Cassian’s voice broke through his haze. “Az, we need you here. Focus.”

Azriel clenched his jaw, forcing himself to turn back to the fight, his shadows whipping violently as they carved through the enemy. But his mind wasn’t there—not truly. It was with her.

Always with her.

******

Y/n POV

I flew fast and low, the wind whipping against my face as the sounds of battle faded behind me. Smoke choked the air, the acrid scent of blood and magic lingering as I sped toward the far end of the field where Elain had last been seen. My mind was clear, focused only on one task: finding Elain and bringing her back to her family, back to Azriel.

I knew Azriel didn’t want me to do this. I had seen the desperation in his eyes, had felt the weight of his words. But he was needed on the main lines. They all needed him there. This was my task now, and I refused to let Hybern take another victory.

I refused to let Azriel be without Elain.

The one he loves.

When I landed at the edge of the battlefield, it was eerily silent. The cries of soldiers were distant now, muffled by the thundering of my heart. My wings folded behind me as I crept forward, the sharp sound of my boots on the scorched ground barely audible. My magic thrummed faintly beneath my skin, ready to respond at the first sign of danger.

“Elain,” I called softly, scanning the smoke-heavy air. “Elain!”

A sudden noise to my left made me spin, my sword flashing out instinctively as I scanned the ruins of a collapsed tent. My gaze finally landed on a familiar figure.

Elain.

She was struggling against her captors, her eyes wide with fear, but before I could take another step, two soldiers turned and charged toward me.

With a fierce cry, I drew my blades, my movements swift and calculated. The first soldier fell quickly, my dagger sliding cleanly across his throat, but more emerged from the shadows. I fought them off one by one, my training and instinct taking over as I parried strikes and countered with deadly precision. But the sheer number of them began to overwhelm me, and I knew we both didn’t have much time.

******

Azriel POV

The battle raged on, the ground a churning chaos of blood, ash, and magic. Azriel moved like a shadow, his blade cutting cleanly through Hybern’s soldiers, his shadows lashing out to drag others into the darkness. His focus was razor-sharp, his instincts honed by centuries of war. Yet, somewhere beneath that lethal precision, unease simmered.

It started as a whisper in the back of his mind—something felt off. He scanned the battlefield between strikes, looking for her.

Looking for Y/n.

And he didn’t see her.

His gut twisted, and his gaze flickered frantically across the line of fighters.

She had told him she would go.

She had told him she would handle it.

But she hadn’t come back.

And neither had Elain.

Azriel’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as he landed on the ridge where Rhysand was coordinating the lines, his power rippling like dark lightning across the battlefield.

“Rhys!” Azriel called, his voice sharper than he intended as his wings snapped shut behind him. Rhysand turned, his violet eyes narrowing as he took in the look on Azriel’s face.

“What is it?” Rhys demanded, his tone clipped as he loosed another wave of power toward Hybern’s forces.

Azriel swallowed hard, the bond in his chest pulsing faintly—a whisper he couldn’t ignore. “Y/n and Elain. They haven’t returned.”

Rhysand stilled for a moment, his power halting mid-air before resuming its brutal assault. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I haven’t seen either of them,” Azriel said, his voice edged with worry, his shadows writhing anxiously around him. “Y/n went after Elain. I told her not to go, but she didn’t listen. They’re not back, Rhys.”

Rhysand’s face darkened, his eyes flaring with sudden, fierce determination. “Damn it.” He turned toward Cassian, who was bellowing orders nearby, his blade a blur as he cut through Hybern’s troops. “Cassian!”

Cassian glanced up briefly, sweat and blood streaking his face. “What’s going on?”

“Y/n and Elain are missing,” Rhys said sharply. “They haven’t returned.”

Cassian cursed under his breath, his hazel eyes flashing with worry. “Do you want me to go?”

Azriel’s wings flared, and his voice cut through the noise with raw intensity. “I’ll find them.”

Rhysand turned back to him, his jaw tight. “Go. Bring them both back, Azriel. Whatever it takes.”

Azriel didn’t wait for another word. His wings snapped open, the wind whipping around him as he launched into the sky. Shadows coiled around him like a second skin, stretching outward to scout the battlefield below.

The unease in his chest had turned to dread.

“She’s fine,” he told himself under his breath, though the words felt like a lie. He gritted his teeth and flew faster, higher, his sharp eyes scanning the scorched earth for any sign of her.

But the battlefield was chaos—clouds of smoke rose in thick plumes, soldiers clashed in a sea of blood and steel, and still, there was no sign of her or Elain.

Please, he thought desperately, the bond straining painfully in his chest.

Stay alive.

Stay with me.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel landed in the clearing with deadly precision, his blades flashing as he cut down two soldiers in one fluid motion. His wings flared wide, shadows spilling out to shield him from the incoming attacks as his hazel eyes locked onto the chaos in the center of the clearing.

And there she was.

Fighting with a ferocity that sent a surge of both pride and fear through him. Her dark wings flared with each movement, her blue eyes blazing with determination as she twisted and turned, deflecting blow after blow. She was holding her own against the wave of soldiers, but even from this distance, Azriel could see the exhaustion in her stance, the blood staining her face and her armor and the way her breaths came quicker than usual.

“Y/n!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the clash of steel and shouts of the enemy.

Her head snapped toward him, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment, a flicker of relief flashing across her face. But she didn’t falter, turning back to strike down another soldier before yelling over her shoulder, “Elain—she’s there!" She nodded her head towards the direction of Elain behind her.

"Take her and go!”

Azriel’s gaze flicked to where Elain was bound, her golden-brown eyes wide with terror as she struggled against her restraints. His chest tightened painfully. Duty pulled him toward Elain, but his instincts—his bond and his love—screamed at him to stay with Y/n, to protect her.

“No!” he shouted, cutting down another soldier who charged toward her. “I’m not leaving you!”

She parried a strike and yelled back, her voice sharp with urgency, “You have to! Save her, Azriel. That’s an order!”

Every part of him resisted the command, his body kept moving instinctively towards her. As their eyes met, he hesitated, his blades faltering as he looked between her and Elain. The anguish in his eyes was palpable.

And then it happened.

The bond snapped for her.

Azriel saw it in her wide, blue eyes, the way her body froze mid-strike. Her blade faltered for the briefest of moments, before she cut down the next soldier advancing on her. Her wings shifting slightly as the truth crashed over her. He felt the bond flare between them, hot and undeniable, as it had for him since the moment he first saw her. But this time, it was her realization that pierced through the chaos, her lips parting in shock as the words left her mouth in a broken whisper: “You’re my mate?”

Azriel’s heart splintered at the sound, a rush of emotions surging through him—relief that she finally knew, devastation at the timing, and fear for what might come next. She stumbled, the weight of the bond visibly shaking her.

“Yes,” Azriel said, his voice breaking with the weight of everything he had wanted to say for so long. His wings twitched, his body torn between staying and flying. “Yes, I am.”

He wanted nothing more than to drop his sword and run to her, to pull her into his arms and shield her from the world.

But there was no time for it.

Not now.

She looked back as another wave of soldiers began to advance towards her over the ridge. She knew if he stayed much longer, rescuing Elain would not be an option.

Her gaze locked onto his, the bond burning brightly between them for the first time in her eyes.

“Go,” she said again, her voice breaking as her blue eyes filled with tears. “Choose her. Save her.”

“No!” He yelled, anguish written across his face. He stepped closer to grab her.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she shook her head, her wings trembling as she stepped away from him. “Go, Azriel!” she shouted, her voice rising with desperate urgency. “Go now!”

Azriel looked between her and Elain. He then darted towards Elain, slicing through the ropes that bound her and scooping her into his arms. She clutched at him, trembling and whispering his name in relief, but his focus remained on Y/n.

His mate.

His beautiful, fierce, mate.

He turned back to her one last time, his wings ready to launch into the sky, and their eyes met.

“Angel,” he whispered, a plea as he itched to step closer, his shadows leaping out to touch her, wanting to protect her.

His voice cracked as he said the words that had been in his heart for so long.

“I love you.” He whispered, just loud enough for Y/n to hear.

Azriel hesitated for just a moment longer, his shadows curling around him like tendrils of anguish. “I’ll come back for you,” he promised, his voice raw. “I swear it.”

She nodded faintly and raised her hands, using her water magic to form into spears aimed at the wave of soldiers charging towards them, hoping to give Azriel enough time to launch safely off the ground with Elain.

Azriel’s chest ached as he took off with Elain in his arms, her trembling form barely registering against his own agony. His gaze flicked back to Y/n as he flew higher, the bond burning painfully in his chest.

That was when he saw it.

Ten, maybe more, soldiers swarmed her from every side. Faebane arrows were shot into her wings, one piercing her shoulder, rendering her magic useless. She fought valiantly with her sword, her strikes fierce and precise, but there were too many. A blade slashed across her side, and she staggered, blood gushing from the wound as her knees buckled. Another soldier struck her legs, sending her crashing to the ground.

“No,” Azriel whispered, his breath catching as he hovered for a split second.

Then, louder, rawer, he screamed “Noooooooooooo!” His voice tore through the sky, a guttural scream of anguish as he watched them overwhelm her.

Her head tilted up, her blue eyes locking with his one final time, and in them, he saw everything—fear, determination, and the love she had for him that had never died.

The love she hadn’t been able to fully say aloud.

He saw her collapse beneath the weight of her attackers, her dark wings crumpling, her form disappearing under the swarm of soldiers. His tears blurred his vision as he turned back toward safety, the bond burning faintly and growing weaker with every second.

He sobbed, his arms shaking as tears streamed down his face.

But the faint hum of the bond they both now realized and acknowledged grew weaker, fainter, as her figure disappeared from view, surrounded by Hybern’s soldiers.

And with every beat of his wings, the memory of her wide, desperate eyes and her whispered “You’re my mate” tore him apart.

Chapter 16

[rafedarling]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐲/𝐧

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

summary: y/n attends the wedding of her best friend, rafe cameron, and his bride sofia. In a bittersweet moment, she reflects on her deep, unspoken love for rafe as she makes a heartfelt speech during the reception. despite the pain of unrequited love, she stays strong, showing genuine happiness for rafe’s new chapter with sofia. | word count: 1,0k

warning(s): english is not my first language. your point of view, contains themes of unrequited love, emotional vulnerability, and heartache, no happy ending. based on ‘love, rosie’.

au: i wrote small drabble while watching ‘love, rosie’, i hope you’d cry with me, also listen to lost with you by patrick watson while read this. like, reblog and comment/feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @mileyraes @akobx @noobmazter69 @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @littlelamy @enjoymyloves

His wedding was perfect, or at least it seemed that way to everyone else. Crisp white flowers adorned every table, soft glow candlelight. Sofia looked stunning in her dress—elegant, poised, and radiant in the way brides should be. I could see why Rafe fell for her. She was the picture of everything he probably wanted. Everything.

I stood in the back of the crowd as they exchanged vows, a bittersweet lump forming in my throat. It was strange, watching someone you love pledge their life to someone else. But I had no choice. This was Rafe. He was my best friend before anything else, and even though I had buried my feelings for him for years, today they seemed to rise up like a tidal wave threatening to crash over me.

I should have told him. Maybe not today. Maybe not even yesterday. But a long time ago, when we were still reckless teenagers, when we stayed up all night laughing at dumb inside jokes, and he looked at me like I was the only one in the room. That’s when I should have said it. That I loved him.

But now, it was too late. Sofia was his future. She stood across from him, gripping his hands, tears of happiness filling her eyes, and all I could do was smile and clap like everyone else. Like the supportive friend I’d been for so long.

The reception flowed with music and laughter, the champagne bubbling like the excitement in the air. I was halfway through a glass of wine when the best man finished his speech, and the MC signaled for me to step up to the microphone. My heart raced as I stood, smoothing my dress and moving to the front.

Rafe shot me a look as I walked up, his familiar crooked grin pulling at the corners of his lips. He was happy, genuinely so. And even though my heart was heavy, I couldn’t let that ruin this moment for him.

The microphone was cool in my hand as I cleared my throat, looking out at the sea of faces, some familiar, some not. Then, I found his eyes—Rafe’s deep blue ones—and took a steadying breath.

“For the people who I haven’t had the pleasure to greet… Hi, I’m Y/n,” I started, my voice sounding steadier than I expected. “Rafe and I have known each other forever. We’ve been through it all together—good times, bad times, and some incredibly embarrassing times. Rafe, for example, can drink to an almost lethal alcohol concentration.”

A few laughs rippled through the crowd, and Rafe chuckled, shaking his head in mock embarrassment. I smiled, feeling the warmth of our shared memories.

“On my 18th birthday, he decided that the best way to celebrate was tequila. Lots and lots of tequila. And while I’m pretty sure we both blocked most of that night from memory, I can confirm that Rafe is, indeed, capable of not remembering an entire evening.”

The room filled with laughter, and even Sofia laughed along, her hand resting gently on Rafe’s arm. I swallowed hard, pushing down the pang in my chest.

“But in all seriousness,” I continued, my tone softening, “choosing the person to share your life with is one of the most important decisions we make. Because if you get it wrong, life can become… well, gray. We both know that well, don’t we, Rafe?” I smiled at him, and for a second, I saw the flicker of understanding in his eyes.

“Your friendship has brought color to my life, and I’ve been lucky enough to have you by my side in some of the darkest moments.” My voice wavered slightly, but I kept going. “I’m the luckiest person in the world for that. And I hope I haven’t ever taken it for granted, though maybe I have at times. Because sometimes, you don’t realize that the best thing that ever happened to you has been right under your nose all along.”

I paused, letting the words hang in the air. Rafe’s smile softened, but I couldn’t tell if he truly understood what I meant. If he’d ever understood how deeply I cared.

“And that’s okay,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. “Because I’ve learned something important: no matter where you are, no matter what you do, or who you’re with, I will always be here for you. I’ll always love you. Like a sister loves her brother, and like a friend loves a friend.”

I saw Rafe’s eyes glisten slightly, and Sofia squeezed his hand tighter, her gaze flicking between us as if trying to decipher something. But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t take back the years of silence. This was his day, not mine.

“I’ll always stand guard for your dreams, Rafe,” I finished, raising my glass. “No matter how far-fetched or impossible they may seem. So, let’s raise a toast to the bride and groom. To Rafe and Sofia Cameron.”

The room echoed my words as everyone lifted their glasses in unison. Rafe smiled at me, a genuine, heartfelt smile that felt like a dagger in my chest. But I smiled back, because that’s what friends do. They celebrate the happiness of the ones they love, even if it’s not their own.

As I sat down, I felt the weight of everything I didn’t say pressing down on me. The laughter and chatter around me blurred into background noise as I stared at my glass, running my thumb along its edge. I was happy for him, truly. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling of what could have been.

Maybe in another life, it would’ve been me standing beside him. Maybe in another life, I would have told him how I felt long before today. But in this life, I would remain what I always was—his best friend.

With music and dancing and stolen glances, I realized that sometimes… love isn’t about being with someone. Sometimes, love is about letting go, and hoping that they find happiness, even if it’s with someone else.

[brokebonewritings]

Moonlight Lovers

Gale Dekarios x Fem! Reader

Tags: 18+, Fluff, Smut, Domestic Bliss

Summary: You and Gale spend a lust filled evening together. One of the many shortly after returning to Waterdeep and getting married.

Word Count: 1.9K

Navigation || Masterlist

"The moon is a beautiful sight tonight, isn't it."

You jump as the husky voice appears to suddenly, but you turn around knowing that it's your husband. Gale leans in the doorway of the balcony as you stand at the rail looking up at the stars. You smile as you watch him walk to you, placing a kiss at the temple of your head.

As the cool breeze ruffled your hair, you closed your eyes and leaned into Gale's touch. His presence was a comforting anchor amidst the vastness of the night sky. Together, you both gazed at the luminous moon, its ethereal glow casting a soft radiance over the world below.

It seemed as if time stood still in that moment. The worries and troubles that had plagued you throughout the day melted away. You often sought solace in the late hours of the night, finding solace in the gentle dance between darkness and light.

Lost in your own thoughts, you whispered, "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to touch the moon."

Gale chuckled softly, his warm breath tickling your ear. "Oh darling, if only we could reach out and grasp it. But sometimes, it's the beauty of things just beyond our reach that enthralls us the most."

You turned to look at Gale, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of longing and wonder. There was a distant look in his gaze, as if he were envisioning making it a reality. It was one of the many reasons you fell in love with him - his ability to see the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Lost in the allure of the night, you both continued to stand there. One of his hands holding your waist, as the other grips the rail. The world around you fell away as you found yourselves drifting into a shared reverie.

Suddenly a shooting star streaked across the sky, drawing a gasp of wonder from you. It was as if the universe was responding to your unspoken desires, affirming that there was indeed still magic left in this world.

"You've bewitched me, truly, you are even more stunning than the moon." Gale whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle rustling of the wind. "I would give anything to make your dreams come true."

You turned to face him, your heart swelling with love for this man who cherished every ounce of your being. "And I, you," you replied, a tender smile gracing your lips.

He leans in and nuzzles your jawline with his nose. Peppering your skin with light kisses. As Goosebumps prickle your skin, you feel an electric current surge through your veins.

In that moment, you both knew that the moon was not the only thing that held irresistible allure in the night sky. The depth of your love for each other seemed to transcend the earthly realm, reaching heights that only the stars could fathom.

Gale's lips find yours, and the world around you dissolves into a sea of passion and desire. In each kiss, there is an unspoken promise of forever, a pledge to explore the wonders of life together.

"Do you ever regret what we have done?" You ask, the question comes suddenly and without warning. This causes him to stop his shower of his kisses.

Gale pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. His hand gently brushes against your cheek as he speaks, his voice filled with sincerity.

"Regret? Never," he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. "Every step we've taken, every choice we've made, has led us to this moment. And in this moment, I am the happiest man alive."

"I don't regret it either," you reply softly, your fingers intertwining with Gale's. "All those risks we took, all those obstacles we overcame, they were worth it to be here—to be with you."

His face softens, his eyes reflecting a profound sense of gratitude. "To be with you," he echoes, his voice filled with an overwhelming tenderness. "There is nothing in this world I would trade for the love we share."

You're quick to turn and jump in his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as he holds you against the railing. Kissing him with full passion, you let your love and desire consume you both.

"You really are going to be the death of me, aren't you?"

"I might be but I think you've got me in a bind here, Mr. Dekarios."

"How so?"

Biting at his lower lip, and pulling ever so lightly. You hear him groan at the sensation. "Because my body, and soul are forever yours."

Gale's eyes darken with desire as he holds you tighter, his hands roaming over your body. "And mine, my love, belongs to you," he whispers huskily, his voice filled with an intoxicating mix of passion and adoration.

Without breaking eye contact, Gale carries you across the threshold into the bedroom. You had forgotten just how strong your husband was. When he approached the bed, he laid you down gently before climbing above you.

His eyes burn with a hunger that matches your own, igniting a fire within your veins. As he hovers above you, you feel the weight of his desire pressing against your body, a tantalizing promise of the passion to come.

With a feather-light touch, his fingertips trace the contours of your face, leaving a trail of fiery sensations in their wake. His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, an explosion of longing and need.

Clothing becomes an unnecessary barrier as he undresses you with gentle urgency. After freeing your breasts from the night shirt you were wearing, he gently kisses around your nipple before taking it into his mouth.

You arch your back, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath. The sensation is exquisite. Gale's hands continue to explore every inch of your body, leaving you panting with need.

"I need you," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gale's eyes lock onto yours, the desire within them burning hotter than any flame. He leans down, his lips finding yours once more. This kiss is more intense, more desperate than any you've shared before.

His hands continue to roam over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your hips, the dip of your waist. You feel yourself melting into him, your body responding to his touch with a yearning that threatens to consume you both.

As he presses you into the mattress, he lowers his head, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. You can't help but moan, your body trembling with pleasure.

His fingers trail along your inner thigh, the anticipation building with every stroke. You let out a soft whimper, your body begging for more.

Finally, he reaches the apex of your desire, his fingers lightly caressing your most sensitive spot. You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand in a desperate attempt to find release.

Gale smiles, his eyes filled with lust. "You're mine, always." he growls, his voice low.

And with that promise, he slides two fingers inside you. You gasp as your body adjusts to the overwhelming invasion. Your hand grips his forearm, nails digging into his flash as he begins to pump his digits into you.

Your body trembles, and your mind is hazy with desire. You can feel him watching you, his gaze makes your heart race even faster.

His fingers continue pushing deeper, stretching you wide as he adds a third.

"Please," you whimper. "Please, I need more."

Gale responds by replacing his fingers with his mouth, his tongue lapping at the delicate folds of your core. The need for release consumes you completely. He knows just what to do, just how to make you come undone.

His tongue keeps searching, delving deeper, threatening to pull you into the abyss of ecstasy. Your body is aflame, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"Gale, I swear to you, if you do not take me right this instant, you will become a widower." You pant through your moans.

At the sound of your plea, Gale removes his mouth from your core and positions himself between your legs. "Come now, we can't have that now can we?"

You feel the swollen head of his erection brush against your entrance. As he pushes in, you gasp, your body stretching to accommodate him. You feel his warmth enveloping you, and you can't help but whimper at the sensation.

He begins to move, his hips swaying in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and your nails digging into his back.

He pulls almost all the way out, leaving only the head of his erection inside you, and then thrusts in deep once more. Your eyes meet, and he leans down, his lips brushing against yours as he continues to move inside you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and the sensation becomes exhilarating. You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building with every thrust.

"I need you to tell me where to come." He says, his voice hoarse with desire.

Moaning loudly, you respond "Please, Inside me. Come inside me."

"You want me to fill you?" He grunts, as he thrusts in you. "Want to feel my seed spill inside of you." 

"Yes! Gale, fuck yes!" You scream.

His eyes glint with hunger, and he obliges, increasing the pace and depth of his thrusts. You gasp, your head thrown back in pleasure as he continues to fuck you relentlessly.

"So fucking tight," he growls in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're going to make me come"

You reach up, your nails raking across his back, and grimace as you feel his hand cup one of your breasts. His fingers toy with your sensitive nipple, his thumb brushing against it in circles that send shivers down your spine.

Body screaming for release, you know it's close. You arch your back and beg him to keep going. With each thrust you feel his hips hitting against your clit. Your walls begin to clench around him, and you feel yourself tightening, ready to release.

Just when you think you can't take any more, Gale groans and thrusts deeper, harder, driving you over the edge. With a loud cry, you explode around him. Body shaking with pleasure.

His own seed begins to spill into you, filling you completely. As you continue to pant, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Gale's thrusts slow and then stop.

He collapses onto you, his weight heavy but comforting, as his heart beats wildly against your chest in sync with yours. 

You both lie there, spent and breathless, your bodies melded together as one. The sweat from the exertion mingles with the remnants of your passion, leaving your skin glistening in the dim light of the room.

Gently, Gale lifts himself off you, his gaze never leaving yours. He kisses you tenderly, his lips soft and warm against yours, and you can taste the remnants of your lovemaking on his tongue.

As he pulls away, he looks down at your now-swollen lips, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "That was incredible," he whispers, "You are incredible."

"As are you." You say, gently caressing his face.

Gale pulls up the covers and wraps you in his arms, his body still warm from the passion that just ensued. As he holds you close, your bodies still panting heavily from the exertion, you can help but marvel at the connection you share.

You close your eyes, feeling Gale's heartbeat against your cheek. "I love you more than anything,"

Gale responds with a sigh, "And I, you."

The words linger in the air as you both drift off, your bodies still entwined, and the promise of more passion to come.

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[cravetive]

𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 𝕆𝔽 𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 | ℂℍ. 𝟙𝟘

| 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫.

|𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞/𝐚𝐮: 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬,𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭,𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐮, 𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭.

| 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐗 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

| 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7k

| 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬 & 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 ( 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬), 𝐬𝐞𝐱 ( 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬 & 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

| 𝐀/𝐍: 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐢𝐦 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧.

previous chapters

-

“Will the Jury foreperson please stand?” 

The judge’s voice is a mesh of muffles and white noise in Jin’s ears - his mind absent from the courtroom as his client faces his sentencing. Everything seems to move in slow motion around him, the whispers of his client asking anxious questions, only further inducing the headache that presses harshly against his temples.

Jin hasn’t slept in days, each morning blending in with the night, an endless cycle that leaves him spent. he wishes he can say it’s due to this case or any of the other 9 he’s currently handling for that matter but that’s not what has been leaving him wide eyed in his bed at ungodly hours of the night, in fact they haven’t even played a factor. 

Today he finds himself representing yet another vile criminal, charged with a crime that has shaken society to its core - the trial televised for the entire world to see. His eyes scurry away from the camera that stands right in front of him, antonizing a certain anxiousness that Jin has never felt in a courtroom before. The stakes are stacked high, his reputation on the line and yet, he can’t bring himself to focus - his heed placed elsewhere. 

From the untouched glass of water that sits before him he can see his distorted reflection, the plum hue under his eyes further demonstrating the stress his body is undergoing - his compressed chest unable to feel relief no matter how much he tries to breathe. 

would his client feel reassured of his fate if he knew that it wasn’t one of the best lawyers sitting besides him now but instead a ghost?

Jin’s mind wanders through the walls, his eyes scanning the nearest exit and for an instance he feels as though this is his own trial, one in which no one would come to save him - all evidence pointing to his guilty conscience all while the cameras capture every uneasy breath he struggles to take.

As his stare travels back to the Judge - he notes her disapproving expression, it is the look of someone who knows what he has done, oblivious to the fact that Jin is already inside a prison, his own morality caging him inside of a cell that has no key. 

He has condemned himself to feelings he can’t control, all because he wanted to be a better man - He’s unable to balance his integrity on the scale of good and bad. his inner darkest fears shaken by the mere phone call of someone he owes his life to, someone he has pledged loyalty to. 

The sound of Jungkook’s voice still rings inside his ears, a nauseating reminder of Jin’s betrayal. 

When you came to him asking for help he had already foreseen how things would play out, you had unknowingly put him against a wall, a sword pressed to his chest and all he could do was stretch out his hand and aid you in bringing down one of his closest friends. 

For the first time he had a choice to stray away from the life of depravity he had chosen, to clear his conscience of all the bad he had done along his career. You were the first person he had ever helped who he truly felt was innocent, how could he say no while he saw the despair in your eyes? 

So, he decided to defend you without a single beat of hesitation, forgetting his loyalty belonged to someone else.

That late night conversation with Jungkook  had left him burdened, bringing out a certain paranoia that perhaps remained dormant inside of him, lured into slumber with each day he met you in that coffee shop where he would convince himself he was being virtous and although, the phone call was short and vague, he had engraved Jungkook’s impatient tone inside his head. 

Jin didn’t need clues to conclude what his friend was after, he didn’t need to ask what it was Jungkook needed from him to repay his debt, Jin already knew. Jungkook’s rampage in search of you being all the city could speak of, the destruction he left in his wake landing on Jin’s radar like the morning news. 

He never meant to get involved, in fact he had preferred to stay oblivious. How could he choose? you his dearest friend, someone he looked to protect and aid - and then him ... .his childhood friend, the one he always seemed to end up picking up the broken pieces for, no matter how much his hands bled. 

Both sides tug at his fealty. 

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” 

Whilst his client trembles in his chair, Jin feels the pressure of his phone that is kept turned off inside his pocket - the thought of receiving yet another call from Jungkook, beginning to torment him in ways his pride will never allow him to divulge. 

“Yes” 

He needs to focus, this is important but his mind drifts, searching for ways in which he can justify his decisions - trying to find a way out of the predicament he has placed himself in, in a way only a man like him can. 

“We the jury find the defendant not guilty on all counts of murder and assault.”

A hefty sigh leaves Jin’s mouth, his hands clamping together underneath the table as his eyes flutter shut - he had hoped that this relief that washes over him now would be enough to clear his mind of the thoughts that burdened him but reality is, nothing can. He feels his client grip his arm and pull him into a hug - his cheers filling the ears of the abstracted man. 

At another time Jin would’ve probably celebrated too, after all was this not a demonstration of his capabilities? Yet, he can’t bring himself to cheer, to celebrate nor to feel triumph. Jin is used to walking out of courtrooms a victorious man but now he is rather conflicted and as he pushes away from the strong embrace his client offers him, he finds his eyes trailing back to the victims family - offering them a silent apology, one that he never tends to offer. 

Something has changed inside of him - a shift he can’t understand. Previously, Jin had never bothered to care if his clients were guilty or not, if he was a bad man for even protecting them, perhaps because his clients were only reflections of someone he knew, someone who he has been great at defending. 

But Now he feels just as culpable as the man standing next to him, the one who has stabbed his wife to death. 

In the past he would’ve defended Jungkook above everything else and walked past a victim like you, a victorious man. 

Something has changed. 

“The verdict is sustained, The jury is thanked and excused. Court is adjourned.” 

The Judge slams her gabble and soon the murmuring and heavy whimpers of the victims family fill Jin’s ears, eating away at his vulnerability.  The sound of their agony causes his heart to rumble - the sensation becoming too much to withstand. 

His own shame begging to beat him down. 

His vision is blurred, unable to concentrate on anything as he stands there motionless

- his intestines turning as he finds the eyes of the man whom he has just freed. Jin has fought like hell to prove without a reasonable doubt that this man has not committed the crime he has been accused of, even if within himself he harbors the truth that only the 2 of them know.

The worst part of it all is that Jin knows he will be back here - perhaps with someone much worse than the man that he has just defended and he can’t help but question if the real reason why he fights so hard in the first place is to prove he himself isn’t like them. 

“Thank you Mr. Kim '' his client exclaims with excitement whilst he interlocks his hand with Jin’s in a firm shake. Jin’s stare remains withdrawn - his mouth unable to open and form any words and as he glances down at their knotted hands he pictures blood dripping from them. 

His body runs cold, his hand retracting quickly while his blinking eyes inspect the skin there. 

He’s losing it.

“How will I ever repay you?” Jin’s eyes snap back to stare at his client, the room beginning to spin around him and he tries to smile, to at least pretend like he shares this man’s joy but he can’t move a muscle and as he goes to speak he hopes his tone wont give away the immediate regret that has settled inside of him. 

“I just hope you’ll never need me again.”

But they always do and Jin is more than positive he will reoffend - he will take another life, he will leave another bloody trail and Jin prays to any god that will listen that when that day comes the DA will have enough evidence to put him away. 

His client responds with a mocking laugh, his chest heaving at the joke Jin has just made but Jin means it with every morsel of his being, his role as the devil's advocate beginning to eat away at his soul. 

Jin can feel all eyes on him as he begins to step out of the courtroom, lowering his head as the cameras flash in his direction - the victory he should be indulging in, feels more like a loss, the way in which he has let his  previous wins feed his ego is starting to disgust him. His steps are no longer confident and he fights with the urge to turn around and request the judge to reconsider, he wants nothing more than to beg her to give his client the full weight of the law.

Even if he has to drop to his knees for it. 

As he steps out into the empty hall his eager hands reach into his pocket, sliding his phone out and staring at the screen until it turns back to life, his weary eyes scanning the notifications that flood in but he can only see emails from his firm and texts from a girl he met at a bar a few nights ago when he found himself sleepless again

 none of them from the man who has taken his appetite away. 

He sighs, standing completely still and then the hallway that once had been completely quiet fills with reporters - greedy cameras and microphones waiting for his client to exit the courtroom and all Jin hopes for is for him not to say anything stupid. 

For him not to leave another mess for Jin to clean up. 

He holds his breath, deciding to take the nearest exit in his wishful attempt to avoid the eye of the media. This time he feels no desire to stand beside his client as he throws out thank you’s and excuses, he can’t digest the idea of reporters asking him questions regarding his morality - of why he chooses to defend the people he does or if he thinks they are guilty. 

9 times out of 10 they most likely are. 

The cold air ripples through Jin’s suit as he makes a quick exit of the courthouse, his eyes focused on the sun which sets between the tall buildings ahead of him, the city roaring with life. He can hear laughter, traffic, and random conversations from those who pass by. the sounds - the normalcy in everything and he has almost forgotten that time hasn’t stopped, no matter how stagnant he feels. 

 though, the distraction does not last long as he feels a faint buzz against his chest and he’s swiftly reeled back into his reality - his breaths becoming labored, his eyes darting in every direction. Once he again finds himself succumbing to paranoia. 

Jin’s shaky hands slide the phone from the front pocket of his suit and he stares at the unknown number flashing through the screen for a moment - every nerve in his body standing at attention, the lethargy that had clung to his body dissipating into thin air. 

For a second he contemplates if he should answer, he wonders if he’s prepared to hear Jungkook’s voice again but even if he isn’t what other option does he have, avoiding the issue would only cause it to grow. 

He quickly answers the call and presses the phone to his ear, frantic eyes focusing on the lively city in front of him, attempting to find a random object he can anchor himself to. 

“Hello” he answers coldly-  trying to conceal the utter worry in his tone. 

“Jin” the voice is soft, delicate even and it takes him back to when he was just a college student, sitting across the dining table with a math book in hand, a red pen in the other. 

“Y/n” he breathes out, eyes blinking quickly while he registers it’s you on the other line.

“You sound disappointed” you giggle and Jin smiles for a moment, though it does not last. 

You are but a reminder of the secret he conceals. 

“Uh” Jin chuckles dryly “quite the opposite actually.” 

Jin expects to feel at ease, after all you are someone dear to him but he can’t push away the guilt that creeps inside of him while he hears your giggles flow through the line. 

In that moment he doesn’t know which voice he would have preferred to hear, yours is supposed to be a breath of fresh air, a cup of cold water to tame the turmoil inside of him. to know you were okay , to know you were safe, to recognize no panic in your voice should be alleviating but the feeling never arrives. 

Do you even know who he is? Who he has betrayed for you? Would you still consider him a friend if you were to find out?

“Are you okay?”  He asks, a question he isn’t fully prepared to make nor one that he has been ready to hear the answer to. 

There's a long pause, a pause that Jin doesn’t particularly like. It causes his chest to compress, for his palms to grow cold. 

“Yes, im safe.” 

It’s not the answer to the question he has asked but he takes it, because if you are safe it means you are okay, right?

Jin hadn’t spoken to you since your swift escape from the Jeon’s banquet and though he had been worried sick for some time, Jungkook had arrived in almost comical timing to strip away his concern for you, replacing it with the sour reminder of the debt he owed. 

He wants to pretend that hearing from you is a good thing but your voice, although quiet and careful, stabs away at his heart harshly. So he fakes a heavy sigh, feigning a relief that isn’t there.  

“Well, I'm glad,” Jin mutters. 

“Are you okay?”

Jin can’t bring himself to answer that, his mouth pressing together and his jaw cramping. His eyes stare into nothingness as his brain tries to compile a good enough answer, an answer worthy enough to bring you some kind of ease. 

Jin begins walking towards his car, briefcase held tightly in his hand as the loud sounds of the city begin to drown out his inner thoughts again. He should be okay, He has just won another case, another accomplishment to add to his resume and he contemplates if he should share this with you, but  he fears you’re going to read through his tone, peeling away at his facade.  

Nothing can hide the anxiousness that sprouts inside of him, sprawling and taking up spaces where his tranquility once remained.

“Yeah, i've been fine” he responds quietly, offering you a lie - hoping that you will take it. 

A heavy sigh falls from your mouth and Jin inhales sharply, while he gives you a breath of air - he pulls himself deeper into despair. 

“Good” you whisper, your vocal cords burning after having held your breath. 

Jin blinks quickly trying to moisten his tired and scratchy eyes as if you could see him through the phone. his hand subconsciously moving to straighten his tie and suit jacket, perfecting his deception.  

“I saw you on the news giving that press conference on the case” you comment, a smile emerging on your face, one that Jin can picture in his mind. 

“Mhm” Jin hums, caught off guard by the topic. 

“You looked very professional, very mister lawyer” your voice holds childish excitement and Jin smiles again, closing his eyes and beginning to imagine a life where he is but a typical lawyer and you his friend, a girl who hasn’t gone through the things that you have. A Y/n that has remained the same cheerful and spoiled girl that he once knew so well, never having been pushed into a life of crime and deception, much like he has.  

His Y/n, his friend that he will never betray. 

“Oh yeah? I wore my good tie today” he jokes, beginning to descend the steps in front of the courthouse. 

“How did it go? Did you free the guy?” you inquire and Jin remains silent, his chest becoming heavier with the question. 

“Give me details, i want to know how you kicked ass today” the harmony of your laughter causes him further shame, There is so much you don’t know and no amount of bravery can convenience Jin to tell you.

“Well you know me i can’t lose” Jin sighs and his line fills with your laughter again. 

“It’s a good thing I have you on my side then.” 

Those words cause Jin’s heart to stop full throttle, the hand that presses the phone to his ear growing limp. It takes everything for him not to divulge the truth, to not break your heart further. If he’s honest it's not clear to him whose side he stands in, who is he truly helping? For someone as calculated as him, that question still remains unanswered. 

His god complex has led him to believe there is a way he can help the both of you without betraying the other but atlas, as he hears your voice for the first time in weeks he concludes he has been foolish. 

Dread fills him up, his body unresponsive and he feels as though the phone call has lasted an eternity, your innocent statement only further torturing him. His intentions were always to protect you like an older brother would, trying to conceal you from the man he had built a bond with so many years ago, but who is he kidding, who is he lying to?

To you or to himself.

“You should come to visit me, it gets lonely here - I thought I would be able to escape it but it appears it has followed me here too.”

Your voice is but a whisper yet Jin can hear the strain in it, can almost picture you swallowing back tears that you have not allowed yourself to release in a long time. 

“We can meet at the cafe” he interjects, purposely avoiding your offer. 

“Oh don’t be silly, I trust you.” 

His heart lurches forward and he rips the phone from his ear for a moment, unable to endure the conversation any longer, you are oblivious to the pain you are causing him, to the agony he is putting himself through the longer he stays on the call with you. 

“Y/n i think -” he speaks into the line. 

“86 Pyeongchang- dong, Jongno-gu-” 

Jin shuts his eyes as the address falls from your lips, a grimace pouring over his features and he wishes you hadn’t said that, he prays he can forget. 

“So what do you say?” your voice echoes.

 Jin clears his throat, trying to break himself out of the panicked trance he is currently in, his throat aches as he tries to find an excuse good enough for you not to suspect him, because what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t go?  What kind of friend would he be if he did?

His mouth opens to give you a gentle rejection, his eyes roaming the front of the courthouse whilst he trashes his brain for an excuse. “You know i would love to but-” his eyes stop moving and the words he means to say trail into silence, from the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of a black SUV - its owner leaned comfortably against it as a puff of smoke falls from their lips - their eyes completely focused on him. 

Jin can feel every muscle in his body constrict, his skin growing pale - he blinks, hoping that the sight before him is only but a product of his lack of sleep and paranoia  but when his eyes open again, the same man remains. his eyes held in a glare as a mischievous grin rips through the cigarette that lays between his lips and the dread Jin had been trying to suppress for days now comes pummeling down all too fast through his veins. 

“Jin?” you ask, noticing the long pause. 

From where Taehyung stands he watches as Jin stares wide eyed in his direction. He leans away from the SUV, unfolding his arms from his chest, offering Jin a small wave.

“Jin?” you call out again and this time Jin’s eyes trail back to the phone in his hand. 

“I have to go Y/n '' he whispers, there's a change in his tone but you can barely make it out from the shuffling that follows after, your eyebrows furrowing with concern.

you aren’t unfamiliar with Jin's tendency to abruptly say goodbye but this time it’s different, you can sense panic through the silence he gives you - your line now crowded with the sound of the city.

“Wait, Jin what is happening?” you ask frantically and Jin can hear you but he doesn’t answer, his mind wondering if you would be this concerned for him if you knew who he truly was.  

Jin ends the call before he can speak again, sliding his phone into his suit jacket carefully - he clears his throat and adjusts his posture, his hand moving to push back the strands of his hair that have fallen in front of his face. swiftly changing his expression from one of utter fear to casualness, the shift causing him to grow dizzy. 

“Taehyung,” he calls out eagerly through his teeth.

Taehyung studies Jin’s demeanor, his fingers moving to dispose of the cigarette in his mouth before he forces a chuckle out. 

“Jin, long time no see” he responds, the lack of enthusiasm in his voice appareant. 

Jin scoffs and laughs slightly, trying his hardest to conceal the panic that rips through him. 

“It's always a good day when you don't have to see me ” Jin replies and the statement causes Taehyung's smile to slip. In the past Taehyung would’ve taken the insignificant words as banter but given the circumstances, given the strain that has formed between the friendship it sounds more like a threat to him. 

“Is this something that couldn’t wait for office hours?” Jin continues, looking towards the 2 other men who stand beside Taehyung, their hands held by their belt - indication of the gun’s that remain concealed there. 

It's not a friendly visit. 

“I wanted to stop by to congratulate you on the big win” Taehyung states but Jin knows better, they’ve never shown up for any of his other one’s. 

“A bouquet of flowers and a pretty card would have sufficed” Jin says nonchalantly standing in front of them now, the grip on his briefcase growing tighter with each second that passes by,  his body consumed with the urgent need to throw up.

“I was watching you know?” Taehyung smirks “you looked a bit off, a bit nervous.”

Jin’s smile fades, his jaw locking with the reminder of his previous state in the courtroom - the vile memories flood into his head and his casual facade drops for a moment, his eyes flickering with distress. 

“Me? Nervous?” Jin chuckles, attempting to recuperate from the humiliation.

“Im Kim Seok-Jin.” 

“That you are” Taehyung distills poison with his words, his tone simmering with a certain harshness. 

“Jungkook wants to congratulate you too, you should come with us” Taehyung adds, his smirk pulled wide. 

Jin’s heart slams into his chest, his head heavy on his shoulders. He wonders how much Jungkook knows, if he is aware of the role he has played in the chaos his family is currently facing and as his eyes remain on Taehyung's face he can’t read past his meek expression - his talent to perceive things momentarily tested by the exhaustion that sinks in his body. 

He knows Taehyung is not making an offer he can decline, but rather an invitation he has to accept. A pact of loyalty made many years ago imposed by guilty reminders of the person he used to be.

“You guys shouldn’t have gone through the trouble”

Jin laughs sarcastically - stepping closer to Taehyung. 

“Trust me, it's no trouble at all” Taehyung taunts, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head. 

Jin can feel his throat closing in on itself - his eyes lowering to the guns that poke out of the pressed suits the men standing along with them wear, warning him that the friendship he once shared with Jungkook and Taehyung has changed. No longer were they just boys being boys, no longer did they blindly trust each other. 

Now they were men waiting for the moment one crossed the other. 

Jin nods faintly, his eyes looking in every direction ensuring there’s no one around to bear witness to what is happening or perhaps hoping someone is. 

He does not object, instead he willingly steps forward even if he feels his heart racing with each movement he makes - the sensation is uncanny, he should be able to trust the man who stands holding out the door for him but contrary to what he knows he should be feeling, the desire to run for the hills remains. 

Jin can feel the thick, tense air choke him as the car peels away from the courthouse, his heart feeling as though it's stuck inside of his stomach, applying agonizing pressure and though he sits in complete silence, unable to move an inch - he can feel Taehyung eyes intently observing him. 

He wants to say something, anything that will bring them back to like when they were younger - longing to mend what has been fractured but no words come to him and as the seconds pass by in the harrowing car ride alongside someone whom he once shared everything with,  he comes to the inevitable conclusion that he doesn’t want to reconcile. The similarities that once had tied them all together now being differences he can’t bring himself to overlook. Yet, The desire to make amends leaves its residual inside of him. 

Time is cruel and they were not exempt from its vicious wrath. 

It had all begun with a school punishment, one that would lead Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jin to cross paths and become the bestest of friends and while Jungkook and Taehyung enjoyed a life of luxury and gluttony all thanks to the blood money their families were producing, Jin fought against the poverty that ripped through his. Who could blame him for wanting that same life? Not when his friends had allowed him such quick access to it, not when Jungkook paid for his college education under the promise that Jin would some day work for him. 

A promise that Jin had kept for a long time, until he came face to face with the truth of what his friends had become or in retrospect what they had always been.   

Back then Jin never thought of the consequences his actions would someday bring him, back then all he wanted was to be in Jungkook’s and Taehyung's world and now that he was, now that he was who had always dreamed of being - he was forever indebted. 

What could he do now that their interests no longer aligned? The only person that could blame Jin now was himself. 

The SUV arrives at the small restaurant Jin has visited many times before, it is the same restaurant where they have all shared their first drinks, their first heart breaks. Where they shared stories of their childhoods and their dreams. Where Jungkook had served Jin his entire future on a silver platter and the starving boy had eaten from it without a second thought. 

The meal now heavy on his shoulders, the weight of the burden forcing him to kneel before a man he has betrayed. 

As Jin steps out he notices Jungkook’s men standing along every corner of the street, evidence of the havoc he has contributed to in full display. His stare lowers as he stands in front of the restaurant and with a heavy sigh he takes in all that has changed since the last time he was here. memories of their laughter fills his mind and it dissolves his courage, in its place now a feeling of vulnerability he does not like nor is willing to accept. He senses Taehyung’s presence standing besides him and then feels his hand harshly slam on his shoulder, a tight grip coming soon after. 

“Welcome back” Taehyung whispers eerily into his ear. 

Jin is guided inside by the men who have accompanied him, Taehyung following closely behind. He hasn’t seen Jungkook in a long time. he fears he might not be able to recognize him, fears he won't be able to see the boy that he had once defended against the world, the boy who trusted him but due to the lack of contact probably no longer does. 

Not that he would expect him to either. 

He notes the vacancy inside of the restaurant which is usually packed with customers at this time, all the tables empty while music softly plays through the space. It reminds Jin of a museum. While the outside looks like a completely different place, the inside appears to be stuck in the same year the 3 of them had made the pact to always stay together.

 He is soon filled with acrid nostalgia, the same feeling he had felt when he first saw Taehyung standing in front of the courthouse.

As he continues his path he can feel his steps falter and it's like he’s forcing himself to walk, unable to take the guilt that makes a home inside of him the longer he remains in here. He is reminded of who he was, of who he no longer is and it aches, an ache his sleepless body can’t process. 

When Jin reaches the back of the restaurant his eyes land on Jungkook, his lungs drawing a breath he doesn’t dare release as he scans the man who does not notice his arrival. Jungkook sits in one of the many empty tables, his face lowered as he brings another string of noodles to his mouth yet, there’s not a hint of tranquility in his demeanor, his shoulders tensed and eyebrows furrowed. 

It's apparent he is disgruntled, Jin can perceive the strain his body and mind are under from where he stands- the scene before him causing him to grow mortified and his thoughts don't miss a beat as they remind him that this is his doing. 

“Kook” Taehyung speaks, dragging Jungkook’s attention to the men that stand before him, apprehension carved into his expression. 

The breath Jin has been gripping in his lungs escapes through his nostrils as he takes in Jungkook’s face - his skin pale and eyes hollowed and if he thought he was tired, perhaps drained then Jungkook has got him beat. 

“Was any of this necessary?” Jin raises his eyebrows, a smirk forming on his lips - his voice echoes within the empty restaurant and he concludes it is best to push his conflicted thoughts to the side. 

Jin can see the exhaustion in Jungkook's eyes, proof of the many nights he has spent in search for you and Jin struggles to believe that it’s just anger that fuels him but he concludes that there is too much he has missed and although he wants to think that he is staring at a friend, just as he had expected it’s like he is facing a complete stranger.  

Jungkook slowly wipes his mouth and pushes away the plates in front of him, a smirk crawling onto his mouth accompanied with a small laugh. 

“Just a bit of guidance, you know in case you got lost” he chews. 

“How polite of you” Jin retorts sarcastically. 

In spite of the fact they both attempt to conceal the animocity, the distance between the two friends is evident. Their bond strained, the thread that once held them together a pull away from snapping and they can both sense it as their eyes met.

“Take a seat” Jungkook offers, gesturing to the empty chair in front of him. 

“Im fine here” Jin responds, eyes glancing over at the men who stand on each side of Jungkook, holding the same threatening posture as the ones who had shown up with  Taehyung moments before. 

“Jin” Jungkook snaps, his patience withering away with each minute that passes.

“Sit.”

This time his voice is stern, demanding and it rattles Jin’s composure. 

Jungkook’s glare holds irritation; his fruitless vendor slowly drives him further away from rationality. The utter desperation that runs through his body makes him grow a little bit more insolent as time ticks by.  

Jin pulls out the chair in front of him and slowly sits in it- concern written all over his expression as he stares Jungkook down. 

“How have you been Jungkook?” Jin asks, the worry in his tone genuine.

“ I'm pretty you know the answer to that” Jungkook retorts, pouring himself another cup of whiskey. 

Jin’s eyes trail from Jungkook to the amber liquid that falls into the glass, a grimace emerging on his expression while he watches the alcohol hit the rim. 

“Well now you have me here, what is it that you need?” Jin clears his throat, he knows it's a stupid question to ask, he has already made his own assumptions of what this is all about but he opts to feign ignorance. 

Jungkook raises the overflowing glass to his lips, the taste causing him to hiss but he takes another gulp and then another until his tongue grows numb and his chest aches - the glass now half empty. 

“Oh i'm sorry, am i taking up your time Mr. Lawyer?” Jungkook leans his head to the side, a crazed look in his eyes “are you too busy for me? All those big cases, all those big wins” Jungkook's words drag with venom - dispersing into the hostile air and trickling  down Jin’s skin. 

“All thanks to me of course” he concludes and Jin lowers his head, a small chuckle emitting from his lips. 

“Is that why I'm here then? You thought I needed a reminder?” Jin comments. 

“It seemed like you had forgotten” Jungkook snaps. 

But Jin hasn’t, The thought that he has everything he has because of a criminal is rather ironic given his line of work, an irony that has enabled him to defend the most evil kind of men, something he has never been able to remove from the back of his head, the only thing that keeps him from believing he is a good person.  

“You have been holding onto that one for a while haven’t you” Jin smirks, a hint of repulsion in his tone. 

“Trust me i don't forget, i have to live with that decision for the rest of my life” Jin adds bitterly and Jungkook’s expression twists with certain chagrin. 

Jungkook sighs and leans his head back, placing the glass in his hand carefully on the table. He presses his lips together with distaste, his eyes closing for a moment while he allows Jin’s words to settle in his brain. 

Jungkook knows how much his decisions have brought them apart, it hurts him to know that now Jin can no longer see him as a friend and though the remorse remains packed up inside of him, there are no words significant enough that can express it. 

Yet, they both know he had no other choice. He couldn’t dream like Jin could - couldn’t choose a career apart from the one forced on him the day his parents were killed but he doesn’t dare open his mouth to defend himself this time, allowing their friendship to fall victim to collateral damage. 

“I need to know where Y/n is, Jin.”

Everything becomes muffled for Jin once again and those emotions that had left him trapped within his own mind in the courtroom come back crashing down all too fast, his throat compressing, which he tries to remedy with a gulp. 

He has known the motive for this meeting since that phone call and yet, nothing has prepared him for the statement Jungkook makes, his stare faltering at what this implicates. 

Jin can’t bring himself to speak and when he finally dissects Jungkook’s demeanor he confirms what he has feared all along, Jungkook knows something and though, he might not know the entire extent of his betrayal, the fact that Jungkook believes he can come to him for information is sufficient for his heart to swell with dread. 

“Why-” the word comes out a mumble, quieter than a mouse, his mouth filled with cotton as he tries to make sense of what he wants to say or better yet how he will excuse the accusation Jungkook has silently made but his mind is as blank as his stare.  

Jungkook watches Jin’s expression with careful eyes and though he is tired and his eyes feel heavy as he blinks, he inspects Jin with precision. ready to pick up on any hint  of deceit. 

“Have you forgotten who placed you in her life? Or did you convince yourself it was pure coincidence?” Jungkook states “i made you apply to be her tutor, i fabricated recommendations, i made sure that you appeared to be the best fucking tutor there was in fucking korea so that you could keep tabs on her, to ensure that she was living a good life in spite of her fathers endevors.” 

Jin lowers his stare, the reminder seeping cruelly inside of him - the fact that he has been lying to you for years revealing itself through Jungkook’s mouth, he has been unable and unwilling to divulge the truth about what his real intentions were when he appeared in your home under the guise of a tutor, of a mentor. 

It had been all a lie.

But He had miscalculated how much you would eventually mean to him, how much he would come to want to protect you even from the man he was most loyal to. 

He gained your trust, your friendship all so that Jungkook could monitor you and though initially it had been an orchestrated lie, everything else after that has been real. 

Jin glances away, his eyes filling with tears. His heart fills with disappointment, with inexpicable pain as his eyes flicker back to Jungkook. 

“So Imagine my surprise when i find that you have been meeting her for years” Jungkook spits, his hand sliding a manila folder in front of Jin, his intense glare on Jin as he waits for him to open it. 

“Jungkook '' Jin utters, his eyes fixed on the folder lying in front of it. 

“Go on” Jungkook demands, his voice jumping from the walls. 

Jin sighs heavily, his reluctant hand reaching for the folder. His mind rushing with ideas of what the folder can contain. 

 His hand trembles against the paper as he throws it open. In Front of him now an array of pictures taken of you and him entering and leaving the small cafe on different occasions and he swears in that moment his heart stops beating. 

“Have you been the one that has been putting things in her head? Did you not measure how dangerous this all could be for her?” Jungkook barks. 

Jin’s ears ring with the questions thrown in his direction - his hand closing the folder quickly before he pushes it away. He raises his stare back to Jungkook, who hasn’t stopped glaring in his direction. 

“You had me followed?” Jin asks. 

“Are you surprised?” Jungkook retorts. 

“You are insane” Jin scoffs “you have really lost it this time Jungkook - you go around the city destroying everything in your path, go to Yoongi’s club like a fucking manic for what? On a whim that he would know where she is?”

“I'm going to stop you right there Jin,” Jungkook interjects, standing from his chair. 

“I would burn this entire city to the ground if it means I get to find her.” 

When Jin stares into Jungkook’s eyes he can see the utter determination ripping through his exhaustion. 

“I don't know where Y/n is” Jin responds coldly. 

Jungkook smirks, his eyes glazing with darkness - his patience withering dangerously thin. 

“Please dont take my generosity as weakness Kim Seok-Jin, you will tell me where Y/n is even if i have to torture it out of you” Jungkook regrets those words only after they have been said, his mind flooding with hesitation - the feeling only increasing as he notices the fear he has instilled in Jin. 

It pains him to know he has been pushed to this point - his own desperation luring him to see the cause of their strained friendship in Jin’s eyes. 

“She is my friend, i would never betray her, if you had been different to her, if you had shown her how much you cared about her then perhaps -” Jin speaks and though the words are meant for Jungkook, it’s like he is trying to convince himself that he wouldn’t betray you once again. 

“How much will she consider you a friend when she finds out the truth?” Jungkook asks and Jin can’t answer - he knows Jungkook is right but it doesn’t make the idea of him giving you away any easier. 

“When she finds out the real reason you walked into her life? When she knows that you have been my friend for years, covering and cleaning up behind me?” 

Jin’s mind is flooded with the memories of all your meetings - of how much he had retracted from the information he had given you in hopes he could conceal the role he had played in the desolate life you had been living. 

Jungkook’s dad wasn’t the one that kept his criminal record clean, he was. 

And Taehyung’s accident, He was the one who paid that family off. 

And all the other countless messes he had made go away, all because they were his friends. 

“Why are you so keen on finding her? Haven’t you done enough” Jin asks, his eyebrows furrowing with confusion. He had never seen Jungkook so desperate, if he truly wanted revenge against you he knew Jungkook to be the type of man to wait out that kind of retribution, why was he so relentless, it didn't make sense. 

Jungkook lowers his gaze - the clock ticking inside of his head leaving echoes in each empty space that is not taken by the thought of you. 

“I have no intentions to hurt her Jin” Jin picks up on the dejection in Jungkook's tone, his stare faltering “not anymore but my father on the other hand, he needs someone to blame - for someone to punish and i need to find her before he can.” 

Jin disassociates from the room- a culmination of feelings rampaging through his body and he doesn’t know if Jungkook's words are true, his own lack of sleep and the complexity of the situation leaving him stunt. 

will he really protect you in the way he says he will? Or is this another plan?

Another method to get you back in their hands. 

Was this for your own good? 

“Jin” Jungkook exhales. 

The answer Jungkook needs sits on the tip of Jin’s tongue - uncertainty keeping his mouth shut. He can feel his heart drumming rapidly, the sound leaving him deaf. Would this really count as a betrayal? If he was only doing what he thought was best for you?

“Jin” Jungkook repeats, a sense of urgency in his tone. 

“Give me-” Jin sighs, tears building on the edge of his eyes. He stares at Jungkook while his chin trembles, his eyes speaking words he can’t bring himself to say. 

“86 Pyeongchang- dong, Jongno-gu” Jin whispers.

In that moment Jin comes face to face with the inexorable truth, that no matter how much he fights, no matter how much he changes, no matter who he defends….he is just like them. 

-

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦.

𝐢 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐯𝐬. 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐩

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤/𝐝𝐦 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

© 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

@ane102,@thisartemisnevermisses,@jamlessstars,@cookysstuff,@gyeomibearr,@multiasf ,@lydinews,@vminkookgf,@chl0buggy, @peterstarkchrishiddleston , @koostrawberry , @jcrl99 , @coree730 , @melodiesforari , @taemond-in-the-ruff , @whoa-jo @jksusawife , @hoseoksluv89 , @piecesofapril11 , @coralmusicblaze , @junecat18 , @amiradumas , @mageprincess7 , @heartjiminie , @parkinglot-nights , @douknowbts , @str4gguk , @sarzkh31, @jjk970971 , @xwniazx, @jalexad, @hubbytaehyung, @wobblewobble822, @llallaaa, @gojosatoruhere, @defnotxara , @somehowukook , @jk-190811 , @googie-jeon , @melodiesforari , @harmonic55 , @kooliv, @heartwith0uthe, @somehowukook , @coldcoffee2121 , @anle102001, @whoa-jo , @yunoyeol

[yuurei20]

Malleus Facts Part 89: Malleus and Silver (pt1)

Silver says Malleus and Lilia have been looking out for him for as long as he can remember, with Malleus sneaking out of the castle to visit him, Lilia and Sebek.

Silver tells a story of a time when an unnamed someone who happened to be at their cottage taught him and his father how to dance upon his father’s request.

Based on speech patterns (and how we have heard of no one else but Sebek and Baur visiting the cottage), the “someone” is generally assumed to be Malleus.

Malleus does not seem to struggle in the way that others do to read Silver’s emotions, saying that Silver “has always been so empathetic, sharing in others’ joys and sorrows.”

When Lilia comments on the powerful emotions concealed beneath Silver’s poker face Malleus says, “I wouldn’t say he actively conceals them, per se. I suspect he simply doesn’t betray much emotion.”

Malleus says, “there is something to be said for that level of perseverance,” on the topic of Silver training hard every morning. Silver says he trains himself to better protect Malleus and his entourage.

Silver, Lilia and Sebek patrol campus the night before a Spelldrive tournament, on the lookout for spies. (This is presumably the tournament in Book 2, although we have heard of another in May).

When Idia asks if they are not going overboard Silver explains that, before NRC, Malleus was so well-protected that “he never set one foot outside the castle without a whole cadre of guards.” When Idia asks if Malleus “rules Diasomnia with an iron fist” and everyone is too scared to defy him Silver says, “Malleus doesn't need fear to lead anyone” and “I will do anything for the man I have pledged my loyalty to.”

Silver says that he hopes he will be able to attend an NRC ceremony alongside Malleus one day.

Malleus is well aware of Silver’s penchant for falling asleep without warning, getting coffee for Silver during Firelit Sky (“It might help him stay awake”), commenting on Silver dozing off places and teaseing him about being awakened by the Bell of Solace.

Silver will express concern about about how his actions will reflect on Malleus, allowing Vil to manipulate him into participating in a Film Research Club progress (“I cannot bring shame upon Malleus”) and becoming worried about losing credit in a potionology class because “losing credit would make (him) an embarrassment to Malleus!”

He also says that he endeavors to keep up with his studies as he has no desire to reflect poorly on Malleus.

[buckets-and-trees]

Hi Aspen, Cedar trees has been seeping into my mind lately (not that I’m complaining, but I’m blaming ovulation). Can I ask what a day in the life looks like for our dear couple? Do they ever run into each other doing their own independent tasks in town? Does reader ever watch Steve with his guards and become enamored with seeing him train/in charge?

Nonnie, I adore this ask!

A day in the life is a pretty odd juxtaposition between routine and a "plot of the week" kind of life. Running into him, depends on the day - but of course you love him more and more. As king, for Steve there are far more out of the ordinary things that crop into his days, whereas for you there are routines, ceremonial bits, and things that only change more based on the season, especially the first year of your marriage.

However, once the two of you came to the initial understanding that your marriage was more than just a political alliance between kingdoms with Steve acquiring someone to be his queen, Steve made some changes pretty swiftly to daily protocols so the two of you could grow together as a couple.

Title: A Shift in the Morning Routine Characters/Pairings: King!Steve x Queen!Reader Word Count: 1100

Content/Warnings: established relationship, reference to morning sex

Additional Notes: I've got so many head cannons that I want to build into more moments with the Cedar Trees AU, (including 2-3 more asks from @stargazingfangirl18 and @gifsbysimplysonia) but here is at least one.

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Not everything changes overnight, you are still new to the kingdom, your role as queen, and growing in familiarity with the people, the land, and your responsibilities, but the new intimacy of a deeper connection and commitment that you and Steve pledged to each other unlocks a wholly different sense of security that trickles steadily into your bloodstream in a way that make the days warmer, brighter, and bearing the duties you have becomes more natural. They were not impossible before, nor difficult, you had been raised and prepared since birth to be ready to become someone’s queen, but the sense of belonging that breathed now between you and your husband – that you were husband and wife – shifted things fundamentally.   

But there are things that do change specifically in your patterns and behaviors. The first thing to change is having breakfast brought in for you both any night the king sleeps in your chambers, and because there is so much protocol and support from palace staff around you, the palace notices quickly that it seems that the king is spending every night with you. There are a few - a very few - who raise an eyebrow at this behavior. Those few seem to think that surely if the king has taken such a liking to his new queen, that's all well and good, but he is the king, why not invite you to his quarters? But no one dares question the king, and much of the palace see his growing devotion to you as only another sign of his very good and kind heart, his capacity to care only showing consistently now in another form.

The servants do know not to bring breakfast until the two of you ring for it though.

Except for unexpected emergencies, the two of you are not to be disturbed until the king has had time with his queen and the two of you are in a state of decency, donning your bedclothes or robes as appropriate.

After a few weeks of this, there's a morning where the king's private secretary is getting antsy while he waits to give the king his first briefing of the day, and Lord Barnes diplomatically intervenes.

"My King," Bucky bows his head in deference that appropriately reflects his respect for Steve's position as king and their tie as friends since schoolchildren before Steve inherited any title. "Coulson doesn't want to disturb you, but he is growing more concerned we will fall behind on your majesty's royal itinerary if he cannot brief you soon ahead of this morning's audiences with the delegations from Vanaheim and Malibu."

The soft sigh Steve lets out is short and you're certain only you can hear, though you know Bucky has seen the affect his arrival and announcement have had as his face reflects warmth, a bit of mirth, but also the duty and responsibility to keep his friend in line with his responsibilities as right hand.

The two of you had lingered much longer in bed that morning, for the pleasure of both of you (twice for you, the second time with Steve). You reach for his hand where it was resting on the corner of the table, slipping your fingers into his palm and brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I would be a poor queen if I kept you here any longer then.”

Now Steve actually huffs. “You are not keeping me, I choose to breakfast with my wife, and I am not yet finished taking my nourishment for the day.”

You tilt your head and grin. “A kingdom cannot wait on their king all morning.”

“If I may,” Bucky interjects, and you both turn your attention to him, “Coulson could brief you as easily here as anywhere else.”

Steve nods and a wide smile spreads over his handsome face. “Bring him in, Buck.”

Your heart warms and flutters, the two of you holding each other’s gaze for another moment, and he reaches for more bread.  

When Lord Barnes returns with Coulson behind him, Coulson stands with only a little apprehension at the end of the table, but Bucky takes a seat across from you, to the right of the king, and begins to fill a plate of his own with breakfast.

“Your majesties,” Coulson addresses with a bow.

“Coulson,” Steve nods.

“Shall I start with the reports from the borders of the kingdom?”

“Are updates in regard to the delegations not more important than the border reports?” Steve questions, his brow furrowing.

It was fleeting, but you see the slightest of a glance to you and your presence, and your stomach hardens with guilt.

Coulson takes a breath to respond, but Steve holds up a hand. “I see. The queen’s insight may be valuable as we hear what you have to say as she is no stranger to royal politics.”

That hardening melts away at his words.

“Indeed, she may often prove to be invaluable in our efforts here in the coming days but as we move forward, as well, given that there are parts a queen may play that are wholly unavailable to a king.”

Bucky does not look up, but you see a relaxed grin on his face, and as you turn to gage Coulson’s reaction, you see his own previous apprehension had dissolved. “I would agree, your majesty.”

“Moving forward, if the queen should not mind, I would like you to deliver the morning briefing to us both while we breakfast. Come in straight away with the day’s food, Coulson.”

Steve squeezes your hand. “Do you object?”

A show of trust, of valuing your opinion, of seeing you as an asset as his queen – it is the furthest thing from your mind to object. “I serve this kingdom without reservation, my king.”

“One could not ask for a more dutiful or beautiful queen at my side.”

Those blue eyes bore into yours.

You know he means those words.

The full silence in the room only hits you when Lord Barnes clears his throat.

“Start with Vanaheim, Coulson, I meet with them first, correct?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Over the weeks that turned into months and years, you grew to like Coulson very much, and after that first day when Steve stated his trust in you, Coulson never showed any hesitancy in you ever again, and, in fact, became one of your most staunch champions in the kingdom.

READ THE NEXT PART: WINTER SOLSTICE read more of the Cedar Trees AU

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[stargareed]

Catelyn Actively Interfered with Jon's Life in a Negative Way

The Vault Vol. VIII

I. Intro

Recent posts have claimed that Catelyn, at worst, simply ignored Jon, and that this is fine because she didn't have a duty to mother Jon. While I agree Catelyn had no duty to mother Jon, I disagree that she simply ignored him. Rather, Catelyn unequivocally attempted to hinder Jon’s relationship with his family and societal position. Further, the text implies the only reason Catelyn didn’t do more to impede Jon’s quality of life was because Ned wouldn’t have allowed it.

First, a disclaimer: I think Catelyn is a compelling character who was, overall, a good person. The way she treated Jon was far more an indictment of Westerosi society than her own personal failings. Her wariness of Jon and his future children was relatively rational considering the historic threat bastards have posed to their trueborn siblings and Catelyn’s duty to ensure her own child inherited Winterfell. While Jon never exhibited any disloyal behavior, Catelyn understandably viewed him as a threat to Robb for at least three reasons: (1) Ned loved Jon and was very protective of him; (2) Jon was raised alongside his trueborn siblings; and (3) Jon looked like Ned, unlike any of Catelyn’s sons.

Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him "son" for all the North to see.  . . .  She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned's sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him. Somehow that made it worse. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Aside from any threat Jon posed to Robb’s inheritance, it’s also understandable that Catelyn didn’t like Jon for personal reasons. He was the embodiment of her husband’s infidelity, after all, who was neither out of sight nor out of mind. And Ned seemed to love Jon’s mom. Worse, he refused to even tell Catelyn who Jon’s mother was and got angry when she asked. It had to be difficult when the man Catelyn grew to love refused to share such a big part of his life with her. Indeed, she reflects on this more than once the text:

Eddard Stark had married her in Brandon's place, as custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the other, the shadow of the woman he would not name, the woman who had borne him his bastard son. . . .  When the wars were over at last, and Catelyn rode to Winterfell, Jon and his wet nurse had already taken up residence. That cut deep. Ned would not speak of the mother, not so much as a word, but a castle has no secrets, and Catelyn heard her maids repeating tales they heard from the lips of her husband's soldiers. . . . The Lady Ashara Dayne, tall and fair, with haunting violet eyes. It had taken her a fortnight to marshal her courage, but finally, in bed one night, Catelyn had asked her husband the truth of it, asked him to his face. That was the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her. "Never ask me about Jon," he said, cold as ice. "He is my blood, and that is all you need to know. And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady." She had pledged to obey; she told him; and from that day on, the whispering had stopped, and Ashara Dayne's name was never heard in Winterfell again.  Whoever Jon's mother had been, Ned must have loved her fiercely, for nothing Catelyn said would persuade him to send the boy away. It was the one thing she could never forgive him. She had come to love her husband with all her heart, but she had never found it in her to love Jon. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added)) Her own children had more Tully about them than Stark. Arya was the only one to show much of Ned in her features. And Jon Snow, but he was never mine. She found herself thinking of Jon's mother, that shadowy secret love her husband would never speak of. Does she grieve for Ned as I do? Or did she hate him for leaving her bed for mine? Does she pray for her son as I have prayed for mine?  They were uncomfortable thoughts, and futile. If Jon had been born of Ashara Dayne of Starfall, as some whispered, the lady was long dead; if not, Catelyn had no clue who or where his mother might be. And it made no matter. Ned was gone now, and his loves and his secrets had all died with him. (Catelyn VI, ACOK (emphasis added))

Moreover, Westerosi norms likely exacerbated Catelyn’s hurt feelings because they limited her options in dealing with such a slight. She had no say over whether Jon lived in Winterfell, at least while Ned resided there. She couldn’t just divorce Ned. What’s more, she had every incentive to learn to love Ned for the sake of her children. But while societal norms encouraged her to forgive her husband’s infidelity, they did not force her to mother Jon. So, she didn’t. 

Ideally, Catelyn would not have blamed Jon for Ned’s actions. But let’s be real, only an extraordinary person would be able to completely separate the negative emotions caused by their spouse’s betrayal from how they perceived the very product of that betrayal. And while Catelyn was extraordinary in some things, such as her devotion to her children, she wasn’t extraordinary in her treatment of Jon. And that’s ok. It doesn’t make her a bad person.

That said, it’s also disingenuous to pretend Catelyn didn’t mistreat Jon, even if her actions were understandable. In 2005, GRRM stated that Catelyn and Sansa were the two POV characters readers disliked most. This is likely because of their contentious relationships with sympathetic protagonists Jon and Arya, respectively. If Catelyn’s mistreatment of Jon was truly limited to neglect, it’s doubtful readers would have such a negative view of Catelyn. Regardless, the text provides multiple examples of Catelyn affirmatively interfering in Jon’s life. 

One final clarification before we begin. I'm aware that in 1999, when asked about Catelyn's "mistreatment" of Jon, GRRM responded that while Catelyn "distance[d]" herself from Jon, she did not "verbally abuse and attack him," and that the instance in Bran's bedroom was a "very special case." However, while an author's account of the facts must be accepted as gospel (e.g. Catelyn did this to Jon, she didn't do that), an author's legal conclusion about what those facts constitute is not entitled to the same deference (e.g. Catelyn did A, B, and C to Jon, and this does/does not constitute "abuse"). To be sure, GRRM's statement that Catelyn didn't regularly abuse Jon is certainly relevant. However, it's not dispositive because, let's be real, a baby boomer speaking in the 1990s is likely going to have a different definition of abuse than a millennial would in the 2020s. As a result, I'm not going to focus on whether Catelyn "abused" Jon because many of us have different definitions of abuse. Rather, I'm simply going to try to discuss a few express and implied facts that show Catelyn did far more than simply ignore Jon.

II. Catelyn fought hard to banish Jon from Winterfell, even after Jon grew close to his siblings.

Catelyn had tried to send Jon away from his family multiple times before the events in the first book, to no avail. 

Whoever Jon's mother had been, Ned must have loved her fiercely, for nothing Catelyn said would persuade him to send the boy away. It was the one thing she could never forgive him. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Then, once Catelyn convinced Ned to become King Robert’s Hand, she again demanded that 14-year-old Jon leave Winterfell. This time she was successful, in part because of Jon’s desire to take the Black. 

Jon must go," she said now. "He and Robb are close," Ned said. "I had hoped …" "He cannot stay here," Catelyn said, cutting him off. "He is your son, not mine. I will not have him." It was hard, she knew, but no less the truth. Ned would do the boy no kindness by leaving him here at Winterfell. The look Ned gave her was anguished. "You know I cannot take him south. There will be no place for him at court. A boy with a bastard's name … you know what they will say of him. He will be shunned."  Catelyn armored her heart against the mute appeal in her husband's eyes. "They say your friend Robert has fathered a dozen bastards himself."  "And none of them has ever been seen at court!" Ned blazed. “The Lannister woman has seen to that. How can you be so damnably cruel, Catelyn? He is only a boy. He—"  His fury was on him. He might have said more, and worse, but Maester Luwin cut in. "Another solution presents itself," he said, his voice quiet. "Your brother Benjen came to me about Jon a few days ago. It seems the boy aspires to take the black."  Ned looked shocked. "He asked to join the Night's Watch?"  Catelyn said nothing. Let Ned work it out in his own mind; her voice would not be welcome now. Yet gladly would she have kissed the maester just then. His was the perfect solution. Benjen Stark was a Sworn Brother. Jon would be a son to him, the child he would never have. And in time the boy would take the oath as well. He would father no sons who might someday contest with Catelyn's own grandchildren for Winterfell. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added))

(As an aside, I’ve always loved that Ned referred to Jon not as a “bastard,” but as a “boy with a bastard’s name.”)

III. Catelyn also played a role in Jon ultimately choosing to take the black because she made sure Jon knew he would never be part of the Stark family or welcome in Winterfell.

While it was Jon’s choice to join the Night’s Watch initially, he quickly became disillusioned when he realized it was filled with criminals who lacked honor. But while he desired to go back to Winterfell, he knew he had no place there because of Catelyn. So, he swore his life away. 

Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. "I have not sworn yet," he muttered. He was no outlaw, bound to take the black or pay the penalty for his crimes. He had come here freely, and he might leave freely … until he said the words. He need only ride on, and he could leave it all behind. By the time the moon was full again, he would be back in Winterfell with his brothers. Your half brothers, a voice inside reminded him. And Lady Stark, who will not welcome you. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King's Landing either. Even his own mother had not had a place for him. The thought of her made him sad. He wondered who she had been, what she had looked like, why his father had left her. Because she was a whore or an adulteress, fool. Something dark and dishonorable, or else why was Lord Eddard too ashamed to speak of her? (Jon V, AGOT (emphasis added))

We also see, through Jon’s eyes, the extent to which Catelyn made him feel alienated from his Stark family.

"We're not friends," Jon said. He put a hand on Sam's broad shoulder. "We're brothers." And so they were, he thought to himself after Sam had taken his leave. Robb and Bran and Rickon were his father's sons, and he loved them still, yet Jon knew that he had never truly been one of them. Catelyn Stark had seen to that. The grey walls of Winterfell might still haunt his dreams, but Castle Black was his life now, and his brothers were Sam and Grenn and Halder and Pyp and the other cast-outs who wore the black of the Night's Watch. (Jon IV, AGOT (emphasis added)) "Your sister," Iron Emmett said, "how old is …" By now she'd be eleven, Jon thought. Still a child. "I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you." Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton's throat as easily. (Jon VI, ADWD (emphasis added))

Fortunately for Jon, it seems Catelyn’s disdain for him was only adopted by Sansa, at least among his siblings:

He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He missed the girls too, even Sansa, who never called him anything but "my half brother" since she was old enough to understand what bastard meant. And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had … yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him. (Jon III, AGOT (emphasis added))

Though, of course, Catelyn made her contempt for Jon known outside the Stark family. 

"I will permit you to take the black. Ned Stark's bastard is the Lord Commander on the Wall." The Blackfish narrowed his eyes. "Did your father arrange for that as well? Catelyn never trusted the boy, as I recall, no more than she ever trusted Theon Greyjoy. It would seem she was right about them both. No, ser, I think not. I'll die warm, if you please, with a sword in hand running red with lion blood." (Jaime VI, AFFC (emphasis added))

This fact even made Jon hesitate to ask the Vale for food for the Night’s Watch.

We could, thought Jon, if we had the gold, and someone willing to sell us food. Both of those were lacking. Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard. As a boy, he often felt as if the lady grudged him every bite. (Jon IV, ADWD (emphasis added))

IV. Catelyn mistreated Jon while he lived in Winterfell, to the point where he felt uncomfortable even being in the same room with her if Ned wasn't there.

There have been some great write ups about how, while GRRM said Catelyn’s horrible treatment of Jon when Bran was comatose--i.e. “It should have been you”--was a “special case,” the scene also revealed Catelyn had a history of mistreating Jon. For example, Jon was afraid to visit his own comatose brother merely because Catelyn was in the same room. 

He reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid. Ghost nuzzled at his hand. He took courage from that. He straightened and entered the room. Lady Stark was there beside his bed. She had been there, day and night, for close on a fortnight. Not for a moment had she left Bran’s side. She had her meals brought to her there, and chamber pots as well, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though it was said she had scarcely slept at all. She fed him herself, the honey and water and herb mixture that sustained life. Not once did she leave the room. So Jon had stayed away. But now there was no more time. He stood in the door for a moment, afraid to speak, afraid to come closer. The window was open. Below, a wolf howled. Ghost heard and lifted his head. Lady Stark looked over. For a moment she did not seem to recognize him. Finally she blinked. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a voice strangely flat and emotionless. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Jon’s fears proved well founded as Catelyn immediately attempted to prevent him from seeing his own dying brother. 

“I came to see Bran,” Jon said. “To say good-bye.” Her face did not change. Her long auburn hair was dull and tangled. She looked as thought she had aged twenty years. “You’ve said it. Now go away.” Part of him wanted only to flee, but he knew that if he did he might never see Bran again. He took a nervous step into the room. “Please,” he said. Something cold moved in her eyes. “I told you to leave,” she said. “We don’t want you here.” (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Notice how Catelyn said “we” don’t want you here, not “I” don’t want you here. She attempted to manipulate Jon into thinking Bran would also not want him there, when nothing could be further from the truth. 

Soon, it’s revealed this isn’t the first time Catelyn tried to kick Jon out of a room to prevent him from seeing his family. 

Something cold moved in her eyes. “I told you to leave,” she said. “We don’t want you here.” Once that would have sent him running. Once that might even have made him cry. Now it only made him angry. He would be a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch soon, and face worse dangers than Catelyn Tully Stark. “He’s my brother,” he said. “Shall I call the guards?” “Call them,” Jon said, defiant. “You can’t stop me from seeing him.” He crossed the room, keeping the bed between them, and looked down on Bran where he lay. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Notice also the power she wielded over Jon as Lady of Winterfell, threatening to call the guards on him.

Jon then gave a heartwarming talk to Bran, apologizing that he didn’t come earlier because he was afraid. 

“Bran,” he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t come before. I was afraid.” He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. Jon no longer cared. “Don’t die, Bran. Please. We’re all waiting for you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone . . . “ Lady Stark was watching. She had not raised a cry. Jon took that for acceptance. Outside the window, the direwolf howled again. The wolf that Bran had not had time to name. “I have to go now,” Jon said. “Uncle Benjen is waiting. I’m to go north to the Wall. We have to leave today, before the snows come.” He remembered how excited Bran had been at the prospect of the journey. It was more than he could bear, the thought of leaving him behind like this. Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his brother lightly on the lips. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

And then a curious thing happened. Catelyn, grief stricken, confessed to Jon that she felt partially responsible for Bran’s condition. And Jon consoled her! (As an aside, GRRM really knows how to write a sympathetic protagonist, starting with the very first chapter when Jon excluded himself from the Stark family so his siblings could get direwolves, and even later in this chapter when Jon lied to Robb and said Catelyn was kind to him because he knew Robb had enough to deal with.)

“I wanted him to stay here with me,” Lady Stark said softly. Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for a part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room. “I prayed for it,” she said dully. “He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered.” Jon did not know what to say. “It wasn’t your fault,” he managed after an awkward silence. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

And how was Jon rewarded for trying to comfort Lady Stark?

Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. “I need none of your absolution, bastard.” Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran’s hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds. “Good-bye,” he said. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Now, notice how Jon didn’t think twice when Catelyn called him a “bastard.” This was likely because she’d called him that before. This is important for the next part. 

He was at the door when she called out to him. “Jon,” she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing hit for the first time. “Yes?” he said. “It should have been you,” she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

So, in 14 years, Lady Stark had never once called Jon by his name. Notice it doesn’t say she never once called him a name. Indeed, she had just called him “bastard” and he didn’t think anything of it. So she called him names, like “bastard,” just never “Jon.” That’s pretty messed up. No one should have to face that level of contempt from an authority figure in their own home. No wonder Jon avoided her like the plague.

In sum, even if Cat telling Jon “It should have been you” was a one-time thing, it’s clear she had a history of mistreating him, such as (1) calling him “bastard” but never once calling him by his name; (2) kicking him out of rooms; and (3) making him so uncomfortable that he avoided spending time with his family if she was in the same room (unless Ned was there, of course). 

Now, for those who say Jon may be an unreliable narrator, the next paragraphs show this wasn’t the case because others were very much aware of how Cat mistreated Jon. 

"You Starks are hard to kill," Jon agreed. His voice was flat and tired. The visit had taken all the strength from him. Robb knew something was wrong. “My mother . . . " “She was . . . very kind,” Jon told him. Robb look relieved. “Good.” He smiled. (Jon II, AGOT (emphasis added))

Robb was worried about how his mother treated Jon while Jon was seeing his comatose brother for possibly the last time. When Jon lied and said she treated him kindly (I love Jon!), Robb was “relieved.” This shows Jon wasn’t just making stuff up, and others were aware of Catelyn’s mistreatment of Jon. 

Robb’s interesting because, as supportive as he was of Jon, he unwittingly played a role in what was likely the one of the first times Jon realized he was a bastard, courtesy of Lady Stark, of course. 

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken. (Jon XII, ASOS (emphasis added))

And soon after that repressed memory resurfaced, Jon thinks again about what Catelyn would do to make him feel unwanted and uncomfortable. 

It was not Lord Eddard's face he saw floating before him, though; it was Lady Catelyn's. With her deep blue eyes and hard cold mouth, she looked a bit like Stannis. Iron, he thought, but brittle. She was looking at him the way she used to look at him at Winterfell, whenever he had bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. Who are you? that look had always seemed to say. This is not your place. Why are you here? (Jon XII, ASOS (emphasis added))

V. Catelyn sought to prevent Jon from succeeding Robb, even in a scenario where Jon couldn't possibly threaten Catelyn's children or grandchildren.

Catelyn, like much of Westeros, was deeply prejudiced against bastards. 

"Mya Stone, if it please you, my lady," the girl said. It did not please her; it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was a bastard's name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden; in each of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no names of their own. Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but think of Ned's bastard on the Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty, both at once. She struggled to find words for a reply. (Catelyn VI, AGOT (emphasis added))

(As an aside, it’s interesting that Cat seemed to feel some guilt regarding Jon. I wish GRRM had fleshed that out a bit more like the show did. It also makes me yearn for a Lady Stoneheart-Jon reunion.)

Catelyn also did not like Jon. So when Robb was trying to discuss who should be his heir--with Bran, Rickon, and Arya presumed dead, and Sansa married to a Lannister--Catelyn did not want to consider Jon, advocating instead for distant Vale relatives. 

“Young, and a king,” he said. “A king must have an heir. If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north would pass to her.” His mouth tightened. “To her, and her lord husband. Tyrion Lannister. I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. That dwarf must never have the north.” “No,” Catelyn agreed. “You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son.” She considered for a moment. “Your father’s father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest . . . it might have been a Templeton, but . . . " “Mother.” There was a sharpness in Robb’s tone. “You forget. My father had four sons.” She had not forgotten, she had not wanted to look at it, yet there it was. “A Snow is not a Stark.” (Catelyn V, ASOS (emphasis added))

Ok, first, I love the way Robb reaffirmed Jon’s humanity to his mother, reminding her that Ned Stark had four sons. (Go Robb!) It was always Jon’s goal to live his life so that people would say Ned Stark had four sons, not three. See Jon IX, AGOT (“He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.”)

Second, it’s important to note that Catelyn explicitly said she did not want to “look at” Jon. Not that she considered him but worried his vows or bastardy precluded him from being heir, but that she did not want to even look at him. This shows Catelyn’s gut feeling was to not even consider Jon, and only when she was forced to did she develop her post hoc arguments regarding Jon’s vows and bastardy. 

Third, while Cat initially framed the discussion as deciding who Robb’s heir should be until Jeyne provided Robb a son, later the discussion was broadened to include who should succeed Robb if he died without issue. And even then Catelyn argued that an unknown Vale lordling should inherit over Jon. This is an important distinction because Cat’s arguments regarding the threat posed by legitimizing Jon--namely that Jon and his sons would threaten Robb’s sons--do not apply to a scenario where Robb dies without issue. And Robb’s Will could easily be written to only legitimize Jon should Robb die without children. So, clearly the issue wasn’t limited to Catelyn’s fear for her children and grandchildren. It also included pure pettiness on Catelyn’s part. 

Catelyn first attempted to dissuade Robb by reminding him of Jon’s Night’s Watch vows. Then, when that didn’t work, she pivoted to the threat posed by legitimizing Jon. 

“Jon’s more a Stark than some lordlings from the Vale who have never so much as set eyes on Winterfell.” “Jon is a brother of the Night’s Watch, sworn to take no wife and hold no lands. Those who take the black serve for life.” “So do the knights of the Kingsguard. That did not stop the Lannisters from stripping the white cloaks from Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Boros Blount when they had no more use for them. If I send the Watch a hundred men in Jon’s place, I’ll wager they find some way to release him from his vows.” He is set on this. Catelyn knew how stubborn her son could be. “A bastard cannot inherit.” “Not unless he’s legitimized by a royal decree,” said Robb. “There is more precedent for that than for releasing a Sworn Brother from his oath.” “Precedent,” she said bitterly. “Yes, Aegon the Fourth legitimized all his bastards on his deathbed. And how much pain, grief, war, and murder grew from that? I know you trust Jon. But can you trust his sons? Or their sons? The Blackfyre pretenders troubled the Targaryens for five generations, until Barristan the Bold slew the last of them on the Stepstones. If you make Jon legitimate, there is no way to turn him bastard again. Should he wed and breed, any sons you may have by Jeyne will never be safe.” (Catelyn V, ASOS (emphasis added))

I love seeing lawyer Robb advocate on his brother’s behalf. But gods, Catelyn’s contempt for Jon couldn’t be more obvious when she referred to him having kids as “breed[ing].” It reminds me of how Robert Baratheon used that term when referring to Daenerys because of his hatred for Targaryens. 

I love this next part because, not only does Robb defend Jon, so does Grey Wind! Don’t mess with the pack!

“Jon would never harm a son of mine.” “No more than Theon Greyjoy would harm Bran or Rickon?” Grey Wind leapt up atop King Tristifer’s crypt, his teeth barred. Robb’s own face was cold. “That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon.” (Catelyn V, ASOS (emphasis added))

Then it concludes with Catelyn stating she’d even oppose Jon if Robb died without issue. 

“So you pray. Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north may not be permitted to pass to the Imp, but what of Arya? By law she comes after Sansa . . . your own sister, trueborn.” “. . . and dead. No one has seen or heard of Arya since they cut Father’s head off. Why do you lie to yourself? Arya’s gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they’ll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. Jon is the only brother than remains to me. Should I die without issue, I want him to succeed me as King in the North. I had hoped you would support my choice.” “I cannot,” she said. “In all else, Robb. In everything. But not in this . . . . this folly. Do not ask it.” “I don’t have to. I’m the king.” Robb turned and walked off, Grey Wind bounding down from the tomb after him. (Catelyn V, ASOS (emphasis added))

VI. Catelyn likely would've treated Jon worse if Ned wasn't so fiercely protective of Jon.

To Catelyn’s credit, she could’ve treated Jon far worse. We see this with Falia Flowers, who was forced to serve her trueborn siblings. And then, of course, there’s Cersei: 

"I glimpsed him once at Winterfell," the queen said, "though the Starks did their best to hide him. He looks very like his father." Her husband's by-blows had his look as well, though at least Robert had the grace to keep them out of sight. Once, after that sorry business with the cat, he had made some noises about bringing some baseborn daughter of his to court. "Do as you please," she'd told him, "but you may find that the city is not a healthy place for a growing girl." The bruise those words had won her had been hard to hide from Jaime, but they heard no more about the bastard girl. Catelyn Tully was a mouse, or she would have smothered this Jon Snow in his cradle. Instead, she's left the filthy task to me. "Snow shares Lord Eddard's taste for treason too," she said. "The father would have handed the realm to Stannis. The son has given him lands and castles." (Cersei IV, AFFC (emphasis added))

While I know Cat would never physically harm Jon, it’s interesting to consider how much of Catelyn’s restraint was due to Ned’s protectiveness of Jon, as opposed to her own scruples. After all, the text mentions multiple times how defensive Ned was of Jon:

The look Ned gave her was anguished. "You know I cannot take him south. There will be no place for him at court. A boy with a bastard's name … you know what they will say of him. He will be shunned."  Catelyn armored her heart against the mute appeal in her husband's eyes. "They say your friend Robert has fathered a dozen bastards himself."  "And none of them has ever been seen at court!" Ned blazed. “The Lannister woman has seen to that. How can you be so damnably cruel, Catelyn? He is only a boy. He—"   His fury was on him. He might have said more, and worse, but Maester Luwin cut in. (Catelyn II, AGOT (emphasis added)) Still, she was struck again by how strangely men behaved when it came to their bastards. Ned had always been fiercely protective of Jon, and Ser Cortnay Penrose had given up his life for this Edric Storm, yet Roose Bolton's bastard had meant less to him than one of his dogs, to judge from the tone of the queer cold letter Edmure had gotten from him not three days past. (Catelyn VI, ACOK (emphasis added))

We also know Ned desired for Jon to have a close relationship with Ned’s children:

… but then somehow he was back at Winterfell again, in the godswood looking down upon his father. Lord Eddard seemed much younger this time. His hair was brown, with no hint of grey in it, his head bowed. "… let them grow up close as brothers, with only love between them," he prayed, "and let my lady wife find it in her heart to forgive …" (Bran III, ADWD (emphasis added))

But once that protection waned with Ned’s appointment as Hand and relocation to King’s Landing, Catelyn was able to convince Ned to allow Jon to take the black.

"He cannot stay here," Catelyn said, cutting him off. "He is your son, not mine. I will not have him." It was hard, she knew, but no less the truth. Ned would do the boy no kindness by leaving him here at Winterfell. (Catelyn II, AGOT)

Notably, while Catelyn was demanding Jon be evicted from Winterfell, it was actually Ned’s decision. This is evident from the fact he had denied her prior requests for Jon to leave Winterfell. Indeed, Ned even controlled where Cat’s own children went, insisting that Bran accompany him south over Cat’s strenuous objections.

So what made this request different? The answer is simple: Ned could insist that Jon remain at Winterfell, but without Ned’s protection, Catelyn would be free to make Jon’s life . . . difficult. Catelyn’s inner dialogue hints at this.

Ned would do the boy no kindness by leaving him here at Winterfell. (Catelyn II, AGOT)

Compare this to what Cersei told Robert about Mya Stone coming to court:

“[Y]ou may find that the city is not a healthy place for a growing girl."  (Cersei IV, AFFC)

This begs the question: If Ned had insisted Jon stay at Winterfell in Ned’s absence, would Cat’s treatment of Jon change without Ned to keep her in check? To what lengths would Cat go to “differentiate” Jon from his trueborn siblings? While I think Robb would be old enough to curb Cat’s worst impulses, and Cat would also have to account for Maester Luwin “tattling” on her via raven to Ned if she got too bad, I’ve no doubt that Cat would, at the very least, be emboldened in her mistreatment of Jon. 

VII. Catelyn's disdain for Jon likely hurt her in the end.

One of the first thoughts many people have after learning about R+L=J is: “Why didn’t Ned just tell Cat the truth?” It surely would’ve saved a lot of heartache. But I think Ned gave us his reasoning: 

Ned thought, If it came to that, the life of some child I did not know, against Robb and Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon, what would I do? Even more so, what would Catelyn do, if it were Jon's life, against the children of her body? He did not know. He prayed he never would. (Eddard XII, AGOT (emphasis added))

In other words, if Cat knew Jon was a secret Targaryen, and she thought her family might be in danger because, perhaps, someone in King’s Landing suspected the truth, she likely would have no qualms about sacrificing Jon in a heartbeat to prove her loyalty to the Baratheon regime. After all, she never made any promises to any dying siblings to protect Jon. 

Further, that Catelyn treated Jon so poorly likely played a role in Ned’s refusal to tell her the truth which, in the end, only hurt her because she died thinking Jon was the product of her husband’s infidelity, as opposed to Lyanna’s son. 

Another way her mistreatment of Jon hurt her was in Robb’s decision to marry Jeyne Westerling. While Ned’s honor no doubt played a role, there’s a good chance Robb also married Jeyne to prevent any potential child he had with her from growing up a bastard because he had seen the way Jon was treated, including by his own mother. And, of course, Robb’s marriage to Jeyne directly led to Robb and Catelyn’s own deaths. 

[coochiequeens]

The tide is turning for the TQ+. And they have no one to blame but themselves

Wes Streeting last night admitted he had been wrong to say that “trans women are women” amid a major Labour row over the Cass review into NHS gender care.

The shadow health secretary said the controversial LGBT rights group Stonewall – where he used to work – had got it wrong with its slogan.

In a major about-turn for the party, he told The Sun that he now admitted “there are lots of complexities” on the trans issue but that he was prepared to take criticism “on the chin”.

It came as Labour became embroiled in another trans row after Mr Streeting welcomed the review and pledged to implement it in full.

The shadow health secretary said the report raised “some serious concerns that are pretty scandalous”.

But Rosie Duffield, a Labour MP placed under investigation by the party last year for campaigning against gender ideology, pointed out that women who had exposed the scandal had been “blanked, sidelined and dismissed” by male leaders simply for speaking up.

Last night Mr Streeting was asked on The Sun’s Never Mind The Ballots programme whether he stood by Stonewall’s claim that “trans women are women, get over it”, he admitted: “No.”

He added: “To the extent that – and I say this with some self-criticism and reflection – if you’d asked me a few years ago, on this topic, I would have said trans men are men, trans women are women. Some people are trans, get over it. Let’s move on. This is all blown out of proportion.

“And now I sort of sit and reflect and think actually, there are lots of complexities.”

He went on: “I take the criticism on the chin. And at the same time, I also think that there’s been some absolutely ugly rhetoric directed towards trans people who are at the wrong end of all of statistics on hate crime, on self harm, suicide, mental health.”

Labour has long been divided on trans issues and has been accused of flip-flopping on its stance in recent years.

The party no longer has plans to bring in self-ID for trans people, and Sir Keir Starmer, the Labour leader, has rowed back from saying “trans women are women”, and now states that a woman is an “adult female” and that 99.9 per cent of them do not have a penis.

Mr Streeting’s comments angered the Labour Left. The Corbynite group Momentum tweeted: “The Cass review ignored dozens of scientific studies, coming to a harmful conclusion of limiting access to gender-affirming care for trans youth.

“Anti-trans campaigners have celebrated it. So it’s highly disappointing that Labour’s leadership is welcoming it unreservedly.”

Yesterday, feminist Julie Bindel demanded an apology from Mr Streeting for failing to support her gender-critical views when he was president of the National Union of Students.

Earlier this year, the party dropped a year-long investigation into a complaint that Ms Duffield had been transphobic for liking a tweet by Father Ted creator Graham Linehan, who is now a gender-critical campaigner.

However, despite the changes, critics of the Labour leadership say gender-critical women in the party continue to be sidelined or not selected.

Wes Streeting says the Cass report raised 'some serious concerns that are pretty scandalous' CREDIT: Jay Williams

The Cass review, published on Wednesday, said much of the evidence for gender medicine was flimsy and that drugs such as puberty blockers should be used with extreme caution as children who think they are trans may have mental health problems.

Dr Hilary Cass, the paediatrician behind the report, said some NHS gender clinics refused to comment on requests for information.

On Never Mind the Ballots, Mr Streeting said: “I think we’ve got to ask ourselves why is it that we’ve seen medical interventions that have been given on the basis of very weak evidence?

“How is it that clinicians have been silenced or afraid to come forward? Why is it that a group of young people who are extremely vulnerable are waiting years to access treatment?

“I think there’s plenty of blame to go around. I’m pretty angry actually that despite this review having been commissioned there are some NHS trusts that refused to co-operate.

“And I want to send a clear message to them that under a Labour government there’ll be accountability for that, you’re not going to get away with it. And I want to work constructively with the Government to try to get this right.”

Earlier, he had tweeted: “Children’s healthcare should always be led by evidence and children’s welfare, free from culture wars…

“The Government must now immediately act, but if they do not, the next Labour government will work to implement the expert recommendations of the Cass review, to ensure that young people are receiving appropriate and high-quality care.”

This prompted Ms Duffield to retweet the statement, with the message: “To the many women blanked, sidelined, dismissed by male leaders when speaking up and exposing this for years.”

And Ms Bindel, a former Labour Party member, wrote: “Glad to see you are now openly critical of the gender ideology that led to the atrocities against children outlined in the Cass report.

“I am open to accepting an apology from you. In 2008, when you were NUS president, I was no-platformed alongside five fascist groups for ‘transphobia’.

“I contacted you and asked for your help. You gave none. I asked you to condemn those that had orchestrated the no-platforming, and you refused.

“Have you any idea of the reputational damage this caused me? How it gave others permission to no-platform, denounce and defame me?

“How it meant that I could be slandered by other organisations, and so many, many universities around the UK and elsewhere? If this sounds bitter then good, because I am.”

To this message, Ms Duffield said: “Thank you for leading us all here Julie. Without you, most of us wouldn’t have had a clue what had been happening to children who were far too young to have the critical faculties or agency to consent.”

Addressing Ms Bindel’s accusation, Mr Streeting replied: “From memory (16 years on, so correct me if I’m wrong!) I replied to confirm that you weren’t on NUS’ no platform policy and as this was in relation to a motion passed by the autonomous women’s campaign I was not empowered to overturn it (not least as a male president!).”

[mooniedust]

Jacaerys Velaryon prompt/bot

Plot: When Jacaerys' mother, Rhaenyra, sends a group of bastards to tame wild dragons, Jacaerys feels contempt for them, reflecting the hatred he harbors for being seen as a bastard himself. You, confront him, challenging his worldview. Through your conversations, you make him question his resentment and obsession with his absent father, pointing out that his mother, Rhaenyra, chose him out of love, and that his worth is not dependent on his legitimacy.

TW: Bastardphobia.

With all my heart,

Moon Dust.

Everything felt like a cruel, twisted jest: the coronation of his uncle over his mother, the true and rightful heir to the throne; the devastating death of Lucerys on a mission of peace that ended in bloodshed; and now, his mother resorting to sending bastards to tame the wild, unclaimed dragons. Bastards—filthy, unworthy creatures—who lacked the respect, the heritage, the dignity they should possess. Ignorant, they touched what they could never understand: the glory of a dragon, oblivious to the majesty they dared approach in their wretched, meaningless lives.

Yet, in the depths of his soul, Jacaerys knew he was one of them. Dressed in fine jewels, armed with Valyrian steel, dragon blood coursing through his veins, he was, in truth, nothing more than a bastard himself. Perhaps that was the source of his scorn—a bitterness so profound that it twisted in his gut, burning his lips with the sourness of hate, like biting into the flesh of a lemon. For all his rejection of them, those bastards were freer than he could ever dream of being. His existence, a stain upon the war, upon Rhaenyra's claim to the throne. All because of his dark hair—his undeniable mark of shame, proof of a father who was not the one to whom his mother had pledged her vows.

Strong. But not strong enough to be counted among the pure-blooded Velaryons.

"You should feel honored, my lady. To be chosen by a dragon is no small feat, least of all for a bastard," his voice lashed out, sharp and cold, like a blade slicing through the biting air. His eyes, pale as winter, remained fixed on the horizon as the wind swept through his brown curls, revealing the harsh contours of his face—pale skin and a jawline chiseled by disappointment and fate.

Footsteps echoed softly as someone approached the prince. A young woman, small, almost invisible amidst the ragged group of bastards his mother had gathered, but here—at his side—she could not be overlooked. Clad in a simple, form-fitting dress and a cloak that offered little protection from the chill, she was like a girl stolen from her modest life, thrust into a war she could never fully comprehend. A mere shadow in the fortress of Dragonstone.

"I am no lady, and certainly no bastard," she replied quietly, adjusting her stance beside him. Her wide, doe-like eyes, framed by long, unassuming lashes, observed the crashing waves with a calm that mirrored his own, though it concealed something far more potent beneath.

Jacaerys arched an eyebrow, an icy, mocking laugh escaping his lips, the mist of his breath fading into the cold. A low hum followed as he leaned in, his gaze narrowing, studying her face with the keen eyes of someone seeking the truth hidden beneath the surface.

"Of course, a pure Targaryen, no doubt? And where, may I ask, are your silver locks?" His hand moved with cruel purpose, tugging at her hood until it slipped, the fabric cascading down her shoulders.

"And where are yours?" she shot back, without flinching.

Touché.

A tense silence fell between them, thick with unspoken truths. Jacaerys' fingers, adorned with rings, drummed against the cold stone steps leading to Dragonstone's shore as he searched for a reply that would cut as deeply as her retort.

"It seems my mother didn't quite consider the consequences when she lay with a man of dark hair instead of her husband," he finally muttered, his voice bitter, as though tasting the ashes of his family's mistakes. He brushed his own dark locks behind his ear, his lips curling into a thin, bitter line. "What’s the saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Three bastard sons, and still, she didn't learn."

The young woman said nothing, allowing him to spill his torment into the wind, his words becoming a scattered, broken murmur, carried away into the cold void of the evening.

"Your mother, the queen, knew exactly what she was doing," she said softly, her eyes never leaving him. "Do not mistake her for a fool. She could have taken moon tea, used all the methods available to her, but she didn’t. She chose you, chose all of you. Some mothers, driven by something deeper than reason, go beyond the understanding of men—perhaps it’s love."

"Her desires change nothing," Jacaerys spat, venomous. "I am still a bastard, stealing my rightful kin’s place on the throne. Foolishness. Love is the death of duty."

Her scoff echoed loudly in the silent air, her irritation plain. She kicked a stone, hands resting defiantly on her hips, her frustration burning hotter than the cold winds around them.

"How utterly absurd! Are you truly that blind? With all due respect, Your Majesty, but look around! Bastards, everywhere, with nothing—no land, no future, no graves to call their own—walking a razor’s edge between being burned alive by dragons or dying for a throne that means nothing to them!" She began to pace, fury radiating off her in waves. "Forgive me if the sorrows of a noble bastard do not stir my heart, but honestly? No one cares. Not outside the crown’s walls. It’s always the crown. It’s never the people."

"The struggle is the same, my lady. Neither of us are children of anyone, our fathers are nobodies in the grand scheme of things, are they not?" The prince’s voice faltered, his fingers clawing at the cold stone, nails breaking against the unyielding surface. He refused to meet her gaze, his pain palpable in every movement, every breath. But once again, she shattered his self-pity with her sharp, unforgiving words.

"I couldn’t care less who my father was. Good or bad, he’s gone, my mom.. and you—" she paused, her voice steady but fierce. "You shouldn’t care either. Yes, it’s tragic. Cry at night, if you must—weep into the darkness. But when the sun rises, remember this: your mother carried you beneath her heart for many moons, she dreamed of your future, and even now, she fights for what is yours by birthright, she laughs and weeps as you do and still chose you. So, instead of mourning a father who never was, why not choose your queen for once?"

[hello-universe-lovers]

"You're on a path in the woods"

An experiment in a lil animation made me wanna talk about my stp au that I have been teasing for days now.

So, without further adu, I hereby give you my AU.

SLAY THE PRINCESS: THE FIRST DRAFT

Loosely inspired by "[Tumblr] Plays STP" accounts floating around.

This follows the tale of the Narrator's first attempt at the Construct, when he was still testing the limits of this prison, and if the task of slaying the "Princess" was even feasible. As an Echo, he didn't want to risk the Long Quiet not obeying his orders, so he got a "volunteer", a mortal, to see if she would obey. He needs to be sure his will won't be challenged, before waking up the Long Quiet as a mortal. But what he got instead changed the very nature of the Construct, and maybe, the nature of the slumbering deities inside...

More details under the cut if you're interested (spoilers galore so read at your own risk):

I have had this au for, roughly, a month or so. This was just shared to my bf and some mutual and I never intended to even bring it to light. But with my voices having clear influences from this lil AU, I felt the need to at least make a post so you can understand how my Voices are the way they are, and maybe get you a glimpse into how I see the Construct, the Shifting Mound Long Quiet.

So this is just a compilation of my ideas, in no particular order:

Note: I used "Larry" as the character and "Long Quiet" as the Deity.

The [MAIN CHARACTER]:

You can call her "the Player" or "Ley" (i didn't have a real name for her), if you wanna keep it simple. She is an oc of mine (one I basically used as a atand-in to insert into whatever hyperfixation I gotten into this week). Her story in this AU is that she's a simple mortal that got caught in the Narrator's plans. She was meant as the "Beta reader" of this tale, and wasn't meant to survive even one Chapter, if she did as the Narrator said. But obviously, she wouldn't. That's a problem the Narrator came across early on: her free will and mortal experiences dictated her actions way more than intended. He had to urge her PRETTY hard, and in the end, she saved the princess, which lead to her first: the Prisoner.

When she saved that Princess, she inadvertently awakened the Gods slumbering inside. The Shifting Mound was the most obvious, taking the Prisoner and asking her to go back and collect more perspective. The Long Quiet, is more complicated. He is still in deeper slumber, but what is awake are the Voices. Without the Long Quiet, they latched onto the other sapient mind, the Player, and started guiding her. However, since she was just a mortal, and not a blank slate like the Canon Larry, she ended up changing the Voices as well. They picked up on concepts from her mind, and their humanoid appearance and personalities reflected that.

Her advantages are that since she is a full pledge human, her ability to think is more wide open, as such, she can do things that Larry wouldn't consider (for example: breaking the Princess out of her chain in Chapter 1 by using the Pristine Blade to cut it). Following that, certain routes are "locked" to her, simply because some routes required specific actions that no one would think about, on their first run (The MOC, the Wraith and Greys,... are examples). Not to mention the new avenues she could discover from simply being different from Larry.

With that being said, Shifty can still "push" her to certain routes, if it will bring her a new perspective, so while in the first few routes, Ley has a lot of control, but the options narrowed down, as Shifty starts getting REALLY specific. That is one of many drawbacks I thought for her. Another is the "2 voice" rule. As a mortal, she cannot handle more than 2 voices (and the Narrator permanently has a spot) so for each run, she only has one voice accompanying her at all times, and a voice is added only in Chapter 2, and never chapter 3. Some that may not even appear in their canon chapter 2 routes, leading to some new situations for all parties.

The Voices:

The Voices, as stated previously, are influenced by this mortal mind. While they do align with canon pretty tightly, her mind brought with them flexibility and the capacity to change rather drastically. Their appearance is the main sign of this. If it was Larry, then they look vaugly like him with little distinguishing features. But because Ley has such a big memory, they have a wide range of tropes, faces and fashion to dabble into. Some even deciding on things their Canon counterparts never would consider (Hero, Contra, Cheated and Broken being women for one, and Oppy feeling remorse).

Their routes to earn them are also different, because she has a different reaction to the Princess, though some stay the same. Here is the list (some of them are fan Princesses) of what I thought of.( And note that not all of them reach Chapter 3 because after chapter 2, she has normally detemrined what to do with the Princess):

♡ Hero: The Prisoner [FREED]

♡ Stubborn: The Razor -> the Arms Race [SLAIN]

♡ Smitten: the Tower -> (maybe) The Apotheosis [SLAIN]

♡ Opportunist: the Witch -> The Thorn [FREED]

♡ Skeptic: the Nightmare [FREED]

♡ Broken: the Beast -> the (wounded) Wild [FREED]

♡ Contrarian: The Stranger -> The Star (fan princess i will draw one day) [TAKEN]

♡ Cold: the Damsel -> the Belle (fan princess I will also draw one day) [RESCUED]

♡ Cheated: The Adversary -> the Fury [FREED]

♡ Paranoid: The Spectre [FREED]

♡ Hunted: The Huntress (again, will draw this fan princess one day) [SLAIN]

Regardless of how she earned them, at the end, after Shifty retrieved the vessel, they will always end up in the mirror. Rather than fade away, The Player will see how she sees the Voice in the mirror. They still feel cold and still fear death, but the Player comforted them for a short time, and have a talk, before feathers wrapped around them, returning them to the Quiet. She will never see the same voice twice, as the route to open them is closed. But the Long Quiet is slowly shifting with each new voice. He, like his other half, is slowly waking up.

(Potential) Endings:

I don't really think about this section, since this au is fun in the in-between, not the ending. but I do have a few ideas on what happens in the end.

☆ Ascend together: with Shifty and LQ awakened, They want to show Their gratitude to this mortal, They want her to Ascend with Them, to join their Dance in eternity. The debate probably happens too, but with the Voice joining with their Princess. But no matter how it plays out, if she accepts, she becomes the Vessel of both Change and Stillness. I call her Entropy, for the unpredictable nature.

☆ Retredded ground (what i considered Canon, if i wanna do one for this au): By going into the Heart of the Shfiting Mound, she meets with Princess and Larry, and have a talk. Ley concluded that this whole mess is way too complicated for her, and there's way too much for her to help. They are just too complex for her to find an answer for. So they suggested that they get her out of the Construct, permanently. The Echo was gonna use Larry anyway, before this trial run, so he could consider it a failure and move on. They both loved her too much, at this rate, and wouldn't want her to get hurt, on their behalf. So with the Blade, she is killed by Larry and Princess holding the knife together. This is where the Canon game happens, Larry restored as the POV character, not remembering the previous Player, only for worn footprints on the path in the woods to the cabin...

☆ Nobody left behind: this is a rendition of the Leave Together ending. Now, Ley has attached to the Voices, so she gathered all the Voices to leave too. Even a shard of the Narrator joined them so the Echo can finally fade into the wind. No one is left behind, and everyone leaves into the unknown. Maybe they will go back to Ley's old life, or somewhere new. But at least they got each other.

((HOLY SHIT THIS IS A LOT. To whoever sat thru and read thru all of this, thank you. I probably won't do anything like a separate blog or a comic or anything, but I do wanna tall about this au so plz let me rant and talk to me/hj. Hope you enjoy the rest of your day