#dead rose hold memories and fragrance

[sunshiinnne]

“You blossom under kindness, don't you? Like a rose.”

[k0k0-library]

Judgment day

MC’s last words were “Forgive me.” To this day, Satan is still trying to figure out what they meant. (MC actually was sent by No. 20 of the Great Council to poison Satan, but they couldn't do it and so... they drank the poison themselves)

A cold rain fell from the plumb skies, the mist of death circling the cemetery. The concrete was cold and unwelcoming, and the dead leaves on the ground were groaning in atrocious pain when Satan walked on them. His footsteps were not slow, not fast, almost like a rhythm, a silly tune that played in his head. A tune he used to hate but they used to love it. And now, he also loves it.

The paved way to the gravestone was now engraved in his legs' muscle memory and he was almost certain he could find it blindfolded by now. "How long has it been now...? 7 decades already, right...?" He asked the engraved stone, which was now slowly showing signs of a mold infestation from the constant training.

"So tell me, love... in these 7 decades, how dare you leave me so little clues to solve everything....?"

He could remember that day like it happened a few hours prior to this, the last day they were alive, holding his hand. And Satan could feel their warmth, their love, and care. And he wanted to cry, as a choked sob stuck in his throat. "So tell me...! Tell me... please"

He was desperate to know the truth behind those two simple words. The same words a child uses with their mother when they've done something wrong. The same words someone uses when they make a mistake and hurt someone... the same words you'd use after betraying someone.

"I'm sorry, Satan... so sorry..."

"Why so...?"

"I'm sorry-..."

Why did they say that right before collapsing in front of him? Why did they not respond to his desperate calls? "MC... MC wake up!" It was in vain that he shook your body in an attempt to wake you up. No-one could wake up from a poison that strong and to be fair, it was a miracle you lasted 5 minutes on your feet. 5 minutes that were enough for you to find him and apologise.

In some cultured, a mistake you recognise is a mistake half forgiven. Now... what could there be half forgiven if you never told him what you did? It ate his soul away more than that poison could ever. Or maybe... this was all No. 20's...

"I miss you terribly, love. I hope that wherever you are, you miss me too... actually, no. I hope you don't miss me, I hope you love me and that's all. I hope... you're not alone there..."

He placed a small bunch of roses on the cold ground, letting them be washed away by the rain and their fragrance lost in the petrifying smell of dead, wet grass.

"Maybe... in another timeline..."

[milflookingforadilf]

all the poetries he ever made for me. all my favourite words from him.

he made his first ever poetry for me on november 26.

“if i were too afford you, you’d be my world and everything in this world would’ve been yours”

“if i get you, you don’t have idea how much i am gonna love you. it’s unimportant.”

“if i lose you everything but get you,

i’d happily lose everything”

“You’re so special. There is something about you i just can’t explain.”

“There is nothing beyond infinite i can’t love you more than infinite.”

“you fell too hard.”

“And only reason to get up was to look into your eyes.”

“i am not in senses when i’m with you”

“i can imagine a life without oxygen but not without you”

“my feelings for you are not expressable words can’t describe them, money can’t buy them and others can’t have them.”

“will i ever need a fragrance after i hug you?”

“your love making me build portals so i can go beyond infinite to love you.”

“if God asks me to make Dua that He will fulfill with 100% surety. I won’t ask for millions of dollars i will simply ask for you.”

“i am like limited. there should have been something–something other than words, something could actually show my feelings.”

“and it hurts too but makes me the happiest ever.”

“give me the hurt part you take the happiest one.”

“how can you be serious about me?”

“right now if they tell me live without Aymal or die i would rather die.”

“Aymal i love you more than the stars in the sky and drops in ocean.”

“think of me as a library and whisper all of your thoughts in my ear.”

“stop comparing yourself with moon. moon ain’t nothin like you, you’re way prettier.”

“you don’t even need to die to see Jannah, you got mirrors in your house.”

“if you vanish from the world i will track you by your beautiful scent.”

“you’re like sky to me wherever i go i see you.”

“give me your heart i will listen to it all the time.”

“i really wanna have my last breath in your lap. i wanna live my whole life with you.”

“give me yourself heaven is a bit of ‘you’.”

“Aymal. you’re so special. none has ever tried to explore you. you’re like a butterfly on a yellow flower.”

“can i take a sip of your tears?

but my heart won’t be able to handle it my lips will forever be in need of same taste and my stomach will grow flowers.”

“talk more about our memories, from your pov about me. i love it.”

“do you know why i tried?”

“no please tell. even if i knew it i would ask it again and again and again.”

“i love you more than the 1st drop of rain that ever landed on earth to the last drop of rain will ever drop.”

“if you were ocean i would dive into you knowing i can’t swim.”

“too high in your presence.”

“you’re my heart.”

“if i were to express how much i love you i would just tell you i am a bee and you’re my rose.”

“what’s the point of loving me then?.”

“faith on Allah.”

“i would happily live in a hell if i have an angel besides me forever.”

“and people call their lost love a chapter but to me you’re a whole library.”

“you’re like Islamabad in Pakistan, Taj Mahal in India, Eiffel tower in Paris France and moon in the sky.”

“maybe there’s something written far better for you.”

“i don’t want better

i want you.”

“i wish i was there to hold you tight. keep you close to me. and keep you warm. and give you forehead kisses. Oh God i’d give you the world my love i love you so much.”

“billions of books in the world and i wanna read your eyes.”

“i wanna write books for you, i wanna fill libraries with books about you.”

“if God asks for any one of my wishes i would ask to remove the silence when i am with you.”

“i love you so much more, more than stars in the sky more than drops of rain ever dropped in earth more than the blinks every living being ever blinked more than hair every living being ever had.”

“i am sky and you’re my stars,

i am dark nights you’re my full moon,

i am sun flower and you’re my sun,

i am bee and you’re my rose.”

“you come and talk to me in my ears even if i am dead i will wake up just to reply to you my love.”

“by whole existence i meant this soil and flowers on soil and those beautiful leaves on flowers and those colours of leaves and those scent of leaves and the world they are in and solar system that world is in and the universe that solar is in and the space that universe is in you’re even more perfect than all of this.

“meri jaan mere hath mn hota to mn tumhary naam pura hospital krwa deta.”

“apki toe lag jati hai table pr feet pr akr rolena mere paas i will be there for you.”

“you’re so beautiful Aymal that if i go blind i would still be able to see your beauty.”

“come to me love cry on my chest.”

“stay as you are and the water of the ocean would dry away but my love for you won’t.”

“only if words could express how much i love you there wouldn’t be a single paper left not filled with words expressing my love for you.”

“I am waiting on Allah, i am waiting on His miracle, i am waiting here for you, i am waiting because i fell in love with one of His servants and i have my faith on Him only He will unite us i trust Him and i believe in His ways only.

“i love every inch of you and every alphabet that comes out of your mouth and every single thought you get in your head.”

-

urdu shayiris

“For you ek phool likin ek khushbu ko phool ki kiya zaroorat jabky ek phool ko khushbu ki zaroorat hoti hai.”

“bahir jate waqt ankhon mn parda dala karo logon ki nazarain kharab ho jayengi tumhari ankhon k noor sy.”

“dil krta hai ankhon ky palkho pr rkhlu magr dar hai ky tumhari noor sy ankhon sy be-noor na hojaun.”

“dil krta hai tumhari ankhon sy giri harem ek boond pee loon pr nashy ki halat mn jannat wajib nhi.”

“jitna husan tera dekha lagta nhi kabhi jam mn esa nasha dekha.”

“tumhari husan mn itna madhosh tumhari baton ka hi andaza nhi laga paye.”

“tareefain teri likhny pr aun toh saari kitabyn dunia ki bhar jayengi. duniya ky saree siyahi khatam hojaegi amd meri sansain and mere din pure hojaengy.”

“adayen teri esi qatil mn talwar ki bajaye tera dedaar mangta hun.”

“khushbu teri esi ky gulaab bhi sharma jaye usmy bethi madhu makhi bhi tere peechy lag jaye.”

“tu chaly qadam qadam ugy phool jahan rkhy apny qadam.”

“wo bhi kitny qismat waly hongy jinko roz teri ankhain roz dekhti hongi.”

“mera dil mere paas hoky bhi mera nhi jabsy tumsy mila.”

“apky aagy gulab bhi sharma jaye.”

“dun gulaab ky phool mgr wo apko dekhty hi sharam sy marjaye.”

“teri in ankhon sy jo boond giry toh zameen sy zamam nikal aye.”

“sansain toh chal rhi pr rooh nhi hai jism mn ankhain toh dekh rhi hain pr nazar nhi arha kuchh tere siwa.”

“yu tera paas na hona,

esa lag rha hai qayamat ki ghari agai hai.”

“kiyun nhi lag rha dil usky bina kya zindagi ka maqsad sirf wohi hai ab?”

“ye sukoon kiu nhi ata mujhy tere bina kiya meri khushi sirf tumhsy hi hai?”

trs rahi hain ankhain tujhy dekhny k liye, kaan tujhy sun’ny ky liye, aur dil tujhy paas mehsoos krny ky liye.”

“teri kami ny is trhn dil pr asar kya, ky tanhai mm bhi teri arazoo ny akela nhi chhora.”

“tu kary ankh band toh dhal jaye raat aur tu gun gunaye kaan mn aur sota rhu mn sari raat.”

“tu chaly toh ury esi khushbu aas paas ky log smjhy kahi jannat mn toh nhi hum.”

“tujhy dekhu to palkhy na jukhy meri kabhi

aun tere paas to kabhi akela na paun khudko lagalu galy to teri khushbu rahy mere sath sada tujhy choom lu to mere hont khushk na ho kabhi tham lu hath to kabhi chor na saku chalu sath tere to kabhi khudko rok na saku karu baat tumsy to kabhi chup na bethu karo tum baat to kabhi na thaku sunky

karu to piyar tumhy dil na bhary kabhi kary jo piyar tu mujhy tujhpy jaan nisar kardu aur likhu tere bary mn to duniya ki saree kitaby bhardu”

“achi raat mn ap mere liye chand hain, aur tez sardi ap mere liye sooraj ki roshni hain, aur garmi mn badal ki chhau.”

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

lovers’ dreams

Summary: “A day fit for a spring dream.” And then he kisses Roshan, and they become lost in each other.

Characters: India (Aditya), China, Iran/Persia (Roshan, genderfluid). Human names used. Indran, Churan, and Indchu for ships!

Notes: 100% distilled surrealism! This was supposed to be a writing exercise that ran away from me rip. There are many footnotes that explain Many things. Enjoy!

also on AO3! (there are bonus thoughts and explanations there for anyone who’s interested or slightly confused 😅. everything necessary for you to understand the story is here too but I ramble about my thoughts going into the piece on AO3 lol)

———

The willow’s drooping branches hide Yao’s face like a beaded curtain, a bride’s sheer red veil. The spring breeze snakes through the tree, and the sound of wedding suona—sorna rings through the silence. A flutter of phoenix wings brushes past their ear, a whisper on the wind. Roshan walks languidly until they are in front of Yao; it takes a minute—it takes a month. Yao’s face is sharp and his eyes glint, like the jade in his belt. But the kiss is soft when they take his lips in theirs, and it tastes of the rose’s tender petals. The clean sweetness of flowers is warm against Roshan’s face and the fragrance of tea drifts into their nostrils. 

Yao pulls away, and Roshan opens their eyes to polished jade thorns sprouting up from the earth around them—crisp green, sharp-tipped; elegant, dangerous. So these are the fruits of our love. It is fitting. They lean to kiss Yao again, and this time, a laugh peals through the air when they part. It is not Roshan’s, and it isn’t Yao’s. But it is clear as spring water and tinkles like a bell, a joyous sound, and it makes Yao smile—a smile that is gentle, calculating; sweet, dangerous. A copper coin hides in the corner of his lips. “A day fit for a spring dream.” And then he kisses Roshan, and they become lost in each other.

When Roshan opens their eyes again, Yao is gone. They are standing in nothingness, a shell of a dream. A liminal plane. A wedding song echoes in the empty space, loud and cheerful, although there are no musicians to be seen playing the dohol, the sorna. Then sprung from the air, a mirror of fate, Aayeneh-ye Bakh, with its customary candelabras flanking it, and with their dots of golden light—miniature suns, sparkling stars. Its face shimmers, clear and gleaming: a pond on a full moon night—and in it, Yao stands, his reflection bright, splendid robes shimmering like gold scales and fine silk. Roshan reaches out a hand, and pulls him into a kiss.

“Welcome back, my dear.”

———

It is sunset, and a chill brushes past Yao’s shoulders and winds through his hair. The sky burns red, and fork tongued flames lick at the sun. A world bathed in fire, on the cusp of night. A lotus pond sits before him, and a figure is at its edge—Aditya, adorned in gold, the perfect figure of a prince. He, a dream of glittering palaces and beady emeralds, bright against the glow of the setting sun, sharp against the bloody sky. He holds a lotus blossom out, and Yao takes it. It is pure, tender in his calloused hands. A drop of blood drips from a petal. He lets it float into the water, and Aditya watches with him as the peach pink petals drop before their eyes—the lotus head balloons, then falls with the weight of seeds; it withers, a shell of its fruit. Divine beauty is short lived—seasons turn with the winds of change.  

Aditya loops an arm around him, bare skin on bare skin, the warmth of the sun hanging around them like a curtain. Their lips meet. The kiss is long, and lingers even after Yao pulls away; it is slightly bitter, but how could it not be? Aditya’s eyes are like black tea, and Yao tastes acrid lily bulbs. The sky has faded into burnt orange, the aftermath of a blaze. Autumn leaves fall from ginkgo trees, golden yellow, bright with memories of the past. Aditya closes his eyes, and Yao watches him sink into a dream.

The scene shifts before his eyes. The lotus pond morphs into a giant chessboard, and they are on opposite sides. Aditya plays white. Cream colored pawns meet chocolate brown knights, and they watch as kings rise and fall, as steady as the spinning of the world. Chariots race and elephants trumpet; the cavalry fight with long swords and bows, and the peasants use polearms, raised fists. Yao meets Aditya’s eyes, warm but gleaming with an ambition that has never gone away. He nods to his neighbor to the west, to his rival, lover, partner, equal. Aditya smiles.

“So we meet again.”

———

It is afternoon, and the sun is warm on his face. Roshan sits on a bench in the courtyard, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, a pomegranate in the other. Aditya nestles into their side, and they give him a feather light cheek kiss, gift him a wisp of air. They hold out the pomegranate, offers it, and Aditya takes a bite. Roshan takes the other half. They watch as the fruit regrows, seeds become jewels, glittering rubies in folds of red fabric. Roshan holds one up to the light with a critical eye. They spread tawny wings, amber eagle eyes alight with the pride of the past present future. A lion and the sun. The wings disappear—a trick of the light, reality fallen away. Then they hold up the cup of coffee.

“For you.” Aditya smiles, and offers a cup of black tea in return.

We have shared many things, and fought over equally many. How will it be in the future? He takes a sip, and falls through the cup.

A cemetery of swords surrounds them, a memory of things gone by. Afternoon sunlight filters through the trees, winds into Roshan’s hair. Idly peaceful. Flowers sprout through the earth; wither; climb up the rusted metal once again. A vine of roses twists around the hilt of a ceremonial spear, supple and full against cool, glinting steel. The leaves flicker, green yellow dead green again. Its blossom is still fresh red, like passion, like their love, pooling around them like a million memories, a still night in the river of time. Aditya looks at Roshan, different yet the same, a reflection of what they once were. Familiar, always, despite the changing tides and shifting dreams.

———

Notes

this part might actually be longer than the fic itself rip 😔 reminder that there’s extra rambling on ao3 lol

Suona/sorna: suona (唢呐) is a traditional wind instrument often played at wedding and funeral processions in northern China! (also used in Southeast China + Taiwan) It’s very loud and has a super brassy sound, but personally I think it sounds alright! The instrument came from Central Asia and is also used at weddings in Iran (where it’s spelled sorna/sarna), where it’s played with a dohol, a large cylindrical drum.

Phoenixes: wedding imagery in China, where a dragon symbolizes the groom and the phoenix the bride. There’s also an analogue to the phoenix in Persian mythology, a simurgh, which is a benevolent creature that is said to purify the land, roosts in the Tree of Knowledge, and apparently has seen the world be destroyed 3 times. Can symbolize healing, divinity, wisdom, and life. (the simurgh symbolism doesn't have much relevance to the fic but I thought it was incredibly interesting to read about lol)

Spring dream: very loosely referencing the Chinese phrase 一场春梦 (yi chang chun meng), which literally translates to an episode of a spring dream. It means the feeling that past predictions or events were actually totally wrong and fruitless, like you expected something (probably really good), but then woke up to reality not being up to your expectations? I can’t translate 😔

Mirror of Fate: In traditional Iranian weddings, a large, elaborate table with flowers and food and different spices is set up (sofreh aghd). A mirror of fate and 2 candelabras are also placed in the center of the table. The mirror represents how fate brought the bride and groom together, and the candelabras represent light and fire. The mirror is there so that when the groom looks into it, the first thing he should see is his betrothed's reflection.

Lotus blossoms: in China and India and many other parts of Asia, lotuses represent purity (they grow from dark mud but the flowers are pure white/pink), the divine, elegance, spiritual promise, the good part of humanity. so, a lotus with a drop of blood in Yao’s hands would be interesting.

Lily bulbs: this is purely self projection but lily bulbs (baihe) are used in Chinese medicine and I despise them. They're not super bitter but they taste starchy, bland, and off. Also lilies and lotuses are pretty similar and I thought that would be interesting :>

Chess: idk if I need a note for this but chess originated as an Indian game called Chaturanga and spread over to China and Iran, among many other places in Asia.

Tea and Coffee: nothing really special about this besides that Iranians Really Like tea. Decided to make India drink coffee instead for contrast; realistically he’d also be drinking tea lol

Eagle eyes: the Iranian/Persian symbol of the Faravahar, from Zoroastrianism has wings that are supposed to be eagle wings (I think? correct me if it’s just unspecified). You’ve probably seen it; it depicts a man with spread wings, half kneeling in a side view. Nowadays it’s also a symbol of Iranian culture, history, and national pride, besides being representative of Zoroastrianism.

Rose: national flower of Iran, and obv I don’t need to explain the other rose connotations. Also I’ve fully adopted the hc that Roshan and all their stuff smells like roses so that’s there too.

Lion and the sun: getting lazy with the explanations, but the short version is that it was a very important Iranian national symbol for many reasons, moreso tied to the state than culture (imo); it was also on the national flag up till the 1979 Islamic Revolution. Although I’m still debating how much Roshan is associated with the state, I also think sun and lion imagery fits them (glory, golden days, pride and courage). It’s super interesting, go search it up if you wanna read more!

This whole fic was somewhat inspired by this one, and the indchu bit was also somewhat inspired by this fanart.

If you made it down here, you have all my gratitude. Feedback is welcome and appreciated! Thanks for reading <3

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 04

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, sexual harassment (please don’t read this chapter if it triggers/makes you uncomfortable, your safety comes first)

A/N:  i do realise i’m on a roll posting every day but uni starts early and idk why i keep writing like i’m running out of time😂 hope you enjoy this chapter. much love xx

* additionally, there is a light sexual harassment scene in this chapter and if anyone is uncomfortable or triggered by it i would skip it. your mental health and safety come first. *

NEXT CHAPTER

One day I’ll fly away...

She remembered the very first role she got to play as a lead. She was the standby for Glinda in Wicked. She could still feel her hand shaking as the backstage technicians secured her to the bubble. She could still hear the bubble machine engine rumble as the bubble raised up in the ceiling and for a moment she was above everything - above the audience, above the cast, above the stage itself. It felt like flying, soaring through the gasping of the crowd. She remembered feeling like this was her height, this was her flight but as things went, as she got more roles and as she progressed to the screen as she always wanted, the feeling of flying just seemed to soar, turning her into a creature of air.

Flying for Bucky was something he couldn’t remember, he remembered crashing. Remembered falling from the train waiting for the peaceful slumber of death to come but it never did, remembered the cold snow melting through his jacket reaching his skin. It’s cold. Remembered diving in after Steve, lungs filled with water, heavy suit. It’s cold, it’s quiet. Soaring was only something he could dream of while frozen or when they put him on a cell with a small window. Crashing was more like something he could remember, drowning, pushed to the bottom by his arm, wishing death came to greet him

More powerful than crashing was sound. The theatre was always filled with whistling from men getting a peak at ladies’ legs, women giggling and security trying to keep out children and teens away. You could hear the laughter reverberating from any material, it was electrifying. Her voice however seemed to melt over distorted past sounds, a melancholy while held hands with the old telling it never of its former glory but of what it can be. Bucky knew now why her agency kept her so locked up, all people with a voice eventually fly away. 

     - Don’t just stare at me. - she bite her lip, looking the other way. Did she sound that bad? She thought she sounded just fine in the shower that morning, maybe her bathroom had better acoustics. - Should we go back home? Before it gets dark?

     - Sure. - he got up from his seat, extending his hand towards her so she could jump off the set. She put her hand in his, another hand coming to rest upon his shoulder as her elevated her up into the air before bringing her down onto the worn out floor. 

The walk back to the subway was quiet. People were starting to crowd Coney Island for night time dates. Bucky remembered bringing girls to dates in Coney Island, even remembered bringing Steve along, he just didn’t remember the girls’ names anymore. There were some flashes of what they were wearing but surely those memories were replaced with that of Y/N staring at the ferris wheel as they walked back to the subway.

Once there, her child like wonder of the city that never slept and the city which she now lived in didn’t seem to leave her eyes, sparkling brighter than the billboards in Times Square. The walk back to the apartment was once again quiet, with their footsteps being the only thing echoing in the halls. Soon enough they reached her door, still looking as intact as they left it.

     - Thank you so much for showing me Coney Island. - she handed him the teddy he had won. - Thank you gift. 

     - I won it for you, Y/N. Besides, I think I’m a bit past stuffed animals. 

     - Well, I’ve had my fair share of stuffed animals to last a life time and I insist you keep this one. - she stuffed the teddy between his arms, finding it incredibly adorable how the little toy looked smaller in the middle of his arms than in hers. - Little Coney Island memento. 

     - I should get going. - he changed the subject, gesturing with his hands as he looked at the time on his watch. - It’s been a great day, Y/N.

     - The pleasure’s been all mine, Bucky. - she smiled as she held the edge of the door. She stood by the slightly opened door watching as he turned the corner which led to the lift. Once he was out of sight, Y/N walked into her apartment, closing the door behind her but still holding the knob with a silly smile on her face. 

Bucky reached the headquarters around 11 PM. Despite going the long way home, expecting Steve to be asleep when he returned. Steve had a very mundane routine when it came to sleeping, he could still sleep but he would wait until everyone was asleep for him to go to his bedroom. Bucky didn’t want to have to dance the first day in the job waltz. He knew he cared, he knew Steve wanted him to be alright. There was only one small thing; Steve wanted Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, his Bucky, and he just wasn’t that man anymore. He didn’t like being asked who he was, he doesn’t know who he is.

Opening the door to the living room, he found Captain America himself sat on the big lounge chair, skimming through his list of modern day TV shows and movies. His blue eyes moved from the bright lights of the television to him.

      - How was the first day? - he questioned, regular optimism present in his voice. Steve had remained the same, maybe it was that which made him believe the spectre of the boy Bucky was could be revived. He seemed to forget dead people can’t be revived. 

      - It was good, went to Coney Island.

      - Coney Island? - Steve muted the TV, contorted face expression settling into his youthful features. - I thought you were going to guard her door.

      - She wanted to see Coney Island. Couldn’t let her go alone?

      - Didn’t her personal assistant tell you she couldn’t leave? - he had been noisey, he had looked into Bucky’s contract. He told himself it was just in case, just in case Bucky needed his help. - You don’t want to get in any trouble, specially with agencies. They’re the devil.

      - I’ll take it into consideration. - his skin tightened as he smiled a tight straight line. 

      - Do you wanna stay for a while? I’m watching a series Sam recommended. 

      - I think I’m gonna just go to sleep.

Steve nodded allowing Bucky to return to his bedroom. There wasn’t much in the bedroom, a bed, side table and wardrobe, nothing else. No mirrors and no windows, silence, grey and black bedding, no decoration rather than a postcard his sister had sent him during the war framed in a plastic frame. No glass, Steve wanted nothing around he could harm himself with. It was almost like living in an insane asylum. 

He looked at the little teddy bear in his hands before placing it on the side table, a little smile on his face. A Coney Island memento indeed. 

The morning came rushing like the rain which fell against Y/N’s bedroom glass window. She turned around in her bedding, pushing her knitted quilt up to her nose, the scent of fresh crisp cotton invading her senses. The mood would’ve remained the same comfortable, early morning type had it not been for her comforter being yanked off her without any warning. Through the fogginess of morning sight, she could make out Ms. Olson in her traditional black suit co-ord. She thought it fitting, considering her morning was now ruined.

     - Get up. We have much to do. - she barked like an infuriating dog.

     - But I thought I had the weekend off.- Y/N rubbed the sleep of her eyes, sitting up, quilt covering her body. 

     - You have last mine commitment. Now run along and change into something more ... - he analysed her before gazing her face, tight expression settling in. - Enchanting. 

She left Y/N in the bedroom, clenching her bedding as she looked around the place she’d rather be. Nevertheless, she rose from her bed and walked up to her wardrobe grabbing the first dress she could find and a pair of heels. Her routine during work was different, she normally showered, got her makeup done, dressed and then out of the door. Mechanic, controlled, with Ms. Olson asking her to hurry up. In a split second she returned to the living room, bag held on her shoulder, sunglasses in hand as she prepared to walk out with Miss Olson.

    - You should’ve put some product on your hair. The ends look dry. - Miss Olson commented as they walked outside. She looked around hoping Bucky would be around but it was just her and Miss Olson. 

    - Is Mr. Barnes not coming? 

    - It’s a dress rehearsal. - Y/N froze in her mind. Dress rehearsals were supposed to be better than fittings but after her last experience she really wasn’t in the mood for another experience with the director.

Time seemed to stop, freeze in spot as she stepped inside the car. No noise, no sound, even colour seemed to fade as the car drove faster and faster. She wondered what she could do, open the door, roll over, maybe do it like what she had seen in Lady Bird but the driver always kept the door fully locked and Miss Olson always had her eye on her like Sauron’s Eye.

She looked at her phone in her lap, fingers loomed over Bucky’s name. He was employed by her, maybe she could ask him to come over. Maybe if he was there it would be easier. She sent the message hopeful he would reply, but the text bounced back. Looking at the network, she was lacking all the bars on her phone. Sighing, she leaned against the car seat, looking off the window, dark clouds on the blue sky mocking her. 

As the car came to a halt on the same building as before, she almost had to be pulled out the car by Miss Olson. Once inside, Y/N could see him, she could smell his patchouli fragrance as he wrapped his arm around her. She stood once again in front of the camera lights, muffled cries in her head as she was squeezed into a corset and a then a body con dress. Her eyes were blinded by the lights, behind those lights Miss Olson and Mister Powell gazing at her. Her hand slide down her collarbones to her lap, feeling the fabric as the cameras kept flashing, locking her in a case of lights. 

Once the lights dimmed, she could see them looking down at her, almost five feet tall, mumbling she couldn’t hear as one of the costume designers helped her out.

     - Costumes are looking fantastic. - the director walked up to her, hand wrapping itself around her waist, raising up to lay just below her breast. - Maybe you should try and cut some weight. You would look a bit better.

     - We’ve already started a diet plan. - Miss Olson added. - Not to worry, Mr. Powell. Y/N is fully invested in this movie.

She remained caged in the conversation, being moved by someone back onto the car and dropped at home. She looked around her hallway, wondering if it had always been this cold. As she opened the door to her home, she noticed the jar of flowers the director had sent her on her kitchen balcony. White carnations in a crystal clear jar. She stormed to the kitchen, ripping the tag of the carnations. To my perfect leading lady. The handwriting wasn’t his, probably his assistant. 

When had it all gone so wrong? Why did it felt wrong? Why did the flight felt like a burning crash? When did it all get so screwed up? 

She wrapped her hands around the glass jar, hands trembling, the sound of her ring hitting against the glass being the only thing she heard before a shattering sound filled her mind. It was fast, too fast but she threw the jar against the wall, watching as the glass shattered into a thousand pieces, falling into the ground like small diamonds. She thought it would make her feel better but instead she feel to the ground, trying to gather the pieces together as guilt embraced her. 

    - Y/N?

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @nsfwsebbie @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @tonystankschild @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverrated @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi​ @emzd34​

[threeletterslife]

The Exam

→ [1/7] of the Society Series

→ summary: Three societies. Two dead lovers. One test. In a world that prioritizes intelligence and the ability to regurgitate textbook information, will you choose love and poverty or splendor and solitude? 

→ pairing/rating: taehyung x reader | PG-15

→ genre: 99.9% angst, 0.1% fluff (if you squint) | dystopian!au & utopian!au

→ warnings: profanity, death, mentions of tuberculosis and leptospirosis, blood, extreme poverty, extremely brief mention of cannibalism and overdosing, undiagnosed depression and mild anxiety, brief mentions of the afterlife and physical violence, this shit ain’t happy pple

→ wordcount: 21.4k

There's a strange stench that permeates the air in the city of Dystopia.

It is the odor of death. The dark, muddy soil reeks of decaying bodies, of rotting rats and excretions. Deteriorating child flesh even has its own distinct smell, but you've become so used to it, you don't really mind it as much anymore.

Every day is a festival for the unusually large rats that inhabit the city. With their matted-fur and worm-tails, the rodents feast on decomposing human bodies, ripping apart the dark, putrid meat and leaving dried blood splattered on the barely-paved streets.

Bodies are everywhere.

Sometimes it's hard to tell if a fallen child is dead or asleep in the towering masses of waste. There are too many orphans wandering lost on the streets with no bed or home to conceal them in warmth. There are too many people who never know when their next meal will be, or if there will be clean water to drink for the day. Hell, most of the huts in the dystopian city are on the very verge of crumbling down.

You're lucky.

Your home has semi-working electricity and plumbing. But every now and then, the lights will refuse to turn on and the pipes will leak—or even burst if it was a bad day.

Most citizens of Dystopia, however, roam the streets, homeless, until death finally whisks them away. Nobody knows what happens after death. But everybody knows it is better than Dystopia.

This place, this Dystopia, was home for your childhood memories. Shamefully enough, it was also your birthplace. But you don't live there anymore, thank goodness. You live in Purgatory now, a smaller city with slightly more opportunities and fewer rats.

But Purgatory isn't that much different from Dystopia either. Death still hangs over the heads of the weak, ready to take their hands and lead them away when the time comes. Purgatory is a wild place full of children and teenagers from ages ten to eighteen. They're there for one sole purpose: education. Rigorous education that may come with the price of death.

It's how the whole damn system works.

Every Dystopian-born must suffer ten years of life in that hellhole; if they are still alive by then, they are relocated to Purgatory where "equal opportunities" are given to all with mercy. At least, that's what the authority claims. Really, you see it more as a ruthless competition. It's not "equal opportunities" or whatever bullcrap the government was trying to sell to the people. You see it as a game of sharks and minnows—a game of exceptionally robust predators and abnormally frail prey.

Annually, every student who is eighteen in Purgatory is required to take an exam. An exam that determines their entire future.

Every year, the highest-scoring students—or student—are whisked away by the government with silk draped around their hunched shoulders, layers of soft mink coats keeping their frayed bodies warm and their dirty tresses bathed with the richest, fragrance oils. Then they are granted access to Utopia.

Utopia, the city of the rich. They breathe expensive air there, bathe in priceless tea and wear extortionate silks and furs. They deserve it. Because they're the most intelligent people in all three cities of Atna. At least, that's what the government says.

It is merciless when they throw every other eighteen-year-old who 'failed' the Exam in the city of Dystopia. You'd think they'd spare their precious Utopian-borns—the children of the men and women who proved their intelligence by reigning over every other student in Purgatory. But they don't. The Utopian-borns are dumped into Dystopia as well. Into a foreign place where the air is dead, baths are infrequent and clothing is for the greatly fortunate.

Yet that's rare. Most often, Utopian students always tie for the highest-score and are taken back to their luxurious birthplace. It's too advantageous for them. It's unfair. Unreasonable. They train from their birth until the last second before they leave the warmth of their Utopian homes for the Exam. Of course, they would score the highest.

One year, out of the hundreds of eighteen-year-olds who took the Exam, twenty-three of them made it back to Utopia. All Utopian-borns.

Still, a handful of Utopians are tossed into the slums—they are a disgrace to all of Atna for they had the advantage and didn't take it.

You've seen those sad individuals your whole childhood. They were the ones who weren't used to horrifying conditions. Consequently, they were always the last to eat and first to die.

When you were the adventurous age of nine, you and your best friend Jimin would sit outside the shabby, repulsive place that you called home and would watch the Utopian-borns straggling across the streets.

They wailed and begged as their eyes reflected one sole emotion: fear.

"I bet she's Utopian-born," Jimin huffs as he points at a girl frantically cramming her mouth full of scraggly weeds that had somehow sprouted from the fetid grounds. Both of you silently watch as her bloody fingernails pierce madly through the mud, uprooting the plants with surprising success. "Doesn't she know those are poisonous?"

You shrug, staring blankly at the girl. "No, she's not Utopian-born. Doesn't look over eighteen. Maybe she doesn't want to take the Exam." Taking Jimin's hand into yours, you sigh, "I bet he's Utopian-born, though." Your small finger points at a young man huddled up against a pile of rubbish, completely naked and rocking back and forth, as if that action would save him from the wraths of Dystopia. He had stripped off his tattered clothes and had unskillfully attempted to wrap them around himself to combat the harsh weather. A simple but deadly mistake.

A Dystopian-born would know better.

"He's going to die," Jimin says, cocking his head. "Let's go help him." He starts to tug you towards the unclothed man but you forcefully pull your friend back, eyebrows twisting downwards into a deep frown.

"Leave him." Your cold eyes stare right past the Utopian-born, gazing at the bright neon poster behind him. It reads Utopia, a wondrous place for deserving people.

And below is an image of a gorgeous, healthily plump woman in a spotless, white bikini, skin sparkling and well-tanned and her hands immaculately manicured. Her hair is loose, glossy and looks like it smells of flowering spring roses. She's holding a gleaming bottle of fizzing golden liquid in one hand and a handsome man's hand in the other. The man smiles brightly, revealing a row of pearlescent teeth as he boasts shiny, black sunglasses and wears a watch made of dazzling rubies and diamonds.

Behind the couple is a house—actually, a mansion made of polished glass with luscious trees decorating the purlieu and the pool filled with glimmering water tinted a light shade of azure. The sky is cerulean blue, and the clouds resemble cotton candy.

Everything speaks perfection.

These identical posters are littered everywhere across Dystopia. It is a painful reminder for the Atnatians who have failed the Exam—even more so agonizing for the Utopians who had been banished from their previous home.

The propaganda posters are the only clean, resplendent objects in the slums. But personally, you think they're revolting.

Your unsympathetic eyes trail back to the naked man. You take another glance at the stupid government propaganda poster behind him before you squeeze Jimin's hand. "Yeah, let's leave him," you repeat.

The pick-the-Utopian-born-from-the-crowd game abruptly halts soon after when Jimin comes over to your small hut one day, crying profusely, his tears leaving clean streaks on his dirt-covered face.

"He's dead!" he cries, fat droplets of tears dribbling down to his chin.

You frown in confusion, eyebrows knitting into a small frown. With the mortality rate of Dystopia, your best friend could either be talking about your neighbor from the next hut over or the other fifty bodies left dead and abandoned on the streets. "Who's dead, Jiminie?"

"T-That Utopian-born," Jimin whimpers, dirty hand reaching up to wipe away the tears obscuring his vision. Although there were many Utopian-borns roaming around Dystopia, you had a clear idea of who he was talking about. "The rats... they—"

You grab his filthy hand before it reaches his eyes. "Don't rub your eyes, remember?"

Jimin nods dejectedly, his head dropping low as his tears dripped to the floor, leaving wet puddles of brown dirt. "Sorry, Y/N, I forgot..." He sniffles, which didn't help the snot that was leaking out of his soot-covered nose. "But the rats..." he trails off, hand reaching up again to wipe away his tears. But he pauses, thinks better of it and tries to blink them away instead.

You nod, knowingly. "And it's not the first time you've seen that happen, Jiminie. Don't cry..."

Your friend whimpers, kicking the wet dirt beneath his feet. "But if we had helped him... The rats wouldn't have eaten right through his guts! They wouldn't have bitten him to pieces or drunk his blood!" he wails. You are silent, never great at solacing. "If we had helped him..."

Time is running out for both of you. You'd soon be relocated to Purgatory and you know Jimin is starting to get anxious for the both of you. He would cry in fear and grief for every dead corpse on the street, bite his nails hard enough to draw blood even though you would tell him not to, and try to help all the suffering Utopian-borns, despite your avid protests.

Jimin had always been too soft-minded, too kind. Death frightened him.

But you weren't afraid of death. Never have been. Never will be.

You are fucking terrified of death. It is the only occurrence that will keep you from scoring the highest, and as a seventeen-year-old, the Exam was looming closer than ever. You couldn't die now. Not after all the years of rigorous studying. You'd skipped nights of sleep, countless meals to get to this position.

To you, Purgatory would always be a second Utopia; for one, the conditions are immensely better than that of Dystopia, maggots no longer crawling in your food and clothes not as battered and ravaged by irritable rats or insects. This city is your one chance where you can prove yourself deserving to live in Utopia—to confirm that you can outlast, out-study and outsmart everyone in your year.

You eat, sleep and breathe your studies, something only a few students can manage to do. One of the only things that keep you motivated to wake up at the crack of dawn and open up a dusty book is the fact that no one's ever secured a perfect score on the Exam.

But you know you'll be the first.

You'll be the first and only person to obtain a perfect score. And thus you will be the only eighteen-year-old going to Utopia in your year.

It is a fantasy. A dream. A goal. But you thirst to achieve it.

In fact, you haven't left the library in weeks. You've practically been glued onto the same hard, wooden chair for what seemed like days now. You have also never ceased to flip the pages of your colossal textbooks. You're quite happy to say that the other students aren't studying as hard as you—most of them have given up by now.

Logically, it makes sense to surrender to the Exam.

Although you're given eight whole years to study in Purgatory, most students use that time to stuff themselves full of savory victuals, sleep in cots instead of in fetid mud and live without the shadow of death appended to their feet. Obviously, the conditions aren't as astounding as Utopia, but anything's better than the slums of Atna. It isn't worth it, they say. It isn't worth the eight years of miserable studying, only to be beaten by someone better (there's always someone better) and thrown into Dystopia without ever being able to live. But 'surrender' isn't in your vast vocabulary.

As much as you hate cheesy platitudes, you're in it (ahem, forcibly) to win it. Besides, your competition is dropping like flies on a scorching hot day. You suspect it's from that nasty tuberculosis that's been going around for a while.

There's only a year left before the Exam now. It's such little time for you to finish reading everything in that library, and such little time alike for the other students to live their last year to the very fullest in Purgatory, the downgrade of Utopia but the upgrade of Dystopia.

But especially for you, a year definitely isn't enough. You're just a tad bit off schedule—you were supposed to finish reading and memorizing everything in the library last year so you'd have two good years to review. Now you only have one.

It adds on to the multitudes of problems that no one truly knows what's on the Exam. They say anything in the grand library is fair game, but besides that, you don't know much. And because of that, you and what's left of your competitors have been reading everything in the library from novels to textbooks to published theses.

As a matter of fact, you're just one book and a page shy from reading everything in the damned library. Your eyes bore into the paper overlaid with equations and one too many graphs, forcing your brain to memorize every detail, every print and word. You know you shouldn't frown when you study. Someone you'd once loved had told you an unpretty, permanent crease would be etched on your forehead—but now you can't help it—frowning helps you concentrate.

Especially now. The library is usually dead silent except for the soft crinkles of paper as students flip the pages of their reading materials, yet you swear at least half of the students in the room have tuberculosis. There's heavy coughing every ten seconds, the infected splattering crimson blood on the thin, worn-out pages of the textbooks. And that's how the disease has been spreading.

They're going to die before the Exam. You swear they are—how pathetic of them to spend the last days of their lives cramming study material in their heads.

You don't care much for the infected, as long as they keep their distance from you. You don't know what you'll do if you catch the disease as well. But in your mind, nothing is worse than the mortality rates of Dystopia. At least no one in Purgatory dies from famine.

Still, there are never adequate treatments or vaccines and you can recall at least ten people who you haven't seen since tuberculosis first broke out. Not that you care, though. In the end, you're just glad you're not one of the diseased. You've always had a strong immune system, anyway.

You let out a soft sigh, feeling the urge to rub your dry, tiresome eyes but thinking better of it. Shutting the heavy textbook with a gentle thud, you place both hands on the wooden table, steadying yourself. You slowly close your eyes, relishing in the comfort of the darkness—you haven't slept in nearly three days, haven't left your seat to eat either. Your empty water canteen stares back at you, begging for it to be refilled. You swallow, your throat feeling unbearably scratchy, but you don't succumb to its desperate demand.

Now you only have one more book to read. Just one more and you'll be done. You'll treat yourself to an actual meal and a few hours of sleep (not too much because you still need time for review). With the Exam inching closer every minute, every second, you really don't have time to waste.

Water will have to wait for later.

Besides, you know for a fact that the last book you have to read isn't too long—just a hundred pages or so. You slowly open your eyes, vision slightly blurry as you force yourself to stand. Immediately, your legs threaten to give out and you have to stagger forward to use the dated bookshelves to steady yourself.

Step by step, you carry your barely responsive body to the special corner in the library that you haven't touched in the seven years you've lived in Purgatory. The unfamiliar, gray, tattered book catches your eye and you continue to wobble closer and closer to it. Family Studies, it should say.

Quite the ironic book to read about in a world where families are ripped apart by the government and their indecent tactics. But it's not like you have a choice. You need to get to Utopia—you've made promises...

You may be broken on the inside and out, but you won't let yourself break a promise.

Wearily, you force yourself to lift up your shaking arm to touch the book's spine. But you gasp, nearly jumping back with the little energy you have as your cold hand comes in contact with something warm.

Flesh, you finally register in your head. I've touched flesh.

Your head jerks up rather painfully, leaving your eyes struggling to adjust to the sight in front of you. A boy. A tall boy. His figure towers over you, and he frowns deeply, eyes bloodshot as he looks you up and down. In one hand he clutches a frayed brown blanket draped comfortably over his shoulders and the other stubbornly grasps the book—your book.

But you don't acquiesce, glaring at him as you tug the book closer to you. The boy glances your way tiredly, no emotion displayed on his malnourished, sculpted face. "Excuse me," he croaks, tugging the book closer to himself.

"Excuse you." Your voice comes out much raspier than you had expected, making you instantly regret opening your mouth to speak. But the desire to have the last book in your hands is far greater: "I need that." You pull the book back.

The boy scoffs—even that comes out as a dry cough that makes you flinch back just a bit. "I need it too."

You hate the parched feeling tickling the back of your throat, and you let out a little scream of frustration before instinct gets the better of you. You quickly slap the boy's hand, taking advantage of his surprise as an opportunity to snatch the book from the shelf. Once the book is safely cradled in your arms, you turn to the boy and give him the side-eye. "Well, I need it more."

With that, you attempt to hobble away with the best of your ability, but you fail when the boy grabs the back of your threadbare shirt, stopping you from moving any further. "Please."

He sounds so desperate, voice dripping with misery—something you were once so familiar with. His hands shake, grasping the fabric... You hate yourself for turning around to see his forlorn face. His eyes are full of suffering, of so much pain—that too is so familiar to you."Please..." he whispers again as his grip loosens on your shirt.

You're silent. It hurts. It physically pains you that the only human interaction you've had in months, maybe years, reminds you so much of him.

"Pleaseeee!!" Jimin drags out, a burst of giggles leaving his throat as he tugs excitedly at your arm. "Please! Let's go, let's go!"

You grumble, begrudgingly dragging your feet as Jimin pulls you towards unfamiliar territory. "I'm not hungry," you whine. "Can we just stay in the dorms?"

"We've got eight years to stay in the dorms, Y/N. Eight! Please? Just a few minutes in the cafeteria? I heard they serve actual food! Maybe if we're lucky, we'll get to snag some snacks!" Jimin exclaims, his cheeks tinged pink with elation.

"Where did you hear that from?" you mumble in protest before giving in to Jimin's persistence.

"The ones who failed," he answers lightheartedly. "I've been asking around."

"Oh."

You can't really say much more. There's nothing more to say.

The cafeteria is larger than at least ten Dystopian huts combined; there are rows and rows of rusty lunch tables and a long, metal countertop with a few baskets of bread on top. You and Jimin manage to salvage some before the rats get to it. You force yourself to ignore the angry squeaking and chattering around your bare feet.

The slices of white bread are only slightly moldy, which already makes it better than anything one can forage from your birthplace. You take each bite slowly, chewing steadily to keep the flavor on your tongue just a little while longer. But all too soon, it's gone. Though you'd denied it earlier, you are definitely hungry. Maybe even starving.

You look up to see Jimin swinging his feet back and forth, his hands grasping the side of the old bench, keeping his body balanced. He notices your eyes on him and looks at you, giving you a small smile. You smile back.

"This is already better than Dystopia, isn't it?" he says, small hand tentatively moving towards yours to encompass it. You nod your head in agreement. "We have eight years..." You nod again. "Then we'll be able to go back home."

You don't hesitate, a faint smile appearing on your lips. "Of course."

"Not dead, yet, huh?" you sigh, facing the boy next to you, scrutinizing his every movement. When he doesn't answer right away, you slam the textbook down in the middle of the table to get his attention—and to spite him, of course.

The boy scoffs as he glares at you through the tired slits of his eyes. Any sense of the weakness he had shown from practically begging you to share the book with him yesterday is gone. The feebleness might've been just an act—a sly trick to get you to help him. "Sorry but I plan on going to Utopia as well. That, we have in common," the boy bites right back. "Our only difference is that I'll actually make it there."

You blow air through your nose, prying open the previous book titled Family Studies and muttering death threats under your breath. You clear your throat before you speak again. "Yeah, right. Please shut up before I regret sharing my textbook with you."

"For your information, that's not exactly yours," the boy snorts. "It's the government's. And you've seen the shit that happens when you mess with them."

There's a sadder undertone to his voice that you pick up immediately. He sounds cocky but ruined at the same time—you would know because that's the façade that you had put up for yourself for years now. You can't stop yourself from asking the question that falls from your lips quite easily: "Why? Someone you know messed with them?"

The boy averts his eyes from you, looking down at his feet covered up in tattered shoes. "More like someone I knew." He shrugs, turning his head up so that his dark eyes pierce through yours. "But it doesn't really matter anymore."

Something stings inside. You wish you could say the same.

"It's only been a week," you giggle, watching Jimin stuff his face full of soup made of mystery miscellaneous ingredients. "Shouldn't you have gotten used to having enough food by now?"

Jimin pauses his vehement eating to give you a 'duh' look. "Silly, I'm going to store all the food now when I can. You know, before we have to go back. When's the last time Dystopia had meal times, anyway?"

"Never, of course," you laugh. The rats or some other pesky rodents chatter right along with you. But they only sound as if they are wryly laughing with you and Jimin. A bit embittered, you kick your feet in an attempt to shoo the rats away—or at least shut them up. "Too bad this place still has rats."

Jimin nods. "I've seen some of them around our food too." He makes a disgusted face. "Think about it. What if this mystery soup is made of rat droppings and piss?"

"Oh shut up. Don't be like that," you sniffle, turning up your nose in complete distaste. "That's disgusting."

"I'm only joking," Jimin chuckles, taking another spoonful of his soup, exaggerating the action and making you mock-gag in repugnance.

As annoying as he sometimes is, having Jimin around is something you always have been thankful for. It was everything to have a friend be by your side. You've seen what happens when people are left alone for too long. They go bat-shit crazy. Completely bonkers.

Being tossed back to Dystopia is inevitable; neither of you was going to stop it. Yet even just your best friend's presence is your very own incentive to wake up the next day with a hopeful smile on your lips. He matters so much to you.

"Let's have the time of our lives in Purgatory," he'd told you over and over again. So much so that you can still hear his voice today, tainted with hope and faith. "Then we can go back to Dystopia together."

You grit your teeth, catching your lip between them and biting so hard you taste blood. The strong taste of iron drives you to focus. You furrow your brows, staring at the pages of the textbook and reading thoroughly, mulling over every word in your head with careful precision. When your eyes reach the end of the page, you're just about to look up and ask the boy if he's done reading, but he's one step ahead of you.

The boy flips the page over and smiles at you smugly. You frown at him disdainfully, but without another word, you concentrate on the content once more. Until—

"Taehyung."

You sigh, reluctantly looking up at the boy. "What?"

"Taehyung. My name's Taehyung," he says. "Just thought you ought to know. There are 98 pages left in this book, so I just thought it'd be better to introduce ourselves. We'll be sitting together for a while."

You squint your eyes at him, pondering over his words. But he does make quite a good point. You suppose you and the boy—Taehyung—had gotten off on the wrong foot. Although he was kind of a cocky asshole, you guess it wouldn't hurt to at least tell him your name.

"Fine," you say, upturning your nose. "I'm Y/N."

"Cool." Taehyung grins. For a guy who's been living in unkempt conditions for several years, his teeth look pretty near to goddamn perfection. It's a little irritating if you do say so for yourself.

You're about to pick up where you last left off in the textbook when Taehyung scoots closer to you. You lean away, frowning at him as you shoot him a 'what the fuck are you doing' look.

He seems oblivious to your stone-cold glare. "Sooo, Y/N," he says. "What's making you study this hard?" he asks. "I thought I was the only crazy one here." He laughs wryly. When he sees that you're ignoring him and still reading from the damned book, he huffs and slams it shut.

"What the fuck, Taehyung," you spit out, jerking your head towards him. "Can't I study in peace?"

"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to ignore?" he counters.

"Give me the book back."

"No." He grins, pushing the book away from you as he crosses his legs confidently, leaning back in his chair. "Answer the question. Please," he adds hastily. "C'mon. If we stay cooped up reading all day, we'll die before even getting to live in Utopia."

You let out a frustrated groan, but he's right in a way. You should take study breaks now and then—possibly to keep your sanity. "What's making me study so hard? Fine," you huff. "We all have our mad-person reasons. Happy?" But upon Taehyung's disappointed look at your vague answer, you let out a deep sigh. "And I made promises I don't want to break," you elaborate reluctantly.

"Promises?" Taehyung says. "Interesting... You look like you've been through some rough shit."

You scoff. "Me? Says you. You're Dystopian-born too, right?"

"I'm that obvious, am I?" He grins. "It's true though. I've seen bad shit in Dystopia."

"Yeah, well, I've seen the worst shit right here in Purgatory," you mutter. "So I think I win."

"Oh?"

You ignore him. "Give me back my book," you demand.

"First of all, it's not your book," Taehyung laughs. "And secondly, worst shit in Purgatory? Must be an interesting story behind that. Do tell."

"No."

Taehyung huffs as he leans back even further in his chair. "So you've lost someone you love, then."

You freeze. How did he—

Biting your lip again, you contemplate whether to answer. Finally, you let out a small, "Yeah. Two, actually."

"Damn, two?" Taehyung gawks. "Wow. Um, I'm sorry. You weren't kidding about the bad shit you've seen here."

"I really wasn't." Now you're definitely not in the mood to study. Not when Taehyung, single-handedly, in just a few minutes, reminded you of them. "It's dumb, but I use them and the promises we made together as an incentive to study. That's my mad-person reason," you confess.

Why does it feel better to tell someone else about yourself?

"That's not dumb," Taehyung offers, his eyes mirroring your own sadness in them. "It's good to have someone you love to be your incentive." He pushes the textbook back towards you. "Sorry for pestering you. You can study now if you want."

You nod curtly as you quickly open the book to the page you had left off. It seems that Taehyung does have the smallest bit of sympathy in him. You suppose he's not a completely horrible person (as you had thought before).

Sighing, you try to read through the sentences on the page, but you find yourself reading the same phrase over and over again. Damn. Your stomach flips and you begin to feel a little queasy as melancholy washes over your head. Shit. Now you really can't concentrate.

"You're, okay, right, Jiminie?" you beg, frown lines appearing on your forehead as you take both of the sick boy's hands in yours, watching his tense face relax ever-so-slightly from your soft touch.

"It's probably just something I ate. I'll be fine!" he manages to answer enthusiastically. "I'll throw it all up by tomorrow and you'll see me stronger than ever!"

He was wrong.

As the long days rolled by, he got sicker and sicker. Most of your week was spent in Jimin's room. It became a daily routine to watch him throw up whatever you suggested he eat. It became a reoccurring attempt for you to try to calm his sweltering fever. Every day you were more exhausted than the last. And so was he.

You were losing hope, but you tried not to show it. You knew he was dying, but neither of you mentioned it. You were losing your best friend and you couldn't do anything about it.

No one cared either. Everybody turned a blind eye to the ten-year-old boy suffering in overwhelming pain. They either had been preoccupied with studying or didn't want to catch whatever Jimin had. To them, Jimin, your light and life source was nothing but another body to be tossed in the graveyard at the end of the day.

And just like that, he passed away.

You can still recall the misery reflecting in his eyes, his quiet whimpers, his delusional words. You can still remember him. Quite clearly, too. He didn't know who you were the last few minutes before he blinked half-way and never woke up again. The moment you knew he was dead, you'd cried, clinging to his body and letting out the sorrow, the weakness, that you had hidden from him when he was alive.

To the ten-year-old you, his death was a mystery.

But it was leptospirosis. You know that now, after years of flipping the pages of those medical textbooks. It was a rare disease from animals, but mostly rats. Those damn rats. You wish you can kill them all.

"Those fucking rats!" Taehyung slams his fist hard on the wooden table, immediately stopping the persistent chattering of the damned rodents. "I swear to god, they're one of the worst things about Purgatory, other than the goddamn Exam itself!"

You nod in silent agreement, sighing as you play with the leftover crumbs of your breakfast. "I'd even argue that they're the worst things to ever exist. Besides the Exam."

No matter how annoyingly vocal Taehyung is about his pure hatred for rats, it feels good to have someone to talk to while eating your breakfast. You haven't had company in years.

Taehyung lets a smile loose, a boxy grin that has some sort of weird way of making you feel calm. It's impossible to believe that he's supposed to be your competition when both of you have developed a friendship over the past several days. It wasn't easy for Taehyung to befriend you—especially since you've shut out every other person in your life since... since Yoongi. But he was persistent, and you admired that about him. So slowly, very slowly, you began to open up to the boy.

You told him about Jimin, and you have to admit, it felt fucking fantastic to have someone else mourn for Jimin—to have someone else besides you who didn't ignore his death. And now you're just beginning to tell him about Yoongi upon his stubborn urging.

"You should continue," Taehyung says. "You were telling me about your preteen boyfriend?" he asks with his mouth full of bread—his words are just barely discernible and you crinkle your nose in disgust.

"Gross. Haven't you read those etiquette books? Thought they would've taught you a thing or two about not talking with your mouth full," you huff. "And don't call him my preteen boyfriend. That sounds wrong. Not to mention... it takes away so much of the meaning of my relationship with him."

"Okay, okay, sorry," Taehyung says, but chewed up bread crumbs escape his mouth and land on the metal lunch table. You make a face. "But," Taehyung continues, paying no mind to your disgust, "at the end of the day, I just wanna know if all Utopian-borns are bastards or not."

You roll your eyes. "Oh, c'mon. Do you really think I'd love a bastard?"

"Well, you're quite unpredictable, dear," Taehyung swallows his food (thankfully) before he laughs. "You thought you were going to study alone for the rest of your time here. But look at you, with me, sharing a textbook."

"You better not tell me shit like 'you didn't know love when you were ten,' Taehyung," you say as menacingly as you can. "I'm not gonna tolerate shit talk. And besides, Yoongi was definitely not a bastard. He—" you pause abruptly. "Ah, shit," you say, trying to blink away the tears that had suddenly sprung upon your eyes. Your fingers grip the hem of your shirt and you clear your throat before you continue. "He died so he didn't have to deal with bastards."

"Oh, shit," Taehyung breathes when he realizes you're close to crying. "I'm sorry... You don't have to tell me about him if it's gonna make you feel bad. I was joking about the whole Utopian-born-bastard thing anyway."

"No, I want to tell you," you say. "I need to tell someone. I can't just pent these things up inside of me, Taehyung. Don't you know? I'm using you as my personal rant-listener." You grin at him, though your tears roll down your cheeks.

Taehyung looks confused at your juxtaposition of tears and happy grin. "Okay then," he says. "If you're really sure." He frowns, tilting his head. "I just don't get the part when you said he died so he didn't have to deal with bastards. He can't choose when he dies or not—"

"Oh, yes he can," you cut him off. "Think about it," you say as more tears trip down your face. Taehyung gives you a perplexed look, his confused eyes meeting your sad ones. You sigh. "You can choose when you want to die sometimes," you whisper in a shaky voice. "Intentional death."

You've lost your appetite ever since Jimin passed away. But you come to the cafeteria every day to pay tribute to your best friend, who had announced one too many times when he was alive that the cafeteria was his favorite place in the whole world. So you sit down by yourself on the lunch tables, staring at the bread but never reaching out to take it.

Without Jimin, your world is drained of color. Life loses its meaning. There is no point. You were supposed to go back to Dystopia as adults—together. That had been your one wish. Your only wish. And now it couldn't happen. Not when Jimin's not with you anymore.

Large men in spotless white suits had dragged his limp body off of the small cot as you were begging, wailing on the side. You asked them to bury him, to give him a proper memorial. But they ignored you, pushed you away to the side. They didn't even have the decency to respect him, to cover him up with a blanket or sheet. You had to watch his clothes collect dirt and his face drag in the mud as they pulled him by the legs.

Even after they'd yelled at you, you'd watched, followed them as they flung his body into a deep pit reeking of death.

They burn the bodies in the pit every Sunday; then the week starts fresh with an empty abyss for the dead.

You want to jump in the pit after Jimin. Maybe you can conveniently dump your body in the hole a few minutes before they set fire to it—maybe you can be with Jimin that way.

It feels like a knife in your heart when you think about his last few delusional words. He'd told you fitfully, in a full sweat, that he was in so much pain, but he'd rather be in pain than die. He was afraid of death.

You aren't. You are in so much pain, you want to die, unlike him. Ten years of life is enough, you decide. Whatever is waiting for you after death has to be better than what you are living in right now.

So you plan it out. You wait until Sunday, until five minutes before they're supposed to come to burn the pit of bodies. You're going to jump in. Find Jimin. Burn to death with him. Simple.

Not so simple.

You stand exactly three feet from the pit (you measured it yourself, with your own feet), thinking it would be better to have a running start of some sort. But your feet are frozen as well as your mind is. You just can't seem to get yourself to move. You've pictured yourself jumping into the pit at least a hundred times before, so you can't help to wonder why you can't seem to do it now.

It frustrates you. Your mind tells you to run, to jump, but your legs are glued to the ground.

"Gonna jump?"

You nearly lose your balance at the sudden voice that comes from behind you. You quickly whirl around to see a lanky boy with tousled black hair. He's leaning against the exterior of the common building, staring at you with cold, judgmental eyes. He's taller, bigger than you, so you discern that he must be one of those older kids. You scowl at him. "And what if I did jump?" you retort.

"Wouldn't recommend it, kid," the boy says. He laughs coldly. "First of all, they're not going to burn that shit for several hours. Do you really want to lay around rotting bodies before you die?"

"What if I don't care?" you answer defiantly, crossing your arms.

"What are you? Dumb?" The boy scoffs, leaving his place against the wall and starting to walk towards you as he casually stuffs his hands into his pants pockets. "Get out of here," he says menacingly, eyes narrowing and mouth set stern. "And don't come back."

You admit you're slightly scared, but you don't back down. "No." You glare. "I don't want to."

The boy laughs, shrugging. "It's always the dumb Dystopian-borns. You can't be more than ten-years-old. What's got you so suicidal, huh?"

You narrow your eyes. "I'm not dumb!"

"Hm... Prove it... idiot."

You fume, face turning bright red as you stomp your feet. "Shut up! Leave me alone!"

The boy laughs. "I will if you get out of my sight."

Angry tears slip from your eyes as you grip your fists tight. "I don't want to! I-I want to die! My best friend's down there. And I'm going to be with him!" you yell as snot runs down your nose and your cheeks are wet with hot tears. You feel pathetic. But you need to get your point across to this mean, older boy who isn't leaving you alone. "You can't make me leave!"

There's an uncomfortable silence that follows, yet you stand your ground and glare at him. But to your surprise, the boy lets out a small sigh and begins to walk up to you. He crouches down to your level and he wipes your tears (and embarrassingly a bit of your snot) with the sleeve of his frayed (but obviously high-end) sweater. "It's okay kid," he says. Before you know it, he's pulling you into a tight hug. "Stop crying, hm? It'll be all right, kid."

Nobody's ever hugged you like that before. Not even Jimin—because he knows how much you don't like physical affection. But you needed his hug; it was long overdue.

You hiccup, crying out the rest of your tears as the boy holds you into his arms. It takes you a few minutes to calm down, and when you finally pull away from the boy, you notice that your shirt is slightly wet as well. And not from your tears, but from his. You look up to see the boy's back turned on you, hiding his face from your view.

"Let's go get something to eat, kid," he says, and you can hear just the hint of tears behind his voice. And when he sniffles, it confirms everything.

Cocking your head in curiosity, you begin to follow him—

"Wait, wait!" Taehyung interrupts. "Before you go on any further, you need to address the elephant in the room, Y/N. Why the fuck is he crying?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't know then either," you say. "It's complicated. I mean, I only found out the reason way later. If you'd just let me continue—"

"Oh, sorry. Continue, then."

"Yes, thank you—"

"Wait, lemme interrupt just one more time," Taehyung interjects again. "Just one last question." You groan, but you nod, telling him you're all ears. "Exactly how much older is he than you?"

You sigh. "He was three years older."

Taehyung sucks in a deep breath. "Right... He's, uh, dead. But damn. You were into a Utopian-born that was older? You really broke all the boundaries."

You shrug. "I guess I always didn't really give a fuck about societal norms or whatever the shit people call it."

"And yet you're conforming to the largest societal norm in Atna by studying for the Exam," Taehyung points out. "Times have changed."

You smile sadly, shaking your head. "I'm only doing this for Yoongi. He made me promise... So, here I am, trying to fulfill his wishes. Will you let me continue now?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Anyways..."

Yoongi watches you devour the bread, but you're too hungry to care about his incessant staring.

"You should slow down," he says. "We don't want you to choke to death or anything—" he pauses, eyes turning wide before he mutters a "Shit, I gave her a fucking idea."

"I heard that," you say.

Yoongi visibly pales.

"It's okay," you assure him, setting down a loaf of bread to stare right back at the boy. "I feel better now. I don't think I've eaten for days."

"Damn," Yoongi mutters under his breath. "What kind of best friend was he for you to be this distraught over his death?"

"Distraught?" you say, blinking blankly at him.

He sighs, "Right, right, you're only ten. Distraught means sad. Upset. Depressed. All those fun words."

"Oh," you murmur. "Jimin was everything to me," you say shyly. "He promised me that we were going to go back to Dystopia! Then we could share a house and live together as adults..." you trail off, losing yourself in the figments of your wildest imaginations. "We were supposed to have so much fun in Purgatory..."

Yoongi cocks his head. "Kid, I think you liked him."

You frown at this strange comment, crinkling your nose. "Of course I liked him, he was my best friend."

"No, kid. You like liked him. Maybe you loved him. I don't know," Yoongi says, shrugging. "Think about it. Wait no, don't. Forget about him. Don't make yourself sad. Talk to me. What do you wanna do? Wanna go to my room? I have some stuff back from home there. You can play with them if you want."

You squint your eyes at the boy, staring at him suspiciously. "Why are you trying to be nice...?"

"Nice?" Yoongi scoffs. "I'm just, uh, I'm just trying to get rid of stuff that I don't need anymore. I'm definitely not being nice. So you better follow me 'cause I don't want a lot of things."

You don't buy his lie, but maybe that's a good thing. In your eyes, this boy is, indeed, nice and he's trying to help you take your mind off of Jimin. He even prevented you from leaping off the ledge and falling to your own death. You hope he sticks around.

And stick around he did.

Yoongi is bossy, straight-forward and frankly rude sometimes, things that Jimin totally wasn't. But he is also generous, thoughtful and emotional (on a good day), and that's all you needed to stick by his side.

He is so generous that in the first week that you met him, he gave you nearly a closet-worth's supply of thick sweaters and jackets for the upcoming winter. In that same way, he is thoughtful. You took the clothes gratefully, never once having held such expensive material before in your life.

On late nights when you slept over in his room, he always asked if you could tell him stories of your childhood. And you'd gladly oblige. That's when he got emotional. Though you never see him cry, you always hear it when you tell your stories. Yoongi tries to hide his emotions to the best of his ability, but frankly, he's a loud crier, so you hear him every time. But you let him think he's good at hiding his tears for the sake that he's your friend.

One day, though, you come down with some sort of throat sickness, and Yoongi practically orders you not to speak for the next 24 hours. He had his own medicine cabinet in which his rich parents gifted him before their only son was shipped off to Purgatory from their grand mansion. So you were getting the best treatment anyone in Purgatory could get.

Yoongi even offered to tell you stories that night. To repay you for being an amazing storyteller.

"I've always wanted to hear about Utopia," you croak despite having a painful burn in your throat. "I hate that place. But I want to know more about it."

"Stop talking so much," Yoongi sighs. "Do you want to get better or not?" When you're silent, (having passed his rhetorical question test in which the correct answer was to stay quiet) he smiles to himself and continues. "I hate Utopia too. It's not as great as it seems. You know that every Utopian-born is a slave to education? I think the moment I was born, I got tossed in tutoring. From six in the morning to eleven at night I was tutored. Seven days a week, no breaks. It's probably illegal, but my parents had a lot of copies of the books in the library in Purgatory. They made me get a head start on everything. After a while, you start to think about what the whole point of education is...

"My parents always told me that I was only suffering in my younger years—that I'd only have to suffer until I'm eighteen and if I scored well on the Exam, I'd be able to come back home safely and have the time of my life in Utopia. But I just didn't want to become a slave to education," Yoongi says. "I was sick of it. Sure, I'm privileged. Sure, I had everything I wanted growing up, but I didn't have one thing you Dystopians have—freedom.

"When you're studying all day every day, you don't get a lot of chances to make friends," Yoongi says. "I grew up with adults breathing down my neck and telling me to memorize useless facts. That was the closest thing to friends I ever got. I'm not sure if every Utopian-born is forced to live like this, but I can damn well infer it. Anyways, my parents aren't here now, so I can do whatever the fuck I want."

You laugh. "You don't want to go back home?" you say in your sick, gravelly voice

"I'm just tired, Y/N. I'm tired of everything," Yoongi exhales. "You'll understand when you're older."

"You're only three years older than me, though," you pout. "Do three years change that much?"

"Yes," Yoongi replies as a matter-of-fact-way. "I don't even want to take this stupid fucking test. But I also don't want to rot in Dystopia—no offense. I know I won't last there."

"Yeah, you won't last," you tell him with a giggle.

He huffs. "That's real comforting, Y/N."

"I know," you rasp. "Please tell me about Utopia, now. Are the skies really that blue? And does everyone have a pool? What do you eat there? Do you get your own room??" The last question throws you in a coughing fit, and Yoongi looks at you worriedly. He waits until you stop before he continues.

"It was always blue outside, yeah," he says, slowly, carefully as if he was taking his time to form his words to match his visualizations. "Sometimes we had scheduled rainy days for the private gardens and stuff," he says nostalgically. "I think I had about three pools in my home in Utopia, but I’m not sure if other families had them too. You know, I didn't get around much. Always stuck inside and studying." He sighs. "At least the food there was good. Way better than the crap we're forced to eat here. Barbecue ribs with generous amounts of sauce, slow-cooked potatoes in a bonfire, roasted lamb chops, fresh fruits and vegetables picked up from the nearby food-growing facilities... Caviar, licorice, cotton candy, chocolate, cakes, pudding... And if I ever ate bread, it was with fresh strawberry jam and smooth almond butter."

You don't understand half of the stuff he's saying, but whatever it is, it sounds delicious.

"I could talk about the great food there forever," Yoongi says. "The only thing I miss about Utopia is the food... It's really lonely there. I had my sleeping chamber, my pool room and my study room, but I was always in there alone. Whatever. Do you want to hear more?"

You nod. "Yoongi?"

"Yeah?"

"You cried when I first met you. Why?"

Yoongi visibly stiffens. Knowing him you expect Yoongi to wave off your question or ignore you altogether, but to your surprise, he doesn't.

"You made me feel bad," he confesses bluntly.

"Me??"

"It was just so strange for me to see someone else get upset over a friend..." he trails off. "You were going to die for him. You were going to leap into a pit because you loved your friend that much. You couldn't bear to think of a life without him. So you were going to die with him. And that just..."

"It was stupid, I know," you pout. "You don't have to say it again."

"It was stupid, yeah," Yoongi agrees. "And I'm saying it again because I can. But at the same time, it hurt me. You know, I made up my mind to jump that day too."

"You did??"

"Yeah and imagine my surprise and annoyance when I see some ten-year-old Dystopian-born in my way," Yoongi sniffles. "Pissed me off."

You huff. "Well—"

"And I was still pissed off at you until you told me you were going to do it to be with your friend," Yoongi says. "Do you know why I was going to do it?" You shake your head no. "Because I'm selfish and I didn't like my life and I didn't want to continue living in this hellhole by myself. Because I wanted to give up. And also because I didn't have a purpose to wake up to another day, but that's just one part of a plethora of other reasons. They were all selfish. It made me just... feel something when I saw you. And you were just willing to die for someone who wasn't yourself. Even though that's fucking stupid, it made me realize how I've never really lived before. And maybe you were the key to my first friendship? I don't know."

"Wow," you mutter.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Yes, well, no? My throat's hurting again, Yoongi," you whine. "You told me to stop talking minutes ago."

"Oh, well, in that case, just go to sleep," he says. "You'll feel better in the morning."

"Thanks," you whisper against your cotton pillow. You snuggle in your cot below Yoongi's bed and let out a small sigh. "You're not that selfish, Yoongi," you say.

And you mean it. Yoongi's shown you nothing but generosity. He's shown you that he's caring when he tries to be. Even though he's unbelievably bossy sometimes, he does it for your own good. His quiet demeanor is a façade to the overwhelming emotions inside, and you can see right through it.

Yoongi doesn't answer for the longest time, so you wrap your arms arm yourself to preserve warmth and fall asleep. You wake up the next morning with an extra layer of blanket on top of you.

Taehyung begins to tap his feet on the ground restlessly, consequently making your chair shake underneath you. You try to ignore it for minutes, but the constant shaking is making it hard for you to concentrate on the textbook sitting between the two of you.

"Taehyung," you say.

"Hm?" he asks, his eyes boring into the pages of the book. "What?"

"Can you stop?"

"Stop what?"

"You're shaking my chair."

"Oh," Taehyung says. He finally looks up from his reading and makes eye contact with you. "Sorry," he apologizes hastily. "I didn't mean to do it... I just got nervous. This book is just... It's weird. I mean, when was the last time we put emphasis on family?"

"Never, of course," you say. "I barely even remember what my parents look like."

"Really?" Taehyung's eyes are large as he stares you down with curiosity mixed with just the slightest bit of pity. "Do you miss them?"

"No."

"What? Really?" Taehyung gasps. "You really don't care at all?"

"They're not prominent figures in my life," you say. "It was always Jimin. And then when Jimin died, it was Yoongi..." you trail off. "I do regret not being close to my family. I don't think I said goodbye when I had to leave to Purgatory."

"God, well, that's harsh."

"I know. What about you? Were you close with your family?"

"Oh, very," Taehyung replies. "I had three older brothers and one younger sister. My sister and two brothers didn't make it out in the world. So in theory I only had one older sibling."

"I'm sorry," you say.

"It's fine. It was in Dystopia. Too many people die so the deaths start to become irrelevant," Taehyung shrugs. "I miss them, though. My brother's dead now, but I miss my parents."

"Dead?"

"He tried to start a revolt in Purgatory eleven years ago," Taehyung says. He frowns, shaking his head in disbelief. "I didn't think he was that dumb to actually go through with the rebellion. It was a man-slaughter, by the way. Everyone in his year was killed."

"Everyone?" you say. "Even to me, that sounds severe."

"Yeah, well, it was easier for them. Assumed that everyone in that year was a rebel. And rebels deserve to die, apparently," Taehyung says. He grits his teeth, fisting his hands in slow-coming anger. "You do know why they have the fucking Exam, right?"

"To choose which people are worthy of being in Utopia?"

"That's part of the reason," Taehyung says. He leans into you so suddenly that you gasp quietly. "The government does it to weed out the feeble-minded ones. Haven't you heard rumors? In a few years, they might just exterminate Dystopia and Purgatory altogether. There aren't enough resources to keep everyone alive," he whispers with urgency, and you can feel his hot breath on your cheeks. "So they're trying to grow a stable society with highly intelligent individuals. They want to get rid of the excess. The unworthy. They do it by hosting the Exam."

He looks satisfied at your rather shocked face and decides to give you some space, leaning away and taking away the warmth on your face.

"They're going to get rid of Dystopia?" you whisper. "And Purgatory? That's not fair to the people living there. They're gonna close off Utopia forever? That's bullshit."

"It's rumored." Taehyung shrugs.

"Is that why you're studying so hard to go?" you say, cocking a curious brow at him. "To avenge your brother?"

"Maybe," Taehyung grins. "I mean, I'll see what I can do."

"You shouldn't," you tell him with a frown. "They're gonna kill our whole year because of you."

Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you. "You know what they're doing is wrong," he says. "Don't you want to right the wrong?"

"No," you say. "I don't. I'm not going to risk my life or any other lives to fix this stupid system. The only fool-proof way to beat them is to beat the Exam—by that, I mean get a perfect score. Think about it. It's a huge middle finger to the government. Imagine if only one person out of hundreds gets to go to Utopia for scoring the highest, and, you know, assuming that only one person gets a perfect score because it's that unheard of. If that keeps up year after year, Utopia will die. They'll be underpopulated. The government will realize the system is flawed with time."

"That would take years and years. And a lot of assumptions to make," Taehyung scoffs. "You're talking about one person from every fucking year having the will and intelligence to score perfectly. Statistically impossible."

"So what?" you say. "You think a bloody revolution will solve everything?"

"A bloody revolution would obviously take less time than what you're thinking of," Taehyung says. "There are people fucking dying out there. There are people eating dead bodies. One bloody revolt can do a lot for the future."

"It won't do a lot for the present, though," you argue.

Taehyung sighs. "You know what? I'm sorry we even fucking got into this damned conversation. Whatever. Let's just finish up the book."

You clench your teeth but you don't say anything, merely nodding to show your agreement.

For the next thirteen hours, it is completely silent. After the small argument, neither you nor Taehyung feels the need to speak to the other. There is obvious tension and awkwardness between the two of you—like it had been in the beginning. You try to ignore it, immersing yourself into the contents of family studies, no matter how tedious you found it. Night rolls around and both of you end up skipping dinner.

Breakfast the next day is skipped as well.

By the time lunch comes, you and Taehyung have finished reading and reviewing the last book in the whole library. He slams the textbook shut and slides it across the table. The sound isn't as jarring as you expect it to be. So you just blink your dry eyes and try to steady yourself to prepare to stand up from your seat. Maybe you should leave Taehyung alone for a while... Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you anymore. And maybe you shouldn't hang around him... He could get you killed. He could rope you around in his master plan that his older brother had left with loose ends. You don't want to die; you don't even want to think of the possibility of death.

The only way you can beat the goddamn Exam is to be the only person to score 100 percent. And you're going to accomplish that. For years you've set your mind on this one single goal. Sacrificed food, water and sleep for it. You're not going to let it slip from your hands this easily—not when you're this close to it.

You wobble away from the chair, never looking back at Taehyung as you try to walk away from the table.

"Wait."

His tired voice echoes in the nearly empty library and it rings in your ears. You stop walking but you don't turn around.

"What, Taehyung?" you say through gritted teeth. Though you try to hide the slight waver in your voice that would indicate your exhaustiveness, it shows quite obviously.

"Let's grab lunch together. Please," he says—no, pleads.

God, he must know how much that word affects me. He knows about Jimin, so it probably wasn't so hard to use that knowledge to his own advantage.

After contemplating for what seemed like minutes, you finally turn around to face Taehyung. It surprises you when you meet his eyes almost immediately.

"You didn't finish telling me about Yoongi," he says. "I hate cliffhangers."

It occurs to you that both of you are too proud to apologize over an argument; in fact, this was Taehyung's way of apologizing to you without uttering the words, 'I'm sorry.' Your apology would be something similar.

You nod. "C'mon," you say. "Let's go to the cafeteria."

For two whole years, you were the happiest you've ever been with Yoongi. He made you almost forget about Jimin, but you made sure you honored your dead best friend by visiting the pit every now and then. It had been the last place you'd seen him.

Yoongi likes to come with you when you go to the pit. He's been getting anxious these days when you're not by his side.

Actually, you notice that he's been acting a bit strange. In the past few months, he began lecturing you about famous inventors and world leaders. He taught you the locations and capitals of countries you didn't know existed. He's been telling you the events of history as if he'd lived through them himself. The most annoying part was when he tried to make a damn math problem out of everything.

You only assumed that the pent-up knowledge inside his head was finally getting to him and he had to let it out to someone before he exploded. So you went along with it. And you suppose that sometimes, the lessons Yoongi taught you were enjoyable.

Until it got to the point that he began to quiz you on the material you learned from him.

You groan, eyes fluttering open to greet the morning sunlight that floods through the faded curtains in Yoongi's room. You had a rough night with a bad dream. You've never been this glad to finally wake up from your sleep.

Aside from the sunlight, you're also greeted by Yoongi's loud voice the moment he catches you awake. "Capital of Senegal?" he demands, pointing at you as if you had just committed a crime.

You squint your eyes at him, frowning as you stifle a yawn. You're still cranky from having a bad dream (that you can't remember now that you've woken up), so without so much of the slightest blink of an eye, you tell him to "Please, stop."

Yoongi snorts. "No, seriously," he says. "What's the capital of Senegal?"

"I dunno," you lie even though there's no way in hell that you don't know at this point in time because Yoongi's been making you memorize the world capitals for weeks now. But frustration starts to bubble up inside of you. You thought Yoongi would know a thing or two about maintaining personal space. Making you answer stupid geography questions the moment you wake up for six days in a row was downright mean and he deserves to hear a mouthful from you. "Yoongi what the hell is up with you?" you huff. "What does the capital of Senegal have to do with anything??"

"It's Dakar!" Yoongi yells, throwing up his hands. "Fucking Dakar, Y/N! Is that so hard to remember?"

"Why does it even matter?!" you yell back at him.

"I'm trying to help you!" Yoongi shouts. "I'm helping you learn, goddammit!"

"Why would I have to learn??" you say absolutely confused out of your mind. "You know how much you hated being stuck in tutoring. Well, I hate it too!"

"Oh, shit," Yoongi curses, collapsing on his bed with his hands buried in his face. He realizes that you'd just made an extremely valid point, and it puts him to shame. "I was just trying to help..."

"What? Help me pass the Exam?" you snort half-jokingly. "Yoongi, I want to go back to my home, Dystopia, with you."

"No, Y/N," Yoongi says. "I'm not going to Dystopia."

"Then wha—"

"I've been thinking, Y/N," Yoongi cuts you off, patting the spot next to him for you to sit. You do, rubbing your eyes and trying to tame your bed hair as you wait for him to continue. "I've been thinking a lot..." Yoongi says, "about the future. I've thought about every scenario in my head, and I don't think I'll ever be content."

"Aren't you happy with me, here?" you say. "I thought we were having fun..."

"Sooner or later, Y/N, I'll have to take the Exam," Yoongi says. "I'll fail, as expected. I'll be tossed into Dystopia and I'll have to wait until you come back home. But I'll most likely die in less than a year so you'll never actually get to see me again."

"Don't say that!" you shriek. "Don't even—"

"I'm obviously not going to make it in Dystopia. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and waking up in this dingy room in Purgatory every day disgusts me. Think about how horrible it'd be for me in Dystopia when I can't even stand it here. Then the only solution left is for me to go back to Utopia," Yoongi explains. "And that's not going to happen because I don't intend on learning new material anymore. I'm not a scholar. Was forced to be, but never wanted to be. I give up."

"You're giving up??"

"I'm giving up."

"But Yoongi..." you breathe but no further words come out of your mouth. You don't want to put words in his mouth, but you're scared of what he's thinking of doing to himself in the future. Yet you don't have the guts to ask him about his plan out loud.

"I know, Y/N," Yoongi sighs. "But I'm not bringing you down with me."

"What??"

"You're going to Utopia, Y/N," Yoongi says. He's so nonchalant with an atrocious statement that you wonder if he has a concussion. But when he's staring at you so intently, you realize with a heavy heart that he's dead serious.

"It's too late, Yoongi," you protest. "I would never beat the Utopian-borns... I'm already two years behind the game, and if you factor in the time the Utopian-borns have studied, I'm twelve years behind!"

"It's not too late," he argues. "Think about it. Utopian-borns like me—unless they're batshit crazy—aren't trying as hard anymore. Their parents aren't there to supervise them, and they're probably insanely cocky about how much they already know."

"What's your point?"

"You can easily beat them with willpower," Yoongi says. "And I already tried teaching you some stuff that I remembered too—whether you were paying attention is solely on you, though."

You huff. "I was paying attention," you say. "And that's impossible. I'm not a genius, Yoongi. Intelligence is genetic. You told me so yourself."

"I did," Yoongi admits, "but it doesn't matter how innately intelligent you are. What really matters is willpower. And I have none. But you have a lot. I'm just saying, Y/N. Utopia... it's not really a life for me. I don't really give a shit about education and being intelligent. I don't really give a shit about anything. But I think Utopia is a life for you. It's a life you deserve."

"I can't just accept what you're telling me, Yoongi," you say.

"Yes you can," he says. "I want to leave soon, you know. I don't want to distract you from your studies... And besides, Purgatory's food fucking sucks. I bet they have better food in the afterlife."

The afterlife. It's then when it truly dawns on you of the atrocity that your friend would commit to himself.

"You can't just kill yourself," you scoff, twisting your body towards Yoongi in complete bewilderment. "What about me? I never agreed to any of this!"

"You've wanted to go to Utopia the moment I started to tell you about it," Yoongi says. "You think I wouldn't know? I'm helping you get there."

"But I don't want to be alone!" You sniffle, chin pointing to the ceiling so the tears that are starting to well in your eyes dry away. But it's no use. The more you think about being abandoned again, another person you genuinely cared for leaving you into the afterlife... it makes you feel broken.

"Well, I don't really want to live," Yoongi says. "We're all selfish. It's human nature."

"I thought you cared about me!" Your voice rises two octaves. "We were supposed to spend the rest of your time in Purgatory together! You can't just leave early because you feel like it! What am I going to do without you??" You're sobbing now, the tears running down your face in fat droplets that blur your vision.

"Hey..." Yoongi murmurs. "Y/N..." He gives you some space to cry, to let out the worst of your emotions. Then he encompasses you in a warm hug in which your face is up against the soft material of his sweater and he pats your back comfortably. "You'll get over me."

"I won't," you whimper. "That's a promise."

"C'mon don't waste a precious promise on that," he whispers.

"I will so waste a stupid precious promise on that," you whisper back. You hate him for doing this to you. For telling you that he was going to leave you so you knew what was coming—now you were dreading the moment he was going to abandon you instead of relishing in his presence, his embrace, his warmth.

For hours, the two of you bask in complete silence. You've calmed yourself down to the point that the tears roll down your face sporadically, but not in steady streams anymore. Yoongi runs his fingers through your hair, an act that he only does to ensure you that everything will be all right. It's rare that the two of you are ever this close in proximity, and you want to cherish this moment before he's gone. But curiosity pulls at the strings inside you and you just have to ask—

"W-When are you going to do it?"

"Hm?"

"When are you going to commit suicide?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

You pull away from Yoongi, scowling at him. "Why not?"

"You'll try to put a stop to it," he says. "I need to get through with this, Y/N. You can't change my mind."

"I want to say I hate you, but now I feel like I need to be nice to you," you confess, running a hand through your hair in confusion.

Yoongi smiles, shaking his head. "Act normally." He hesitantly reaches out for your hand, and when you give it to him, he holds it perfectly—not too tightly nor not too loosely. "Just promise me one thing." When you don't answer, he turns to you, squeezing your intertwined hands for emphasis. "Get to the top for me, will you?"

"I can't promise tha—"

"And please don't frown when you study. You're gonna get a permanent crease on your forehead."

"Fuck, Y/N," Taehyung chokes, blinking away a tear that was starting to become too heavy for his eyes. "That's it? You let him just... leave you like that?"

"I feel like I should've put up a bigger fight too," you admit, playing with what's left of the bread crumbs on the lunch table. "I should've helped him. Nursed him back into a healthy mental state. But what did I know? I was fucking twelve then. I didn't know shit about mental health or psychology."

"You know now at least," Taehyung offers.

"I'd rather not know," you say. "Now that I know that I could've helped him... it just feels worse." You let out a deep sigh that takes the heavy weight off of your chest. "He overdosed about four days later. They found him before I did... And since then, I've been alone, studying my ass off."

"I can't help but admire your determination," Taehyung says. "You honestly can't beat human willpower. Yoongi's right."

You smile, shrugging nonchalantly. "I just want to keep my promise with him... And maybe I want to live in glory for the rest of my life, but who am I to blame? Everybody wants that life."

"Everybody deserves that life," Taehyung says. "No one should have to go through near-death experiences to get to it."

"Life's never fair," you say. "Deal with it."

Taehyung snorts. "I know. I'm trying." He pauses, placing a pensive hand on his chin and looking off into the distance as if he were thinking hard about something. "Hey, you know, the best way to retain information is to repeat it out loud or teach it to others."

"That's exactly what Yoongi made me do," you say. "All those random quiz questions throughout the day... I didn't appreciate it then, but I'd sure appreciate it now."

"Then we can be study buddies," Taehyung declares. "We'll quiz each other. We have about a year left before the Exam. We'll review every concept in the whole damn library together. Two heads work better than one!"

"Aren't we supposed to be competitors?" you say. "I'm looking to get a perfect score, Taehyung," you grin. "If you can't keep up with my rigorous schedule, you shouldn't even be proposing this plan to me."

"Oh yeah?" Taehyung cocks an eyebrow as he grins right back at you, revealing his perfect teeth and boxy smile. "Bring it on, Y/N."

Bring it on? Oh, you'll bring it on, all right. Taehyung won't even know what hit him.

Having someone else to study with you doubles your competitiveness, which is a feat in it of itself because you are definitely more competitive than at least one hundred of your peers combined.

Every day, you've been trying to wake up earlier than Taehyung to get to the library first. The only problem is, he's been doing the same as well. You thought you had him beat when you sauntered into the library at 4 a.m. feeling quite refreshed after an hour night's sleep, but it turned out that Taehyung never even left the library. He'd grinned at you, practically staring into your soul with bloodshot eyes and croaking, "I win!" so victoriously that you really had to accept his triumph over you.

But when the two of you start to play a little game of who-can-stay-awake-for-longer, Taehyung has to put a stop to the madness when you start to mumble jumbled sentences in Latin after he asks if you need some water.

You and Taehyung look out for each other almost by habit at this point. It's become a routine for you to wake the other up if you were the first to awake. Now morning trips to the library are done together, and you have to admit it feels much better to be able to walk side by side next to someone who is willing to babble his head off to wake you up a bit more.

Dinner is skipped Mondays through Fridays to make extra time for review. On Saturdays, you and Taehyung indulge in the full three meals that Purgatory has to offer while also finishing up your studies. But Sunday, Sunday is the holy grail of the week. No studying, no library, just you and Taehyung taking some time off (for once).

Surprisingly, you'd come up with Special Sundays, after Taehyung had a huge mental breakdown over plumb-forgetting how to graph polar curves on one typical Saturday night. And the special day has stayed since. Neither of you wants to get rid of something that is the only non-study related activity of the week.

Most Special Sundays are spent in either Taehyung's room or your room. Taehyung prefers your room because you have extra blankets that Yoongi left for you, and as winter comes by, any additional coverage is very much appreciated.

This Sunday, however, you managed to convince Taehyung to hang out in his room—only because his mattress is softer than yours and you've been getting bad back and neck pains these days.

"By the time I'm twenty, I'll be suffering from a fucking herniated disc," you tell Taehyung as you groan, shifting your position on his bed for what seems like the hundredth time. "I feel so fucking stuffy. Like I need to crack my back but I can't. Don't even get me started on my fucking neck."

"By the time you're twenty, you'll be in Utopia and the special doctors will be all over you to treat Atna's very own princess," Taehyung snorts. "They'd do anything to keep the perfect scoring girl alive and well."

"Princess my ass," you laugh. "I'd like to wish. How's the cot, by the way? Kinda feel bad about making you sleep there while I take your bed."

Taehyung shrugs. "I don't mind. I honestly don't even feel a difference," he says without skipping a beat. "And we don't want your back messing up your chances. On the day of the Exam, it'd be worse to have your body betray you than your mind."

"I'd literally fucking cry if my stupid back is still like this before the Exam, Taehyung," you say. "All these years I spent with my nose buried in a book... Only to fail because my body couldn't handle it."

"That's the worst," Taehyung sighs. "But if you stretch every day, it might get better. Honestly, we need to start taking care of ourselves better. We need to reserve time to rest... to take our minds off of studying. Even if it's only one day per week."

"Yeah," you agree. "You know what's fucking sad though? We're still talking about the stupid Exam even now. It never escapes our heads."

"We're slaves to the system," Taehyung bitterly murmurs. "What do you expect?"

"That's true," you say, wincing as you try to shift your position on the bed again. "I don't expect much at this point. Not from the people who've turned the library into a battlefield and the students into soldiers."

"The Exam is the war," Taehyung says. "Losing the war means death, mostly. I see no difference."

"We are so depressing," you sigh. "But it's all true."

"I know," Taehyung says. He turns over on his side to look up at you on his bed. "You ever think about the worst-case scenario?"

"You mean like... we don't make it to Utopia?"

"We?" Taehyung smiles. "So you think we'd get perfect scores together? What happened to being competitors?"

"Oh, shut up," you snort. "We're a team. I thought it was obvious. And I am not talking about not making it to Utopia. We are not going to self-sabotage months before the fucking Exam."

"You're just going to ignore the chances? You're going to ignore the chance of failure?"

"Yes!" you say, turning on your side to face Taehyung. "Of course I am. Do you really want to lie here talking about failure? We shouldn't even plant the thought of that in our heads right now. It's all about victory. We're the smartest, most capable people in our year, so if we don't get to Utopia, no one will. Understand?"

Taehyung belts out a laugh that has you frowning. "Your confidence deserves a gold medal sometimes," he says. "I do understand you..." he continues, "but only to a certain extent."

You scoff, "Oh, come on, Taehyung. What happened to the cocky bastard I met months ago??"

"That was such a mask behind the real me, Y/N," Taehyung laughs. "I thought you knew that by now. I'm fucking terrified of failure and even the slightest thought about failing makes me want to crawl in a hole and just... vanish."

"I swear to god, Tae, if you talk about vanishing like that again, I'll seriously make you want to vanish," you threaten him with the most menacing voice you can muster up. "We're already victors to this stupid game, winners of the war. Don't you dare think otherwise."

Taehyung smiles, eyes twinkling when he realizes you'd called him by his special nickname (that he kept trying to get you to call him) for the first time. "I'll try not to," he says. "But I'm not making any promises."

"Well, that's still good enough for me."

Four months until the Exam.

You're both physically (your back pains are gone) and mentally (you've always been) ready. But your friend is another story. As more days pass, the more anxious Taehyung begins to feel. He's never able to sleep, so he steals a couple of library books back to his room every night to read while everyone else is salvaging every hour of shut-eye they can get.

His insecurities are catching up to him. And you've always been quite loud-mouthed and confident, so you don't understand him very well. Yet, you're a team, and you do not leave team members stranded.

Motivational pep talks are not really your thing, but they have become your thing these past few days. You walk Taehyung to his room from the library every night, telling him that he had nothing to worry about—that he was going to do superbly well on the Exam. Sometimes, you feel like you're repeating the same phrase over and over again to him, but Taehyung reassures you that whatever you say helps him calm down.

But the mental breakdowns are becoming more and more frequent. Taehyung can't seem to sit still for ten minutes without starting to shake his leg and vibrate the whole table. He has to stop reviewing the Exam material to catch his breath, wipe away his tears and relax the tensed muscles on his face.

You let him take his time. You're always there for him to lean on, to help him catch up on the study time that he missed. And he's forever grateful to you.

"I don't think anyone's been this understanding of me," Taehyung sniffles as you pat his back comfortingly as he blows his nose on a scratchy napkin you handed him before. "Back home, my brother used to tell me to man up when I started to have my panic attacks. He was always the mentally stronger one of us."

"That wasn't very nice of him to say that," you remark. "It's normal to feel uneasy, especially at a time like this. The Exam is four months away... Not too close but not too far either..."

"God. I wish I wasn't so anxious all the time," Taehyung sighs, crumpling up his tissue and pocketing it. "I wish I was like you. Not afraid of losing... Not afraid of failing... Just so confident all the time."

"You can be like me," you say. "Just stop worrying so much."

"Easier said than done," Taehyung scoffs. "You're going to Utopia for sure. There's literally no doubt, Y/N."

"You're coming with me," you argue. "Not to avenge your brother's death or whatever. But just to enjoy the wealthy living since we both deserve it at this point."

"I'm not a charismatic leader," Taehyung shrugs. "I would've never been able to help start a revolt like him. I'd really like to go with you to Utopia... If we both got in, do you think we'd keep in touch?"

"Of course!" you exclaim. "We kept each other company in the loneliest of times. Have you seen anyone else in our year who's serious about taking the Exam making friends now? Everyone's too busy thinking about competition."

"What did I say?" Taehyung grins. "Teamwork works, and two heads are definitely better than one."

"Very true," you smile. "Remember when we fought for that book? The very first time we met?"

"How could I forget?" Taehyung laughs. "I thought you were going to murder me with that look of yours, honestly."

"Oh, wow. I'm not that scary, am I?"

"Oh, yes you are," Taehyung argues. "Do you know how hard it was for me to literally act tough in front of you in the beginning? So you wouldn't take me as some kind of wimp?"

"You acted tough for me?" you giggle, resting your hand on your cheek as your elbow sits on the table. You stare at Taehyung with an amused look on your face. "So you're just actually a big ol' softie?"

"W-Well, I wouldn't call myself a softie per se," Taehyung blushes. "I'm just uh..." he trails off. "Damn, Y/N. You put me under the spotlight."

You shrug, grinning as you watch Taehyung squirm under your intense gaze. Maybe you're a little mean, but making him blush is pretty funny. Teasing him is even funnier.

"It wouldn't be the first time. And definitely not the last," you say with a mischievous grin playing on your lips. Taehyung huffs, but his face looks much more relaxed than it had been several minutes ago—even the redness of his eyes are slowly fading away. He looks much better. He looks ready. "Hey, wanna go back to where we left off now?" you say. "If you're feeling better?"

"Yeah, sure," Taehyung smiles. "Thanks."

Goddamn. His smile is insanely contagious. It must be those perfect teeth and that boxy smile.

"No problem," you manage to murmur, feeling yourself start to blush thinking of Taehyung's immaculate smile. "Um," you hesitate, "yeah, so as I was saying before about Einstein's theory of relativity..."

Three months.

Something fishy is going on here. The closer the Exam looms over your head, the more you expected yourself to become miserable—stressed about the last-minute study material you could've forgotten over the years. Yet you find yourself rather relaxed.

It occurs to you, however, that you're only this relaxed because you have to be—for Taehyung. One of the two of you has to show strength to help the other. Pretending to be so strong-headed and confident (even when you fell into the familiar pit of self-doubt), helped you actually become confident in your knowledge and predestined success. There's really nothing to worry about, you tell yourself and Taehyung. If it's not the two of us, then it can't be anyone else.

The more you comfort Taehyung, the more he opens up to you, and the more you open up to him. Your friendships in the past have always been a little lopsided—with Jimin, you constantly comforted him, cared for him, and with Yoongi, he had been the one to take care of you. For once in your life, you had a relationship in which you both gave and took; Taehyung is your balance. The in-between of Jimin and Yoongi.

The platonic relationship with Jimin is mirrored in your relationship with Taehyung, but sometimes blush creeps up your cheeks when Taehyung teases you back or when your hands graze each other. So maybe you're not completely platonic with him.

And maybe you're just missing someone to love.

"Do you think we'd be happier if we just... never studied for the Exam?" Taehyung whispers to you as you lie side by side on your bed. The midnight moon is bright enough to illuminate just a sliver of Taehyung's face as he stares at the ceiling of your room pensively. "We would be hanging out... never going to the library... Making friends..."

You hum thoughtfully. "I don't know," you say. "I guess maybe we would be happier—just for the eight years we're in Purgatory, anyway."

"That's right," Taehyung says. "That's a good point, actually. I feel like what we're doing right now is right. We're suffering now to make gains later. And..." he trails off. "And... um, if we don't make it, at least we'll know that we tried."

You nod. "Yeah, I guess. It would be better than being tossed back into Dystopia and wondering for the rest of our lives what would've happened if we did study for the Exam."

"Exactly," Taehyung says. "I think it's crazy that we only have three months left," Taehyung says. "But weirdly... I feel less stressed than before. Maybe your optimistic preachings are getting to my head," he laughs quietly, nudging your shoulder playfully.

"Me? Optimistic?" you snort. "That's the first."

"It's true," Taehyung muses. "My anxiety isn't as bad as before, and I'm pretty sure you had a part to play in that."

"In three months, you won't have any anxiety ever again," you reassure him. "You won't even need to hear me babble on about optimism and self-confidence."

"And we'll be having the time of our lives in Utopia," Taehyung breathes.

You smile to yourself, nodding silently. The two of you let the silence consume you, letting Taehyung's last words echo in your head; it's a good way to end the conversation—on a positive note. A lasting note of hope and faith.

It's then when you feel something warm on your hand. It takes you a moment to realize it's flesh. It takes another moment for you to realize it's Taehyung's hand. When you don't flinch away, he quietly almost hesitantly encompasses your hand in his. Delicately, your fingers intertwine and lock perfectly together.

Immediately, your cheeks heat up but you refuse to speak about it. Reassurance floods through you as the two of you lay side by side in the comforting darkness of your room with your hands held tightly together.

And neither of you speak until the sun peeks out from the horizon to paint the skies with another morning, another day. You don't need to talk to Taehyung to know he's thinking the same thing as you.

We'll have the time of our lives in Utopia.

Two months.

The last-minute crammers crowd the library so much that there is a line to enter it. You and Taehyung found a very effective way to battle the sudden influx of students, though. Every day, the two of you enter the library as early as three in the morning (to ensure that little to nobody was there) and take six to seven books with you, hiding them under your jackets and sweaters.

Studying in your rooms is much better.

There are less judgmental eyes, fewer chances of catching a stupid cold that's been making its way through the younger kids in Purgatory and you and Taehyung can lounge on the beds when you get tired of sitting straight.

Two months to the Exam is shockingly close, so close that your back pains have been plaguing you once more. Taehyung tells you to stop slouching when you sit, but you find it hard to sit straight and read the tiny text of the textbooks. So you end up ignoring him.

But on some days, it hurts for you to turn your body, your back aching to the extremity that you started believing one uncalculated movement could leave you paralyzed for the rest of your life. It's on those days that you wish you listened to Taehyung earlier. You push on though, too stubborn to admit to Taehyung that he's right and too impatient to try to fix your pain at such an urgent time.

Except you're not too good at hiding your discomfort and Taehyung catches onto you.

"We should take a break," he says, closing an astrophysics textbook and practically tossing it over his head.

When you hear the loud thump of it hitting against the wall, you gasp. "Tae! You can't just throw the fucking book. We're not even supposed to have these in our rooms!"

"Maybe that was a bad idea," Taehyung says, fidgeting his hands. "A little too late now, though, isn't it?" He shrugs. "We need a break."

"I'm fine! I swear!" you say. "We'll study for a few more hours."

"Your back's killing you, isn't it?"

You scoff. "N-No!"

"You stuttered."

You groan, wincing quietly as you try to sit up straight. "I'm not gonna die because of this. I think I can keep going."

"If you don't fix that now, you probably won't be able to sit down for four hours to take the Exam," Taehyung tells you. He takes your book and throws it over his head, making you grimace when it thuds against the wall. "I'm gonna loosen your back muscles!" he declares.

"What are you gonna do? Step on my back and make it crack?" you snort. When you see that Taehyung actually looks like he's contemplating it, you quickly say, "Please don't."

"Don't worry. I'll try not to make it hurt," Taehyung grins. You look at him so threateningly that he has to raise both of his hands defensively. "Oh, c'mon! I'm trying to help."

You give him a nervous look. "So what? You're gonna give me a massage?"

"It'll help!" Taehyung says. "Just get all comfy and lay flat on the bed. Stomach on the covers, please."

The mere thought of his hands roaming on your back makes your face heat up. God, this is going to be intimate. Maybe that's why Taehyung suggested it... and maybe that's why you're actually complying with him.

Hesitantly, you situate yourself on the bed, laying your face on your arms. "Just my back," you tell him.

"Yeah, of course," he says. "I have credentials, technically."

"Oh?"

"I found a magazine about it," Taehyung says. "So I'm very much qualified."

"Oh god."

You hear Taehyung rustle behind you and you try to twist your body to see what he's doing but your back prevents you from moving. In frustration, you ask, "What are you doing?"

"Rolling up my sleeves and staring at your back. Why?"

"Why the fuck are you staring at my back?"

"I was trying to figure out where it hurts," he answers, "but I guess I could've just asked you instead."

You snort. "God, Tae. It honestly hurts everywhere. But especially around the shoulder blade area."

You can just imagine Taehyung nodding professionally, with his sleeves rolled up and his hair slicked back to prevent stray strands from poking at his eyes.

"Okay, I'm gonna put pressure there," he says. "Deep breath out..."

You obey him, closing your eyes and blowing air out of your lips, simultaneously relaxing your body. The moment you feel his hands on your back, goosebumps checker your arms. No one's ever been this close to you; no one's bothered to be this intimate with you.

"Feel good?" Taehyung asks.

He sounds closer to you than you expected him to be, and your breath hitches quietly. "Y-Yeah," you stutter. "A little lower."

Taehyung listens, rubbing your sore back with such care and calculated pressure that you have to bite your lip from letting rather embarrassing sounds from escaping your mouth. You don't realize how tense your body was until Taehyung calls you out. "You're so tense, Y/N," he remarks, his hands dealing with the clumped muscles on your back. "Try to relax."

You're red-faced, unable to admit to him that if you do as he says, you might just let out a moan and it'll really be game over then. You are not going to embarrass yourself in front of him because Taehyung would never let you live that down. And if you're really going to spend your days in Utopia with him, you'd rather not let him have any memories he can use to tease you.

"I am relaxing," you lie through your teeth. But when Taehyung gets to a particularly sensitive part on your back, you hiss through your teeth. "Ow..."

Taehyung immediately stops his ministrations. "Do you want me to stop for a second?" he asks with so much worry laced into his voice that you almost feel guilty for making him question himself.

"No!" you exclaim. "I mean, no. I'm fine. I guess my back was much worse than I thought..."

Taehyung laughs. "Well, if I do this for you occasionally and you stretch every day, you'll be in good condition again."

"Thanks," you mutter. "Really, Tae, I mean it."

You can just imagine the boy grinning ear to ear behind you. Though you expected him to say something cocky or silly, you received silence in response. "Tae?" Gritting your teeth, you try turning over on your back, which was easier than expected—Taehyung's massage had already done wonders.

With a little oof, you flip over to finally get a good look at Taehyung. "Cat got your tongue??" you tease him, raising an eyebrow and gazing at his rather blank face.

"No... no," he answers right away. "For a second I thought..." he trails off. His handsome face morphs into a look of worry, of nervousness.

"You thought...?"

"I thought I..." he trails off again, much to your impatience.

"Oh, come on, Tae," you sigh. "Spit it out!"

The boy grins, shaking his head. "For a second, I thought I heard you moan, Y/N. Enjoying yourself a little too much, aren't we?"

Okay, you had not expected that. The color quickly drains from your face and your mouth drops open rather unflatteringly. You sputter to think of an excuse, any excuse that would whisk you away from the embarrassment consuming you at this moment.

"I'm just kidding," Taehyung says as he nearly falls over in a fit of laughter. "You should see your face!"

"That's not funny!" you yell, sitting up on your elbows and glaring at the laughing boy.

"No, it was definitely funny," he says, grabbing your hand and helping you sit up. The action brings heat to your cheeks and you have to look away. "Oh, c'mon," Taehyung whines, "learn some humor, Y/N."

He must mistake your embarrassment as anger. You'll play along.

"You can literally shut up," you huff.

"Damn, you're not very scary when you pretend you're mad," Taehyung says, grinning mischievously at you.

"I am not pretending!"

"You're still holding my hand, Y/N," he teases.

Oh shit. He's right. That's the second time that's happened in one month. Is it strange to seek physical comfort? Or is it strange to feel so comfortable with Taehyung? "I-I," you stutter embarrassingly, unsure if you can even finish your own sentence when Taehyung interrupts you.

"It's okay, Y/N," he says. "I don't mind holding your hand."

You gape at him in shock—so much so that you're sure you don't look too attractive at the moment with your mouth hanging open and your eyes bulging.

Taehyung tightens his grip on your hand as he tugs you closer to him. His eyes sparkle with something you recognize as mirth, which is funny to see in a student's eyes just two months before the Exam.

Hm. You like the way his warm hand encompasses yours, and you adore the way he stares into your eyes as if he knows you and cares for you.

Before you know it, you're breathing out a rapid, "I don't mind holding your hand either."

You didn't know it was possible for Taehyung to grin even wider but sometimes even you're wrong.

One month.

This is the official crunch time. The time when existing contenders of the Exam become vicious and violent to ward off competition. The time when those who never cared for the Exam begin to host parties to live their best and lasting moments in glee. The time when some cocky Utopians begin to study—they think they're so above everyone else that they only need one month to prepare.

But you and Taehyung relish together in the time left in Purgatory together. You'll see him again in Utopia, but Purgatory is the place where you met him and got to know him. It's special, no matter how much you hate the dingy library and cramped dorms. It's special because, without the given situations, you would've never even met Taehyung. You would've spent the last year in Purgatory alone, haunted by the thoughts of Jimin and Yoongi. You couldn't have survived. Or maybe you could've. But Taehyung's helping you survive with a huge smile on your face. And happiness has never been so close to your fingertips.

Your hands are intertwined with his larger ones as the two of you stand against the wall of the building, staring into the empty pit of the dark abyss.

At this point, you're not quite sure where you stand with Taehyung, but you don't care as long as he's here to comfort you every day and you're there to hold his hand.

The cozy wool of Yoongi's sweater keeps you warm in the brisk night air as does Taehyung's presence right next to you. You look out at the pit, and for once, your stomach does not sink with misery. Paying your respects to the dead loved ones has never been this peaceful before.

"Do you think they're watching over you?" Taehyung whispers, judging you softly as he gazes up at the sky dotted with nighttime stars. "Maybe they're wishing you the best on the Exam."

"I actually have no idea..." you say, looking up at the sky with Taehyung and squeezing his hands. "But I miss them."

"You'll reunite with them one day," Taehyung tells you.

"Yeah," you say, "I definitely will."

"In the meantime, I bet Jimin's having the best time eating good meals and getting good sleep on a comfy bed..." Taehyung trails off as he looks at you. "And I hope Yoongi found his happiness by now."

You nod to yourself. "Me too, Tae."

"Only a month left, Y/N," he answers. "And strangely, this is the most peaceful I've been in my whole life."

When you look up, you find that Taehyung's already staring right back at you. A small smile stretches across your cracked lips. "Trust me, it'll be even more peaceful on the day that we're finally admitted into Utopia. We're in this together, right?"

"Definitely," Taehyung says. "I'm not nervous anymore. Not since you convinced me that I don't have to be afraid."

"Still gonna start a violent revolution?" you whisper. "Follow in your brother's footsteps?"

"Not now, not ever," he answers. "The system works. Why would I bother changing it when the people who truly deserve it are going to Utopia? I'm not brave enough to revolt... And I'm not putting you at risk for my dead brother."

"Thank you... Tae, that means a lot," you say. "Do you ever think there will be another revolution, though?"

"There are always revolutions," he replies. "There will always be more revolutions. Not everyone can always be completely satisfied with the authority's actions. It is what it is. Even if I have to take the brunt of it."

"You won't," you tell him. "We'll be long gone in Utopia before that happens."

"Y/N..." Taehyung mutters. He turns you around to face him, studying your features before pulling you in for an embrace. "I know you don't like it when I talk about this... but," he pauses, unsure. Yet he takes your silence as the cue to continue on. "In the case that we are separated after the Exam... In the case that something goes wrong... we... we should just continue on with our lives."

"And ignore whatever separated us?" you murmur against his shoulder. "We won't have to worry about that though. I told you not to worry. We're going to Utopia."

"I'm saying, just in case," Taehyung whispers. His hands run through your hair as he rests his chin on your shoulder. "But I'm sure you're right. We'll be in Utopia in no time."

You hum, basking in the warmth of Taehyung's arms. "Of course."

One week.

The library is swarming with teenagers in your year, desperately fighting over books and arguing over facts. It's funny only because you and Taehyung had once been in that state of animosity. It seems such a long time ago, though.

You and Taehyung lounge about in your room, reiterating textbook information out loud to each other over and over again so the material is ingrained in your memories. After a while, it occurs to both of you that you know too well about every book in the whole library. It's no use regurgitating the same information repeatedly when you already know it. So the two of you spend more and more time talking about your futures.

"Do you think they'll let me work as a family counselor when we get to Utopia?" Taehyung asks as he tosses another textbook against the door to your room.

You laugh when he hits the target on the door and shrug. "I don't know, honestly. Do you think they even have family counseling there?"

"You're right," Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head. "We know so little about the place we want to be in so badly."

"Maybe the more we know of it, the less we'll want to be in it," you say. "It's like that thing... that saying..."

"Ignorance is bliss?"

"Yeah, that," you say. "I'm sure we'll have good things to do in Utopia, though. Whether there is a family counselor position or not."

"But I guess we'll have to find out in a week."

One day.

You feel sudden unrest in the air. People are biting their fingernails so hard, they bleed. Others are pulling out their hairs. Some are picking at their scabs.

You and Taehyung hold each other the whole day, whispering little facts here and there to ensure complete memorization. You would be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit nervous. Yes, you're intelligent, yes, you deserve to be in Utopia and yes, you've been diligent for years... but Taehyung's right. There are some scenarios that might just happen.

Maybe you and Taehyung earn perfect scores along with six others. Or maybe you and Taehyung earn the same scores as fifteen others. Or maybe you and Taehyung don't earn the same scores at all, leaving you separated forever.

You try not to dwell on the negativities too much. After all, it's no use to think of such thoughts anyways, they'll only distract you while taking the most important test of all time. Positive thoughts, only.

Tomorrow will be the very last day in Purgatory. For four hours, you and the hundreds of other students in your year will take a life-changing test. The Exam results will be kept confidential for a painstaking two hours after the final student finishes the Exam. Then men in white suits will whisk away the highest-scoring ones without another word. You will know when you didn't score the highest. Because the men in white will not give you a second look. They will walk past you like you are the scum of the earth. You've seen it happen; you've seen how much that can break someone.

You swear that you will not be broken. You will be the victor who is escorted out with the men in white. You will be accepted into a wealthy society. You promised Yoongi. And Jimin would've wanted to see you like this.

Most of all, you and Taehyung are in this together.

You visit the pit with him in the dead of the night one last time. There are already a few dead bodies piled up in the dark abyss and the stench of death protrudes up your nose quite uncomfortably, but you manage to ignore it. This will be the last time that you will see the last place you saw Jimin and Yoongi. If it weren't for them, you wouldn't be here, so confident about acing the Exam with another man you see your future with.

When you close your eyes, you can imagine your ten-year-old self standing at the edge of the pit, contemplating jumping to be with Jimin. You can see Yoongi scoffing at your stupidity before taking you into his arms and reassuring you. You can see your ten-year-old self crying. You can see a younger version of Yoongi crying. And every year after Yoongi's death, you've visited the pit by yourself. Until this year. Until you met Taehyung. And now you're not so alone anymore.

"Are you tired?" Taehyung asks, placing a warm hand on your cheek.

Your eyes flutter open immediately and you shake your head. "No, I was just thinking. I don't think I'm going to miss this place, but I'm going to miss the memories I made here." You fist the fabric of your sweater—Yoongi's old sweater, which is surprisingly still pretty large around your frail, petite frame. "It's too bad I don't really have a token of remembrance with Jimin..."

"He was all of your childhood," Taehyung soothes you. "I'm pretty sure you don't forget your childhood best friends."

"That's true..." you sigh. "God, I really don't want to forget anything that happened in my life. I need to remember all of this," you gesture towards you and Taehyung. "So we can recall it in the future."

"You'll remember us for sure," he says. "How can you forget? When you'll see me every day, pestering you for the rest of your life?" Taehyung teases, poking at your cheek playfully.

You roll your eyes. "Fun."

"Damn right," he coos, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "We deserve the fun."

"I know," you say, smiling at his unfiltered flirtiness. "C'mon," you tell him, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the building, "we should sleep early today."

"Good idea," Taehyung giggles. "To getting perfect scores tomorrow!" he yells to the sky, his eyes squeezed shut as he dwells in the last few euphoric moments of being in the fresh, night air before being tugged into the dorms by you.

Your heart flutters when he grins widely at you, revealing his row of pearly whites. Damn. You used to hate those too-perfect teeth, but now you love them as much as you... god, as much as you might love him.

To getting perfect scores tomorrow indeed.

One hour.

One hour before the Exam, everyone is lined up to enter their own private room, which is barely a room at all from what you've heard. The space is hardly enough to fit a desk, but it's decorated with bright fluorescent lights and spotlessly white walls. Apparently, it looks more like a mental asylum than an Exam room.

Some may be sensitive to such a small, suffocating place, but you don't really mind. As long as the information is in your head and you don't come down with amnesia in the middle of the Exam, you're fine. You're more than fine. You're going to win this thing—with Taehyung of course.

You and Taehyung hold each other's hands, strangely not as nervous as the jittery teens around you. It's strange for the two of you to be in silence for so long, but it seems fitting in such a loud environment. You probably couldn't hear each other even if you did speak.

There are peers who are already crying. Those who are missing because they jumped into the pit the night before. Those who are physically unwell and have failed to take care of their bodies. Those who look confident on the outside but their eyes brim with fear and uncertainty. And then there is you and Taehyung—radiating confidence.

Taehyung squeezes your hand when the men in white come into the halls, starting to drag the students away by random to shove them into the private Exam rooms. The process takes forever, according to the others, given that there are hundreds of students and hundreds of small rooms.

"It's hilarious how they haven't come up with a more efficient system," you whisper to Taehyung, shaking your head in disdain. "You'd think after taking away the smartest people in Atna that they'd somehow make this process less time-consuming. But they didn't."

"What?" Taehyung whispers back, looking confused as he sees you talking but he can't hear a single word.

"It's hilarious how—" you stop yourself, "NEVER MIND," you say, raising your voice. He wouldn't be able to hear you even if you did yell. And you weren't going to risk a sore throat before the Exam.

Taehyung nods at you, squeezing your hand. The two of you are reduced back into a state of silence as you watch your peers being taken away before you. The men in white are getting closer and closer, and for the first time, you're nervous. You've waited six years for this moment. Four hours are going to decide your future.

Taehyung must sense the tenseness building up in your shoulders because he places his hands on them, wordlessly telling you to relax. You thought in the last moments, you'd be comforting him, but you suppose it's the other way around.

The tables have turned.

The two of you are closer to the men in white than ever. Both of you are going to be whisked away any second now. Taehyung turns you to face him and hands you a tiny ball of paper, grinning.

He mouths something that you do not hear over the incessant roar of students, but you can make out exactly what he says. 'I'll see you in Utopia.'

The small amount of pressure on your shoulders is immediately lifted. 'I'll see you in Utopia,' you mouth back, tightly clenching your fist around the tiny ball of paper he had given you. He gives you a bright, reassuring smile before a man in white takes him away. You watch him leave, mirroring his smile and letting out a deep breath.

When a man in white finally whisks you away into your cramped Exam room, you can't help but feel reinvigorated. Even if your desk is shaky and your chair squeaks when you shift in it, you're absolutely hung up on the fact that you need to finish the Exam as quickly and carefully as possible to read whatever Taehyung had written on the small piece of paper.

The countdown commences, the camera in the room zooms in and out to check if you were keeping your integrity... the Exam booklet sits in front of you.

God, you're so ready.

Confidence surges through your body. You're going to make it out alive. You're sure of it.

Well, that wasn't so bad at all.

You don't want to brag, but the Exam was a piece of cake. The questions were never about understanding the material—instead, they focused on the specifics. The stuff you couldn't common-sense your way out of. The stuff that you either knew or didn't know. But you're a strong memorizer so the questions—even the oddly specific ones—were easy.

The men in white already took your Exam booklet away to score it. Now you're forbidden to leave the testing room for two hours while they grade it. But it's boring in here.

Your neck is a bit sore from looking down at the paper and your fingers ache from gripping your pencil. Maybe once you get to Utopia, Taehyung can give you one of his insanely therapeutic massages?

There's nothing really to do in the room except stare at the camera that's still watching you or counting the number of cracks on your desk. You contemplate for a short while whether to open the note Taehyung had handed you, but you don't want to risk an accusation of dishonesty.

If you're accused, you're likely to never be seen again.

So you make use of your time and doze off. After taking the Exam, you realize that there's no doubt you scored extremely well (you might've even gotten a perfect score!) and all the nervousness you had over the past several years (which wasn't that much) have vanished into thin air. You're confident enough to sleep.

In your dreams, you see Jimin, Yoongi and Taehyung. The four of you are best friends in a world that looks like Utopia but isn't. There is no Exam that determines your whole future. There is no Purgatory, no Dystopia... No horrible education system. No rats... No pit... It's a utopian world that's better than the Utopia that you know today.

And you're only woken from your heavenly dream when there's a knock on your door. It opens before you can stay anything and a man in white gestures for you to walk out of the room. Rubbing your eyes and shaking away your drowsiness, you obey him. The man closes the door once you are out of the room.

Left and right of you, there are hundreds of students standing outside of their rooms. The tension, the nervousness in the long hallway could be sliced with a knife. But you don't contribute to the sea of worries. You lean against the door, waiting for you to be whisked away, waiting to meet Taehyung at the end of the hallway. Waiting to be driven away in some grandeur vehicle.

You wait for only two people to be taken away. Or maybe there are others who scored a perfect score? No matter. At this point, you only care if you and Taehyung made it.

Everyone holds their breaths as the men in white start to walk through the halls. You see Taehyung ahead of you, already giving you a silly look and smiling confidently at you. You breathe a huge sigh of relief before turning your head to watch the men in white.

So far, they haven't taken anyone from their stance in front of their Exam rooms. Your heart beats loudly in your chest when they come closer and closer to you. God, they must've passed at least two hundred people to get to me. And still no high-scorer.

You and Taehyung have an enormous chance now.

You hold your breath as the men in white come closer and closer.

Any minute now...

You grit your teeth, tensing your shoulders when they're so nearby, if you reached out to them, you could touch their white suits. Your ears ring, drowning out the cries of the students who were standing behind you and were left stranded by the men in white.

Closer and closer and closer...

Your nails dig into your skin.

Closer...

You nearly scream in victory when a man in white stops straight in front of you. He nods in your direction and then places a hand on the small of your back to escort you away.

You can feel the burning eyes of jealousy digging daggers on your back as you begin to walk. But you can't help feeling like royalty. This is the moment you've been waiting for. You've been selected. You've scored the highest. You're going to be Utopian.

Taehyung catches your eye and gives you a huge thumbs up from afar. You're grinning from ear to ear as you begin to approach him. As soon as a man in white officially deems that he is coming with you, you're going to proudly hold his hand and walk through the hallway like you owned all of Purgatory. You're going to spend the proudest moment of your life with him by your side. Knowing that you made it through with him. And then you're going to read his note in the vehicle, on the way to Utopia. You have it all planned out in your head. It's going to be wonderf—

Wait.

The man in white who is escorting you is not slowing down, and the other men around you aren't looking to stop either. Wait.

You're going to pass Taehyung at this rate. Wait a fucking minute.

You suddenly break out in cold sweat as you and the men come closer and closer to Taehyung.

There's no way.

He had to have done extremely well. He has to come with me.

Taehyung looks a bit taken aback as well. His eyes reflect fear and the worry lines pressed on his forehead indicate no less than that.

You don't lose eye contact with him as the men continue to escort you down the hallway.

"Taehyung," you murmur when you're directly next to him. "Taehyung!" you yell. Your voice echoes eerily across the corridor.

"Y/N!" Taehyung yells back.

He's behind you now. The men won't let you stop walking.

"Taehyung!" you scream again, trying to turn around to look at him. "Tae!"

"Don't turn around, miss," the man escorting you speaks gruffly.

"There's been a mistake!" you cry. "Tae-Taehyung is supposed to be with me! Taehyung!"

"Don't make this difficult," the man answered. The hand on your back suddenly seems threatening.

"Y/N!!" Taehyung shouts again. His eyes brim with tears and he sinks to his knees.

"Get up!" someone yells at him. "Stand up, boy!"

"Y/N!" He ignores the command, sobbing with his hands reaching out for you and eyes pleading for safety, for your comfort.

You twist your body around, shaking off the grasps of your escort as you yell his name so loudly that your voice echoes across the vast expanse of the hallway.

"Behave," your escort grunts with gritted teeth as he tugs you away, gesturing the other men in white to block your view from Taehyung.

Tears stream down your face as you beg the men in white to let you see Taehyung one last time. They don't budge. It's not until you hear the beatings and Taehyung's agonizing screams that you try to kick the men's shins and escape. But they catch you, hoist you up and carry you away.

You thrash, scream, "Please don't hurt him!" but the screams, grunts and kicks never stop. You always thought your walk down this hallway would be glorious—the glory only lasted for a few minutes. You were supposed to walk down here hand in hand with Taehyung. Now Taehyung might be dead for disobeying orders.

You were supposed to be draped in silk and mink coats. You were supposed to be spritzed with sweet fragrances and treated like a princess. But everyone—even your peers—look at you with what you recognize as pity. Or maybe even disgust.

They must think you're crazy for not being thankful for being a high-scorer on the Exam. Some would kill to be in your place right now.

You hadn't expected—after your eight years in Purgatory—for your journey here to end like this. You're embarrassingly carried across the shoulder of the man in white, forced to dangle over him like a dead animal. You can feel the scrutinizing gazes of your peers. The ones who didn't get chosen.

It strikes you that you're alone now.

No more Jimin. No more Yoongi... And no more Taehyung.

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying for another person who scored the same as you. Maybe you'll find a new friend? Maybe you won't be alone again.

But the hallway ends and opens up to a door and you're still the only person the men in white have escorted. Your heart sinks. You're alone.

They shove you in a shiny black vehicle where the inside is air-conditioned and smells of roses. There are unfamiliar snacks in elaborate wrappings and ice-cold fizzy drinks around you—all for you—but you aren't hungry. The tears won't stop.

Were the riches and wealth worth the loneliness that will consume you for years to come?

You are a legend. A model figure. A genius.

The first to ever score 100% on the Exam. You're dragged from here to there, paid by the richest of Utopians to tutor their young children before they're sent off to Purgatory.

Frankly, you're upset at the lavishness of Utopia. There is always more to eat—so much so that one-fourths of every meal goes into the trash. The people here put ice cubes in their water to cool it. In Dystopia, there was never enough to eat and water was scarce. Purgatory never had a diverse array of food, and water was always lukewarm.

You're not sure if you belong here.

You miss Taehyung more than ever these days. Your new home is far too large for one person. You feel empty, cold inside. Even basking in the sunlight shining through your gold-rimmed window isn't enough to warm you. You tug the sleeves of Yoongi's sweater over your hands. Even after all these years in Utopia, you can't get accustomed to the fancy, frilly clothes here. You like Yoongi's old, frayed sweaters much better. And it's your only token of remembrance of him. You feel like you did him well because after all, you kept your promise. But Yoongi was wrong about one thing: the life of a Utopian did not suit you.

You can't help but think back to the days of Dystopia—of you and Jimin. Taehyung's right, you never really forget your childhood best friend. You've written down all of your memories about Jimin in a black leather-bound journal, which you keep out in the open by the window sill. On harder days, you like to read through the entries to refresh your memories and recall the stories that make you laugh or tear up with nostalgia.

The magnificent garden outside your home looks empty despite the plethora of flowers and colorful vines that sprout and bloom across the expanse of the healthy, verdant grass. Sighing, you clutch the silver locket resting between your collarbones. You've been wearing the necklace ever since the day you were first admitted into Utopia.

Inside the locket is a neatly folded up note. The piece of paper is old and crinkled and it has obviously been ripped out from a textbook called Family Studies. Taehyung's writing is etched onto it in black ink. You've read over the note so many times that you know exactly what it says by heart.

Y/N,

I was saving this to tell you in Utopia, but I can't wait for that day, even if it's tomorrow. I need to tell you now that I love you. Thank you for being by my side. Thank you for dealing with me. Thank you for calming me down.

You're welcome for those back massages. You're welcome for listening to your stories about Jimin and Yoongi. You're welcome for being by your side. I do it so much because I hate seeing you lonely.

Utopia will be great, Y/N. I think we'll live a great life there, don't you think?

I just want to say that if anything happens, we need to continue on with our lives. Because whatever the Exam decides, we deserve the results.

Nevertheless, I'll see you in Utopia, Y/N~

You tear up every time you open up your locket and study Taehyung's handwriting and his last words to you. Of course, you love him too. And it kills you that you don’t even know whether he's alive.

How cruel it is to live in such a wealthy place but feel worse than you had been in Dystopia and Purgatory.

The Exam is a curse. There is no way you could've beaten it, but you'd very much rather be hauled back into Dystopia with someone you care about than being stuck in this fast-paced, artificial world with no one but yourself.

It dawns on you horrifyingly. You did not beat the Exam. You did not win. You survived it.

And for the rest of your life, you must suffer the casualties.

—masterpost

—masterlist

[wouldpollyapprove]

Soldier’s Reward

Request: Hi! Hope your having a great day or night. I was wondering if I could have a prompt for tommy prompt 6 and 10 if not that’s fine. Hope your staying safe.

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Language, suicidal thoughts, war

A/N: I feel that this could be a little bit better but I do really like how the beginning of it turned out.

The night was dark, shadows filling the wholes were life was in the daylight hours. It was by no means a perfect night for a walk. Rival gangs were at each other’s throats and few felt safe on the streets at night, but Y/n didn’t care. She held no care for the world as she walked down the empty streets of Birmingham. A bottle of rum bumped into her thigh as she wondered through town, no destination in sight. 

How could she care about anything when almost all that held her together was gone? And no one cared but her, how sad. She almost laughed at how foolish she was to believe that someone would care about her loss. But Tommy and his brothers, they were to busy fighting with each other and trying to run their business. Polly was too wrapped in the drama that was Ada Shelby. So, Y/n was all alone. She was given false smiles and lies as condolences.

All she wanted was to be told that all was well. That she was strong enough to move past this. But that never came and she knew that now she was nothing but a shell of a person. 

Y/n came to the canal and decided to walk alongside it. There was no better company than the water that barely sloshed against the concrete that held it. 

She put the bottle of rum to her lips and drank down a good portion of the liquid, not caring that it burned her throat. If it helped to rid her mind of pain, she would drink anything. 

“I’ve seen some beautiful flowers grow in my garden fair,” she sang, slurring her words and walked further down the canal. “I’ve spent some wonderful hours lost in their fragrance rare.”

She closed her eyes for a second, beneath her eyes lids, war played out. There were men, laying face down in the mud as the rain came down like gunfire. Screams of vengeance came from those still alive, they refused to let their enemy bask in their pain. 

Eyes open, she held back tears. The past was nothing but the past, she tried to tell herself. But no matter how many times those words rang through her head, the horrors of war did alongside them. 

“But I have found another wondrous beyond compare,” her voice wavered as she walked away from the water. “There’s a rose that grows on no-man’s land.”

Y/n leaned against a crumbling brick building and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. With one stuck between her teeth, she lite it and with shaking fingers, placed it between them. If only the war had taken her, maybe then she would be at peace. She laughed at the thought. 

Oh, how she was one of the lucky ones.

She was never meant to see such violence. Y/n was sent to France when she was only 16 so she could take care of her aging grandmother. There she hoped to attended university and make something of herself, but that never happened. War broke out, along with hell. She thought for so long that it would never touch her, that war, as long as she couldn’t see it, wasn’t her problem. 

How wrong she was? 

It came knocking on her doorstep one fine morning and it consumed everything in its wake. She was thrown into the mess, doing her best to keep the French soldiers alive that littered her grandmother’s front yard. And that’s when the yard was uprooted and thrown all about. 

Y/n had heard of what bombs could do, but she’d never seen it nor felt it. It left her ears ringing as she tried to steady herself. The world was tilting at an angle she couldn’t comprehend and she was covered in dirt and blood. Unable to tell whether it was her own blood, she fell to the ground where she was found hours later by the Franch army. 

After that day, she wanted nothing more than to be one of those that was draped with their countries flag and put six feet under. There was nothing that could scrub her memory, no matter what she tried, everything came back. Her parents offered the option of electrotherapy. She grasped onto it like she was a sinking ship and it was the only thing that could save her. 

It did nothing.

She tried drugs, but they didn’t numb, they didn’t stop the bomb or block out the screams. They did nothing but cause her more pain.

Nothing worked.

The only thing that ever helped her through her rough patches and the nightmare that was her brain was her grandmother. The woman had seen it all. She’d lived in a world of violence and poverty, yet she was kind and wanted nothing but the best for those around her. Y/n clung to her like a child, that woman was the only one that made a difference. 

And now she was gone and Y/n was back in hell. 

An hour or so later, the bottle of rum was empty and Y/n was getting cold. She slowly got to her feet and trudged forward. She turned the corner and walked to wherever the cobblestone street led.

Head in the clouds, Y/n didn’t hear when a man called to her, she simply followed where her feet were traveling to. Well, the man didn’t like being ignored and stalked up to her, chest puffed out like a tough guy. 

“Are you ignoring me, bitch?” he spat at her. 

Y/n turned to him, an alcohol-induced smile on her face. “Everyone’s ignoring you,” she laughed, unaware of the weight of her words.

In an instant, like a bolt of lightning, a silver blad had found itself against the skin of her throat. “You wanna say that again, you whore.”

“You’re not man enough to do anything about it.” Her words bounced with laughter. She hoped he was, hoped that he let her blood spill against the dirty stones. That’s where it belonged. It should have been spilled along time ago, call it survivors guilt, but she didn’t deserve to breathe when others had lost their breath for her. 

The man was about to prove her wrong when a shout came from down the street. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

Two men came walking down the street, the blade dropped to the ground and the man who once held it had disappeared down an alley. As the men approached, one hit the other and said, “That’s Tommy’s girl.” The other nodded and when they stepped in front of her, they offered to take her to him, knowing that they would be dead if they didn’t.

Y/n had no say in the matter, she just nodded and followed their every move. She couldn’t make herself do more than that. Thinking for herself would only get her in trouble and she just wanted to sleep. She just wanted to lay her head down and never get up, not if life was going to throw her around.

*~~*~~*

A fight was raging in the kitchen when Y/n entered. Everyone was yelling. Polly was red with rage, Tommy was trying to hold her back before she could hit Arthur. John was the first to notice her as the two Peaky Blinders informed him of where they had found her. He spoke to her, but she didn’t hear a thing he said. Her eyes focused in on the wallpaper as she drowned everything out. 

In her mind, there was no fight. Polly wasn’t like a bull in a china cabinet and Tommy wasn’t the restraints holding her from destruction. Arthur hadn’t caused a fuss and John wasn’t speaking to her like she was a sick child. The world was nothing but an eggshell green wallpaper that was peeling off the wall. 

John gently forced her into a chair at the table and turned to his brother once Polly had composed herself enough. “Two of the boys found Y/n wondering down by the canal. Someone had a knife to her when they got there.”

A fire had ignited itself behind the man’s eyes as he looked down at his girlfriend. She looked lost, she looked hurt. There were dark bags under her eyes that looked like hazed glass. Tommy moved away from his aunt and knelt in front of Y/n and grabbed her hand. “Are you hurt, love?”

She shook her head, “No.” But her eyes never moved from the wallpaper. 

That answer just wasn’t good enough from Tommy and he asked again. “You can tell me, Y/n. Are you hurt?”

That seemed to be all she needed to snap her gaze and look down at him. A small smile adorned his lips at that. It wasn’t much but he felt it was something. 

“Why were you out there?” Polly asked as she could see Tommy wasn’t going to get there anytime soon.

“I went for walk,” she told them. 

At that, Tommy stood and ran a hand down his face. He sighed, anger bubbling, he thought she knew better than do that. “What were you thinking? You know how dangerous this city is at night. If you wanted to go for a walk you could have just called me or Arthur or John. Anyone of us would have gone with you! What, were you trying to get yourself killed?” his voice echoed throughout the room, but it held no effect on Y/n, she simply shrugged. 

“Maybe I was! But it’s not like you lot would have cared much.” Her words stung as everyone didn’t understand what they meant. They all believed themselves to be supportive to her, Tommy believed he was always by her side. “I am nothing but a broken dish and the one thing, the one thing, that was holding me together is gone! And when that happened, none of you did anything, none of you cared!” she yelled, her eyes watered, tears threatened to escape. “I was locked up in my house for days and no one came around, no one knocked, no one called. It was silent. I wanted to scream, I wanted to burst into tears, I wanted to get drunk and kill myself, but all I could do was stare at the wall in silence. So fuck all of you! I wanted to go for a fucking walk, I’m no child so I can walk by myself if I damn well please.”

The room was silent as her words sunk in, Y/n never raised her voice and it broke Tommy’s heart to know that he wasn’t there for her when she needed him. His anger faded once he saw how broken she was, how he’d let her become like that. “It’ll be alright, love. We’re here now, I’m here now.”

At that moment, her tears escaped, sliding to freedom down her cheek. Tommy had his arms around her in an instant, soothing her as best he could. He hated that she had hurt so much and he had been blind to it. That would never happen again.

“I just… I don’t want to see it anymore, Tommy,” she sobbed into his shoulder. 

He rubbed circles on her back, knowing exactly what she was talking about. All those that came back from war were plagued with nightmares, it was the soldier’s reward for walking off the battlefield. Y/n didn’t deserve the same reward. “I know, I know. I’ll help you through it, I swear.”

And, for once in his life, Thomas Shelby was a man of his word.

[yukimoji]

Oblivion 💕!! I hope you’re well, I’d like to request a cute Tanjirō x reader. Maybe where the s/o starts trying to make herself smell better, like using better soap to wash up. She’s really self conscious and wanted to try and please Tanjirō because she’s too awkward to actually just go and speak to him. They’ve been friends for a while and both like the other, even if they aren’t aware of that obvious fact. So Tanjirō eventually tells her that he prefers her natural scent. A scent of home 💕

(a/n: hi there again! thank you so much for requesting! i hope i did your request justice! i hope you’re well too and stay safe out there! <3 )

(also, beware for typos and grammar errors! happy reading!)

Total words: 1900+ words

Genre: Fluff

No manga spoilers

Warnings: None

The Aroma of Home ( Tanjiro Kamado x Reader )

For months, Tanjiro had always enjoyed your company.

He first met you during a mission, a demon managed to corner him and he could barely lift up his katana. He was battered up and was beyond exhausted. Nezuko was nowhere to be found, and he was left to his own devices. The demon lunged at Tanjiro, but the boy did not feel the pain or impact that he expected.

He could only stare in awe as a young Demon Slayer stood in front him,  katana unsheathed as the demon faded away into dust. Your eyes were glowing as you stared at him, the gentle wind blowing around your hair gracefully. The moonlight mirrored your figure perfectly, giving you an elegant sparkle.

You held out a hand, and your lips curved up into a soft smile. He lifted his palm to hold onto yours, and felt his face running red at how soft your hands were. Then, your soothing voice echoed out to him for the first time that made pleasant shivers run up to his spine.

"Are you alright?"

You could say you made a lasting impression on the boy.

The last thing he recalled before blacking out of fatigue was your scent. His nose had picked up a beautiful fragrance that was so familiar and pleasant. He basked in the comfort of your aroma as your scent embraced his body with such tender warmth. It felt so calming and for a moment, it gave him a sense of security and peace that distracted him from the cruel world.

Your scent dearly reminded him of home.

After that night, he was determined to get to know you. However, befriending your seemed like a challenge.

Each time he would come near you and try to strike up a conversation, you would tense up and scurry away from his warm presence. He did not understand why, and negative thoughts started to consume him from the inside out. Did he do something wrong? Did he bother you? Do you not enjoy his presence? Do you hate him?

He would be damned if he said this out loud, but he yearned to catch even just a fraction of your endearing scent.

It wasn't until Zenitsu snapped him out of his pity party and said that you were just shy. Tanjiro mentally facepalmed to himself at this revelation. He felt stupid for thinking such negative thoughts, and the boy revised his plans for future attempts to get to know you. However, he felt the blood rushing to his face as conflicting emotions start to overwhelm him when he recalled the way you presented yourself during that fateful night.

You mean to say, that the strong and beautiful girl who saved my life is shy?!  

After that, he started to approach you in a more gentle manner, trying so hard not to startle you. Little by little, you started to warm up to him. Eventually, you became close friends. You even became friends with Nezuko, and it warmed his heart so much!

He valued your friendship to a high regard, the little moments where the two of you would laugh and joke about the tiny things would always bring a smile to his face. He didn't mind that you were a little awkward and shy at times, it just made you look more sweet and adorable to him! Just recalling these random memories just makes his day, and he wouldn't trade his relationship with you for the world.

Not only that, he has great admiration for your swordsmanship and skills as a Demon Slayer. Each time you would wield your katana, Tanjiro would always seem to learn something new from you. When the two of you would be assigned together for missions, it would be a lie to say that the boy would not be ecstatic.

He would always be honored to have you as his partner, and he might not admit it, but he can't help but gawk at the sight of you during battle. The way you would just look all focused and intense during an encounter with a demon makes him feel something that would bring fluttering butterflies to his belly. The way your face contorts into one filled with intensity and determination, contrasting with your normal timid and cute face, makes the Crimson-eyed slayer feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Not only that, he couldn't seem to get enough of your cozy and homey scent. Each time his nose would catch a glimpse of your endearing aroma, the radiant energy would come back and surround his body with such warmth and tenderness.

He loved that about you. You reminded him so much of home.

But then, one day, you began to emit something unfamiliar.

He found that you were starting to smell different. Your scent had started to change to a heavy fragrance of roses and jasmines instead of the homey aroma that he loved so much. He paid no mind of this at first, thinking maybe you just did something different and experimented for the day. But as days went by, the floral fragrances intensified, and the cozy scent that you originally had fully subsided.

It was starting to bother Tanjiro. You had every right to do what you wanted with your body, and he fully respected that. But he can't help but miss your natural and snuggly scent. The longer the floral fragrances intensify, the more anxious and fidgety he grows. He begins to struggle as desperately tries to fight how his body yearns to feel the warm embrace of your natural scent again.

This goes on, until one day, his selfishness gets the best of him.

He was resting at a Wisteria house, after a particularly difficult mission. Fortunately for him, your were assigned as his partner. You became close enough with the Burgundy-haired boy that you didn't mind that you shared a room with him. It wasn't like you were alone with him too, after all, Nezuko's box just layed comfortably across the two of you.  

He layed in his futon, as he was anxiously waits for your return. His mind was going haywire, as he repeatedly practices his questions towards your distinctive new fragrance. He fidgeted on his hands and began to sweat relentlessly, he felt so ashamed that he had the audacity to ask you such questions.

After what felt like eternity, footsteps rang around and you entered the room. Your hair was still damp, signalling that you came back from taking a shower. The strong fragrance of roses and jasmine becomes evident in the air, as the boy's nose scrunch from the overwhelming sickly sweet smell.

"You're still awake." You spoke up, taking a small towel to pat on your damp hair to dry it out.

"Mhm." Tanjiro barely exhales out. He sweated like a sinner in church, large balls of sweat just running down in his face endlessly.

You take a good look at him, and you were puzzled as to why he was sweating and shaking so much. Placing the towel aside, you moved in the direction of your futon, which was placed next to Tanjiro. You sat down, tilted your head slightly as uncertainty and doubt began to grow.

"What's wrong?" You asked, and Tanjiro could feel his soul just leaving his body as Shame completely engulfed his entire being.

Mustering all the courage and dignity he had left, he inhaled deeply. He sat up on his futon, and looked at you dead in the eye.

"Why do you smell so different now?"

Tanjiro immediately knew his mistake, he felt all the color drain from his face and his eyes were blown wide by what he just said.

THAT WAS NOT WHAT HE WANTED TO SAY!

Your eyes grew as big as plates, clearly taken aback, and Tanjiro just screams and screeches in the inside. He felt all the deities just look at him with utter disappointment as all the honor and moral integrity he had left completely abandoned him. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! He wanted to crawl and hide into the corner at how absolutely stupid he sounded! He felt so ashamed, and he wanted to just disappear into the ends of the Earth.

You looked down to avoid his gaze, and chuckled quietly.  "You noticed, huh?" You whispered out.

The Crimson-eyed boy's mind continued to hurl out insults for his act dishonor, screaming at him to commit Seppuku to atone for his crime. Immediately, he stood in front of you, and proceeded to bow deeply repeatedly.

"I'm sorry! That question was too much! Please forget about it and forgive me!" Tanjiro shouts out, his pace never faltering as he continued to bow in front of you. You raised your hands, waving them desperately for him to calm down.

After a few minutes of constant bowing and words of reassurance, Tanjiro finally calms down. You look at him, eyes glistening with an emotion that the Hanafuda-clad slayer cannot describe. The boy can't stop his trembling, the atmosphere in the room felt absolutely suffocating as the two of you basked in the awkward silence.

"I.. I figured you would ask sooner or later." Your voice resonated, breaking the silence. You scrunch up your face, and proceeded to sigh deeply.

"When I knew about your keen sense of smell, I suddenly felt... self-conscious..." You started to explain, averting your gaze from the boy to look down at the floor. "I was worried.. that I.. that I.."

You struggled to find your words, and you could already feel the shame and doubt bubble up in you. It was embarrassing to say the least, and you couldn't tell what Tanjiro's thoughts were in his head. Negative thoughts clouded your mind, and you were more than convinced that Tanjiro was judging you at this very moment.

"I was worried that I smell bad, and I didn't really want you to deal with my disgusting scent everyday. So I started to use different methods so I could smell more pleasing to you." You felt so awkward, and you wanted to be anywhere else than here. Tanjiro didn't move or say anything, and you couldn't tell what expression he was making because you thought the ground was more interesting.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grasps your own. You whipped your head upwards and were met face to face with Tanjiro's Crimson ones, which were filled with determination.

"Please don't say that!" The boy starts, and your eyes went round from his sudden outburst. "You're wonderful the way you are! You never were unpleasant to me, in fact, it's the opposite!" His grip on your hand grew tighter, but in a comforting way as he his continued speech.

"I cherished your aroma, it really made me feel relaxed and peaceful on the inside! Every time you would be close to me, your scent would just bundle me up and wrap me with so much warmth! So, please, don't say that your smell was disgusting! I respect if you want to continue doing what you were doing, but please do consider my next words!"

He leans forward, and you could only look back in complete disbelief. Your lower lip trembles at his close proximity, and you could feel blood rushing to your face as a reassuring grin appears on the boy's features.

"I adored your natural scent because you reminded me so much of home! So don't doubt yourself because you're absolutely amazing just the way you are!"

You're holding back a choked sob, as your eyes start to well up in tears. How, how could anyone be so compassionate and caring towards you? Tanjiro engulfs you in a love-filled embrace, and you happily reciprocate. You started to cry out of the sheer amount of happiness, a wide smile of relief transforming your face.

"Thank you."

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: There are days where Ahsoka Tano is the Commander of the 501st battalion, and then there are days where she is Anakin Skywalker's fourteen-year-old Padawan, stuck in the aftermath of a bloody battle, surrounded by the dead.Or, Anakin sings to Ahsoka. Read on AO3!

There was nothing special about this campaign, not really. They had been sent to yet another planet in need of defense against the Separatists. Their enemies had been too many and the waves of droids rolling out of the transport ships had been sheer endless, their attacks brutal and no matter what they had done, nothing had really helped. In the end, they had won, of course. Otherwise Ahsoka wouldn’t be here anymore. Padawans didn’t survive the annihilation of their battalions.

Ahsoka’s Master had led them to victory. The Separatist base had been destroyed, the civilians saved and Ahsoka did everything she could to focus on those facts but no matter what she did, how much she tried to calm her breathing or stop her hands from shaking, fear and panic closed her throat and she found herself struggling for breath.

Battlefields were loud and so was their aftermath. The troops had to be organized, orders were yelled. It was not as deafening as the fight itself with explosions and blaster fire, but right now it might as well just be.

“Please!” Ahsoka shouted as she tore white armor off a brother. He had been so excited.

“Let’s knock out some, clankers, Commander! Gotta impress the captain, maybe he’ll give me a name!”

They had laughed back on the dropship, just her and her current squad. They had been supposed to be in the easy part of the battle. They didn’t send the Shinies to the front lines if they could afford it. They would just be used as cannon fodder, too unused to how harsh the war could really get. They all followed orders perfectly, but everybody hesitated upon first impact and in these harsh bloodbaths, they could not afford even a split-second hesitation.

The Shinies had gone with Ahsoka, they had been supposed to scout, be back-up, not be ambushed by too many droidekas.

“Please, please, please!” Ahsoka cried.

He hadn’t even had a name yet, no tattoo, no scar, his armor had only just been painted. Only a little bit of blue, the 501st displayed proudly on his chest.

“I wanted to join General Skywalker’s battalion! They always tell the craziest stories about your fights!”

He hadn’t had a name, Ahsoka couldn’t even recall his number. He had was bleeding out beneath Ahsoka’s fingers and she didn’t know who he was.

She pressed her hands down on his chest, tried to focus the Force, get its chaotic strength under control so she could pour it in him with every beat. She could reanimate him still, she could save him. He had been the last one to be shot down, the last one standing to protect her because Ahsoka hadn’t been enough. She was still just a Padawan, too weak, just a student. A Knight could have done it. They would have protected their squadron on their own, but instead Ahsoka had to watch as they all protected her because a Jedi was worth more than an entire squadron. No clone could ever measure up to them.

“You’ll be a great Jedi, Commander!” His voice had been a little lighter than that of other brothers, but perhaps that had just been excitement coloring it.

“Wake up!” Ahsoka shouted with frantic panic. “Wake up! Wake up!”

“Ahsoka!” Somebody grabbed her shoulder and Ahsoka reacted on instinct.

The stench of death and blood and violence was still in her nostrils, battle-sharpened instincts told her to kill the enemy.

She didn’t even look as she lashed out, aiming for the throat or the head with the force, wanting to crush it to dust just like the Shinie’s legs had been-

Her push never met its target.

“Ahsoka!”

She looked up, stared into the worried face of her Master. He was blurry, his expression not clear and Ahsoka realized only belatedly that it was not the atmosphere of the planet turning everything hazy, but the tears in her eyes.

“Jaieh,” Ahsoka cried out. She wanted to stand up, but all the strength had left her. Blood was coloring her palms red, soaking into the fabric of her pants.

“Anakin, we have to- he’s-“ She couldn’t manage to stutter out even one sentence.

All around her she saw the men she had failed, limbs at an odd angle or torn off. Identical in death where they had been so vibrant and diverse alive, they all looked like broken toys. She could feel the bile rise in her throat. It felt as if she could taste the pain. It burned itself into her mind and she just wanted to go home.

“Oh, Ahsoka,” her master said, his voice full of sorrow.

He quickly walked over to her, first raised his hands so she could see what he as doing with them and would not lash out again. Slowly he wrapped them around her shoulders, then pulled her head towards his chest and held her close. Ahsoka buried her head in the crook of his neck, trying to drown out the noise. Her Master smelled just like everything else on the battlefield, blood, ashes, fire, but beneath all of that was the familiar scent of home, the fragrance of the detergent they used at the temple and could never really wash out of the robes, no matter how much dirt they were dragged through.

“I tried,” Ahsoka sobbed. “I promise I tried, there were just-“

“Ssh,” Anakin hushed her. “I know, I know. You did everything just right.”

“But they-“

“Ashoka,” Anakin interrupted her. “Ahsoka, listen to me. Can you do that? Just listen to my voice.”

Ahsoka was trembling. She didn’t dare open her eyes or move or say another word in fear that it would just all spill over then and she wouldn’t ever be able to stop again.

She felt her Master move her a little and then, at one go, he stood up, still holding her. She was behaving like a youngling, clinging to a crèchemaster. She could walk on her own, she had two healthy feet, but all she saw was that droid smashing the brother’s legs, him crying out-

“Paiben juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai.”

She thought it was a memory at first, that she was imagining the words that had accompanied her through so many nights in the temple. She couldn’t recall when she had heard the soothing notes at first, perhaps when Master Plo had brought her home.

“Enoji brei ormah.”

All the noise of before seemed to fade into the background. Ahsoka thought of the warmth she remembered from her clan, three of her crèchemates sneaking into her bed so none of them had to be alone. When they had been found the next morning, they had been teased just a little.

“Paiwiden juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai.”

Her Master’s voice was steady and rose with every word. Despite the armor between them, the many layers, she could feel the rumble in his chest. He was still alive, still breathing. He wasn’t going to leave her alone here, abandon her amongst the dead.

“Enoji brei ormah.”

The world was silent again. There was only the Force, peace, and tranquility. If not in world, not even within herself, then at least her Master stood unwavering. Ahsoka didn’t know how long he was walking, carrying her through the aftermath of the destruction, she only really returned to the world when Anakin interrupted his singing to let out a low pained breath.

“Kewanji kodai juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai.”

When Ahsoka opened her eyes again, they were no longer outside. The familiar insides of a shuttle greeted her. They were sitting on the ground, her Master’s eyes closed as hers had been and he was leaning against the walls of the ship. His cheeks were hollow, and he had dark rings under his eyes. He must be as exhausted as her. Perhaps this song was not just for her sake then. Ahsoka’s voice sounded rough to her, had been tortured by the many hours she had been screaming orders.

“Paikewan juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai.”

Anakin looked at her and despite the tiredness, he smiled encouragingly. Ahsoka didn’t have enough energy to return it, but she was sure he understood how she was feeling by the way she leaned against his chest and finished the song together with him.

“Enoji brei ormah.”

Everything would be alright.

Hold on just a little while longer Paiben juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai - pai is the consequential prefix that in this case says that the action you are doing (holding) will have consequences for the future - ben means to endure

Everything will be alright Enoji brei ormah - ormah actually means "warmth" but that word further implies that everything is alright with you as well, that you are warm

Fight on just a little while longer Paiwiden juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai - widen means "to fight" but also "to defend"

(We will) sing on just a little while longer Paikewanji kodai juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai - kodai is the first person plural used only to refer to "we, the Jedi"

Sing/Pray on just a little while longer Paikewan kodai juvetho seka ibli deoj forpai - kewan means "to sing" and also "to pray". In the context of Jedi praying, it means more communicating with the Force as a community, so if you want to say "let's meditate together" you could also use kewan

[soft-quirrel]

The king beetle on the coconut estate animation plan

Thank u to @lostchildlonnie for showing me the song with the explicit purpose of an animatic being made up in our heads-

As the moon rose and the hour grew late: brumm with his accordion The day-help on the coconut estate: zoomed out of the troupe tents but brumm is also there Raked up the dried leaves that fell dead from the trees: a flame in the gardens Which they burned in a pile by the lake: a flame by the blue lake The beetle king summoned his men: Grimm rises with flourish From the top of the rhododendron stem: behind him is the nightmare heart  "Calling all volunteers who can carry it back here: he waves over at some grimmkins The Great Mystery has been lit once again": and then a frame of the lantern

(theres a bunch of humming here in which grimm gets the lantern ready, and ghost walks in) One beetle emerged from the crowd: Soul master’s image rises up in flame In a fashionable abdomen shroud: Close ups from what he actually looked like (not made of the lantern fire) Said, "I'm a professor, you see, that's no mystery to me: he bows I'll be back soon, successful and proud": he turns and his form disappears  But when the beetle professor returned: now he’s made of smoke rather than fire He crawled on all six, as his wings had been burned: same frame as before And described to the finest detail all he'd learned: he is smiling as he relays his findings (not smoke, more like a memory) There was neither a light, nor a heat, in his words: pk looks concerned, and a flicker of an infected Soul master appears The deeply dissatisfied king: idk smth smth pk i dont have an idea for this Climbed the same stem to announce the same thing But in his second appeal sought to sweeten the deal With a silver padparadscha ring The lieutenant stepped out from the line: xero stepping out from a line of knights  As he lassoed his thorax with twine: he suits up with his sheath Thinking, "I'm stronger and braver and I'll earn the king's favor: he readies a sword, and brushes a hand against a photo we can’t see One day all he has will be mine": he walks away from the camera, toward the palace But for all the lieutenant's conceit: xero falls to his knees He too returned singed and admitting defeat: he is in front of his own grave "I had no choice, please believe, but retreat: he presses a hand against the stone of the grave It was bright as the sun, but with ten times the heat: the radiance shows herself, shining as the background of the frame And it cracked like the thunder and bloodshot my eyes: no ideas for this Though smothered with sticks, it advanced undeterred Carelessly cast an ash cloud to the sky, my lord Like a flock of dark vanishing birds" The beetle king slammed down his fist: pk slams his hand down on his desk "Your flowery description's no better than his!: He’s crying, holding his head in his hands We sent for the great light and you bring us this?: he waves his hand at Pure vessel, radiance behind them We didn't ask what it seems like, we asked what it is!": he snatches up a vial, infection sloshing inside His Majesty's hour at last is drawn nigh: wl stands at the doorway of where he’s crying The elegant Queen took her leave from his side: she turns away Without understanding, but without asking why: against a black background, their silhouettes are white. wl faces away from pk Gathered their kids to come bid their goodbyes: The frame zooms out, showing a line where the background becomes white, shades clawing at the line  And the father explained, "You've been somewhat deceived: pk is talking to the shades We've all called me your dad, but your true Dad's not me: his hands are pressed against his chest, and he’s completely surrounded by shades I lay next to your mom and your forms were conceived: wl and pk are holding hands, an egg between them Your Father's the light within all that you see: the camera zooms into the egg, which is turning black, void tendrils latching onto it He fills up the ponds as He empties the clouds: The hot springs and the statues Holds without hands and He speaks without sounds: small closeups of the shadelord He provides us with the cow's waste and coconuts to eat: idk Giving one that nice salt taste, and the other a sweet: Salt is ghost on the edge, and the sweet is hollow looking back, then walking away Sends the black carriage the day death shows its face: the abyys Thinning our numbers with kindness and grace: the dream realm And just as a flower and its fragrance are one: a fragile flower So must each of you and your Father become: the pale king facing away from the camera Now distribute my scepter, my crown, and my throne: pk, walking along, looking tired but determined And all we've known as wealth to the poor and alone": he glances at the fountain that takes your money, then continues on Without further hesitation, without looking back home: he continues, and stops in front of the palace The king flew headlong into the blazing unknown: his wings snap open and the entire place goes up in white light And as the smoke king curled higher and higher: the fire flickers and smoke curls up to the ceiling The troops flying loops around the telephone wires: a smoke figure of each of the dreamers  They said, "Our beloved's not dead,: zooms in on the lurien figure, overlayed with a proper drawing of him but His Highness instead: zooms in on the monomon figure, overlayed with a proper drawing of her Has been utterly changed into fire": zooms in on the herrah figure, overlayed with a proper drawing of her before all three fade away Why not be utterly changed into fire? Why not be utterly changed into fire? Why not be utterly changed into fire? Why not be utterly changed into fire?: the grimmkins chanting Why not be utterly changed into fire? Why not be utterly changed into fire? Why not be utterly changed into fire? Why not be utterly changed into fire?: grimm leans down to talk to ghost, holding a flame out. Ghost inspects it, then grimm clenches his fist and everything fades to black with the disappearance of the light

[araingirl]

River Kairy

Misty

Night was prevailing around the hills,

Black clouds mustering on the peaks,

Across the high and low mounds, a river flew,

Encompassing them, a gentle wind blew,

Leaving throbs in the dark crystal, glimmering river,

Serpentine it was, yet for the wind, it shivered.

In the sky, there was the silver, full-round moon,

Checking its image on the liquid mirror, not fading so soon,

The dazzling rays spread all over the brook,

Melting even the rock-hard peaks, as the breeze shook.

That tremble slowly touched the loving, soothing pair,

Rowing a wooden boat under the moon, such beauty was rare.

When the slate-haired prince raised his eyes at the girl,

The brunette princess bent them down in shyness, getting curled.

Into a ball, yet, admired him secretly with her ruby eyes,

Hiwatarian understood that. After all, in his heart, her love resides.

Kai

Princess, today, as a sign of our love,

I want to give you something.

Hilary

Sure, prince, for the sake of our love,

I can accept anything.

Misty

Smiling at her, he took out a white rose,

Its fragrance reached where heaven flows,

The princess found herself to be blessed

When the prince tucked it into her tress.

Hilary

It's…it's beautiful! Thank you so much, prince,

Your gift has rewarded our love with eternal bliss,

Prince, tell me, how am I looking with this flower?

Beautiful? Drenched in any heavenly shower?

Kai

Surely, the flower has bedecked you,

But it's gained its beauty hundred times in your hue.

Hilary *Blushes*

O my prince, don't need to flirt with me,

On the water, how I am looking, let me see…

Misty

Saying this, for checking her image, the princess bent,

A gust of wind hovered around her, all of a sudden,

The flower fell down in the darkness of the stream,

Frustrated and upset, the princess let out a muffled scream.

Hilary

Oh no! How careless I've become!

Lost the flower, it isn't gonna return.

Kai

It was only a flower, if you need,

I'll bring the whole garden and keep it at your feet.

Hilary

Yet, it was tucked by you in my hair,

It's precious to me, losing it is unfair.

Don't worry, I know how to swim,

I'm getting it back, not letting it stream.

Misty

No sooner had the princess jumped in the creek,

The torrents pulled her away, she shrieked.

Seeing her, the prince became horrified,

For saving her, immediately, he dived.

Hilary

No, prince! The torrent is very heavy,

It will pull you too along with me,

For being safe, please, retreat,

We'll reunite if our fates permit.

Kai

Impossible! I can put my life at risk,

But I cannot leave you, even at a brisk,

Hold my hand, the current is very fast,

So that this moment cannot be our last.

Misty

They expanded their hands and tried to reach each other,

But the torrents were faster, separating them rather,

Taking his name in her voice, she drowned in the rivulet,

Leaving the prince alone, forever, emptying his fate.

Hilary *While drowning*

Prince! Maybe….it was our fate,

I give up, it's been very late.

I have to leave you, forgive me for it,

Yet, never forget me, it will get the darkness lit.

Maybe one day, our love will be fulfilled.

Then, the wounds of our heart will get healed.

Kai

Princess! So you decided that you wouldn't be mine?

In this life? It's okay, I didn't mind,

But my only grief is my failure to save you,

That's why, I'm not leaving this place until I get you.

Even if it costs my death, I'll happily accept,

It will be a chance for me to reconciliate,

With you. Once again, we'll belong to each other,

Then, this new bond of us will not cease ever.

Misty

Then, the prince also drowned with the brunette,

The one, despite remaining, who was absent in his fate,

After a while, their bodies rose, holding each other's hands,

Dead, drenched, yet, as a scene for eyes to apprehend,

A flower separating them forever, again reunited them.

In another world, they found their love to be same,

Which they'd relished wholeheartedly on the earth,

Which would be supposed to last till birth and rebirth.

People, don't mourn their deaths, don't worry,

Preserving their love and memories, the river was named Kairy.

.....

How’s it, people? :P 

[nissakii]

Scent. a Haikyu!! Fanfiction pt.09

[want to read all chapters right now? Our fanfictions get updated every monday on our blog, click here to continue reading!]

“Should I get one or two of the ramen?”, Asami asked Mikoto with two packs of instant ramen in her hand.

“Well, I mean you should know. You think you’ll finish two?”, Mikoto replied, while she help her own packet of ramen in her hands.

They both stood an aisle next to me at the instant ramen station. A huge dispensary with all sorts of ramen flavors and toppings, as well as a cooking station in front of it.

“I’m gonna take one with toppings, and if I want more I can still get another”, the beta mused to herself with a smile that caught my eye.

After the whole disaster of that meeting with the council, and a grumbling stomach that indicated it, the whole group went to the next 7/11 that was close to campus to get food together.

Oikawa was somewhere in another aisle when I lost track of him, so I turned around and walked through the store to keep an eye out.

The memory alone of earth shattering alpha voice Ushijima used made me clench my teeth, and I instinctively balled my fists together to release some tension.

What a mess.

It was a blessing that we had Kenma and Akaashi with us, or we might be in a whole other situation now.

I stepped out of an aisle two find Kenma, Oikawa and Akaashi looking at the same shelves.

“Kenma-chan, what do you want? I owe you one for saving me earlier!”, Oikawa’s voice chimed and I sighed at his demeanor.

For someone who was in the hot seat earlier, he sure knew how to flip the switch quickly.

“It’s fine,” Kenma replied, almost lackluster as he tapped away on his phone.

I shook my head as I walked towards them, my hands in my pockets.

“Ah, Iwa-chan there you are!”, Oikawa smiled and I brought out nothing but a grumble.

This guy will always get himself worked up whatever the situation. How long until something really bad happens?

While the three still chatted about we all walked slowly towards the cash register, while my thoughts ran through my head.

A couple of moments before we all walked through the campus over here, and most of the walk was pretty quiet.

The groups had scattered into smaller ones, Akaashi and Kenma were walking quietly while Oikawa and I had trailed behind them.

Both of the betas kept scenting the air, their fragrance drifting through the air, jasmine and vanilla mingling together.

I had glanced to the side where Oikawa was walking next to me, his eyes focused on something that wasn’t really there.

He thinks too much.

Sometimes there was a giggle heard from behind me, where Mikoto and Asami were conversing on their own.

Mikoto’s caramel scent had turned back to its original sweet self, after smelling almost burned during the meeting. Even Asami smelled normal again, and I had realised that when she was stressed her beta scent would practically turn non existent. The freshness of the rosewater scent morphing into a withering rose odour.

The meeting had started in the afternoon, but since then the time had passed quickly and the sun started dipping into the horizon.

The streetlamps had started to flicker on, while our steps echoed through the quieter area we walked through.

I remembered how I-

“Iwaizumi”, the beta’s voice shook me from my musings and my head shot up to meet Asami’s gaze.

“We’re done paying, can you tell the other we’re sitting right here?”, she gestured towards a table farther to the back behind the cashiers, while Oikawa, Kenma and Akaashi were still paying for their food.

“Uh, yeah, yeah we’ll meet you there”, I answered and she glanced to the floor with an unreadable expression before turning around and skipping towards her friend who wasn’t far from from her.

They ushered something to each other and I focused my attention back to the group paying.

“Are you guys done?”, I asked and Oikawa replied with an exaggerated sigh.

“Why so impatient Iwa-chan?”

“Huh?”, I replied with a little force to my voice and the other alpha squeaked in response.

Kissing my teeth, I started to take off to our designated table while the others slowly kept behind me.

The table was the closest to the glass windows, showing the violet sky and the headlights illuminating the parking lot. Sometimes a gust of wind would scatter the dead leaves around and I strode towards the beta and omega already sitting down waiting for us.

The seats were mostly empty, a few stray students or elderly sitting and quietly enjoying their food.

I paid no mind to them until I got closer to our table and walked past some occupied seats, as the overwhelming scent of incense smoke polluted my every nerve. It was quickly over as I kept walking, but there was something about the aroma that was eerie.

Sandalwood and Musk.

Something about it felt strange, almost surreal.

But there was no time to wonder about it.

I briskly pushed the lingering thoughts away and took the last couple of steps towards our table.

Quickly enough, the rest of the group arrived and we all sat down together.

Conversations started to bubble up slowly, when Oikawa started to complain about Ushijima and his antics.

“I mean who does he think he is?”, Oikawa shook his head exasperated and grabbed his drink to take a sip.

“I know what you mean, it felt like he was looking down on us”, Mikoto replied with a nod.

“He has a lot of power in his seat though”, I stated, “which makes it all the more annoying”.

Fishing out a piece of meat with my chopsticks I look up with blowing a little on it before shoving it in my mouth.

“He’s just generally scary”, Asami chimed.

“You find everything scary”, Akaashi shot back and I chuckled.

She looked embarrassed but tried to play down her amusement, “Akkashi that’s not true!”.

“You were shaking as he interrogated you”, the beta male continued.

“Oh my god Akaashi is right, you sounded even more suspicious as you tried to explain yourself”, Mikoto earned herself a nudge from Asami with that comment and another round of laughter erupted.

At least the group was less tense now.

It didn’t feel like we were complete strangers now.

“Akaashi your phone is blinking”, Kenma noted his hand right holding a piece of pie while his left tapped continuously on his phone.

“Oh”, the beta uttered, his fingers clasping around the phone to check the display.

His face shifted from the usual distant and cold expression to a quick surprise as his eyebrows shot up. I observed as he quickly typed in something and set his phone back down.

Concerned I propped my elbow onto the table and leaned closer to him, “Everything alright?”.

He looked back at me with a slight smile and nodded, “I just got a text from Bokuto”.

“Is he coming back soon?”, Mikoto shot her head up and grinned, her caramel scent enveloping the whole table.

“Yes”, Akaashi muttered, “Tomorrow”.

Previous

Next

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 2: The Hero

(from ‘The Conman and the Maid’ Series)

…in which every hero is different; hers just killed two men.

Word count: 7.4k

AU: princess!y/n, prisoner!harry, conartist!harry.

Series description: Y/N is a princess and Harry is a prisoner in her castle. With his help, she escapes from her arranged marriage and her father’s rotten kingdom in search of a happy ending, if there is one.

Wattpad link (original character: Reyna)

A/N: Please let me know what you think :) Thank you for reading! Merry Christmas!

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The little princess sat by the window with her chin on her palm, taking in the magnificent view of the beautiful kingdom of Theros. She grew up with her mother's fairytale about a princess locked up in a high tower and a prince showing up just in time to save the damsel in distress. And yet, there she was, locked up in a high tower and no prince charming was on his way to rescue her.

She should have been outside, picking flowers under the sun, rolling down the hill and lying on the green grass. She should be allowed to do the things a normal child loved to do. But now it occurred to her that she wasn't a normal child. She was a princess whose job was to follow the rules; and by breaking them, she not only caused trouble for herself but also for others. Maybe it would be for the best if she just disappeared.

Her family would be better off without her. Her mother would probably miss her, but the queen would eventually grow used to her absence. If she left, no one would have to waste their time worrying about her and punishing her and bearing her father's anger for her. And she would be free to do whatever she wanted. Oh, what a great vision that was!

But a dream was only a dream. She knew she could never escape from this life. She had never gone past the curtain walls by herself and for certain would get lost, starve and die alone if she did. The only choice she had left was to endure until she was old enough to marry a prince, and only then would she be able to leave her kingdom to start a new life.

She sighed at the thought, gazing at the cloudless blue sky while imagining her hero showing up on his beautiful white horse.

The door creaked open suddenly and Y/N jolted right up when she heard a voice that didn't belong to her maid.

"Y/N."

"Uncle!"

The little princess hopped away from the window and ran right into King Edgar's arms. He picked her up, holding her tightly and stroking her hair; his touch was just as gentle as her mother's, and for a second, she forgot that she was being punished.

"God, you're growing up so fast! You're so heavy now!"

"I'm taller too!"

"You are!" Edgar laughed when the little girl wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

"Did the guards see you come in, uncle? My father doesn't allow—"

"It's okay, darling. You are now free to leave your chamber."

Y/N's pale grey eyes brightened as soon as she heard. "Really? How?!"

Edgar put his niece down and breathed out a laugh as he got down on his knees in front of her. "It was a shame you weren’t there to see the match today. I asked your father to forgive you if I won, and I did. So you’re free to go."

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” The little princess said joyously, giving her uncle another tight hug.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled. “Anything for my favourite girl.”

Despite the love Edgar had for his niece, the feud between the two families had existed since time began. Every Northern king had wanted to invade Theros, for this kingdom was not only large and rich, but its people were also more well-educated and skilled.

The Connells, who had been the rulers in the South for all that time, preferred peace but they wouldn’t mind shedding blood and taking blood to protect their land. Had it not been for the marriage of Princess Meira and Prince Willem, the two houses might still be each other's enemies up till this day.

Though a war would go against everything their ancestors had fought for and Meira would never forgive him if he dared to invade her home, Willem had often mulled it over.

A few years before, during a reunion feast, Edgar had jokingly suggested a duel between him and Willem, and the winner of which could have anything they asked for.

"If I win, would you give me Theros?" Willem had said, laughing as if it was a joke, but everyone at the table knew he had never been more serious about anything.

The guests, Meira, and even Willem himself had expected Edgar to start laughing along, but with a solid look in his eyes, he had instantly accepted the deal.

“What do you want in return if you win?”

"Nothing,” Edgar had said without pause. “Seeing you humiliated is already my biggest reward."

"You sound confident," Willem had mocked, a condescending smirk spreading across his face.

And Edgar had calmly replied, "that's not confidence, brother. That's a fact."

When Willem heard those words, he had been so sure that he would return to Isolde the morning after with both kingdoms in the palm of his hand. But what he didn’t know was, Edgar had been the greatest swordsman in his kingdom since he was a boy. He had never lost a battle in his life, and would certainly not lose to someone who had not picked up a sword in a decade.

Edgar had won the duel that year, and the year after that, and another one after that. He had won every year since. Being too proud to accept it, Willem would ask for a rematch every time he visited Theros, hoping that he would win. But no matter how much effort he’d put into training, he always faced the same defeat.

"Your father is a fool, Y/N, just like your brother."

Y/N covered her mouth and tittered at her uncle's remark. Uncle Edgar was probably the only man she knew who wasn't afraid of her father, and for that reason, she adored him the most.

"Now, my love. How would you like a walk in the garden with me?"

“Did you even need to ask?!” Y/N squealed in excitement, and without waiting for her uncle, bolted out of the room.

The little princess loved everything about this palace, but her favourite place had to be the garden. She and her mother had tried growing flowers in their own garden back home, but nothing could survive the abysmal cold in the North and so they’d stopped doing it years ago. Now their garden looked like an enormous blanket of white, while the garden here was a vibrant painting with all the colours of a rainbow. The lake-side air was pungent with the sweet fragrance of flowers, and King Edgar even picked a rose to put it in her hair.

"I wish I could stay here forever," she mumbled as they both rested on a bench by the lake. "I wasn't happy back home. Both father and Egon were mean to me and every time mother tried to help me, father got mad at her too.”

Edgar shook his head, his brows knitted together. "That little idiot Egon should’ve been punished, not you."

"Yes, Egon was a liar! But father said no one could punish the future king so Egon can just do whatever he wants and hurt whoever he wants. Did you know that he made the servants in the castle stand still for him to beat them with his wooden sword?”

"That is outrageous!” Edgar cried out in anger. “My father, your grandfather, used to punish me all the time when I was young. If someone does something wrong, they should take responsibility for their action, no matter if they're a boy or a girl. Both are equal."

Y/N took some time to think before she spoke, "then why can't girls be king, uncle? Is there a rule for that?"

"Not that I know of." Edgar gave a shrug, smiling. "Maybe you will be the first king who's a girl. I can see great potential in you, Y/N."

If Y/N had heard this before the accident by the river, maybe she would've been so happy and wholeheartedly believed in those words. But now she had come to terms with the fact that she was better off standing back and taking orders from the men in her family.

"Only in my wildest dreams, uncle," she said with a small smile. "But that's okay. One day, I will marry a prince and move far away from Isolde. I just hope my future husband will be as kind and understanding as you."

Edgar gave a nod as he held her pink cheek and pressed his lips against her forehead. "I hope that for you as well, my darling. Whatever happens, just know that Theros will always be your second home. You'll always be welcome here."

Y/N wasn't sure why her uncle had said that or whether he knew something she didn't, but it warmed her heart to hear his assurance. She put the red rose back into her hair, grinning from ear to ear.

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Summer came and went and winter came again.

It was that time of the year when every door in Isolde was closed and no travellers would come to this kingdom, for only the people there could bear this agonising cold. It was the type of coldness that reached into your bones and turned your blood into icy sludge. No one wanted to go outside after sunset when the air was so chilled it hurt to even breathe.

And during those winter days, the fireplace became Y/N's little sun for the evening, painting her mother’s reading room with yellow and orange hues while casting long shadows over the rug.

She would lay her head on her mother’s lap, watching the flames curl and sway in hypnotised joy while listening to the same old stories until she fell asleep, and dreamed about her own happy ending.

As a child, she let those moments pass by without knowing, and only learned to cherish them when they had become distant memories.

Her mother died in the winter.

Y/N was fourteen that year. She had never dealt with the loss of a loved one before, but she guessed it wouldn’t have been as hard had it not happened so suddenly. It was the plague that had killed thousands of people in the kingdom, and her mother was one of those poor victims. And when it was over, it didn’t feel like it was. Everything had been destroyed. Isolde looked like the kingdom of the dead, and without the queen, it was sinking into despair.

The king and his court didn’t travel South in the summer again. Willem said that trip would be meaningless now that his queen was gone, but those who knew him well would know the real reason. He just didn't want to travel by the Vedarr River without Meira.

As for Y/N, she was completely lonely in this world now that her mother was gone.

For the first year after the queen’s death, she had been exchanging letters with her uncle. But then her father found out and forbid her from doing that again. He didn’t want to associate with the Connells anymore, and Y/N believed he was trying to make it seem like her mother had never existed. He dealt with grief by neglecting its importance.

But it was easier said than done. Meira had been his light, and when he lost her, he also lost the only living part inside of him. She would always be there in everything he did, and he would have to carry the pain of losing her until the day he died.

That year, Y/N was eighteen, Egon was twenty, and Willem was ill. Gravely ill.

Words were spreading around that it wouldn’t take long until it was Egon took his father’s place. The king’s condition only worsened each day, and not even the best doctors could figure out what was wrong with him. However, Y/N thought she might know the answer.

“Can people die of a broken heart?”

She sat by the window of her chamber, staring blankly at the grey cloudless sky above. She felt her lady-in-waiting stop combing her hair, so she turned back to look at the girl.

“Nobody knows what’s killing him. That’s the only explanation, Jo,” the princess mumbled, her face twisted.

Jo said nothing for a moment. She didn’t know what to say and wasn’t sure what Y/N wanted to hear. Eventually, she let out a heavy sigh. “We should not discuss His Majesty’s condition, my lady. Not even when we’re alone.”

Y/N pressed her lips together and gave a nod. She knew she should never discuss these matters in the castle but she trusted Jo, at least more than anyone else there.

Jo was a few years older than her and was also her only friend. She loved talking to Jo, but she wished the girl had been more opinionated instead of just agreeing with most of the things she said and disagreeing only when it might get them into trouble.

“I know, it’s just--” Y/N exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t…I don’t think my brother would be a good king. What has he been doing for the last four years but drinking and fucking and drinking again?”

“Well, His Highness is a great soldier.”

Jo’s innocent comment made Y/N guffaw. “A great soldier,” she scorned. “Hurting people for self-pleasure doesn’t make you great or a soldier. Killing and ruling are two very different things.”

“My apology, Your Highness. I-I don’t...don’t know much about these things.”

When Jo hung her head to hide her blushing, Y/N knew right away something was wrong. She got on her knees and grabbed the maid’s shoulders.

“Did he--” Y/N stopped right when she saw the look in Jo’s eyes. That silence was the answer she had expected, but not the one she wanted to hear.

Without even finishing the question, she jumped right off the bed and stormed out of the room. The maid chased after her, begging her to let it go, but she was so mad she would have kicked the door down if her brother hadn’t left his wide open.

“You! Out!”

The naked girl in his bed crumbled in fear and hurriedly got up to put her dress back on, not wanting to disobey the princess. She looked like she was about to cry from humiliation as she walked out, but her ‘lover’ in bed couldn’t seem less bothered.

Egon adjusted the sheets around his waist and leaned back against the headboard, smirking at his little sister and her lady-in-waiting. “Was she being too loud? I could get a different whore, a mute one perhaps?”

That response got him a look of disgust from Y/N.

“I told you to stay away from Jo!”

“My lady, plea--”

“You could fool around with the entire kingdom, man or woman, but not Jo!”

“She was begging for it. Just ask her.”

“You--”

Y/N charged forward and the maid grabbed her right before she could attack her brother.

A condescending grin tugged at Egon’s chapped lips as he released a happy sigh, knowing it would only drive his sister insane for there was nothing she could do about it.

“You’re sick, Egon,” Y/N spat, wrapping both arms around Jo, who was holding back her tears, too scared to even look up.

“Brush your hair and stay out of my business, dear sister. You’re meeting your future husband today. A horse wouldn’t want to fuck you if he saw you like that.”

Ignoring her brother's snide remark, the princess stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

She didn’t blame the maid. She knew her brother had his way with words and no girl could resist his deceiving charm. No matter how cruel he was to them, all he needed to do was promise them all the things he would never give, and they would believe him entirely. That was why she felt the need to protect girls like Jo from him. Girls who had grown up without love and couldn’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy.

But then again, it was difficult to differentiate between the two things. Living in a place like this, fantasy was the only thing that could get you through the day.

Y/N had spent years dreaming about a beautiful love story and the hero on a white horse who would take her far away from this place, from the bad memories and the people who’d hurt her.

She was going to meet her betrothed tonight, at the ball. And she was excited, but also worried. If reality turned out to be different from the fantasy she’d been holding onto for her entire childhood, she would be so heartbroken.

“I’m sure the prince of Attwell is a gentleman and he will love you with all his heart,” Jo said while braiding the princess’ hair.

Y/N put on her gloves, smiling as she turned around. “When I get married, I will take you with me, Jo. We’ll move far away from here, and I’ll find you a rich husband who will take care of you.”

“I don’t need a husband, my lady. I’m happy to spend the rest of my life serving you.”

As Jo handed Y/N her sword, the princess almost told the maid how crazy that idea was, that from what she’d been taught, every girl needed a man. But when she saw the elation on Jo’s face, all she did was nod and smile.

.

.

.

There was a field right outside the keep where Y/N had spent most of her childhood training and fighting battles with her wooden sword. When she was little, she used to always go there to train with Egon, but now she did it alone and was actually happy with that. The only person she missed every time she picked up her sword was her uncle. He had been an excellent teacher and always made her feel confident about her skills. And even though she had gotten more comfortable using the weapon, it was impossible to get better at fighting when she had no opponent.

Too distracted by the thought of uncle Edgar, Y/N didn’t hear footsteps coming towards her from behind, and one swing of her sword caused the person to scream and collapse onto the ground.

She turned around, terrified, but then heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the man propping himself up, unharmed. He looked up, their eyes meeting for the first time. One look at his face stopped the princess in her tracks. She guessed he was well aware of his good looks for he didn’t seem bothered by the way she was tongue-tied and gawking at him.

“Your eyes are grey…” Y/N blurted before she could stop herself. Blood raised right up to her face, but the stranger only chortled and lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug.

“They are, yes. Thank you for noticing.”

When he smiled at her, she lowered her sword but kept her guards up by keeping a good distance from him. He got back on his feet, sweeping snow off his clothes, and that was when she spotted the symbol of a hawk on his golden pin.

“Are you from Attwell?”

“Yes. How do you know?” The boy chuckled and ran his fingers through his messy hair.

She pressed her lips into a small smile, pointing to the pin on his left shoulder.

“Oh, right.” He smacked his forehead, laughing again.

“So you’re...here with the Gennadys? For the ball tonight?” She took a step toward him, her sword was now on her side. “Are you--”

“Prince Kavan Gennady of Attwell,” he finished her sentence, seemingly amused by the startled look on her face as he took her hand and gave it a kiss. “At your service, Your Highness.”

Y/N’s eyes grew bigger than before. She had to stutter for almost a second before she could blurt out the full sentence. “How do you know I’m the princess?”

The prince pointed to her dress. “If a servant got to wear that type of silk, Isolde must be the wealthiest kingdom in the world.”

Blushing, Y/N rolled her eyes and breathed out a laugh. Then, it hit her. Her future husband had just seen her swinging a real sword as if it was a toy. And she knew better than anyone what would happen when a man caught a woman holding a sword. But why hadn’t Kavan said anything? Was he not surprised or angry or disgusted?

“Do...do you find this strange?”

“What’s strange?”

He seemed confused by her question, so she lifted her sword. “This.”

“I’m sure every kingdom has these,” he said, making her chuckle.

“No. It’s me holding this. Have you seen a girl fighting with a sword before?”

“Yes, my mother.”

“What?” Y/N’s expression went blank in an instant. “Y-Your mother? A queen?”

“Yes.” Kavan nodded proudly, a big smile spread across his handsome face. “In fact, we’ve got a lot of female soldiers in Attwell. So this isn’t strange at all.”

“Wow...I-I didn’t know that...”

Seeing her more relaxed than before, the prince heaved a sigh of relief and extended his hand. “Walk with me? I’ll tell you more about Attwell. After all, it’s going to be your new home soon.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate to put her hand in his. She had never been to Attwell and she had only just met this prince, but she had a good feeling about this marriage. Could this be the happy ending she had been waiting for?

Was he her hero?

.

.

.

Having lived there her entire life, it was actually the first time Y/N had seen the ballroom in her castle. It was far different from what she’d imagined, and yet was everything she’d expected it to be, with crystal chandeliers spiralling down from the arching golden ceiling, illuminating the glimmering golden walls and the polished floor that looked like an iced-over lake.

There had never been parties or fun in the castle before tonight, or maybe there had been when her mother was still alive, but she’d been too small to be able to attend.

This time, however, not only did she get to host a ball of her own, but she also got to decide who would be on the guest list. She’d received looks of judgement when she told them she wanted Jo to be invited, but those grumpy old men who were responsible for the event couldn’t say anything about it and had to include her lady-in-waiting.

“Where’s Jo?” Y/N asked the guard standing behind her as both seats next to her were empty. She knew her father couldn’t leave the bed to join them tonight, but Jo should've been there by now.

“Why do you care about your maid when your future husband is also not at his table?” Egon, who was sitting on the other side of their father’s chair, said with a mouth full of food.

It was only then that Y/N noticed Prince Kavan was also missing from his table. She hadn’t seen him since they said goodbye after their walk around the courtyard. The royal performers were keeping all the guests entertained and dinner would be served once they’d finished. She didn’t really care for the prince for he knew what he was doing. She was afraid Jo would get anxious and change her mind at the last minute.

“Your Highness, where are you going?” the guard asked when she got up, but she just waved him off and told him not to follow her. Egon’s loud laughter faded away as she marched toward the back door and snuck out without anyone knowing.

In her golden ball gown, Y/N wandered aimlessly down the long corridor, calling her friend’s name loudly and waiting for a response. Where could Jo be? If she didn’t want to come, she would’ve told Y/N. Jo would never—

A loud moan stopped her right then.

She stilled for a second. And she heard it again.

She turned around, glaring at one of the closed doors on her right before approaching it slowly. Whoever was inside that room was making noises like those wounded animals before being killed by her father on a hunt. But those animals were in pain, this person was clearly enjoying whatever they were doing.

Her heart started racing faster as she thought she recognised the voice.

“Please...m-more...yes...”

Y/N couldn’t allow herself to believe it. Her brain was trying its best to deny what she knew was true, but her shaky hand was already one step ahead, grabbing the handle and yanking the door wide open. Her horrified gasp tore the guilty couple apart.

She'd finally found Jo, sitting on the table, legs spread, completely naked underneath the dress Y/N had given her to wear for tonight. And the man who was kneeling between the servant's legs looked up at her with the same grey eyes she'd fallen for. All three of them were speechless, and it was Jo who broke the silence by hopping off the table.

“Your Highness, I can explain! Your Highness, please!”

Jo chased her out of the room. Both of them were crying, but Y/N believed she was the only one who was truly hurt.

“I just wanted to prove to you that he was a rat! You deserve so much better!”

“You are a rat, Jo! I trusted you!” Y/N turned around, fire blazing in her eyes. “You were like a sister to me. You made me believe you were naive! I even tried to protect you from Egon!”

“Can’t you see, Princess?!” Jo uttered in tears as she grabbed Y/N’s arm. “I just...I just wanted to prove to you that men were all the same! I don’t want you to marry one. I-I love you.”

“W-What?” Y/N choked on her word. Her ears were buzzing for a second before her expression hardened. “You love me? You love me?! You fucked my future husband behind my back. Lied to my face. And you dared to say you loved me?!”

“I’ve loved you since I met you...It can be just us...You don’t need a husband.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Y/N sniffled as she freed her arm from Jo's grip with a violent tug. “And I don’t need you either. You can’t just hurt someone to get what you want and call it love, Jo. It doesn’t work that way.”

"Your Highness, plea--"

"Now get out of my sight."

The princess gave a dismissive wave of her hand before storming off.

.

.

.

“The wedding will not be cancelled.”

"Father!"

"You are lucky I didn't punish you for leaving our guests before dinner even started. Now get out!"

"No!"

The king, though unwell, tried to sit up to look at his stubborn daughter who was standing at the foot of his bed. The aggressive look on her face told him she could not be moved, not even by violence.

“I don’t love him, father. And he obviously doesn’t love me.”

“You will both learn to tolerate each other.”

"It makes no sense to marry someone and tolerate them, father. If you don’t love someone, you can't spend the rest of your life with them. And he was lying with Jo!”

“Then we’ll kill Jo.”

“Don't you dare!” Y/N raised her voice, startling the old man. “I don’t want you to hurt Jo! I just want to stop this wedding! If you went back in time and had to marry someone else, not mother, would you have done it?!”

“Yes.”

Y/N couldn’t tell whether her father's sickness was to blame for that thoughtless answer, or it was his cold heart which had been frozen since the death of her mother. Either way, she wasn’t ready to hear the rest.

“I married your mother to get the throne and that was the only reason. You’ll marry this boy and be his Queen and bring us a strong alliance. Now get out.”

But Y/N was rooted to the floor. She looked at him with bitter resentment in her eyes, and she knew it wasn't actually her that he saw, it was her mother. Those were Meira's eyes, and that look would continue to haunt Willem, following him down to his grave.

“If mother could return from the dead and hear these words, she would kill herself.”

“GUARDS!” Willem roared and two guards rushed in to drag her outside. She didn't even protest, she let them take her. The doctors bolted into the room, and when the double door fell shut in front of Y/N, a dark thought crossed her mind, sending shivers down her spine.

She wished those vengeful words would kill the king.

For all her life, she had prided herself on being nothing like that man, but now she knew it wasn’t entirely true. She was still her father’s daughter, whether she liked it or not.

She had to leave. It was the only way.

.

.

.

Y/N supposed one must have a detailed plan for running away, but she was too angry to think straight when she put some jewellery into a satchel, grabbed her sword and headed to the stable. The only logical thing she could come up with at that point was that she needed a strong horse for this long journey. She didn't know where she was going, but she must get out of Isolde, even if it ended with her head on a spike.

“Oh no, not Thunder!”

The black horse reared and neighed out of fear, causing Y/N to jump back.

Egon was standing at the entrance and smiling devilishly at her. “I was going to take him out for a ride, but it seems like my dear sister is going to do it for me. Are you finally running away?”

His question got her speechless. She wanted to deny it, but it would have made things worse.

“Are you going to tell father?”

“No.” Egon shook his head, clicking his tongue and marching toward the girl. “I don’t care about you. Just take a different horse."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely! Where are you going by the way?”

“I don’t know.” She eyed him up and down as he circled around her like a vulture waiting to feed. Having known him for all those years, she could not trust anything that came out of his mouth.

“And you’re going by yourself?”

She quietly nodded.

“Brave!” His applause made her jump. “Good luck surviving though. I'll give you...two days!” He beamed, raising two fingers. “You'll either run out of food, get robbed in the forest, or eaten by wild animals. I mean, when was the last time you went past the curtain walls? Oh right, never.”

Still quiet, Y/N tried not to show her fear and make Egon happy, but she couldn't help it. She swallowed hard, pursing her lips.

“Scared already?” he mocked, laughing slightly. “I thought so. You are weak. You've always been. It’s time to use your head instead of your heart, dear sister.”

Y/N tightened her grip on the handle of her sword until her knuckles turned white. She thought she might lose it and cut Egon's throat for the things he'd said, but lucky for him, a guard showed up just in time to clear the tension.

“Your Highness!”

“Not now.” Egon waved his hand, but the man didn't leave.

“We’ve brought him here. He’s in the dungeon.”

“Who?” Y/N asked when she saw the unusual delight on her brother's face.

“A murderer,” he said with a smirk. “He killed two of our brave men last night.”

Oh, that. That she had heard. Egon had rewarded his favourite guards a free night in a brothel as he always did for no reason at all, but what was meant to be the best night of their lives had ended with two out of five getting killed in a fistfight.

Words travelled fast in this small kingdom and she believed by today, everyone would've already heard the story.  However, they would choose to believe Egon's version of what had happened, because after all, the man who had committed a crime was from Theros. And Northerners absolutely loathed those from the South.

“You had someone captured for saving an innocent woman?!” Y/N gave Egon's shoulder a hard push, but he didn't budge.

“I don’t know what they told you, but she clearly wasn’t an innocent woman.” He rolled his eyes. “She was a prostitute. And that Southern fool killed two of our guards for a dirty whore.”

“Those men were trying to hurt that woman,” she said between gritted teeth, giving Egon a spiteful glare. “If I was him, I would’ve done the same thing and made sure none of your fools was alive to run back to the castle like cry babies.”

Rather than being offended, her brother suddenly pinched her lips together and burst out laughing when she pushed his hand away.

“With that filthy mouth no wonder your future husband is fucking the entire kingdom except for you.”

Y/N hated to admit that it hurt as much as the first time she’d heard it, but knowing her brother, she felt no need to react to his harsh words and give him the satisfaction he was craving for.

When Egon was sure she had nothing else to say, he gave the guard a signal to continue.

The man nodded his head. “I’ve talked to the people in the brothel and apparently the prisoner was a conman. He fooled rich people for their money and—”

“And that place was full of rich brainless men,” Y/N finished the sentence, trying to hold back a smile. “That was smart.”

“Smart?” Egon scoffed. “With that long list of crimes, the rat will be hung by tomorrow morning.”

Y/N turned a deaf ear to her brother’s comment and asked the guard, “do you know if he has a family?”

“Ugh...women,” Egon gagged, but once again, was ignored.

“They said his mother was sick so he was probably stealing for her.”

“A criminal with a tragic backstory. Isn’t he exactly like one of those dumb character in mother’s boring bedtime stories?”

Y/N took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s his name?”

“Styles, my lady. Harry Styles.”

Harry

Styles

Harry

Styles

Harry

The princess repeated the name over and over again even after her brother and the guard had left. Harry Styles, a conman from Theros, who had a sick mother and would do anything to get back to her. And she, a damsel in distress, whose only family left was her uncle in Theros.

Could this be?

Could this be her brilliant masterplan?

.

.

.

“Harry Styles? Which one of you is Harry Styles?!”

This is stupid. Really fucking stupid!

Y/N had never gone down to the dungeon before so she didn't know they kept so many prisoners down there. She'd thought this would be easy to identify this man, but now it seemed like looking for a needle in the ocean.

Where had they found all these people?! Who fed them?! And when was the last time they'd showered?!

Covering her nose, she screamed and kicked a hand that reached through the bars to grab her ankle.

"That's it!" She stopped and raised her voice, "which one of you is Harry fucking--"

“It’s me! I’m Harry Styles!”

The princess turned her head quickly to the left. In the last cell in that narrow hall was a thin black man whose face was almost hidden under his enormous beard. He cracked a wide smile, showing his yellow teeth.

That was certainly not the Harry Styles in her imagination...

“He's Mick. I’m Harry.”

She turned again, this time to her right, and her eyes lit up with a hopeful smile when she saw a young man with broad shoulders and strong arms, looking exactly the hero she'd been waiting for.

He sat in the shadow, curly brown hair falling down to his shoulders, and even in this dim light, she could make out the handsome features on his beautiful face. Hold on, this is too good to be true! said the voice inside her head. The other guy makes more sense!

As if he could read her mind, the young man popped his dimples and said, "Mick and I have been friends for two days and he’s been telling everyone his name is Harry Styles.”

“I’m Harry Styles! Hello, pretty lady!”

“He’s great, isn't he?” Harry chuckled as he got up and stepped closer to the bars to close the distance between them. “Who are you, pretty lady?”

“I-I’m the princess...the princess' maid,” she faltered, holding her satchel even tighter and very well-aware that the rosy colour of her cheeks could still be seen in this lack of light. “I came to...to give you an offer.”

Harry furrowed his brows, looking dead serious for only a second and then tossed his head back as he cracked up. “Tell Her Highness I’m flattered but His Highness is an idiot and I can’t stand a brother-in-law like that.”

“What?! You actually think you have a chance with Her Royal Highness? She said no to a prince. What made you think she would marry you?!"

“Woah, lady. Why are you so offended? Are you Her Royal Highness?” Harry pouted, reaching through the bars to tap her on the shoulder but she immediately backed away. “And she didn’t say no to the prince. The wedding’s tomorrow. Mick and I have not seen the sun in two days and even we know that. You are terrible at your job.”

Y/N crossed her arms as she rolled her eyes.

Now it was more believable that this was the man who would get her out of Isolde. Handsome, buff, but extremely annoying. She was really God's least favourite, wasn't she?

“Is that...real gold?” he gasped, pointing to the satchel on her side.

She immediately shushed him and stepped forward, their faces were only separated by the iron bars. “Yes, these are all from the princess.”

“I’m not a prostitute, lady. I have a lover waiting for me at home.”

“Ew, no! Why would a princess want to lie with someone like you?!”

“'Lie with.' This one sounds like my grandma, Mick!”

Both Mick and Harry laughed, but she didn't have more time for his bullshit. She grabbed his collar and gave a hard tug, pressing his cheek against the cold bars.

“I stole the princess' jewellery and they're after me. They're going to kill me,” she whispered, making sure that no one besides the two of them could hear her. “Now I need your help to get me out of here. I need you to take me back to Theros with you.”

“Why would you want to go to Theros?” Harry looked confused and shocked at the same time. She guessed he'd never seen a maid as aggressive and violent as she was. Neither had she. Maybe she needed to tone it down.

“I have to reunite with...someone I love,” she said, biting her lip, blushing again. She was only blushing because of the way he was holding her eye contact, but somehow making it seem like she also had a lover in the South. He couldn't have related to this person being her uncle, but now that it was a lover, maybe he'd say yes.

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking for a moment. “Did your parents not tell you to never trust a stranger?”

“I have nothing to lose.”

“I have a lot to lose. I’m not going to die with you.”

“You’re going to die anyway. They’re going to have you hung. I heard Eg--the prince...say that to one of the guards.”

Before she could come up with a solid argument to back up her reason, Harry threw his fist against the wall, causing her and Mick to flinch at the same time.

“That bastard!” He ground his jaw.

She swallowed hard, her eyes fixated on the hole on the wall as she wondered why his hand wasn't bleeding, but then she snapped out of it and quickly pulled out the keys she'd stolen to unlock his cell. He stood there, eyes wide with shock until she waved her hand in front of his face.

“Hurry up! The guards are on their way. I knocked down two of them so--”

“You what?!”

"How did you think I got in here and stole these keys?!"

“I don't know! I haven't even thought of that yet!”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing in frustration. "Listen, you...big-headed fool!"

"Oh wow, that--"

"Shh!" She covered his mouth with both hands so she could get her turn to speak. "You can either stay here and die tomorrow, probably tonight, if you’re unlucky; or you can come with me, and live! Well...you might die too, but...it's a fifty-fifty chance."

"Wow, you're really bad at this," he said when she finally removed her hands. "Fine, I'll do it. But only for the woman I love."

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"And because you have puppy dog eyes."

She groaned, waving goodbye to Mick and pulling Harry with her. They left just in time the guards arrived and found two unconscious men blocking the entrance.

.

.

.

"So what's your name?"

Y/N turned a deaf ear to Harry's question as she peeked from behind a wall to check if the guards were gone. Unfortunately no. Those men were still having a relaxed conversation at the entrance while she was trapped there with a mouth that could not shut. They had only been hiding for five minutes and this man was already driving her insane with his questions.

"If you're not going to tell me, I guess I'll have to give you a name. Let me see..."

"Don't you dare give me a name!" She turned around, pointing a finger to his face and he shushed her for being too loud.

Y/N exhaled, glaring at him. She hadn't thought of a fake name yet, but the first thing that came to her mind was the first thing she wished to see again when she arrived in Theros.

"Rain."

He arched an eyebrow, amused. "Like...drops of water from the sky?"

"Yes, Dictionary."

Her sarcasm made him chuckle. It was actually the first time someone had laughed at something she said because they genuinely found it funny and not because they had to. She couldn't explain this strange feeling inside her stomach, only acknowledged its existence, and decided that she liked it very much.

The princess felt the blood rising up to her face when their eyes met for the second time. She had never interacted with a common man before, let alone a prisoner who had allegedly killed two of her father’s guards. Ironically, she felt safer now than she had ever been.

“Hey, you’re blushing again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” The man chuckled. “You know what? I will call you Peach.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re always blushing.”

“You asked for my name and then came up with a stupid name yourself?”

Harry ignored the question as he cocked his head toward the entrance. “How do we get past those guards, Peach?”

[javistg]

Through the Senses

Chapter 3. Smell.

The third instalment of TTS is here! To read the previous chapters you can go HERE or to AO3 or FF.net.

This one’s from Katniss’s POV.

Hope you enjoy ❤️

  The electric fence, covered in early morning dew, loomed on the horizon. 

 Keeping to the narrow alleys of the Seam, Katniss reached the empty Meadow. The smell of freshly cut grass tickled her nose. 

She quickened her step. The place would be crawling with Peacekeepers soon -- and not the usual lazy kind. 

 The officers patrolling the streets today had been sent directly from the Capitol to oversee the reaping. They wore spotless uniforms and walked in a straight line. 

 Young and arrogant, they always kept their eyes peeled for any irregularities. The thought of catching some poor sucker trying to break the law drew them in, but the prospect of showing up the local authorities --and gaining some glory-- was what truly drove them on their quest.

 Luckily for Katniss --who spent her days breaking the law— their loud, coordinated footsteps, paired with the stench of bleach they left behind, were hard to ignore.

 Stealthily, she walked over to the loose spot in the fence and, hiding behind a clump of brushes, flattened out on her belly and slid underneath.

 After retrieving her bow and sheath of arrows, she moved deeper into the woods. There, hidden by the thick line of trees encircling District 12, she breathed easy again. 

 Wrapped in the scent of pine needles and wet dirt she knew so well, Katniss made her way to the rock ledge where Gale was waiting for her. 

 Breakfast was good that morning. Fresh bakery bread; goat’s cheese packed in fragrant basil leaves; sweet blackberries, tart and juicy, that tasted like summer dreams. 

 The sun was high in the sky when the hunting partners walked back to the district. Their satchels were full; their hearts heavy. A good haul didn’t matter as much when the reaping was just a few hours away. 

 Eager to get rid of their goods, Katniss and Gale stopped by the Hob first. 

 The sweet smell of ripe strawberries followed the hunters. Stubborn and thick, it hung in the air as they traded their fish for bread and salt. 

 After visiting Sae, Katniss wrapped her arms over her hunting bag and stepped out into the bright day. Keeping her eyes to the ground, she hoped the visiting Peacekeepers wouldn’t notice the unmistakable fragrance trailing behind on her way to the mayor’s house.  

 By the time she got home, a warm bath awaited her. 

 After scrubbing off the dirt and sweat from the woods, Katniss washed her hair. Clean and refreshed, she rested her neck on the lip of the tub, stretched out her legs, and closed her eyes. 

 As the water cooled down around her, she took a deep, long breath. 

 The anise shrub Mrs. Everdeen had planted on the windowsill was in full bloom. The soft, cotton-like blossoms released their heady scent into the muggy air, sending memories of hearty winter stews and rainy afternoons back into Katniss’s mind. 

 Soon she’d have to dry off and get ready to go to the square, but for a few blissful seconds, her world was at peace. 

 Prim hadn’t taken any tesserae. Their pantry was full. 

 Somewhere deep, in that place in her soul where she tried not to dwell, Katniss hoped her father would approve.

XXXXX

The cave was still dark when Katniss opened her eyes. 

 Pushing her hood away from her face, she stretched out her neck and greedily filled her lungs with cold, early morning air.

 Outside, a fierce storm raged on, pelting the rocks of the cave, and filling the small space with the rhythmic patter of droplets hitting wet earth. 

 The scent of damp tree bark and green moss that filtered through the rocks reminded her of her woods, but the strong arms holding her tethered her to reality. These weren’t the woods surrounding District 12. Her life in the Seam was miles away. 

 Trying not to disturb her district partner, Katniss gingerly flipped over on her side. It was a tight fit inside the sleeping bag, but she didn’t mind. Having Peeta there, keeping guard right next to her, beat being alone, any time. 

 “You OK?” he asked, lifting his arm to accommodate her movements. 

 “Mm-hmm. Just needed to change position,” Katniss mumbled, drowsily resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his chest.

 Peeta’s arms wrapped around her. 

 He smelled of sweat, dirt, ointment, and… rust? 

 Probably the dried blood on his bandages, Katniss thought.  

 It wasn’t the most enticing aroma —some might have even found it nauseating— but, to her, it was better than the most expensive Capitol perfume. 

 She was so relieved to have him there, alive and kicking and resting in her arms instead of dead by the river bed, that she rubbed her nose against his t-shirt and smiled.

 “Hey, that tickles,” Peeta chuckled.

 “Sorry,” she said around a yawn.

 Lifting his free hand, Peeta began brushing the loose strands of hair on her forehead, gently stroking them back into her messy braid. “Not a problem.” His voice was a soothing caress when he asked, “D’you want me to tell you a story to help you sleep?”

 A story? 

 The world outside was falling apart. 

 The star-crossed lovers of District 12 were still trapped in an arena with a crazed career hot on their trail, but as she lay there —comforted by the steady warmth of Peeta’s body beside her— none of that seemed to matter much. 

 Maybe a bedtime story is just what I need. “Tell me about those cakes you make,” Katniss asked, “the pretty ones.” 

 Still stroking her hair, Peeta told her about the bits of chalk he collected when he was little, and of the funny animals he liked to draw on the sidewalk. “Then, when I was eight,” he whispered as her breathing evened out, “my father asked me to make those same caricatures on a birthday cake. I’ve been in charge of frosting ever since.”

 Peeta’s soft words blended with the gentle melody of water dancing around them, and before long, Katniss drifted off. 

XXXXX

Wrapped in her mother’s old shawl, Katniss rocked back and forth. Back and forth.

A few feet away, a fire danced in the hearth. 

The smoke of burning hickory and eucalyptus leaves floated through the house, infusing the empty rooms with its soothing aroma.

Dull, Katniss stared at the flames and rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Morning broke.  

Sae bustled about in the kitchen, humming softly to herself until the smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the room. 

“Come on, girl, breakfast’s ready,” Sae called out.

Too tired to do anything but comply, Katniss dragged her feet over to the table, sat down, and slowly cleaned her plate. 

Days went by.

The rocking chair by the fireplace swayed back and forth. Back and forth.

Sae cooked and scrubbed the house clean. Traces of lemon peel and soap lingered in the air late into the night.

Lost in a world of pain and shadows, Katniss buried her nose in her mother’s shawl and, numbing her senses with the smell of mothballs and lavender that still clung to the soft fabric, rocked in her chair. 

Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Spring is in the air today,” Sae said one morning. “You ought to get out. Go hunting.”

The idea seemed absurd, but a few hours later, Katniss left her chair and walked down to the study.  

Wrapped in the musky smell of her father’s hunting jacket, she fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning, Peeta came back. 

Shaken, Katniss shut the door behind her and ran up the stairs and into her room. 

The scent was very faint, but it still laced the air. 

A white rose —shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse— stood among the dried flowers in a vase.

Grabbing the vase, Katniss stumbled back to the kitchen and threw its contents into the embers. 

The flowers flared up. A burst of blue flame enveloped the rose and devoured it. 

Fire beats roses again, she thought, smashing the vase on the hardwood floor.

Back in her bathroom, Katniss peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower. 

Chamomile scented bubbles danced around her, washing away the weeks of dirt and neglect.

Later, as she untangled her hair, rubbing pomegranate infused oil to the damaged strands, she began to wonder about the world outside her door. 

Haymitch was probably at home —drinking himself into oblivion.

Peeta was back. 

Where was everyone else?

XXXXX

Restored after a good night’s sleep, Katniss stretched her arms and legs until they reached the edges of the bed. With a contented sigh, she relaxed onto the mattress and turned to the empty space next to her. 

The sheets were rumpled but cold. Peeta had woken up early. 

Frowning, Katniss flipped over, buried her nose in his pillow, and took a deep breath.

Nutmeg, vanilla, orange peel, and something else —deep and enticing that she identified as exclusively Peeta’s— tickled her nose and soothed her worries.

Smiling again, she pushed the covers away and got up. 

After brushing her teeth and getting ready for the day, Katniss threw the windows open.  

The smell of sweet lemons and ripe cherries greeted her, making her heart jump in joy. The trees in her orchard were in full bloom. Summer had begun. 

Humming a happy tune, Katniss walked down the stairs. 

As she neared the kitchen, her nose picked up hints of cinnamon, melted butter, and bacon sizzling in the skillet. 

Her stomach grumbled in anticipation. Sunday Brunches with Peeta were something she looked forward to all week. 

“Morning!” she said, slipping into the kitchen.

Peeta turned away from the stove. His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Morning! Did you have a good night?”

“Yup.” Katniss walked over to the counter and reached the teapot. It was already full. “How about you? You woke up early.”

Peeta turned his attention back to the skillet with the bacon. “I woke up at seven. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I could start my day.”

With a soft hum, Katniss poured herself a cup of tea. “Want some?” 

“Yeah, I’m almost done here.” 

While Peeta cracked two eggs onto a waiting pan, Katniss poured two teacups and carried them back to the table where she sat down. 

Resting her elbows on the countertop, she watched him work. 

He looked good. He had recovered some of the weight he’d lost during the war, and the yard work he did every day had given his pale skin a healthy golden glow.

“Got any plans for today?” she asked as the earthy smell of the freshly brewed tea hung around her.

 Peeta began to plate the bacon and eggs. “Not really, but it’s a nice day out. We should do something.”

 “How would you like to go for a swim?” 

Peeta turned around; eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? Where?” 

“I know a place.” Katniss reached out and took the plate he was offering. French toast with cinnamon, maple syrup, fried eggs, roasted apples, bacon. The smell alone was enough to make her mouth water. 

Peeta sat down. “Is it far from here?”

“It’s a bit of a walk -- we’ll need to take some food for later -- but I think it’s worth it.” Dipping a bit of bread in the egg, she added, “You should bring your watercolors.”

Looking up from his food, Peeta smiled at her. A soft, warm smile that spoke of the trust between them, the joy he found in the small moments they shared. 

Blushing, Katniss nodded to his plate. “Eat up, your food’s getting cold.” 

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, stealing shy glances over their food while Katniss made a mental list of everything she wanted to show him on the way to her father’s lake. 

[blknwld]

11/29 Pleasure Principles: Exploring The Medicine of Pleasure for Black Women Convo Resources

In this conversation, we discussed our definition of pleasure, our relationship to it, what we have been taught about pleasure by our families and social institutions, how to create a pleasure practice in real time and how Black Women in pleasure act as a healing and revolutionary force for ourselves, our friends, our lovers and our communities. During the chat I (as well as a few attendees) shared a few medicines to work with in order to facilitate pleasure in our lives. Here’s a recap of what was shared:

Herbal Therapy for Pleasure 

Mother Earth provides for her children because she wants us well and she also wants us to experience pleasure, happiness and joy. The following herbs have resonance with pleasure. Not only do many of these herbs strengthen the nervous system to facilitate ease, relaxation and receptivity in the body, they serve several emotional and spiritual functions as well.

Lavender: Gives a sense of peace and stillness in the mind and body, relieves tension, aids in getting unstuck from old mental habits, eases shyness, self consciousness and embarrassment by engendering relaxation, calms frustration and irritability, an aphrodisiac that attracts male lovers, resonates with throat and third eye chakra

Rose: Known as the Queen of the Flowers, promotes an appreciation for beauty and pleasure of all kinds, balances yin energy in order to give an overall sense of well being, promotes self love and compassion, supports the ability to heal from rejection and deep loss that inhibits openness to pleasure, joy and happiness, aphrodisiac that helps to embrace sensuality and sexuality, inspires creativity and fertility, promotes heart chakra healing

Damiana: Aphrodisiac in nature, promotes a sense of groundedness for full embodiment and presence, provides energy and vitality in the face of exhaustion and fatigue, arouses feelings of lust and desire and awakens sexual appetite, facilitates the healing of sexual hang ups, inhibitions and trauma, promotes creativity through activating vision and inspiration, resonates with sacral and third eye chakra

Lemonbalm: Promotes joy, happiness in the heart and good cheer, chases away melancholy, grief and sadness, promotes creativity and self expression, works to address the inner child and mother/feminine wounds to cultivate goddess energy, works in strengthening/healing the heart chakra

Chamomile: Calms the mind and body, relieves feelings of anger, irritation and overheating, soothes inner child wounds, assists in releasing frustration around not having wants and needs met, gives a nurturing mothering energy, assists with tendencies to over-control and promote letting go in a healthy way, promotes comfort with receiving what others have to give, supports a sunny disposition, resonates with solar plexus and throat chakra

Jasmine: Aphrodisiac in nature and reawakens the sensual/sexual nature, especially when it has been repressed by fear, frigidity and anxiety, reawakens feelings of desirability, beauty and attractiveness, helps address feelings of inadequacy, promotes creativity and feelings of being divinely inspired, supports intuition, promotes rest and high quality sleep, resonates with heart chakra and third eye chakra 

Ylang Ylang: Helps address and eradicate fear surrounding pleasure, sensuality and sexuality, promotes reconnection to the body and to the senses, uplifts and relaxes the body and mind, quells inhibitions, assists in relieving depression and anxiety, resonates with the heart and sacral chakra 

Explore the herbs in whatever way you see fit. Not only can these be enjoyed via formal medicines like teas, tinctures, flower essences, yoni steams etc, they can also be incorporated in magickal/spiritual workings, baths, aromatherapy, smoke blends, in self/body care products etc. Something as simple as burning a candle or incense with the fragrance of the herb can be healing. Simply be sure to research your herbs first and consult with a medical professional before ingesting. 

Breathwork 

The element of air is crucial! The body has to breathe. Many of us are not breathing deeply enough and therefore our bodies are not fully alive, fully engaged or fully primed for pleasure. Make a practice of breathing deeply, all the way down through the stomach and the genitals. Tonglen Meditation is an example of breathwork that not only helps us circulate air throughout our bodies, but also assists in transmuting undesirable energy and teaches us the art of giving and receiving. 

Inner Child Work

Many Black Women were robbed of the opportunity to just be girls. Therefore many of us are disconnected from the part of us that is carefree, imaginative and light hearted. Inner child work can help to reclaim this aspect and reacquaint us with what delights and satisfies us. Taking time to consider what you used to enjoy as a child/what you always wanted to do/be/have as a child is a simple yet powerful piece of shadow work that teaches to play and imagine our way back to pleasure, aliveness and pure joy. 

Chakra Engagement 

The health and functioning of our feminine chakras (energy centers) play a large role in our ability to perceive, receive and experience pleasure. 

Sacral Chakra: The seat of creative power, stores our emotional experiences and those of our ancestors, deals with relationships, the ability to connect, the ability to feel and experience pleasure. When balanced we are juicy, comfortable with our sensuality/sexuality, able to experience healthy relationships of all kinds, have good emotion regulation and good taste and are able to give and receive pleasure with ease. We are able to play the role of the Empress. When out of balance, there can be shame, guilt, fear, codependency, martyrdom, self denial, issues with addiction, frigidity and disengagement from the senses that inhibits the ability to experience satisfaction and pleasure. This chakra is supported by staying hydrated, spending time by water, movement of the body, making time for creative self expression and leisure, yoni steaming, herbs such as ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, orange, ylang ylang, jasmine and crystals such as carnelian, citrine, orange calcite, tiger’s eye and moonstone.

Heart Chakra: The connector chakra, speaks to our ability to give and receive, holds genetic, ancestral and past life memories, deals with issues of self worth, deservedness and self esteem, helps us perceives beauty in ourselves, in others and in the world and speaks to upholding boundaries. When balanced we are able to receive just as much as we give and experience reciprocity, feel worthy and hold ourselves in high regard. We can show up healthily as the lover, of people and of live. When out of balance we may have poor boundaries, an inability or refusal to receive, experience relationships with unsatisfying power dynamics, a poor self image, be plagued by the issues of our ancestors/our past life selves and a lack of appreciation for the beauty of life. This chakra is supported by loving affirmations, exposure to beauty and culture, honest communication and connecting authentically with others, herbs such as rose, lemonbalm, sandalwood, bergamot and mint and crystals such as rose quartz, rhodonite, rhodochrosite, chrysocolla, malachite and pink opal.

Third Eye Chakra: The place of vision, speaks to our ability to perceive beyond our 5 primary senses, deals with our ability to dream and allows us to correctly discern. When in balance, we are able to receive intuitive messages from our bodies about what is pleasurable and good for us, imagine new possibilities for lives and instinctively know the truth. We are able to rest in the energy of the High Priestess. When out of balance, we lack vision, are prone to deception by self and others and disconnected from divine intelligence. This chakra is supported by meditation, dreamwork, healthy sleep and rest routines, prayer, visualization, herbs such as mugwort, lavender, frankincense, passionflower and holy basil and crystals such as herkimer diamond, amethyst, lapis lazuli, lepidolite and clear quartz. 

Ancestral Practice

Living in pleasure is an intergenerational affair. We inherit many of our beliefs, thoughts, emotions and patterns around pleasure from our ancestral lineage. It can be extremely impactful to bring up the issues of pleasure, happiness, joy and satisfaction at our altars for healing, insight and wisdom. Consulting with the ancestral mothers (and the daddies, too) can help us heal and untangle intergenerational traumas for ourselves and for our dead. Many of our ancestors did not have opportunities to experience the pleasure we now have access to now and they want us to get our inheritance. If you are interested in learning how to begin/nurture an ancestral practice, we recommend checking out the following reputable practitioners and priestesses:

A Little Juju Podcast  @Jujubae

Satarra @iamsatarra

Iyalosa Osunyemi Akalatunde @got2boshun

Negarra A Kudumu @negarraakudumu

Astrological Moon and Venus

Planets in astrology represent psychological impulses and can shed light on how we receive pleasure, what we deem pleasurable and how we can get our needs met. The planet Venus is the planet associated with affinity, our tastes, preferences and likes, style of connecting, how we give and receive affection (love language), receptivity, femininity, aesthetics and sensuality. The moon is associated with the body and its cycles, physical and emotional needs, our natural instincts and what is inherited through the bloodline, particularly through our foremothers. Taking time to explore the chart can assist in getting us acquainted with what we want and what we need to maximize the pleasure we experience in our day to day lives. I recommend checking out the following astrologers for more information:

The People’s Oracle (Sidereal Astrology)

Samuel F. Reynolds (Tropical Astrology)

Sagittarian Mind (Tropical Astrology)

Books

We stan a book over here. These are suggested reads from me and a couple of the beautiful ladies who contributed to the conversation.

“Pleasure Activism: The Politics of Feeling Good” x adrienne maree brown 

“Please: Radical Self-Care for Wild Women of Color” and “Pussy Prayers” x Black Girl Bliss 

Chakras and Their Archetypes: Uniting Energy Awareness and Spiritual Growth x Ambika Wauters 

“Urban Tantra: Sacred Sex for the 21st Century” x Barbara Carrellas 

Fascinating Womanhood  x Helen Andelin

The Herbal Alchemist’s Handbook: A Complete Guide to Magickal Herbs and How to Use Them x Karen Harrison 

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 34

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, guns

A/N: i do realise i’m very VERY late with this post but i’m growing too attached to this fanfic. hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

    - You know Sebastian, just because your father was a great man, doesn’t mean he was a good one. 

Sebastian watched as she left the room, the trail of her dress disappearing between the edge of the door and leaving him frozen where he was. There was probably not a single person in the whole entire world who could freeze him for what seemed like more than an hour, yet Y/N seemed to hold that power effortlessly, something she could easily control. What looked like someone who’d always be there no matter what was slipping like sand through his fingers. 

He rubbed his face, walking over to the good selection of glass filled bottles to pour himself another glass. What was he doing? Was he really about to marry someone who despised him and who he couldn’t stand when the girl he wanted was asking him to leave? Maybe he could pay off Forrest and move to a new country with Y/N after transferring all his money to other offshores. Surely he could do that without calling much attention.

A loud sound rang through the room and his eyes glued to the phone on his bedside table. He was sure he’d never heard an actual hotel phone ring and that alone intrigued him. He grabbed the phone from the hook, bringing it up to his ear.

    - Hello? - shaky and heavy breathes came from behind and he started to wonder if someone was trying to play a prank on him. - Hello?

    - S…Sebastian, it’s Y/N … - he could almost hear her cry which made him grip the phone. - I’m scared, Sebastian. I’m scared.

    - Are you alright? 

    - I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry. 

    - Angel, whatever it is, you can tell me.

    - I’m pregnant.

For the second time, the same exact person had managed to freeze him on the spot yet again but what was most worrying for him was why she was crying and why she was telling him in the phone. He kept calling her name on the phone but before he could even get an answer the line went dead. Without much of a second thought, he dropped the phone and rushed out of his bedroom, going up the stairs where her bedroom was located. The numbers seemed to mock him as he tried to run as fast as his legs could allow him to her bedroom. Knocking on the dark wood as forcefully as he could, he found no answer and without much prior thought or consideration for hotel staff, he grabbed his revolver to shot the lock open which led to an empty room. He looked around with the agility of a cheetah and eye of a predator but she wasn’t anywhere to be found and with more worry settling on his chest, he ran over to Gwen’s bridal suite where Y/N’s bodyguard was standing.

Surely if he was standing there she would be safe inside and the call was maybe Y/N being playful. Yet again, something in the back of his mind made him unreliably restless and so, much to the groans of some of the women waiting outside the bridal suite, he walked inside the room to be met with girlish high pitched screaming about how it was bad luck to see the bride in the wedding dress. How much bad luck could it bring to a made up wedding he didn’t know but in all honesty he didn’t care and mostly ignored the rest of the bridesmaids as he looked for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

   - Where’s Y/N?

   - Probably somewhere else. God, Sebastian could you at least follow some traditions? You could give me at least a few hours of freedom before I become a Stepford wife. - her eyes were mostly focused on her glass of prosecco rather than him which greatly annoyed him. - Y/N wanders around, she’s probably outside or with Jude Dubois, they’re awfully close. 

   - Was she with you a few minutes ago? - he ignored how uninterested Gwen was in her handmaid’s whereabouts.

   - I don’t know now would you kindly leave? This is my bridal party and you’re not part of it. 

Sebastian quickly realised she wasn’t here and Gwen barely care if she would return or not. He returned back upstairs to her bedroom, maybe she had been in the bathroom when he came to check on her. His mind kept yelling at him something was wrong and even the most rational part of him, the one that normally overwhelmed everything else, was telling him that Y/N wouldn’t call him like that, telling him she was scared. What worried him more was she being pregnant, he wondered if she was safe and if the baby was safe, with little to no regard at what consequences her being pregnant would be. 

He paced inside her bedroom but nonetheless it was empty with the smell of lilies and roses belonging to her fragrance lingering around. Sebastian sat down on top of her bed, sighing out of frustration and worry. There was no sign of anything bad happening in the bedroom, everything was tidy and kept to perfection except for one opened drawer of her bedside table. He wondered if Y/N had decided to leave with Jude Dubois and that call had been nothing but a joke but yet again, he could feel something was wrong, he heard it on her voice, her trembling breathy voice. That wasn’t the voice of someone who was playing tricks on him. His heart ached, completely ached in a type of pain that he couldn’t remember ever feeling. Something was wrong, something bad was happening and he couldn’t find a rational reason that would put her in a safe situation.

As he got more lost in his own thoughts, his phone rang. He picked his phone from his pocket to see Y/N’s name as the caller ID. However, before his heart could slow down from the mere stress of not knowing about her whereabouts, his whole body tensed as he recognised the voice way too well.

   - How are the wedding preparations? Busy enough? - Mr. Williams’ voice came through the phone with a pompous tone, almost proud. - Have you ever noticed how Y/N squeals every time someone grabs her? I wonder if that gets you off.

  - Listen to me, if she’s not in my hotel room in less than half hour, you’re a dead man. I’ll ... - anger dripped from his voice.

  - No, you listen to me. - he interrupted. - You don’t have the upper hand in this situation so I would watch your tone unless you want her head as your wedding present. Now ... I am a fair man, I don’t enjoy killing innocents just for it specially pretty girls like her. I’m sure we can reach an agreement.

  - You don’t want to start a war with me. If you touch even a single hair of hers, I swear I’ll make sure both my men and Forrest’s will go after you. 

  - Yes, I’m sure Michael Forrest will love to know his precious daughter is pregnant from you. It must sting, knowing that it was her you were supposed to marry. - he froze on the spot once more, unsure if he was once more playing games on him or if he had dropped. - You’ve always been like your mother, so gullible. You didn’t even bother check on any of the two girls, how they had the same birthday or how she was the only one to inherit a whole family’s estate? It only took a few documents to prove that yet you didn’t do it. I never pegged you to let your guard down for a pretty girl yet here we are.

His head hurt, his heart pounded harshly in a way that made it sound through his skull and all he wanted to do was scream and kill him. Flashes of her face and how she would always smile at him crossed through his mind as his own voice blamed him for her situation. 

   - Meet me at the Lotte New York Palace Hotel in an hour and maybe we can strike a deal. 

   - What makes you think I won’t just kill you? 

   - You don’t know how many people in your inner circle are loyal to me. If you tell anyone or if you try any little games, there’s several of my men who’d love a way with your little mistress and I’ll make sure to tape it so you can watch it later. Don’t cross me. - the line went dead.

He stood there, helpless, surrounded by her scent and belongings which only reminded him more of her. Every single memory he had of her seemed to hit his mind like a freight train from the first time he had seen her from his most recent denial of running away with her. He could almost feel her finger tips on his jaw, hear her little laugh whenever something pleased her, every thing was still so fresh, so recent. His ears were ringing as he noticed the little music box he had gotten to her on her bedside table. His hands reached for it, cradling the box close to him which caused it to snap open, the soft melody of La Vie en Rose flowing into the bedroom.

He promised. He promised her in Paris that nothing could harm her yet here he was, unsure of her state and helpless to fix anything the way he knew. He broke his promise, he broke his promise and for what? A family name? Her safety? She wasn’t safe either way. That thought itself drowned any emotion in his face. It was a blank slate and not even his eyes where Y/N could always find the truth of what his heart was going through seemed to show anything other than the pure void. 

Placing the music box on the pocket of his jacket, he exited her room and, almost mechanically, made his way down the hall, ignoring every single person who tried to talk to him or even congratulate him. Soon enough he was at the parking lot, entering his car so he could ride to the Lotte New York Palace. He was early, much early but all he could think about was seeing her again, see her safe despite anything. 

The hour seemed to go by incredibly slow but everything comes to an end and once the deadline reached its expiration, Thompson Williams walked into the hotel bar, sporting an irritable smile on his face as he sat on the high chair next to him. 

   - Why so gloom? - he taunted, for the first time holding power over the man he considered had stolen his golden opportunity of success. - Might it be because you have no control anymore? You let her be around me, I learned how she acts, I knew she wasn’t gonna scream and I knew if I endangered anyone she would do what I told her. So innocent, I can see why you like her.

   - What do you want? - Sebastian only stared at him, trying to not let the guilt or his comments affect him. At this point, he just wanted her to be back to him safely. Revenge could wait. 

   - Here. - he slide a document file towards him. - You’re gonna reside from your position within the family in my favour. Sign that document and you can go on your merry life with her, maybe use that little house Forrest gave her, have the kid. You were never made for this life anyway.

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