#how to explain landscape and god and the soul of land

[wheresyoureta]

my big theory about whats going on in the bp universe- pt1

hey guys!!!! im just so excited abt the whole tour and the possibility that theyll release new stuff so i thought. why not share the brainrot with the swarm!!!

this is gonna be a i think 5-part (maybe more, maybe less) series of theories im gonna be doing :)

i also wanted to clarify that these are my theories and i am not in any way claiming they are true! im just having some fun lmao, if u wanna add anything just share with me im curious

(i dont include house of wolves and teenagers in the story btw they just dont fit in for me)

this is the part 1, the beginning.

the black parade, for me, is about death. and coming to terms with yourself. i am going to tell the story how i view it.

the story is about the patient, a man dying of terminal illness, most possibly cancer. he is alone, he is sad, and he has nobody to spend his last moments with. this is about him. and death.

his story starts with i dont love you. his partner has had enough of him: he is selfish, broken, and they dont think they can fix him. so they leave him. and he is alone.

the patient never had anyone he could remember of apart of them: his family? he didnt remember them.

in between that and the next song of the album, his fate is sealed. he gets diagnosed with terminal cancer and admitted into hospital. he has no one there. he cant remember anything about his past, in between these white walls.

the sharpest lives, the next song of the album, is the patient being angry. he is angry, at his partner, at the hospital, at himself, at the non-existent god that cursed him to this fate. he cant die, he does not deserve to. he complains, shouting at no one, about his unfair fate.

in this is how i disappear, his anger slowly starts to dissipate, shifting, and turning into slight sadness, maybe even remorse. he misses his lover: he wants to be normal. he wants them back. he doesnt want to go just yet.

in cancer, the patient is starting to realize his fate: hes dying. and there is nothing he can do to stop it. hes regretting every single mistake he ever made. the patient hates himself. he is alone because he deserves it: dying will free him for all this loneliness. he says his goodbyes to no one. and then he dies.

the end.

he opens his eyes, and he is in a place he does not recognize. a land of gothic infrastructures, tall and cutting the horizon into strange shapes. (we'll talk about this landscape more in the future; remember it.) he is surrounded by silhouettes, faceless people he does not know, but that yet seem so familiar. a young white-haired man approached him, smiling. "welcome," he said. "to the aftermath of your life."

the young man, the parade leader as he calls himself, explains to the patient that he is dead. he tells him that because of what how much of an asshole he was when alive, he is here, now.

in welcome to the black parade, the parade leader tells the patient about this place.

the parade, for me, is the purgatory: they send lost souls there to repent themselves- or, alternatively, to get them to hell. the parade leader and his band sing for them, they sing for them to make them remember all their past mistakes and to decide of their fate. the band is stuck there, in this limbo, forever: what got them here, they do not know. maybe the tour will shed some light on the origin of the parade.

then comes dead!, where the parade leader laughs at the patient, explaining to him that he made these mistakes, that he is unloved and he deserves whats hapenning to him now. the patient tries to deny it so hard, but he knows its true. he knows he fucked up.

in a burst of pain, for knowing that this is his fault, the patient has a vision.

he lays in wet dirt, the smell of blood and death in his nostrils. he hears screams and gunshots all around him.

suddenly, he remembers. the patient went to war, probably world war two (i like to think he went there because of the ghost of you music video. maybe im overthinking it lmao), and killed people there. a lot of people. it was normal to kill people at war, of course. but it haunted him. during the battles, he lost so many friends. so many brothers. the only person he had left was his mother.

mama.

his mother cried when he came back. because she could see the blood on his hands. she cried because her own son had murdered other women's flesh- their families.

she died quickly, too sad to live like this.

from that moment and then next song, there is a big gap that im going to try my best to explain.

basically, after the patient recovered his memories of his mother and the war, he started regretting all that he did even more. at the same time, he accepted it: everyone was imperfect. everyone was human. he comes at peace with himself, and prepares to die. i mean yeah he already died but like just his mind died? like he was still technically alive because his old memories still attached him to the living world.

in famous last words, the patient tells his last regrets to the parade leader: how he couldnt tell his mother and his partner that he loved them: that he couldnt live a long healthy life: that he couldnt say sorry to the mothers of all the men he killed.

but in disenchanted, he comes to terms with that: it is sad, but it is how it is. just a sad song, with nothing to say. there is nothing he can do to stop it, so he might as well go peacefully.

the parade leader, himself, had grown attached to this man: the patient was like him in many ways. he couldnt quite explain it, or understand it, but it hurt to let him go.

and so, in sleep, the parade leader sets him off. his song comes from deep inside, from his guts. it hurts. it hurts so bad to let him go. as he screams at him to go to sleep, there is a flash of darkness. and so the patient ends.

thats kind of my interpretation of the story! a man who is broken and does not know why, who is going to suffer an unfair end, and who finally comes to terms with who he is thanks to another lost soul. ofc, thats just how i personally see it!

last little thing before he start working on the next parts, for which i have wayyy more evidence for what im gonna speculate hehe

blood is the "transition" to the next part of the story. the parade changed after the death of the patient. it wasnt the patient directly, but something had changed after he left. the parade had become more defiant, more unstable, more resisting. so someone had to stop them.

thats when swarm comes in.

feel free to share ur theories with me!! i love to hear them :3

[theperfectquestion]

So I'm cleaning out the fridge and the cat wants to get into the fridge. I tell the cat that I don't want him to climb inside the fridge but that isn't enough and he persists.

I realise that, like my very recent ancestors, the cat has no idea what the use of a fridge is: a special area designed to retard the growth of potentially dangerous microorganisms, the kind that live on his body. I look at him staring at me, occasionally glancing over to a shelf that he could easily jump to if he was sure that I wouldn't try to block him, and I realise how cruel it would be to explain things too fully. How could I plunge this innocent soul into a world that contains microorganisms and spoilage, that forces him to consider at all times the muck on his paws, the flecks of faeces on his coat, the terrible power of the totally invisible. I don't want to insult him, because he has been trained to use a litter tray and that litter tray is a solid piece of his landscape, as solid as the stone beneath us, as natural as a river. I don't want him to go into the fridge because he would bring an imperceivable aspect of the litter tray into the special area and negate its purpose. But how am I to relate this to the boy?

I see my own position with crystal clarity - I am a higher dimensional being of unimaginable power but with an imperfect ability to communicate with the smaller minds in my sphere of influence. I am kin to whatever entity that descended on Florence and touched the soul of Dante, that cursed him with terrible visions of the gods above and the devils below.

Was Aligieri poised to do something like jump into something like a fridge when that spark met the touchpaper of his unprepared brain? Did his keeper, or steward, or breeder, or something try to explain to the man that tiny organisms that live inside the flies that buzz over the surface of the canals, which care nothing for the Pope or the Emperor, will enter his blood and cause the dreaded welts and burning fever that will spell his end? How could he be warned not to visit Venice, not to sleep in cheap lodgings too near the water?

Perhaps that angel tried, but the enormity of the task meant they missed the mark. Perhaps their description of the lifecycle of the Plasmodium alveolate became the physical hierarchy of Hell, with a soul dipping from Limbo to swim through through the Syxian bloodstream. The work of lymphocytes to counter the infection becomes a vision of paladins forming a cross on blood-red Mars. The route to verifying this knowledge becomes a paean to the inconstant sphere of the Moon.

The warning not only fails to save Dante from jumping into the fridge, for he perishes of malaria, but the miscommunication of the warning to the doomed Florentine terrifies and confuses hundreds of thousands of humans for centuries afterwards.

So did that frustrated spirit descend again, a moment later for them, but two hundred years on Earth, to repeat the warning more simply, more directly, in a way a social ape would understand? Is this what compelled Fracastoro to describe the basics of germ theory in rhyming verse?

Though this palpable hit again resulted in disaster because Venice in 1530 was the worst place to advance the germ theory of disease.

The conceptual construction of a poisonous miasma, which is an easier one for a mammal to grasp because their swollen olfactory bulb is so closely connected to their cognitive and moral sense, stood more firmly on the geological and political terrain. Flushing out the fetid waters by way of exquisite stonework and engineering provided by powerful houses was a provable solution to the cholera epidemics that devilled the land, so talk of invisible microorganisms became more fantastical than a travelogue to the city of Dis. As European intellectuals grappled with this contradictory information, millions died. Our higher being has really shit the bed with these well-meaning interventions they insist upon visiting on the humans.

The cat listens to my essay as best he can but as soon as I return my eyes to the blank wall of the warming fridge he skits away to briefly stalk, then injest a scrap of plastic he has observed in the toe-kick of the built-in cabinets.

I consider the best way to remove the plastic from this mouth and decide to squirt him with some tap water. That's what they should have done with Dante. We'd be on the Moon by now.

[e-suds]

4 and 28 for the Envoy ask game? 💕

okay we got here! Thanks so much for asking!! These questions are so much fun, so much room for in depth character thoughts. 👀

Questions and answers below the cut, because I had too much to say lol. Spoilers through the end of Shatterscarp.

4. What did they think the Living Lands would be like before arriving? Did anything surprise them?

On a purely terrain and environment level, the scale of 'wilderness' that Mavis had been expecting was worlds away from what she found. Aedyr has jungles, it has wilds, and she grew up in a small farming village out in those wilds before she went to Highcrown. But that's the thing - what she clocks as wilderness in Aedyr is still land that's been domesticated by agriculture and persistent kith presence for thousands of years. Whether it's the bigger monoculture plantings close to Highcrown or further away from big settlements where the crops and roads are less intrusive, and whether it's lands historically elven or human, it's still all been shaped more persistently and more dramatically and more recently than the vast majority of the Living Lands. She's been in the emperor's service for years, and she doesn't travel very far afield in that role. She had read about different landscapes and continents and islands in Eora and seen art, so she wasn't totally ignorant of what she was going to see - but her expectations were limited by her experience, and you can only imagine a mountain so well if you've only ever seen hills, so to speak.

Other than just awe with the wilderness and the nature, I think the thing that surprised her the most was how much she likes it there. She's put a lot of work into building herself into what Aedyr wants her to be, but it's a huge relief to let the mask slip. She feels at home in the wilderness and she feels at home away from order. She doesn't like that she feels that way, but. It's there and she's processing it. Hopefully sooner rather than later. 💀

28. What did your Envoy do in Naku Kubel—sever the Adra or destroy the ruins?

😑 She severed the Adra. 😑😑😑

Mavis has impulses to separate herself from Aedyr, and she's getting attached to the Living Lands and to Sapadal and to so many people here. But. She's also got some real hangups about who she is if she breaks her oath to the fercönyng. And the fucked up thing is that (until someone can get her to open up enough to explain these hangups and slap some sense into her), these hangups are gonna hurt real people.

So the way her ass has been handling her fear of her loyalties shifting is tying herself up in knots focusing on stopping the Dreamscourge as the primary mandate and her one duty. The thing she is telling herself and a very angry Kai is that she believed it to be of primary importance to create a safe harbor from the spread of dreamscourge should they die or fail. It has NOTHING to do with the feeling of drowning in Sapadal's anguish, and how much more of Sapadal's soul she keeps taking into herself, obviously. Haha oh my god, why would her ex even imply that? 🤡🤡 I don't even think the human cost of the choice is on her radar because she's already done math on the dreamscourge. She would have chosen differently if she'd realized the cost that severing the Adra has long term and the cost to souls in the region, but she has really specialized knowledge and there's a lot she doesn't know. Her knowledge of souls and the metaphysics of the wheel is one of her most tangible knowledge gaps, it's all filtered through religion and Berath, and so little of what animancers know permeated the Aedyran courts she spent most of her life in. 😑😑😑

[afireyearth]

How do you describe the god affirming qualities in the Missouri sunset to a nonbeliever? Do you describe the ability to see the atmosphere in the golden shafts of light awaking the greens of the rolling hills. Inviting you to lay down endless in their time altering light? Do you talk of your childhood. Of the transformative properties of the sunset. Its ability to transport you across space and time into a Life infinitely better than your own. With just it its light, its sky, its playful dance of mood across the landscape that seems in hospital in the winter. It’s the way looking at this light makes you feel like you live a life worth living because the beauty is so picture worthy that all the other shit-the neglect, the lack of intellect, the constant poking fun of your personality- is washed away. That as long as life is AS BEAUTIFUL as the girls of California, you’re an okay person too. But it’s also in getting older, and realizing that it was beautiful regardless of the need for it be an escape. That it was about you noticing how good your life was in the moment. You craved to be outdoors, you just hadn’t known it yet.

It’s the fact that it’s beauty encapsulated you for a moment. It stopped your thoughts, your worry, your dread, and it held you in its self. It did nothing but exist. That was enough. Itself in its entirety, its green hills, its trees, its granite cliff sides, its small quaint farm houses doting the land. It was all there and it was enough.

It was comforting in the way it self you. In the way it didn’t decimate you, in the way you could be anyone in its eyes. It was infinite.

Its not being normal, watching Sharp Objects just because I miss the small town life of Missouri.

It’s comforting. It’s Warm. It’s Safe. It’s home. It’s endless possibilities, it’s an endless fantasies, it’s not entirely my life, so it hasn’t been ruined but it’s also close enough it’s tangible.

It can be felt in my endless searching of “Ozark Mountains Missouri” into google. Into researching the Ozark Plantau, into wanting their beauty to be just as recognized as the Appalachian mountains. It can be seen in my watching of Sharp Objects, in Ozark, in absolutely anything that has taken place in Missouri. It can be heard in my eulogizing of the landscape, of my yearning for the rolling hills, in the constant mentions of it to my friends. It has taken a hold of me, enraptured me in its warm golden light, I feel forever stolen by those moments of pure beauty. How do I move on from such a delightful moment, Of an ability to find beauty, to find peace, to find silence in an other wise dark, chaotic life. How can I explain to someone that I’ve built a shrine to this place in my soul. That there is no place in the US that will ever shine life Missouri does. That there is no place that will feel as secure as the fields, the woods, the lakes of my childhood. Of the air conditioned rooms the screened in porches of the decks and docks of my childhood. How can I get over the grief of knowing I can never go back. That those moments are gone from me forever just as I am learning to accept them. Just like meditating, I accept the thought for what it is and it continues down the stream as I learn to let it go. I don’t know how to accept that I let it go. That is is slowly moving down the stream. It’s gone. My family still lives there. My old life is still held up by their presence.They still go to the same dock and they still walk the same path into the woods and they still drink shitty beer on the same boat I sat in. Not knowing it would be my last time there. I cried my eyes out the last time I was there, left a day early because I felt so isolated and foreign and in pain from my family. I want to be able to walk the halls of the lake house by myself. To accept it for what it is and let go and move on. To get into my paper boat and float down stream.

[the-fiction-witch]

Blu P3

Media TMR AU

Character Newt

Couple None

Rating Cute

Concept Spa

I did manage to get some sleep in the plane which was an absolute god send, I hadn't even had my snack I just laid my head against the side of the plane and the pull window shutters and slept for what must have been a good few hours. But it had the exact opposite effect I had wanted as my nap had only made me feel more tired and groggy the plane mostly dark as people either slept or watched movies I rubbed my eyes trying desperately to regain some mental ability checking the time and route on the little screen almost there not long till landing. I was about to flag down a stewardess and get myself a coffee but I notice the whole plane began to violently shake from turbulence. Immediately I pulled my seatbelt as tight as possible and gritted my teeth staring at the ceiling trying desperately no to panic as everyone began to wake up and panic around me even a announcement came on to try and reduce panic.

I did my best not to panic until At Last the turbulence died down again well that woke me up.

Soon enough we landed and I waited being one of the last off to avoid the mad rush but Minho and Tommy still waited for me outside the tunnel we quickly picked up our bags heading thought all the checks and security and finally I saw as sign that this place was even real as the airport had a huge wall showing am advert for the place with some mountains, water and steam the signature blu name in the corner. Well atleast it's something I guess.

Once out the airport I immediately wanted to be back at home as we saw the large glass windows and doors out to the landscape we had to stay in for a week

"Ahhh.. fuck." Minho says

"I did not pack for this!" Thomas yelped

"Yeah uhhhhh how cold is it?'

"-14" Alby told me

"Uuuuuuuhhh I don't wanna be frozen to death" Thomas complained

"Newt. I want you to promise me something?"

"What is it Minho?"

"If I get abducted by the snow Queen. Come back for me"

"Understood" I nodded

"Come on then vans waiting" Alby says

So we all braved the horrific snow and wind climbing into these mini vans with our stuff the van was damp and cold but anything was better then out there.

We got everyone in and slowly drove off down the dark snowy roads at times I was kinda concerned if we where even on roads.

Until finally I saw a sign for the spa it was these tall wooden posts holding this black slate brick with the word BLU written in it beside a small road which the van turned down.

For a few miles nothing but hills snow and this strange most could be seen out the windows until rather suddenly we pulled up to this large modern building of the same black slate and metal fixings very kinda industrial which is odd for a spa. Two figures stood outside the doors as the snow had turned to rain here, their bodies hidden below these light blue velvet robes with their hoods up.

Alby got our first of course to check everything and I had to admit this didn't exactly make me feel better about the wrif cult vibes.

"What the hell?" Gally asked as he was closest to the window

"If this is a cult I'm fucking out man" Thomas says

"I did say it looked kinda cultish" I told him

But Alby waved us off so everyone slowly climbed out with their stuff

"Greetings, tired and weary souls" one man spoke up "please come in from this harshness" he says opening the doors so we could all head inside I felt weird but headed in to the large lobby with a crystal chandelier, a large front desk and a lift.

"Welcome to BLU, firstly before you receive your rooms where is just the small matter of reminding you that BLU is a fully immersive resort that is best for our clients. So please respect our rules and regulations" he explained "to the east of the building is our restaurant with spectacular views. To the west of the building are all your rooms and then at the north of the building is of course the spa and its many amenities. We feature three outdoor pools, two indoor pools, waterfall, sauna, steam room, ice room, massage area and of course our rejuvination pool along with much much more" he explained "our staff work in shifts so there will always be someone available, and of course recognizable by our cloaks. Now let's get you all settled. And remember for your best experience attend to your relaxation sheets immediately upon entering your room and be as honest as possible to make sure you leave feeling as good as possible"

They got us all checked in everyone having their own key and I sheepishly moved through the place looking for my room, the corridors this same black stone with metal framed lighting and windows, the doors a dark wood. I felt very strange kinda intimidated if I was honest. I found my room number

A501

And I put the key in the door, just as I did I jumped as the door next to my own opened and I was surprised by the sight.

She...she was beautiful.

In sandals and a long dress clearly a cover up as she has a swimsuit under it her hair pinned up sweetly. She saw me and smiled with a towel tucked under her arm before she headed off elsewhere.

I shook my head out of it and headed into my room being rather shocked at how... nice it was.

The door closed quickly behind me leaving me in this very impressive room.

It was fairly large the door behind me, to my left the entrance to the bathroom which was floor to ceiling this black stone tiles, a black toilet with its own small shelf for toilet roll, a large glass sink with a tap hung over it like a showerhead, a circular mirror on the wall backlit with a strange blue glow, an array of black bottle hand soap, lotion, toothpaste all of it branded by BLU with crystals and other such ingredients I couldn't say and a Walk in shower big enough to have like ten people in it with no taps, only a tablet built into the wall to pick the steam, temperature and many other strange shower options, the shower made of glass with again it's own little shelf of BLU products on a wooden shelf. All of it this black stone, dark wood and industrial metalwork. I headed into the bedroom seeing much the same the floor and ceiling this dark gainy wood, the walls this stone, the furniture all industrial style will metal holding the wood together, a desk and mirror to my right as well as a small speaker and lockable box, with a little log burner across from the bed I think it was fake and just a heater with a little screen but still it looked nice, to my left a large king-size bed with dark grey covers and a blue runner a small wardrobe and draws to put my clothes, a shelf behind the beds headboard of a nice thick bit of the wood with again some BLU branded items a sleeping mask, pillow mist and such like they even gave me deodorant and after-shave. Then at the end of the room was a very comfy two seater leather sofa with wooden framing very much fit the theme and it looked out to the best bit of the room, two huge black lined glass windows with a black out blind at the top and even slightly sheer curtains, it looked out across the snowy mountains, the dark rocks, and this beautiful pool of blue. It wasn't the normal water blue it was like sky blue so light and sweet almost glowing like a blue glow sticks insides steam and most rising from it moving around in the gentle wind. It was beyond impressive and admittedly really bloody cool.

And of course first job in any hotel I jumped on the bed immediately I felt so warm and cosy. 

[blacknight1230]

To Hell and Back

DMC 5 Dante X Reader

Reader (a dhampir) brings Dante and his brother back from the Demon World (Hell).

“You still owe me a date, remember?” 

Eyes ran across the weathered pages in front of you, skimming through the tome’s contents that you’ve memorized by heart. No matter how much information you’ve ingrained into your brain, you kept re-reading the material, highlighting passages and jotting down notes in the margins. You had to; this was the only way you could get him back.

~ Flashback ~

The world was ending. Or it at least seemed that way. The ground before you shook as the Qliphoth tree died, its twisted branches breaking and falling to the destroyed city landscape below. “What? What’s happening now?” Lady questioned, trying to balance herself. “Oh God, I thought it was over!” you heard Triss say. “This isn’t good. We’re gonna get dragged into this!” Nico yelled as she turned to rush back to her van. “Wait, what’s going on?” You were just about to follow when Dante landed in front of guys in mist of red, having transformed out of his devilish form. 

“Dante, what’s happening? Did you defeat Urizen?” you asked as you rushed up to the half-devil. Dante looked pissed, you could feel it radiating off his red clad figure. He brushed past, brows furrowed as he growled out, “My dumbass brother’s back, and I’m gonna rip him a new one.” He stomped past you towards Nico’s van, Triss, Lady, and you hurrying after him. “Brother?!” You were surprised; Dante had given you his heart and soul despite the fact though you had only known Dante for a quite limited amount of time. Why would he omit the fact he had a sibling, when he already told you everything else? 

“Vergil’s- How?!” Triss questioned. So she knew about him, even Lady seemed to recognize the name. Before you could and the others could pester Dante for details, Nico called his name out from her van. She tossed him a heavy duty looking weapon, which he effortlessly caught. “Made it for Lady and she paid for it, so consider it a rental,” the weapons maker said. “Hey- You can’t just -” Lady tried to protest but Dante interrupted her. “Okay, okay, we’ll take care of that later. Right now, you four get the hell out of here. I’m gonna go take care of old douchebag,” he said, tossing the weapon in his hand before turning around and hefting it over his shoulder, walking away from the van. 

Lady and Triss got into the van without fighting back, but you wouldn’t go so easily. “Dante!” you called after you lover, rushing over to his retreating figure. Dante looked back over his shoulder, frowning as he turned to face you. “What is it, babe? I’m kind of in a hurry,” he said as gently as possible. You don’t know why, but you had a terrible feeling in your gut. You were unsure if it was just because of all the new information you had to consume so quickly or something else. But you knew you didn’t want Dante to go. 

“Dante I...” you tried to explain, but the look in his blue eyes told you nothing would stop him from facing his brother. “ Just ... Just promise me you’ll come back,” you sighed. Dante’s expression relaxed, a gloved hand coming to gently cup your cheek. “Hey, don’t worry about me. It will take a lot more than my bastard brother to end me,” he joked. You scoffed, placing a kiss to the palm of his hand, lips meeting the rough leather. 

“Besides ...” Dante leaned in, stubbled lips meeting your forehead. “I still owe you a date, anyways.” He quickly separated from you, taking a few steps backwards. “Now, get going, babe,” he ordered. “(y/n)!” you heard Triss yell for you. Taking one last look at Dante, you groaned and hurried to the van. 

The door slammed behind you and Nico took off, the force sending you onto the booth in the back of van. “Don’t worry, (y/n). Dante’s got this,” Nico reassured you from behind the wheel. You remained silent as the van drove away from the crumbling ground you once stood on. 

~ End of Flashback ~

You gripped the withering tome tightly, almost breaking it in your grasp. That was the last you saw of Dante, and about several months later, he still hadn’t return. When Nero returned, having lept out of the racing van to confront his father, who happened to also be Dante’s brother, he told you about how the two brothers delved into Hell in order to cut the roots of the Qliphoth tree. But doing so also cut them off from leaving the Underworld, trapped there along with the unending amount of demons. It was a cruel irony; to prevent the demons from leaving Hell, they themselves were unable to return.

Since you found out the red-clad Devil Hunter was stuck in Hell, you desperately researched a way to safely bring him back. It was immensely difficult; there was very little information to go by, most of which took time to decipher from its archaic writing. Coupled with the fact that rescuing Dante could also let some demons through, the task was nearly impossible.

Luckily, you were able to use some connections from your time working with your adoptive family’s paranormal task force to the resources you needed. Hence, the heavily marked tome in front of you. You placed said tome on a stand, next to the numerous items you needed to make a stable portal. Using a Wiccan mixture as paint, you started to draw out the proper glyphs and symbols on the floor, creating a circle of them that was at least 6ft in diameter. Next, you lit red waxed candles at five points, of which were connected by a lines, creating a pentagram on the wooden floor. Of course, you had put in some fail safes in place, in which very specific word choice would bring only Dante back. Alongside its border, you started chanting the Latin inscription from the tome. 

Said chant roughly translated to: “I call darkness onto me from deepest depths of Earth and sea, to break the Veil between. Make a tear in the Light, to summon the one who makes my heart ignite. Bring him forth from the Nether, so we might be together.” 

The air filled with static, your hair on the back of your neck standing on end. An unexplainable wind caused the candles to flicker and the pages of the tome in front of you to rapidly turn over. Now came for the conduit; you took a very sharp knife and ran it across the palm of your hand. Your blood dropped onto the pentagram below. The blood, coupled with the slight demonic power from your vampiric affliction, caused the chalk drawings of the circle to glow red. 

The spell was now complete as magic filled the air, the ground lightly rumbling as a hole appeared within the circle, a rip between the realms suspended in the air. A black nothingness was seen through the rip, indescribable and inhumane sounds coming from within. You grabbed a pistol from nearby, loading it with heavy rounds of silver bullets in case something you didn’t want to came through the portal. 

Luckily, it didn’t come to that; two men stepped through the portal, looking a little worse for wear. As soon as they stepped foot into the dimly lit room, the portal abruptly closed, the candles placed around the circle going out. Despite the dingy cellar lights, you could make out Dante’s luminescent blue eyes standing out among his dirty and worn appearance. 

Throwing caution to the wind, you sheath your gun and lunged at the young devil hunter. You nearly sent him falling over, but Dante was able to regain his balance quickly, subconsciously wrapping you in his arms. “What- (y/n)?!” he exclaimed. He was unable to utter another word as your lips covered his in a rushed, passionate kiss. Dante groaned and he gave into the kiss, filthy gloved hands came to cup your face as he brought himself closer. But you didn’t care. All that mattered was the man standing in front of you. 

Separating from you, Dante sighed in relief,“God, it's so great to see your pretty face again, doll,” as he leaned his forehead against yours. 

“I missed you so much, Dante. Don’t you ever do something like that again,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ve had my fill of Hell enough to last me two life times.” 

The cherishing moment ended abruptly by someone clearing their throat. The two of you separated, though not enough for you to no longer to be in each other’s arms. The interruption came from a man who looked very much like Dante, though he was dressed in a blue color scheme and held a more serious, commanding demeanor. 

You had almost forgotten that Vergil had delved into Hell with his brother. How he came back with your lover, you did not know, but it wasn’t much of a big deal. Or at least it didn’t seem like so at the moment. Vergil stepped out of the painted circle, lifting a hand to swipe up the white strands off his forehead and back into their proper place. 

“Isn’t this heartwarming,” he said, cold blue eyes staring straight through your damned soul. “I see you’ve given into the heart’s temptations, Dante. How weak.” The other Sparda twin took a step out of the circle, but was stopped by Dante pointing the tip of Rebellion at his throat. 

“Not another step, Vergil,” Dante growled. 

“Don’t worry, brother. I’ve had enough fighting for now,” Vergil groaned. To prove his point he grabbed at his side and hissed in pain. He turned his steel blue eyes towards you. “So, you’re the woman my brother wouldn’t shut up about in Hell?” 

“I guess so.” You were on edge; you still remembered not so long ago this man was once Urizen, the demonic half of Vergil brought forth when the older Sparta twin cut out his human side in order to achieve more power. Or as he thought. In the end, Dante still defeated him and V sacrificed himself to merge the two halves back together. 

The blue-clad half-devil meet your (e/c) eyes, seemingly peering into your very being. You refused to cower under the powerful gaze, returning the tense stare with vigor. You had no idea how long you two were locked into the battle of wills, but eventually Vergil was the first to turn away. 

“I approve of this one.” 

“I wasn’t looking for you approval,” Dante snapped back. Vergil ignored him, walking past the two of you, the coast tails of his blue coat brushing against your legs. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I was thinking its about time I properly introduce myself to my son. And I suspect I need to apologize for severing his arm,” Vergil explained, refusing to look back at you too. 

“You think?” you mumbled under your breath. Dante smiled, stifling his chuckle. But Vergil heard you, looking over his shoulder at you. 

“This might be hard to believe, but I do regret what I’ve done. The Underworld has taught me the error of my ways,” he told us. “Now I’ll try to amend for them.”

Dante left your side, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I guess you’ll need my help with that. Even though you’re an asshole, your still my brother after all,” he sighed. Vergil seemed to replicate Dante’s feelings, placing a rough hand over his twin’s and nodding his head. “But get it twisted, I still hate you,” Dante admitted. 

A smirk returned to Vergil’s lips and he shrugged off his brother’s hand. “I’m heading back to the hole you call a shop,” he told you guys as he started to make his way out of the darkened basement you had decided to perform the ritual in. “It was nice meeting you, (y/n),” he told you, unexpectedly. 

“Um, yeah, you, too,” you managed to say. You listened to Vergil’s steps as his boots traveled up the stairs to the ground floor and eventually out the riggity front door. As soon as the half-devil was gone, Dante spun you around to face him. “Dante!” you gasped at the sudden action. The red-clad man smirked as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you close to him. He lowered his head to pepper wet kisses across your jaw and neck. 

“Shit, baby, you have no idea how happy I am to see you,” he mumbled against your skin. You giggled as his stumble tickled you, pulling his lips away before he could leave a mark. 

“Calm down you horndog. You still owe me a date, remember?” you warned. 

“How could I forget? It was ll I could think about for however long I’ve been in Hell,” he replied, a put on his lips from the loss of contact. 

“Oh, really? Then I suspected you have it perfectly planned out,” you teased. 

“Of course. We’ll order in a hot pepperoni pizza, have a few glasses of Jack Daniels ... maybe we’ll even have dessert,” he winked. 

You gave his chest a light slap and rolled your eyes. “Pizza and whiskey sounds good. But I haven’t made my mind up about dessert yet.” 

“Whatever, you say babe. I’m just happy my girlfriend’s one smart cookie who’s able to summon me back from Hell,” he grinned, pecking you on the corner of the lips. 

“Lucky you,” you quipped bringing the devil hunter in for a proper kiss. 

THE END

[the-primordials]

And also if you don't mind......could you explain the the lore behind the World Tree and what its importance is and what the lore is involving the various oceans and their names and last but not the least.....the lore surrounding the Mist of Omens and its significance and since i forgot to ask ..... Which country was the MC sealed up in or rather where was their prison found and how was it found?.....Once more....you may answer as one post or as several.

hi @chfrost08 thanks for the ask

Lore Of The World Tree & Its Significance:

The World Tree, was born from the second grave made in remembrance of the family members of the Fallen Gods. After the battle with the Darklings ended. Althaia and Zotikos created the seed of life, which was planted above the fallen gods graves. And the divine energy left gave birth to 'The World Tree'. The World Tree is now a sacred sanctuary protected by Zotikos's kin the dragons. For the World Tree absorbs the two suns of Eden's radioactive molecules, during photosynthesis in return producing mana molecules for Eden. Which helps the beings of Eden use magic and allows magical beasts, plants and materials to thrive.

World Tree;

Lore Of The Five Sacred Seas:

There are 5 different currents that flow through the ocean of Eden each having their own special zone, name and lore. During the 1st Era of Eden there was only one sea one ocean. But after the war "The Song Of The Fallen & Forgotten" the aftermath had damaged Eden greatly resulting in many natural and unnatural phenomena changing Edens many ecosystems both for land and sea even the skies were never the same.

And from this damage the remaining gods that survived the war worked together to heal Eden. And in doing so every god or goddess essence twisted and shaped new landscapes and rules for the world. And from that the 5 different currents were born or as they are called The Five Sacred Seas. The oceans are not generally classified by geographically but by their significance behind their names. It’s difficult to determine which of the “Five Seas” is the largest when it’s more of an idea rather than a set-in-stone system when naming their area.The Five Sacred Seas and the concept of it have changed dramatically over the years, and some periods in history were more inclusive than others.

The Glass Sea:

The Glass Sea, got its name from the cold frigid winds that blow from the Northern Pole. And due to these winds they always freeze the upper layer of the sea. Creating a see-through glass effect. But the other reason was because the layer of ice was as delicate as glass if touched it would shatter making the sound of broken glass.

The Silver Sea:

The Silver Sea, got its name from a famous merchant that was order by the Emperor of Leenart to discover new trading routes for the Empire when a plague had hit the Eastern Continent. The merchant had decided to travel to the supposed Western Continent in hopes of opening new trades and minerals, foods, and medicines. And upon his voyage across the ocean. One evening when the two suns where setting. At just the perfect angle the suns fading light hit the ocean creating the most beautiful iridescent silver light display ever witnessed, it was so breath taking that when he returned to the Empire after his long voyage. They named that part of the ocean 'The Silver Sea'.

Sea Of The Lost:

The Sea Of The Lost, got its name for any ship that traverses their will become lost. No compass, no Star navigation, no normal means of navigation can save one from being lost in the misty, treacherous Sea Of The Lost. As such only ships with a priest of Morwen on board can traverse the Sea Of The Lost.

The Sea Of Traitors:

The Sea Of Traitors, got it's name for it is home to the most famous of Pirates. Here Pirates of all walks of life make this part of the ocean their home. There safe haven. As such travelling through here you are bound to come across a pirate ship... or even fleet. So keep your treasure close, and your wives even closer.

The Sea Of Souls:

The Sea Of Souls, gained its name from how if one travels its waters they are bound to see the one's they have lost, people long forgotten to the tides of time. Here the souls of the lost, damned and cursed wonder. For beneath the sea here sits one of the main gates to 'The Shade'.

Lore Of The Mist Of Omens & Its Significance:

The Mist Of Omens was the first grave created for the Fallen Gods from the First Era. Due to their heavy decay, miasma leaked from their bodies which was poisonous to the living. Spreading and creating the mist. And after the Devils corrupted the Fallen Gods divine energy in The Second Era. The Mist Of Omens finally gained its name. It became a place of death, corruption and evil. A forbidden zone that will try to destroy anything living that enters its boundaries. As such it is a place many countries of today send the worst of the worst criminals to pay for their crimes. It is a place of pain and despair. And should be avoided at all costs.

Where was the MC sealed? &... How where they found?

Spoilers.....🤭🤫🤐

[lokiskitten]

Hey! I wanted to make a request to Loki consoling the reader after a bad day or because she was unsure of her body.

(I'm sorry if there is something wrong, I'm Brazilian and I'm using the translator! lol)

Loki Laufeyson | pretty little thing

( Thor 2011 ) Loki x fem!reader

author’s note : hey! I’m pretty sure I can work something out ;) I hope you’ll enjoy it!

plot : you encounter Loki into the great hall after a long day of work, and the boy tries his best to make you feel better about yourself and your body.

warnings : super duper cute baby loki !1!1!1

Fitting into Asgard’s society turned out to be harder than you thought, and that no matter how much efforts you decided to put on display alongside the help of your fellow Asgardian mates. This was a process every single teenager who had grown in Odin’s court had to go through, which was absolutely necessary if you wished to remain part of the king’s close surroundings. But through time, you couldn’t help but start to think that you maybe didn’t belong in this place. Luxury and good manners wasn’t something you were particularly looking forward to, as you had always believed that it was simply too boring for your eccentric self.

As the group was making its way back to the chambers, you jumped on the opportunity in order to discreetly gain the balconies where you knew you’d be able to find a nice moment of rest. The cold air collided with your skin, making your hair fly back at a rather soothing pace. Your elbows reached out for the balcony’s barrier, body leaning against the fence as your eyelids shut close in an attempt to seek for peace. The silence remained extremely enjoyable until a familiar voice smoothly resonated through your ear. Your eyelids opened again, head tilting to the side as your orbs landed onto the familiar silhouette which was Loki’s, one of odin’s sons.

“Seeking for an escape?” He questioned, his body slowly nearing you as if he was afraid that he would accidentally scare you off. His green eyes pierced right into yours, head tilting lightly as he waited for an answer. A smile appeared on your lips, head nodding as you allowed your body to twist towards him. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” You responded before focusing your eyesight onto the beautiful Asgardian horizon again. Just like you, Loki leant against the barrier as his green orbs scanned the landscapes. Though, the usually talkative young man couldn’t help but start conversing again.

“I can sense that something is bothering you.” He notified, head tilting towards your silhouette which he couldn’t cease to admire. A sigh escaped your lips, surprised that a man such as Loki would care about the way you felt. You knew about his reputation, though you had never seemed to figure out why people would make such a big deal out of who he was. To you, he seemed nice and soothing. “It’s nothing really. Just girly bothers.” You explained, which actually made him chuckle. Loki couldn’t help but think that it was ridiculous for you to get upset over such things if it was the case.

“What? It’s true.” You added face to how he wasn’t taking your secretive problems seriously. His brows raised innocently, head shaking from left to right in a denying manner. “I never said it wasn’t.” Loki responded calmly, gentle smile forming onto his lips. “Now, tell me more about it.” The raven haired man added, looking forward to know more about what was bothering you.

Hearing this question, your chest tightened. It had been a while since anyone worried about your mental health, and you obviously didn’t expect Loki to be the one who would do it first. Looking back towards the beautiful horizon on which the sun was setting, you finally managed to empty your chest from your worries. “It’s going to sound stupid, but.. I don’t feel like I’m fitting here. Everyone is so beautiful, so successful, and I can’t help but think that I’m never going to manage to be as a wonderful as them all.” You explained, stomach tightening as you apprehended Loki’s answer.

The young man felt shocked to hear that you both shared the same sorrow, which consisted in fear of failure and sadness face to the fact that you didn’t necessarily fit in. His head nodded, waiting for you to be done talking so that he could add his personal comment to the discussion. “Well.. I’ve seen you in action. I think you look wonderful. Better than most of those people out there.” He responded respectfully, green orbs scanning your face which he had always admired. A chuckle escaped your lips. “Oh come on, you don’t have to say that.” You replied, face turning towards his in order to make eye contact.

Again, Loki’s eyebrows frowned, the man not being able to understand why you doubted him so much. But after second thoughts, he suddenly remembered about the fact that he was classified as the god of mischief. “I’m only speaking the truth. For once.” Loki affirmed, insisting on creating a form of complicity between the two of you. Your smile faded away, soul strangely acknowledging his little move. “Unfortunately it’s going to take more than that.” You ended up responding, looking away and causing Loki’s heart to fill with sorrow and disappointment.

“Let me guess.. you also feel insecure about the way you look?” Loki stated confidently, though remained far from making fun of you for it. Your eyes widened, your entire being wondering how the demigod had managed to guess about your insecurities. “How would you-“ you began, soon being cut off by Loki’s chuckle. “It’s a classic. Teenage girls and their body, you know? Boys feel it too.” He explained wisely, leaning against the fence with the help of one of his elbows as the rest of his body counted onto this support.

Your eyes rolled to the sky, head shaking gently as you tried your best to keep your attitude face to his annoying confidence. Seeing how you had decided to remain silent, Loki jumped on this occasion to talk a little bit further. “I believe your body looks ravishing. I mean, it’s not like I ever got to see it, but if the occasion showed, I’d be more than grateful to give in..” he purred seductively, earning nothing but a stern look coming from you which clearly stood as a negative answer face to his hidden proposition. Awkwardly, the god of mischief nodded his head before turning back towards the horizon. “Alright, got it.” He spoke lowly whilst rubbing his palms together.

I tried! I’m honestly best at smut no cap LMAO. But it’s nice to write about different stuff once in a while. Don’t hesitate to leave a comment or a request! Love y’all💜

[hange-zone]

May I please have some Eremin Hades/Persephone au? With Eren as dread Persephone and Armin as the overworked king of the underworld?

SIX MONTHS IN THE GARDEN OF HADES

i.

In a strange twist of fate, the lord of the underworld was five foot five and had a shock of blond hair. 

“You kidnapped me!” Eren sounded incredulous. He scowled at the person -  barely older than a boy - whose office (realm?) he had just been thrown into. The blond boy, seated at the ornate desk, looked up from his paperwork with a bored expression on his face. Eren stood up, brushing the dirt off his clothes and collected himself, managing to sound incredibly composed despite having just fallen through a crack in the earth and tumbled right down to hades. “That’s so wrong. Wait till my sister finds out - you’ll be dead.”

That sounded like a threat, but it struck Armin as terribly ironic. He laughed. “I’ll look forward to it.”

If looks could kill he guessed that the glare that the other boy had shot him might have actually struck him dead, but he was the god of the underworld and of the dead and honestly? Trifle things like that didn’t matter. 

So he dismissed the glowering boy with a flick of his wrist and went back to poring over his spreadsheets.

 ii.

When they next meet Eren’s hands were sticky and he wished very hard that he could cough out his last meal. 

Armin glanced up at him, then back to his work. “I’m guessing you had some of the fruits from my garden?”

“I was hungry,” Eren protested. “You don’t even have -”

“Six months.” Armin interrupted. He didn’t look up, still scribbling as his eyes scanned over the reports and administrative data. Why do people keep dying? he wondered, briefly, before turning his attention back to the boy before him. “You don’t even need food. But you’ve eaten them,  you do the time, that’s just how it works, et cetera. Besides, didn’t anyone ever warn you?”

“Fuck you,” Eren replied.

 iii.

Wandering around the palace grounds, which were not entirely to his liking, being all dark marble and jagged rock - as well as gaudy displays of gemstones and glittering metal that made his eyes hurt - Eren found himself settling by the shallow pool and watching his reflection in the black water. 

It seems like a cruel trick, to make the earth open up and take him here and then just...leave him alone? What was Hades even thinking? And why was he a lanky teenage boy? That was possibly more confusing. 

Suddenly, a mop of blond hair appeared behind him. He jumped. “You scared the shit out of me,” he said accusatorially to the figure, frowning.

“Sorry,” Armin offered. Up close he looked far less intimidating - beneath the grand robes his shoulders were rounded and he was skinny and rather small. His clothes seemed to overwhelm him. His wide blue eyes were deep-set and there were tired, dark circles against the pale flesh of his face.  He drew in a long breath and sighed. Eren noticed that he was biting his dry lips nervously. 

“Walk with me?” the lord of the underworld asked. Despite himself, Eren obliged, nodding slowly and letting the boy help him to his feet. 

They made their way through the sprawling grounds in silence, trodding through the soft earth. They walked past abandoned gazebos with doric columns, round a winding path with dead and rotting trees and grey leaves which crunched underfoot, away from the black obsidian building which loomed across everything in the landscape. The dead fluttered around them. 

Eventually they came to a pier. Armin leant against the railings, gaze fixed on the river. The water was dark as it rushed and churned underneath them.  Eren watched him for a second then looked away. Off in the distance he could see the glowing lights of Elysium. 

Slowly, haltingly, the other boy began to speak.

“Sorry about…” Armin trailed off. “It was stupid. I should have just asked - we could be friends properly. But now - it’s the seeds, you see. Six of them, six months. We're bound by precedent, unfortunately.”

Ah, there it was again. Who knew the god of the dead was such a stickler for rules?

And then he was off again, turning away and moving through his realm. Eren followed, and they walked on in silence. Eren looked upon the craggy rock and trampled flowerbeds and the overgrown hedges on the edges of the estate, and frowned.

“Your palace sucks,” he blurted out, characteristically blunt. 

It was Armin’s turn to be startled. In fact, he looked positively scandalised. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve got like, all the gold and precious metals and stuff but it’s just too much,” Eren supplied. 

A pause.

“Also the palace looks evil and the gardens are dead,” he added.

Armin opened his mouth to object but closed it again. 

Eren, ever the opportunist, quickly followed up: “I’ll forgive you - and your terrible taste - if you let me just have the garden,” he said, gesturing around meaningfully. “By the time summer comes I’ll have it all fixed up.” 

Armin dithered, but picked up the pace, widening his strides. 

“You owe me,” Eren pressed breathlessly, running to catch up. “You were the one who started it.”

Armin seemed suitably chastened. “Fine,” he huffed out. 

Eren couldn’t help but smile to himself, even as he was careful not to let the boy see. 

It was getting late - a mist had descended upon the land and it was beginning to get cold. Eren found himself shivering in his thin clothes, goosebumps creeping across the length of his arms. Armin must have noticed, because he pretended to stifle a yawn and said, “We should get back.”

And then, before he could protest, the lord of the underworld - Hades himself - draped his thick coat across his shoulders, and was already ahead of him, bare shoulders stark against the night as he turned on his heel and moved briskly in the direction of the ugly, evil palace. Eren clutched at the velvet that clung to him. It was surprisingly warm against his skin.

It became a routine of sorts, walks in the morning and at night, bookending their days. On one nighttime walk, when the precious stones embedded in the cave’s ceiling had glinted like stars, he’d strayed too close to the blond boy and the backs of their hands had brushed. His heart had skipped a beat, but the other boy didn’t seem to notice, or even if he did, he didn’t say anything. And anyway, they’d gone back to their separate chambers as usual - Eren right to bed and Armin back to his office.

 iv.

They’d just finished their morning walk, which had led back to the mess of the office, when another one of the servants had unceremoniously dumped yet another pile of papers on Armin’s desk. Eren could see the veins starting to stand out on his forehead, the thick pulsing blue under his pale, luminous skin, before he buried his face in his hands and sighed loudly. 

“It’s clearly stressing you out,” Eren said, perched on the corner of the desk. “Here, let me,” he reached for the sheet right on top, marked ‘URGENT’, and for once Armin didn’t try to stop him. 

“It’s the review cases,” Armin groaned into his palms. His voice was muffled but indignant. “I’m really not convinced we should change their sentences every thousand years, but since they’ve developed the constitution and instituted rights there’s apparently no such thing as eternal fate anymore.”

“This one?” Eren pulled open a scroll, scanning it. “Another king. Oh - this guy’s seriously fucked up. Cooking his kids?”

“Yeah - which is why I thought it’d be poetic justice to have the whole ‘water he cannot drink’, ‘food he cannot touch’ schtick. But apparently he’s shown some potential for reformation so that’s now out of the window. As are cruel and unusual punishments.” Armin groaned again and let his head flop to the side, blond strands shifting about the jet black table. His cheeks were pressed onto the countertop and it was almost comical, Eren thought - and in fact, deeply humanising, watching Hades moan about his job and suffer from overwork. He felt a pang of feeling - something - for the small blond boy, caught up with the entire mess of processing souls in the afterlife. 

And so it might have out of a fit of compassion that he dropped Tantalus’ file, letting it flutter to the floor, and came up behind Armin to rest his hands on his tense shoulders. And it was probably out of a swell of sympathy then that he let himself press his thumbs firmly right into the space between Armin’s shoulder blades, fingers splayed out across his narrow back and warm neck. Working at the tense knots, until he felt the other boy relax into him. 

 v.

It was the tail end of winter, while a blizzard tore across the surface of the earth and frost marked the ground, when Armin had summoned him for dinner. This was something new; he had made no mention of food - much less a meal - before, except for the second encounter where he’d pronounced Eren’s fate. Besides, he was right: they didn’t exactly need to eat, though Eren supposed he’d appreciate a good dinner if it were offered to him. And Armin had explained that the rest of the food wasn’t binding, so he also supposed it wouldn’t hurt to see what fruits of the earth the underworld could offer.

As the door to the dining hall swung open he was greeted with an opulent sight. His let his eyes scan over the candlelit room with its long table piled high with more food than he’d seen in his life. There was a literal cornucopia as the centrepiece. Armin was at one end, waiting expectantly. His head was resting casually against his fist, blond locks soft against his features. For once he was without paperwork, the entirety of his attention focused on the boy who had entered the room. 

“Is this a date,” Eren said, voice rising, but not quite a question. 

Armin shrugged noncommittally. “Your time here’s nearly done. It’s been five months - I thought we should commemorate it.” His voice was even, but in the dimly-lit room it would have been impossible to tell if he were blushing anyway.

“Soppy,” Eren said, under his breath, but he let the servants offer him a chair and settled into it, hands already curling around the outermost set of cutlery before him.

After a full dinner of winter vegetables and hearty stews - plus much, much dessert - they retired to the drawing-room, warming themselves by the glow of the crackling fireplace.  Eren had shifted himself to the floor and was slumped against the legs of his chair, while Armin sat in a big armchair, leaning right into the cushions. Cerberus lay between them, heads resting on Eren’s lap and tail wagging lazily across the carpeted floor. He let his hands brush over the dog’s smooth coat and scratched him behind his many ears. He looked up and realised Armin was watching him quietly. The soft light danced across his features and his blond hair was like a golden halo. He looked the furthest thing from an imposing god, the lord of the dead. In the orange light he just was: a slender boy, almost-man, with bony knees and silky hair, large eyes heavy-lidded and half-closed. Body relaxing into his seat, basking in the warmth of the fire and filled with a good meal, enjoying the moment and the presence of someone else.

Armin caught his gaze. “Thank you for today, Eren,” he said softly. 

Eren scoffed. “Sentimental bastard,” he whispered, and by the firelight, he swore Armin’s blue eyes had crinkled at the corners and his round mouth had curled into a slow, soft smile. 

 vi.

The plants that Eren had carefully, lovingly sown were coming to fruit, putting out rosy apples and dark velvet figs. They hung low on bended branches like teardrops and had to be harvested quickly before they turned soft and overripe. Eren was spending longer days in the garden which he’d carved out for himself, tending to his crops and reaping the bountiful harvest which he piled around him: lush and speckled gourds, bright fuchsia pomegranates, waxy yellow lemons, tender red berries and grapes in frosted hues, which all lay languidly in wooden crates waiting to be savoured. His favourite were the peaches, which were round and ripe in his hands and whose blush matched the pink in his cheeks as he worked tirelessly at the land. And of course he had a soft spot for the grain in its multitude of forms. The long stalks tickled his face and he brushed them away absentmindedly, even as his hands worked to pick the tiny seeds from their dried heads and shuck the full ears of corn that filled the rustling fields around the obsidian castle.

He was digging up the jewel-toned carrots when Armin found him. He had rested a foot on his worn shovel, pressing it into the soft earth, and had paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. From the corner of his eye he spotted a blond figure approaching the edge of the plot, black robes rustling against the freshly tilled dirt. 

Armin slowly made his way up to him. He’d grown, somewhat, in their time together, but he was still small and lithe and he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly as he spoke:

“Um. Today’s the day. You can leave if you want. I mean…it’s been half a year, hasn’t it?”

Eren watched as he shifted his weight from left to right, and then back again. He’d been thinking about this a lot. They both had. And he had decided. So he merely laughed, turning slowly to wipe his hands on his slacks. He reached for the fruit piled high around them. The ripe pomegranate bruised easily under his fingers as he twisted it open.

And its juice was warm and sweet, trickling down his mouth and lips, as he bit into the soft flesh of its ruby red insides and swallowed its seeds. 

--

here you go, anon! you've asked and i've tried my best to deliver. this was tremendously fun to do so thanks for it:") i’ve put it on ao3 where i might tinker a bit more with it...so watch that space. 

and please feel free to ask more :”)

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from "Chapter One: A World of Darkness" in Changeling: The Dreaming (20th anniversary edition)

Dreamers are taught that they won’t amount to much, that their creativity is a pale imitation of what came before.

Well-meaning, or envious, parents and friends consistently suppress talent in their loved ones, secure in the knowledge that they’re saving them from a huge mistake.

Repeated altercations eviscerate creativity until all that remains is overwhelming self-doubt and insecurity.

Every day is a struggle.

It’s not that they don’t care, they are just unable to grasp circumstances beyond their own social circle.

It’s not that they don’t care, they are just unable to grasp circumstances beyond their own social circle.

Old legends define a changeling as the offspring of mortals and faeries, or a faerie child switched out for a human one.

Ancient curses affect entire landscapes, monsters hide in withered forests, roads made of stardust allows travelers to visit vistas hidden among clouds, and ancient dragons and bygone beasts still roam the skies.

In order to survive this onslaught on their very essence, the fae turned to an ancient ritual which locked their immortal souls in human bodies.

The child talking to her teddy is, in fact, discussing courtly politics with her chimerical bear companion.

The most common means of learning about the past, then, is through the traditional art of storytelling.

Despite the thrill and excitement of hearing legends brought to life by storytellers, academic history is an extremely important factor in the pursuit of lost faerie knowledge, turning myth into truth.

Ancient texts are written in several, often pictographic, faerie languages, and quite often the words seemingly come alive, constantly realigning, rotating, and shifting locations to avoid being decoded.

Even when enough common denominators exist for a decent decoding, the end results often cause further questions, rather than providing answers.

Events become history. History becomes legends. Legends become myths, and myths are forgotten.

Religions told mortals to worship new gods and to turn away from old traditions and rules.

As scientific methods began to explain what mortals previously considered magic, the common folk took to the church’s teachings, foreswearing their old ways in exchange for salvation and a steadfast faith on which to cling in the darkest days.

On July 20, 1969, humanity witnessed the moon landing live on television, and all of the hope, fear, and wonder of the previous decade burst forth.

Mortal witnesses describe friends or family collapsing for a brief moment, then rising, confused for a short time, but brimming with confidence and an aura of regal quality.

However, no matter the chosen human body, they all belonged to someone wealthy and influential, or were members of highly-valued and powerful families in society.

Despite conflicts, both parties openly declared their intent to find peaceful solutions, regardless of acts of violence intended to derail such hopes.

However, this decree didn’t prevent individual members of the houses to cast their allegiance with the side for which they felt an affinity.

The time for discussions ended with blood on the walls, and only war remained.

Theirs was a passionate, whirlwind romance, but one that ended in tragedy.

Without warning, the sky seemingly ripped open and, to those with faerie sight, a red sun appeared, bathing the world in a sinister scarlet light reminiscent of blood.

Behold! Your true king returns!

Better a nightmare than dreamless sleep

Nonetheless, the nobility is not immune to the changes in the world.

No matter how well hidden, however, the child’s true nature marks her as different.

It may start small, with a mortal witnessing strange occurrences no one else sees.

Those that are found are the lucky ones.

The term fosterage comes from the medieval practice, where nobles would take on the children of another family to cement alliances or to build connections between noble children for the next generation.

She will take the lessons from her mentor forward, spending the rest of her days honing what she has learned.

Banality seeks to explain away the fantastic and categorize, empiricize, contain, and render mundane anything outside of the scope of accepted mortal understanding.

This process doesn’t happen all at once.

Many legends and epic stories came from the search for extended life, with outcomes ranging from sad hilarity to outright horror.

Legends speak about treasures that can extend youth or grant immortality once more, like the fabled Fountain of Youth, but so far none have been recovered.

The adventure might be worth it, though.

It is a place woven into the fabric of the mortal world, hidden behind and without, though its magic and influence can affect the physical world and those that live in it.

The land responds to the thoughts and deeds of the creatures that live there and adapts to their every whim.

The shifting landscape is so unpredictable as to throw off any seasoned traveler.

Only a few trods lead to this wholly unpredictable and constantly-shifting landscape.

The space is influenced by the strong dreams of mortals and the expression of powerful mortal feelings and creativity.

They held nothing but hatred and contempt for one another.

History has taught them through many a hard-earned lesson that they are able to accomplish these tasks much more effectively when they work together than when they’re at each other’s throats.

The pageantry and rituals serve as thread that runs through the ages, tying the generations together.

Their customs and lore serve as the glue that binds each individual to one another.

Everyone, from the lofty noble on his throne to the lowly chambermaid, has their duties in a well-organized society.

Without everyone working together, doing what’s expected of them, society would not be able to support itself.

Even a lifetime of tragedy and loss has its own poignancy.

The act of creation holds an inherent beauty.

Each new work of art, new performance, and new thought is a unique manifestation of creativity undreamed of in the world before.

Beauty must be preserved because it is the basis for all life.

Society cannot operate effectively without an inherent fairness.

A favor is always paid back with a reciprocating favor.

An object or service given is returned with something of equal value.

Loyalty deserves fidelity, and acrimony deserves hatred.

The self comes from within. It is the basis of being, granting the ability to reason, to question, to strive for improvement.

To know oneself is to make life worth living.

Identity requires freedom — the freedom to buck trends, to say no, and to try new things.

The only things that remain eternally unchanged are those that are dead.

The alternative is nothing but stasis.

Even at its most benign, stagnation leaves people woefully unprepared when everything they know eventually gets upended.

Once outside rewards are involved, whether tangible or simply accolades, the concept of honor twists people, making them do monstrous things.

Honor is nothing more than an ugly little lie told by tyrants designed to keep their slaves docile and obedient.

No one can follow his dream when an overlord is standing above him, micromanaging his life.

Everyone has responsibilities, but if given the freedom to be themselves, people will find ways to do the necessary things in their own way that doesn’t prevent them from doing the things that make life worth living.

Pranks were played, sometimes in jest and at other times scathing, at the expense of those in power.

A merry time was had by all while allowing the disenfranchised a chance to air grievances and have an outlet for their frustrations.

Their only goal is to force a response from those capable of alleviating some of the suffering.

To fit in as part of the mundane world they became traveling circuses, freak shows, or other transient groups.

Those of higher rank are respected by those of lower rank and are also expected to meet their obligations to the less fortunate.

Many nobles see their main business to be that of gaining — or retaining — power.

Alliances may shift between the nobles and circumstances may change, but all try to expand their holdings and rise higher up the social ladder.

Something has to give.

A noble expects obedience from his vassals and respect from all others. In return, the noble respects those superior to him.

Whether they like it or not, the nobility has had to concede that modern ideas of democracy and popular rule are realities now.

Still, most nobles rule through force, cunning, personal magnetism, and custom.

They must never reveal their true natures to humanity.

Some battles are fought to first blood.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Of All the Places

Chapter 2

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: It’s a new day and Loki meets the rest of your family. He begins to formulate a plan, but it’s derailed by your hospitality before it can even begin. Chapter Warnings: none A/N: Alright, here we go. Chapter 2! Let me know what you think, and if anyone has any predictions they’d like to share, I would love to hear! Updates every Friday. Enjoy :) P.S. It���s spooky season! That has absolutely nothing to do with this fic, but it’s one of my favorite times of year

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiantfavs​

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki woke up feeling a lot more alert than he had the previous day. After convincing you that he had amnesia, he spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of slumber, assisting his rapidly healing body get better even faster. He got out of the bed and stretched his aching muscles before scanning the room with fresh eyes. It was even more bare than he had originally realized, but he could tell from patches of less faded paint and wood that there was a time when it wasn’t so sparsely decorated. He flipped a switch by the entrance and the lights came on, sending a surge of panic through him that had him running over to the TV. He let out a sigh of relief when it still did’t work. Though, perhaps that was just because he was so terrible at using Midgardian technology. He stilled for a second and heard a faint mechanical hum easily identified as a generator. The cable would be back sooner rather than later, he was sure, but from looking out the bedroom’s single window, Loki knew he was in the middle of nowhere and that the internet connection was probably spotty at best. With any luck, he would be fully healed in the next few hours and could take his leave.

As he worked on massaging out the remaining dull ache in his body, Loki’s eyes finally landed on a bright pink piece of paper left atop a pile of clothes. His eyes skipped to the bottom where the signature was and, seeing that it bore your name, he went back up to the top to read it. He tugged off his sweaty, bloody clothes and pulled on the ones you’d written were left for him. The material of the shirt was soft enough, but the sweatpants were dreadfully baggy for someone who preferred form-fitting clothes that displayed his physique. Certainly, though, you’d been thinking of the comfort level of what you believed to be a very injured mortal, so he tried to remain thankful. Loki folded up his old clothes and left them in the spot where his new ones had been moments ago.

Back at the window, Loki was once again trying to determine precisely where he was. Besides the landscape, your voice and that of your father’s provided some clues to the most likely locations. He still had to be in North America, he was sure, and though he suspected it was the United States, there wasn’t anything confirming it at the moment. Your father did have a slight twang to his voice, though, so it supported his theory that he was probably in one of the southern states. Other than that, all Loki could determine was that this was a farm; a nice remote farm where he could hide from his oaf of a brother and his new overly heroic friends.

Loki called out to the Tesseract, and it appeared in his hands. Such power for such a tiny object, he thought as he turned it over in his hand. The last time it rested in his palm, he’d not fully been himself. Even so much as looking at it made him feel a little queasy now as he thought of all the crimes he’d committed with it. For it. But when his life is on the line, Loki had learned, there is very little he’d not do to save himself. It was one similarity he shared with mortals that he’d rather not. It was also one of the few he’d actually admit were there. But, no, some mortals were righteous beings. He knew that, but had trouble separating those of a higher caliber from the rest of the species. He wondered what kind of mortal you were, before being pulled out of his musings by a delicious aroma. He debated for a minute before once again tucking the Tesseract away in its dimensional pocket and heading out of the room, down the stairs, towards the amazing scent coming from a lower floor.

“Not a thing,” he heard your voice ring out as he got closer.

“Or so he says,” responded an unfamiliar female voice.

When he rounded the corner he saw it belonged to a woman that must be your mother, or else your older doppelgänger because of how alike the two of you looked. Your dispositions, though, could not have been more different. The first person to notice him lurking half-in, half-out of the room was a small boy who pointed at him.

“New friend!” he cheered. “New friend!”

Such innocence as Loki had never known continuously amazed him. He feared he could be dangerous for this child, but he would be gone so soon that he wouldn’t even be a blip in the boy’s memory.

“I would very much like to be your friend, indeed,” Loki said, crouching down to the boy’s height as he toddled over. The adults in the room all shot each other glances, but no one moved to do anything. “And what might your name be?”

“I’m Matt. And I’m this many,” the child responded, proudly holding up four fingers.

“A pleasure to meet you, Matt. My name is Loki.”

“How many are you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, far too many to count on fingers, little one. In fact, I am 1,047 years old,” he said, realizing that it would probably just be seen as a joke to amuse the boy, rather than a fact.

He laughed at Loki’s statement, but before he could reply, a woman that was presumably his mom called him over. “Don’t bother our guest right now, Matt. He’s still recovering,” she scolded.

“I assure you, it is completely fine, Mrs...?”

“Johnson. But, please, feel free to call me Ana. And this is my husband, John.”

“Glad to make your acquaintance,” Loki charismatically said, though on the inside he was laughing at the name “John Johnson.” These mortals and their foolish names. “And I do believe we already met,” he added, turning to you.

“Yes, we did. You were so out of it I wasn’t quite sure you remembered. This is Mama,” you said, gesturing to the woman who Loki had correctly identified as your mother.

“Hello,” she drawled, fixing the god with an icy stare.

“Papa, did you hear? Loki’s awake,” you told the man walking out of the kitchen with a plate of light brown disks stacked high.

“Glad you’re up, son. Just in time for pancakes, too,” he said, immediately diffusing the tension brewing between Loki and Mama. “Come on, plop yourself down on a seat over here. You must be pooped, and I promise we don’t bite.”

Loki sauntered over to the chair Papa had gestured to and sat down. Feeling a fuzzy mass moving between his sprawled legs, he peered down and saw a grey-brown cat under the table. He’d never been one for pets, but the soft fur was comforting to his weary soul.

“Taffy,” you tsked at the feline before looking back up at Loki with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I hope you’re not allergic.”

“Do not worry, I am not. At least,” he added, remembering his lie from the day prior, “I do not remember that I am.”

Loki appraised your charming family in your quaint farmhouse, almost feeling bad to intrude. Though, he reminded himself, he’d be out of your hair before you knew it. Papa was the only one happily chattering on about this year’s harvest, oblivious to the tension at the table, or else ignoring it. The God of Mischief refocused on the plan he’d created this morning; he needed answers. You were seated beside him and, besides your father and nephew, the only one who didn’t seem wary of him. And you were really the only viable option as Loki didn’t want to get sucked into a conversation about the wheat crop with your father, and Matt was at the age where he was only vaguely aware he was on planet Earth.

“If you do not mind,” he started, turning to you, “I have a few questions.”

“Of course you do. Sorry, I’m such an idiot,” you said smacking your forehead. “Please, ask away.”

The way you immediately seemed to blame and degrade yourself reminded Loki of himself. The difference, however, was that you did it aloud while Loki kept it bottled up. Whose way was better, he didn’t know. Perhaps neither was really good.

“It is quite alright,” he reassured you. “To begin, where exactly are we?”

Apparently it was some hole in the wall in Oklahoma, so Loki had been fairly correct in his middle of nowhere assessment. Apparently, you weren’t outrageously far from Oklahoma City, though Loki felt it best he avoid cities for a little bit. The nearby town that your farm was technically a part of was a very close knit community, so you knew that wasn’t where he was from.

“I see,” he said, planning his next move. “And that is how far from New York?”

“Far. Why? Is that where you’re from?” you asked, getting excited for Loki that he might already be getting his memory back.

“I am not sure,” Loki lied. “I just seem to think that is where I was headed. Or coming from.”

“Maybe you were at some kind of convention,” John offered, tuning in to the conversation. “Aren’t those a big thing in New York City?”

“It would sure explain the clothes!” Papa added.

“Great. Let’s send him back there,” Mama said, already standing up like she intended to drive him there right at the moment.

“Mama,” you harshly whispered, hating how unwelcoming she was being.

“Maybe he was on vacation from England. He does have an accent,” Ana chimed in, hoping to prevent a fight.

“I am afraid that I do not remember,” Loki muttered.

He was thankful no one was even concerned about how he arrived here. There was something else, too. He was feeling uncharacteristically ashamed because of how helpful you all were being. Well, most of you were being, anyway. He reminded himself again that he would be gone within the hour.

“It’s ok,” you soothed. “Like I said yesterday, you can stay here for as long as you need. In fact, I insist that you do.”

“I... Thank you.”

Loki still planned to leave rather quickly, but the kind look in your eyes compelled him to stay for a little while longer. After all, it couldn’t hurt to think about his next move a bit more. If he were to use the Tesseract again, Heimdall would surely notice. So, he’d lie low for a while and then get off this accursed planet.

“Well if he’s going to be staying here, he better help out some,” Mama grumbled. “I won’t have any freeloaders on my farm.”

“Now now, honey,” Papa said, patting her hand. “He’s still injured, after all.”

“On the contrary, I would happy to help,” Loki interjected, shooting a charming smile at Mama. “I am feeling much better now.”

“See, Earl,” Mama said triumphantly. “He’s fine.”

Everyone else tried to fight on Loki’s behalf but, between him and Mama, it was a losing battle. Eventually, it was time to clean up from breakfast, and you took him away from the clattering of empty dishes to find him so work clothes. The trickster god got a much better look at the rest of the house while you led him higher and higher until you reached the attic. You hesitated a second before opening a box labeled “James’s Clothes.” As you gently picked up the shirt on top, Loki peered over your shoulder wondering who this stuff belonged to.

“My brother’s,” you began before he could ask, sensing the question on his tongue. “We were going to donate them anyway, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter. And don’t worry, I’ll talk to Mama before she sees you. I’d give you some of John’s things, or Papa’s even, but you know.”

Indeed, Loki did know. Though he was roughly the same height as both the men, he was much leaner than they were. Unfortunately, that was about the only thing he understood. Your little distracted speech left him with even more questions than before, but something in him was screaming not to push you, to think of someone else for once. So, all he said was thank you. After a quick pit stop in the room from the night before to change into the bundle of clothes you’d given him, Loki made his way back downstairs where yet another argument was taking place. He was certain that his arrival was causing more tension than normal. His mind briefly flitted to his own family. It all seemed so picturesque, once, but that time was long gone. His mother—or Queen Frigga, as he supposed he should start calling her—never changed. She was as kind and gentle as ever, yet still possessed this refined regality and power. In other words, she was the complete opposite of Mama, who turned on her heel and made a disgruntled sigh as she exited when Loki appeared.

“There ya are, son,” Papa greeted once she was gone. “We had an idea while you were up there. We should make you up a missing person ad. I’m sure someone’s bound to know who you are.”

There was that sickeningly Thor-esque optimism in Papa’s voice. Not to mention the nickname “son” which, for someone like Loki at least, was one of the worst thing he could be called. He did his best not to grimace.  

“No thank you,” he replied, before continuing at the behest of your confused looks. “I certainly would not want to put you out any more than I already have.”

“Nonsense. We just gotta find the camera,” Papa said, already moving past him.

Loki just sighed, deciding he’d find a way to stall later. When he finally looked back at you, your hands were clasped behind your back and you were nervously shifting your weight.

“In the meantime,” Loki began, picking up where he left off with your father, “why not show me what I may help with?”

You took him out to the chicken coop and taught him how to collect eggs. He supposed it made sense this was the task left for him considering you all still thought he was a fragile human. As you taught him, you prattled on about your life and your family. You mentioned how Mama met Papa, and how your sister met John, but nothing about your brother. Loki was on the verge of asking, but he didn’t want to make his time with you awkward. Even more than that, he didn’t want it to seem like he cared. No need to cause any extra pain when he inevitably left, right? Though your glittering eyes and stunning smile were working overtime to convince him otherwise.

“That’s all there is to it,” you said, finishing up your tutorial. “Any questions?”

“None at all. You are an excellent teacher.”

You two shared a laugh, and Loki was shocked by how easily conversation was flowing. Though, he let you do most of the talking, lest he reveal something that does not align with the rest of his story. All too soon, you had to leave to take care of your other chores. For a second, Loki felt as if he missed you already, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his mind and focused on the task at hand. Just a week, he repeated in his mind as he gently placed eggs in the basket you’d given him. Just a week.

As he approached the farmhouse, he noticed a thick newspaper on the long driveway. He went over to examine it and, sure enough, he’d made the headlines. No clear photos of him attached, luckily, but the clothes were distinctive enough that you would recognize him for sure. Loki looked side to side before performing a quick spell to get rid of the paper. He headed back over to the house before anyone could notice him, ignoring the annoyingly persistent guilt bubbling within him.

“Just a week,” he muttered to himself again as he neared where you were on the front porch. “Just a week.”

But deep down, he already knew it would be much longer than that.

[eat0crow]

Not So Dead

Summary: Kakashi’s regretted a lot of things in his life. More than he can ever hope to put a number on. He never imagined not being more philosophical would make its way onto the list.

Notes: Written for @amusl02 as part of the @akatsuki-gift-exchange. I”m so sorry this is late!

You siad you wanted angst so I tried to be emo about it :D

_____

Kakashi’s never cared enough to worry about whatever bastardization of the afterlife his soul would end up in.

Most shinobi’s don’t as a general rule. How can they when they stain their hands with enough blood to fill hundreds of small basins for a paycheck? Sure, there’s a few like the Hyuga and the Uchiha, whose clan lore glamorizes battle so much they have a clear picture of their soul’s destination. But the general population of nins are more than happy with understanding that wherever their souls go...it can’t be anywhere good, and leaving it at that.

Avoiding the afterlife is a much more pressing, present, concern.

But fuck if the information wouldn’t come in handy right about now. He’s regretted a lot of things in his life. More than he can ever hope to put a number on. He never imagined not being more philosophical would make its way onto the list.

He should have listened to Sasuke when he’d had been explaining, in excruciating detail, to Naruto and Sakura just where the departed go, last night when they set up camp. He would have, but the temptation to remind Sasuke that technically, he was oversharing clan secrets, had been at the tip of his tongue and—

Seeing Sasuke start to open up, even if it was over something morose like death, with progress that was downright groundbreaking for him, kept Kakashi from saying anything. He’d never heard the boy talk even a third as much. So what was the harm in him giving away lore.

Sasuke is the clan, it’s his right to decide what gets guarded fiercely and what gets given away freely.

Tuning the kids conversation out, while immediately satisfying, evidently, had been a mistake. Because Kakashi has no fucking clue where he is. Probably not hell? He feels like his soul would be a lot more tormented than it is right now, if it was. Definity not heaven. Not ever heaven. Not after Rin. Or Obito. Or Kushina. Or Minato. Or—

All he knows for a fact is that he isn’t alive anymore. He can’t be. And it’s not the darkness that’s telling him that, not the nothingness or the weightlessness or the cold that seeps into his bones and bites at him harder than the chakra exhaustion that knocked him out had.

No, it’s none of that.

No.

It’s Obito that lets him know that he’s no longer part of the world of the living.

Obito, who’s older than he was the last time Kakashi saw him, who’s his age, which makes sense and doesn’t at the same time. Death, he supposes, gets to make its own set of rules. Whatever they are, aren’t nearly as important as the fact that Obito is here.

Not as the boy Kakashi remembers, who’d been sunshine and summer, warm smiles and endless hope. Or even as any of the variants he’s spent years creating as the answers to half his ‘what ifs’.

No, he’s here and all hard edges. Mangled and torn and cold and so much more beautiful in that he exists. That he’s in front of him. Kakashi has missed him, more with every precious person he’s lost, and the longer he’s lived. Seeing him with his arms crossed, with an orange, swirled mask dangling from his side that screams Naruto, is like stepping back in time. He feels like a genin. Albeit one with slightly more trauma, not to say he didn't already have his fair share than.

The glare on his face is like none of the expressions Kakashi can remember from his friend, but exactly what he always imagined when thinking about them meeting again in the next life. It causes a weird sense of validation to flood him. How could any of the people Kakashi failed possibly do anything but hate him?

Saving Kakashi was the last thing Obito had done, and for what? Him to turn around and kill Rin? For him to shove his hand through her chest and carve out her heart with lightning? Obito loved Rin, in every way he couldn’t. Didn’t want to, for that matter. Kakashi was happy to let her love him, if it meant she was happy and stayed in his life. Existing in her life, being her friend, was enough—all he was capable of.

Rin, was a butterfly. She was always destined to outgrow him once she found someone who loved her back, in the way she wanted and not just in the ways he could manage. She deserved to. Rin was amazing and wonderful and worth so much more than team seven.

He’d have been more than happy to let her fly away, if fate hadn’t been a bitch that decided thirteen was old enough for her to die.

“Bakakashi.” There’s a warning in Obito’s voice, his eyes are murderous, and it goes against every single one of Kakashi’s instincts to stay where he is. Not that he thinks he can move much. Apparently dying doesn’t come with a healing session, he still has all his injuries, and he feels just as drained as he did in Wave.

“Obito,” he finally says, he’s doing nothing to disguise any of the complicated knot of emotion that’s had more than a decade to tangle up from his voice. Maybe Obito will hear it and be able to understand them more than Kakashi himself does.

All he knows is that he’s feeling something.

Whether it’s a good something remains to be seen.

Though, he doubts that he can be part of any something that’s good.

Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke, they’re proof of that. He’d worried so much about them getting to keep their childhoods, he hadn’t actually prepared them for the reality of shinobi life. Despite team 7’s history of cursed C ranks, he’d let them take this mission with nothing more than academy skills and D ranks under their belts. Fuck.

And now he’d gone and died on them. He’d left them behind in the middle of Wave with no one.

Desperately, he hopes they have the common sense to terminate their mission and return to the village.

Realistically he very much doubts they do.

“Pay attention to me, God damn it,” Obito hisses at him, voice sharp-edged and dripping with venom. He’s standing at Kakashi’s feet, kunai angled toward his throat. When did he get there? It’s hard to focus in wherever the fuck they are. “I guess some things never change, huh?”

“That’s not true,” he answers, he can’t stop himself. It’s Obito. No amount of post mortem introspection is going to prevent him from being at least a little bit of a bastard to him. “I’m taller than you now.”

Obito’s breath catches. He freezes, goes impossibly still, his fingers curling around the hilt of his knife so tightly his arm shakes. “You don’t get it, do you?” That’s not his angry tone. No, Obito's beyond that. This is his furious one. The one Kakashi never actually heard but always assumed he had. “Unbelievable. Fifteen years. After fifteen fucking years, here I am, a living corpse standing over you with a knife to your god damned throat and you still won’t take me seriously.”

“That’s not true,” Kakashi says, only, his words come out thick, slurred together around his tongue and the black spots thickening in his vision. “I always pay attention to you.”

How could he not?

Above him, Obito looks seconds away from dismembering him. He says...something. All Kakashi can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. Whatever cutting remark that Obito has to say—that Kakashi deserves to hear—is lost over the sound of his breathing.

He doesn’t want to pass out. Not when he’s just gotten Obito back and there’s a good chance he’ll wake up somewhere else, alone. He doesn’t know how this whole afterlife thing works. He’s terrified that if he closes his eyes, he won’t have the chance to find out.

It doesn’t seem to be up to him, though. The darkness keeps slipping into his vision, the cotton clouding his brain getting thicker with every second he forces himself to stay conscious.

The last thing he sees before he's swept away in the waves of chakra exhaustion is Obito’s face, hovering inches from his own with something that might have been concern flashing across it.

Kakashi’s next return to the land of the not so living (purgatory?), is a bit easier. There’s less of the bone-deep cold from before and more of the floating sensation. Like he’s stuck somewhere with just enough gravity to keep him steady in one place. He doesn’t hurt as badly, the only aches he feels are the ones he’s always had. It would be stranger for him to wake up with them gone, so he counts himself fully healed.

He pushes himself up into a sitting position, his muscles stiff and protesting even with the simple movement. His side is tender, but, considering Kakashi remembers his ribs being broken by that fucking overgrown sword, it’s nothing more than an inconvenience.

“It’s not the same if you roll over and die,” a quiet voice says, off to his left. Kakashi blinks, his mask is gone, so is his hitai-ate. All he can do is run his hands over his face and blink the last bits of sleep from his vision. Obito’s breath doesn’t catch when he turns to look at him, which makes sense, assuming he was the one to take his mask off in the first place. And really, who else is there to do it? “I have to be the one to kill you.”

“Sorry,” he manages after what feels like a small eternity. His brain hasn’t caught up with his tongue just yet. “You can. If you want to.”

Keeping his shoulders intentionally relaxed, his movements loose and lazy in a way that takes effort, Kakashi reaches toward his thigh, grabbing the tanto still strapped there. For a moment he weights the blade in his hand. It's standard issue, the same one given out to all jounin. Nothing remarkable about it.

Handle out, he offers it up to Obito.

And Obito stares, for a long endless moment that stretches into the next. Around them the landscape echoes the tension in his shoulders, the dark grey nothing rising up into jagged peaks, sharpening with every fraction of tension that makes its way into his frame. “Just like that. After everything, you’re not going to fight back?”

“I would,” Kakashi says, looking away first. “If it was anyone else.”

“Then why?” Obito asks, searching.

Kakashi cuts him off before he can continue. “Because you deserve to. Obito, I’m the reason you died, if anyone has the right to run a blade through me it’s you.”

Long, spindly fingers curl around the handle of the blade, and even though they don’t touch his skin, Kakashi can feel the phantom sensations of them across his hand. “I’m not killing you for me, dumbass.”

Kakashi swallows hard around the lump in his throat. He still doesn’t turn to face him. It’s weird seeing Obito with only a single Sharingan flashing red in his face. In a way, it’s a bit like seeing his own reflection mirrored back to him, and Kakashi has never been good with looking at his own face. “I know, and if Rin or Minato or Kushina was here I would let them kill me, too. But they’re not.”

“So what,” Obito scoffs, harsh and cruel as he throws the tanto sheath. “I’m the consolation prize? A get out of jail free card? I’m here so I might as well absolve you of your guilt like a convenient little escape-goat, is that right? Do you even care?”

Obito laughs. It sounds like a sob. Like something wretched from a wounded animal that’s hurting and has been hurting for so long it’s forgotten how to feel any differently. Kakashi hates that sound, he really really hates it.

Before he can help himself, Kakashi turns, grabbing the hand not clutching the blade between them in a white-knuckled grip that looks painful, and pulls. The tanto goes chattering forward and Obito is mashed against him into something that might resemble a hug and what feels more like a lifeline.

“Of course I care,” Kakashi says into the crown of Obito's hair. He smells like clay and metal and something not quite natural that doesn’t matter nearly as much as his warmth against his chest. “You’re not an escape-goat Obito. You’re the one I owe the most to. I’m sorry I couldn’t find some way to make it up to you before I died and ended up here.”

Against him, Obito stiffens further, pushing away with bony elbows that dig into his stomach until clawed fingers make their way into the skin of his shoulders. Obito holds himself there, arms-length away and propped up enough for Kakashi to have to crane his neck to make eye contact. “Wait. What? Kakashi, where the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Kakashi says, doing his best to make his voice come out breezily. “I don’t know anything about the afterlife”s geography.”

Obito pinches his side, hard. “You’re not—Bakakashi—I’m not dead. Neither are you.”

“Wait, what?”

“How you—this whole time you thought you were dead?” Obito shakes him, throwing his whole body weight into moving Kakashi’s upper torso. “You were going to let me kill you a second ago!”

“In the metaphorical sense.” Kakashi raises an eyebrow at him, the confused look on his face natural with not even a bit of exaggeration. “I figured after you got your justice, I’d move on to whatever hell comes next.”

“You were bleeding when you came here. You’re sitting in a patch of dried blood right now.”

“I haven’t died before, I don’t know how death works.” Kakashi shrugs.

For all he knows the afterlife could just be a really bland version of...well life.

Maybe if he wasn’t recovering from the after-effects of what he now knows for a fact had originally been a concussion, he’d be a lot more suspicious. Probably not though, because even without the head injury he’d have a lap full of Obito and there is absolutely no way he could be skeptical about his living or dead status with his arms around the ghost of a boy he watched die.

“My heart's beating, you idiot.” Obito protests, reaching down and placing Kakashi’s palm flat against his chest. On reflex, Kakashi tries to jerk it away, the only time he ever touches anyone's chest is when he’s tasked with carving out their heart. Obito’s grip is crushing, though. He holds his hand there firmly in place, not allowing even a fraction of give. “Don’t you think It would be a lot more still if I was a ghost.”

Kakashi wants to say he doesn’t know. Wants to point out that he can’t feel Obito’s heartbeat through the overwhelming panic that's nipping across Kakashi’s skin—and fuck, if he didn’t already have enough triggers, he should have expected to have a little trauma surrounding this. He can’t get the words out of his throat, though. Not through his breathing, that’s coming out in harsh pants. Not over the panic attack that had no business ruining this and is a good chunk of time past due.

For his part, Obito just watches him through it. Immovable as he keeps his grip welded around Kakashi’s wrist.

Eventually, after however long time takes to move here, he forces his mind to steady itself and compartmentalize this into the little boxes in the far-off corners labeled do not revisit. When he finally does feel, not okay, he’s too shaky for okay, but solid, he makes the effort to feel what Obito’s trying to show him.

When he does, he’s met with the steady thump of a heart beating under his hand. It feels like a bird, beating its wings—and that’s enough of the fragile animal metaphors for today, thank you very much. “Oh. Oh you’re real.”

Obito blinks at him, and the final bits of anger that have steadily been falling away, drains out of him. “Yeah,” Obito breathes, letting go of Kakashi’s hand, finally, and slumping forward, back into his arms. “Yeah, Kakashi, I’m real.”

“You’re alive,” Kakashi whispers. His grip must be painful, but he can’t stop himself from tightening his hold. Afraid that Obito will slip away as some figment of his imagination the second he eases up. “You’re alive.”

“Come on now,” Obito huffs. Something hot makes its way to the crook of Kakashi’s neck. He can’t be bothered to check and see which one of them is crying. “You didn’t think I’d actually let Iwa kill me, did you?”

Yes.

Yes, Kakashi very much did. If he had suspected for even a second that Obito was still out there, somewhere, alive and whole, he would have hunted him down with enough vigor to make his ninken jealous.

But saying that feels cheap when actions speak louder than words and enough time has passed for anything along that vein to ring as hollow platitudes.

Kakashi thinks Obito expects him to get angry at him, to demand to know where he’s been for the last fifteen years. Don’t get him wrong, Kakashi wants to know, he really desperately does. But the answer isn’t nearly as important as the fact that Obito is alive and whole and with him, so instead he settles on asking, “Where is here, then.”

Obito lets out a breath, slumping impossibly more against him. “This is a part of Kamui. Somehow when you exhausted yourself, you managed to find your way into the pocket dimension created by the Sharingan. Since we share the same set, we can access the same place. You’re lucky I was already here. You really would have been dead if I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” Kakashi says, simply. He supposes, in a way it makes sense. Their Mangekyou can banish objects, it has to have a place to send them to. Maybe he caught himself in the reflection of Zabuza’s water prison.

Kaskshi closes his eyes, content to just hold Obito there. It’s not like he’s gotten the chance to be close to anyone recently, physically or otherwise. So while he’s hyper aware of every inch of skin Obito is touching, it feels good. In a reassuring, alive, kind of way.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, the only sounds around being their combined breathing which quickly takes the place of white noise.

Obito’s the one to break it, turning his face against Kakashi’s chest and looking up. “Hey, Bakakashi, if I asked to kill you right now, would you let me?” His voice is soft without the venom in it, with nothing to hide the uncertainty.”

Kakashi doesn’t have to think about his answer before he responds, “Yes.”

He’s not his father, he’s not about to throw himself down on his own blade just to run from his ghosts. But, he thinks if one of his ghosts, the one that’s not quite dead yet, wants him to be, that’s okay. It’s different.

“You’d really give me your life, just like that?”

“Just like that,” Kakashi agrees, because it really is that simple. For him at least.

He hopes though, that Obito will want to wait just a little bit longer to kill him. Kakashi’s waited so long to see him again, he’d hate to have to wait until the end of Obito’s life to do it. Though, that would be fitting, in an ironic sort of way.

“In that case,” Obito starts, moving to stand up. Kakashi helps him the best he can, supporting him with a gentle hand against his back even if he misses the warmth instantly. “Will you come with me?”

Part of Kakashi wants to ask Obito what he means, won’t he come back with him? Back to the village, to Konoha and….and a stone carved with the name of almost everyone that made the place a home.

A large part of Kakashi, the part that makes him bite his tongue, reminds him that Obito’s had fifteen years to make his way back to the leaf. Back to him. If he was going to return to the village it would have happened by now. No. If they’re going anywhere it’s going to be on Obito’s terms.

This time it’s Kakashi’s turn to chase after him.

So he doesn’t have to think about it before responding, “Okay.” The only thing truly holding him back is….Naruto, who won’t get another instructor who will look at him as anything but a monster and fuck, he can’t abandon him again, not after finally being allowed to see him. And Sakura who’s going to be flushed out as a paper nin, which is a complete waste of her potential. And Sasuke, who’s going to be snatched up by Danzo’s grimy hands the second he comes back to the village with no one to keep him in the light and away from the shadows and— “But I have some kids I need to pick up first.”

[mxdotombra]

The ghost of Antarctica’s emperor haunts the great tundra. His furious cries become the howling wind and the biting cold the cut of his own blade. Relentless and powerful as the eternal night and day. His empire breaths in the soft fluttering snow, kind and careful and anxious to meet them and exhales a furious and harsh gale as he protects those he loves from danger, the only force protecting his home.

It is by his own care that the small piece of land can grow such feeble life, each strand of hairgrass, piece of lichen, and patch of moss protected from his own madness by his careful hooves. Raised with care in the horrid landscape, a reminder of a past life when it was just wars of growth and not wars of destruction.

The caverns gleam with shining diamonds and the fortress remains frozen and protected from the world. The spirits that dwell there are warm with the breath of life and the smile of a family, waiting to welcome the wayward emperor for when his soul returns to them. Waiting for laughter to bubble from the hearts of family, waiting to joke and sing and sit in the warm hearth of the empire’s possibilities.

The ghost of the blood god haunts the frozen planes, perhaps he will let you pass if you stay for a quick dual. Best it be to you, do not think you will win either way, by flight in terror or fight in pride.

You against the angry beast that haunts the planes of Antarctica, in a duel which no man nor beast has won.

It is quite sad for you oh wayward dreamer, the god of the blood soaked snow shall never die again.

(Extra pictures and such below the cut!)

Story was made off the top of my head, I really want to write like a little one shot based off it but idk.

Alright so I always liked the idea that Technoblade had started growing a white coat unintentionally to blend in with the snow and ice of his kingdom (even though the bright red cape doesn’t exactly mean stealth). It’d mainly grow where the hair would be courser I guess? I don’t know how to explain it, I’ve stared for hours at wild pigs so like, idk.

I like to think he uses sweet berries to dye it back to pink and Phil has to help and it just becomes a week long endeavor because people keep invading and they get no breaks, also that his cape has a large hood because um... cold?

also he’s meant to have more jewelry and clasps for the cape but I have school tomorrow and please cut me some slack this is the third legitimate digital painting I’ve done and I’m quite proud! But idk, I just thing the pig king is neat. I own a shirt like the one he is wearing, made it myself, and I absolutely did not do the sleeve ruffles justice. I’m... imma make a drawing about Antarctic king techno at one point or another

And the wind howling thing is not my idea! I can’t remember nor find the post of who it belonged to but they are a genius! Its just so fucking poetic and rad. I also think the ghost thing belongs to them as well.

(Now for headshot detail and with less render so you can actually see the full thing!)

[procutemeister]

these, our bodies possessed by light || vergil x reader, chapter 1

The city of Red Grave has been defeated; Urizen, the devil king, has risen. No warriors have been able to best him, and countless lives have been offered to him in sacrifice. They say the devil king’s bloodlust is boundless… And you, last of the witches of Red Grave, are his betrothed.

(Vergil x F!Reader, with some V x F!Reader. Arranged marriage AU, with elements of Beauty and the Beast and 1001 Nights. An attempt to give Urizen some personality. Romance, eventually.)

much thanks to @tonitart for supporting me as i write this. <3 if you'd like to be tagged, let me know.

read it under the cut or on ao3 here!

--

these, our bodies possessed by light

1. land a man in a landscape and he’ll try to conquer it

--

Today was to be your wedding day.

Soon to be married to the devil king, all you could feel was trepidation and fear. Your marriage was not one for love, far from it; it was a marriage of compromise. Of sacrifice.

An offering of your life, for peace between the humans and demons, a reprieve from the cruelties of hell on earth.

You have a responsibility, your aunt told you as you dressed in the nicest gown you owned. It’s an honor, to have so great a task bestowed upon you.

I am going to die, you wanted to say. Your finest dress would become your funeral gown.

As one of the last witches, you were offered to the devil. With your unique abilities, the people of Red Grave hoped that you might find a way to end the devil king’s reign of terror. While it was true that you possessed some magical power, you were experienced mostly with healing and incantations, rather than combat magic.

You had met the man—if he could be called that—who was to be your husband only once before. You were relieved that at least, you would not have to live in the Underworld for this union; you would live in a palace that remained on earth.

No man nor demon on this world or the one beneath could face him. The people were sure that his was the wrath of a god, unleashed upon a defenseless humanity, and that such a great and terrible god could only be sated by the ultimate sacrifice, the gift of life.

However, you remembered that day—meeting your betrothed, slouched on his throne as you were presented to him. He had not been any more amenable to the marriage than you were. Impossibly tall, his features masked by demonic armor, you had been unnerved at the sight of him. You recoiled when you imagined the marriage bed—you could not possibly be expected to perform the wifely duties for such a creature, could you? He looked utterly monstrous to your human eyes: a twisted appearance, his body the color of brimstone and blood and covered in roots and thorns.

His voice was inhumanly deep and rattled your very bones.

“Is this to be my bride? A human?”

Despite yourself, you froze like a rabbit faced by the wolf. Your heart thundered and you could not help but cower, because what defense did you have against this creature?

You let your eyes settle on him. You could not discern even a hint of humanity in him, only the cruel cold glow of blue light in the gnarls of his skin, the suggestion of a crown by the thorns on his brow. There was no soul in those eyes.

The man beside you quailed, though he had been the one who had arranged all this. He said, “This is an offering from the humans. One of our most precious—one of our own. A great sacrifice.”

You were hardly as great an offering as he made you out to be. You were no virginal young maiden, no legendary beauty, nor the prized first daughter of a proud and subjugated lord. Your life and your body were being thrown away to sate the bloodthirst of a devil that did not even desire you. What use were you, really, to him?

He seemed to consider this. “I could kill her,” he said, “the night we are married. I have no use for human scum.”

Your blood ran cold. He couldn’t possibly—but this was a devil, not just any devil, but the king of them. You would not put it past him to kill you in cold blood. You knew that devils would not hesitate to execute any mortal that dared displease them.

And those who had come to his house before you, all killed by his hand, were the evidence: warriors that dared take arms against him, spies who attempted to undermine his power from the inside, and others like you, who had been offerings from their own hometowns. They, too, had been sacrificial lambs, offered to the demon king in a desperate bid for the legions of hell to stop ravaging the land, misguided appeals to the devil king’s nonexistent mercy. You knew not why those women had been deemed unsatisfactory, nor how many they numbered, only that they had all failed to suppress the devil king’s thirst for blood.

Rumors abound that he took wives not for procreation nor for pleasure, but for his own sadistic, murderous desires. Some lived for quite a while, others only a single day before being executed. But they all ended up the same way: dead.

Today, at your wedding, you had to find out how you could stay alive.

Before you left, you recited a spell of protection for yourself, so that you might not come to harm. You spoke the incantation from your memory as easily as you read it from a book, the familiar words and energy of the magic calming your mind. You pulled out a pendant you wore around your neck, a simple crystal you had infused with dormant power. This you poured your protective ward into, then hid the pendant beneath your wedding clothes. Then, a prayer, to the spirits above and below, that your magic might hold, and your treacherous intentions remain obscure.

Your betrothed had made almost no arrangements for the ceremony, not that you thought demonic weddings were even supposed to exist, anyway. There was simply a minister who had administered the rite upon the both of you, reading aloud the marriage vows and presenting the documentation of your union. One other demon was present as your witness, and that was all. You found you much preferred this, if the alternative were to get married with the people’s eyes upon you, watching and complacent at your sacrifice.

Your husband was called Urizen. He remained seated and he spoke no more than was absolutely necessary. There was no reception after the ceremony, only a dispersal of the scant amount of demons in attendance.

He did not stay with you afterwards, either. In fact, you would not see him until well after night had fallen.

In the meantime you were introduced to your chambers. Possibly the only good thing about this was that you would be living in comfort, however short the rest of your life might be. The palace was an old one, standing centuries before your great-grandparents were ever born, and comprised of so many rooms and structures that you could conceivably take years to explore it all. It was clean, surprisingly so, but cold and empty. It did not have the life of servants bustling around, or any other residents. Or maybe it did, and you had not seen neither hide nor hair of them. The palace was certainly large enough.

Of note were the books in what you assumed to be your husband’s room. There was an astonishingly large amount, and when you looked, they were mostly fiction and poetry, contrary to what you had thought. Some titles you even recognized, and many were well-worn, obviously read several times.

It was a strange detail, you mused, that a devil with such disdain for humans would so readily consume their literature. It was something that had kept the gears of your mind turning the rest of the day. You had a way with words, and writing had always been one of your strengths. This, along with the way your magic manifested, would be the key to your survival.

In the evening you took dinner alone. Despite being human, you were still considered with some respect, as you were served delicious food in a large and ornate dining hall. You were just completely alone; even the demons that served you were mere mannequins, unable to speak or perform actions beyond their purpose. You had the feeling that your new husband did not like to populate his home very much. You weren’t sure if that were better or worse; surely there would be no one to witness or call out to if he attempted to murder you, and you doubted that anyone would even notice in such a situation.

After dinner you washed up, spending so long in the bath you were sure you would shrivel up like a prune. You didn’t want to think about what was to come once you headed to bed; Urizen had not yet returned from wherever he had gone.

With apprehension you left the bath and dressed for bed. You wore a long nightgown, one that covered your body as much as possible. You missed your corset and your layers that shielded your body, much better than a simple nightgown could. You climbed into the bed, a large, ornate affair carved from dark wood and curtained with damask. The bed was sinfully soft, and against your better judgment you found yourself slipping into sleep as you lay there, wrapped in blankets and exhausted from the day’s events.

* * *

You didn’t want to do this.

Terror clasped at your very bones as the plan was explained to you: you, the last witch remaining in Red Grave, would be sent tomorrow into the devil king’s lair under pretense of an offering, as many other towns and cities had attempted to do.

“Hide your magic,” your aunt told you. “Find out what you can about his protections.”

“Yield to his demands,” your uncle instructed you. “Do what you must to survive.”

Numbly, you nodded, even as your veins ran cold.

“Your life is no longer your own,” they said. “The people of Red Grave count on you, now.”

The people of Red Grave had sent their men and women in futile attempts to fight the demon king. When that failed, they began to leave, or to bend the knee to cruel and demonic overlords. Some had fled to Fortuna, hoping that the supposed land of Sparda’s blessing would offer respite from the demonic invasion. Only a few years later was that hope disproven; demons installed themselves in that city’s highest of holy orders, and now Fortuna too bowed under the weight of hellish rule. Your parents had gone to war, too. They fought, and they died, and now you were expected to assume that burden.

You pressed a hand to the crystal that hung from your neck, a last gift from your mother, who taught you everything you know.

Then you silenced your fear. Outside, the summer flowers bloomed, mindless of the blood spilled on their grounds, and you promised upon your life to venture into the heart of the devil king.

* * *

You immediately woke at the opening of the door. You were still restless, after all. Moonlight still poured in through the window; you hadn’t been asleep long. The one who entered was a devil, one you recognized attending your wedding. From his chest he glowed orange, the light the color of molten rock, with an impressive set of wings extending from his back. He spoke:

“My lady. You are summoned to the throne room.”

You blanched at the address, though you expected it as befitting one who was the demon king’s wife. You supposed this made you a queen, but the title meant nothing when you felt like a prisoner. You were not allowed in the throne room, not unless you were explicitly summoned. Despite your position, you held no power in this place. All you had were your brains and the strength of your will.

“Y-Yes,” you wavered, and stood unsteadily, your hands wringing at the cloth of your nightgown. You followed the devil to the large room where Urizen stayed, dark save for the fireplace, kept lit with blue flames.

It was your husband, looking much the same as he had during your wedding. He still wore the same expression of cold indifference. At his side floated the ever-present red jewel, a mysterious object from which you could feel waves of strong demonic power. What manner of magic was it, you wondered?

“My lord husband,” you addressed him, taking a knee as you had been instructed to.

“Wife,” he grumbled, as if saying the word pained him. “Get up.”

You stood. Urizen was seated on his throne, one arm bending to support the chin, eyes skating over you to land on the flames in the fireplace as if you weren’t even there.

You had not moved. You bit your lip, wondering if what you had in mind would work, or if it were even sane. Once again, the image of the books next to the chair revived itself in your mind.

“My lord husband,” you said again, “may I interest you in a story?”

Your voice interrupted his brooding. He raised his head slowly from his hand, his face turning towards you in what looked like a silent fury. You hoped you hadn’t inadvertently angered him with your seemingly inane question.

“…A story?”

There it was, that deep, deep voice that sounded like the rumble of the earth itself. There was something strange in his tone: less animosity, something more akin to questioning. Maybe curiosity, if you were feeling generous.

“Yes,” you said, “I like to tell stories.”

You could barely keep the tremor from your own words. So far, he had done nothing, but Urizen still terrified you, as distant and dangerous as he was, the sound of his words before still echoing in your head.

I could kill her the night we are married. I have no use for human scum.

You didn’t know if he was serious or not. Maybe for now he would keep you alive, or maybe he would murder you later.

“You realize this is no harmonious marriage,” he said. “You mean nothing to me. I do not care about your stories.”

He sneered the last word. You could not help but shiver, but your mind’s eye once again found those well-worn books, stories and poetry that were clearly loved and perused. How long had it been, you wondered, since he had cracked open a book?

You settled yourself next to his throne. Carefully you started to speak, weaving the story you had formed in your mind. You had always been a lover of art, of literature, and you had dedicated many years of study to the humanities. You felt you could put together a story that would keep his attention and weave your spell so that your husband would not lay a hand on you and—maybe—change his heart.

To your astonishment he made no move to stop you. On the contrary, he seemed like he was listening, though he never said a word and never did he turn those cold eyes towards you.

You felt your resolve waver, but you didn’t let yourself falter, not when you had lulled him into this strangely receptive mood with your words. You still feared the devil—after all, he could so easily kill you, and even slouched in his throne you felt the aura of death from him. The red crystal revolved, silent and dangerous.

You continued your tale. You told it all the way until you had reached the last of what you’d written. The hero had fled the destruction of his hometown and met a young woman to whom he’d recounted his tale. He felt torn between his need for vengeance and the feelings that were quickly growing for her.

“Is that all?” Urizen asked.

You looked out the east window. The sky was swathed in violet and edged in gold by the encroaching sun.

“Morning approaches, my lord husband,” you said. “The story must be continued the next evening—I haven’t slept.”

He grumbled, but made no further complaint. Then, “Get out.”

“My—”

“Return to your chambers. Bother me no further.”

You quickly stood, nodded, and nearly ran out of the throne room. You weren’t sure how long you ran, or if you were even going in the right direction, but you made it back eventually.

You closed the door behind you, chest heaving, and not only from the running. You felt like you had just escaped with your life, and when you clutched a hand to your chest, your heart was pounding. You clenched your fists, fear and anxiety knotting between your lungs.

Knees weakening, you fell back into the large, soft bed, trying to calm your racing heart. After tossing and turning you fell finally into a restless sleep.

* * *

The next morning you woke alone. So, he didn’t have you killed in your sleep, at least.

When you looked out the window the sun was already high in the sky. You’d slept in a little; considering how late you’d stayed up the previous night, telling your husband your story, it was to be expected.

You hadn’t been given any actual responsibilities in your new home. You had the distinct feeling that Urizen considered you little more than a nuisance in his home; a thing without real purpose here. It suited you just fine: the more invisible you were in this den of demons, the more likely you were to get out of this alive. And the longer you stayed, the more you would become acquainted with the devil king, and his weaknesses, no matter how small those might be. All you needed was a single chink in his armor, and you’d be able to work your magic.

Your husband, to your knowledge, had never left the throne room. You could not go to check; the red devil that had escorted you there the night before was also nowhere to be seen. Was he just a servant, you wondered, or something more? His presence at the wedding implied the latter.

With you thus unoccupied, you decided to fill your day with exploration. The palace was undoubtedly beautiful, and you wondered why a devil would take such a place as residence. Maybe it was a site of great demonic power…? The home of a conquered human lord? You would not put it past the devils to take a man’s home as a war trophy. You were simply astonished at the state the house had been left in: it was pristine, as if servants cleaned it every day, as if demonic forces had never breached its walls. The glass of all the windows remained intact, the floors sparkling; elegant curling columns reaching towards beautifully painted, vaulted ceilings, and stained glass throwing multicolored light against the walls.

Wandering the halls, you trailed a hand absently along the walls. The sunlight shone brightly outside, and the thickness of the air signaled the height of summer approaching.

Somehow, you found yourself at the far corridor of the west wing. Judging by the sun’s position, it could not be later than noon, and so you thought a bit more exploring could not hurt until you were expected to take your midday meal.

This part of the palace was as pristine as the rest of it, just as clean and untouched, but the energy felt different here. Where you previously felt ignored by the few beings that crossed your path in the halls, here you simply felt… alone. It wasn’t a lonely feeling. On the contrary, you felt peace in the solitude.

At the end of this corridor was a large double door, vaulted, heavy and inlaid with colored tile. It was beautiful, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was inside. After checking to see that you were indeed alone, you placed both hands on the beautiful doors and pushed, making your way inside.

The room that revealed itself to you was a vast library, with towering shelves that seemed never-ending. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, so bright and the air so still that you could see the motes of dust floating.

The way the doors creaked and the difficulty in pushing told you that no one had set foot in here for a very long time. You supposed demons did not really have much time or purpose for human literature, though once again you thought of the books in your chambers. Were they Urizen’s? You doubted it when you thought about it. He had not been to those chambers with you, and it seemed in character for him to arrange a whole separate suite of rooms for you, far away from himself.

You looked again to the library you were in. A shame no one seemed to come here, because this place had been built to take advantage of the sunlight. There were tables and chairs for writing, and cozy little alcoves for reading. You could easily picture yourself spending hours here. Your parents had nurtured a love for reading in you, and you felt a prick of loss at the thought of them.

As you lightly ran your fingers across the spines of the books, reading their titles, the dust stirred. Truly, no one had come in here in recent memory but you. You thought maybe this could be your hideaway, far enough that you could feel even a little like yourself again, and still close enough by that you could easily validate your presence here. All these books would help, too, as would the ones in your bedroom, for crafting more of the stories that had somehow ensnared your husband’s attention. And if, by chance, they held magical knowledge as well, you could do some surreptitious research.

Moreover, it was simply a beautiful place. Even if you were not in the clutches of a devil, you would gladly come here every day.

The sun outside heralded the afternoon, and you knew you would be fetched and served lunch. Quietly, you left the library, closing the doors behind you. You could return another time, you thought. For now, you would acquiesce to the expectations (however little there were) of you.

In the throne room a human was being brought to kneel before the demon king. This man had dared protest his power and struck one of his knights in retaliation. Such insolence demanded punishment, and the decree for him was death.

“Do what you must,” said Urizen. “My power will not be challenged.”

He waved an imperious hand, sprawled as he was on his throne. The guards took the prisoner away, heedless of his piteous cries.

“I did nothing wrong! It was him, he—”

They dragged him to the courtyard, the man’s struggling making a spectacle of the walk. It was just your luck: the window overlooking that courtyard was the one right in front of you.

One of the silent knights struck him across the face with his metal gauntlet. He fell to the ground, and another pulled him onto the chopping block.

His pleas were cut short by the descent of the axe upon his neck.

You stared, barely believing what had happened right in front of your eyes. A man had been killed. You watched the blood spurt, the ground turn red beneath him. Above the body, the branches of a large, leafless tree swayed in the windless air, its bark as white as bone. Red splattered over that bone-white tree, soaked into the earth beneath, and his head rolled on the ground with a heavy thunk.

What had that man done? You weren’t shocked that executions were carried out here at the palace itself, but seeing it was another matter entirely.

Were you going to be next?

You had no stomach for the rest of your meal. You stood, fighting the urge to retch, and took off back to your room. Feeling numb, you hoped that you would not be summoned to attend to your husband in the evening. You weren’t sure you could take another fright in the same day. To distract yourself, you made notes on the story you had started the previous evening, in the case that you would need to provide a continuation. Your mind wandered, far from the confines of the palace walls, as you wove your tale.

Of course, right before you were about to begin your evening toilette, the same devil from the night before came to your room to escort you to Urizen once again. Various other demons came in and out of the palace during the day, but this one was the only one you had encountered at night, not counting the mannequin demons that cleaned and served in the kitchen.

In case this devil was going to remain as your chaperone, you deigned to ask him his name.

“I can’t really say, my lady. But you can call me Tony.”

You noted there was a strange, clipped quality to his words, as if some spell or physicality prevented him from uttering his name. Or maybe you imagined it because demons had different voices than humans. More than that, though—

“Tony?” you echoed. “That’s…” An unusual name for a demon, you were going to say. Much too… human. His face, too, was far more humanlike than the other demons you had encountered.

To your surprise, he chuckled. “A weird name? Sounds better than Urizen, I’d say.”

His nonchalant manner took you off guard. You hadn’t been expecting this at all.

“I only meant that I didn’t expect a devil to have such a normal sounding name,” you explained.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t need to be complicated. Just Tony is fine.”

Before you knew it, you were back again in the great hall, standing before the doors to the throne room. Tony walked ahead of you to open the doors and once again, you saw your husband.

You walked through the large room, one you surmised was the largest one in the entire palace, approaching your spouse. Tony remained outside.

You tried not to let the images from earlier that day distract you too much. The man’s cries. The blood seeping into the ground. The tree that moved by itself.

You nearly crumpled the notes in your hand.

“Wife,” Urizen said, in that deep, dark tone. There was no discernable expression on his obscured face, and none in his voice. You bowed before him and awaited his instruction.

“The tale from yesterday. Continue it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. As long as this remained all he asked of you, you would be okay, probably. Shuffling through your notes, you began to recite the rest of the story.

Again he offered neither comment nor interjection, or really any reaction at all, which you supposed was the best you could hope for at the moment. The plot you’d woven was fairly basic: the hero of this story was torn between his mission and the growing love between him and the lady who had rescued him, and while he was making to leave, the lady asked to accompany him. She wanted to help him, she said. He did not want to get her involved in his problems.

“This is not just about you!” said she. “I lost loved ones in that attack too. And who’s to say they won’t attack this town too—”

“I have a mission. It’s dangerous.”

“With them out there, everywhere is dangerous,” she said. “I am going whether you want me to or not.”

Cursing his mission for vengeance, she left him to seek a new home for her family.

“What a strange tale,” Urizen said.

“Wh-what?” This was the first time he’d spoken about the story itself. You couldn’t tell whether he meant the comment as a compliment, or as a sign he disliked it, and a shiver of panic rose in you.

“If that is all, you may go.”

You weren’t done, but you also didn’t want to go against his word.

“Then I shall resume tomorrow evening, my lord husband.”

He said nothing, only waving his hand in dismissal. You gathered up your notes, bowed hastily, and left the room.

You wondered—why did he decide to comment on the story now? Was there something about the tale he disliked? He had given no clue as to his feelings, as always. His expression had remained inscrutable and distant. Your hands clenched around your books and papers, frustrated.

Tony was nowhere to be found outside. Alone, you walked back to your room, returning to fitful sleep.

“So? What about it, V?”

There was a crow perched on the top of an armchair in the library, where a young man sat deep in thought.

“Think she’s the one?” the crow asked the young man.

“She has power, I can feel it,” he responded. In his hands he held a book, idly flipping through the pages.

“But what about—"

He interrupted the crow. “She’ll come back. I’ll speak with her then.”

“If you’re sure,” the crow said. “Y’know, I could always fly out there, get her to come if you can’t—”

“No need,” he responded. “What she needs is here. She’ll come back.”

[swordladywritesthings]

The Universe and The Man

AN: this is something I did for an irl friend! its about Minecraft and follows how the world was created! It’s not what I usually post, but give it a shot, I think you’ll really like it.

Words: 823

   Slowly, the Universe woke.

   It blinked its eyes, taking in its surroundings. It was surrounded by nothingness, completely engulfed in darkness.

   The Universe was confused. Where was it? Who was it? Why was it here?

   Perhaps if The Universe waited, someone would come to explain what it was there for.

   So The Universe waited, and waited, and waited. But no one came.

   The Universe grew lonely. It was tired of simply waiting in the dark, all by itself. It wished it had something or someone to keep it company. The moment that the thought crossed its mind, its eyes closed and there was a splitting pain.

 Slowly the pain faded, and it opened its eyes.

   There was someone standing there.

   It seemed to be a man, with dark skin and brown hair. His blue eyes were looking at The Universe curiously, and The Universe looked back. Then, the man spoke.

   “Who am I?”

   The Universe hesitated, then spoke. “You are part of me, I believe. I am The Universe.”

   The man nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Then I am The Universe, as well.”

   “I suppose so.”

   Time continued to pass, and now The Universe was joined by The Man. One day, The Man had an idea.

   “Let us create something to fill this Void.”

   The Universe was intrigued. “What shall we create?”

   “A world. A world filled with plants and animals and people to populate it. Our world will be full of life, and our world will be beautiful.”

   The Universe nodded. “This is a wonderful idea. Yes, let us create this world.”

   Together they joined their hands and began to build their perfect world.

   As their world grew, the two grew fond of the world and its inhabitants. The Man watched over the Day, helping plants grow and giving the people warm sunlight to play in. The Universe watched over the Night, ensuring the people slept peacefully and giving the other creatures time to walk the earth.

   The people seemed to realize that they were watching over them and began to worship them, offering sacrifices of food and poetry. They called The Man “Steve, God of the Sun,” and they called The Universe “Alex, Goddess of the Night.”

   The Universe and The Man found that they quite liked these titles, and so they no longer called themselves The Universe and The Man, but Alex and Steve.

   As time went on, the people started learning more about their world. They discovered new materials in the earth, and invented new ways to grow food faster. They tamed the animals, and began exploring new lands. One day a person discovered a way to get to the Underworld, what the people called The Nether.

   This worried Alex and Steve greatly, as they watched this little person, so brave yet so fragile, explore this landscape of fire and monsters.

   When the person made it back to their home alive, both Alex and Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

   The news of The Nether spread like wildfire, and soon the people were conquering the landscape, finding new materials and strategies to better their lives. Alex and Steve were left to wonder in amazement about the perseverance of the people. It seemed there was no challenge that they could not overcome.

   After The Nether was conquered, one of the people set out to find a new adventure. While in the middle of a cave, they stumbled upon an old abandoned dungeon. As they explored it they discovered a strange portal. They felt a strange calling in their soul as Alex encouraged them to continue on.

   When the person stepped through the portal, they were met with The End. Alex and Steve had known that this day was coming, and there was nothing they could do about it. They could only watch and hope that their little champion was strong enough.

   They stood by anxiously as they watched the little person fight a fearsome dragon, and cheered with them when it was finally slain.

   As the person entered the portal that had spawned in the middle of The End, Alex and Steve startled as they suddenly appeared in front of the person. They were in a form of sleep, floating in the darkness as if they were suspended in water.

   Suddenly, Steve spoke into the darkness. “I see the player you mean.”

   Alex tilted her head, studying the person. “Them?”

   “Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.”

   “That doesn't matter,” Alex gently chided. “It thinks we are part of the game.”

   “I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.”

   Silently, Alex smiled. She remembered how this whole adventure had begun, with being suspended in darkness and longing for a friend. This person had come so far, Alex thought, they deserved to know at least a little bit of the truth.

   And so, Alex and Steve began to tell a story.

TAGLIST

General: @definitely-a-living-human @my-friends-art-and-writing @arodynamic-enby @ari-the-writer-enby @me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink @irritating-lady-knight @asexualtrashcan

shoot me a message if you wanna be added to the taglist!

[missfluffywriter]

Purple Irises I Mafia Park Jimin x Reader

Author’s note: Oh my god this is the longest one yet! This was the one I was most excited abouttt I just have so much fun writing this. Honestly I’m writing characters that are smarter than me so.. Well, I guess that’s it for me. Happy readings!

Word count: 17k

Genre: Mafia AU, (slight) Doctor au, (slight) Florist au

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

(Series) Summary: You were supposed to be delivering flowers, how did you end up in an operation room digging out a bullet from a mafia boss’ shoulder?

Purple Irises: Royalty and wisdom

Warnings: Guns, language, mention of drugs, inconsistant grammar

Previous Chapter I Next chapter I Masterlist 

The gleaming marble floor radiantly reflected the soft yellow glow pouring from the many wall lights lining the tall corridors of the mansion. The comforting golden hues gave the mansion a fairytale-like atmosphere. Marvelous paintings of landscapes and flora hung along the walls of the hallway, the beautiful artworks further extenuating the luxurious beige decor of the lavish home, additionally contributing to fanciful aura it held.    

The blistering heat of the day had been replaced by the coolness of the night, paired with the quiet placidity brought by the moon rise further soothed your tired mind and aching body. A strange thing to say considering this was the household of a prominent mafia gang.

“Is it always this peaceful?” You muse, admiring the calmness of the ambiance of the scene around you.

“Not always,” Chuckling, Jeongguk answers your peculiar question. What a thing to ask a mafioso. “But, I guess it’s been pretty calm the past week.”

Giving only a soft hum as an acknowledgment of his words, you silently continue the trek to the second kitchen. A strange thing really, walking to the kitchen late at night with Jeongguk of all people. But the oddity didn’t end there, seeing as Yoongi was the one who had called for everyone to meet at the kitchen.

Hours ago, just as your training for the day had ended. Jeongguk received a text message from Yoongi, practically commanding the youngster to the kitchen. On top of that, he had been given explicit orders to bring you with him.

“I wonder why Yoongi wanted everyone together,” You wondered aloud. “And in the kitchen of all places,”

“Well, I guess we’re about to find out,” Smiling, he pushes past the white double doors. Sighing, you nod, stepping into the room your (e/c) orbs land on the six men scattered around the kitchen space. And with Jeongguk’s arrival, all of Bangtan’s core members were present.

“There you guys are,” Jin is the first to greet you at the entrance. “You guys were the last to show up,” He says, a hand on his hip as he leaned his weight on one of his legs.

At his loud greeting, someone else’s ears perk up, that certain someone’s nose prickling with a familiar scent, a scent she had memorized ages ago. And your seventy-pound barrels towards the direction she picked up the smell where she essentially tackled into you, excitedly covering your face in slobbery wet kisses. Although Shelty was very happy, she got to spend the majority of the day with Jimin. She still very much so needed your attention and affection.

“It’s called being fashionably late,” A soft chuckle leaves your lips as you return your puppy’s excitement, ruffling the furs of her neck and placing kisses on her soft head.

“Come on you two, get you asses in here already,” Yoongi’s voice flares from beyond the kitchen island. Where he stood with an assortment of alcohols, colors ranging from rich hickory to a clear liquid. ‘Vodka?’

“So...” Pausing, your gaze flickers to the alcohol then to Jimin, who had been leaning against the kitchen island. “Is this like another unofficial meeting? Or?” You question the group.

“Not exactly, no,” Namjoon answers, coming to stand beside Yoongi. “This is more of a test,”

Eyes widening, you feel your body stiffening at Namjoon’s words. ‘A test? What kind of test?’ A cold ice-like feeling spreads from the center of your chest, a wave of panic hitting you full force. Palms getting cold as sweat pools in them, you wrack your brain for any hint or they might have dropped of this test, or what this test might entail, but try as you might you end up empty. They hadn’t spoken of a test, was this a surprise test?

The alarm you were feeling within must have been written across your expression as Namjoon let out a light laugh, waving his hands. “No, no, not that kind of test,” He explains, but the confusion doesn’t leave your expression.

“When he said test. He meant we’re here to test your alcohol tolerance,” A mildly grumpy Yoongi clarifies.

And you release a deep breath of relief as you feel your soul return to your body. Before giving Jimin a ‘and you’re okay with this?’ look. To which he simply shrugs with a soundless laugh.  

“You guys are horrible,” Placing a hand on your chest, you feel the rapid thudding of your heart. “I was so worried,” Shuffling towards Jimin, you rest your elbows on the island, your entire body relaxing after hearing Yoongi’s clarification.

“Sorry, I didn’t make it clear,” The older male chuckles.

“Isn’t the gala tomorrow? I don’t want a hangover on the day of the gala,” Folding your arms, you stare down the white-blond. “And just why the hell do we need to test my alcohol tolerance anyway?” Grumbling, you glare at the alcohol sitting on the white marble counter.  

“The gala’s at night, you’ll have time to recover” Handing you a high-ball glass with some clear liquid, Yoongi explains, though you hear the sarcasm seeping through his voice. “Besides, this if for the gala, we need to know when you’ve had enough,”

“I think I’ll know when I’ve had enough,” Taking the glass from the older male, a retort flies from your lips.

“Just drink,” The white-blond haired mafioso waves his hands for you to drink.

“You just wanted an excuse to drink didn’t you?” You say, bringing the high-ball glass closer to your lips, not entirely sure why you were going through with this.

“I don’t need an excuse,” Scoffing, Yoongi turns his back to the group. His elbows move back and forth as he prepares another drink. A distraught look taking hold on your face as you watched his back.  

“So just wanted to see me drunk?” The distraught expression folding into a scowl, chaffing at the older mafioso.

“Yeah pretty much,”

“And you’re going along with this?” Turning to face the leader of the band, you incredulously ask the silver-blond.  

“I don’t see the harm,” Amusement dripped from his honey-brown orbs, Jimin shrugs. “Besides I can’t say I’m not a little curious,” A sly smile curling on his lips as equal parts curiosity and amusement tango in his eyes.

“You guys are crazy,” Drawing out he ‘crazy’ you whine leaves, finally bringing the glass to your lips.

“Yeah, whatever, just drink it,” Yoongi urges you.

And for reasons unknown you comply, gulping down a mouthful and regretting your decision the minute the liquid touches your tastebuds. You suppress your natural response to spit out and push the godawful drink down your throat as it burns your esophagus the entire way there. “Bleh, why is it so bitter?!” You splutter, placing the glass on the island counter, doing a double-take on the drink in your hand.“What is that?” Head snapping to Yoongi, you ask.

“Vodka, now drink,” Handing Jimin a glass filled with familiar shades of yellows, oranges, and reds.

“Did you just give me straight up vodka?” You exclaim.

“No, there’s water mixed in,” Yoongi saunters back to the alcohols on the counter, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“I want what Jimin has,” Demanding that you get a drink you actually like, instead of this bitter nightmare.

“No, that’s too light” You blanch at Yoongi’s nonchalance. “We need to get you drunk as soon as possible,”

“Why?” You lift an eyebrow at the male.

“Because,”

A quiet chuckle leaves Jimin’s lips as he watches the scene before him with interest. And though he was playing along for the moment, if you insisted you wanted a sunrise, he would have Yoongi prepare you a sunrise.

But, it doesn’t come to that as you down the rest of the clear liquid in a single go. Cringing at the bitter flavor of the drink. Jimin quietly observed as you scowled and grumbled while the white-blond poured.

In all honesty, he didn’t fully know himself as to why he was playing along, but he couldn’t resist the tug of curiosity when Yoongi had said he wanted to see what type of drunk you were.  

His thoughts are interrupted with a soft ring and a vibration in his pocket, “I’m gonna take this outside,” He looks to you, waiting for you to give him a nod before looking to Namjoon then stepping outside the kitchen to the doors that led to the gardens.

“Park Jimin, how are things going?”A smile curved onto the mafia boss’ lips as he deep recognized the familiar deep voice that spoke through the phone.

“Matsuuru Tatsuya, things are going well,” He answered, placing a hand on his pocket as he leaned against the wall adjacent to the door. “What about on your end? Did the ship arrive in time?”

“That’s actually why I called you,”

Jimin alerted on Matsuuru’s words, pushing off the wall to a stand. “Did shipments not make it? Are you missing products?” He questioned.

“Oh, no, no,” Matsuuru assured with a chuckle, “I just wanted to personally tell you that not only have the ship and the goods arrived, but also thanks to the information so graciously provided by your hacker, we have begun the security system upgrades,”

“Is that right?” Posture relaxing, Jimin breathed out.

‘What?’ A strange confusion set in as his eyes fluttered, trying to process his own actions. Since when had he cared what happened to the goods after it left his hands? Never was the answer, he had never before cared what happened to products once out of his ownership, and yet when Matsuuru spoke of the shipment, his mind flew in a thousand different directions, thinking of what might have gone wrong. ‘Well damn,’ He cursed himself, ‘She’s rubbing off on me,’  

“Yes, everything is moving much smoother than I expected,” Jimin’s body jerked when he heard the voice from the other line. He hadn’t realized when he had spaced out.

“That’s excellent,” He smoothly covered with only a vague idea of what the man had been saying.  

“Yes, yes it is,” Matsuuru mused. “Tell me Park,” The man in question hummed in response.

“How do you feel about another deal?” Matsuuru asked.

“Another deal?”A questioning brow rose on Jimin’s soft features.

“Yes,” The yakuza affirms. “Tell me can you deliver goods with the same quality as Yeong’s shipment?”

“Of course, both the route and the factory now belong to us,” Bangtan’s Thai branches had bought out the dealers previously selling to Yeong. Additionally taking over the warehouse and docks, which resulted in the total take over of the safest route to and from Thailand.

“Then I would like to continue buying from you,”

“Well then, we can set a meeting date to discuss the details,” Jimin’s head bobbed in a nod as he spoke.

“In two months I will be making another round to the states, and I’ll be stopping by in Korea,” Matsuuru says. “How about then?”

“That sounds fine,”

“I’ll send the exact date to your right hand,’’

“Right,”

“And Jimin,” The silver-blonde hums at the call of his name. “Tell (Y/n) that business has been booming,”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” He responds, pressing the circular red button and ending the call. Pocketing his phone, he heaves himself off the wall he was leaning on, making his way back to the. What excellent news; should Matsuuru continue to buy from Bangtan, they could begin expansion into Japan.

Closing in on the kitchen doors, Jimin hears loud voices echoing from within. ‘Sounds like they’re having fun,’ The corners of his lips quirked up as he strode into the kitchen until he heard a series of ‘(Y/n), that’s dangerous!’; ‘(Y/n), be careful with that!’; ‘(Y/n), what are you doing?!’ Followed by a series of loud giggles and slurred words he couldn’t clearly make out.

Hearing those words Jimin rushed into the kitchen, an ice-like feeling flooding his system. But the sight that greeted him could only be described as comical. Well, maybe a little bizarre.  

There you were standing on the kitchen island, face flushed, a shit-eating face splitting grin curving your lips, hands flailing above your head, holding a gun; surrounded by six men desperately trying to get the gun from your grasp.‘A gun?!’

“What the fuck is going on here?” He asks, eyes trained on you, specifically the gun in your hand.

“Jiminie!” You exclaim, stretching out the ‘ie’; eyes lighting up as he entered the room. The men shout for you to be careful with the gun, all cries falling to deaf ears. Hobbling on your wobbly legs you climb down from the kitchen island; with both hands above your head, you move to greet the silver-blond. “Hero, waecom back!”  

“Jimin, watch out she had a gun,” Namjoon warns the other male.  

“I can see that,” Jimin snaps.  

“Jiminie, guess what? Guess what? Guess what?” Snickering, you repeatedly call for the silver-blond's attention bouncing on your feet.

“W一what is it (Y/n)?” He returns, trying to reach for the gun, but you pull the weapon close to your chest.

“I became a spy!” Shrieking those words, you break into another fit of giggles.

“What?” Confusion riddles the male’s face as your laughing fit calms.

“So earlier,” You begin, “I sneaky, sneaky and took his gun, hehe,”

Even more, confused he searches the men’s expression for a proper explanation.

“Well, uh, it happened so fast,”

“Guk,”

“One minute she was resting her head on the table, then she suddenly got up and asked me for a hug,” His voice became quieter as he explained. “I gave her one. And she got the gun before I could do anything,” Mumbling the last part, he rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“See! I became a spy,” Sniggering you say. “I sneaky, sneaky,” Waving around the weapon in your hand, you give the men around you a miniature heart attack.

Sighing, Jimin still not fully understanding as to how an experienced professional like Jeongguk lost his gun to a drunk civilian. The gun safeties were intact so the situation wasn’t that far gone, but they had to get that gun away from you before you either kill yourself, him, or his men. But how? If you wouldn’t listen to the other what were the chances of you listening to him? ‘Well it’s not like there is much of a choice,’

“(Y/n), come here,” He spread out his arms, inviting you in for a hug. And to the surprise of those who still retained their senses, you shuffled towards silver-blond, allowing him to envelop you in his warm embrace.

Instantly relaxing in his hold, you nuzzle into his neck, breathing in his comforting scent. Jimin feels your body slack; using this as an opportunity he uses his left hand to keep you in place as he shimmed the gun out of your grasp with his right. Heaving a relieved breath once he was holding the gun.

Glaring at the crowd before him he throws the gun to its owner with you still in his safe embrace. “How the fuck did this happen?” Jimin growls, his arms tighten around you as you felt his voice rumble in his chest. He was angry. Was he angry at you? You didn’t mean to make him angry, you were just curious as to what they looked like when they were worried.

“Jiminie, are you mad at me?” Meekly, you ask the male. All your previous bravado had now poofed out of existence.  

His heart melted into a puddle of mush when he met your wide, innocent doe eyes. “I’m not mad at you,” He sighed. He wasn’t angry with you, he was angry with the idiots who couldn’t take care of you. But now, even that had faded as he gently brushed your hip with his thumb.  

“You promise?” Looking at him with impossible wide puppy dog eyes.

Blinking, Jimin owlishly stared at you before responding, “I promise,”

How strange, he never thought he’d be promising someone he wasn’t angry, especially as a mafia boss. And seemed like the rest of Bangtan’s core thought the same, as each man failed to suppress their laughter.

“(Y/n) you should probably let go now?” Hoseok called from behind where the youngest stood.

“I’m good thank you,” Tightening your hold around Jimin’s torso, you nuzzled further into Jimin’s chest.

The six men look to their leader, who simply shrugs as he fully wraps his arms around your form. Glancing at each other they let out soft chuckles, aside from Jeongguk, who mopes around having been outrun by a drunk (Y/n).

“Drunk (Y/n) is a sneaky troublemaker,” Yoongi speaks up. “Noted for future reference,” Chuckling, he leans onto the kitchen island.

“Hehe, uh-huh. That’s why sober (Y/n) doesn’t like me,” Your warm breath tickles Jimin’s neck as you speak.

“What?” Namjoon asks, expression muddled with confusion. A commonality shared amongst the men. “What did you just say?” He reiterates.

“Just as I said, sober me doesn’t like drunk me. Well, me一 she doesn't like me very much,”

“Why?” Jimin questions.

“Because I don’t have a filter,” Snickering, you push just away enough to meet his eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asks again.

“I mean whatever's in here goes straight out,” Pointing to your index finger to your head and making a swooping motion from your skull out your mouth “And I always get her in trouble,”

“Oh?” A questioning brow lifts in Jimin’s face as he asks for you to continue, “Give me an example. What are you thinking about now?”

“An example?” Tilting your head at the solver-blond you say, and he nods. “Well, for one, I think Taehyung should come to me if he’s really having so much trouble with it,” You hobble towards the brunette as you spoke. “I could give you nicotine patches or tips and tricks for when you get an urge,” Your hands on your hips, almost as if you were chiding a child for misbehaving.

‘How?’ The male in question stiffened at your words as his eyes blew wide open. ‘She couldn’t have known,’ It wasn’t as though he was actively trying to hide the fact that he was trying to lessen his smoking habits, neither was it a secret. Yet, not even his brothers had noticed, so how had you?

“What?” Jeongguk turns to his elder. “What is she talking about?”

“How do you people not see it? Are you blind or something?” Your eyes flutter in incredulousness. “His hand has been twitching towards the pocket with his cigarette pack or his expensive cigars or whatever. It’s so painfully obvious, it kind of hurts,” You explain, your voice sharper than you intended to be.

‘What the shit?’ Taehyung stared at you. Not even he had realized he had been doing that. But, twitching meant nothing, it could have simply been something he unconsciously did, then how had you connected that to his goal? He didn’t ever recall mentioning it to you in passing and he definitely did not bring it up in conversation or even hint at it. He had done nothing, yet you still somehow caught it.

The men are stunned into silence, not used to being spoken to by your harsh tone. A silent pause falls upon the group, and you finally realize what you had done.“See, no filter,” Shrugging, you move clumsily to rest your weight onto the kitchen island.

“Anything else?” Jimin exhorted, urging you to continue.

“Namjoon, Yoongi, you two should really get some rest,” Turning your attention to the two older males, accusingly pointing your index finger to their general direction. “Micromanaging all our own information or restlessly trying to search for Yeong’s next move isn’t going to help. They won’t be doing anything, not right now anyway. And if you’re so hell-bent on doing something, keep an eye out for foreign mercenaries and underground hospitals or doctors,”

“Mercenaries and doctors? Why?” Intrigue laced Jimin’s voice, and though he did not understand foreign mercenaries and underground hospitals had nothing to do with the situation. His eyes narrowed at the realization that you had already had a plan of action or somewhat of a plan and yet you were keeping this to yourself.

“Why do you think?” Scoffing, you lay your head on the counter. “That night Yeong lost like what? Twenty? Thirty of his best men, and he can’t just replace them overnight. Not if he wants trustworthy men anyway,”

“But why foreign mercenaries?” Namjoon questions, catching on to your intentions.

“If he didn’t already know about Bangtan’s network, he knows about it now. Which also means if he hires men from within the country we will absolutely know about it, not to mention we probably already have counter strategies for any of those groups and that is a problem,” You said. “And what’s the solution to that problem? Hire foreign hands, places our network doesn’t extend to, people we don’t know anything about,”  

“Hospital, why a hospital?” Yoongi quips, whatever haze the alcohol may have brought gone as your words seemed to have sobered the men.

“Do you people like… not think?” Facing the white-blond, your face scrunches in disdain.

“(Y/n),” His voice warns.

Sighing, you spell out the situation, “The speaker, how far can you hear it?”

“Twenty一Thirty feet?” Namjoon answers.

“Good, now how close do you need to be to the mic for it to be able to pick up sounds?”

“Fifteen to twenty feet at least,” He answers again.

“And we all agree that we heard Yeong’s voice loud and clear? We all agree that he was at most twenty feet from the mic and the bomb?” Noises of agreement echo throughout the room, “Good, now how far is the blast radius of the bomb?”

The blast radius was at least twenty-five feet, and even if Meong wasn’t within the radius the pressure of the explosion alone would be enough to do some damage. In other words, Yeong Cheol Meong was injured. How had they not seen something that was right before their eyes?

“The traitor? Do you know how we can find the traitor?” Taehyung speaks up, if you already had an idea of Yeong’s next move, then it would be highly likely that you also had a way of dealing with the most perplexing matter at hand.

“Oh, them?” You say thoughtfully, “It would entirely depend on your preparedness… preparedness is that a word?” You question yourself, unsure whether it was a legitimate word or if you had just created a new word in your drunken haze.

“Well anyway,” Shrugging off your thoughts you continue, “I don’t think anyone expected you to keep them alive for long. Maybe a few days, a week at most.”

“Which meant they had to work fast. And going by what Jiyoung said, we can infer that the traitor hadn’t made contact with him,” You pause, before looking up to the chestnut-haired male. “But why? Why hadn’t they made contact with him? Was it because something came up? Did something happen? Were they sent away? Was it because we acted too quickly? Or maybe differently than predicted? Or could they just not get to them?” A string of questions leaves your mouth, guiding the men to the conclusion you had come to.

“Placement,” Namjoon jumps in realization.

“If we can figure out who was in the house or was supposed to be in the house in the span of his capture and even after that. If we can figure out who was supposed to be where before (Y/n)’s plan happened then…” Yoongi mutters, following your train of thought.

“Bingo,” Sitting up, you fire a finger gun at the white-blond with a wink of your eye. “I mean it may not completely work out, but it definitely narrows down the suspect list,”

“Now, the question is do you have such a record?” Glancing at Namjoon, you lay your head back on top of the countertop.

“I think so,” Forehead scrunching Namjoon rubs his index finger with his thumb. “We’ll have to look for it, but we should have something,” He says.    

There is a moment of silence as you stare at the man in front of you. The men lost in their own thoughts, but the quiet is short as the chestnut-haired mafioso breaks the stillness.

“How did you catch all that?” Breathless, Taehyung asks you, a perplexed astonishment on his face.

“How did I catch all that?” You parroted the brunette. “There was nothing to catch, it was all there, it has all been there,” Scoffing, you straighten your body.

“You people have eyes yet you do not observe,” Your razor-sharp gaze met Taehyung’s. And he couldn’t help the cold chill that spread across his body. Almost as though your stinging gaze pierced right through him. Whatever softness you may have held had completely evaporated, like it never existed.

“If you knew all this then why didn’t you tell us any of this earlier?” Taehyung snaps, unsure of how else to react.

And with the look he received, it may have seemed like he had just asked the stupidest question in the world. Before your face splits into a cheshire grin as you answered his stupid question, “What kind of player would I be if I showed you all my cards?”

Player? Showed all your cards? What was this? A game?

The room fell silent, all that could be heard was your quiet drunk mumbling and their own rapid heartbeats. However, as it stood, their hearts did not beat in fear, not in the slightest. No, the thudding of their hearts accelerated in excitement, they looked forward to the things to come with you by their side. What did the future look like now that you had been added to the mix? Would you give way for their success? Or their downfall? And the thought dawned on them all at once, you belonged in this world. A world of treachery, cunning, and politics.

“And um, well, I mean who am I to tell you how to do your job?” Your soft words break the men from their thoughts as you mumbled on, adding to your previous statement. “You know about this stuff more than I do, so I don’t really have the right to tell you what to do. Besides, you never asked me. If you had asked me, well, sober me, I’m sure she would have answered any questions you had,”

Tentatively wetting his lips Jimin speaks up, “Is there anything else you have been thinking?”

Your gaze fell to your hands, that rested on the marble counter as you twiddled your thumbs. Wordlessly staring at them for a solid minute before raising your eyes to Jimin. “There’s one more thing, but…” Trailing off, you don’t finish your sentence.

“What is it?” The youngest whispers, “You can tell us,” He coaxes you to speak.

“If I tell you, you have to promise you must not tell sober me I said this,” Lunging to where Jeongguk stood you shook his shoulder, putting extreme emphasis on must. “You can never ever, ever tell her I said this,”

“Uh,” He shared a glance of agreement with his hyungs, “Alright, we promise, if you tell us, we won’t tell sober you,”

“DO YOU PROMISE?!” Exclaiming at the top of your lungs, you stare the younger down.

“I promise, I promise,” He assures you quickly.    

What could it have been? What could have possibly been so important that you wouldn’t share with them unless you were drunk and off your senses?

“You see the thing is,” You start.

“Yes?” Jeongguk says as he and his elders lean in to hear you.

“You guys are hot,” ‘What?’ A collective thought that came to the seven men at once. “And, like it’s not even fair, none of you are fair. I mean how can each and every single one of you be so beautiful,” A deep fuschia climbed its way onto their cheeks at your compliment.

“Do you see this shit?” You ask, gesturing to the men standing before you. “How the hell are these humans fair? No one has the right to be so attractive,” Childishly stomping your feet on the ground, your cheeks puff into a pout.

“Wha一”

“And you especially don’t get to talk symmetry,” Glaring at Taehyung, you growl. ‘Symmetry?’ Said male thought in confusion.

“(Y/n)一”

“Or you, you angle” Bravely cutting off the young mafia boss, you scowl at him. “None of you get to talk. It’s like the seven of you just stole every bit of beauty in this world all for yourselves and it’s like I’m not even mad,”

“How can seven people be so pretty,” Sniffles escapes your lips as tears of frustration sting on your eyeballs. It wasn’t fair to be so attractive, what about the rest of humanity? They needed beauty too, these men couldn’t hog all the attractiveness.

Unsure of how they were to react to your words they look to each other in question.

“Uh, hey, it’s okay, (Y/n). Don’t cry,” The eldest steps forward to comfort you, opening his arms, inviting you into a hug. Which you happily jump into.

“Thank you, Mr. Shoulders,” Sniffling into his broad shoulders.

“Uh, there, there,” He awkwardly patted your back as your sniffles dissolved and you once again lost yourself in your drunken thoughts. Until your now hazy gaze lands on the fruit-filled basket sitting in the center of the island countertop.

Your jaws slack at your incredible idea. ‘I’m a genius,’ Gently pushing away from Jin’s grasp you reach for the basket of peaches.

“(Y/n)? What are you doing?” The eldest asks as he watches you stretch across the counter, reaching for the fruit basket.

“Hehehe, peaches,” A giddy giggle escapes your lips when you have the container in your hold. Immediately waddling to where Jimin stood before holding out a peach to him, “Jiminie, I a-peach-iate you,” You say with the brightest grin he had ever seen you wear.

His breath caught onto his throat, watching you with wide eyes as you laughed and snorted at your own joke. Your eyes scrunching in happiness, he could practically see the sparks of joy sparkling in (e/c) orbs. A dark flush of red coating your cheeks, lips a bright pinkish-red from you nibbling onto them, an idiotic grin spreading on your face as you giggled at your pun. But at that moment he couldn’t think of a prettier sight than the one before him. His hands twitched while this heart thundered away in his chest. He dazedly took in your elated form.  

Seeing as Jimin wouldn’t accept the peach on his own, you placed the single peach on Jimin’s hand, giving him one last rosy smile before moving onto the next man of the seven.

“Jin, I a-peach-iate you too” You beam at the man, giving him a peach. Then moving down the line, presenting each man with your terribly adorable pun and the fruit that was the center of your pun. Each man gratefully accepted the fruit and your pun, which only seemed to double your happiness.

“I really do appreciate you guys,” Stumbling over your own feet, your body automatically returns you to your unconsciously designated safe zone. “Much more than you know,” Sleepily muttering the last part you crash into Jimin’s firm chest, wrapping your arms around him before falling into Jimin’s embrace, the alcohol and exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you.

Jimin effortlessly catches you, leaving the peach you had given him on the marble countertop, he gently brings your body to the floor, then hooking his arms underneath your knees and around your back, he efficiently picks you up in a bridal carry.

“Did she just make a pun about peaches, give us peaches then pass out?” Jeongguk questioned, brain still processing the events passed.  

“I like her, she gets the pun culture,” Jin comments, a soft grin curling on his lips. Perhaps he liked you more than he initially thought.

“Oh, please,” Yoongi scoffs.  

“I’m closest to her room, I’ll take her back,” Jimin declares as he steps towards the kitchen doors. “Shelty come,” He orders the already half asleep wolf-dog. Who slowly and sleepily makes her way to the male.  

“Namjoon,” A call of his name from his boss is enough for him to understand Jimin’s silent command. Your words were to be put into action, Namjoon and Yoongi would shift from managing Bangtan’s information to instead gathering the intel you had spoken of. And though you hadn’t explicitly said it, following the direction of all that you had said, conflict was on the horizon. Meong wasn’t done, he was coming. And they needed to prepare for when he did.

Gently, Jimin lowers your body into the plush mattress of your bed. Although you made it no easier for him to be gentle as you shifted and squirmed in his hold, especially considering the fact that he had to carefully remove a pile of pillows while holding you and making sure you didn’t get hurt or wake up. Incoherent mumbles falling from your lips as he tightly tucks you into the bed. Your seventy-pound puppy finding her spot at your feet.

Stepping back Jimin admires his handy work, nodding to himself, he turns to leave for his own room. But his movements are stopped when he feels a soft tug on the back of his shirt.

“Don’t go,” You whisper, you hold on his shirt tightening as you tug him closer to the bed. The alcohol in your system had made you braver than you would have ever thought possible.

“(Y/n), I can’t stay,” He whispers back, trying to loosen your grip on his shirt.

“Stay,” Your voice is quiet but demanding as you yank him to you  

“(Y/n),” He called your name as a warning, which you blatantly ignored as you proceeded to beg him to stay.

“Jiminie, please,” Stretching out the ‘e’ of the please, you plead for the male to stay. “Pretty please,” Your cheeks puffing into a pout.

“(Y/n) I can’t一” The silver-blond felt his eye twitch when his gaze landed on your face.

Wide-eyed, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted ever so slightly, tugging downwards, looking like a kicked puppy. How was he supposed to say no to that?

With a deep sigh, he relents, gesturing you to scoot.

“Hehe, yay,” A lazy victorious smile curved onto your mouth as you shifted away from the man, giving him room beside you.

“Shush, go to sleep,” Laying down, he quiets you. Only for another fit of giggles to leave your reddened lips as you cozy yourself into Jimin’s side. Your form curls around him, your head on his arm you squish yourself into the silver-blond’s chest; head tucked underneath his chin. As the haze of sleep and exhaustion returns you unknowingly place a chaste kiss on the juncture of his neck.

“Goodnight Jiminie,” You whisper, sleep finally claiming your consciousness.

‘Oh thank god,’ The mafioso thought to himself, glad you wouldn’t be able to hear the loud drumming of his rapidly beating heart. He releases a shaky breath recalling the feathery light feeling of your lips on his skin.

For many minutes he sat as still as a statue, replaying the events in his head, from the way you called him ‘Jiminie’, which was barely settling in, to your sweet words for him every one, then to the kiss. His mind raced, buzzing with thought before relaxing into your hold, his fatigue setting in, he pushed away those thoughts, deciding to save the mulling over for another time, he shifted away from you, untucking your head from underneath his chin and taking in your form. Even through the dim lighting, he could see the peaceful expression that rested on your face, mouth partly open as you take slow even breaths. Your soft locks messily framing your face most perfectly.

Tentatively, he brushed the strands of hair that fell onto your face, running his thumb across your plump cheeks. ‘Beautiful,’ Was the only word he could think of, an unknown knot twisting and tightening in his chest in the best way possible. A tender smile danced on his lips as he once again pulled you closer, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, a strange warmth filling him as his own consciousness faded. Not realizing the weight of his own words.

~

“Oow,” Groaning, your face contorts in pain, your head hammering in your skull. A headache you wouldn’t wish even to your enemies attacking you. A whine escapes your lips, your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert, however far too lazy to actually get up for a drink, you nuzzle further into the warmth before you.

Snuggling into the comfortingly familiar warmth. An extremely recognizable scent fills your senses. ‘Hmm, smells just like Jimin,’ A masculine yet feminine smell, smoldering yet delicate, a scent unique to Jimin and Jimin alone. Your eyes fly open at the thought, but regret opening your eyes so suddenly as your sleep sodden eyes burn the moment you open them. A drawn-out groan leaves your throat as you rub your eyes open.

And there he was in all his sleepy glory, a lethargic smile on his lips as he watched you scowl at the world. “Good morning,” he groggily whispered as to not agitate your headache he could see you had. “How’re you feeling?”

After blankly staring at the godly beautiful male, having given up on logic and reason you simply sigh returning to snuggling into his neck. Making yourself comfortable in his heat, the rhythmic thudding of his heart somewhat soothing your pounding head. Though it did nothing for the dryness in your mouth.

A content sigh escaped your lips, a sense of completion flooded your systems as you were consoled by the domestic warmth of Jimin’s presence. A warmness that always blossomed in your chest every time you were close to Jimin. It was a homey sort feeling, in the most natural way, like you’d always belonged there. And a warm, gushy sensation blooms in your chest, a sensation that turns your insides to mush but also sends tingles down to the tips of your fingers. A sensation that made your palms clammy and made your heart beats just a tad faster.

All is silent, and you try to fall back into the comfort of sleep and you almost did, before Jimin’s voice snaps you from your haze.

“My arm’s numb,” He says flatly.

“I don’t care,” Clutching tightly onto his shirt, you mumble, determined to get your way.

“Get off,” He whines, half-heartedly nudging you away, only for you to cling onto him. Moments pass and you relax your clutches ever so slightly, only to feel the rumbling in Jimin’s chest as he chuckles.

“What’re you laughing at?” Untucking your head from under his chin, you scoff with a laugh.

Immediately his nose scrunches, eyes crinkling in disdain, “You’ve got bad breath,”

“Oh my god, do I really?”

“Yeah,” He nods.

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,”

A beat of silence passes before you both burst into a loud fit of laughter. Though you almost immediately regret that as the pounding in your head worsens. Groaning in discomfort, burrow back into Jimin’s embrace.

“Alright, get up,” He directs, supporting you to a sitting position as you grumbled and whined on your way up. You had never before wished more to become a rock and spend the rest of your life resting and existing. “Here, drink this,” He hands you a glass of water. But you don’t recall having water in your room. Whatever the case, you gratefully accepted the glass, downing the liquid in three gulps. Jimin holds his hand out, offering to take the glass. Returning the glass you mumble a thank you, leaning against the headboard.

Jimin carefully places the glass onto the side table, before pulling out his phone. His eyes ran over whatever he was reading, and you were left to wander your thoughts.  

What a bizarre exchange. Nothing of this sort had ever happened to you, and you never expected to experience such things with anyone, let alone a mafia don.

Getting drunk, passing out, waking up next to someone that wasn’t Shelty, then laughing with that person while they take care of you. These days nothing you ever expected happened, which was a new experience. Usually, you were pretty spot on with your predictions, though your life wasn’t exactly the most exciting for unpredictable things to just pop up. But still.

‘Oh my god I was drunk,’ Your eyes widened, head twisting to look at Jimin. Per usual you didn’t have any recollection of the night prior. It wasn’t as though there was nothing, but everything was a blur, nothing you could make sense out of. What had you done while you were drunk? Had you done anything weird? You were known to be brutally honest while under the influence. You hoped and prayed you hadn’t offended anyone last night.

“Uh, hey, Jimin,” He hums at the quiet call of his name. “Did I do anything… weird last night?”

And a wide grin breaks onto his perfect face. ‘Oh god,’ So you had done something embarrassing. “What did I do?” You squeak, pulling your fuzzy blanket halfway up your face.

“Oh nothing much,” He muses, “Just helped us start our search for the traitor, figured out Yeong’s next possible move, gave Taehyung some advice. Nothing too big,” He lists off the topics you had covered, and as per word, leaving out the compliments you had showered them with.

“So she strikes again,” Grumbling in embarrassment you bring your hands to cover your face.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” His voice is gentle as he questions you.

“What was I supposed to do?” You drop your hands to your lap. “Tell you how to do your job when I know little to nothing about this world, about how things work? If anything I’d probably just get in the way,”

“Nonsense,” He interjects. “If there is ever something on your mind I want you to say it out loud. If there is ever you notice something that we don’t I want you to tell me. Besides, everything you said last night really did helped us.”

His eyes narrow at the silence that follows. “(Y/n),” There’s a warning in his voice, but you don’t feel threatened nor do you feel fear. Strangely, it warmed your heart that he cared about your opinion even though you were a novice when it came to things about this world.

You give a tentative nod, raising your gaze to meet Jimin’s. You see him relax as he returned to lean against the headboard.

As you observe him your eyes fall onto his shoulder. ‘His wound!’

“Jimin your bandages! Did I change them? Did anyone change them?” You ask you're frantically sitting up, flinging off your blanket as you did.

“Calm down,” He waves his hands in downwards motions as he speaks. “No, no one changed my bandages last night. But,” He cuts you off before you had the chance to say anything. “It was just yesterday, and I don’t really think one night will hurt,”

“No, it can definitely hurt, what if it gets infected?” Ignoring the throbbing in your skull, you crawl off the bed. “I need to change your bandages now! I’m gonna go get the first-aid box,”

“Wait!” Jimin grips onto your shoulder, gently tugging you to look at him.

“I had a feeling you might do something like that,” He sighs. “So I had it brought in here,” He gestures to the box sitting on the floor beside the bedside table.

“Oh?” Pausing for a brief moment before continuing on your way towards the first-aid box. “Well I still need to change your bandages,” Your vision blurs ever so slightly as you try to find your balance as you stand, however you shook off the short bout of dizziness, slowly waddling your way to the box, grabbing it and returning to the bed.

Jimin releases another deep sigh as he concedes defeat, removing his t-shirt to give you access to the bandages. “I thought you were hungover?” He laughs scooching to give you space on the edge of the bed.

“I am,” Chuckling you answer him as you unclipped the bandage clip and unwinding his cream-colored bandages.

“Then shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I will,” You say, cleaning the suture using an alcohol pad, then applying antibiotic ointment onto the wound before wrapping the wound in a fresh set of gauze and bandages.

“One of the maids will come by. Order what you want for breakfast, then rest. I need you at full capacity tonight,” He instructs as you clip on the bandage clip. “One of the girls should be coming in for your hair and makeup. After you’re done dressing, come to my room.”

“You’re room? Why?”

“Because I said so,” A soft smile curves onto his plump lips as he slips on his shirt.

Puffing your cheeks into a pout, unsatisfied with the explanation, but nod regardless.

“Good,” He bobs his head in approval. “See ya later,” Standing, he briefly runs his fingers through Shelty’s fur, lovingly petting her before giving her head a soft pat.

“Hey Jimin, can you take Shelty with you?” You ask the male. Seeing as you would be stuck indoors all day, and your puppy needed her daily dose of exercise, it would be better for her to be with Jimin. At the very least she wouldn’t be trapped in one room.  

“Hmm? Sure,” He says looking at the wolf-dog in question. “Do you wanna come with me?” Shelty jumps at the offer, more than ready to be out of the room.

“Alright, let’s go,” Opening the door of the room, the pair exit, Jimin shutting the door behind him as they left.

And just as the silver had said, Eui arrived knocking at your door just as you had dresses after your shower. Still recovering from a bitch of a hangover that had somehow worsened after Jimin had left, you ordered for a light breakfast of toast with jam and butter, accompanied with fresh fruits.

After gobbling down your breakfast and placing the trolley outside of your bedroom, you immediately dive into your nest of blankets and pillows for a long nap.

“Miss (Y/n), Miss (Y/n),” A soft voice calls your name, and you jolt awake when you feel your body being shaken.

“Huh? Wha?” Vision blurry from sleep, you jump to sit up.

“Oh, I’m sorry miss!” Shoulders slumping when you recognized this meek voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you!” Eui wildly waves her hands, apologizing profusely.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Rubbing your eyes, you assure as a long yawn leaves your lips.

“So what’s up? Did you need something?” Groggily, you ask the girl, resting your weight on your hands.

“Um, I’m here for your hair and makeup,” She answers as her gaze falls to a silver box she was holding.

You blink once, then twice, processing the information just handed to you. Your gaze shifts to the windows in your room. Deep orange hues of dusk flooded from the clear glass windows. Which meant you would be leaving for the gala shortly. Which also meant you had slept for the majority of the day. Had you truly been asleep for the entirety of the daylight? Though now the hangover from the morning was right about nonexistent.

“Miss (Y/n)?” Eui’s soft voice breaks you from your thoughts.

“Right, sorry,” With a smile, you apologize to the girl, “So what’s first?”

“I’ll be starting with your makeup,” She responds quietly.  

“Okay, should we move to the bathroom? Or a chair? Or?”

“Um, can we move to the desk?” Her gaze glued to the floor, she asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Removing the blankets from your legs, you walk to the office area of your room.

There is no exchange after those short words as he wordlessly works on your face. Massaging, what you assumed was moisturizer into your skin. You sat in silence as she applied some light makeup, nothing much, just enough to show off your natural features.

“Um, so, I was wondering, do you know who arranged my books?” You question while she was brushing the mascara spoolie through your lashes. However, you sense her body stiffen after your words leave your mouth.

“It一 it was me miss,” You hear the hesitation and fear lacing her voice as she answers your question. “Did一did I organize them incorrectly?” He

“Oh no, no,” Quick to reassure her, you shake your head. “I actually wanted to thank the person that did,” Facing her you explain.

“You organized them perfectly, thank you Eui,” A gentle smile curls onto your lips, but you couldn’t help wondering why she was so afraid of you? Or afraid in general? However, as it stood now, it was none of your business.

“Thank you, miss,” A small smile graces her pink lips as she bows, a slight flush on her cheeks.

“I guess it’s dress time now,” Heaving yourself off the office chair, you make your way to your walk-in closet. But pause when you see Eui following you. “Uh, so is there a reason why you’re following me?”

“Aren’t I going to help you dress?” Her head tilts in question, a confused expression forming on her face.  

“No, no, I’m good, I can do it myself,” Waving your hands, you assure her. “Why don’t you wait here while I go put it on and then help me with hair?” Moving close towards the closet you suggest to the brunette. And though her face forms a light frown, she nods.

Hurrying into the closet, you quickly slip on the dress you had chosen. A deep wine red off-shoulder neckline came together in a v-shape at the chest. With a high split in the ball gown skirt that gracefully flowed behind you, making a sort of train. The smooth satin material that gently kissed your skin as the dress elegantly hung on your form, as soft and as pleasant as ever.

Reaching for your ‘Louis Vuitton’ shoebox that sat with your other shoes, you carefully undid the packaging before sliding your feet into the heels, then fastening the buckles on the adjustable straps around the ankle.

After a short glance admiring your outfit, you exit the closet, taking slow steps towards Eui, not that you had much of a choice.

“So what do you think?” You ask the girl, who had been standing by the desk.

“You look, wonderful miss!” She exclaims, her hands coming to her chest.

You thank her for the compliment as you slunk towards her.

Eui gestured to you to sit on the plush office chair while she fussed over your hair. You smiled as you saw the girl relax around you. Surprisingly she didn’t do much with your hair, she shifted your hair to better frame your face. And she was done.

Taking a few steps back she admires her handy work, nodding to herself. “All done,” She smiles.

“Thank you,” Standing you express your gratitude.

“Oh no, it was nothing at all,” Furiously shaking her head, then bowing as he excused herself, scurrying out the door.

Chuckling you glided across your room and out the door. As promised, you make your way to Jimin’s room. Though you weren’t exactly sure whether he was in his room or not, you were still asked to meet him there.

‘I wonder what he wanted?’ Musing to yourself, you knock on the tall double doors.

“Come in,” His voice comes through the door.

Pushing open one of the doors, you enter Jimin’s room. And the sight that greeted you truly warmed your heart. There he was, a suit-clad mafia don, on the floor cuddling a cloud of floof.

Was he really rolling around the floor wearing the suit

“Well, aren’t you two getting along?” Mockingly, you laugh, making your way towards the pair.

“Yes, we’re getting along perfectly,” He scoffs, before his eyes land on your form. His eyes trailed your body, his gaze drinks in your form. The red satin elegantly hangs from your body, as your hair naturally farms your face, further enhancing your raw beauty. Eui had done her job well. You looked just as gorgeous as the day you picked your dress, only you were still missing something. Your neck was far too bare for a party they were about to attend.

So he would fix that.

“So, what’s up? What did you want to talk about?” You ask, playing with your fingers.

“Right, follow me,” Standing from his position he leads you to his massive closet. You follow wordlessly.

Jimin pulls open one of the long drawers. And you see it filled with expensive watches and a navy blue velvet box. Most likely a jewelry box.

Your eye twitches as you realize that drawer probably costs more than everything you’ve owned put together, your apartment included.

“I wanted you to wear these,” Jimin’s voice brings you back from your thoughts as you see him open the velvet box.

The mafia boss’ eyes were trained on your expression as you gasp when you see the precious contents of the box.

There rested a white-gold necklace beautifully encrusted with diamonds. The centerpiece of the necklace was elegant curves with a diamond where they came together, another diamond hanging from the middle figure. More diamonds hung from the wing-like shapes that flowed away from the centerpiece, making the body of the necklace. The necklace itself sat beneath a pair of matching earrings. All of them encrusted with the same shimmering jewel. The exquisite piece was more art than jewelry. And was probably worth more than your life. (Picture is at the end [please go look at it, it’s really pretty])

A gentle smile curls on Jimin’s lips as he watches your awed expression before speaking up. “This used to be my mother’s,” He whispers.

“Ji一Jimin, I couldn’t. I can’t wear something so precious” Shaking your head, you step away from the box.

“Oh, I think you can,” Chuckling he lifts the necklace from his container.

“Jimin, no,” Distancing yourself from the male you deny his request. You would indulge him most to everything, you would follow almost any command he would give, but this was something you couldn’t do. This was something you didn’t deserve to do.

Sighing, he speaks, “Ever since my mother passed away, this has been sitting here, doing nothing,” His gaze rises to meet yours, and you felt your heart accelerate from the amount of warmth and affection they held. “I don’t think that’s what she would have wanted,”

“I think,” He inches closer, “She would have wanted someone to wear this. To show off this wonderful piece of art. To love this necklace just as she had,” Taking another step, he had you cornered you against the full body mirror in his closet.

Your eyes were glued to the floor as he tentatively pushed your hair away from the nape of your neck. Breath ragged, heart beating a mile a minute, you felt paralyzed as Jimin turned you to face the mirror. You couldn’t move, you wanted to stop him, to tell him you didn’t deserve to wear such a treasure. But you couldn’t, your body wouldn’t move as though under some spell

Your gaze remained plastered to your feet as Jimin unscrewed the necklace, placing it around your delicate neck, before screwing it on. The necklace was heavy, you felt the weight of the value, the importance of the necklace that hung from your neck as it rested on your chest.

“There, now it’s complete,” Appreciating the treasure that sat on your chest, Jimin says, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You look magnificent,” He murmurs in your ear.  

Minutes passed and you had finally gained some sort of control over your body. Slowly, you turn to face the silver-blond, ready to express your disagreement, but your words die in your throat when your eyes meet his. His heart was beating just as fast as yours

Your mouth hung open but no words would come out. He was so close. Close enough for you to feel his shaky breath and his thundering heart.

You felt lost as you stared into his rich honey-brown orbs, each holding so much emotion, an emotion you recognized. Emotions similar to yours, but what exactly were your emotions. And as if on autopilot, your hands moved to rest on his suit-clad chest, clutching at the fine fabric.

Letting out a shaky breath your vision falls to his plump, cherry-pink lips. Taking in the wonderfully sculpted and so kissable. Your head twitched forward as you wondered if they were as soft as they looked.

An almost identical thought ran through Jimin’s head as he watched you nibble on your lower lip. And his body moved before he could think.

His lips crashing into your, perfectly melding together as they move in sync. Your eyes slip shut as Jimin’s arms curl around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling into his silvery locks.

Groaning  into the kiss, Jimin swipes his tongue across your lower lip, asking for entrance. A request eagerly entertain. A soft whimper resounding in your throat as his muscle dominated your mouth. Stumbling backwards, he pushes you against the mirror as a quiet moan leaves your lips, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his tongue roam every crevice of your mouth.

An electrifying feeling jolt throughout your body and everything made sense. The comfort you felt just being in his presence, the fluttering feeling that always flourished within you were with him. This strange sense of trust you had in him even though you had met him less than two weeks ago. Why his words held so much value to you, the jitters you got when he spoke sweet words to you. The emotion was so natural, so familiar, you never noticed your own budding feelings.  

Minutes felt like hours as the kiss continued, but you didn’t want it to stop. Not now, not ever, slowly but surely becoming addicted to the sensation of Park Jimin’s kiss. And though unwillingly, you gently part from his lips when the need for oxygen burned your lungs.  

His plump, cherry lips remained flush against yours, panting as your lungs take in as much air as it could.

Moments pass and you finally gather the courage to look up to him, and that would be one decision you would never regret.

He wore the softest expression you had ever seen, filled with warmth, care, and love. But almost defeated? Relented? Like he had happily given up. Head involuntarily tilting when you didn’t understand his expression.  

“The things you do to me,” He whispers, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, which you gladly return.

Your frown deepens at his words. The thing you do to him? What about the thing he does to you? And you intended to make sure he knew and took responsibility for feelings.

“And what about you?” Puffing your cheeks into a pout, you say. “What about the things you did to me?” An amused smile tugged at the corners of Jimin’s mouth.

“Trapping me into your too comfortable to be real cuddles and attacking me with your attractiveness that you unfairly stole from the world,” A half-hearted scowl makes its way onto your face.

“You think I’m unfairly attractive?” An overly amused eyebrow lifts as he questions you.

“That's not what I一yes, but一 uuwgh” You groan, leaning your head on his chest, you wrap your arms around his wait when you realized he had a complete advantage.

Chuckling, he runs his fingers through your hair. Letting out a laugh of your own when you knew he completely and utterly had you.

“You are so unfair,” You chuckle, softly hitting his shoulder. He, in turn, pulls you against his body.

“You’re crazy,” You giggle.

“For you,” He smoothly returns, he gambles his luck, testing your reaction. This would be his way of asking you to be his. As he finally figured out what had been going on in his head. His heart twisted in realization as he could finally name the inexplicable happiness he felt every time you smiled, the heated rage when you got hurt, the ice-cold fear he felt when you were in danger. And the incredible amount of adoration and warmth he felt just having you close by. The love he felt when you looked at him and beamed a smile that put the brightest stars to shame.

Your eyes widen, understanding the true meaning behind his words. And try as you might you couldn’t stop the face-splitting grin that made itself a home on your face. You’d already known your answer.

“Eww, you’re so cheesy,” Leaning into him, you murmur against his lips, pecking his lips before squirming away from him.  

And you got exactly three steps in before you were pulled back by a strong yank.

“Be mine,” His eyes meet yours, all playfulness gone as he speaks seriously, though his words were more of a declaration than a request.

Mirth swimming in your eyes, you shimmy out his hold, giving him an innocent grin, you say. “I’ll think about it,” With that make you a break for the door. Though you don’t make it very far before you’re back in his grasp.  

“Minx,” He growls, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. A gesture you gladly returned.  

“We have to get going,” Giggling, you move away from the lip lock. A loud sigh leaves his lips and a pout puffs onto his cheeks as Jimin allows you to break the kiss.

“And you called me unfair,” He huffs out, his arms still locked around your waist.

“We have to go,” You repeat yourself.

“I know,” Mumbling, his eyes rake over your features.

“What are you looking at?” Poking his chest, you grumble.

“Am I not allowed to look at you?” He whispers, kissing the area behest your ear.  

“Oh, whatever,” Burying your face into his neck, you pray you didn’t smudge your makeup.

Chuckling, he speaks quietly. “The earrings, you forgot the earrings,”  

His words sober you from the giddy feeling you were drowning in just moments ago. Jimin notices your change in demeanor right away, and he knew the thoughts that were running through your head.

“Will you wear it for me, angel?” He pleads, leading you into his ginormous closet. Your eyes widen at the affectionate nickname, wordlessly following him.

“Jimin…” A soft murmur of his name leaves your mouth as you are once again standing before the full body mirror.

“You have some gall, making a mafia boss beg,” He chuckles, holding the marvelous pair of earrings.

“Fine, I’ll wear it, but just this once,” Your gaze meets his through the mirror, and you see amusement flood into those honey-brown orbs.

“Hm, sure,” Eyes narrowing at his reaction, you take the earrings from him, sliding them on, fastening them to your ear with the earring backs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Letting out a playful growl, you exit the closet, crossing the room to the door.

“You look beautiful,” He compliments, opening the door for you.

“Don’t change the subject,”

“Shelty come, let’s go,” Ignoring you, he calls for the jet-black wolf-dogs. Who enthusiastically trots towards you, brushing her head against the palm you held out, inviting her for pets.

“Shelty’s going with us?” Coasting down the hall, you eye the silver-blond.

“Of course,” Pocketing his fists in his suit pocket

“Is she allowed at the party?” A questioning brow rose on your face as you descended the spiraling staircase.

“Yeah, dogs are allowed,” Shrugging, he walks beside you as you step outside the house.

Huffing out a chuckle, you cruise to the limousine waiting for you down the front steps.

“Took you guys long enough,” An upset Jeongguk expresses the shared sentiment of Bangtan’s core six of them anyway, leaning his weight on the luxurious vehicle. “What were you even doing?” He gruffs out.

“Completing her outfit,” Jimin swiftly answers, coming to stand beside his younger brother.

“Is that?” Jin moves closer, his eyes landing on the precious treasures hanging from your neck and ears.

“It is,” Grinning, Jimin arm snakes around your waist, nudging you into the vehicle.

Questioningly, you look at the mafia don. Were you going in first? You assumed he always entered group vehicles first. So why wasn’t he entering first?

With a tilt of his head, he gestures you into the limousine, ignoring the query in your orbs. ‘Well okay then,’ Carefully lifting your dress, you crawl into the limo, dismissing Jimin’s behavior as a transparent change of heart.

To you the action may have not meant much, however to the men standing outside the vehicle, this was a silent proclamation. You were officially off-limits.

“Oh?” A knowing grin spreads onto Taehyung’s lips as he watches his boss enter the car.

“What?” Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you ask the seven men who each were miserably failing at suppressing their smiles.

But once again, Jimin is quick to change topics, “If all possible we’ll try to avoid talking about your position in Bangtan. But if we absolutely cannot avoid the subject then you’ll be recognized as a core member,” You blink once, then twice as the engines of the limousine hum to life as you feel the vibration of the vehicle moving. You thought you were attending as someone’s plus one or something of the sort, not as a core member. Just being called part of the core was a responsibility on its own, were they really trusting you with that?

“So remember to hold yourself in that regard, regardless if you have to identify yourself or not” Namjoon cleared his throat.

“Don’t let anyone disrespect you,” Yoongi adds. “It’ll reflect on us too,”

Bobbing your head in understanding, you soak in all the information, before adding a few points of your own.

“Uh, guys,” You call for their attention. “If anyone brings up the Yeong incident, just know I didn’t come up with the plan,”

Confusion pools in their eyes before realization strikes and they understand your cryptic words. Should anyone mention the incident they were to divert attention from you, obviously, you will attract some attention, however, the intention was to keep you hidden, to keep you harmless, at least your image anyway.

Everyone falls to their own thoughts as a calm silence takes over. But the quiet remained longer than you would have liked. So you did the only right thing to do in such a situation.

“Did you know your eyeballs are three and a half percent salt?” You throw the first medical fact that comes to mind.

“What?” Yoongi ganders at you like you were the stupidest life form in existence.

“Just a fun fact,” Jimin chuckles as your shoulders lifted into a shrug.

“Hey, (Y/n),” The youngest calls for your attention. “Can you dance?”

‘Well shit,’ Over the week, you were entirely focused on improving your combat skills, you had completely overlooked the fact that you couldn’t dance. Sure you could flail to a rhythm but you didn’t know proper ballroom dancing. “No,” Lowering your head, you answer.

And the limousine jerked to a stop just as you did. “Uh, that's okay, you can skip the dancing. The event is more of a banquet-style anyway,” The chocolate brunette assures you, as the dark door smoothly opened.

“Right,” Mumbling, you delicately scooch out of the vehicle and beside Jimin, who had his hand out for you.

And the sight before you was grand, to say the least. Bright yellow ground lights illuminate the two large pillars that stood on either side of the main entrance. You could see the lobby through the glass doors, marble floor, lush green plants decorated corners of the room, and a mahogany desk sat to the side of the space, giving the room an open feel.

Speckles of gold from the indoor lights sprinkled the length of the tall building. You had to strain your neck to see the whole building, you almost assumed it went on forever.

Ladies in extravagant gowns and dresses poured in alongside men dressed in perfectly tailored suits. One would think you were attending a royal ball by the way these people dressed, not a mafia party.

Cars you had only seen in movies and magazines passed by you as the crowd grew. And you feel a subtle tug on your hand, which you guessed was Jimin.

“Wait, Jeongguk!” You gasp, body jolting when you remember the gift you meant to give a certain lady if you could call her that. “Did you bring everything I told you?” You ask the male.

“Oh, yeah!” He exclaims, remembrance flooding his hazel orbs. “Hold on let me get it,” He rushes to the end of the elongated body of the limousine. And your expression falls into a blank look.

“Did you really put flowers in the trunk?” Your deadpan stare pierces through him as his shoulder rises high in a shrug.

“Well, I got them didn’t I?” He hands you the bouquet, stuffing his hands into his suit pockets.

Sighing, you shake your head. Although he was right, he had gotten all the flowers you had asked for.. And a mischievous grin splits on your face as you fuss with the flower petals adjusting and arranging them.

“What are those for?” Jimin comes up behind you, one of his arms wrapping around your waist. Your grin melts into a soft smile at the warmth of his touch.

“Don’t worry about it,” You assure him as he leads you up the front steps. Though still curious, he drops the topic, humming at your words.

You walk down the first corridor by the main entrance, your eyes fell to the floor as a sudden bout of nervousness hit you. Only it wasn’t only nervousness that had made itself known, you could feel the excitement pulse through your veins as you walked down the carpeted hallway.

“Alright here we go,” Jeongguk blasts his bunny smile as you turn one last corner and you see the humongous double door, you were sure you could fit an elephant through.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the room. Three enormous rectangular low ceiling chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. It looked as though it was raining gold; a clean white light poured from the large chandeliers. Neatly lighting the room in a soft enchanting glow.

Round tables dotted the great hall, as people mingled, greeting each other.

A soft smile plastered to your face you eyed the people you passed, taking note of their movements and expressions. Though you had to admit you were enjoying the shocked, almost scared glances you received from the many attendees when their eyes landed on your wolf-dog. You felt a surge of power run through you as you glide through the crowd with Shelty walking a naturally regal strut by your hip. And you knew the core of Bangtan was also enjoying that feeling.

As you walked, you carefully studied your surroundings, and before you even had a chance to really go through the information, you had already seen distinct characteristics in both men and women.

There were three kinds of women, ones that clung to men, ones that huddled together, and ones that sat alone, poise and prestige rolling off of them as they coyly sat and observed the fray. The quiet ones were the most dangerous, you will never truly know how much they understand.

Silently you sit in the chair Jimin had directed you to, still holding onto the bouquet. The men break into their own conversations and a few men approach Jimin, inviting him into conversations, which he somewhat reluctantly obliged. And you vaguely hear the men ask the silver-blond about your identity.  

Minutes passed of you quietly watching the crowd, and Hae Seulgi was still nowhere to be found. From what you heard from the chocolate haired mafioso, she seemed like a fly drawn to honey, and yet she was still missing.

‘Oh? Ask and you shall receive, is what they say?’ You suppress your grin into a docile smile, calming your rapidly thumping heart. Jeongguk had shown you a picture of the girl, and you had to say, she was quite attractive, in fact, she was beautiful. And from everything you had been told about her, it would seem as though the jewels she wore were brighter than she would ever be. Plus as the spoiled younger sister of Hae Jae-sang, you were almost certain money had jammed her cerebral functions. But, a healthy dose of caution keeps you safe. You recite to yourself as a woman in a deep raisin-purple mermaid dress that flowed outward at the feet stalked towards the now seated beside you Jimin.

“Waiters will be going around with food, but if you want anything just tell one of us, okay?” He places a hand on your knee cap. And your plastered smile thaws into a genuine one as you nod to him.

“Well, well,” Hae Seulgi makes her appearance. “What’s this? Park got himself a new bitch?” She scoffs, her eyes trailing your form. Though her confidence all but evaporates when a deep snarl rips from beside you. She jumps back, her gaze finally finding the wolf-dog beside you.

“Shelty,” Camly you call her name, combing your fingers through the fur of her head.

In all honesty, you too were surprised at Shelty’s actions. Hae Seulgi had done nothing threatening, yet she released a powerful growl of warning.

“What the fuck?!” She yelps. “What is that thing?!”

“A goat,” Jimin snaps. “What the hell does it look like?”

“You know the rules,” She spits back. “No exotic pets,”

“She’s a dog Seulgi,” Jimin massages his forehead.

“No she’s not that’s clearly a fucking wolf,” She barks, stepping back awkwardly after Shelty bares her teeth at the girl when she tried to approach Jimin. And from what you could see the men seated around the table were equally amused at the sight before them.                  

A placid smile blossoms on your lips as you had got exactly what you had hoped for.

“Oh, I assure she’s just a dog,” Quickly coming to a stand, you rapidly explain to her that Shelty was a dog. “Please forgive her,” You give her a deep bow.

“And just the hell are you?” She scoffs, arms folded. You bit back a grin as you raised your head, your wide innocent eyes met her sharp catty ones. The seven men freeze at her words, would they really have to introduce you as part of the core so early on?

‘Pathetic,’ Her keen dark brown orbs appraised you. She could tell just from the way you spoke and reacted, you wouldn’t last more than a week in this world. She may have been spoiled by her elder brother, but she was raised in this chaos. Something as weak as you couldn’t handle this… If only she had known.

“A doctor,” You answer simply, your right hand covered by your right as they hung in front of you.

“What?” She sneers.

“Please, as an apology for Shelty’s behaviour一” You held up the bouquet, “一would you accept this bouquet?”

Her eyes scrutinize your form. “I’ve been here less than an hour, I wouldn’t want to start any trouble,”

‘How adorably pitiful, just this once,’ She hums, holding out her hand as she accepts the flowers.  

“Seulgi,” Your attention is shifted to the man at the table across the room. A man in a navy-blue striped suit. His hard gaze commands for her presence.

“Well, I guess our meeting will have to be postponed,” She turned away from the table. “See you later Jimin,” She struts away with the bouquet, towards the male at the other table.

“Oh I think I will,” He says out loud, before muttering his next words, “In my nightmare,”

Giggling, you sit back on your chair. And a feeble smile forms on Jimin lips at the sound of your laugh.

“What was all that about?” Yoongi questions, but you keep your silence.

“By the way (Y/n), why did you give her flowers?” Jeongguk asks. “I thought we were offhandedly insulting her,”

You remained silent, you would explain your action to them once you were in the safety of your home. Right now, there were too many ears close by. Or at least that was your intention.

“Oh she did,” A voice comes from the right. During your little exchange, you hadn’t realized you had attracted the attention of a certain woman with the striking bouquet you were holding. And there stood Seoung Hei-ryung, wife of Seoung Seungri, co-head of the largest mafia gang in Seoul

“A foxy little thing aren’t you?” She smiles, confidently stepping closer to you, unafraid of the wolf-dog sitting beside you. Shelty does not react, as she comes to stand beside you.

So she caught your encrypted message. You’d have to be careful with her.  

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” There was no point in pretending in front of her.

“Geraniums, foxglove, meadowsweet, yellow carnations, and orange lilies. Quite the striking collection,” She muses.

“Hm, an interest in flowers I see,” You hum. “Do you perhaps have a garden?” An innocent question, but your eyes screamed a wicked loftiness.

“Yes, I do actually,” A mischievousness pools in her eyes.

“I happen to like flowers as well,” Smiling, you return.

“I can see that,” You laugh at her words, her sharp gaze trailing your form before she continues. “When an excellent find you’ve made Park Jimin,” She praised.

Jimin hum, unsure of what exactly Hei-ryung was speaking of.

“Here,” She hands you a card, a business card to be precise. “I’d like to get to know you better, and perhaps make a deal or two while we’re at it,”

“I’d like that too, Seoung-ssi,” You gratefully accept the card, and she lets out a loud laugh hearing your formality.

“Please, call me Hei-ryung…” She trails off, asking for your name.

“(L/n) (Y/n), but please me (Y/n),”

“Well then (Y/n), if I call you by your first name you must call me by mine,”

“I would be honored, Hei-ryung-ssi,” You answer.

“Suppose that’ll have to do for now,” She chuckles

The men around the table watch owlishly as you casually chatted and even scored a meeting with essentially the royal family of the mafia world. It was true that they had made a few deals in the past, but those were strictly business. This, on the other hand, the queen had just invited you to tea.

“But what exactly do the flowers have anything to do with this?” Jeongguk's face scrunches in confusion.

“Oh? You didn’t know,” A surprised brow raises on her face. “Well then let me tell you,” She grins.

It would have been most preferable to explain this in the safety of the meeting room, but you weren't exactly about to cut off the queen of the Korean mafia world.

“Geraniums signify stupidity, foxgloves represent insincerity, meadowsweets mean uselessness, yellow carnations mean “You have dissapointed me”, and finally orange lilies symbolizes hatred. Quite striking and full of loathing,” Chuckling, she elucidates the men. Their heads snapped to you as you held onto your coy smile.

“No. Way,” Jeongguk annunciates each syllable as excitement rushes onto his expression.

“Holy shit,” Yoongi runs a hand through his white-blond locks, a chuckle leaving his lips.

“So you cussed her out in flower,” Taehyunh wears a stupefied grin as he holds his forehead with both his hands.

“You are amazing,” Jin heaves out a laugh as he slapped the table.

“Isn’t she?” Another voice interjects from behind you.

And your face visibly falls, you feel a cold chill spread throughout your body. You recognized that voice. You jump off your seat, turning to meet the girl you hadn’t seen for nearly two weeks. The girl you never thought you would ever see again, the girl that shouldn’t be here.

“Soomin?” Meekly, you speak the familiar name as you take in the sight before you. She wore a burgundy, silk A-Line halter, sleeveless dress with a sweep train. And she looked gorgeous, you had never really seen the sweet girl outside of hoodies and leggings, but she certainly seemed to be killing that dress.  

“It’s been a while. How have you been (Y/n)?” A hand on her hip, with a cheshire grin curves on her lips as she greets you. Before bending to pet your puppy’s head. “Hey, Shelty girl,” Cooing at the wolf-dog, she runs her fingers through Shelty’s silky fur.

“Wait, you know her?” The youngest articulates the thoughts of all seven men.  

Did you know her? Of course, you knew Soomin. Why wouldn’t you? She was your boss. But what was your boss, from the flower shop you worked at doing here? She’s not supposed to be here? She’s supposed to be happily running a successful business you knew she loved. So what was she doing here, in a mafia party? Your thoughts fly in thousands of different directions as you try to make sense of the situation, but were cut off when the girl you thought you knew spoke.

“Hm, follow me, Ji-Eun Duri wants to chat,” She gestures to the door with her head.

You may have been distracted by the revelation before you, but you had regained your composure. And you didn’t miss the way Hei-ryung’s eyes widened ever so slightly before returning to their original position. Though the others were not as inconspicuous as the lady.

“Then, I will be taking my leave,” She turns to you. “Contact me when you can and we’ll set a proper meeting date,” She offers you a gentle smile before excusing herself from the group.

“Well then, come on,” Gesturing with her head, she commands.

“Why?” Jimin’s voice is deep, serious as he speaks.

“Why what?” A questioning brow raises on her brow.  

“Why does she want to talk?” He asks.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Soomin’s eyes and her words spoke different meanings.

“Let’s go,” Your voice is final, as you meet Soomin’s gaze head-on.

Though surprised with your initial assertiveness, he stands with him followed the rest of the core. Pushing back their seats they stood.  

“Right this way,” A grin breaks into Soomin’s lips as she leads you out the grand banquet hall. You hear soft murmurs around you while crossing the room, you bit your lower lip as you may have attracted more attention than comfortable. But that can come later, for now, you needed answers, you needed to talk to Soomin. And if talking to this Ji-Eun Duri was the only way, then so be it.

“I brought them,” She hollers, entering the room a few twists and turns from the main banquet hall.

The room is dimly lit, a large conference table sat in the center of the room. With a figure sitting at the far end of the table.

“Oh?” A female voice speaks, you notice the voice sounds that of an elder or at least older than anyone else in this room.

“Come, sit,” Ji-Eun Duri invites.

Stepping close, you get a better look at the figure before you. She had jet-black hair, her hair matching the color of the dress she wore. It was a simple design similar to yours. You could feel all your senses alert at her presence, your gaze studying her, trying to understand something, anything.  

You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring at the figure until Jimin pulled you to sit beside him, as per usual you take a seat on his left side. And you finally allow your eyes to wander, that is when you finally notice the tense expressions the mafiosos wore. And you knew it was caused by the woman sitting on the other end of the table.

Moments passed, no one spoke, so you decided to ask the question that had been ringing in your head.

“Soomin, what are you doing here?” You ask, surprising even yourself at the calmness it held.

“What do you mean (Y/n)?” Soomin doesn’t sit, instead, standing to the right of Ji-Eun Duri. “I’ve always been here, you’ve just never known.”

“You knew her?” Jimin asks you, and even with the minimal lighting, you could see the frown line setting on his handsome face.  

“She was my boss,” You answered. “The flower shop, she’s the owner of the flower shop I worked at,” Your voice steadier than you thought it would be.

“Hmm, honestly, one would think you bunch would show a little gratitude,” Soomin tuts, shaking her head. You could see their gaze flicker form each other then to the standing female.

“What are you talking about?” Sitting up straighter, Yoongi’s eyes narrowed as he spoke.

“You know, if I hadn’t sent (Y/n) to you when I did, your boss would be six feet under right now,” She states matter of factly.

Your eyes widen at her words. She had sent you to them? She had meant to send you straight into that fray? She had sent you to Bangtan's manor knowing there was conflict. She knowingly brought you into this world. ‘This was all on purpose,’

“You what?” Your voice falters ever so slightly.

“You heard me?” Her words are sharp, but dripping in amusement.

And that was all you needed to fully regain your steely composure. You could panic and mull over this late at home, for now, you need to figure out why you were brought into this, and the true intentions behind Duri’s summoning.

Glancing to Jimin, you nod. A silent reassurance that you were fine, and to continue the meeting.

“What do you want, Ji-Eun Duri?” He speaks curtly.

“Oh nothing really,” She responds. “I just wanted to congratulate you on the victory over Yeong Cheol Meong,”

“Honestly, it was like a breath of fresh air to see someone finally use their brain,” She lets out a breath of relief.

“What?” Jimin scowls, the gazes of the men around you darkening with it.

“All you people use is brute force and violence to solve all your problems,” She explains. “So it was nice seeing someone use what they had to their maximum advantage.”

“So well done Park,” Duri praises the male. “Gaining monopoly over the Thailand routes, making connections in foreign lands, and the profit That was one good plan.”

“Though I have a feeling the praise is falling to the person,” Soomin muses, her index finger brushing her lower lip.

“Hm, tell me Park what do you intend to do from here? What do you think would be the best course from here on out?” Duri questioned, leaning her head on her hand.

“We’re not obligated to tell you anything,” The silver-blond bites, his fists clenching. You gently nudge his feet, giving him a soft smile when he turns to you.

“What do you think (Y/n)?” The older woman shifts her attention to you.

You could have given the same reply as Jimin had, completely dodging the question. But you knew they wouldn’t let you off so easily, not with Soomin watching you like a hawk. Your former boss was well aware of your capabilities. And you knew she wouldn’t accept your roundabout answer.

The fact that they knew so much about the plan and things that came after the plan meant they knew, they knew everything. So these questions were more of a test, but a test for what? What were they really after? Going by the fact they brought you to another room, they didn’t want anyone interrupting, anyone listening. They wanted something, but what?

‘Fine, I’ll play along,’ Your gaze shifts to where the mafia don had been seated, meeting his honey-brown orbs. Your eyes spoke silent words, quietly asking him permission to answer the question.

What were you thinking? If you decide to truthfully answer this question then the future movements of the gang would be out in the open. More likely than not they follow whatever strategies you thought of. However, the fact stood that your decisions had yet to lead them astray. And though he didn't understand as to why you wanted to do this, he decided to trust your decision, on the accounts of all the benefits Bangtan had reaped from them.

“(Y/n)?” The ravenette calls your name, amusement, and interest pooling within her dark black orbs.

“It doesn’t matter what world it is, every world has it’s wars. Including this one,” You begin, “And with every war come politics, those two go together hand in hand”

Soomin wears a satisfied smile as she listens with the same interest as Duri.

“Just as politics can cause wars, it can also quell wars,” You meet the older woman’s gaze.

“And? What would’ve been your plan?” She questions. You knew she was following your thoughts, but you play her game.

“It’s simple really, trustworthy allies," Holding back a scoff you continue. “The more, the better,”

“Oh, so you intend to force Yeong into a corner?” A brow raises on her face as she reiterates your words.

“It’s not a bad plan, if you have strong allies backing you, then he can’t move as carelessly as he could if he were dealing with Bangtan alone,” Soomin hums, analyzing your suggestion.

“There's no point in having weapons if there isn’t anyone to use them, and there isn’t any use in having many allies if they’re only going to betray you,” Fingers toying with your hair, you ponder out loud. “But,”

“But?” Duri urges you on.

“If all possible I would want make Bangtan essential for Yeong’s gang survival,” Crossing your right leg over your left, your gaze lifts to meet Duri’s. “No matter how much someone may hate water, their body can’t survive without it.”

“And how do you intend to become Yeong’s water?” The ravenette eyes your form.

“I don’t know,” Shrugging, you answer honestly.

Ji-Eun Duri eyelids open then close, blinking once then twice before she bursts into a loud fit of laughter, her shoulders shaking with her laughs.

Your own eyes run over her form as you dissect her movements as you try to decipher the meaning behind her reaction.

“A curious little thing aren’t you?” Huffing as her laughter subsided, she ran her finger under her lower lip. Your line of sight shifts to Soomin, gauging her expression, only to find it drowning in amusement and a devilish pleasure.

“Well then, (Y/n),” The older woman begins. “Tell me, will you allow me to be the first to join your little alliance?” Pure joy danced in her charcoal-black orbs.

“I offer my full support and backing,” She proposes. “In any country, I have branches in, you will receive full support and cooperation from all my operatives. I’m more than willing to introduce you to any of my contact in whatever country you ask, I’ll even help you make connections or even expand,”  

“What do you want?” Expression hardening, you feel your muscles tense. She wanted something, there was no giving in this world, everything was an exchange. So what did she want? And there was no guarantee she wouldn’t betray you, she has no real incentive to stay loyal. Even if she wanted something, that was not enough reason to keep someone loyal, especially people as crafty as her.

At first glance, it would seem like her words drip in narcissism, but that was exactly it, her supposed narcissism makes her easy to underestimate. An extremely dangerous weapon on its own. However, that wasn’t it, you did not know for certain but your gut said she had more than enough power to back whatever words she may speak.

“What do you want in return?” Repeating your question, you twitch your crossed legs.

“Something very simple really,” Humming, she toys with her manicured fingernails. Cocking a brow, you rest your elbow on the conference table.

“Loyalty, I want Bangtan’s loyalty.” She says simply. .

Your mouth gapes, at her words. And though the core members of Bangatn shared a similar reaction, your surprise was caused by two very different sentiments.

‘We’d be sitting pretty if we had one of Seoul's largest drug lords behind us,’ Yoongi thought, picking at the skin of his lips. As the head behind one of the most powerful drug rings, her control reaches much farther than the boundaries of Seoul or even Asia. With her by Bangtan’s side they could expand globally. And she was offering just that, expansion and in return all she wanted was Bangtan’s loyalty, a small price to pay for what Duri was offering. You’d be a fool not to take it, but would you?

Yoongi’s gaze flickers to you then to the older woman sitting at the other end. ‘Come on, (Y/n), we can't pass this up,’

Though you had heard the same words you had understood different meanings. This was why words were dangerous, if you don’t listen carefully, you will only hear what you want to hear, not what the speaker was truly articulating. Like in this instance Duri was asking for the gang’s loyalty, was she? Then your hunch about the woman was proven correct, she was smart and cunningly so, sharp as a knife and just as she had said earlier she took maximum advantage from anything and everything. This time she took advantage with her purposely vague words.

“You’re kidding? You’re kidding right?” Scoffing you push away from the table.

“Oh no, not at all, your loyalty is all I want,” Duri misunderstands the reason behind your disbelief.

“Words are just as lethal as weapons,” Voice sharp, you hiss out.

“I don’t see what’s wrong? All I ask in return for my backing and connection is loyalty,” She knows exactly what’s wrong, and so do you.

“So let me get this straight,” Scoffing, you decide you reiterate Duri’s word in simpler, clearer terms. “You’re offering connection and backing in other countries in exchange for control over the most extensive and most accurate network in Seoul?”

The seven men freeze when they hear those words leave your lips. Their bodies are rigid as they fully comprehend your words, or rather comprehend Ji-Eun Duri’s artful deceit.

Adjusting his cuffs, Jimin sat straighter. Focused on the things Bangtan would gain from the woman, he had overlooked what they would be giving up. But how could he not? Her words were molded in such an inciting trap. And these were the moments he was especially grateful that you were sitting beside him.

And though you had said plenty, you still  had more to say, much more.

“The words “I want your loyalty,” is as clear as my skin swamp water. Of course, being aligned with you would mean none of the information collected on you would be shared, but using the term “loyal” loosely then if you asked us not to, we wouldn’t be able to gather intel on you or you could even ask that for people associated with you,” You explain. “And along the lines of information, going by your ambiguous descriptions of the deal, being “loyal” to you would also mean we wouldn’t be able to keep information from you whether it’d be about us and our own affairs or others. You would have not only full access to our networks but also almost full control over them,”

Puffing out a breath, you fold your arms leaning against the office chair. And the men around you visibly gulp as they were now able to see the finely laid trap.

“Did I miss anything?” You ask calmly, your briefly lost composure returning to you. “If so, please feel free to as the list,”

“I think she got all of them,” Soomin quips, nodding her head, thoroughly impressed with your understanding. “What do you think?” She asks Duri.

“Yeah, I think she did,” Sh chuckles. “It’s been some time since anyone has caught my words,” Her eyes form crescents from the wide grin she wears.  

“I’d forgotten what it feels like to match wits,” She muses. “Alright, how about I make a better deal?” You watch her with incredulous eyes. Unbelieving of every word that left her mouth.

“I offer Bangtan my loyalty,” Her charcoal orbs land on yours. “In exchange for yours,”

“Again with th一”

“Not theirs,” Duri cuts you off. “Just yours, I want your loyalty (L/n) (Y/n),”

“Mine?” Forehead folding into a confused frown, you try to search for any hidden meaning in her words, any advantage she would gain from having only your loyalty. And you saw none. What was going on?

“Why?” Eyes narrowing, you question her.

“Because I want your loyalty,” Effortlessly dodging the question, she continues. “So do we have a deal or not?”

“What does the term loyalty include?”

“Anything you want it to,” She answers simply, she flicks her wrist.

If there were any advantages of having your loyalty then you couldn’t see it, however, if she were to pledge loyalty to Bangtan the gang would be able to benefit from all her resources. But what were the extent of her resources, was this really worth it?

Shifting your gaze to the men around you, and it dawned on you. No one was speaking, as a matter of fact, they had barely spoken at all. You were discussing the possible future of the gang, and none of the actual gang members were talking. Even Jimin had kept his silence, but why?

Your eyes find Jimin’s, silently asking him for guidance. His expression softens when he sees you looking at him. ‘What should I do?’ Your eyes asked. ‘Let’s take it,’ His answered, nodding, you scan the faces of the rest of Bangtan and their expressions said the same. So it was decided.

“We’ll take it,” The smile on Duri’s face remains the same as you answered. So she had predicted this.

“But,” You add. “Your word isn’t good enough, I want papers, contracts, a physical embodiment of your promise,”

“Oh?” She hums, her eyebrows raising in mild surprise.

“Make no mistake, you’re a threat just as much as you’re an opportunity,” You warn, uncrossing your legs, your hands falling to the armrests of the office chair you were sitting on.

A grin spreads on Soomin’s lips as she watches the interaction.

“Fine,” She says, her eyes closed. “Let’s meet three days from now, we can get everything down on paper, then,” Her gaze flickers to you then to Jimin.

“What do you say, boss?” Mockingly, she asks the silver-blond.

“Send the location of the meeting to Namjoon,” Standing he stares daggers into the older woman, he answers sharply.

“Alright, see you at the meeting, then,” She waves, lightheartedly.  

“See ya later (Y/n),” Soomin called from her place beside Duri.

You stand just with the other core members, as your eyes flicker to Soomin’s catty ones then to Duri before you turn to leave the room.

“What the hell just happened in there?” Taehyung breathed out as you walked down the carpeted corridors.

What the hell had happened? Everything felt like a blur, one moment you are reuniting with Soomin in a place you never imagined you would. Then Ji-Eun Duri happened, just who the hell was she? And why did she want your loyalty? Was it some kind of scheme, a ploy? You’d have to ask Namjoon for proper information on her.

“I know right?” Jeongguk exclaims, his tone brimming with excitement.

“Did we really just strike a deal with Ji-Eun Duri? Like the Ji-Eun Duri?” Hoseok mutters still in soft shock.

“First Seoung Hei-ryung, then Ji-Eun Duri. Just one power woman after another,” Jin chuckles in disbelief, that you had just arranged meetings with not just one but two of the most powerful women in the mafia world.

“I know right,’’ The youngest joins in.

“I don’t think you understand the weight of your accomplishment (Y/n),” Namjoon says, impressed with what you had done.

“Yes, you did an amazing job,” Jimin praises, bringing you closer to him by your waist.

Sighing, you stopped in your tracks, staying in place. You were glad that they were happy, you really were, but seeing Soomin, the deal, you just needed time to process everything. And a party was not the place you wanted to do that.

“Jimin,” You whisper, wrapping your arms around the silver-blonde, you bury your face into Jimin’s neck. “Can we go home?” Mumbling, you nuzzle further into his neck.

A soft smile curved onto his lips as he curls his arms around you. “Of course, love,”

But your stomach twists and grumbles, making a very loud rumbling noise, a signal that your empty stomach was and crying to be filled.

“Can we go to McDonald's first?” You ask, looking up to him.

The silence continues for a solid minute before all seven men burst into laughter. Your eyes flutter at the sight before you join in on the laughing.

“Anything you want,” The mafia don chuckles, “Are any of you staying?”

“What?” Taehyung spits, eyebrows furring in anger. “And miss out on McDonald's? Fuck that,” He says.

“Let’s go to McDonald's!” Hoseok exclaims, his fists pumping into the air.

Laughing, you leave the grand gala in favor of a fast-food restaurant together.

~

“So this is the girl you chose?” Duri observes the swirl of the wine as she twirls her glass.

“Yes,” Soomin spoke softly, leaning against the wall behind the onyx haired woman.

“Did you see the confused look on her face when I said I want her loyalty?” Duri chuckles airily.

“Honestly, I’m not sure how someone could be so sharp and so dull at the same time,” Soomin sighs, her soft-blond hair falling onto her face.  

“Why did I want your loyalty?” Duri says as though speaking to you. “It’s simple my child, when you take over the world I want to stand at your side.”

“In the first three days of her arrival, Bangtan took over the Thai weapons routes. In a mere three days, so imagine what she could do in three months or three years,” The older woman asserts.

“The game board just shifted my daughter,” Sipping her wine, the older woman stands. “Things are changing, whether it be for the better or for worse,”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” The younger woman hums thoughtfully.

“Well, I see every situation as both an opportunity and a threat,” You muse, watering the sunflowers. “O一of course that doesn’t apply to every situation,” You stammer out, realizing you had just said something people would normally classify as strange.

‘Seeing every situation as an opportunity and a threat, huh?  I look forward to seeing what you become (Y/n),’