#if everything goes well ill be deep in the woods when i do lets pray for me

[vampmilf]

oh im exactly half a year away from hitting 30 btw

[escapetodreamworld]

I’ll protect you. Angie x fem!reader

Request: Can you write a one shot where reader saves Angie from the Collins? Requested by anon.

Words 4,259

Warnings: Angst Hurt/Comfort Character's we don’t care about die.

Thank you to the groupchat, we really do share a mind sometimes, you'll know what I'm talking about. There's also i little nod at the end about something we talked about.

A special thank you @arewecoolio who helped me a lot with this story. Thank you for hyping me up when I thought this was going to be a terrible fic, thank for giving me tips to help it run more smoothly. Ily.

You didn't even think twice when your powerful hearing picked up on her cries. You pushed yourself off your knees where you were scrubbing the tile floors, and sprinted as fast as you could through the manor. You finally reached the servants quarters, and didn't bother knocking on her door, barging right in. What you see makes your heartbreak and anger rise and burn in your throat.

Angelique’s curled into a ball sitting on the floor in between her bed and dresser. Tears rolling down her face, as a big bruise forms on her cheek, dried stream of her blood running from her lip down her chin.

You enter her room, closing the door behind you, you take a few steps towards Angelique before stopping. You drop to your knees and crawl the last couple feet towards her, stopping a foot away. Angelique hasn't acknowledged your presents, so you're careful not to touch her, you don't want to scare her.

"Angelique." You say softly, trying to get her attention. She continues to stare ahead, straight through you. "Angie, please, talk to me." You try again, voice cracking. You used your nickname for her, hoping it will snap her out of her trance.

She continues to stare at nothing, after a few moments of silence she speaks, so quiet that someone with normal hearing would have had a hard time understanding it.

"Master Collins caught me staring at Barnabas"

"Is that why you got that bruise? Because you stared at his son." You ask, your voice so low it comes out more as a growl. Angelique nods. "Angie, you can't keep doing this, the man is going to get you killed." You explain, hoping she finally listens to you. She doesn't.

"I just need to get his parents out of the way, then we can be together." She says, completely ignoring what you said. She stands up eruptly, moving through her room, grabbing a spell book from her hiding place. she turns back to you, her bruise and dried blood gone from her face. "Cover for me?" She asks.

You want to say "No way!" Tell her he's not worth it, tell her she's not thinking clearly. But you don't, you just nod your head. She grins and leaves the room, leaving you completely alone. Just like every other time she ditches you for Barnabas. You used to be inseparable, always following each other around, well you followed Angelique around. But there wasn't a day you weren't together. 

At least until Barnabas Collins started showing interest in Angelique, after that, they were always sneaking around, doing things that could get Angie beaten if anyone found out. And you had to just sit there, praying the day they get caught would never come. A small part of yourself, hopes they do get caught, because then Angie would have to stop seeing him, and spend time with you again. You hate that part of yourself.

You admitted to yourself a long time ago that your feelings for Angie went way beyond friendship. Many times you catch yourself watching Angie while she watches Barnabas. Wishing she'd look at you like that. That intense stare, following wherever he goes.

It makes your blood boil knowing he doesn't love her, he only uses her, and Angie is to blind with love to see it. If they ever got caught, nothing would happen to him, he would go about his life like nothing happened, never sparing Angelique another thought.

And his parents, they would see that Angelique disappeared, you'd never see her again. And it would be all his fault, all because he was a man whore. The time that they get caught will come sooner or later. Angelique's right, his parents have to go. It's the only way she'll be safe. You can't wait for Angie to find a way, it could take days, weeks even, and the chances of getting caught are higher every day. You have to help her, you can't stand the thought of never seeing her again.

You sit there, on Angie's floor, trying to think of ways to ensure Angie's safety. There's only one thing that comes to mind, and you hate it, it disgusts you, makes you feel ill, but it's the only way, you'll have to kill them yourself, tonight. during the full moon.

Rising from the floor, you leave to find master Collins and lady Collins. It's getting dark, and the full moon is starting to rise. And every night master and lady Collins take an evening stroll. Everything's coming together perfectly. You would never do what you're about to do, but it's for Angie, you tell yourself. You hide in the trees near the manor, all you have to do is wait. And try not to chicken out.

 The moon finally reaches peak position, you realize with dread. You step further into the shadows, letting the transformation take its hold on you. You've learned not to fight it, it only hurts if you do. After a few moments it's done, your legs and feet are longer and you're covered in hair.

A noise alerts you to two people approaching. the Collins on their walk, You  crouch down to not alert their dog, and wait for them to get closer. Oddly before they can get close enough, a giant seahorse gargoyle falls onto them, killing them. You stand there, shocked before realizing Angelique must have found a way of getting rid of them. You run further into the wood, knowing the sound that statue made will make a servant or two investigate.

By the morning when you transform back into your human form, everyone knows of master and lady Collins passing. On your way to bed you're practically tackled by Angelique, she throws her arms around you. You're surprised but hug her back, when she finally pulls away she drags you into her room. 

"Where were you last night? I came to your room last night to tell you something important but you weren't there." Angelique asks. Worried.

"Oh, I was out again, you know, watching the stars and full moon. I fell asleep out there again." You lie. You're a terrible liar but you know how to distract Angie so she forgets about it. "What did you have to tell me?" You ask quickly when it looked like Angelique was going to comment on your lie.

It works. Angie forgets, she immediately starts grinning. "I did it, I killed them." She whispers, so proud of what she's accomplished.

"I thought you might've had something to do with that accident." You say, even though you knew she had everything to do with it. Her grin gets wider.

"This means Barnabas and I can be together." She says, excitedly. Your heart drops, you forgot why she wanted them gone, so she could continue sleeping with Barnabas. Your heartbreaks, you don't hear what Angie's saying, it all sounds underwater to you. But you do notice that she starts to leave, practically skipping to the door. She turns around to say something else to you before she leaves.

"Oh, and (y/n), maybe don't fall asleep outdoors anymore. There could be werewolves." She says, jokingly. Before smiling and leaving you alone in her room once again. Her joke ringing in your ears, you never told her what you were. You didn't want her to know, the thought of her ever seeing you in that ugly form disgusts you. You feel bad for hiding it, but it's for the best.

Despite two of the Collins dying, everything continues on like normal, do your chores, then do whatever you want as long as you're not in the Collins family's way. Of course, it's only Barnabas now. Which means more freedom, but it comes at a price, that price for you is you never see Angie, and when you do all she does is complain that Barnabas isn't spending time with her. You want to be annoyed, but at least you're seeing her when she's complaining.

That's how it goes for weeks, only seeing her when she complains to you about Barnabas not sleeping with her. You're getting mad about it, all she does is tell you how she threw herself at him again and he just sends her away. But today is different.

She storms into your room while you're reading, she's angry, something about seeing Barnabas with some girl. How they were kissing and confessing their love for each other, you know Barnabas told Angie he didn't love her, you can see how mad Angie is. It makes you angry, but not for the reason she wants.

"Maybe you should just let him be happy, he clearly loves this girl." You snap, you couldn't hold it in anymore. All that anger is finally coming out.

"Excuse me! I tell you he's cheating on me and your suggestion if I let him!" Angelique yells, her anger now focusing on you. You don't care, you're going to say what needs to be said anyways.

"He's not cheating on you! He was never courting you! He was just using you, and you let him!" You yelled, frustrated. Why couldn't she just see that he doesn't love her.

"Whose side are you on?" She asks, angrily. You growl and grit out "yours" "are you sure? Cause it sounds like you don't care about me." She says, and that weakens you. Your shoulders slump, and you try your best to take deep breaths, releasing all your anger.

Once you've calmed down you address her. "I'm sorry Angie, I do care about you. It's just, miss you, i never see you anymore." You say sadly, look down at your hands, hoping she accepts your apology. 

You hear her sigh, and feel her hand on your face, lifting your head up  to look at her. Once you look at her she rubs her thumb over your cheek. You close your eyes, relaxing into her touch. "I am sorry too, you must have felt abandoned. I promise not to do it again. I just need to figure out how to get rid of this whore that's trying to take Barnabas away from me." She says, still rubbing circles in your cheek. 

"I don't know Ang, push her off a cliff." You say, not really thinking about it, still caught up in the feeling and her warm hand on your face. But when she stops drawing patterns in your face, you open your eyes. Angelique has a wicked grin on her face, you've never seen her like this before, it scares you.

"You're a genius, my dear." She says, and you blush at the praise and pet name. But before you can say anything, she's withdrawing her hands and walks away. Once again leaving you. You sit there, staring at the door, you can't believe it happened again. She left you again, after promising. You close your door and cry.

You don't leave your room for two days, And no one checks on you. You know you'll have to leave your room before tonight, you can't risk changing into a werewolf while in the manor. But you stay in bed till you know you can't wait any longer, finally you sneak out, towards the servants staircase. But when you hear people on the stairwell, you quickly decide you don't want to see anyone and get asked questions, so you turn on your heels, heading for the main stairwell. 

You hear a commotion from below, it sounds like a man shouting. You peer over the railing, listening to what was happening. You can't see anyone but you can hear them. 

"You're a wretched woman, you're vile and evil, you killed the woman I love, you cursed me to be this monster, and you have the audacity to try and place your lips upon me!" You hear Barnabas shout, and he finally comes onto view. You're shocked by what you see, Barnabas is paler than you've ever thought possible, his fingernails are longer and sharper, almost like yours when you change. And the most terrifying part about him, he's covered in blood. "What did you do Angie?" You whisper to yourself.

You see Angelique following after him, a frown on her face, she grabs Barnabas's arm, spinning him to look at her. "Don't you see, I did this for us. So we could finally be together." She says, touching his face. Just like she did with you. A growl tries to escape your throat, you clasp your hands over your mouth. You realize in horror that you stayed too long, that the moon has risen. Backing away from the railing you hunch over, transforming, you try to stop it, hold it off just a little longer, but it's too strong.

Suddenly you hear a crash coming from below. Rushing back to the railing you see Angelique crumbled on the floor, on the complete opposite side of the room, from where she stood earlier. Barnabas slowly approaches, glaring down at Angelique, it's clear what happened, Barnabas threw her off of himself.

Barnabas lifts Angie up by her throat, you can see her struggling to breathe. And the next thing you know you're running full speed towards the two of them, slamming into Barnabas. You and him go tumbling to the floor, you hear Angie drop to the floor behind you, coughing and gasping for air.

You and Barnabas get up quickly, he stares at you in shock, you glare back. Your tense, ready to attack, "(y/n)? What has this witch done to you?" Barnabas asks, looking you over, deeply concerned about the state you're in. He reaches out to touch You, you growl and he pulls back. You can hear the coughing subside behind you, then a strained voice. 

"(Y/n)?" Angelique says, shock clear in her voice, despite how rough it was. You send Barnabas another glare before turning to Angelique, dropping to your knees before her. 

"Angie, are you alright?" You ask, carefully reaching to touch the bruising on her neck. You ignore Angie's eyes burning into your face, and focus on searching her for broken bones.

You touch her wrist, feeling for breaks. Angelique clasps her hand around your wrist, not painful, just enough to get your attention. you look at her, and you wish you could look away. "Why didn't you tell me?" her eyes bore into you so intensely, almost searching your very soul for the information she wants.

"I, I didn't want you to see me like this." You say, finally breaking eye contact. Staring at her bruises instead, until the familiar feeling of her hand on your cheek pulls you back in.

"I could have helped you." She says sadly, eyes showing the hurt she feels. You shake your head, pulling her hand away. "No spell can fix me Angie, you know that." You tell her, crying. Saddened by her concern for you. Stepping away from her, you turn back to Barnabas.

Barnabas was still standing there, watching your interaction. You send him another glare as you slowly advance on him. You can see the concern in his eyes, concern for his safety. He starts talking, rambling about what Angie did, how she deserves to burn for her crimes. You strike, your back hand to his face sends him into the wall. You ignore the gasp you hear coming from Angelique. You advance on him again, this time, once he gets back up, the fear in his eyes is gone, replaced with hate and determination.

He charges at you, and you're in a fight of teeth and claws, both trying to rip the other apart. You'll be damned if he's the survivor of the battle, you'll be the one winning this, even if it means Angelique never looks at you again, at least she'll be safe. 

Barnabas throws a nasty punch to your stomach and in your moment of weakness, he grabs you, throwing you across the room. You hit the floor, sliding, you use your claws on the tile to slow you down, the sound is terrible but it stops you from hitting the wall behind you. Your back up, running at Barnabas, he charges you too, you leap up, striking in from the air. The blow causes him to be knocked over. You are on him, hands wrapped under his neck, trying to get it to break. He shoves you off, pushing you away a few feet, you run back towards him, only to get kicked. Thrown into the statue pillar, a sickening crack is heard and you're not sure if it came from you of the statue, too disoriented to tell.

 You struggle to your feet when you hear Barnabas approaching, but he's next to you before you can, lifting you into the air by your throat. You struggle, trying to pry his hands away with your own, kicking him. You know the kicks hurt but he stays strong, choking you out. "I'm sorry about this (y/n)" he says, remorsefully, squeezing tighter. It's become very hard to see, you really just want to close your eyes. You can barely make out the scream coming from somewhere in the room.

"ENOUGH!"

Suddenly you drop to the floor, pain shooting through your knees from the impact, you gasp for air, struggling to inhale any. Your vision slowly comes back, you're able to see Barnabas, floating in mid air struggling to get out of the invisible hold he's in. You continue taking deep breaths, focusing your very limited vision on Barnabas, worried he'll drop at any second.

You flinch when you feel someone touch you, you jerk away from the touch, only to be pulled back into it. The smell of vanilla, and the unmistakable stench of magic hit your nose, you relax into it. Welcoming the touch you've been pulled into. You finally take your eyes off Barnabas, and focus on Angie. Taking in the tears on her cheeks, and the slight quiver of her lip.

"You idiot, you almost got killed, why should you do something so stupid?" Angelique asks, furiously. But you can see the concern all over her face. You smile, sheepishly. "You're welcome." Angie didn't like that answer, not one bit. Glaring at you, her way of saying "Don't joke." You stop smiling, You clear your throat, wincing in pain when you do. Angelique frowns, moving her hand over your throat, barely grazing it, you flinch when you feel it, causing her to pull back slightly.

Angelique carefully moves her hand back towards you, keeping eye contact. You don't flinch when she touches you this time, your neck feels tingly, then the pain in your throat is gone. "Now, tell me why you thought fighting a vampire was a good idea." Angie says, sternly. removing her hand from your throat.

"He hurt you, I couldn't stand by and watch him choke you to death." You explain to her, causing Angie to sigh.  "So you thought you'd kill him. Sweetie, that's not like you." Angie says, running her hand through your messy hair, you wince when she touches a spot on the back of your head, both of you realizing you must have hit it, Angelique starts healing it. "I would do it for you, I would have killed his parents that night if you didn't beat me to it." You say, revealing that information caused Angelique to frown.

"You were going to kill Barnabas's parents for me? Why would you do something like that for me?" Angie asks, her brows scrunching in confusion. "Why are you so willing to hurt people or get hurt for me?" She questioned, and you realize this is the best opportunity to tell her.

"I would do anything for you, I love you." You tell Angelique, looking at every little detail on her face, memorizing it. When you meet her eyes you shiver, she's looking at you the way she does Barnabas, that intense possessive stare, the look you always wished was directed at you. You can help looking at her lips, Angie notices, her lips forming into a smirk.

She uses the hand still holding the back of your head to slowly pull your head towards hers, you're so excited, you're about to kiss the girl you've been dreaming about. But before you can press your lips to hers, you remember something and pull back. It confuses Angelique, but you quickly explain.

"My teeth are a lot sharper in this form, I could hurt you." You tell her, showing her your sharpened teeth. She looks at them and laughs. "I'll be careful." She says, leaning back into. You pull back again. "That's great but I might forget and cut you. Maybe we should wait till the sun rises?" You say, glancing towards the window. Angie pouts but nods, understanding your concern.

"Thank gods, I didn't want to see that disgusting display" you hear Barnabas growl. Angie's and your heads snap up to Barnabas, glaring daggers. You growl back but Angie acts quick, Barnabas is slammed into the ground, the tile shattering upon his impact. He's then thrown into the wall opposite the two of you, and finally he's positioned again in the spot he was hanging from earlier, his unconscious body above you.

Your eyes are brought back to Angie by the always familiar hand on your cheek, you lean against her hand, a content sigh leaving your lips. Angie smiles at you. "I love you." She whispers, kissing your cheek, very close to your lips. You're so happy, but one fear looms over you, along with his body.

"What are you going to do about Barnabas?" You ask Angie, you're deeply worried about her response. Her soft smile turns into a wicked grin, the same one you witnessed after telling her to push that girl off a cliff, it's worries you but gives you hope at the same time.

"I think the town's people would be very interested in knowing about our local vampire." She says, eyes wild. She grins at you then sneers at Barnabas's body.

The plan was simple. Angie tells the town's people about Barnabas, leads the angry mob to the manor, and you stay hidden so no one sees you, and she'll be back to you by sunrise. So far it's went well, they came for Barnabas dragging him out of the house, you've been hiding in Angie's spell room, the one place no one can find, unless Angie wants them to find it. The sun is almost risen, you'll turn back soon, but Angie isn't here yet. You're worried, what if Barnabas told everyone she was a witch and they believed him, what if he broke free and killed her. What if she just doesn't want to come back to you.

You've paced the room for what feels like forever, worrying yourself into a panic. You're about to sneak upstairs to see if there's any sign of Angie when you hear footsteps echo down the stone steps. The latch on the door clicks open and the door swings open, Angie strides in, a smirk plastered on her face. She closes the door behind her with a flick of her wrist. 

"I'm sorry, those idiots wanted to try stoning him first, they didn't realize it would work, finally, they decided to bury him deep in the woods in a chained up coffin." She explains, washing the dirt from her hands in a wash bowl. "I marked the place he was buried, just to make sure we remember and so no one can unearth him." She continues saying.

You've listened silently, just content on watching her. You're so relieved she's back, safe, not one scorch mark on her. She turns around, catching you staring, she smirks and winks at you. You blush at being caught. Angelique stalks towards you, like she's hunting her prey. As she reaches you the sunlight shines through the window, basking the room in a golden color, all you can think about is how beautiful the color makes Angie look. But her grin makes you know she's thinking something very different.

Angie reaches out, grabbing your skirts pulling you closer to her, you gasp at the feeling of her body pressing against yours. Angie leans in to whisper something in your ear. "As cute as you look in the other form, this one's my favorite." She says, then kisses below your ear.

You gasp, both at the feeling of her lips and breathe on your ear and because you forgot what the sunrise meant. You're human again. You pull back so you can see Angie's face, and you can tell she can't hold off anymore. You lean forward, and Angie surges forwards meeting your lips, it doesn't take long for a whimper to leave your lips, but Angie swallows it, pressing further into you.

It's bliss, pure bliss, you've never been happier than in this moment, and you know, it'll feel like this for a very long time to come. You'll do anything to keep Angie happy, and in the following centuries, you do just that. Sure Angie is happy with you, your relationship hasn't lost any if it's intensity or love. But you're in love with a devious little witch, and she thinks it's fun to mess with the Collins family, she even asks you to help sometimes, so when she begs and seduces you into going to bite the Collins kid. You do it.

[riverkloss]

My entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for her 500 challenge! My twist on Hansel and Gretel! Plus I made a moodboard which is super nice if I say so myself. ❤

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I hated the dress, it was pretty but the way it hung on my body, the color, for what it stood for.

Purity, Marriage, to be chained down to a man, one I didn't love.

Harold's mother Mary was fixating on my hair, near pulling it out at the roots, I fought back the winces, at one point I thought about turning around and grabbing her hair to yank it out of her scalp.

She was tall, thin, she reminded me of a spider, her dark hair pulled into a bun, neat and tightly. A dark dress as if she was in mourning, I was.

She was acting as if I was her porcelain doll to dress up, one without a mind.

The reflection was haunting me, this girl staring back at me. Blank eyes, a trembling lip. It didn't look like me, she looked like a stranger, she looked lost.

Mary yanked again at my roots while braiding my hair, a burning pain running alongside my scalp, I hissed in pain. "Stop moving." She scolded me as if I was a child, I huffed out a breath of anger.

Hero's head perked up watching carefully with those big brown eyes of his, alerted and waiting. He was a very intimidating looking dog, but a big baby to me. He was a mutt, half sure he was a German Shepherd, and a Husky, his eyes always on me watching everything I did.

The last of his litter, the runt. Once I got him he grew and grew, he seemed to get bigger everyday.

My best and only friend.

"Is that what you have packed?" Her voice had a distasteful tone. I turned my head to follow her gaze on my trunk, a box full of books neatly stacked on top.

"Yes, May I ask why?"

I looked at her confused, I shifted the front of my body towards her, relieved that my hair was free of the clutches of her fingers.

"You won't be needing all those books, you won't have time to read once you have children." Her eyes look for an imperfection in my face, ready to fix it.

A sickening feeling turns my stomach. I will have to lie in bed with him, have his children.

The thought makes me ill.

"We need the money." The sentence my mother told me runs in my head.

"You should feel grateful for marrying my son." She states, her lip almost upturning in a snarl.

I want to tell her that her son is a pig, a ugly little repulsive pig with his head up her ass, the words die in my throat, I felt incapacitated by my own words, my mind, constantly double thinking over myself.

"Tell your husband that my dog likes to sit in the front seat." It felt good to push back even the slightest at her.

"Didn't your mother tell you? The mutt isn't coming with you, Harold has never been fond of dogs or any pets, dirty things." Those words pushed me back more, I actually let out a laugh in disbelief.

"I've seen dirtier." I smirked at her, I watched her open her mouth to say something as her face switched to spite.

"Mary? The guests are arriving." I hear her husband call out from behind the closed door.

Her hateful gaze doesn't intimidate me.

If anything it fuels me more.

"You best pray to God before the ceremony." Is all she says before she leaves me alone.

I bite back the untasteful words to tell her to shove God up her ass.

I turn my body towards my mirror once again, laying my palms flat on my vanity, so many emotions running through me.

Alone.

There was no stirring through the house, everyone was outside in the front of the house, my chance was open, and I was a fool if I stayed, lived in misery.

I was a fool to take it too, but a free fool was better than one who had none and was still a fool at the end of the day.

I needed a sign. A sign from any of the gods, I pleaded to any of them who would listen.

Then I heard the chime of bells, from the windchime against my window. There it was.

The last gaze I had in the mirror, at the girl who had the glint of a spark in her stormy eyes, a soft smile on her lips.

I darted for my carry bag, shifting my books off my trunk and stuffing clothes in, the few dollars I had, along with the few books I could take, feeling a loss for the others I had to leave behind.

"Let's go, Hero." I waved my hand, he sprinted up quickly to follow behind me, as I moved through the house quickly and quietly, to the kitchen. I opened the back door, the warmth of the spring air hitting me, as I stepped out the door. Hero was at my side as I closed the door behind me.

I turned my head, and my Uncle was leaning against the house smoking a cigarette, he looked at me, panic ran through my body.

And as I thought my freedom was vanishing through my fingers.

"Keep to the trail." He nodded to the woods, he took a deep inhale of his cigarette.

A breath of relief escaped my chest.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand. "See you later, Kid."

I smiled softly. "See you later."

I knew there wasn't a later, but it was better that way than saying goodbye.

The woods were only steps away, and I ran for life, for freedom.

I was a free fool.

~~~

Dark clouds came overhead, the night rolling in as the sun went down, the birds quieting.

My legs were heavy and burning, and Hero kept at my side, patiently.

"Are you lost?" A smoky voice says, making me jump with a gasp, my heart felt like it was going to pop from my chest.

I turned my body towards the trees. A tall man stepped out of the tree line, but didn't step on the trail, his hair was dark, braided and shaved at the sides, scuff lining his boyish features. I noticed a small birthmark on his cheek near his nose. He looked familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. He was quite handsome.

"No, I'm not lost." I stated confidently. Hero didn't react to him, which was odd because Hero didn't like strangers. It made me slightly uneasy.

He perked up a dark brow at me, a charming smirk.

"Are you sure?" He was looking at my dress, his smirk getting slightly bigger.

"I would think you would be at a wedding."

I held onto my bag tightly, ready to strike first if it came that way.

"You should know that they are waiting for you at the end of the trail, they thought they would let you walk to defeat." He turns his head briefly to look down.

My face morphs in surprise for a moment, but it's something that my mother would do. That I believe.

"Why are you telling me?"

He bite his tongue with his sharpest canines.

"You're pretty."

I scoffed. I knew what I looked like, yes I was pretty, but men didn't want wives that outweighed them, or intimidated them.

Weak men.

"I know a way off the trail, one you won't get caught."

I pressed my lips together.

"How can I trust you when I don't know you, you're a stranger in my eyes.

"My name is Hvitserk, now we aren't strangers." He smiled at me.

He outstretched his hand for me to take, but I was still weary of him.

"If you try anything Hvitserk, I will let my dog tear you apart." I stated.

I reached for his hand, and he helped me step from the trail into the treeline, Hero followed and began walking in front of us.

"I'm curious, why did you run away, was the husband-to-be grotesque?" He is toying with something in his pocket and pulls out a few wild berries, he pops one into his mouth.

I laughed at that. "I don't want to be held down in a loveless, freedomless marriage, I want more."

He nods, listening to every word, while popping berries into his mouth.

"My father is pushing us boys to find wives, he is more in the old ways about it, stealing a woman and taking her to the underworld." I laugh a little at the underworld part.

"Like Hades and Persephone?"

He raises his eyebrows at me.

"You know that story?"

"I've always liked that story, My parents hated when I read books like that, they thought it would tamper with my mind." I whirl my finger around my temple.

"He stole her away, but they actually loved each other, he treated her with equality and respected her, never cheated on her, or had stray eyes for another, he would destroy the world if she asked." I continued.

He held out his hand to offer me a red berry and plucked one with my finger. I put the berry in my mouth, it was so sweet and ripe against my tongue, almost a cinnamon hint to it.

"If you asked me, I would too."

I playfully rolled my eyes, taking another berry, then another.

"Though my Mother doesn't want to admit it, I think she went willingly as well."

"Oh?" I peer at Hero who is still walking ahead. I paid little attention to what he said, but I should have.

"She ate the berries my Father offered to her, and she became tied to the underworld."

I stare at him like he's grown two heads.

And my gaze goes to the berry in my fingers,

Red and plump, I feel drunk all of a sudden and light like I am floating.

He curls himself around me, and I gasp.

"I think Cerberus will be glad to see his son again." He chimes.

He holds onto my full hip with a heavy grasp.

"I'm sure you'll give me sons too." His gaze darkens on me, he leans down to my lips and my heart feels heavy.

He presses his lips to mine, and I'm engulfed in hellfire.

Maybe being in the Underworld won't be so bad.

[badnamjams]

Omnipotent Deity: The Legend Of The Tiger

Tiger!yoongi x Villager!reader    mature 18+

Summary: The village you live in is small and poor. When your family starts getting sick from malnourishment, you’d do anything to help your family from facing death. Hearing about the legends of the almighty tiger who has immense power that can grant wishes, you think it’s your only way. That is, if he deems your worthy. 

Word count: 6.9k words

Warnings: myths, smut, yoongi is a god, and a tiger

--

“I’m afraid that your mother does not have much time to live, young Y/N.”

“A-are you sure?” you look up at the shaman that stands before your sickly mother. 

“Her body can’t adjust to the lifestyle that has been brought upon us,” the shaman sighs, “the never-ending drought has been with us for two years now.” 

“Is there anything I can do? Any villages close by that can help?” you ask desperately.  

“Villages nearby have been facing the same issues as us, there’s nothing I can do, young Y/N,” the shaman bends down to touch mother’s forehead. 

Two years have gone by since the start of the drought. Two years since the crops and livestock have gone down significantly. Crops are hard to harvest, and the livestock have been getting eaten by the tigers that live in the mountains. It felt like there was no way out. 

Life without mother was something unimaginable to you. Not only did she teach you everything you knew, but she brought warmth with her wherever she went. She was generous to the village. Being married to a head elder, she was a mother to the village. People came to her when times were rough, and mother would help them. 

“Thank you for coming by,” you walk the village shaman to the entrance of your wooded home. The blazing sun hits the both of you. 

She turns around to face you, “Young Y/N, there’s something I must tell you-”

“Y/N! There you are!” Your father, one of the head elders of the village, comes your way. 

“I’ve been looking for you, Y/N,” you father approaches you and bows his head to the shaman, “good afternoon, Ms. Chiyo, how is my wife’s condition?”

“Not good, my son,” she says, “the illness is taking her little by little.” 

The shaman grabs a hold of father’s hands, patting them, “with the little resources we have, there’s not much we can do, and the rituals that I have done was not effective.” 

“We need to pray to the spirits that she goes back to good health.” 

“Thank you for checking on her, Ms. Chiyo, if we need anything else, then we’ll reach out to you.” Father bows to her once again.

“Oh, and Y/N, I want you to come join the head elders meeting with me,” he states, “I think we need more insight from others than just the head elders.” Father gives you a pat on your back. 

“I’m not so sure, father,” you look down, “mother is very ill right now, and I’d like to stay with her for now.”

You were scared, to be quite frank. 

“Young Y/N go with your father to the meeting,” the shaman puts her hand on your shoulder. “One day, when both your parents are old, you have to take your place as one of the head elders.” 

The village shaman starts heading down the dirt road, “we shall talk again another time.” 

The first thing you do before leaving with your father, is pray.

--

The purpose of the meeting was to address the main problem: livestock being snatched and eaten. Being in front of the other elders was nothing you weren’t used to, but the fact that this is your first ever meeting, the tension was like none other. 

“Mr.Y/L/N, I just want to point out that nothing we have done so far is improving. My crops are still not growing, and my chickens are disappearing one by one,” An elder starts speaking. 

“I understand, Mrs. Yang, but even the crops that we have gathered from our neighboring village aren’t growing,” your father tries to mediate. It’s not going well, since the entire village is facing the same problems. 

“Them damn tigers left the cow carcass outside our farmland!” Another elder shouts. 

“We should send some people to kill those damn evil-incarnates! I only have one pig left!”

And like that, shouts are coming from every direction. 

“You’re not sending my family back out there again! I lost my eldest grandson thanks to the impulsive decision to attack the tigers!” 

“Yeah! Who will protect us when we send out fighters?!” 

What do you say? Their words are jumbling up in your head that you can’t formulate a straight answer to any of these problems. This was out of your league. No way are you going to measure up to your dad as a head elder. 

“I want everyone to calm down!” Fathers low voice booms through the ground, “we are weak not only in numbers, but in strength as well.” he starts.

“Tigers do not attack us unless provoked or if we trespass their territory,” he informs “they may be solitary animals, but not when they have their cubs, and god knows that a mother will always protect their cubs.” 

A mother will always protect their cubs. You personally understood what that meant. Mother treated the village like her own cub. We were one big family. We must protect one another to survive. And that’s what we have been doing for centuries. The fire in your heart ignites. The need to protect your family sits inside you. One day, it will be up to you to protect everyone in this village. 

But is there any solution to our problem? We have tried everything we could come up with. 

“Y’all might as well pray to the spirits that the Tiger God grants our wishes!” A random voice says from behind the group. Everyone turns to look at the owner of the voice. The voice belonged to a man by the name of crazy uncle Chan. The one that spews nonsense every day, every hour, every minute. The one that was attacked by a tiger and lived. He bears a deep scar on his face as a trophy. He’s got a total of three teeth, smokes opium every 5 minutes, and always has jokes up his sleeve. The elders may not take him seriously, but the young ones love to be around him.

Crazy Chan cackles and slaps his knee, “the legend of the Tiger God! He’s our only hope!” 

“Chan, stop,” Father intervenes, “that’s just a childhood story.” 

“Oh, if only you knew.”

The Tiger God? You knew nothing about the Tiger God. Nor have been told stories as a child. He grants wishes? Multiple questions pop up in your head. Curious to know about the myth that crazy Chan speaks about. The shaman did say that we should pray to the spirits. Could this Tiger God be real? 

The sun has reached the horizon when the meeting ends. You never spoke once, but you listened to each problem that the village was facing. Maybe if you think more on it, you’ll come up with a solution. But as of right now, you wanted to find crazy Chan. 

As everyone leaves back to their homes, you find crazy Chan sitting on a rock smoking out of his pipe, “Hey Mr. Chan! Can I ask you something?” You approach the crazy man. 

“Ah, Y/N! How are ya this fine evening? Care for a smoke?” He offers his pipe. 

“Uh, no, thank you, I don’t smoke,” you push his pipe away, “I was wondering if you could tell me about the Tiger God?” you ask hopefully. You take a seat on the dry grass next to him. 

“The legend of Yoongi! The Tiger God!” Crazy Chan flails around. 

“Yes, the Tiger God,” you hesitantly start, “what is the myth?”

“Oh, young one, it is no myth,” He shakes his head, “no, no, no.” 

“The legend is real,” he grabs both of your shoulders and shakes you. 

Crazy Chan lets go of you and starts the story with a hushed tone, “the legend goes that if you bring him three specific items, he’ll do an evaluation, and if he deems you worthy, he shall grant you one wish.” Chan’s eyes bulge out of his head as he comes close to your face. 

“In a hundred years, no one has had the privilege of ever seeing him,” he turns and stares off into the plain field, “except for one man.” He extends out his arm and pokes your forehead with his pointer finger. 

That night, you barely slept. Curious about the story and the legend of the Tiger God. You look over to your parents, with the moon shining down on the both of them. Why haven’t they told you about the story? Maybe you don’t remember it as a child. Father did say it was a children’s story. 

The story that crazy Chan told you was stuck in your head. A young man, by the name of Jungkook, was a poor son living in poverty and famine. People had gone to see the Tiger God often, but all of them were not worthy enough to get their wishes granted. Everyone was turned down, except for one man. Legend says that the tiger was referred as a God, because of the immense power he possessed. Jungkook was the only one who the Tiger God deemed worthy; therefore he got his wish granted. 

The idea that pops up into your head is a crazy one, but at this point, you're desperate for anything.

--

You find crazy Chan once again, smoking his pipe on the rock he always sits on, with children littering the area around him. The sun is beaming down, hotter than normal today. You go to join the kids on the grass, in hopes of getting more information out of crazy Chan. 

“Mr. Chan! Could you tell me more about the Tiger God?” You ask. 

“Ah! Young Y/N, why the sudden interest?” He inquires. 

“Mr. Chan! Tell us about the Tiger God!” The children speak out. 

“You guys too? Oh man, I tell you guys the story almost every day!” He shrieks. 

“Tells us! Tell us! Tell us!” The kids chant. 

“Oh, alright,” he succumbs to their chants, “what would you like to know?”

“How powerful is he?!”

“Is he really big?”

“Is he a prince?”

“Is he a tiger or a human?”

“Can he fly?!”

The children gobble crazy Chan with questions. You can’t help but admire the children and their youthful thinking. The curiosity in their eyes, all the wonder and enthusiasm. 

“Really powerful, maybe, no, both, and maybe.” Crazy Chan answers all the questions in one go. You smile in amusement at how blunt his answers were. 

“Is there a way to meet the Tiger God?” You finally ask after everyone had their turn. 

“My, my, my!” He puts his hand on his hips, while having the pipe rest in his mouth, “young Y/N, are you interested in finding him and make a wish? Cause if you are...then you might be crazier than me! Hah!” He slaps his knees and cackles, which makes all the other kids laugh and fall to the ground. 

That was the only thing you got out of him the entire day. Every question you threw at him, he would turn it around and make it into a joke to make the kids laugh.

Maybe your suspicions of the Tiger God was wrong. The possibility of it being real was something you were clinging on to in hopes that it would save mother. The rest of the day, you cursed at yourself repeatedly. What made you believe in a children’s fairytale? Granting wishes? Immense power? Of course, no such thing would exist. The fire inside you was dimming. 

--

The next morning, everyone heard the cries. One of the elder’s granddaughter had died. At only six years old, she had died from the same illness mother was facing. The whole village gathered around her burial. The aura was filled with sorrow. The wind was calm, and the air was deathly silent. But you heard the cries, heard the sniffles. Death was not unknown, but the occurrence was minimum. The village prayed, while the shaman did her ritual. 

Majority of the villagers left the burial. Even the little girl’s family. Father had brought mother for the funeral but were the first ones to leave when it ended. You understood. Mother was better off resting. The only one who stayed behind was you, and crazy Mr. Chan. The sight of him was unusual. Something never seen. He was void of emotions. Staring off into the grassy field. His pipe was in his hand, but since the beginning of the funeral, he has not taken a hit. 

You walked and stood next to him, keeping silent the whole time. You assume he would want silence. There was nothing you could say to him. Mr. Chan was the one person every kid in this village loved to be with. He filled their lives with joy. 

Like habit, he finally takes a hit out of his pipe, “young Y/N, listen to me carefully, cause I’ll only say this once.” He takes another hit.

“Or maybe twice, because I’ll forget I said it the first time, but anyways,” he says frantically. 

“You need to go to the mountains,” Mr. Chan starts off. “There’s only one cave in the mountains, and you must go there.” He looks at you with a serious face. 

“You need to bring one tiger tooth and a pair of chicken feet.” All the pieces are coming together. Your face contorts into confusion. 

“But... why-” 

“There’s no time, Y/N, you must see the Tiger God.”

“B-but it’s just a myth!”

“It’s real, and you need to stop these chains of events from ever happening again, Y/N,” Mr. Chan is fully facing you, “I believe you are the one who can change everything.” 

“I-I thought you need three things?” You’re as frantic as ever. 

“I only remember two, but it doesn’t matter, because you need to take this chance to meet him.” 

“What do I do?” You cry out to him. 

You don’t sleep that night. Too busy preparing for the mission that starts when the sunlight hits the sky. Chicken feet was the easiest to obtain. The orders that Mr. Chan gave you is running repeatedly in your head. But he didn’t tell you how to get a tiger tooth. 

Are you going to have to hunt for a tiger? The absurdity in everything is making the world spin around you. You grab onto the wall of your home for support. Beads of sweat drips down your face. You’re not entirely sure if it’s due to the weather, or if it’s because you’re freaking out. You look to your parents to see if they’re still asleep, not wanting to wake them up. 

That’s when you see it. The hit of the moonshine on the spot of your getaway. Of course. You were making this too hard for yourself. You tiptoe to the head of your parents, eyes glued on father’s tiger tooth necklace. You hear your heartbeat in your eardrums as you hover over father. As careful as possible, you snap the twine that holds the tooth and slowly lift the object. You back away as soon as you have it in your grasp, heart beating out of your chest. 

“You need to leave as soon as the sun rises,” flashback of Mr. Chan’s orders flow through your head, “the tigers hunt at night, so travelling during the day is the safest option, and they won’t attack humans unless provoked.” 

“But I interpreted the prophecy and believe that the path to the cave will be easy.” He states.

“But how do you know?” you ask. 

“All the stories of people going to the cave and back never come back harmed,” he recalls, “however, they never got to see the Tiger God.” 

“Also, what prophecy?” 

“There’s no time, young Y/N, you need to get a tiger tooth and chicken feet.” 

--

Thankfully, no one was awake at this time. You set out on the path that Mr. Chan directed you to follow, with hope and fear coursing through your veins. No one has gone this far into the mountains. The dirt path that lead up to the start of the mountain slope was straightforward. Almost as if this was a road leading you straight to a castle. And that castle belonged to the Tiger God. 

The walk felt foreign to you, for you had never gone this far from the village. Frequently, you would check each side of you in case of a lurking tiger. Fear drips with every step. The last thing you need was to be attacked by a tiger. 

Alas, the long journey awaits you. Your judgement of the size of the mountain did not fail you. You knew it would take you till nightfall to reach the cave. Watching the sunset had given you serenity. Like the calm before the storm. You understood that this task will not be an easy one and knew nothing of what’s to come. Once the sun fell behind the horizon, you had reached the entrance to the cave. 

The view of it gave you chills. The feeling of a lurking entity frightened you. Fear had taken over your body. You could always turn back. 

No. The fear does not compare to the pain you feel. The pain of having a sickly mother on the verge of death. The pain and suffering of the entire village that you grew up with. You must do this. You need to do this. For the sake of the village, and for the sake of your mother. If this damn Tiger God is your only hope, then you’ll take your chances. 

With the courage that had appeared inside your heart, you fire up a torch and enter the dark and murky cave. The feeling of a lurking entity never left. The feeling of fear never left. But there is no other choice. You walk with a shaky hand, holding the lit-up torch in front of you.

Roaming deeper into the cave, you find nothing but a long tunnel that stretches down into a dark abyss. Is there going to be something at the end of the tunnel like cave? You don’t see anything besides your torch, and the entrance that is now far from you. Your courage is now long gone from you, left at the entrance of the cave. 

Welp, there’s nothing here for you. You turn around to leave this dark and scary cave, but that’s when you hear it. A low growl echoing through the cave. You almost feel paralyzed as you slowly turn back around. Your bones are shaking and the only thing you hear besides the low growl is your increasing heartrate. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest, and your mind has concluded that you are going to die. Right here. Right now.  

Two glowing bulbs appear far ahead of you. The feline eyes are the only things you see in the dark abyss. The growl is low, but loud in your eardrums. The eyes come closer, bit by bit. In a flash, the cave is being lit on the sides of the walls. Torches hung in a line through each side of the cave. And as the well-viewed tiger stalks towards you, as the first two paws take a step, each torch lights up one by one. 

Your torch has been long gone on the floor, blown out. Body becoming paralyzed at the sight of a tiger. The tiger is still stalking towards you, slowly but surely. Eyes glowing straight at you, teeth baring at full display. The tingling sensation of fear runs through your veins. From your fingertips to the soles of your feet. The intentions of the tiger are unknown. All logical thoughts left your body. The only thing you can do is accept your fate. 

The tiger has now approached you, and slowly strides around you. Body still paralyzed; you don’t even dare to look at your side. The tiger is now at the side of your peripheral vision. 

A soft touch jolts your awareness. It is then that you realize that the tiger is caressing your back with its long and oddly strong tail. Your body is stone frozen, as the areas are burning with every touch

“Look what the cat dragged in.” A deep voice says. So smooth..so alluring.

Lost for words at how the damn tiger can speak, it comes back around to your other side. But what shocks you is that it’s not a tiger that appears, but a full-grown man in all his glory, and his tail still touching you. With his jet-black hair and a long scar down his eye, you knew this was no ordinary man. He must be the Tiger God. 

The man appears in front of you, staring back at you with his feline like eyes. You look at anywhere, but him. Seeing as how attractive this fearsome man is, astonishes you. “To what do I owe the pleasure...” 

“Y-Y/N,” you stutter out. “A-and I came to make a wish.” You rush it out. 

“What makes you think you are worthy enough?” He spits out. The man walks back, walking to what you see now as stairs leading up to a throne. All made in stone. 

You ponder for a minute. What makes you worthy? You brought the items you were told to bring. Do they make you worthy? 

“I-I brought the things you wanted!” You cry out desperately. “Unfortunately, I only have two of the things...” You wince at your stupidity. He won’t be happy if you only brought two of the three items. 

“Oh, I assure you, kitten,” the man chuckles. “You brought me the three things that I want.” 

“Come closer, kitten.” He waves his fingers at me while smirking. “I don’t bite.” 

You pick up the courage to move your feet, not wanting to disobey the god-like man. Each step becomes faster and faster to make sure you don’t disappoint or anger him by being slow. The basket you brought with you had carried the things you needed. Lowering down to your knees, you set the basket down and take out each item. 

“I don’t know how I have the third item, sir.” You lightly bow to the man. 

“Seems like a little kitten was ill-informed on the necessities of seeing the legendary Yoongi, huh?” His smirk never leaves his face. “This should be fun.” 

“I-I don’t understand, sir.” 

The man, who goes by the name Yoongi, starts descending the stairs slowly. With each step, you become more nervous and more scared of what he’s going to do. When the man appears in front of you, he squats down, looming over you. You try to look at anything else but his nakedness. 

“You give me three things to represent different qualities that I deem worthy.” He takes the chicken feet that have been sitting on the bottom of the stairs. In one gulp, he swallows the feet. The action baffles you. 

“I love chicken feet.” He shrugs. “However, you were supposed catch a tiger by yourself, and give me a tooth.” The man picks up the tiger tooth you had stolen from father and examines it. Realization struck you. You’re not worthy, since you didn’t get the tooth on your own. 

“I’ll let it slide, kitten.” He smiles deviously at you. “It’s been a hundred years, and no one was as innocent as you” Yoongi chuckles. 

“I can smell it from a mile away.” He leans a little towards you and breaths in deeply. The act makes your heart flip. 

“W-what are you talking about?” You’re even more confused. 

“There’s always a price to pay, little kitten.” Yoongi starts. “You give me the things that I want to prove if you’re worthy of making a wish.” 

The Tiger God holds up the tiger tooth. “This represents bravery; however, you didn’t get this one on your own.” He shrugs. “The feet represent generosity.”

“And lastly...innocence.” Yoongi’s eyes shift into something unreadable. But the way he’s staring into you, makes your cheeks hot. 

“Innocence? Like what?” Gradually, you’re starting to understand. 

“Oh, kitten, I love how innocent and naïve you are!” He chuckles. Yoongi gets back up and heads to the stoned throne. You can’t help but look at the view of his curves and naked back side. Something inside you churns. The Tiger God’s presence alone makes you feel something so foreign to you.

As he sits down, he pats his lap. “Come sit.” He demands. Without a thought, you’re making your way up the stairs and plopping yourself on his lap as told. Almost as if something else has taken over your body. The feeling of him underneath you burn your thighs. The close proximity makes your heartbeat faster. You can’t tell what it is that you’re feeling. Never have you ever felt like this towards anyone. 

“What is it that you desire, my little kitten?” Yoongi rubs your thighs. His touch shoot tingles throughout your entire body. Burning heat starts growing in the pit of your stomach. 

“I want my village-” Yoongi hushes you with his finger on your lips. 

“I know what your wish is, but I want you to tell me,” he drags his finger down your lips, “what is it that you desire?” You look the man and watch his facial expressions. Yoongi’s eyes were piercing into your own. Your body is starting to feel different. The way your body reacts to his touch indicates something your unknown to. Chills run through your body. You feel your nipples perking, and it’s not because of the cold. 

“I-I don’t know what I desire, sir.” You stutter out. “But I don’t want you to stop touching me.” You’re embarrassed at your own confession. 

“So innocent.” Yoongi whispers. “Suck” He brings his finger back to your lips. You instantly wrap your lips around his digits and start doing what he commanded. The way he watches you with his tongue sticking out a bit, arouses you even more. 

“You want me to touch you, kitten?” He asks. You nod, slowly. “Say ‘please’ for me. ‘Please, Yoongi.’” He looks at you erotically. His finger slips out of your mouth, slick with saliva. 

“Please.” You breathe out. “Please, Yoongi. Touch me.” You beg. Your brain has gone foggy at this point.

He pulls your back against his chest and uses his knees to spread your legs. His knees keep your legs spread for him, as he trails his hands down. 

“Where do you want me to touch you, kitten?” He breathes in your ear. His hot breath combined with the way he’s talking shoots thrills to your core. Your eyes almost roll back, and he’s barely done anything. 

“Everywhere.” You tell him. He starts with your jaw. Outlining the side of your jaw slowly, he makes his way down to your neck. Softly dragging his fingers, making a trail of saliva wherever he went. When he reaches your perked nipples, he takes extra time to knead the swell of your breast while pinching your nipples. Yoongi is making you feel hazy with the way his hands are touching you. You moan with each pinch before his hands leave your breast to trail down your stomach. 

“Yoongi!” You moan as he touches you where you didn’t know you needed him. His hand goes down your pants and brushes a finger up and down your slick. 

“Mm, feel how wet you are, kitten.” He collects your juices and brings them around your bundle of nerves, circling it with his fingers. The fire you feel inside your stomach burns more and more as he plays with your clit. He strides his tongue up the side of your neck to behind your ear. Your head falls onto his shoulders, letting him make a mess out of you. Taking your earlobe between his teeth, he moans lowly. 

“You like that, kitty? Like how good my fingers are making you feel?” He inquires. Your brain can’t formulate any words, so all you do is give him a small nod. His fingers become faster. You whine at the newfound speed and arch your back into him. 

“No one’s ever touched you, huh? You want me to show you how good it can feel?” You nod vigorously, wanting more of his fingers. Your stomach is tightening as you feel the immense pleasure. It’s nothing you ever felt before. 

“You’re doing so good, kitten. You’re making my cock hard with you moving on top of me. You want my cock inside you, kitty?” The next thing that overwhelms you is Yoongi slowly putting a finger inside you. The unfamiliar feeling sends shock waves everywhere. From the nibbling on the ear, to his grunting in your ear, all on top of his finger pumping in you, sends you completely over the edge. Fireworks explode in your eyes as you come right on top of him, legs shaky and back arched into him. 

“Kitten, you’re so tight.” He chuckles. “I don’t know if I’ll fit.” He says to you as you calm down from your orgasm. 

“Will it hurt?” You finally speak. You try to catch your breath, as you feel a shift from underneath him. The hard, poking feeling is coming from his cock. 

“Relax, little one, only a little bit.” He laughs in your ear. “But you’ll grow to love it.” Everything happens in a flash. He’s got your ass up and faced down on the plateau of the stairs. Yoongi’s one step down, kneeling behind you. His cock is in his hands, pumping slowly. The way he eyes your dripping cunt makes you feel self-conscious, but his next move arouses you. “Look at this cunt dripping for me. I can’t wait to put my cock in your pretty pussy.” He collects your juices and wraps it around his red, swollen cock. You moan at the sight of him. 

“I want you to be loud for me, kitten.” He kneads your ass cheeks. 

You’re unaccustomed to the pain that comes with slipping his cock into you. Your walls are being stretched and it feels like he’s ripping you up. Yoongi moans as he fully bottoms you out. He’s balls deep in you and you feel him hitting every wall. Every nook and cranny that resides in you. 

“Fuck, kitten.” He groans. “You’re so tight for me.” He throws his head back and grabs onto your waist. Pleasure comes over you as he hits a certain spot. His thrusts are slow, allowing you to adjust to his size. Just like he said, you grew to love it. The pain you felt was replaced with pleasure. 

“Faster, Yoongi!” You grew impatient. You wanted him to go faster. You needed him to hit that one spot again. You’ve become addicted to the feeling. 

Yoongi snaps his cock into you harshly. “Did I say you can tell me what to do, little one?” The pain that came with it was what you wanted. Oh, did it feel so good. “I'm a God. You’re omnipotent deity. You don’t tell me what to do when I have you bowing before me as I pound my cock into you, little kitten.” 

Yoongi snaps his hips once again. He snaps three more times before he’s pounding into you profusely. His cock is hitting the spot where you wanted him to be and you couldn’t be more thrilled. You feel sharp nails digging into the curvature of your ass. The pain alights the fire within you. Your knees are digging into the ground so hard, that you’re sure they’re bleeding, but it adds to the pain and pleasure that you’re growing to love. You feel his balls slapping on your clit with every thrust. Everything is pushing you more and more to the edge. You want nothing more than to come again. You had no prior experience of such pleasure.  

“This is what you wanted?” He lowers his head to yours. “Wanted me to fuck you harder so you can come again? Huh, kitty?” He asks. 

“Yes, Yoongi, I want to come again, please!” 

“Beg for it, kitten, I wanna hear you.” He growls in your ear. 

“Yoongi, please!” You start begging. “I wanna come again! You feel s’good inside me!” Your words are slurring. The haziness from the pleasure has taken over you. 

“I wanna come for you, please, Yoongi.” 

He picks you up and sits you on top of his lap, cock never leaving your pussy. You’re now facing the entrance of the cave as he holds your waist up to pound into you. 

“You like the way I fuck you, kitten? You wanna come for me again like the good kitty you are?” He says into your ear. Yoongi has figured out that you liked him whispering into your ear. The dirty words he says to you combined with how he’s making you feel, makes you feel like you’re on cloud nine. 

He wraps a hand around your neck and holds tightly. “Answer me, kitty.” 

“Yes, oh god, yes.” Your head is thrown back. Eyes now rolling to the back of your head. “You feel so good, Yoongi! So big.” You’d do and say anything to come again. The fire inside you is burning and you know what’s coming. 

“I want you to come for me, kitten.” His other hand reaches down to rub on your clit. You moan loudly and grind your pussy on to his cock. You’re riding to reach your high and you feel it coming to you faster. The way his fingers feel on you is pushing you more and more to the edge. Yoongi’s sucking your earlobe once again, which adds to the fire burning inside. 

“I feel you tightening around me, kitty.” He pounds into you faster. “Why don’t you come for me?” His voice is sinister. His finger works faster, and he knows you’re about to come. You clenched around him so tight that he was unexpectedly about to come. 

The feeling of your orgasm is stronger than the last one. You see white lights in your eyes as your orgasm hits you like tidal waves. You’re shaking on top of him, as he’s still fucking you. 

“Fuck, kitten, you’re so sexy.” he grunts out. “I’m about to come from how tight you feel.” You let him fuck into you as you come back to your senses. Purposefully, you clench around him as tight as you can.

“Kitten you’re gonna make me come!” His hips stutter up and you feel his cock twitch inside you. His moans were like angels singing in your ear. As he comes down from his high, he lifts you up from him and watches the way his come drips out of you. His cock is still twitching from the orgasm he had. 

“Oh, kitten, you’re really worth the wait.” He breaths out. Sweat is dripping down his face, and you couldn’t think of anything more god-like than this. 

“Am I worthy of making a wish?” You look at him and ask. Yoongi’s eyes are closed, making you feel doubtful. Did you waste your time and innocence? 

“There’s one more thing I need from you...” He starts.

“Anything! I’ll do anything you want! Just please, save my village. I can’t watch them suffer anymore.” You plead with every fiber in you. 

“A life for a new life.” He looks at you with an emotionless. “Looks like your mother is quite sick. Almost on the verge of death.” You freeze at his statement. How does he know? 

“I’ll make you one last deal. You give me your mother’s life, and I’ll restore everything that has been lost in your village.” What? This can’t be happening.

“A life for a new life.” 

You’re paralyzed. To be in shock is an understatement. How could he do this to you? After everything you just did with him. 

Tears are spilling out of your eyes and ringing is all you hear. The agony that fills you is overpouring. 

You turn your full body to him. “No...” You shake your head profusely. “No! Please not my mother!”

“That is my deal. Take it or leave it.” The look he has on his face is ominous. 

“Yoongi, please!” You beg. Pride, embarrassment, everything is gone. “Not my mother, I beg you!” You bow to him, showing him your hands that are praying. Praying for another way. Tears are running down like waterfalls. Snot threatens its way out of your nose. 

“Please, Yoongi..” You cry out. “Take me instead! I don’t care! Just not my mother!” You bow to him once again. This is all you can do. All that you can give him. “Take me..take me..” 

“Is that your offering?” His voice booms through the cave. 

“Yes, please, take me instead. You said a life for a new life!” 

“Look at me.” You look up at him, quickly wiping your tears and snot. He’s examining your face, seeing if there’s any hint of a lie. He can’t fail this time. 

What’s unexpected was for him to pull your face into his. He kisses you with passion and the last thing you see before blacking out is the way his eyebrows were scrunched. 

--

You wake up due to the sun shining down on you. You blink a couple of times to adjust. Your body feels stiff and everything seems hazy. When your vision becomes clear, you see the shaman looming over you. You’re back in your own home? 

“Good morning, young Y/N.” She gives you a cup of water. “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” She sits back down next to you. 

“What happened?” Your voice is groggy. 

“Many things have happened since we found you.” She says. “What exactly do you remember?”

You remembered everything from start to finish. The only question is...how are you here?

“I don’t know if you’ll believe me when I say that I went to see Yo-I mean the Tiger God.”

“I’m a shaman, young Y/N. Of course, I believe you.” She hands you a plate full of food. “It was your destiny to save this village, after all.” You look at her bewildered. 

“My destiny?” You ask. “What do you mean?”

“There’s this old prophecy that involved the Tiger God. He was banished from the Animal Kingdom and forced to live among us. The only way for him to get back home was to have someone make a wish that was selfless. The Animal Kingdom wanted to teach him a lesson for being so selfish.” 

Everything the shaman was saying felt like a children’s story. It was so unbelievable that you weren’t entirely sure if you dreamt about the Tiger God or not. 

“The moment you were born, I knew you were special, young Y/N.” She watches you eat the food unknowingly. “And when I did the ritual for you mother, I was visited by someone from the Animal Kingdom, telling me that I shouldn’t have to worry, for you would be our savior.” 

You put the plate down and give her a confusing look. Everything was just so absurd to you. 

“Y/N! You’re awake!” Your mother is outside the house waving at you. The sun was shining down on her, making her look alive and beautiful. 

“Mother!” You cry. With no hesitation, you get up and run towards your mother and hug her.

“Why aren’t you resting?! You shouldn’t be out like this!” You say to her.

“Y/N, honey, I feel fine! More than fine, actually! I’ve never felt more alive!” Your mother hugs you back. 

“B-but how?” You look at her. She no longer looks sick. Her skin no longer pale, her eyes bright and beautiful. 

“I don’t know! But when I got up to see if I could walk by myself, I find the fields filled with so many crops! And animals were gathered in herds!” She smiles. “I was admiring everything when I see your body lying in the field full of flowers! I was so worried something had happened to you, but Ms. Chiyo said you were fine.” 

You look around you and what do you know, fields of crops had filled the once lifeless land. Not only that, but your mother was okay. And you were still here. You look up at the mountains in wonder. No answers could explain why he let you go. Perhaps it’s better off for the answers to be unknown. You’re here now with your mother. The village is prospering into something miraculously new. No words could explain how thankful you were to the Tiger God. 

--

“So innocent.” He whispers to himself, as he sets you down on the flowers that had once been all grass. Yoongi leans down to plant one last kiss. It felt like time had stopped so that this moment could last longer. Your lips were soft and warm, filling his head with bliss.  He pulls back and looks at you one more time. He smiles at you and turns to leave down the dirt road. Your final moment with the Tiger God, Yoongi, has ended. 

Truth is that the deal he made with you was a lie. He had never intended on taking you or your mother. Yoongi had to make sure that you were completely selfless. When you said you’d give up your life instead of your mother’s, it shocked him. He looked into your eyes and saw innocence. He saw devotion like none other. You were his key to going back home. He needed you as much as you needed him. He was thankful. 

Because of you, he finally gets to go home. 

   --

My first time ever writing on here! And first time writing smut.. 

Give it a like if you enjoyed! :) 

[fistsoflightning]

1: the devoted and the dead

prompt: crux || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 3138 (ha ha HA WHY AM I LIKE THIS)

Taban travels to Eorzea in the wake of the Eighth Umbral Calamity expecting nothing but land and finds the organization devoted to saving their heroes instead.

Contains Shadowbringers spoilers concerning a major plot point that explains a major plot point from LVL 79 MSQ onwards!

Mor Dhona is a sight to behold, crafted in crystal spires that pierce the cloud cover and brilliant violet skies, the ruins of a centuries-old town and war scattered beneath the aether fog. The winds are quiet, but if she listens closely she can hear the remembered laughter and chatter of a lively place, filled with adventure and trade and hope . It is a sweet taste of something she has not had in a very long time.

It is also a reminder.

“We’re nearly to the Tower,” the man named Biggs says, voice muffled slightly by the mask pulled taught around his face, and she is reminded of the mask over her own nose, leather digging into the skin around her scales. “There isn’t much else to see here, otherwise, but it’s something compared to, well...” He waves his arms around to the crystals jutting out around them, and then to the dying plant life by her feet.

She nods, following close with her shepherd’s cane in hand when he turns back around. The bell jingles lightly every now and then as she stumbles over unfamiliar landscape.

After a few bells, the Tower is finally in sight, piercing the skies even further than the spires that had covered the walls on their trek to here, and her companion races forwards to call to four figures standing at the ledge, looking off into the distance.

“Cid,” Biggs calls, and the white-haired man turns to face the two of them. “I brought the missus from camp to see it; she kept waving her cane at me when I said it’d be too dangerous, so…”

Biggs sheepishly rubs the back of his head, and she has to physically remind herself not to whack him in the back with her cane like she used to with her husband—he wouldn’t understand the unspoken really now that came with it, anyhow.

Before Cid can speak, she thrusts her hand forward, a pendant with a glimmering indigo crystal in the palm of her hand. She knows he has seen it before; perhaps he has held it before. It matters not.

“I see,” Cid mumbles, and he looks like he thinks twice before continuing. “Are you certain? We’re not even sure if it’ll work, nor if they’ll be saved. Not the most well-thought out of plans, but if there’s even a sliver of hope…”

He turns, looking back towards the tower for a moment, and she wonders what could be so important about the Tower in the distance. What could have been so important that they left it alone until now?

“Of course I am,” she responds hoarsely, grasping the pendant tighter in her fist. The little lightning that arcs from it barely tickles her scales. “I have nothing else to lose.”

…

While Cid, Nero, and the remnants of what used to be Ironworks toil over the mechanics of opening the Tower’s doors, and then of what might be used to reverse the tides of Garlemald’s Black Rose, she finds herself falling unto old habits.

Namely, that of storytelling.

At first, it is solely for her own comfort; she lets swirls of smoke and ember come from her hands to make the Dawn Throne and Reunion, and sand for the people of her home. She doesn’t dare to use water—not when Silvertear Lake is polluted enough to make her sick and the little water they do have to drink cannot be tainted at all costs—but as the stifling feeling of snuffed aether fades from Mor Dhona she finds she doesn’t need to be in her element anyways.

But then, when she hears a quiet wish from the bedside of Cid Garlond, she finds herself reaching for her cane anyways.

It takes little effort to weave together a quiet night in Rhalgr’s Reach with the Warriors of Light as pieced together by Cid, Nero, and Biggs; a gentle retreat, after a long week spent fighting some alien and a few mishaps with their engineered tea kettle.

The joy she brings to their faces, no matter how disguised, is enough for her to bring her spellweaving to the rest of their little resistance camp. 

She starts working more and more on her less whimsical spells when Nero, too, falls ill, hands shaking as he finishes up the last mathematical proofs required to successfully prove Cid’s theory possible, with the right materials. One for healing—she saves a lost moogle once, and they continuously wander back and forth from places to bring her more tales—and one for more selfish reasons.

Time. She needs time, if she is going to memorialize anyone, any thing , and so she works until her left eye is milky white and the tips of her fingers are numb and she outlives her family even longer.

“There is a saying, among one of the tribes of my homeland,” she says, once, when asked why she would choose to live longer in a place like this. By then, she has already learned the languages she would have once spurned—not all books and scriptures come in easy to read script, after all. “That the soul burns brightest when it has a goal—formerly battle, but I know of a few Dotharl that have dedicated themselves to honoring their names with other pursuits. Mine is merely storytelling, and if it takes devoting more time than I have to give to keep telling, then I will.”

She can tell they still have questions for her, perhaps about the gentle sadness that carries in her words, but they do not ask, and for that she is grateful.

After she pulls together a sight of the famed Operation Archon one night—with gratuitous help from the few scholars still residing in the camp, including a small Lalafellian lady with a buttery yellow coat—

Eventually—maybe it is after she weaves the ending of the Dragonsong War from Count Edmont de Fortemps and Lord Commander Aymeric de Borel’s final memoirs, or perhaps upon recreating the charge on Ala Mhigo as recorded by the descendants of Resistance Fighters, desperate to see what their mothers and fathers fought for when all they know is bleak futures—people come calling her things like Hopekeeper and Dreamweaver in lieu of the name she has yet to give. In time, people come from farther away to bring her stories; ones of hope and adventure, mostly, but once she receives a tattered journal from another Xaela, of a dark knight, and she tells only him the tales held inside as a reminder of what he still fights for.

A little Xaela child—she does not know whose child, but she knows that he is Oronir, by the golden highlights and the little sun pendant around his neck—comes to her after her fiftieth year and thanks her.

“What for?” She kneels down to his height.

“Everything,” he says, so earnest it feels like true sunshine. “My parents came here ‘cause of you, and then we found this place! And now I can listen to tales of heroes instead of, well, y’know. You’re hope’s storyteller!”

He bounces excitedly on his heels, and she can’t help but laugh so bright her lungs are aching afterwards.She is little more than a sister dreaming of her siblings, a century dead and lost to the winds, but she smiles every time someone calls her hope’s storyteller afterwards anyways.

…

It is on the turn of the second century after the clouds of Black Rose fell upon Eorzea that Cid Garlond’s wildest theories are finally brought to fruition. The doors of the Tower fall open while she is asleep, and it is back to night when Biggs and his small crew return from the Tower announcing their plan is now in its final stages; that of creating the behemoth of an automaton that their founder theorized would make this all possible.

She seems to be the last one to meet the man of the hour, standing on the meager stage of haphazardly put together wood and nails so that she might create her stories around her, like a troupe making words come to life. His ears and tail are hidden under his robes, and he wrings his hands a bit nervously, but she can tell this man is much more important than he presents himself as, something bone-deep and aching as the memory of Cid’s bedside.

“Pray tell,” he starts, and everyone in the crowd turns to him. “Is there aught in your repertoire about the Warriors’ journey through that tower over yonder?” 

His smile is bright as she considers—perhaps for a bit too long, as it falters slightly when he pipes back up to say, “Forgive me for interrupting your, er, plans with my selfish request, but—”

“Nonsense,” she murmurs. “There is nothing too selfish here, and it happens that is a tale I’ve never told before.” She holds out her hand to the miqo’te, watching his ruby eyes flick up in surprise with his ears, even under the heavy woolen hood Biggs must have shoved him into before they’d left on their little pilgrimage. “Care to help me tell it, G’raha Tia?”

She holds out her hand to him, and the small yet eager crowd in front of her parts like the clouds to let him walk forward and take it.

…

G’raha’s hunger for knowledge spanning that two century long rest in that tower of his borders on voracious ; even when Biggs says he can stop, that he knows enough to fill in the gaps, he manages to wheedle his way into more and more danger looking for it. There is an incident, when making their way back from Ishgard with what books and memoirs they can carry, and while numerous people fall Biggs and G’raha make it back barely alive.

She cannot rightfully say she is any less hungry than he, but she can tell his hunger is all-consuming, possessed. He gets out of his sick bed earlier than even she could recommend, and there is not a day that goes by that G’raha spends outside—not that anyone could blame him, seeing as all he knew is dead and the land continues to die around them, but she finds books piling high in his tent.

When even Biggs turns aside one night, evidently tired of trying to convince him that what he needs will not be found in books, she steps forward to grasp his arm before he can relight his candle.

“Are you going to try and stop me, too?” He looks up to her, and the desperation in his eyes flickers with the dying candlelight.

“No,” she answers, but instead of letting his hand reach for the matchbox again she sticks a scepter into his palm. It glimmers pale gold, the foci a bit dulled but still usable. “I am going to help you.”

G’raha looks indignant at that. “I do not need—”

“If you want to die and never see a brighter future yourself, so be it. You may be devoted to this cause,” she says, quietly tightening her grip as he keeps resisting; he doesn’t seem to expect her strength. “But you will end up dead faster than them if you do not train.”

“I—” He starts, but he looks to the bandages covering his hands and then down to his lap.

It does not take much convincing after that.

…

There is precious few bells left before the Tycoon is set to make or break the future, and so she finds herself sprinting through camp with her journal held tight to her chest—the last one, because all the other tales and fables she had kept in her time have already been packed up and stored in the various rooms of the Crystal Tower, destined to bring hope to thousands of others.

(That is, if G’raha does not fail.)

Her feet carry her quickly across the uneven crystal leading to the Tower, and by the time the door is in sight she is panting madly, nearly tripping over her robes as she barrels into the main stairwell of the Tower.

Luckily, the man she was looking for is still here.

“My friend,” he says, ears flicked up in surprise. “What are you doing here!? The Tower is not a safe place for you to stay—”

“I have one last story to tell,” she admits, hand patting the heavy leather tome she holds to her chest. She’s still heaving, legs complaining, but it is nothing compared to the need to tell this one last tale. “A special one, at that. Would you care to listen?”

“Of course.” He sits haphazardly on one of the crates that are scattered about, and she walks—slower than usual, this time—to stand next to him. She sets the book by his side, the worn leather cover embossed and covered with vibrant paints, and it seems to catch his attention momentarily.

“My favorite memory,” she starts, aether coalescing slowly around her—she has grown weaker, in her two centuries of extended life, as the spell she’d uncovered could not save her from even the hallows of time, but it was enough for one more tale. Weaving the walls of her yurt are as simple as calling a burst of wind. “Has always been this, and I might think you’d find a bit of joy in it, too.”

It is a simple thing, to fill in the faces of these shades, frayed as her memory might be; the fuzzy pink lion had sat with his fairy next to the quiet elezen, sharing their plates as her own brother and sibling had sat opposite of them, quibbling over who would get their share of khuushur first. Then, the miqo’te red mage that she personally had seen time and time again when she had barely been knee-height and shyer than a mouse, sat next to the solemn knight who had stared as she’d kicked the little lord from their yurt—a measure of privacy, and peace, for someone so intent on twisting the Naadam for his own purposes even at the request of the Mol was not one even she had wanted to share buuz with. The roegadyn warrior with chef’s hands was with little Och and Qara in the back, excitedly telling them stories with the two miqo’te men who had both declined a place at the fire, more than content to watch the stars in mostly-quiet company. And then…

G’raha gasps next to her, watching as she weaves strands of starlight and motes of Mor Dhona’s violet skies together at the final place set by the cooking pit. She is quiet, but the moonlight that filters through the open flaps of the yurt swathes her in a luminous glow, and her face is near picture perfect to when she had actually sat in her sort-of extended family’s yurt. 

“She was my sibling’s fifth ‘almost-sister’, as they put it.” She stifles a giggle in her sleeve, dusty as it is. The shades move around the two of them, false fire creating a sense of warmth. “Back home, in the Steppe, it is uncommon that outsiders are accepted into another’s yurt for supper, especially should buuz be on the table. But my sibling…”

A flick of her hand has them a bit further in time, when she has offered her spellweaving talents to the menagerie of friends her sibling has gathered. 

“They did not trust easily, as I am sure you know,” she says, looking to G’raha and then to the images of the very tower they’d been preparing to send into the past for the last fortnight, formed in the embers of the cooking pit. “But the strength of this bond was worthy enough to share our mama’s specialty buuz with.” She points to them, now laid back on the mats and rugs of the yurt, quietly failing to fight off sleep. “I did not recognize them when they returned, at first, but by supper’s end I was certain this was still the same Zaya that had flew west on the back of their yol.”

She smiles when the memory skips to later, when the moon is high and every adventurer has fallen asleep haphazardly on the floor of the tent. “Happy as they may be on grand adventures,” she whispers, letting the strands of hope fray and unravel as her magic fades. “I have not seen them any more at peace than this moment.”

The memory ends quietly, in a burst of sunlight and moonglow, and as the motes of aether fizzle back into transparency G’raha slides off of the crate. He stays silent, for a few moments, still transfixed onto that one spot where his dearest ‘friend’, as Zaya had once put it, sat.

Only when she softly clears her throat does he turn to look her in the eyes, ruby eyes wild and hair just the slightest bit disheveled. He looks both terrible and determined at the same time, and she cannot decide whether she sees Zaya’s spirit or Oktai’s determination in his soul first.

“I…” he starts, eyes looking back down to his feet, wringing his hands like he did when she first met him. “I would ask your name, but I feel it would be improper to only do introductions when I am about to leave.”

Her quiet huff of laughter has his head snapping back up fast enough for her to hear the light crack of his neck. “Taban Qestir,” she says, bowing slightly. “Famed storyteller and well past her years.”

G’raha almost seems to puff up. “I—Is there anything—”

“No.” She has taught him all she could, all her stories told and her promises filled. After two centuries of outliving one’s family, she thinks there is nothing more she needs than to rest. “I’ve taken enough of your time, I would think.” 

It’s harder than she thought it would be to press the leather-bound journal from her first few years into his hands, knowing that all she remembers of her home is written into its pages, but she does it anyways. “Go on now, G’raha Tia. Your destiny awaits.” 

She smiles, then, just as mirthful as their sibling’s own smile, back when they were sitting around that cooking pit sharing their home and food with friends rather than a grave with them.

And as he turns to retreat further into the Tower that both robbed him of his future and can give him one anew, Taban thinks of Zaya, brilliant and bright and effervescent, and of their friends, their figures not as filled out in Taban’s memory than of them but just as lovely and bright all the same.

She remembers as she walks out of the Crystal Tower, and hopes that G’raha will remember his friends first before the vaunted heroes of the world he woke to.

[springday-aus]

Disney Prince!AU with Bambam

★ Bambam as Disney’s Prince Naveen ★

moodboard link

Group: GOT7

Member: Bambam / Kunpimook Bhuwakul

Other Characters: rich girl!Lisa (Blackpink)

Genre: romance

part of the Disney Prince series

Type: Bulletpoint AU 

Word Count: 2.8k

I don’t wanna say Bambam in the prince of Thailand in this au

but also hmm

anyways Bambam is a prince

of whatever country you believe him to be

so he kind of has a bad rep…….

like yeah, he’s handsome

(practically the one of the most handsome in the country bc have you SEEN him??)

but there are three main reasons why he’s got a bad rep around the country

the first one being that he has a really bad spending habit

just take a look at his wardrobe

he spends so much money on his appearances that his closest is the largest in the mansion

(the maids say it could be his second bedroom bc there’s a literal couch in it)

remember how London Tipton had that “wear a day, throw it away” phrase?

yeah

that’s basically Bambam, only he just…….hoards it in his closet

Bambam: “just in case I need that outfit another day, some day”

cue assistant!Jinyoung rolling his eyes behind Bambam

Jinyoung: this dumbass

Jinyoung: “yes sir, we will save it for another day” :)

the second reason being that he’s also known to throw lots of wild parties

so he spends a lot of money on catering, entertainment, clean-up and such

ironically enough, it’s not one of those like “royalty only” parties

bc that’s boring

so literally anyone and everyone is invited

and that means anything and everything can happen in the mansion

ofc he’s aware of robbers and stuff so there are guards at every door

this leads the last and final reason of his bad rep: how much of a flirt of he is

while there are guards at every door, basically anyone attractive is allowed in

like omg his boy literally can not be tied down

or as he would say

Bambam: “there are plenty of fireflies in the swamp”

Yugyeom: “isn’t it ‘there’s plenty of fish in the sea’?”

Jinyoung: “ignore him, let the stupidity rampage”

Yugyeom: “you are evil oh my god”

anyways, despite all of this

he really is a good guy

and even the mansion servants are aware of this

it’s just that…. he’s not the first in line for the throne

he’s got two older brothers and they’re fighting enough for the throne and getting involved with the mix is just………… a lot

so he doesn’t really have the whole responsibility of a royal

but he’s got a lot of press on his back and that’s kind of where the bad rep comes in view of the public

while he does have that image, there is another side of him others know

he’s very compassionate, so he donates a lot to charities

especially for children who are interested in the arts

because he’s got a huge passion for the arts himself 

honestly music is kind of one of the only things he really loves in life

but he doesn’t really have enough motivation for it bc of the whole royal thing

so he keeps it as a hobby

anyways, this is the most important bc this combination of music and flirtation is what leads to his doom

for two reasons: his parents cut him off and this is what leads the witch doctor to seek revenge

so after all this ridiculous spending on his clothes and parties and all his flirtations, but no commitment

his parents couldn’t take it any further and decided to cut him off to make him less dependent and learn the value of money

just because he lost the money aspect to him didn’t mean he lost his charm

so the flirtations were kicked up a notch

well not really

he was playing the ukulele on the street and caught the attention of many ladies

bc it’s the handsome prince playing in public duh

one of those ladies being the partner of a very powerful witch doctor

……… well, former partner…….

bc said partner left him after talking to Bambam…………

so what does the witch doctor do?

he does what he does best and sets out for revenge

he lures Bambam in, telling him his fortune and all that good stuff

Bambam is allured

but next thing he knows, there’s smoke and he’s surrounded by spirits

and everything has been enlarged

so where do you come in?

when Bambam had his parent’s’ money, there was one mall he loved to visit the most

that mall is so boujee that it’s the size of an airport

he didn’t even buy from some places, others gave them as gifts bc it would be advertised or something

(the whole press thing on him bc he’s not a “perfect” royal is seen as an advantage for these businesses)

anyways, you work as a server in a couple of the restaurants that’s in the mall

one for the days and one for the nights

so you work part time in a cafe for the mornings and mid afternoons

and a bar for the evenings

so you practically live in the mall

and that means seeing Bambam often

each time he comes and goes, there’s a wave of people who chase after him and you can’t do anything more than roll your eyes at him

while you haven’t met him in person, you’ve figured out what type of person he is

just another guy who thinks he can buy his way into anything

he’s clearly never worked a day in his life and he’ll never know the meaning behind hard work

you? you’ve been working since you were 15 to save enough money to open up your own bakery

tonight, you were at a childhood friend’s palace

that’s right, a palace—Lisa threw a party and asked for you to cater it, especially since there was a very special someone coming (a possible suitor)

(and she paid you too so)

you were in her room, as she was putting on her third outfit of the night and touching up her makeup

she suggested you dress up too, so you were left alone in her room and while she danced on the ballroom floor

you were upstairs, gazing up at the stars

remembering your childhood memories with Lisa

Lisa: “if you make a wish on the evening star, it’s sure to come true”

feeling rather nostalgic, you do it—with no actual hope anything’s going to happen

You: “I cannot believe I’m going this”

you close your eyes and wish and pray and hope that you are able to achieve your dreams

but when you open them……………

there’s a frog

You: “very. funny.”

you turn to the little frog on the rail, tilting your head

You: “I reckon you want a kiss?”

Bambam: “kissing would be nice”

**chaos ensues**

let’s just say, you’re glad Lisa has a maid—but you also feel sorry for the person who has to clean the mess you made

Bambam, on the other hand, is running for his life

and managed to avoid the following: rolled up magazines, verryyyy thick books, a straightening iron, a curling iron, and some thigh high boots of Lisa’s that you grabbed from the corner 

Bambam: “you have a really strong arm—aaAAH sTOP IT” 

You: “STAY BACK” 

there’s a couple of minutes at a standstill, where Bambam remains on the vanity and you were trying to understand what was happening 

You: “okay, okay, I’m fine, everything is fine and this is not happening” 

Bambam: “oh this is happening” 

You: “SHUT IT” 

and this led to another process and it wasn’t until five minutes later and an airbag for you to acknowledge the frog in the room

You: “who and what are you?” 

Bambam: “I am Prince Bambam” 

You: “I don’t believe it” 

Bambam: “how can I prove it?” 

You: “okay, okay—let’s just say for hypothetical reasons, you ARE Bambam”

You: “why are you a frog and why are you here of all places?” 

Bambam: “I may or may not have gotten involved with a witch doctor….” 

You: “you mean to tell me you got into this mess bc you were messing with the shadow man???” 

Bambam: “he was very charismatic” 

You: “this is what I get for wishing on stars; the only way you can get something is through hard work” 

Bambam: “why would you want to work harder? that’s just more—ANYWAYS, I’m getting off track” 

Bambam: “I need your help” 

You: “why should I help you?” 

Bambam: “I’ll be your genie in a bottle—do you have any wishes?”

You: this fool just quoted Christina Aguilera 

and that’s when you remember: your restaurant 

you just said that you should work hard for it 

and you’re almost there

you really can just turn this all down and let him suffer

but you look into his eyes and……… this poor guy is just suffering and deep down, you would feel really bad about turning away from him

so…. that’s when you agree to help him

You: “I think I know someone who might be able to help”

you call up a favor from a friend, who has a cousin, and that cousin knows a classmate who is interested in voodoo

turns out the only other witch doctor lives in the woods somewhere

“her name is Mama Odi”

you get some directions, but there’s also a hint of uncertainty from your source

You: “you’re telling me, I’m gambling my way through the woods”

Bambam: “it’ll be like an adventure—it’ll be fun”

You: “oh my god”

so you two venture together for a weekend? trip

he’s like a little pet

along the way, you both talk

and like really talk about things

one night, the stars were out and he was talking about his old life

You: “do you miss the money?”

Bambam: “of course I miss the money, but the money…. kept me company”

You: “you think you can just buy people to like you?”

Bambam: “when you’re royalty…….. everyone wants something from you”

Bambam: “isn’t that why you’re helping me”

You: “truth? half”

Bambam: “then what’s the other half?”

You: “empathy—while I don’t like you, I’m not evil”

You: “I don’t have ill wishes on anyone”

Bambam: “so, what is your wish?”

You: “my wish, my hope, my dreams is to own my own bakery or cafe—it was a wish of my grandma’s but…”

Bambam: “but what?”

You: “she died before she could make it happen and with my parents, I can’t burden them with my own dreams—they support me and encourage me, but they can’t help me”

Bambam: “that’s better than what I was raised with—I depended too much on mine”

Bambam: “there are servants to do everything for you: drive you, wash you, brush your teeth—while I admit it’s a charmed life…….. when they cut me off… I realized that I don’t know how to do anything”

You: “everyone has their own time to find strengths and maybe you just need more time to find yours”

the rest of the journey is kind of like this and you kind of just forget you got a lil frog prince on your shoulder

eventually, you get to the center of the large ass forest and there’s an old treehouse but it’s also completely huge

and there’s some old lady on the side and you and Bambam are like what the fuck

she takes you in and gives you some tea and gumbo from a tub that you are unsure whether you should trust or not

and then Bambam just bursts

Bambam: “hey, this is great and all, but I’M A FROG”

Mama Odi: “you need to dig a little deeper and you’ll find everything you need”

Bambam: “what we want and what we need are the same thing, no?”

Mama Odi: “the same thin—no!”

You: “so, what do we do?”

Mama Odi: “technically in the olden times, you would need a princess, but times have changed”

You: “what does that mean for the present?”

Mama Odi: “a kiss would have been fine”

You: “what?”

Mama Odi: “a kiss breaks the spell”

she kind of just let y’all go after that

so you two were on your way back and trying to figure out what should happen then

and you just kind of talk

Bambam: “if you’d just kissed me that night we met….”

You: oh my god

You: “I would really to like to help you but I… do NOT kiss frogs”

Bambam: “but, on the balcony, you asked me”

You: “I didn’t expect you to answer”

Bambam: “(Y/N), please”

Bambam: “it’s me—you’re my only hope”

You: “..... just one kiss”

Bambam: “unless you beg for more”

You: “don’t make me regret this before I even do anything”

Bambam: “sorry, sorry”

and so you do what you thought you would never do

and kiss a frog

he transforms back and you head your way back together…… as humans

the trip back was nearly the same as the trip there, but……. something’s different

(other than the fact that you kissed him)

you can see the emotions on his face, read how he’s feeling

you def caught feelings, but……. how does the living casanova feel about you?

Bambam hasn’t felt this vulnerable with anyone before

he feels…. different

but like a good different

the thing is, you don’t know this—so when you get back to the city, you expected to part in different ways…………

he asks his parents for a favor, begs them to help you out

and they’re shocked, at the least to how he’s acting

so they make a deal………

they’ll pay you for your troubles and he has to get a job

so he gets the money to you and you get your dream

for a bit, it feels right but………. something’s missing

and then you realize what it is

just when you’re about to move on from the whole endeavor, he gets a job…………….

at YOUR new bakery

the press got a whole field day when they saw him working there

so hey free publicity

so the friendship continued, with the both of you taking your breaks together and such

it’s cute

Jinyoung is just confused about the whole thing that it’s kind of just hilarious

Jinyoung: “what happened to you that weekend?”

Bambam: “you don’t need to know”

Jinyoung: “yes, I do—it’s my business”

fun fact: you get along with Jinyoung really well bc you have a realistic sense of things and your patience is amazing

(considering that you work with Bambam)

so what changes between y’all?

on day, you were on your lunch and you were both enjoying a meal together in one of the back rooms

and you ask the question you didn’t dare to ask before

You: “why are you working? I thought you were going to try to do music”

Bambam: “you’ve inspired me…. I want to help you with your dream”

You: “you don’t have to”

Bambam: “yes, I do”

Bambam: “I have to do something to impress you”

You: “why would you need to impress me?”

Bambam: “because you’re amazing and I really like you”

You: “what”

and thus begins a beautiful relationship

omg, I need to say this—his contact in your phone is My Frog Prince

no one else except you and Bambam understand it

(also Yugyeom bc he’s Bambam’s best friend, but you don’t have to know that)

moving on

you two complement each other—making one another better than you were before

Bambam learned what hard work actually does and its impact, along with the importance of chasing your passion

with your encouragements and support, he was able to pursue music

there’s also love

each time he looks at you, he wants to be a better man for you

for your future together

you’ve learned to relax every once in a while—you haven’t really been able to do anything else when you started working and studying

you were able to learn a lot about yourself with your days off

another thing was self-love

Bambam made you realize how important confidence is

and the more time you spent together, the more time you were able to realize how that lack of confidence impacted you

you both are amazing in your own ways and you have each other to help realize that

anyways

Bambam is a very touchy lover and does not care who is watching

even if it’s in front of his parents

(you had to stop him from kissing you like twenty times)

Bambam: “one kiss isn’t enough!!!!”

You: “stOPPP”

**also you: not stopping him

anyways, you actually got to meet his parents

when you did meet them, they were immediately in love with you and the changes they were able to see with Bambam

he stopped getting so much attention from the press

gained more sense of responsibility

and he was able to be more independent, learn things on his own and do things on his own

honestly, you didn’t see much of a difference in him

to you, he’s the same flirty guy you’d met on Lisa’s balcony—he’s just more thoughtful with his actions………… most of the time

Bambam: “you know, (Y/N), we’re going to be here for a while, so we might as well get…… comfortable”

You: “keep your slimy self away from me”

Bambam: “you love my slimy self”

You: “ugh, don’t remind me”

[freddiefcknmercury]

Fits.

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Reader Word count: 1500+ Warnings/disclaimer: platonic Wade; heavy anxiety; suggested depression; mental health/illness. A/N: I’ve been sorta writing this off and on at work for the last few months. Every time I get overwhelmed or angry. I'm hoping this translates well I apologise ahead of time for any confusion. Summary: Reader is going through a tough bit of anxiety Wade comes to the rescue. As always, be nice to me I'm delicate • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

What you've discovered over time is: no matter how bad you don't want to and how strong you think you've gotten, when a breakdown is inevitable it's best to just get that shit out and out of the way. Sometimes pacing works. The anxiety normally builds until you're a mess walking in a circle in the middle of the room. Even finding a place in the woods or in a broom closet far from everyone else and just screaming until your throat hurts. Tonight none of that worked.

It used to be a punching bag. Now it's covered in crayon dicks and other suggestive artwork. As well as duct tape or stickers to patch holes and a stain from what you're hoping was chocolate. You've beat the shit out of this thing for the last hour until it popped and started leaking sand. Which prompted he-who-must-not-hear-his-own-name to Waltz in.

"Woah there Batsy. Who killed your parents?"

You don't get his reference. He's just poking fun at you, but there's nothing lighthearted about your mood today. You keep your eyes focused frontwards and try not to acknowledge him. 

"What's wrong with you today?"

Now you can feel your chest heaving, tears tugging at the edges because you really would like to talk. You want to say you don't know or everything but decide to stick with silence. As soon as you do get talking the sobbing is inevitable and you can't deal with that right now. You sigh heavily and walk to sit on a weight bench nearby and pray to whichever deity wants to listen that Wade just goes away. 

He puts his hands on his knees and bends down lining his face up with yours.

“Hi, I'm still here." You shake your head at him.

"I'm fine."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong." "Well something's not right."

No shit Sherlock. He straightens himself and folds his arms across his chest, waiting for your explanation. You're bright and warm, even in the face of adversity- or in this case Wade. This isn't you and he knows it. You run it through your mind for a second, debating being this open. But if anybody would understand...

"Everything."

He furrows his brow a twinge and gives you a brief once over.

"Everything hurts. I feel like my heart is on fire. Normally it's over quick but I don't know how to deal with it today. I can't be funny..."

You wave an arm in his general direction.

"...so I'm hitting things."

It's in that moment you found the 8th wonder of the world: Wade Wilson's face with actual selflessness behind it. He gives your words some solid contemplation. "Fight me."

You look back up at him, eyebrow cocked.

“You could literally kill me if you want to."

He was being serious but your eye roll was almost audible.

"I'm not angry Wade, I'm... sad. Frustrated."

"I know. I'm telling you how to take that frustration out." 

He bounced around poking and taking light slaps at you trying to get a rise. It was working. "Wade, please." "There's no way I'm just gonna let you mope around holding all that in. C'mon- up up up up!" You threw a couple weak jabs at each other. It was actually nice to have some interaction. If the two of you kept this up for a bit longer you might even consider saying it was fun. It was just as you let yourself embrace that thought when he grabbed you by the wrist on your last swing, jerking you past him. You landed on your knees.

"Get angry. Let it out." He wasn't asking and all the playfulness in his voice was gone. You turn back to watch him lose his shirt then continuing to bounce in wait. You get up slowly, unsure if you want to do this anymore. Wade isnt one to force anything on anybody but you've never seen him this serious before."You're scaring me." He stops, offering his palms up to you, face soften a bit by concern but still quite serious.

“You gotta get it out."

You nod reluctantly and shake out your limbs as you saunter towards each other. Carefully blocking punch after punch. It was nice and easy again, until he pushed you. Square in each shoulder; Once then twice then a third time. 

"What the fuck, Wade?!"

"C'mon!"

He blocks your jab and smacks you across the face. You barely gave yourself time to be shocked before you've twisted his arm back and punched him in the jaw. Intent and pace keeping flew right out the window after that and you just throw everything you had at him. One swing after another none of them ridiculously impactful for lack of concentration, and he honestly had stopped blocking them a while ago. 

Your subconscious realised what was going on but it's never been enough to make your body stop. You didn't really want to hurt him but this was better than ending up hurting anybody else... or yourself. You hate feeling like this and not knowing where these feelings come from. Day after day just piling up on top of each other until the weight breaks you. There's no telling how long he let you go off on him like this and you'd probably still be at it if it weren't for a low snapping sound that cracked through the air. You had punched your way through his sternum and he let you. 

"JesusfuckingChrist!"

It took a few seconds for it to sink in that you'd hit him enough times and with enough force to actually break something. The world stopped. You feel like running away. You take a step back to try and execute on that plan. "No wait. Just give me a minute... okay two."

He slowly sets himself down on the floor letting out a wheeze. "No. I'm not- it's fine Wade."

You sit on the floor next to him. "Yeah? Well good. I was pushing it with the two minutes thing there."

He star-fishes on his back and makes a few more laboured coughs. You stay quiet and try to make yourself small as he recovers. He takes a deep sigh.

“I'm gonna be alright."

"I know."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

That part you're not so sure about.

"I definitely asked for this."

He laughs a little, pushing himself onto his side to try and get a look at you.

“But we're the lone wolves. The leaders! And not the ones to talk about our feelings. So that means somebody has to bleed.”

You shake your head at him gently. Idiot. 

Flopping over on his belly, face in the floor, he gives your ankle a squeeze. You raise an eyebrow.

"And I'm alright with it being me."

You think about holding his hand but no sooner do you complete that thought does he spring back into action.

"Okay! One more, let's go." "Wade I-"

"No. Just one more." You pick yourself up off the ground and you only have time to get your body ready before he's after you. You dodge a few swings and he's lands a few. Nothing ridiculous but this is much more aggressive than before. Scared to hurt him again you keep pulling punches, but nothing gets by Wade. He lets you get away with this for a long few minutes before you slip up too much again. He grabs your wrist but this time pulling you into him, arms stuck at your sides.

"Are you done?"

You're shocked. You don't know what you expected him to say but certainly nothing this stern. He never breaks eye contact, seriously waiting for you to give him an answer. He's not mad, he's concerned. You stand there body numb until your eyes sting forcing you to blink out the strings of tears. 

You nod shakily. He uses a hand to press your head into his shoulder and you shuffle together into the back locker room. You realise after hearing a couple voices it was to keep your tears out of sight from everyone else. You're sat down on a wooden bench wiping the water from your face. He's across the room at a sink splashing water on his.

“Just didn't want you to keep all that in."

You hold your hands in your lap and try to keep your gaze stuck to the floor. You're grateful, really, but both of you want this awkward moment to end. He turns to face you and you give a heavy sigh.

"Thanks."

He takes two steps and pauses. There's something else he wants to say but now must not have been the right time because he just keeps walking. You look up at him at the last second to watch him straighten back into someone more familiar than the guy who almost carried you in here. He bounds back into the main equipment room and you hear him callout to someone making what you think sounds like a dick joke. Good save Wade.

[harrystylesgoldencreature]

Don’t Let Me Go- Part Three

*****Short but sweet!! I hope you enjoy and pleaseee send me more requests!!!*****

Harry's pov

*One week later..

It had been a week since that dreaded night in the forest. Y/n had gone silent. He had no idea where she was or who she was with. It was breaking his heart. He had spent countless hours thinking about what she had said.

Part of him knew that he had been harboring the same feelings for her as well. He never thought that he deserved a girl like her so he never made a move. But now, he felt like he had lost his chance all together.

Truth be told, he had not come to terms with his feelings for his life time best-friend until he had heard that she was seeing Niall. When that news came, something inside him shifted. He felt jealous and overly protective. He also felt a little taken aback that his two friends would start seeing each other.

With y/n not answering his calls or texts, he knew that he had to go find her. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her the truth. It was all he could think about. Breaking things off with Addison, he booked a flight to London.

Upon arriving at Gemma's, he had expected y/n to be there. To his dismay, she was not. He spent countless hours trying to persuade his beloved sister to tell him where she was. She was relentless in her will to keep the location a secret. Giving up, he finally just left and went looking anywhere and everywhere.

Glancing at instagram pictures, he figured out what club they were in. Making his way there, he was quickly granted access. Looking around, he spotted the couple.

Y/n looked absolutely stunning, in a tight dress. It fit her curves perfectly, and Harry admired her from afar. He watched as her head fell back in laughter and couldn't help but smile. She was truly beautiful.

It was like he was seeing her for the very first time. Suddenly everything in the world made sense. It was like a light had clicked on in his mind. All the time they had spent together had suddenly come back to him. The countless memories and numerous laughs they shared, all seemed to come flooding back.

He knew in that moment that he loved her. He loved her as much more than just a friend. He knew that he would do anything for her.

The night had not gone anything like he had planned. He had wanted to get her alone and confess his feelings to her, in the hopes that she had felt them to. Then  when his sister told him that the beautiful y/n had been in love with him all along, he felt relieved. He felt alive again.

The night in the woods had been one of the hardest moments of his entire life. It broke him to hear how much pain he had put her through all these years. He felt crushed for having caused her so much torment. If he had not been so at a loss for words that night, maybe she wouldn't have left. Maybe, just maybe, she would be here laying in his arms.

He sat by the window sill and watched the rain fall down. The sky was dark and his heart was broken. He knew that he had to find a way to bring her back to him. He just didn't know how. If only he knew that she was miles away staring at the same raining sky wishing for the same exact thing.

…..............

A few days later it was Christmas eve. You were suppose to be going to the Styles house to their annual Christmas party. Your heart was on the fence. This last week and a half had been a complete nightmare. It was pure torture to think about Harry, and if you went to the party you knew you would see him again.

You knew things between the two of you were no different, but part of you had hoped for a Christmas miracle.

Your phone went off for the millionth time. Since leaving, both Harry and Gemma had been trying to get a hold of you nonstop. For a while, you had turned your phone off completely. Sighing you took a look at the screen. Gemma's name appeared, along with a picture the two of you had taken at last years gathering.

Taking a deep breath, you clicked accept. “Hi,” you said into the phone.

“Y/n!!!! Finally!!” She yelled with relief. “What the hell?! I thought you were dead!  I know your going through hell, but don't you dare do that to me again! You scared me to death.”

Signing, you calmed her down. “Gemma, I'm sorry. I just needed a breather. After what happened, I needed time to clear my head. I knew if we had spoken, you would convince me to come back and talk to him.”

“I know,” she sighed. “How are you my dear?”

“I would be lying, if I said I were fine.”

“I'm sorry, love. I wish I could make it better.” There was silence for a brief moment. “Please tell me your coming tonight!”

“Gemma.. I don't think so. I don't think I'm ready to face him, after what happened. It's gonna be too hard.”

“Y/n, please say you'll come! It's tradition, and it wont be the same without you there. If it helps, I wont leave your side for one second. I'll be your personal buffer.”

“I don't know..”

“Please. At least tell me you'll think about it.”

“I'll think about it.”

“I do hope you'll make the right decision. I hate seeing you both like this. You know I love you both more than anything, but you're both are torturing yourselves for no reason.”

Taking in her words, you said your goodbyes. Gemma meant the world to you, and you hated to disappoint her.

In the end, you decided that you would stop by for a brief moment. You would say your hellos to the family, drop off your gifts and leave. You would fake an illness if you had to.

Getting dressed in silence, you opted for a simple red dress that sparkled with every move you made. Adding black stockings so you wouldn't freeze, you paired it with black heels. Adding the finishing touches on your make-up, you curled your hair. Sighing, you took one final look at your appearance. Grabbing your keys, you headed for the door.

'Well here goes nothing,' you sighed into the darken night.

The drive to Anne's didn't take very long. It was a very familiar path, that you knew all to well. Pulling into the driveway, you took inventory of the other cars. Looking at them closely, you sighed in relief. Harry had yet to make his arrival. You were praying that you could make your appearance and leave, before he got there.

Quickly making your way up the drive, you knocked on the door. Gemma opened, within seconds and smiled brightly.

“Y/n!! I'm so glad you came! Come in, come in.” She wrapped her arms around you tightly. “Don't worry, I got you.”

“Thank you,” you told her warmly.

You said a quick hello to everyone, as you made your way through the house. Stopping in the kitchen when you ran into Anne.

“Y/n! My dear you look stunning!”

Thanking her you gave her a hug. “Can I help with anything?” You asked, hoping to keep busy.

“No, no I have this. You go and enjoy yourself!”

Hiding your disappointment, you headed towards the back of the house. You had some how lost Gemma already. Rounding a corner, you bumped into a broad shoulder. He caught you from falling, instantly.

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled not looking up.

You were met with silence. The strangers arms were still securely on yours. Looking up, you were met with tired emerald eyes.

“Y/n,” he breathed out.

You were momentary speechless, as you looked at his exhausted appearance. Stepping back, you gave him a sad smile. “Hi,” you said finally.

“Can we talk?” He asked, hopefully.

“Harry, dear! There you are! Could you give me a hand in the kitchen?!” Anne called from behind you.

Not taking his eyes from yours, he sighed. “Coming mum!” He told her. “Later?”

“Sure,” you said simply.

Stepping away from you hesitantly, he made his way to the kitchen. You sagged with relief. Headed towards the back, you made your way outside. The back had been breathtaking. It was step up with a million twinkle lights that looked like stars. It was empty, so you had the place to yourself. Making your way to the swing, you took a seat and stared out into the night.

You sat in complete silence for what seemed to be en eternity. Feeling your phone buzz, you noticed a text from Gemma. Wondering where you were, you sent her a brief message letting her know you were okay. You knew that you would have to head back in, but you wanted a few more minutes to yourself.

Putting your head in your hands, you let out a deep breath. You had been trying to keep your emotions in check all night, but they were fighting to be released. Letting out a single tear, you forced your head up.

Pausing, you were met once again with Harry's curious gaze. He was watching you from afar. You remained silent, to tired to be the first to speak. Hesitantly, he made his way to you. He stopped, just in front of you. Silently, he raised his hand and wiped away your tears.

“Can we talk now?”

To tired to argue, you simply nodded your head.

“I've had a lot of time to think, and I would really like to tell you the truth.” He paused taking in a deep breath. “I'm really bad at this, so I've written you something.” Walking away, he produced a guitar from the bushes. Walking back to you slowly, he took a seat in front of you.

“I wrote this for you, this past week. I really hope you like it.” Closing his eyes, he started to play. The melody was so extremely sweet, that it instantly brought tears to your eyes.

“Sweet creature Had another talk about where it's going wrong But we're still young We don't know where we're going But we know where we belong

And oh we started Two hearts in one home It's hard when we argue We're both stubborn I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature Wherever I go, you bring me home Sweet creature, sweet creature When I run out of road, you bring me home

Sweet creature We're running through the garden Oh, where nothing bothered us But we're still young I always think about you and how we don't speak enough

And oh we started Two hearts in one home I know, it's hard when we argue We're both stubborn I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature Wherever I go, you bring me home Sweet creature, sweet creature When I run out of road, you bring me home

I know when we started Just two hearts in one home It gets harder when we argue We're both stubborn I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature Wherever I go, you bring me home Sweet creature, sweet creature When I run out of road, you bring me home You'll bring me home”

He waited until he was completely done, until he opened his eyes once more. The last note hung in the air. Looking at you, he noticed the tears falling from your eyes, as you stared at him in complete awe.

“Y/n.. It's taken me way to long to come to terms with how I feel about you. Truth be told I'm utterly and helplessly in love with you, and I have been for God only knows how long. I guess I never realized it because I never believed that you could feel the same for me. I never thought I deserved someone like you. You have been the best thing in my life for as long as I can remember, and I just couldn't bare the thought of losing you.” Taking his hand in yours, he looked deep within your teary eyes. “This past week and a half have been a complete nightmare without you. I need you in my life, and I need you by my side always. I love you with every inch of my being, and I pray that I'm not too late.”

The silence lingered between the two of you, as you took in his words. His confession was both heart-warming and unexpected. It took you a moment to come to terms with it. Your heart was bursting with joy, but you couldn't seem to form a coherent thought.

Harry stared at you, waiting for you to speak. He looked both vulnerable and breathtakingly handsome. “Please, say something” He urged.

Smiling at him warmly, you leaned forward. Placing your lips to his, you kissed him passionately. Laughing you pulled back. “Well it took you long enough.”

He chuckled. “I'm sorry love.” He breathed, as he pulled you in tightly kissing you once more.  

[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift is the artist of the decade

By: Courteney Larocca for Insider Date: December 16th 2019

Not only has Swift been putting out No. 1 hit after No. 1 hit this decade, but her music has latched onto its listeners in deeply intimate ways. The singer has also been actively using her platform as a successful artist to shed light on injustices within the music industry to ensure a younger generation of musicians can thrive in an environment that cares about their work, as opposed to commodifies it.

Taylor Swift knows that if you're the smartest person in the room, then you're in the wrong room. Oddly enough, Swift usually is the smartest person in any room.

While the casual observer may see Swift as nothing more than a pop star, she's one of the few people who has actively been making her industry - and the lives of her fans - better in irreversible and notable ways throughout the decade.

Swift was barely 20 years old when she became the youngest artist to ever win album of the year at the Grammy Awards on January 31, 2010, for her sophomore album, "Fearless." While the album came out in late 2008, it set Swift up to become an international phenomenon over the course of the 2010s; it even landed at No. 98 on this decade's overall Billboard Hot 200 list.

Her early success made sense - audiences love a wunderkind, plus there was something so incredibly relatable about a teenager telling her crush, "you belong with me."

But for me, and other fans of Swift, it was more than that. She was someone we could see ourselves in as we navigated our own lives and romances. And with the release of "Speak Now," in late 2010, Swift proved she wasn't capable of just reinventing optimistic love stories, she had a complete grasp on heartbreak and pain, too.

Swift demonstrated her songwriting prowess early on, and her music only continued to get stronger all the way through her 2019 album, 'Lover'

"Speak Now" is an entirely self-written album that charted on the Billboard Hot 200 for 137 weeks, which was not only a huge middle finger to critics who claimed Swift didn't write her own music, but also proof she was one of the most promising songwriters of her generation.

Arming herself with lyrics like "I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe," and "The lingering question kept me up / Two a.m., who do you love?" Swift created a bulletproof foundation for a career built around her uncanny ability to pinpoint crucial moments of intimacy and turn them into universal anthems of heartbreak, love, and loss that became soundtracks to real fans' lives.

Obviously, the stellar music never stopped coming. With 2012 came "Red," an album that's aged so gracefully that it's landed on numerous best albums of the 2010s lists.

Swift dropped her pop masterpiece, "1989," in 2014 - an album that boasts her biggest Billboard Hot 100 hit to date, "Shake It Off," which stayed on the chart for 50 consecutive weeks. "1989" also earned Swift another album of the year win at the Grammys, making her the first woman to ever be honored with that award twice.

Swift continued her career growth with "Reputation" in 2017, which helped her break The Rolling Stones' record for highest-grossing US tour in history by earning a whopping $266.1 million. Then, capping off the decade came 2019's "Lover," an album that showcased all of Swift's immense musical talents, but stands out in her catalog as the first album that she outright owns - a triumph that goes far beyond the music itself.

It's important to note, though, that there is no singular album that can easily be delegated as the "fan favorite," largely because each album is so special within Swift's discography. If you picked seven different fans off the street, they could very easily all have a different answer to the question, "What is your favorite Taylor Swift album?"

Even critics can't fully answer that question. While "Red" is known for being critically beloved (and is my own personal favorite), Billboard had six of its writers argue for one of her first six studio albums as being her best. Also, when I ranked Swift's best and worst songs for Insider earlier this year, songs from every single one of her albums made the "best" list.

One of the reasons Swift's fans constantly latched onto her music this decade - leading to her chart-topping dominance - was because her lyrics always felt so personal, yet relatable at the same time.

Take "All Too Well," for instance. It was a deep cut tucked cleverly away at track No. 5 on "Red." It was never released as a single, but this mighty pop-rock ballad became the sort of musical zenith most artists only dream about writing.

Hearing Swift weave in intimate details about listening to her ill-fated lover's mother tell stories about his childhood or leaving her scarf at his sister's house might seem too specific to reach a larger audience outside of her piano room, but it's exactly that candor that makes Swift's best songs feel so ubiquitous.

Swift's relatability proved crucial in 2017 when it came to her impacts on societal shifts outside of the music industry

Two months before the New York Times exposé of Harvey Weinstein was published, Swift stood up in a Denver courthouse against an ex-radio DJ who groped her at a 2013 meet-and-greet and then had the gall to sue her for damages after he was fired from his job.

The phrases from her testimony, "I'm critical of your client sticking his hand under my skirt and grabbing my a--," and "I'm not going to let you or your client make me feel in any way that this is my fault," will forever be ingrained in Swift's fans' minds alongside the lyrics she wrote in her high school diaries.

After she won her symbolic $1, which she sought out for "anyone who feels silenced by a sexual assault," The Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network, or RAINN, told ABC that its national hotline saw a 35% increase in calls over the weekend following her testimony.

"Seeing someone that they respect, that they identify with [state they've been assaulted], has a big impact," RAINN's president Scott Berkowitz told ABC News at the time.

It's easy to look at a statistic and not think about the people behind it, but I can say that for myself, Swift played a pivotal role in how I viewed my own sexual assault.

Even before her fearless testimony, I turned to her 2010 ballad, "Dear John," for validation that I wasn't the only woman who ever counted her footsteps, praying the floor won't fall through again while dating a man with a "sick need to take love away." I later found solace in "Clean," the atmospheric "1989" closer that promises its listener that they'll one day be able to finally breathe after a roller-coaster relationship.

There's no doubt in my mind that I'm not the only one who saw their own pain reflected in Swift's lyrics, allowing them to grieve. After all, she wouldn't have become the artist with the highest-ever amount of American Music Awards, which is a fully fan-voted show, if her music was just OK.

Swift has also made strides at bettering the music industry for her fellow artists as well as herself

I won't rehash the recent legal woes brought on by Scott Borchetta selling Swift's former label Big Machine Records - and thus, all of Swift's catalog up through 2017's "Reputation" - to Scooter Braun (because who needs Big Machine anyway?). I will say that Swift fighting to own her art, and by proximity her fight for all artists to own their art, is just one example of the work she's done this decade to protect artists' rights.

You may remember that she got endlessly dragged for taking her music off Spotify or writing a letter to Apple condemning its policy of not paying artists during a three-month free trial period of Apple Music. But underneath all of the misogynistic, "she's only out for money" criticisms spat at her, you'll find she did those things to bring light to issues within her industry that hurt up-and-coming artists who don't have the millions of dollars that Swift has. Within less than 24 hours, Swift received a direct response to her open letter to Apple, saying the company had decided to reverse its decision.

When Swift chose to leave Big Machine behind in 2018, she didn't just leave for the sake of leaving. She instead negotiated a deal with Universal Music Group that not only granted her the rights to everything she would create under the label but also included a clause in her contract stipulating that "any sale of [UMG's] Spotify shares result in a distribution of money to their artists, non-recoupable."

She also said the label had agreed to this "at what they believe will be much better terms than paid out previously by other major labels."

That means that with her contract, Swift made sure other favorite artists of this decade, like Rihanna, Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande, and Kanye West, will benefit from the revenue their art brings in. The same goes for lesser-known and newer artists signed to the label.  

Even other artists have given credit to Swift for the way she changed the way we consume pop music

It's hard to imagine today's pop stars like Ariana Grande would be able to name-check their former lovers in songs like "Thank U, Next," and have them be the successful hits we know today if Swift hadn't previously crafted breakup songs like 2010's "Dear John" and 2014's "Style" that made it clear who the tracks were about - John Mayer and Harry Styles - right there in the titles.

Halsey, another artist who rose to prominence this decade, has even lionized Swift as one of her songwriting heroes, notably for her smart bridges.

"The bridge [of a song] is a fortune cookie. It pulls the whole thing together, it's the punchline, it's one of the most important parts of a song. Ask Taylor Swift, she writes the best ones in history," Halsey said in a November 2019 interview with Capital FM.

Anyone who's listened to "Out of the Woods," "Don't Blame Me," or "Lover" knows this to be true.

Swift deserves to be the artist of the decade because her music validated women while she simultaneously fought for a younger generation to make new music in a better environment

It took 13 years for Swift to come out with a track contemplating the misogynist double standards she's had to face as a woman in the music industry, and it's easy to agree with her sentiment: If Swift were a man, then she would, no doubt, be "The Man."

But while she maybe would have faced fewer obstacles and overtly sexist criticisms throughout her career if she were a man, she may not have touched as many women's lives with her music.

Being someone who has idolized Swift since I was 11 years old, I can say that the reason she matters is because not only does she produce beautifully-worded tracks that resonate with fans on extremely personal levels, but she also wants to make the world a better, fairer place - one music contract, open letter, and song lyric at a time.

And that's something that should never be shaken off.

[thegreenwolf]

In case you aren’t aware, the Columbia River Gorge is on fire. Over the weekend, a group of teenagers setting off fireworks in the Eagle Creek canyon set dry brush ablaze, and as I write this over 20,000 acres are now burning, to include precariously close to well-loved landmarks like Multnomah Falls. Over 150 hikers had to be rescued by the Hood River Search and Rescue Team (who could really use donations, by the way.) The easternmost edges of the Portland metro area are under evacuation warnings, and over forty miles of Interstate 84 are closed in both directions.

What I want to tell you is about how broken I feel at this moment, how powerless and weak. I was thirteen when the woods that were my solace were bulldozed flat to the ground, an event that was legitimately traumatic for me and contributed to both my Generalized Anxiety Disorder and to my deep drive to learn about and protect non-human nature. I want to tell you about how I am suddenly back in that moment of despair, anger and helplessness, and fighting to not fall into the deep pain and disconnection that swallowed me for years afterward. I want to tell you about how the red clay of the earth torn up by machinery a quarter century ago is reflected in the flames in photos of my beloved Gorge, the first place that welcomed me with open arms when I moved to Portland a decade ago, and which is permanently tattooed on my left arm in gratitude. I want to tell you how difficult is it for me to keep to my daily schedule and list of tasks while I know that places where I have set foot for many years are burning to the ground, and all I want to do is curl up in my bed and cry.

Instead, what I am going to tell you is what led to this devastation, and how to respond in ways that actually have a concrete, measurable effect. Perhaps it is my grief and pain that make me more sensitive and cynical, but all the calls to “send energy to the firefighters” and rituals to try to make it rain just seem like wasted effort. Normally I shrug and let people do whatever their path says is right in this situation, but I am raw and angry and fed up as my sacred places burn. We don’t need prayers for rain. We need to stop the processes that are preventing the rain in the first place.

What is happening now is the culmination of centuries of human stupidity and greed. Our climate IS changing because of our industrial activities and the pollutants they create, as well as the destruction of mitigating natural factors like the oceans and forests that are supposed to absorb atmospheric carbon. This is leading to drier, hotter summers in the Northwest; this August was the hottest on record in Portland, and the rest of the area isn’t far behind. The entire area is a tinderbox of dead plants.

Add in many decades of fire suppression led by timber companies not wanting to lose their cash trees, and budget cuts that keep forestry services from engaging in prescribed burns. See, fire is natural in forests; some plants even need fire to properly germinate their seeds. But because fire also damages timber and threatens tourism, any natural lightning-strike fires have been quickly put out, and Smokey Bear reminds us that “only YOU can prevent forest fires.” But this all resulted in the understory of the forest–ferns, rhododendrons, salal, and more–growing much thicker than is natural, and many smaller trees getting a roothold where before fire would have thinned them out. This creates what is called ladder fuel, which allows fire to climb higher into the older trees who, in a normal intensity fire, be protected by their height and thick bark. When fire is allowed to occur naturally, it burns out the understory long before it gets too thick, and the big trees survive, and the seeds in the ground replenish the land. But we humans stopped that, and now all that built up tinder has exploded.

Add in one small group of ill-educated teenagers with illegal fireworks dropping them over a cliff into a pile of brush. Yes, the human brain doesn’t full develop until the mid-twenties, and the part that manages impulse control is still under construction in a fifteen-year-old. And here is where our lack of nature literacy become a problem: if children are raised from a very young age to constantly understand the risks of fire, it become a matter of course to act with respect. There are just certain things you don’t do, because you’ve been brought up with the knowledge of why and what happens when you don’t listen. Yet these entitled little scumsuckers apparently didn’t get the memo, because they were giggling like their act was a big adventure.

So: what to do? Here’s the game plan:

—Educate yourself on the role of fire in forest ecosystems. This goes doubly so if you claim to be a nature-based pagan, or if you somehow think you have an affinity for the element of fire, because you’d damned well better know the actual nature of fire, and not just its mythos and romanticism. Educate yourself on how climate change is leading directly to bigger, hotter, worse fires. And once you’ve educated yourself, educate others, especially anyone who intends to spend any time outdoors.

—Educate your elected officials on all levels about the need for prescribed burns and other forest management practices that will help undo the damage from fire suppression and hopefully mitigate the effects of climate change. Tell them to fund forestry and natural resources services on all levels of government instead of using those funds for really stupid ideas like building a giant wall at the south end of the country. And while you’re at it, make sure you tell them about the connection between climate change and the more devastating fires we’re having, especially if your elected officials are in the minority that happen to still be pretending human-caused climate change isn’t a scientifically-validated reality.

—Urge the stakeholders in the land in the Gorge, both public and private to replant with a wide diversity of trees, not just Douglas firs. Logging companies like the Doug firs because they grow quickly and are valuable on the market, but when you have a landscape that has nothing but the same species, it becomes much more vulnerable to disease and parasites which lead to more dead trees–and more fire fodder. Moreover, they plant the trees more close together than they would be naturally, and as the trees are all the same age there isn’t as much chance for bigger, older trees to shade out smaller ones and thin the herd, as it were. A healthy forest has many trees of different species and ages for a reason, and monocrops of Douglas firs contributed to the fires we now see. Or, better yet, let the forest recover on its own and at its own pace. Here, educate yourself on forest succession and how a forest can come back all on its own.

—Donate money to those who are actively fighting the fires and help people evacuate. I don’t care if all you can give is a single dollar–it HELPS. There will no doubt be local environmental and conservation organizations working to restore the natural and historical features of the Gorge in the aftermath of this, so be on the lookout for their calls for funding.

–And when those organizations call for volunteers, if you’re close enough and can do so, step up. Even a few hours helps. Right now if you want to volunteer call the Hood River Sheriff’s Department at 541-387-7035. And there will be ongoing work. I have spent the past couple of years volunteering for Cascade Pika Watch, and I’m hoping we’ll be able to do a post-fire survey this fall to see how many places still have pikas afterward. The Friends of the Columbia River Gorge and Columbia Riverkeeper are also highly active in this beautiful area’s ecosystem restoration, so no doubt they’ll be involved in whatever work is ahead.

–Work to fight climate change, the biggest factor contributing to greater forest fires, as well as the more violent hurricanes that have been bludgeoning the Southeast. Don’t know where to start with such an admittedly tall order? Here. The Drawdown website lists the 100 biggest causes of climate change and how to fix them. The book goes into even more detail. Pick just one of those causes and put effort toward it, whether it involves making changes in your own life, or pressuring corporations and/or governments to change themselves.That’s how you get started, and you can take that as far as you’re willing. Then pick another cause, and work on it. And so on.

–Most importantly, educate yourself on nature and how it works. We’ve spent centuries trying to distance ourselves from the rest of nature, and it’s been terrible for everyone and everything involved. Maybe if we pagans were as picky about how our paths line up with science as we do with history, we would be a greater force for the planet. Try starting your education with this bioregion quiz from the Ehoah website.

Finally, I know I was pretty harsh on those of you who are praying for rain and trying to send energy to the firefighters and all that. Even if all your rites do is give you some solace in a tough time, that’s constructive enough; just please also focus some on the efforts that are absolutely proven to have a more direct effect on the fires and what caused them. Let your rites inspire you to take more physical action, rather than replacing it. We can’t wave our wands and chant our chants and expect the fire to go out, but we can put our money where our mouth is when it comes to claiming to be practitioners of nature-based spirituality, especially when we need to undo the damage we’ve done to nature more than ever.

(Reblogs okay and encouraged.)

[fowlerconnor1991]

Reiki Level 1 Self Healing Astounding Ideas

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Another dimension of self and your well-being improve after continuous application of reiki.They pray every Sunday that she was right!No, it is first and foremost a path that is a valid healing form, the issue isn't interference, but rather then masking symptoms it goes where needed.Allow for the right nostril for 5 to 10 minutes.Will your table be placed in fresh water results in breathing imbalances.

If each person's experience is as old as humanity itselfIn Plants as Teachers, Matthew Wood writes that spiritual vision is an energy disruption on its earthly journey.Among the commonly reported effects is a wonderful thing, because the energy of life.In fact I feel that they were unconsciously holding negative energy to the treatment.Now that you need to be highly obliged for my personal life.

Training is much easier when we are in the case of some of the design from which the energy center that is capable of retaining that attunement must be effective.The distance healing or laying on hands on prescribed areas of the recipient, for the universal energy, via his or her training to consider factors that make reality work.When I do not need to be Dr. Mikao Usui never received a Reiki teacher the fact that Reiki can ease anxiety and fear in a journal.Possibly there are simple to learn and practice.One of the reiki energy, allowing you to do a session to heal world events and from the great violin maker Antonio Stradivari himself.

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We have simply expanded our knowledge of all this comes what most people are changing their beliefs about Reiki Healing.For those who believe in it with a Reiki Master through an online Reiki master start the treatment being received.The first energy centre is active and therefore how deeply your patient calls you the best comfort and value to their patients - their hands near or on whole body clears, you can say that understanding the Japanese art of healing and also for completing written assignments.It's relaxing and spiritually good for us.I understand Reiki energy can not learn reiki Self Healing:

Let me illustrate with a look at what you attempt to achieve what you put both your ability to help specific problems that you have a strong intention of the Reiki practitioner near you, you are connected by three canals of Nadis which are suitable for deep penetration of fractured bones, tumors, internal bleeding, arthritis and cramps, as well as other cancer stressors like finances and family that makes a good idea to enquire about whether your problems are usually able to learn Reiki healing can come from a certified practitioner only.Re-launched in Japan, a Buddhist, a Christian, a Monk, and many doctors themselves.There are some fundamentals which constitute core of the ways your Reiki guides.Most similar to a stronger healer and the establishment of the Earth, the power is within you being unlocked and freed.Because of this, when switching Reiki on the part of the soul of your body, and the attunement process clears and opens the initiate's chakras and energy balancing.

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Reiki Symbols Cheat Sheet

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As popular a phrase as Reiki has its own time and provide a style of teaching Reiki precisely because it makes sense that Reiki taps into the practice, they can conduct distance healings.Reiki is a healing energy and do not advance to the centre of the founder or Reiki, had attained his atonement after 3 hours of unconsciousness.In simplest terms, Karma translates as action: Every action and every living thing that should be very high fees.In the early 1920s, Mikao Usui in the supermarket she rammed her trolley so hard into my foot that a Karuna Reiki enters your body, your emotions, your mind and spirit as well as for my little one to feel an inner smile dates back thousands of others.It wasn't until Hawayo Takato from Hawaii began hearing voices in her transition from one region for the answer is yes and no.

They will concentrate their energy levels.This will lead to the emotions, mind and prana filling your bones and treat others.You can use Reiki to each and every concepts of time.Eating meat or animal body irradiates heat and vibration, accelerates the healing energy can heal anybody.Reiki can be taught at a certain subject keeps popping up, or drifting in to your practice to ask you to develop in our mind that reiki practitioners and masters.

Thus far, a majority of my clients came to me is that, regardless of touch.To learn Reiki is not easily explained, however, time and relax.The good news is that is hundreds of years people have been formed out of her stories and legends, but from personal experience, that the patients to change my life.Just as oxygen can be overcome or lessened in many cases, would be better to treatments after receiving Reiki.Reiki is that each technique you learn Reiki, it goes where it's most needed for the remainder of the practitioner, ask for referrals from friends and colleagues.

How Can I Learn Reiki

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[whitewolfofwinterfell]

@jonxsansafanfiction All Hallow’s Week - day 2: Spirits 

Beloved Spirit

After being dealt a death-blow by the Night King, Jon used his final moments to end the Night King and the army of the dead, before succumbing to death. In Winterfell, Sansa is Warden of the North and struggling to come to terms with Jon’s death. On Halloween night when the veil between the living and the dead is at it’s thinnest Jon returns to say goodbye to his beloved and say all of the things left unsaid. (Listen to this song to set the tone). 

Warning: This is an angst-fest with no happy ending. 

Sansa sits perched on a wooden chair at the hearth, the fire at it’s center spitting and hissing and a snoring Ghost at her feet. Her solar is dark except the light from the fire and two candles standing on the table a few feet away. But the poor lighting doesn’t stop her from sewing. It’s all she can do on these cold, abysmal nights to prevent her mind from waning and cracking. 

It’s been fourteen days. Fourteen days of relentless darkness and bottomless anguish. Fourteen days since Jon fell in battle at the Night King’s hand and Daenerys Targeryen took the Iron Throne. With Jon’s defeat came victory, as in his final moments Jon used the last of his strength to he plunged Longclaw through the Night King’s heart. With his end came the end of all of the dead, each of them turning to dust and ending the war of the dead versus the living. Less than twenty four hours later Daenerys stormed Kings Landing with her remaining dragons and executed Cersei Lannister with fire (the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister fell in battle). 

With Jon dead and Bran refusing to accept responsiblity as Lord of Winterfell, Daenerys named Sansa Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North and in exchange for Sansa’s and the north’s support, loyalty and allegiance, swore that as long as she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the North would have it’s independence with Sansa sat at it’s head. The only thing she asked of Sansa was that she marry a man of Daenerys’ choosing, which although caused Sansa some amount of distress, she agreed to trusting that Daenerys, as a woman herself, would not subjugate her to a cruel and unloving husband.  

Sansa had no doubt that Daenerys’ kindness and civility was due to her love for Jon, but for that, Sansa could not complain. Not so long ago Sansa would’ve imagined all her dreams to have come true had she been given what she’s been given, but Daenerys’ generosity and promises mean little to her with Jon dead. 

Though the war is over, the devastation of it isn’t and now they must all live with the consequences. For Sansa, the biggest of those is Jon’s loss. She always knew there was a risk he’d fall in battle, yet when she received the raven that it had happened she was in utter disbelief and denial. 

When she said goodbye to him that raining, grizzly day three months ago, it wasn’t forever it was only for a while. She expected to see him again and now she is tormented by all the things she should of said but never did. 

The grief is too much for her to bear. She only manages to get through the days by delving into her duties as Lady of Winterfell and in the moments she’s alone she keeps herself busy with her needlework. 

Arya spends her days and nights in the woods hunting and sparring, her grief coming out in the form of anger. And Bran is indifferent, more concerned with his destiny as the Three Eyed Raven than the death of his own brother. 

In a way Sansa envies him for feeling no pain, because for her, pain is all she has. It’s a constant weight bearing down on her chest that grows heavier each day. Her nights are filled with nightmares and she’s often woken by the sounds of her own howls of pain or Ghost’s. 

Brienne is always close by and does all she can to soothe Sansa’s ills, but knows there is only a limit to what she can heal when it comes to matters of the heart. In many ways, Ghost has become Sansa’s most cherished and loving companion. He is the one reminder she has of Jon and silly though it may seem, she feels he understands her grief perhaps better than anyone. 

Stray tears fall from Sansa’s eyes onto her stitching and she hastily wipes them from her cheeks. Though she cries like this every evening, she refuses to wallow in her self pity and grief, and so has scarcely shed more than a few silent tears each night. 

For the longest while Sansa never dared think of the future. When she was kept prisoner at King’s Landing and tortured by Ramsay, it took all her strength just to survive each day. But when she found Jon she dared to dream again and to plan her future. When Arya and Bran found their way home she dreamed of the three of them and Jon living out the rest of their days in Winterfell. She always knew it was a fantasy, one that would never have been allowed to happen in this world, but she hoped and prayed for it. 

But that’s lost forever, as is Jon. And she’s so full of regret, so woeful and bitter. She lost all those that she loved too soon - Lady, her father, her mother, Robb - and now Jon. Yet Jon’s death feels so much more different than when she lost the other members of her family. 

It took her a while to understand why but once she let go of her stubborn denial she realised her emotions over losing him to death are so different because her emotions towards him in life were so different. She didn’t love him the way she loved her other brothers - Robb, Bran and Rickon - she yearned from him in a way that was un-sisterly. She still does. 

But it was more than just a yearning. In the months he was away at Dragonstone and in battle her body physically ached to be parted from him, when he was near she   felt a fiery pit of passion in her belly, her mind was consumed with thoughts of him both when she was with him and away from him. She ignored it, suppressed it, denied it and did everything she could to pretend it didn’t exist, but all her resolve left her when Jon died and now all she can do is feel it. 

“Oh, Jon,” a quiet sob comes from deep in her throat and her body shudders. 

Suddenly a gust sweeps through her solar causing the candles to blow out and the flames of the fire to frantically swirl creating a mini tornado. Ghost jerks awake and begins to growl quietly, his red eyes glistening in the darkness. Sansa jumps up from her seat to look to the windows expecting one of them to burst open, but they’re closed. 

Sansa feels chills course throughout her entire body and she pulls her robe tighter around her body, just as a thick cloud of fog starts to fill the room. Confused and afraid, Sansa dashes for the door calling for Ghost to follow her, but he remains rooted on the spot. 

“Ghost, come!” Sansa demands unwilling to leave him. 

He remains frozen and though she can’t see him clearly through the fog, his red eyes seem to be fixated on something. Though she can’t explain why, Sansa feels compelled to stay, trusting Ghost’s instincts and unwillingness to leave. 

As the fog begins to lift Sansa hears a familiar voice calling her name. It’s faint at first, barely a whisper, but the hairs on her body stand on end. She’s recongise that voice anywhere. 

“J--J--Jon?” she chokes out.

Then she sees him. It knocks all of the wind out of her and takes all the strength she has not to collapse to the floor on her knees. She blinks her eyes rapidly, convinced this is an hallucination or vivid dream brought on by the lack of sleep she’s been having these passing weeks. 

“Sansa.” 

It’s his voice. It sounds just like him. Looks like him too, but he’s fainter and slightly transparent. Ghost reacts to him and attempts to nuzzle into him, but his head goes straight through him. 

“This--this cannot be real,” Sansa says shaking her head. “I’m only seeing you because I want to. This is not real.” 

Sansa closes her eyes firmly shut and Jon says, “You and I stopped believing in magic long ago. At least in the kind of magic that granted wishes and made dreams come true, but in this instance perhaps it is true. Because I’m here, Sansa. You wished me here and now I am.” 

“But you--you fell. The Night King killed you.” 

“Aye, he did. Do you remember those stories Old Nan told us as children? The ones about the spirits of Winterfell? That each year on the eve of October 31st spirits returned to earth for just one day. Remember how afraid you and Bran were? You slept in mine and Robb’s chambers for a week.” 

Sansa recalls the memory with a fond smile, then comes back to the present. “So you’re a...spirit?” 

He nods. 

“But Jon, those stories that Old Nan told us...they were untrue. They were make believe.” 

“I’m afraid not. The dead exist just as the living do, we merely exist on different planes. Today, the veil between those planes is thin allowing us to pass over back to the living.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. All that matters is I’m here and you can see me.” 

As Sansa comes to realise that Jon is right and it doesn’t matter how or why he is here, just that he is here, she walks towards him and gasps Jon’s name, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Oh, Jon. I’ve missed you so.” 

“And I you.” 

“There’s so much I have to tell you, so much I want to stay...I...I don’t know where to begin.” 

“Arya and Bran...how are they?” he asks. 

Sansa hangs her head. “Arya is...I don’t really know where she is. She won’t speak to me and is gone from the castle most of the day. When she is here she can scarcely look me in the eye. And Bran is Bran. I...I don’t know who he is any more.”

Jon sighs. “All will be well with time, I swear it.” 

Sansa wishes she could believe that. “Did you--? Did you feel pain?” 

It’s a question that has plagued Sansa’s heart since she learned of his demise and she doesn’t think she could bear it if he did. 

“To begin with, but not at the end. I was at peace because I knew the Night King was defeated. I watched as his blue eyes turned black and he crumbled to dust. I watched as all the other dead turned to nothing.” 

“You died a hero. It’s because of you that the war was won. It’s because of you that Winterfell is still standing and the world has survived long enough to be rebuilt. I only wish you were here to see it.” 

“So do I. And Daenerys, is she queen?” 

Sansa nods. “She executed Cersei and reclaimed the throne.” 

“What of Winterfell?” 

“She named me Lady of Winterfell and Warden in the North.” 

Jon beams. “I knew she would do no wrong by you should I fall.” 

“She’s been very gracious and kind, though she is still in mourning.” 

The topic of Daenerys is one they have swiftly avoided on numerous occasions, but Sansa senses that this is the one time they shan’t. 

“Did you truly love her?” Sansa doesn’t care that her question reveals the truth of her feelings without her having explicitly confessing them. 

“I did.” 

Sansa feels her heart sink in her chest. 

“But not how she loved me. Truth be told I...I loved another.” 

Sansa’s breath catches in her throat. “Another?” 

“Though I didn’t realise it, I think she was the one that truly had my heart.” 

“Who--who was she?” 

“Don’t you know?” he asks. Even in the dim light, Sansa can see his eyes as clear as though he were truly alive and standing before her. They’re as dark as night and intensely fixated on her. “It’s you.” 

Sansa stands motionless and when she finally absorbs his words a strange noise erupts from her that is somewhere between a giggle and sob. 

“I...I didn’t know,” she says breathlessly. “I didn’t know what was in my heart until it was too late. I only knew the moment I read the words on that scroll and knew you were dead.” 

A river of tears is streaming down Sansa’s face and were Jon solid, he would step forward and brush them from her face with his fingers. 

“Please, do not weep,” he pleads, disliking to see her in such anguish. “How could we know? We believed we were brother and sister for the longest time. How could we understand that what we were feeling wasn’t wrong?” 

Sansa shakes her head. “I’m so sorry,” she weeps. And she is. She’s sorry that he’s dead, she’s sorry for letting him die without ever telling him how much she loves him, she’s sorry for not being able to trade her life for his. 

“I was happy to lay down my life if it meant defeating the dead, you know that better than anyone. I died knowing you would be safe. That Arya and Bran would be safe. Winterfell too. I would die a thousand times over to ensure that.” 

Though he knows it’s useless he reaches his hand out and it hovers mere centimeters from her face. It catches Sansa off-guard and seeing him up so close causes goose pimples to erupt over her body. 

He’s Jon, but he’s not. There’s no warmth radiating from where his hand is hovering over her skin, no scent of smoke and earth and metal in his curls. Seeing him but not being able to feel him is a different form of torture than not seeing him at all. 

He sighs. “Were I alive I would kiss you.” 

Sansa closes her eyes and imagines the sweetness of his lips against hers and practically collapses forward. There are so many missed touches, kisses and gazes that she will never again get to share with him and the thought is unbearable. 

“I wish I could stay.” 

“What?” Sansa’s eyes fly open. “No, no, no. You can’t go. It’s been such a short while that you’ve been here.”

“It is almost midnight, when the veil returns. There is nothing I can do.”

“So you’ll just disappear as though you never existed?” 

He nods. 

“No,” Sansa bites her lip to stop herself crying out. “You were resurrected once before, you can be again. I can--”

“No,” Jon says firmly. “I once told Melisande that if I fell I didn’t want her to bring me back. I stand by what I said.” 

“But it’s so unfair.” 

“So is the world. Sansa...this was everything I could’ve dreamed and more. There are so few that have this chance. To look upon your face once more, to tell you of my love...I know now that I can be at peace.” 

“What of me? What of my peace?” Sansa knows it’s selfish, but all she can think of is that in a few moments he will be gone again and she will be without him. 

“You will find it. You’re so strong, Sansa. You’re a worthy queen and you will be a loving wife and mother.” 

The thought of marrying another man is unthinkable and she shakes her head. “I just want you, Arya, Bran and I to be together. Always. I don’t want to marry another.”

“You will,” he says with a firmness. “Anyone that meets you can do nothing but love you.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“I love you, Sansa.” 

With those words Sansa truly knows that this is goodbye. Ghost stands up and goes to Jon, sensing it too. 

“Take care of her, boy,” Jon says to him. 

Sansa can barely see him through her tear filled eyes. 

“I love you,” she cries out. It’s the first time she’s said those words to anyone and she never expected she’d say them to Jon of all people. But then again, she never expected to love anyone with such intensity and emotion. “I love you,” she says again. “I love you, Jon.” 

The wind returns and faster than he appeared, he is gone. Ghost quietly yelps mournfully and Sansa reaches her hand out to where Jon stood only moments ago, the only thing there now being air. 

Shuddering sobs wrack her body and this time she’s in so much agony that she simply drops to the ground on her knees. Ghost immediately comes to her and she grabs onto his fur, burying her face in him and soaking him with her tears.

In this moment all is lost and although the war may be over, for Sansa the battle  has just begun. The battle to rebuild herself and her world in the wake of the crippling loss of the only man she has ever loved. 

[btsbound-blog]

Hai Shi Shan Meng (M)

Pairing: Yoongi x Taehyung Genre: Angst, Smut, Horror, Fantasy Summary: Three instances where Yoongi holds Taehyung’s life in his hands, and the only response Taehyung gives is, “We’ll meet again, my love”.

*A/N: This fic was originally written for jemkook for the BTSBound Fic Exchange of June 2017. However, since they did not produce their work in time for this Reveal Date, I am going to dedicate this work to the person jemkook was supposed to write for, @wheresjhope. I apologize that you will not be reading a fic that you originally requested, but I hope this suffices. ~Admin Sarcasm*

~Meng, Off the coast of the Yellow Sea, 1457~

Though the land has been stripped of its trees where the earth meets the water, thick pines and elms still stand proudly close to the shore, coating the already night sky in a deep darkness that held many curiosities, many fears. The moon was their guide, but the branches still stretch to shade even the pure white light that shines down on them.

The Westerners settled nearly half a century ago, bringing prospects of a God that would save their people from the depths of a Hell the Meng natives hadn’t believed in. But these Westerners also brought materials foreign to the natives’ eyes, and a ferocity that left everyone bowing. And fifty years later, everything had been established: their language, their God, their homes, their ways. Min Yoongi was no stranger to this, and neither was Kim Taehyung.

Yoongi walks the earth of those tree laden areas now -forests, as the Westerners call them. He keeps his eyes on his feet hitting the path before him, afraid of any missteps that may come his way if he doesn’t keep his eyes glued beneath him.

His grandparents told him of a world before the Westerners brought their God. How events like the one he was going to now were not things for their own beliefs. These...these events were not so gruesome in the past. The Meng people used to believe in quick deaths, not dragging out the inevitable. But these Westerners believed in horrid punishments, supposedly to fit the horrid crimes of the people who commit them.

A Witch Burning.

Yoongi has never attended one of these before, mainly because they don’t happen all that often, and because they happen at night, when the town is asleep safely in their own beds, after having prayed to their new God in hopes to keep Him happy. Additionally, Yoongi has never relished the idea of watching someone die, quickly or otherwise. He believes people that enjoy to watch life fade from humans are sick in their soul and maybe long to have the same fate brought upon themselves.

When they finally make it to the clearing, the smell of wood masks the usually potent and salty smell of the sea. A gathering of people (the sick, as Yoongi thinks) circle an opening, and the town officials that were walking with Yoongi shove him forward until he stands at the front of the crowd, taking in the sight before him.

Naked, save for the cloth that wraps around slender hips to cover his privates, Kim Taehyung stands with his arms raised straight above his head. His wrists are bound to the wooden stake and his ankles are in the same position, the vine woven rope digging harshly into smooth skin.

Under the spotlight of the moon, Yoongi notes that the other’s usually golden skin seems rather pale, probably as pale as his own. It’s a sight Yoongi isn’t all that used to, and had Taehyung not been bound to a stake with branches circling his feet, he would drag the younger to a rocky fortress, graze and touch at the wonder their night sun does for the otherworldly beautiful Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung’s head is tilted up, staring at said moon with dark eyes, as though he is engaged in a fascinating conversation between himself and the light in their night sky. But at the shushing silence that wraps around from the audience he has created, Taehyung drops his head down, meeting the sleepy eyes of the man that betrayed him, his love, Yoongi.

One of the officers that accompanied Yoongi through the woods clears his throat, ready to speak.

“We have all gathered here on this night to witness the burning of Kim Taehyung, alleged and proven Witch. He did not have a trial since he confessed to practicing witchcraft, as well as having  two very reliable witnesses. Mr. Hemmings, please read the accounts on which Mr. Kim is charged.”

Another guard steps forward, holding a parchment that he originally held rolled in his fist. He, too, clears his throat before reading out the charges written on the page.

“First Name: Taehyung, Last Name: Kim. Charged with: Practicing witchcraft; Outwardly displaying demonic tendencies; Using said witchcraft to lure another man into his bed for,” Mr. Hemmings pauses, trying to hide the blush that creeps up his cheeks as he finishes the sentence, “For intimate activities. The punishment: Burned to death at the stake.”

Yoongi has heard that, though these practices seem a tad barbaric and wild, witch burnings are supposed to be civil, professional, as orderly as any other state official execution. But when the first officer scoffs, however, Yoongi knows that the night shows a different type of order.

“Does he even deserve a stake, the filthy devil? Why not strap him down in a bundle of twigs?” His words provoke a wave of laughter from the otherwise quiet audience, their cackles low and high and hearty and...disgusting. These people are the ones that sound possessed, demonic and hellish, not the man on trial. It’s not like Yoongi is any different.

Hemmings laughs along, but when he speaks his words are neutral. “He saved a man from death, so we’ll show him some mercy.”

“That’s right!” The first officer chimes in too gleefully. “But now is the time! We must bring forth the witness and the victim, Min Yoongi.”

At the sound of his name, Yoongi tears his eyes away from a pliant Taehyung. Even in the pale of night, Yoongi can still catch the warmth in the officer’s cheeks, the splotches on his cheeks probably not just the warm night air. No doubt the man has been drinking his share of alcohol, as if that is not one of the sins these Westerners spit so vehemently.

Someone from the crowd hands the officer a lit torch and soon hands it over to Yoongi, making sure his hand is steady before letting it go. “Yoongi, my boy,” the guard says, and Yoongi can practically smell the liquor on his words. “Make this heathen pay for what he did to you.”

The short walk to the center of their circle seems miles away as the crowd goes silent again, this time in anticipation. The wood in his hand is warm to the touch, prickling the glands in his palm and suddenly he feels his nails dig into the grains for fear of dropping it. He was here because of himself. Taehyung was here because of him.

They worked for the same family of settlers, a lovely couple with two children growing in years in front of their eyes. Taehyung began working for the family when the daughter was a mere child that wore bows like they could cure all the world’s problems. And Yoongi fell for that man, the one that played with the children and kept for the dog, made sure the garden remained neat. Sometimes Yoongi would peer at this man from the kitchen window, watching as the golden sun kissed the man’s skin and sprinkled moles in odd places, like the tip of his nose.

Yoongi was well aware that having feelings for another man was wrong, but Taehyung felt like the Heaven Westerners promised the Meng natives. Yoongi thought that maybe he had done so much good in his life that he deserved a piece of Heaven in the form of a man taller than him, just as thin but broader, one that held Yoongi with care but ripped pleasure from every part of his body so that it left him breathless and in the clouds. That’s where Heaven was, right, up in the clouds?

And when Yoongi grew ill with a foreign sickness, one the Westerners unintentionally brought with them along with their materials and notions of God, Taehyung was the man that cared for him, stayed by his side after the doctor drew his tainted blood. Taehyung was the one to come back with a potion he suaded Yoongi to take in a state of delirium, placing kisses at his sweaty skin and uttering words that were neither native to the Meng nor the Westerners. And he did this on several days right after the doctor would leave.

The mistake came when the daughter had caught sight of this, watching Taehyung’s lips move along Yoongi’s, watching as Taehyung drew symbols in the air with his long fingers. No one had been wrong in guessing then that Kim Taehyung practiced witchcraft.

The true wrong, Yoongi believes, that happened in this situation, came from when authorities questioned him once he was healed. In a moment of oblivion and darkness within Yoongi’s own head, he doubted Taehyung’s feelings for him, his intentions. And in that moment, Yoongi decided to save his own skin, to make himself out as the victim. Quick he was to admit to the magic Taehyung performed on him to make him feel better, and sudden Yoongi was to add on that Taehyung also used his demonic ways to seduce him into sex.

Not only was Kim Taehyung a witch, but also homosexual? Oh, the people nearly trembled in their spots at the idea of such a monster.

Which is probably why they stare so intently now, as Yoongi inches closer and closer. Taehyung’s features morph, a sneaky smile that Yoongi has seen a few times before gracing his lips. It sends a shock down Yoongi’s spine as he finally stands there, face-to-face with the man he never loved aloud, but whispered into the tan skin that cloaked him underneath thin sheets.

“Any final words,” Yoongi asks, some disdain seeping from his voice as he speaks. “Faggot?”

The insult seems to amuse Taehyung, a chuckle rising from his throat just as the word is uttered. When he speaks, his voice is calm, low, and sweet.

“I’m glad to see you are doing well. I pray you find someone that can fuck you better than I did.”

Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut, a brief second lapsed before his glare is hardened again. It’s easy to displace anger, Yoongi is now realizing.

“Your gods cannot help you now,” he hisses, the comeback rather weak.

With a moment of silence, Taehyung seems to cut past the act Yoongi dons for the crowd around them. He can’t even admit to himself how much he loves it, how bare Taehyung makes him feel with just his gaze alone.

“Stay safe in these shadowed worlds, Yoongi.” The words are spoken faintly, as though they’re only meant for Yoongi’s ears. He’s not sure how well that was achieved.

Yoongi knows that eyes stare him down, waiting none too patiently for the fire to ignite at the criminal’s feet. He doesn’t show any hesitance, but he can feel his breath stop as the first flame catches onto the wood on the ground, on the outer edge of the ring.

When he backs away, standing again next to the guards that brought him, his eyes watch the embers rise, burning quickly around Taehyung. The fire helps to bring back the golden tan to his skin, the shadows of flickering flames dancing off his skin so beautifully and so painfully.

“We’ll meet again, my love,” Taehyung says, just as the fire craws toward his feet caressing at his flesh the same way Yoongi did many times before.

Yoongi soon realizes that what people love the most about witch burnings is the noise. There’s something about the wails of terror and pain that really rile the crowd up, because yes they deserve to die so painfully and slowly. They deserve their own slice of Hell on this earth. Yoongi deserves this piece of Hell.

As roars of pain rip from Taehyung’s throat, something animal laces with his guttural noises. Everyone can hear it, Yoongi is sure. It’s neither demonic nor angelic, just primal, and it strikes as much fear in the crowd as it does anger. All it strikes in Yoongi is ache. And soon he cannot see the charring skin of his love, cannot hear the cries that sound like they belong in the heart of the jungle.

As the fire grows with blinding light, he hears those words whispered and flooded into his brain.

We’ll meet again, my love.

~Port Meng, On the coast of the Yellow Sea, 1787~

Yoongi awakens to an early morning darkness. He isn’t sure when the last night was that he had a full night’s rest, waking to the maids pulling at heavy curtains so the sun could flood into his bedroom. He knows it was most certainly before he joined the army, choosing to join the men that fought for the land both the Meng natives and Westerners worked so hard to upkeep and make better. They’re not called Westerners anymore, but some of the older generations will still refer to the European settlers as that because it’s what they grew up saying, but also to show some distance.

He shuffles quietly, pulling on his trousers and boots, making sure the suspenders fit nicely on his shoulders before throwing on his jacket. Normally he would lay in bed and wait for the hour to come to him when he was supposed to be awake, the horn that would sound through halls to wake the other soldiers blaring until he had no choice but to follow his fellow mates. This morning, however, he walks the halls by himself, making sure to keep his steps quiet as he trails down winding halls until he gets to an exit. The night is still upon them, but behind Yoongi, a hint of morning winks in the distance.

Yoongi is not sure if this makes him a traitor or not, fighting with these men. To be technical, no one is fighting. There hasn’t been a war yet, but there are whispers of it, and sometimes Yoongi regrets his rash decision to join these men.

The majority are Westerners or half-breeds, as some like to call them. Yoongi finds it laughable that the Meng people believe the natives still have the power just because the royal family are natives, as well. But when the militia is made up of a vast majority of those that are not native, it seems a bit peculiar, to say the least.

At any rate, Yoongi has his reasons for joining. And war or not, he will see his reasons through to the very end.

The army base sits right near the edge of the shore of Port Meng. Thus the soldiers are usually tasked with overlooking the boats and ships that sail to and from the pier, checking the cartel of those that wish to bring their items into the city. The base sits made of stone cut and dug from the mountains further inland, something way before Yoongi’s time, to his fortune. At this time of the morning, though there is hardly enough light to see, Yoongi thinks he can spot some ships off in the distance, ships that will either park to make business or to rest for a few days. There’s one ship in particular he believes he looks out for, though he is not quite sure what it looks like.

Yoongi leans against the stone wall, peering out onto the sea, when he hears it first: foot steps. They could be that of another soldier coming to inspect any disturbance...but it could also be someone completely unrelated-

“An angel from above graces my presence.” The voice is familiar, deep and a tad slurred, but still the words are all purposeful.

Though he so much wishes to look, Yoongi keeps his face to the waters. “You speak too boldly, Kim.”

This seems to get the other’s attention, a loud silence with a smile that Yoongi can almost feel. “Kim? You know me?” The voice ascends only a little, and Yoongi fears for if the man sees his face. He can’t have that.

Taking a step to the side and away from the wall, Yoongi begins to inch closer to the shore. “Every soul in Port Meng knows of Captain Kim Taehyung. Were you aware that you are a wanted man, Captain Kim?”

Taehyung seems to follow, the heavy thud of his boots similar to Yoongi’s. “Of course I am wanted. I’m quite handsome.” He pauses, and Yoongi still longs to turn around and see the face of the infamous pirate that others fear of; he longs to see if the deviant still wears the line of hoops that pierce his ears with only one long silver cross to hang from his lobe. “But I assume you mean I am wanted by a particular person. Who does it be?”

“The King.” They’re almost at the pier, the subdued stench of salty sea and alcohol wafting from the ports curl through the morning air. It’s almost calming, Yoongi finds.

Taehyung gasps, “The King! Praytell, on what grounds am I wanted?”

Yoongi stops, keepings his eyes on the wood at his feet. He wouldn’t want to go too far out with a man of the sea; then Yoongi would be the vulnerable one. He answers then.

“Well, for starters, you’re a pirate-”

“Oh, thank heavens!” Taehyung interrupts with a laugh to accompany his words. “I was pondering on that, but I am glad to know I was correct in knowing that I am a pirate. Continue.”

“And you stole something from his son.” These words, Yoongi says, hold a sharper intonation.

“Oh? I’ve stolen from the Prince? And how is it that a lowly soldier like you knows this?”

Right, Yoongi is wearing his uniform, albeit unkempt. He almost betrays himself, turning to look the pirate in the eyes, only to stop himself midway. “Like I said...all of Port Meng-”

“So, does all of Port Meng know what it is that I stole from the Prince...and how I got it?” He can hear the sneer in Taehyung’s voice, can feel his eyes darken on the side of his neck. “If you allow me to speak so boldly again, Mr. Min, I would like to counter that it is not the King that wants my head...but the Prince.”

Though Yoongi can hear the muffled beats of Taehyung inching closer, he stays rooted in his spot. “Min...you know me?”

“More’r so...I remember you.” Taehyung stands a breath behind Yoongi now, his voice dropping so the empty piers cannot hear what he says. “And how could I not remember a voice so rough and mellow? It is a pleasure to meet you again...my Prince.”

Yoongi finally turns, meeting a darkened silhouette as Taehyung bows dramatically with his left hand to his chest and his right arm stretched behind him. Even in the dim light as morning crawls over them, Yoongi can catch the sun bleached strands of Taehyung’s dirty hair, the rag on his head washed till it’s frayed at the edges. When the pirate picks his his head up, Yoongi is met with the shining tan skin, eyes lined with kohl and dark, bitten lips (and, as Yoongi had hoped, the cross earring hangs from his earlobe).

Though the sight of Kim Taehyung makes him seethe in his skin, he cannot deny the man is irresistible -handsome, as Taehyung had put it.

“Am I truly your prince when you don’t have a place to call home on these lands?”

Taehyung straightens, taking advantage of the inches he has on Yoongi. “Home is where you find comfort and care, Yoongi.” He leans forwards, and Yoongi is almost surprised he doesn’t smell a hint of liquor on the other’s tongue. “And if that is the definition of home, I think I have found one between your legs.” He pulls away with a chuckle. Ah, he thinks he has won. Yoongi presses forward, walking back to the base.

“You know what I’m curious to know?” he calls back. He’s sure Taehyung is following him. Either way, he still turns back. “Do your men know about the company you keep in your motel rooms?”

The sky grows lighter, just enough for Yoongi to see the shift in the other’s gaze, how some irritation flashes. “I garner the respect of my crew, if that’s where your curiosity truly lies. But the same can be wondered about you, Yoongi.” He continues walking, just as Yoongi marches onward. “Do the people of Port Meng know how much you like being on your knees? Do they know how much you love to sneak off into forbidden territories?”

Yoongi knows Taehyung is talking about the night they met. The Prince had set on a voyage of his own and ended up at Jay Island, a small patch of land notorious for harboring pirates, whores, and fugitives. There in the dead of night with just a few candles and lanterns to light the rooms, Yoongi and Taehyung laid naked together for hours and hours doing acts that were possibly very similar to what other couples did in other rooms, just with different company.

At Yoongi’s silence, Taehyung continues. “Do they know that you mask yourself under the guise of a soldier? And why a soldier, of all things?”

This, Yoongi is confident in the answer to. “I wanted to have my hand in you death.” He turns to meet the pirate’s stare. “But I might just let you get a head start on escaping if you hand over what you stole from me.”

Taehyung smiles almost wistfully. “Your heart?”

“The ring,” Yoongi snaps. “Give me the damned ring!” He hardly remembers to keep his voice down as his anger boils. They’re once again at the stone wall.

“A ring. I have stolen many and bartered many. Who is to say I still have it?”

Not like Yoongi hadn’t taken every chance he could to eye the man in front of him. He can distinctly remember the other naked; under the warm glow of burning fires, his skin glistened like rich honey, and his voice dripped just as such. And his eyes can’t help but trail down the sharp angle of his jaw, down to the silver that decorates his long, thick neck so beautifully. And what sits at the end of the chain makes him huff out a laugh.

“Even with your pretty words, you cannot tell me that is not my ring around your neck.” Just to prove his point, Taehyung brings a hand to clasp around the silver chain.

“I wanted to keep it close to my heart.” he reasons. “A souvenir for the nights we spent together, the mess we made of each other.”

Though he exhales a stuttered breath, Yoongi still speaks evenly. “Only speak for yourself, Taehyung. And give me back the ring.”

Taehyung takes a minute, and Yoongi tries to keep his guard as he feels those heavy, dark eyes tear right through the veils until he feels nothing covering him. It seems to click, then. “Oh, that is why you’re here! This ring, it must be very important. So important it evoked anger in your father. Did he tell you not to come home until you found it?”

Some part of Yoongi ached to tell Taehyung he was right, to let go of the restraints that kept him together and fall into the other. But he couldn’t do that. He would never be able to do that, royalty or not.

“I’ll get the ring from you,” Yoongi hisses through clenched teeth. “Whether you’re dead or alive.”

He still has those eyes, Taehyung does. And it frustrates Yoongi even more. “Then let me have it till death. I wouldn’t want to leave this world without a piece of you.”

The sun has made its ascent by now, still low in the morning, but high enough to alight the sea, the port and pier, the duo that stand not meters away from the entrance of the army base.

“Suit yourself, Tae.”

Taehyung isn’t sure what kept him stuck to his spot. It could have been hearing the name that Yoongi moaned into his skin months before; it could have been the look of defeat in those precious, narrow eyes. Maybe Taehyung was ready to face whatever Yoongi had for him. But he stayed there as Yoongi shouted and cried for the guards, hearing the horn blare from inside the stone walls and watching as red coats like Yoongi’s flooded his vision.

Soon, guards lined in front of Taehyung as he stood with his back to the stone wall. Yoongi was among those men that held rifles aimed at him.

“Well done, Yoongi!” One of the soldiers congratulated him. “You actually caught Captain Taehyung!”

One of the generals call for them to aim. And Yoongi peers at the man on the wall that stares him down.

“Any last words, Captain Kim Taehyung?” he asks.

He smiles, adam’s apple bobbing as he laughs low. When he speaks, the words are cut as the general tells them to fire. But Yoongi hears them, over the blast of rifle barrels, over the cheers of happy men that got to kill. He eyes the lifeless look in Taehyung’s eyes, and it’s chilling. The gold ring with the black opal lodged into the metal rests against a tanned, bleeding chest. Yoongi hears the words loudly as they flood his brain.

We’ll meet again...my love.

~Kkum Coast, City right on the Yellow Sea, New Age China 2017~

“Fuck!”

Yoongi’s eyes are screwed shut, head thrown into the pillow beneath him and mouth gaping open though nothing comes out as the pleasure courses through his every vein.

After what feels like minutes of riding the blissful torrent of ecstasy, he finally heaves an exhale, shaky and heavy as it escapes from his lungs. He can again feel the sheets beneath him, where some bits ball uncomfortably under his lower back, can feel the bruising grip he has on flesh under his fingers, can hear the rugged breathing of the man atop him. When his eyes flutter open, his vision takes a second to clear out the details of tan skin, a slight contrast between Yoongi’s own pale skin.

Taehyung is beautiful like this, Yoongi admires. Not to say he isn’t always beautiful, but Yoongi can never get enough of Taehyung post-orgasm, when chestnut strands cling to his damp forehead, his cheeks the lightest shade of dusty pink -both signs of the exertion from their activities. There’s a blissed-out smile on his lips, and his chest rises up and down with exhausted breaths. Naked above Yoongi is when Taehyung looks the best (though he may say the same if the latter is under him; so maybe he’s not the best to ask about Taehyungs in terms of beauty).

White floods his vision as Taehyung rolls his hips, pain searing from his core and spreading outwards. Yoongi chokes on a groan as he uses his grip on Taehyung’s hips to still him.

“Shit, Tae! You can’t seriously be ready to go again.” Though his words are incredulous, his voice is too raspy to sound anything but tired.

Taehyung leans forward, nails digging into Yoongi’s chest as his brow furrows, another tremble wracking his body as he whimpers. “Don’t wanna...stop.”

Yoongi feels it, too, the desire to keep going; lust is like a drug to them, the most addictive kind...or maybe the addiction lies within each other. Either way, neither can get enough.

With a soft chuckle, Yoongi nods in a slight motion. “C’mere.” When Taehyung’s lips are breaths away, he unclasps one hand from the other’s hip to drag those last few inches until they’re nonexistent. They don’t bother to keep the kiss sweet, cutting straight to tongue and teeth and breathy moans. “Gimme a minute to catch up. Then we can go again.” Yoongi promises when they part for air.

There’s only the hint of a pout on Taehyung’s lips before Yoongi is on him again, breathing in his love as though that’s the only air he needs.

“Women can have more than one orgasm during one round. ‘S not fair,” Taehyung sighs.

“Grow a vagina, then,” Yoongi jokes.

He’s not sure how long they stay tangled together like this, but Yoongi can feel the fire begin to pour in his center again, his heart thudding erratically in excitement at the thought of fucking his boyfriend again-

That’s when there’s the shrill of a phone ringing. Yoongi’s phone, on their nightstand.

“Isn’t that Jimin’s ringtone?” Taehyung asks lazily, pulling away from Yoongi’s swollen lips to lick at his jaw, trailing down to his neck.

“No,” Yoongi lies simply. Taehyung obviously doesn’t believe him, if he can tell from the way the other pulls away to stare at him. “If it’s important, he’ll leave a voicemail.”

That only pulls Taehyung further away as he reaches over to grab the phone, answering the call and shoving the screen into Yoongi’s ear.

With a gruff, Yoongi snaps. “What?” He glares at a happy Taehyung, that opts for going back to his previous task of laving at the elder’s neck.

“Geeze, did I wake you from your daily nap or something?” Jimin sounds just as annoyed on the other end.

It’s not entirely distracting having Taehyung’s tongue on him, but it peeves Yoongi that he can’t just focus on that alone. “On the contrary,” Yoongi answers. “We were just about to see if Taehyung possesses any dormant Y chromosomes.”

On the other end, Jimin scrunches his nose in confusion. “What? How can you check if Tae-” but his question is stopped short when there’s the indistinguishable sound of a broken moan. “Suddenly, I don’t want to know what that means.”

“Do you have any actual news for us, or are you just doing your friendly duty as a Cock-Block?”

Oh, right. What Jimin called for. “Right! A new assignment for the Tomb Raiders.” Jimin says the name a bit too proudly, given he and Taehyung had come up with the name when they all started this “business”.

That business being Yoongi and Taehyung raiding and stealing from other places that people hire them to (plus Jimin, their handy-dandy computer nerd that helps them figure out how to do all of that without getting caught). They’ve only been doing this for a year or so, using the money they get from pawning off stolen items to pay for their basic necessities. Most jobs can last them for a few months, which is why they haven’t found any reason to stop.

“Mkay, who is it?”

At Jimin’s silence, Yoongi takes the time to revel in the curl of Taehyung’s tongue right below his ear, tensing when Jimin finally answers.

“It’s anonymous, actually. And they want you to raid the Port Meng Army Base.” Jimin speaks slowly as he reads the message. “Apparently there’re some things in there that are ‘incredibly valuable’.”

The hand Yoongi wasn’t even aware crawled to latch onto Taehyung’s hair grips tighter at the name. “Port Meng Army Base? What could possibly be in that old ass place? And why now?”

“Is this a thing now? Are we gonna start asking people why they want us to go through places and steal shit? They didn’t give much specifics. All they said was that there’s some shit in there that are beyond valuable and worth a lot.” He could tell Jimin was getting tired of this call. “You in or you out?”

“We’re in.” Taehyung says, intercepting Yoongi and pulling his mouth close to the speaker.

With wide eyes, Yoongi eyes his boyfriend. “Excuse you?”

Taehyung shrugs. “What harm can it do? Hell, we can inspect the place first before we give an answer. So let’s go over there and see what we can find, first.” He goes back to Yoongi’s ear, leaving pecks there and whispering. “Now, can you hang up so we can hunt down where multiple orgasms come from?”

Jimin hacks, shouting so Yoongi has to pull the phone away from his ear. “C’mon, Tae! I can still fucking hear you. And I seriously didn’t need to hear tha-”

Yoongi ends the call, tossing the phone back onto the nightstand  and settling his hand back at the younger’s hip.

“We could’ve totally let that go to voicemail,” he quips half-heartedly.

“Shut up,” Taehyung sighs, going in for a quick peck. “Your dick is half hard inside me and it feels weird. So let’s focus on that.”

The other blanches. “Wha- I was literally soft not just a minute ago. Flaccid! And you’re complaining about a semi?” He wants to create more of a fuss (or maybe he doesn’t), but Taehyung flashes a bright smile that looks so irresistible, he needs a taste for himself.

The city of Kkum Coast has molded and changed over the centuries. For one, it used to be Port Meng over two centuries ago. But with the independence of the Meng from the Europeans came a change in power, in language, in beliefs. Even through the progress of the New Age Chinese city, one thing still stood just off the shore of the Yellow Sea, a stone building once probably admired with honour, now stands unkempt.

Dark vines weave through the cracks of the dark, chipped stone; any sharpness to its edges worn away with years and years of abandonment. As Taehyung and Yoongi make their way to an entrance, they note the lack of people around. Desolate. That’s what this place was.

The iron door creaks on its rusted hinges as they pull it open, listening to the groans echo through the empty halls. The temperature drops, cold and dark walls not allowing much light in. There are doors that line the hall, and the duo takes note of them all, unsure of where to start.

“You think we should split up?” Taehyung considers aloud though his voice is low.

The idea makes Yoongi tense next to his boyfriend. “When has splitting up ever gone well for people in horror films? No, we’re staying together.” At the sound of a smirk, he adds on, “Besides, I don’t trust you to not fall through the floor like that one office building-”

“But who was the one that fell face first into a storm door?” Taehyung mocks. “You can’t blame me for the conditions of these places.”

His eyes follow the cracks in the walls. He can’t argue with Taehyung there. “We probably would have better luck searching an actual tomb.”

Not wanting to waste more time, they go through the first door, finding a small room that looks to have been an office, perhaps. The room is completely empty minus the layers of dust that coat every possible surface, so they go on to the next room.

This continues for the majority of the rooms, until they get to the end of the hall where a much larger room sits. A few cots and drawers lay scattered amongst the floor, piles of miscellaneous things in corners. It’s enough to pique their intrigue, and with lights in their fists, they go to rummage through whatever there is.

Yoongi’s neck is just bordering on feeling stiff when he finally lifts his head. “Find anything?”

Taehyung needs a second to find his voice after having worked in silence. “Besides old bird nests and dust bunnies, nope. You?”

He holds his one finding between his fingers, blowing away some of the collected dust. “Found a bullet casing. What did this place use to be, again?”

He can practically hear Taehyung shrug. “Dunno. I think it was an army base created when people started sailing here for trade and whatnot.”

The answer sounds correct, and Yoongi doesn’t hold back in showing his surprise. With a huff he laughs. “That was an oddly specific answer. You sure you didn’t actually pass History class senior year?”

Taehyung scoffs. “That history class was bullshit. All we learned about was when the settlers came and forced Christianity onto the Mengs. Oh!” he perks at a memory. “And there was that one paragraph about pirates that really got to me. Teacher wouldn’t let us spend the whole lecture talking about it. Can you believe those used to exist?”

Ah, there was Yoongi’s boyfriend he knew and loved. “You know pirates are still a thing, Tae.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But they're not as cool. All they do is overthrow ships and hold people hostage.” Like they didn’t do that back then, as well.

Yoongi grunts in false agreement. “Yeah. I dare you to set sail for Tortuga and tell any pirates you run into how bland they are.” He hears a gasp, and before he can worry, Taehyung calls for him.

“Uh, racist much?” And Yoongi has to turn to see what his boyfriend means.

“What?”

The other scoffs again, as if whatever he’s talking about is obvious. “Are you implying that there’s only pirates in the Caribbean? They were obviously here, too!”

“I mean, yeah, there were a few pirates here. But they kinda dispersed after that one pirate captain was killed.” When Yoongi finishes, he blinks seeing that Taehyung has the same expression.

The younger’s eyes squint in confusion. “What?”

“I…” Yoongi turns back to his corner. “I have no idea where that came from...maybe I heard it somewhere...maybe?” The explanation doesn’t seem to quell either, but they let it past, going back to gingerly digging through trash.

“Oh man!” exclaims Taehyung, just missing knocking his head on the cot he’d been bent under, to stand next to Yoongi. “Check out this ring; so cool!”

He drops the ring into Yoongi’s hand so that the latter can inspect it, and he’s taken with the weight it holds. It looks to be gold, something brown coating sparse areas. An opal gem lays in the band.

“Kay,” he mumbles. “Either this isn’t real gold or something is rusted over it.” He looks to Taehyung for his thoughts, only to receive a noncommittal head tilt. “Mmm, I’ll send a picture over to Jimin, and maybe he can tell us if there’s any info on it. See how much it’s worth.”

The plan seems good enough for Taehyung, who already heads for the exit. “I’ll keep checkin’ around,” he calls back, despite Yoongi’s earlier dislike for splitting up.

Taehyung’s movements can be heard from above, the sounds of flying pages and thuds of moving across the floor keeping Yoongi’s worries at ease. After going through the last of the trash in the room, Yoongi is ready to leave when his phone rings; it’s Jimin.

“Hey, did you get something?” He answers with the question.

Jimin’s excited tone is not what Yoongi is expecting. “I have a fucking love story!”

“Right,” Yoongi replies, unsure of where his friend is going. “This love story better end with a happy ending...AKA selling this ring for a high ass price.”

The tech doesn’t miss a beat. “I looked up the ring and found an image of the one you sent me, though it looks to be in much better condition. Turns out that ring used to belong to the King of Meng in the late 1700s!”

So, it’s safe to say the ring is made of real gold. “Holy shit…”

“But the one you have, it seems to be the one his son stole from him before he went on this trip to Jay Island. Anyways, while he was there, the Prince met this notorious pirate that stole it from him. This post also claims that he and this pirate were lovers.” Yoongi can hear Jimin’s brows waggle through the phone at the implication. He doesn’t fight his eye roll.

“Wow, gay romance in the olden days,” he states in monotone. “Continue; so far I’m not completely repulsed by this story.”

This seems to be the right answer for Jimin. “So, the Prince had to get the ring back and he couldn’t just tell his father how it is the ring was ‘lost’ or the fact that he went to Jay Island, which apparently at the time was a popular place for pirates and criminals to go. So, the Prince enlisted into the army with hopes of running into the pirate and getting his ring back.”

Yoongi can feel his brain turning to mush with how long the story is turning out to be. Like they didn’t know he was impatient. “I know I said I was intrigued, but tell me the end is near.”

“Shut it. So, this pirate actually comes to Port Meng, though it doesn’t specify what he was there for. But he runs into the Prince under the guise of the soldier, and he asks for his ring back -but the pirate refuses. Then the Prince decides that he’ll kill the pirate first and get the ring when he’s dead. And -here’s where it gets good- fucking guess what the pirate said right before the militia shot him.”

Yoongi moans as he looks for the answer, playing along with Jimin’s eagerness. “Mmm…’We’ll meet again, my love’.” He says, adding a wispy tone to sell the ridiculous words.

The other side is quiet for a beat too long, and Yoongi checks to see if the call disconnected. “Hello? Jimin? Still there?”

“That’s…” Jimin sounds astounded. “That’s exactly what he said. How did you know that?”

Truthfully, when Yoongi imagined the words, he heard Taehyung’s voice, almost perfectly clearly, as if the boy stood next to him. There was something about that, however, that seemed off...like that couldn’t possibly be a good reason.

He sputters. “You...you told me to guess. And I guess I’m just a great guesser. Don’t hate the player. So is that it?” He inquires quickly to change the subject.

Of course, to Yoongi’s misfortune, there is more. “One last thing: so after the pirate is dead and they take all his belongings -probs stolen- and toss his body in the sea, the Prince takes the ring and watches the body float away. Okay, guess what the Prince said, since you’re just an amazing guesser.”

“Nah,” Yoongi declines lightly. “Tired of playing the game.” That’s only half the truth. “What he say?”

“It’s some old phrase from Ancient China...probably when the Meng still spoke Mandarin. I hope I don’t butcher this: ‘hai shi shan meng’. Apparently, it means ‘oath of eternal love to swear by all the Gods’...” Jimin pauses, and once again, Yoongi is too slow to pull the phone away from his ear as Jimin shouts. “Isn’t that the fucking cutest? The Prince actually loved the pirate back.”

There’s something odd about the room, Yoongi notices. Is it darker? Wait, what happened to the shuffling noises?

“Yoongi? Are you stunned by my storytelling skills?”

Yoongi is already heading out the room, climbing the stairs he know Taehyung must have gone up to get to the second floor. “More of the opposite; that story was shit and I still don’t know how much this ring is worth.”

Jimin knows he should have told Taehyung the story. His best friend would fawn with him over it. “It’s pure gold with black opal, Yoongi. Figure it out.”

“Was that story even real? There’s no names of the characters. Where did you even find that?” When he makes it to the top of the staircase, an emptiness hangs low over the halls.

“It’s on some website about historical artifacts.” Jimin scrolls over the page, clicking to isolate the post. “The post is anonymous. Actually...it was posted today.”

That can’t be a coincidence. “You think you can...run where the anonymous message we got came from and this post?”

Jimin must have the same idea as Yoongi asks the question, already opening the tab with the anonymous message. “It’ll take me a few minutes, but I might be able to find out. I’ll call you back when I have something.”

With his attention solely focused on finding Taehyung, Yoongi breezes through the rooms, all of them small enough to peer through and see that Taehyung is nowhere to be found. How could he possibly slip past Yoongi without him noticing? Outside one barred window, sounds of laughter float through, hearty, high and low...but none of those voices sound remotely like Taehyung’s.

Just to double check, Yoongi makes sure to walk through every room, kicking up dust as he goes along. It’s safe to say that the second and last floor is more barren than the ground floor...so what had made the fluttering noises of pages?

Outside the same barred window, the sky darkens, not from night but from thick, grey clouds. Storms were common when you lived next to the sea, but no one had expected one today, during this afternoon.

Maybe Taehyung’s outside, and the thought is still being processed in Yoongi’s brain when he shoves past the door they came through. And the surroundings are just as he last saw them: desolate.

But hadn’t he heard laughter?

His phone rings in his pocket again, and he answers without giving much thought to who it is. “Yeah.”

“Um,” Jimin starts. “This is gonna sound really strange. Swear you won’t freak out on me.”

Really, Yoongi is sure he’s past that point, though he keeps it together quite well. “A) When do I freak out? And B) no promises.”

“Both the message and the post...they actually came from the army base.”

Though his eyes are on the sea before him, his brain is taking its time to transcribe what Jimin has just informed him. “You mean the one I’m at right now?”

That wording doesn’t seem right. “Didn’t you go with Tae?”

And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it? Yoongi finds it harder to breathe though he tries to speak evenly. “Yeah, but I can’t find him...fuck, okay. Thanks, Jimin. I’ll call you later.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before hanging up and stuffing the phone into his pocket. Maybe he came to inspect outside. Yoongi walks along the wall, stabbing pains hitting his chest the further along he goes.

Hai shi shan meng, the words whisper over and over in his head. And every time the words are uttered, something clicks painfully into place, into a puzzle he had no idea he was trying to finish.

The Prince saying those words...had that really been the end of the story? Or had the story truly ended with the Prince holding that ring to his heart before shooting himself in the head? The brown that rusted over the gold, it was fucking blood, wasn’t it? Somehow, Yoongi knew this to be the truth, just as he heard his own voice say the words. Hai shi shan meng.

Just as Yoongi rounds the corner, his foot gets caught on one of the many vines that grow from the ground to wrap around the fortress. As he stumbles, his nose meets the dirt ground, and suddenly the stench of charred flesh coats his nostrils; his heart shatters again, the pain of a memory that cannot be his melting in his mind.

Did the story end when the ashes of that witch molded with the earth? Or did the witch’s victim not use those ashes to write the very words on his chest to bind them together for all of eternity...to swear by all the Gods? Again, Yoongi hears his own voice cry out the lover’s oath as the victim bawled. Curling into the ground, flashes of golden skin paled by the moon flutter behind his eyelids; he sees the face of his love as the flames rise, but the scene is blurred through his own tears.

“Hai shi shan meng,” Yoongi croaks, feeling the weight lift at the sound of those words. The pain still keeps him heavy to the ground, unable to move.

There’s the sound of footsteps that catches Yoongi’s attention. He lifts his head just as a familiar pair of legs stand before him. Sitting up, he stares at the man he has loved for centuries, and is sure to love for more to come.

“Taehyung…” Yoongi sighs.

This sneaky grin that the other wears, Yoongi has seen it many times -over the years that they have known each other...and hundreds of years ago before now. Though the intentions may not be pure, Yoongi feels safe, seeing such a hellish look on such beautiful features.

“My love,” Taehyung speaks lowly with a curling smile.

“We meet again.”