#indigo does rates

[fairymint]

By the way, my heart abso-lutely fucking hurts from the professor at the crystal pool content.

[novaursa]

The Cost of Fire

- Summary: The conclusion of the Dance. Where Gwayne and the reader married under watchful eyes of the Seven.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra, was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after Where Honor Burns. If you want to read all parts before this in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This is the final part of this series. That being said, it doesn't mean there will not be separate works posted that are reader/Gwayne themed.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 299

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @sachaa-ff

The Sept is quiet, save for the murmured prayers of Septon Eustace. The light of a dozen flickering candles dances across the stone walls, casting long shadows as you stand beside Gwayne Hightower, your hands tightly clasped together. His touch is warm and reassuring, but the gravity of the moment hangs heavily in the air. This wedding is not grand; it is far from the dreams of princesses and noble ladies. Still, for you and Gwayne, it is enough—a small sliver of peace amidst the ruins of war. The words of the Septon flow through the chapel, sanctifying a union that has been long denied, long awaited.

You chance a glance at Gwayne as Septon Eustace speaks the final vows. His eyes are on you, soft and brimming with a tenderness that you hadn’t known you longed for until now. In his gaze, there is no regret, no fear—only the promise of something different, something better than what you have known. He mouths your name softly as the Septon pronounces you husband and wife. When the time comes for him to kiss you, it is gentle, his lips lingering just a moment longer as if savoring the taste of something long forbidden and precious. For a brief instant, it is just the two of you in that small Sept, the world beyond forgotten.

But the world does not forget you.

The doors to the Sept creak open as you and Gwayne step out, hand in hand. The air is thick with tension, colder than it should be, and it prickles at your skin. Otto Hightower stands at the foot of the steps, his eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of his son beside you. There is a hardness to his gaze, a judgment that has yet to be spoken but lingers between you all. Alicent is beside him, her hands clasped in prayer as if she’s hoping the gods will deliver some miracle to mend what remains broken.

“Father,” Gwayne says, his voice cutting through the chill.

Otto’s gaze sharpens. “You’ve married a traitor who crippled your King,” he replies coolly, his words laced with venom, though his voice remains calm. “This will not save us from the bloodshed to come.”

Gwayne straightens, the steel in his tone unmistakable. “It is done. I stand by my wife and our family.”

Before Otto can retort, the blaring of horns slices through the air, causing heads to turn skyward. Your heart seizes in your chest as a shadow ripples over the courtyard. Merothrax, sleek and deadly, his wings slicing through the clouds, circles thrice above the Sept before descending. The air hums with the sound of his wings beating against the sky, a warning in every gust of wind he sends tearing through the grounds below. The dragon's indigo scales shimmer, streaks of silver catching the sunlight as he twists in the air with a grace that belies his size.

When Merothrax finally lands, the stone steps of the Sept crack beneath the weight of his claws. The ground shudders as his tail swipes across the rubble, a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest. Vaeron, your son, dismounts with the ease of one born in the saddle, his blue eyes gleaming as he surveys the scene below. The Kingsguard react immediately, swords drawn as they move to surround him.

“Hold!” Gwayne’s voice booms with authority, making even the Kingsguard hesitate. His grip tightens on your hand as he steps forward, positioning himself between you and the threat. “Any man who dares raise a blade to my son will answer to me.”

Otto’s eyes flash with anger. “That boy just desecrated the Sept with his dragon’s claws!” he snaps, his voice harsh with barely concealed fury. “Does he think himself above gods and men alike?”

Before Gwayne can respond, you step forward, your voice cold and unwavering. “He is a dragon, Lord Otto. He answers to neither gods nor men.”

The defiance in your tone sends a ripple of unease through those gathered. You see the way Otto’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he weighs his next words. Alicent’s hand rises to her chest as if she might speak another prayer, but she remains silent, her eyes flicking from you to Vaeron, studying the boy—no, the young man—who now stands before her. She has not seen him since he was a babe cradled in your arms, and now he stands tall, a rider of Merothrax, with your fire in his blood and Gwayne’s resolve in his bones.

For a moment, the tension is suffocating, the silence heavy with unspoken threats. But then Alicent speaks, her voice soft yet firm. “We are not here to fight,” she says, her eyes lingering on Vaeron. “The war has taken too much already.”

Otto’s lips press into a thin line, but he swallows his anger, his eyes flicking between you, Gwayne, and Vaeron. He does not bow his head, but there is a begrudging acceptance in his gaze. “The boy has power,” he concedes quietly, though there is no warmth in his tone. “Power that may yet be of use—if he can be controlled.”

Vaeron steps forward, his gaze fixed on Otto, and the shadows seem to deepen around him as Merothrax rumbles behind him. “I am no one’s pawn,” he states firmly. The certainty in his voice leaves no room for doubt, his defiance a mirror of yours. “And neither is my mother.”

You smile faintly at the pride in your son’s words, a rare moment of victory amidst the mire of this bitter world. Gwayne’s hand finds yours once more, a silent reassurance that you will face whatever comes together. 

Otto watches the scene with thinly veiled calculation, but as he turns to walk away, you catch the barest flicker of doubt in his eyes. Whether it is fear, respect, or something else entirely, you cannot tell. But as Alicent follows him, her gaze lingers on Vaeron one last time, as if she sees a glimmer of hope—or a threat—that might one day change the course of all their schemes.

And as Merothrax’s low growl echoes through the courtyard, you know that the game has shifted, and your place within it is no longer one to be overlooked.

The Great Hall of the Red Keep is bathed in the warm glow of flickering torches. Though it lacks the splendor and grandiosity of past celebrations, tonight’s feast is still an occasion. Gwayne had insisted on it—an attempt to stitch together what remains of your family, to find a sense of normalcy, even if only for a few hours. The food is simple but well-prepared, roasted meats and seasoned vegetables set upon long tables adorned with the banners of both House Hightower and House Targaryen. The tension from the day still lingers, like the ghost of smoke clinging to the air.

You sit at Gwayne’s side, your gaze moving from your husband to your son. Vaeron, with the confidence only a dragonrider possesses, takes his place among the gathered lords and ladies, every inch the prince, despite the wary glances cast his way. His presence dominates the hall, drawing eyes even from those who once might have doubted him. He bears a regal poise, his indigo riding leathers still marked with faint streaks of ash from Merothrax’s flight. But there’s also something wild in him, a restlessness that speaks to his upbringing under Daemon’s shadow.

At the end of the table, Queen Helaena sits, her soft-spoken nature a stark contrast to the world that swirls around her. She picks at her food with delicate fingers, humming quietly to herself. Her gaze occasionally lifts to Vaeron with curiosity, though she remains distant, her thoughts known only to her. You can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her—a queen trapped in a cage of tragedy, even as she clings to her gentle nature.

Gwayne breaks the silence between you, his voice low but filled with determination. “Vaeron,” he begins, drawing your son’s attention. There’s a pause as Gwayne studies him, as if seeing the boy for the first time—not as a distant figure raised on Dragonstone, but as his blood. “It has been far too long since I had the proper chance to know you.”

Vaeron meets his gaze, unflinching. “Perhaps that was no fault of yours, nor mine,” he replies, his words edged with the faintest hint of bitterness, though not unkind.

Gwayne inclines his head in acknowledgment. “No, perhaps not. But we can make amends for what time has stolen from us. You’re my son, Vaeron, and I would know you, as any father should.” There is sincerity in Gwayne’s voice, and it resonates through the hall, causing some of the lords to glance curiously between father and son.

Vaeron’s blue eyes search Gwayne’s face, as if weighing his words. “You wish to know me now, after years of silence? I was raised by men who saw war as a way of life. What is there in me you would recognize?”

A silence follows, tense and fraught with unspoken pain, until Otto Hightower, who has been watching the exchange from his seat with calculating eyes, leans forward. “You are our blood, Vaeron,” Otto interjects, his tone softer than usual, though still tinged with his signature sharpness. “Regardless of your upbringing, that cannot be denied. We may not share the same values as those you were raised under, but family remains.”

Vaeron’s eyes flicker to Otto, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do you see family when you look at me, Lord Hand? Or do you see Daemon’s legacy?” There’s a challenge in his words, a test to see whether Otto can acknowledge what has shaped him without rejecting him outright.

Otto’s expression tightens briefly, the distaste for Daemon still apparent, but he tempers it with a measure of diplomacy. “I see both, boy. You carry traits of that man, yes, but you also carry the blood of Hightower and Targaryen, a union that could yet stabilize what remains of this realm.”

Gwayne’s eyes flash at Otto’s words. “He is more than just a symbol of peace, Father. He’s my son, and I would have him know his worth beyond whatever schemes the realm wishes to thrust upon him.”

A tense silence falls as Vaeron considers their words. He leans back in his chair, tapping a finger lightly against the table. “And what is it you wish from me then, grandsire?” Vaeron’s voice drips with the same playful mockery Daemon often wielded like a blade. “To be a well-mannered lord? A proper heir to the Hightower? Or perhaps you simply wish to mold me into something more… agreeable?”

Otto’s eyes narrow, but Alicent, who has remained quiet beside him, places a calming hand on his arm. She speaks then, her voice gentle but firm. “No one seeks to shape you into what you are not, Vaeron. But we do hope you might find a place here, among kin, where you do not have to be at war with the world.”

Vaeron’s expression softens slightly, and he glances briefly at you, his mother, before his gaze returns to Gwayne. “And what of you, father? What place do you imagine for me here?”

Gwayne’s response is steady and unwavering. “You are a prince, a dragonrider, and a son. Your place is by our side, wherever we may stand, and to be free to carve your own path—no matter what others may wish.”

A brief flicker of approval crosses Vaeron’s face at Gwayne’s words, but before he can respond, Helaena suddenly speaks up from across the table, her voice dreamy and distant. “Dragons dance in shadows… They circle in the dark… but the light cannot find them…” She trails off, her gaze unfocused as if seeing something beyond the hall. The room falls quiet, her cryptic words sending a shiver down the spines of those who know her visions often carry more weight than they first seem.

The tension lingers for a moment, but it passes as Vaeron turns back to Gwayne with a faint smirk. “It seems, father, that you and I have much to learn about each other. Perhaps we’ll begin with a flight together one day—Merothrax would not object.”

Gwayne’s smile is warm, a rare flicker of hope blooming in his eyes. “I’d like that.”

Otto watches the exchange, a look of grudging respect dawning on his face, though his eyes remain cautious. Perhaps, in this moment, he sees that his grandson is not simply a reflection of Daemon’s influence, but a man in his own right—one who bears both fire and blood, and who may yet be a force of both destruction and renewal.

As the night wears on, conversations resume, laughter and music slowly returning to the hall. The war is not forgotten, and neither are the scars left by it, but for tonight, amidst the crackling fires and shared glances, a fragile sense of family takes root.

The heavy doors of the chamber creak shut with a finality that sends a shiver down your spine. The world outside fades, leaving only you and Gwayne bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. The silence is thick with anticipation as you stand together, breaths mingling as your eyes lock. There’s a hunger in his gaze that mirrors your own—a longing that’s been denied for far too long under approval of gods. The tension that’s built throughout the day, the battles fought with words and looks, melts away in the face of something far more primal, far more honest.

Gwayne steps forward, his hands cradling your face as his lips crash into yours with a fervor that takes your breath away. You cling to him, your fingers threading through his hair as he deepens the kiss, tasting you like a man starved. The intensity of it drives all thoughts from your mind until there is nothing but the sensation of him, the heat between you both threatening to consume you whole. His hands are strong, yet gentle as they slide down your back, pulling you flush against him.

He doesn’t waste time. In a swift, fluid motion, he lifts you from the ground, making you gasp into his mouth as he carries you to a nearby table. The wood is cool against your thighs as he sets you down, but the chill is quickly forgotten as his hands begin to work on the ties of your gown, fingers deftly undoing the laces and letting the fabric slide from your shoulders. His lips follow the trail, pressing heated kisses to every inch of newly bared skin.

“Too long…” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice thick with need. “Far too long I’ve dreamed of this, of having you like this, as my wife.”

You arch into him, your own hands growing impatient as you tug at his tunic, desperate to feel him. “Then don’t wait,” you whisper, your words a breathless plea as you finally pull the fabric over his head, revealing the hard planes of his chest.

There’s a dark chuckle that rumbles in his throat as he presses you back against the table, his hands now roaming freely across your exposed skin. “Impatient, are we?” he teases, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck. “Good… because I don’t intend to be gentle tonight.”

Your response is cut off by another searing kiss, this one more demanding, more possessive. He tugs at your skirts, hiking them up over your hips until they’re bunched around your waist. One hand grips your thigh, pulling you closer to the edge of the table, while the other makes quick work of his own breeches. The friction of his rough hands against your skin, coupled with the heat of his body pressing into yours, sends a jolt of anticipation through you.

When he finally moves into you, you both moan into the kiss, the sound swallowed by the fervor of your mouths locked together. The stretch of him inside you is everything you’d craved, the ache of it sweet and demanding as he begins to move. His thrusts are deep and deliberate, every motion designed to draw another gasp, another moan from your lips. You cling to him, nails digging into his back as you match his rhythm, each of you lost in the pleasure that’s been denied for far too long.

He leans in, forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged as he murmurs, “Gods, you feel better every time, better than any dream.”

Your response is a broken moan as he shifts his angle, hitting that spot deep inside that has you seeing stars. “Gwayne… please…” Your words are barely coherent, more a whimper than a demand, but he understands. His pace quickens, hips driving into yours with an urgency that sends you teetering on the edge.

The table creaks beneath the weight of your movements, but neither of you care. Your world has narrowed to the slick heat between you, the rough texture of his skin against yours, and the way your bodies move in perfect, desperate sync. But it’s not enough—there’s more to be had, more to give.

With a sudden motion, he sweeps you into his arms again, carrying you the short distance to the bed. You fall onto the soft sheets, a tangle of limbs and half-discarded clothing as he settles over you. The fire in his eyes is matched by the possessive grip of his hands as they slide down your sides, pulling you closer as he thrusts into you once more. This time, the bed gives him more leverage, allowing him to push deeper, harder, each motion drawing cries from your lips that mix with his own groans of pleasure.

“Say you’re mine,” he rasps out between thrusts, his voice rough with need. “Say it.”

You gasp, your back arching as the tension coils tight in your belly, every muscle tensing as you race toward that inevitable fall. “I’m yours, Gwayne,” you manage, voice breathless and trembling. “Now and always.”

His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else, the urgency of it matched only by the way his hips snap into yours, driving you both toward release. The world narrows, the sensations overwhelming, until finally, with a shattered cry, you come undone beneath him. The pleasure rips through you, every nerve alight as you clench around him, dragging him over the edge with you. His groan is deep and guttural as he spills into you, hips jerking with the force of his release.

For a moment, all is still—the only sounds are your ragged breaths mingling in the quiet room. He doesn’t move, holding you close as you both come down from the high, the afterglow wrapping you in a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire burning in the hearth.

When he finally does pull back, it’s only to press a tender kiss to your brow, his thumb brushing your cheek as he whispers, “My wife… my love.”

You smile softly, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, committing every detail to memory. “And you, my husband… the one thing this war could not take from me.”

He chuckles softly, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, keeping you close. “There will be more battles to fight, but we’ll face them,” he promises, his voice laced with a quiet determination. “No matter what comes.”

You nod, nestling into the warmth of his chest, content in the knowledge that, for now, in this moment, you are together—no schemes, no politics, just the two of you bound by love, trust, and the promise of a future that is finally yours to claim.

The Chronicles of the Dance’s Aftermath: The Union of House Hightower and the Younger Targaryen Daughter

Excerpt from "Fire and Blood, Volume II: The Aftermath of the Dance" by Archmaester Eldric

The marriage of Gwayne Hightower and the princess Y/N, younger sister of Rhaenyra Targaryen, stands as one of the most pivotal yet understated unions in the years following the Dance of the Dragons. In a time marked by bloodshed, treachery, and the near-ruin of the realm, this marriage represented a fleeting hope for stability, although the shadows of war still clung to the Red Keep like a persistent mist.

The Marriage and Its Immediate Consequences

By most accounts, the wedding was a muted affair, held in the shadow of ruin and loss. Witnesses describe—like Mushroom, the court fool and chronicler—the gathering as tense, with little joy to be found. Yet, within that tension lay the seeds of reconciliation. Gwayne Hightower’s insistence on wedding the princess, despite the open enmity between the Hightowers and Targaryens during the Dance, is said to have been an act of both love and defiance—defiance not just toward the whims of his father, Otto Hightower, (who once favored this union) but against the old order that had allowed the realm to descend into madness.

One cannot overlook the presence of the princess’ son, Vaeron Targaryen, upon his sleek indigo dragon Merothrax during the ceremony. His dramatic arrival and the desecration of the Sept sparked fury in the hearts of the pious, with Otto Hightower voicing his displeasure at such an audacious display of dragon power. However, it was in this very moment that the precarious threads of diplomacy between factions began to weave together once more.

Despite his bitter memories of Daemon Targaryen, Otto Hightower reportedly made cautious attempts to accept Vaeron as his grandson and integrate him into the political future of House Hightower and the realm. Though Vaeron’s upbringing under Daemon had forged a wild and defiant streak within him, his interactions with Gwayne were marked by a mutual, albeit tentative, respect. Some suggest that this connection laid the foundation for what followed—a reluctant but necessary peace.

The Birth of Alyssane Hightower and the Strengthening of House Alliances

In the year following the marriage, Y/N bore Gwayne a daughter, named Alyssane in honor of the late Queen Alyssane Targaryen, and in memory of princess's killed dragon, Silverwing. Two figures revered by both sides of the conflict. The birth of Alyssane was seen by many as a symbol of renewal—a delicate hope that the wounds of the past might one day heal. Chroniclers note that Dowager Queen Alicent herself, despite her initial reservations, took a deep interest in the child, seeing her as a potential link to unite the divided factions within the realm.

The girl’s birth also brought greater stability to the realm in the years that followed. The delicate truce between the remaining Targaryens and Hightowers, though always on the brink of collapse, was bolstered by this new generation. Rumors circulated in the halls of Oldtown that Otto Hightower, ever the schemer, entertained thoughts of betrothing young Alyssane to his great-grandson Aegon III, a third son of King Aegon II and Queen Helaena, a political move meant to fully merge the interests of Hightower and Targaryen. But in the end, the girl was given to wed Joffrey Velaryon in attempt to stop the flames of war to spread further.

Vaeron Targaryen: The Storm Within the Peace

The presence of Vaeron Targaryen, however, was a constant reminder of the untamed fire that still smoldered beneath the surface. Now grown into a man, Vaeron’s defiant nature and his bond with Merothrax made him a figure both feared and admired. Though raised by Daemon, Vaeron had a mind of his own and wielded his dragon not as a weapon of war, but as a reminder of his lineage’s enduring power.

Eyewitness accounts describe tense interactions between Vaeron and his grandsire, Otto Hightower. The elder statesman, while outwardly diplomatic, could not fully disguise his distrust of the boy. Some whispered that Vaeron’s very existence was a reminder of Otto’s failure to fully rid the realm of Daemon’s influence. Yet, others saw in Vaeron a bridge—albeit a perilous one—between the Hightowers and Targaryens, a prince who could carry forward a legacy tempered by both fire and reason.

The Realm in the Aftermath

The years following the Dance remained fraught with hardships, but the marriage of Gwayne and Y/N is often credited with preventing further civil war in the immediate aftermath. Otto Hightower, with his grip on power loosened by the marriage, began to retreat more often to Oldtown, while Alicent sought solace in prayer. It is said that, in her later years, she spent much time with young Alyssane, seeing in the child a chance to redeem the future for her bloodline.

Vaeron, meanwhile, grew into a prince whose legacy straddled both the Hightower and Targaryen lines. He became a key player in the ongoing political intrigue of the realm, always walking a fine line between his father’s calculated diplomacy and his mother’s fierce independence. In time, he would be known as “Vaeron the Bridger,” a prince who held together two rival houses with fire in his veins and a dragon at his command.

Yet, the peace that followed was not without its cracks. Despite the alliances forged, the realm was still deeply divided. The scars of the Dance would never fully heal, and as Vaeron and Merothrax grew more influential, many feared that the young dragon would one day ignite another conflict—one that would once again send the realm spiraling into chaos.

In the end, the marriage of Gwayne and Y/N is remembered as a moment when hope and ambition, love and duty, mingled in a fragile dance, one that briefly steadied a realm teetering on the edge of ruin. Whether it truly brought peace or merely delayed the inevitable remains a question for the histories, but for a time, at least, it kept the dragons’ fire from consuming the realm whole.

[cecilyv]

rescue protocol

Chimney records the entire rescue of the husky, but it’s the final thirty seconds as Buck and the dog crest the edge of the cliff that go viral. The dog (“Indigo,” the desperate owner told them, pointing over the cliff where the dog sat, seemingly oblivious to his precarious situation, “but call him Indy or he’ll run away from you” and they all sit for a second trying to figure out where the dog would actually go) hung comfortably from a impromptu harness attached to Buck’s waist, while his forearms visibly strain as he pulls both their weights up the rope, hand over hand. When he gets a foot on solid ground, he grins at Chimney and --

Chimney submits it to the main LAFD account because he knows ratings gold when he sees it. They post it, “Successfully rescued the husky and reunited him with his owner. Dogs, please remind your human friends to stay leashed and on the trails!” 

It does numbers. 

He wasn’t expecting the PR guy to reach out to Buck to do a takeover of their TikTok account, but you reap what you sow, he guesses. Now he lives in a hell where Buck has permission to record anywhere in the firehouse he wants, not even Gerrard can say anything, and he keeps popping up, asking questions like they're up for recertification.  

He doesn’t even follow TikTok (he watches videos when they get to Instagram, like the proper GenXer that he is), but Ravi sends all the videos to the group chat, so he is… gifted with the joy of watching Buck showcase the proper procedure to put on turnout gear (“This is…just a strip show in reverse,” Hen remarks) and demonstrate a firefighter’s carry and drag using Tommy as a victim (“I’m pretty sure they frown on foreplay on company time,” Ravi adds). 

Buck responds to that one with “Aww, you feeling left out? I can use you as a model for the correct way to do CPR?”

And Chimney has to laugh at how fast Ravi backtracks, “Nope, nope, I’m all good, just making a point.” 

In the end, it’s Tommy who has the last laugh, when Donato submits a video of him flying a helicopter that rescues a teenager from the same ocean cliff. 

“I could have done that,” Buck pouts, staring morosely into his beer. 

“Of course you could,” Tommy says as he kisses his frown away, while shaking his head at Chimney. 

[clarkeyhill]

Indigo| Arthur Hill

Fluff - inspired by indigo- sam barber

Warnings: talk of anxiety, overthinking

Throughout your life, you'd struggled to combat your anxiety. Frequent panic attacks, the heart wrenching suffocation of your thoughts poisoning your mind. Your only way to uncover the indigo feeling into gold, was Arthur.

Arthur had a meeting about tour, you decided to deep clean the flat whilst he was gone, you were a little more productive this morning a feeling of motivation pump through your veins; your anxiety had left you alone for a few days allowing your spark to come back.

You finish cleaning the flat, lighting a candle in the kitchen as you turned on the washing machine. You took a deep sigh as you cradled your cup of hot chocolate, smiling at the progress you had made. Suddenly your chest feels tight, your skin comes out in hives and your brain spirals, you start to hyperventilate. The world coming to a close as your eyes see stars, your hands shake as you grab your phone quickly to call Arthur

"Hey baby I'm on my way-" Arthur answers

"A-Arthur, h-how far a-away are you I-i need you" in between sobs you manage to string sentences

"Okay, okay baby, deep breaths, I'm 10 minutes away, I'm coming baby, remember to breathe in and out okay?" He advises

Arthur reassures you as you hear the quick tap of feet in the background of his phone, he was running. Running to come and help you through your panic. Your heart rate spikes as you become clammy

"Baby listen to me, I'm nearly here okay? I'm nearly there. Deep breaths in through your nose out through your mouth okay?" His breath faint as the call ends

You stare at the ceiling, doing as he said, breathing in and out in hopes to regulate your breathing as your chest becomes slightly looser. Just then the door swings open as Arthur rushes over to you

"I'm here gorgeous, I'm here" he cradles you as your eyes burst into tears as you melt into his chest, the feeling of uncertainty soon washes away in his arms. Arthur was the only person who could help, although these attacks didn't happen often. When they did they were the worst, you'd hated calling Arthur. You felt a burden to him.

"I'm-im sorry Arthur" you sniffle as his head pulls away

"Sorry for what? You don't EVER have to be sorry?" He says softly, the tone in his voice represented sincerity.

He places a thumb on your cheek, wiping the tears away. You look up at him with doe eyes

"I feel like I'm holding you back" you say

"Y/n, non of this is your fault, you can't help the way you feel or the way your brain makes you feel. You're not stopping me from anything, I'm always here for you" he places a kiss on your forehead as tears form in his eyes

"I used to shine like gold Arthur, now I'm all indigo" you frown, Arthur taken aback by your personal speculation

"It's a good job indigo is one of my favourite colours" he chuckles as you smile at him

"Thankyou baby, I love you" you say placing a tear filled kiss onto his lips

" I love you too gorgeous" he smiles as you sit on the kitchen floor, holding eachother for a while.

-

🫶🏻

[damedechance]

is it that sweet? (i guess so)

🤎 read on ao3 // playlist

Pairing: Gwynriel Words: 8.6k Rating: Explicit Summary: Based on 'Espresso' by Sabrina Carpenter, Az can't get Gwyn out of his mind and Gwyn hardly acknowledges his existence. She calls him after her set one night, and asks him if he wants to hang out. Of course he does.

🤎 snippet below:

xxxx

The phone rings three times, then disconnects.

Mouth hanging open, Azriel stares down at the screen and tries to come to terms with the fact that she just declined his call. Not for the first time, and he’s certain it won’t be the last. Gwyneth Berdara has never given him the time of day, and Azriel was just pathetic enough to keep crawling back.

The mattress creaks beneath him as Azriel rolls over, phone still propped up in his palm, and looks out the window at the indigo sky dotted by stars. He sighs, tossing his phone onto the empty pillow beside him, and covers his face with both hands. Gwyn doesn’t exactly give him the time of night, either.

Why should she? It’s not like she’s in short supply of people enraptured by her, as Azriel is. Tonight alone, he’s sure the bar she’s working at tonight is full of them. Velaris loves her.

Still, he’d halfway expected some sort of answer when she’d been the one to text him first, for once. Nothing especially profound, but seeing that little ‘hey’ pop up across the top of his screen while Azriel was scrolling through his friends’ stories just for a glimpse of her–it had been enough for Azriel to practically leap out of his skin racing to answer it. He’d waited nearly an hour for her next text, and she’d been the one to write ‘call me.’

Only, she didn’t pick up the phone. In fact, she’d declined the call.

Groaning, Azriel rakes his hands back through his hair before dropping them at his sides. They bounce lightly against the comforter that he hasn’t bothered slipping under, but he suddenly feels too hot to get beneath it, now. The ceiling fan casts long, spiraling shadows on his bedroom ceiling, and in a huff of frustration, Azriel leans over to his nightstand and shuts off the light. If he’s going to spend another Saturday night alone, he might as well try to get some sleep.

He does make sure to keep his ringer on, however.

[legendary-pink-dot]

Bush Pilot

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving, and lots of it), fingering, semi-public sex, truck backseat shenanigans, seatbelts as restraints, established relationship, fetish/obsession for Frankie's hair, and a bit of masturbation (m)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: A drive to an isolated beach to watch the sunrise, some time to kill before dawn, soft aftermarket seatbelts, and Frankie's superior night vision.

Notes: No use of "Y/N". The inspiration for this one came from a line in my fic Airport Pickup. This fic took FOREVER to finish as I've had very limited writing time lately. Hope you enjoy it. All my love to my magic sluts/cheerleaders who don't have to hear my whining about this fic anymore yay: @imalrightllama @basicoccult @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38 @blueheat1-blog1 @redhotkitchen

You wake up to a bump in the road and an indigo sky. Not midnight dark anymore, but not quite twilight yet either. The dashboard clock reads 4:27 AM and you know it's correct because this is Frankie's truck, and everything about it has been meticulously maintained. Its owner is particular that way.

Frankie notices you stir and twines his hand into yours, resting it against your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently. "Hey, perfect timing. Almost there."

"Sorry, fell asleep. I hate mornings." You crack open the passenger window, breathing in the crisp pre-dawn air. A bracing whiff of ocean salt fills your senses as you start to rouse.

"I know. It'll be worth it, cariño, promise. The sunrises are amazing here."

Another 20 minutes on this quiet road -- nobody else out driving at this hour -- until Frankie slowly rolls the truck to a stop and parks. You get out and stretch your tired limbs.

No streetlights here, no moon, and the stars are mostly washed out at this hour, but you can hear the surf just steps away, lightly lapping at a shore that you can't see. You curse your crappy night vision, knowing that Frankie has the edge in seeing through dim lighting, with all the night flying and navigation he's done over his years in the service.

"We still have some time before the sunrise," Frankie says, giving you a hug and feeling you shiver. You sigh into his hug, and he rests his chin on the top of your head for a minute or two. "Come on, let's wait inside. I've got blankets in the back seat."

You both climb into the back seat of the truck, and he unfolds a crazy-looking 1970s-style afghan.

"Where did you get this thing? Standard military issue?"

"Don't be mean," Frankie laughs, wrapping the blanket around you both and snuggling in. "My abuela made it for me a long time ago."

"Does she know it's your truck sex blanket?"

Frankie shuffles closer, sliding a hand up your chest and around your neck to pull your face close. "I've never used it for that." He kisses a whisper against your mouth. "Yet."

As you make out, slow and sweet, Frankie presses you further into the corner of the seat until you feel something dig into your side. It's the shoulder seatbelt and as you push it out of the way, you're surprised at how soft and silky it feels, like some luxury fabric instead of an industrial strip of webbing, and you stroke it with your hand.

"Aftermarket belts," Frankie says, watching you with a pleased expression. "The stock ones were too scratchy and uncomfortable."

"Too scratchy? That sounds like a made-up problem."

Frankie smirks. "I like my passengers to be comfortable." He slides a hand slowly down your body, his knuckles gently tracing your curves, his palm coming to rest over your center, already heated from the make-out session. "Would you like me to make you more comfortable?"

"Mmmm, yes please," you purr, kissing him more forcefully this time, nipping his lips and searching for his tongue with yours. You find it, tangle with it, suck it into your mouth, so focused on the kiss that you don't even notice he's holding your forearm and has gently wrapped the webbing of the shoulder belt around it twice.

He pauses, breaking the kiss and allowing you a second to check what he's doing. "Is this okay?"

"Very okay," you breathe against his mouth, unsure exactly what he'll do to you once you're restrained but eager to find out. He'd discovered early on in your relationship that restraints were something you liked, and he loved to indulge you. "Keep going."

--click--

Frankie smiles as he slots the latch into the seatbelt buckle and locks it into place.

The webbing is soft against your skin, and a little loose when you give it an experimental tug. "Tighter," you rasp, excitement growing fast. He adjusts the tension with the built-in clip until it's perfect for you.

You snake your free hand into his hair, already desperate to touch what you can and desperate to get your mouth on his again. He allows you to tug on his curls as you kiss, but only for a moment. His hand grabs your free forearm, forcefully this time, and pins it to the back of the seat.

"None of that," he tuts gently, wrapping the other side's shoulder belt around it. "We came here to see the sunrise, remember? Don't have much time."

--click--

"But Frankie..." you whine, testing the pull of the seatbelts and finding no slack. "I wanna feel you."

What was the line between obsession and fetish? It was something you often wondered about. His hair, his medium-brown hair that loosely curled and held shimmering flecks of silver, drove you absolutely mad. Every time you met up the very first thing you did was bury your fingers in it, the tips of the curls spiky on your palms, feeding some sort of physiochemical need you couldn't name and didn't really care to. Not being able to sate that need in this moment made you physically ache.

The seatbelt was wrapped around your forearm with the intention to let you slip out of it easily enough if you had to. But did you want to? Cravings are strong, but the deliciousness of prolonging the ache even stronger, and at this moment you don't know which you want more. The anticipation never felt so good.

Frankie senses your turmoil. He sits back and makes eye contact in the growing light, and runs a hand slowly through his hair. He even plumps the curls at his nape and fluffs one long curl that's fallen over his forehead, smiling innocently. You know he can see your fingers twitching. Bastard.

"Something wrong, cariño?" he smirks, and you can't hold back a whimper as you feel yourself clench around absolutely nothing.

"Francisco, you're a fucking menace."

"I know, I know," he soothes. "And you love it, don't you?" He leans forward and shakes his hair right into your face, but before you can swear at him some more, his curls are gently stroking your collarbone that's naked and exposed by your low-cut sundress. You whimper again, this time a pathetically needy sound, and he takes pity on you and caresses his hair over your bound forearms and hands, the ache in your fingers abating from finally, finally reaching some kind of goal.

"There you go, that's it," croons Frankie, kissing your skin swelling out between the webbing, moving down your arm and up to your shoulder. "Just a taste for you. More later. I want mine now."

In a single movement he hikes up the hem of your sundress with one hand and lifts your hip, and slides the other hand down the back of your underwear to pull them down your legs and off. Gripping a bare ankle in each hand, he spreads your legs as wide as he knows is comfortable for you. You feel split open, exposed and excited, and he's barely touched you yet.

The light is so dim that his eyes are in shadow for you, but you know they're wide and dark as his gaze takes you in, his face so close to your center you can feel his breath on your inner thighs.

"Can you see enough to work down there?"

"Of course," says Frankie, sounding almost insulted as he gently shifts your hips to pull you closer to his mouth. "I'm used to flying before sunrise. You know, I can land almost anywhere, in any terrain, because..."

You groan, knowing what's coming. "No, please... no aviation jokes..."

"...I'm a certified bush pilot." He snickers into your thigh, kissing it hard to try to mask his laughter.

"Bush pilot, really? That better not be a complaint about my wild foliage or something."

One of the things he had made clear early in your relationship, in his quiet and unassuming way, was that your grooming habits and preferences were none of his damn business. A refreshing attitude after years of dating men who had lots of unsolicited and unwanted opinions about your pubic hair and how they wanted you to maintain it. As if it existed just for them. Fuck that. Frankie never tried to change you -- he simply adapted to whatever was. One of the reasons why you adored him.

"Oh no, cariño," Frankie's voice drops deep in that way you know he's genuinely serious. "I fucking love your bush." He lowers his face to your mound and gently tugs a few hairs between his teeth. You hiss at the prickly feeling, sharp but not painful, slipping into a loud cry as he dives his tongue deep into your entrance to eagerly prove his point.

You'd never been with someone who loved pussy eating as much as him. Maybe it mirrored your obsession-sorta-fetish for his hair. Impeccable sexual compatibility, you and Frankie.

It's different each time, and this extra-early morning he explores every fold with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, scratching the surfaces and then delving deeper. He doesn't even need to look up at you to know that your eyes are shut despite the dark and that you're lost in feeling.

Every change in your breathing, the tenor and pitch of your sighs and moans, the little wiggle of your hips when his tongue flicks here instead of there. Those are the cues he looks for and the only ones he needs, and he quickly takes you as high as you can go and stays with you all the way back down.

Frankie is relentless, barely giving you time to recover before latching back onto your clit, nudging you past your overstimulation, somehow knowing just how much extra you can take. He always knows.

You barely catch your breath before he's absolutely devouring you again, lightly capturing your folds between his teeth and exploring each one as if he's kissing your mouth for the first time, moving his head to approach your center from every possible angle from his confined position and adjusting his hold on your thighs to match.

He gently slides a thick finger inside you. The stretch is a lot, it always is with him, and he lets you adjust to it before adding a second finger, and presses them as far up as they'll go, his callused fingertips teasing the edge of your most sensitive spot.

Your hips start to move of their own accord but his free hand holds you down as he keeps his fingers inside you right where they are, demanding you concentrate on feeling the pressure and stretch instead of seeking motion.

From above he almost chews on your clit, which you never considered to be a thing you'd like but you are suddenly now forever feral for, and you wiggle your hips as much as you can, desperate to get him exactly where you need him most, giving only one fleeting thought to anyone else parked at the end of this road who might be hearing your loud moans right now.

With his tongue and his fingers he holds you in that sweet limbo state, your conscious mind wanting it to go on forever but your body craving release. You can't choose which one you want more, until you see the first rays of the sun peek out over the horizon and it distracts your mind just enough for your body to fall over the crest again, louder and more intense this time, gushing and squeezing and fluttering around his fingers until he slowly pulls them out.

You were so blissed out that you never noticed Frankie had been pressing and rubbing his crotch against the floor, the seat, whatever he could find while he was eating you out. The back seat of the truck is quickly filling with light and you watch him unzip his jeans just enough to pull out his cock, hard and leaking.

If you weren't so zoned out, if he just gave you a few minutes to recover, you'd be happy to help him, but he's too impatient and fucks his fist with sloppy motions. It's a hypnotic sight, the pinkish tip peeking out between his thick fingers and then disappearing for a second in a desperate rhythm, and you slide your hands free from the seatbelts just in time to grab his hair and give the curls a hard pull, seconds before he comes in hot spurts across your thighs and swollen cunt, choking out a cry that again made you glad he had brought you to this beach so early in the day.

Thankfully, he didn't get any on the blanket. You shake it out and wrap it around both of you as he snuggles up beside you on the seat.

"Good?"

"Good. Very good."

"Yeah."

Your breaths gradually slow as you watch the fireball in the sky inch higher, your hand mindlessly finding his hair and repeatedly twisting a curl around your finger.

The truck cab finally fills with full daylight, showing you an inviting and isolated strip of beach, and no other vehicles. Frankie was right -- it was worth getting up early for this sunrise. And it was amazing.

"Frankie?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Tell me more about what it takes to be a bush pilot."

[maeby-cursed]

SOMETIMES I'M NOT MYSELF, I LOOK FOR A BETTER DISGUISE…

𓂃 DANCING TILL THE POWER GOES OUT.

a/n: following with my songfic series, this one is inspired by valiente by vetusta morla (the original lyrics are "a veces no soy yo, busco un disfraz mejor / bailando hasta el apagón") ! this is also an angst fic but the vibe in this one is a bit more pungent. i apologize for making toji like this, i will get back to my soft!toji program soon ♡ (this one is vv weird, btw, and i wrote it while suffering from a headache, enjoy)

✧ synopsis: you met toji seven months ago and since then, the only thing you've both agreed on is how much you cannot stand each other. now it's time to go; even if it means giving up trying, and leaving a familiar warmth behind.

✧ pairings: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

✧ wc: 1.6k

✧ rating: angst ! pure angst, discounted and at a good price ! angst and pain; two for the price of one ! of the richest quality and endless suffering !!

✧ cw: toxic relationship, toji suffers from toxic masculinity, a bit of an age gap (toji is early 30s, reader is implied to be early 20s), mentions of toji's shitty ass economy, heavy cursing.

There’s a storm inside your house and it is made of cries locked within the walls of your lover’s apartment.

You and Toji have been arguing for six months out of the seven you’ve known him.

Apparently, May flowers brought November showers (or better said, downpours), as well as a thick darkness, because since last week, Toji's entire street has been without light, water or electricity. 

A desert in the middle of a flood, seems almost biblical.

Both of you are in the kitchen – distressingly narrow and painted in a gloom shade of indigo –, in the midst of your fifth discussion this week. The fridge door is open while you talk, but neither of you cares, all of its contents are already wasted, anyways. The light doesn’t even flicker.

You don't know exactly how this particular fight started.

Toji had arrived at his apartment – his, exclusively – late, with a bag of fast food in hand. An individual order. When he’d arrived, he’d looked at you and asked you what you were doing there, and everything had gotten out of hand from that point on.

After six months of waiting for him in the same place, in the same position, in the same corner of his grimy sofa, you'd thought he might remember you, might remember that you are a constant in his life.

Not the case.

The fight escalates to such an extent that you find yourself shouting and gesticulating aggressively.

What starts badly ends worse, your grandmother used to say.

(And yet, it ends).

So now you stand barefoot, in your white slip, looking at him with all the fire you can fan into your eyes. 

"I have no fucking idea what is it that you want, Toji Fushiguro, but you need to stop looking for it in me. Either take me as I am or leave me, it's as simple as that."

He looks back at you, his gaze shallow. He always stares at you like this, as if instead of seeing you, he were trying to evaluate you; like you’re nothing but a mere statue to him and he’s looking for a spot where the artist could’ve slipped his chisel. 

But you don’t cower before him. Although his height seemed imposing when you first met him, he now seems ridiculous to you. A child hidden behind a brick wall.

"Could you stop talking in code for two fucking minutes?"

"I want you to stop treating me like shit. You caught on now?"

He laughs unfunnily.

"I think I treat you pretty well, girl."

"Really?" you smile. There's a part of you that cringes at the gesture; he's been souring you since you met. Now you're fed up, but you know you'll never be able to return all of the blows he’s knocked you out with. "You think coming home and taking me to your bedroom for five minutes of grunts and sweat is treating me well?"

"Our bedroom."

That does make you laugh.

"Fuck, Toji, I don't live here! You never asked me to move in with you. And I've waited for you but I'm..... I don't even know what I am. Disappointed, maybe?" Your mood begins to shift as you search for him with your stare. You want to see some sort of reaction, something that isn’t a performance, something that doesn’t act as a mirror. 

Something that tells you he cares about you.

"I thought I was dating an adult,” you continue, softly now. “That we could talk about it but... God, you're exactly like all the men I've been trying to avoid. All savages, the lot of you; too barbaric to be able to say you feel anything, even if it’s pure lust."

He raises a brow, closing the refrigerator door with a slam and leaning against the countertop with a click of his tongue.

"You want me to tell you that you make me horny?" he asks, with an ironic smirk.

"I want you to tell me that there's something that goes with the sex. Something that can last."

He doesn't say anything, just exhales loudly, huffing with annoyance.

And for some reason, the gesture takes you back two decades ago, when your father used to do that to you. A puff of air like cigarette smoke whenever you wanted something he didn't feel like giving you; mostly his time.

You don't know where the memory comes from, but it hurts. It burns and coats your throat with bile.

"There’s nothing," he whispers, at last. 

Now you really have to make an effort not to vomit.

Silly girl, you say to yourself, you already knew that. But it's no use.

"And I had to dig that out of you with a spoon, baby," you tell him, dripping with sarcasm.

He doesn't notice how you pale, how you grab the skirt of your dress and bite the inside of your cheek. He doesn't smell your despair, nor the copper drops emanating from the wound you've caused yourself by biting on your skin.

Toji's not a bloodhound, no matter how much he resembles one. He's just an asshole.

Your words make him frown and stick out his jaw. You recognize his hint – you’d recognize him by taste alone –, it's the gesture he makes before he fights.

"And what the fuck did you expect? For me to telepathically figure out whatever shit you’re thinking?"

"No, Toji. I just wanted an answer." That’s it, you suppose.

You sigh, unclenching your fists without relaxing your shoulders, and head for the bedroom. Except for your cell phone and a pair of nightgowns, you have almost nothing here. Let him keep the panties, if he gave them back to you, you'd burn them anyway. 

He follows when you pass him by on your way out of the kitchen, and, for once, he looks incredulous.

"What? You think we’re done chatting?"

"I don't even feel like looking at that asshole face of yours anymore."

Every word that comes out of your mouth stabs him in the spleen. He's never seen you like this.

You have nothing left to care for, nothing left to protect from the storm, nothing to hope and pray to see bloom. Your land is infertile and all you feel is frustration, so there's no more measuring yourself.

To hell with all this.

"Yesterday it was all about cuddling and today you're leaving,” he says. “What did you expect?" At that, he smiles with malice, one that, unfortunately, is not unfamiliar to you. "That we were going to fall madly in love? That this was about more than sex? Oh, but you're just a little girl. I've been with a hundred of the likes of you."

He's lying. You know he's lying. 

This man has never loved a woman in his life – you pity his mother – but he's not a manwhore either. He wears things out until he’s outgrown them.

It's funny — he’s always looked too big on you.

Your head turns around, but you stay frozen where you are, kneeling in front of the bottom drawer of his nightstand. On your knees, you almost look like you're praying, but your eyes condemn a truth that hurts him. It burns and coats his throat with bile.

"I never expected you to fall in love with me, Toji. I'm not that stupid," you look at the drawer again, taking clothes and shoving them carelessly into your bag. "I'm just young."

“I may be young, but give me time.” Those words, the ones you told him when he met you, a little over half a year ago, ring in his ears. “I can take a hundred men like you.”'

He remembers them now, gall climbing up to his uvula. Your smile back then clashes with your current tears. You have aged seven years in seven months.

He can see it in your posture, in the expensive fabric of your dress and the way you tie your hair back. He can see it in the depth of your cupid's bow, in the care with which you hold your hands.

You know how to handle dynamite now, but you can't stop gunpowder from blowing up.

Toji is speechless. He doesn't want you to leave, but he's already worn you out, you've already woken up from your reverie. He hasn’t outgrown you yet.

When you get up, your cheeks are covered with tears. You wipe them away carefully; you would’ve never done that back when he met you.

You were free then; of wild smiles and clumsy hands, of loud cries and smell of freesias. Young with bravado, a shell of the sea.

Seeing you like this, knowing you're going away, turns his stomach. This is the last time, and you don't smell like freesia anymore. You're all orange and lavender, unmistakable and silent.

Toji raises a hand and brings it up to you. For a split second of madness you think he's going to slap you, but he simply catches a strand of your hair; only instead of tucking it behind your ear, he lets it curl around your cheek.

His hand falls to his side – he wasn't raised to be like this. He wasn’t raised to get you to stay.

"Get out," he murmurs, the timbre of his voice low and plangent.

You close your eyes for a moment, just to find his image behind your eyelids; smiling and defiant, with a glass of champagne in his hand and kohl-stained eyes.

The tide inside washes away everything else.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

What starts badly ends worse, you think. 

(And yet, it ends).

© 2023, MAEBY-CURSED — do not copy/repost/edit.

(reblogs are appreciated !!)

[serpula-lacrymansss]

Plants update...

Japonica is still sick... I'm not sure what's wrong with her exactly, but she's declining at a much lower rate than before. I'm not thinking about stepping in just yet- I think I'd better let nature run its course a bit. She doesn't have any pests or blights that I can see, the only thing is that she needs a bigger pot, really. So does dwarf umbrella.

Speaking of dwarf umbrella, though, she seems to be doing very well.

Complete with much new growth, which pleases me. I only just noticed that she's actually leaning a lot to the left, which makes sense as thats where east is relative to this window. I turned her around; well see how she does.

Some new editions include two pots of flower mix, which maaaay have bolted a little. They kind of look a mess, but it brings me a little joy each time I see they've come up with new little flowers in pink and indigo.

So I'm keeping them for now.

Another rescue has joined the party, too, fresh off the boat. She was given as a gift to my mother... Who gave it to me since it's dying under her care- aren't we all. I've repotted her and put her in the sun- I used a lot of compost in the hopes that it'll perk her up a bit, though she doesn't look so bad now I've trimmed the dead bits.

Anyway that's about it

[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter xv

⟶ Chapter summary | Yoongi knows that he is treading between the lines as he continues to approach you, taking more risky steps in getting you to open up to him. But secrets are meant to be kept, and Yoongi needs to hold on tightly on his patience, even when he soon finds out that time may not be on his side after all.

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader  ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Crown Princess!reader, Fantasy AU, Fairy Tale retelling ⟶ Word count | 7,925 words ⟶ Ratings | PG-13, +18 / M for Mature for future chapters; include classism, mentions of black magic, deceit, mentions of abduction, fantasy weapons. ⟶ Story Masterlist: The Bedroom Hymns | ⤎ previous chapter | next chapter ⇢ ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

chapter xv. crescendo

The air has grown cold by the time you return to the other side of the village, making your way back to the main road leading to where you first came from. Chilly breeze passes around you, strong enough to pierce through your thick coat that your body shivers in its presence. 

Above you, the sky is shifting. The golden shades that you saw in the afternoon is blending into the muted hue of the sunset. A display of pastel clouds and indigo-coloured shades are seen dancing on the darkening sky, with merely a thin layer of gold left surrounding the descending sun like a golden halo glowing right above the horizon. 

As you continue your journey home, leaving the famers’ village and the vast farm estate behind you, you find yourself getting lost in the display of light and colours that seem so uncommon to your eyes. 

It amazes you how the places that you have been to lately could be so different to one another. Not only in terms of their culture, the people you see, and the local weather that you must endure, but also in the myriad of shades of colours that you get to see in the surrounding nature, as well as the scents wafting through the air.

Noticing you shivering under your coat, Yoongi delicately reaches out to grab your hand as he walks beside you. He has been silence for a while now, ever since you left the tavern together soon after sharing a long, deep, and surprisingly, meaningful conversation. But never once had he ever let his attention on you slip that he can easily notice it when the expression on your face gradually changes over time. 

“Perhaps, the next time you are out traveling like this, you might want to consider wearing thicker clothes and prepare some gloves,” he says as he gently rubs your hands in an effort to warm up your frozen fingers. 

Little does he know that he is doing more than keeping your hands warm, as the heat starts coursing all the way to your chest, flowing right into your fluttering heart and spreading all over your face that you can barely look at him. 

But Yoongi is too deeply concerned over your dainty fingers to notice it, and you are enjoying this moment too much to stop him.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” you whisper to him while keeping your eyes down, still too flustered to look at him in the eyes. 

Ever since your unexpected date at the tavern, everything about Yoongi has become more intense. His deep gaze which lingers on you until you are made to feel completely exposed, vulnerable, as if he could see right through your facade. His actions and gestures that are still as graceful yet has gradually grown more intimate with each passing second that you spend together.

And there is also the change in his speech, his soft spoken words that feel like a gentle caress reaching deep into your soul. Even when all he does is to ask about how you are feeling with the rapid change of temperature and the buzz from the brew that you had drunk back at the tavern still coursing through your body.   

It feels overwhelming, although instead of feeling like you are intimidated by his rapt attention, you simply feel somewhat reassured. 

You feel seen, after years and years of having to live in the shadows and having no one understanding what you had to go through. At the same time, he makes you feel heard, when you were finally able to share with him your deepest and darkest thoughts, your troubles, everything that has been left unspoken for many years. And Yoongi has been so respectful as he listened, never once undermining your fears and worries when you opened up about how it felt for you being kept hidden in the dark for so long.

But keeping your eyes away from his only allows you to focus on something else. Like focusing on the flow of energy coming out of his body, for example, and the way his touch seems to exude unnatural warmth which feels like an electric current transferring into your skin. 

“I suppose your experience in traveling to different places have taught you how to adjust better,” you murmur to him with a smile once you realise that while you are trembling under your cloak, Yoongi doesn’t seem to be struggling when he is the one wearing nothing more but a thin layer of clothing that doesn’t seem adequate enough to protect him from the cold. 

“You’re still warm.” 

Yoongi lets out a chuckle, and only then do you finally raise your head to look at him. “I do adjust better with the weather, no matter where I go. It doesn’t affect me that much,” he reveals with a grin, as he talks about it as if it is something that is common to happen.  

His words take you back to your past conversation, when he talked about his life and the work that he does for the mercenary army. Granted, he didn’t tell you much about himself aside from the general things that he was willing to share, but you have learned a bit more about him which has given you a sense of relief, giving you more reasons to feel much safer when you are with him and less wary. Not even when you look at him with the knowledge that you have gained about his secretive brotherhood of the mercenary army. 

Once the cold no longer bothers you all that much, you continue to walk together a bit further until you are back at the crossroad where you had started your afternoon trip at the village of Grimm. 

The farmers’ village lies behind you, while the dark pathway leading back to your father’s private property lies ahead of you. Looking around, you finally notice what you have failed to pay attention to today before you managed to learn more about this place—that the eerie forest that you had been warned to stay away from has always been closer than you had thought.

Stretched out across the rising terrain before your eyes and atop of the surrounding hills, the forest appears to you in a form of a massive wall of trees, all standing as tall as your eyes can see, with intertwining branches and thick canopy of leaves spread high above to shield you from the darkening sky. 

In the daytime, the forest itself didn’t seem as eerie or intimidating. 

But of course, the first time you laid your eyes on your surroundings, you hadn’t met with the farmers or received their warnings, nor had you paid any attention to the deep woods. Now that the darkness has begun to spread around you, everything about the forest seems to be warning you to stay away. 

“Are you sure that you’re not interested about that tour downtown?” Yoongi asks as you stand together at the crossroads, with your eyes looking into the deep forest and his eyes locked on you. A part of you wishes that you could stay with him just a bit longer, yet the dark sky above becomes the silent reminder that you shouldn’t. 

“I’m quite sure,” you quickly say to him before you start to consider otherwise, because you are also quite sure that you are running out of time. 

Yoongi had first offered to take you on a tour downtown once you concluded your talk, to see more of Grimm and the places that should be more interesting than this secluded village and its modest tavern. But your time spent with him had already lasted longer than it should have. 

So the moment you realised that the day was already turning into dusk, with a heavy heart, you were left with no choice but to refuse his offer and let him know that it was finally time for you to leave.  

“That’s too bad, because if I am allowed to be honest with you, I am not ready to see you go so soon,” Yoongi admits to you, which warms your heart just as much as it warms your cheeks. Standing before you, Yoongi takes your hand in his and leans down, pressing his lips on the back of your hand in a gentlemanly manner as a way to bid his goodbye.

“Still, I must thank the Fates for keeping our paths crossed, that we are able to meet like this despite our limited time together,” he gently says to you as he straightens back up. As his gaze softens just as much as his voice does, your chest feels tight with doubt. 

Will we see each other again? 

Will I have another chance to speak with him like we did today? 

Have I missed out on a chance to learn more about him?

These silent wonderings continue circling through your thoughts, and for the first time, fear grips at your chest at the mere thought that you might not see him again. 

“Do you trust the Fates to bring our paths back together again?” you ask him in return, unable to hold back from wishing loudly that you will meet each other again the next time you walk through the portal, that he would be there when you emerge on a different foreign land for another unexpected journey. 

With certainty in his eyes, Yoongi nods and says, “I do. I believe it will happen, as long as our souls continue to look for one another, we will find our way back to each other again.” 

His faith seems alluring, that you cannot help but feel the same hope growing in your chest that perhaps fate would bring you back together again. But you are too deep in admiring his confidence with his belief that it would take hours later for you to recall his words and wonder what he truly means.

“Then I shall pray that you are right,” you mutter to him, “If we do ever cross paths again, then I’ll be able to admit that Fates may have a hand in us finding each other no matter how odd the possibilities are.” 

Your words seem to please him. “Then I shall count on it to happen again,” Yoongi says with a wide smile on his face, while you silently wish for the same.

Unlike before, Yoongi insists in walking you home. With the night soon falling, and the threats of the dark curses of the forest troubling your thoughts, you have no choice but to agree with him this time. The journey is more tasking now than before, when you are going uphill rather than going down from the main road. 

But with Yoongi by your side, you find no trouble carrying on. His presence brings you peace, while his gentle voice keeps your nerves from spiralling out of control as the darkness around you thickens. 

Yoongi glances at you to notice that you keep sneaking a peek through the shadows, wary of what you might see in the dark, and he begins to question you, “You know, if the darkness bothers you, perhaps I could—” 

Even before Yoongi can finish his words, you can already tell what he is trying to offer you, as he has been trying to do the same ever since the moment he first brought it up back at the tavern. To be given the chance and reason for him to use his magic, to display his mana right before your eyes, just so he could get a reason to see yours. 

You had expected that he would bring it up again before he finally lets you go tonight, after you had solemnly refused that offer previously at the tavern. Only because you knew that you couldn’t do the same in return. 

To reveal to him the mana within you that may lie dormant, or the magic that your father may have placed on you to keep your safe in your journey. 

And yet, as you silently anticipate to hear Yoongi’s alluring way of stating his offer, those words never come. You turn curiously to question him about it, only for you to notice Yoongi looking far away into the distance, far beyond the deep foliage of the woods to see something that your eyes cannot see. 

The way his brows are furrowed and the stiffness forming on his shoulders feel unsettling. There is tension coming out of his body, even if it doesn’t seem enough to show you that there is a possible danger lurking through the darkness.

“Is something the matter?” you question him while glancing around, wondering what might have caught his attention, since it seems to be important enough to draw such reaction that you are now seeing from him. 

At the sound of your voice, Yoongi snaps out of it. Drawn back to your presence, the dark expression he wears on his face clears out as he turns to look at you. 

“I have been looking forward to finally gain an extended time with you by walking you home, but I’m afraid this is as far as I can go,” he suddenly says with regret in his voice. 

A myriad of questions come to surface, filling your head along with uncertainty, yet you choose not to question him further. A part of you feel the same regret of not having that extended time to spend with him, but there is also a part of you that is overcome with relief, because this would only allow you to hide your father’s secret hideout from him and, hopefully, the magic portal that is hidden behind the locked doors.

“I suppose I’d have no choice but to let you go, after all. What a pity,” you mutter to him with a low voice, hoping that your conflicted feelings wouldn’t show through your words.  

“Yes, it’s a pity indeed,” Yoongi says, and you can see a glimpse of bitterness sparkling in his eyes; his annoyance at the sudden disturbance which seems to require his presence seems so palpable. “But I will make it up to you if we do meet again,” Yoongi stops himself by shaking his head before correcting his words, “No, what I mean is—when we are to meet again.” 

You cannot resist the ghost of smile forming on your face at how promising his words sound. “You sound so confident.” 

“I must, if I am to see you again,” Yoongi says to you with a genuine smile, and you find yourself sharing the same feeling of hope of seeing him again. As he bids his goodbye for the second time, Yoongi doesn’t take your hand in his, but politely bows before you as he says, “Until then, Princess.”

As Yoongi rises to his height, you can only look at him while feeling dumbfounded. The different nickname that he has given you is filled with jest, no doubt spoken with humour instead of derision—because there is no way that Yoongi knows who you are, isn’t there?—yet it still throws you off that you find yourself unable to speak. 

With a small grin, Yoongi lowers his hat to cover his face, allowing you no chance to speak at all before he turns away and starts walking down the pathway where the two of you had come from. You remain for a moment at the same spot to watch him disappear between the trees before turning away, continuing your journey back to the house hidden beyond the hill. 

For a moment, you continue to walk as if you are lost in a daze. Something inside you feels heavy, and it seems to be getting worse the more distance you have between you and Yoongi.  

Suddenly doubting that you will have the same luck of seeing him on your next journey, you quickly turn on your heels and rush back to find him. 

You have no idea what you are hoping to find by chasing his tracks and following his shadows. Perhaps your desperate need to cling to him has taken over you that you fail to think logically about this. But you know for sure that you have no plan at all as you rush between the trees, ignoring the shadows reaching out to you as you follow the trails that he has left behind in his departure. 

And yet, the pathway that you had walked on with him has been left vacant, with no trace of his shadow left behind. 

He is gone, you wonder to yourself as disappointment grows within you. How did he manage to move so fast? 

As you take a moment to catch your breath, you take a quick glance around, trying to see if you can still catch his shadow and find a way to stop him before he could go any further. You continue going down the hill until you nearly reach the line of trees bordering between the woods and the village, where you finally catch the sight of Yoongi disappearing towards a different part of the woods, and you quickly run to catch up with him.

Yet Yoongi is walking too fast. 

From one side of the woods to the next you try to follow him, walking across the foot of the nearest hill without emerging into the main road, and you find that Yoongi has gone further away from you. 

There is nothing that you can do to stop him as he walks straight into the deeper, darker side of the forest, disappearing between the shadows of the trees just as the sun dips beyond the horizon, making it seem as if the darkness has engulfed him completely. And it steals any chance that you have left to catch up with him before the curse of the forest rises in the coming nightfall.

Yoongi’s legs feel heavy as he trudges along the dirt path taking him through the deep thickets. His heart feels just as heavy, though it has nothing to do with the unsteady ground or the muddy path he is walking on. 

He simply feels this way because of his reluctance to be apart from you. 

Deep down, he realises that this feeling will only get worse the more he spends time with you. The pull that he feels toward you has been growing steadily stronger, and if he should continue meeting up with you like this, the longer he is in your presence, the bond that has been formed between you will only become more solid. 

Even as he has gotten further away from you, his heartbeat is still racing rapidly. His entire body still feels tense, not only because of how excited and nervous he had been for being able to spend time with you. But because he had gotten close—so close—to revealing everything to you. 

“I might have to show it to you to prove it…”

He can still hear his own voice as he was offering you a quick show of his magic, the words came slipping out of him before he could stop it, before he could even think or consider all the risks.

It would only take one touch, one single brush of finger, one contact between his hand and yours, and he would have revealed it all. His secret. His father’s secret. Your father’s secret. 

His hand tenses right beside him as he walks through the woods, still feeling the urge to reach out to touch your fingers. The tingles of his magic that had been calling for you still lingers with every twitch of his fingers and ever stretch of his palm. 

If only you had said yes and accepted his offer. 

He regrets that it never happened, as not only did he lose the chance to hold your hand, he had also lost the chance to be completely truthful to you. And yet, at the same time, he is also relieved, because your rejection had only given him more time to be able to get closer to you before something like that—the revelation of his identity—could ever happen. 

It would be too soon for it to happen now, he keeps telling himself as he slowly clenches his hand. Because she might pull away if he finds out about everything before she is ready. 

He can already imagine what would have happened if he had pushed his intention earlier, if he had been more adamant in forcing you to reveal your true self and have his magic activate the mana inside you. 

All he intended to do was to confirm his suspicions about you using the Wicked King’s magic to travel around. Such action would help him find answers, and he would have been able to use it to track down the King, and then after, to be able to find Queen Milena. 

But the more he thinks about it, the more it feels like a breach of trust. He can picture you steadily pushing him away once that happens, that the truth will only scare you away instead of pushing you closer to him. 

One day, it would still happen; the day when the truth behind your heritage is finally revealed to you and how the two of you had been connected since birth. But that time is not now. For that moment to happen, Yoongi would have to gain your complete trust, to allow you to get to know more of him and him to you. Something that would be impossible to gain with just a couple of short encounters made. 

As Yoongi continues his journey through the forest, he uses the silence that is now engulfing him to silence his mind. 

The scent of the forest mixing in with the evening breeze calms him down, while the dark movement of trees distracts him from his own thoughts. It would be crucial for Yoongi to regain his composure and clear his mind before confronting the ripple of mana that had summoned him merely moments ago, forcing him to separate himself from you. 

Yoongi is quite familiar with this energy, hence he knows what to expect as he continues going deeper into the woods, ignoring the sounds of the forest and the branches that seems to be reaching out to him, until he finds the dark presence standing in his path. They are standing merely a few feet away from Yoongi’s portal once he stops, not too far from the gate which he had used earlier in the afternoon as a mean of transport to reach Grimm. 

Which only means that he had been using it to follow Yoongi’s trails. Once again. 

Wearing the formal uniform from the Empire’s knighthood instead of a disguise that he normally uses as a common member of the mercenary army, Sergeant Jang Yijeong stands under the shadows formed by the thick foliage, his back leaning against one of the thickest trees with his eyes looking straight above his head, as if he is able to look past the foliage and see the darkening sky above. 

He still has his gaze locked on the unseen sky as Yoongi approaches him silently, and the fairy soldier murmurs with a voice that comes out as gently as a hum, “It seems that it would rain soon.” 

“Would that be the reason why you sent out a sign for me to find you here?” Yoongi jokes with a scoff, “Have you come only to tell me that it’s raining tonight? Do you perhaps carry an umbrella with you to protect me on my way home?” 

“Not really,” Yijeong says with a shrug, unbothered by Yoongi’s mockery. His expression remains calm as he turns to look at Yoongi. Even if the sight of the Crown Prince wearing a commoner’s clothing surprises him, he surely isn’t showing it. But the flair on his skin bothers Yoongi a little, showing him that his friend had been using an additional magic when he was stepping across Yoongi’s portal. 

For what, he has no idea. But it is enough to make him grow alert. Because there has to be a reason why his friend needed to use magic to cover his own trail.  

“So—what have you gained from today’s meeting with the mysterious princess?” Yijeong asks before Yoongi can start asking questions.

This time, Yoongi is the one struggling to control his expression. With his bamboo hat still covering his head, he knows that the shade would still be enough to hide his furrowed brows as he questions his best friend, “What are you implying?” 

“I am just assuming that you are to gain some information the moment you have the chance to,” Yijeong continues, “Wasn’t that the reason why you sought her in the first place?” 

“That’s not the only purpose that had led me to start following her, and you of all people know that,” Yoongi seethes, hating the way he cannot actually argue with that assumption when it is partly true. 

Yoongi curses inwardly as guilt grips at him in the chest. He suddenly feels like a criminal for deceiving you, while at the same time, he cannot regret the actions that he had made so far because they have given him the chance to meet you and talk to you in person. He sees it as a blessing to have been given the chance to get to know you, after all the years that he had spent chasing shadows without a single clue where to find you. 

He had even spent years questioning himself, doubting his own memories and faith, almost believing that you never existed. 

Until the ripples of magic first began appearing, stretching out through space and time each time you used the magic which took you to different places the same way he uses his portals. 

As if Yijeong has the ability to look into the inner battle that Yoongi is currently having, he tilts his head and raises his brows. “It’s not?” he questions Yoongi, remembering quite well everything that Yoongi had shared with him in the past. 

It was during the first night he felt the burst of energy that came when you opened your father’s portal when Yoongi revealed his true mission for the first time to Yijeong. Except that the only thing that Yoongi did was to reveal who you were, just to let his friend know that the mysterious traveller that Yijeong had met back in Smotia may truly have a connection to the missing Queen, and that you have somehow made contact with the magic that not many would be able to control.

Yoongi had shared his suspicions with his friend that night, believing that you had been granted a way to use the magic. 

It was then when he decided to follow you, except that while he did so to confirm the threads of fate connecting your souls together, he merely revealed to Yijeong his need to find out about your magic; to see if it had been the same magic which was used by the person responsible for the Queen’s disappearance, to learn the secrets behind the missing Queen, and to see if following your trails would lead him into finding her. 

Yoongi has yet to understand the reason why he felt the need to hide his own agenda, when he could have opened up and shared everything with his best friend. Just like how he has always been able to share about everything with him for years. 

Perhaps he had done it out of pure instinct, as he had been tormented by doubt at the time he was divulging his thoughts to Yijeong. He was doubting not only the soulmate bond that he believed to have since he was no more but a young child, and he was doubting your existence, having lost sight of you ever since the day the Queen disappeared. 

And he wanted to keep everything to himself until he was able to prove it. 

That you are truly the missing piece of his soul that he has been seeking for so long. 

“Oh, that’s right. What was it that you said before?” Yijeong says in a mocking tone, drawing Yoongi back to focus on him again, “You’re only making sure that she remains safe.” 

With a frown, Yoongi recalls saying those exact words to Yijeong just a while ago. Hearing it spoken back to him only makes him feel uneasy. 

He has been keeping too many secrets and has been spending the whole day teetering on the edge of spilling everything out, and his friend seems to be poking at the right direction because his skin will not stop bristling in annoyance. 

“I meant it when I said that I felt the need to protect her,” Yoongi slowly admits, and hearing himself saying this out loud, he realises that these are no longer empty words to be spoken.

Especially after what he had learned earlier when he sat down with you, when he listened to you sharing a small part of your life that he couldn’t have known if he had only relied on the intel that his men had previously given him. 

Yijeong gives him a sly grin. “Protect her, by stalking her and acting like a mysterious escort?” he asks again. Only this time, Yoongi can sense his mocking tone softening. 

“When you first told me about it, I had assumed that you would remain in the distance, hidden away as you watch her movements, instead of approaching her directly and going on dates with the innocent girl,” Yijeong continues to question Yoongi as he shifts against the tree that he has been leaning on and moves his arm around. 

Only then does Yoongi notice that his friend has been swinging his short sword lightly by his side. Free from its sheath, the sword glimmers in the dark. The tip has grown stained, making him wonder if Yijeong has been using it as he was strolling through the deep forest. 

A protective magic to cover his trails. A sword on the ready and pointed out as he made it all the way here. 

Something is happening. Yoongi can feel it, and he knows that may have something to do with the reason why Yijeong had decided to come here after finishing his royal duty at the palace. 

But Yoongi merely shakes his head, unable to focus on his friend, nor to try and guess what his friend had been dealing with before he made it here. Not when his mind keeps replaying the conversation that he shared with you. Yijeong’s curiosity of his actions keeps triggering his memory that he can almost hear your voice again, to hear your words, and he can almost picture you being locked up inside the main palace at The Citadel as how you described it in your story. 

No wonder you had been so desperate to step out of the palace. 

And I had been so close, he wonders to himself as realisation dawns on him. As he recalls those long nights when he sent out his men to observe the main palace of The Citadel, only to receive reports about them being kicked back from the territory. As if there was an invisible barrier stopping them from getting too close. 

Within that kind of protection, the King and his men would have been able to protect you from any kind of threat that may come towards the empire. But outside, with nothing more but the spell that had been cast inside your ruby necklace, you are more liable to incoming danger. 

Just like that day in Narlès, when you were almost put to harm as you came across the group of thugs that seemed to have the ability to use dark magic to look past the shielding spell protecting you at the time. 

Sighing, Yoongi shakes his head once again to brush away the thought of you coming into harm’s way. “There are varying factions in play who have set their eyes on the Wicked King at the present time, now that he has gained attention with his empire growing in strength and territory, and human kingdoms seeking alliance with him,” Yoongi says bitterly while growing more and more concerned has he continues, 

“He may have succeeded in hiding the Princess’ existence from his enemies for so long, but if someone like me was able to find her through the magic that she is using to travel around, someone else could be looking the same way. Not only would they be able to trace her, they could use her as a way to get to the Wicked King once they know how important she is to him.” 

Swinging his short sword side to side while looking as if he is deep in thoughts, Yijeong glances sideways at Yoongi. “Of course, you would know, because that was your initial agenda when you followed her, wasn’t it? To use her to get to the King,” Yijeong mockingly says, poking at Yoongi’s deep remorse further, leaving him speechless. 

Yijeong stops talking, and the weapon that he is playing with glows under the streaks of light surrounding them as he lifts it up. “Are you sure that gaining information and protecting her at the same time were the sole reasons why you have been trailing her?” 

The crease in Yoongi’s brows deepens. “What do you mean?” 

Yijeong says nothing at first and continues swinging his sword around the same way he would during his practice routines. Yoongi realises that Yijeong is doing this to help him think, so he remains quiet and waits until Yijeong is ready to share his trail of thoughts. 

After a short while, Yijeong stops playing with his sword and turns to face Yoongi. “I know who she is to you,” he suddenly says, and before Yoongi can say anything to respond, Yijeong continues, “I can tell from the way you’d react whenever I talk about her that she means something more. Not just a means to an end, but something more.” 

“And what would that be?” Yoongi asks in return, trying to see how much Yijeong knows about his well-kept secret. 

The grin on Yijeong’s face widens as he playfully—with a disrespect that should be frowned upon at the empire yet welcomed by Yoongi only because of their friendship—clutches at Yoongi’s shoulder with one hand. His eyes glowed with mirth when he speaks, “Once upon a time, back during the ancient times when fairies were roaming freely in this realm—”

Yoongi groans and mumbles, “Here we go,” not knowing where this is heading, although he does have an inkling of what his friend is trying to say. 

“The Fates had found us all—our ancestors, I mean—valiant, slightly feral and unruly, but it was all because most of us had to roam through the realm without a purpose, without anything to bind us to one place, and most of them, in their lives of solitude, managed to create havoc. So they started to created us in pairs,” he continues on with a light tone while a mixture of dread and unease begins to rise in Yoongi’s chest, for knowing that his connection to you is about to be revealed. 

And yet relief washes over him when Yijeong continues on to say, “The Fates gave each of the ancient fairies their love-mates, to whom a fairy would have their soul bonded with so they could have some place, someone, to come home to after their wild adventures. If only to make sure that order could take place once again in the realm. And that was before our ancestors began building our empire into what it is today.” 

With a deep sigh, Yoongi feels as if the weight on his shoulders being lifted, knowing that the wouldn’t have to keep this fact as a secret for much longer. Seeing the tension in Yoongi’s body fading away, Yijeong nods and takes a step back, releasing him from his hold. 

“That is what she means to you, isn’t it? She’s your love-mate,” Yijeong says. “Your soulmate, if we want to use a present term.” 

Closing his eyes, Yoongi releases a deep exhale of breath and nods. “How did you know?” 

Shrugging, Yijeong sheaths his sword away. “Having a soulmate is a rare thing to happen for the likes of us, especially in the present time. Now that we have order in place, finding someone who is fated to our souls have grown rare,” Yijeong muses with a soft voice. “And we’re not Weres or Vampires who are still destined to have a companion to spend the rest of their immortal lives with, so obviously, that thought never crossed my mind. Until recently.”

Yijeong turns to look straight into Yoongi’s eyes, staring deeply as he speaks with a gentle voice. 

“The night I was out in the slum district of Smotia to search for the runaway mage under your command, you sent out men to track down the source of an unfamiliar mana, you felt from downtown did you not?” he asks, to which Yoongi confirms with a nod. “That was her, wasn’t it? It was the night when I met her at a tavern. Unfortunately, I had to encounter her without knowing this.” 

Yoongi says nothing, so he simply continues, “But she has yet to make contact with magic then, so the only thing that I could gather is that you felt her soul that night, calling out for you for the first time.”

With a bitter chuckle, Yoongi shakes his head. “I keep forgetting how perceptive you can be. I still don’t understand how you managed to put things together when I tried my best not to give it away.”  

Yijeong responds with a scoff. “I’ve been to places, just like you have been, remember?” he grins, causing Yoongi to chuckle. “I’ve seen soulmates recognising one another, and how they were able to find each other through the invisible threads pulling them together. And I’ve seen how these bonds growing and strengthening once they gave in to the connection that was fated for them. It isn’t hard to notice that you are being drawn to her presence the same way, that it wasn’t just the magic that she is using which helps you to find her.” 

Narrowing his eyes at Yoongi, he tilts his head, as if he is trying to get a read of the Crown Prince. “I can tell that the more you spend time with her, as you keep getting close to her, the more you would be able to feel it. Is that also the reason why you have been staying close? Have you been trying to confirm the bond that you have between you?”

Yoongi’s shoulders sag in defeat for the first time. “Again, you are too perceptive for your own good,” he says, drawing a smile on Yijeong’s face as he looks at Yoongi without a hint of guilt in his eyes. If any, the Sergeant of his Empire’s army looks proud of himself for being able to read him. 

“You are partly right, as much as I hate to admit it. I wasn’t sure about the mate bond, thinking that it was nothing more but an old myth that belonged in the past. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, much less to share this with anyone else. Not until I have everything confirmed and make sure that  

Yijeong leans back against the tree behind him. “When you first told me that Queen Milena had a child, and that the Wicked King may have been hiding her from the world, I had an inkling that there was something more about her that may have caused you to be so invested in finding her, but a part of me refused to believe it.” 

Yijeong squints his eyes as he gauges Yoongi’s reaction, who isn’t giving him much. Not like it would be easy for him to see it anyway, with the bamboo hat shielding his emotions and the dark crawling closer now that the sun is completely gone. 

“I couldn’t put it together until recently, only after I went on that mission to the Werewolf Kingdom, East Hallow, and met this newly mated couple who had hired me because they have been in a bind,” Yijeong continues.  

“And then, of course, the matter that happened with your necklace,” he adds, as his gaze flickers down Yoongi’s chest, right where he knows the necklace would be hanging under the thin shirt that Yoongi is wearing. “The first time she used the portal by herself, your necklace showed a reaction. I thought that it happened simply because your magic reacted to the portal magic that mirrored your family’s, but I know that there is something else affecting it.” 

Yoongi clenches his hands, resisting the need to reach for it as Yijeong continues, “Your amulet was supposed to help you find her, wasn’t it?”

“I hate that you are always right,” Yoongi says as he lifts his head with a deep huff of breath. Carefully, he reaches up to his neck to pull the necklace out of his shirt. The amulet shines in the dark, sprinkles of blue dust coming out of the stone, allowing Yoongi to tell the moment you walk through the portal taking you back home. 

“The amulet—it was imbued by the same magic that was passed on to me by my father. It was supposed to help me track down the source of magic that The Wicked King had kept hidden from us. Obviously, I never thought that she would have access to the magic herself in the King’s absence,” Yoongi explains while he continues to observe the reaction coming out of the necklace, until the blue gleam begins to fade. 

“But the Emperor had placed another spell inside the amulet,” he adds, as his memory takes him back to the Emperor’s chambers, on the day he received the secret mission from his ailing father. “A spell that he once used to track down the Queen, altered in a way that I would be able to make use of it by tracking down the only missing link I may have left to find the Queen.” 

Yijeong nods. “The Princess. Your true soulmate. Which gave you another purpose for you to go through with this mission.” 

Once again, Yijeong surprises him for being able to surmise this much. What Yoongi cannot reveal to Yijeong is that he is right about Yoongi finding a new purpose now after meeting you. 

Thinking about you only reminds him yet again of your story. Picturing you living such a sheltered life before you were finally brought here to the fairy tale realm causes a tight pinch in his chest. 

If only you hadn’t been under the Wicked King’s care, perhaps you could have had so much more. You could have been able to see the world, to experience life the way you deserve it. Instead of having to find it by sneaking out of the palace’s walls and slipping away from the King’s guards with measly disguises protecting you, or by sneaking through the King’s hidden portals just to see the world. 

Recalling the way you looked at your surroundings when he took you on a walk across the meadow today, how your eyes were filled with wonder and joy the whole time, Yoongi hates thinking that you were never given the chance to have it all. 

When Yoongi talked about you finding freedom during your excursion back in the market town, he never could have known how close he was from the truth. He also never expected that you would admit to it so openly once he gave you the opportunity to share a bit of your life. Bot now, after listening to your story, he can’t decide if he should be happy that he had been right about your circumstances, knowing now what kind of life that you have had to endure under the Wicked King’s rules. 

But knowing the truth had only made him feel determined to change that. 

The freedom that you have been yearning so badly in life, Yoongi is willing to give it to you in a heartbeat, to make it possible the moment you allow him to do it for you, to help you escape from the life that you had to remain stuck in because of your family’s secrets. 

Despite the trust that he has for his friend, Yoongi has no idea how much about this fact that he could share. Even with the signs, how his feelings are constantly growing within him, the doubt that he feels about this soulmate bond is still present in his thoughts. No matter how small, it does come in his way of focusing on his true mission for reclaiming the empire’s true glory. 

“Look, I’m not here to stop you from messing around with her,” Yijeong casually says as he straightens up right in front of Yoongi while giving him a slight bow, a gesture that is meant to show respect to the apparent heir of the empire’s throne, which only means that whatever it is that Yijeong might say next would be important enough for him to shed his title as the Crown Prince’s best friend.

The sudden formal stance that Yijeong holds as he speaks only makes Yoongi grow wary. Because despite the calm tone of his voice, Yijeong’s gaze becomes hard when he looks at Yoongi to say, “You’ve been summoned.” 

Swallowing down the uneasiness taking over him, Yoongi lifts his chin to ask, “By who?” 

Yijeong refrains from answering for a moment, which isn’t making things any better. But Yoongi’s unsettling gaze soon makes him waver, and Yijeong has to reluctantly speak up. “The Empress wants to see you.” 

Sighing to himself, Yoongi tries not to be bothered by the news. He had somehow expected that the Empress would one day find a way to bring him home under her terms. Being left in the dark with no power in her hands would have made her feel restless, especially knowing that she no longer has any control of Yoongi as long as he is away from home. 

He shouldn’t worry about the Empress when he has eyes on her even when he is away. But it does make him wonder what the Empress is up to now. 

“Did she say what she wanted?” 

“Only that she wishes to see you. To talk,” Yijeong continues with a small grin. Yet the bitter and unamused tone that he is using when he talks about the Empress’ wicked schemes makes Yoongi grow restless even before Yijeong adds, “She has guests staying at the empire that she wishes you to meet.” 

Something flares in his eyes, and Yoongi’s chest tightens. He doesn’t like seeing that look. Not from him. And Yoongi already knows that he wouldn’t like whatever Yijeong is about to say next.  

Yoongi seethes. His voice is filled with venom when he asks his loyal friend, “Who?” 

“Byron Koshar. The Emperor of the Neo Empire of Kosha.” Yijeong’s voice is filled with hatred as he mentions the name of their former enemy, and that hatred brings chill running down Yoongi’s spine when his friend continues to say, “And his daughter, Princess Celestyna, the second Princess.” 

— © 2024 Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 03/08 // “The sunset looks lovely, don’t you think?”

wc: 368 // rating: G // cw: none // tags: angst, post-s4, canon compliant, yearning divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

The sky bleeds red, feeding into oranges and pinks in the low clouds, eventually fading into a deep indigo where the brightest stars are just starting to show at the height of the view. Over the quarry, Steve watches the peach clouds crawl across the sky, barely noticeable were it not for how long he’d been sitting on the hood of his car. 

He takes another drag of his cigarette, tapping the ash off to the side. The conversation he should be having plays in his mind. Talking about the way Dustin had snarked at him this morning, how Lucas had argued with him, and the way Erica had set them both straight (Steve couldn’t help but agree with her but knew better than to say it out loud). The laugh he’d receive in response to the story, head thrown back and teeth bared in a huge grin. 

Steve would pass the cigarette over and let him take a drag. Watch the way his lips wrapped around the smoke and feel the flush creep up his neck. He’d talk about whatever thing Robin had chatted his ear off about at work, because despite how much he’d claim annoyance and often wouldn’t understand half of what she said, he loved her so much. She’s his family. Steve would say as much, talk about how no one has understood him like she does, been there for him like she has. Talk about how he’d do anything for her. Then Steve would stumble over his words, I’d do the same for you, too. Anything, if you needed me.

He’d see a flush across his cheeks, unsure if it was heat in his face or from the sky, hidden behind curls, the hair pulled across in nervousness. Huge brown eyes looking up at him, crinkled with a now somewhat shy smile. Maybe Steve would place a hand over his. Maybe he’d lean in. 

A bird squawks, passing across the quarry, startling Steve out of his vision. There’s no one beside him, no shy smile, no bright laughter. He takes another shuddering drag of his cigarette, eyes blurring as he turns back to the sky. 

“The sunset looks lovely, don’t you think, Eddie?”

[nanawritesit]

SM Entertainment Girl Group Idol AU (fem!reader insert)

feel free to use this for shifting or as a fanfiction backstory! (just tag me if it’s the second one hehe)

disclaimer: the extra info sections aren’t all original ideas, many were found on pinterest/tiktok :) images aren’t mine either

tw: none that i’m aware of

Group Profile:

Group Name: Etoile (meaning star/ point of a star in French)

Members: 5 (5 points on a star)

Fandom: Starlight

Concept: Ethereal, Cosmic, Elegant

Debut Year: 2017 (between Red Velvet and Aespa)

Debut Song: “Constellations”

Debut Album Title: “5 Makes 1”

B-Sides: “Aries,” “Nebula,” “Orbit,” “Stardust,” and “Pisces”

Fandom/ Lightstick Color: Indigo and White (stars in the night sky)

Group Chant: All: “Twinkle twinkle!” Nabi: “Hi Starlight! It’s…” All: “Etoile!”

Members Profile:

Y/N: Oldest, Center/ Face of the Group, Main Vocalist, Speaks Korean, English, and Chinese

Cho Nabi: Leader, Lead Vocalist, Korean, Speaks Korean, English, Chinese, and Japanese

Marie Tang: Main Dancer, Chinese-American, Speaks Korean, English, and Chinese

Han Iseul: Visual, Lead Dancer, Korean, Speaks Korean

Ikeda Kaori: Maknae, Main Rapper, Japanese, Speaks Korean and Japanese

Extra Info about the Group:

Pre-debut, Etoile released a cover of Girls Generation’s “Genie,” and it blew up so fast that fans couldn’t wait for them to debut

Etoile is known as “the bridge between third and fourth generation” in the kpop community

The members are also known as “the princesses of SM”

Etoile does a lot of variety shows because everyone loves the members’ funny personalities and playful group dynamic

Etoile was featured in a popular kdrama as themselves, though they only had a few lines in a couple episodes, it became a fan favorite and made the ratings sky-rocket

Etoile’s second comeback, “Andromeda,” is said to have one of the most difficult girl group choreographies in kpop. It was also the song that got them their first win

When Etoile got their first win with “Andromeda,” all of the girls were crying hysterically, including Nabi who was supposed to give the speech. She ended up handing the mic to Y/N, who had just been smiling happily the whole time. Y/N pulled Nabi into her arms as she gave the speech, and then the other three girls assembled a group hug around them. It became such a tender moment for Starlights that everyone watching started crying too

Etoile did a collaboration music video with Sailor Moon where all the members got to dress up as the sailor guardians. Y/N was Sailor Moon, Nabi was Sailor Mars, Marie was Sailor Mercury, Iseul was Sailor Venus, and Kaori was Sailor Jupiter

Etoile has their own plushie characters that are put on headbands and other merchandise for Starlight, similar to BT21 and Skzoo. Y/N’s is a white swan, Nabi’s is a blue butterfly, Marie’s is a black cat, Iseul’s is a pink puppy, and Kaori’s is a yellow duck

Etoile did a collab with “rom&nd,” a korean makeup brand, where each member got to create their own shade of lipstick. The five shades the members created sold out in just three minutes.

Etoile performed a cover of EXO’s “Growl” during one of their concerts in male school uniforms, and Starlights were so impressed by how cool and masculine they were

Being sandwiched between the two girl groups, Red Velvet and Aespa are like the older and younger sisters of Etoile (respectively.) The Red Velvet members are always checking in on them and giving them advice, and Etoile does the same thing for Aespa.

Starlight is famous for being one of the most loyal and devoted fandoms. They buy the girls billboards and food trucks for their birthdays, protect them from antis, and offer so much love and support.

The members have their own youtube channel called “Etoile Clubhouse” that they have permission to use freely. They post lots of different content, including challenges, games, song/dance covers, mukbangs, get ready with me/us videos, and q&a’s

Extra Info about Y/N:

Y/N is known as the loving mother of the group, while Nabi is more like a strict dad

Kaori was still in high school when she debuted, and Y/N took care of her like a mother would her daughter. She would wash and iron her uniform, prepare her breakfast and lunch, and help her with her homework every night. Kaori’s mother was so thankful, as she couldn’t do all this for her daughter herself, still living in Japan

While all the girls are close, Nabi and Y/N are best friends, they even have friendship bracelets

While Iseul is the visual because she fits the KBS the best, Y/N is the center/FOTG because her visuals match the group concept the best. She’s known for her “white swan” visuals: ethereal, graceful, and elegant.

Y/N and Iseul were also chosen as members of GOT the Beat

Y/N was the first member to have a solo debut in 2021. Her debut song was fittingly titled “White Swan.” Nabi helped her compose the songs, Marie helped her with the choreography, and Kaori had a rap feature on one of the tracks. Y/N performed it at the MAMA awards, and everyone was singing/dancing along to it so hard they almost forgot about the actual awards show!

Y/N is an ambassador for Dior and Chanel. Many brands were offering her deals after Etoile became popular due to her unique visuals, so she got to choose the ones she liked best

Y/N is known as the “OST Queen” of the group, she has sang many drama OSTs

Y/N’s best friends at the company include Yeri (Red Velvet,) Taeyong (NCT/SuperM,) Karina (Aespa,) and Ten (NCT/SuperM/WayV)

Y/N has had cameos in many different artists’ music videos, including Stray Kids, Enhypen, and NCT Dream

SHINee’s Key dubbed Y/N “SM’s secret weapon”

Y/N was part of a one-time collaboration unit with Dreamcatcher’s Dami, Weki Meki’s Doyeon, IZ*ONE’s Yena, and fromis_9’s Chaeyoung. They released a single called “Wild Mind,” and it was so popular that fans were advocating to start a new group with just these idols!

Y/N once dyed her hair indigo to match the fandom color, and fans started to dye their hair the same color to match her. The shade became known as “Y/N hair” on social media

Y/N and Marie were mentors on a Chinese idol training show, all the girls loved them because they were super helpful without being too tough. It also gained Etoile a lot of Chinese fans

Y/N has very impressive high notes, Starlights have made several youtube compilations with titles like “Y/N obliterating the sound barrier with her high notes for 5 minutes”

Y/N’s nickname from Starlight is “Angel Voice” due to her clear, bright voice

Y/N sang a cover of Taylor Swift’s “Anti-Hero” on Etoile Clubhouse, and Starlights tagged Taylor in it so much that she was shown the video in an interview. Taylor responded: “I’ve watched this video so many times! Her voice is so pretty. I met her once in Korea too, she’s so genuine and sweet! I’d love to collab with her, or Etoile as a whole. They seem so fun.”

Y/N was getting a lot of lip-synching rumors, until one day a staff member shared a video of her practicing before a concert with her mic on. It revealed her raw vocal talent and debunked all the rumors.

[novaursa]

For a request, maybe a rhaegar targaryen x sister reader who is similar to Visenya? Like she’s the warrior type and kind of stern and stoic??

Dragon's Dance

- Summary: Rhaegar was the only one who knew your soft heart.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The clang of steel echoes across the training yard, a rhythmic song of battle that draws curious eyes from the gallery above. You stand across from your brother-husband, Rhaegar Targaryen, a gleaming blade in your hand. His indigo eyes are intense, focused on you, yet there is a softness beneath his gaze that only you have ever seen. You tighten your grip around the hilt of your sword, feeling the familiar weight that has always brought you comfort.

"Shall we begin, my prince?" you say, voice calm, the hint of a challenge lacing your words.

Rhaegar’s lips curve into a slight smile as he raises his blade. "Only if you promise to go easy on me, ñuha jorrāelagon," he teases, his voice carrying that gentle warmth reserved for you alone.

You scoff lightly, taking your stance. "Ñuha prūmia, don't expect mercy today," you reply, using the Valyrian term you only ever use in private moments. It has always been your way—your fierce exterior crumbling just a little in his presence.

Without another word, you move. Your sword arcs through the air, and he meets your strike with a resounding clash of steel. The power behind your attack makes his arm tremble, but he holds firm, his smile widening as he steps back, deflecting another blow aimed at his shoulder. The two of you circle each other, boots scuffing the packed dirt, your movements like a deadly dance.

Rhaegar’s fighting style is graceful, calculated—each swing and parry precise, as if he is playing his harp, coaxing music from the strings. But you, you fight like a storm. Unrelenting, fierce, a force of nature that does not yield. Your strikes come faster now, driving him back step by step. He manages to block each one, but it is clear you are pushing him to his limit.

Sweat beads on his brow as he tries to counter, his blade slicing towards your side. You twist, narrowly avoiding the strike, and bring your sword down towards his shoulder. He manages to catch it with his own blade, but the impact forces him to his knees. You press the advantage, your sword at his throat, the cool metal just grazing his skin.

"Yield," you command, your voice low, your breath mingling with his as you stand over him.

Rhaegar laughs softly, lowering his blade. "I yield, sister, you have bested me again," he says, his voice a blend of pride and affection. The formal tone falls away as he looks up at you, indigo eyes shimmering in the afternoon light. You can see the love there, and something within you softens. You step back, offering him your hand.

He takes it, his fingers entwining with yours as he rises. The training yard fades away, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. Rhaegar’s free hand comes up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You are magnificent, Y/N. Truly,” he murmurs, his thumb caressing your cheek.

Your heart, always so guarded, melts at his words. “You flatter me, Rhaegar,” you reply, your tone teasing but your eyes warm. “Are you trying to make me forget how I had you at my mercy?”

“Never,” he says with a smile, drawing you closer. “I would not dare. I am merely stating the truth.”

You shake your head, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into an embrace. Here, in his arms, you let the mask slip, leaning into him, your forehead resting against his.

Rhaegar presses a kiss to your temple, a soft, lingering touch. “You are my strength, my fire,” he whispers, his voice a tender murmur against your skin. “There is no one like you, Y/N.”

Your heart swells, a rare vulnerability surfacing as you look up at him. “And you, Rhaegar, are my light in the darkness.” It is a confession, one only he is privy to, words meant for him alone. You lift your hand, fingers tracing the line of his jaw before you pull him down, capturing his lips in a gentle, lingering kiss.

The world falls away, the courtyard, the Red Keep, the weight of your family’s expectations—none of it matters in this moment. It is just you and him, bound together by love and fire, a bond forged in the flames of your shared heritage.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand strokes your hair, the gesture soothing, and for once, you allow yourself to relax completely, to be vulnerable in a way you never are with anyone else.

“I love you, Rhaegar,” you whisper, the words slipping past your lips, unbidden but true. It is rare for you to say it, to voice the depth of your feelings, but with him, you can. You always can.

He holds you tighter, his own voice soft but steady. “And I love you, Y/N. Always.”

The courtyard, once filled with the sound of clashing blades, is now quiet, the only sound the soft murmur of your breath mingling with his. In this moment, you are not the fierce warrior, the Targaryen princess, or the daughter of a mad king. You are simply Y/N, held close by the man you love, your heart safe in his hands.

[kandadze]

Ep 28 loose thoughts

I'm glad for the lighthearted opening, because I know it'll just go downhill from here. Also, PSJ lumped with the men while ZYZ gets to annoy them from the distance is peak comedy. Again, I'm pretty sure we'll need all the laughs we can get.

Also, this is purely from an aesthetic point of view, and seeing ZYC out of his usual deep blues, grays and indigos was jarring, to say the least. The sandy beige does not compliment his porcelain complexion at all... unless they were going for this washed-out, weary look specifically, in which case, A+ (and boy, does he have reasons to be weary lol). Bonus: Ying Lei and PSJ knowing exactly why he's calling ZYZ a bastard 😂

"Next time, please finish your words in one go." Where's the fun in that though, ZYZ? You walked right into that one all by yourself 🤣

Of course Li Lun's way of "asking" for the scale was to threaten its owner with death. I'm afraid he hasn't learned anything... pity, really. I would love for him to have *some* sort of character growth.

Wow, ain't she miss popular all of a sudden! Is the Chongwu Camp guy gonna help LL to save Bai Jiu's body, or is he gonna go with his boss's orders after all? And of course the boss has *something* on the princess - I refuse to believe that his repulsive ass is Meng Xuan.

What's with that look, LL? Did you forget that the 3-face-mask - what's his name again? Wen something? - is after ZYZ's inner core? Did you think he was gonna stop trying to get it when you backed out of your deal? (Unless he's more like, welp, there goes my chance to get rid of the  poison...)

The whole "why do we need the scale" sequence is sending me. Ying Lei: she's so good at making up stories! ZYC: she probably got that from one of her novels. YL: I was not allowed to read erotica!!! 🤣 Meanwhile, in the distance, WX: let me spin this even harder, for maximum effect. ZYZ: 😲😱🤯😵‍💫🫡 YL: 🤢

But of course, the show will not let us forget that the success rate of interspecies romance in this universe is exactly zilch, nada, and zippo... and here I am, still holding onto hope for some kind of satisfactory ending. Oof, the way WX went "you owe me a life" so matter-of-factly... give me more female characters with a backbone of steel!

Omg can I just barf. Wen Zongyu *is* Meng Xuan? Is it just me who finds the taste of the Wilderness women we've seen so far shacking up with humans - Bai Jiu's mom and now the princess -  highly questionable? Like, why. My aroace ass cannot conceive how the princess could fall for *that* guy, of all people. I've sat through all the tragic romances so far not quite understanding maybe, but believing in all of them, but this, no.

(Also, it is now confirmed, that little bridge is like a tourist attraction for lovers, only every couple who sat on it is doomed. You should've played with your sparklers at the dock, ZYZ, WX!)

Oh wait hold up? Meng Xuan is someone WZY knew? He pretended to be him? Oh for fuck's sake! But the woman the princess poisoned *was* WZY's wife, right? And WX's dad and WZY knew each other??? This is so confusing ffs

"An innocent person's only crime is to own something valuable." "People with a treasure are always surrounded by bad wolves and cunning foxes. In most cases, in order to protect the treasure, they become a bloodthirsty beast, too." "It's a choice. She could choose not to." Love this whole convo on innocence and how it can get twisted, and ZYC restating his values. (I also get distracted by his eyelashes, like, constantly. 😅)

Oh, is WX going for the jugular. (And it appears only ZYC knew about the princess killing WX's dad. When did he find out, I wonder.) Also, hello? The *triple* murderer gets to make a request? For ZYZ's inner core, nonetheless??? I mean, I know why she's asking for that specifically - Chongwu Camp lackey did get to her first, after all - but that's not how "paying back" works, lady.

ZYZ, you just promised ZYC that you won't seek death, and then not only do you risk your life for him almost immediately after, now you're back on your self-sacrificial bs??? I swear, ZYC's patience for this demon. And his love, too. "Keep your inner core. I won't exchange it for anything, not even the Cloud Light Sword." Ahhh my heart.

Did he really pull a demonic equivalent of "my body, my choice"??? ::dies:: and then he goes, you don't want to make that choice, I'll make it for you. I immediately flashed back to Ying Long making the decision for Bingyi, oh no 😭

Awwww goddamnit everyone (not you WX, you're on the right side here), stop making ZYC sad! He cares for all of you, stop forcing him to make impossible choices! (You can tell I'm really invested when I start talking directly to the characters lol) In a way I understand why Ying Lei and PSJ would choose Xiao Jiu over ZYZ. YL's grandpa's death is no doubt still fresh on his mind, and even though in a way he seems to be going against his grandpa's final act of love, it's also a sort of "life for life" reasoning. For PSJ, even if her views of demons shifted since we first met her, Xiao Jiu is first and foremost a kid who reminds her of her brother. So I understand where they might be coming from, and I still don't like that ZYC has to deal with his found family fracturing before his very eyes.

Goddamnit, Ying Lei's projecting his own wish for being special and chosen. Makes sense, our underappreciated comic relief might not be expressing it much but we've been shown his constant vying for attention and validation (especially from ZYC and XJ) often enough. Headpats my dear boy, you *are* special. You are also, however, using emotional blackmail to sway ZYC, and I don't like that.

Ah, PSJ, back to annoying tf out of me. "Not 'we.' Just you and Zhuo Yichen" is it now? Damn it, this show just keeps finding ways to make my heart hurt. Don't break up the family!!! Not like this! You tell them, ZYC! (ZYZ's face when ZYC in essence said, over my dead body!)

............

Remember folks this is me yelling into my notepad as I'm watching bit by bit. At this point I had to stop because I reached my limit and at the same time had a terrible thought that this is another illusion. Because no way in hell did I just watch them-  Draw. Weapons. On. ZYC???!!!

This can't be real. ZYZ, stop this nonsense!

....... I hate it here.

Okay, before I go any further, I *know* from the MV and the trailer that whatever the fuck just happened can't be real. But they better have a *very* good explanation because my poor heart pretty much stopped for a moment.

So they got the scale. Yippie.

What was the point of all of this if she dgaf for the letter? Please get them both off of my screen, he's a fucking monster and she has no taste, and I dgaf for their tragic story (barf). I think this is the first time I got seriously annoyed while watching this drama, which, considering we're on ep 28, is a feat in itself.

How tf did he recognize PSJ's arrow? Can he tell it's hers by its trajectory? I guess he's just naturally brilliant at everything killing related?

OMG ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, DRAMA. We were told earlier that the fish can communicate with Longyu! And they gave us a shot of fish in that pond they were all standing at! They even showed us WX holding up something before the "break-up" started - I just didn't realize it was her "notebook"... So everyone was acting??? But there was no way ZYC could've read her notes, so was he the only one who wasn't??? 😭 You mofos, how dare you put him through stress like that!!!

"Go away." "Okay." Someone's sleeping on a couch tonight... From the music in the background I know we're supposed to find this reveal funny, the *four* of them definitely do (while laughing at him), and I just keep thinking of what it must've felt like to him. Isn't his biggest fear losing his loved ones? Whether by death or by a difference in thought, which changes love into hate? (Stil not over that little speech on love vs hate XJ's mom gave several eps back!) Even if it was a ruse, for him it was real. In short, ZYC my man, I applaud you for your restraint; I would've blasted the lot with some ice by now.

Oof another reveal. Will the asshole care? I doubt it. ZYZ's hand on WX's shoulder because of course she's gonna blame herself. Aaaand I was right, the asshole doesn't care... can someone just shoot him for me, please.

Wow, ZYZ, you little attention whore. And again they're giving us the "you can't choose your origin, but you can choose your own life," just as they're marching us towards the inevitable end. Nooo, not the leaves speech! Seriously, the amount of beautiful, soul-crushing lines in this drama! Aaaand he just said the title. The dream will end, we will wake up, we'll go back to reality. But we'll remember the dream forever... I feel like WX is expressing our hopes for a different ending, and ZYZ is confirming our fears that it can't be changed. Goddamnit.

And then she goes, let's live together, even though there's definitely something wrong going on with her??? Thanks for the forehead touch, drama, I'm a sucker for those.

Aw LL, you sad little demon possessing a dying child's body. I find it fascinating how different his cave looks now, almost ethereal with all the flowers and floating lights, while he's decaying (not to mention all the raw meat he's been consuming).

ZYC changed clothes, thank goodness 😅 I mean, y'all *could* just apologize? Why make it seem that he's the unreasonable one for being genuinely upset over something he didn't know was an act? The prolonged hovering of their hands, I can't 🤣 Do you want to get the scale stolen? Because that's how you get things stolen in this world, by not using them immediately. Come to think of it, why don't they know how to use it? You'd think Ying Long told them, right? (What you wanna bet that somehow WZY knows?) What the heck did I just say? They're already being watched...

Good on you for not being fooled (I mean, ZYC *never* smiles like that, why does she keep making the same mistake), but oh goodness did he lose the thing he was supposed to guard with his life *fast*. I hate that we see them so reactive so often, and just *not* smart. They *just* said LL was going to try to get the scale - but they still left Ying Lei by himself? Please, you're supposed to be good, not *dumb*!

Huh, I guess I should've known there'll be another twist(s). I'm exhausted so all I have left is, I appreciate the little moment of softness between LL and his human livers dealer, and did ZYZ really teach LL *all* his tricks? We shall see. (And as I promised myself, I'm not checking out the preview. My sanity's frayed as it is.)

[oh-no-another-idea]

get to know only extremely unimportant things about me tag

Pausing in my usual tag game order because @sleepyowlwrites created this recently and it looks really funnnn. Thanks for the tag, Indigo!

what does your bed comforter look like?

Tis a blanket that's fuzzy on both sides folded and sewn in half to fit my smaller bed

do you have cough drops in your house?

Yes, a couple of reallllly old ones, and a new bag I bought the last time I was at the Asian grocery store

on a scale of 1-18, how likely are you to accidentally park father away from the grocery store than you meant to?

I'd say about a 5.

when it comes to outerwear, is practicality or style more important?

Practicality! I'd rather not look like a round marshmallow when I don't intend to, but you know. Details.

do you collect medicine in your room when you're sick and then just, like, never put it away?

No, but I do this with water bottles

have you ever seen some berries of some sort out in the wild and decided that you needed to photo them so they looked like blood?

...that's a weirdly specific question and I think my answer must be no.

did you check the same book out of the library/read the same book over and over despite your dad or somebody being like "other books exist you know"?

YES my dad is such a hater sometimes. It's called comfort rereads, okay?

is there an environment in which everyone there has a different nickname for you?

Hmm, I don't think so. That would be nice though!

what animal did you fear would spontaneously manifest in your bedroom and eat you? actual belief in said fear not required.

No animals...but occasionally creepy assassins.

was there a thing that you were unfortunately really good at as a kid that set you up to go into hard "gifted kid" burnout while still being a kid?

I don't think I really qualify as a member of the gifted kid burnout...I read really fast and sooo many books, and that's been harder to keep up as I get more serious about writing, but over the past year I've realized how much I love blowing through books, and have worked to get back to that

you know you have to eat some fruit some time, so what do you buy the next time you drag yourself to walmart or wherever?

I would go to Sam's Club for fruit, and if they have them, I'd get blueberries and strawberries. Mangos if they're in season. Raspberries if they're cheap (and they rarely are 😫)

are you maybe a teensy bit obsessed with code names?

If you mean the word teensy, then yes, I suppose a teensy bit

what's your favorite word to refer to a personage who is capable of using magic?

Wizard

gloves or mittens or glittens?

Gloves win by a little! Love my individual fingers :)

are you a sibling or are you an only child who happens to have siblings or are you an only child who has liminal space siblings?

I am a sibling. An eldest sibling (cue the booing/cheering/rolling of eyes)

does your edgelord have a name or are you not on speaking terms?

We're not speaking so hard he doesn't even know I exist

do you actually wear your favorite piece of clothing?

...this is an ongoing weakness of mine. I'm working on it, okay?

bookends. a cool accessory or something that is preventing more books from fitting on your shelves?

Necessary accessory!!! I have one with a little elephant on it -- I love it very much

please rate this tag as if it were a super duper indie flick on imdb.

Owl's questions miraculously toe the line between funny and thought provoking, gifting you with an inner look that leaves you hungry for more. I grinned, I groaned, I would do it all over again. Should there ever be a sequel, you will find me lining up outside. There could have been a question about tap dancing. four and a half stars. ⭐⭐⭐⭐1/2

Tagging you back, @sleepyowlwrites, and also @sleepy-night-child @reneesbooks @sarandipitywrites @chauceryfairytales

and anyone else who sees this and wants to answer some absurd questions for the rest of us to ooh and aah at. Please tag me!

[sgiandubh]

So do all the suites have cribs or only certain ones?

Dear Crib Anon,

I just checked on the resort's webpage and I strongly encourage you do the same: https://www.fourseasons.com/nevis/accommodations/

As you can see for yourself, there are several types of accommodation options, catering to just about any needs under the sun: from 'simple' guestrooms to suites to pool studios to villas to extravagant estate homes.

There are five types of suites, with rates spanning from 1,575 USD/night (Indigo) to 5,175 USD/night (Alexander, the one he/they stayed in, roughly in the same price range of The Shutters on the Beach). All the other four offer an extra sofa bed and either a crib or a rollway bed add-on, according to the guests' particular needs (baby/toddler or child/teenager).

But the Alexander Suite has very peculiar amenities: a king size bed and a non-optional crib.

The only option that does not propose cribs or rollaway beds is the pool studio, clearly aiming to satisfy a bachelor/dinkie (double income, no kids) escapade scenario. For a fraction of the Alexander Suite rate:

I hope this answers your question, Anon. To me, it is clear enough.

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (3/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, namjoon is pretty much not the nicest dude lol (will add more as it progresses), kinda sugar daddy au but not really. It will make sense I promise.

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 6.5k

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

prev || next || m.list

a/n: Kind off a filler chapter, but also let the drama commence we are literally just getting started haha. Again, I’m going to be pretty busy for the next month so I don’t know when I’ll upload another part. But I hope you like this one and as always lmk your thoughts. Thank you.xx

The knot in your throat is hard to ignore as you put away your belongings in cardboard boxes. The tiny apartment that served as your home is looking more barren with the more things you take down and pack. Jungkook always made fun of you for giving meaning to silly things and getting attached to them. He calls you a hoarder and maybe he is correct about you hoarding shit you don’t ever need, but you call yourself a collector.

Why else would you have twenty different pots and pans in different colors. Plates and bowls in different shapes, sizes and designs. And you don’t even want to think about all the mugs you’ve accumulated over the years. Or the little trinkets that are carefully scattered all over your apartment with purpose. Or the tiny shelves with miscellaneous pictures of different moments in your life. Your clothes are a different story you haven’t even made a dent in the pile sitting on top of your bed, and you’ve already packed two full suitcases.

You’re grateful for Jungkook, and that he’s here just looking at you with judgment instead of voicing his negative opinions about you not being able to let go of shit. Though, he keeps reminding you that most of your things might be put in storage anyway. Namjoon is very particular and according to Jungkook nothing cute or with colors other than indigo, black, white and beige exist in his apartment.

“What about this?” Jungkook holds out a tiny black rabbit figurine in between his thumb and forefinger. You got it at a street market a few years ago because you believed it would bring you good luck. Though, you aren’t sure where that luck has gone because you certainly have none of it right now.

“I’m keeping it.” You hold out your hand and he places it, in the middle of your palm rolling his eyes.  

“You’re going to have to get rid of something Bunny.” He says as his hands fall down by his sides in defeat. “My brother’s not going to let you keep any of this.” He signals to the many boxes you have already packed.

You shrug, folding up the last of your winter sweaters and placing them neatly in the box in front of you. “But I can still decorate my room how I want so I don’t care, plus I already got rid of some kitchenware.”

Jungkook sighs, “Yeah after I literally fought with you for an hour. And you still have so much of it, I don’t know how you expect Namjoon to agree to keeping an air fryer, a coffee machine, purple pans, that weird pot that kinda looks like a toy, and a hot pink blender. Don’t even get me started on the weird heart shaped bowls or that one plate that looks like cheese or the twenty five mugs you kept.” He lists with his fingers before running a hand through his hair. “I’m telling you he’s as minimalist as the word suggests.”

“Kookie, they're so cute I can’t get rid of them.” You argue, “plus they mean a lot to me.” You close the box in front of you and tape it shut. Last night you decided that all your winter stuff will be going into the storage unit in Namjoon’s apartment building. If what Jungkook says it’s true and that his brother literally has nothing. Then you can only assume so does his storage unit. Plus he’s already offered it to you.  

“They’re ceramic.”

“So, I got them all for a different purpose in different moments of my life therefore they mean a lot to me.” You say sternly and stand up.

“Whatever you say.” He puts his hands up in defeat and turns around to the shelf he had been working on taking down. “Honestly now I’m kinda glad you are going to be living with Joon, seeing him irritated is amusing.”

You roll your eyes moving to the pile on your bed. Putting away your summer clothes is next on your to-do list.

“Why do you have so many clothes anyway?” Jungkook whispers from behind you, making you groan, throwing the pale yellow shirt you have picked up in his direction.

“Why are you being so annoying today?”

Jungkook slyly smiles. It only irritates you more. He may be a full year older than you but sometimes he could be more annoying than your actual younger brother. “You can’t answer a question with a question.” He bites back, picking up a skimpy baby blue lace cheekster. “You’re going to wear this in front of my brother?” He cringes holding it out as if it were the plague.

The embarrassment is evident on your face as you snatch it away and throw it somewhere behind you. “If you’re not going to be of help, get out.” You spit out, avoiding his eyes as he bends over in laughter.

You let out an annoyed sigh, picking up an oversized blue button down and folding it. “

“I’m just fucking with you Bunny. You can wear whatever you want in front of my brother. Just give me a heads up before I walk in on the two of you–you know.” He gestures inappropriately with his hand, earning a glare from you, which only makes him laugh again.

“No I do not know because whatever you’re insinuating will never happen.”

“That’s what you say now.” He accuses, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

You pick up a lavender blouse with white flowers on it and throw it in his direction. “Make yourself useful and start folding.”

Jungkook smiles widely, throwing your blouse over your shoulder. He reaches out and pinches your cheek. You swat his hand away forcefully. He winks at you before saying, “You make it so easy to fuck with you, Bunny.” He starts folding your shirt and adds, “I thought I taught you better, where’s your back bone?”

“Keep talking and I’ll show you how well I remember all those self defense moves you taught me years ago.”

The pizza arrived at exactly ten. The movers had arrived an hour earlier, taking your bed, lounge chair, desk, kitchen table, kitchenware and old decorations. Everything else you had like your clothes and small miscellaneous things were in boxes waiting to be loaded into Jungkook’s car. Your old couch was on the curb waiting to be picked up by the donation trucks.

Now, you and Jungkook were sitting in your living room–old living room–with a Hawaiian pizza and two large beers in between the two of you. Your brother and his wife left as soon as the movers did. So, it was just a lonely last dinner in your apartment with Jungkook.

“You can always just move in with me.” Jungkook speaks up taking a big swing from his beer can. “I have like three spare mattresses and Bam recently learned to not get up on the couch without permission.” He mapped out, picking up another slice of pizza.

You throw the pineapple slice you have picked off into the box. As much as you had fought the shaggy haired man against his decision even bringing up your pineapple allergy. You had lost the very intense game of rock, paper scissors twenty minutes earlier.

“No thank you. I’d rather not be subjected to your 4am drunk karaoke sessions. Or wake up to you moaning in the kitchen because of food you’ve made.” You shrug, biting into your pizza slice. “Plus you bring too many people home with you and I enjoy my sleep.”

“I don’t do that anymore.” He shrugs, throwing the crust of the pizza into the box and grabbing another slice. It’s blasphemous how he loves pineapple on pizza–no hate to pineapple on pizza lovers, if you didn’t have a deadly pineapple allergy you’re sure you would love it–but he hates the best part of a pizza. Which is by far the crust.

“Which part?” You tilt your head to the side.

“Bringing people home. I stopped doing that years ago, Bunny, keep up.” He rolls his eyes, biting into his pizza and groaning as if it’s the most delicious thing ever.

You cringe. “This is what I mean. Why do you make everything sound so sexual?”

He swallows, “Why do you take everything so sexual?” He fights back, raising a knowing eyebrow at you.

“You can’t answer a question with a question.”

“You can’t answer my question by repeating my statement from earlier.”

You shake your head, grabbing his abandoned crust. “I take back everything I just said. This is the real reason as to why I can’t live with you.” You bite into it, smiling in delight.

“Cause’ I’m irresistible.” He winks.

“No, because you’re so annoying. I will never see a moment of peace.”

Jungkook laughs, throwing another perfectly edible crust into the box and grabbing another slice. “But you love me, right Bunny?”

You shake your head, swallowing and taking a swing from your beer. “Sadly, I do.”

Jungkook smiles, throwing you a thumbs up and a cheeky wink. You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

After a moment you look around your empty apartment, remembering how everything was perfectly laid out. The tiny frames of pictures of you, your family and your friends that used to decorate your walls. The abstract art piece that was hung on the wall behind your couch. Taehyung had gifted it to you after he disappeared for a few weeks in a crazy burst of inspiration. He said the bright colors reminded him of you, because somehow you always made him feel a little brighter no matter what.

You recall the little figurines that were placed on your useless tv unit because in the seven years that you lived in this apartment you never once bought a tv. They were miscellaneous things that were as useless as the unit but they meant a lot to you. Each one was handpicked by you for a purpose. The rabbit you had bought at a Lunar New Year market years ago. The ceramic watercolor-esque jewelry dish, you had found at a flea market. It was home to your crystals and not your actual jewelry, with the exception of your dad’s class ring that you had borrowed and never gave back.

Everything felt empty, even your fridge. It used to be decorated with magnets from places you had visited over the years. It had to-do lists and many sticky notes with affirmations written in ink splattered handwriting.

The night you first moved into the apartment it was hell. It was your first time living alone and every little sound sent a wave of panic through you. You had to call Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook to sleep over because you wholeheartedly believed someone would break in. Eventually things got simpler and you made your spaces yours. You never thought you’d grow attached to such a place, but you spent many nights dancing with just your string lights on. Singing at the top of your lungs. And crying because you missed your parents and brother. It was your home and even though your lease was up soon. It felt strange to not renew it again.

It almost felt like you were leaving a piece of yourself behind. A piece you never knew you had discovered until now.

“Bunny, don’t cry.” Jungkook coos beside you. The pizza is long forgotten, the box thrown haphazardly to the side as he brings you into his arms. “I know it’s hard but if we are being honest here you were outgrowing this place.”

You sniff, placing your head on top of his shoulder. “I would’ve made more room.”

Jungkook chuckles, carding his hand down your back, sending shivers up your spine. “You would’ve become a crazy hoarder. There was barely any space with all the shit you had.”

“That’s mean.” You shove him lightly. After a while of silence you speak up again. “This was my home Jungkook. I knew that I was eventually going to move out but I thought it would be because I was getting married.”

“You are getting married.” He deadpans, making you shove him even harder. He laughs.

“This doesn’t count, you know it’s not real.”

Jungkook waves you off, cradling his stomach as he bends over laughing, making you roll your eyes. “I was just trying to lighten up the mood. You know you’re always welcome at my place.” He wraps his arms around your shoulders and brings you close again. “And I know things are rocky between you tweedle dee and tweedle dum. But Jimin and Taehyung will always have your back too.”

You sigh at the mention of Jimin’s name. It’s been two weeks since you last spoke to him and Taehyung. They have been ignoring your calls and texts. You’ve even thought about emailing them, but you’re well aware that neither of them have opened up their emails since college. You just hope that one day–soon–they’ll let you explain everything to them.

“I really hope so, Kookie.

Namjoon has been pacing in his living room since he woke up at four in the morning. He’s only had about four hours of sleep since he spent his entire afternoon and night clearing out his guest bedroom. It used to be his study, but he never once used it to do his work. The creaky old desk he got at a vintage shop a couple years ago was more of a showpiece. He had no issue parting ways with it. That was the easy part then came the bookshelf he once thought of using as a way to display his favorite artist books. But his research kept him occupied and he never once got around to it.

Parting ways with his books was something he never once thought he would have difficulty with. He made three piles; keep, maybe keep, give away. Everytime he put a book in the give away pile he would move it to the maybe pile and eventually the keep pile. It went on like this until midnight when he decided to abandon the task and go  to sleep. He didn’t expect his thoughts to wake him up at four in the morning. They were racing like they had some sort of urgency. And now he was wide awake in his living room with the same three piles, one overflowing more than the others.

If he had more space in his book shelves in the living room he would have no problem, but those shelves were also ones he needed to sort out. Not to mention the huge stack of to be read books occupying the space between his couch and favorite chair.

He doesn’t know how he let things get so out of hand. Though, everything seemed like a mess in his brain. Especially at this time at night. He knows if anything changed about where things were placed he would have a mental breakdown trying to look for something.

It's how things worked in his brain. It’s also probably the reason why he was unable to sleep. Now, because of his wild idea to have you move in with him. He knows things will change around his house. Apart from his vast collection of art, books and his plants, everything else in his apartment lacked any soul and emotion. He used to love coming home when he first moved in years ago, but slowly the light started to get sucked out of his place.

Subconsciously he knows that’s why he asked you to move in with him in the first place. It wasn’t his mom visiting unexpectedly or that carpooling to work would save him gas and his carbon footprint. It was because he missed coming home to something that had life.

That’s something he will never get himself to admit. Not outloud and especially not to himself. And now you’re set to arrive in fifteen minutes. He still hasn’t finished sorting out his books or done a very good job at pushing away that agonizing thought or the excitement and nerves. He’s been keeping himself occupied for hours but all he has done is wonder.

What do you look like when you go to sleep?

What do you look like when you wake up?

Do you still sleep with numerous stuffed animals?

Will you secretly place your little trinkets around his home without him noticing?

Do you eat breakfast or just have coffee?

Will you like having him around?

They’ve been moving so fast that he can’t grasp onto one. The second he brushes one off another one comes to the surface and it’s driving him insane. Sure, he doesn’t feel anything for you. Not then and certainly not now, but he is looking forward to getting to know you better. What makes you laugh and what makes you tick? Are you a stay at home person on the weekend? Or do you go out with your friends to catch up? Do you bring work home like he does? Or do you leave it all in the office and relax for the rest of the evening?

Again, these are thoughts he will never let himself admit out loud, but he has them and he just hopes they go away the second you ring his doorbell.

As if on cue, the chime brings him out of his daze. He puts down the current book he was holding–The Secret History by Donna Tartt. It’s the book you gave him for his birthday back then. You had read it about five times before giving it to him saying he would “absolutely love it.” Since then he’s read it numerous times. The paperback is fading a little bit; he's tried to get rid of it for years but for some reason he can never seem to get himself to do so.

He puts it in the keep pile and stands up. Rubbing his sweaty palms on his black cotton shorts, as he makes his way to the front door. He’s already had five cups of coffee but suddenly he feels the fatigue wash over him as soon as he puts his hand on his doorknob.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and opens the door, revealing a very casual looking you. You’re wearing gray sweatpants, a black tank top with a white knitted cover up. Jungkook and his signature black on black outfit stands by your side.

This is the moment he realizes that a new chapter of his book is about to commence.

Whoever told Namjoon that living on the top floor of the highest building in the world–note exaggeration–should be held responsible for the back ache you’re surely going to be dealing with at night.

It’s taken about ten trips for you, Jungkook, Namjoon and the movers to get all of your stuff inside of Namjoon’s home. It also doesn’t help that the owner of the very bland looking home keeps barking orders to not scratch the floors and watch for the art hanging on his walls. Understandable, but he could at least be a bit nicer. After all it’s his fault you’re in this mess in the first place.

“How can someone have so much shit?” Namjoon seethes as he places your last box in his living room. It’s not even an organized mess anymore. It’s downright a mess and he is close to losing it.

Jungkook laughs, taking a well deserved break on his couch, feet on top of his black coffee table. “You should’ve seen all the shit she didn’t keep.” He says, stretching his arms up and overhead. “This isn’t even half of it. You should be thanking me for convincing her to give away all the shit she didn’t need or use and she still kept some of it.”

“Hey,” you give Jungkook a pointed stare. “Everything has its purpose, sooner or later I was going to use them.”

“You didn’t need fifty different mugs. You literally only ever used the same five. And you didn’t need all those little ceramic figurines that absolutely served no purpose.” Jungkook argues, crossing his arms in front of him. He hasn’t slept and he has you to thank because all you did during the night while you stayed at his house was pace back and forth and clean his already clean apartment.

He understands that you were nervous but you could’ve been a little quieter or you could’ve let him sleep. Instead, you woke him up to keep you company while you rambled on and on and on about how this was a horrible idea. But what was he supposed to say? Everything he wanted to tell you, he had already said. In order to avoid sounding like a broken record he just listened to you rant while moving in and out of consciousness.

“Please tell me you didn’t bring fifty mugs to my house.” Namjoon says, scrunching his eyebrows and putting his hands on his hips. You sit on the floor in front of a box labeled kitchen and open it up.

“No, just twenty five of them.”

Namjoon sighs, running a hand through his hair. This was already starting out on a bad note. He only has one mug for his coffee and it’s been very useful since he’s moved in. He forgets that even though he’s a minimalist in some ways. You’re a maximist. Your bedroom back home was proof enough.

Your desk was always filled with crap and numerous journals. Your walls had different kinds of posters and tiny strips of pictures you had taken with your friends on a night out in whatever photobooth you could find. He doesn’t want to even get into the stuffed animals or the twenty different pillows you kept on your bed when you only slept with one.

He supposes some things just never change.

“We don’t need twenty five different mugs, or–” He looks into the box he had set on the kitchen counter and sighs, “--six different pans.” He brings out a white and purple one and another one the same color just slightly bigger. Your colorful aura is already clashing with his monochrome one. He has no idea if they will mix well.

“Believe me, you say that now, but I can guarantee you that one day you’re going to be searching for a specific pan while cooking and you’re going to thank me for keeping these.” The words spill out of your mouth with confidence and he can’t help but roll his eyes. Out of spite he will do everything in his power to make sure that day never comes.

Jungkook stands up and claps his hands in front of him. “Alright idiots, I have a date in like two hours, so we either get your bed built Bunny or you sleep on this lovely couch.” He interrupts in pointing to Namjoon’s not so comfy looking couch.

You stand up, trying to keep your mouth from going agape, this was certainly a huge surprise. Jungkook simply didn’t date. “With who?” You walk to him with your hands on your hips. Namjoon and your mugs have been completely forgotten.

“With my bed.” He winks and you groan. You knew it was too good to be true. “Now, come on, I don't understand why you picked the most complicated bed frame to build. There are more screws than anything I’ve ever gotten from IKEA and as simple as they try to make the instructions it still takes me five hours to build one shelf.” He walks past you and into the hallway leading up to rooms.

“They are easy to understand, you're just an idiot.” Namjoon speaks up, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing. This is how things were back then, clowning on Jungkook together. They were simple before feelings were involved, and you only wonder that if you kept your mouth shut would things still be that way.

Except you know that deep down they wouldn’t because neither of you would be in this situation. You can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Whatever the answer to that is, you don’t want to find out, even more so now.

You ignore Namjoon’s comment and follow in Jungkook’s footsteps. The last thing you want is for him to break your beloved bedframe and you end up on Namjoon’s couch until you can afford to buy a new one. It’s this moment in particular that you miss Taehyung and Jimin the most. (Though, since falling out everything made you miss them.)  It took them a full hour to assemble it together with minimal complaints. You know it would’ve taken them nothing to take it apart, but now you will never know.

Jungkook stayed true to his word and left one hour later than when he said he would. It took him and Namjoon fighting a couple of times for your bed frame to finally be complete. And during his final hour before he left on his date. He helped you move the rest of your furniture into the room, including your precious desk, armchair and the numerous boxes of clothes books and decorations you had packed.  

During this time, Namjoon had barely spoken to you, except for the occasional “pass me the (insert name of tool,)” he directed towards you. Then he disappeared into the kitchen while you instructed Jungkook on where to place your belongings. Now, the filter was gone and you were left alone in a hollowed out house with its equally hollowed out owner.

You were keeping yourself occupied with hanging up your clothes when you heard a crash followed by a curse of pain coming from the kitchen. On instinct you ran out to find Namjoon holding his foot, mumbling profanities.

You swallow, placing your hands inside the pocket of your sweatpants. “Are you okay?”

Namjoon looks up, eyes full of water as he quickly releases his foot and clears his throat. “Umm, yeah, I just dropped one of your pots on my foot.” He brushes off, proceeding to pick up the pot Jungkook claims looks like a toy and places it on the counter. “I hope you don’t mind that I started to unpack the kitchen stuff. All the boxes were kind of driving me a little crazy.” He scratches the back of his neck, then points to the empty stack of boxes by the couch.

You shake your head. “Just show me where everything is so I don’t go crazy looking for shit tomorrow morning.” You say, walking towards the kitchen and stopping once you get to the other side of the counter.

He nods, and proceeds to move around. “Mugs and cups go here.” He opens the cabinet above the stove, showing you how neatly he arranged your colorful array of mugs by color and size. “The plates are here.” He moves over one cabinet and opens it, revealing three wooden racks full of your plates and his plates. “And I put the bowls up there. I know it's hard to reach but we can get a step stool or something.” He shrugs and then moves around the counter standing beside you. “You didn’t have a lot of utensils but the ones I found I put in here.” He opens up a drawer, and as expected everything was organized as neatly as possible in one of those kitchen drawer organizers. Forks, spoons, knives and chopsticks had their own compartment. You took note as you didn’t want to mess anything up.

If you were going to be living with him until further notice. Stepping on his toes and messing with his organization was something you didn’t intend on doing.

“I was just getting started on putting the pots and pans away, also I don’t know where to put your knife set since I already have one.” He says pointing to the box containing your pastel colored set of knives. Maybe you should’ve listened to Jungkook when he said you actually didn’t need them. They were just too cute to let go.

“That’s fine.” You wave your hand, discreetly taking two steps away from him. “Do you want any help?”

Namjoon pauses for a moment after he closes the drawer. He looks at the marble countertop in front of him in thought and then you. His gaze is hardened and unreadable. A look you’ve come to familiarize yourself with in the past few days that you’ve had to spend with him. It’s one he uses when the two of you are alone. You won’t lie, it annoys you a little.

“No, that’s okay. I was just going to put them in the cabinet next to the sink.” He speaks up before rounding the corner and standing in his original spot. You nod and take a step back.

“I guess I’ll be in my room unpacking. Don’t continue dropping things on your foot.” Your attempt at a joke goes ignored as he gives you a deadpan look before focusing his attention on the pot in front of him.

It’s strange how he hasn’t continued to complain about you having so much stuff. Or how he hasn’t declined anything you brought with you. He’s simply accepted it and is finding space for it. The complete opposite of what you imagined he would do. Once again he’s rendered you speechless and  you have no idea if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“I’ll try not to.”

It’s around two in the morning when you finally leave your new room. Namjoon’s living room–well you suppose it is now your living room too–is vacant. You let out a sigh of relief. The only reason why you left your room in the first place was because your stomach was growling and you couldn’t sleep.

You aren’t sure if Namjoon is asleep or if he’s in his room avoiding you all together. Could he really be just as childish as you? You want to believe the answer to that question is a big fat yes. But then again that’s only because you want to make yourself feel like you're not the only coward now living in this house.  

Still, he didn’t come seeking you after he briefly showed you around the kitchen. So, maybe you aren’t the only one who just doesn’t know what to say to the other person. How do you simply start a conversation without bringing up your past together?

There are so many things left unsaid. So many things that happened that night that have haunted you for years. So many things that broke down your character as everything unfolded right before your eyes. A part of you blames him for what ended up happening. Though, that’s only because it was easier to blame him than to blame yourself.

Even if your therapist and Jimin and Jungkook told you that nothing was your fault. It still felt like it was, especially because you only wanted to piss off Namjoon more than you already had. Maybe then he would finally have a reason to hate you, but again, he’s never really known what happened apart from your fight.

Nor, do you think you can tell him. In fear that he would look at you differently and put the blame on you. Just like you have done for years.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” Namjoon’s voice sounds from behind you, making you jump. You turn around meeting his piercing eyes as he makes his way into his kitchen.

“Nope, it’s a new space so everything feels weird.” You shrug, taking a seat on one of the island stools. “And I’m hungry.” You add, thinking it will somehow help your already valid reason.

Namjoon nods before opening his fridge. “I ordered chicken earlier, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted some or wanted me to bother you, but I saved you some.” He takes out the box and places it on the counter, moving around expertly before taking out one of your pans. See you knew they would come in handy. “I’ll heat it up for you.” He places it on the stove and turns the dial to a medium heat.

Your eyes grow wide as you start to get up. “You don’t have to, I can do it myself.”

Namjoon doesn’t have to face you, for you to know he’s rolled his eyes at your comment. “I don’t, but it gives me something to do. I’m not tired.” He shrugs, hovering his hand over the middle of the pan, to check if it was hot. Once he deems it hot enough he reaches over and grabs the leftover box of the chicken, dumping the sweet and sour delights into the pan.

You choose not to reply to him and instead look around. There were only a few boxes left for you to unpack, most of them being miscellaneous decoration pieces you had collected over the years. You know that as much as Namjoon didn’t mind having your kitchen ware mingle with his. You knew he wasn’t going to let you mess around with his minimalist aesthetic. Maybe you would just have to slowly find space for them. But maybe it was best that you didn’t. A couple of days ago he made it pretty clear that you weren’t something permanent in his life. So, why pretend like you were?

“Mom wanted us to go to brunch tomorrow, but I told her no. I figured you wanted to finish settling down before work on Monday.” Namjoon speaks up over the sizzling sound of the chicken.

Your head snaps to face him. “You didn’t have to do that, I could’ve finished unpacking over the week.”

Namjoon looks over at you and shakes his head. Before you can snap at him for whatever reason he speaks up. “You told me to keep in mind that you are your own person and that I can’t keep making decisions for you, and when I consider how you may feel about living things unfinished you tell me that I could’ve done the opposite of what you asked.” He reaches over and turns off the knob and turns to face you. “I don’t understand you.”

The audacity he has to spring up a decision he made like it was for your betterment is impalpable. Somehow him being somewhat considerate and listening to you, but at the same time not listening to you makes you want to scream. Instead, you close your eyes, feeling your appetite run away from you. “Yet, you just did exactly that.”

Namjoon tilts his head in confusion, taking the pan off the stove and bringing it over to where you’re sitting. “How? I did exactly what you wanted me to do. I told her no because I knew you would be tired after a whole day of moving.” He places down a heat mat and puts the pan over it.

You shake your head in disbelief. “No, you decided for me. You didn’t tell me your mother invited us over for brunch and instead told her we couldn’t go because I was going to be too tired when you don’t even know that.” You eye him as he takes out a pair of chopsticks. He stops once the words you’ve said sink in and glares at you.

“I don’t know what you want me to do? I agreed to meet you in the middle, I even agreed to your ridiculous list of demands and when I do, you say that that’s not what you wanted.” He places the chopsticks in front of you and scoffs.

You cross your arms in front of you. “But you didn’t meet me in the middle. Meeting me in the middle would be telling me that your mom invited us over and then hearing what I had to say about it. But instead you decided for me, you’re still not understanding.”

Namjoon groans, running a frustrated hand through his already messy bedhead. “Then please spell it out for me because I’m trying but you always have to fucking complicate things.”

“I’m not the one complicating things here. It’s simple, you only have to tell me things and then I’ll decide what I want or don’t want.”

Namjoon signs leaning his forearms on his marble counter, his arm veins popping out as he grips edge trying to regulate his anger. “This is exactly why?”

“Why what?” You push yourself off the chair, leaving your untouched chicken as you push in the stool.

“Why I would never marry you. You look too much into things and when someone calls you out on it you blame them. You’re just too difficult to deal with.” He says through clenched teeth.

You dig your nails into the palms of your hand. He has the nerve to throw one of your biggest insecurities back at you. It’s the reason why all of your past serious relationships have ended. Apart from the fact that they’ve always gotten bored and found someone new. It’s also the reason why your childhood best friends aren’t talking to you. You’re too much to deal with. So, why are you here in the first place?

“Then why did you come up with this whole elaborate plan?” Your voice is just above a whisper as you angrily keep yourself as composed as possible.

Namjoon pushes himself off the counter and stalks over to you. “I already told you because it’s not permanent. Trust me if my father had more time you wouldn’t be standing here.” He spits out and stops in front of you. “You’re not someone worthy of spending a life with.”

Your breath gets caught in the back of your throat as you blink back tears. This shouldn’t be affecting you as much as it is.  Especially because it’s something he’s hinted at since he first proposed the plan to you. But for some reason it does, especially his last comment. He knows that one of your biggest dreams is to get married and start a family. He also knows that all your previous partners have left you for the same reason. And he also knows that it will hurt you if he keeps repeating it. Almost as if he believes that you don’t understand how serious he is about keeping you as a temporary placement in his life.

Back then you would’ve yelled and cried. Yet, that girl was broken down and replaced as quickly as it took him to leave you and all the memories you shared together behind. So, you stand your ground, burning holes into his dragon like eyes and say, “Trust me when I say that you’re the person I hate the most in this world. That I might be difficult but you’re impossible. Your head is so big that you can’t see that the reason why you can’t seem to keep anyone around is because you push them away thinking you’re better than everyone else. It’s the reason why you might keep the money from your dad’s will but also the reason why you will end up alone.”

When you finish you can tell he’s taken your words to heart, that much you know from the fire burning behind his perfect brown eyes. Instead of responding he does the one thing you never expected him to do.

He kisses you.

a/n: lol I’m sorry.