#v; Smoke and Mirrors {Twilight}

[legends-and-savages]

Tag Dump

[pennyellee]

CHAPTER VI - súton

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

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

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

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

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, mentions of alcohol, manhandling, mentions of murder, gun use, abduction, attempted non-con, gaslighting, vomiting, anxiety, choking, decapitation, strong language, smut, loss of virginity

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 11,1K

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

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VII

súton (n.) twilight; the approach of death or the end of something

Images flashed through her mind like fragments of a dream, mixing reality with a disorienting haze. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself for what was to come. She was still in her temporary private quarters. Was it all just a dream? Confusion ran through Y/N like the hot blood inside her veins.

The engine of the roaring car pierced her ears and her vision was still blurry. “Where am I?” she whispered, her voice slowly progressing to realise the situation. She grabbed the letter seat, trying to pull herself up.

“Chan-yeol?” she asked, pressured.

“Little bird, are you ready to fly away?” he laughed. Y/N looked at him with terror in her pupils.

“Are you out of your mind? You just signed your own death certificate Chan-yeol!” This is bad. Her thoughts spoke to her in distress, each and one of them telling her to do something.

“What, a sudden change of heart? Did you not want me to ship you off to the new land?” said the man, accelerating the car.

“He’s going to slaughter everyone!” she screamed.

“You did not think of that when you ran the last time or the time before, why now Y/N?” He spitted his words out, looking at her through the mirror. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to collect herself before she would lose her mind for good.

“He has the whole family on a silver platter there Chan-yeol! Turn the car right now!”

“We’re almost there.” He declared. 

“Yoongi?!” was the first name that came to her mind. Voice full of fear. The sound of urgent footsteps echoed around her, crescendoing with the abrupt swing of the door. However, the one she sought, the man whose name she called, was not in her sight.

“Namjoon?” she called out, the surprise evident in her voice, interwoven with a thread of relief.

“How do you feel?” He asked, slowly approaching her petite form.

“What— I don’t understand,” she struggled to articulate her bewildered thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Chan-yeol’s words cut through the frosty air. He steered the car to the side of the road. Snow was everywhere she could see, each surface draped in ethereal white. Without waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete halt, Y/N flung the car door open, her steps bold as she ventured out into the wilderness.

The direction from which they arrived became a backdrop as she briskly distanced herself from Chan-yeol’s presence.

“This might be your last chance to flee this wicked world, girl.” His voice, heightened in intensity, reached her ears. Y/N stopped in tracks — the ultimatum clear.

Her family on one side, her newfound reality on the other – a choice lay before her.

“You have no idea what you just did!” she screamed defiantly, she refused to spare him a glance. “You’ve ruined everything!”

“Y/N?” a different voice echoed and her eyes widened at the unexpected interruption.

“I did not, Namjoon. I did not try to run away. You have to believe me!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic attempt to convey her innocence. Namjoon, his touch gentle, enveloped her small hands in his.

“Shhh… I know, it’s alright.” Namjoon cooed at the bride. And that’s when every single picture came back to her mind.

“How—how did you get here, for the love of God?” Y/N pivoted towards the speaking man, memories of their shared past flooding back as if the study hall of Shenyang’s University was just yesterday.

“I came for you,” he declared.

“For me?” She asked, disbelief in her voice.

“For me?!” she repeated, a frustrated laugh bubbling up. “Now you’re coming for me.” Y/N recalled the day he declared that she was in this battle alone, a stark contrast to their current proximity. They were never that close, he was too afraid to even hold her hand or maintain prolonged eye contact. But she considered him to be a friend, nonetheless.

“I love you,” he confessed, staring directly into her eyes.

“You love me?” She asked, mocking him, a bitter edge to her tone.

“Where was this love when I needed to run the hell out of the continent, huh?” She closed the distance between them, pushing him with aggressive force.

“You're a coward, Han Chen,” she spat, the venom in her voice cutting through the tension.

“I have a plan, Y/N,” he replied, brushing off her words even as they stung.

“Hmm… you have a plan. And what is this plan exactly?”

“He won’t want you if you’re ruined, Y/N.”

His words hit her like a cold gust of wind, and she gasped at the implications.

The haunting melody of that familiar song resonated in her mind once again.

“He—he attempted to rape me.” Y/N looked through her teary eyes directly at Namjoon's, whose mimics told her, she is right.

“He paid for that with his life.”

“You’re going to kill us all!” Her words became the truth once the first bullet was fired, finding its mark in Chen’s head. Y/N witnessed his eyes blackening, a vacancy replacing the spark of life. 

He was gone. Blood dripped down his neck, staining her chest, her breath hitching as her vision blurred. Chan-yeol swore and fumbled with his gun, leaving Y/N to crumple to the ground, as he was tightly holding her down for the devil’s messenger to do the unforgivable.

Her eyes narrowed at the white sky. Chen’s lifeless body collapsing onto her smaller frame. Y/N’s hands trembled as she mustered the strength to slowly push his corpse away.

“Are you alright?” she heard him before she saw him above her.

“What about the wedding?” she asked, curiosity mingling with the shock that gripped her.

“We’ll proceed—” he answered, addressing yet another of her fears.

Speech and vision eluded her. “Y/N?” he asked again, gently throwing Chen’s lifeless body off her. “Darling, please say something.” His concern was palpable.

“Let me go, you fuckers!” Chan-yeol’s enraged screams echoed nearby. He hadn’t made a clean escape after all.

Hoseok helped her sit. Y/N’s eyes mirrored the emptiness that had claimed Chen’s.

“Darling?” Hoseok urged, attempting to coax her back to the present.

“—and hold a trial tomorrow.”

“Trail?” she asked, her voice fragile.

“Chan-yeol was a part of our clan. He is a traitor, and we’ll treat him as such.”

“And what about—”

She cast one more glance at Chen’s lifeless form before shifting her attention to Chan-yeol, struggling on the ground, surrounded by Min soldiers from whom she only recognised Jungkook.

“I want to go back, Hoseok-ssi. Please take me back.” Her voice wavered. Hoseok breathed out, relieved, helping her stand. As she turned to look at Chan-yeol, his screams pierced the air.

“Don’t look that way, sweetie,” Hoseok intervened, guiding her away from the chaotic scene. Only when they reached the parked cars, a good half a mile away from the unfolding drama, did she exhale and allow herself to close her eyes.

“Yoongi is beyond pissed. We could have avoided this if you would tell him about that foolish boy.”

“I swear, Namjoon, we were not... we did not—” she stammered.

“—I did not know he would come look for me nor do that….”

“Do not tell that to me, princess,” he sighed.

“I need you to get dressed. We have already postponed it, and we cannot do it any longer.”

“Sure,” were her only words to him.

“She called for you, brother,” the right-hand man spoke as he entered the boss’s office, where Yoongi was finally getting ready for the wedding.

“Explain,” the young groom responded while fixing his tux in front of the mirror.

“She called your name when she woke up.”

“Did she?” Yoongi felt a spark of hope that he would indeed become her person, her lover, her everything, just as she was to him.

The right-hand man chuckled at his questioning response, knowing it warmed Yoongi’s heart.

“Damn this one tradition; you should go and see her.”

“I would, but that would ruin the thrill, wouldn’t it, hmm,” he hummed.

“You’re getting married, brother.”

“Yes, today I’m getting married, and tomorrow I have to deal with a man who kidnapped my woman and let the other fucker almost rape her,” Yoongi spat, hitting the wall next to the mirror. He never felt greater anxiety than when Xiaoli said she was taken away from him. How ironic that he is to be the one who feels anxious.

Her mother crying, father screaming at everyone, younger sister praying. Yoongi had a feeling that she would not be that stupid to run away when he had her family inside the hotel.

“Nothing else will go wrong.”

“Did you greet the Yamamotos?” The Yakuza clan was invited to the wedding, a bold move, and what was even bolder—they accepted and arrived.

“I surely did, brother,” said Namjoon.

“Good,” Yoongi smirked, not expecting what is yet to come.

“Everything is as it should be.”

“I don’t want Y/N’s father near her until the wedding, Jungkook-ah,” requested Yoongi from the passive listener, seated just a few meters away on the sofa, sipping on his glass of white liquor.

“As you wish, Hyung,” he put the glass down and stood up, fixing his tux and putting on his white hat.

“And for fuck’s sake, patch those knuckles, aight?” Yoongi screamed playfully after him.

The temple, a sanctuary of weary souls, stood solemnly bearing witness to the union unfolding within its hallowed walls.

The bride, adorned in a crimson hanfu dress, with beautiful shining golden details on her long sleeves, walked the creaking wooden path towards the temple’s entrance, her steps heavy with the knowledge of what is awaiting her. The rich fabric of her dress billowed like a blood-red sea, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face that concealed emotions that dared not surface.

The courtyard was adorned with bright red and white paper lanterns when she passed it. She did not dare to look around at all the noble underground hats who had gathered to witness the union of two syndicates.

The flickering candles cast eerie, dancing shadows upon the ancient murals depicting forgotten legends. The distant sounds of the city, with its bustling streets and restless souls, provided a haunting contrast to the stillness of this timeless ceremony. The soft strains of the gayageum and the rhythmic beats of the janggu filled the air.

At the temple’s altar, the groom, equally somber in attire, awaited the bride. His eyes, like deep pools, hinted at the secrets he carried, secrets buried beneath, he wished to share with her.

The chants of the officiating monk resonated through the temple; a haunting reminder of the spiritual solace sought amidst the chaos of the outside world. Their union was a flicker of defiance against the oppressive forces that sought to extinguish the spirit of a nation. She was not initially meant to be his, fate seemed to have favoured him, and Yoongi thanked the almighty for bringing her to him.

Y/N dared not look at him, her breath unsteady, visible puffs in the cold air. The gal held her head high nonetheless, she was desperately trying not to give in to her intrusive thoughts and turn around, flee for her life, try one last time.

The gun pressed to Daiyu’s back served as a grim reminder, preventing her from succumbing to intrusive thoughts. She could see the tears that were in her eyes as she held tightly her little son. Chan-yeol, held captive and beaten for sins he performed.

The eyes of the guests felt heavy, especially her father’s, still unamused by the young leader’s audacity, keeping his hand tightly on his neck. Forbidden from seeing his own daughter before the ceremony, he seethed with anger, his frustration directed at the young Kkangpae.

Y/N’s heartbeat echoed loudly as she climbed the stairs to stand face-to-face with Yoongi, trying to find the courage to look at him. His eyes were full of expectations, he was waiting for this moment.

The exchange of bows signified respect and commitment. If this would be a traditional wedding, not minding their social status in the syndicates, they would continue with drinking rice wine sikhye, symbolizing the blending of their lives.

But this was not a common wedding. This ceremony was different. Altered by the traditions of the Min Clan. The moment arrived when Y/N extended her palm to take the knife from Yoongi’s hands. A cup of rice wine awaited underneath, capturing every drop of her blood. Their union, a pledge of loyalty through soul, blood, and mind.

Y/N met Yoongi’s eyes as she applied pressure to the hand holding the knife, slicing through his skin. A sadistic flicker seemed to pass through his eyes, as if he was enjoying the pain she was inflicting on him.

The rice wine now mixed with their blood and the heavy silence was driving Y/N mad.

The young Kkangpae lifted the cup to her lips, her eyes locked with Yoongi’s. Observing his actions closely, she followed suit, and he took a far bigger sip than her, almost devouring it all.

Setting the cup down they both extended their wounded hands. The golden wedding band that Yoongi slipped onto her finger, seemed to match her engagement ring that sat before it, closer to her knuckle. Y/N couldn’t stop looking at her hand. This was an explicit symbol of her being a taken woman now. No one else to touch, to have, and in their world — to own.

“Darling,” Yoongi whispered quietly, but still managed to keep the demand in his tone visible. Y/N shook her head to get herself to think straight again, realising she had lingered too long on the rings, delaying the public ceremony’s final step.

Huffing out collected air, she slipped the wedding band onto Yoongi’s finger, uniting them.

The monk placed a thick crimson ribbon over their hands, proclaiming them man and wife. No vows echoed like in the far west, no intimate encounters within the public ceremony, despite Yoongi’s yearning to press his lips against hers.

Y/N knew very well that her father scoffed and cursed at the young leader yet again for choosing to follow his wedding traditions and not theirs. And ultimately, there was no paying respect to the elders.

Kkangpae does not bow down to anyone. Nor will his new bride.

Y/N was especially glad she does not have to do that nor the tea ceremony she always found dull. Not that she particularly enjoyed being controlled and swept by the demands of Yoongi’s clan.

The monk’s chants grew louder again, filling the temple with an eerie resonance. Y/N and Yoongi turned to face the gathered members of their syndicates, their families, and the underworld elite who had come to witness this union.

The banquet that followed was a lavish affair as is fit for the Min clan. The tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous dishes, and the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of delicacies prepared by the finest chefs. Nonetheless, Y/N could sense the atmosphere that was charged with tension. As if everyone was prepared to cast guns and kill each other.

Y/N felt the weight of her father’s glare before she could see him eye to eye. Her mimicry has shown nothing more but pure disgust when Wang Zemo shook the scarred leader’s hand congratulating them on their marriage. Y/N did not trust her father. His judgment was always clouded by power.

“You do not seem pleased, father,” Y/N remarked, exposing him. Her mother nervously laughed, hoping to prevent a disturbance between the two clans. She eyed him, expecting an answer from him.

“I’m not pleased that your husband allowed you to be kidnapped,” he retorted, making Yoongi squeeze Y/N’s hip, a possessive gesture.

“But he aided a rescue team in no time, daddy. Meanwhile, you could not even keep me at home,” Y/N fired back, laughing in her father’s face, not believing her own words defended the young Kkangpae that was now amusingly smirking next to her. She could see how her father’s brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, fuming at his daughter. Y/N can do that now, she does not owe her father loyalty anymore.

Her mother stopped him before he could raise his hand causing commotion within the two clans, instead he lifted his free arm pointing a warning finger at her. Y/N smiled sweetly and watched her mother pull his arm until he walked with her. Only when he was far away did she ask her new husband.

“Did he give you trouble when you asked for Xiaoli’s hand in marriage on behalf of Taehyung?” The young leader only hummed in response, his eyes were focused on something different from her now, and Y/N could not help but turn her head in the same direction as he was looking.

What unsettled her the most was the presence of Yamamotos. Yoongi nor anyone did not mention single tweet about these poisonous guests. Therefore, she felt her stomach rotate when they were approaching and for the first time in forever, Y/N pressed herself closer to Yoongi, intertwining their fingers together.

Of course, she feared them. She always viewed her father’s tactics and measures quite cruel. But if Wang Zemo was cruel than Yamamoto was brutal. And it was only natural to fear such a brutal syndicate as Yakuza.

“Congratulations, Min,” said the older male in Japanese. He did not bother to speak the tongue of his enemy’s territory, but he knew they would understand perfectly. The man had such a strong and intense aura around him. He ruled with fear, that thing was obvious.

He held his hand to Yoongi who accepted it for both your and his behalf, shaking it with firm grip, piercing his eyes alongside.

“You got yourself a fine woman, Min, —” he leered at Y/N, his gaze filled with hunger. A wave of disgust washed over her.

“She has caused you quite a bit of trouble, has she not?” he continued, finishing his remark. Y/N understood that their marriage was a calculated move that would redefine the power dynamics within the criminal underworld. Whether Yamamoto perceived the Mins as a threat remained an assumption on her part.

“Not as much trouble as you sending that foolish boy to his death,” Yoongi added, causing Y/N’s breath to hitch. Slowly, her eyes lifted to Yoongi, whose gaze now held an intensity that made the scar glow with anger. Y/N did not understand any bit of it. Had he not come willingly? No, that simply cannot be, there had to be an ulterior motive to commit such a sin.

“Certainly, we knew you would handle him and your bride just as you saw fit.”

“Surely, —” Yoongi replied with a dark undertone and a sinister smile. A wave of nausea rolled through Y/N. If they lingered in the presence of the Japanese Yakuza any longer, she might empty her stomach right there. Thankfully, they bid a seemingly cordial farewell, leaving to take their seats behind the tables and Y/N could at least breathe out.

“Yoongi—” she began once they were out of earshot. He cast her a brief glance before pivoting to examine her, noting her even paler face.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she stumbled the words out of her system fast. Y/N released Yoongi’s hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh God,” her sister’s whisper reached her ears, a reminder of their public setting, alerting her that she is still in public, and the eyes will pry.

Y/N swiftly walked — not ran, to avoid drawing attention — towards the nearest door leading outside to the cold. Once in the cold air again, she emptied her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Y/N heard her sister’s voice yet again, just before her hands were soothingly rubbing her back. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe the cold air in. She was grateful it was her sister offering comfort, not the groom. At least Xiaoli realized that Y/N wouldn’t want Yoongi to see her now. Nor any other prying eyes.

“It’s not okay, Xiaoli,” said Y/N through tears, feeling a profound, heart-wrenching anxiety and fear settling in her core.

“They fucking sent him to rape me, and God knows what else.”

“And he did not manage to do that. Hoseok took care of that. Jungkook took care of that, —”

Y/N recalled, her mind flashing to Jungkook storming into her room, his concern evident as he bombarded her with questions about her well-being. Guilt weighed on him for getting entangled with Chan-yeol instead of going straight to her. As her new brother, he felt an obligation to protect her, just like Hoseok, who would go to any lengths for her.

And that leaves Y/N to wonder. She pondered the sincerity behind their sympathy. Was it because of her supposed relationship with their brother, or was there a genuine connection forming? For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her aunt sensed the potential for them to become family, to be her home.

“—Leader Min will see to it that he is brought to justice,” Xiaoli continued, always sure to express her love for Yoongi.

Y/N looked down at her stained dress with a sense of pity, both for herself and the situation. A deep sense of sadness remained.

“I just wish it did not have to be this way,” she confessed, her voice filled with sorrow. “I wish I could have chosen this path for myself, rather than having it forced upon me.”

“But this is not the world or lifetime where you could do that,” her sister replied, and for a brief moment, Y/N felt a glimmer of understanding.

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “He used to be my friend; you know. Despite what he did, I never thought he would die in front of my eyes, —” her words held honesty, tinged with something else.

“And I never thought that I would be relieved they came in time and shot him dead, Xiaoli,” Y/N admitted, finally getting it off her chest.

“Taehyung-oppa said they paid him to do it.” Xiaoli disclosed. Y/N dreaded this scenario; she suspected that Chen did not act out of love for her. No one who loved someone would commit such a horrendous act.

Y/N scoffed, a desperate laugh escaping her. “Do you know what will happen to Chan-yeol?” She hadn’t had the chance to discuss this with Yoongi, leaving her in the dark and feeling consumed by it.

“He is held captive. That is all I know,” Xiaoli replied while helping Y/N stand. She needed to change her dress; there was no way she could return in this state.

“Y/N?” Xiaoli asked. Her older sister only hummed in response.

“If you attempt to run ever again, Daiyu is going to die—” Y/N paused for a moment.

“—He won’t hurt me, I’ll be betrothed to Taehyung-oppa. But Daiyu is still in the open.”

“Did you talk to her?” She asked.

“No,” Xiaoli replied, “but I talked to Kkangpae Min. He confirmed his intentions.”

“And it did not move you one bit?” Said Y/N surprised with what degree of calmness her sister is speaking of this.

Yoongi wanted to make it abundantly clear that he would take drastic measures if she attempted to escape again. He wanted her to fear the consequences, to be consumed by the dread of what might happen if she defied him; deliberately informing Xiaoli, knowing the bond between the sisters was a weak point for Y/N.

“I would not dare to go against his word.” Y/N only smiled sadly at her sister’s words. She does not understand. How could she?

The way to her chamber felt endless. Y/N was acutely aware of her disheveled state and the need for privacy. Another set of footsteps behind her and Xiaoli quickened her heart with anxiety.

“Y/N?” The soothing voice of the doctor, Seokjin, reached her ears, and she could not have been more relieved. Without turning around, she responded.

“I just need to change. I’m fine, Seokjin.”

Y/N wasted no time in stepping inside her room once they finally reached it. Seokjin followed, his demeanour calm and professional, yet she sensed a hint of concern in his eyes.

As she began changing out of the crimson robe from the wedding ceremony, Y/N couldn’t deny the unease that lingered within her.

“You can tell him I will be back in a little while, Seokjin.” Y/N turned to Seokjin, offering a weak smile.

“Are you sure you are feeling well?” Seokjin nodded; his expression was gentle.

“It’s just the anxiety.” Said Y/N. Her face still bore the traces of tears and turmoil, but she resolved to face the celebration with as much grace as she could muster. She knew that in the world she inhabited, appearances were everything.

Seokjin stood by the door, waiting patiently. “I’ll change and come right away,” she promised to the older male.

“Very well,” he answered simply and closed the door behind him leaving her and Xiaoli alone.

The intricate layers of fabric and silk were carefully removed, revealing a simpler, yet equally elegant, hanfu beneath — this one was a shade of soft lavender.

“Do you want to wear the hanbok instead?” Xiaoli asked. Does she? Just this morning, she insisted that her wedding dress will be a representation of the culture she is coming from. Looking over at the beautiful crimson and royal blue hanbok that she was supposed to wear as her wedding dress, Y/N hesitated.

“I don’t feel like wearing a wedding dress anymore, Xiaoli.” Her sister nodded in understanding, but beneath her supportive gaze, there lingered a hint of disappointment. Xiaoli had hoped that Y/N would fully embrace the culture of the Min clan, a desire likely shared by the clan’s leader. However, Y/N’s desire was to stay true to her Chinese roots for a little bit longer. If this is the only way she can remain herself, she is willing to rebel against him as long as she can.

She heard her sister sigh as she handed her the crimson flowery qipao. “You could at least meet him in the middle.” Xiaoli muttered, her disappointment evident.

“Xiaoli, if you did not notice I’m having a really bad day today.” Y/N’s patience was wearing thin. She had endured enough turmoil for one day, and the idea of appeasing Yoongi’s wishes no longer held much appeal.

“I understand—” Xiaoli wanted to say before Y/N interrupted her with the welling tears in her eyes and raised voice.

“No, you do not understand, Xiaoli!” Said Y/N, sliding down to a lower cushion chair, hugging her head with her small hands.

“But you are not even trying, Y/N,” Xiaoli retorted.

“Because I’m gasping for air every single time! I’m drowning, and yet I cannot learn to swim—” she cried out, clutching the fabric of her hanfu to the point she feared it would tear.

“All of you are blindly trying to convince me that this is the best that could ever happen to me—” she continued.

“—like you’re some kind of Gods that shall decide one’s fate.”

Xiaoli sighed, her frustration and discomfort evident. “All we do is care for you, truly, madly, deeply.”

Y/N looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and defiance.

“Are you listening to yourself, sister?!” Y/N did not even give her a chance to answer.

“—We are family, by blood, Xiaoli, I thought you cared about me to be more than just a pawn—” this time Xiaoli interrupted her older sister.

“And because we are family, I am trying to protect what matters to all of us.” Xiaoli knelt beside her, trying to console Y/N.

“What about what matters to me?” Y/N retorted; her voice shaky. “What about my dreams, my choices? He took that from me.”

Xiaoli hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We all have to make sacrifices. And I know that you will make the best out of this.”

Y/N looked at her sister, a mix of disbelief and sadness in her eyes. “Is this the price of my freedom?”

“If this was another life, you could have what you truly desire.” Said Xiaoli. Y/N wiped away her tears before she spoke.

“I won’t let—” Y/N inquired.

“The consequences will be severe.” Said Xiaoli before Y/N could utter her thought as if she knew what she wanted to say.

“Remember that before you will do anything.”

The distant strains of music and laughter reached their ears when Xiaoli opened the door, walking through it in the direction of the celebration. Y/N put on a mask of composure, her posture regal, and her expression neutral. She couldn’t let anyone see the turmoil within her. Tonight, she would play the role expected of her, all while strategizing her next moves in this complex and dangerous game.

“Min Buin?!” a voice called out, unfamiliar and tinged with a strange mixture of reverence and unease — it sent a shiver down her spine.

A man stood right in the middle of the hall behind her. He was dressed in a dark, tailored suit that exuded authority, a stark departure from the opulence of the occasion.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder who this enigmatic figure was and why he had singled her out with that title,

“Min Buin?!” He repeated again. Y/N turned her head slightly to Xiaoli, now a few steps closer to the banquet, her expression wary.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded, a hint of protectiveness in her voice. The man did not seem to be perturbed by Y/N’s defensive stance. Instead, he offered a faint, cryptic smile.

“Do you not know?” His tone took a different direction. He stepped closer to them.

“Y/N,” Xiaoli gulped down, her voice trembling. “That is Yamamoto Itsuki.” By how her sister spoke Y/N understood that this is the very man she was supposed to marry.

“Go.” She whispered to her sister who did not hesitate to run down the corridor and alert anyone. Only once Y/N was sure that her sister was far away did she speak.

“What is your business with me?” Y/N asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. The man’s smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the dim light.

“Business?” He laughed. Y/N’s mind raced as she absorbed his words. She had been thrust into this world, initially a pawn in a dangerous game, but now it seemed that her role was evolving.

“I have unfinished business with you, yes.” He said after a few silent moments. Only her heavy breathing could be heard.

“I’m very much sure that a business between us never started in the first place; therefore, it seems to me we have nothing to talk about,” said Y/N, swiftly turning her body back to its original position, ready to flee to the banquet and seek help.

As she predicted, this day could only get worse as she found herself pinned to the nearest wall. Y/N could feel his breath on her face, a strong large hand enveloped her throat, pressing her to the wall harder and making it hard to breathe. Y/N’s breathing skipped intervals.

“You are one greedy ungrateful little bitch, are you not?” He spat the words into her face, squeezing her neck even tighter. Her hands automatically rose to his arm, trying to push him away. Her head started to spin, and she could feel the redness that rushed to her cheeks as she gasped for air that would fill her lungs.

“You were supposed to be mine!” His scream echoed in the empty corridor. Out of all the endings of her life, she truly did not foresee this one. There was a strike of a quick moment where she thought that death would be her redemption and eternal freedom she wished for. However, Y/N still had the will to fight for her life. She dug her nails into his arm, trying to push his hand away one more time, but he was too strong.

A click of a reloading gun seemed too muffled for her ears to notice, but when the sudden absence of pressure on her throat disappeared, and she could finally welcome the air in, she thanked God for being still in his favour.

Her knees have denounced their service, and she found herself on the ground. She went to touch her sore throat when a familiar hand did it before her. Y/N’s breath was still rocky, and she heard an annoying ringing in her ears. She barely could hear what Yoongi was screaming at the man who was recently near killing her.

“Y/N?” She heard Jimin’s voice, but she could not figure out where it was coming from. Her head was spinning like a carousel, and her vision was still a bit blurry. She wanted to speak up but she found it hard to do so.

“Can you breathe for me, darling?” She tried to stabilize her breathing but couldn’t stop panting for air.

“You have to try and calm down.” Seokjin was speaking to her, and by her blurry vision she saw another four figures around her. Two holding the younger Yamamoto for Yoongi, the other two attending to her.

Y/N went to try to speak again, even though she was fully aware that only high-pitched tones would come out that would make her words unrecognisable.

“I—” she tried, “I want—” she finally gulped down the little amount of saliva she had in her mouth.

“Bring her water right now.” Seokjin understood quickly. Her hearing was coming back to life and same for her vision. She could now see Jungkook and Hoseok dragging the man away from them, and Yoongi swiftly turning to examine the damage the man had done to his beloved.

By the time he fell down to his knees, cupping her cheeks, trying to read from her eyes, Jimin had returned with the water she needed. Yoongi helped her to hold the glass in both of her hands and drink it whole in one go.

“I do not want to stay here tonight,” she said with a raspy voice, feeling every muscle in her throat. Yoongi looked at her with worry in his eyes. He promised she would be safe with him, and within less than twelve hours, she was abducted, almost raped, and nearly choked to death.

“I am so sorry, baby,” said the young leader with remorse. “I am going to make it better, I promise.” Y/N’s ‘better’ however, contained something else than his ‘better’.

“We cannot leave right away—” tears escaped her eyes, falling heavy and hot on her dress. Yoongi was the Kkangpae and the enemy’s clan member just assaulted his wife. This cannot slip out without consequences.

“How dare you disrespect me and my wife this way,” said Yoongi to the older male from Yamamoto’s clan who had barely sat down in Yoongi’s office.

The younger offender, who had laid his hand on Y/N, was still firmly held by Hoseok and Jungkook. She sat in Yoongi’s office chair, a blanket draped over her shoulders, the purple bruises on her neck stark against her skin, certainly not flattering jewelry.

“How dare you disrespect our clan, Kkangpae Min.” The older male retorted, testing the younger leader’s patience. Yoongi clenched his hand into a fist, struggling to maintain control.

“This is far too unforgivable against what you assume I did,” he spat out quickly. Y/N wished she could just hide away and never come back, but as the Kkangpae’s wife, a Buin, she had to be present.

Yamamoto scoffed. “You are playing the game dirty, so are we—”

“Take this as a payback for meddling in our affairs, Kkangpae Min—” the older male started.

“And as far as traditions goes, she is yet to be your woman by our law and God’s will,” alluding to the inevitable — they had to consummate the marriage. Y/N knew this and had been making peace with the fact throughout the day.

“You won’t have to worry about that, Mr. Yamamoto,” Yoongi was always known for his cockiness whilst dealing with enemies, but he was also the most cautious man alive, however today was a misstep he did not wish to ever make. All this only proved he could not leave her alone — not because she might flee, but because someone could take her away from him. And he would never let her go.

“Watch me fucking continue meddling—” Yoongi retorted. “I see that you know the goddamn rules; I shall have his hand.” Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She did not expect him to go unpunished for what he did to her, which would make Yoongi look unfit to rule. Itsuki started to squirm in their hold, attempting to break free.

“You want a war?” Yamamoto asked with venom in his voice.

“You apparently desire to have it when you assaulted my wife twice in one day.” Yoongi spat and signaled to Hoseok to bring Itsuki forward. Jungkook grabbed the hand that had been on Y/N’s neck less than an hour ago.

“Father!” Itsuki screamed with madness in his voice.

“Here you have it, you impatient imbecile!” his father screamed back at him, frustrated with both himself and his son. The plan had been to warn the Mins, not infuriate them.

Y/N watched Yoongi wordlessly as he took a short katana from Namjoon who appeared out of nowhere. The blade was sharp as a viper’s fang, and it gleamed in the dim light sourcing from the fireplace. The hilt, wrapped in silk, the colour of dried blood, felt cool and ominous in Yoongi’s hand.

She knew he’d have to swing it more than once to actually cut off Itsuki’s hand. Y/N gulped down her fear, pressing both hands to her mouth to stifle the scream that escaped when he first wielded the blade, piercing through Itsuki’s skin and colliding with bone, breaking it open. Burgundy blood streamed down to the wooden floor. Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the painful scream that followed and bounced slightly on the chair at the loud thump of the hand hitting the ground.

“You have one hour to leave our land,” Yoongi declared, aiming the katana at the leading Yamamoto. The son dropped to the ground, cradling his arm, staring at the severed hand and screaming in pain, muttering threats to the Min clan.

“You chose.” The older male looked over to Y/N who was still very much speechless and in utter shock from what occurred before her eyes. Yoongi’s gaze, momentarily lingering on his wife with furrowed brows, but quickly returned to Yamamoto. Their eyes locked, and the older man extended his hand to retrieve his injured son from the floor, leading him out of the room.

Yoongi dropped the katana onto the ground, tilting his head backwards in a brief prayer to the Lord. The room remained cloaked in heavy silence — not a peaceful silence, but one pregnant with the weight of a grim decision. A choice had been made, and its consequences were bound to unfold in darkness. This was a proclamation of war.

Y/N’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where Yamamoto’s hand was laying limp in a pool of fresh blood. As Yoongi straightened and turned his gaze toward her, his eyes were a tempest of conflicting emotions.

“You chose.”

Yoongi echoed Yamamoto’s words more as a question, his voice carrying a low, sombre resignation. He did not demand an answer; he knew what Yamamoto was talking about. Glancing down at his black shoes, now soaked with the blood of his enemy, Yoongi let out a soft laugh at the irony of her choosing him.

He understood the possibility that her choice might stem from self-preservation, realizing he could annihilate her entire family the moment she disappeared. Yet, his own selfishness shielded him from that harsh reality. Yoongi desperately wanted to believe that she returned to him and him alone.

Her eyes grew too heavy to stay open during the car ride back to the sanctuary. She allowed them a brief respite, letting the weight of exhaustion pull her into a momentary rest. The events of this day had been like a tempest, tearing through the delicate fabric of her reality and leaving chaos in its wake.

Y/N’s strength was something Yoongi admired, yet even he recognized the toll this day had taken on her. The hypocrite in him thinking that kind of evil will lead her to seek solace in him, perhaps finding that this was where she truly belonged — by his side.

She could have turned and run when the chance presented itself, disappearing into the wild. But she did not, and that is what mattered to Yoongi. For the first time, Y/N found herself yearning to return to the sanctuary, back to her golden cage.

Y/N knew that this night would be a reflection of the complexities of their relationship, a dance between desire and the darkness that surrounded them. Y/N understood that despite the arduous day, this had to be done. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the car and into the dark.

She walked slightly behind her now husband, letting him lead the way to the house she did not quite recognise. Before she mustered the courage to ask questions, he spoke first.

“I grew up in this house—” he whispered into the cold air, “a hot spring is right behind it.”

Y/N observed the house built into the massive stone walls of the valley, surrounded by tall pine trees. It was too dark for her to see just how tall they actually are, but the little flickering lights visible through the windows granted her a little peak.

“I want to spend tonight with you here,” he turned to face her. Yoongi could not tear his gaze away from her, adoring every detail—her eyes, cheeks, nose, hair, mouth. But if you would ask him, how did he come to be so obsessed with her, he would not give a cohesive answer. The inexplicable obsession he felt seemed right, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. He believed that even if she did not feel it now, she would eventually.

“Just the two of us.”

He took a little step to be closer to her. If Y/N understood correctly, this is the only place where they can be truly alone without prying eyes and ears. Yoongi wanted to talk and what’s more, he intended to do more than just talk tonight.

“Aight,” she replied slowly with her still sore throat. He had never seen her this calm, and he wanted to enjoy every minute she is not fighting against him — despite the disturbing circumstances that led to her current state of mind.

“Can we have some tea first?” she asked with little hope that he would agree to slow down a little bit. He chuckled at her sudden innocence and extended his arm to caress her cheek.

“Course we can, my love,” he smiled softly.

And so, they found themselves once again by the comforting embrace of a fireplace, patiently waiting for the tea to brew in the teapot’s gentle whistle.

There was something about this scenery that Yoongi could not help but love. Y/N, seated on the fur rug next to the warmth of the crackling flames, found solace in these quiet moments. After the tumultuous events of the day, it was a sanctuary they both needed. At least, she felt at peace in moments like these.

“I am sorry.” he suddenly confessed, his eyes revealing the genuine sorrow within. Today had left Yoongi conflicted, riding the highs of marrying the woman he desired while being weighed down by guilt for the day’s events.

Y/N met his gaze, her voice devoid of emotion as she calmly asked, “About what exact part?”

“All of it,” he shook his head. Y/N chuckled, and confusion flickered in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Are you not going to punish me, Kkangpae?” Here she goes.

“I do desire to know your relation to the boy, I won’t lie, but no.”

“There is no relation.”

“Are you sure? We talked about this already — no lies.”

“I’m not lying, he did fancy me, yes—” Yoongi’s grip on his hands tightened.

“—I thought we were friends, but he was not keen to flee away with me when I needed to,” she admitted.

“Do you mourn him?” Yoongi’s voice held a serious tone.

“I mourn the boy he was, not what he apparently became after we parted—” she began, carefully, collecting her thoughts.

“—they paid him to go and attempt rape me, Yoongi. I pray for his soul to find its peace after what sins he committed,” a tear escaped her eye, a sob followed. Yoongi leaned in, holding her small hands in an attempt to provide comfort.

“It was horrible,” she cried out and finally, she opened up to him.

“Amidst all the bad today, I’m so proud of you—” Y/N raised her blurry eyesight to meet him, awaiting an explanation.

“—You could have run, and you did not. You chose to come back to me.”

“I promise, I swear to you — I will never ever let that happen again—” he assured, moving closer to her.

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to address the yet unspoken. “Can I get the letter, please?” Y/N whispered.

“In the morning.” He answered, intending to prolong it to ensure her continued good behaviour and obedience.

“Do we?-” She interrupted, praying for a change of his mind, though fully aware of the inevitability. He needed to ensure no loopholes in their marriage for others to exploit or for her to negotiate over. She knows this is mandatory.

“Yes, we do,” he acknowledged after some thought. Knowing what she had been through that day, he recognised the potential impact, but he also saw it as a way to fully claim her. It was a selfish desire, perhaps, but one he had long awaited. 

Yoongi longed to feel her skin to skin. It was indeed selfish, he knew that much. Some would say it is careless of him to demand such an intimate act to happen after all she has been through. But he wanted to show her that this is a part of their marriage she can truly enjoy. Yoongi wanted to give a final full stop to their relationship by solidifying the union rightfully, as the tradition goes.

The flickering flames of the fireplace danced in the dimly lit room, casting a warm glow upon Y/N and Yoongi. Consummating the marriage was a private but necessary measure.

His selfishness had not gone unnoticed by the syndicate elders, who questioned his insistence on not just any hotel room but the house where generations of memories had been created. He deliberately wanted to spend the night in the house he grew up in, where his father started a family, and his grandfather, and his grandfather and so on down the history line.

Yoongi, having lost his parents at a young age, yearned to start his own family. He wanted to witness the growth of his children, their marriages, and their own families.

Y/N knew this day would come, sooner or later, and as a young woman, she had learnt to protect herself from unplanned consequences. She understood his desire for a child, though he never explicitly discussed it with her. But she was far from being ready to surrender to the life fate had planned for her, not just yet.

Heaven had given her a sign, a slight hope when she found a particular herb in the garden before the first snow fell. Y/N had kept it discreet, asking the maid to dry the flowers and serve them as tea in the morning. Tonight, she was calm, knowing it could not happen, even if he wished otherwise.

Yoongi observed her hesitance, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and resilience. The room, with its walls that held generations of memories, seemed to echo with the weight of tradition and expectation. But as he reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes softened.

The sharp sound of a loud whistle from the tea kettle startled them both, tearing them out of the cocoon of their thoughts. The iron kettle hung gracefully over the open flame, steam rising in wisps as if trying to escape the weight of the night. Yoongi carefully prepared the tea, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The aroma of freshly brewed leaves filled the air. The porcelain teapot, an heirloom passed down through generations, sat patiently on the wooden small table that was next to them. As he poured the tea into delicate cups, he eyed her small physique yet again, searching for any signs.

She accepted the cup he offered her, the warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain. Her mind briefly paused when she recognised the familiar scent. She chuckled and Yoongi raised his eyebrows in surprise, awaiting her words. Y/N took a few careful sips from the cup, accepting what it offered.

“Are you afraid, Kkangpae?” She asked, taking another sip. Yoongi put his cup on the wooden table and looked directly in her eyes.

“Me? No,” he pointed at himself, hiding a smile.

“So why did you choose to make tea from Valerian root?” Her studies that surely included herbalism had escaped Yoongi’s mind.

“I knew this night would be difficult for you, and I — I wanted to ensure it went as smoothly as possible,” he confessed.

“Considerate,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Yoongi’s gaze faltered, and he looked away momentarily.

“I want you to enjoy it—”

“Then make me enjoy it,” she interrupted him yet again, gulping down the contents of her cup, setting it down with a gentle clink next to his almost full one.

“I intend to,” he said. The complexities of tradition, the weight of the syndicate expectations, seemed to press down on them like the heavy beams of the hanok. Yet, he was thrilled at the prospect of laying her down and making love to her, while she tried to make peace with the path ahead.

A mixture of emotions played across Y/N’s face, the tension in the air made her anxious. The tea flowed in her system, calming her. The steps were set, and she cannot back down now.

His hands cradled her face, a gesture that held both tenderness and an unspoken understanding. But Y/N knows he will never understand. And thus, the night unfolded.

The hanok, with its wooden beams and paper windows, seemed to breathe with the rhythm of their footsteps. The aroma of tea still lingered within the walls, all the way back in the house.

“Pray with me?” a soft plea that resonated with the hallowed surroundings. They settled on top of the low cushion bed; he held both her hands in his. The subtle sounds of the valley outside, muffled by the hanji-covered windows, crackling fire nearby — the low hum of their shared prayer filled the room, blending with the whispers of the winter wind outside.

As they concluded their prayers, the world outside the hanok continued its silent ballet with nature. Yoongi slowly let her hands fall into her lap. Y/N kept looking at her hands, biting her lower lip.

He extended his hands pulling out the golden pins from her hair, releasing them.

“You are magnificent,” he whispered into her lips that were anticipating his. She looked into his eyes one last time before she slowly closed them, awaiting him to take the first step. Y/N could feel both his hands on the swell of her bottom, slightly squeezing it and thus making her pant into his mouth. He pulled her into his lap, not distancing their close proximity. Not now. Not ever.

A deep groan released from his throat when she fully sat down in his lap. Y/N was straddling him, feeling his stiff manhood tightly pressed against her core making her breath hitch. He moved his hand from its place on her butt cheek to the swell of her clothed breast.

“Let me make love to you.” He kissed her lips very gently, waiting for her response. She knew he would do so even if she would not give him her consent. And once she shyly nodded her head, he dove right in and kissed her very deeply, slipping his tongue into her mouth. He was hungry and only she could sate him.

He continued to press himself against her core, creating at least some friction in between, aiming to hit the right spot and make her sing for him.

Yoongi was trying to trace down the opening of her qipao, feeling the delicately made buttons on her chest. Not for a moment he stopped kissing her, unbuttoning her dress and hiking it up from its hem on her thighs, showing her undergarments and pulling it all the way up her head —throwing the peace of clothing that provided her warmth, perhaps even a security blanket, away.

Her neck was his next target. He bent his head making hers to lean back to allow him access. Yoongi layered down butterfly kisses all over her, now, naked, bruised neckline. “You are such a good girl.” He muttered into her skin, caressing her bottom while he placed his hand back to her right breast.

Y/N could feel her nipples stiffen under the change of temperature, or perhaps the excitement her body was going through, which she did not want to admit. He took one of her hands who were inactive till now and placed it on his chest near the small buttons of his shirt. Trying to send a mental message for her to touch him too — undress him too.

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to come to her senses. Out of this ectasis. But she could not. His work on her neck was becoming troublesome, not mentioning his roaming hands. She was never touched by man lovingly, but she could not deny that he is making her heart skip just by teasing her.

Her small shaky fingers finally reached to the buttons whilst he was abusing her chest with hot kisses. She unbuttoned the first one, then the second until she reached the last. “That’s it baby.” He encouraged her to continue slipping his shirt down from his body.

He straightened himself and looked deeply into her eyes, his voice filled with desire and longing. “I love you.” Said Yoongi when he slowly slid his hand in between them cupping her clothed heat. Millions of little butterflies erupted in her lower belly, her breath hitched, silent moan coming out of her swollen lips when he started to rub circles, moving her clitoris through the fabric. She could feel herself leaning into him, her body responding to his touch.

The room was filled with an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. He caressed her back until he reached the opening of her western style cone bra that she wore under the dress. Popping it open her eyes snapped open too. But the pleasure was overshadowing her sound judgment, and he knew she would at some point try to resent him a little, that’s why he did not hesitate to throw it the same direction as her qipao, not wasting time and taking her already hard nipple into his mouth. Her eyes widened; pupils dilated.

He was taking his sweet time loving her every inch before he laid her down on the bed, hovering above her. Dominating her. Yoongi’s hands moved with a gentle urgency, his kisses becoming more fervent as their passion ignited. He hooked his fingers into her undergarments, not giving her a chance to protest when he quickly pulled them down her legs, tepid air hitting her centre.

It’s when he went to spread her legs touching her knees she took his wrist into her small hand, looking deep down into his eyes, tears swelling in, realisation hitting her. Yoongi did not seem to be angry or displeased. He understood why this action triggered her and therefore he led her hands to his belt, giving her a chance to yet again give him her consent to proceed. He wanted her to fall in love with him, not to fear him. He dreaded the day when he will have to use different measures to convince, she is his woman and no one else can touch her.

The little rat was a big mistake. Yoongi did not expect him to go as far as to attempt to rape her. But he knew that the boy was coming. He knew it’s Yakuza’s move, and he knew when they would strike,and he was ready. What he wasn’t ready for was Chan-yeol’s betrayal. Nobody is betraying Kkangpae Min, nor no one will dare to touch his wife after what he will do to the traitor.

“You’re alright, baby.” He attempted to assure her, putting her small hands on his belt. Y/N’s fingers were yet again shaking when she was undoing his belt. She was now fully aware of her laying naked body. She could feel the goosebumps forming on her skin.

As Yoongi’s belt came undone, he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength and resilience that radiated from her. She had endured so much in such a short span of time, yet here she was, willingly surrendering herself to him.

He pulled down the pants, together with his undergarments. A loud thud followed once they fell down to the floor. He bent down to her belly and placed a small kiss just below her belly button and one slightly lower to her yet uninhabited womb.

“I need to help you relax your muscles a little.” Said he. She felt his hot breath on her inner thighs, shaking in his hold. He slid his hand down to her core yet again, touching her without any barrier for the first time. Y/N took a deep breath and another one when he slid his finger down her folds and up, making her pussy produce wet juices. His lips were on her collarbone when he unexpectedly slid his index finger inside her making her moan loudly, yelp even.

“Shhh…” He cooked at her, kissing her lips passionately, while thrusting his finger slowly in and out of her heat. She could feel a prick of pain in the area Yoongi’s finger occupied. Y/N’s moans became a mix of moderate pain and pleasure altogether.

She could feel his other hand move away from caressing her hip to his member which he started to slowly stroke. Y/N could see that he was more than ready — his cock big, stiff and red, pre-cum leaking from its tip. He wanted to dive into her heat badly. But he needed to stretch her out a little more, so she won’t suffer that much pain. Yoongi smiled when he spotted her eyeing his body through half-lidded eyes, panting, yet being focused specifically on his manhood.

He towered above her, pulling his finger out of her heat. Sudden emptiness surrounded her walls that were finally adjusting to the intruder. She gasped when she felt his hands pulling her closer to him. Her legs were on each side of his hips. Y/N observed his body, his toned skin, slight muscles, his well-built torso — all the way down his V line, adorned with soft hair.

She snapped out of her thought train once he climbed on top of her and pressed his manhood in between her folds, sliding it up and down, covering it in her juices. Moan escaped her mouth once he put a little bit of pressure, stimulating her clitoris. He moved his hips slowly, trying to hold himself to not to thrust it in just yet.

He raised his left hand and intertwined his fingers with hers pinning it above her head while attacking her lips again. Y/N’s hand instinctively slapped his chest trying to push him away just a little, but his little smirk into her lips assured her that he wanted that kind of reaction from her.

And when she awaited it the least, he thrust himself into her, making her bite down his lower lip. He groaned at the sensation. His lip was bleeding, but he could not care less. “No—” She let go of his lip and an incoherent sound came out of her throat, eyes welling up with tears.

“Yoongi, it hurts too much.” She stated the obvious, crying whilst trying to breath. Enormous heat wave just hit her, and she was desperately wanting to make her head stop spinning.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispered into her lips, trying to take his own breathing under control. She feels like heaven to him. His everlasting home. His love. This is where he was supposed to be all his life.

He tried to move very slowly, making her cry even more, but he couldn't stop. “It will stop I promise.” He kissed her tears away, stretching her walls to the fullest with his manhood. Silently moaning into her lips.

It took quite a while for her to adjust to the stretch and tension, fullness inside of her. Yoongi explored every inch of her naked body, his hands caressing her with a gentleness that belied his previous actions. In this moment, she was not defined by the traumas of her past or the expectations of their marriage. Their bodies moved in perfect sync once the pain yielded a little.

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled loud moans and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the fireplace mirrored the growing heat between them, intensifying the pleasure that coursed through their veins.

Yoongi’s movements became a little faster, more deliberate to draw as much pleasure from her as he could. He wanted to show her that their union was not solely physical but a one of love. With each whisper of reassurance and each gentle caress, he aimed to erase any lingering fears and insecurities that she held.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy after a while, he could feel her shaking against him. But not from fear but from pleasure. He mustered what he could to take her over the edge for the very first time in her life. Y/N could feel the butterflies in her stomach tying somewhat knot that she wanted them to release badly. Her hand slipped into his hair, tucking it tightly whilst he was thrusting into her heat, making her moan loudly into his mouth. He was very close, but he wanted her to come with her. And as they were reaching the peak of passion, their bodies trembling with pleasure, Yoongi held Y/N close, their hearts beating in sync.

Their moans became louder and louder every second they were nearing the summit. “Yoongi—!” she screamed his name out when she was sure the knot was about to burst. “Baby—” he could not even finish a sentence he meant to say once she came undone under him, trembling from the pleasure, her mouth agape, eyes tightly closed — her walls still vibrating around him. Not even a second later his loud cry followed as he spilled thick ropes of cum inside of her. His eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, she was already looking at him, her mouth still slightly open as she was panting. Her eyes seemed glossy but so were his. He caressed the side of her thigh whilst gently kissing her swollen lips, whispering how much he loves her.

Slowly pulling out of her heat, substituting with his fingers plunging his cum mixed with hints for crimson blood, back into her heat he lowered his body yet again to her belly. Kissing where he assumed her womb was, he whispered a prayer.

“May the Lord bless us with a miracle.”

I N T E R L O G U E

The father’s rage reverberated in the confined space of the car. “You could not have just fucking waited, you little prick!” his frustration boiling over.

Still grappling with the pain of his missing arm, the one-handed son shot back defiantly, blood seeping through the bandages “You said everything would work out in our favour!”

The car they were sitting in was slowing down until it stopped altogether. The older male looked around in confusion. They were nowhere near the docks for their escape to Fukuoka.

“It would if you’d just shut your damn cock instincts, you stupid boy!” the Yakuza leader hissed, attempting to keep his anger in check.

Blinded by fury, he failed to notice the car taking a series of wrong turns, leading them into a desolate no man’s land. When the driver turned to face them, blood reached his ears.

“Kkangpae Min sends you good wishes on your journey to hell.”

to be continued

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: f finally yall!!!!! as I already said this chapter was a lot, ain't gonna lie about that, but everything is going according to the plan so don't worry. This was my first smut in english and I'm so scared of yall's reaction... Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was an emotional roller-coaster to write, especially the implied non-con and smut after all the reader had to endure, poor gal. I love to see your comments that basically express that you understand the story's essence and for that I love you all so much ♥ We'll see what will happen in next chapter :))

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter! Love you bae!!!!

Love you all!! ♥

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

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

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☾ *  ── CHARACTER AESTHETICS .

BOLD any which apply to your muse! Remember to REPOST! Feel free to add to the list.

i. 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 .    red. brown. orange.  yellow. green.  blue. purple.  pink. black.  white. teal. silver. gold.  grey.  lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal. grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream.  mint green.

ii. 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 .    fire. ice. water. air. earth.  rain.  snow.  wind. moon. stars.  sun.  heat. cold. steam.  frost. lightening.  sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk.  twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset.  dewdrops.

iii. 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 .    claws. long fingers.  fangs.  teeth.  wings.  tails.  lips.  bare feet. freckles.  bruises. canine.  scars. scratches. ears. wounds.  burns. spikes.  feathers.  webs.  eyes.  hands.  sweat.  tears.  feline.  chubby.  curvy.  short. tall.  normal height.  muscular.  slender. trained. piercings.  tattoos. strong. weak.  shapeshifting.

iv. 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐑𝐘 .    fists. sword.  dagger.  spear.  scythe.  bow and arrow.  hammer.  shield.  poison.  guns.  axes.  throwing axes.  whips. knives. throwing knives.  pepper sprays.  tasers.  machine guns.  slingshots.  katanas.  maces.  staffs.  wands.  powers.  magical items.  magic. rocks.

v. 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 .    gold. silver. platinum. titanium.  diamonds.  pearls.  rubies.  sapphires. emeralds.  amethyst. metal.  iron. rust.  steel.  glass. wood.  porcelain.  paper.  wool.  fur.  lace. leather. copper. silk.  velvet. denim.  linen.  cotton.  charcoal.  clay.  stone. asphalt.  brick. marble. dust.  glitter.  blood. dirt.  mud. smoke.  ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics.  yarn.  slime.

vi. 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 .    grass.  leaves .  trees.  bark.  roses.  daisies.  tulips.  holly.  lavender. lilies. petals. thorns. seeds.  hay. sand.  rocks.  snow. ice.  roots.  flowers. ocean. river.  lake.  meadow.  forest.  desert.  tundra. savanna.  rain forest.  swamp.  caves.  underwater.  coral reef.beach. waves. space.  clouds.  mountains.  fungi.  cliffs.

vii. 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐒 .    lions. wolves. tiger. black panther. eagles. owls.  falcons. hawks.  swans.  snakes. turtles.  ducks.  bugs.  roaches.  spiders.  birds.  whales.  dolphins.  fish.  sharks.  horses.  cats. dogs.  bunnies.  praying mantis.  crows.  ravens.  mice.  lizards.  frogs.  bears.  werewolves. unicorns.  pegasus.  dinosaurs.  dragons.

viii. 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃/𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 .    sugar.  salt.  water.  candy.  bubblegum.  wine.  champagne. hard liquor.  beer.  coffee. tea.  spices.  herbs.  apple.  orange.  lemon.  cherry.  strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish.  pies.  desserts. chocolate.  cream. caramel.  berries.   nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos.  pizza.

ix. 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 .    music.  art.  watercolors.  gardening.  smithing.  sculpting.  painting. sketching. fighting.  fencing.  riding. writing. composing.  cooking. sewing.  training. dancing.  acting. singing. martial arts.  self-defense.  electronics.  technology. cameras.  video cameras.  video games. computer.  phone.  movies. theater. libraries.  books. magazines. poetry.  philosophy. cds. records.  vinyls.  cassettes.  piano.  violin.  cello. guitar.  electronic guitar. bass guitar.  harmonica.  synthesizers.  harp.  woodwinds.  brass. trumpet.  flute. drums.  bells. playing cards.  poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating.  climbing. running.

x. 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄 .    lingerie.  armor. cape.  dress.  suit.  tunic. vest.  shirt. boots.  heels.  leggings. trousers.  jeans.  skirt.  jewelry.  earrings.  necklace.  bracelet. ring. pendant.  hat.  crown.  circlet. helmet. scarf. neck tie.  brocade.  cloaks.  corsets.  doublet.  chest plate.  gorget.  bracers.  belt. sash.  coat. jacket. hood.  gloves. socks. masks.  cowls.  braces.  watches. glasses. sun glasses.  visor.  eye contacts.  makeup.

xi. 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 .    balloons.  bubbles.  cityscape. landscape. light.  dark.  candles.  war.  peace. money. power.  percussion.  clocks. photos.  mirrors.  pets.  diary.  fairy lights.  madness.  sanity.  sadness.  happiness.  optimism. pessimism.  loneliness. anger.  family. friends. assistants.  co-workers.  enemies.  lovers.  loyalty. smoking.  alcohol.  drugs.  kindness.  love. embracing.

[starblazes]

shakespeare aesthetics.  bold:  always  applies.   italic:   sometimes  applies.

i. romeo & juliet,      suburban july.  scraped knees.  bruised knuckles.  blood in your teeth.  bare feet on hot concrete.  restlessness.  your high school’s empty parking lot.  love poems in your diary.  a window open to coax in the breeze.  burning inside.  an ill - fitting party dress.  a t - shirt you cut up yourself.  the time you tried to give yourself bangs.  biking to your friends house.  bubble gum.  gas station ice.  the feeling that you’ve met before.  rebellion.  a car radio playing down the street.  cheap fireworks.  a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie.  switchblades.  red solo cups.  dancing in your bedroom.  screaming yourself hoarse.  running out of options.  the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac.  climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep.  flip - flops.  a eulogy written on loose - leaf.  the merciless noontime sun.

ii. hamlet,      speaking in a whisper.  holding your breath.  a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn.  mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror.  things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins.  books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day.  a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor.  the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat.  the sparrow that got in your house.  shadows.  the creek you played in as a child.  a dirty night gown.  an oversized t - shirt.  a collection of your favorite words.  soil beneath your nails. ghost stories.  the strangeness of your own name in your mouth.  deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

iii. twelfth night,      wicker deck furniture.  new england summer.  large sunglasses and a blonde bob.  a storm over the ocean.  patio umbrellas flapping in the wind.  the smell of chlorine.  muffled laughter.  sarcasm.  starched cuffs.  day drinking.  bay windows.  the idea of love.  love for the idea of love.  love for love’s sake.  hangovers.  wandering over the sand dunes.  a vagabond with a guitar.  fishermen with tattoos.  a pretty boy with a slacked tie.  a lighthouse.  growing too close.  boat shoes.  feeling yourself change.  big, floppy sunhats.  double - speak.  a song you keep listening to.  turning red under their gaze.  margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger.  string lights on a balmy night.  sleepy june days.  fights you’re unprepared for.  hope you weren’t expecting.  pranks that go too far.  bad poetry.  pining.  becoming less of a stranger.

iv. macbeth,      the space where your grief used to be.  a bird that’s lost an eye.  old blood stains.  heavy blinds.  the smell of sweat.  the stillness after a battle.  a fake smile.  a curse.  the taste of metal at the back of your tongue.  your house, unfamiliar in the dark.  a dusty crib.  the smell of sulfur.  an orange pill bottle.  streaks in the sink.  a black cocktail dress.  your hand on the doorknob, shaking.  a chilly breeze.  crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night.  clenched hands.  a rusty swing set.  a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00.  a snake that crosses your path.  an owl that watches you.  a dog that runs when you approach.  red smoke, dark clouds.  cool steel.  tile floors.  footsteps in the hallway late at night.  a baggy suit that used to fit before.  visions.  insomnia headaches.  nursery rhymes.  being too far in to go back now.

v. much ado about nothing,      the high drama of small towns.  a pickup truck.  military supply duffel bags in the hall.  hugs all around.  tulip bulbs.  a wraparound porch.  a pitcher of iced tea.  a rubber halloween mask.  someone on your level.  ill - timed proclamations.  stomach clenching laughter.  rushing in.  not minding your business.  crepe paper.  white lies.  secrets written down and thrown away.  southern hospitality.  homemade curtains in the kitchen.  a sink full of roses.  hiding in the bushes.  old friends.  the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her.  a dog - eared rhyming dictionary.  chamomile with honey.  the intimacy of big parties.  lawn flamingos.  gossip.  a crowded church.  friendly rivalries.  unfriendly rivalries.  shit getting real.  love at five hundredth sight.  not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

vi. king lear,      cement block buildings.  power lines that birds never perch on.  the end of the world.  useless words.  rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky.  arthritic knuckles.  broken glass.  chalk cliffs.  the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes.  something you learned too late.  wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk.  a cold stare.  empty picture frames.  empty prayers.  the obscenity of seeing your parents cry.  a treeless landscape.  bloody rags.  grappling in the dark with reaching hands.  the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth.  the blown out windows of a skeletal house.  decay.  jokes that aren’t jokes.  biting your tongue.  prophecies.  aching muscles, tired feet.  stinging rain.  invoking the gods.  wondering if the gods are listening.  worrying that the gods are dead.  white noise.  shivers.  numbness.  the unequivocal feeling of ending.

vii. midsummer's night dream,      the smell of wet soil and dead leaves.  listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed.  wildflowers.  the distant sparkle of lightning bugs.  a pill someone slipped you.  fear that turns into excitement.  excitement that turns to frenzy.  mossy tree trunks.  a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness.  night swimming.  moonlight through the leaves.  a bass beat in your chest.  a butterfly landing on your nose.  a kiss from a stranger.  a dark hallow in an old tree.  glow in the dark paint.  drinking on an empty stomach.  a twig breaking behind you.  spinning until you’re dizzy.  finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from.  an overgrown path through the woods.  cool dew on your skin.  a dream that fades with waking.  moths drawn to the light.  giving yourself over, completely.  afterglow.  the long, loving, velvety night.

stolen from;   @loetise tagging;   if you see this, you're tagged!

[fallbefore]

shakespeare aesthetics.  ⋆ฺ࿐༊            bold:  always  applies.   italic:   sometimes  applies.

i. romeo & juliet,      suburban july.  scraped knees.  bruised knuckles.  blood in your teeth.  bare feet on hot concrete.  restlessness.  your high school’s empty parking lot.  love poems in your diary.  a window open to coax in the breeze.  burning inside.  an ill - fitting party dress.  a t - shirt you cut up yourself.  the time you tried to give yourself bangs.  biking to your friends house.  bubble gum.  gas station ice.  the feeling that you’ve met before.  rebellion.  a car radio playing down the street.  cheap fireworks.  a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie.  switchblades.  red solo cups.  dancing in your bedroom.  screaming yourself hoarse.  running out of options.  the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac.  climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep.  flip - flops.  a eulogy written on loose - leaf.  the merciless noontime sun.

ii. hamlet,      speaking in a whisper.  holding your breath.  a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn.  mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror.  things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins.  books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day.  a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor.  the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat.  the sparrow that got in your house.  shadows.  the creek you played in as a child.  a dirty night gown.  an oversized t - shirt.  a collection of your favorite words.  soil beneath your nails. ghost stories.  the strangeness of your own name in your mouth.  deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

iii. twelve night,      wicker deck furniture.  new england summer.  large sunglasses and a blonde bob.  a storm over the ocean.  patio umbrellas flapping in the wind.  the smell of chlorine.  muffled laughter.  sarcasm.  starched cuffs.  day drinking.  bay windows.  the idea of love.  love for the idea of love.  love for love’s sake.  hangovers.  wandering over the sand dunes.  a vagabond with a guitar.  fishermen with tattoos.  a pretty boy with a slacked tie.  a lighthouse.  growing too close.  boat shoes.  feeling yourself change.  big, floppy sunhats.  double - speak.  a song you keep listening to.  turning red under their gaze.  margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger.  string lights on a balmy night.  sleepy june days.  fights you’re unprepared for.  hope you weren’t expecting.  pranks that go too far.  bad poetry.  pining.  becoming less of a stranger.

iv. macbeth,      the space where your grief used to be.  a bird that’s lost an eye.  old blood stains.  heavy blinds.  the smell of sweat.  the stillness after a battle.  a fake smile.  a curse.  the taste of metal at the back of your tongue.  your house, unfamiliar in the dark.  a dusty crib.  the smell of sulfur.  an orange pill bottle.  streaks in the sink.  a black cocktail dress.  your hand on the doorknob, shaking.  a chilly breeze.  crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night.  clenched hands.  a rusty swing set.  a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00.  a snake that crosses your path.  an owl that watches you.  a dog that runs when you approach.  red smoke, dark clouds.  cool steel.  tile floors.  footsteps in the hallway late at night.  a baggy suit that used to fit before.  visions.  insomnia headaches.  nursery rhymes.  being too far in to go back now.

v. much ado about nothing,      the high drama of small towns.  a pickup truck.  military supply duffel bags in the hall.  hugs all around.  tulip bulbs.  a wraparound porch.  a pitcher of iced tea.  a rubber halloween mask.  someone on your level.  ill - timed proclamations.  stomach clenching laughter.  rushing in.  not minding your business.  crepe paper.  white lies.  secrets written down and thrown away.  southern hospitality.  homemade curtains in the kitchen.  a sink full of roses.  hiding in the bushes.  old friends.  the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her.  a dog - eared rhyming dictionary.  chamomile with honey.  the intimacy of big parties.  lawn flamingos.  gossip.  a crowded church.  friendly rivalries.  unfriendly rivalries.  shit getting real.  love at five hundredth sight.  not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

vi. king lear,      cement block buildings.  power lines that birds never perch on.  the end of the world.  useless words.  rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky.  arthritic knuckles.  broken glass.  chalk cliffs.  the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes.  something you learned too late.  wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk.  a cold stare.  empty picture frames.  empty prayers.  the obscenity of seeing your parents cry.  a treeless landscape.  bloody rags.  grappling in the dark with reaching hands.  the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth.  the blown out windows of a skeletal house.  decay.  jokes that aren’t jokes.  biting your tongue.  prophecies.  aching muscles, tired feet.  stinging rain.  invoking the gods.  wondering if the gods are listening.  worrying that the gods are dead.  white noise.  shivers.  numbness.  the unequivocal feeling of ending.

vii. midsummer's night dream,      the smell of wet soil and dead leaves.  listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed.  wildflowers.  the distant sparkle of lightning bugs.  a pill someone slipped you.  fear that turns into excitement.  excitement that turns to frenzy.  mossy tree trunks.  a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness.  night swimming.  moonlight through the leaves.  a bass beat in your chest.  a butterfly landing on your nose.  a kiss from a stranger.  a dark hallow in an old tree.  glow in the dark paint.  drinking on an empty stomach.  a twig breaking behind you.  spinning until you’re dizzy.  finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from.  an overgrown path through the woods.  cool dew on your skin.  a dream that fades with waking.  moths drawn to the light.  giving yourself over, completely.  afterglow.  the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by;   @ashmored​​  ♡♡ tagging;   you, steal this and say i tagged you!

[ebnaril]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

i. romeo & juliet, suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

ii. hamlet, speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

iii. twelfth night, wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses & a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

iv. macbeth, the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

v. much ado about nothing, the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down & thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

vi. king lear, cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

vii. midsummer's night dream, the smell of wet soil & dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

[publicabsent]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒.

i. romeo & juliet,      suburban july.  scraped knees.  bruised knuckles.  blood in your teeth.  bare feet on hot concrete.  restlessness.  your high school’s empty parking lot.  love poems in your diary.  a window open to coax in the breeze.  burning inside.  an ill - fitting party dress.  a t - shirt you cut up yourself.  the time you tried to give yourself bangs.  biking to your friends house.  bubble gum.  gas station ice.  the feeling that you’ve met before.  rebellion.  a car radio playing down the street.  cheap fireworks.  a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie.  switchblades.  red solo cups.  dancing in your bedroom.  screaming yourself hoarse.  running out of options.  the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac.  climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep.  flip - flops.  a eulogy written on loose - leaf.  the merciless noontime sun.

ii. hamlet,      speaking in a whisper.  holding your breath.  a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn.  mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror.  things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins.  books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day.  a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor.  the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat.  the sparrow that got in your house.  shadows.  the creek you played in as a child.  a dirty night gown.  an oversized t - shirt.  a collection of your favorite words.  soil beneath your nails. ghost stories.  the strangeness of your own name in your mouth.  deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

iii. twelfth night,      wicker deck furniture.  new england summer.  large sunglasses & a blonde bob.  a storm over the ocean.  patio umbrellas flapping in the wind.  the smell of chlorine.  muffled laughter.  sarcasm.  starched cuffs.  day drinking.  bay windows.  the idea of love.  love for the idea of love.  love for love’s sake.  hangovers.  wandering over the sand dunes.  a vagabond with a guitar.  fishermen with tattoos.  a pretty boy with a slacked tie.  a lighthouse.  growing too close.  boat shoes.  feeling yourself change.  big, floppy sunhats.  double - speak.  a song you keep listening to.  turning red under their gaze.  margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger.  string lights on a balmy night.  sleepy june days.  fights you’re unprepared for.  hope you weren’t expecting.  pranks that go too far.  bad poetry.  pining.  becoming less of a stranger.

iv. macbeth,      the space where your grief used to be.  a bird that’s lost an eye.  old blood stains.  heavy blinds.  the smell of sweat.  the stillness after a battle.  a fake smile.  a curse.  the taste of metal at the back of your tongue.  your house, unfamiliar in the dark.  a dusty crib.  the smell of sulfur.  an orange pill bottle.  streaks in the sink.  a black cocktail dress.  your hand on the doorknob, shaking.  a chilly breeze.  crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night.  clenched hands.  a rusty swing set.  a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00.  a snake that crosses your path.  an owl that watches you.  a dog that runs when you approach.  red smoke, dark clouds.  cool steel.  tile floors.  footsteps in the hallway late at night.  a baggy suit that used to fit before.  visions.  insomnia headaches.  nursery rhymes.  being too far in to go back now.

v. much ado about nothing,      the high drama of small towns.  a pickup truck.  military supply duffel bags in the hall.  hugs all around.  tulip bulbs.  a wraparound porch.  a pitcher of iced tea.  a rubber halloween mask.  someone on your level.  ill - timed proclamations.  stomach clenching laughter.  rushing in.  not minding your business.  crepe paper.  white lies.  secrets written down & thrown away.  southern hospitality.  homemade curtains in the kitchen.  a sink full of roses.  hiding in the bushes.  old friends.  the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her.  a dog - eared rhyming dictionary.  chamomile with honey.  the intimacy of big parties.  lawn flamingos.  gossip.  a crowded church.  friendly rivalries.  unfriendly rivalries.  shit getting real.  love at five hundredth sight.  not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

vi. king lear,      cement block buildings.  power lines that birds never perch on.  the end of the world.  useless words.  rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky.  arthritic knuckles.  broken glass.  chalk cliffs.  the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes.  something you learned too late.  wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk.  a cold stare.  empty picture frames.  empty prayers.  the obscenity of seeing your parents cry.  a treeless landscape.  bloody rags.  grappling in the dark with reaching hands.  the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth.  the blown out windows of a skeletal house.  decay.  jokes that aren’t jokes.  biting your tongue.  prophecies.  aching muscles, tired feet.  stinging rain.  invoking the gods.  wondering if the gods are listening.  worrying that the gods are dead.  white noise.  shivers.  numbness.  the unequivocal feeling of ending.

vii. midsummer's night dream,      the smell of wet soil & dead leaves.  listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed.  wildflowers.  the distant sparkle of lightning bugs.  a pill someone slipped you.  fear that turns into excitement.  excitement that turns to frenzy.  mossy tree trunks.  a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness.  night swimming.  moonlight through the leaves.  a bass beat in your chest.  a butterfly landing on your nose.  a kiss from a stranger.  a dark hallow in an old tree.  glow in the dark paint.  drinking on an empty stomach.  a twig breaking behind you.  spinning until you’re dizzy.  finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from.  an overgrown path through the woods.  cool dew on your skin.  a dream that fades with waking.  moths drawn to the light.  giving yourself over, completely.  afterglow.  the long, loving, velvety night.

[loetise]

shakespeare aesthetics.  ˎˊ˗            bold:  always  applies.   italic:   sometimes  applies.

i. romeo & juliet,      suburban july.  scraped knees.  bruised knuckles.  blood in your teeth.  bare feet on hot concrete.  restlessness.  your high school’s empty parking lot.  love poems in your diary.  a window open to coax in the breeze.  burning inside.  an ill - fitting party dress.  a t - shirt you cut up yourself.  the time you tried to give yourself bangs.  biking to your friends house.  bubble gum.  gas station ice.  the feeling that you’ve met before.  rebellion.  a car radio playing down the street.  cheap fireworks.  a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie.  switchblades.  red solo cups.  dancing in your bedroom.  screaming yourself hoarse.  running out of options.  the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac.  climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep.  flip - flops.  a eulogy written on loose - leaf.  the merciless noontime sun.

ii. hamlet,      speaking in a whisper.  holding your breath.  a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn.  mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror.  things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins.  books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day.  a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor.  the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat.  the sparrow that got in your house.  shadows.  the creek you played in as a child.  a dirty night gown.  an oversized t - shirt.  a collection of your favorite words.  soil beneath your nails. ghost stories.  the strangeness of your own name in your mouth.  deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

iii. twelve night,      wicker deck furniture.  new england summer.  large sunglasses and a blonde bob.  a storm over the ocean.  patio umbrellas flapping in the wind.  the smell of chlorine.  muffled laughter.  sarcasm.  starched cuffs.  day drinking.  bay windows.  the idea of love.  love for the idea of love.  love for love’s sake.  hangovers.  wandering over the sand dunes.  a vagabond with a guitar.  fishermen with tattoos.  a pretty boy with a slacked tie.  a lighthouse.  growing too close.  boat shoes.  feeling yourself change.  big, floppy sunhats.  double - speak.  a song you keep listening to.  turning red under their gaze.  margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger.  string lights on a balmy night.  sleepy june days.  fights you’re unprepared for.  hope you weren’t expecting.  pranks that go too far.  bad poetry.  pining.  becoming less of a stranger.

iv. macbeth,      the space where your grief used to be.  a bird that’s lost an eye.  old blood stains.  heavy blinds.  the smell of sweat.  the stillness after a battle.  a fake smile.  a curse.  the taste of metal at the back of your tongue.  your house, unfamiliar in the dark.  a dusty crib.  the smell of sulfur.  an orange pill bottle.  streaks in the sink.  a black cocktail dress.  your hand on the doorknob, shaking.  a chilly breeze.  crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night.  clenched hands.  a rusty swing set.  a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00.  a snake that crosses your path.  an owl that watches you.  a dog that runs when you approach.  red smoke, dark clouds.  cool steel.  tile floors.  footsteps in the hallway late at night.  a baggy suit that used to fit before.  visions.  insomnia headaches.  nursery rhymes.  being too far in to go back now.

v. much ado about nothing,      the high drama of small towns.  a pickup truck.  military supply duffel bags in the hall.  hugs all around.  tulip bulbs.  a wraparound porch.  a pitcher of iced tea.  a rubber halloween mask.  someone on your level.  ill - timed proclamations.  stomach clenching laughter.  rushing in.  not minding your business.  crepe paper.  white lies.  secrets written down and thrown away.  southern hospitality.  homemade curtains in the kitchen.  a sink full of roses.  hiding in the bushes.  old friends.  the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her.  a dog - eared rhyming dictionary.  chamomile with honey.  the intimacy of big parties.  lawn flamingos.  gossip.  a crowded church.  friendly rivalries.  unfriendly rivalries.  shit getting real.  love at five hundredth sight.  not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

vi. king lear,      cement block buildings.  power lines that birds never perch on.  the end of the world.  useless words.  rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky.  arthritic knuckles.  broken glass.  chalk cliffs.  the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes.  something you learned too late.  wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk.  a cold stare.  empty picture frames.  empty prayers.  the obscenity of seeing your parents cry.  a treeless landscape.  bloody rags.  grappling in the dark with reaching hands.  the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth.  the blown out windows of a skeletal house.  decay.  jokes that aren’t jokes.  biting your tongue.  prophecies.  aching muscles, tired feet.  stinging rain.  invoking the gods.  wondering if the gods are listening.  worrying that the gods are dead.  white noise.  shivers.  numbness.  the unequivocal feeling of ending.

vii. midsummer's night dream,      the smell of wet soil and dead leaves.  listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed.  wildflowers.  the distant sparkle of lightning bugs.  a pill someone slipped you.  fear that turns into excitement.  excitement that turns to frenzy.  mossy tree trunks.  a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness.  night swimming.  moonlight through the leaves.  a bass beat in your chest.  a butterfly landing on your nose.  a kiss from a stranger.  a dark hallow in an old tree.  glow in the dark paint.  drinking on an empty stomach.  a twig breaking behind you.  spinning until you’re dizzy.  finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from.  an overgrown path through the woods.  cool dew on your skin.  a dream that fades with waking.  moths drawn to the light.  giving yourself over, completely.  afterglow.  the long, loving, velvety night.

stolen from;   @khozmoh​​​​​​​​​​  ♡♡ tagging;   you, steal this and say i tagged you!

[mnero]

Memento Vivere

Balance is a crippled umbrella  

propped and staged

Legs cracked into a capital V

-Vae Victis

Greater than the sum  

of approximate wisdom  

A four-sided limbo boxed in perpetuity  

Weekly therapy shots thaw out as

cubicles transcend from room to room

documenting candles erode  

into nebulous rapture

A timeless stop watch set  

to the senility of a cell tower

Condolences and proverbs course

through weeping mirrors

as the forsaken data is left

to choke on the thumbs of gratuity

You walk You fly You drive

luminous and uninhibited until you slam

into a belligerent oblivion

pro-rated and locked in the  

gridlock of convalescence  

The juggernaut of all impediments

An event-horizon of meta-analysis

superimposed, stalking  

with random precision

This monopoly of wreckage unsuspecting

coiled in the common brush

set its indifferent sights on the most

undeserving of victim

Invaluable treasures always amass unwelcome oxidation

I still can't wrap my conscious spirit around this hieroglyphic labyrinth

And I detest those pitiless waiting rooms and their impotent white walls

I hate those arthritic chairs

Faceless Blatant Explicit

This entire place is an abyss

of countless broken hearts

bleeding recycled grief dangling

from centrifugal vines

Like an odyssey with no destination

A guide devoid of direction

The Gehenna where empty pockets

beg for more time

and the sun seems to never rise

I try to imagine myself rooted to  

the wasteland of a hospital cot

to corral some modicum of perspective

but it's easier to smoke a solar flare

than to prime my mind for what

you were forced to endure

Just the mere thought drives ingots

through my glass shield

I can still feel our farewells echoing

through the hallucination hallways

of your IV and monitoring machines

Don't you give up now! No wait,

that is fucking selfish of me

Fanged fingerprints will forever resist

the cornucopia of silent ancestors

Fortitude is a kinetic force that you were

able to harness with sequined vigor

Twilights flickered and swerved

marring the fickle pride of Thanatos

backtracking in figure eights

The kiss of kismet was fated to wait

a few more days

a few more months

a few years

When we've reached the peaks of vocation

And absorbed the stillness of depth

No burden will crack our resolve

No affliction  

And no death

This chain is sound and absolute

And I will carry the flag

Resolute  

-Mike Nero

[wheezykat]

You’re smiling but I don’t believe you!! SPILL 😍

YES. HELLO FRIEND. ❤❤

Let me wax poetic about this one for a min, because I’m very very excited about it! And that’s pretty new for me - I’m usually really unsure about the things I’m writing and worrying about how a piece will be received. This one is different for me - I feel like I’ve poured out a part of myself in the story. It’s entirely self-indulgent, and something that really took me by surprise with the force in which I needed to write it. 

This started as a lil 400 word drabble in response to a drarrymicrofic prompt for the word “metamorphosis.” And then a down and out chainsmoking!Draco took over my brain, and I literally couldn’t help myself. I’m just shy of 8k right now, and still going strong - I’ve got a few more scenes left to write before it will be complete. 😈

you’re smilin’ but i don’t believe you (before&after) is largely a story focused on Draco’s character arc after the war and him dealing with the aftermath- the guilt, the regret, and all of the hardships he has to endure just to get by after losing everything. It’s entirely Draco POV, and hops through several years, centered around encounters he has with Harry and the cause/effect of those encounters on his life; how he shapes himself, rebuilds, and grows. I absolutely adore the Draco I’ve written for this, and I really hope everyone who reads it will too. I tried not to shy away from the reality that he’d be faced with, and the reality that life can be hard. But that we can keep pushing, working for a better future for ourselves, even in the face of those hardships when everything feels hopeless. And I guess ultimately, how we deserve the ending we’ve worked so desperately for. Accepting that we deserve it, regardless of our past, because we’ve changed for the better. As you can guess, it’s quite heavy on the angst in the beginning, but it does gradually (v gradually) recede, leaving room for a happy ending. 

OK, now that I’ve had my existential crisis about it, here’s a snippet for you below the cut. 😅 

ask me something about my WIP folders!

(tw: angst, reluctant sex work [implied, not pictured], general misery and depression)

It was getting to be the end of the month, and by his quick calculations, he’d be about a hundred pounds short for his rent this month. Losing his job as a dishwasher meant he lost more than just his pittance of an income, but also his access to cheap, and sometimes free, food. He’d managed to snag a position as a barista in a shabby, rundown coffee shop just down the street only a week later - but his additional food expenses, and the loss of just a single paycheck, put more of a dent in his earnings than he’d previously thought. Not even trying to subsist on purely caffeine and leftover scones had made up the difference, it would seem.

A sense of vague despair shivered up his spine as he looked at himself in the only mirror in his flat, fingers pressing against sharp hip bones and slightly protruding clavicles, as he tried to think of a better work around than the one currently on the forefront of his mind. Working at the greasy spoon had been hard, often back breaking work, fingers pruned and skin sticky with residue by the end of his shifts. But it had been awhile since he’d had to resort to - that. The months had soothed his shattered soul like a balm, happy to be able to exist in his dull routine and the safe return to his bed and slightly ratty blankets every evening. Feet aching, sometimes with an empty stomach, but with the relief of knowing that he’d get a reliable paycheck at the end of the week. 

He watched his lips turn downward in a frown, a mockery of the pouts he often saw painting the faces of those models on the front of those awful muggle magazines. His cheekbones were too sharp, eyes bloodshot from his early morning shift. He was shadowed and thin and hungry. And he didn’t have any better ideas. 

With a heavy sigh and shaking hands, he grabbed his kohl eyeliner from the counter, rimming his eyes to conceal the dark circles. He quickly downed a series of preparatory potions, among them a Draught of Peace to ease his nerves. He’d learned the hard way to keep those on hand at all times, even if he thought he’d closed this chapter of his life for good. Thank Merlin for owl deliveries and fake names - at least Knockturn shops hadn’t altered their proclivities too much after the war. 

Feeling a familiar sense of calm wash over him, he turned from the mirror without another look to dig around the bottom of his drawers before finding a pair of leather breeches and the silky shirt he preferred for nights such as this. He dressed in absolute silence, only the sound of his soft breaths and the rustle of fabric filling the room.

Finally dressed, Draco briefly rubbed his palms against his sides, taking deep breaths to try and quell his growing resentment at his situation. His life, in general, if he were being honest. Puffing one last breath out, fringe ruffling against his face, he grabbed his packet of cigarettes and walked out the door of his flat, locking it wordlessly behind him.

It was late into the day, but not quite late enough for the activities he would need to solicit to earn enough to meet his rent, the twilight just beginning to fade from the sky as the dark overtook and the shadows of the shabby buildings he passed by lengthened. His booted feet drug as he made his way along a familiar path, sparing a longing glance at the former greasy spoon as he passed by, heart panging with the loss of its reliability. He lifted a cigarette to his lips, flicking a flame to the tip as he took a deep inhale and let it steep in his lungs. 

Draco continued to trail his way down the emptying streets, the hollow shine of streetlamps flickering on reflecting their light off the Thames back at the rising moon. He was in no particular hurry, legs and limbs lethargic in their dread for the coming night. He’d likely be out late, but would have to make it to his early five a.m. shift at the coffee shop regardless of his lack of sleep if he had any hope of avoiding this particular fate again next month. He did, assuredly, want to avoid it. 

His hopes dwindled every time he found himself back at this place.

He paused on his path, crossing the street to lean over the stone ramparts, dragging in another ragged breath of smoke. A pale, shaky hand rested beneath his sharp jaw, the other vaguely tracing runes against the cement as he chased his melancholic thoughts, smoke billowing up to the winking stars. He wondered, briefly, if this was it. If this is what life had in store for him, for the inevitable future. Giving himself away for a price, for a meal, for a roof over his head and a shaky sense of security that could be toppled at any moment. He wondered, not for the first time, if he could take it much longer. He rubbed his hands roughly against face, palms digging in against his eyes. He wasn’t sure anymore.

His cigarette burnt down to the filter, smoke turning acrid without the tantalizing smell of tobacco to coat it, embers turning hot between his fingers. He opened his eyes, slightly dazed and weighed down underneath the potions he’d taken earlier and the dark thread of his thoughts. Watched red move ever closer to his skin. Heaving a sigh, he flicked it out across the river, before reaching into his front pocket to light up another. 

[hyperdxntia]

BOLD WHAT APPLIES TO YOUR CHARACTER.

[COLORS] red. crimson. vermilion. tomato. burgundy. brown. tan. beige. ochre. sienna. orange. peach. tangerine. marigold. amber. yellow. citrine. mustard. butter. daffodil. green. lime. mint. emerald. olive. blue. royal blue. teal. navy. sky. purple. lilac. mauve. plum. amethyst. pink. coral. magenta. rose. blush. black. jet. ebony. licorice. bistre. white. ivory. snow. vanilla. champagne. grey. dove grey. charcoal grey. slate. ash. pastels. jewel tones.

[ELEMENTS] fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. fog. wood.

[BODY] claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canines. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. fur. feathers. scales. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. cheekbones. feline. pointed ears. chubby. curvy. short. tall. muscular. slender. trained. piercings. tattoos. strong. weak. struggling. athletic. lithe. curls.

[WEAPONS] fists. sword. dagger. spear. scythe. bow and arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. words. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. phasers. pistols. machine guns. slingshots. katana. maces. staff. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. peace. rifles. cannons. mind.

[MATERIALS] gold. silver. platinum. copper. bronze. iron. rust. steel. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. quartz. metals. glass. shell. bone. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. satin. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. ichor. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. vinyl. carbon nanotubes. circuits. vibranium. adamantium.

[NATURE] grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. lavender. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. stream. roots. flowers. ocean. river. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. woods. hills. highlands. islands.

[ANIMALS] lions. tigers. wolves. panthers. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. vultures. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. songbirds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. deer. dogs. rabbits. mantises. crows. ravens. mice. jackals. lizards. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. foxes. phoenixes. peacocks. coyote. bears. seals.

[FOODS/DRINKS] sugar. salt. candy. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. soda. spices. herbs. apple. citrus. raspberry. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. gingerbread. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. stew. venison. rice. ambrosia. bread.

[HOBBIES] music. art. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. fencing. reading. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. technology. swimming. theater. libraries. magazines. piano. violin. cello. guitar. lute. mandolin. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. trumpet. flute. drums. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. eating. climbing. running. hiking. stargazing. fortune-telling.

[STYLE] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. suit. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. barefoot. heels. leggings. trousers. khakis. jeans. skirt. shorts. earrings. necklace. collar. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. neck tie. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. bracers. belt. layers. bandana. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. sweaters. watches. glasses. sunglasses. visors. eye contacts. makeup. implant. artificial parts. robes. t-shirts. henleys. athletic shirt. joggers. tennis shoes. cargo pants. shawl.

[MISC] balloons. bubbles. cityscape. landscape. seascape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. fatigue. energetic. manipulation. faith. optimism. pessimism. realism. loneliness. family. friends. chronic pain. assistants. somnambulism. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. devotion. smoking. drugs. drinking. kindness. love. hugs. time. questions

tagged by: yoinked it from @lovsiik​ 

tagging: yoink it from me, cowards

[urbanteeth]

Fluffcember 2019

Hosted by: @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword @siarven @raiswanson

Notes: ay I’m lowkey late in this but! It’s here and it’s done! Some angst but it’s in general v Soft and uhh I’m actually pretty proud of it!

Character: Oliver West

Word Count: 1193

Boats & Birds // Gregory And The Hawk

The cold wind nipped at Oliver’s nose and cheeks and frosted his breath as it left his body in a deep sigh of contentment. Hands tucked into his pockets, he strolled down the sidewalk under a sky still existing in the liminal blue of twilight. Autumn still crowned the trees in gold and crimson but hints of snow powdered days tip-toed in on cloudy white paws, lengthening the dark of night bit by bit as season slipped away. Already, lights twinkled from windows and wrapped around mailboxes. The air of festivity smelled like burning wood smoke trailing lazily from chimneys, hummed quietly in bursts of dizzying excitement as sleepy families stirred from their warm beds. The holidays brought as much chaos as they did rest and the job always tasted so much more bitter in the winter.

Becoming jaded, detaching himself from the job, was not a shield he wanted to raise. But sometimes, sometimes, the pavement stained red too deeply and the final, terrible, anguished plea stared back from eyes too much like glass and the gut-wrenching cries of the unfortunate first to get the news haunted his mind when the silence was too void-like black, consuming. Sometimes, he welcomed the tiny seed of misanthropy that settled roots in his chest.

But always, Oliver never wanted to cultivate it. He couldn’t bring himself to peacefully coexist with the weed that sprung from those tiny roots. Oh, it would be easy, so easy, to let it grow as it would. And yet, he’d seen too many hollow eyes, some living with hardly a distinction from the dead, to know better, to grow instead an active fear of the yawning, hungry void.

So, when the days shortened and the cold winds descended from the mountains, howling their lonesome despair, and the job began to look a little meaner, he’d do a little gardening of the soul.

Weaving his way around an army of potted plants, herbs, a handful of fruit trees, he felt the warmth wrapping the tiny house before he even pushed open the door made rough from paint chipping off in big, coral pink flakes.

Immediately, arms pulled him close and squeezed, Korean permeated with joy filling his ears, tugging an ear to ear grin from his lips.

“Hi, momma,” he said with a laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

She gathered his hands in her own, placing hers over his to defrost his fingers. He stooped a little lower for her to press a kiss against his forehead. “Oh, let me look at you!” She cupped his face, her hands rough and calloused but oh so warm against his skin, taking in his smile, cheeks red from the cold. “Just as I thought,” she said gravely, patting his cheeks. “Handsome as ever. Let’s get you warmed up.”

“Aw, you know I learned from the best.” He followed her to the small table pushed up against one of the big windows overviewing the town’s massive mirror-like lake. Oliver settled into one of the chairs, his mother disappearing back into the kitchen and reappearing with two steaming mugs of fragrant tea. She pushed one in his direction before taking a sip from her own.

“Talk to me, Ollie. What’s wrong?”

Oliver looped his fingers around the mug’s handle and cradled it in his hands, breathing in the spicy scent of ginger. “What do you mean?” He tilted his head, careful to keep his tone light and cheery.

His mother sat across from him and set her mug to the side, hands folding together, her joy at seeing him diminishing into a soft worry playing over her features. “Oh come on, Ollie! What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t know when something was bothering my son?”

He set the mug down, hesitant, half-torn. For a moment he imagined letting the ugliness in his chest spill like blood. But he couldn’t do that to her, his loving momma who he knew worried deeply about him every time he was called out to a scene, who would stay up with him without ever asking why, who both cried with him when he found himself falling, falling, falling and helped him pick the pieces off the floor.Tough as she was, he wouldn’t allow it to plague her as it did him. “I...I can’t really talk about it.”

But he knew from the way his hurt reflected in her eyes that she knew. He didn’t have to say it. “Does it have to do with your work?”

Silence grew and stretched between them and Oliver found himself staring at his hands, unsure at how to fill it. “It’s just…” he began, then stopped. How could he begin to give the ugliness a name when he himself barely recognized the inner workings? “It hurts, momma,” he finally breathed, unable to keep the quiver out of his voice, “to know people can– can do… all of that.”

“Oh, Ollie.” She slipped his hand in between hers, squeezing gently. And in a moment as quick and sharp as a snap of someone’s fingers, he was 17 again, sitting at the same table, his mother running a thumb softly over bruised knuckles. He traced the wood grain with his eyes. If he looked at her, he’d be truly in danger of crying.

“How can people do such horrible things?”

She sighed. “Oh...I wish I could have an answer for that, Oliver. Some people simply choose to be cruel.” She paused and ran her thumb over his knuckles. “But, here’s what I do know. You, sweetheart? You and that big heart of yours? The world thrives because of people like you.”

“Do you...do you think so?” He swallowed around the lump forming in his throat.

“I might not have a fancy college degree, but this I know to be true. Every day you choose not to be cruel is a day you have already won. Don’t ever let anyone tell you this heart of yours doesn’t make a difference, my son.”

He blinked, vision blurring from watery tears threatening to come spilling forward. He cleared his throat, wrestling back the tears, the corners of his mouth upturning into a smile instead. “Thank you.”

She gave his hand a final pat before releasing him. “Well? Are you hungry?”

“Oh, man. For your cooking? Always.”

“Think you can handle making an egg this time, hmm?” Her eyes glittered with an amused light.

He scoffed, sniffing and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I’m hurt. I’m the Gordon Ramsey of cooking eggs.”

Together, they fell into routine, every step and every breath and every quip and laugh weaving into a blanket of familiar comfort. The ease of being together, their work one born from love, the feeling of finally, finally coming home bloomed like summer in his chest. Outside, a low, rising sun gilded the sky in peach and gold and pink.

“I love you, momma.”

“I love you too, Ollie.”

And sometimes, the world was simply that: a bowl of rice, the scent of cooking meat, and eggs cracked and sizzling in a pan, all while outside, the day began anew.

TTW Taglist (click here to be added): @cluelessbuttercup @dogwrites @goldfinvhs @tragedyshow @tenacious-scripturient @diwrites @mirror-of-too-many-books @isanyonetoknow @makealltheboymoosegowahhh @waterproof-pages @velvetinewitch @wreckageofus @thewalkingnerdx @woodhouse-jay @writeouswriter @dashy-mcdasher @drist-n-dither @klywrites

[renzywenzy]

Joker Review

*Disclaimer* I held off posting this review until Phoenix won the Oscar. I promised myself that if he hadn’t won, I would have just left this in the drafts forever. That’s how much faith I had in this man and now here is my critique of my favorite film of 2019. 

I have a tattoo on my right arm. The tattoo is actually the Batman logo but altered. One half of the logo is normal but the other half is made up of red “HAHAHAHA’s” all over. There’s a reason why the dynamic between these two is my favorite of all-time. It’s two different interpretations of insanity colliding in an eternal battle. It’s two iconic, well-written, captivating characters having epic confrontations. 

Needless to say, I love the characters of Batman and The Joker. I grew up on them and they have played a huge part of my life. My ideologies, my way of thinking, my perception of the world, my behavior in private and in public have been directly and/or indirectly impacted by these two characters.

Any film or any form of media that have these two, separate or together, is already met with my high expectations. So obviously, my expectations for this film were through the roof. If this film was nothing short of great, I would have been really angry. 

I would have been the first to say how disappointed I was, I would have been the first to say that Joaquin Phoenix should never play The Joker again, I would have been the first to say that Todd Philips should stick to raunchy comedies and stay away from the character as far as possible....but that’s not the case here. 

I’m singing a different tune. A tune that I’m gonna be letting everyone hear with every chance I get. A tune that I’m gonna be playing in my head whenever I dance on the street. 

Ladies and gentlemen... please welcome Joker.

The Tragedy

First of all, I’ll begin with some faults that I found in the film. Not a whole lot but I have to get these out of the way so that I can end the review with high points. 

1.) The origin story we didn’t want but the one we got anyway

Now when I talk about origin story, I don’t mean Joker’s. I mean Batman’s. I’m really sorry to say but I am getting absolutely sick of seeing THAT scene. 

I have to point out that it felt like this scene was rushed. It wasn’t shot as well as the other scenes. Every other scene in Joker felt like there was a beautiful story behind it. As if there was a creative progress going through the minds of the people in the scene and off the camera but this scene felt rushed and was treated like an afterthought. 

I must admit, of all the films that showed Bruce’s parents in the alley, this one might be one of the weakest I’ve seen in a while. Even that piece of garbage Batman V. Superman had a slightly better way of showing that scene. If you’re going to show us a scene that’s been overly done since the beginning of Batman films, you gotta add a little more flavor and cinematic flair to it. Sad to say that for a film that was shot so well, this scene stuck out like a sore thumb. 

2.) A little too much dancing and a few too many ribs

As it says in the point, there’s a little too much there.  Don’t get me wrong, I love most of his dance scenes but there’s maybe 1 or 2 too many. I personally would have kept the first dance scene when accidentally shoots a gun, the one after his first kill, the one with his mother, and all the dance scenes once he completely transforms. These particular dance scenes were showing us a slow evolution and allowed to see how his mind was slowly changing. But there were a few dance scenes that didn’t really do that and instead was just kind of there. For example, the few dance scenes where he’s half-naked can be taken out completely and it wouldn’t make a difference. 

And speaking of him being half-naked. I understand the film wants us to see how weak he his and in some scenes, it wants to show you the literal scars he got from society. However in some of these scenes, it gets a little distracting. The first scene where he’s half naked and trying to adjust his shoe is just perfect because for one, you don’t know really know what he’s doing at first so it leaves you wondering for a few seconds and two, you get to see how much his frail body struggles with something so simple. 

But then you have a few scenes where he’s unnecessary shirtless like the one where he’s smoking and watching TV. It seemed needless for him to be shirtless for this scene because the main point of it was his reaction towards what was being shown on TV. Again, it’s no problem to show us how skinny and weak he looks but it has to be the point or a point of a scene or else it’s just distracting.

Small gripes but I had to find some criticisms for the film. But now that that’s out of the way, let’s put a smile on that face (I know they’re not the same. Just be like Joe and Chill).

The Comedy 

1.) Romero, Nicholson, Ledger, Hamill, and now...

 ...Phoenix

There have been numerous people who have played the Joker with each actor adding their own twist to the Clown Prince of Crime. Romero embodied the camp and goofiness of the Silver Age iteration, Nicholson provided a more laid-back and mafia-esque performance, Ledger portrayed him as a true anarchist who “wants to watch the world burn”, and the legendary Hamill basically performed multiple layers of Joker’s persona for his 20+ years as the character and is THE definitive voice (and laugh) of The Joker. 

Joaquin Phoenix joins this hall of fame (or infamy) by giving us a closer, more in-depth look at the mentally ill, physically battered, and emotionally abandoned man behind the smile. 

I honestly can’t give this guy the praise he really deserves but I’ll do my best. My lord...this man blew me away like I was a talk-show host. Powerhouse performance doesn’t even begin to describe his acting. 

This film, as well-made as it was, wouldn’t have worked nearly as well had it not been for its main star. This film hinged on how well Mr. Phoenix played the titular character and he absolutely delivered.

The film had a tough job in its hands: portray how a man was slowly dissenting into madness to the point that he lets the madness in and indulges in it. It was going to be a deliberately slow process that required an actor who can be significantly subtle enough to convey to the audience how a character is evolving but taking small steps to do so. Phoenix did that with flying colors. 

If you look at the first scene where we’re introduced to Arthur, it’s clearly not the same Arthur when the film reaches its ending. We went from a man who walks with a slouch and a noticeable stiffness to a man who vigorously dances in the streets without a care in the world. 

Don’t get it twisted, though. Phoenix didn’t play two different people nor did he play a man who takes a sudden huge leap in his personality. He played a person who displays slight changes to his psyche in each scene and these small changes eventually pile up. Arthur was meant to be a man who was layered like an onion and Phoenix’s performance mirrored that perfectly. 

Is he the best Joker? I can’t say that. Each Joker I’ve been introduced to, while having a different spin, is ultimately the Joker at his peak or even at the twilight of his criminal life. This is the first time where I’ve witnessed a Joker who is still truly staring out. And no, Nicholson doesn’t count because Jack Napier was an established criminal way before he became the Joker. So I’m not too sure yet where to rank Phoenix’s actual full-blown Joker as it doesn’t last long however excellent it was AND a huge factor for me when it comes to ranking Jokers is the interactions with Batman. There was no Joker and Batman clash here. Only Arthur and Bruce. As it stands, Phoenix’s spot on the all-time Joker list may not be the highest but in terms of pure acting, he may very well be #1. 

I know this sentiment has been repeated multiple times but I do honestly believe Phoenix deserved the Oscar here or at least a nod. 

2.) Familiar punchline, fresh set-up 

For any Batman/Joker fan, you’ve probably heard of this following quote:

“If I’m going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice.” 

It’s an iconic quote and one that you will hear in almost any review of this film but there is a good reason for it. The line encapsulates one of the best things about The Joker: the mystery of his origins. 

As mysterious as the character is, it’s hard to keep The Joker interesting these days. He is the most over-exposed Batman villain of all time and quite possibly the most over-exposed villain in fiction period. Comic books, video games, tv shows, live-action movies. The Joker has been in EVERYTHING. Like his heroic counterpart, the Joker has been exposed too much to the point that there’s really not a lot of fresh things you can do with him.  

The last time any media brought something refreshing to The Joker was in Telltale’s Batman video game where you meet a man named “John Doe” who’s still looking for himself and finding out which path in life he wants to take. In the game, whatever John becomes is based on your actions. That was in 2017. 

The last time before that was in 2011′s Flashpoint where Martha Wayne became The Joker in an alternate timeline where Bruce dies in the alley. Even though this version of the Joker had a clear backstory and no mysterious origin, it was still fresh because of the sheer novelty of seeing Bruce Wayne’s mother as The Joker and his father as Batman.

So there are stretches of time where there’s nothing new and exciting for The Joker character but I’m happy to say that this film does breathe new life into the character. 

The filmmakers understood how this specific character should be handled and they did it in ways that are plausible. His abusive but vague childhood and his delusions help in keeping the film from being straightforward. 

Let me give some examples. In the scene where Arthur steals his mother’s files in the Asylum, it’s said that he was adopted by Penny and that he was abused by one of her boyfriends. 

Some people I’ve talked to believe that it was Thomas Wayne who put Penny in the Asylum and forged adoption papers. Some people even say that it was Thomas Wayne who abused them when Arthur was a child. Some people say that it’s true and Arthur really was adopted. 

We don’t know these things definitively and that’s the best part. It’s whatever you want it to be. Multiple choice. 

I personally want to believe that Arthur really was adopted because that just adds another air of mystery to him. If he was then we don’t know his actual birth name or who is real parents are.  

All in all, even though the evolution of Arthur into The Joker remains the ultimate goal, the film lets you make up your own path into how he got there. It’s handled beautifully and the script is clearly made with a lot of knowledge of and love for the character. 

3. A problem tackled with grace

I just wanted to point how well this film handles the issue of mental health and illness. This topic will forever be relevant and is an issue that’s been tackled in media before. Some handled it terribly, some handled it bad, some handled it ok, some handled it well. And then there’s Joker that handles it amazingly. 

As someone who sees mental illness on a regular basis, it was so sublime how accurate this film was. The image of a decaying mind and one that descends further and further down is so powerful in this film and it just never half-asses it and I loved that. 

My girlfriend is a nurse and she interacts with mentally ill people far more than I ever will and she praised it more because everything she saw from Arthur is something that she has personally had to deal with in her patients. I asked her if there was even one inaccurate and she said “No” because everything was completely plausible and has actually happened in real life on multiple occasions. Delusions of grandeur, uncontrollable ticks (like a laugh), murderous tendency, self-harm, stalking, hallucinating, you name it and most likely, this film shows it. 

Not only is Arthur’s mental illness accurate but what makes it better and why I praise it is how others deal with him. It’s scary how much it mirrors reality. Some people may know how to interact with him while others just get annoyed with him. Even those who are accepting of mentally ill people can still have be irritated with them when they come in contact with them. 

Arthur is beaten not just because he’s mentally ill but because he just looks like a weak man who can be pushed around. People don’t care if he’s sick, they’ll kick his ass or make fun of him regardless and in some cases, they’ll have even more incentive when they learn he has mental problems which is sadly similar to the world we live in today.

Joker is arguably the best adaption of mental illness for this decade (I say arguably because Bojack Horseman is up there) and I can’t believe that the director of the Hangover films got it right and speaking of which...

4. He directed what??

Todd Philips, the man behind the Hangover trilogy, Starsky and Hutch (2004), and Old School directed this film. Imagine late 2018 and you just heard who the director was and you search for the films he directed prior. Did you honestly believe, in your heart of hearts, he was going to pull this off?

Don’t get me wrong, comedic talents have proven to excel in other genres. Jordan Peele is a great example of that but that doesn’t necessarily apply to every comedian...However, it applied to Mr. Philips. 

His direction, his vision, his execution was top-notch and I have to apologize to this man because I honestly doubted him when I initially heard about it. I knew Phoenix was going to do well and I thought that the film would just rely solely on his performance but no. Todd Philips deserves a lot of credit here. Yes, he takes some ideas and cues from Scorsese (not a bad inspiration by the way) but he handles the psychological aspect in his own style.

In terms of performers, this was close to a one-man show as you can get but Philips’ contributions behind-the-scenes should to be given as much appreciation. Phoenix was the master painter and Philips gave him the tools.

Honestly, if Philips wants to direct more dramatic and heavier films akin to this, I’m all for it. If he wants to stick around and maybe direct some more DC films, I am definitely on board. In this time of uncertainty towards DC films, Philips gave me hope. Yes, I know this film isn’t part of the DCEU but if they want to create more films in the Elseworld universe, Philips should still be part of it in some way. 

5. The sound of laughter

I’m not going to lie. I rarely appreciate film scores. While I do believe they enhance a film’s quality, I’m not actively seeking it out unless it truly stands out. The only scores I truly remember and appreciate is the opening score for Star Wars, the Superman score, the main score for Indiana Jones, the Back to The Future action sequence score, Danny Elfman’s Batman score, and all of the scores from The Godfather films. 

By the way I realized the first three examples I gave all sound similar but it makes sense since John Williams made them all.

So out of the hundreds (possibly thousands) of films I’ve seen, these are the only scores I can truly remember and now we add one more to the list: the dark and beautiful score by Hildur Guðnadóttir. 

She absolutely gave me a much better understanding of how music can not only enhance a scene but be worked around it. Apparently, the music was made first and Todd Philips would shoot scenes with the score playing in the background so that he can craft scenes based on which part of the score he was listening to. This is the first time something like this has ever happened in the filmmaking process and it absolutely worked wonders. No wonder why each scene tied in so beautifully to a specific part of the score.

Hildur has made it and I hope to hear more of her work in future projects. 

6. To a bright future (hopefully)...

This section is more of a call to action than a positive point for the film. That being said, Joker’s success has opened up many possibilities for DC films moving forward. 

Let’s be honest here. The recent attempt of DC keeping up with Marvel in terms of films has not been great. DC is Marvel’s biggest competitor but when you just look purely at movie success, you wouldn’t think that.

That’s because Marvel started something solid over a decade ago and is currently having the biggest and most epic film franchise today and, quite possible, of all time. 

DC tried (and is still trying) to do the same but it has been a roller-coaster with some enjoyable ups (Man of Steel, Wonder Woman, Shazam) and terrible downs (Batman V. Superman, Justice League, Suicide Squad, Birds of Prey). 

Now with the huge commercial and critical success of this film, Warner Bros. need to take advantage of this while they have the chance. Joker is a film that is set in its own universe and not a part of the bigger DCEU and this could be DC’s way of being as successful as Marvel. Elseworld stories. Detective Comics was the first to put huge emphasis on a multiverse in their comics and I believe it’s time to bring that to the films. 

They’ve already implemented a multiverse with the television shows but now is the time to let the silver screen experience this. 

Unlike Disney, Warner Bros. has the movie rights to ALL of the DC characters. All of them. From heavyweights like Superman and Batman to less popular characters like Question and Red Tornado. They need to make use of that advantage because there are plenty of characters who have not had successful film ventures yet. Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, Batgirl, Constantine (sorry Keanu) Lobo, Zatanna, Static Shock, Booster Gold (a personal favorite) and so many more. Give these characters a chance. They can shine in their own standalone movie that doesn’t have to do with the DCEU. However, if you want to put all of them in the same universe, you’ll need visionary writers capable of that. 

Consider this my call to action for Warner Bros. because I’m admittedly more of a DC fan than a Marvel. Don’t get me wrong, I love both franchises but DC was my first so I am biased towards them. I’m happy that Marvel has continuous success but it also makes me melancholic because it makes me question why DC can’t experience the same. 

Only time will tell if DC can keep this up because right now, they’re doing well overall but even if they ultimately never catch up, they can be proud of this one. 

Overall...

I love this film and its portrayal of an iconic character. They took an overused and overexposed character and somehow made him fresh again without taking away what made him so popular in the first place.

Todd Philips had a vision and he took it to a level that I didn’t think he was capable of. Joaquin Phoenix just absolutely killed with a performance that’s going to be remembered forever. 

As I write this review, talks of a sequel have already begun. I’m honestly not sure if they can do outdo themselves. My expectations will be even higher but they are most certainly welcome to exceed them again. 

[castleportrpg]

—BOLD WHAT APPLIES. 

[ COLORS ] red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. violet. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. bubblegum pink. sky blue. pale jade. magenta. olive green.

[ ELEMENTS ] fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

[ WEAPONS ] fists. legs. sword. dagger. spear. bow & arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staves. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. snowballs. claws. teeth. stealth. strategy.

[ MATERIALS ] gold. silver. copper. platinum. titanium. bronze. rose gold. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. malachite. pyrite. emeralds. tiger’s eye. green tourmaline. amethyst. rose quartz. metal. iron. steel. rust. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. ribbon. aluminum. grease. obsidian.

[ NATURE ]  grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. sunflowers. tulips. wildflowers. lavender. lilies. hibiscus. petals. thorns. pine needles. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. bamboo. roots. flowers. fungi. ocean. river. frozen lake. meadows. valleys. forest. desert. cacti. tundra. savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. beach. waves. space. constellations. shooting stars. auroras. clouds. mountains. dew. rainbows. blizzards. fossils. moss. driftwood. fjords. canyons. floods. droughts. thunder. tornadoes. hurricanes. tsunamis. volcanoes. earthquakes. mist. ponds.

[ ANIMALS ] lions. wolves. foxes. bears. tigers. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. frogs. toads.ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. dove. seagulls. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. rabbits. penguins.tarantulas. praying mantises. butterflies. ladybugs. scarabs. bees. wasps. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. octopi. squids. jellyfish. elephants. giraffes. rhinos. scorpions. crocodiles. armadillos. badgers. goats. sheep. pigs. chickens. llamas. camels. vultures. sloths. monkeys. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. phoenix. dragons.

[ FOODS / DRINKS ] sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. coffee. tea. kombucha. beer. wine. hard liquor. vodka. champagne. whiskey. spices. herbs. apples. oranges. lemons. cherries. strawberries. peaches. watermelon. coca cola. pepsi. dr pepper. mountain dew. sprite. vegetables. fruits. meat. seafood. pies. desserts. chocolate. potato chips. soup. stew. breakfast cereal. donuts. toast. waffles. ramen. caramel. cookies. chips & salsa. berries. nuts. cinnamon. iced coffee. cold brew. burgers. burritos. sushi. pizza. bbq. nachos. quesadillas. avocado. eggs. milk. cheese. poultry. bacon. popcorn. macaroni & cheese. pasta. hot pockets. sandwiches. insects. pudding. cheesecake. jerky.

[ HOBBIES ]  music. art. watercolors. gardening. metalworking. sculpting. painting. sketching. hiking. camping. writing. poetry. composing. cooking. baking. sewing. weightlifting. swimming. dancing. acting. singing. sports. football. basketball. martial arts. self-defense. war tactics. electronics. technology. phone. cameras. video cameras. vlogging. blogging. video games. knitting. crocheting. movies. theater. libraries. books. comic books. magazines. cds. vinyls. cassettes. piano. strings. violin. guitar. electric guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. drums. harp. woodwinds. brass. flute. astrology. exploring. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. roleplay board games. billiards. hockey. motorcycle riding. woodworking. fishing. eating. sleeping. climbing. paintball. running. jogging. skateboarding. parkour. partying. studying. mechanics. hunting.

[ STYLE ] t-shirts. camisoles. tank tops. muscle shirts. vests. blazers. v-neck shirts. button-up shirts. boxers.briefs. boxer briefs. sport bras. lingerie. sneakers. converses. vans slip-ons. sandals. heels. doc martens. engineer boots. wing-tips. leather lace-up boots. saddle shoes. leggings. trousers. jeans. chinos. shorts. pencil skirts. skinny jeans. earrings. gauges. necklaces. bracelets. rings. trucker hats. snapbacks. tye-dye. band t-shirts. flannel. hawaiian shirts. bandanas. motorcycle helmet. fedora hats. scarf. cloaks. corsets. belt. denim jackets. bomber jackets. letterman jackets. canadian tuxedos. hoodies. sweaters. cardigans. thrift store sweaters. sport jerseys. gloves. corduroy. wool socks. pea jackets. ties. bowties. bolo ties. suspenders. watches. glasses. elbow patches. sunglasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup. braces. canes. tattoos.

[ MUSIC ] rock. pop. jazz. rap. r&b. hip-hop. funk. alternative. classic rock. classical. trance. dubstep. top 40. edm. hardstyle. blues. latin. k-pop. j-pop. ambient. new age. metal. world fusion.  reggae. soca. punk. ska. singer-songwriter. folk. country. bluegrass. americana. swing. opera. show tunes. film score. a capella. minimalist. christian. avant-garde. new wave. disco. baroque. symphonic metal. soundtrack. vaporwave. glitch. house. chillout. psychedelic rock. post-rock. cabaret. trip-hop. easy listening. glam rock. trap. nightcore. indie. garage. grunge. contemporary. shoegaze. surf rock. black metal. metalcore. emo. screamo. rockabilly. parody. industrial. electro pop.

[ MISC ] balloons. bubbles. bubble baths. showers. city skylines. light. dark. lust. gluttony. greed. sloth. wrath.envy. pride. growth. decay. war. peace. work. money. power. clocks. photos. mirrors. lighters. sweat. pets. candles. diary. journal. graffiti. bottlecaps. cigarette butts. postcards. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. realism. happiness. loyalty. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. clan. assistants. co-workers. enemies. corn fields. bonfires. friday nights. road trips. neon lights. county fairs. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. kisses. tears. typewriters. thrift stores. wood cabins. netflix & chill. spring. summer. autumn. winter. farmland. countryside. suburban. small town.

[lloronala]

CHARACTER AESTHETICS.

BOLD any which apply to your muse! Remember to REPOST! Feel free to add to the list!

[ COLORS ] red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white.teal.silver.gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. lavender.

[ ELEMENTS ] fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

[ BODY ] claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises.canine. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. slender. trained. piercing. tattoos. strong. weak.

[ WEAPONS ] fists. sword. dagger. spear. scythe. bow and arrow. hammer. shield. poison.guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic.rocks.

[ MATERIALS ] gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires.emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace.leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust.glitter. blood.dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics.

[ NATURE ] grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. lavender. petals. thorns. seeds.hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. ocean. river. meadow. forest. desert. tundra.savanna. rain forest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains.

[ ANIMALS ] lions. wolves. black panther. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans.snakes.turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantises. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons.

[ FOODS/DRINKS ] sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer.coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts.cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza.

[ HOBBIES ] music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting.sketching.fighting. fencing. riding. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting.singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. cello. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. trumpet. flute. drums. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice.motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. running.

[ STYLE ] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. suit. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings.trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet.scarf. neck tie. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash.coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sun glasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup.

[ MISC ] balloons. bubbles. cityscape. landscape. light. dark. candles. war.peace.money.power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity.sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs.

tagged by: @rollingsnowsmasher <3333 ;v; tagging: anyone !!

[cartoonlonk-a]

tagged by: @trueklng Thank you v much!! tagging:  If your URL has more than one letter/number in it. Do it.

REPOST ; DON’T REBLOG.

BOLD any which apply to your muse ! Feel free to add to the list !

❖ WHAT ARE YOUR MUSE’S AESTHETICS?

[ COLORS ] red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. violet. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. bubblegum pink. sky blue. pale jade.

[ ELEMENTS ] fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold.steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset .dewdrops.

[ BODY ] claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. neck. shoulders. legs.freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. fingernails. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. piercing. tattoos. athletic. hair. fur.

[ WEAPONS ] fists. legs. sword. dagger. spear. bow & arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. claws. teeth. stealth. strategy.

[ MATERIALS ] gold. silver. copper. platinum. titanium. rose gold. diamonds. pearls.rubies.sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain.paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. ribbon.

[ NATURE ] grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. sunflowers. tulips. lavender. petals.seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. fungi. ocean. river. frozen lake. meadow. valley.forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. snow. mist. pond.

[ ANIMALS ] lions. wolves. foxes. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies.penguins. praying mantises. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. frogs.

[ FOODS/DRINKS ] sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. vodka. beer. coffee. sake. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts.cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. ambrosia. eggs. milk. poultry.

[ HOBBIES ] music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. baking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. war tactics. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. strings. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. flute. bells. exploring. playing cards. poker chips. chess.dice. motorcycle riding. eating. sleeping. climbing. running. jogging. parkour. studying.

[ STYLE ] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. dress shirt. boots. ankle boots.heels.leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. beanie hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. mittens. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sun glasses. straw hat. visor. eye contacts. makeup. ribbons. sweater.converses. tennis shoes. boxers. briefs. boxer briefs. shorts. cargo. cropped pants. crop top.cuffed pants.

[ MISC ] balloons. bubbles. city scape. light. dark. candles. growth. decay. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. journal. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness.family. friends. clan. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. kisses. spring. summer. autumn. winter. farmland. countryside. suburban. village.