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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years

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chapter 4 of promises to keep is here!

[kristanna / 18th c scotland au / love and angst and kiltstoff in equal measure / rated t / 2.5k words this chapter / cw for death and a brief reference to suicide]

masterpost

What would Kristoff think of me now? she thought, the corner of her mouth curling up in amusement. All covered in dirt and with mortar spilled on my dress.

She knew exactly what he’d say: he’d tease her at first, pretend not to recognize her, and then he’d catch her up in his arms and kiss her so soundly the past months would fall away, and once more they would only be Anna and Kristoff, on the hill together worried about nothing but who would lead the next embrace.

chapter 4: the call of the sea

“Miss Anna! Someone’s coming!” the carpenter’s son shouted from the branches of the oak tree where he perched every afternoon waiting for his father to come home.

“How many, Ross?” she called back, her heart already pounding, half afraid and half wondrous. It was mid-May, and there’d been no news since the start of April. She and the rest of the townsfolk were all at their wits’ end; only two more months and a bit, and it would be a full year since the men had ridden off to a war that was supposed to have finished before Christmas.

She wiped her hands on her bodice in an attempt to clean them of the dust they had collected as she had worked to repair a crack in the side of the well in the center of town. What would Kristoff think of me now? she thought, the corner of her mouth curling up in amusement. All covered in dirt and with mortar spilled on my dress.

The men who rode up to her, Ross still trailing them, were gray-faced and solemn. “Welcome,” Anna said, curtsying deeply as if she were in a silk gown and not dingy muslin that she wore on the days she worked outside like this. “What news have you?”

“We’re looking for Eleanor MacLeod, the wife of your chief.”

She stood as tall as she could. “My aunt went to the Lord’s side three months past.”

The men exchanged an uneasy look. “Are you the chief’s next of kin, then?”

“Aye, suppose I am. What news have you that’s so important it needs this pageantry?” she asked, doing her utmost to keep her tone light.

They dismounted and, to her surprise, bowed their heads. “We were sent by our own chief, John MacLeod of Dundee, to bring you news of our kinsmen.”

“Well, spit it out, then,” Anna said impatiently.

How long the silence lasted, she didn’t know; it could have been a second, a minute, an hour, but later, when she stood alone on the hill after sharing the news with the rest of the villagers. she wished desperately that it had dragged on forever, or that she had never been born to hear, “I’m sorry, miss, but they’re gone.”

—

Nearly half the village, gone just like that. A few they had already had news of, the ones who were on the front lines and paved the way for early victories, but the rest had been cut down just south of Culloden. An hour, that’s what the two messengers had told her; that was all it took, and just like that the war was ended, for the soldiers, at least.

It would never be over for her, nor for the rest of the women and fathers and sons who’d been too old or young to go; the rest of their lives would be spent trying to climb back from the abyss of despair they’d been unceremoniously thrown into.

Anna did her best to keep a brave face on. Elsa defaulted to her, and the rest of the townsfolk, even the men who had bounced her on their knees when she’d been a babe, followed suit, and so she was the one who had broken the news to each household, held each widow while she wailed, brought food around from the castle’s larders to anyone who couldn’t bring themselves to move, let alone keep hungry mouths fed.

And she was the one who, tormented by sleepless nights of wondering where Kristoff rested now and whether she might ever be able to grieve him there, brought them together on the first of June, a stone held tightly in each of her hands, and led them to the crest of the hill where she had wasted their last night waiting for a man who hadn’t come to her and now never would again.

She set down the larger of the two first. “For my uncle Lachlan,” she said, proud and fierce as she could manage despite the tears already threatening, “one of the greatest men I ever knew.”

She placed the other next to it. “And for my…for Kristoff,” she said, digging her nails into her palm to keep her voice steady, and though she couldn’t bring herself to say more she knew they all understood.

Bridget and her son were next; she knelt down and laid the stone as carefully as she could while the little boy clung to her collar, wide-eyed. “For our Callum,” she said, her voice barely audible but steady all the same. “The finest husband and father we could have asked for.”

On and on it went, until the cairn rose to her waist and the others had dispersed to her homes and she was left standing alone next to it in darkness. She reached out with a trembling hand to rest her fingertips on top of the final stone, the one a little girl had stood on her tiptoes to place as she whispered, “For my grandpapa.”

“Rest well,” she said, dry-eyed and hollowed as an ancient bone. “And know we’ll not forget you.”

—

On the eve of the three hundred and sixty-fifth day without him, she mounted the hill just after twilight and looked down at all the houses and their shuttered windows and let herself be swallowed up by silence.

She sat, pulling her knees to her chest and tucking her chin against them, and closed her eyes, for once not looking for a person who needed comforting or a job that needed doing, and instead allowing it all to wash over her.

It didn’t hurt at first, the thought of Callum and her uncle and Kristoff lying in unmarked graves, of the tears in the tapestry of her life that they had left behind. She felt detached from it somehow, like it was a simple fact she had read once in a book, they are dead and gone and your heart is buried with them. She wished it did hurt. Then she could cry, could scream, could wail until her voice broke against her grief like a wave slamming to shore– could do anything besides sit here feeling this unending emptiness.

She hated herself for it, for not being able to mourn them properly, the way they deserved. All she could do was stand back and organize the rest of the ones left behind and help them make sense of it all as best they could, distant and unfeeling as if she had never loved them at all.

I did, she thought, wishing she could pray it somehow and be assured that they would hear. More than my own life.

What a cruel twist of fate, then, to be left with the lesser of the two.

—

It was her sister at last who pulled her aside.

“Your dress keeps falling off your shoulders.”

“Because it’s worn out and I’ve not had the time to make a new one.”

“Because you’re running yourself ragged,” Elsa said softly, “and not eating enough, and come winter the winds will be strong enough to blow you away.”

Anna averted her eyes. “The people need me. And it’s not much, really, not compared to all the correspondence and– and money things you do here, and so it’s the least I can–”

“You need to take better care of yourself, Annie,” she said softly, and the nickname sent a jolt through her, reminded her of Callum and how he’d laughed and called her that since they were children, how they’d been Annie and Ellie to him, and they’d tease back and call him Callie and he’d scowl and fling bits of mud at them in revenge and–

“Stay with me,” her sister said again, louder this time, as she pressed cool hands to Anna’s cheeks.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she mumbles.

“You look like you’re about to faint.”

Anna sighed. “I’m fine.”

“You need to go and…and do whatever it is you need today. We all know what day it is. We knew the two of you long enough, we knew–”

“Stop,” Anna said, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. “I don’t want to talk about it. It was just– just a silly, childish thing, since we didn’t really know his birthday– it doesn’t matter–”

“It mattered to you, didn’t it?”

Anna went silent, casting her eyes downward. “I thought it did.”

Elsa sighed and dropped her hands. “Tell me, Anna. Tell me why you won’t even take the time to mourn him.”

“I tried. I– I just can’t, Elsa, I– and I know it’s wrong and horrid of me, and what you must think of me–”

“What I think of you?”

“You– you still wear your mourning clothes, and it’s been three years now, and here I am unable to even cry–”

“It’s different for everyone,” Elsa said softly, “and– and I think in this case especially. I didn’t feel about Julien the way you felt– feel– about Kristoff.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend, I– I know you must have loved him ten times as much–”

“Not…like that.”

A faint blush was coloring her cheeks now, and Anna frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He was a dear friend, to be sure, and I miss him terribly even now, but…it wasn’t like that between us. He had, ah…someone else. Guillaume, to be precise.”

Anna’s eyebrows flew upward. “But you spoke of him so often afterwards, and– and you still–”

“I was a stranger in a strange land, and he was my only friend for a long time. But now, I confess, I still wear my widow’s garb so I’m not pressed into another marriage. I know I won’t be as lucky a second time.”

Anna mulled over this for a long moment. It was the sort of thing she had suspected more than once, but never dared to question aloud. “But you grieved him. You…you wept over him, still. And I…I cannot even feel anything. I just feel…empty. Numb.”

“For everyone it’s different. Julien’s mother was the same until the day I boarded the ship home, and then it all came over her at once. But you want to mourn, don’t you?”

“Yes. I…it’s what he deserves. What all of them do.”

“Then give yourself the time for it. Go to the sea today like you used to. The village can live a day without you.”

And so she did, sitting on the edge of the cliffs that overlooked the water and swinging her legs. She had never dared to do this– or rather, she had wondered how it would feel and crept ever closer to the edge, but whenever she turned back Kristoff would be pale, never out of arm’s reach, and so she would never go too far before turning to him and suggesting they go down to the shore instead. And the last time they had been here together, she had gone further than ever, overtaken by a sudden wild impulse, and had asked him, “Doesn’t it make you want to jump? Just to see how it feels?”, not looking at him as she peered down.

He had wrapped a thick arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest hard enough that she had opened her mouth to protest before realizing she could feel his heart hammering against her spine. “No,” he had murmured, barely audible over the crash of the surf below, and she had leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes and known then that the love she felt for him that she had put off for years as a childish fancy was in fact the most solid and wonderful and real thing in the world.

People jumped from places like this. It was the sort of thing she thought she ought to consider; that was what you did, didn’t you, when you lost your true love?

She didn’t want to do that. She wanted to turn back and look over her shoulder and see him standing there, white-faced and reaching for her, and to run to him and hold on and promise never to give him such a fright again. She wanted to feel the press of his palm against her back, the rise and fall of his chest and the brush of his breath over her hair, wanted to hear the rumble of his laugh and see the twinkle in his eyes and taste on his lips the sweetness of all his promises and know he meant to keep every one of them.

She lifted her eyes from her lap towards the sea that had brought him to her and wondered what had taken him away; if it had been a musket or a noose or a fever, if he had lingered or been gone in a flash, if he had known that given the chance she would have stayed by his side and held his hand and made sure that the last thing he knew was how greatly he was loved.

And then, at last, she did weep for fear that perhaps he had been entirely alone, that perhaps his last thought hadn’t been that she loved him but that she might not forgive him for not coming home.

“I do,” she choked out, her voice whipped away by the wind, “I do, Kristoff, I do.”

—

There had been a time in his life when he had been able to come and go as he pleased, when his work had made him proud, when he had been able to stand without pain and breathe in the fresh highland air and look up to see the stars, a time when he had been content and hopeful and so very naive.

And he had been loved so much it took his breath away, even now when he leaned against the damp corner of a dank cell listening to the rattle of a key as it locked him back in once more after a job sufficiently done. His leg ached and his hands were blistered and he was so tired he didn’t know if he’d wake up in the morning, but he closed his eyes and saw a girl with a smile that shamed the stars and a heart so full of love it had always frightened him, how easily she gave it, for fear that she might run out and not have enough left over for him anymore.

He hoped that wasn’t the case, that she remembered him still, because he had a promise to keep.

#hope u enjoyed the peek into elsa's backstory #and that u like the ending better this time #kristanna #ptk #my fics #old scotland au

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seokoloqy · 5 years

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helLO pARADISE, mY NAMe IS | myg (m)

➳ PAIRING: hades!yoongi x persephone!y/n

➳ GENRE: smut, just a tiny bit of angst, greek myth!au

➳ WORD COUNT: 10k

➳ WARNINGS: attempted kidnapping, mentions of death, fingering (he has rings on yeehaw), unprotected sex, creampie

➳ SUMMARY: Buried in the Earth where seasons did not exist, where all prosperous life perished, and Helios’s blinding light could not touch; you slept soundly in the arms of darkness.

➳ A/N: oomf first fic of 2019! i love greek myths so i hope i did it justice... and feedback is always welcome! anyways, happy new year everyone and i hope you enjoy!!

As the clouds wept for their fallen god, he was consumed by the Earth, sinking into the deepest parts of despair where humanity no longer existed and death lurked in the inky shallows of Styx. He found himself trapped inside the loneliest void the world had to offer. His brothers did not grieve for his loss for they found comfort in their own luxury above where the Earth flourished in his absence. As flowers began to blossom in Spring, he created a kingdom where isolation and despair found solace in the arms of the dead.

Eons of solitude wore away at his weary soul, and he longed for Helios’s blinding rays to grace his pale skin, to see blooming gardens rise from dirt, and for the smell of earthy petrichor once again. He wanted—needed—his own slice of Elysian in the Hell he, unfortunately, called home.

“Hello, uh…” Is the first missing piece of euphoria he has found in your hesitant voice, as you struggle to address him. You had accidentally bumped into him, colliding against one another as you tried running the opposite direction, away from the vigilant eyes of your keeper.

In the lively chatter of drunken gods, he can only focus on you, the budding goddess of Spring, and forgets entirely why he has come to visit his brother's palace. It’s rare to find him wandering the great and golden halls of Olympus; he doesn’t belong in the palace of glowing gods.

It’s amusing you don’t recognize him. Can’t you tell? He diminishes light, darkness follows his wake, flowers wilt and die, life ceases to exist wherever he goes. It must be your mother, leaving you clueless and naive to the realm of Hades.

“Yoongi.” He answers, reprieving you from embarrassment. No recognition, not even a glint behind your youthful and sparkling eyes. You really have never heard of the danger you’ve just met.

“Hello Yoongi, my name is Y/N,” you chirp.

Light does not touch him, yet, the outstretched offering of peace glows softly. Your hand reaches towards him, a golden light that breaks the cover of darkness surrounding his being.

Hesitantly, he takes your hand gently, afraid he might put out your ethereal light. To his astonishment, as his hand envelops yours it glows brighter, like a connection woven by the fates has been made. He’s struck by the warmth that encompasses him, thawing his frozen heart and sending him spiraling down into sweet oblivion.

The seconds of your warm, endless light holding onto him is enough to decide. He needs you to save him from the eternal darkness that clouds his realm—bring him salvation from solitude.

“There you are, Y/N! What are you doing wandering off, love?”

Your hand slips from his and the connection is lost, leaving him bitterly cold once again, longing for a hint of warmth.

Love. He hasn’t heard that useless phrase in centuries, but as it falls from the messenger god’s lips, it ignites a long forgotten flame inside him. What was it like to have a lover? Admittedly he has had his share of meaningless late-night affairs, but what does it feel like to hold someone he cherishes in his arms at the end of his eternal nights?

“Your mother put me in charge of you, and she’ll castrate me if she finds out you’ve been talking to strangers.” The exasperated messenger pulls you away from the brooding god, keeping you a safe distance from the dark.

Yoongi is hardly a stranger. Olympus knows his name, eldest son of Kronos and king of the underworld, he deserves more respect from a simple winged boy. However, he doesn’t express his contempt for the messenger’s choice of words, leaving his anger to simmer.

“You can’t keep me by your side forever, Taehyung. I want to be free to meet new people.” You dare to look towards Yoongi, the enigmatic stranger whose cold hands somehow felt warm clasped around yours.

You examine the crown resting carefully atop his silver hair. The metal, well-worn through years of abuse, has turned a discolored amber color. The design of his crown twists into what resembles antlers overlapping one another with a single garnet gem held in the center. It looks sharp enough to pierce the skin.

“Am I not sufficient company, darling?” Taehyung pouts then brings his attention towards Yoongi giving him a look that says something along the lines of ‘back off’. A look that doesn’t intimidate Yoongi the slightest, he has seen worse in Tartarus, where only the wicked spend their eternity. “Would you prefer to be acquainted with the king of Hades instead?”

Dissatisfaction is prevalent in Taehyung’s voice. Of all the gods on Olympus, you had to meet him, the most unpleasant, insolent, and ill-tempered god of them all. He is meant to look after you during your visit to Olympus and now you're smitten by the king of Hades.

You stare wide-eyed at Yoongi. You’ve heard of his realm before briefly when your mother explained what happened to mortals when they died. You faintly recall her saying his kingdom was desolate and devoid of life, including the gardens you cherish so much.

You purse your rosy lips, disapproving of Taehyung’s attitude towards not only you but Yoongi as well. “I can befriend whoever I please, you aren’t my mother and you don’t control me, Taehyung.”

“She’s right. I believe she should be free to choose for herself,” Yoongi agrees, keeping his eyes keenly trained on you while Taehyung’s narrow at the king’s words.

“What has brought you to Olympus, Yoongi? Neither of your brothers or sisters has requested you, I would have known.” Taehyung knows everything that goes on in the palace, who comes and goes, who belongs and who doesn’t.

“I am here on my own accord, boy. Do I need permission to visit my brother's palace?” Venom drips from Yoongi’s lips as he glowers at the pretentious young god.

The air slowly begins to thin and becomes harder and harder to breathe. With the tension between the two, you start to feel uncomfortable watching their silent confrontation. You grab Taehyung’s hand and try pulling him away first, knowing the hot-headed messenger doesn’t like to back down from a challenge.

“Let's go back to the garden. I want to see the flowers again,” you mutter. Taehyung reluctantly follows tearing his gaze away to trail after you. “Goodbye, Yoongi, it was nice meeting you.”

You turn away from the god without looking back, silently hoping you can continue this meeting another time soon when there is no guardian hovering over you under the instruction of your mother.

Yoongi watches as you disappear, taking the light with you and leaving him alone in the dark once again.

The mortal world is where the foolish, the greedy, and the sinful lie. The likes of which, you blindly do not know of. You are caught in an idyllic dream where there is no wrong in the world, carefully crafted by your mother.

She believes mortals are expendable beings that have no business being associated with the gods. They’re dirty creatures with wicked whims that will do anything for what they desperately desire. They hunt their prey like wild beasts, unrelenting and merciless.

“Come out, there is no use in hiding. You’re mine.”

Taehyung left you by the lapping pools of a crystal lake. You convinced him it was a safe location since it is so close to home, where your mother is. He trusted you would be safe under the watch of several nymphs who inhabited the quiet lake.

“Did you hear me? You belong to me. Now come out before I get angry.”

However, it wasn’t safe there, someone was watching in the dark foliage, stalking you with their vigilant eyes. You were unaware of the danger that lurked in the dark as you plucked wildflowers from the Earth.

“When I find you, I will make you my bride.”

You had no choice but to run, trying to find sanctuary in an unfamiliar part of the forest. No protection against this danger, just your instinct, and prayers that one of the benevolent gods will come to your rescue.

As your bare feet desperately push you forward, the ground begins to tremble. You’re knocked off balance and sent tumbling into the ground. As you lie in the dirt, whimpering as rocks dig into your soft flesh, the sound of footsteps creeps closer. You’re certain he has found you and will drag you back to his kingdom where he will make sure of his promise.

Fear grips you in its steady grasp. Your legs are frozen, unable to stand again, despite your begging. You plead for the strength to move, but nothing finds you. Just as helplessness washes over you, the Earth finally caves, sinking you into the deepest parts of despair.

Your descent begins with a scream for help as you fall into unending darkness. You meet water at the end of your fall—bottomless, black waters. It consumes you and envelops your entire being in its murky depths. The sting of its surface hitting your skin is excruciating. You try to cry out from pain, but water rushes into your lungs as you thrash.

Swimming towards the surface, you’re met with dim moonlight and an endless fog. You violently cough up the remnants of water still lingering in your throat. There is no shore in sight, you're left no resting place, forced to paddle your arms and kick your legs to stay afloat.

“Hello?” You call out hoarsely, hoping for an answer in this lifeless world. “Please help me!”

“Help will never come, you foolish child,” a disembodied voice hisses.

You twist your head, looking for the source of the voice to find nothing but the same endless waters. There is nowhere to hide if it chooses to find you. You reply to it, “What do you mean? Where am I?”

The voice mockingly laughs, echoing all around yet no one is there, “You’re in Hades.”

Yoongi. The king of Hades crosses your mind. This is his realm. Which means he must be here too, watching over his kingdom. Was it him who sent you here?

“Do you… have any idea how to get out?”

It laughs again, “Once you’re here you can never leave.”

The laughter subsides and you’re left alone again to muddle in your thoughts. That stranger in the forest, this is all his fault. He called himself a king, he said he was lost, and he asked for your name which you carelessly gave away. He hunted you and chased you through the thickets, all while spewing nonsensical vows to marry you.

While you pity yourself for being so foolish, you feel a tug at your dress. As you try peering down into the inky waters, it tugs again harder, nearly submerging your head under. Panic sets in and you begin to swim towards nothing in particular, just desperate to get away from whatever is grabbing at you.

A hand wraps around your ankle pulling you underneath the surface. You clamp your mouth shut to stop the scream desperate to escape and try to swim up, moving your legs to shake off the hand. In the murky waters, you can make out a figure of a person, holding tightly onto your ankle. Its grey fingers dig into your skin, piercing the flesh and hooking into you. The hollow eyes and decaying face watch as you twist and pull yourself closer to the surface.

There’s another corpse, and another, appearing out of the dark depths all swimming towards you, trying to get a piece. One of the corpses pushed into the one holding onto you and you manage to pry your leg free. Without hesitation you begin to swim away, rising to the surface for air.

You can feel their hands brushing along your legs, stomach, and waist. Swimming further into the fog, you make out a rocky shore. You kick your legs and dive your arms into the water, trying to escape.

As you come upon the shores filled with piercing rocks, you can no longer stand to move your limbs. You lay in the rising waters, half submerged and your arms splayed forwards gripping onto the jagged rocks for a semblance of comfort.

There are no more hands clawing at your feet, for now, you believe you are safe and that lulls you into a deep sleep.

“How could you let this happen? I told you to bring her to me safely and she is worse than when she arrived! You’re absolutely useless, get out.”

Your eyes flutter open at the familiar sound of Yoongi’s voice, hushed and irritated. Footsteps recede and a door is slammed, followed by Yoongi’s deep sigh.

You are no longer on the rocky shores of Hades, instead, you’re pressed against a mattress tucked beneath a wool blanket. The room is unfamiliar, coated in blacks and greys. The black canopy bed you are laid in is draped in dark mesh, leaving the hushed whisper behind a semi-transparent curtain. You can faintly make out the silhouette of Yoongi and his pointed crown.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, reaching your now bandaged arm out to push aside the mesh drape.

He must have heard you, his outline turns towards the bed and opens the curtain, revealing him in the same dark attire you last saw him in. His face is relieved, lips twisting into a faint smile as he gazes at you fondly. “You’re okay now. Just rest and I will run you a bath soon.”

“No, wait!” You call just as he begins to turn away, a hand darting out to latch onto his retreating figure, only grazing the skin of his wrist lightly. He flinches from your touch, and you withdraw your hand to your chest. Your cheeks turn a rosy color, feeling as if you’ve interfered with his personal space. He doesn’t seem like the type of man who enjoys physical contact.

When you first met, he was so hesitant to even touch you. Maybe he only shook your hand so you would leave him alone, after all, he has a reputation on Olympus for being a callous god.

“I mean… thank you for answering me.”

“Answering you?” He echoes, parting the drapes further.

You pluck the stray threads of wool from the blanket thrown over you. “I prayed.” You answer, pushing yourself up the bed. Your bare arms are met with cold air, sending your arms to unconsciously wrap around yourself. Your dress is still damp from the fall. “I prayed and you saved me, didn’t you?”

Yoongi takes the wool blanket and pushes it over your shoulders, careful not to touch your glowing skin. He licks his parched lips and offers you a solemn reply, “I hardly saved your life. You landed in Styx, nearly drowned in the waters and cut yourself on the shores. I could have killed you.”

“But you saved me from that wicked king, Pirithous. I’d rather be dead than trapped as a bride to that awful man?”

Yoongi makes note of that name, mentally reserving a special spot in Tartarus for him soon.

“Sir?”

“What now?” Yoongi snaps, turning to the door where his withered ferryman stands haunched. Yoongi hasn’t gotten over the carelessness and disregards the ferryman seemed to have for his order to bring you back unscathed.

“The messenger is here for you.”

“Taehyung?” You perk up, pushing aside the blanket, eager to see your friend again. You want to be held in comforting arms, a familiar and safe embrace. “I have to see him.”

Yoongi is quick to move in front of you as you swing your legs over the bed. He has his palm towards you as a gesture to stop you, close, but not touching your bare shoulder. “You can’t see him, not like this.”

You glance down at your attire, lilac dress clinging to your damp skin. Despite this, you don’t find anything the matter. The wool blanket is tossed aside and you stand, nearly pressing against him, toe to toe. He doesn’t seem to notice the proximity, a glaze in his atramentous eyes.

“I mean… You could become ill. This dress…” he drifts off, eyes trailing to the side where they linger over the sheets you slept peacefully in. “I’ll run you a bath instead.”

Yoongi steps away, finally regaining his sanity, and makes his way towards the connecting bathroom. The ornamental cape draped over his shoulders flows behind his figure and disappears into the bath.

You turn your head to the shadowy man still lingering in the doorway who curiously stares at the soft golden halo of light enveloping your body. It’s unnerving the way his skeletal fingers clutch his staff tightly to his chest and his crooked gaze drifts over you.

The faucet is turned on, the sound of water filling the tub fills the room and the arcane ferryman turns to leave the threshold, returning to the river where he is most needed.

“Come in.” Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, sleeves rolled up and showing off the pale skin underneath.

“W-With you?”

You regret the words as soon as they come out of your mouth, not realizing how it sounds aloud. What is it that you’re implying?

Yoongi drags his eyes down your figure, tonguing his cheek. ”No, I have to meet with the messenger.” He shakes his head, trying to erase the lustful images that have plagued his thoughts. He takes his leave, heading towards the door afraid if he looks at you again, it will drive him insane. “Please, take as long as you need.”

He leaves before you can thank him for saving you—for caring for you.

You emerge from the bathroom, wrapped tightly in a white towel. Your original clothes are damp with water from the river and you’re left with no other option. You flush at the thought of wandering around Yoongi’s palace with nothing but a flimsy piece of cloth wrapped around your body.

The room is well furnished with a full vanity table as well as a closet. There must be something in there for you to wear, undoubtedly only men’s clothing, specifically only Yoongi’s clothing. You walk across the room to the closet, opening up the creaking doors.

There only seems to be one color pallet in his wardrobe—black. The shirts hung up are neatly spaced on the rack with pants folded and resting at the bottom. His shirts are all the same, black button-up shirts. You pull one off the hanger and slip your arms through the sleeves. They fall past your hands and stop mid-thigh.

You admire the silk and the cooling effect it has on your skin. Releasing your towel to the ground, you begin to button up the shirt. As you pick up the pants laid out and unravel them, they seem too big to fit around your waist so you put them back, deciding the shirt is enough for now.

The halls are empty, holding only foreboding darkness at the end where you have no idea what awaits. This is nothing like Olympus, where the golden halls are lined with windows opening to the blue skies and wispy clouds. Here, heavy curtains cover the pane and block the view.

Yoongi never said you had to stay in the room, and you’re hoping to find Taehyung and explain everything to him. Your mother must be worried sick, you have to reassure her you’re okay.

“Yoongi?” You try calling. You doubt you’ll find the throne room easily and there isn’t anyone around to guide you.

Leaving the hall you come upon a room where you’re struck with a sense of familiarity. Underneath the dome-shaped ceiling is a tree. In the heart of the room is a full pomegranate tree, bearing deliciously ripe fruit.

You unconsciously step forward, entranced by the glowing halo of light cascading down from the windows above. The only bit of light in this realm belongs to the tree. You ache for its warmth to blossom across your skin once again.

Your hand reaches for one of the sanguine fruit, plucking it off. As the branch snaps back and the leaves rustle, you run your thumb over the smooth skin, admiring the ripeness and shine. The shell cracks under the pressure of your fingers digging into the core where the wine colored juices leak out and bleed onto your fingers. You pluck a few maroon seeds from the center and fondle them in the palm of your hand.

“Stop! What are you doing?” The yell comes from the opposite end of the room, there you see Yoongi rapidly approaching, cape billowing behind him. He rips the fruit from your unsteady hands and tosses it to the ground, giving you a warning look. “You must not eat or drink anything from my kingdom if you want to return home to your mother. Do you understand me?” He warns, stern eyes focusing on your gaping features.

All you can do is nod weakly as your eyes drift to the discarded fruit and scattered seeds, not daring to look up, “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know.”

You really are a foolish girl. No wonder your mother never let you roam the land without a guardian. It took months of begging for her to agree to let you visit Olympus for the first time, but only with Taehyung as an escort. You can’t go anywhere alone without her overbearing fear for your safety.

Yoongi regrets his uncontrolled outburst, feeling guilty as your face falls, but he can’t risk unintentionally trapping you here. You probably will never forgive him. “Don’t apologize to me.” He sighs, shifting his crown forward as it had moved back in his haste to reach you on time.

You nod silently, toying with the edge of his shirt draped over your figure. Yoongi’s attention drifts over to your hands and down to the bare skin of your legs. Under his gaze, you unconsciously pull the shirt lower, embarrassed by the exposure.

“You must be cold.” He blurts, hands moving to his neck where the string of his cape lies. “Here, take this.”

He unties his cape, pulling the string around his neck loose with agile fingers and wraps it over your shoulders, the warmth left from his body lingers and envelops you. He fixes it around your shoulders, tying a neat bow in the front.

You don’t have the heart to tell him you aren’t cold as your giddy heart races when he smoothes the dark cloth over your shoulders. A touch that sends shivers down your body, although not the same as when you first met. When your hands touched for the first time it felt like millions of volts through your body, sensations you only crave more of.

“There you go,” he murmurs, lips pulling into a tight awkward smile as his hands fall from your shoulders.

“Thank you.” You fight off the rising blush, wrapping the entire cape around your body to hug yourself.

“Of course. Now, come, I have a room for you.” He gestures with two fingers beckoning you to follow him through the door you came through and back into the dark halls.

“What about Taehyung? Hasn’t he come to take me home?” You ask, catching up to Yoongi as he moves to the door.

He must have spoken to Taehyung while you were bathing. Did Yoongi tell him what happened to you?

“I’ve explained everything and we both agreed it would be safer if… you stayed here with me for a while.” There is a hint of unease behind his voice and he reaches to unbutton his collar, exposing his sunken collarbones.

“And my mother? She must be worried!” You exclaim, taking the cape and wrapping it tighter around yourself as it gives you a bit of security from the dark.

Yoongi grimaces at the mention of your overbearing mother, “Taehyung will notify her. You have nothing to worry about.”

You nod, accepting his answers. Staying here doesn’t seem so bad. You’ve never really gotten the chance to explore anywhere else but Earth, where it’s green grass and blue skies never failed to make you feel comforted. Here it’s different. Every inch of this kingdom is covered in mist and decay, the inhabitants are no longer living.

But looking at Yoongi as he strides confidently down the hall makes you a bit braver, he is undisturbed by the darkness of his kingdom and you want to exude that same confidence. Adapting to and learning about a whole new world intrigues you, especially when its king is so infamous on Olympus—a mystery in your eyes.

“This is your room for now.” He stops in front of the door adjacent to the one you woke up in. Both doors are exactly alike and you can only guess behind the door is an immaculate copy of the same room. “And I’ll be in the one across from you.”

“Thank you,” you grin, pulling him into a hug. He has his arms hovering over your shoulders, startled by your sudden embrace. Before he can lay his hand around you, you pull away. “And goodnight, Yoongi.”

The room, despite its fresh linen and immaculate furnishings, fails to bring you a sense of comfort in this unfamiliar environment. You’re alone underneath the suffocating blankets and left pondering what your fate would have been if you hadn’t been rescued by Yoongi.

If he hadn’t saved you… just the thought of that vile and repulsive king trying to steal you away to make you his prize of a wife makes you want to scream. You’re beyond grateful for Yoongi’s generosity and hospitality—welcoming you into his kingdom, an infamous land where its doors open only for the dead.

You stare at the ceiling, thinking of the man resting in the room across the hall. You’ve only just met, yet, there is an undeniable pull—like Eros has struck you with his golden arrow and brought you together. You find yourself longing again for his touch.

You brush off your lingering thoughts and toss aside the sheets, letting it fall across the empty half of the bed. From your bedroom to his, you carefully tip-toe across the empty hall, hoping not to disturb whatever resides in the dark. As you push down the golden handle and creak open a sliver of his door, you’re met with the silver moonlight and the shadow of Yoongi’s figure as he faces the window. He turns his head at the sound of his door opening, startled by the sudden intruder.

Peaking your head through the crack, you ask him a question, “May I come in?”

He nods and turns to face you, hands clasped behind his back as he watches you enter the room silently. You shut the door behind you, hearing the lock click into place and lean against the door frame.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks, hoping the chilling temperature hasn’t begun to affect you.

“I’m feeling fine, but I just…” you trail off, unable to find the right words. Asking the king of Hades if you can spend the night in his bed together seems so uncouth to you. “Can I stay with you? Just for tonight.”

You prepare for the worst reaction, for him to refuse and turn you away, laughing at your foolish bravery. Although, you’re silently praying he’ll agree to let you fall soundly asleep in his arms.

“Yes.” He speaks without hesitation despite his better judgment objecting every step he takes towards the bed, suddenly looking smaller than before. How can he lay beside a goddess, one who shines despite the looming darkness that shrouds him, without diminishing part of that light?

You nearly skip to the bed, wanting nothing more than to crawl into it and drift off into oblivion securely pressed against his chest. You peel the sheets back, sliding into the familiar warmth with a satisfied sigh.

He doesn’t know if you’d prefer for him to join you now or wait until you’re asleep.

“Will you join me?” You ask through tired eyelids. Today has been an experience you never thought possible, meeting the king of Hades, being chased by another mad king and brought to the underworld. You just want to sleep for centuries.

He wordlessly nods and pulls back the blanket and joins you, laying on his side facing you.

You turn on your side to look at his glowing features, boldly letting your tired thoughts slip out, “You’re cute.” Your finger traces the curve of his nose and pauses at the tip just as he begins to blush. A giggle escapes you and you pull your finger away, enjoying the way his nose scrunches and he shakes his head.

“Just cute?” He muses. “I should be the one saying that to you.”

“Ah,” you swoon, pressing a hand to your cheek jokingly. “The almighty king of the underworld believes I’m cute.”

“Is that so surprising?”

“No, many gods tell me frequently… however, I think I like when you say it the most,” you admit, slipping an arm underneath his to bring yourself closer to his chest and resting to the sound of his beating heart.

Adjusting to the eternal night sky and echoing screams of the damned takes time. You’re sure that enough time has passed above that the trees are beginning to shed its leaves and the vibrant flowers are beginning to wilt in preparation for Fall. There’s no way of knowing for sure, there are no flowers in Hades, besides the pomegranate tree that never seems to wither. While the season change, you take comfort resting endless nights away beneath the everlasting tree, needing no other entertainment besides the artificial light and rustling branches as they sway peacefully.

But it’s no secret you long to see grassy hills and blooming flowers again while stuck in this kingdom—it’s not like home. The closest you will ever get to those blossoming hills is the distant glow of the Elysian, a sanctuary out of reach to you. It’s reserved only for righteous mortal souls, off-limits to everyone else.

Yoongi has assured you many times that this is for the best. He only wants to keep you safe while Pirithous is still roaming the Earth looking for a bride. He tries making up for your frustrations by allowing you to join him as he rules over his kingdom with a stern fist. You sit by his side, listening to woeful tales of dead men and women as they beg for another chance at life. The answer is always a resounding no. You’ve learned that Yoongi doesn’t allow for second chances—one miserable life is enough for mortals.

Today seems no different as the weeping man falls to his knees before you, desperately holding onto a lyre and pleading for the return of his wife. “Please, I’ve come so far… Euridice was so young and we just married. We had our whole lives ahead of us. She was taken too quickly from me.”

You hear Yoongi huff, bored and already waiting to move on.

“And what makes this any different than all the others? I’ve heard it before. Don’t waste my time with your tears, Orpheus.”

“B-But I’ll do anything to save my love,” the man stutters, clambering to his feet, daring to take a step forward. “Wouldn’t you do the same for yours?”

Yoongi’s eyes naturally glance to you and you can’t help but notice. You haven’t been here long, no one in the underworld really knows the real magnitude of your relationship with its king, not even you. Does sharing a bed and falling asleep in his arms every night count as something more to him? You hope it does because you find yourself loving the nights you spend together in his room talking about the world above, how he still loves his chaotic brothers despite their differences and your love for blooming flowers in the Springtime.

“Anything?” Yoongi muses, leaning into the ebony throne with his arms resting on either side, a hint of mischief in his voice. “Then prove it to me.”

“W-What?” The mortal clutches his lyre to his chest, confused by the king’s request.

“Prove to me how much you care for your love and I might be inclined to release her.”

You look between the two men staring at one another as seconds pass. Yoongi isn’t one to let spirits leave his kingdom easily. It will take an extraordinary gesture that will move him enough to set Euridice free. You already pity the mortal, he’s lost his wife and now has come a long way to bravely face the king of Hades.

“I accept,” Orpheus speaks after mulling over his options. He sits on the ground, positioning his lyre before strumming the strings of his worn instrument. The melody he creates is a melancholy song of longing and loss. As it slowly echoes through the room, you’re entranced by the gentle sound of his haunting song. It’s like you can feel his pain, his grief, his loneliness. Even without words, it’s clear how much he loves his wife.

It reminds you of your situation and how you desperately want to be reunited with your mother, how lonesome it is here without the nymphs or Taehyung, but also the way you feel for Yoongi.

He stops strumming, waiting for a response from the king. Yoongi seems unmoved, remaining in his laid-back position and twisting the metal ring on his forefinger with his thumb lazily.

“All I can say is, I’m impressed by your incredible talent, unfortunately...”

You know what’s coming, the cruel refusal and unsympathetic shrug as he dismisses him for another desperate soul. The ‘no’ is just on the tip of his tongue and you can’t help but beat him to the conclusion. You can’t watch another one go, not after such a moving performance. He deserves to be reunited with his love, he’s proven himself enough with his haunting melody

“Give him a chance, Yoongi.” You lean across your chair, reaching for his hand.

Orpheus begins with a chant of thank you’s and relieved tears as he looks to your sympathetic face.

“And why should I?” Yoongi interrupts. He doesn’t show any indignation for your demand, nor does he seem pleased.

“You can’t turn him away, not after he traveled all the way to bravely face you. I think he has proven his love enough. Please, give him a chance.”

“If you truly believe he deserves this, I promise to let her go on one condition,” he turns toward Orpheus. “You can have her back as long as you don’t look at her until you leave this realm. You may have the urge to turn back but, if you don’t, you’ll have a lifetime with her if you keep your patience for a little while longer.”

Another odd request from the king, but nevertheless, the mortal man is overjoyed by your persuasion. He swears to obey Yoongi’s wishes, believing he won’t lose her again. He makes his way to the doors, eagerly awaiting to be reunited with his wife once again on Earth. As he turns, a shadowy figure materializes behind him in the form of his wife, no longer the decrepit and pale apparition she once was while stuck in oblivion. Her young, familiar self has been restored by Yoongi’s promise.

You watch as they leave, Eurydice trailing behind her ecstatic husband as he leads them off. However, it doesn’t take long until the news of their ill-fated journey meets your ears.

“He couldn’t do it?” You push yourself off the ground and wipe away the dirt stuck to the chiffon fabric of your dress. You took a break to relax away from the tears of the dead.

“The very last step, he turned around and now Eurydice has returned to Asphodel.” He explains.

His unapologetic tone irritates you. He doesn’t seem to have any remorse for the star-crossed lovers. Why would he create another challenge after Orpheus had already proven himself? Did Yoongi want to watch as he failed to save his wife again?

“You’re cruel.” You spin to face the tree trunk and pick at its bark, hiding your watering eyes from him. Your fingers pluck at the bark until a splinter pierces your skin and a quiet whimper passes your lips. You pull your hand back to inspect it, but Yoongi grabs it first, watching as the golden ichor bleeds from your finger.

“Am I?” He feigns disbelief, gazing between your tearful expression and the cut on your index finger. “I gave him a chance to cheat death, and he failed. How am I so cruel?”

He presses a delicate kiss to your finger, watching your reaction as roses blossom on your cheeks. He uses the hand in his grasp to pull you into his arms, where you find home in the crook of his neck.

“You knew he would turn around. You pretended to give him a chance when you knew he would fail. Why couldn’t you just let her go instead of giving him false hope?” You press your face into his shoulder, wiping away tears that have formed but refuse to fall.

They had a chance at a happy ending and he has ruined it with an impossible challenge.

“Life isn’t fair and neither is death. I only taught him that again.”

Nothing is ever fair, especially death. Loved ones are taken too quickly and bargains and bribes will never bring them back. You frown, knowing his words are right.

You pull away from his embrace, needing a moment for yourself and leave him behind, as he wonders what he did wrong, and make your way through the darkened halls to your original room.

You’d rather sleep alone tonight. As you trudge towards your room, you wonder if you’ll ever be freed. It has been over a month since you’ve been here and despite the constant reassurance, you still don’t know when it’ll ever be safe to return to the surface.

Will he keep you here forever too? Like another one of his shades he refuses to let go of. But given the chance, do you want to leave him?

Yes, you miss your mother, but the difference between her and being here with Yoongi is the way they treat you. Your mother, despite her heart being in all the right places, treated you like a child. There was never a moment where she’d let you go off alone, not even on Olympus where there’s enough power in one god to smite any trespasser. Instead, she says it’s the gods you needed to fear. All that power in childish and irresponsible deities is a dangerous mix that she didn’t want you to be associated with.

Here, you’ve learned more than you ever have on Earth about life and death. There’s so much about Hades you want to learn including all the secrets of its ruler.

The guest room is cold and unwelcoming, and you’re tempted to walk across the hall to join Yoongi and forget about the whole situation. Instead, you collapse onto the bed and sigh as the events of today wash over you.

“There you are.”

You know that voice, the voice of the man who tried taking you away. He finally found you. The door shuts behind him as he creeps into the room with a wicked grin on his face.

“How did you find me?” You’re back against the headboard as you try and press yourself away from him.

“It doesn’t take a lot to bribe the ferryman into giving you away,” he laughs, standing at the edge of your bed, reaching out to you with withered fingers.

You jump off the bed to avoid his grasp, crying out, “Get away from me. I will never marry you!”

The lamp on the bed stand is wrenched from the table and you throw it in his direction, hitting him square in the face. As it collides with his nose, you take the chance to run while he stumbles back in pain. He cries out profanities and curses your name. You have no time to pay attention to the words that escape his mouth as you dash into the hall and come upon the pomegranate tree.

“Yoongi!” You call, running through the door on the other side where the throne room is. You burst through the doors and find Yoongi already standing at his throne.

“What’s the matter?” He demands as you throw yourself into his arms. He was planning out an apology before going to see you in your room, having no idea of the intruder trying to steal you from him.

The door swings open and Pirithous barges in with fury etched on his face, blood leaking from his nose.

Yoongi pushes you behind him and addresses the pathetic man. You watch as Pirithous begins to cower, not realizing you had come into the throne room where Yoongi had been and not expecting the king of Hades to look so intimidating.

“And who are you?” Yoongi questions, looking over the unfamiliar face.

“P-Pirithous, your majesty.”

Recognition and anger are what you see cross Yoongi’s face. “You really are a fool, Pirithous, daring to come into my kingdom to steal yourself a bride,” Yoongi sneers, advancing towards the trembling mortal. “And what makes you think I’ll let you walk back out?” He grabs Pirithous by the collar and brings his face closer to watch as the man pales. “If I were you, I’d start praying to the gods and maybe they will have enough pity to save you because I certainly will not.”

Yoongi turns and pulls him by the collar towards his throne where he throws Pirithous. As he falls into the chair thick vines begin to overlap his body and trap him.

“You’ll stay there until the Erinyes come to collect you.”

“N-No… you can’t do this to me! I am a king!” Pirithous screams desperately, thrashing against his bindings.

You stand by Yoongi, watching him struggle and you can only feel relief. How can you feel sympathy for the man who tried abducting you? Whatever his fate will be you’re glad he’s no longer a threat to you.

“Come with me. You have nothing to worry about anymore.” Yoongi takes your hand, guiding you away from the anguished cries and pleading screams. It’s the last you see of Pirithous.

It seems like eons since you’ve last seen a flower, much less a whole field of them, swaying gently in the chilling breeze of the underworld. The vermillion poppies Yoongi presents you are like a gift that swells your heart with adoration. Despite the looming cavernous cave you stand near, the sight is pleasant and welcoming. You’re tempted to dash into the fields and throw yourself into the flowers, but you haven’t been outside his castle since you arrived here, so you’re unsure of what could be lurking in the fields or the cave.

“I don’t come here often because the brothers that dwell in these caves are quite reclusive. However, I’m sure they won’t mind you being here awhile.” Yoongi explains, striding into the red meadow. You trail after him, letting your hand glide across the tips of the flowers that meet your waist. “I know it doesn’t compare to the flowers on Earth, but-”

“No, they’re perfect.” Your hand reaches for his without thinking to intertwine your fingers together. His fingers tighten around yours and he smiles as you begin to lead the way.

You spend a majority of time walking through the meadow and weaving flowers into your hair as he watches on. You’re sat in the middle of the field beneath the looming flowers, head leaning on Yoongi’s shoulder as you twirl a poppy absentmindedly between your fingers. It’s peaceful here and you can pretend you’re no longer in Hades, instead, above on Earth where Spring continues to flourish and nothing is dead.

“I’m sorry I upset you earlier,” he mumbles, watching the flowers sway. “Perhaps I am cruel to tear two lovers apart and perhaps I’m jealous that they have a love that will last forever even when one of them is gone.”

Listening to Orpheus weep about losing his love too soon made Yoongi realize how little time he has left with you, and it only dwindles with each moment that passes in this meadow. With Pirithous no longer any threat, you’ll be back in your mother’s arms in no time and he’ll be here, tending to the dead as he has for eons, alone. Will you forget about him as each month slowly passes and you’re reunited with the other gods?

“What do you have to be jealous of?”

“Because you’ll be gone soon,” he admits. “And I...”

He can barely finish his sentence. The time you’ve spent with him is what he will continue to cherish forever, how can he easily give that away? He doesn’t want to think of eternity without you. He’ll miss your light.

The wistful expression on his face as he looks down at your glowing figure tugs at your heart. In this moment, you know exactly what you want. You want him—all of him, even the darkest parts he keeps hidden. For the first time, you realize you’re in love with him. It’s not even the type of love Eros himself could conjure up with a strike through the chest with his precise golden arrows. The king of Hades has absolutely stolen your heart all on his own.

“Do you think I’ll stop loving you even when we’re apart?” You scan his awestruck expression, tucking the red flower behind his ear and cradling his cheek. Against the ashen color of his hair, the bit of color from the flower brightens his tender smile. “I love you, Yoongi, you are my paradise. Even if we’re apart.”

Your echoing words resonate deeply within him.

Love and paradise.

There is that word again, but this time it doesn’t seem so meaningless. Is this the answer? Could love be the piece of Elysian he has desperately searched for? You’re all he can ever want, all he’s ever needed. The moment he met you, he knew there could never be anyone more perfect for him like you were created for one another. He will do anything for you. He knows the answer now to the aching feeling in his chest, it must be love.

“I think,” he breathes in, bracing himself for the forgotten words he never thought would escape his lips. “I think I love you too.”

The excitement of his confession replays in your thoughts throughout the night. You slip further beneath the waters of your bath, letting your nose rest above the water.

You want nothing more than to scream from the top of Olympus and announce to gods and mortals alike that the king of Hades is in love with you. But what will you do now?

Stories and gossip from Olympus of lovers spending passionate nights together cross your mind. The gods have all spoken of it, laughed about their fair share around the rim of their wine glasses. You’d never admit it to your mother, but their stories always piqued your interest and you had been tempted to learn more only with the right person.

Besides stories of lovers, you’d also heard the horrendous failures of illicit affairs between the king of Olympus, his many lovers, and vengeful wife. You’re careful not to be that foolish, and now you have finally had someone whom you’d like to share that passion with.

Hardly able to contain yourself, you rise from the tub and step out, reaching for a towel to dry yourself off. You exit the bathroom to find Yoongi removing his crown and cape. The towel wrapped around your chest makes it hard to breathe as you slowly inhale.

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, love?”

You grin at the endearing name he’s given to you. As he turns you release the towel and embrace the chilling air. His expression is less than excited, devoid of any hint of pleasure. His mouth set in a thin line as his eyes travel down your exposed body. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to ignore the way his body begins to react at the sight of you.

“And what is this for?” He grunts, walking towards the bed.

“For you.” You answer, confused by his reaction. The gods speak of uncontrollable desire and yet, Yoongi is the picture of composure. “Am I not what you want?” You bring your arms over your chest, following him to the bed.

“Of course I want you.” His response is automatic, not a hint of hesitation behind his voice. Gods, he wants it badly, but won’t bring himself to taint you and diminish your blinding glow.

You feel a wave of lust go over you by the way he stares, hooded eyes and lip caught between his teeth. Maybe he needs more convincing this is exactly what you want.

You saunter up to him, hips swaying and eyes inviting him to indulge for once. You press down on his chest until he is sitting on the bed, staring up at you with darkened eyes.

“Please, Yoongi, touch me,” you plead, grasping his hand in yours and bringing it to your beating chest. His frigid fingers do nothing to cool the scorching heat of your body. “Don’t be afraid. Make me yours.”

His stony expression remains unchanged despite your desperate whimpers, driving you into madness. Why won’t he move? You’re willing to give yourself to him, every inch, and he refuses still.

Daring to push him further into temptation, you guide his slender fingers down to your breast, moaning as his hand presses against the hardened nipple. The way he sucks in a breath, hiding his lust for you, only arouses you further. His fingers gently tease the bud as he watches your eyes flutter shut and you moan into his hand.

He doesn’t take his eyes off your body, roaming every supple curve from your breasts to your waist and down to where he desires you most. Your light is magnetic, and he’s drawn so senselessly towards you. Preparing to worship every part of you like any devout mortal, kisses will be his prayers and your screams of pleasure will be his sacrifice. He wants to ravish you until your screams become deafening and your mother knows exactly where you have been hiding and who is defiling her dear daughter.

“Pl-Please,” You move yourself to straddle his lap and his hand doesn’t move from your breast, fondling the soft flesh in his palm. You carefully pressing your dripping core to the rough fabric of his dark pants, where you can see his evident arousal begin to grow. Your trembling hands glide down Yoongi’s unbuttoned shirt, revealing more of his pale chest for your eyes to devour. “I want you. Can you tell?”

You tenderly press a finger to your aching core, shuddering and collapsing into him. Your hips buck into your finger, unable to control yourself from wanting to sink your fingers into yourself.

Your head is buried against his neck, panting for breath against his collar. It’s almost painful how you clench around nothing and your body yearns for him to fill that void. Your finger drags along your slit, collecting the leaking arousal and massaging your folds.

“This is for you, Yoongi,” you murmur breathlessly, bringing your finger back up into view, watching as the dim light reflects the wetness of your finger. “Make love to me, tell me you love me and press tender kisses onto my skin or fuck me until you’re satisfied, ruin me. Have your way with me, Yoongi.”

For the first time he speaks, shallow breaths and gravelly tone, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes,” you practically moan, breathing in his minty scent. Your hands tangle into his hair, pulling his lips closer to yours, feeling the heat radiating from your skin from the proximity. You want him to kiss you, touch you, and make you his. Your hips move against his hardened cock, feeling the rough fabric of his pants press against your core and sending delicious waves of pleasure through you.

He finally gives in, connecting your lips in a heated fervor. Your hands fall to his shirt, making quick work on unbuttoning it and pushing the shirt off. As your hands roam his chest, his hand glides down your stomach, cold metal rings pressing into your skin, cooling your scorching skin.

You feel a tingle of excitement as his hand continues to travel lower until his thumb meets your clit. “O-Oh,” you gasp, clutching his shoulders as he begins drawing slow circles.

“Feel good?” Yoongi smirks, listening to your heavenly whimpers and moans. You choke out a yes as the tip of his finger prods at your entrance. He lazily drags his finger up and down your drenched folds until you’re begging for him.

“Yoongi,” you whine, drawing out the syllables of his name. “Please just do something.”

Your arousal makes it easy for him to slip one finger into you, giving you barely any time to adjust before moving it back out and ramming into you again until you can feel his ring at your core. The touch of metal against your entrance has you clenching around his finger. Your screams echo throughout the room and only encourage him to go faster.

He moves at a quick pace, letting your hips move against him to match the fervor of his thrusts. “Do you want another one?”

“Yes, yes! Yoongi, please,” you cry out. You can feel a tightness beginning to build in your abdomen, threatening to explode. You just want more of what he’s giving you, greedily rocking your hips into his fingers as he gives you exactly what you want. Two fingers stretch you and curl against your walls while he kisses down your chest.

You’re reaching your breaking point as your legs begin to tremble and your moans become uneven pants. Just a little further… and suddenly his fingers leave you empty as he pulls back. You whine from the loss and beg for him to continue, “N-No… why did you stop?”

“Not yet, love,” he orders, quieting your whimpers with deft kisses and laying you down on the mattress. “I want to be inside you.”

His words send another wave of arousal through you and make you whimper, pulling him into another heated kiss. Your head sinks on to the pillows as he kneels between your legs, lips and tongue moving against yours while undoing his pants and pulling them off to discard on the floor. His cock stands proudly and ready to sink into your soaking heat. He pulls back from the kiss to gaze at your red, puckered lips and frenzied hair splayed out on his pillows.

Your hands intertwine with his as he gives you a reassuring look, asking, “Are you ready?”

You nod and he wastes no time aligning his hardened tip with your folds. As he pushes into your throbbing core, a moan spills from your lips and you dig your fingers into his knuckles, leaving crescent marks on his skin. He barely notices the sting in his hands while he buries himself deeper into you.

“Gods you’re so perfect,” he groans, dropping his head on to your neck to mark the untouched flesh with shades of lavender and rose.

He begins thrusting into you, pulling out all the way and then one swift snap of the hips back into you. As your body writhes with pleasure underneath Yoongi and his unrelenting pace, you arch into him and let your breasts press against his chest.

“More,” you plead, spreading your legs closer to your chest, allowing him to hit your sweet spot. Your toes begin to curl and the familiar coil in your stomach returns. His finger finds your sensitive clit again, roughly rubbing the bundle of nerves until you come. “A-Ah, Yoongi!” You cry.

“Good girl,” he praises, loving the way you clench around him as you orgasm.

You lie limp on the bed as he continues thrusting into you, getting overly sensitive, groaning as his fingers absentmindedly draw circles on your clit. “Y-Yoongi,” you moan.

“Just a little more, love.” Yoongi removes his hand from your abused clit and pushes himself into you faster. One more quick thrust and he comes undone inside you with a breathy groan, drenching your walls.

Yoongi slowly pulls out of you, letting the gush of both your highs leak out onto the bed and falls to your side, breathing deeply as he grabs your waist and engulfs you into a hug.

You both lie on the bed, listening to one another catch their breath and relive the feeling over and over.

“Stay with me.” Comes the longing whisper.

The arm around your waist tightens as Yoongi pulls you closer to his chest. He fears the uncertain future without you and can see only one solution. Stay with him—here in the Underworld—where life might not flourish, but you’ll be together and he promises to ensure your happiness forever, no matter the sacrifice.

To stay with him means you will never see your mother again, no longer free to roam Olympus with Taehyung glued to your side, but it also means forever with the man you love. The decision pulls you between Heaven and Hell—stay or go. The way he lovingly strokes your hair and watches as you make your decision, willing to accepting whatever answer, moves you to speak.

“I’ll stay.”

The two of you get dressed without another word uttered and find yourselves in front of the sacred tree where Yoongi plucks one of the ripe fruit off its branches. Six red seeds fall into your hand and you can already taste the bitterness of them as you slowly raise your hand to your mouth.

The bittersweet flavor of each seed erupts on your tongue and your fate is sealed. You’re forever bound to this land and him—to be his bride and queen of the Underworld. From this moment forewarn, he is no longer alone in the suffocating darkness, no longer searching for solace in isolation. It wasn’t him who rescued you from the shallows of Styx, instead, it was you, who entered his land and brought light along the way forever changing his bleak world.

“Gods, I love you with my entire being,” he declares, sweeping you into a tender kiss. “Thank you for saving me.”

The coldest winter on Earth brought famine as another month passed without you and your mother continued to grieve, crops died out and more humans began to starve. The dead began to trickle down into the darkness at an alarming rate and it didn’t go unnoticed by Yoongi or the other gods on Olympus.

While Yoongi pretended to ignore the trouble he had caused, he kept his promise of making you happy. He brought you to the poppy fields whenever you asked, allowed you to rule at his side which meant he was more lenient about letting souls go, and kissed you every night while senselessly thanking you over and over.

On Olympus, Helios had finally revealed he’d known where you’ve been the entire time and it didn't surprise Taehyung that Yoongi had lied to him months ago when he first visited frantically asking for your whereabouts. Your mother was furious at this revelation, demanding someone retrieve you from the depths of hell.

After a long bargain between Yoongi and his brother, king of the gods, they came upon a decision which lead to Taehyung inevitably bringing you back to Earth despite your heart-wrenching tears and cries, begging not to be separated from Yoongi.

For six long and arduous months, you would reside on Earth with your mother and she promised not to bring another deadly winter for the mortals. In that time, you’d play with the nymphs again and wander the great halls of Olympus with Taehyung by your side, all the while wishing you were somewhere else—with someone else.

As the days of Summer came to an end and lonesome nights became longer, Yoongi eagerly awaits for you to return home once again.

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wizisbored · 3 years

Note

What are some of your favorite lines you've written for your fics? (Also I'm sorry things aren't going well right now. Sending love 💜)

right its time to go diggin im using this as an excuse to reread everything because i cant think of any lines off the top of my head even though i know theres a shitton

premptively putting a cut here because this will probably end up long as shit and you know what fuck yea to that because fuck yea to being proud of what youve made

hallelujah, first thing i posted:

If those bastards want to make her part of their shitty musical, then she’s going to make it difficult. Or at least inconvenient.

The hive is not inconvenienced in the slightest.’

- idk if this is as funny as i think it is but i find it funny

"Nobody dies with dignity, Emma. There's no honour in the thing, however you dress it up."

- wrote that to sound creepy and now i cant decide whether i actually think its true

But he’s holding her like she’s his salvation, as if it’s his life hanging in the balance.

- salvation is just a good word tbh

It’s hopeless, but she refuses to be killed by a game of fucking ‘got your nose’.

purgatory, intended to be a shitpost but now i unironically think of it as the best thing ive ever written

After a few years (or maybe seconds, it’s not clear) / it takes a moment (or maybe it doesn’t, who knows?) / An undocumentable amount of time passes. / They might have slipped into an uneasy silence lasting millenia - or milliseconds - if it wasn’t for the jolly tune that suddenly fills the air. / for minutes or years or millenia or maybe even eons / After a brief, indescribably long nap / But the incomprehensible amount of time seems somehow shorter this time.

- 2 in one of fucking with the concept of time and hinting at an unreliable narrator, hell yea. its about the weird atmosphere, baybeeeee

“Does one day of trying the hardest we could outweigh years of not trying at all?” Emma wonders aloud. Paul squeezes her hand.

“I damn hope so.”

He doesn’t ask if she believes in Hell.

- even without context i like this line but in context it really helped set the sombre tone so i could do a full 180 at the end of the chapter

Emma wonders whether they’ve been sent to musical hell for failing to stop the musical apocalypse

- love the implication that there is a hell dedicated to annoying people via musical theatre

“You said- you told her you’d never be in a musical?”

“Yes.”

“And then you died performing a musical number?”

“I- yeah, I did.”

“Brilliant! Now, that is stupid!”

- probably my best characterisation of death, sounds like something that would be said in a stupid deaths bit, i can hear it in his voice

teachers pet

“It’s only blatant if people know about it. So in actual fact this is secret favouritism.”

- hidgens gives absolutely 0 shits about the ethics of the situation good for him

“And if that is kidnapping, well, consider yourself kidnapped.”

- once again ethics simply do not matter

“Oh, where is your sense of adventure? Are you not curious about the results of washing baked beans?”

- this line hants me when im trying to make stew or just have some fucking beans on toast because I am curious about the results of washing baked beans

“Well, if it isn’t, and we both die, then I’ll be quite disappointed. We did spend all evening on this, after all.”

- priorities

finishing what we started, actually originally a scrapped ending idea for igtlt that i liked too much to abandon entirely

“How many bullets?” He eventually asks.

“Enough.”

- they just know what theyve got to do

Only thing left to say is a big ol’ fuck you to… God, everyone else in the fucking world. Oh, and God. Fuck you God, you prick.

- gotta love them tto refs

wildfire, almost 20,000 words of angst that im going to read through because fuck it why not

She doesn't understand the order, at least not yet; a dog doesn't understand the first time she's called to heel. But that can change. Though, from the bared teeth of this dog, the trader guesses it may take a while.

- this is actually something i really like doing in narration, calling a character something in dialogue or comparison and then directly calling them it in the narration

He understands; she doesn't want to show weakness to someone who could exploit her, doesn't want to show gratitude to someone she hates. But the tribeswoman is tired and scared and hurt, and it's obvious. She's broken, at least for today.

The loneliness, however, refuses to wane. It settles in her chest like a physical need, a craving for closeness.

- got inspiration for this description by thinking about hugging my partner while i was stuck in lockdown

"You can say that again," the older woman mutters, shaking her head. "God-fuckin'-damnit, Lauren, why d'you never think about the implications?"

Jemilla turns to her with a questioning look. "Who's Lauren?"

"She-" Molag begins to explain, then pauses. She thinks for a moment, then shakes her head. "I don't even know."

- crossover jokes hell yea

He’s tolerable, she’s decided, at least relatively so, but not trustworthy. If she could truly trust him then he wouldn’t be involved in all this. If she could trust him, she wouldn’t know him.

The thinly-veiled threat in his grin

She stares up at the man, shaking, whimpering, pleading. Wordlessly begging for him to stop.

- gotta love reaching the breaking point

She probably looks insane, bruised and bloody and laughing quietly to herself in a cage. She doesn’t care. They can think she’s insane, just as long as they don’t think they broke her.

laughing as they rediscover half-forgotten days spent as children let loose in a world that seemed so huge and yet so small at the same time

“You know, kids like Zazzalil - scrawny little things born as Autumn died - they’re not supposed to see Spring.”

- i will see any character without a detailed fleshed-out backstory and say ‘is anyone going to make headcannons about that’ and then not wait for an answer

Maybe the pain will shock her out of her head.

im going to live twice

It feels more like a bag of broken crockery than a human.

- this was the only time ive ever had to describe something really gory and decided to make it as uncomfy as possible

she notices with a concerning level of non-concern

Paul Matthews is gone, boy. And if I catch you using a dead man’s name again, well.

- its about the ✨forced disconnect✨

It stares at him, and for a moment he sees the young man that Benny used to be, silently pleading for the agent to tell him he'll be okay.

"In my defence, that was the Colonel's idea.” The man raises his hands in surrender. “I wanted to call you Lauren. I was outvoted.”

- i will take literally any chance to make a 4th wall joke and that is a threat

“I’ll see what can be done,” he assures it, knowing full well that nothing will be.

- xander doesnt flat out abuse emma in the way mcnamara and shaffer do but hes still cruel in subtler ways

“No chance of being hurt?”

Xander nods. “No chance of you being hurt.”

- ✨foreshadowing ✨

If only he was free, free to just get up and go find Blue and tell her - actually tell her, out loud, with words - that she’s going to be okay. If only he could say that and have it be the truth.

She holds onto that piano. Right now, as she kneels crying into the tabletop, it's all she has.

- ‘sir thats my emotional support near-complete stranger’

smoke and feathers

Irony can be a cruel, twisted bitch.

- probably the best opener ive written

There’s a sort of pathetic irony in the fact that she slipped on a stone while wading across a shallow stream and broke her neck.

The stars move across the sky, and she still doesn’t know why.

- sounds poetic and all while also being a fuck you to the chorn twist because i hate it

It seems like every time she looks away the moon goes from waxing to waning and back again, time marching onwards in one unending night, swallowing one unending forest.

Even with her limited view of the person’s face, Zazzalil can see the softness in their expression. She’s hit with a pang of longing for Jemilla.

They share those tender looks that make Zazzalil long for home.

The kind of silence only shared between people who can appreciate the simplicity of each other’s presence

aaand thats pretty much all of em. i know when you said ‘some’ you probably meant less than this but i will give a consice answer to a question when pigs fly. i was going to do the double e au too but its past 1 am now and im going to bed. thanks for this ask because whether intentionally or not you just made me read 48,860 words of fic and thats a damn good distraction when things are getting a bit shitty :)

#igtlt fic #wildfire fic #teachers pet fic #sf fic

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voltron-stats · 7 years

Text

Langst Survey Results – “I Don’t Like Langst”

Third time’s the charm! Here’s another read-more!

Why not?

The answers to this question hit on a few major grievances with Langst, which will be summarized below:

OOC Lance: Lance’s character tends to become woobiefied in Langst, which then turns it into a “Break the Woobie”-fest and that isn’t very appealing. Also, this inaccurate characterization results in Lance turning into a one-dimensional person, with almost all of the canon qualities that make him interesting, like his optimism and humor, being erased in favor of him being a turning him into a “messed up caricature of whining and stupidity”. In addition, there exists Langst in which Lance struggles with certain things that his canon self may not have had the same issues with, which is another disservice to his canon strengths. Langst creators also manage to overwrite his existing flaws with new, less realistic ones. On another note, another characterization error that Langst makes has to do with the fact that a lot of Langst uses Lance as a self-insert type of character, ignoring his issues in order to depict the issues of the writer/artist/etc. While there isn’t anything inherently wrong with this, responders at the very least wanted Langst featuring Canon Lance, not a self-projection with Lance’s name.

OOC Paladins: In Langst, the paladins tend to exist for the sole purpose of either being the problem/causing Lance’s angst or to gush and fuss over Lance constantly. Both of these options mischaracterize them or neglects their characters completely. In terms of being the problem, often what happens is that the other paladins become mean to fit a (false) “"oh Lance is so misunderstood and everyone is mean to him"” narrative. However, Lance’s canon angst comes from his own personal insecurities, and not from the actions of others, which is a narrative that a lot of Langst pushes. Characters like Shiro, for instance, are painted in a bad light in order to intensify the Langst (i.e. Shiro is abusive to Lance), and Keith, in particular, is either abusive or Lance’s Trophy Wife (or otherwise only exists to help Lance and nothing else). Finally, as mentioned earlier, when the paladins are mischaracterized in this manner, their own personal issues and angst fall to the wayside in favor of Lance. For example, in certain Kerberos AUs, Lance goes to Kerberos in Shiro’s place and his resulting PTSD is explored and acknowledged, but Shiro, who canonically went to Kerberos and got PTSD, is dragged for being in the same exact circumstances.

Oversaturated, Overrated: Some responders have noted that it was a bit strange that Lance has an entirely separate word and subgenre for his angst. There is a lot of Langst out there, and some responders feel like this lessens the value of individual Langst pieces. In addition, it always seems to be Fanon Lance that is used in Langst, which weakens the appeal. Also, it’s been overdone and to some, it is now boring.

Over-exaggerated, Uncreative: Lance’s insecurities in the show are turned in to a full-blown angst-fest in a lot of Langst. Lance isn’t as insecure as people are making him out to be, his insecurities aren’t always everyone else’s problem to deal with, and a lot of it ends up overdramatic or badly written. Also, there are a lot of the same clichés, overused tropes, and repetitive/obvious arcs used in Langst that makes it look not very creative in terms of pulling heartstrings.

Neglects others’ angst: Several responders were irked that the angst of other characters was being ignored in favor of Lance’s perceived insecurities. Everything seems to revolve around Lance, probably due to his popularity in the fandom, but Lance isn’t the only homesick one or the only character who has angst. For people who prefer other angst, it can be disheartening to try to search for that angst and scrolling through pages and pages of Langst to find even one thing. Also, in ignoring the struggles of other characters, Lance himself is absolved of any crime, i.e. if he hurts others it's mostly overlooked and he isn’t required to apologize or make it up to them, and sometimes other characters’ angst is reassigned to Lance (for example, Shiro’s struggles are Lance’s now).

Racist: When portraying Lance’s Cuban/Latino heritage, Langst can fall into some unfortunate stereotypes. As one responder put it, “A predominantly white fandom brutalizing the attractive, brown main character? No thanks…It makes fans who should be able to relate to Lance as a Cuban and latino teen fucking uncomfortable with even showing their content in fandom…He's also an openly emotional boy, which you don't see often, and yet people turn him into personal wank material and spread it as a popular, proudful idea. It's not...”

There were also responders who don’t understand why people would intentionally hurt Lance, as they believe that he has already suffered enough in the show and that he deserves love and happiness. Conversely, other responders simply don’t like Lance, so Langst doesn’t appeal to them as a result. Still other responders disliked Langst due to specific prompts/tropes, i.e. they would rather there be less character death and more ship-free material (Klance likes to appear hand-in-hand with Langst, to their dismay).

Other issues responders had with Langst include:

They portray Lance’s family as evil sometimes

Not being a fan of angst

The tendency to put Lance through continuous hell with little to no positive resolution

It’s “unnecessary to constantly take lance's anxieties and beat him over the head with them”

Presenting elements of Langst as canon despite it all being based around headcanons

Ignoring canon

Are there any good Langst prompts/topics/tropes that you like?

13 of the people who responded said that there weren’t any good prompts. Of the people who chose a prompt, the most popular ones were Homesick Lance (missing his home or family) and prompts in which different team members come to comfort him (e.g. Hunk or Coran).

People also liked prompts that included Lance’s insecurities – as long as they were handled in a satisfactory manner. For example, one responder didn’t want to include “Keith apologizing for Lance being jealous of him.” Other related prompts include scenarios that involve his insecurities coming to light, hiding insecurities to both take care of the team and their issues and not worry them, and Lance dealing with his insecurities about his place on the team. People also liked prompts that looked more into Lance’s character and how he doesn’t feel as useful and looked deeper into his canon psyche/insecurities (as long as, again, it’s done in moderation).

Miscellaneous good prompts include:

Canon-based Langst

Insecurities about his place on the team

Lance worries he’s not enough

Lance-centric hurt/comfort

Paladins comforting each other as a family, and acting as a support group for each other

The team tries to cheer Lance up but makes things worse

Conflicts that aren’t completely resolved

“Lance realizing that he shouldn't lash out when he's feeling insecure and thus damaging his relationships and going on a self-discovery making painful realizations that he doesn't need to be the best and accepting he's fine the way he is realizing validation while nice is not essential.”

“I ship Lance x happiness”

What is your least favorite Langst prompt/topic/trope?

4 people don’t like most, if not all, Langst prompts.

Many people noted OOC Lance and/or the other Paladins as a least favorite Langst trope. For the paladins, responders disliked when they were demonized and turned into bullies. Subcategories of this include: Lance isn’t appreciated enough by the team, "Everyone hates Lances except Trophy Husband Keith", “Keith blows up and tells Lance he's worthless/will never be good enough/anything of the like”, Shiro neglects his needs, and Shiro is mean to Lance. For OOC Lance, as one responder aptly put it, they dislike prompts that go along the lines of “Keith is mean to meee, I cry myself to sleep and no one caresss, The team won't listen to me even tho I'm righttt”.

Other unpopular prompts that multiple people mentioned are: Lance dies, Insecure Lance, and Lance feeling suicidal/cutting (suicidal ideation, being caught self-harming, etc.)

Other least favorite prompts include:

Lance being “singled out for unending hell”

It’s Keith’s fault that Lance is insecure/compares himself to Keith

Lance feeling like he shouldn’t be a paladin (especially when the feelings are triggered by things the other paladins say)

Lance is injured

Violence, abuse, neglect

Non-/Dub-Con

Pining for Keith

Kidnapped, tortured, brainwashed by Lotor

“sex makes things better”

Homesick Lance

If you could change anything about this microgenre, what would you change?

Firstly, one of the things responders wanted more of is a focus on angst for other characters besides Lance. Similarly, responders wanted more variety in Langst, giving Lance depth as to why he’s sad or depressed, instead of making it due to, say, pining for Keith. Related to that, people wanted less Langst (or any angst, for that matter) being used as a ploy for ships; this is mainly having less Langst be from a romantic standpoint, and also making it less “Klancey”, since in those scenarios Keith tends to lose a lot of personality in an effort to make Lance Happy™

Speaking of Keith losing his personality, the main thing that this set of responders wanted to change about Langst was to let everyone remain in character. Characters shouldn’t be thrown under the bus or reduced to something they’re not in order for Lance to achieve maximum angst. The other paladins value Lance as a member of the team and are supportive of him, and their characterization should reflect that. In addition, the team’s characterization should remain intact, allowing them to be fleshed out characters in their own right, rather than one-dimensional foils. Good angst can still be done with canon characterization. Furthermore, some responders singled out Keith and his characterization; he seems to be used as a prop to deepen Lance’s angst, and this may involve altering his canon personality.

In regards to Lance’s characterization, he also needs to be written better. He should be portrayed as a stronger, more confident character (some Langst portrays him as less intelligent or a “pushover woobie”, which irks responders). Moreover, Lance’s loud personality and sense of humor should be allowed to shine, even though he’s experiencing angst; liveliness and humor and angst are all able to coexist at once.

Of the people who responded to this question, 4 of them said that would change the entire subgenre, and/or its very existence.

Other things people would change are:

Create Langst in moderation

Normalize characters showing vulnerability (Don’t ignore their flaws)

Let Lance be the cause of his own problems

Let Lance be happy

More believable scenarios

More of other paladins reacting to Lance’s problems (i.e. Pidge)

More team support (Team is part of the solution, not the problem)

Less plotless/baseless angst; don’t simply suckerpunch Lance constantly

Less horribly cliché/sappy

Less association with Lantis/Klantis

Don’t romanticize things like (internal) homophobia, depression, self-harm, abuse, non-con, etc.

Do you enjoy angst focused on other Voltron characters? Which ones?

#voltron legendary defender #vld #langst #vld lance #lance mcclain #lance #langst survey #survey results

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