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softyoongiionly · 4 years

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Portraits of a Tiger || 03

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

A/N: They are back and realer than ever I AM ACTUALLY NOT OK RIGHT NOW PLEASE CRY WITH ME IN MY ASK BOX. OK LOVE YOUUUU!!!

@bulletproofbirdy my sweet and beautiful friend! I owe this all to you. Never doubt your brain because, its freaking genius. I love you.

“What did they say?” Yoongi asks, his lips resting on the back of his hand as he leans onto the wooden table.

Seokjin sighs, “They said that they have observed these groups using similar tactics. Rachel has noticed that they encircle the perimeter of the village first and slowly work their way in, Y/N agreed with her observation.”

“Usually raiders blitz their way into a territory, right? We’re obviously dealing with something else here...” Hoseok interjects, looking to his General for answers.

Yoongi’s features tense up, his hand moving to settle onto the table, “I don’t understand what invaders would want with this territory-” He seems to grow irritated, his eyes transfixed upon a map of their current region, “it’s several miles from any meaningful trade route, the port is at least 20 hours by horseback; it makes absolutely no sense.”

Before anyone else can intervene, Yoongi turns his attention to Namjoon, who sits at the other end of the table, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbles furiously in his journal.

“What do you think of this?” Yoongi murmurs.

Namjoon doesn’t look up, he just continues his current task as he responds, “I think it’s time I pay the Meddleways a visit...”

Immediately, tension spreads amongst the group.

Yoongi shakes his head, “I don’t think that’s necessary Namjoon, they-”

Namjoon looks up, pointing his gaze directly at Yoongi, “They are still a threat, hyung. Vengeance is a messy motive sure but, it’s extremely powerful. If they are influenced solely by their desire to harm you for what you did with their leader, they will stop at nothing until their objective is complete.”

The Meddleways were an extremist group that had a nasty habit of weaseling their way into vulnerable villages and, attempting to coax the inhabitants into joining what is essentially a cult. The Queens got wind of their practices and immediately tasked Yoongi’s fleet with understanding more of what they were capable of. Enter Namjoon, posing as a medicine man from the East port who sought after a spiritual awakening. Namjoon lived with the group for just under two weeks before he realized the true nature of the group. Their mission was simple: infiltrate the target village, strip the surrounding area of natural resources and, dismantle their leadership and, infiltrate their religious systems.

They were essentially, a very deadly gang of power-hungry miscreants whose true objective was to expand their influence and take over the Queens territory, which would inevitably lead to the fall of the royal family.

It’s no surprise that once Namjoon reported his findings, the Queens were understandably horrified and moved them all the way up Yoongi’s watchlist.

Due to the trust Namjoon had built with them, they didn’t think twice when he suggested that they accelerate their course to get to the village due to the oncoming storm. He led them right into the trap of the Tiger himself; well, the Tiger and his 22,000 men.

Namjoon also made a carefully crafted choice to avoid revealing himself as a traitor, should any of the remaining members (those who weren’t slain or arrested) decide to regroup and continue their leader’s mission.

“Do you really think their motive to settle the score is enough for them to endanger their own lives over? I told them that if they continued their work, they would meet the same fate as their brethren.” Yoongi’s voice is tired but he tries to remain alert for the sake of his fleet.

Namjoon nods, “I do. That is the way they operate. I don’t doubt that they reconvened after the fall of Xansa. They have likely moved on to someone else.”

Xansa.

At the sound of his name, Yoongi sighs uneasily and shakes his head as the scar along his eye ignites with the memory of its inception.

Xansa was the leader of the Meddleways: the brains, the heart and the soul.

Namjoon warned Yoongi of his cruelty after witnessing the way he treated his followers. His charisma was as deadly as his blade and his need for power dripped from his aura like coagulated blood.

He was ruthless.

From what Namjoon could gather, he alone had hundreds of deaths upon his hands. His plan wasn’t just to expand his influence; he sought after total domination.

Yoongi fought him during their capture of the Meddleways and it’s one of the few times throughout Yoongi’s career that he genuinely thought he was going to die.

He survived and killed Xansa in the middle of a thunderstorm, in front of all of his followers, just as the local stories have told.

Xansa left his mark on Yoongi however and ensured that he never forgot the time his life was almost ripped from him.

“As of now, I don’t think we have enough evidence to prove this theory Namjoon but, I will consider your input and ask that you alert me of any other ideas you might have. For the time being, I don’t want anyone of you away from the fleet. If there truly is a new group of invaders on the horizon, they will look for any excuse to shed blood and prove their power. Understood?”

The six of them nod, lips tight with concentration as they listen intently to their General.

Yoongi values the opinions of his men very much and they know that they are free to speak as often as they see fit. At the end of the day however, Yoongi has the final say. He is their leader and his word is gold. They trust him enough to follow his orders without question, even if they don’t always understand his intentions.

Yoongi lets out another breath before nodding towards the exit of the tent, “Eat well tonight and turn in early. Training will get harder tomorrow as we will be teaching the recruits how to disarm their opponent. Jungkook-ah,” He turns to his younger brother, “I need you awake before dawn to assist me with the morning briefing.”

Jungkooks smiles, his head bobbing with an eager nod, “Yes hyung.”

Yoongi resists the fondness that blooms in his chest, patting a hand on back, “Very good. Namjoon- please continue exploring further theories and prepare for a possible journey to your connections when I deem it safe to do so. Hoseok, you can take the morning off but I will need you out here by midday to continue your classes. Jin hyung, I need you to enter the village and gather more information on their recent raids. The village leaders are located near the market plaza. Jimin and Taehyung, you will be with me most of the day as I will need to use you in my demonstrations.”

“Should I tell Y/N to halt her deliveries then? Since we will all be preoccupied?” Jin inquires hesitantly.

The bread supply is already depleted, and he is unhappy at the thought of going without it, particularly after a hard day’s work.

“I doubt Hyung would refuse a visit from her. Even on such a busy day...” Jimin smirks, wrapping an arm around Taehyung who chuckles warmly.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “It makes no difference to me whether or not she does her delivery.”

Jin throws an incredulous look his way, “Yoongi. You aren’t seriously going to pretend she hasn’t caught your attention are you?”

Namjoon is scribbling in his journal again but he doesn’t miss a beat as he murmurs his input, “Hyung is worried that getting involved with a civilian will be complicated so, he is concealing his emotions for her because it’s easier that way. However, he will probably leave during our meal tonight to go see her because, he is captivated. According to the shift in his body language, he also has strong sexual urges for her as well but, fears that getting involved with her in such a way would be irresponsible as he still has time left in the Queens Army.”

He doesn’t even look up from his journal as he psychoanalyzes his hyung. His tone is cool and almost detached but his lips twitch with a smile as soon as Jimin and Taehyung begin laughing.

Yoongi is unable to help the shock that colors his features, his cheeks reddening with the heat of embarrassment as he watches the rest of his fleet begin to laugh at his expense.

“Did I miss anything?” Namjoon looks up finally, smirking across the table.

They expect Yoongi to rush out of the tent in a fit of denial but, instead he slumps back in his chair, his own smirk decorating his features as he stares at Namjoon across the table, “Just one thing...”

Namjoon’s brows raise, “Oh? Enlighten me please...”

Yoongi chuckles, moving his finger in a come hither motion to prompt the rest of his fleet to lean in eagerly.

They aren’t used to their leader sharing his emotions so, they are besides themselves at the thought of hearing more.

“That I would feel an immense amount of displeasure when being psychoanalyzed by my own solider which would then result in the punishment of the entire fleet in the form of hmm-” Yoongi places a finger on his chin in thought, “running drills for 2 hours after training tomorrow? Does that sound about right to you Namjoon?”

The group groans, Jin’s eyes widening in horror, “Namjoon-ah! Look what you’ve done!”

Namjoon however doesn’t flinch though, he just chuckles as him and Yoongi exchange conversation through shared eye contact.

“Hyung, please...” Jimin whines, reaching for Yoongi’s hand, “Don't make us do that, I hate running- it's not even in my job description.”

Yoongi just quirks a brow, a smirk still on his lips, “If you’d like me to stay out of your plans for the day, I suggest you stay out of mine. Is that something you think you all could manage?”

“Oh yes, absolutely hyung- no problem.”

“Who’s y/n? Never heard of her...”

“Hyung you are always right; that’s why we trust you, you know? You are the world’s greatest general.”

“We won't say anything, we promise.”

Yoongi chuckles, his eyes glinting with a bit of fondness, “Namjoon?”

Namjoon nods, lifting his hands to concede despite the grin still on his mouth, “Your words are divine my General.”

A phrase very often said in the fleet’s initial training with Yoongi.

It was a psychological tactic he used to build trust between him and his trainees but now, so many years later, it’s looked upon with humor.

“Good.” He stands, a look of complete satisfaction on his face, “Eat your meal and then it’s straight to bed. I better not see any empty cots when I return...”

There is quite a bit of movement in the tent as Yoongi makes his way to the exit, with the rest of his fleet (sans Namjoon) quickly abiding by his orders.

As Yoongi pushes aside the cloth door of the tent, the light from the full moon hanging over their camp causes him to turn around.

“Yah-” He nods to Namjoon, his finger pointing through the opening of the tent, “it’s a full moon.”

Namjoon perks up, shoving his journal aside hastily and practically tripping over his own feet as he stumbles eagerly towards Yoongi.

Before Namjoon brushes past him, he looks at Yoongi with a sheepish smile and bows his head,

“Thank you hyung...”

Yoongi smirks fondly, tipping his head in return, “Send her my best.”

Namjoon’s smile broadens, nodding eagerly before rushing out towards the moon.

As cold as Namjoon may seem, he too has a lover on his mind.

Danielle.

Childhood sweetheart who became his wife as soon they were 18.

Through various aspects of Namjoon’s personal faith, he believes that the fastest way to communicate with her is through the moon. The moon has the strongest gravitational pull when it’s at its fullest so Namjoon usually spends most of those nights, speaking with her until sunrise.

He sends letters too but, the moon brings him comfort.

Just as she does.

Yoongi chuckles at his eagerness, watching him until he finds a place near the edge of their camp to sit and begin.

Speaking of lovers on the mind...

As much as Yoongi hates to be predictable, he would be lying if he said that Namjoon’s assumptions of him had been incorrect.

He will be going to see you tonight.

Even though he isn’t certain of where things might be headed between the two of you, he can’t help but wish to be near you again.

Captivated was the word Namjoon had used and as Yoongi starts on the path towards the river, he grins to himself; captivated truly was the perfect word.

You weren’t exactly sure if Yoongi would show up at the River tonight.

It’s not like the two of you had an agreement to meet.

In fact, the last time you saw him, he was doing his nightly walk and rather than stopping to say hello to you, he merely smiled and bowed his head in your direction.

The two of you had held hands the night before so, you figured that maybe something were to happen between you but, then again, maybe he was just looking for comfort.

Or attention.

You don’t imagine he experiences the physical touch of another person unless it’s during battle, which can’t be a very pleasurable experience.

As you slip your shoes off near the entrance of the river, your heart flutters at the association of Yoongi and pleasure in the same sentence. You know you’re likely only causing your own suffering to think of him this way but, you can’t help it.

You want him.

You really do and with everything you have, you hope he wants you too.

The stickiness on the back of your neck pulls you out of your thinking as it reminds you of the incredibly hot day you’ve just worked through.

Towards the end of summer, the sun decides to give an encore of what has been an already sweltering and humid season. The week before it begins to cool down, the temperature comfortable and breezy before your region is hit with one final heat wave. Today, in the marketplace you quite literally salivated over the thought of cooling down in the river that evening.

The river is often packed during days like today but once the sun sets, everyone heads back to their homes.

That is when you choose to come by.

It’s quite peaceful in the evening, the heat is still present but bearable and the slight breeze that whistles through the trees provides solace on your flushed skin.

You don’t plan on fully submerging yourself because, you aren’t entirely fond of the idea of your feet being suspended in the deep and dark waters of the river.

Instead, you opt to wear a blue linen set that you often wearing during warmer months which will allow you to wade in the water without getting your clothes wet.

The river runs cold all year round, freezing over during the winter time but the cool sensation is welcome against the tips of your toes. You step further in, letting out a deep sigh and allow yourself to shut your eyes as you wade further into the water.

The water surrounds your ankles and just as it begins to slowly surround your calves, you hear the low melody of a voice you have waited for all day.

“Y/N?” Yoongi calls gently and it makes you grin because, you can sense he is actively trying not to scare you again.

Turning around, you are met with the sight of him; hair pulled back, white linen pants and a tighter fitting black shirt. It’s the first time you're seeing his arms and immediately, you’re able to recognize the symbols of both his strength and his experience. His skin looks beautiful in the moonlight, the sinewy dips of his muscles travelling alongside the colors of his veins, various scars littering the surface of his arms.

He truly is something else entirely.

“Thank you for warning me this time instead of sneaking up on me.” You tease, the water sloshing as you turn your back to the river.

His lips twitch, “I’ve never snuck up on you before, you just aren’t as prepared as you should be, especially for someone who likes to wander out into the forest by themselves...”

“The forest is technically that way.” You quip, pointing through the trees.

Finally, his lips crack with a grin as he shakes his head at you, “Technically it is but, danger can lurk around every corner.”

You can’t but giggle, feeling rather giddy in his presence, “You make a good point- the fluffy squirrels and chirping birds are truly vicious creatures...”

He rolls his eyes then and shakes his head once more, a light chuckle leaving his lips as he steps towards you.

But as he’s opening his mouth to speak, you drop the bit of sarcasm in your tone.

“How was your day?”

Yoongi feels a bit of warmth in his chest as he genuinely can’t remember the last time someone asked him that question.

Immediately however, he is hit with a pang of anxiety, the conversation he had with his men coming back into his mind.

Looking upon your warm expression, he fully appreciates your beauty.

The curves of your face, the sincerity in your gaze, the small smile on your lips...

He knows you’re capable of holding your own but, after hearing of a possible threat, he is infected with the need to protect you.

“It was fine. How was your day?” He attempts to reign in the worry in his tone, feeling very confident in his ability to conceal his true emotions.

He should know better...

“What’s wrong?” You ignore his inquiry regarding your day, stepping towards him once more, unsure of how close you should get.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing. Why do you think something is wrong?

“You look troubled-” Pointing a finger towards his face, you soften your tone, “Is something bothering you?”

Yoongi feels strangely emotional at your concern, still not fully understanding your interest in his feelings.

He doesn’t want to lie to you but, he also doesn’t want to spend his time with you talking about potential danger.

Besides, he really would like to hear about your day.

“It’s nothing. Just had a meeting with my men earlier, things got a little tense that’s all.” He assures you before extending a hand your way, “I’m off-duty now though and I’d really like to hear about your day if that’s alright...”

The sight of his hand sends butterflies down your throat and into your stomach before you interlock your fingers with his a little too eagerly.

He chuckles warmly, noticing your excitement and gently pulls you closer to him.

Being near Yoongi feels almost familiar.

It’s comforting and slightly intoxicating as the skin of his forearm brushes along the inside of yours.

The two of you begin following the length of the river, your plans and shoes suddenly forgotten.

“My day was ok...” You begin, tilting your head, “the heat was unbearable though. I thought I was going to faint in the middle of the plaza today. Ugh and then Jane kept going on about how I needed to find a husband and start a family, ‘ You aren’t getting any younger you know? Sooner or later you’re going to end up a spinster peddling night shade for a decent meal’ “ Your face scrunches up as you imitate the very unique tone of Jane’s voice and it causes Yoongi to chuckle warmly beside you, amusement coloring his features.

“Don’t laugh!” You whine, leaning into him but, your mouth is already pulling up into a smile, “She’s relentless!”

Yoongi continues laughing, using his finger to flick a tear from the corner of his eye, “She is quite abrasive. I actually like that about her but-” He points at you, “She shouldn’t be harassing you about your marital status. I assume that you’re unmarried by choice...”

There go the butterflies again.

“Why do you assume that?”

Yoongi glances at you before returning his gaze on the path you two are on. The corner of his mouth is pulled up into a smile as he lets out a breath, “I’m mainly assuming that there have been other suitors you’ve crossed paths with. You don’t seem like the type of person to settle or the type of person who makes decisions based on the opinions of others.”

As flattered as you are by his statement, there is one particular thing that captures your attention.

“Other suitors?” You raise your brows, stealing a glance his way in time to see him fully grin.

“Yes,” He nods, tightening his features with sincerity, “other.”

You feel your stomach doing back flips, the giddiness bubbling inside you threatening to explode but instead of jumping for joy like you want to, you merely squeeze his hand and offer him a grin in return.

The moment is over as soon as it begins as Yoongi looks down at your feet before frowning and turning back towards where the two of you had first met tonight.

“Where are your shoes? Why did you take them off?”

You giggle, “I was about to wade into the river to cool off, I don’t normally keep my shoes on while I do that.”

His frown falters a bit when you giggle but, he halts your movements none the less, “You could step on something, it’s dark out here...”

“It’s not that dark.” You insist, turning your body so you are face to face with him, “I walk through this area all the time.”

Yoongi feels his breath hitch as the proximity between the two of you lessens. He isn’t prepared for the feelings swirling inside of him or the ease of access he now has to your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your lips...

He would love nothing more than to place his mouth on every feature.

On every inch.

He clears his throat, “Fine. We’ll walk slower then so, at least if you step on something- it won’t be so hard.”

His solution makes you laugh again but it also pleases you.

You like that he doesn’t try to force his opinion on you and that he trusts your judgement.

“Fair enough.” You concede, reluctantly turning so the walk can continue, “How was the bread today by the way? I added a bit more garlic this time...”

He nods immediately, patting his stomach, “It was delicious. This batch was completely mauled by my fleet- my little brother in particular shoved at least 10 pieces into his mouth.” He chuckles, shaking his head, “I’m convinced that boy is part animal or something, he certainly behaves like one.”

Giggling, you mimic him and shake your head as well, “Or he just really likes bread. I would probably behave like an animal if I were deprived of carbs of 6 months out of the year.”

“It’s more like 10 months out of the year.” He corrects, “We only return to the kingdom during blizzard season or if one of us is injured.”

Your eyes widen, “Really? I thought members of the Queen’s army rotate every six months. You only take a break for two months out of the year?”

Yoongi chuckles at your surprise, “Yes-” He nods, “We are considered uh- special forces. The Queens employ us full time. The fleet I oversee of the Royal Army- they rotate quite often but the seven of us operate March through December.”

Kissing your teeth, you can’t help the genuine look of concern on your face, “How long have you been doing this?”

His eyes narrow, “Hm- I think I’m going on ten years now...yeah. I joined when I was 18.” He nods in agreement with himself, “This is my last year of service.”

Your heart jumps to your throat, “Really?!” The volume of your voice climbs dangerously high and it causes Yoongi to laugh, his eyes widening.

“Does that excite you?”

“I mean-” You bite your lip, trying to figure out if his retirement is something you should celebrate, “is it something you’re looking forward to?”

He smirks, eyes glinting with amusement, “It is.”

“Then yes,” You decide, stopping the pace of your walk so you can turn towards him, “it does excite me.”

His smirk never falters, whilst his free hand moves to trace down the length of your arm, seeking the grasp of your fingers. His touch leaves a trail of fire on your flesh, your other hand eagerly intertwining with his.

“Oh? Why does it excite you?”

The tone of his voice lightens; it’s playful and almost a little taunting as he leans in towards your face.

“Um-” You clear your throat, stepping closer to him so that your toes are almost touching his, “Because maybe, I would get to see you more. If you were retired...”

Yoongi’s eyes soften, the back of his thumb brushing over your knuckles, “Hm. So, she’d like to see me more...”

“I really would.” You confirm, the look in his eye offering you some confidence in your next move.

Swallowing back your nerves, you take the hand you’re currently holding and guide them to your hips.

Without a word, you place your freed hands on the ball of his shoulders, sliding them inwards towards the base of his neck. As the two of you make eye contact, you feel his grip on your hips tighten, his big hands feeling the flesh there for the first time. The movement of your fingers causes him swallow, the Adams apple bobbing in his throat whilst his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, only making them more inviting.

The seam of your top would make it so easy for him to slip his fingers beneath it to feel your skin for real but, instead he merely flexes his fingers just enough for the tips of them to press into your body.

In your own attempt to explore his skin, your fingertips brush the soft skin at the junction between the base of his throat and his shoulder, your palms lying flat on his collar bones.

He lets out a shaky breath, a small chuckle leaving his lips as he forces his eyes away from yours.

“You’re making this very difficult...” Yoongi murmurs.

You slow your motions on him, “I’m making what difficult?”

He’s still looking away, but his hands squeeze your hips, anchoring them in place to stop them from wandering as he wishes to.

“I’m trying to court you properly but, now you’ve gone and put my hands on you...” He smirks, his feline-like eyes darting back to yours, “you aren’t even giving me a chance here.”

His accusatory tone causes you to giggle, your fingers inching closer to brush against the hair at the nape of his neck, “Who’s to say what’s proper?”

“Societal decorum, your parents, my parents, our friends- “ He chuckles, glancing up towards the sky, “whatever god is in my head right now, shaming me for the thoughts I’m having.”

“Any god who shames you for your desires is no god of mine...and besides,” You breathe, leaning up towards his lips, “we’re the only ones who get to decide what’s proper for us.”

He sighs, his breath close enough to wisp across your mouth, the proximity intoxicating.

“I should have known the day I met you that you make your own rules...” He smirks, the need to press his lips against yours nearly unbearable. He nods to you then, raising his brows, “What do you think is proper for us in this moment? Since we’ve already disregarded decency.”

Another giggle leaves your lips and without thinking you move the rest of the way so that your mouth lingers just in front of his own, “I think it’s proper for you to kiss me- for the first time, underneath the full moon.”

At your boldness his heavy gaze widens slightly as a sharp breath leaves his lips before pushes them onto you.

Immediately, lightening shoots through the center of your spine, exploding into your heart, your hands on his shoulders tightening significantly, his own grip on your hips following suit.

Your bodies press together as your lips tuck in and move against each other. The tip of your nose rubs unceremoniously on the bridge of his own, the kiss deepening with a mutual sigh between the two of you.

Your chest is pushing against the linen of his shirt, your body coming to life as he begins walking you backwards towards the large willow tree standing proudly near the river. When your back presses against the rough bark, you take the opportunity to slide your nails up his neck and into his hair, careful not to ruin the state of his ponytail too much. Your touch elicits a very faint groan from him, his teeth nibbling against your bottom lip.

With the increase of your breathing, you press him closer to you, pushing your breasts into him, hoping that he will take the hint and continue touching you. His hands merely squeeze at your hips, holding you steady against his body whilst his tongue brushes your bottom lip.

He’s requesting entrance into your mouth, which you gladly grant, parting your lips and sliding your own tongue along his. The two of you play in each others mouths, it’s slow and almost messy and it causes your fingers to tighten in his hair, wishing desperately that you could run your fingers through it properly.

Yoongi’s heart feels as though it's going to give out from all the sensations he’s feeling, his resolve weakening by the second, all thoughts of decorum leaving his conscious.

The bark of the tree is digging into your back, but you can barely feel it; your mind is too full of Yoongi. His hands begin inching up your torso, almost massaging his way up, his grasp tightening further as he resists the urge to move his hips.

But he can already feel the blood pooling between his legs, and he knows that things are already going too far so when you slide your leg up to hitch it around his waist, he finally pulls away.

Breathing heavily, the two of you rest your foreheads on one another, lust swirling in the air around you.

“Why did you stop?” You pout, pecking at his lips.

Yoongi chuckles into your lips, leaning away slightly to press a kiss to your nose and then your forehead and as his mouth lingers there, he responds, “I have to maintain some level of decency- I am a man of the royal family.”

Like a spoiled child, you slump back against the tree, your lips still pouted as your hands return to his shoulders, “The royal family is miles away...besides, we were just kissing.”

Yoongi’s raspy laugh makes you want to kiss him even more while the fondness in his gaze makes you want to grin like an idiot.

“Your little suggestion to kiss me was turning into something else entirely and you know that.” He accuses playfully, bringing a thumb over your cheek.

“Were you not enjoying it?” You point out, dancing your fingers over his chest and he rolls his eyes, catching your hand in his own.

“You know very well that I was enjoying it.” He smirks, glancing down between the two of you at his semi-hard length pushing against his linen pants, “I am a man of my word however and I meant what I said about courting you properly.”

The sight of his length removes all moisture from your mouth, most of it seeming to reallocate between your legs.

“But you’re-!” You almost whine, wanting nothing more than to resume your earlier encounter.

He chuckles once more, bringing your fingers to his lips, “I am.” He concedes, dragging his lips over the back of your knuckles, “your lips are lethal.”

Your focus hones in on the wet lips currently pressing kisses against your hand but, your stubborn nature wishes to press the issue further.

“Then why did you stop?”

Yoongi smirks, “Because it’s not proper to have each other now, even when I want you as bad as I do-” He kisses between the junction of your pointer and middle finger, brows raising at the sight of your pouted lips, “Why are you still pouting?”

“Because...” You sigh, licking your lips, “I already told you I didn’t care what others thought I-”

Yoongi chuckles again but this time, the sound is darker, “Y/N, when I tell you that we should wait, it isn’t because of the opinions of others it’s because...” He pauses, licking his tongue between your fingers, sending a shock wave between your thighs, “I couldn’t possibly pleasure you properly against this tree...”

You let out shaky breath, leaning into him once more, “I believe you could.”

He grins, kissing over the spot he just licked, returning your hand to his shoulder, “Oh do you now?”

“Mhm.” You hum, giggling as he pinches your hips, your fingers clasping behind his neck.

He leans over, kissing your lips gently before pulling back to secure your gaze, “Be patient my sweet girl...” His voice drops to a whisper, “...and let our fairytale develop a little longer.”

You can’t help but embrace him then, tucking your face into his neck, “I’m sorry if I’m so eager...I’ve just never felt this way before.”

He chuckles warmly, easing you away from the trees so he can rub your back, “Please don’t be sorry. This is new territory for me as well. We can navigate it together ok? My fleet has to move on in a few weeks but, it will only be a few months until I can make it back to you. After that- we'll have all the time in the world.”

Nodding, you press a kiss to his neck, tightening the embrace, not wanting to let go, “Why do you have to be such an accomplished solider General Min? Mediocrity could have really worked in your favor...”

He laughs again, the sound warming you from the inside out, “Terribly sorry mam. I had no anticipation of being captivated by a smart-mouthed apothecary during a refuel stop.”

“Oh so I’ve captivated you have I?” You tease, your fingers walking slowly across his back.

He smiles, turning his head to kiss the side of your head, “To put it very lightly yes- yes you have.”

Captivated was the word Namjoon had used and it truly was the perfect word.

Absolutely perfect.

577 notes · View notes

jksangelic · 5 years

Text

heaven’s winter (m)

RATING: M

GENRE: fantasy, fluff, smut, a hint of a soulmate au, light angst

PAIRING: village daughter!reader x seraph!yoongi (alternatively, an “angel”)

WARNINGS/TAGS: lots of overthinking/past angst regarding both reader and yoongi separately (yoongi especially), tae is involved as an important plot side character but he’s barely in there i’m sorry, surprise aggression from yoongi because u get in his personal space, slow burn smut but the smut is nice and flavorful, explicit sexual content, body worship, oral sex (female receiving), virgin!reader, clumsy cute smut uwu, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), several positions, unintentional temperature play?, lots of love and respect up in this house and lots of other things i probably forgot.

also i wrote a lot for the intro you can skim idc lmao.

SUMMARY: your duty as the village daughter places you in line for the season’s Offering; a tradition not to tread lightly upon. as the snow falls slow and heavy, and the seraph awaits in the shallows of the mountain, you fail to realize what the winter has in store for you.

WORD COUNT: 18,600

NOTE: welcome to my slice of the Fantastical Stories for Curious Souls Collaboration!

it’s always really an honor to be able to work with other writers and i’m really grateful that they allowed my butting-in )))): thank you all!!! make sure to check out everyone’s stories in the link above and let us know what you think!

(uhhh i just..... i spent way too much time on research and the politics behind this fic for it to still be aLL oVer tHe plaCe but please cut me some slack. might i throw in that this has no religious/cultural affiliation and instead has more of a fantastical theme to it that is entirely fictional. especially for the concept of the Offering and how i loosely throw around the word “angel” and “heaven” and etc.)

((might i add that i recently discovered that i am *terrible* at describing geography and am totally basing it off of video-game visuals........ cough cough zeldabreathofthewild))

(((this last one’s kinda important!!!!: yoongi is described to be larger than you bc he’s this magical bird being. i always try to keep reader insert broad in description but if you’re taller than irl yoongi boongi, pssst, you’re not in this universe sorry but i make the rules)))

((((this is currently unedited. @14statelier get to work.))))

Part One

The snow falls slow and thick. The children catching it on their tongues and compacting it to shoot at each other, screaming and wailing all the same as it continues to pile. It fell particularly early this time around, normally nothing more than cold bitter to the skin and clouds stirring prediction of the oncoming winter. You were always a heavy sleeper despite the beauty of first frost, long past your days of childish amazement through fogged windows and warm fires but you watched the icy cotton substance pile since dawn this morning. Not even drowsiness will overrun your excitement for the day ahead.

“You light three incense and make sure they burn all the way through before you turn around,” Taehee states.

“Find some stones on your way. Use them to hold the tapestry down as you set up. It looks especially windy today,” Mina adds.

Yoona finishes tucking your hair back rather tightly, “You should stop by Jin’s and pick up some extra bread. You know he’ll give you some of his fresh batch if you asked for it.”

You suppose, not even the nagging of your aunts.

You chew on your fingers, a nervous habit. Taehee pulls your slobbered index from your lips with a wrinkled forehead, “You better remember this, dear. You only have to do it once but if you do it right, it’ll be worth much more.”

You recite drearily, “Follow the path, set up the altar, say our prayers, return home.”

“Once the incense is out, Y/N. You mustn’t forget.”

“And you cannot explore the manor. Don’t walk around. Don’t look through the windows—”

“It’s a manor? How big do you suppose?” you ask with newfound interest to your words.

“That doesn’t matter, girl. You don’t wander. You don’t explore. You do what is told of you and nothing more. What matters is that you don’t spot a seraph, and that the seraphs don’t spot you.”

You never understood that rule. If the seraph tribe was so kind as to help your country win a rather one-sided war, then why the invisible boundary? To be in alliance and never interact was an odd sense of unity to you, if any. “Have you ever seen a seraph? Is it true they have two sets of wings?” You’d always been curious to the subject, a fairytale-like existence just waiting below the peak.

“The elders claim they do. A large and small set. Some say it’s necessary for having human proportions. You know, they say it’s bad luck to stare at a seraph’s wings. ” Mina says in awe in correspondence to the way she suffocates you with your robe’s sash.

You swat her away, forcing down a smile, “I don’t believe that, you haven’t even seen one! How do you even know they exist!”

“Hush! You’ll get into some real trouble if an elder catches you saying that. They exist. And they live up the mountain. And you will do the Offering with utmost delicacy and respect. Besides, you’re the only one coming-of-age this year! A girl to do it by herself is surely something the leaders will appraise of you.” You avoid their scrutinous, expectant gazes.

You could say you’ve been cursed at birth. Weak in basic skills in which an adult, regardless of age, is identified by. You lacked time management and a sense of direction, you harbored a bad habit of looking down when you spoke, you couldn’t even wash the dishes without chipping a glass. Your legs worked against you at random times, quite literally tripping you up and deeming you as a clumsy, pitiful thing. As you grew older, the only skills you were able to contribute were to the fields, where things were organic and didn’t require fragility.

“I am not as useless as you think of me,” the words come out unprompted but true and exposed.

The women gawk and babble like hens in a flurry of angered denial or soft apologies but you no longer have time to discuss unimportant matters.

In the midst, rough, giant hands encase your face. You don’t realize you’re looking to the floor until Taehyung props your chin upwards, met with smiling eyes and an ear-to-ear grin. His name rolls off your tongue in surprise.

“Hey, don’t start moping before you even start. It really isn’t a big deal. You hike all the way up to the riverbank more than the others and that’s a long way. This is no different. And think, when you come home everyone will come to realize how much they’ve missed you! Me included.”

“It’s not that I’m…” You start haphazardly. Well, it’s not that you’re reluctant to do the Offering. To adventure otherwise prohibited land and by yourself, to prove that you can handle life just fine and don’t need to be seared by the judgement of deploring eyes. Some time to enjoy solitary peace. It wasn’t even a whole day, dammit, but you’ll take what you can get. You choose to lie, “I guess I am a bit nervous. I’ll make sure to pace myself. Besides, I’d run myself short if I finished in half-a-day like you.”

Tae puffs, a little proud of himself, “What can I say… I’d like for the little ones to look up to me.” You roll your eyes, scanning your bed for your scarf. Taehyung eyes the cloth as you wrap it around, a rare moment of quiet. He stares, entranced, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so focused. As you think about inquiring his statue-like manner, you notice that more of the silence is due to the disappearance of the squawking hens. Those sly, evil matchmakers.

You suddenly pull him along and towards the exit, “You can’t be in here. You’ll get us in trouble.”

He blinks dumbly and slumps against your ministrations. “Your aunts seemed to be fine with it. And it’s not like I haven’t snuck in your window a few… several times.”

Your expressed sheepishness is his favorite source of entertainment, “Goodness, as kids! You make it sound so rebellious.” He winks as if you share a grand secret, all to his imagination of course.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was the village’s be-all and end-all. Born to work and carry everyone else on his back. He stands tall with his shoulders wide and prominent, chestnut waves that reached his cheekbones now. Shirt tight around his torso in ways that could excite anyone that risked a glimpse. You can’t help but find it amazing how much of a crybaby he was when you were young and how sturdy and dependable he is now. He was humorously your polar opposite.

You try to shoo him once more, “Anyways. I’m getting ready and you can’t see me. Go wait with everyone else!” His pout is jarring paired with his hard, strong build. Like a teddy bear with abs and palm blisters from years of physical labor.

His body moves on his own at some point, reluctantly reaching for your door handle, “No parting kiss upon my cheek, fair lady?”

It’s obvious he’s being more daring these days. With frequent visits and gifts on your doorstep, and now requested kisses. The whole town knew you were likely to marry him, a relief for most. But on your hand, you’ve just known him for so long. Practically since you were born. You’ve already shared kisses, you’ve already had those butterflies in your stomach; but the kisses were stolen in secret and the butterflies were stagnant. And although it was never a consistent nor official courting, you felt as though Taehyung was already a route taken. You know better to never admit that into the air, though. Not when everyone expected your cooperation with marriage at the least. To care for someone so special, and to bear his children plump and healthy.

What a static life to live, you try not to think. You instead try to blame such thinking on your inferiority complex, to at least ease some of that horrible guilt in your stomach. You should be grateful for your life. Talentless yet adored. A village princess that was easy on the eyes and sought after by those looking for that beauty and its accompanied dowry.

A proposal was near, that much you could tell with his efforts. In his perspective, the sooner the better lest he want someone else to steal you from him. Contradictory to your own reasoning, the only relief you find is that it is him, your dearest friend. Perhaps the only one to disregard your shortcomings and want to fill your empty spaces as much as he can. He cared about you and that could be enough. So you try to convince yourself of that.

You kiss his cheek softly and without hesitation. Not so much as a blush. He suspects nothing less than mutual adoration and takes his leave like you request, leaving you alone in silence for a relieving twenty seconds. Then the hens come back inside and squabble about who will be able to sew together your future gown.

Part Two

It starts under the old pine tree on the far side of the village. A crowd gathers as you wait under the swaying branches, mutters and looks of excitement apparent. A cleric waits beside you with three elder women who prepare your things: a woven satchel loaded with the items that you are to lay out, things like dried flowers, fruits, fine wines, tapestries, collected crystals, baked goods and the incense. A replica display of what little the humans had presented at the foot of the seraphs. Untouchable beings with class and power much above your own. Kindness as well, so it seems; to be provided with just this and offer unparalleled assistance to a hopeless cause in the old wars. You wondered if they still watched from afar, curious to the well-being of their mortal neighbors.

"Dear, keep your mind with us. You'll be off shortly," one of the grandmas whisper, placing a carved selenite athame into a leather holster and slipping it into the confines of your robe, "For protection." You smile and thank her kindly, tuning back into the ceremony and waiting for the second elder. They continue to adorn you in charms and traveling goodies, eventually piling on unnecessary weight that will, for sure, slow you down in the process. The trek was basically a day’s trip. If you moved efficiently, you should be home no later than when the sun begins to set, in time for supper even. As much as you’d like to stay out longer, you dare not risk a night in the mountains.

“—this year’s representative will be just as prosperous. May she bring good fortune and health onto our town just as the many before her has done so,” the old cleric roars into the audience, just about finishing his speech as you start to listen. You hope he didn’t say anything too significant. Can’t possibly hang on to every dry word when you were so close to tasting temporary freedom.

You make your way into the parted sea of people, some who grip your hand as you walk by to invoke strength as you move along. A few grumble good luck’s and come back safe’s. Then an angry baker charging through helpless bodies.

“Take this, you stupid girl. You were supposed to stop by the bakery this morning,” Seokjin whines, thrusting what seems to be a warm pastry wrapped with cheesecloth into your hands.

“Thank—Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bug…”

Jungkook pops in from nowhere, hitting your shoulder a little too playfully, “Chin up, love. Don’t be back too soon.” You nod shyly as he distances behind. Jungkook always had a strong nose for your facades but he also always kept your secrets. Clutching your things tightly, you watch your boots as they pick up speed through the mess of attention.

“Good luck!”

“Watch your surroundings, little one.”

“Come home and don’t wander off!”

You leave northbound until you no longer hear their cheers. Until the snow no longer has indented prints and you think you’re alone and off to the races. A sudden tension snaps when you release your sore cheeks from an artificial smile, not even aware you were sporting one in the first place. There was always a heavy pressure when you presented yourself to the public, and while you were no damn princess, everyone ensured that you at least feel the looming responsibility of one. Curse your family’s political ties and all that, otherwise you wouldn’t give a damn if you seemed like an old witch spotted once in a blue moon.

When you reach the border gate is when you see Taehyung for the last time today. It comes as a surprise to see him waiting for you like a loyal dog, dark hair sprinkled with snowflakes, red cheeks a striking contrast against the bright setting. If you were more grateful, you’d think he looks particularly good today. If anything, it strikes you more that you failed to see his face at the send-off.

“Hey. I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone else… and today of all days but if I don’t right now, I don’t think I ever will,” he jumbles. In his hands hold a scarlet scarf, the same one you had seen as a child when his mom would occasionally take care of you, let you help bake, and playfully dress you in her accessories. All but that scarf, folded neatly and tucked into a corner or her closet.

“Oh! Don’t touch that, love,” she said, “That’s something my mother-in-law made for me.”

You had pouted then, a spoiled brat of sorts. But Taehyung’s mother’s eyes were always warm and she spoke softer than cashmere, “I have to give that to my son when he decides to marry. Will you make sure he finds the right one, for me? You are his best friend, aren’t you?”

You remember the challenge you felt, yelling without hesitation, “Taetae will marry me! When we grow up I’ll be his bride and you won’t have to worry!”

She giggled in contentment, eyes squinted in a wide smile and petting you lovingly, “Ah, of course. I know you’ll be a wonderful wife, Y/N. Taehyung will be in great hands.”

“I had been there, you know,” Taehyung chuckles, “When you claimed you’d be my wife when we got older. I was hiding in the hallway and initially, I thought, ‘I’ll never marry my best friend!’. But, now… I just can’t imagine wanting to marry anyone else.”

You grin at him sadly. Of course he had been holding onto this his entire childhood.

“Taehyung…”

“We’re still young, I know that. I just want to give you this for your trip to make me feel more at ease and so you can think about it. You can take all the time that you need. I know Mother wouldn’t mind, especially for you.” You nod. It’s all you can do. Taehyung pulls you into a tight embrace and kisses your hair. When he pulls away, he wraps your neck into the warmth of the scarf you’d always wished to wear. But it’s almost suffocating now, locking in your fate before you even step out of the village boundaries.

“For now, just come back to me. I’ll be waiting for you no matter what you decide.”

You can fathom the communal disappointment of rejecting your strongest suitor. More importantly, you would be shameful to turn down his proposal. Once it was out there, there was no “decision”.

You can imagine your aunts now, squealing in delight and sewing from their best cloths.

Part Three

Though you never had the chance to explore much, this really was nothing you've ever seen before. An ominous stairway carved into rock weaved in and out of your trail which made it fairly easy to follow along. You can't imagine the labor that went into sculpting this far ahead and all the way up the side of the mountain; it was truly something mind-boggling. As the air begins to thin, the amount of snow starts to grow thicker. If you had waited any longer into the winter you wouldn’t even be able to see the path, you’re sure.

You only need to stop twice to catch your breath and sit down. Snacking on the bread Jin gifted you only a few hours ago. It’s satisfying to look back at the area you’ve covered, how small things look from your height and the beauty of a fresh snow blanket. The scenery to the riverbank was nowhere as near breathtaking to that of the mountain. A dreamscape of evergreen trees and varying shrubbery, crossing over a short wooden bridge floating over a near-frozen stream, even occasional wildlife prancing into view. The summit itself wasn’t terribly high. It was manageable to hike for the most part, more so that your goal wasn’t to reach the peak.

You could travel all the time, you think. Hike or take a horse somewhere farther than here but that’s not very practical. There was nowhere really to go and you didn’t have the luxury to just up and leave your household, and now Taehyung. The knots in your brain seem to loosen, blame the inclination and dry air infiltrating your head. Knowing your life was to be faced someday and all your immature ambitions to leave the village now seeming childlike and unattainable. The pessimism had yet to blow out your weak flame of philosophical rebellion but it was surely keeping you in check.

Judging by the sun's position, it's midday. Meaning it shouldn't be long before you catch sight of the "manor" and thus will be halfway finished with your journey.

You nearly walk off the cliffside before you notice the route's abrupt change and how it slithers deeper into the eye of the mountain. The farther you walk, the closer the earthy walls begin to shut in on you in a trench-like structure. It's even more unbelievable coming upon a short archway, perhaps man-made and mined through a boulder that could have fallen from atop one of the peaks. Being here, you realize, makes you feel small. Slithering through the terrain like a fairy in the tales your mother had told you at night. Of beasts and cryptids that could appear in the tangles of forest and vanish all in the same. There was a sort of dreamlike trance you found yourself in as you walked under the rock as if it were a portal.

And, unexpectedly, it's there. Atop a few more dreadful flights of stairs, hidden between an odd bundle of trees and beneath a fresh veil of snow, you can barely make out the silhouette of a house. It's still a bit far and eerily surrounded by fog but it's there and it almost looks as if it's... floating. Like a gateway to a secret nook of heaven.

It's one of those odd, puzzle-like mirages when you climb more steps to think you're only getting farther from the house. The swaying of branches keeps you from determining just how big it is and what it could possibly conceal. Even the atmosphere, chill and intimidating, makes your heart skip in perplexed anticipation. Having been at this for hours, if the staircase hadn't just ceased you would have kept walking straight into the dark wooden door.

But your aching legs find relief in the stretching flat surface of a porch and your exhilaration to reaching such a majestic destination that you could squeal. Of course, you don't, and instead get started at the task at hand.

You kneel onto the cool floor and begin to unload your things, neatly and without the need to rush. You lay stones on each corner of the tapestry to hold it down, you lay out the contents in somewhat of an aesthetically manner, you strike a match to light the incense and you mumble your thanks on behalf of the village, all as you were told. The snicker under your breath comes unwarranted as you finalize the display, even Taehyung couldn't have done this well.

It feels a little anticlimactic; a little short-lived. To have come up this whole way and spend a maximum of five minutes in somewhere you could spend days exploring. Idling, you can practically hear the warning clucks of your aunts engraved into your brain.

"Don't dilly-dally!"

"Come straight home."

"Even think of doing anything funny and I'll have Seokjin roast you alive."

Maybe it's why it's even more satisfying to you when you ignore them altogether, standing from your position and just dying to see the rest of the manor's exterior. One peek, one peek and I'll never stray from instruction ever again, you think. Just my last burst of freedom and then I promise to be a good girl with no more personality than a wet dish rag.

So you tiptoe to the massive door and lean your ear against it as if you could hear anything with its size and the strong winds. You questioned if anyone even lived here, void of any decorations or signs of recent activity. Maybe the deer would get to the food you laid out before someone even stepped foot on the property prior next Offering.

When there are no obvious indications of life do you weasel your way around the corner, an extension of the porch wrapping around the side of the house to much of your assumption and revealing an expanse of space. The cabin was two stories at the least, maybe even three if not had been for the first story windows and how incredibly tall they were. You could only imagine the comfort of being inside such a space, being able to wake and watch the snow behind a glass wall of incredible proportions. While you ogle the window do you, of course, fail to realize that it's transparent and startle a bit when something begins to move.

The reflection makes it a bit difficult to pinpoint, a large dark figure shifting ever so slightly in its confines. Like a complete buffoon, you near the wall even closer with squinted eyes just making out the shapes of an entity.

Whatever it is, it's incredibly large. A heart in shape and composed of monochromatic blacks, reaching the floor and surely much taller than you. It was killing you that you couldn't figure out what the hell it was, well-near leaning against the glass as you peer into the private space.

You freeze in place as the elongated heart is really in the shape of wings, accompanied by a body as they’re dragged behind it like a veil. Long and dark and ruffling occasionally as their owner rotates a bit...

But you don't get to see his face. The man in which you firmly believed could be nothing but a myth; as propaganda by the village elders to keep your actions in check. Rather, the seraphs were more authentic than you could have ever imagined, and as magical and inspiring as it may be, so are the Offering rules that are now proved and justified, and that could only mean that this was very, very unfortunate timing to be snooping around property that was not yours.

Your feet scramble backwards in attempt to flee out of sight, instead graciously slipping against the frozen wood and causing you to land quite harshly on your side. Your hip burns at the impact but more horrifyingly important, the crash rattles the side of the floating stoop and his eyes burn into your pathetic body. The moment is wedged between fractions of a second, eye contact barely existent but it's enough to see the daggers in the seraph's irises. It's enough of a warning for you to get back onto your feet and sprint as carefully as possible away from such a gaze that could light this winter wonderland into disastrous flames.

All that comes across your mind as you rush down the steps is how wrong you were. How you unjustly became more and more skeptical of the stories and legends of the creatures that existed in the crevices of the mountains. How numb you became to the warnings as your age drew near for your rite of passage. How much of a taboo you would become if you were to ever tell a living soul that you witnessed a seraph and its marvelous wings. Not that you would.

Your ability to run brings you to the realization that you forgot your things but it was beyond you now. For once in your life, you cherish the idea of being home and hiding under the covers in the tranquil warmth of a familiar fireplace. To dream away the moment that dark angel caught a sly fox trespassing into his territory and, rightfully so, looking as if he craved to skin it alive.

You yelp at the sudden caw of ravens as they fly overhead. Their screeches send shivers to your bones, a sudden chill slowing you down. Rustling in the nearby trees deem you completely terrified, a gut feeling deducting the possibility of winds blowing that strong in the middle of dense shrubbery. Your heart drops once more; your athame was left in the abandoned bag.

The last time you had seen a wolf was when you were barely a toddler, sleepily held in the arms of a younger (and much kinder) Mina. It lurked in the woods just past the fields, a little young and possibly separated from its pack. But wolves were smart and they knew better than to make trouble in a town of loud humans. You remember the way it pulled its ears back and slinked back into the sanctity of its wild home and never to be seen again.

These wolves were smart too, howling their announcement upon finding a small, weak girl all alone and oozing dread. Two pairs of eyes track you as their corresponding bodies stalk out of the bushes, large and sleek and beautiful. Both grey and both incredibly hungry, they begin to pace around you maybe 100 feet away. You startle back and up a stair, most favored option to return to the cabin and retrieve your bag, maybe stay near for a bit until the creatures leave but then another, black and larger than the other two, barks harshly and stands its ground on your sacred steps. You are royally trapped.

“Stay… Stay back,” you warn dumbly, looking to the only open direction in the woods. You wouldn’t be as fast as on the path as long as you had to maneuver through the snow but you could possibly break off a hefty branch. Enough to ward them off to get back to the cabin and pray that the seraph doesn’t pose more of a problem than flesh-eating hounds.

So you sprint, robes clenched in your fists and boots sinking into the pillows of ice, disappearing into the trees and disregarding the snarls that start up behind you. You look desperately for something, anything to help you. Snow begins to find its way into your shoes each time you trip over yourself, wetting the soles of your feet. Hands scraping against bark with each twist and turn and your fingers burn. You only look back occasionally, seeing no more than one pair of eyes at a time at a short distance. This must have been a fun game to them, howling their contents into brisk air.

The black dog truly appears from nowhere, a flash of teeth from your left peripheral before it tackles you to the ground the same moment you find a dead branch and thrust it into its snapping jaw. It all happens too fast. You yipe as you roll through the fall, wolf teeth still digging through your only weapon and snapping the poor thing to two. In pure desperation, you dig the sharper broken half into whatever it’s willing to hit. Fortunately enough, the wolf whimpers and tumbles off you. Then you’re off once again, adrenaline ringing in your ears as you don’t even care to recall which way is which, as long as it’s away from, what can you assume was, the Big Bad Alpha.

More howls from them, more cries from you.

You’re able to return to the path without another spotting. It turns out you were going the wrong way when you’re also met with the narrow exit and that cursed archway. A gateway to inevitable death.

Halfway through the gap in manic rush and you’re face to face with a beast so pale that it camouflaged with the flurry encasing you both. Eyes clear as water and almost… comforting. Even with the low rumble in its throat and one paw in front of the other in a slow, tantalizing chase. The others growl behind you, an enraged black-furred monster bleeding from its right eye socket turned quite smug now knowing that you were completely, utterly trapped.

It’s when the white wolf soundlessly drags a deep wound into your thigh while the three merely watch is when you ascertain that it is, undoubtedly, the pack leader. You fall back as the beautiful thing toys with you, snatching the front of your thick robe and shredding it with a sickening rip. You scream for the first time this entire chase, grabbing at Taehyung’s scarf in fear that it got caught along with it, caring for it more than your own life at this point.

The scream must have been piercing enough to discombobulate your attacker, it’s large ears flitting around as it jumps away from you. It’s even more of a shock when they all flee out of the divide, leaving you bleeding and too traumatized to move an inch. Whatever alarmed them devastates you even more.

The ravens caw loud and the ground vibrates. Watching the birds circle in the sky, you notice the way pebbles begin to crumble from each peak, how snow begins to over pile on such weak grounds and the way it begins to slide inward.

It’s an odd sound; snow sliding against other layers of snow and having so much weight that it pulls a few small trees with it. And this trench-like area only had so much space and you were positive the amount of white that begins to hurl towards you would fill it like a water cup; bury you with absolutely no chance of being able to dig your way out. Despite your fear, you cower at its charge and wait for the weight to hit.

And then your head lolls back against something wonderfully warm and dry. You were completely soaked but too exhausted to shiver. In your last moments of consciousness, with your neck craned uncomfortably, you see the ground as the sky and the sky as the ground and feathers as feathers. You think of home. Think of warm summers where you would dip your feet in the riverbed. Think of bonfires with Jungkook and Jin and Hoseok and even Taehyung. But everything is still snow and you think you’re beginning to loathe each damned flake. The only comfort you find is the homeliness of the carmine red material that blows softly against your face. With that and the fleeting thought that you might be righteously transported to heaven do you finally pass out.

Part Four

Yoongi wasn’t particularly fond of humans. Unlike his brothers and sisters that sympathized with such weak creatures enough to put their own lives at risk, it was just something he would never come around to understand. Species were organized and separated for reasons and intermingling was a curiosity that died ages ago for him.

Which is all a hypocritical contradiction when he sees you sleep soundly on his common room couch, changed into dry clothes and buried beneath a heap of duvets. Whatever had possessed him to go after you was pure impulse after the stunt you pulled on him. Prowling around on private property and, more importantly, breaking the village’s strict ritual rules. Catching him going about on what would be another unmomentous day in his schedule, creating enough of a ruckus to capture his attention, and then fleeing as a feeble mouse.

It’d be a lie if he had said he didn’t watch you scramble away down the steps from the comfort of his front door and a fresh coffee in hand, watching you stumble over nothing on your way. It was more when you had left your things like a pure imbecile, food and tools and all, and left without even waiting for the incense to finish burning. It was then that he came to the conclusion that you were incredibly clumsy and that served as entertainment to him.

The howls were his test of will. Knowing the dogs were way farther up the mountain than they normally were and supposing they had followed your poor, unfortunate soul during your trek, waiting for the perfect time to strike. And you were practically handed to them on a silver platter, considering you’d left your only knife on the cold wood of his porch.

Maybe he had come down, grumpily disturbed from his peaceful Saturday, more to save himself from cleaning the remnants of someone eaten in his vicinity more than the compassion to save you. But that was a tad bit too cruel, even for him. He thinks it was more of that uniquely curious glint in your eyes as you practically skipped into his sight. Daring enough to ignore those rather ridiculous warnings and try your luck. Delicate as a deer in hunter’s perspective. As often as he’d go out to restock supplies in neighboring towns would he never come across a visitor in his own domain. Call him quaint, but it was a mediocre surprise.

He prods the fire, making it crackle and reflame with more vigor. It had barely been a few hours since he’s saved you by the skin of his teeth, almost caught in the landslide himself.

He checks the wound on your leg once more, cleaning it again before securing it in bandages. If only he had gotten there faster, Yoongi tsks, but you’d strayed from the path and he could only follow the prints so quickly before they were covered by the flurry. By the time he found you again, you were knelt in front of the pack and submitting to your death. Had he not been on a hill, had he not been able to utilize his useless wings to glide down before the snow had claimed you first…

You groan softly, unable to roll around without a searing poker sinking into your thigh with each attempt. Contrast to the icicle state the rest of your body sported. You felt like hell. Like hell in hell guarded by those hounds. Hell in your thigh and hell in your head and hell in—

“Don’t move too fast. You have a fever and I just replaced your bandages,” a disembodied voice orders. Your eyes snap open to tall, wooden ceiling. Sitting up is your first horrible mistake, dropping back down immediately with a pained wheeze.

“I just said not to move too fast. If you can sit up normally, you should drink some water. I have some here,” it speaks again. You try again cautiously, blurry spots ruining your vision the farther up you scoot. A silhouette is kneeling beside you, maybe a cup in his hand but you’re too jumbled to confirm.

Yoongi tries his best to fold in on himself, lowering the obvious limbs stuck to his back and appear as human as possible. You wouldn’t be able to run again in your state but he tries his best to be courteous to your skittishness anyway.

“Where… Where am I?” You dazingly question. You don’t really… recall too much. Last memory somewhat muddled between your send-off and contact with those treacherous wolves, very few in between and serving no importance if you couldn’t remember how it ended.

“You’re safe in my house. In the mountains still. You passed out pretty good out there, been out for a bit. Now drink.”

It’s easy to do as your told with you’re running off little brainpower, downing the water hastily.

The voice scolds, “Hey, slow.”

At some point, you can see again. The blankets that cover you and the large room you inhabit. Of course, the seraph from earlier that awaits by your seat. His seat. But you feel no urgency to scurry into safety. You were discombobulated, sure, but you knew enough that this man was kind enough to bring you into his home and care for you. So you fold back the material slowly and watch his face contort into confusion as you try to stand.

“I’ll be on my way. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for treating me.”

“Woah now. You’re in no condition to be standing. Besides, the path is blocked. Snow was too heavy and caused a slide. I doubt it’ll clear until the spring,” he informs, looking out the window as if to drag your own attention to it. The snow stopped but it’s fallen a few feet, at least. The path, you remember, chased by wolves and led into an ice trap. The few split moments in which the man must have scooped you up before your demise, remnants of being carried back towards his estate.

His place, in which is even more amazing inside than it was outside, a luxurious wooden mansion of sorts, tall and spacious and filled with those incredible windows that displayed better than you could have ever dreamed. The man himself that sits beside you draws full attention. Despite his position, he was large and still intimidating as the moment you crossed sights for the first time. Hair matching his wings in dark palette, soft and delicate looking. His face anything but, sharp eyes and thick brows, lips that curved into a simper. Above all, he looked more human. Even as radiant and prepossessing as he was, if the cape of wings didn’t follow him where he went he would look just as human as the rest of the population.

“Are you a seraph?” You ask dumbly. Dumb, because he laughs and because he obviously is.

“Are you a human, pretty thing?” He retorts. There’s no condescending lilt to his words but it makes him seem otherworldly to you. With such a provoking question and your lightheadedness, he seemed a blessing to be inhabiting such an earth.

You melt into the cushions once more, leg throbbing and eyes heavy. You watch his wings as they bob with his breath, “They say it’s bad luck to lay eyes on the wings of an angel…”

“Why would that be?,” he scrunches his nose, maybe a little appalled by the idea, “Such a misleading myth. Besides, I’m no angel.”

You don’t know why he stands to leave the room after that, unnoticing how you fall back into sedation a minute later.

Part Five

You wake with clarity. Check your thigh to find it almost completely healed over except a now lingering scar. All’s left is a dull soreness but god it felt so much better. Enough to stand and stretch in the empty room. Enough to coherently realize that you only wear your underwear while the rest of your garments hang torn and sadly on the fireplace screen. It’s not as unbecoming if it had to be done for the sake of your health and wellbeing, right?

Getting dressed is easy when you don’t even bother with your robe, the gash decreeing it useless and instead tying Taehyung’s scarf around your shoulders as a shawl over your tank. You’re lucky it didn’t get torn.

There’s a fleeting moment where you really think you miss Tae, feeling a little regretful to being so afraid of his proposal in light of the recent accident. You’re sure he must be worried sick; must think you’ve perished under the debris and snow if he’s come to look for you. As his best friend, you solemnly wish he was here to hug you close and promise that it would all be okay. To fend off your shame and welcome you back into the village with teary eyes and a warm smile.

“Ah, human. You’re awake.”

You whip around to discover fox eyes in the door frame, poorly lit now that it’s nighttime. The moonlight pairs well with how it sits on his milky skin, almost something out of a painting.

“It’s Y/N. Not ‘human’.” You answer a little sharper than you mean. He notices too, quick to wave it off since he really had popped up out of nowhere. He tries your name once on his own tongue, a satisfying thing to say.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Min Yoongi, in case you don’t want to call me seraph all the time.”

You suddenly grab your thigh, rubbing it over your pants in questionable disbelief, “How long have I been asleep? My leg is almost fully healed…”

He rubs at his eye, a little nonchalant about the scene at hand, “Only overnight and throughout the day today. It’s probably quarter to nine about now. I had medicine to help your cuts heal over nicely. Call it, uh, advanced seraph technology.”

The gashes hadn’t been incredibly deep to begin with, thankfully not going any further than the first layer of skin and just really causing some bleeding, but it was still amazing. The feeling is short lived. Even if only a day, you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“Thank you, um, Mr. Min. For saving my life and everything after that. I’d like to repay you sometime. But for now I’m afraid I should be heading back, I’ve stayed for too long. I’m sure I can find some way over the path.”

It dawns on you that Yoongi is a little facetious, especially when he purrs a, “Well you can do whatever your little heart desires, but I’m here to remind you that there is no path. Here, look out the window.”

You do, tiny bit distracted when he stands by you to point out the ridges of the mountains that surround you. “See those? How they curve in towards the top and how it sort of resembles a bowl? This area was made only for seraphs to get in and out of generations ago; flight only. Trying to climb it would be suicide on both sides. The path that goes through was strictly for human use, and if that’s blocked, there’s no way out, little one.” You weren’t the shortest in your village but Yoongi truly was massive, both lanky and filled-out somehow. Like there’s underlying strength to his lean build. You’re sure if you were to stand directly in front of him, the top of your head would barely surpass his sharp shoulders.

You disregard his name for you, a bit annoyed at this point, “Could you not fly me over the pass?”

Yoongi repeats in disbelief of such a daring request, “Fly… You over the pass… No. I’m sorry. I won’t do that. If you truly want to figure it out, you should do so soon. It's storm season."

Gritting your teeth, you express your discontent for once. What did he save you for, then? For points? You didn't know members of the almighty seraph clan were so keen to half-completed deeds. "And why not? Wouldn't you rather I be on my way? What am I supposed to do if I can't leave?"

"You forget yourself, Y/N. Did I not save your life? Chase after you and save you from being crushed? Buried alive?" He takes a second to straighten himself out, aware of how you look to your feet in frustration.

"Hey," he starts again, "I know you'd like to go home. I only tell you the truth of your situation in its entirety. If I could fly you over the pass I would but unfortunately, I'm out of commission."

You feel heat in your face, embarrassed of the way you address a complete stranger even after all the things he's done for you. But this was frankly a sticky situation to find yourself in, trapped and unable to get Yoongi to help you any further. Though you do wonder what he means by his last statement...

"I'm... I'm sorry. I don't mean to make demands. I'm just scared and in a place I'm not used to and I'm not quite sure what I'm to do from here. Is there no one else who can help me over?"

Yoongi averts his gaze before he shakes his head, "I'm the last one in this country."

That's even more odd to hear but you don't prod for information that isn't yours to learn.

In silence, you contemplate the work that even went into carrying another human body by use of wings that were structurally built for the owner's own weight and possibly nothing else. Now was not the time to be ignorant.

“What am I supposed to do?” You mumble weakly. Yoongi watches your gears turn warily, stress surely beating down on you.

He rubs his neck, ruffles his left wing, “Listen. I promise I’ll help you back come spring. You won’t be able to make a dent in the landslide as long as it continues to build with snow every night.” He tends to forget that humans are pack animals, often lost without one another and feeble in the hands of species not of their own.

Your doe eyes, beginning to well with tears, convince him over tenfold, “I’ll help you in any way possible to pay you back for all the things you’ve done. I know I’ve caused nothing but trouble but if you have the room, is it possible I stay here?”

And Yoongi had enough vacant rooms to house a whole herd of deer now that he’s been alone for these sum of years. It really was no trouble… and he could make use of you as long as you stayed. His brow shoots up, “You can stay.”

Your grin is enough to light the whole room encased in night’s darkness, looking back down to the ground now knowing you had some hope to hold onto in such an eventful day. A whisper of a thank you Mr. Min is thrown in and Yoongi can feel his fists tighten.

He clears his throat, standing a little taller than he already is and acting strict, “But there are some rules. And you can just call me by my first name.”

Part Six

It's always a little weird trying to adjust to new scenery. Though your past experiences have been anticlimactically different than this; not exactly the first time visiting a friend's house or dropping off delivered goods from Seokjin's shop and awkwardly facing an elder who forces you to stay for tea.

Yoongi had shown you around the areas you needed to know. Offered you the closest room to the main part of the house with a king bed, fresh sheets and your own majestic window to stare out of. The living room which you had rested in before and the kitchen, grand and spacious just like everything else. He showed you a greenhouse out back that was utterly ginormous. Stone walkways and a hot compost keeping it from freezing, rows of plants you both have and haven't witnessed before. And again, he showed you what you needed to know.

That goes onto the chores he assigned you as long as you stay, to help him clean come Sundays and manage the plants throughout the week which served as no problem. At least with horticulture you proved some use, struggling throughout the weekend to do anything else but cause Yoongi a bit of a headache.

Tuesday rolls around and Yoongi stops by your room with stationary. Tells you he has a messenger bird to deliver any letters you desire to send home and you hop on the opportunity quicker than the landslide had tried to eat you up.

Of course, it was an exceptionally long letter. Longer than the papers Yoongi had given to you and he had to fetch more when you looked absolutely devastated sitting at your desk. You began with the simple phrase, "I'm okay." Filling it with a volley of explanations and apologies, how you were nearly killed, how the seraph had scooped you up to safety and how you inhabit his home now until further notice. You write how you talk, sure the recipients are sure to read in hushed mumbles and run-on sentences. You explain that there's no use to try to get home now while the clouds continue to precipitate and gate your only exit from the bowl-like wonderland. You end with how you miss them already, a request to send back an update or two every once in awhile, and a final wish to have a happy winter without you (though you're sure they won't appreciate that joke).

You think, if they really receive the letter, how terribly furious they'll be with you. Taehyung and Jungkook will probably come hiking up the mountain to try to put a dent in the debris and fail miserably. Your aunts and how they must feel even the tiniest bit of guilt for thinking you so small and helpless. Mina and her jealous wonder that you've done it now, how you've seen a seraph before her and you're positive she'll have a flurry of questions when you return. When you return.

You come out onto the balcony to pay your respects to your so-called "messenger", pretty white thing large and wide-eyed. Humorous is the familiar to another winged being, bird of a feather, you chuckle to yourself. Yoongi pays no attention when he murmurs directions to the bird and sends it off, straight in the direction you were hoping.

Thursday and you think you finally have your routine down. No longer unsure in the hallways and able to sit when your work is done without feeling completely out of place. It's only when you're around the other member of the cabin do you feel a little subdued, reminding you that you burden him and quickly finding something to do out of that guilt.

❋

Today you feel a bit sluggish. You drag yourself down the corridor, opting for the bath until you see a dark head in an open room. Yoongi sits in his study, presumably reading with his back facing you. You can't say you've seen this room before, ceilings just as tall and walls just lined with books, journals, art pieces and things of the like.

"You can come in," he snickers suddenly, maybe feeling the heat from your eyes boring into the back of his head and warming the space entirely.

"This is amazing... Your collection, I mean." You force yourself down in a chair, hands trapped underneath your thighs in case they feel like touching anything.

"Thank you. It took quite a bit of time to build it up. Not by myself, of course."

It makes you ponder. If he's mentioned his state of loneliness twice, then your questions were expected.

"There were more, right? Family of yours? Why are you the only one left?"

"One question at a time, yeah?" He swivels around and takes off a pair of reading glasses that you would have liked to inspect on his face a bit more, "I can't leave because I can't fly, remember? They left because they held no other duty tied to this land. That's all."

You quiet. He returns to reading whatever it is on his flat desk. "Why can't you fly?"

"Because I was hurt."

"How were you hurt?"

"Next question."

"What are you reading?"

"A story of a girl with a terrible habit of too many inquiries."

"You know, I loved to read when I was a kid. All kinds of things. Novels, studies, maps even. Now I never have the time for such pleasantries." A wistful sigh leaves your lips.

Yoongi eyes you beneath his lashes, watches as you survey the room with giddiness and hands taut underneath your bum. "Why's that?"

You frown, "Too many things to do. Jobs and cleaning and family and stress. If I have time to read, I have time to be doing something more important."

His lips curl, amused at this little play-thing in his room. Like a child scolded all her life, whining and pouting in front of a stranger. Yoongi stands tall and shrugs his sweater tighter around him, "Well then, you'd better hop to it."

"Hm?" You squeak, chewing on your lip when you meet his eyes. So innocent.

"You only have the winter to read these. I'd get started soon. After work is done and you want to poke around in here, feel free to do so. Take them to your room if you'd like, just please return them."

And he swears he sees damn stars in your eyes before he turns and leaves the room. He hears your immediate footing once he's halfway to his room, little yelps of excitement enough as his thanks. Yoongi can't help but smirk, eventually floating away and speaking way out of earshot for you to hear.

"Nothing is more important than the things you want."

Part Seven

After a month, you find it a little boring. After receiving a teary letter of how your family misses you, not one ounce of scold or chastisement more than it was just wholesome relief to see familiar handwriting, their only wish was for you to stay obedient and not write so often as to waste poor Yoongi's paper. It was typical, somewhat stress-relieving. And that was that.

It was often you spent your quiet interest reading of botany and romance (in what little you found of it) preferably in his study on days he's holed up in his room. At this point, he still remains somewhat of a mysterious entity, conversing when he must and accidentally showing his face once or twice like a ghost. The only times you really see him are for Sundays with idle chit chat.

One particular evening you find an old, ratty recipe book. Handwritten and falling at the seams and that's how you know that there are some golden tips in there for you to test out.

You choose pumpkin bread. Something to warm the palette while ice continues to build outside. And working in Yoongi's kitchen by yourself was oddly fulfilling, no one to correct you or send you off to another job if you fail to do the first. It's probably why your bread turns out perfect, slicing the loaf and placing a piece on a small plate for a friend.

Rather, someone you'd like to establish as a friend.

You haven't seen him once today; not odd but a little lonely. Pacing on the carpets and looking for an open door with any sign of a sly angelic being. Even after a month, it's the first time you've freely made something with intents of sharing with him. Was that rude of you?

Coming upon a jarred entrance, you speak softly, "Yoongi? Are you in there?"

No reply.

You clear your throat and toe the door open just enough to stand in its frame, "Yoongi? I made some pumpkin bread for us—"

Thank your soft voice does it not wake him, still a snoring log in a bed even larger than yours. His limbs sprawled widely, laying on his stomach and breath soft and slow. Sleeping in the middle of the day while his guest slaves over the stove must be quite nice, huffing subtly and placing his plate on his night desk. Sure to be spoiled even more when he wakes to a treat.

As you turn, your eyes can't help but dawdle over the expanse of his wings. One covering a naked back and one hanging off the side of the bed, a marbling effect of muddled sepias and ink blacks, occasional golden ochre pigments seeping through the deepest layers of feathers. It was utterly breathtaking. This has to be one of the first opportunities you've had to inspect them so, equating staring at his monstrously large wings the same as blatantly staring at his junk.

You draw close like a moth to a damn flame, checking to assure he's still sound asleep. Reaching delicate fingers, you dare to lay a palm on the mass. It's surprisingly strong, an odd firmness as you slide your hand down silky plains and watch as the feathers ripple by your touch.

Then, as if you weren't dumb enough to foretell the upcoming events, he wakes.

A whirl of darkness encases you, whips you around so fast that you see stars in the middle of day, completely flipped and pinned to the bed beneath you. The intense heaviness makes you recoil, unable to budge your wrists and legs with Yoongi's strength.

And his face of unadulterated fury is one that would be ingrained into your memories forever. Pupils dilated and nose scrunched like prey warding off predator. Yoongi was surprised to say the least, a scared frenzy of confusion as he growls down at you.

"What were you doing, human?"

Your weeping gains no mercy, "Ow, you're, you're hurting me!"

"What the fuck were you doing?" He spits.

Incoherence is not what he asks for but that's all you can give, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I won't touch them again I was just—"

His wings which were so beautiful to you before, makes you feel nothing but fear now, flapping angrily as he keeps his balance and shrouding you in shallow lack of light. When he lets up on his grip, you gasp like he also held your breath. Immediate relief streams through your blood, though he continues to trap you between his thighs. He asks you again and you sob.

"You know what happened the last time I let one of your kind close? Nearly fucking killed me for no reason. You know why I can't take you down the mountain? Why I'm stuck here by myself? Because a goddamn human stole my ability to fly. I can't fly anymore, do you understand me? That's all that I was and they took it!"

Yoongi sees the pity etching onto your face like some sort of charity case. With your pathetic excuse for tears that claim to sympathize with him and it makes the bile in his throat grow. As for you, you could have never imagined such a travesty. Those words that seem to bounce around in your skull, to be wholesomely one thing and to be rid of it by someone else's doing, you could never relate to that.

You itch to relieve his pain in some way as if he never lashed out on you to begin with. Like you were the one truly at fault here even though you know it's a two-way situation. Your hands struggle to not touch his face, to attempt to alleviate those dark, regretful feelings. "Yoongi, I'm so sorry. I would never—I would have never known--I'm from one of the villages where we look up to the—"

"Yeah, well I don’t trust people," He cracks, lungs filled with muddled sorrow.

Both of your breathing is ragged. He takes his leave off your body and sits on the edge of the bed, wings lamely drooped.

"Leave." So you do.

Part Eight

You find the most beautifully carved wooden bow the next morning. Sun barely risen and adventuring around in nooks you haven't looked through before. You find it, accompanied by plenty of arrows, leaning against the wall right outside the backdoor. Though it's been months since you've last hunted, you ache to make use of yourself. Wearing bundled layers of the clothes Yoongi let you borrow from what was left and bounding through the condensed areas of the woods behind the cabin.

Food isn't scarce to hunt for, you've come to realize. Rabbits abundant and easy to kill once you got the hang of it once more. Two are struck and red seeps through white. You always sink your knees into the ground after each kill, whispering your thanks before you move back to the house.

Taehyung's father had taught you the basics of hunting and fishing and everything that came after that. Skinning and cooking and preserving the flesh something everyone in the village should learn to do, he had said. Even after your mistakes, even after your hesitation for your first kill, he'd always pat you on the back and reward you with the first bite of fresh food.

You miss them all, especially now. It wouldn't be long until you saw them again with maybe a bit of heightened skills. You hope they'll be proud of you.

Yoongi wakes a little after you're finished cooking the first rabbit. He stumbles in quiet and groggy, as if having no recollection of the previous altercation. But he doesn't speak, doesn't so much as look your direction before he plops at the head of the dining room table and begins to sulk in an odd inner-turmoil state.

You wait a minute or two by garnishing the meat unnecessarily; perhaps he was waiting to say something. To apologize. To ask questions. To kick you out once and for all. Well, you'll beat him to it then.

You set his plate down in front of him, the jarring sound breaking his trance enough where he can finally meet your face.

"I hope you don't mind I used your bow. I cleaned the arrows afterward and put it back where I found it," you hesitate. "I appreciate your kindness thus far; to take me in like this. I was a complete stranger and you gave me shelter anyway, so I thank you. I've packed and cleaned and I—I think it's time I leave now. I'll find a way to get over, I don't care. And I'm, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused, Yoongi. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable but I overstepped my boundary way too far yesterday and I apologize profusely."

You find that you dig your nails into your palms as you talk, head craned parallel to the floor and you wonder if Yoongi could even hear you when you were so rudely speaking to the rugs.

"Stop, you don't... You don't have to leave. There's still no way you can get over the snow." He massages the back of his neck, tense in his own skin.

"I'm so sorry," you repeat. "I let my stupid curiosity get the best of me and I can very clearly see how that made you feel alarmed and uneasy and—"

He cuts you off, "You know the myth, right? How it's bad luck to see a seraph's wings?"

Confused, you nod.

"It's not literal. It's a metaphor that it's bad luck to see our vulnerabilities. Our faults. Years and years and years ago, when the war was still active, I got mixed up with a human. Within enemy boundaries. I was naive and trusting and they made use of that. They sought out my weaknesses, ate 'em up and covered my suspicions with false adoration and love," he says the word like it's an illness, "But then. But then one night, they put something in my water. Drugged me. Something was wrong and I didn't fully go under. I suppose their original plan was to take me, probably torture me as a prisoner. But I caught on and still had a bit of composure and when they realized the drugs didn't work, they sought to kill me instead. Used a dagger and plunged it into my back as hard as they could. Right," he reaches an arm behind and massages a spot, "Right in the cross-section of where all four wings meet. I should have been paralyzed but we're tough. I can still move them but I haven't been able to fly since. Thank heavens I wasn't killed but..."

You can tell by the way that there’s no emotion in his statement, how true it rings, "That day, I might as well have been."

You wipe the pools of tears with your scarf, heartbroken for the shattered man that sat in front of you. Having to bear the sight of his wings every day and full-knowing he would never be able to use them again.

His voice croaks, "In their eyes, my own family's eyes, I commit a sin just by making such a fool of myself. The war ended and I was punished. They left me here and claimed loneliness is what I deserve."

Yoongi then realizes he sounds as if he's trying to justify yesterday's actions and literally sinks to the ground, "This isn't supposed to be a pity party. I just thought you might want to know why I am the way I am and how I had no right to snap like I did. I know you're from the north most village. And that you would never try to do what they did and I was wrongfully paranoid."

Then, out of all things unexpected, he grabs a bare ankle and lifts it out of the length of your dress. When you hobble, he grabs your gentle hand with his other to balance you. He can see the marks he left, not too dark but enough to tell and he can't help but despise himself. In pure remorse, he presses his lips softly to each bruise, not lingering for more than a second, before cowering to the ground with his head low.

"My sincerest apologies, Y/N. You don't have to leave if you don't want to. I prefer if you wouldn't. I'd like to get to know you and redeem myself, as selfish as that may seem. Maybe, until spring, I can make up for the things I've said and done—"

You sputter, voice too high and full of embarrassment as you struggle to pull him up, "Please! P-Please get up! I am at fault here! Don't kneel, please! You have nothing to make up for!"

Mouth agape and eyes wide, he watches you yell your affirmations and weakly tug on his arm. It was like watching a little kid throw a fit and that makes him chuckle aloud, how could he have ever suspected you as harmful? When your large eyes shed tears like no other and you impulsively make decisions for others before yourself. You were kind and he could see that. He laughs hard and you stop your squawking.

In disbelief you fall to your knees right beside him, looking plain stupid while you're at it. It occurs to you that you've never heard him laugh like this, smile so wide that his eyes crescent endearingly and it just lights up the room. After watching his handsome face radiate forgiving happiness, you join in too.

You eat rabbit together. The conversations from there on out easier to come up with, more emotional and found in the midst of tranquil understanding. Like you now shared a bit more of each other than before.

Occasionally, you think of all the sadness he must have accumulated until now. Of the things that happened to him that shouldn't have, and those years of isolation and abandonment that he suffered. But now you realize, too, how he's able to laugh and continue on despite those melancholy winters in a desolate place that he once called home. How it's all he can do as his only sign that he's still alive.

Part Nine

The weeks after that seem to breeze past you; time racing when you have more things to do and someone to do it with. Yoongi really meant it when he said he would try to make up for his past harshness; never daring to miss a meal, spending more time in the livelier rooms if it meant that it was to accompany you, going as far as helping you out with your own chores if he hadn’t taken them over entirely. It was a polar opposite of who you knew before.

The first time he joined you to hunt again, in favor of how you had cooked his meat the last time, he layered himself in clothing that made his appearance softer than you’d ever imagined. Leaning towards darker garments that contrasted against his opalescent skin.

In some haughty attempt to show off your archery skills do you aim for a squirrel in a less-than-mediocre angle, letting the arrow fly without a second thought and piercing good ol’ trunk. Yoongi had a fabulous time laughing at your mishap, yanking the wasted arrow from the bark and handing it back to you.

“That was a horrible shot,” he said.

The temperature of your cheeks could have melted the snow, taking the thing with shaky, embarrassed hands, “I was being hasty.”

“You got two rabbits. I know you’re good. Let me just show you some things.”

You walked behind, letting him tread through the snow first so it was easier for you to fall into his prints.

“There. Squirrel,” he whispered. Probably the same one, mindlessly crawling up and down trees like target practice.

“Let me see your form again.” You aimed, self-conscious and probably showed it. You shivered when he swiped a hand under your grip arm, pushing it back.

“Keep it aligned with how the arrow is facing. Completely centered. You can widen your feet a little too,” his voice soft. “Don’t completely lock your elbow but tighten your back muscles before you hold. Does that make sense?”

“Mm. It won’t stop moving though, the squirrel.”

“Watch this.”

Then Yoongi had dug through the snow for a small stone with enough weight to throw. Aiming for a far tree to the right, he tossed just hard enough to cause a knock to echo in its vicinity. The squirrel halts, presumably looking for what caused the noise in its unknowing last thoughts.

“Shoot.”

And it landed perfectly.

He watched you silently each time you had knelt next to the victim and mutter your thanks, both sorrowful and appreciative. It was the first time he ever witnessed someone, frankly, talking to dead animals and at some point he asked you why you did so. You responded with a giggle, briefly claiming how all living creatures deserve the same respect, to be mourned, to not be wasted. Yoongi finds interest in the concept of valuing each as their own and of the same importance in the Grand Circle of Life, probably something his family would never have stopped to think about. The seraphs had always placed themselves above others in a deserving, self-righteous kind of way. It made him think.

❋

A particularly windy night and you caught him in the seat of his study's window, drawn to the mirage of colliding trees and listening to the croaks of the house on its plot. A muddled bottle sat on his desk, its glass counterpart being twirled in his hand.

"Do you like storms?" You asked.

"I didn't used to," he answered, unfazed by your sudden entrance, "Caused problems a lot of times. But I think they're pretty fun nowadays. And you?"

"I like when there's thunder and lightning."

Yoongi faced you at that, your twiddling fingers and the way you scanned the dim room.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" Although it was a question he poured you one anyway, barely anything more than a few sips worth. Obliging, you took the liquid. Pride a little stung in all honesty, pretty aware of your high tolerance.

He tittered, "Don't pout. You can pour as much as you'd like. But this stuff is ancient, concocted from poison and the desire of Death itself. Watch yourself."

It was always a trait of yours to take on a challenge, though, ignoring his warning and foolishly gulping it down. The burn was subtle despite its awful, awful taste, yet you poured another and let Yoongi watch you spiral down the rabbit hole.

Two stories and one half-glass later and you draped yourself very unladylike on his desk, too warm and too moist and too loud.

"Yoongi..."

"Yes?"

"Min... Min. Mr. Yoongi."

"That's wrong but that's me."

"Yoongi you have to keep a secret. That I'm going to tell you! From Yoo—from Yoongi!"

"Wait, that you're trying to keep a secret from me or—"

You must had forgotten, instead focused on bunching your skirt and tying it higher up your thighs, "Soooo hot. Too warm. I'm going to leave it like this, ‘kay?"

"You don't have to pass it by me. They're your clothes," he said, biting back laughter. His accidental peak of pretty, bare legs could have made him think different though. Reverting his gaze back out the window, he wouldn't have been surprised to see lightning that night.

Taking his eyes off you wasn't his best idea. Hobbled out of his chair and sneaking to his place with hands buried in feathers before he could shy away. Yet the wonder stained your eyes with childlike amusement and he wouldn't dare change that face. So he idled in a flustered mess, relaxed in the way you unknowingly massaged his muscles.

"Pretty wings, Mr. Yoongi... Can I touch them?" You asked stupidly. Yoongi grumbled.

When you finished evaluating, you swiveled awkwardly and tripped over his knee, a yelp escaping your lips as if he wouldn't catch you in one swift motion and onto the safety of his lap. Yoongi could smell the bite of alcohol that stained your breath; could see how swollen and red and beautiful it had made your gentle face. The proximity was deadly and your innocent, apologetic features could have slain him right then and there. You didn't even make another peep, eyes drooped in what he assumed was embarrassment for your clumsiness.

In which he thought wrong, your hands slapping each side of his face and squishing it together horrifically. "Pretty face, Mr. Yoongi."

"Alright, time for bed."

You fought all the way until he tucked you in, out with soft breaths and sprawled arms. Even after he had laid you down to rest and calmed back in his lair, there was no slowing the fondness that grew in his ribs.

❋

You don’t know when you’ve started looking forward to Sundays, springing out of bed in the morning with a green thumb and a will to dig, or so you imagine. You knew Yoongi would be waiting for you in the greenhouse and spent a little extra time rinsing your face, doing your hair, and double-checking nothing was in your teeth.

Yoongi was already checking the pots when you had gotten there, wrapped in black per usual and winking as you walked by. The familiarity by now was tangible. There was always a nice flow to your conversations and Yoongi doesn’t back away when you naturally find yourself in his space like he used to. It was both a prideful accomplishment and an endearing new relationship that sparked joy every time you were able to do something together. To step back and see the difference over your time spent here, the things you’ve done, and the way Yoongi warms up slowly.

He watches you mindlessly hum as you harvest what you can, voice soothing when most times it would have been dead quiet. That’s what it felt like being around you: like a void suddenly filled, his whole being gravitating to your aura. You were addicting, if he had to admit.

The scarf, somehow pristine despite how often you wear it, is shuffled up your neck as you do one thing or another. Like a constant reminder that it’s there, you always feel the need to touch it.

Yoongi points to it, “Did you make that yourself?”

“Hm?” You follow his line of sight and crumple the red thing in your hands, “Ah! No. It… It was a gift.”

“Ooh, from a suitor?” He doesn’t mean any harm when he jests but it prompts the things you’ve left at home. No matter how much you’ve tried to suppress it down and not nitpick on the responsibilities you’ll have to return to. Awful as it seems, it makes you take notice to the sun and how it begins to peak out more with every day. You push the thought down once more.

Instead you laugh nervously. Yoongi knows immediately when you say nothing but, “Mmm…”

His gut twists from a melting of surprise and disappointment. How could he be so dim? To not even hypothesize the mere possibility of someone else being in your life. Though the feeling weighs heavy on his head, he speaks lightly and with a smirk.

“You must miss him then.”

“Yes. Of course. We’ve known each other since birth and have been best friends for as long as I can remember!” You chuckle, “He gave this to me right before I left and claimed we could get married once I returned. I was so shocked that I made myself sick thinking about going back. Just nervous, I suppose.” Taehyung, as expected, never said anything in the occasional letter updates to you. He meant it when he said he would only wait to talk about it for when you came home but you ponder how he feels now; what he’s been doing. If he’s changed his mind once he’s realized how incapable you are that you couldn’t even do the Offering correctly, but you know that isn’t true. Maybe just wishful thinking.

You throw dead leaves in the compost and Yoongi eyes you.

“’Shocked’? It’s not something you’ve been looking forward to?”

You look down, “It’s not that I—I don’t know! I just have seen him as family for so long and then there’s this sudden proposal without even talking about it beforehand… And everyone expects it. For me to just be married and have a family and all of that but I just, I just don’t see that for me so soon.” Your words begin to jumble and Yoongi hasn’t seen you so stressed within the span of twenty seconds before.

“Forgive me and my input but isn’t the most important thing what you want? You could just turn down his proposal,” He suggests like it’s the easy answer, hoping you don’t suspect a hopeful tone in there.

“Does it really matter what I want?” You stop to think about the people who matter to you and what would ease their minds most when it comes to your future. Marrying Taehyung seemed like the only option. “I can’t turn him down simply because I don’t want to. That’s selfish.”

“That doesn’t make very much sense to me.”

“Well,” you sigh, “in the village it’s courtesy to accept a marriage proposal regardless of how you feel. It’s the receiver’s obligation to be grateful towards—”

“Is that how humans treat their women?” Yoongi spits, agitated just by the thought. He leans against a table next to you, arms crossed like he’s simply not having it, “To ignore your own say and force you to think you should just be appreciative? That’s some bullshit.”

“It’s not as serious as I’m making it seem it’s just…” You think of your aunts and the elders and Taehyung’s mom. How you’ve grown into a nuisance, lacking here or there. The time where you were supposed to return to the village after a successful Offering and marry and finally be someone to be proud of. “In my case, especially, it’s probably better off I’m just someone’s wife. I’ve never been much to begin with.”

And that’s truly heartbreaking for Yoongi to hear, so much that he becomes enraged with whatever twisted society you grew up in, “Y/N. What have you been doing these last few months?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, what have you been doing? Just sitting around? Watching me sweep circles around you? Serve your meals on a silver platter and draw your baths? No, because you’ve been doing that yourself. For yourself. By yourself.” The look of confusion on your face causes him to huff before he continues. “Sure, you were a little rough around the edges with some things but who isn’t? You hunt, you cook, you read like no other, you do a lot of great things and it’s not because you’re trying to do it right. You do it right when you like what you’re doing.”

“Yoongi, I understand. Thank you but you don’t have to—”

He walks toward you, lecturing on. “I know it’s by unwanted circumstances. But has your time here been horrible? Have you despised being here and doing these things?”

Your answer is immediate, “No. Not at all.”

“Has it not been nice to have your own space and do things simply because you want to? Because you were thinking of yourself?”

“I-It has been… I don’t know where you’re getting at.”

Your legs hit the corner of another table and you notice he’s backed you up into it.

“So, you go back and you do what you want like you have here. Don’t worry about what they think. Wait until you’re ready. Marry for absolute, unwavering love. Be a little selfish,” Yoongi hooks your chin with his index and props it up. You didn’t even realize you were looking to the ground. “Look up.”

Your heart stammers, “But Taehyung…”

So Taehyung is his name, Yoongi thinks. He frankly does not care.

“Do you love him?”

“W-What?

“Perhaps I was mistaken. Do you want to marry Taehyung because you truly love him?”

You see his lips before you hear his words, parted and nearing you bit by bit. So close that you feel his warmth, aching to close the distance. “I…”

A shovel clatters onto the stone and Yoongi removes his arm that’s found its way around your back, shuffles backwards and lets your hand fall from his face. It was natural to touch him, you realize, unaware that you feel distant and cold when he’s away.

Yoongi picks the damn thing up and curses. It wasn’t like him to be so forward, close to doing the unimaginable to you. You, who was involved with someone else. Heading towards the door, he ruffles his wings like he’s restarting.

“Forget I said that,” he requests, “I’m going to wash up.”

You nod, frozen in your spot with legs too unstable to dare walk. Without even knowing you had reached for him, so close to doing something you’ve only been secretly daydreaming about of recent and how incredibly wrong it was for you to think this way. But in another sense, you would feel worse lying to yourself by saying you weren’t attracted to the seraph. It was a twisted contradiction of emotions and you could scream.

Needless to say, you don’t see Yoongi until the next day, and even then nothing is mentioned of the almost.

Part Ten

On Tuesday, the bird returns with a letter from your family and Taehyung. It’s brief, with evident relief that the snow is melting and how happy they’ll be to see your face. Your heart sinks at how much you miss them yet how angry you are to receive the letter. To what extent would they be happy to have you home? Until you dare humiliate Taehyung when you turn him down? To dishonor your name and his parents and gain the glances of people who care more about your failures?

You calm and shoo such immature feelings away. Yoongi is confused when you don’t send a letter back and you return to your room early that night.

❋

You haven’t had a full night’s rest that entire week. You’re sure Yoongi notices the tension and that makes you feel horrible, but the lingering necessity to run to him and never go back to the village is too prominent to just face head on.

He’s been checking the trail every day, making dents on the softer parts of the snow when he can and updating you when he returns. You know he doesn’t want you to leave and you know he thinks you feel the same. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t said anything about the proposal that day.

Flipped onto your back, you stare at the ray of moonlight that floats atop your bed. You would miss it here, so much that it hurts your throat. You would miss the windows, the kitchen, the greenhouse, the library that Yoongi was happy to share. It goes without saying that you would miss him the most.

Unprompted imaging of a possible future with him interrupt your thoughts, something so uncertain and fortuitous in comparison to the stone-set fate you have now. What the stoic seraph would think if you just asked him to stay a little longer, until you know you would never leave. The landslide and how much you had hated that unfortunate event seems so insignificant now, replaced with a dimmed appreciation for this life detour, no matter how short lived it will end up.

You’re probably on the verge of sleeping now, thinking of the incident and it’s wild connection to your present out of pure lunacy. You could bet your entire existence on the fact that you were meant to meet him; your entrapment by the snow no mere coincidence. Neither was Yoongi’s endless solitude atop this mountain. It had to be fate that you two were to meet at this moment and your heart feels it so strongly.

Even for you this could be too far-fetched, or maybe you were just trying to cover up the way your heart is undoubtingly falling for Min Yoongi.

Final Part

You prod the logs, provoking them to catch more of the fire. In your last night do you decide to pour a glass of wine, kneel on a pile of blankets and snack on the charcuterie board you made for yourself. In the past, you used to be so hesitant about helping yourself to the manor’s amenities, having no problem doing it now.

The lame, weak fire is your only source of light in the large living room, clouds blocking the moon from shining through. You feel, immaturely, just as cloudy. Set in your intentions to leave your feelings locked away as to not cause more trouble, confusion, and inevitable heartbreak.

“You look quite comfortable,” Yoongi surprises you and he can tell when you jolt. Speaking of the devil. He looks great in the dark too, leaning against a wooden pillar with folded arms.

“Well, it feels like I’ve lived here for quite a bit. Just,” you break to sigh with exaggeration, “soaking it in before I leave. Too beautiful to not.”

If not for the crackling between the wood, it’d be dead quiet.

“Would you like to join me?”

He titters, rolling his eyes before he walks your way. Laying on his side, you offer him your glass. “I hope you don’t mind that I used the wine from the ritual contents. With the stuff you normally drink, this must be nothing.”

“Like water to me but I’ll enjoy it nonetheless.”

You cheers to nothing with one glass to share. Occasionally picking off meat and fruit from the board and enjoying how the fire builds up.

“Your family will be so happy to see you.”

You hum. You suppose they would. Avoiding the bitterness you still associate with the thought.

“And I’m sure Taehyung will be too.” He says a little clipped. Not in a way to be facetious or sarcastic but because he feels the need to address it.

Yoongi is caught on the carmine scarf again, downing the rest of your poor wine.

Forcing a smile, you speak faintly, “Let’s not talk about that.”

At this point you both know. He nods to keep you happy, but there is no hiding or pretending. In front of the flames, your lies and justifications seem to melt away unspoken. Changing the subject, you shove him lightly, “You’ll miss me when I’m gone. I don’t think you’ll ever learn to bake as well as I do.”

He tuts, which is refreshing. “I’m great at cooking and baking, I’ll have you know. It was just nice having someone else do it for once.” You feign betrayal and scoff aloud. He mumbles low, “But I’ll miss you for more reasons than that.”

And he breaks an unmade promise not to bring it up again. Feeling the need to throw it out in the open and even with the simplicity of admitting that he’ll miss you, you really know what he means. The seraph feels for you. He feels deeply. Yoongi doesn’t expect a response, just pops more food in his mouth and rests his eyes.

You contemplate, following suit with a bite to a grape and thinking hard. What to do. What to say. How to say it if you did. You weren’t supposed to feel this way and it goes way beyond the rule of even coming in contact with a seraph, let alone unconsciously falling in love with one.

But that’s just it: how you live by assumptions and rules based off the words of the ignorant villagers and the elders, how they all believe the seraphs are all still here, how they think there’s a direct relation to the Offering and a year’s good harvest, how it’s bad luck to see a seraph’s wings when it’s brought you anything but. If you learned anything from this winter, it was that you found you own way of living, thank the curiosity your home curses you for. Making your own path instead of aimlessly walking one that was already paved. You learned to trust yourself a little more while Yoongi propelled you forward and believed you deserved it all. You learned you did deserve more. You learned what love really felt like when it was new and fresh and exciting and real. And Yoongi. Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi was the wine to your previously empty glass, and this winter with this man, it was heaven.

You decide the realization is enough for you. Have been gifted with so many things and blessings that you’re grateful for the chance to have met someone like him.

“I’ll miss you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi tastes bitter in his mouth. He felt that if all these years left alone in a manor of silence and rejection was to eventually meet you he would do it a million times, but if all you could reciprocate was this then it just wasn’t meant to be for him. It felt unfair but it also wasn’t his decision. He takes the sourness with him and stands. “I suppose I should head to bed.”

Your sad stare breaks his heart, even more so when you give up and nod. The fire catches your attention as it pops and you leave it at that. He tries to walk away, footsteps haunting, until he stops altogether.

It comes unexpectedly when he wraps his arms around you tightly, pressing his knees into your back. A weird sight it is to see his wings unfurl and curl around your rigid body. “Are you satisfied? Is this enough for you?” His voice is soft, like he could take either answer as long as he heard it from you directly.

“No.”

“Why don’t you ask for more.”

“You’ve already done too much for me, how could I possibly ask you for more?”

He hisses liar into your ear. “Is it your family?”

“No.”

“Is it him? Taehyung?”

Here you are again, faced with a question that tore you apart in the garden while you ached to be with Yoongi anyway. But there were no distractions here; nothing to interrupt your thoughts. Just you, Yoongi and your truth. He loosens his grip so you can face each other, knees between knees. Instinctively, you reach out for his feathers and indulge yourself with their softness. He pushes his wing into your hand as if to bribe you like a child.

He grows impatient, “Do you love him?”

You don’t waver, “No.”

A quick glint in his eye, a sort of relief, and then he finishes what he’s started and kisses you. It’s wrong how right it feels, lonely lips moving in tandem to find comfort in one another. Yoongi leans into it, absolutely devastated by your simple touch. The strength of the wine remains on your lips and he can’t help but lick into the flavor, drunkenly entranced by such luxuries. Yoongi’s hands can’t stay, snaking up your back, caressing your face, dragging his knuckles across your jaw and finally grabbing at the scarf. Carefully, he unwraps it from your neck, slow enough to feel it tickle your shoulder blades, before he folds it respectfully and places it elsewhere.

You sigh, more weight taken off your shoulders than there should be.

“Is this okay?” His voice raspy, speaking into the corner of your mouth. You’re stiff, nodding shyly and lacking the fire you brought up until this point.

He rewords, “Do you want me?” Yoongi feels the need to confirm, waiting for this moment for so long that it seems superficial. Like if he’s not careful, you’ll disappear into another one of his many short-lived dreams.

“Of course I want you, Yoongi. I want you more than anything…” But your eyes flicker to the ground, your lip tucked between your teeth.

“Then what’s wrong, lovely? You don’t have to.”

“No! I want to, I just… I’ve never done this before. I want you so bad but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing—”

His laughs are light, his hand on the small of your back as he dips you onto the floor. Holding himself above, he plants a soft kiss on your cheek. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you. I want you and we’ll go slow and if you decide you don’t want to anymore, we won’t.”

The way he makes you feel, how gentle he is, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect way for this to happen. It eases you slightly, letting your arms snake around him in an attempt to let your guard down. He’s patient and wonderful and you mumble about it. “Mhm, okay.”

The night robe he’s gifted you now poses a problem, his slender fingers looping through the bow that keeps it wrapped, “Can I?” You nod again, and he unties you like his own present. The feeling of being bare in front of him becomes apparent when he sucks in and the heat from the fire dances against your skin. Other than that, you look to the window to avoid his face.

“My love, look at me.”

His commands are easy to follow but you cover your breasts to hang onto your last bit of pride, granting eye contact at the least.

Face flushed, you can tell he, too, is trying his best. “You’re incredible. More prepossessing than I could have ever imagined. You shouldn’t be embarrassed in front of me.”

“Well,” you retaliate, “it’s hard not to be when I’m the only one naked.”

He grins at the challenge, sitting up to shed his layers, never noticing his garments having to wrap around in a way to accommodate to his wings. You just thought it was just a more ornamental way of dressing that the seraphs took to. He’s left down to tight underwear that hugs him incredibly, beautiful milky skin exposed and tinted with golden light. “Satisfied?” He lilts.

“You look like an angel,” you trace indents of faint abs. Wide shoulders that taper into a tiny waist, a slim build that you could study forever.

He kisses your words away, pushing you into plush comforters and pillows. A makeshift nest unintentionally built for the two of you. A groan rewards him when he licks your bottom lip teasingly, taking your wrists swiftly to pin them above you. “Pretty thing, I don’t have a halo.”

He starts from the top, kissing each inside of wrist before moving down your arm, slithering onto your shoulder, then into the crook of your neck with gentle suckles. Teeth grazes before puncturing, eliciting a yelp from you that satisfies him. He does this over and over, decorating the canvas of your neck.

“I want to burn you into my memory. I don’t ever want to forget this,” he moans with a wake left down until he meets cleavage. His muscles were relentless, impatient and eager, wanting to worship ever square inch of your body as you rightfully deserved. Your squeaks serve his purpose, his muse as he continues his ministrations down.

Out of nowhere, “I don’t want you to leave me, Y/N.” The profession makes you giddy, happy you’re not the only one who feels so. A hidden insecurity acknowledged and lifted.

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Let’s talk about it after?”

“Mmm.”

He reaches your stomach and doesn’t hesitate to nibble there too, flinching when your hand flies to his head and buries itself in his hair. He ditches his current plan to grab your hand and plant a kiss to your palm in a second, making you giggle.

He admits, “I like when you touch me.”

“I want to. I feel so useless letting you do this alone.”

“You’ll get a chance if you’d like later. But right now, it’s all about you.” Husking it out. Of course, the idea sounds blissful, but the scene of having you cum by his actions sound better. “Need to cherish what’s in front of me properly.”

So he dips dangerously, laving at the skin above the hem of your panties and hooking his fingers under the sides, “Please,” he breathes.

“You… can do whatever you’d like to me. I want it all.”

He tugs his lip between his teeth, pulling it down. An unexpected wetness strings between your skin and the cloth and you both see it; him amazed, you horribly mortified. You stutter trying to explain yourself, oblivious that you could even feel as aroused as you do now. But his forehead falls onto the jut of your hipbone and you can hear subtle teasing in his tone. “I-I’m just as nervous and that was so incredibly sexy. I don’t think I can go on, shit.”

You laugh stupidly. “Quiet! Not another word! Just hurry up and—”

That terrible habit of looking away becomes your biggest fault, unprepared for Yoongi to filthily bury his tongue into your heat. He flattens his tongue and tantalizingly drags up until he can just barely flick your clit with the tip. Growling in the process.

“You are so sweet. The sweetest I could ever have. You will be the end of me.” Rushed in panted breaths as he does it again. And again. And again. So much that the growing sound of wet against wet echoes in the empty room and renders you paralyzed.

The feeling of it makes you squeamish, like you want to move, buck your hips, pull his hair. Despite the lewdness of having his rough tongue against you and lapping you clean, you could never ask him to stop.

“You just… keep getting… wetter…” He says between turns. “You really wanted me this much?”

“Yoongi—ah! Please, I can’t. It feels weird.”

“You don’t want me to continue, my love?” He asks lightly, blowing cold air onto damp skin and really forcing you to buck.

“No! I just… I have never felt like this. I want you to but I can’t sit still.”

“Oh? Let me help you then. But you have to let me finish.” So you shyly nod and loosen your legs. He uses the prompt to scoop them underneath his arms and attach the back of your knees atop his shoulders, your hips curving up and towards him in a new, tight position.

“Yoongi!”

“No matter how you feel, just let it happen.”

Sultry wails are music to his ears when he brutally sucks on your clit, licking your folds here and there and using all his strength to keep you in place. He spells out his love with his tongue, digs it into you sweetly. His power, though, anything but kind.

“Uncover your eyes,” he orders deeply.

You whimper, begging for mercy.

“Look. At. Me.”

Unveiling your view, his stare immediately burns into your veins. Looking at you under dangerously slanted lids and that sinful mouth. Holding you in place with strength that could leave prints into your soft legs. With one roll of your clit under his teeth, you feel in ways you never knew how, as if all the pressure that built up in your abdomen suddenly overflowed with a tight burst. Choked sobs and hand gripping his hair enough to make him moan into you, vibrating wonderfully as he works you through it.

He lets you go, remnants of syrupy arousal trickling down his chin; watches your legs fall open widely and your chest heave for air. Your features bring him joy, loving the way your hair sticks to your face with sweat, eyes closed, and brows knit together in concentration. He loved seeing you painted in warm hues and although he was never an artist, he could replicate this scene exactly how it’s displayed in front of him.

“How do you feel, lovely?”

You respond with a weak smile. “You’re so cruel… Min Yoongi.” You felt flimsy; weightless. A feeling you could come to love too much if you aren’t careful.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” slithering back up to rest his head in your neck, giving you more kisses like you haven’t had enough. You’re happy he’s back, massaging your hands over his torso, up his neck, down his spine. And then you hit it and he tenses.

Thick and raised, an area between his wings that softly juts out. It was fairly large and the texture varied from the rest of his beautiful planes of skin. It was a scar. Wide as a dagger.

“I wish it wasn’t there. I know it’s—”

“Yoongi, baby.” You nudge him to lift his head and he does unwillingly, face turned away. “My Yoongi, it’s nothing. What happened was horrible but it’s over. And I will do everything in my power to make it up to you by giving all of me.”

His lips stop you tenderly, a whisper of affection that pours out love, “You didn’t do anything. In fact, you’ve made me better. I wasn’t able to feel anything for a long time until you. So. Thank you.”

Any remaining embarrassment vanishes. Not when Yoongi’s done his part and you would do anything to take care of him.

Sweat molds your bodies together, heat emanating from a fire that’s ablaze now. There’s a private summer in this room while winter continues outside and it feels special to you. It’s hot here, hot when Yoongi scrapes his teeth against yours, hot where his pelvis lays. You take notice to the hard thing twitching against your thigh, making you flinch.

“Ah, I’m sorry. And we’re in A Mood and all.” Yoongi snickers.

“Don’t be,” you purr, feeling a bit lustful and reaching down to grab it through the cloth.

He hisses, “Fuck! Fuck, please, I’m so sensitive at the moment.”

Ignoring him, you unskillfully maneuver your fingers around him. Just touching to be familiarized with it. He surges forward accidentally, sighing in your ear as he shamelessly humps the space between your groin. You use his distracted state to pull his shorts down, the sudden reality of his skin touching yours bringing about sensual noises from the both of you. A sudden spurt of precum makes it easier for him to drag his heavy cock against your hip.

“I’m sorry. It just feels so good.”

“Stop apologizing. I’ll help you.” You stare down as you flick your wrist, encircling him with fingers shaped in an o and pumping him slow.

“Squeeze,” he pleads and you oblige.

“Is it… supposed to be this large?” It’s a stupid question to ask, especially when you’re not entirely clueless. You know his size exceeds average proportions.

“Don’t spoil me. Seraphs have always been larger than humans. Height wise, I was the smallest of my brothers though.” Which seemed unimaginable to you, not when he towers over you and could easily devour you in a hug. Cock hanging low and barely able to keep in your single hand. He must be acting coy.

“Now you’re just bragging!”

“I’m just being honest. I’m automatically pleasing to the likes of you,” he chuckles.

The dampness overflows, smears over your skin in incredible amounts and how you wish you could taste out of pure curiosity, but he has other plans for you.

“I don’t think I can hold myself any longer. Please.”

“That’s… fine. Um, should we? Like this?”

“It’s so hot, could you flip on your side?” You roll and he figures he’s made a mistake. Entranced by the way your weight, breasts and soft curves, naturally gravitate down in a seductive pose.

“Like this?” You ask, unaware that he could simply die right now.

He lifts your leg to rest on his shoulder again, easy to stretch. “Perfect, my love. I’m going to go slow. If it’s too much we can try again another time, okay? No rush.”

Challenged by his kindness, you shake your head, “I’m fine. I’m ready.”

Whatever’s left of the arousal between you both is more than enough to let him enter easily. Head of his member no problem to push past that initial tension.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

But it’s his shaft that makes you keen, entire length seeming endless as he fills you and overloads your maximum space. You cry, nerves making you writhe, “It’s not going to fit all the way—hah…wait.”

Yoongi struggles to hold himself back, perspiration dripping down his nose, “Are you okay? Does it hurt? It doesn’t need to, I’m pretty close to being all the way in anyway.”

“I’m fine,” you pant, head lolled to the side as he stretches you out in an odd, numbing way. “You can… you can move.”

His hips test it, pulling out so little to only be sucked back in with a leveled grunt. “Baby, you’re barely allowing me to.”

“It feels so tight,” you sigh, worried that if you move it’ll really begin to hurt.

“Ah, really? Let’s do this then.” He quick to please, wanting your pleasure before his own and getting you to flip, propped onto your elbows and filled from behind. Smooth chest meets your arched back, him hiding a kiss below your ear while he’s there. A moan aches in your throat as his dick unintentionally digs deeper inside, easier to move and to the hilt.

“Is this better, Y/N?”

“Hah… Yes. Yes, so much better. So good. Please move.”

His hips roll, just enough to grind into you which feels nothing but euphoric in itself. You mimic each other’s lusty whimpers with every movement. Caving into each other’s kisses and licks and pants that you feel synchronized.

Yoongi grows impatient with himself, exaggerating how he pulls out and slams himself back inside. The mere force that he fucks into you sends you forward, opting to lay on your chest and bite the blankets beneath you to keep from screaming. “You feel so good. So, so good. I’m sorry it hasn’t been long, but I feel like…”

His wings fall at his sides and cover you in shadow. It’s weird to see them like this, in a way you could imagine the perspective of having them yourself. But it covers you in unnecessary warmth and makes you grunt.

“It’s hot,” you admit with a quick breath, “Let me on top. I’ll finish.”

The way his member slides out; the way it leaves you tensing over nothing is a sad, needy feeling. You don’t slow at the chance to lay him down and take control, straddling him and watching his face contort in loving awe.

Sitting on him is an entirely different feeling and Yoongi keeps himself from cumming inside you right away, a choke in his throat. “Fuck, fuckfuckfcuk. Y/N, I won’t last like this for long please—”

“I’ll make it quick.” You lean over him, palms to the ground as you start moving, grinding and using him to your advantage. The nerves start again and you shake with pleasure.

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi!”

Slender fingers dig into your velvety hips as he forces himself into you with harsh, quick jabs. “Baby, I have to cum.” He smooths his knuckles over your cheek, pulling you down into a tongue heavy-kiss in an impossibly fiery caress.

The ramming he enforces take incoherent sobs from your lips. You feel a ghost of a smile, sure Yoongi is enjoying your shameless display of indulgence; coming undone before his very eyes.

You arch into him, clenching tighter and falling onto his chest. With impeccable timing he pulls out, strings of hot white flooding between your stomachs.

“A lot,” you complain.

“Mmm. Because I’ve been waiting so long to have you.”

Without the pressure of moving, you lay on him despite the humidity. Petting the underside of his wings as they drape so gracefully against the blankets and the rug.

“Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“I need to go home tomorrow.”

His heart sinks, “Oh?”

“To see my family. To come home and let them know I’m okay.”

“Yes, of course.” He’s afraid that you won’t come back, though.

“And… to turn down Taehyung’s proposal in person.”

Yoongi looks down and can’t see your face but he’s imagined it’s worried. “Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah. And Yoongi?”

He waits. You speak again, “Do you really want to be with me? For me to stay?”

“More than anything.”

He feels the tug of your cheeks on his chest; a wide smile.

“Then I’ll need to get my stuff.” And that makes him want to cry. After traumatic betrayal and years of loathing his punishment of isolation, he’s finally being let out of his cage. Free to be with someone that cares for him as much as he cares for you.

Your last thoughts remain on the fire and how it’s the only other entity to to swallow your talks, plans and confessions. Of his feathers like his arms as they fold in comfortably next to you, feeling like they’re meant to be there. Like you really were fated to be skin-to-skin with this man in his manor. Entwined by trust and love and an unprecedented future that would be everything as long as he’s in it. An irony of a useless girl and flightless wings.

Yoongi watches you fall under, wiping his thumb over your lips, trailing it down your chin and covering your naked body with his wing. Slumber finds him soon after, mind stuck on his self-epiphany that he had to lose his wings to gain you, and how incredibly lucky he is to have it that way.

a/n: ahAhaA, i’m sorry. please feel free to let me know what you think.

❋ masterlist ❋

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flylikefalcon · 4 years

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It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s SAM WILSON / CAPTAIN AMERICA / FALCON, a HERO from MARVEL! HE is 34 years old and look an awful lot like ANTHONY MACKIE. I hear they are employed as a SOCIAL WORKER. I hear that they are REGISTERED with THE AVENGERS. I wonder what they’ll find with their new beginning!

Guess who’s back, back again. Sam is back, tell a friend. I’ve got an about page for him done up here, but here’s a quick rundown!

First and foremost, Sam is Endgame verse! This means he has Steve’s old shield, because Steve got all Joe Biden-y and couldn’t use it anymore 😔

He also didn’t come to this universe when other Endgame-verse characters, like Clint and Bucky did. Essentially, Sam has been watching people in his life disappear for months now without having any idea where they were going. Bucky, Wanda, and Clint all vanished. Natasha and Tony both died before he was unsnapped. Old Man Steve died not long after Bucky vanished (sorry Steve!). This means for the last nine months or so, Sam has been wholly focused on being a superhero.

He recently ended up in this universe accidentally, when a mysterious explosion went off during a battle and transported him here. We love to see it!

Sam doesn’t have any superpowers (for now!), but he IS highly trained and very petty. Watch your back. He’ll fly through your window just to be mean.

Possible connections:

Is your character Endgame-verse? So is Sam! He’s probably going to have some questions for them. Like, for example, “what the fuck?”

Sam runs a support group for heroes out of Bayard Community Center! The group is designed with secret identities in mind. If someone isn’t ready for the world to know who they are, they’re more than welcome to come to the meetings in-costume and talk about their experiences. If your character is someone who would be likely to attend these meetings, hit me up and we can definitely plot some stuff out! If your character might be at Bayard for other reasons, like to volunteer or get help, they can also know him!

Up until the events after Civil War, this Sam’s life was identical to the life of the Sam who originated in this universe. If your character knew Sam in this world, they probably knew him in his, too. So pre-established connections are more than welcome! If your character did know this universe’s version of Sam, they might be a little curious as to where that dude is, cause he sure ain’t here! Only room for 1 Sam Wilson in this universe, baby!

If your character grew up in New York and has a religious background, particularly baptist, they may have known Sam’s father! Paul Wilson was a very prominent minister and community leader in Harlem and the surrounding areas until his death. Paul’s death rocked the community at the time, and most people who were a part of that community would have been at least vaguely familiar with the people he left behind (like Sam).

Before he joined the military, Sam was a petty criminal in Harlem. He never did anything too bad and what he did do was in the interest of providing for his siblings after his parents died, but it’s safe to say he could have had run-ins with anyone who was in the area at that time. If your character was a street hero back then, maybe they recognized Sam as a man doing what was necessary and let him go. If they were a cop, maybe they were involved in his decision to join the Air Force in order to turn his life around.

If your character was in the military, they could have met Sam through a mission during his deployment. He was pararescue, which means he was a specialized medic. He could have patched your character up after a mission went sideways, or they could have been involved in a rescue together.

ANYWAY like this and i’ll hit you up w a starter and stuff!

#beginagainintro #about #beginagainstartercall

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kartoon12 · 4 years

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What Does God Need with a Space Station?

Okay guys, this is probably going to sound like the weirdest post I've ever made, as this is a subject I don't talk about too often---that being dreams. Most of the time, I don't remember having any, or I'm able to recall tiny snippets here and there, with the rest disappearing into a fog. There's really only a handful of very long, very vivid dreams I can remember having, and all of them were wacky, but mostly funny thinking back on them. And they almost always involve fandoms in some way. If anyone's interested in hearing more about those, feel free to message me. (The one where me and the bridge crew of Star Trek: TNG were trying to escape a hospital with Captain Picard yelling at everyone because we were making him late for a party is a particularly fun one.)

However....just a few nights ago, I had a dream that....REALLY takes the cake, which is putting it mildly. This is one time I really felt the need to make this public, as I seriously, really want to try and see if anyone out there can help me analyze this, as this dream contained subject matter I've almost NEVER dreamt about before, and certainly not to an intensity and specifically detailed degree such as this. I wouldn't call it a nightmare, but neither was it fun. It was spooky...but more for the oddity and sheer level of "what the f**k?!" -ness to it.

I also feel the need to open with a disclaimer: I was raised in a Catholic household, and though I haven't attended a mass in quite some time, I still at least say my prayers every night. But I have friends of many different sections of faith; I totally respect other people's religious beliefs, and I'm not trying to force mine on anyone here. I try to keep my mind open to other interpretations of "what lies beyond" and such. Why this disclaimer? Well, you're about to find out. Strap in, folks. This is gonna' get lengthy....

So the dream opened in third person view, as though I were watching a movie. Somewhere in the middle of outer space, two giant robots are just sort of hovering there, fighting with each other. (I'm talking like mecha in the style of Transformers or Gundam or the like.) It's also worth mentioning that this whole opening section of the dream was presented like a cartoon. (The art style of "My Life as a Teenage Robot" is the closest I can get to describing what it looked like.) One mecha was an orange/red color, the other was blue and white. Note that I said they were fighting WITH each other, not attacking one another. That's because the "camera" (for lack of a better word) then shifted to show this HUGE spaceship off in the distance, slowly making its way towards a space station. (But not like, a realistic NASA space station or anything---this looked all sci-fi/future-y like something out of Star Trek.) The Star Destroyer from Star Wars is the closest I can get to describing what this starship looked like in terms of size and scope. Although it wasn't outright firing lasers or anything, in dream-world, my mind already knew the backstory that that Star Destroyer thing was on its way to attack the space station.

So naturally, red and blue robot have been sent out to stop the thing. Except the two of them were bickering amongst each other, arguing over the best course of action. Blue Robot keeps insisting they have to work together; Red Robot won't listen to reason and thinks his plans are better. Finally, Blue Robot gives up trying to argue and flies off to fight the Star Destroyer thing alone. A voice over the radio (probably someone back at the station) pleads with the two to work together and that Blue Robot doesn't stand a chance and can't do it alone. Blue Robot responds with, "Well I'm gonna' have to try." And disappears into the distance.

Considering my love for movies and comics and stuff, so far, this is par the course for dreams I've had in the past. But THIS is where things take a turn for the truly bizarre.

The "movie" then cut to inside the space station (very futuristic and high tech looking. All white walls, furniture and equipment. Very slick and clean looking.). Everything's now in first person view, so obviously from my viewpoint now. There's a guy frantically typing at a control panel (I'm assuming he's the one communicating with the robots.) All sorts of alarms are blaring and going off. The entire station is shaking and vibrating as it starts coming under attack. I think to myself, "I gotta' get out of here!" So I race to the nearest automatic doors and have to pry them with both my hands just to get them to slide open.

The second I crossed the doorway, everything stopped being an animated cartoon, and from here on out, for the rest of the dream, everything is now normal/live action/real world. I started running all through the station trying to find help, until eventually, I hit upon an idea. I kid you not, the only thought that came to me at that point was, "....I have to find God."

Yes. You heard me. "I have to find God." Hang in there. It only gets freakier.

So I head off, trying to find anyone who can help me look for God, as by this point, He's the only one who can get us out of this mess. Couple important things to note here:

1.) Despite being on a space station, none of the people aboard are in any sort of discernible uniform. Everyone I encounter is wearing normal clothes like jeans and T-shirts and stuff (save for one person, but we'll get to HER in a second....)

2.) The deeper I go into the station, and the farther I get away from that docking bay area I started off in, the less the station shakes, and the alarms gradually get quieter, until eventually, the attacks stop completely.

And 3.) A large portion of the crew (or passengers?) I initially come across are all Chinese (or of some Asian descent thereof). Whether this station was built or funded by China, I don't know.

In any case, no one seems to be able to speak English, and no one seems to be scared or bothered, or even aware of what's going on outside. But they can tell I need help, so they point in the direction of this lady that I'm assuming is the leader or figurehead of some sort. I assume so, because she's the only one dressed differently from everyone else.....and she's dressed like something out of the Feudal Era. A geisha, I think they call it. A red robe with gold flower patterns. Hair done up in a bun. Face painted white. Red lipstick. The works. Queen Amidala look, ya' know?

Of course, dream-me doesn't question this at all, and I plead with her to take me to where God is. I then started repeating the phrase, "you know?! Heart, mind, soul?!" to her, over and over again. During which, I'd point to my heart, then my head, then trace a circle in the air with both index fingers for emphasis, hoping she'd get what I was asking her. Please note that in real life, I have NO clue what Chinese religion or mythology entails, nor have I ever studied it, and I'm 100% sure what I just described is completely wrong and total bulls**t. But apparently, this is how it worked in dream world, and apparently, I knew just the right sign language to make, because Geisha Lady finally got a look of understanding on her face, smiled and nodded, and said something in her own language that gave off the message of "oh, okay. I'll take you to Him."

So she takes me by the arm, motions for me to follow her, and I let her lead me through the rest of the space station. All the alarms and chaos from earlier has totally stopped by this point. Her dress/kimono thing is so tightly wrapped around her that she had to take fast little baby steps, and you'd think with her penguin-walking it would've taken forever, but it actually took no time at all to get where we were going. During which, I look around, and notice that, at that point, the hallways of the station started looking more and more like the isles of a department store. She weaves me through rows and rows of shelves stacked with all sorts of stuff. Some shelves are full, others have some stuff but were clearly picked through, and some shelves are completely empty.

At long last, Geisha Lady shows me into a large waiting room of sorts, bowing and sweeping her arm out as if saying, "well, here we are." I look around, and there's a long line of people all waiting to get into an adjoining room where God is. Only then do I finally start seeing other races of people besides the Chinese from earlier. Black, Hispanic, Japanese, White---a mixture of all sorts from seemingly all over the world are in line. And every single person has some kind of item in hand. Books, potted plants, a wooden spoon and whisk (guess that person liked cooking?); any kind of knick-knacks you can think of. (Which I guess sort of explains the department store place from earlier and why stuff was missing.) I then walked past the line and peeked into the adjoining room to see what everyone was waiting for, and.....

Well.....um.....I found God.

The room was a very plain looking bedroom, with beige-colored walls, a queen-sized bed, and a single nightstand, but nothing else, not even a lamp, which would explain why the room was so dimly lit, with the only available light coming in from the doorway. I took a step closer to try and better see the....well....'being' occupying the bed. Or pair of beings I guess I should say (more on that in a second). At the foot of the bed was, what appeared to be, a Hispanic man in his 20s or 30s, with short scruffy black hair and tanned skin, and wearing nothing but a plain, white T-shirt....because he had no legs. His body ended at the torso, and he was propped up with a ton of pillows so he could see the visitors better. More pillows were situated on the floor for the people to kneel on, and at that moment, a lady and her kid were kneeling in front of Him, and everyone was speaking in super hushed tones, so I couldn't really hear what they were talking about. Though, every so often, I'd hear the amputee guy (that I'm assuming was God) speaking in a calm, reassuring tone, saying things like, "Don't worry. You're going to be okay. Everything'll be fine." And so on. No stereotypical big booming voice or anything like that.

But I probably wasn't paying much attention to what they were saying because I was then focused more on the OTHER being occupying the rest of the bed. Lying at the top of the bed, directly behind the Hispanic guy, was another humanoid shape cut off at the torso. I say humanoid because this....thing....was more hidden in the shadows due to its position in the room. I could make out a head, neck, arms, hands, and chest....but no discernible clothes. It was more like....a dark blob that took the rough shape of a human....and it had no face. Or maybe it did, but....anytime I tried to look directly at it, its head seemed to be encased in a kind of fog, with the face area constantly shifting and blurring. If you've ever watched police or crime shows where they interview someone who wants to remain anonymous, and they blur their face out, that's basically what it looked like. And seeing this half-a-humanoid lying above the Hispanic guy, making it look like they were stacked on top of each other, almost kind of reminded me of Vishnu a bit. (The being from Hindu mythology who looks like a human with multiple arms.)

Anyway, so I'm just standing there, taking this all in, when someone who was waiting in line (can't remember if it was a guy or lady) came up next to me, and they must've saw my confusion, because they leaned in and whispered, "Every couple of years, they pick a new person to represent Him." This is the only wording I SPECIFICALLY remember, EXACTLY. Whoever the "they" is that this person was referring to, I have no clue. The robots? The Chinese? The people waiting in line? Who knows.

The person then explained a little more, and unfortunately, I can't remember the exact wording, but they basically said something like, "It's strongly recommended that you bring Him a present." Guess that would explain why everyone in line was holding stuff. Finally, this person whispered to me, "I hear that books are His favorite." And I remember thinking to myself, 'Considering this dude's got no legs and is probably stuck in bed all day, yeah, he probably needs something to do.'

And though I can't remember whether I thought it, or said it out loud, my last thought was, "Damn. I should've brought my books with me." (And if you know anything about me, I was most likely thinking of my self-published comic books.)

And that's when, quite suddenly, I woke up.

No, I'm NOT on drugs. I have NEVER taken any drugs; recreational or otherwise, nor do I drink. Thanks for asking.

So.....what in the name of all that is holy does this all mean???

Like I said in the intro, this is something that is SO far out of my wheelhouse when it comes to what I normally dream about that I felt that I HAD to put it out there somewhere. I mean, I've gotten a bare-bones taste of other religions and cultures, mostly via movies and stuff, but it's not like I'm actively studying Feudal Era China or Hindu legends all the time, nor was I reading up on any sort of material right before bed or anything. I guess what I'm getting at is that the whole religious aspect of it is what really threw me, to the point of almost feeling prophetic in a way. I had goosebumps upon waking up, and I just couldn't stop thinking about what I experienced for the rest of the day.

I've managed to come up with just a few theories, though this could totally be off base, so bare with me.

The only part I'm really sure on is the beginning part with the robots, since one was red and the other blue. And that whole part was in the style of a cartoon (while the rest of the space station was in "live action/real world"). My guess is that the robots are representing the Democratic and Republican parties, and how both of them have been reduced to blathering, cartoon caricatures who can't work together at all to fight something that's threatening everyone. (With the star destroyer as a stand in for the virus, I guess?)

Then, what's with the people lining up with gifts and the section that looks like Wal-Mart? Is this supposed to mean that society's become super greedy and materialistic, to the point of thinking we can buy favor with someone? Or bribe our way into Heaven? Then again, at least in the dream, I had little doubt that the beings in the bedroom WAS God, since He seemed like a pretty chill dude who spoke kindly and was being comforting. So maybe the gifts people were bringing were like....representations of their hobbies or something? Maybe the vibe was supposed to be more like, "Hey! Thanks for creating me, God! Here's something I made with the talents you gave me!" Like a kid showing off their macaroni art to their parent or something like that. OR, maybe it was supposed to mean something like, "In order to follow Him, you have to give up your love for material things?" I don't know.

And then there's that weirdly specific line that still haunts me. "Every couple of years, they pick a new person to represent Him." I have a feeling the humanoid blurry shape that I wasn't able to clearly see the face of was the real God, while the Hispanic guy was His avatar of sorts. Still don't know who the "they" is, though. Or was this meant to mean something along the lines of, "Society has become so focused and desperate for a savior that they're starting to see celebrities and politicians as false gods? Thinking that one guy can fix everything, when really we should be bettering our inner selves?"

"Every couple of years, they pick a new person to represent Him." I mean, with phrasing like that, and with a certain presidential election coming up.....

*sigh* I'm just going to end it here before I start opening up a whole other can of worms. Thanks to anyone and everyone who stuck with this all the way to the end. The whole dream actually felt like it lasted all of ten minutes---it just took me a bit to explain all the details is all. I haven't had any similar dreams since. But still.....if anyone out there can help me interpret this thing, I'd love to hear from you, as I have the biggest gut feeling this all means SOMETHING important. I just don't know quite what. But if this IS a premonition of some kind, I just hope to God it's a good one.

#dreams #dream interpretation #someone please help me with this #what the hell does this mean?

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smolbeandrabbles · 5 years

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Selfish Pt.2 - Sheriff of Nottingham x Reader (Robin Hood 2018)

Part 1

Authors Note: Promise we’ll go back to the beginning after THIS one. This is fairly important though, don’t you think? I’m not sure how much she’d get away with... But I honestly don’t care. She’s a badass and she can say whatever the hell she wants! First hint of what I’m calling him here. With her ‘Wil...!’ that is actually Historically “accurate” information!! One L because there’s enough of them in Robin Hood as it is!

ALSO - I thought you guys loved Sorrento, but, the NOTES for Pt.1 of this!? You honestly all blow me away sometimes...!! 😊

My entire playlist for the Sheriff is songs with religious significance or subtext... And I don’t know if that’s how my brain is working or I’m trying to tell myself something...?

Disclaimer: Owning my OC/Reader character only! I’ve never had a kid, so that’s all my imagination...

Premise: In an effort to keep both the Church and the Hood at bay, stress finally hit her - HARD.

Word Count: 4013

Warnings: child-birth (I might have overdone it slightly. I’m sorry!!) Third Person Reader Insert

I walked the line Until the line was just a blur And love was out of reach, And faith was just a word

Oh, I've been searching, I've been praying I've been hurt, and I've been patient I've been lost and found again Waiting for my Amen Looking at you now I believe Someone up there is looking out for me And I know how my prayer ends Baby, you're my Amen

---

It was the following morning when he got the inevitable call to explain himself to the Cardinal and the church. She wasn’t having it. “You’re not going.” “And what am I to do instead?” “Stay here where you’re safe. I’ll go.” She knew if she let him go to the Church they would likely strip him of office. Maybe they’d even try to finish what Robin started. The church can make or break a man… “You most certainly will NOT.” “I’ll take Marcus… Alden… My brother… Are they honestly going to try to harm two Norsemen?!” “…Take Guy and I’ll consider it.” She folded her arms and sighed; “Fine.” He seemed surprised, because he thought that was about the only thing she would never agree to, “But you stay here until I get back.” He opened his mouth, but the look in those hazel eyes of hers daring him to say something smart made him close it again. Maybe just this once he wouldn’t keep her here… “Tell me that sword is just for show?” “They wish.” “Y/N…” Even her brother was looking to rebuke her today “Askel – if I need it so be it.” “In a Church no less…” He looked towards the towering structure in the distance “Amen…” His mocking sarcasm was telling. She had accepted the Church because she had to. Her brother most of the time refused to set foot in it. And he wasn’t particularly happy that she seemed to forsake their Gods for this one… She was caught between two worlds, but she made sure to keep balance between the two. Askel wasn’t the only one who thought it was nonsense to do both. Marcus and Alden, about the only English men beyond her own man she trusted, stood a little way off. Listening, but understanding nothing. Only Tuck and the Sheriff had ever bothered to learn it; Tuck as a man of many talents and her lover because he wanted something that would be theirs – and seen as there was only one of them left… “How is he?” Marcus and Alden flanked her as they walked. Askel a few steps behind; he didn’t trust Guy either – which put Guy a few paces behind him. She rolled her eyes “He’s… Him.” They were both eyeing her sword; obviously as worried as her brother that she’d be drawing it. In truth, she also wanted to feel safe, like she wasn’t the defenceless pregnant woman she FELT she was right now. Her comment only made Marcus smile; he was used to every gripe she had with England, with Nottingham, with the Sheriff. He was her second in command, but also her best friend. Over these past 8 months, however, the complaints had only become more intense and to him, more hilarious. She used to do this daily; patrolling the streets of Nottingham with him, or with Eyhamel – her war horse. But for at least 7 of the 8 months there was a distinct radius she was allowed to walk in and never unguarded, and certainly, never in charge of security. She was itching to get back to it, of course, which is why she was about to walk into this. “Where is the Sheriff?” It was the archdeacon the five of them came face to face with, rather than the Cardinal. She kept her left hand on the hilt of her sword and it was clear the presence of both her and her brother made the man uneasy. “I believe after yesterday his absence is understandable.” “He was summoned here.” “And I am here in his place…” She was always defiant. And she was daring them to take Nottingham away from him now “…But I’m happy to deliver the message.” “With all due respect. My Lady, the message is for him. Not for you.” My Lady… God that even grated with her now – it was just the way he said it! She had the distinct feeling they weren’t particularly pleased with having to speak to her as a woman, either. “With respect.” Though she had very little for him, “The Sheriff almost lost his life yesterday in this very building. So let me get one thing straight here. You can tell ME what you have to tell HIM and I will endeavour to relay the information…” She took a step forward and out of line; “Or, why don’t I just tell you what you’re going to tell me… You’re going to tell me all the effort he’s made over the past few years on this War is not all for naught because of the work of a thief. That the people of Nottingham, after this chaos, need a strong leader. Because he is one. They need consistency and stability… Lose him, you lose me… For you that could be a good thing, but of him and I who has more favour with the people in your mines? You want them to keep the faith, excellent. Have someone tell them to keep it. Who would you put in his place anyway? And with this…?” She indicated to herself “Losing him is no good for anyone until we know what this is…” She took another step, with a smile “So I put this to you, Archdeacon. You do your job. I’ll do mine. And the Sheriff will do his. And at the end of the day we’ll all be better off.” His eyes flicked from her to the men around her, none of whom looked in disagreement because they all know she had a fair point. She was a woman of two countries and two faiths. And she was confident in where she stood with both. She was difficult to manipulate. There was no fear the Church could put into her, asides the fear they could put into him, which of course was why he wasn’t here. More than that; she hated them for everything they had ever done to him. And her brother – not even one to attempt converting – a true Norse warrior and surely not someone to mess with. The other three… Well, at least two of them would follow her orders to a fault. Even with all the Church’s power; with her the Archdeacon knew he had to tread carefully. The Church had no power here, even though they were standing in one. “…It’s all well and good saying this. Y/N. But what of the war?” She gave a shrug “I’ve never much cared for your war. That will be for your Cardinal to decide.” The step she took this time was backwards; making her 4 companions turn – even Guy knew her well enough to read every signal of her voice; “…I suggest you make the correct decision… Besides I don't think even you want the consequences of removing him from office... It could be more than just the Arabs he'll be warning the people about... We all know the stories of Ragnar..." "Was that a threat?" She turned from him with a smile, "It’s a promise..." And it was. Her father would as like march on Nottingham and the Church if someone so much as touched her. That's what Askel was for. And Norsemen didn't often show mercy. *** “...Can you do a ride of the perimeter ... anything unusual or out of place or-” “Yes...! It’s going to be fine... Robin hasn’t been here since the-” “I know, will you just do it!!” She was painfully aware of the ticking clock that was her pregnancy. And she was paranoid. Marcus couldn’t count the number of times she’d had him walk or ride various parts of Nottingham for any potential weak points Robin and co could take advantage of. “Marcus...” He turned at the sound of the Sheriffs call, walking briskly down the hallway toward them. “It’s okay. You may leave us.” “Yes sir...” But she pulled his arm back “Marcus please!” “It will be done. My Lady.” He gave her a confident nod and bid then both farewell. The Sheriff watched him leave before he spoke.

“What are you doing?!” His blue eyes studied her carefully... he noticed she didn’t look at him; “I’m scared!! I’m panicking that he might-” Of course this was about Robin. But he didn’t sigh. He didn’t roll his eyes. He didn’t look anything less than understanding. Gathering her in his arms as best he could he ran his fingertips into her hair, kissing her forehead and hairline; “Shhh! Shhh! Not another word!” Well, he either wanted to know or he didn’t “Stop this... Y/N stop this...” “I’m just being prepared!” “You, of anyone in this Goddamn city, should be preparing for something far greater than our defences...” He whispered it gently against her skin. The way he chose to hold her now was protective. But he still moved his hand to rest on her bump “I need you to stop thinking about this... And start thinking about our child...” She wasn’t sure why he would think that she wasn’t doing this FOR their child. She let out a sigh of her own and wound her arms around him, burying her head in the safety of his chest allowing him to rub her back gently. “That’s my girl...” It was weird for him to say that phrase like that. Here. In this context. It sent a delightful shiver down her spine. Which made him chuckle, but say nothing more. He kissed her hair again. “We have mere days... barely weeks....” He watched the way the sunbeams danced in the courtyard, it was serene... His eyes flicked to the sky... In times like this he actually believed in God. He didn’t need a church for that - Hell, he didn’t want a church for that... “Everything is going to be fine... I promise you...” It was convincing. It was what she needed to hear. It was what he needed to say. How could he become so disillusioned with the church? After all hasn’t God given him this? By miracle or grand design... He realised quickly that yes, God may have...but the Church had not...

***

Weeks had passed since Robin had taken half of the poorer populous with him to God knows where… She was getting antsy towards the end of her pregnancy AND that she couldn’t be out there right now patrolling Nottingham or looking for Robin… All she wanted was to know he wasn’t going to come around here again in a hurry. She now found herself almost permanently stuck to the Sheriff; half in worry that something would happen and she wouldn’t be around. And she wouldn’t admit it to him, but she’d been having bad nightmares about the happenings in that church and she daren’t tell anyone else about it. Besides, what exactly could she tell the doctor? ‘I know you told me not to stress! But my subconscious thinks it’s a good idea to share that trauma with me every night!!’ Nope.

Today was Sunday, a Holy day, and that meant Church. She wondered if it would involve any more War donations… She had noted that since Robin had left talk of the war effort had fallen fairly silent. There was something going on in that brain of his, she could tell, but he wasn’t confiding it in her just yet… She wasn’t too worried – she’d be the first to know. There was a knock at her chambers as her handmaidens helped her to dress. If there was one thing she would curse about bringing another life into the world, it was the awkwardness of having to do even the most mundane of tasks with a bump. Even holding her lover close to her was proving most difficult these days. And as if to speak of the Devil he nudged the door open slightly; “Apologies ladies… I must interrupt…” He only half stepped into the room; clearly all ready to set off; “…Y/N, my darling, they have called me early. I’m afraid I must away… Will you be alright…?” She looked down at herself and the girls, who seemed almost finished; she didn’t like the idea, but she could imagine the Lords all attempting to drag him off for the best part of the morning before he actually caved… She nodded, “I shall not be too far behind…” “Okay…” His voice was quiet and she wasn’t too sure that was even the answer he wanted to hear. “Ok…” He repeated it, and with one look back into her eyes, he took his leave. She huffed slightly as Hal held out his hand to help her get into the carriage… Why all this was necessary she didn’t know! They were treating her, her!, Norse Princess and Shield Maiden, as fragile as glass. She knew she was pregnant but this was ridiculous. Still, she thanked him as she sat – today was a glorious day, the sun shone in a bright blue, cloudless sky and bathed everything in glorious golden light. Its warmth caressed her face and she smiled. Sure, she might have to spend the rest of the morning in a gloomy church (although… the sun through the pretty stained glass today would likely look spectacular) but once they left, she would get to see him in glorious sunshine; the way it would hit his blue eyes and turn his hair a multitude of grey shades and maybe he’d relieve himself of his jacket and… She bit her lip just thinking about it and damned her racing hormones. The carriage set off towards the church and her mind wandered, wondering what the subject of today’s preachy sermon would be… And how long they could possibly drag it on… She wondered if they would once again mention Robin… Because he was a subject all to himself these days… Not that she was SUPPOSED to think about him… A sudden sharp pain shot through her lower body that made her wince and cry out… what in the hell was-!? She cried again, holding her stomach as it happened again… Oh Gods… NO. She had to take a sudden sharp intake of breath, twice, in-out-in-out… She looked down to her dress, patches now considerably darker in colour… Please no… Cradling her bump, the next shot of pain almost had her in tears; but the liquid wasn’t blood… it was clear… And that left her almost more horrified. She wasn’t going to lose it… But he wasn’t HERE!!! “STOP!!!” She screamed as loud as she could, pounding one hand against the side of the carriage “STOP!!! STOP THE COACH!!!” Just hold on… hold on!!

The carriage slowed to a stop, and the door opened; “My lady, what is wrong…!?” She was almost bent double over the seat, her breathing ragged “…The baby…!!” She took another deep breath “The baby is coming…!” For the two men standing outside time almost froze, then they almost fell over each other flagging down the following coach. She squeezed her eyes shut and cradled her bump again trying her best not to begin sobbing in the midst of the commotion suddenly happening around her

“-turn the coach around!!” “—What do we tell---” “Someone has to go to the church and TELL HIM!!---” “—She can’t deliver here you---!” Marcus, ever her saviour, jumped up onto his horse “I’m heading to the church, take her back to the castle – and God Speed!” With that he was away, galloping as fast as the horse would take him. Another of the guards jumped on a second horse “I will go on ahead and warn the doctor!” The coach master was gathering the reigns back as two of her hand maidens Ada & Caralyn climbed in with her; as the coach began to move she grabbed Ada’s hand in panic “WAIT--- WHAT Ab- AH!” “They will bring the Sheriff as fast as they can M’lady… But we have to get you to a safe place and NOW!” Ada squeezed her hand tighter in a form of comfort “He will be there…” By the time they had made it back to the castle she could barely walk, and her contractions were getting worse, her security team practically had to carry her to her bedroom. All the while she was protesting; even though the doctor and his aides and her hand maidens had done their best to prepare for her; There was only one thing on her mind, still. “Where is he?!” “They can only get him here so fast… and on a Sunday…” She was still complaining as they laid her down; “You need to breathe… calm down and breathe…” “I CAN’T do this without him!!” She panicked, and Ada rushed to comfort her; the doctor and his team were firm; “Y/N, panicking will not help your baby… And you CAN!” The next shot of pain nearly took her breath; this was really going to happen – wasn’t it? She was trying to concentrate hard on what she was feeling to fight through the pain and listen… When she’d been old enough and curious enough to ask, her mother had simply replied that she would know, as she had to do was listen to her body… All around her she could hear medical nonsense and babble she didn’t understand and she wanted to yell at them all to be quiet; but she knew why they were stressed themselves, women died in childbirth… And it was sure the Sheriff would damn them all to hell or worse if anything happened to her here. Especially as he’d spend the best part of 8 months making contingency plans for this exact moment. It didn’t matter how many times the doctor told him he would have it covered. She was suddenly brought to another level of pain; and she felt the tears begin to run; this was ridiculous, she was stronger than this!! Women did this all the time!! But she already knew why, she was scared to do this without him and her body was caught between trying to hold it off and the fact that it was TIME to do this… “…Wil….!”

He was aware that by now he was probably late for the start of the service, several of the Lords were standing by the doors trying to usher him in, but he wouldn’t move until she got here. And he was becoming concerned that she wasn’t here yet. She knew the importance of punctuality, and he knew he had been early… What had happened?! He knew, idiotically, that he should never have left her alone. The sudden sound of hooves approaching at pace picked up his hopes, until it turned out to be a single rider – her right-hand man, Marcus. “WHAT?!?! WHAT THE HELL-” “SIR!” Marcus was slightly out of breath, mirrored by his horses panting “We have NO time! You must come with me!!” “WHY!?!” He was taken aback that the man would even interrupt him; “The baby is coming! Y/N has been taken back to the castle!” His eyes widened, horrified, NOW!? NOW!? She was going to have his child NOW!?! DAMMIT! Marcus grabbed his arm and helped him mount the back of the horse; turning it expertly on a dime – but not before the Lords all rushed forward; “Sheriff! What has happened!?” “You can’t leave church like this!?” “SIRS. My wife is about to have my first Child.” His snappy angry tone made Marcus inwardly smirk as he prepared to urge the horse back into a gallop “If being there rather than here is a sin, I shall repent later!” Marcus took that as a signal to go, and kicked the horse back into action, “…I didn’t realise you and Y/N were married, Sir?” The Sheriff at least laughed at that “What, you want me to give a full explanation of our relationship!? She is about to bare me a child Marcus! I don’t have time to lecture them!” “Well, if I may speak freely, I think it’s fine for you to lecture them a little, Sir!”

She certainly wasn’t making things easy on herself; she was going against every piece of advice she’d ever been given by every woman in her life and she was trying to resist what her body was telling her. For as long as she could… Come on Marcus! How long does it take!? Gods PLEASE! She knew it would be painful, but THIS painful..?! Eventually, when all the commotion around her stopped and the doctor and nurses settled into position, she knew everyone was waiting on her, and she could not hold off on what her body was asking from her any more, Ada clasped her hand tightly, and she took one gulp of air before she began pushing…

In the courtyard below there seemed to be more commotion. A lot of yelling back and forth and running footsteps, doors being thrown open so hard they hit walls, frames and all manner of other architecture… Then there was running down the stone corridor. All she was hearing beside the focus on herself was the doctor trying to help her time; and then the last set of doors were thrown wide, all but a few turned. The Sheriff didn’t stop there, running the skirting of their room to be beside her Ada left her hand in his strong, firm, confident grip. She almost cried again but in relief… he was here… he’d made it all the way back here… Marcus slowed his run to a jog, and then to give them privacy began to close the door.

“I’m here… Y/N… I’m here… Darling…” His voice faded in and out of focus but the strength of his hands around hers was all she needed, it was still painful, and he did his very best to soothe her, stroking her back… kissing her hand and whispering encouraging phrases that she couldn’t really hear but she knew where well meant… and then… Crying. And not from her. The room fell completely silent apart from the cries of an infant…

There was a collective sigh of relief as the breath everyone was holding relaxed… She couldn’t help but look to her lover and smile, and he looked back with nothing but admiration… The Nurses collected together blankets quickly… And the doctor cleared his throat in order to break the look they were giving each other. “Sir… Would you…” She let him take his hand back gently, his discussion was brief, and as if he had simultaneously lost the strength to stand the Sheriff fell almost weakly into the chair beside her. He clasped her hand back in his and sank his head onto the bedsheets; he very nearly cried with relief as her fingers gently tousled his hair; “You did so well… My darling… so well…” His murmur was as much relief as it was praise. He only raised his head as the doctor approached again, carrying with him their child; “Sir… My Lady… God has graced you with a Son…” She knew immediately that was it – the look needn’t even have crossed the Sheriff’s face as he turned to her; a son to carry on both his bloodline and his name. Heir to Nottingham, with a fair claim on her father’s Kingdom too. He turned to her, with a confident smile, “Y/N…” He took a breath like he didn’t know what to say “You have blessed me with a son…?” Then he laughed “…I think that makes it only fair that his name is yours to give…” She hadn’t been expecting it, but for a child of two words it would only be tradition to call him after his father – and hers. “Eske…” Would he be okay with that? “I would like to call him Eske…” “Eske…” He repeated, testing it for himself… before he laced his fingers with hers and kissed her, it was gentle and sweet “…Eske it is.”

*Eske, for Eskil. Her father, as you will discover when I do my (backwards) timeskips! I.E. In the next part!

GIF CREDIT: @mendo-r

#Sheriff of Nottingham #sheriff x reader #robin hood (2018)#Ben Mendelsohn #Robin Hood Origins #Linzi Writes #hunter hayes' entire C2C setlist had a major impact on me. Here is the first time I've used his lyrics. It won't be the last #There is also some Dustin Lynch in here if you're looking hard enough #I write a lot of lyrics into my stories. It makes me happy when I read them back #Rambling Again!#Thank GOD for the behind the scenes gifs #I WILL BE USING A LOT OF THEM THEY ARE SO GORGEOUS!#OHH MY GOOOD WHY HAVE I WRITTEN HIM THIS WAY!?#CUZ HES A BADASS IN A TRENCH COAT AND I LOVE HIIIIIM!#POST 9000!!!!!#I FIXED IT THERE IS NOW A PART 1 LINK #18 #Loraina

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ruminativerabbi · 6 years

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Learning to Listen

The Israeli-Palestinian dispute has many unique features, by which I mean qualities that it specifically does not share with similar geo-political disputes and which are features particularly of the parties to it. But there are other features that it does share with other disputes between nations or peoples, into which category I would put those aspects of the problem that are specifically not especially unique to the players involved. I suppose there are probably many different aspects to the endless sikhsukh between Arab and Jew in the Holy Land that could be included in that second category, but I think probably the most prominent of them all—and paradoxically both the most difficult to resolve and, in other ways, also the simplest—is the inability both sides show with remarkable regularity to see the people on the other side of the fence at all clearly. Or to hear them when they speak. Or to listen without prejudice to what they wish to say.

There are circles, as I am well aware, in which even the suggestion that the responsibility for the situation as it has evolved to date could or, worse, should be shared by the involved parties is anathema. I have fallen prey to that line of thinking myself. And although I find some scant comfort in the fact that I was in excellent (and famous) company in that regard, the reality of the situation no longer affords anyone who longs for peace in the region the luxury of listening only to his or her own voice. To describe those willing to listen to dissenting opinions as terminally gullible seems beyond childish at this point: it seems counterproductive and morally indefensible to imagine that peace can ever be made between people who are not prepared even formally, let alone intently, to listen to each other and to respond honestly and genuinely to what the other party has to say. It is certainly so that lots of what people say about the Middle East is nonsense, their arguments baseless blather and their positions intellectually and morally indefensible. The problem is that there’s no way to weigh the worth of other people’s opinions without listening to them carefully, and doing so generously and without prejudice. To do that, however, requires that you at least occasionally stop talking yourself. But that inability to fall silent with someone else speaks turns out, more than slightly paradoxically, to be one of the major things Israelis and Palestinians actually do have in common.

All this by way of introducing to you a very interesting book I finished reading earlier this week, Yossi Klein Halevi’s Letters to My Palestinian Neighbor. Published just last month by HarperCollins, the book is remarkable in several different ways and I would like to recommend it as serious, thoughtful summer reading for anyone who wants to understand—and on a particularly intelligent, reasonable plain—the underlying reasons that the Israeli-Palestinian dispute seems so intractable.

Halevi has framed his book as a series of letters to an unidentified neighbor living in Iswiya, the Arab town on the other side of the separation fence that blocks access to French Hill, the modern Israeli neighborhood adjacent to the Mount Scopus campus of the Hebrew University in which Halevi lives. For readers unfamiliar with the geography of Jerusalem, the basic principle is that, with certain famous exceptions, most Arab villages—including ones inside the municipal boundaries of Jerusalem—and the Jewish communities almost adjacent to them are sealed off from each other, if not precisely by law, then by custom: my own apartment in Arnona is not half a mile from the Arab village of Jabel Mukaber, but I’ve never been there and wouldn’t think of going there—it would be unsafe and unwise—and neither do I know anyone who has ever gone there. That’s just how it is. Yet I see Arab families all the time in the shopping malls in Talpiyot, the neighborhood directly to our west, and no one seems to notice or care. It’s all a little hard to explain, but Halevi’s idea—which I think he manages to carry through successfully—is both to notice and to care…and also to imagine that where people shop contiguously and eat at adjacent tables in restaurants, they could also speak to each other honestly and from the heart…if they felt that there was someone actually listening. A little bit, he’s tilting at windmills. But he’s also taken the remarkable step of having his entire book—this book that I’m writing to you about—translated into Arabic and posted for free download on a website that should be easily accessible to all Israeli and Palestinian Arabs.

The author writes frankly and from the heart. To the Palestinians, he offers the clear message that they are doing themselves a disservice and more or less guaranteeing that almost no Israelis will listen seriously (or even at all, really), when they speak as though the Jewish connection to the Land of Israel began in the nineteenth century and refuse on principle to take the preceding millennia into account, millennia which included centuries of Jewish autonomy in that place and of ongoing spiritual, emotional, and intellectual attachment to it. Indeed, when Palestinian leaders insist—passionately but ridiculously—that the entire Bible is a falsification of history, that there never was a Temple on the Temple Mount, that the Davidic kingdom never existed, that all the archeological evidence that ties the Jewish people to the Land of Israel is bogus and phony, they are more or less guaranteeing that no Israeli with any sense of pride in his or her nation will still be listening after the first sentence or two. But when Israelis, and particularly religious Israelis, wave away the Palestinians as mere interlopers because their ancestors only arrived on the scene a mere twelve centuries ago, they are guaranteeing no less surely that no thoughtful Palestinian born in that place and whose whole sense of identity is tied to his or her national sense of self is going to continue listening after the first few words either.

In other words, what both sides have accomplished magnificently is the discovery and honing of precisely the right kind of code words to use so as to be able to guarantee that no one will actually be listening when you finally do stand up to speak.

Halevi addresses painful, difficult topics in the course of his letters to his unidentified neighbor across the security fence. He talks openly—and passionately—about the way that terrorism has taken its toll not only on the specific individuals who have died as the result of Palestinian terror attacks, but on the national consciousness of Israelis as well. And he also writes, in my opinion remarkably openly, about the specific reasons so many Israelis do not feel themselves able to believe truly that their Palestinian neighbors wish to live in peace. Indeed, when he asks, not guilelessly but sharply and acidulously, why the Palestinians have turned down so many different offers of statehood—at Camp David and at Oslo, but also on other occasions as well—if they truly wish to negotiate a settlement and get on with the work of nation building, he is merely doing his part to hold up his end of the dialogue honestly and candidly.

One review I read suggested that the best way to read this book would be first to read an entirely different one: Hillel Halkin’s Letters to an American Jewish Friend, published in 1977 and still in print. I was in my final year at JTS when that book came out and I remember reading it and feeling both inspired by its argument, yet unjustly marginalized by its conclusions. The book angered me—which I’m sure was exactly the response the author hoped to provoke—but also challenged me to revisit my feelings about living in the diaspora and about my personal relationship to Israel. I recommend the book highly to all my readers, however: here is a truly passionate argument for aliyah that all who wish truly honestly to engage with the Zionist ideal should read.

For most, it will not be pleasant reading. But political writing at its best is not meant to soothe, but to irritate—somewhat in the way sand irritates oysters into producing pearls—and to allow readers to confront their complacency and address the logical flaws or moral sloppiness in the way they approach the philosophical or political issues that engage them the most passionately. I see that reviewer’s point and second the motion: to read those two books, one after the other, would truly to engage with the twin axes of Israel life: the x-axis of Jewishness which connects Israelis with Jews in all the lands of our dispersion, and the y-axis of rootedness in the land which ties Israelis, whether they like it or not, to the Palestinians who self-define in terms of their own rootedness in that same soil. And for those of us whose hearts beat with Israel, that kind of engagement with the grid can only produce insight into what we all understand is a very complicated situation. Anna Porter, who wrote a very intelligent review of Halevi’s book for the Toronto newspaper, The Globe and Mail (click here to read it), wraps up her appraisal by noting that “Israel is a very complicated country.” That, surely, we can all agree is true. But books like Halevi’s are attempts to shed more light than heat on the precise issues that make life in the Holy Land so complicated…and to inspire a dialogue, for once, that is rooted in reality rather than rhetoric.

Since I am not a Palestinian, I am presumably not the intended audience for a book entitled “Letters to My Palestinian Neighbor.” Nor will the large majority of people reading this be. Nonetheless, I recommend this to you all wholeheartedly as an opportunity to look out at the world, and the Middle East in particular, through Yossi Klein Halevi’s eyes. Particularly for young people eager to understand their parents’ deep commitment to Israel but unsure of where they personally stand, this book will be an eye-opening, inspiring read.

#Yossi Klein Halevi #Palestinians and Israelis #Hillel Halkin

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brigdh · 6 years

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A lot of reading reviews

I was unexpectedly busy for most of April, so this is several weeks' worth of reading – though weeks where I didn't have much time for reading for fun, alas. Enjoy an overabundance of reviews? What did you just finish? A Short History of Drunkenness: How, Why, Where, and When Humankind Has Gotten Merry from the Stone Age to the Present by Mark Forsyth. A shallow but funny history of humanity's relationship with booze. Brief chapters cover pretty much every historical era you'd expect: Egypt, Mesopotamia, the Greeks, the Romans, the Bible, Ancient China, Vikings, the Medieval Middle East, Medieval England, the Aztecs, colonial Australia, the Wild West, Russia, American Prohibition, and London's Gin Craze of the 1700s. That's quite the list for a book of less than three hundred pages, and indeed Forsyth is clearly focused on being amusing and easy to read more than he is on deep historical investigations – which isn't really a critique, as long as "silly and quick" is what you're looking for. (I am a bit skeptical of some of his claims, but he has footnotes to back him up; I suspect it's a case of Forsyth taking the most extreme possible side in genuine historical debates.) It's a nice collection of "hey, did-you-know" trivia, but I doubt anyone will come away with more insight on the history of alcohol than they started with. I read this as an ARC via NetGalley. Caliban's War by James S.A. Corey. The sequel to Leviathan Wakes, which I had mixed feelings about. Well, goddamn! Corey has levelled up their writing beyond my highest expectations, particularly in regards to characterization. This time around we have four PoVs. There's Holden again, who remains somewhat action-hero-y but has become far more sympathetic (possibly because he actually has idiosyncratic attributes now; I'm particularly fond of his deep attachment to a fancy coffee-maker). We're introduced to Bobbie Draper, a highly-trained marine from the Martian military and the only surviving witness of the opening salvo of the Martian-Earth war, which might actually have been an accident caused by an alien attack; she prefers battle to politics, and struggles with the question of who she should be loyal to when no one believes her or cares about the whole alien thing. Next is Chrisjen Avasarala, a tiny gray-haired grandmother with a meaningless-sounding title ("assistant to the undersecretary of executive administration") who is actually the power behind the throne of the UN, now Earth's ruling body; she smiles and snacks on pistachios in public and curses like a sailor in private, fiercely determined to ride over any opposition she encounters. And finally there's Prax – Praxidike Meng – a botanist and single father of a four-year-old daughter, more comfortable with plants or scientific reports than being social or having emotions, and completely over-his-head incompetent with the politics and violence he soon finds himself thrown into. The plot sets off when that four-year-old disappears in the conflict of war. A great many people have disappeared or died, and more than that are starving, displaced, rioting, or soon to be all of the above, so Prax is unable to get the authorities to care about one lost little girl. That is until he accidentally encounters Holden et al, and finds the team he needs to solve what increasingly becomes a deep, wide-spread mystery. Meanwhile, Avasarala and Bobbie are trying to convince the militaries of Earth and Mars to back down and focus on the real problem: possible aliens from who-knows-where, capable of doing who-knows-what. Unsurprisingly, these plots eventually intersect for a dramatic climax. I really appreciate how Corey doesn't focus on the action to the detriment of meaning. Yes, there's lots of space battles and killer aliens, but there's thoughtful insight on war and human nature too: “So you’re in an entrenched position with a huge threat coming down onto you, right?” Avasarala said, sitting down on the edge of Soren’s desk. “Say you’re on a moon and some third party has thrown a comet at you. Massive threat, you understand?” Bobbie looked at her, confused for a moment, and then, with a shrug, played along. “All right,” the marine said. “So why do you choose that moment to pick a fight with your neighbors? Are you just frightened and lashing out? Are you thinking that the other bastards are responsible for the rock? Are you just that stupid?” “We’re talking about Venus and the fighting in the Jovian system,” Bobbie said. “It’s a pretty fucking thin metaphor, yes,” Avasarala said. “So why are you doing it?” Bobbie leaned back in her chair, plastic creaking under her. The big woman’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth once, closed it, frowned, and began again. “I’m consolidating power,” Bobbie said. “If I use my resources stopping the comet, then as soon as that threat’s gone, I lose. The other guy catches me with my pants down. Bang. If I kick his ass first, then when it’s over, I win.” “But if you cooperate—” “Then you have to trust the other guy,” Bobbie said, shaking her head. “There’s a million tons of ice coming that’s going to kill you both. Why the hell wouldn’t you trust the other guy?” “Depends. Is he an Earther?” Bobbie said. “We’ve got two major military forces in the system, plus whatever the Belters can gin up. That’s three sides with a lot of history. When whatever’s going to happen on Venus actually happens, someone wants to already have all the cards.” “And if both sides—Earth and Mars—are making that same calculation, we’re going to spend all our energy getting ready for the war after next.” “Yep,” Bobbie said. “And yes, that’s how we all lose together.” Caliban's War is a incredible page-turner of a book, with wonderfully engaging characters, detailed worldbuilding, and enough substance to give the action weight. Plus, how can you not like a book where the bad guy turns out to be the military-industrial complex? Also there is a hell of a cliffhanger ending to this book. I'm really glad I didn't have to wait a year for the sequel to be published. Abaddon's Gate by James S.A. Corey. The sequel to Caliban's War, part 3 of The Expanse series. The plot is becoming hard to talk about without spoiling the previous books, so if you don't want to know what happened, stop reading here. The inexplicable alien presence (is it a virus? An AI? something else?) first encountered in the first book of the series has constructed a giant ring far out on the edges of the solar system. Earth, Mars, and the Outer Planet Alliance (OPA, a loose conglomerate of the various colonies on other planets, moons, and asteroids) have each sent ships to study it, but the only thing anyone can tell is that it seems to be a gate to somewhere else. Until, of course, plot events send several ships accidentally through it and into a truly alien, nicely creepy other-place, where even the laws of physics are mutable and prone to abruptly changing. Meanwhile, Holden is visited by Miller, who died in the first book and whose appearance/personality/knowledge the alien presence seems to have co-opted as a face for itself. Unfortunately trying to communicate across the barriers of species and millions of lightyears is just as difficult as it sounds, and what Miller manages to say comes across as garbled nonsense, often intelligible only after whatever he was warning about has already happened. The climax of the book goes small-scale, with two sides battling for control of a single spaceship, crawling through tunnels and fighting hand-to-hand. It's a striking change from the previous books that ended in giant confrontations with hundreds of ships while being just as exciting. Once again we have a new set of PoVs (except for Holden, who continues on), and though I desperately missed Avasarala, Bobbie, and Prax, I have to admit these new guys were pretty fun too. First off is Clarissa Mao, the sister of Julie Mao (now dead from the alien zombie virus) and daughter of Jules-Pierre Mao (now imprisoned for life for war crimes, due to turning the alien virus into a bioweapon and trying to sell it to the highest bidder). Her once-powerful and crazy-wealthy family is disgraced and scattered, and Clarissa blames James Holden personally. She's determined to get revenge – not just to kill him, but to ruin him and his reputation, and make all the galaxy doubt his previous actions – and she doesn't care how many other people have to die to make that happen. To get to Holden, she disguises herself as a nobody, an electrochemical technician on a minor spaceship, and finds herself spending every day dealing with people and problems that were once far beneath her notice. There's also Bull – Carlos Baca – head of security for the main spaceship of the OPA navy. Although Bull is far more experienced and sensible than either the captain or XO, he finds himself relegated to third in command because he grew up on Earth rather than in the Asteroid Belt, and Earthers are visibly distinct from Belters; it's a bit like getting demoted because you're the 'wrong' race, and it would look politically bad for you to be in charge. After an accident halfway through the book, Bull becomes paraplegic. I thought the handling of his disability was mostly well-done, and seeing a big, physically-imposing guy deal with being unable to use strength to enforce his will was an interesting twist. Finally we have my favorite character of this book: Annushka Volovodov, or Pastor Anna. She's a tiny, non-drinking, politically-unconnected, small-town Methodist preacher, determinedly pacifistic and married to a woman. She ends up heading to the Ring when Earth decides to send a team of artists, poets, philosophers, and religious leaders along with the scientists and military, mainly to show off that it can afford to do so, though theoretically to interpret the meaning of an alien presence. I can't imagine a character less likely to end up as the star of a space-opera thriller than a lesbian pastor who just wants everybody to stop fighting, you guys, seriously, why don't we talk about forgiveness and maybe organize a Sunday service with grape juice and a sermon about coming together?, and yet it works incredibly, unexpectedly well. I love Anna so much, and continue to be deeply impressed at the diversity of personalities Corey has written after a first book that was fairly disappointing in that regard. They even seem to be particularly good at writing women who are very different from one another but are all well-rounded, believable, and fascinating, and I would never have seen that coming. The world-building continues to be really well-done. I particularly enjoyed the many scenes set on the Behemoth, an enormous spaceship originally built to be a colony ship for Mormons but retrofitted due to necessity into a warship. The murals of Jesus and angels providing a backdrop for war counsels and weapons storage are maybe a too-obvious irony, but one that never failed to make me laugh. I didn't love Abaddon's Gate quite as much Caliban's War, mostly because the characters here were very good but just not as spectacularly wonderful as before. But that's a relatively minor criticism, and overall I admire Corey's focus on petty, recognizable human squabbling even in the face of worldchanging developments. I'm looking forward to the next book already. Confessions of the Fox by Jordy Rosenberg. What is this? Well, a damn hard book to review, to start. On one level we have what is presented as the 'recently discovered autobiography' of Jack Sheppard, real-life petty thief and escapee from jail in early 1700s London. Sheppard lived fast and died young, then proceeded to become an enormously famous figure in English folklore, probably most recognizable today as the inspiration for "The Ballad of Mack the Knife" in The Threepenny Opera. But Confessions of the Fox is in fact a novel, and though it otherwise mostly stays close to the facts and dates (as we know them) of Jack's life, here Jack is a transman, his girlfriend Bess is the daughter of a South Asian man who was press-ganged by the East India Company before escaping into an independant communal society hidden away in the fens of East Anglia, and his best friend Aurie is a black gay man. Just to be clear, I am all for this presentation of a multiracial queer history. A second level of story is presented through footnotes, much like House of Leaves (though infinitely less confusing than that book, since we only have two levels of story here rather than the four or five in House of Leaves). This narrator is Dr R. Voth, a professor of English literature who is editing Jack's "autobiography" for publication and who is a transman himself. Voth alternates between telling mundane stories of his life – his ex, his job troubles, his attempts to ask out a neighbor – and citing genuine academic sources to provide context for Jack's story. Voth is fictional but his sources are not, which makes for an unsettling mixture of truth and imagination; I think I would have assumed the academic footnotes were also fictional if I hadn't happened to recognize several early ones. I've read Gretchen Gerzina's Black London: Life Before Emancipation and Walter Johnson's Soul by Soul: Life Inside the Antebellum Slave Market, among others, and seeing them mentioned by a fictional character was like water to the face, confusing my assumption of what was real and what wasn't. As the story goes on, "P-Quad Publishers and Pharmaceuticals" in association with "Militia.edu" attempts to take control of Jack's autobiography and Voth's work on it, leading both levels of Confessions of the Fox to become critiques of the commodification of the body and its experiences, capitalism in general, the history of the discovery and modern patenting of synthetic testosterone, and how historical biographies enter (or, more often, don't enter) the archive. Which leaves us in an odd place. If you didn't instantly recognize what I meant by The Archive in that previous line, if you're one of the vast majority of humans on Earth who haven't read Appadurai's "Commodities and the Politics of Value", then I'm not sure this book is interested in talking to you. Certainly if Rosenberg ever bothered to explain any of these concepts in an introductory way I missed it. On the other hand, if you, like me, are an overeducated liberal who can nod pretentiously at sentences like "A commodity is an entity without qualities", then I'm not sure Confessions of the Fox has anything new to say to you. It restates various queer, postcolonial, and Marxist theories without adding anything to them or combining them in interesting ways. Like, sure, we all agree with Foucault that prisons form the model for surveillance and discipline by the wider society, but so what? Dosomething with that idea, expand upon it, challenge it, or else there's no reason to read Rosenberg's book if you've already read Foucault's. So then who is Confessions of the Fox for? I have genuinely no idea. The love story between Jack and Bess or the adventure of Jack's exploits should have been enough to carry their half of the story. I love me a good historical thriller of criminals and the whores they adore. But we didn't really get that here; we see Jack and Bess's first meeting and first night spent together, but then we jump ahead to them as an already established relationship without seeing how they grow together and build trust and affection. Similarly, we never see Jack learn to pick pockets or burglar houses; he's just an innocent apprentice and then suddenly a famously skilled thief. He meets Aurie once and then we're told they're brothers-in-arms without ever seeing their friendship. Etc. In addition to all this, it's hard to love characters who are more living examples of theories than they are three-dimensional people, particularly when they keep bursting into dialogue like this example: Bess stood, speaking to the entire room. “Plague’s an excuse they’re using to police us further!” She looked out. Most continued to quaff and quarrel amongst themselves. “All of you! They’re panicking the people delib’rately. It’s a securitizational furor they’re raising to put more centinels on the streets. Can’t you see that?” It's not even that I disagree with the concept of "security theater", but it's not good fiction to have your characters straight-up define it, and then POINTING OUT IN A FOOTNOTE THAT THE 1720-ISH DATE WOULD MAKE HER THE FIRST TO DO SO IS EVEN WORSE, OH MY GOD, DON'T PRAISE YOUR OWN FICTIONAL CHARACTERS FOR THE MODERN LANGUAGE YOU GAVE THEM. Ahhh, I don't know. I agree with all of Confessions of the Fox's politics, I want to support histories (fictional or not) with more accurate, multiracial, and queer portrayals of the past, and I've certainly read far, far worse books, but in the end I just didn't much enjoy this. The worst I can say is that it's unengaging; I found my attention constantly drifting whenever I tried to read, and even put it down for a few weeks before finally coming back to finish it. But no matter what its good intentions, that doesn't make for a book I'd recommend. In the end Confessions of the Fox has a fantastic concept, but unfortunately doesn't pull off the execution. I read this as an ARC via NetGalley. What are you currently reading? The Pride of Chanur by C.J. Cherryh. sholio is going to be hosting a tumblr book club, if anyone else wants to read along!

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#books #book reviews #james s.a. corey #jordy rosenberg #mark forsyth #long post

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world-of-asteria · 7 years

Text

Asteria: The First Chronicle

Ch-3: Fort Paxborne

Great stone walls loomed around the entire town, garrisoned by a number of armed and armored guards, ready for anything. Swordsmen marched along the walls, maintaining their patrol routes, while soldiers wielding long spears stood at the gates, prepared to repel any and all invaders. Behind the guards were the homes and stores of those who lived around Fort Paxborne, its own walls towering over the outer walls.

Alysia's eyes were drawn to everything that they passed by. She had to stop herself from wandering off more than once. Darian only chuckled to himself whenever she oohed or aahed at something.

The streets were alive with activity, people rushing about and stopping at one place or another before making their way to another part of the town. It was far cry from the quiet of Redleaf, where the most exciting thing to happen was the occasional traveler coming into town for some supplies and a place at the inn. This was by far the greatest gathering of people Alysia had ever bore witness to. Dozens crowded her vision at all times, with only brief moments of a clear path. In truth, it was almost suffocating, and almost unbearably claustrophobic. The big city was certainly more exciting, but now that she was here, Alysia couldn't see herself living here. The noise alone was practically waging war against her eardrums.

"We'll drop Eona off at a stable," Darian said, "then we'll stop by a restaurant for something to eat before heading into Fort Paxborne proper." He gave her a grin. "I think we've earned a decent meal after our journey here."

Alysia simply nodded and followed. The food was every bit as different from what she was used to as everything else. So many different flavors packed into one dish was absolutely astonishing, and only served to reinforce just how far from home she was. The beef here was of a completely different quality from the beef back home.

'Living in a big city is suddenly very tempting,' she thought as they continued along their way.

Pushing past the hundreds of locals, they eventually stopped in front of a towering statue that stood before the fort's gates. Carved from purest marble, the statue depicted a man standing to his full height, using a sheathed sword as an impromptu cane in his right hand while his left hand pointed forward and toward the sky. A plaque at the base of the statue read:

Stand strong in hardship.

Stay courageous against terror.

Be a shield to those without.

Alysia stared at the plaque for a moment before looking back up at the statue, awed by its size the odd sense of peace it seemed to radiate.

Darian must have noticed how the sculpture drew her in, as he explained, "Arthur Paxborne, the First Paladin. Centuries ago, he formed the Paladins from a ragtag group of warriors from all the races of Asteria and vanquished a great many evils, from felldrakes to mad sorcerers. His words serve as the creed of all Paladins."

"Hold on," Alysia interjected, looking a mix of skeptical and awestruck. "Felldrakes? As in dragons? Aren't those a myth?"

The Paladin held back a laugh. "I assure you, dragons are quite real. They're simply not very common. As for felldrakes… they're a particularly nasty sort of dragon. They are dragons who have succumbed to powerful dark magic, usually through becoming possessed by a greater demon." He took in a deep breath before patting Alysia on the back. "Well, we'd best head on in. We'll want to get you accustomed to being here."

Nodding, Alysia followed Darian past the statue of Arthur Paxborne, which she offered one last look to before turning her attention forward again. The daunting doors to the fort opened, pulled by a pair of guards standing on either side of the gate, and the pair entered.

Beyond the gate, an expansive courtyard stretched out, filled with countless training stations and Paladin-hopefuls. Alysia's eyes widened at the sight of a handful of towering lizardmen and men and women with feathery wings on their arms. She even spotted a few gray, impish creatures lifting blocks of stone that were easily ten times their size and more than likely weighed several times more.

"What are…?" She stopped herself from continuing the question, not wanting to risk offending any of the beings who looked like they could snap her like a twig.

Darian gave her a smile. "It's all right. Everyone tends to be a little overwhelmed by so sudden an introduction. Allow me." He pointed to one of the giant reptiles. "Belds. Tribal lizardmen who dwell in the eastern desert at the foot of the mountain range known as the Earthen Wall. Very proud warriors."

He pointed to the feathered people next.

"Az'kan, the bird-folk who live on the peaks of the Earthen Wall and other mountains around Asteria. A religious bunch, typically quite friendly as long as you don't mock their faith. Most of their fighters are warrior monks."

The last he pointed out were the imp-like creatures.

"Finally, the Dyl. As you've seen, they're far stronger than their size would lead one to believe. The vast majority of them live in underground caverns, where they run mines and practice the trade of smithing without peer. You won't see very many on the surface, seeing as how they're predominantly a reclusive race."

Alysia's eyes darted across these strange beings as Darian described them, amazed by what she saw. She'd heard about other races in Asteria, but she'd never seen any before. Was Redleaf so far out of the way that only humans ever bothered to visit it?

"So…" she said curiously, "Paladins aren't exclusively human?"

Darian shook his head with another chuckle. "Of course not. Like I said, Arthur formed the Paladins from the finest warriors of all the races of this land. He wanted to create a force that displayed unity above all else. In my opinion, I'd say he succeeded." He motioned at Alysia to follow, and they made their way through the courtyard and into Fort Paxborne proper.

The fort was every bit as awe-inspiring on the inside as it was on the outside. Gold-trimmed tapestries hung along the walls, each bearing a different symbol, all of which varied from one another, some slightly, some quite drastically. Upon the floor rested a carefully tended, royal blue carpet that extended from one end of the entry hall to the other. The ceiling loomed further overhead that the outside would've implied, with sconces hanging from it, lighting the great corridor as Darian led Alysia through.

He made a point to instruct her as to what each symbol on the tapestry meant. The entry hall also served as a sort of hall of fame, honoring the greatest Paladins in history by bearing their marks for all who enter to see. There was Gloria the Rose, a human whose skills in stealth and espionage halted an attempt on the current King of Lyonesse's life. Mez'ka the Drake, a Beld who single-handedly fought off a horde of invaders from the south long enough for his fellow Paladins to join him. Pey the Fleet-Footed, a Dyl whose speed was great enough to outrun a felldrake in flight to warn the Royal Legion of Lyonesse of the beast's approach. All of these people were legends in their own right.

"And here," Darian said, stopping at the end of the hall, just before the door, "is one you might want to know the most about."

Alysia looked up at the tapestry, wondering what it could be. It bore a crimson hue, the gold trim blending nicely with the color. The symbol upon it was a blue diamond, the shade bright in brilliant contrast to the rest of the tapestry. She couldn't help but to feel a sense of familiarity as she looked upon the design.

"This is the tapestry representing Alya the Bold," Darian explained. "Your mother."

A gasp escaped the girl at that revelation. Slowly, she pulled the diamond her uncle had given her from her pocket. It gleamed as brilliantly as when she'd first held it, like a cool star in her hand. She held her mother's very symbol in her palm.

"She earned her title through her daring and sheer stubbornness. She would take on tasks that even more experienced Paladins were reluctant to embark upon." He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Come. The Imperator will have to speak with you if you wish to be a Paladin."

Alysia followed as Darian made to leave the entry hall. "Who's the Imperator?"

"The leader of the Paladins," Darian explained. "It's customary for any potential recruits to be reviewed by him. Just be calm and answer his questions honestly. He'll appreciate that. Trust me."

Alysia took a deep breath. If Darian said to be calm, then surely meeting the man wouldn't be too terrible.

-o-

It was worse than she could have imagined. Alysia craned her neck up, fear crawling up her spine as she laid eyes on the behemoth of a man for the first time. His gaze fell upon her, betraying no emotion, which only helped to unnerve her even more. To make things almost worse, he wore only straps across his chest, leather pauldrons, and padded leggings, all of which showed off rippling muscle that seemed like his skin was straining to keep inside. Hanging from the man's belt were a pair of axes and a helmet. By all this, he had to have been one of the northern barbarians she'd once heard about (it still amazed her that she'd heard about other groups of humans, but never of the non-human races). He studied her with steel gray eyes, stroking his dark brown beard, which had the smallest hints of gray in it.

"So," he said finally, "you're the daughter of Gerald and Alya, hmm?"

Realizing almost too late that he was waiting for an answer, Alysia replied, "Y-yes, sir!"

A silence passed over them before the Imperator turned to Darian. "And you vouch for her?"

"She has yet to begin any sort of training," Darian confessed, "but she has her mother's fire. I've seen it in her eyes."

The Imperator hummed in thought at that as he returned his stony gaze to Alysia, who suddenly found herself standing straighter than she'd ever stood before. Tense seconds passed as their eyes locked, Alysia feeling as though she was being appraised, like a piece of meat by a butcher. She even winced when he raised his hand toward her before he even touched her, and when he did…

His hand fell on her shoulder like he was greeting an old friend, a wide, jovial grin breaking across his face. Before long, a boisterous laugh escaped him as he lightly smacked Alysia on the back. "Calm yourself, lass!" he bellowed heartily. "You look ready to collapse! You've got nothing to fear here."

"Um…" Alysia replied eloquently.

Smiling, Darian motioned to the Imperator. "Alysia, this is Imperator Brynjar. He's a warrior from the northern kingdom of Birginhild. That harsh land shapes both men and women into formidable fighters, with or without formal training. Natural warriors, all of them, and Brynjar is one of their finest."

Brynjar chuckled deeply. "You give me too much credit, lad. Now, as for you." He turned to Alysia again. "If you're truly serious about this, we might be able to make a proper Paladin out of you." He folded his arms over his chest, his expression becoming serious once more. "Darian can guide you to the trainee barracks. You'll be met by Instructor Strong Wind first thing in the morning. She'll whip you into shape in no time."

"Er, r-right," came Alysia's second genius reply, for which she mentally chastised herself. Here she was, taking the first steps to becoming a Paladin like her parents before her, and she can't even bring herself to answer with more than two words. It was shameful.

The Imperator's barking laugh filled the room again. "There you go again, lass! Better than other recruits! Many can't even get a word out when they meet me for the first time. Can't imagine why."

"There may be a few reasons," Darian laughed with a smirk before ushering Alysia out of Brynjar's cluttered office. "Come along. We'll find you a good place to lay your head for the night." Without question, and eager to escape the Imperator's looming presence, Alysia happily acquiesced. As they walked through the halls again, Darian said, "You handled yourself rather well, all things considered."

Alysia groaned. "How? I barely spoke to him at all."

"Most go through the same problem," he explained. "A man of his stature and rank scares even the most determined recruits." The Paladin chortled lightly. "You're lucky he's more concerned with what he sees in your eyes than whether your legs are knocking together."

"My legs were—"

Darian interrupted her with a lift of his hand. "I'm only kidding. You'll be fine." He went silent as they continued walking. "Just… do whatever Instructor Strong Wind says tomorrow. She can be rather… irritable… when people don't listen to her."

Alysia gulped down nervously, not totally eager to see what sort of person this Instructor Strong Wind was like. Her mind kept going into worse and worse ideas as they walked, soon leaving the realm of what made sense far behind and straight into what was admittedly borderline nonsense. Surely Strong Wind couldn't be that bad.

Darian stopped at a stairway and led her up a floor and into a room full of beds, which lined the walls along with small chests. A handful of other people, only some of whom were human, sat around on some of the beds near the end of the of the room, looking to be playing cards. "Here," Darian said, "is where you'll be staying until you pass the recruitment tests that Strong Wind will be putting you through."

One of the group, a black-scaled Beld with a number of horns, took notice of the pair and waved them over. The others only glanced over their shoulders at them before returning to their game.

"Seems at least one of the other hopefuls is eager to meet you." Darian patted her on the shoulder. "Go on. Make some friends. I'll be staying in the fort if you need me." With one last reassuring smile, he took his leave, while Alysia gulped down some of the anxiety in her throat.

With some degree of reluctance, she joined the group of fellow trainees, the Beld who'd beckoned her giving a grin that showed off his rows of razor-like teeth. He easily towered over her, even sitting down, a long tail swaying idly behind him, his beady, orange eyes resembling campfires in a strange way. Around his eyes was red war paint, which reached to the bases of his two largest horns.

"New here, too, eh?" he asked, his voice oddly high in pitch for someone his size, sounding reminiscent to some of the young men back in Redleaf. "How's about you take a seat, and we'll deal you into the game? Ever played ra'me?"

Alysia shook her head as she sat down on the floor with the others. "I've never heard of it."

The Beld just laughed. "Oh, then you're in for a treat. It's an Az'kan game. We can teach you as we play."

"Oh, no, lizard!" said one of the recruits, an Az'kan man. "I'm not playing with you again! I barely have any nari left!"

"Come on, Veln," the Beld uttered in an attempt to assuage the feathered man. "Look, why don't you deal this time?" With a frown, the Az'kan took the deck of cards and started shuffling it, the Beld turning to Alysia. "The name's Zo'gra, by the way. Pleasure to meet you."

"Alysia." She watched as Veln the Az'kan dealt out five cards to each player, herself included, and noticed that most of the other recruits seemed to abstain from playing. "Er, should I be scared of this game at all?"

One of the recruits scoffed. "Only if you value your coin. Zo'gra's unbeatable."

Zo'gra snorted at that. "No, I'm not. You guys just aren't trying hard enough."

A light chuckle made its way out of Alysia. Surely, Zo'gra couldn't be that good at cards. How hard could the game possibly be?

Within the next hour, she would've lost half the money she'd had on her if the Beld hadn't given it back, claiming it wouldn't be fair to a rookie player.

-o-

Alysia already missed the farm. At least there, Uncle Ezekiel allowed her to sleep in until a fairly reasonable time. At Fort Paxborne, however, she was awake before the sun was, startled from her sleep when one of the imp people - a Dyl, if she remembered right - walked into the trainee barracks banging a drum twice Alysia's size.

"Up, up!" the Dyl hollered in a tone that was growling and aggressive, but still distinctly feminine. "Time to up! You go training yard, now! Go!"

She didn't even give them a chance to eat breakfast, rushing them out into the training yard, just as the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. It wasn't long before all the trainees, Alysia included, were lined up as the tiny woman glowered at them while calling out a roll call, checking off names on a list. In spite of her diminutive size, Alysia found herself somewhat frightened by her. Her glare wasn't unlike that of a hungry wolf's, like she was getting ready to pounce on them all at once.

"I Instructor Strong Wind," the Dyl said, standing at her full three feet of height. "I train you. Make Paladins from dung piles. I talk, you listen, you do what told."

At the end of the line, a scoff was heard. "You can't be serious," said an Az'kan that Alysia recognized as Veln. "This is a joke, isn't it?"

"I'd watch my mouth," hummed Zo'gra, who loomed over most of the other recruits.

"Lizard dung right," Strong Wind replied in a warning tone. "Mock Strong Wind, get punished."

Veln snorted, holding his nose up at that. "What are you going to do? Bite my ankles?"

Virtually the instant the question left his mouth, his gut was greeted with a punch from Strong Wind. As Darian had said about the race, the Dyl was deceptively strong for her stature. Strong enough that Veln was sent flying for a good twenty feet before he finally hit solid ground again. Even then, he continued rolling until he hit a wall, which actually cracked slightly from the impact.

"Complaints?" Strong Wind questioned. Not a single trainee spoke up, while Zo'gra clearly held back a laugh. "Good. We start now. Twenty laps around yard. Full sprint, no jogging."

Alysia paled at that. "F-full sprint…?"

"GO!" Strong Wind roared, startling the recruits into their sprint around the yard.

Within five minutes, Alysia had cleared two laps, and her legs were already screaming at her to stop. She had to force herself to press on as her heart pounded in her chest faster than ever. Her whole body was beginning to feel like jelly. By the end of the third lap, she simply couldn't do it anymore, and collapsed, panting heavily. Nearby, Strong Wind shook her head and wrote something down on her list.

Everything was agony as Alysia staggered back to her feet. Any attempt to continue her sprint was shortly met with her collapsing again, until she simply couldn't muster up the strength to get back up again. All she could was manage to crawl into a sitting position and struggle to catch her breath.

A minute later, Zo'gra collapsed not too far from her, groaning as he literally dragged himself out of the way of the two sprinters still left. Everyone else had long since fallen like she had, rendered hopelessly exhausted from the run.

"Please kill me…" Zo'gra murmured pathetically, to which no one had any reply.

Before long, the last of the recruits fell as well, not a single person having done more than four laps, by Alysia's count. Every single person was in abject misery, moaning and groaning about their excruciating exercise.

Strong Wind just scowled at everyone. "Fine. Eat breakfast, dung piles. Come back when done." Alysia could swear the Dyl had a smirk on her face as they all crawled to the mess hall. Some more literally than others.

Their day wasn't improved by their first meal. As they entered the mess hall, they were given bowls of some sort of unidentifiable stew. It smelled vaguely of chicken, but that was about the only familiar scent Alysia could detect. The gruel even looked like the slop she and her uncle would feed to the pigs back home. Still, after that muscle-breaking sprint, just about anything seemed appetizing.

The gruel tasted almost as bad as it looked, but the cooks weren't offering anything else, and they explicitly said that there would be no second servings, ever. Not that she'd want more of this sludge. It was like… old meat that hadn't quite gone bad yet, but had long since lost its flavor. She had to fight back the urge to spit the stuff back out, knowing that she'll probably have to get used to it sooner or later.

As she ate, a huge form sat down across from her. Zo'gra grinned at her. "You don't mind if I sit here, do you? No one else will have me, and I hate eating by myself."

"Um… sure," came her reply. As if she was going to deny the walking tower in front of her. The man could probably snap her like a twig, big as he is.

"Appreciate it." The Beld then greedily gulped down his own gruel, and set the bowl back down on the table. It was already half-empty. "Not as good as back home, but I've had worse. And speaking of home, where might yours be?"

Alysia blinked at the question before she brought herself to answer it. "Er, it's Redleaf. A village not far from the south-southeastern border. It's really small, so you probably won't find it on any maps." She hesitated for a second. "I've… never met anyone who wasn't… well, human. I didn't even know there was anything but humans until just the other day."

Zo'gra gave a whistle. "Really? Gotta admit, that's actually impressive in a way." He quickly finished his meal, smiling with those razor teeth of his. "I came all the way from Dro'fenai, the desert to the east of Lyonesse. Born and raised in our capital city of Ma'zinata."

"What's it like there?"

"Very hot and very sandy," the Beld quipped with a chuckle. "My people are used to that, though. It's a nice enough place, I guess, but I wanted to do something more than just become a city guard like my old man wanted me to. I figured being a Paladin would be my best bet." He leaned forward. "What about you, Red? What brings a tiny thing like you here?"

"Tiny?" Alysia mumbled as she self-consciously ran a hand through her red hair. She didn't comment on it any further. Zo'gra was a massive pile of scaly muscle, so of course she was tiny compared to him, and her hair did stand out quite a bit. 'Red' was far from the worst nickname he could've given her.

To answer Zo'gra's question, she began, "W-well, I recently—"

"Wait, wait, don't tell me!" He hummed in thought as he eyed her intensely, scratching his chin as he stared. "One or both of your parents are - or tragically were - Paladins, and you're here to follow in their footsteps, for better or worse. That about right?"

Alysia could only stare in bafflement for the first minute. "How did you—"

"It's a gift," the Beld interjected. "I've always had a knack for reading people. Your body language since I first saw you has been screaming 'I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm gonna try anyway.'" He chuckled. "It's honestly kinda endearing."

"Um… thanks?"

Zo'gra gave her a nod. "You know what? I like you, so I'll tell you what; you need anything, you just come to me. I'd be happy to help." His smirk spread again, looking as natural to him as breathing. "I think you might be my ticket to some crazy stuff. Call it a gut feeling."

The only response Alysia could give to that was, "Er, okay. Thank you… I guess."

-o-

"Alysia's first day of training seems to be going smoothly," said Darian to Brynjar, the warrior sitting at a desk as he flipped through paperwork, which Darian knew to be the bane of the Birginhilder's existence. Darian had been keeping an eye on Alysia's training through the day, and while the girl seemed on the brink of exhaustion more than once, she seemed equally determined to keep going. 'She really is just like her mother,' he mused.

"Strong Wind knows how to whip people into shape," came Brynjar's response. "Even among her own people, she can be quite the taskmaster." Heaving out a sigh, he pushed his paperwork aside and leaned back in his seat. "But the girl's training isn't the only thing you feel like talking about, is it?"

Darian's laugh was hollow. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not particularly." Brynjar shrugged. "But you Lyonesians all have a habit of beating around the bush before getting to the point." A serious glare betrayed what he was going to say to Darian before he even said it. "It's about the Lady of Silver's prophecy, isn't it?"

A single moment of reluctance spoke a thousand words. "Yes. I was told that Alysia would determine the fate of Asteria, for better or worse."

Brynjar sighed through his nose. "Let me guess; you're afraid she'll make the wrong choice in the end, or get herself hurt or worse?"

"She wants to follow in her parents' footsteps. I just pray to all the Seven that she doesn't follow too closely."

"Have you even bothered to tell her about the Lady of Silver at all?"

"No," said Darian. "She's not ready. Not yet."

"For faen, Darian," Brynjar cursed. "If she's going to be a Paladin, she should know what she's getting herself into."

The Lyonesian shook his head adamantly. "No, old friend. I've a plan for this. When she completes her training, and only then, I will tell her the truth."

Brynjar gave Darian a steady stare before rubbing his temple. "Flammen's beard, you Lyonesians and your plans."

Darian smiled. "Plans aren't that bad. You Birginhilders should give them a try sometime."

"Og så kanskje du lærer vårt språk," Brynjar retorted, earning a light glare from Darian, who hadn't the faintest clue what the man had said. The bulky northman just heaved out a hearty laugh at the look.

#asteria #asteria: the first chronicle #chapter 3 #original story

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