Cold Shoulder

love was found: dead

I think that there’s such an immense difference between smut and just plain disgusting sexualizing of idols. there’s a beauty of writing in smut that’s raw and pure; simply within fiction that uses an idol as a model. but with every fiction is a border to separate non-fiction, and many times i’ve seen it crossed.

its insanely saddening how sexualizing idols has been so badly normalized in the world of fictional writing. like have you seen the film series After? or have you read the horrific smuts in this app that just borderline uses idols as a sex symbol?

it can get pretty sickening

how does this not have a million interactions omg. this is absolutely brilliant and perfect in all ways. the plot???? the characters???? the writing???? phenomenal. please read this and give it the love it deserves cause holy crap im bawling but in a satisfying way.

remember me not

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> the one in which Fate has bound the two of you for eternity 

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> ft. hoseok (with a cameo by jimin) 

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> fantasy; genie!hoseok x human!reader; heavy angst 

𝔴/𝔠 >> 14.5k (eep!)

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> sadness. just a whole bunch of sadness. there is also death, unrequited love and hoseok simply trying to do the right thing by you. 

𝔞/𝔫 >> i have a lot to say, so i’ll put the blurb at the end of the fic. i just wanted to say thank you to all who have shown me their love and support towards my writing. this is posted in celebration technically, but i couldn’t hide this anymore. as well, please indulge in the playlist that inspired me while i wrote for the complete reading experience. sending you all my love. enjoy (: 

masterlist

He yawns and places his feet on the table that is situated in the middle of the room. His golden slippers track dust onto the silk tablecloth and at his blink, the material is spotless once again. A small hum fills the room as he looks around and absentmindedly taps his finger on his arm. The power is itching to be let out, but there is nothing for him to use it on - nobody to use it for. Another yawn stretches his jaws and he hears the crackling from it in his ears. He sniffs and leans back, letting his arms hang loosely from the chair. 

Staring up at the ceiling, he catches the far away light that is but a pinpoint up above. It makes him sigh wistfully. 

Keep reading

Kim Seokjin

Min Yoongi

Jung Hoseok

Kim Namjoon

Park Jimin

Kim Taehyung

Jeon Jeongguk

ill post my edit here too cause why not

Leslie Odom Jr tells the story behind his performance on “Dear Theodosia” in Hamilton.

October (MYG x F!Reader) - Oneshot

Pairing: Min Yoongi x F!OC/Reader

Genres: interns!AU, heavy heavy heavy ANGST (you have been warned), sfw

Warnings: ANGST (did I say that already), a story about love that’s not a love story, some cursing, mentions of traumatic accident and brain injury/coma, mentions of hospitals and medical issues, mentions of life support and end-of-life-care, mentions of miscarriage, sadness and just generally people being assholes (including Yoongi), MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, please be kind to yourself and don’t read if any of these things make you uncomfortable or sad (your wellbeing is valued and important)

Word count: 8.3k

Summary: Yoongi can’t remember his life before the fall. He doesn’t want to either - being with you while the mugunghwas bloom is enough.

A/N: Hi everyone! Putting this out there that this is probably the longest (and angstiest) thing I’ve ever written, and I cried a lot while writing it. This story is based on the Bollywood movie October, which is single handedly one of the most amazing films I’ve ever seen in my life. This story deals with heavy topics (read at your own discretion), but I really tried my best to use my healthcare knowledge and some research to make this an honest portrayal. I recommend reading Being Mortal by Atul Gawande if this topic interests you more. Honestly, it was a journey for me to write this, and although it’s very sad, I’m really proud of it, and if you choose to read it, I hope it speaks to you in some way. Also, big thanks to Suzie (@lcksndkys) for beta-reading this and helping out on the medical side of things (she’s the best, pls give her a follow)!

November

“Hello, welcome to the Signiel, how may I help you today?” your chipper voice cuts through the din of the hotel lobby, a warm smile lighting up your face.

“Yes, can you tell us what’s good to see in your city?” The man’s accent is foreign, but kind. He seems genuinely in awe of the posh decor that surrounds him, and the subtle chill emanating from the sliding doors as they woosh open and close.

“Ah yes, there’s so much to see in Seoul! There’s Gyeongbokgung Palace, the Samsung Museum of Art, Namdameun Market…,” you drone on, sharply aware of a pair of cat-like eyes gazing at you from the corner of the lobby.

Your fellow intern Yoongi is there, mopping away at the already pristine marble floors, likely cursing his entire existence for accepting this internship. As interns, you expected you’d be in charge of greeting guests, taste testing the house specialties and coordinating events.

However, the menial tasks were a surprise. Sweeping floors, doing laundry, flushing toilets. Most of the interns, including you, took it in stride. Yoongi, however, was different.

Your eyes can’t look away from him as you watch him furiously mop, back and forth, back and forth, so hard you think he’ll knock the dirty bucket of water over and Manager Im will have his head.

Eventually his movements slow, coming to a complete halt. He lets out a deep sigh, the rich baritone of his voice cutting through the monotony of voices and travelling to your equally tired ears. He’s turned away from you now, instead staring wistfully at the beautiful grand piano tucked away in the corner, its pristine facade reflecting every tiny moment happening in the lobby with immaculate detail.

Glancing back towards the guests, you muster up another smile and offer them their room keys. When you look up again, Yoongi’s gone.

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The clinking of champagne flutes and the echoes of footsteps can be heard as you prepare for tonight’s event. A wedding - one of Seoul’s richest CEOs marries its biggest social butterfly.

You remember reading the groom’s name in a magazine somewhere, and now it currently dwells at the back of your mind. Kim Taehyung? That sounds familiar.

Banishing the intrusive thoughts of handsome Mr. Kim from your mind, you turn back to the task at hand. Napkins should be perfectly folded, not a single crease visible, and the edges should be neat and even with one another. Flowers go in the specific order indicated on your index cards, and candles should be placed in the center of the table, far enough away from the edge that they don’t fall and burn the whole place down.

As you finish placing the last flowers on the table, you’re rammed into by someone. The petals scatter to the ground, the petals creating a large mess where a sophisticated centerpiece should have been.

“Shit, sorry, I-. Here, let me help you,” the person groans out, ennui evident in their listless tone.

“Hi Yoongi! How are you today?” you greet him, carefully bending down and tenderly picking up each stray petal. The mugunghwa flowers feel soft in between the pads of your fingers, their smell light and sweet.

Yoongi lets out a sharp grunt of acknowledgement, as he hunches over and desperately shoves the flowers back into your hands, like a man possessed. As the last bloom finds his way back to you, he nods and makes his way towards Manager Im standing all the way by the stage.

Trying your best to refocus your attention, you catch the faint wind of their seemingly unpleasant conversation from where you stand.

“Need off on the 30th and 31st -- parent’s anniversary -- silver jubilee.”

“Hotel at full occupancy -- should know better -- go get a haircut and stop bothering me please.”

“Fucking fine, keep me here to do your dirty work, then. All I’m asking for is a job that’s worth my qualifications, you know, like the fucking degree I’m supposed to be getting for this?”

You wince at Yoongi’s last comment, knowing the words ring painfully true yet no one else is brave enough to voice them. Manager Im doesn’t bat an eye, ushering Yoongi away with a sweep of his arms and moving on to another part of the room.

As he huffs past you to leave the room, you offer a weak smile Yoongi’s way.

“Thank you for your help picking up the flowers again, Yoongi! I’ll see you later.”

Shoes tapping against the marble, he lifts his head but doesn’t turn as he makes his way out of the ballroom, failing to spare a single glance in your direction.

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December 31st

“You know what your problem is Yoongi? You’re constantly annoyed,” Yeri drawls, scowling as the whipped cream topping her coffee drips onto the ground.

You swing your legs from side to side on the curb, avoiding eye contact with Yoongi as he pushes himself out from underneath the hood of your car.

“You know why I’m irritated? It’s because I’m constantly surrounded by you two,” he gestures to you both and scoffs.

“Yah, don’t tell me you’re annoyed about me calling you irritating,” Yeri’s voice goes shrill as Yoongi flips her off, slinging his bag around his shoulder and walking over to his motorbike.

“Thank you for the oil change Yoongi!” you shout, but your voice is drowned out by the whirring of the engine as it fades away, the bike zooming down the road and away from you both.

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Tinsel and fairy lights shimmer along the vast hallway as Yoongi vacuums the carpet that is now full of glitter from the guests’ merrymaking. Despite the cheery exterior scene, the inside of Yoongi’s headset is blaring Seo Taji and the Boys, not Deck the Halls.

He’d unceremoniously landed himself in hot water with Im again, his frustration getting the best of him. Not surprisingly, Im had retaliated by putting him on cleaning duty the one night he knew all the interns were having their holiday party.

Yoongi groans loudly, blinking his eyes and letting his mind travel. If just thinks hard enough, he can almost imagine the bass thumping outside, the clinking of glasses as the drunkest one in the batch gets up to make their yearly toast… he can imagine you, full of warmth and laughter, sparing a smile for everyone you come across.

Yoongi hates that he can’t hate you like he does the others. That you’re always asking him about his day, thanking him for doing the bare minimum when he could be doing more, appreciative of his mere presence when all Im and the others want is for him to get lost. To disappear.

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“Yah, Namjoon, why are you on the ground again, are you drunk?” Yeri screeches, trying her best to lift up the gentle giant of a man who’s made himself at home on the grass by the pool.

“Druuuunk onnnn youuuuu babyyyy!” Namjoon shouts with vigor. Namjoon’s candid behavior has you smirking to yourself, thinking how nice it is to see the kind, reserved intern let loose and enjoy himself a little. Yeri seems to be enjoying it too, a faint blush coloring her cheeks despite the grimace on her face.

“A toast,” Seokjin, the broad shouldered senior intern exclaims, “to another year gone by!”

“Happy New Year!!” The chorus is loud and raucous.

Glasses are raised and hors d'oeuvres consumed, the golden lights twinkling in the night.

“Seokjin, another drink?” Yeri reaches out, offering up a beer in her hand.

“Nahhh, I’m okay,” he counters. “Besides, gotta drive home with Yoongi at the end of the night, you know how it is.

“Come to think of it,” you ponder. “I haven’t even seen him, where is Yoongi?”

You hoist yourself up onto the railing, dizzy from the effects of the alcohol reaching your head.

You feel the wet, slippery dew drops against your fingers and suddenly, nothing.

Slipping through space, the air whooshes around you as you fall, staring up at the sparkling lights one final time before you hear a loud thump and everything fades to black.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Patient is in acute respiratory distress —- I’m having trouble finding a pulse --- might need intubation,” the static crackles through the radio.

Yoongi was slumped against the hallway, eyes closed. Lost in a dream world of allegros and sonatas, he’s jolted awake by the jarring dissonance of a wrong note. Blearily, he rubs his eyes, but the note remains prolonged, piercing his eardrums.

It’s a siren. His pupils dilate as the bright red lights hit them. Something’s wrong.

Yoongi doesn’t know when he started running, or how, just that he’s skirting on death’s edge, skipping stairs two at a time, making his way down the emergency staircase to the ground floor exit.

He’s greeted with the sight of Manager Im, face blanched and brows furrowed, speaking to a police officer.

“Her name is ___. She fell from the third floor swimming pool, but normally no one goes there.”

The officer nods along, jotting Im’s statement down on a notepad, and it’s then that Yoongi turns and sees the blood.

A pool of it, and you, in the middle. Before he can even think, EMTs are strapping you in and lifting you onto a stretcher.

“Current status, 23 y/o F patient who will need mechanical ventilation, sedated, no movement. Pulse 110”, the voice blares through the megaphone.

All Yoongi can do is tremble, Seokjin coming to wrap an arm around him. He watches the ambulance as it drives away, wondering where and when everything decided to go so wrong.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

January 2nd

The fragrant perfume of gochujang and crackling of oil permeates the air as Yoongi pulls up to the tteokbokki stall, shaking out his windswept helmet hair from the frantic drive over.

Seokjin gives him a pitiful glance, Yeri and Namjoon both avoiding eye contact.

Yoongi decides to speak up first. “Dude, you could have told me what happened that night.

“Yoongi, I called you. I must have left at least 15 messages.”

“Listen up, interns,” Im sneers. “You will not breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not until the police report is complete. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Manager,” Yeri and Namjoon answer monotonously, Seokjin nodding along.

“Min,” Im says, “here’s an extra entry pass. Go and see her, and report straight back to me afterwards.”

Yoongi gapes at the keycard Im hands him, unsure of how to breathe.

“Yoongi,” Yeri breathes out, struggling to hold back tears. “Go and see her. 3rd floor, neuro ICU, bed 28.”

Yoongi steps backwards. One step. Another. He feels as though he’s dragging his feet through a pool of quicksand. If he doesn’t get on the bike, he wouldn’t be able to go to the hospital. He wouldn’t be able to see ___, broken and bruised. He would be able to pretend that nothing had happened, that everything was normal, that you’d pop up out of nowhere and say “Hi Yoongi!” with that wide smile of yours.

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“Dr. Sungchul Kim, please report to the cardiology department.”

The loudspeakers are garish and blaring, befitting of a circus rather than the serious, sterile institution Yoongi finds himself in.

Yoongi thought the behind the scenes of the hotel was the most depressing thing ever, but he was wrong. The white walls and the smell of antiseptic taunt him, reminding him of the way these walls act as a prison for lives barely hanging on. Lives like ___’s.

As he approaches the ward, he can make out a haggard looking woman with kind eyes, conversing with a police officer towering over her.

“___ was a good girl. She would never drink alcohol so recklessly, and all her friends at the hotel were such good influences. I know my daughter. She didn’t just fall, someone pushed her.”

“Ma’am,” the police officer starts, “I understand your concern, but we have to consider all possible options here.”

The officer’s conversation with your mother drifts away as Yoongi finds himself at the entrance of the neuro ICU. The guard gestures for him to remove his shoes and sanitize his hands.

Then, Yoongi is ushered into room #28 with a gust of cold air following behind him. He wonders if you were cold when you fell. He hopes not.

He tiptoes through the room, silent, as if one wrong footfall could wake any of the patients in here. People who sleep but don’t dream, don’t know when or if they’ll wake up.

At the end, towards the window, he stops and sees you. Small and frail-looking, bright spots of red and purple littering your entire face. They’ve cut off your hair, he muses. He remembers how you always used to wear it in a tight, neat bun, and how keeping it off your face highlighted your eyes.

And the tubes. There’s so many. Yoongi counts 19 in total, all hooked up to different machines and making their way into your body. He wonders what they’re all for, how they manage to keep you alive when you look anything but.

The nurse comes by to change your IV, and Yoongi feels sick. He’s an intruder, and he doesn’t belong here. Doesn’t deserve to be here. He turns on his heels and walks out of the ward, the monotonous beeping never leaving his head the whole time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

January 16th

It’s hot and muggy in the apartment, the pressure cooker letting out the last bits of steam as Seokjin scoops out an even portion of rice, placing a perfectly shaped dome on Yoongi’s plate.

Silence was never an issue between the two of them, but now, it feels overwhelming. Like both of them have forgotten how to speak, forgotten how to live.

The days since the accident have all passed like this, in still and stagnancy.

“I still can’t get over how swollen her face was, and did you see all those tubes?” Yoongi’s voice is gruff, hoarse from days of no use, from keeping his head down and changing sheets and mopping floors.

Seokjin stares at him questioningly, wondering why Yoongi chose to broach this topic of conversation when they haven’t spoken in a week.

“I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me just standing there,” Yoongi drawls on.

“Is that why you never went back? I’ve been there twice already, you know. Namjoon has gone at least three times, and Yeri goes as soon as she gets off work every day.”

“I-, it’s not that, it’s the machines. They make it hard to concentrate,” Yoongi counters, feeling ashamed that while he was lost in a haze, his fellow interns were using their free time to visit the hospital.

“She asked about you, you know? Right before she fell. She asked, “Where is Yoongi?””

The same feeling of sickness from the ICU washes over Yoongi again, his breath heaving and palms becoming clammy. He wishes he could admit himself into the hospital too, maybe then he wouldn’t feel so guilty.

“Bro, something’s wrong with the food, it doesn’t taste right today” Yoongi starts, hauling himself up off the ground. “I’m gonna go to the tteokbokki stand and eat. You want anything?”

Seokjin looks up at him, cheeks full of food. “It tastes fine to me.”

“Alright then, see ya later man.” The door closes on a concerned looking Seokjin, as Yoongi makes his way out to the parking spot.

The cool air on his face has Yoongi feeling lighter, breathing easier, and he feels brave enough to detour from the tteokbokki stand and follow the green and white exit sign to Seoul National University Hospital.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside, the ward air suffocates Yoongi once more, as he makes his way to room 28.

He sees your mother again, and another smaller version of you, trapped in yet another conversation, this time with the doctor. A sister maybe? He always thought you were an only child. Yoongi surprises himself constantly with how much he never knew about you, how much he could’ve found out if only he took a chance.

Passing by, neither of them fail to acknowledge the blonde haired boy making his way into ___’s room. Glancing again towards the end of the bed, he sees the same nurse from last time, clipboard in hand, recording your vital signs.

She takes notice of him lingering behind her. “Are you family?”

Yoongi shakes his head no.

“Her boyfriend then?” Another shake of his head.

“The other boy that was here, is he her boyfriend?” Yoongi’s throat tightens, but he somehow manages to croak out a no.

“Sir, if you don’t have a reason to be here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I hope you understand, these are the rules.”

She beckons Yoongi out of the room. He turns and gives ___ one final wave, passing the two women on his way out, before being cast out into the frigid chill of the winter air once more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

February

“Off again, Yoongi?!” Namjoon calls out, as the door shuts in front of him, and he and Seokjin hear the kickstart of the motorbike once more.

Yoongi’s been disappearing multiple times a week, firing up his bike and blazing through gas money. Somehow he always ends up at the hospital. Sometimes, he’s brave enough to go in and spend a minute, or five, or ten by your side. Sometimes he just lingers outside the ward, especially when he sees the nurse go on. Most of the time, he just sits outside on the bench, listening to conversations between the doctors and staff that work there. Yoongi would consider himself halfway to an MD based on the things he’s overheard sometimes.

Today, though, he’s possessed by the unknown urge to see you again. To check up on you. Maybe it’s based on the conversation he overheard last week between your mother and the doctor. About how you’re in a deep coma, and neither awake or alert. About how your case might be hopeless. He hears your sister cry, your brother (who he’d seen recently) with the doe eyes suck in a gasp, and your mother plead to give them some more time.

He wants to tell you that time’s running out, that you need to wake up soon or everything will be over. And yet, he wants someone to be gentle with you. To tell you that despite how hard it is, you can take all the damn time in the world. Just as long as you keep trying, keep fighting.

“Excuse me sir? This is a day pass.” The guard outside the hospital stops Yoongi.

“Shit, I-, I left my night pass at home. Can you just let me in please? I have to speak to someone, it won’t take long at all.”

“No entry without a pass, sir. Rules are rules.”

“Fuck, listen, I just need like five minutes please? I’ve been coming here everyday, they recognize me. I really need to speak to her.”

“No entry without a pass,” the guard becomes aggressive, pushing Yoongi away. Yoongi struggles in his grip, cursing out the guard with every breath, but he finds himself back on the curb, head held in his hands.

“Excuse me? I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re looking for a night pass. You can borrow mine.”

Yoongi stares up at the mellifluous voice, and does a double take. Kim Taehyung. The Kim Taehyung whose wedding he’d coordinated mere months ago. Before the fall.

“Are you sure you don’t need it?”

“I’m Kim Taehyung, I can get another hospital pass any time I want. My wife’s in the hospital for pregnancy complications. She’s staying for a few days, but I know she’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay. You, on the other hand, don’t seem so sure. Take it, please.”

“Mr. Kim --- Taehyung --- sir, thank you. Thank you so much. I hope your wife is okay.” Yoongi’s gummy smile shows for the first time in a long time, as he snatches the pass and presents it to the guard standing there with an astounded look on his face.

Kim Taehyung watches the other man with a wistful smile. Give a life, save a life. He and his wife couldn’t save their baby, but maybe for the man with the gummy smile and the sad eyes, there was hope yet.

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“Hey. Hey ___. Wake up.” Yoongi whispers, flailing his arms around, trying to catch your attention.

He yearns to reach out and stroke the short spikes of hair that now adorn your head, hoping that a tender touch would jolt you to life.

“___, wake up please. I have something important to tell you.”

Yoongi feels the tears building up in his eyes, and he wants to fall to the floor from exhaustion. Working shifts at the hotel, then coming here and spending time with you. He wants everything to go back to the way it was before.

“You wanted to know where I was that day? The day you fell? Actually I was…. I wasn’t around. I wasn’t there.”

Yoongi chokes the words out, reaching behind his head to ruffle his hair and relieve the nervous itch that has built up in his bones.

That night, Yoongi sleeps on a bench outside, the bitter tang of tears and unspoken apologies clogging his throat.

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March

For the first time in months, Yoongi wakes up and heads to work on time. The hospital was important, but today, the hotel housed something even more important. ___’s car.

The abandoned red station wagon is parked in the same spot outside the hotel, collecting dust that flies away with each gust of the spring breeze.

“What do you need this time?” Yeri’s voice is clipped and harsh as she approaches Yoongi by the parking lot.

“Did uh, ___ ever talk about me? Like in college?”

“Are you kidding me Yoongi? That’s what you called me over to talk about?”

“Yeri, please! I need to know.”

“No, Yoongi! No! We had better things to talk about than your lazy ass! Why would she have cared?!”

“But she did Yeri! Why would she have asked about me before she fell? And none of you thought to tell me either! People’s last words are special, they’re not just something you can ignore!”, Yoongi is roaring, rage boiling in his veins.

“Look Yoongi, I really don’t think she was interested in you. You guys were too different. Now, if that’s all, both you and I should get back to work,” Yeri says icily.

“Fuck that, I’m out of here. See you around, Yeri.”

. . .

“Hey!” Yoongi gestures to the valet, pointing at the station wagon. “Do you have the keys for this?”

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Your mother is a professor, Yoongi muses. Another thing I didn’t know about her, he ponders to himself as he pulls the now shiny and sparkling station wagon into the driveway of your family home. Your mother steps out onto the porch, wide-eyed and shocked at seeing the familiar vehicle being driven by such an unfamiliar person.

“You’re the one from the hospital. How did you get our address?” her tone is laced with shock and surprise.

“My name’s Yoongi, I was one of ___’s fellow interns. I got your address from Yeri. I’m sorry for not letting you know in advance that I was coming, but I thought it was time to return the car to where it belonged.”

Tears fill the old woman’s eyes as she breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Would you like to come in for some tea?”

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Everywhere Yoongi looks, baby pictures of you adorn the walls. You’re alone in some of them. In others, you’re accompanied by a mini you and a doe eyed boy. The common theme among all of them is that your smile is bright, eyes wide and filled with kindness. You’re happy. He’d never seen you any other way until the fall.

“Yoongi,” your mother calls out. “Please come and sit.”

She clears her throat, starting again. “Between here and the hospital, things have been so hectic, we forgot all about the car. Thank you for bringing it back for us.”

“You know,” Yoongi speaks, startling everyone at the table. “When I was a small child, I fractured my left arm. It should have healed in three weeks but it didn’t. I thought I’d never be able to play piano again. But eventually it healed. In the same way, ___ should have been okay by now, and she’s not. But she will be. She just needs a little more time.”

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April

The underside of ___’s bed has become a familiar place to Yoongi. Every day, he checks the bag filled with yellow fluid underneath, using it as his one sign that ___ is still alive.

“Nurse, isn’t her urine output a little more than usual today? What could that mean?”

Nurse, unfortunately, has never warmed up to Yoongi in the few months they’ve known each other.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Yoongi flashes his teeth and lets out a gummy smile. “You’re right, I actually do have something I need to do. Bye, ___. See you soon.”

The little girl is anticipating Yoongi’s arrival in the waiting room. He plops down on the seat next to her, and pulls out a book from his bag.

“How much longer until your mom has the baby?”, he asks.

“I don’t know,” she whines. “You should ask the baby.”

“You’re right,” he chuckles, flipping open the pages of the book. “Now where did we last leave off? I think our hero was about to fight the mighty dragon…”

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The bland mush of the hospital café’s offerings leaves a strange taste at the back of Yoongi’s throat. Huddled around a table all together, ___’s uncle is the first to speak.

“I’ve seen cases like this before. I think we should pull the plug. If she has to live like this, like a vegetable, what’s the point of torturing her? She won’t even recognize us anymore, is that what you really want?”

“Please Won-jae, don’t start again with the negativity,” your mother looks this close to losing it, hair frazzled and clothes rumpled.

Yoongi clears his throat, startling the table guests once again. He notices they all seem intimidated by him, as if he’s a stranger that makes them uncomfortable, scared to admit their hopelessness.

“Just because she can’t recognize you, that doesn’t mean you can’t recognize her. She’s still the same ___.”

“I think he’s right,” the shy boy with the doe eyes speaks up. Yoongi had recently learned your younger brother’s name. Jungkook. The younger boy had looked at Yoongi with stars in his eyes, asking him for help with his homework and talking to him at any chance he could get. Yoongi would spend every second of the day with Jungkook and your younger sister Sooyoung if it meant the sadness in their eyes would disappear little by little.

“Anyway,” Yoongi says. “I have to get going. I’ll make sure to stop by the pharmacy and get ___’s medications before I leave. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“No, Yoongi.” Your mother offers him a faint smile, tenderness in her gaze. “You’ve done more than enough.”

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May

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospital these days,” Seokjin says the moment Yoongi walks in the door. “I was beginning to think I’d never seen you at home again either. Not like I see you at work these days anyway.”

Yoongi ignores him, leafing through the fridge for anything to eat. He finds nothing. Disappointed, he slams the door shut, Seokjin’s broad frame cornering him against the fridge.

“Only like the taste of hospital food now?”

“What the fuck is your problem, Seokjin? If you have something to say, just spit it out.”

“Fine. I will. I’ve covered 6 of your shifts over the past month. Yeri has covered 4, and Namjoon has covered 3. I can’t afford the apartment anymore because I’m the only one bringing money in since you never come to work, and I’m this close to asking Namjoon to move in with me.”

“Your point is?”

“You know what it is Yoongi! Why are you doing this? What was she to you anyway, it’s not like she was your best friend. The doctors said it themselves, her chances of survival are low.”

“Seokjin, you’re telling me you only do something when there’s a 100% chance it’ll work out? If there’s a chance, even a small chance that she’ll make it, I have to help.”

“Yoongi, you have to start living in the real world again. What you’re doing isn’t practical. You’re not helping anyone - not me, not you, and not her.”

“Don’t you dare say that, Seokjin. Don’t you dare,” Yoongi wants to continue on, but is interrupted by the blaring of his ringtone. ___’s mother. Seokjin looks at the phone, daring him to pick it up, to confirm his suspicions that Yoongi is no longer capable of rational thought when it comes to you.

Accept call. With no hesitation, Yoongi leaves his best friend and roommate behind, revving up his motorbike and disappearing into the night once more.

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“___ has had a massive stroke. While her brain activity spiked, she wasn’t able to regain control of her movements. It’s likely she’ll be paralyzed for life.”

The doctors deliver the crushing blow to the family huddled in the stairwell, Yoongi standing in the corner beside them.

“You heard what the doctor said, and yet you still foolishly cling onto hope. Why can’t you all just be practical for once? What kind of a person would want to live like this?” Won-jae’s biting words cut through the air, and Yoongi can see their devastating effects, watching the hope slowly drain from your family’s eyes.

There were many socially unacceptable things Yoongi would like to say to your uncle right now, but for the sake of avoiding chaos, he decides to be gentle instead.

“Maybe she wants to live like this. Maybe she wants to live, period. Maybe she doesn’t. In any case, who are we to decide that for ___?”

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“Your uncle has the patience of a wild boar,” Yoongi says to you. He hopes you’re listening, that you can hear his rant. It’s not like Seokjin wants to speak to him anymore, so he only has you to let it out to.

“So what if you need the machines for a little longer? There are times when my motorbike doesn’t start either. So then, I just give it a good kick and it starts. The machines will do the same for you, so just bear with it ___. Okay? Just bear with it for me. For us.”

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June

The chill air of the morning greets Yoongi the moment he steps out onto his balcony, craving the iced Americano he always used to get from the hotel kitchen. The hospital coffee is absolute shit, he decides. And it wasn’t like he had money to afford fancy coffee from any of the cafés surrounding it. Seokjin had stopped loaning him money long ago, instead preferring to sulk with Namjoon and Yeri any chance he got.

A strange sight greets him across the parking lot. His bike, perched against a blooming tree, covered in a fresh blanket of mugunghwa flowers. He hadn’t even noticed the seasons changing, the sterile white walls of the hospital obscuring every ray of light that dared filter in through the windows.

An idea crosses Yoongi’s mind. He chucks on his sandals and makes his way to the carpark. Kneeling by his bike, he painstakingly picks up every single blossom, the light floral scent permeating his senses.

Not less than fifteen minutes later, he’s dumping the blooms out onto your hospital bed, dozing off in the chair next to your bed as he prepares for the long day ahead.

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He wakes to the appalled gasps and shrieks of the nurses, rubbing his eyes and balking at the sight before him. Your nostrils. They’re moving. You’re breathing on your own.

Dr. Sungyuk Park is by your bedside, the most renowned neurosurgeon in all of South Korea. The man who knows everything seems lost for words, and behind him, he sees Sooyoung and Jungkook hugging your mother tightly, tears in their eyes.

“Coma patients can often respond to strong external stimuli, like the smell of these flowers. In this case, it’s a very positive sign that we’re on the right track,” Dr. Park explains, and Yoongi feels the burden upon his shoulders lift with each word.

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July

“____, today at 5am, you opened your eyes. You’re doing very good, I want you to try to do a little bit more? Can you do that for me?” Dr. Park’s voice echoes across the ward.

Yoongi can’t believe it. A month ago, he brought the mugunghwa flowers to you. In that time, you’ve started slowly waking, coming back to life before him and your family’s eyes.

He rests a hand on your mother’s shoulders, fearing that the poor woman may fall over from sheer joy.

“I want you to look to your left for me,” Dr. Park continues, your orbs bloodshot but still beautiful to Yoongi’s own eyes following his finger slowly and precisely.

“Aaaand to your right please,” you follow seamlessly, the opening of your eyes mark the beginning of a new chapter in your story.

As Dr. Park steps out, your mother rushes to your bedside, gently reaching out to stroke the long bangs that now fall over your face.

“Unnie,” Sooyoung cries. “Your hair is so pretty now Unnie. Now please get better, Unnie. Get better so that we can all go home soon.”

“It’s been too long,” your mother sobs, collapsing against Jungkook. “It’s been too long without you, my daughter. Please come back. Come back soon.”

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Sweat drips down Yoongi’s back, restaurant duty causing him to hover between the dining room and the kitchen behind it, cleaning up scraps, carrying plates, and bussing tables. Manager Im has him working double duty on probation, threatening that if he doesn’t show up for his shifts, his degree will be terminated and he’ll never graduate from the management program.

Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t have minded the hours. In fact, the old Yoongi would have taken this chance at redemption in stride. The new Yoongi, however, is filled with butterflies. He longs to see you every day, to see your pretty eyes looking up at him, to ask you how your day went.

The other day, Sooyoung ran up to him and hugged him tightly, saying that after just two weeks, you’d moved from being able to open your eyes to croaking out words.

Eomma had been your first. Garbled in tone, but the meaning crystal clear. Sooyoung had been with you all week, trying to teach you the syllables.

“SOO-YUNG,” she lisped out, the air escaping between her two buck teeth. “Soon you’ll learn my name too, Unnie!”

Yoongi’s thoughts are interrupted by a plate being shoved towards him.

“Excuse me, waiter boy? Are you even paying attention? I told you to take this food back.”

“Why,” Yoongi seethes. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Don’t talk to me in that tone! This food already tastes like shit and we’re paying for it, bring us something else on the house.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, putting on his customer service voice. “I’m sorry the meal wasn’t to your satisfaction. Unfortunately, I can’t refund the order completely. I’m sure we can bring you another replacement that’ll be more to your liking.”

The man sneers, disdain evident in their expression. “Listen to me you fucking nobody, your job is to make people like me happy. You don’t have a life. I control your paycheck, and therefore I control your life. So, it’ll do you good to just shut up and do what I say.”

White hot rage blinds Yoongi’s vision, and before he knows it, the plate is clattering to the ground and his fist is flying into the asshole’s face. A scuffle starts, people jumping in from left and right to prevent the two of them from hurting each other.

Yoongi feels a pair of arms drag him away from the man, Seokjin holding him steady.

“Yoongi man, stop, just stop. Leave it alone, leave it!” Seokjin implores him to calm down.

Yoongi yanks himself out of Seokjin’s grasp, untying his apron with a groan and throwing it onto the luxurious hotel carpet. He can feel Im’s seething stare from behind his eyelids, but he no longer cares about Im, or the hotel, or this job. All he wants is you.

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As dawn approaches, Yoongi once again finds himself by your bedside. Except, this time, he’s not alone. Dr. Park is there, checking your vitals and jotting notes down on a clipboard.

“Dr. Park, does this mean she’s fully conscious now?” Yoongi gazes expectantly upon the old man, willing him to inject some much needed hope into his day.

“Thalamus… cortex… medulla oblongata… dorsal plexus of the spine. These medical terms have one spiritual connotation… the soul. And the soul never goes into a coma. Have patience, she’s trying.”

And with that, he makes his final notes and leaves the room.

Yoongi takes this moment alone to stare into your eyes. He’s never properly looked into them, he realizes. Even when you’d always greet him daily, he always looked past you. Never at you. He takes all the time he has left.

“____. Hey ____. Listen to me, can you say Yoongi? YOON-GI. It’s simple, just try it.”

You look up at him with a blank stare. No response. Yoongi panics, his chest becoming heavy. For a moment, he entertains the terrible thought that you’ll never recognize him again, that maybe he doesn’t mean anything to you, even though you’ve come to mean everything to him.

“___, please. Please say something, do something. It’s me. Yoongi. You asked about me before. Please, please. Look to your left if you recognize me.”

When he sees your eyes shift to the left, Yoongi almost sobs with relief. He wants to collapse and hug you for making his insignificant existence feel worth something again. But he doesn’t want to scare you. Instead, he lifts himself up gently and waves goodbye, pinning something on the wall before slipping out of the ward before the first rays of morning light filter into the room.

When he doesn’t come back to your bedside that day, your family is left speechless. Gone, nearly without a trace. The only proof he’d existed at all was the small passport photo he’d clipped to the railing of your bed, the black ink of the Hangul lettering spelling out a single word. Yoongi.

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August

The new hotel brings a strange feeling with it. Yoongi’s not used to the crisp air of the mountains, growing up among the fog and fumes of Seoul. He’s not used to having a fresh start, to being unburdened by the weight of others’ expectations. He doesn’t know how to feel, so he settles for just living for now, spending every day training staff and overseeing operations.

When the Signiel offered him a new placement, Yoongi was reluctant to leave you behind. He’d paced for days on end, chewing his fingernails raw, wondering how to break the news. Your mother beat him to that.

“Yoongi, you’ve done more for us than you could imagine. Please, it’s time for you to go on and live your life. You’re still so young. We’ll manage.”

And so, Yoongi headed towards the hills. The cozy chalet he worked at was full of nothing but friendly and forgiving people. He struck up a friendship with the assistant manager, Hoseok, and the two of them would often roam the grove of Japanese Maple trees adjacent to the hotel, wandering and rambling on for hours and hours. Hoseok reminded him of Seokjin, and of Yeri and Namjoon, people he should have held close to his heart, but instead, he let go.

He wondered how you were constantly. Amongst preparing the drinks, dusting the decor, and planning excursions. His thoughts never strayed from you. Were you still in the hospital? Were you home? Was someone taking care of you?

He’d given the nurse strict instructions before he left, telling her every little detail he noticed you liked or responded to. The nurse waved him off with a smile, saying he was a fool in love. And that’s what solidified Yoongi’s decision to run.

Love. The feelings he developed for you were dangerous. Love made people selfish, it made people succumb to their deepest desires without a second thought for others. Yoongi decided that wasn’t fair to you. You deserved to live out a full and happy life. You deserved to live unburdened by his feelings, feelings that were out of his control, but could have sent you reeling off the rails were you ever to find out. Yoongi never wanted that for you, and maybe he’d never find out the reason you asked for him the day you fell, but he’d made his peace with it. The mountain air had done him some good.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Peace, however, is a fickle thing. Yoongi’s startled awake in the middle of night by the blaring of his phone, your mother’s contact name lighting up the screen.

He scrambles to answer the phone, breathing heavily as he rasps out, “Hello? Ahjoomah, is everything okay? Is ___ okay?”

“Yoongi,” your mother sobs out. “The last few days have been so difficult. First ___ stopped responding, then she had another seizure. We had to take her back to the ICU, and the doctor told us she’s at a severe risk of cardiac problems. Once the seizure subsided, she started to become violent towards others and herself. They’ve had to restrain her.”

“Ahjoomah, I-, let me help you, please.” Yoongi pleads, tears pricking his eyes. “What do you need from me?”

“Yoongi, I just wanted to let you know since you’ve become so close. Don’t worry about us, this is now part of our lives. You focus on your work, okay?” her voice cracks on the last syllable, and the line cuts dead.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

September

“___, can you please lift your leg for us again. Please try one more time,” the physiotherapist asks, struggling against your lashing figure.

Yoongi looks at the scene with grief, chastising himself for leaving. After the phone call, he’d packed his bags and caught the first train to Seoul, leaving an apology note for Hoseok. Come the morning, he’d woken up in the hospital waiting room to your mother’s shocked face, catching the faint hint of disappointment emanating from her.

“Doctor?” Yoongi says. “Is it okay if I just take her out into the hallway for a bit?”

He nods a reluctant yes, and Yoongi wheels your chair out into the sunny yet secluded alcove at the end of the hallway.

He leans against the wall, looking at your face that’s lolled to the side, turned away from him.

“I know you’re mad at me. I’m sorry. I’ll never leave you again I promise. Now, don’t you want to get better?”

As Yoongi falls asleep that night, his phone buzzes with a text from Seokjin.

You’re back, and you didn’t think to tell me? The keys are in the flower pot outside the door. There’s food in the fridge. I made samgyeopsal, your favorite. Oh, and Yoongi? When you come back in, please take a shower. You probably smell like sterile piss.

He lets out a loud laugh and looks up at you, suddenly stopping in his tracks when he sees the ghost of a smile flicker across your face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bringing his foot down onto the plywood, Yoongi jumps on the makeshift ramp he’d built to commemorate your homecoming, testing it out for signs of weakness. Driving to your house each morning, checking out the ramp, lifting you in and out of bed, making sure there was fresh air circulating in your room… it had all become part of his daily routine.

His mornings, afternoons, and evenings were filled with you. He’d cook breakfast for Sooyoung and Jungkook in the kitchen. He’d strap you into the wheelchair and take you out for a spin every afternoon. In the evenings, he’d sit at the dining table with you and your mother, her professor side out in full force as she taught you how to write shaky letters once more.

Today, on his daily stroll with you, he’d stopped in the park for a moment. The weather was chilly yet enjoyable, but he still made sure you were bundled up in a coat and scarf.

Yoongi lets out a groan and plops down on a bench, right beside your chair. The falling leaves have him reminiscing on his life a year ago, and how different everything was back then. How you two were two ships in the night, navigating the same murky waters yet never crossing paths. And now you’d become his anchor, and he was your lighthouse, guiding you to safety and security every hour of the day.

“Do you ever want to go far, far away?” Yoongi blurts out, unable to contain his thoughts. “Where would you go? You never imagined you’d go into a coma, right? None of us did.”

The last words are a whisper, Yoongi being careful not to dwell on the past. All that matters is the road to recovery.

“Can I ask you one final thing? That night, when you fell, why did you ask for me? Why did you ask for Yoongi?” The door was closing on this chapter for the both of them, but Yoongi would always wonder about the what ifs. What if he had been there that night, what if she had never gone into a coma, what if life for the both of them hadn’t morphed before their very eyes?

A strangled noise interrupts Yoongi’s thoughts once more. He glances over to you, and is shocked to find your lips moving.

“Yoon-gi,” you croak. “Yun-gi.”

Recognition fills your eyes, and Yoongi is incapable of doing nothing but hiding his head in his hands, not wanting you to see the tears of joy that fall and mix with the dew drops on the vibrant green grass.

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October

The call came in the middle of the night, annihilating Yoongi with the weight of its impact, and for once, he’s the weak one. Sobbing helplessly into his sheets as Seokjin throws his arms around his roommate and holds him through the night.

____ had another seizure last night. Her lungs collapsed. She passed away at 2:27am.

The words echo in Yoongi’s brain as he makes his way to your front door, pushing past the crowd of mourners as numbness encapsulates his entire being.

He passes your uncle, hunched over in the recliner, weeping into his hands. He passes your mother, holding on tight to Sooyoung and Jungkook, almost as if they too will slip out of her grasp at any moment.

He gazes into your room, surprised to still see you lying among the pillows. You look so peaceful, almost as if you’re asleep. It’s the most he’s seen you look like your old self in a long time and Yoongi feels nothing but pain as tears burn in his eyes. Pain that you were awarded a brief moment of peace, of normalcy, before it was all snatched away so soon. Pain that you’d never live out the life you deserved to have, to achieve the happiness that you were meant to achieve. And he’d never be there to see it too.

He stays the night, and the night after that, and the next two nights, helping with the signing of documents and ushering the guests out, one by one, until it’s just your mother and siblings with him at the table.

“We’re moving to Daegu in two weeks,” your mother gasps. “For a fresh start.”

Yoongi knows that their paths diverge here, that in two weeks, all traces of you, and Sooyoung with her buck teeth, Jungkook with his doe eyes, and your mother’s loving smile will be erased from his life. He keeps quiet, afraid to say anything. Afraid to tell them that he doesn’t want them to go, that his soul that had finally found an anchor would be cast out into the depths once more.

“You know Yoongi,” your mother chokes out a sob. “___ loved mugunghwa flowers. They were her favorite. Every year, she’d eagerly wait for October when all the flowers fell from the trees and she’d collect them on a sheet with her father and count them one by one. Mugunghwa are known for their extreme resilience, weathering the worst of conditions to produce something beautiful. They’ll always be known as the “eternal blossom”, and I couldn’t think of a better way to describe our ___.”

The magic of the mugunghwa isn’t lost on Yoongi. He watches as your mother gestures out to a potted shrub in the yard. “____ had a plant of her own. Every day, she would come home and smile at it, water it, and tend to it. She’d pick the flowers when they fell and put them as a centerpiece on our table. I don’t…. I can’t just leave it here to die.”

“I’ll take it,” Yoongi says. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. It’ll be safe with me.”

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November

The heat of the spotlight burns the hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck. He’s going to suffocate in this damn suit. He’ll have to talk to Seokjin to see if Yeri would be able to find him a replacement.

With a flourish of the keys, he ends the song and clears his throat into the microphone.

“That’s all for tonight, folks. My name is Min Yoongi, grand pianist at the Signiel Hotel, and the piece you just heard was called October. Thank you for listening.”

A/N pt 2: I didn’t want to put this in the summary, but this piece is dedicated to a classmate of mine that passed away suddenly this semester. I’ve been wrestling with a lot of grief surrounding their passing, wondering if I could’ve done or said something to make things turn out differently. Like Dr. Park says, the soul can never be put into a coma, and I hope that wherever they are, their soul is resting easy and at peace. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

Will you do the Phases of Kim Taehyung 👀 the other ones were so good!

This one was HARD! There were too many to choose from 😭😂🥺 I might have to make another one as well...

Fledgling

Hard Candy

Saucy lil’ Pumpkin

Certified Tongue Gymnast

V is for Vampire

Fatality

Post-Apocalyptic Warrior Thot

Disco Daddy Warbucks

Bob Ross

PonyTae

Bangtan Sonyeondan

♡

all rights reserved © tannieschim - please do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

f = fluff | a = angst | h = humor

i do not write smut (sorry!)

further request rules are here.

♡

Kim Namjoon

coming soon~

Kim Seokjin

one last try | a, f, h

he's moved on, and so have you. but the fact that he has suddenly makes you question if you have. cause if you have, shouldn't you not care that he has? yeah, you don't understand yourself either: coming soon~

Min Yoongi

➳ one-shot

true love’s kiss | a, f,

marking the day of his death anniversary, you’re given the prime to tick the clock and love your husband back to life. two things to keep in mind: (1) indifference, (2) a kiss.

Jung Hoseok

coming soon~

Park Jimin

➳ series

when the camellia blooms | 1 | 2 | a, f, h

diagnosed with the hanahaki disease, you had only two options—accept a deathly fate, or never love again.

Kim Taehyung

still, it’s you | a, f | ft. jungkook

succumbing to a menacing loss, you wake up in the arms of a man who claims to be your boyfriend even though he looks nothing like him: coming soon~

Jeon Jungkook

wildflower | a, f

you were too late to be his first love—that’s okay. you take comfort in his reassurance that you would be his last. if only it were true. alternatively, jungkook’s feelings are unrequited by his best friend before you came into his life: coming soon~

one last cry | a, f | ft. taehyung

she broke his heart. you fixed it. she pleads him back. you give him away. how the turn tables, if he wasn’t so devastated—: coming soon~

♡

i am crying at 1am

A Piece of the Moonlight

➜ Words: 22.1k

➜ Genre: Angst, tad of Fluff, Historical, Mulan!Au

➜ Summary: For your loved ones, the people who are waiting at home, the people who have died - you will fight. And sometimes to fight means to sacrifice: who you really are and the person you really love.

➜ Warnings for underlying misogynistic themes, blood, war and death.

In one simple command, the comrades scream at the top of their lungs as they rush forward.

A blizzard of arrows swoop across the horizon and the enemies sprint. Swords clash in the middle as the two seas of men meet like the seams of two fabrics sewn together. It’s barbaric and vicious, a brutality that no one can ever be immune to.

The horses roar out, galloping ahead and leaping over the corpses, hooves marking into the dirt. Friend or foe, there is no fear. It is the destruction of humankind; a horrific massacre of chaos. There is mangling of flesh, pummeling down swords and battering skin. The sound of choking and strangled screams play like broken recordings, driving people to insanity. The battle ensues.

Every stitch and seam is mended by silk threads, each movement vital in order to keep the embroidery accurate; it is an art. An art that you are unfortunately unskilled at. One tug with too much strength and the strand would…snap.

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