#let's celebrate drag queens shall we

[sharksupermacy]

meaning

meaning- yoo jimin x non-idol! reader

synopsis: everybody has meaning but apparently you didn't mean as much to her as you thought

genre: angst, it's really short, mentions of alcohol, both of y'all sucks at relationship

everybody has different definitions of what has meaning. maybe it's money, power, or positions. maybe just a simple pleasure in life, like family. what had held meaning for you?

a strange question that you had found yourself confronted with. was it your peers approval? maybe it was the fireworks that you see every year? or was it her?

fate always had an odd way of playing. you could never tell what was installed. whether it would be for the good or bad, but yet you were always still damned to play the game.

here you were, yet again, sitting in a parking lot, your car's glass fogging up due to your shaky breath after seeing her. it wasn't like you had never seen her after the breakup; after all, she was an idol; she was everywhere. social media, banners, and your photo albums. you were proud of her for achieving everything she had ever wanted.

after all, it all came down to what meant more to her. you or the dream? a simple choice was made with no hesitation. maybe, it was your fault for being a hindrance to her dream. so with her dream, who had a bigger meaning attached to them, you were tossed aside. 

it didn't help that you were about to propose to her before she decided to break up with you on that fateful day. hateful words were thrown around, as you were always asking yourself the question, 'why?' were those endless nights of comforting, holding, and hugging each other meant less to her than her dream? what could you do differently to save the relationship? why couldn't you say anything in that moment of you two breaking up?

yelling. a pounding headache. a voice on the phone with her. frustration. throwing. the eerie, still calm that washed over her as you opened that door and saw tears running down her delicate face. and desperate-looking eyes that seemed to be searching for anybody but yours. a bag.

the last utterance of words between the two of you. spoken by her.

'i think we should break up.'

she picked up her bag as you picked up your heart. with a small ring that had sat in your jacket pocket, gripped in your fist. then the slam of a door was heard. that was it. the last of your relationship until you showed up to a party.

it was a nice gesture by your friend, who was throwing an afterparty celebrating their comeback album. the party was filled with staff, fellow celebrities alike, and people like you who were formerly part of the industry. 

there you had found karina tucked away in a corner, nursing a drink in her hand. despite being surrounded by people in her corner, she always seemed to look down at her drink as if it were more fascinating than the people that surrounded her. these figures included well-known and well-respected idols and producers alike, hoping to get close to her. as much as you wanted to reach out to her and take her out of the place and anywhere but here. maybe it was fate test you. something was holding you back.

Somi was shaking your wrist to get your attention, when you didn't noticed her while looking at jimin. "hello??? y/n?? you're not even going to congratulate me, your so mean," she sarcastically said as you turned your head to her direction.

"sorry, my bad queen somi, congratulations on your comeback," you said fully facing your friends.

"now, c'mon servant, we shall get more drinks by the bars," somi order as she slowly dragged you away from jimin towards the bar. slowly but surely as you being dragged you let go of all the meaning karina had with you at that moment. finally, smiling in the first times in months.

what i bet you didn't expect was jimin seeing somi dragging you away when looking up from her drink. seeing somi dragging you away from her tore her, as it always been her to do that when you were dating. all that was left of her was a empty hole of herself, and a fulfilled dreams of her that she couldn't enjoy without you.

in that moment a question entered jimin head.

did she still mean as much to you now?

a/n: mb i've been dead bc of school work not so fun... anyways uh take this as apology for being dead for a while.. before i throw the dani fic on the weekend.. also the other one that was voted. btw stream 'til we meet again (it's so good, vocal... hidden vocals!!!!)

#karina x reader #aespa x reader #karina imagines #yu jimin x reader #aespa imagines

[i-have-a-wonky-eye-too]

A Princess. A Queen. A Wife. A Mother.

Part 31

<Part 30<

All too quickly, your time at the cottage came to an end, and you were back to reality. Not that you hated it. You just didn't like sharing your husband with an entire kingdom.

After a quiet morning with Steve and a somewhat short journey back to Brook, you arrived back at the castle just before lunch. Sarah and your ladies-in-waiting stood on the stone steps, excitedly waiting for your arrival, and to share with you the news of the feast Sarah had organised for that evening to celebrate your marriage. You were thankful for their kindness, but you could tell by Steve's small groan that he was just as disappointed as you not to be spending more time alone with you.

"Do we have to attend?" You asked Steve as you looked at his reflection in the mirror of your dressing table.

Steve smiled to himself as he finished fastening the buttons on his uniform, "I'm afraid we do, sweetheart. With it being a feast in our honour and all." He looked at you and winked, making you roll your eyes playfully at him. Steve chuckled and stood behind you. He gently moved your hair over one shoulder and kissed your shoulder. "I promise, as soon as an acceptable amount of time has passed, we can sneak off together." He wiggled his eyebrows at you, making you blush and smile.

"Is that all you think about?" You teased making Steve grin.

"It's all you think about." He winked. "C'mon, we're late, and if I know my mother, she'll be send-" And as if on cue, there was a knock on the chambers doors. Steve let out a huff and dropped his head forward, placing his hand on hips. "Sending some for us." He finished his sentence with a chuckle.

You grinned at him. "Are we in trouble?"

Steve shook his head, "No, you're safe..." He winked at you and held his hand out to you. "Shall we, My love."

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

The evening slowly dragged on. Once dinner was served and the many, many speeches were given, it was time for the merriment. You were supplied with plenty of wine to drink and plenty of music to dance to, and you weren't short of dance partners either. The moment Steve let you out of his hold, you were swept up by Dum-Dum before being past along to the next knight, then the next.

Steve grinned to himself as he watched you and the men he had fought alongside many times, men he called his friends, even family. As he watched you genuinely smile and laugh along with them, he couldn't help thinking back to her.

She wouldn't dance with his men. She wouldn't even speak to them unless it was to order them around.

He knew he shouldn't be. Not now. Not now that you were his wife, and he was happy. Steve felt his heart twist with pain. He should never have allowed himself to be bullied into marrying her. But perhaps all the pain he endured then was what was needed for the two of you to be happy now.

Natasha appeared by Steve's side and gave his arm an elbow. "I can practically see your brain about to explode." She teased, making Steve roll his eyes. She looked at him in worry, "What is it?"

Steve shook his head, "Nothing."

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, "You're a terrible liar, y'know that?"

Steve chuckled, "And how do you know I'm lying?"

Natasha smiled up at him. "Your wife is my best friend. And she was right about the cute little thing you do just before you lie."

Steve's brow furrowed as Natasha smirked up at him. "I don't do a... cute little thing."

Natasha laughed and patted his upper arm. "Don't worry, I won't tell Bucky... if you tell me what's making, you look constipated."

Steve rolled his eyes, "Now I know Y/n didn't say that."

Natasha laughed, "No... that was, Bucky."

Steve shook his head with a chuckle. "Of course."

Natasha nudged him again, "Well?"

Steve drew in a deep breath and looked back to where you and Bucky were dancing, smiling to himself. "I was thinking about Margaret."

Natasha frowned at him. "What on earth for?"

Steve let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I was thinking, although for a long time I blamed myself for her affair and thought I could have been a better husband to her, I

would endure all the heartache again to be where I am now." He smiled as he looked at you.

Natasha nodded slowly. "Since finding out Pierce's involvement in everything and practically using Margaret as a pawn, in this wicked game he and Rumlow are playing, the Princess has started to feel a little sorry for Margaret... even Sharon." Natasha sighed, "She hates them for what they did to you, don't get me wrong, but she can relate to them in a way." She looked up at him. "I know the Princess, and I know she'd really have preferred for no one to have been forced into a marriage they didn't want or to kill anyone they didn't need to... but she also knows that if none of those things happened, then she wouldn't be where she is now." Natasha smiled as she looked over to you and Bucky. "I think it's time we all let go of the past, Steven. And enjoy the future."

Steve nodded. "I couldn't agree more." He turned to her and held his hand out. "Care to join me, Lady Natasha, for a dance?"

Natasha nodded and bowed to him, "Of course, Your Majesty."

You smiled to yourself as you watched Steve and Natasha dancing. "What do you suppose they were talking about?" You asked Bucky as he swung you around.

He looked over and chuckled, "Knowing Tash, she'll be teasing him about his constipated look."

Your eyes widened before you began laughing. "Of course."

Taglist:

@letsdisneythings @smile1318 @readawaythereality @dad-supremedeactivated04291992 @marebare21 @imjustanotherperson @slutforchrisjamalevans @summersong69 @gretavankleep37 @calimoi @noonenuts @nighttimestan @sarahbellesaurus @bloodyinspiredfuck @coffeebooksandfandom @lewisroscoelove @oceansrose2002 @teambarnes72

#chris evans #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #marvel #Steve Rogers x reader #king!steve rogers x princess!reader #king!steve rogers x princess!stark!reader #A Princess. A Queen. A Wife. A Mother.

[countrymusiclover]

42 - Happy Valentines Day

Part 43

Family is More than Blood

What suggestions do y’all have to make more chapters to this story?? I hope to make it longer than the first book but I am struggling with how to do that so send me anything big or small it doesn’t matter.

@secretdreamlandmentality

“Rae, where are we going?” Klaus asked me while I was dragging him by his forearm across the wooden deck of the large cruise ship that we had all gotten on. Hayley and Jaocb were off somewhere celebrating their proposal to each other.

We had put the kids to bed for the night giving us the rare chance to be alone just the two of us. So I didn’t see any problem with dragging him through the ship to do something from one of my favorite movies. “Don’t worry you’ll like it.”

“Raelyn, what is running through that head of yours?” I paused in my steps once we had reached the point at the front of the ship. Klaus tilted his head to the side in curiosity when I placed my hands on the railing looking over my shoulder at my husband.

I grinned brightly, blurting out. “Titanic me.”

“Raelyn, I have lived through the Titanic sinking. I don’t understand your excitement in such a film.” Klaus sent me a confused look.

Glaring at him I threw my hands up in the air wishing he could understand. Yes I knew it was a horrible thing that actually happened and wasn’t just a movie idea someone thought of. But everyone was invested in the love story that made up for it. “It’s a tragedy, I know Klaus. But I am in awe of the story of Jack and Rose. So just pretend with me.”

“Alright heretic queen. Whatever you want you shall have.” Klaus caved in stepping up behind me once I had stepped up onto the railing holding my hands onto it feeling the sea airbrushing in my face. I smiled watching him step up against the back of me brushing my hair to the other side so he could whisper in my right ear. “Step up on the railing now.”

Stepping up I sighed and he stepped up right behind me. His hands went to hold my waist and I slowly removed my hands from the railing. I felt slightly nervous. “You’re not gonna let me fall right, Nik?”

“Don’t worry, love. You know I’d never let anything bad happen to you.” He responded by moving my arms out away from my sides and he intertwined our hands together just like in the scene from the movie.

Shifting my gaze down to the water that was splashing against the ship. We were standing on the railing and there was a bright orange sunset rising beside our heads. “I was thinking that you would have said we are already vampires and nothing can hurt us now.”

“I could have said that yes. But I figured that my second thought sounded much more romantic and that works better since it is getting close to Valentine’s Day.” Klaus said into my ear and we just remained this way for a little longer. Once the sun had set he stepped down offering me his hand to help me down and not trip.

Closing the gap between us I wrapped my arms around his neck suddenly kissing him. “Thank you for this, Klaus. You are quite the romantic.”

“You’re welcome, Raelyn. I love you.” He wrapped his arms around my waist tugging me against his chest. He leaned down capturing my lips onto his until the kiss got heated and his fingers from one of his hands threatened into my loose blonde hair.

I moaned into the kiss gripping onto the fabric of his black leather jacket. We kept kissing one another slowly until we broke it resting his forehead against mine. “I love you too, Klaus.”

“So do you have any requests for Valentine’s Day?” He questioned me with that boyish grin.

Shaking my head I wasn’t concerned with it being anything special. Everyday with him is special and I wouldn’t change it. He could just give me a box of chocolate instead of a fancy dinner and I would feel the same level of love that he had shown me on our first date. “Nothing in particular, Nik. I have everything right here with you forever.”

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I heard footsteps coming in the room. Lifting myself up on the pillows seeing Klaus coming towards me with a tray of chocolate pancakes that he sat down on my lap once I had shifted to sit upright. “Morning, Rae.”

“Morning, what made you do all this for me? I know you normally choose not to cook for yourself.” I asked him stabbing a piece of pancake with my fork.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. “You do know what this week is right?”

“Yeah sure….” I swallowed the bite in my mouth but I clearly still hadn’t put the pieces together like he clearly had before I had.

The hybrid raised a brow. “Valentines day.”

“Which is on Wednesday.” I replied to him not seeing anything wrong with my answer.

Klaus chuckled, covering his mouth with his hand trying to not make me too embarrassed once I had realized it. “Uh Raelyn. Today is Wednesday.”

“It is?…gosh I feel so embarrassed that I totally spaced this.” I nearly choked on the bite of a pancake in my mouth. My face began turning red in embarrassment at the thought. Dropping my fork I couldn’t believe that I didn’t realize that it was already that day of the week. Hope was slowly recovering from just waking up a few days ago and Josie was adjusting to having no magic since she had put hers away like I had. I had yet to return my magical ability back too.

Klaus gives me a look of sympathy knowing that I didn’t mean to forget about it. Running a school full of supernatural students was no easy task. “Raelyn, don’t worry about it. I already have something in mind so you’ll just need to be downstairs and ready around seven.”

“Klaus, have I mentioned how much I love you? Because I really should be doing something for you today too.” I sat the plate on the nightstand getting to my feet before he made a move to leave our bedroom in the mansion.

He held up a hand stopping me in my tracks towards my hybrid lover. “Seriously Rae, I have told you too many times that I don’t need you to do anything. You are everything that I could ever want and need just by being you. No gifts required.”

“Okay…good cause I think giving birth to six supernatural kids is enough. And actually that means you should owe me six big thank yous.” I teased feeling bold with using my children as a sort of bargaining tool figuring he would cave like he always did when I ever asked him to do something.

Klaus comes forward closing the gap between us cradling my face in his hands kissing my forehead vamping out of the room. “Then it sounds like I have some planning to do before tonight. I’ll see you later, love.”

For the rest of my day I didn’t do much of anything since everything at the school seemed to be going rather well and we hadn’t had a monster attack recently either. I had looked through my closet finding a short red dress tat could be paired with some white tenna shoes. My hair was curled on the ends. Walking down the staircase my eyes meet the charming hybrid standing at the bottom. “Don’t you look stunning.”

“You don’t clean up to bad yourself, Mikaelson. So what do you have planned for tonight?” Placing my hand in his he helped me down the last step.

He shakes his no avoiding the answer to my question. “No spoilers. You know that spoils the fun of the evening mystery.” He was true to his word as always not telling me anything. Ww drove outside of our normal area and outside of town going to a restaurant that I recognize from the moment we walk in.

“Did you take me back to where we had our first date?” I asked him as he pulled out my chair before sitting across from me.

The waiter came and we actually got our same orders as last time. Klaus reached inside his suit pocket holding up two tickets for something. “Yes I did. Rebekah and Kol thought this would be a good thing to end the evening. I don't quite understand the concept though.”

“You've never ice skated. That's crazy to think that it's something neither of us have done.” I tilted my head smiling at the idea since it sounded fun. We had gotten our meal and ate in comfortable silence before we left for the rink.

Klaus had payed upfront and we laced up the skates having the whole ring to ourselves upon his compulsion request of the owner. Stepping out onto the ice where I tried moving forward but I did the splits falling on my butt. “Ow! Okay harder than it looks in the movies.”

“Let's try it together.” Klaus offers me his hands tugging me up to stand where I hit his chest. He pushed away from the wall and we were actually moving around the ice rather well for a few brief moments until Klaus’s long legs got tangled with one of my shorter ones and we tumbled down onto the harsh ground. Klaus grunted through his teeth landing his body weight on top of mine, till he put his hands on either side of me holding himself up. “Urgh! I should have known Rebekah and Kol would have terrible ideas.”

“Don’t give them too harsh of a phone call later. We tried something new we are both clearly terrible at and that’s all that matters. Plus we had some fun. I always have fun when I’m with you.” I brushed hair out of my face, chuckling with me laying underneath him on cold ice.

Klaus sat down helping me sit up beside him. He draped his arm over my shoulder and I nuzzled my face in the crook of his neck. “I love you, Raelyn. In my thousand years in this life I finally see enjoyment in this holiday.”

“Love you too, Niklaus. You have given me everything I ever wanted. And I know that everything we do together will feel just as epic as the first time we kissed.” Kissing his cheek he leaned his head more against mine. For that one moment we weren’t the hybrid and heretic. We were just Klaus and Raelyn living as close to our former human lives as possible. These moments would always be rare for us, so we just had to enjoy every second we could.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#family is more than blood #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x witch reader #klaus mikaelson x heretic reader #tvd fanfiction #tvd fandom #klaus mikaelson x reader fanfiction #tvd #tvd x reader #klaus mikaelson fic #ask box is open for feedback #wattpad fanfiction #comments really appreciated #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #indiana evans #oc : raelyn lane #tvd fic #rebekah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #valentine’s day #ice skating #legacies #legacies fanfiction #klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson #tvd heretic #tvd siphon #romance #young love #joseph morgan

[shannaraisles]

Devil's Dance - for @euryalex

A commission fic for the lovely @euryalex, featuring her Tav, Tara Lunarsong, and Wyll Ravengard - thank you so much for commissioning me, lovely, you were a real pleasure to work with! The banner was created using one of @euryalex's own screenshots.

Devil's Dance

Aevan will be there.

Tara shook her head, chasing away the inevitable suggestion of long-held fear that came with that thought. Aevan Covaldi, her former master and still a high ranking noble of this city ... yes, he would be at the ball tonight, held to honour Enver Gortash’s ascension to the rank of Archduke of Baldur’s Gate. No matter what she had done, or what he thought of her now, he would try his hand to drag her back under his control. She could not suppress a shudder at the prospect of being once more entirely at his mercy. 

A flicker of motion in the reflection, dragging violet eyes from their contemplation of herself to the entrance of the companion who needed her to be on top of this tonight. Wyll looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt, hands twitching at the finery they had procured for the evening. They had been invited, they would play their part. After all, this was the life that awaited him when his own father eventually chose to step down. He would be the next Duke Ravengard of the Gate, as was his birthright. 

The reluctance on his face was covered in an instant as she turned to greet him, replaced with the warm smile that she had grown so accustomed to from him. No day was now complete without at least one of those smiles from Wyll, and he never seemed to tire of bestowing them upon her. This time, however, it was touched with something that drew more heat to her skin, promising a thrill they had flirted with just barely over the weeks they had been travelling together. 

“Tara, you look ...” He spread his hands, that smile deepening at his own loss for words. “Beautiful barely touches the radiance I see before me.”

She laughed, cheeks warming with almost shy delight at his appreciation. 

“It is a wonder what well made clothing can do for even the most dowdy person,” she agreed, a teasing tilt to her head as she took the hand he offered to her. 

“You jest, surely,” he said, holding her arm out so that he could drink in the magnificence of his companion clad in silk and velvet to match the jewel-dark tones of her hair and eyes. “It is not the dress that makes you shine, my lady.”

“And it is not your finery that draws my eyes, but the good heart and soul behind your every word and action,” was her tender response, fingers squeezing his for a brief moment before her smile faded. “Are you ready to do this?”

He held her gaze for an uncomfortable moment, stone eye and living both seeming to share the pain of his reluctant duty with her. 

“In truth, I do not believe I shall ever be ready to be a part of this vipers’ nest we call high society,” he confessed. “But it is my father’s wish - and our own design - that I attend this evening. I am grateful that you will be at my side.”

“You have no idea how much I echo that sentiment.”

“Then, my dearest lady, shall we enter the dragon’s lair together?” Wyll drew her hand to the crook of his arm, laying his palm with warm comfort over her fingers. “I will not leave your side, I swear it.”

Tara let her relief show in her own smile as she curled her hands to his elbow, the two of them stepping from the rooms they had been given to make their way down to the entry hall. The ball was already in full swing, the new Archduke presiding over the celebration of those who knew his purpose and those innocent of it. As his guests, and guests of Duke Ravengard, they should have been downstairs over an hour ago. They could not put it off any longer. 

The grands doors opened, their names announced to the gathering, and all eyes fell upon them. And what did those eyes see? A half-elven sorceress arrayed like a queen, on the arm of the Blade of Frontiers, the devil son of Duke Ravengard. Those same eyes lingered on the horns that curled from Wyll’s head, one the warning flicker of lightning at the fingertips of his companion when she noted too many recoiling in disgust and fear. It did not matter how much Duke Ulder may declare his faith in his son - the transformation visited upon him by Mizora would forever be the first impression he made upon those he met. The nobility could be ruthless if they spotted weakness; Tara curled her fingers tighter to Wyll’s sleeve. They could not show any weakness here. 

“Ah, my guests! At last you grace us with your presence!”

Gortash’s voice cut through the silence, and it seemed as though the room took a breath. 

“My lord.” Wyll bowed, though his hand did not leave Tara’s as she inclined her head to the devious man sat above them. “Our apologies for our tardiness.”

Gortash’s smile was painfully knowing, the tadpoles squirming in their heads as his regard focused on them. 

“No apology is needed, I assure you,” he declared. “Were my companion such a rare jewel, I too would delay sharing her with the world.”

Tara managed to turn her grimace at the implication into a dignified sneer of a smile, glad when Gortash seemed to dismiss them with a wave of his hand, extorting the musicians to play once more. Allowed to accept the newcomers in their midst by their newest leader, the nobles and their warriors and spies turned back to their own scheming and sniping ... all but one. 

She felt his gaze before she found him in the crowd, standing tall, displaying the scars she had left on him with an almost perverted pride. Wyll must have felt her stiffen at his side, drawing her just a little closer into the warmth of his presence, his free hand returning to rest with tenderness over her fingers at his elbow as Aevan Corvaldi moved to intercept them. The man’s eyes settled with snake-like certainty on Tara, and for just a moment, she was thrown back in time, gripped in the vice of memory so tightly she could barely breathe. She remembered the leash settled about her neck, metaphorical in nature but oh, so real for so many years. She remembered the rules, the punishments, the suppression of her very being, cold numbness spreading through her chest ... and felt Wyll’s hand squeeze her own, heard him clear his throat to address the source of her age-old terror with no fear at all. 

“I notice your eyes lingering where they should not,” the Blade of Frontiers said, his shoulders somehow broadening  as he drew himself up, prepared to step between them if necessary. “You are?”

“An old friend.” Aevan’s smile was still as charming as it had always been, even with the steel-sharp edge of fury lingering deep behind his eyes. “You are thriving, I see, Tamara.”

With the numbness of fear fading, Tara looked into those eyes and felt ... nothing. No anger, no disgust ... no fear. Her lips twitched, almost betraying the smile that wanted to show itself as she acknowledged that finally this man had no hold over her. There was the uncomfortable stirring of the tadpole in her mind, telling her that Aevan, too, had been implanted, yet she felt nothing but pity for his state. After all, if she and her party were to find success, he would at last be defeated in every way that mattered to him. He would have to acknowledge that he was just one among many, and as powerless as so many of the souls he had ground beneath his heel over time. 

“No thanks to you, Lord Corvaldi,” she said, her fingers answering Wyll’s squeeze as reassuringly as she could. 

“Oh, come now.” Her former monster laughed his amiable laugh, but the coldness behind his gaze could not be wholly denied. He wanted her even more, now that she had proven she had no need for him. “You and I were very good together. Perhaps we could be again, away from this demonic underling you have acquired in my absence.”

This time, it was Wyll who stiffened at her side, stinging from the implication, and she who calmed him before he could speak in answer, marvelling at her calmness in the face of such blatant attempts at manipulation.

“I think, Lord Corvaldi, you will find that I am better in your absence,” she informed him. “I have no need for underlings when I have companions who choose to stand by me. But, of course, you would not understand that. You have no use for true loyalty, something I am certain the Archduke would confirm. Enjoy your evening.”

She offered him her sweetest smile, turning away with her blood singing in her veins, drawing Wyll away from the darkness of her past and further into the throne that might contain his future. He stepped smoothly with her, but she could feel that he was steaming with anger at the unseemly encounter.

“Easy,” she murmured. “I have been around people like this enough to know that he cannot do anything to me. But he should not have said that about you.”

“He said nothing that others are not thinking,” Wyll sighed in return, lowering his head so only she could hear the regret in his speech. “For all my father’s posturing, they will only ever see me as the devil in their midst.”

“The Devil Duke of Baldur’s Gate does have a certain ring to it,” she mused, trying to lighten the moment for him as the soft cadence of music reached them through the crowd. “Dance with me, dear heart. Let’s show them you are so much more than they seem to think.”

This drew a faint chuckle from his lips, the sense of acceptance there even as he stepped back to bow to her. It was the minuet they had first danced together in camp so many weeks before, steps that came now as easily as breathing to them both. Fingers barely touching as they passed one another, eyes locked on one another even as the crowd dispersed around them, all eyes on the devil and his lady as they promenaded across the floor in perfect time, each one in sync with the other as easily as their heartbeats found a similar rhythm. 

And there, in the gentle swirl of motion and intimacy, was the intrusion of voices, as the tadpoles squirming in their minds gave them glimpses into the judgement of the people watching them. 

... fiendish power to hold over us ... is this beast to be our next duke ... must have sold her soul to him for this favour ... Lord Gortash’s hell hound ... 

Tara saw the words strike Wyll to the core, saw him falter in his steps. She abandoned the dance, stepping close, curling her hands to his cheeks, drawing him down. 

“No,” she whispered, violet eyes burning her fierce denial into his. “You are Wyll Ravengard, Blade of Frontiers, hero of the Sword Coast. You are a good man, no matter the appearance you wear. You do not belong in this nest of vipers.”

WIthout a second thought for how it might look, or who might be offended, she pulled him to her, lips seeking his to still the roiling recriminations in his mind and sweep his thoughts clean of the judgement of others. Her fingers poured deliberately over his jaw, to his neck, gripping the butter-soft velvet of his doublet between his shoulderblades, dragging herself closer, ever closer into his arms as he clung to her. His kiss was almost desperate, needing to believe her, needing to know he was not what all these strangers wanted to see him as. 

“Tara ...” Her name drawn from his lips in a fervent whisper as she gently parted her lips from his, sharing his breath with her as he shuddered in her grasp. “What am I doing here? I cannot be what he wishes of me.”

She smiled, brushing the tip of her nose to his, fully aware that his father, the source of all his insecurities and uncertainties, was watching their every move. Aware that he would know she was responsible for his son’s happiness, even if that happiness meant abandoning the duty the old man kept forcing upon him. 

“Then be what you wish to be,” she whispered back to him. “Stay with me. Let’s see what we can become together.”

She felt a second shudder tremble through him, taking with it the burden of not knowing if he could walk away from the life that had been proscribed for him since birth. Of course he could walk away; so long as she walked at his side, he could do anything. And here she was, promising she would walk that path with him. 

His lips parted, curving into broad grin as he pressed a swift kiss to her mouth, drawing his courage.

“Be ready, my dear one.”

Then he turned to the company, who stared at the two of them as though they had lost their minds, as though their little display of fierce devotion was the very height of offence. 

“My lords, my ladies, and company all,” he announced. “I thank you for your cold indifference and unfeeling judgement. Rest assured, there will be no Devil Duke of the Gate. I have no desire to be a part of this company of thieves and villains. Please, make merry while you can. Your time is growing short.”

With a flourishing bow, he wrapped his arm about Tara’s waist. She drew the symbol in the air, mouthed the words, and suddenly they stood at the doors through which they had entered, a blast of force from his hand blowing them open with a careless gesture. They turned back to the crowd for a last bow, each noting the fury on the face of the Archduke and the quiet pride in the respectful nod from Duke Ulder before dismissing them all as easily as they themselves had been dismissed. Gortash’s opinion meant nothing to them, but the Duke’s smile was all the approval Wyll needed. Tara’s smile was heartfelt as she nodded back to him, turning to her Blade once more. 

And, arm in arm, the Blade of Frontiers and the Lily of the Valley stepped out from beneath the expectations of others, into a world of their own making.

#euryalex #oc - tara lunarsong #wyll ravengard #baldur's gate 3 #blade of frontiers #blade of avernus #fluff #dancing #wyll x tara #wyll/oc #wyll/tav #politics #enver gortash #duke ulder #oc - aevan corvaldi #so much fun to write this #if you like what you've read please consider commissioning me #information can be found on my page

[feyhunter78]

Moonflowers (1/16)

Description: Dreams of love have always haunted her, and now Halaena finds herself reunited with Jacaerys, the sweet boy who always listened. Now he is older, bolder, and she finds herself thinking that maybe it would be alright if those dreams came true.

Sometimes time ran differently for Heleana, weeks would fly by in the blink of an eye, then hours would drag as long as years, and she had no way of telling which would happen when. At three and ten she was set to marry her brother, a boy of six and ten who made no move to hide his distaste for her. A year later she would give birth to her twins, that year flew by, but each night Aegon came to lay with her drunk and angry, those hours would drag on for years and years.

She noticed how her mind fluttered from topic to topic, how she would wake up in tears over the dreams she’d been cursed with, but most of all she noticed how her mind quieted in the presence of Jacaerys. He’d been ten when she’d married Aegon, still a boy with fluffy brown hair that clung to his mother’s leg. But he’d grown since then. No longer did he cling to his mother’s leg, but he stood beside her, tall and proud.

He'd seek her out, bring her bugs he’d found on Dragonstone, trinkets he’d collected from the markets, and listened to her talk. She liked that the most, that Jacaerys listened. No sighs of annoyance or grimaces, he would listen patiently, and ask questions that made her think. She found herself wandering to the training grounds under the excuse of watching her brothers, but her eyes were always drawn to Jacaerys.

His hair had grown and smoothed itself out. His face once childlike and rounded was now chiseled and strong. He swung his sword with confidence, and his kindness shown through in the way he would stop and help his brother correct his stance. Or how he would collect water for her brothers even though he knew they would refuse it.

When he spotted her, he would wave, and she couldn’t stop herself from waving back. Each time, he would trot over and engage her in a quick conversation, before Aegon and Aemond would intervene. Then she would be sent inside, and he would give her an apologetic smile. She didn’t blame him though, for all the anger her mother tried to instill in her, she could never blame Jacaerys.

The tourney was in celebration of the twins’ fourth name day. Heleana was seated up in the stands with her lady-in-waiting Alyra beside her. Heleana had confided in Alyra since they were children, but the further development of strange feelings for Jacaerys she’d kept to herself. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, or a trick, but she’d grown closer to Jacaerys since his family had returned to King’s Landing, and she wondered if he felt the same strange way she did.

“Jace is up next.” She told Alyra excitedly, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the brown-haired man. He stood next to his father, sword at his hip, as they watched the duelers. As if sensing her gaze, Jacaerys looked towards her and tossed her a quick smile.

“Jace? I didn’t know you and the prince were so comfortable.” Alyra teased, leaning into Heleana as she spoke.

Heleana looked down at her lap. “We are family after all.”

“Yes, but only through the crown princess, so it’s not as bad as a direct relation.” Alyra crinkled her nose.

Heleana was aware her companion was unnerved by the “unholy” relations the Targaryens participated in. It was something Alyra and the queen had in common. Heleana herself couldn’t say either way, but when pressed, she confessed to Alyra that she wished she’d been allowed to marry for love.

“Oh hush.” Heleana said, swatting Alyra’s hand as Jacaerys came closer, his lance pointed towards Heleana.

“Princess, if I might request your favor?”

Heleana nodded and wrapped her embroidered ribbon around his weapon. “I wish you luck.”

“With this, I don’t need luck, princess, your beauty and kindness shall see me through.”

Alyra bit back a smile as Heleana let out a barely audible squeal.

“He’s very charming, is he not?” Alyra commented, a teasing smile on her face.

“A few words of flattery and you two are giggling like children.” Aemond sat beside Alyra nodding to them both.

Alyra tensed and bowed her head towards Aemond. She in turn had confessed her own strange feelings towards Heleana’s brother, but she like Heleana was not given the chance at love.

Alyra gathered her skirts, suddenly quite pale. “I’m afraid I may have left a candle burning in my chambers, I must go check, please excuse me.” She rose quickly and headed back towards the castle, ignoring Heleana and Aemond’s calls.

“She runs away quite often, doesn’t she.” Aemond commented, a hint of a laugh in his voice, his eye following Alyra.

“Perhaps from you, as you are the one who follows her day and night. The one who nearly ruined her chances at a successful betrothal.” Heleana said simply, her eyes watching as Jacaerys fought his opponent. She flinched when the other man slashed his arm, but Jacaerys pushed back.

“Shall I go after her then? Give her my sincerest apologies?” Aemond asked, trying to be coy, but she could see he was halfway out of his seat already.

“I don’t truly trust her betrothed, will you—” Aemond was already gone. She rolled her eyes at her brother’s impatience and turned back to the match. A roar came up from the crowd and Jacaerys’ opponent hit the ground, Jacaerys standing above him, lance in hand. Nausea bubbled up in her stomach and she fled the stands.

She hid herself in the dragonpit, stroking Dreamfyre’s scales as she whispered to her. Being with her dragon calmed her, her girl seemed to know what plagued her before Heleana herself did. Tucked against Dreamfyre’s side, drawing symbols in the dirt, was where Jacaerys found her. He was coming to visit his own dragon, the bond between him and Vermax was something to be admired, it was as if they were one, reading each other’s minds with just one look. It reminded Heleana of the way she and Alyra could communicate without a single word; a twitch of a hand or tilt of a head, and they knew exactly what the other was saying.

“Princess Heleana, my apologies, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Jacaerys’ voice was deeper than it had been when they were children, and it wrapped around Heleana like a warm blanket.

She shook her head and stood, still keeping one hand on Dreamfyre’s scales. “No need for apologies, you have a right to the dragonpit as much as I do.”

Jacaerys smiled at her, a small smile, but one that felt genuine, nonetheless. “I appreciate your kind words princess; I know there have been tensions between our families as of late, but I have always held you in high regard.”

Heleana ducked her head to hide her blush, his words were so simple, and yet they stirred something in her that even Aegon’s best attempts couldn’t.

“I won the match.” He continued, stepping closer to her, something resting in his hand. “It was my first without my mother there.” He paused, and she glanced up to see an embarrassed smile on his face. “I must admit I felt a bit lost without her support, but your favor saw me through.”

She’d forgotten that her half-sister had brought a new maester to try and heal their father. Rhaenyra had been by their father’s side for days on end, and obviously had not been able to make it to the match.

Heleana raised her head, “you are a skilled swordsman, Prince Jacaerys, I cannot claim any part of your victory.”

Jacaerys shook his head and gently reached for her hand, unfurling her fingers and placing a silver bracelet in her open palm. “You do yourself a disservice, princess, it was your belief in me that gave me my victory.”

Heleana held the bracelet up to the torchlight, it glimmered, and her breath caught in her chest as she saw the charms dangling from the chain.

“I saw the chain in a marketplace back when father and I were in Harrenhal, then I’ve been collecting the charms as I’ve found them.” He pointed at each one, “this one, as I’m sure you can tell is a butterfly, then the next I had made into a dragon. The other I was told is supposed to represent an embroidery hoop, and of course I had the letter H added for your name, then this last one…” His words died off as she fingered the shield charm, in the very center hidden among the design was the letter J.

“J? For my children?” She asked. Part of her hoped he would correct her, tell her that it was for him. That he would drop down on one knee and swear to protect her, to become her sworn shield, much like his father was to his mother. She knew it was wishful thinking, but she’d gone so long unloved by Aegon, and she couldn’t help but long for the love she’d heard in songs. The love his parents shared, the love she felt they themselves would share.

Jacaerys nodded slowly, his hand moving to clasp the bracelet around her delicate wrist. “Yes, for your children.” He gave her a teasing smile, “luckily for me, they both have J names, so I only had to procure one charm.” His hand lingered after he’d close the clasp, and she felt warm tingles where his calloused fingers trailed over her skin.

“What would you name your children?” She said, her voice hushed as she glanced up at him through her long eyelashes.

Jacaerys was playing with the shield charm, his touch gentle, “if I had a son, I would want to name him Baelon after my mother’s grandfather, he was heralded as brave and loyal.”

“That sounds like a wonderful name.”

He smiled up at her, “and if I was blessed with a daughter, I would name her Daenys, after the savior of our house.”

Daenys the dreamer, Heleana had done her research on the woman who saved the Targaryen name, the woman who Heleana shared her prophetic gift with.

“That is of course if my wife had no objections to either name. It is the women who do the hard work, they should get a say in the name of their child.”

Heleana thought about how Aegon had missed the birth of their children, how her mother had suggested names for the twins.

“It is clear you have thought often about children.” She remarked as casually as she could.

Jacaerys’ hand slid away from her bracelet, his fingers brushing down her hand before he crossed his arms behind his back. “I have been outside the door for all my siblings’ births, it gives one time to think.” He looked towards Dreamfyre then back to her, “have you thought about having any other children, princess?”

With you? Nightly. She banished that thought, and shook her head, “no, Aegon has been busy as of late.”

In a surprising act of boldness, she’d never seen from him, Jacaerys reached out and cupped her cheek, his calloused hand rough against her skin, but she didn’t mind it. The callouses were proof of the hard work he put in, so unlike the soft clammy hands of Aegon.

When she leaned into his touch, he spoke again, his voice a whisper, even though they were alone. “If you ever wish to have another, one that will come about not through drunken gropes but through pleasure and devotion, do not hesitate to call upon me.” He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her unclaimed cheek. “I am no stranger to keeping secrets.” Then he pulled away and bowed before turning down the tunnel that would lead him to Vermax.

Heleana stood frozen, her heart pounding. She remembered Alyra’s words from years ago, Didn’t King Aegon have two wives? Why can’t you have two husbands?

Chapter Two Here!!!!

#heleana targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #Heleana x Jacacerys #Heleana x Jace #Rhaenyra x Harwin #hotd #hotd fanfic #Meg's writing #H&J Fic #Alyra and Heleana are bffs #Aemond x Alyra #moonflowers #jacelaena

[duckdoeswords]

To Earn Ones Favor Ch.1 - For Your Favor

Summary: Weiss was suffocating in her life as royalty. Suffocating to the point where she could barely breathe. So, when the chance to leave, to run away from her duties, from her Father who wants to marry her off, she takes it. Leaving with two silver-eyed women her life changes but whether for the better or not, well, only time will tell.

Words: 3,057

Main Relationship: Weiss Schnee/Ruby Rose/Maria Calavera

Rating: T

Notes: A commission for @powertaco to write a Deaths WhiteRose AU. Hope other people enjoy it as much as they do!

Fic:

The capital city of Atlas was a hive of activity as the birthday celebration for the King’s youngest daughter was in full swing and all were excitedly enjoying the festivities. All except for the youngest daughter whose celebration this was in honor of. She sat in the shade of a tent near the front of the tournament grounds watching as the servants set up for the main draw of the day. 

Weiss leaned into her hand, letting out a heavy sigh. “Is something wrong, Your Highness?” Klein spoke as he poured tea from a porcelain pot into a matching cup. “Are you not enjoying your birthday celebration?” 

“Did anyone even think to ask me if this was something I wanted?” Weiss grumbled as she took the tea, bringing it to her lips she took a deep breath of the black tea before taking a small sip. “Did anyone think to ask if this was how I wanted my 21st birthday to be celebrated?” 

Klein was silent nodding as he returned to standing at attention. “Well,” He spoke slowly. “Perhaps you can try and find something to enjoy? Even just something small maybe?” The butler smiled, eyes crinkling with the action. 

“Maybe.” Weiss sighed as she set her cup back on the table, watching as the servant continued to put up the tournament brackets. Standing up she moved to look at the finalized brackets. A lot of men had signed up. Of course, they had. After all, this was a chance to show off and earn a favor from the King and Queen. It didn’t make Weiss feel any better about what she was being forced to endure. Not much to enjoy when her birthday was being used as a way to try and find a suitor. 

As Weiss dragged her eyes over the names, two suddenly jumped out at her because they were women's names. Ruby and Maria. Maybe this would be a little less of a sausage fest than she originally thought. ‘Interesting. This will be…interesting.’ She thought as she returned to the shade of the tent, collapsing back into the wooden seat. She reached for her tea, watching as people moved back and forth past the opening, putting the finishing touches on the tournament grounds. Erecting the stands where spectators would sit observing the combatants and a stage where the announcements would be made. 

Speaking of announcements, as the preparations finished the announcer climbed on the stage and spoke into a cone, voice echoing through the grounds. “Will all combatants please make their way to the tournament grounds!” 

“Shall we?” Klein spoke leaning forward, smiling brightly.

Continued on Ao3

#duck does words #rwby fanfiction #deaths whiterose #ruby rose #weiss schnee #maria calavera #young maria calavera obviously #my fanfiction #commission #Deaths White Rose

[moominpapasfanficblog]

The Inspector Moves On

On how being sad about change is perfectly normal

When The Inspector returned to his family he slowly told Mymble, Bristol, and Auguste about his encounter with Tornio’s Inspector and the loss of his job. Naturally, his family gathered around him and offered him their comfort.

“It’s alright, Dear, you were making the transition to being a full member of the Moomin Knights already anyway. This just means that we can arrange for you to be knighted much sooner.”, said Mymble, with their two sons nodding eagerly in agreement.

“If only it could be that easy! I don’t have any official government position anymore. I can’t even legitimately call myself an Inspector!That might disqualify me, especially in Queen Titania’s eyes. We might even lose our new quarters!”, said The Inspector.

“Pappa! You know better than that! You’ve always been as good as any Moomin Knight! They’re all your very good friends! Ours as well! We both love being Squires! The Moomin Knights will absolutely take your side and help you make your case to Queen Titania! What are we waiting for?! Let’s talk to the Knights right now and get their help getting an audience with the Queen!”, said Bristol.

Mymble, Bristol, and Auguste dragged the hesitant Inspector to the Knights’ barracks in the largest tower on the castle’s outer wall. Sir Charles, the Knights’ commander, welcomed them with open arms and heard The Inspector’s explanation of his predicament with compassion.

“Fear not, my friend! Thou shalt be more than welcome as a full member of the Knights. The Queen hath graciously given me permission to enter her presence and deliver urgent petitions and news. Come with me, all of thou and we shall see her directly!”, said Sir Charles.

When they all entered the castle’s great hall and bowed down before Queen Titania and King Oberon, The Inspector was more nervous than he had ever been before and he had to concentrate mightily to keep himself from trembling. But, he needn’t have worried. The Queen granted them an audience immediately upon Sir Charles’ request and heard The Inspector’s somewhat hesitant explanation of his current situation with serious attention.

“We are most sympathetic towards thy predicament. Naturally, We shall knight thee immediately! But, thou wilt require a new name to go with your new position, Sir……?”, asked Queen Titania.

The Inspector was completely taken aback and out of sorts and said the first name that came to his mind in a panic; “Sir……Antonius?! Is that alright? Is that good enough?”, said The Inspector.

“Excellent! We are pleased! Now, kneel before me, Sir Antonius!”, said Queen Titania. The Inspector obeyed instantly and Queen Titania used her scepter to touch him on both shoulders. He arose and Sir Charles and his family congratulated him heartily. After paying their due respects to the Queen, they all made their way back to the Knights’ barracks where the Knights had hastily prepared a party to celebrate the addition of their new member. The first order of business was to help Sir Antonius into his official suit of armor. He really looked like a knight now. It was quite a warm welcome.

Sir Antonius still felt out of sorts despite the good turn of events when he and family got back to their rooms, a fact that his family couldn’t help noticing.

“What’s the matter, Pappa? Everything turned out for the best, just like Sir Charles said it would!”, said Auguste.

“It’s silly! Everything that I boasted about to Tornio’s Inspector has happened exactly as I said it would. I did believe it in my heart, honestly, but I was also putting on a brave face. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me upset! But, it all really happened! I’m surrounded by great friends and colleagues! I have a new mission, a new life, and a new name to go to with them! And then, there’s all of you! You’re the source of my strength and happiness! And yet, I’m sad! I miss being Moominvalley’s Inspector! I’m going to have to dismiss the Constables and send them to their homes! I’m going to have to shut down the police station that I established here in the castle! I dearly miss my keys on a chain that I lost to that insufferable Hemulen! I’m going to miss going to the old police station every week to clean it! I’m going to miss my Inspector’s uniform!”, said Sir Antonius, tears running down his cheeks.

“That’s perfectly alright, my darling! You go ahead and cry as much as you need to!”, said Mymble, hugging her husband tenderly. Bristol and Auguste immediately joined their mother.

The End

#moomin #moominvalley #the mymble's daughter #the inspector #moomin oc #moomin fanfiction

[heizelnutlatte]

💬 Cine 21: Interview with Bae Nara (Highlights)

"Shall we try a pose like this?" Bae Nara, without hesitation, orchestrates the situation as the photo shoot begins. Departing from the sensitive and sharp image portrayed in the work, Bae Nara dynamically transforms the atmosphere of the studio. Starting with the musical "Promise" in 2013 and appearing in 21 musicals, he celebrated his 10th debut anniversary in 2023, officially revealing himself on the screen. As Private Ahn Jangmin in "D.P." Season 2, a defector for the sake of a dream, and as Kwon Ohjae, subordinate to Yoo Sungpa (Kim Youngkwang) in "Evillive," he freely traversed the glamorous stage of a drag queen and the imposing noir world. Bae Nara, who has repeatedly stated, "I want to be an actor without boundaries," is already proving his potential.

The first time your face was revealed was on the music competition show "Phantom Singer" Season 3. Since then, you consistently seemed to be someone who would confidently walk the path of a musical actor.

"That's correct. Initially, I started studying practical music, but my vocal teacher suggested trying musicals, saying it would suit me well. I immersed myself completely after watching performance videos and eventually pursued a major in musical acting in college. It's not that I had no interest in media acting, but it felt like a completely different world to me. I thought it was more important to do what I'm doing now properly rather than missing everything by just looking around aimlessly. Then, the audition offer for the role of Jang Seongmin in "D.P." came unexpectedly early last year. It was quite surprising, but I couldn't pass up "D.P." because it was a show that was as enjoyable as it was shocking for viewers."

What did you think of the character Jang Seongmin?

"He seemed like a person lacking something. He must have had many concerns about his sexual identity, wanting to express himself on stage, but in the military, where there is no outlet for self-expression, he ultimately deserts. As a character completely isolated emotionally, the more I immersed myself, the more my energy waned. So, I made an effort to enjoy each shoot as much as possible."

The inner struggles of Jang Seongmin, who becomes more worn out over time, were well portrayed externally, especially the complex emotions when screaming at the deity while running away at the airport.

"To express that weariness, I lost a total of 10kg. About 4-5kg was lost during filming, and I took a break from strength training for about 6 months to reduce muscle mass. It was really challenging when I had to desperately run away as the deity. I thought about how to express Seongmin's agony well while running with a body cam. When a person is desperate, words often don't come out easily. And Seongmin seemed like someone who couldn't curse properly. So, instead of swearing, I ended the scene with a scream."

It seems like you pay attention to even the smallest details.

"I think unconventional expressions come out as you repeatedly contemplate when dealing with provocative portrayals. I've approached characters in that way even during performances. I continue to contemplate until I get to the set, and then I completely let it go on the spot."

It sounds similar to the attitude of going on stage. I've heard that many actors thoroughly practice but immerse themselves completely in the atmosphere of that day once on stage.

"That's right. That's how truly vibrant acting seems to come out. Being an actor is a profession where you constantly let go, and I feel that a lot."

In the drama, you sang the numbers "Wig in a Box" and "Midnight Radio" from the musical "Hedwig." Later, John Cameron Mitchell, the original creator of "Hedwig," posted the video on his SNS, praising you, which became a topic of discussion.

"My favorite musical is "Hedwig." I prepared for musical auditions by singing numbers from "Hedwig." But to have the creator of that work directly tag and praise me...I remember checking the news around 5 am and being so moved that I immediately contacted the director. It's a new experience to share a song that I've had deep affection for over a long period with viewers, especially at the point where I've been in the industry for 10 years."

Following that, you appeared in the drama "Evillive" as the character Kwon Ohjae. Although part of the Yoo Sungpa organization, he's not the type to resort to violence.

"He's in charge of the organization's brain, so to speak. Except for a few action scenes, he faithfully stays by Seo Doyoung's side, being exceptionally loyal. I enjoyed filming the noir genre as I like it, and although I had fun with the role of Kwon Ohjae, if given the chance, I'd like to challenge a more dynamic character."

It appears you've been cast as Na Baekjin in "Weak Hero Class 2. As the final boss in the original work, there might be a lot of action to showcase.

"That's why I'm diligently attending action school. Shooting action scenes, I realized that it's crucial to coordinate well with the co-actors to avoid injuries. So, I'm learning movements that can be captured stylishly on camera while ensuring safety."

Do you memorize action scenes like choreography?

"It seems to work for me; that's the familiar method, and it helps in quickly memorizing movements. Although it's not like dancing, I'm trying various movements to find what suits Na Baekjin."

Watching behind-the-scenes videos of various works, including the musical "Thrill Me," you come across as someone who enjoys joking around and has a bright personality. Have you ever thought about trying comedy or romance genres?

"Definitely! I've done a lot of dark roles lately, but I really want to try light and quirky characters or projects with personalities like "Reply 1988" or "Melting Me Softly." There's still a lot I want to show."

On the other hand, your taste in music is very emotional. In one interview, you mentioned songs like "Hyehwa-dong" by Dongmulwon, "Beautiful" by Position, and "Can I Love You" by Yang Dail as favorite songs.

"I like music that carries the 'scent of memories' for me. I have specific playlists for autumn, summer, and travel."

What song do you usually choose when travelling?

"I usually listen to Avicii's "The Nights." (Immediately plays the song) How about that? Doesn't it make you want to leave right away? (Laughs)"

**Actor Bae Nara's Relaxation Methods**

"I spend a day or two immersing myself in dramas or movies. Recently, I binge-watched "Our Blues" and "Twenty-Five Twenty-One." It's a series that made me laugh and cry a lot with each episode. I also enjoy cooking. The satisfaction after making food for myself and eating it deliciously is immense. I recently tried making fish cake soup for the first time, and as I'm on a diet, I often make Vietnamese spring rolls. I put tofu and egg in rice paper, dip it in Sriracha sauce, and it's surprisingly good for a diet recipe.

Cine 21, 2023

#bae nara #cine 21 #interview #weak hero class 2 #dp 2 #evillive

[biglisbonnews]

Drag Legend Heklina Dead at 55 Legendary drag queen and staple of the San Francisco drag scene, Heklina, has died at the age of 55.Close friend and collaborator, Peaches Christ, announced her passing on social media on April 3. “I am shocked and horrified to bring this news to you. I am living in a real-life nightmare so forgive me if I don’t have all the answers just now," Peaches wrote. "This morning, in London, England, I went to collect my dear friend Heklina, who is costarring with me in a Mommie Queerest show here, and found her dead. I do not know the cause of death yet. I know this is shocking news and I am beyond stunned, but I wanted to let folks know what has happened. Heklina is not just my best friend, but a beloved icon of our community. I am a mess. Given this crisis, please do not try to contact me as I am utterly heartbroken, stunned, and focusing on what needs to get done next. I shall be in touch.” \u201chttps://t.co/UoyC4wDYHV\u201d — Peaches Christ (@Peaches Christ) 1680552796 Born in Minneapolis, the drag queen drew inspiration for her name from the Icelandic volcano Hekla, having lived in the Nordic island nation for a period of three years during the '80s. Heklina got her start in drag in 1995, working as a bartender in San Francisco for a punk drag show before going on to cofound Trannyshack at the Stud bar in 1996. After becoming San Francisco's longest running drag show, it would go on to be rebranded as Mother after Heklina became one of the owners of Oasis nightclub in 2014."There was a real need for Trannyshack," Heklina told the Bay Area Reporter in 2008. "There was a real void for an alternative venue. When Trannyshack started in 1995, people had just stopped dying of AIDS, because new medications came out. It felt like a celebration after all that mourning, which was a dark year for me. I'd planned to go to some people's funerals, and there they were on stage with me."In addition to the recurring drag show, Heklina collaborated with Peaches on numerous projects throughout her career including several horror spoofs, a yearly production of Golden Girls where she played Dorothy and most recently, the drag parody Mommie Queerest which the two were set to tour across the UK this spring.“Heklina is an institution,” Alaska Thunderfuck told SF Chronicle in 2020, citing Trannyshack as one of the inspirations that pushed her into starting her own drag career. “The seedlings of drag that she has planted and watered over the years have grown into innumerable gardens and bouquets of drag excellence. I continue to admire her work ethic, her tenacity and her heart. And her mole.”Since word of her passing, tributes from across the drag community have poured in: \u201cIcon! Heklina was punk rock and made drag what it is today. Legend. \u2764\ufe0f\u201d — Trixie Mattel\u2122 (@Trixie Mattel\u2122) 1680563643 \u201c@sfoasis I\u2019m legitimately SO SORRY for your loss. Heklina was so incredibly kind and warm. Such an incredible supporter of fellow queens, and she made me feel like family anytime I came to Oasis. Sending y\u2019all so much love, and my deepest condolences \ud83d\udc94\u201d — OASIS (@OASIS) 1680559029 \u201cI\u2019m heartbroken to hear about @Heklina\u2019s passing. She wasn\u2019t just a staple in the drag community, she was a whole-ass stapler. RIP queen\u201d — Yvie Oddly (@Yvie Oddly) 1680571935 \u201c@Heklina is and always will be a San Francisco legend. Hilarious, humble and encouraging. \ud83d\udc94 We\u2019re lucky to have had you.\u201d — Lady Camden (@Lady Camden) 1680573158 \u201c\ud83d\udc94 over the loss of the legendary #heklina \u2026 she was funny, punk, groundbreaking, a good friend, surrogate drag mother, the best at suggesting restaurants, and the absolute epitome of the word COOL! I loved her, I love her, and the world will miss her so much. #ripheklina\u201d — Ginger Minj (@Ginger Minj) 1680568045 \u201cthis Heklina news \ud83e\udd7a\ud83d\ude25\u201d — MILK (@MILK) 1680561220 \u201cI\u2019m absolutely gutted right now. Heklina was a drag legend and I adored her. She was a blast to work with. I will cherish the memories I have of her. Sending love out to all of her family and friends in this tragic time. You will be missed by many. \ud83d\ude22\ud83d\udc94\u201d — Pandora Boxx (@Pandora Boxx) 1680559600 \u201cSuch sad news RIP Heklina x\u201d — Divina De Campo stream DECODED (@Divina De Campo stream DECODED) 1680594458 See on Instagram See on Instagram See on Instagram See on Instagram See on Instagram See on Instagram \u201cHearing of @Heklina passing is heartbreaking. She was a true icon in every sense of the word. Fostering community, making people laugh, & creating safe spaces for us all. She welcomed me openly to San Francisco and my heart is with that SF drag community. \ud83d\udc94\u201d — Marti (@Marti) 1680560243 Photo via Getty/Jeff Kravitz/FilmMagic https://www.papermag.com/heklina-rip-2659737196.html

#Drag #Drag queen #Lgbtq #Nightlife #Peaches christ #Trannyshack #Mother #Heklina #Matt Moen #PAPER

[nastybuckybarnes]

Hoist The Colours  -  3/3

Pairing: Pirate!Bucky X SeaGoddess!Reader 

Summary: An encounter with the man you used to love lands you and your new crew in peril, stuck on a ship with the people responsible for binding you. And what they have planned for you is far worse than what you’d first imagined.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Fluff, Violence, Injuries, Death,

Word Count: 2.2K

A/n: Oof another thing is finished. I’m gonna start actually finishing stuff but Idk what to write I’m sad that my stuff is ending :( But I hope you enjoy this!

~*~

The door to your cell gets wrenched open, pulling you from your light sleep.

“You!” Rumlow snarls, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you to your feet.

“Where have they taken my prisoners?” You furrow your brows, yanking out of his grip.

“How am I supposed to know? I was left behind.” He grinds his teeth together and grabs your bicep, dragging you out of your cell and onto the main deck.

The clouds are dark and gloomy, the waters wild and violent, but not by your doing.

“You must’ve helped them, that other witch too! So tell me, how did you do it?” He shoves you and you gasp, tumbling onto the wet wood of the deck.

“How could I have helped them? You have me chained up like a dog!” You spit, glaring up at him. He stoops down to your level, grabbing your face harshly.

“You will watch your tongue or you will lose it. You do not need your voice to do my bidding.” He shoves you back down and you bite back a yelp of pain.

The sky darkens further, thunder booming and clouds rolling in.

“I will never do your bidding!” You snarl, a flash of lightning punctuating your words.

Rumlow’s eyes widen for a moment, and then he’s got his sword pointed at you, the tip just brushing your throat.

“On your feet, witch!” You obey, standing up with your chin held high.

“You will do my bidding, or you will join all those who you have sent to the depths. It is your choice.” You follow his gaze over your shoulder to where the plank is being extended over the raging ocean.

You look back at him, jaw set, and he knows you’ve made your decision.

The wind whips around your hair as he walks you to the plank, his sword digging into your back just hard enough to cause discomfort, but not pain, not yet.

You carefully step onto the plank, taking deep breaths of the salty air as the water rages beneath you.

“I will give you one last chance, wench. I will spare your life, all you need do is swear your powers to me. You’ll have the sea back in your grasp, the power to do what you please. You need only do so at my side.”

Raindrops splatter against your face, just gently at first, until you’re consumed in an intense storm, the water pelting down against you.

“You’ve forgotten, Captain, that you are not sending me to the depths,” you look over your shoulder at him with a small smile, “you are sending me home.”

You look down at the water, preparing yourself for the cool embrace, when a particularly harsh wave rocks against the ship, sending you stumbling back a step.

A wave rises up over the ship, a spiral of green swirling inside of it and for a moment you think that you’ve already died.

The wave crashes against the ship, sending the men falling and scrambling, submerging the deck for a moment.

But you stay rooted in place, the familiar green hue just touching your fingertips, the ends of your hair, then slowly becoming part of you once more.

You hear the men shouting and coughing, feel Rumlow’s sword pressed against your back once again, but you only turn around to face him.

The storm continues, the waves fighting the ship, and you cock your head to the side, sending a gust of wind towards the man threatening you. He stumbles back, eyes wide with fear.

“H-how do you...” You take slow steps towards him, waving your hand behind you as his crew-mates try to run at you. The wind pushes them back, keeping them a safe distance from you and the captain.

“You will give me answers and you will give them to me now!” You hiss, glaring daggers at him.

“Whatever it is that you wish to know, I will tell you. Just please, spare my life.”

You watch him for a long moment, fighting tears as the question bubbles out of you.

“Why? Why did he do it?”

Rumlow only shakes his head, on his knees and ready to beg for mercy.

“’twas me... I caused him to do it. With the help of a siren for the price of his left arm, I got the binding spell from him. He knew not what he was doing, though he gave the information.” You let out a shaky breath, a weight lifted off of your shoulders.

“All this time I had thought it was he who betrayed me... but it wasn’t.” You turn your gaze to him, eyes glowing green with the influx of power.

“It was you. You and your greed.” He shakes his head and scrambles back desperately.

You step aside as a sword comes down right where you were standing, and Rumlow uses your momentary distraction to sprint away.

“Kill her! Kill the Witch!” He shouts, grabbing his own sword.

You shake your head, the wind whipping strong enough to keep them away.

A nagging in your mind stops you for a moment, and a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“The King and his men stole the queen from her bed... and bound her in her bones.” Your voice travels on the wind.

“The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam.”

“Captain! We’ve got a ship coming up starboard!” A man shouts, pointing his sword at the familiar ship.

“They’re upon us! Battle stations!” The men scramble to their stations, trying to get prepared as the ship approaches.

“Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colours high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die.” The voices ring out to you clear as day, responding to the call.

It’s only a matter of moments before canons start firing and men start boarding the ship, swords clashing and guns firing.

Your eyes scan the crowd, freezing on a man approaching you. You simply look at him and he crumples to the ground, grabbing at his throat.

“Rumlow!” You shout, following your instincts up to the foredeck and finding the captain cowering, exactly how you thought he would.

“You want to throw me overboard, captain?” You sneer his title, taking another step towards him. He stumbles back, slipping on the wet wood and scrambling away from you and towards the main deck.

“You forget that I am the sea and all things in it.”

The rain pelts down on you and the wind whips your hair around your face wildly, your eyes glowing green with the force of your power.

At that moment, you look every bit the sea goddess that the stories described. And today, you’re planning on being just as cruel.

“You stripped me of my purpose, my power. Bound me to my form and took away my reason for existence! You sacrificed the man I love for your own greedy gain. What do you have to say for yourself?” Your powers protect you from the fighting around you, the man before you protected as well.

No one will take your vengeance from you.

“I’m sorry!” He cries, slipping back further.

You shake your head and grab him by the front of his tunic, tossing his sword aside and glaring into his eyes.

“No, you’re not. Not yet. But you will be, that I promise you.”

You cock your head to the side, your free hand coming up, fingers flexed.

The water on the deck swirls around your ankles, clawing up the man before you.

“You’ve never had your purpose taken from you because a man like you has no purpose.” You twist your wrist, controlling the water around you and watch in satisfaction as his eyes widen, the water rising up over his face.

“So what else can I take, but your life?” You ask rhetorically, watching as the water trickles into his mouth and nose, slowly at first, then picking up speed.

He tries to claw at you, but his hands can’t reach you. His struggles are futile, though that doesn’t stop him.

You steal the life away from him, exactly the way he did to you.

He collapses on the ground, his body convulsing for a moment before falling still, death embracing him.

You take a deep breath, embracing your freedom, then slowly turn around.

You’re instantly meet with piercing blue eyes staring at you from across the ship. His chest is heaving and he’s squinting through the downpour, but his eyes are on you.

You walk over to him, the rain lessening with each step you take until you’re right in front of him.

The wind dies down and the ocean becomes calm. The fighting around you draws to a sombre end, victory on the tip of your tongue.

His sword clatters to the ground, his hands finding yours ever so gently, his eyes filled with so many emotions.

“Gentlemen, the ship is ours!” Steve shouts, a smile on his face. You turn around, pulling Bucky’s arms around your waist as you watch the crew celebrate their success.

Your eyes find Wanda’s and Tony’s through the crowd, both of them smiling brightly up at you.

The two crews celebrate, Pirates and Kingsmen, and you can’t help but smile at them.

“Back to the ship! We’ve gotten what we came for. The King can enjoy plundering Rumlow’s ship. I trust that will keep him off of our back for a while, yes?” Steve looks at Tony pointedly and the brunet nods.

You step out of your lover’s arms and walk down to the two men, one hand gently finding Tony’s forearm.

“I owe you a debt, Tony. One I fear I may never be able to repay.” He shakes his head, taking your hands gently in his and smiling at you.

“You’ve no debt to be paid. But if you feel so inclined, could you maybe hold back any storms for the next day or so? I’d like a chance to dry my clothes.” You giggle and nod, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, for all that you’ve done for myself and Wanda.” He gives you a tender smile and nods.

“It’s what I wish had been done for my mother.” He sniffles then straightens up.

“Now come on, men. It’s time we return to the King!” His crew-mates start busying themselves quickly.

“Alright lads, back to the ship!” Steve calls, leading his own crew members to their ship.

You watch as everyone eagerly crosses, smiling encouragingly at Wanda. She crosses swiftly, her eyes drawing to the helmsman for a moment.

“Are you ready?” A soft voice asks from behind you. You take a breath then nod, looking over at him.

“Yes.”

The two of you cross back to his ship, the ship almost cooing at you as soon as your feet hit the deck. You can’t fight the smile the spreads on your face at being back, and you don’t try to.

“It’s good to have you back,” Steve says, giving you a nod. You do the same, sighing happily.

“It’s good to be back, Steve.” Bucky takes your hand then and tugs you gently towards his quarters.

The door closes softly behind you and you take a moment to reacquaint yourself with the room.

You can feel his eyes on you, the tension palpable but not unpleasant.

Without looking at him, you speak.

“Could you help me out of my gown? It’s far too heavy.” He walks towards you, untying the back and watching as the fabric slides down your body, leaving you only in your white slip.

His hands hesitantly trail over your skin, one cold and one hot and the contrast is so delicious.

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, head falling to the side as he presses soft kisses to your neck.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, my love,” he whispers against your skin, spinning you around to face him.

You gaze up at him lovingly, one hand coming up to cup his jaw.

“Show me,” you whisper, leaning up to gently brush your lips over his.

“Show me how much you missed me. Give me a reason to clear the skies and calm the seas. Make me give us good wind and easy sail. Prove to me that you’re still worthy of my mercy.”

He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing each one of your fingers then smiling.

“I’ll never truly be worthy of your mercy. But I am more than willing to both swear and prove my loyalty to you. I will give myself over to you; body, heart, mind, and soul.”

You look up at him tenderly, cupping his cheek gently.

“I will sail to the ends of the Earth for you, fight the gods if I need to. Anything to keep you in my arms.”

“My heart belongs to you, James. And never will it belong to anyone else.”

#pirate #pirate AU #pirate!bucky #pirate!bucky x reader #Pirate!bucky x sea goddess!reader #bucky x sea!goddess!reader #pirate!bucky x goddess!reader #bucky x goddess!reader #pirate!bucky x seagoddess!reader

[inkandpen22]

Unlikely Allies (1/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader 

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 2k

Part Summary: Y/N is the Telemarine Princess. She’s devoted to her family, including her uncle Miraz, who’s keeping many secrets from her. When her aunt gives birth to her cousin, her brother runs away, leaving Y/N lost... 

Masterlist

Y/N

"Princess Y/N?" A faint voice appears in my dream. "Princess!" 

I wake up yawning and stretching out my limbs. I whine, what time is it? "Yes, what is it?" I grumble, rolling onto my side. 

"Your Royal Highness," the servant greets as they enter my room and I assume they bow. "It's your aunt, she's given birth!" 

I fly up from my laid position and immediately climb out of bed. "Take me there at once!" 

My maid rushes me to my aunt and uncle's bed-chamber. It's the early hours of the morning, but I don't care! A cousin! Finally! People travel in and out of the room as I turn the corner. Lord Glozelle stands outside the door, guarding it. 

He bows his head as I pass, "Your Royal Highness." 

I enter the chaotic room, utterly gleaming. A circle of people surrounds the bed, chatter high. 

"Auntie?" I make myself known. 

The crowd parts, allowing me a path. My aunt lays in her bed, holding my baby cousin. My uncle is beside her, smiling ear to ear as he stares down at the baby. 

My aunt looks up at me with a bright smile and waves me over. "Y/N! Come!" 

I hurry over to her side, settling down on the edge of their bed. The little boy is wrapped securely in a gray blanket. 

"Your cousin, a boy!" My uncle tells me, overjoyed. 

My aunt extends her arms out to me, handing me the child. He's utterly precious. The true Telemarine black hair is already on his tiny head. 

"Hello! You're so handsome!" I greet him, allowing his small hand to wrap around my finger. 

"Y/N, your aunt and I were talking," Uncle begins, glancing between me and his wife. "We would like you to be the Godmother." 

My eyes grow wide. "Truly?" 

"It would be our pleasure," Auntie giggles, placing her hand over mine. 

"I would be honored!" I laugh breathlessly. "Thank you, Uncle! Auntie!" 

Suddenly, fireworks erupt outside, signaling the start of the celebration. "A son! A son! Lady Prunaprismia has given Lord Miraz a son!" One of the guards announces from the tower to the village. 

"My Lord!" Lord Glozelle barges in frantically. He notices me and bows swiftly. "Your Royal Highness!" 

My uncle sighs, a tad annoyed by the interruption. "Yes, Lord Glozelle?" 

"It's Prince Caspian, he's gone!" 

"What!" I panic and hand the baby back to my aunt before I rise off the bed. "What do you mean gone?" 

"It'll be okay, Y/N. We'll find him," Uncle Miraz tries to assure me calmly as he stands.  

"Where is he?" I question the Lord. 

"My men say they saw him ride into the forest," Lord Glozelle informs. 

"What! No! He'll die!" I rush out. "There are Narnians!" 

"Those are mere superstitions, your tutor has plagued your mind!" My uncle laughs. "Narnians are extinct. Come Lord Glozelle, we'll begin the search immediately." My uncle stops at me, before departing. He brings his hand to my cheek gently with a comforting smile. "All will be well, Princess."

I nod, praying he's right. 

Satisfied, he departs with his men, the room shrinking in population.  I turn my attention to the balcony and the full moon. "Caspian..." I whisper my brother's name, praying he's alright and safe. 

________________________________________

 A few days later... 

I ride toward the soldiers gathered by the river's side. I take notice of their wagons... they're empty, how odd. I dismount my horse and spot my uncle. 

"Uncle!" I call over, gaining his attention. 

I hurry over to him, Lord Gozelle, and the other members of Lord's council. They appear to be in a rather heated argument. 

"Is everything alright?" I question worriedly. "I was on a ride when your men told me to return to the palace." 

My uncle forces a convincing smile as he ushers me away from the men privately. "Yes, My Dear, I'm sorry to have frightened you." 

"You're not telling me something," I accuse knowingly. "Is it Caspian?" 

Caspian

Peter, Susan, and Trumpkin hide behind a pile of lumber, watching as my uncle and his men discover the mess we've left.  

"I say we shoot now," Trumpkin suggests. 

Susan preps her bow and arrow. That's when I see her, Y/N... my sister. 

"Wait!" I place my hand over Susan's arrow.  

"What is it?" She asks. 

Miraz ushers her away, his hand pressed to her back. Something's wrong. 

"My sister..." I mumble. 

"You have a sister?" Peter questions. 

"Y/N..." I whisper her name in a daze as I watch her. "She's speaking with my uncle." 

Out of my peripheral, I see Peter searching for her. I can tell when he does because his features shift from confusion to astonishment. 

Y/N

"Return to your ride. Everything is okay, promise!" Uncle Miraz guarantees. "My one request is that you stay out of the forest. Go straight to the palace." 

"It's Narnians, isn't it?" I interrogate enthusiastically as he escorts me to my horse. It would be the only reason the guard has been so jittery and anxious. "They do exist! Oh, I knew it!" 

"You and your fairytales," he laughs, helping up onto the saddle. "Be on your way, My Dear. I'll return shortly." 

"Alright, I'll go tend to your baby for you," I tease him, sending him a wink. 

Miraz

As I watch Y/N ride off down the path toward the castle as I asked, Lord Gozelle appears beside me. 

"You should tell her," he advises. 

"That her brother is a traitor and has brought back our greatest enemy" I shake my head, turning over my shoulder to join the Lords again. "No, it'll destroy her." 

"Why do you care for Y/N, but Caspian is dispensable?" 

"Y/N would never betray me," I state with utmost certainty. Then, I snicker. "Besides, she's a young lady. She can't take my throne." 

Y/N

I ride along the path that lines the forest. The trees blur as my horse gallops swiftly back to the castle. My mind is wandering with curiosity. Miraz tells me that there's nothing to be worried about, but I can't help and question whether this is true. Abruptly, a cloaked figure appears on the path, blocking my way. My horse becomes startled and I'm bucked off, hitting the dirt with a thud. The wind is knocked out of me and I struggle to catch my breath. The cloaked figure hurries over and grabs me, dragging me off the dirt path. 

"Get off of me!" I scream, thrashing about. "I am Her Royal Highness Princess Y/N! I will-" Then, the figure removes their hood and my eyes recognize my brother. "Caspian..." I whisper in disbelief. 

"Hello Y/N," he grins. 

"You're alive!" I fly up from my position, wrapping my arms around him frantically. Then, I fully process the news and pull back. "Wait until Miraz hears! He's been so worried!" 

"No, no!" He rushes out. "You mustn't tell him you've seen me! Y/N, he's behind all of this..." 

"What? No, no, that's impossible. He-" 

"When he learned he had a son, he sent assassins after me! I had to run!" He squeezes my shoulders urgently. "It's all true! Everything Dr. Cornelius taught us, it's all true!" 

My eyes grow wide, it can't be... "You mean about Narnians!" 

"Yes! Aslan, the Kings, and Queens of Old, it's all-" 

"Caspian, you can't just run off!" A male voice interrupts, followed by rushing footsteps. 

"What if Miraz..." A girl begins to shout, but as she, a boy, and a dwarf appear from behind the greenery briskly their eyes land on us. 

The dark-haired girl looks down at me strangely, as if she already hates me despite just meeting me. She seems like a know-it-all. I don't even know her name. The boy, tall and blonde, peers at me with parted lips. Surprise not easily hidden. The dwarf, well, he glares a lot. Two out of three already hate me. Caspian must be telling the truth, these truly are Narnians. 

Caspian glances between the two and myself. "Y/N, this is-" 

"Let me guess, High King Peter," I determine, meeting the boy's gaze. 

He appears more astonished than before if that's possible. What? Just because I'm a Telemarine doesn't mean I don't know the legends of Narnia. 

"You revealed yourself!" The girl huffs. "She's going to run and tell Miraz!" 

"Let me guess, Queen Susan," I remark a bit snarky as I help myself off the ground and brush myself down. "I wouldn't tell." 

"Are we just supposed to take your word for it?" Peter challenges. 

"Miraz may be my uncle, but Caspian is my only brother," I argue. 

"And your loyalty lies with your people, right? Am I wrong?" He presses further. 

"And you're loyal to the Narnians?" I snicker mockingly. "Last I checked you disappeared for over a thousand years." 

"Even the Telemarine Princess agrees with me," the dwarf huffs with a roll of the eyes. 

"At least my family didn't murder millions of innocent creatures," he fires back. 

I reach for the dagger resting on my belt and point it at the boy. "Take that back!" 

Fearless, he steps forward, directly in front of my blade. "Your entire empire is the reason Narnians are almost extinct!" 

"Our father wouldn't have harmed any creature!" I scream. 

Caspian wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. "Y/N, Y/N, calm down!" 

"Enough of this, we have to return to the camp," Peter announces assertively as he begins to march away. "Bring her." 

"No, we're not taking her with us!" Susan shouts. 

"We have to!" Peter argues over his shoulder.  

Caspian presses a hand to my back, leading me in the direction Peter is headed. 

"What? I'm not going!" I challenge. 

"Good!" Susan scoffs. 

"You must," Caspian tells me calmly. "You know of us now." 

"I rather drop dead," I fire back. 

"That can be arranged," Peter grumbles ahead. 

"Shall I send you back to wherever you came from?" I threaten the former High King. 

He turns over his shoulder with a glare. "Anything to be dimensions away from you." 

"Stop it!" Caspian finally breaks, looking back and forth between the two of us. "Please..." 

"Miraz will send the Lords after me! It's in your best interest to let me go!" I reason with them. 

"Perhaps she's right," Susan uncharacteristically agrees with me. "Caspian, we can see her another time. For now, we have to be smart." 

Caspian's clearly torn, an internal battle ensuing in his mind. "What if Miraz finds out we've been together. He may retaliate against you." 

I frown, "Miraz would never... he cares about me." 

"I'll formulate a plan," Peter interjects, causing my brother and me to look at him. "A few men and I will sneak into the castle in two days time. We'll stage it like a kidnapping to avoid any hostility toward Y/N from your uncle." 

"That gives me two days to prepare and learn what I can about what Uncle is planning," I try to convince Caspian. 

"Very well, but be careful until then," he practically begs, bringing me into a hug. 

"Goodbye Caspian," I mumble against his chest as I part from him. This is harder than I had expected. "Now go! Before any guards ride by!" 

He nods and begins to back away. "I'll come back for you!" 

Susan and Caspian run off in the opposite direction with Trumpkin. Peter lingers behind for a second, walking backward to follow them. "I'll send messages to you until it's time," he informs me. "Be ready!" 

I nod, feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of what will happen in two nights. "Yes, alright," I manage to say with my voice shaking. 

He nods, satisfied with my response, before jogging off to join his sister and friends. I stand in the woods, alone, utterly dazed and confused. One minute I'm riding home, the next I'm reunited with my brother and learn that Narnians are alive. On top of that, everything about my life that's been concrete, such as my home in the castle and my love of my aunt and uncle are being taken away. My brother or my people? That's the question and I only have two days to figure out an answer. 

_____________________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @i-hav-no-life @hellomyweirdos @candyheartsandcigarettes @gillybear17 @hauntedphotographybookstaco

#narnia imagine #narnia #narnia fanfiction #caspian x reader #prince caspian #peter pevensie #King Peter the Magnificent #peter x reader #peter #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #lucy pevensie

[peaceisadirtyword]

Heathen VI (Ivar/Edlynn)

A/N; Hello!♥️ I’m back after a short, holiday break! And even if these next weeks are going to be chaotic, I will try to keep posting Heathen once a week as I did before! There’s only another four (five with this one) left until the end👀, so I hope you enjoy it a lot🥰 I didn’t have time to reply to your comments on last chapter but I read all of them and I’m so happy to see you’re liking it🥺 thank you so much, it means the world🙏🏻 took a bit longer to finish this one because I wasn’t too convinced but I hope you like it too♥️

Warnings: smut ( 👀), talk of feelings, my cringey writing, Ivar is the best, mentions of alcohol, violence, sex and talk about arranged marriage and religious things!

Words: 4823 (will I ever stop)

Heathen Masterlist

gif belongs to @therealcalicali​

"We could move here" Harald pointed at the map. Hvitserk followed his finger and pressed his lips together. Maybe a bit risky, he thought, but he didn't dare contradict the king because of strategical differences, that was Ivar's job "It's closer to the sea, and it would be easier to run away if the saxons decide to attack us once we don't have the saxon girl as leverage"

"It could be" he nodded, as he waited for Ivar's opinion. But as the minutes passed and his brother didn't say a word, Hvitserk raised his head to look at him. 

Ivar was sitting in front of him, with a drink on his hand, but looking away. He didn't seem to be even listening to what they were saying, and when Hvitserk's eyes followed his gaze, he understood why. 

His lips curved on a small smirk and immediately turned to look at Harald, who also seemed amused to have caught the ruthless Ivar the Boneless sneaking glances to a lady. 

Edlynn was sitting on a cut tree, not very far away from them, and her eyes were fixed on a book that Hvitserk had seen on Ivar's tent. She only had a couple of guards with her, and her wrists were untied, giving her much more freedom than Hvitserk ever thought Ivar would give her. 

"Ivar" he called his name, making him turn his head with a frown, almost like he was annoyed by his interruption "Are you listening?"

Harald held back a laugh when Ivar blinked, somewhat confused, until he spotted the map and the pieces the king had moved, and seemed to get out of his trance. His cheeks reddened softly, but he pretended not to realize as he scrutinized the map, trying to remember what had changed since Edlynn stepped out of the tent and his eyes wandered off. 

Hvitserk raised his eyebrow. He already knew what was going on, since he caught Edlynn leaving the tent with swollen lips more than once and had seen them sleeping together, with her face hidden in Ivar's neck. But at first he thought his brother was just having some fun, not falling for the saxon girl. Those glances said otherwise. 

"It would be risky" Ivar cleared his throat "I don't think Alfred would attack us once Edlynn is with him" 

Harald raised his head again. Edlynn? He didn't know when Ivar started calling the prisoner by her name, but found it amusing. 

"Then what do you propose?" Hvitserk tried to ignore it, but he would ask his brother about it "Shall we stay here?"

"I think we should move a bit closer to the boats, but not like it seems we're retiring" he shrugged "But it's your decision, king Harald"

Harald had gotten used to the mocking tone whenever Ivar said his title out loud. He didn't really care, it had started to sound like a joke to him too. 

"I will think about it tonight, and tomorrow we'll decide" 

But just when he was about to stand up, maybe too eager to go back to his tent, a guard approached them. 

Edlynn pretended not to realize he was staring. Neither of them talked about it but both of them seemed to think the same: no one should know of their... Affair? She couldn't help but blush whenever she thought about it. Well, she didn't even know if it could be considered an actual affair. There had been kisses, some more innocent than others, Ivar had touched her body in a way no one had in her entire life, she had let her hands wander down his strong arms and chest, but nothing more. It was still a sin, something she didn't want people knowing. Edlynn would be mortified if someone heard about it, about what she was doing with a... Heathen. 

But the thing that alarmed her the most weren't the kisses or the caresses, not even the fire that Ivar awakened in her, but the warmth that expanded through her chest whenever she saw him, the smiles, the little laughs, the reddened cheeks... She couldn't think about anything else that weren't his blue eyes and his pouty lips, nor could pray in peace without remembering how soft his hair was under her fingers or what a beautiful smile he had. Every night she promised she'd stop, that she wouldn't let herself fall in love with him, but sometimes, especially under the furs and between his arms, she thought there was nothing she could do now. 

It was temporal, Edlynn tried not to think about what would happen when she had to go back to her family, to Lord Edmund, the man who was supposed to be her husband. Would she ever feel the same with him? Probably not, and the thought saddened her. It was such a beautiful feeling she wished she could carry forever. 

Even if it was hard, and even if she knew many people in the camp suspected it, Edlynn tried to act like nothing had happened. They barely talked to each other in public, but she noticed he was always close to her, or at least close enough to be able to watch her. She liked that. 

Edlynn was reading, but she hadn't turned the page in what felt like hours, too focused on the glances that certain man threw her way and on hiding her blush. Until someone else approached the three men that sat down not too far away from her. She raised her head, interested, as the man seemed to carry important news. Even if she had understood their language, she wouldn't have heard anything, as the noise of the camp was too loud. But she could see the king with a big smile, celebrating something. And Ivar had frowned and his eyes were now fixed on the ground at his feet. 

When he finally looked her way again, he ignored the silent question on her eyes and looked directly at the guard that stood next to her, pointing to his own tent with his head. And Edlynn was practically dragged towards it. 

____________________________________

That night they celebrated. The reason was still a mystery to her, but Edlynn tried to ask every single person that entered the tent, from Brianna to Hvitserk, without receiving any answer. She could hear the happy screams and laughs, and figured it couldn't be bad, right?

At least not for them. 

A shiver travelled down her spine when she thought about her family, would they be alright? Had those heathens killed them?

And then Ivar came back. 

His eyes were bright and Edlynn figured he had been drinking too. His movements were slow, and let himself fall on the bed with a grunt, letting his crutch go before rubbing his face with his hands.

"Hello" Edlynn raised an eyebrow, why do men drink so much if they feel bad afterwards? 

"Hi, princess" he muttered, grunting "How was your day?" Ivar sat on the bed, sighing. It had been a long day, and it seemed it would be a long night too. 

"Clearly not as interesting as yours" 

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't turn to look at her. 

"I was trying to negotiate" he shrugged "And king Harald negotiates better when there's ale" 

"Negotiate what?" Edlynn narrowed her eyes, moving a bit closer to him. 

_____________________________________

"The saxons will agree to our terms" the messenger smiled proudly as he delivered the news "They will pay, and give us land and time to settle" he nodded "In exchange for the saxon girl" 

Harald's laugh startled Ivar, who stared at the messenger intensely.

"Of course they will!" he celebrated, nodding his head and patting Ivar's back softly "You were right, once again" 

He shot him a fake smile, which faded as soon as the king turned to Hvitserk. He thought he'd have more time, that asking for such a ridiculous amount of gold, land and a truce would be too much to give for just one girl, and that the saxons would try and change the terms. That would've given him weeks, even months. His eyes went back to where Edlynn was sitting, and silently told the guard to take her away. 

"The saxon king said they shall wait for us in the battlefield to make the exchange, and that the girl must be unharmed and well, otherwise they won't give us what we asked for" 

"Thank you, my friend" Harald patted the soldier's shoulder with a bright smile "Go, eat and rest, tonight we'll celebrate" 

Hvitserk didn't stop looking at Ivar. He noticed how he clenched his jaw and licked his lips repeatedly. He felt his own lips curving on a smile, but just slapped his head playfully. 

That night they did celebrate. Everyone sang, drank and ate next to the king, around a fire. Another victory, thanks to Ivar. But Ivar didn't seem too keen on participating on the celebrations.

"What's it, Ivar?" Hvitserk sat next to him as he saw him pour the ale on his horn for the fifth time "Aren't you happy to get rid of the saxon girl and get paid for it?" he chuckled, but his brother didn't laugh with him. 

"I just think..." Ivar clenched his jaw again "Maybe the price is too low" 

"Low?" Hvitserk raised an eyebrow "We didn't think they'd agree, it's too much, that price would fit a queen, but not a noble girl" 

"Yes but they did agree to it" he shook his head "What if... What if we ask for more?" 

"They would say no, and the negotiations would continue, we don't want that" his older brother frowned and shook his head, taking another sip from his horn "Because we don't want that, right?" 

"No" Ivar replied maybe too fast, and then scowled "It's just that I don't think we've benefited enough from holding her captive, she's obviously more important than we thought" 

"Well, dear brother, if I'm honest, I think you've benefited quite a lot from having her here" he chuckled, patting Ivar's leg softly. His brother widened his eyes at him, but managed to hide his surprise and go back to scowling.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hvitserk" 

"Sure" he laughed, shaking his head "Sure, you don't know, but it's quite obvious, Ivar" he shot him a soft smile "I can't blame you, she's pretty, innocent... I thought you didn't like saxon girls" 

"Shut up" he rolled his eyes, but Hvitserk saw the little smile he tried to hide "I'm not trying to keep her here, I just want to make sure we get the deal that benefits us the most, that's all" 

"Fine, I believe you" this time it was Hvitserk's turn to roll his eyes "Tell Harald, then, but I don't think he will agree" 

"I was waiting for him to get drunk" Ivar shrugged, making his brother laugh. 

"Good luck then" Hvitserk winked at him before getting up "Want advice?" 

"No" 

"Don't fall in love" he ignored him "That doesn't end well" 

_________________________________

Ivar finally gave up, and went back to the tent, in need of some peace and maybe the soft touch of the woman that sat on he bed behind him. Harald didn't listen, and they kept celebrating. 

"Your king agreed to our terms" he said, finally turning his head to look at her. Edlynn wore another dress they had found for her, with her auburn hair loose, and she looked so beautiful Ivar had to blink a couple of times. He wanted to see her reaction, would she be happy? Or would she feel as weird as he had been feeling all day?

But instead she looked confused. 

"What... What does that mean?" 

"That means we'll meet them in a few days and I will let you go"

Edlynn gasped, but instead of feeling relieved and thankful, eager to see her family again, to see Mildrith, to go home... She looked into those ocean eyes and only felt a strange emptiness inside her. 

I must be insane, she thought as she crawled closer to him. Ivar's eyes didn't left her face, almost like he was waiting for her to smile, laugh and sigh in relief. 

Edlynn didn't do any of those things. 

"Aren't you happy?" he gulped. 

"I... I suppose I am" she muttered "But..." 

I know, he thought, nearly desperately. He couldn't describe it either. 

"You'll go back to your castle, you'll marry your lord, you'll be with your family and will have a church to pray to your God every time you want" 

"Yes, but..."

"Wasn't that what you wanted?" he sounded sharper than he intended. 

"I don't want that anymore" Edlynn scowled "I don't want to go back and marry, I don't want to spend my days sewing, gossiping with other women and praying"

Not so long ago, she wouldn't have even imagined she'd say those words, that was her life, a life she had enjoyed and lived happily. But now... Now she had tried other things, new things... Was it that bad to want to keep them?

"I know it's my duty" she continued, the tears threatened to fall down her cheeks, but she held them as she had been taught "And I know I will have to do it someday but I... I will miss you"

Ivar looked away, clenching his jaw again and hoping she didn't see the tears filling his eyes. The thought of entering that tent and finding it empty, without the familiar presence of the annoying saxon girl praying or reading, of spending his nights studying maps alone instead of the books in latin Edlynn would read for him, or talking about the Gods, about the adventures of Thor and Loki or the golden apples of Idunn was... Not what he wanted. 

Not even the possibility of conquering England was helping. 

He felt Edlynn getting closer, and her small hand, with her soft fingers that had never held any kind of weapon, touched his shoulder. Ivar felt dizzy, but couldn't know if it was because of the ale or because of her. 

"I will miss you too" 

The words left his lips before he could hold them back, and when he raised his head to look at her, Edlynn had the biggest smile on her lips. She almost made him smile too. 

"I... You could come and visit me someday?" she muttered, biting her lip "My friend Mildrith would love to meet you, she's obsessed" 

Ivar raised an eyebrow. 

"Do you think your father or your husband would let me visit you? You're supposed to hate me" 

Edlynn's smile faded. 

"I don't hate you" she tilted his head in an adorable way, and Ivar had to look away again "You were a bit mean at first, but you're not like they say you are... And he's not my husband" 

"Yet" he shrugged "What do they say about me?" 

Edlynn giggled, shaking her head.

"Mildrith said you're the Devil, in a human shape, that you are ruthless and... I heard you drink blood and eat human flesh" 

Ivar couldn't help but laugh. 

"I don't eat human flesh" he scowled in disgust "Do you think I could be that Devil you talk about?"

Edlynn took a deep breath, and her fingers caressed softly his cheek. 

"You could be" she said, nodding slowly "You're smart, ambitious, ruthless, but also beautiful, like a fallen angel" Edlynn blushed "You do tempt me to sin"

Ivar smirked, humming in delight. She had a lot more to say about his looks, but decided to keep it to herself to avoid feeding his ego. 

"And you would invite me, the heathen who tempts you, to your home with your father and your husband?"

Edlynn blushed again. 

"He's not my husband" she repeated.

"But you're going to marry him, princess, he will be your husband soon, unless..."

His eyes fixed on the axe he had next to the bed, and Edlynn gasped and punched his arm. 

"Don't even think about it!"

Her reaction amused Ivar, who shook his head laughing. Even if he wasn't actually joking. 

"Lord Edmund is a good man, a good christian, he will take care of me" she said quietly, almost trying to convince herself "And it will be a good thing for my family"

"From what I've seen, princess, you don't need anyone to take care of you" he sighed, leaning to undo his braces. She smiled at that, feeling that warmth fill her body again. It was a huge compliment coming from him. 

When he finished taking off the braces and removed most of his clothes Edlynn was already under the furs, her eyelids felt heavy but she forced herself to stay awake. She wanted to enjoy every moment she had left with him, knowing she wouldn't see him again. They still had some days, though, that comforted her. 

Ivar nearly moaned when he finally was able to lay on the bed. His eyes had been a bit more blue that morning, so it had been a difficult day. Edlynn watched him in silence, amazed by the perfection of his features. How could he be the Devil when he looked sculpted by God? He was too beautiful to be impure, but then again, he was a heathen. Her mind went back to his wife, and a strange pang of jealousy stroke her. What would he do if she kissed him now? 

"It's rude to stare, princess"

Ivar had an amused smirk on his lips, which only grew when he saw Edlynn's glare. 

"Remember when I said I'd miss you? Well, I take it back" 

That made him laugh. 

"Go to sleep, little one" he muttered, already closing his eyes "Maybe I can teach you some more archery before you leave, but only if you rest" 

He could hear a little gasp and imagined her excited smile, but didn't open his eyes until he felt her crawling closer to him and leaning her head on his shoulder. When he did look at her, she was already ready to sleep, with her eyes closed and breathing slowly. 

"Good night, heathen"

Ivar couldn't help but smile, too. 

"Good night, princess"

______________________________________

Ivar was cold. He stirred in his sleep looking for the source of warmth he was missing, but opened his eyes when he couldn't find it. 

The bed was empty, he frowned and pawed at the furs, confused. Where is she? 

The thought of her escaping made him more sad than angry, and he was nearly gasping when he finally spotted her. Edlynn sat on the wooden stool next to his table, studying the paintings of one of the books he had at the dim light of a nearly melted candle. 

"Sorry" she pouted, looking at him with widened eyes "I didn't mean to wake you up" 

"You didn't" he groaned, rubbing his eyes "What are you doing awake? It's the middle of the night" 

He couldn't hear anything outside the tent, only the hushed voices of some guards, and it was still dark. 

"I couldn't sleep" she shrugged. 

"Come back to bed" he nearly ordered, narrowing his eyes at her. Edlynn held back a laugh as she closed the book, leaning in to blow the candle before making her way back to the bed. Ivar watched her as she crawled under the furs and laid back, with her eyes still open. 

"It feels strange to go back and marry someone else"

Ivar frowned in the darkness of the tent. 

"What does that mean?"

"You're the first man I shared the bed with" she muttered "The first man I kissed... The first touching me. I always believed that man would be my husband" 

"I'm also the first man that made you a prisoner" he teased, and Edlynn rolled her eyes with a small smile. 

"I don't think you understand"

"Then tell me"

"I want you to be the last, too" 

Edlynn bit her own tongue after saying it, taking a deep breath as Ivar turned to look at her. She nearly regretted it, but... Why hide it? They probably wouldn't see each other again. She was just telling the truth, like a good christian.

"You don't know what you're saying" 

His answer confused her even more. 

"What?"

"I... We're on different sides, princess" he sighed, and held himself back from reaching out to caress her cheek "I am a heathen, remember?" 

"But you're good to me" she pouted, and Ivar nearly leant in to kiss her "I've seen you talk about your Gods with passion, laugh with your brother, I've seen you bonding with your men and even stroking horses... You're not the monster they talk about, at least not now... You treated me well... As well as you can treat a prisoner, I don't see how you're different from any christian man I know"

Ivar couldn't help but smile and lean his forehead against hers, his fingers tingled, desperate to touch her. He felt a faintly familiar warmth inside his chest. 

"You have to go back home, princess" he insisted "You'll forget about me and will learn to hate me again" 

"I will never hate you" she muttered, and then there was silence. Ivar nearly thought she had fallen asleep again, and kept relaxing against her body, listening to her breathing.

"Ivar" it was the first time he had heard her saying his name, and it sounded so soft with her voice... He looked at her, who had her eyes fixed on his Mjölnir necklace "Kiss me?"

It sounded more like a question than a demand. Edlynn wasn't nearly ready when she felt his strong hand around the side of her neck and his lips pressed against hers. She sighed in delight and kissed him back, grabbing his arm shyly. She had missed his kisses so much... What would she do without them? 

Ivar deepened the kiss, making Edlynn moan quietly and mover her hand to his face, cupping hit softly until her fingers touched his hair. Ivar's hand roamed down her body, settling on her waist and nearly touching her ass. Things were getting out of control, and Ivar didn't know how much he could keep things... Like that. 

Edlynn moved even closer, and now he could feel her breasts against his bare chest. Ivar sighed and smiled against her sweet lips, tightening his grip around her waist. They broke the kiss to breathe, and Edlynn smiled brightly at him before leaning in to kiss him again. 

"We can stop whenever you want" he groaned as her thigh pressed against his cock, making it twitch. 

"I don't want to stop" she replied, frowning, and he nearly laughed. 

Edlynn was serious. She had heard about it more than once, her whole life everyone assured that it was painful and not enjoyable at all for women, but everything Ivar did in that moment felt good... Why wouldn't that feel good then?

"I thought you weren't allowed to do this" he panted as Edlynn's lips landed on his jaw softly. Her kisses were shy, inexperienced, innocent... Completely different from Katia, Freydis or Margrethe, the only women he had ever kissed, but just as effective. 

"I'm not" she giggled "Should I stop?" 

"No" Ivar groaned and tightened his grip on her waist. If they stopped now, he was going to go crazy. He had tried to erase her body from his mind since he saw her in the river that day, and he had failed. 

"I want to do this" she muttered, interrupting their kisses to look at his eyes again "Because I've been told men like it, a lot" she blushed, but the darkness hid it "And I want you to remember me"

"Trust me, princess" Ivar squirmed under her, his body reacting to her closeness "I was going to remember you anyway"

When they kissed again, he tugged at the skirt of her dress, nearly moaning when he finally was able to touch her bare skin. It was soft, warm, and Ivar felt her stiffen when he caressed her leg. Her hand traced the ink lines of his chest as his lips traveled down her neck, Edlynn gasped and let out a shaky breath, biting her tongue. She was supposed to be silent, right? 

"Women can also enjoy this" he said against her skin, his fingers reached her inner thigh and Edlynn's muscles tensed under his touch "Want me to show you?" 

He smirked when she nodded shyly. Edlynn was biting her lip and looking down in curiosity, even if she couldn't see his hand approaching her sex. Ivar wasn't too sure of what he was doing, but kept reaching until he finally touched her, and Edlynn let out a strangled sound and he quickly looked at her. She had closed her eyes and her nails were digging on his skin. Ivar kept caressing her folds until he reached the place that made her jump and moan loudly. 

Edlynn quickly covered her mouth as Ivar smirked with pride and started circling his fingers as his brothers had said more than once. He would have loved to go down and kiss her properly, but didn't want to scare her so soon. 

When Ivar finally pressed two fingers to her entrance, Edlynn opened her eyes, looking both aroused and confused at the same time. 

"Relax" he whispered, reaching to kiss her softly "How does it feel?" 

She was gasping, but managed to reply with a small moan and a frown. 

"Weird" she muttered "But... Good" 

"Good" he nodded, and increased the pace, making Edlynn moan again and grab his arm "I've got you, princess" 

She was shaking between his arms as he started curling his fingers inside her, enjoying the way her walls clenched around them and the incoherent moans she let out. His hand was covered with wetness, and finally Ivar retrieved his hand, making Edlynn whimper in protest. 

But he needed both hands to tear that stupid dress apart. 

She gasped and blushed when he finally was able to throw the pieces of fabric away, to reveal her entire naked body to his eyes. Ivar growled and his lips collapsed against hers again. His hands were everywhere, touching her breasts, her belly and her ass at the same time, and soon his mouth followed them. She nearly felt overwhelmed, where she expected pain and discomfort she only got pleasure, a different kind of pleasure, and she needed more, so much more. 

Ivar finally pushed her to lay down on the bed, and moved to crawl between her legs to keep kissing her. 

"Want me to fuck you, princess?" 

Edlynn widened her eyes, but her legs tightened around his waist and Ivar put his pants down just enough to free his cock. He enjoyed the surprise on her face when she saw it, not used to women being impressed by him. 

"Look at me" he muttered, noticing how she grew nervous "Do you trust me?"

Edlynn allowed herself to get lost into his eyes again, nodding slowly and grabbing his neck as he pressed into her slowly. Ivar needed all of his willpower to keep a slow pace to avoid hurting her too much. She scrunched her nose in pain and closed her eyes. Ivar wasn't an expert, but he knew that, for women, it was painful the first time. Her little shrieks of pain brought back some not very nice memories from his own first time. 

"Hey, princess, open your eyes" he stopped moving, even if he was already shaking from feeling her tight walls around him, when Edlynn obeyed, she had tears in her eyes "Am I hurting you too much?" 

She shook her head and licked her lips. 

"Just a bit"

"I'm sorry" he kissed her temple and let out a shaky breath "I promise it gets better" 

His own eyes were fluttering and he could barely stay still. 

"Keep going" she muttered "I'll be fine"

As he started moving again, Edlynn felt the pain fading slowly. It didn't became pleasurable, like it had when he had used his hand, but it became more... Tolerable. She even felt some pleasure, and it wasn't as bad as she thought, in fact, she enjoyed the way Ivar muttered some strange words in Norse she couldn't understand, and how he moaned and sighed against her skin. It was truly a sight, to see him with his eyes closed in pleasure, enjoying her body in ways she never thought anyone would. 

When Ivar finished, he captured her lips with his again, drowning the sounds they both made as he finally stopped moving. His forehead rested against hers, and their hands were intertwined. None of them said anything at first, enjoying the feeling of being so close, and Ivar let himself hide his face in her neck, sighing. How was he going to let her go now?

___________________________________

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#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x oc #ivar smut #vikings #vikings imagine #heathen

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction | Going All Out For Pride Month [Request]

Stray Kids x GN!Reader 

A/N: I’ve never been to pride month despite being apart of the LGBTQ+ 🥺 So you’ll have to bare with me if things aren’t spot on, I wanted to get them as different from one another as possible xx Hopefully if Lockdown is lifted I can go to this years, my favourite Drag queen is going to be at the event closest to me!!

CHAN:

As soon as Chan walked into the dorms he was greeted with the smell of baked goods flowing through the entire apartment as well as giggles and laughter coming from the kitchen. 

"Babe?" He called out as he realised one of the voices he could hear was yours, he placed his work stuff down in the hallway and headed into the kitchen where he saw you and Felix standing together at the table. Both of you were covered in icing sugar, flour and who knew what else.

"Hi baby, you're home early," You greeted him as you walked over to him, leaning forward to kiss him carefully since your hands were covered in food dye. 

"What have you two been up to?" Chan chuckled as he looked down at the table to see that it was covered in baked goods all decorated with rainbows on them. 

"Baking for Pride. We're going to take them to work tomorrow," Felix announced proudly as he picked up one of the rainbow cupcakes for Chan to try. It was a recipe you had been working on perfecting all month wanting it to be right for Pride month. It was a simple confetti cake only with more sprinkles and rainbow icing on the top. 

"This is amazing," Chan moaned out as soon as he bit into the cake, you smiled brightly hugging him tightly as he wrapped his arms around your body embracing you not caring that he was getting covered in ingredients. 

"I'm proud of you," He told you as he followed you further into the kitchen, watching as you wash your hands off. 

"Proud of me?" You asked, confused as to where this was all coming from but Chan just wrapped his arms around you, placing his head in your neck and kissing your shoulder softly. 

"Proud of you for being open about your sexuality and happy about it. It's nice to see you this happy," He smiled again before kissing your shoulder and heading off for a shower.

MINHO:

For the last week leading up to the start of pride month, you and Minho had been hunting for every single decoration you could potentially find. Together you were decorating the entire apartment you shared with one another, having flags in the windows, a flag on your front door as well as a doormat that announced that you were out and proud. 

"Perfect!" Minho said as he clapped his hands together, looking at the flag you had just put in the window of your apartment, smiling as you came out to join him to take a look. 

"It's not too much?" You questioned, you had been worried he would think all of the decorating and going all out to celebrate would be too much but you couldn't have been further from the truth.

"It's not enough." He whispered as he chuckled softly, he was proud of you for being out and proud about who you were and he would do everything to make sure you knew that. 

"Well Felix is baking those cupcakes with Chan's partner, we can steal some tomorrow when they take them to work." Minho told you as you turned around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him softly happy that your boyfriend was proud of you just like you were.

CHANGBIN:

It had been Changbin's idea to throw a party for Pride month, nothing too big but something with some close friends and family to come along to in celebration of Pride. Changbin had gone all out on everything, ordering decorations months in advance, hiring professional caterers to provide some food fit for Pride. He knew how much celebrating your sexuality and being proud to be yourself meant to you and he wanted to do everything in his power to show you he was the same. Supporting you in any way that he could.

"Changbin, this is insane," You laughed as you joined his side, the party had been amazing so far everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. There were some games in the living room, music in the kitchen where all of the food was, it was incredible to see how much thought and effort Changbin had put into this. 

"Anything for my babe," He whispered as he wrapped his arm around your waist and took you into the living room, watching as Seungmin and Jisung attempted to play beer pong together both of them failing to even get one ball into the cups. 

"You guys suck," You laughed picking up one of the ping bong balls, throwing one ball and getting straight into Seungmin's cup, 

"Drink up pup," You called out happily as you returned to Changbin, getting a kiss on the cheek as he began leading you through the party again.

HYUNJIN:

The whole thing was Hyunjin's idea, since lockdown was still in effect the two of you couldn't go to parties or pride parade's since most of them had been cancelled. Instead, Hyunjin gave you the idea of supporting LGBTQ+ artists, going out to purchase books, artwork and other items from creators who were a part of the LGBTQ+ community. Ending up in owning so many books neither you nor Hyunjin had space for them but it didn't matter, you were just happy you could still celebrate and take part in Pride month despite there being a worldwide pandemic happening around you both. 

"You need to read this one next," You said as you showed Hyunjin the book you had just finished, he glanced up from his copy of "Red, White and Royal blue" and smiled as he nodded. 

"Only if you read this one," You agreed with him, switching books as soon as he finished letting him read Carry On which you had just finished. 

JISUNG:

When you asked Jisung to attend a pride parade with you, you had no idea he would be as excited as he was until the day. He'd picked you up at your apartment and he was dressed to the nines in rainbows, sporting a bag which he said had an outfit for you. 

"I didn't know if you had a flag so I got you one," He said as he pulled out a flag you could wrap around your body to walk around the parade with and he smiled. Jumping up and down as he waited for you to get changed, he was excited about going to his first pride parade and had been doing research on what would be happening and what he could look forward to. 

"I saw that one of your favourite drag queens is going to be at one of the bars local to the parade, shall we head inside and see if we can meet them?" He quizzed you as you headed into the streets where everyone was out in full pride gear, smiling and cheering in celebration. 

"Sure!" You yelled out over the music, taking his hand in yours as you both headed out for the day full of fun activities. 

FELIX:

It would be your first pride month since coming out and Felix wanted to do something with you to celebrate but he wasn't sure what there was to do. He'd done a bunch of research leading up to the month and found out there were some workshops happening in the town centre so he booked you both in for a few of them. The first one was a t-shirt workshop where you would both design your own pride shirts and then get to wear them home. 

"This is more fun then I imagined," You laughed as you looked up from your paper, you'd been designing four t-shirts but Felix was still struggling on his first one. He figured designing a t-shirt would be fun and easy but it was proving to be harder than he thought to come up with a design for the front of his shirt. 

"Here, babe." You laughed moving closer to your boyfriend and taking his hands in yours, he closed his eyes and you smiled. 

"Take a deep breath, relax...It's just a shirt...A shirt you want to wear, whatever you want on the front to express yourself on it..." He nodded along with everything you were saying and as soon as you let go of his hands he began drawing designs down, smiling at himself when he pulled away from the paper to show you his idea. A small pride flag embroidered into the top left of the shirt and on the back was all of the different flags that were part of the LGBTQ+ with the quote, "I'm an ally," above them. 

"Perfect." You told him as you leant forward to kiss his lips softly.

SEUNGMIN:

You'd been in Korea since lockdown began which meant flying home wasn't an option, you were going to miss out on Pride and Seungmin knew how much it meant to you so he decided to surprise you. He'd gone out shopping while you were in the dorms one day and he bought a bunch of arts and craft items, canvases, paint and more. 

"What's all this?" You questioned as you walked into the kitchen one morning to see Seungmin getting everything ready for you both, two blank canvases on the table as he stared up at you. 

"Since we can't go out for Pride and you can't go home I figured we could celebrate our own way." Your mouth fell open as you stared at him, smiling happily as you walked over to hug him tightly. 

"We can make our own flags, I also go a bunch of LGBTQ+ Movies that we can watch while we're painting." He explained everything he had planned for the day, even if it wasn't a party of parade it was perfect. Getting to celebrate with someone who loved you and was proud of you in every sense of the word. 

JEONGIN: 

"What are you doing?" You laughed softly as Jeongin kept his hands over your eyes, leading you through the park he'd brought you too. He'd told you he had something special planned for the day but that was all he told you before bringing you here. 

"You'll see, sit," He chuckled as he knelt own on a blanket, letting you sit down in front of him, once you were comfortable he slowly lifted his hands from your eyes and you gasped out. The boys were all in the park with you, small pride flags painted on each of their cheeks, surrounding you all was a picnic blanket with food. The blanket was a huge rainbow flag and you let out another happy gasp, turning to Jeongin who was having a flag painted onto his cheek. 

"You're next," He laughed as he caught you staring at him. It was just the other night that you were telling him about how upset you were about not getting to celebrate Pride month back home with friends and he knew he had to do something special for you in order to make you feel happy again.

"Felix and Seungmin had been baking all night. Minho and Jisung went out and got everything ready this morning when I came for you." You inched closer to your boyfriend, laying your head down on his shoulder as you thanked him for everything.

Tagline: @taestannie​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @minholuvr69​ @sw33tnight​ @acciocriativity​ @that-anxious-bisexual​

#skz #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz reactions #skz reaction #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids reaction #stray kids reactions #Bang Chan #chan x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin #jeongin #kim seungmin #seungmin #lee felix #felix #han jisung #jisung #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #seo changbin

[iliveiloveiwrite]

You Know What They Say About Weddings // R.W. (celebration fic)

Request: Omg congratulations!!!! Could you do a Ron x Reader with the "theres only one bed" trope and fluff prompts 11 and 1? Thank you so much and congrats again!! - @mischi3f-manag3d

Fluff 1: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Fluff 11: “Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

A/N: Just me that's ridiculously attracted to the photo below? Anyway! Here is your request, I hope you like!! 

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: I don’t think there are any - just a load of fluff really.

Word count: 1.6k

The band hired by Molly Weasley upon the recommendation of an old friend played in the corner of the marquee. The Weasley family and their friends all crowded there; happy to watch the eldest Weasley child, Bill, marry the love of his life, Fleur.

It had been a wonderful ceremony; very few left the service with dry eyes.

You found it hard to keep your emotions in check through it all; wanting so desperately to turn to the youngest Weasley son beside you and ask if he felt the same way as you – if he loved you just as much as you have loved him since Fifth Year.

You think back to this morning; when you had arrived at the Burrow in time to watch the marquee be raised. Your eyes had landed on Ron, and they hadn’t left him. Your eyes ran over his body; drinking in the sight of him in a suit – sleeves rolled up due to the already warm day. Not wanting to be caught, you turned away and rid your mind of the thoughts running through it at warp speed.

With a laugh at the memory, you drag Ron onto the dancefloor. Awkwardness radiates from him, but he dutifully places his hand on your waist and takes your hand in his as your other hand places itself on his shoulder. You laugh together as you try to follow the beat of the song; the dance lessons given by McGonagall doing nothing for either of your left feet. You step on his toes repeatedly, but he doesn’t complain once; he just changes tact – instead of trying to attempt the waltz, he simply changes the hold of his arms and decides to have fun instead.

Spinning around the dancefloor; you can’t help but let yourself imagine. You can’t help but let yourself think of the future you so desperately desired with the very redhead holding you so gently in his arms.

You know what they say about weddings.

-----

Fred leans down to Harry’s ear, pointing towards Ron and you on the dancefloor, “When do you think they’ll pull their finger out?”

Harry laughs, “Worried about the bet, Fred?”

Fred snorts, “Hardly.”

Harry watches his best friend twirl you around on the dancefloor before pulling you back in as you laugh. Harry swivels to face Fred, “You know what they say about weddings.”

--------

You throw off your heels; groaning at the feel of your blood rushing back to your feet. At this height, Ron can easily throw an arm over your shoulder, “Better?”

You nod, “Much.”

Following Ron upstairs, you stifle yawn after yawn. The reception had been one of the best nights of your life; dancing, drinking, laughing – it was a truly happy night. You had danced with Ron for a lot of night; dragging him to the dancefloor for one dance but then staying with him for three more. He eventually left to get drinks whilst you danced with Hermione, Ginny, and Luna – a wide smile across your face.

You hadn’t missed the looks exchanged by the girls when Ron came back to steal your attention. You also hadn’t missed the conversation between Ron’s family and your friends as they watched you continue to the dance with the red-haired man.

You shake your head as you remember that moment; you were aware of the bet they had going. Hermione unable to keep a secret from you had blabbed it to you less than a month after it was made. She felt awful for keeping it from you, but you assured her you didn’t mind too much – curious as to who had what date.

“You don’t mind sharing my room with me?” Ron checks.

You shake your head, smiling at him sleepily, “I don’t mind.”

Ron relaxes somewhat, but he still remains tense, “There’s only one bed.”

You roll your eyes, “How many nights did I sneak into the hospital to stay with you after you hurt your leg?”

Ron blushes, “You’re right. I’ll let you get changed first… just knock when you’re done.”

In that moment, he looks so helpless that you lift yourself onto your tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. The last thing you see before closing his bedroom door is Ron pressing a hand to his cheek with a wide smile.

You knock lightly on the door when you’re done changing. Ron enters the room with a light blush dusting his cheeks; his eyes running over body quickly. He turns to his dresser, pulling out his pyjamas.

“I’ll wait outside for you to finish changing.”

Ron shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it; just turn around.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” He laughs.

You turn to face the singular window; the moon is high in the sky and the sky is so clear that you can see the stars. Looking into the garden, you see Bill and Fleur still dancing – alone, no longer surrounded by family and friends. They have no idea they have an audience; they just remain in each other’s arms, finally happy to have a private moment between them. You shift your gaze when Bill dips his heads to kiss his wife.

You think to yourself; there’s just something about weddings.

Ron coughs; bringing you out of your reverie. Turning around, you find him dressed in some old sweatpants and an old shirt. Your heart softens at the sight of him; his hands flex at his side – his nervous tick

His bed is just big enough for two; you lie side by side on your back, hands laid out by your sides. It would take less than a millimetre of space; less than a second of time to reach out and take his hand in yours, to tangle your fingers together.

But you don’t. You lie next to him; mind racing just as fast as your heart – any sense of tiredness hanging over you chased away the moment you laid down next to the boy you’ve loved since Fifth Year.

“Did you have fun today?” Ron asks in the dark; filling the silence.

“I did. It was nice to see everyone before we go back to school. Harry and Ginny looked particularly close.”

Ron frowns, “My sister and my best friend.”

You giggle, turning onto your side, “Don’t act like you don’t approve.”

Ron sighs with a smile,  “You’ve caught me out,” He furrows his brows, “Did you see them all whispering when we were dancing?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, “Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

Ron snorts, reaching for your hand in the dark, “I know. Harry told me about it tonight.”

You sit up in bed; not letting go of his hand, “How long has it been going on? Hermione told me about it but she never said when it started.”

“Since last year. Harry only brought it up because if we get together by Saturday, he wins the bet.”

You laugh, “I can’t believe them.”

“Absolute gits,” Ron laughs.

You play with your fingers, dropping his hand to do so, “What do you think of the bet?”

Ron sits up, “Why?”

“It doesn’t annoy you?” You question; risking a peek at his face in the limited light of the moon.

“Not particularly. It’s a harmless bet.”

You nod your head; trying not to think too much of it.

“Why? What do you think of the bet?”

You sigh heavily; wondering how best to phrase what you’ve wanted to say to him all day, deciding that the truth is the best way to go. “I think I’m in love with you,” You state; bluntly, honestly.

Ron’s mouth drops open and you start talking without giving him a chance to say anything, “You don’t need to feel the same; really, you don’t,” You grab a pillow, “I’ll go sleep on the couch, I’ll see you in the morning.”

You make to leave but Ron’s hand grips your wrist, “Sit back down. At least give me a chance to reply.”

You sit back down on the bed slowly; your hand still grips the pillow in case you need to sleep downstairs. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Ron asks.

Shrugging your shoulders, you say, “I’m not sure. I wanted to, I really did but then you were with Lavender and I didn’t feel like talking to you a lot and then, and then, and then, I guess I didn’t want to ruin the friendship.”

“I wondered why you pulled away through Lavender; I barely saw you.”

You sigh; crushing the pillow to your chest, “It hurt too much to look at you.”

Ron shuffles on the bed, “If I had known-”

“You’d have what?” You interrupt, “You’d have broken up with her?”

Ron shakes his head, “I’d have never dated her.”

“What?”

“I’d have never dated her,” He repeats, “I’d have asked you out.”

“Oh,” You state.

“Yeah,” Ron mumbles, looking down.

“We’ve mucked this up haven’t we?”

“Nah, we haven’t,” Ron laughs, “We just delayed their bet.”

You giggle, “The bet. Who do we want to win?”

“Who’s the closest to tonight?”

You think for a moment; remembering the piece of paper that Hermione explained was the bet. “I think you were right earlier,” You say, “Harry is the closest by Saturday.”

“What do you think? Shall we let Harry win?”

You smile softly, leaning closer to Ron, “I think I’m okay with Harry winning.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron whispers before pulling you in for a kiss.

His hand caresses your cheek, and he smiles into the kiss. You soon begin to laugh at the absurdity of it all; having to pull away from the redhead and assure him that it isn’t him you’re laughing at. Your jealousy over Lavender never spurred you to confess your feelings, neither did the Department of Mysteries, but a bet and a wedding has you falling into Ron’s arms.

Well, you know what they say about weddings.

***********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03​ @acciotwinz​ @kashishwrites​

#ron weasley x reader #ron weasley #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley reader insert #ronald bilius weasley #ron x reader #ron weasley x you #ron weasley x y/n #fluff #ron fluff #ron weasley fluff #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #the golden trio #the golden trio fanfiction #the lightning era #my writing

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Lovers VANDEAD CARNIVAL ;; Azusa Route ー Chapter 4

ー The scene starts on the Carnival’s venue

Yui: Phew...

( The wound on my hand has completely healed. I’m surprised. )

( However, Azusa-kun collapsing from soaking in the hot water for too long might have just shocked me even more... )

Azusa: Yui-san...I’m sorry for what happened earlier...

Yui: Oh no, I’m just glad you’re okay. However, don’t be so reckless again, okay?

Azusa: Yeah...I’ll be careful...

So...Where do you want to go next...?

Yui: Eh...?

I thought we were going back to the castle? You’re not feeling the best either...

Azusa: ...I’m okay now. So let’s hang around a little longer?

Yui: B-But...

Azusa: ...It’s fine. ...Okay?

Yui: ( I wonder if he really is feeling fine...? )

( However, I want to explore the Carnival together with Azusa-kun as well. )

( Just a little longer won’t hurt, right? )

ー The scene shifts to the wagon area

Yui: Seems like there’s a bunch of wagons lined up over here.

While we’re here, let’s start from one end and work our way across!

*Pop*

Yui: ...Hm?

( What was that sound just now...? )

*Pop pop pop*

Yui: ( Seems like a crowd has formed... )

( I’m honestly a little curious... )

Selection

→ Go check out a different wagon

Yui: ( However, it seems busy right now...So choosing another wagon might be wiser. )

Azusa-kun, why don’t we go to the shops on the other side for now?

Azusa: ...

...Eve, I want to go check out where the noise is coming from...

→ I want to check it out  (☾)

Azusa: I wonder what that sound just now was...?

Yui: It’s a little intriguing, huh...? There seem to be a lot of people gathered as well.

Yui: Yeah, let’s go take a look!

ー The two of them walk towards the wagon in question

Yui: ( I’m glad we made it to the right wagon but... )

( I can’t see very well because of the large crowd... )

Azusa: Say, Eve? Should we try going a little more to the front...?

???: Oh~? Who do we have here?

???: Yo, fellas!

Yui: ...Hm? These voices...

Azusa: ...Kou...Yuma...

Kou: A wild Azusa-kun and M-neko-chan have been spotted~!

Yuma: Hmm, seems like ya two are gettin’ along just swell.

Azusa: Why are you guys here...?

Kou: While passing by here earlier, we couldn’t help but notice the crowd of people, you see~

So the two of us decided to drop by and see.

Yui: I see...! Say, what’s the big buzz about?

Yuma: What? Ya came here without knowin’?

Azusa: There’s so many people, we could only hear the sounds...

Is someone being hit...?

Kou: That’s not it~! They’re playing a balloon popping game!

Yui: Balloon popping...?

Kou: Exactly! But the stall owner is a big bully, you see~

He adds in a few balloons which are quite hard to pop...

We gave it a try earlier as well,

but we didn’t do a great job.

Yui: I see...

( It must be quite a difficult game if even Kou-kun and Yuma-kun struggled with it... )

Azusa: I wonder why such a difficult game...is attracting this many people...?

Yuma: I won’t deny it’s tough, but the prizes are no joke either.

If ya manage to put down a nice score, you’ll get somethin’ nice in return...Which makes people wanna give it a shot.

That bein’ said...Most of the people here are just here to watch.

Kou: Ahー! Right! Now that you’re here anyway, the two of you should give it a try as well!

Yui: Eh!?

Yuma: Why not? You’ll never know until ya try.

Yui: But...

( Not even Kou-kun and Yuma-kun managed to do a good job... )

( I wonder if I’ll be able to do well...? )

Kou: I want to give that shop owner a run for his money! I’m still frustrated after all...

Yui: Hm...What should we do, Azusa-kun...?

Azusa: ...A knife polishing set...

Yui: Eh?

Azusa: I’d love the knife polishing set amongst the prizes...

Yui: Eeh!?

Yuma: Oh, seems like Azusa’s totally up for it!

Come on, ya should give it a shot as well!

Yui: ( ...Azusa-kun’s staring closely at the prizes... )

( I’m not very confident...But I suppose I’ll give it my best shot as well...! )

Okay then. I’m in!

Kou: That’s the M-neko-chan I know!

Now that it’s settled...!

ー Kou drags her along

Kou: Come on, move aside~!

Mister! This lady is up for the challenge!

Stall owner: Well, well, if it isn’t Karlheinz-sama’s...

Who is the next challenger...Could it be...That human...?

Yui: Ah...Yes...

Stall owner: ...

Yui: ( I wonder why...? He’s really staring at me... )

Azusa: ...Don’t worry, Eve. Leave this to me.

She isn’t just an ordinary human...

Stall owner: ...Hm?

Azusa: She’s the Queen of the Carnival after all...

Stall owner: ...

...Hmph.

Yui: ( Ah...Again... )

Stall owner: ...Oh dear. My apologies. In that case, you are more than welcome to play.

...Come on, go ahead.

*Rustle*

Azusa: ...Eve, don’t worry. Let’s try our best together...

Yui: ...Thank you, Azusa-kun.

Azusa: ...Don’t mention it.

Yui: ( ...He was so kind to help me out, so I have to try hard for Azusa-kun’s sake as well. )

Azusa: ...The knife polishing set...

Yui: ( ...Yeah, and for the knife polishing set as well... )

Explanation: Pop the balloons in the order indicated by the numbers by tapping the screen. 

If multiple balloons appear at once, tap until they are all gone. 

If two balloons with the same number appear, tap them simultaneously. 

You can play this game in EASY, NORMAL and HARD mode.

Yui: ...I did it!

Azusa: Eve...Amazing...

Kou: Heeh~! You got a high score, M-neko-chan!

Actually, you scored way more points than I did!

Yuma: Look at ya go!

Yui: Eh? ...You think so...?

Stall owner: Now this is surprising...Nobody has scored this high before!

Yuma: Ya heard him! Good for ya!

Yui: T-Thank you...!

Stall owner: Well then, please choose a prize of your liking.

Yui: I’d like the knife polishing set, please!

Azusa: Eh? ...You can choose whichever prize you want, you know...?

Yui: No, this is fine. Let me give it to you as a present?

Besides, it’s thanks to you I was able to succeed at the game!

Here you go, Azusa-kun!

Azusa: ...Eve, thank you.

Yui: You’re welcome!

Azusa: ...Did you have fun with the game?

Yui: Of course!

Azusa: I’m glad...to hear that.

Kou: Hmm~ You’re making me jealous.

Yui: Eh!?

Yuma: Look at ya guys showin’ off!

Yui: Ah...Um...I didn’t mean it like that...

*Rustle rustle*

Yui: ( Wah...Azusa-kun grabbed my hand... )

Azusa: ...Eve is mine so...

...Right?

Yui: ( I can only nod when he looks at me with such serious eyes... )

Y-Yeah...

Kou: Haah-aah~ ...Well, guess we should take our leave soon then.

Yuma: Good point.

Kou: That being said...See you guys~!

ー Kou and Yuma walk away

Yui: They left...

Azusa: We have to thank them later...

Yui: Yeah.

Azusa: We were able to enjoy the game together because they told us about it after all...

Yui: Fufu...You’re right.

Well then...Shall we go to the next place?

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the Carnival’s venue

???: Dear customer!!

Yui: ...Hm?

Stall owner: Customer! Aah, thank god. I’m glad you were still closeby.

Yui: Is something the matter...?

Azusa: ...

Stall owner: Yes...I actually forgot to hand you something earlier...

Azusa: Something you forgot...to hand us...?

Stall owner: Here you go. ...It’s this.

*Rustle*

Yui: ( This is...? )

Cotton candy...?

Azusa: ...!

Stall owner: Here you go! You get it for participating in the game earlier!

Yui: Waah...! Thank you so much!

Aren’t we lucky, Azusa-kun? It’s cotton candy! I’m sure it’s delicious!

Azusa: ...Fluffy and...

Yui: Eh? What’s wrong, Azusa-kun?

Azusa: ...Fluffy and...sweet...

...

...Thank you very much.

Karlheinz-sama.

Yui: Eh...?

Stall owner: ...

Yui: Azusa-kun, ‘Karlheinz-sama’...?

Azusa: ...You are Karlheinz-sama, aren’t you?

Stall owner: ...Good grief.

ー The stall owner transforms back into Karlheinz

Yui: Eh...!? 

Karlheinz: I did not expect you would see through my disguise...Azusa.

Azusa: ...

Yui: Eh? Um...Hold up, Azusa-kun!

I’m not quite grasping the situation...

Besides, who is Karlheinz-sama...?

Karlheinz: Aah...My apologies. It seems I have startled you a little.

Yui: ...

Azusa: The owner from earlier...Was Karlheinz-sama in disguise...

He is the one who made the four of us a family.

Yui: A family...!?

Azusa: But why did you do this...?

Karlheinz: Hm...I suppose I have no other choice now that you have found out this much.

I shall reveal the entire truth.

...To celebrate Eve...and you as well, Azusa...

I decided to hold this banquet.

Yui: Eh...?

Karlheinz: However, it would be dull to simply hold a party, no?

That is when I decided to invite you as the Queen of the Carnival.

Hoping the two of you would have a good time together.

As part of said plan...I had a small curse placed on the pudding, however...

It seems like it was a little too powerful...

Yui: ( Ah... )

Azusa: ...

Karlheinz: I deeply regret hurting you in the process.

Yui: Ah...No, it’s nothing...

Azusa: ...Ah...So that’s why...

Karlheinz: Trying to help out where I could, I appeared in front of you two as the fortune teller.

And healed the wound.

Azusa: Then...Are you perhaps behind...the lack of people at the spa as well..?

Karlheinz: ...Hmph.

Exactly. I received word from my Familiars that the two of you were being targeted by other Vampires, due to the wound which had been inflicted on Eve.

Therefore...I figured you two at least deserved some peace while letting your injuries heal, so I made sure the place was empty.

Yui: ( Ah...So that’s why we were the only two people there... )

Azusa: ...

...Actually...I had a hunch.

That perhaps the fortune teller was actually you, Karlheinz-sama...

Yui: Really...!?

Karlheinz: Hooh...?

Azusa: ...Because long ago...There was a time where you instantly...

healed one of my wounds, remember...?

When I saw that the injury on your hand had healed at the spa...

I started wondering...That perhaps...

Karlheinz: Now that you mention it...I once did such a thing, didn’t I?

I see. You were on the right track this whole time.

Azusa: ...Yes.

Karlheinz: ...Very well. Then let me give you...what you are truly looking for.

Although Azusa already seems to have an idea of what I could be talking about...

Yui: Eh...?

Karlheinz: Fufu, this...

Azusa: ...

Karlheinz: Azusa...This cotton candy is what you have been looking for, no?

Yui: Eh? ...It wasn’t pudding!?

Azusa: ...Sorry, Eve...You were being so considerate towards me but...

I felt so bad about it...That’s when I decided to tell you it was the pudding...

Yui: Ah...I see how it is now...

You really shouldn’t have though...

Azusa: ...I didn’t want to sadden you...

...I’m sorry...

Yui: Oh no, don’t worry about it.

I’m happy you found the food from your memories as well.

Azusa: Eve...Thank you.

Karlheinz: ...Hm...Well then, I shall take my leave first.

Azusa: ...Karlheinz-sama.

Karlheinz: Azusa. If you make such an expression, it will make Eve sad, no?

You should return to the castle. We have a party prepared for the two of you.

The Carnival has yet to end. Enjoy it to the fullest.

Yui: ...Thank you very much!

Karlheinz: ...Hm.

...Azusa.

Azusa: ...Yes.

Karlheinz: Your future...lies in your own hands.

Azusa: ...

Karlheinz: I shall simply watch and confirm...The destiny you two decide to choose.

ー Karlheinz disappears

Yui: ( Ah...He disappeared... )

Azusa: ...I’m sorry, Eve...That must have shocked you, huh...?

Yui: Eh...?

Azusa: About Karlheinz-sama...

I was still a little skeptical at first as well...

Yui: Ah...No. Well, it did surprise me...

However...He did all of that for us, didn’t he...?

When I look at it like that...I feel like we should thank him...

Azusa: ...I’m glad to hear you say that...

...Say, why don’t we use the opportunity...To enjoy this cotton candy together?

Yui: Eh? ...But it has a nostalgic value for you, so...

Azusa: That’s exactly why...I want to eat it with you...

Yui: ...If you say so...!

Azusa: ...Thank you.

ー Azusa moves closer

Yui: You should have the first bite?

Azusa: Okay...Well then...I’m digging in...

...Nn...Nom...

Yui: ...How is it?

Azusa: ...Fluffy and...sweet...

Eve...This is what I’ve been looking for...

Yui: I’m glad...!

Azusa: Then...I’ll give it to you next. ...Open your mouth...?

Yui: Eh...?

Azusa: ...Please...?

Yui: ( Uu...But he won’t offer this every day, so... )

Just one bite, okay...?

Azusa: Yeah...

Yui: ...

Azusa: ...How is it...?

Yui: It’s sweet and delicious.

Azusa: ...Fufu!

Yui: Also...Somehow it has a very gentle taste.

Azusa: A gentle...taste...?

Yui: Yeah! I’m sure it’s because it has your feelings packed inside.

Azusa: My...feelings...?

Do you mean...this cozy feeling?

Yui: Yeah. The kind that warms your heart, I suppose.

Azusa: ...

...I didn’t know that when I first ate this...

...If only...you could have been with me back then...

...

Yui: Azusa-kun.

Azusa: ...?

Yui: We can’t go back in time to when you first had this but...

From here on out...I’ll always be by your side.

So...Please don’t look so sad...?

Azusa: ...!

You’re absolutely right...I’ll be with you as well...Forever...

Yui: Yeah...!

( I’m glad he finally smiled. )

Azusa: ...Right, we have to go to the castle...

Yui-san, we should get going soon...

Yui: ( Karlheinz-san said he would hold a party for us at the castle... )

I wonder what kind of party it’ll be? I’m excited.

( ...However, I can’t help but wish. )

( The two of us could be alone together like this just a little longer. )

( However...It would be selfish of me to say that...right...? ) 

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

← RETURN TO CHAPTER 3

→ PROCEED TO FINALE ENDING

→ PROCEED TO NORMAL ENDING

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #azusa mukami #vandead carnival #diabolik lovers translation #vcazusachapter4

[periminkle]

blazes of deceit

this fic is a part of the disney collab hosted by @btswritingcafe​!! please go check out all the other talented writers and their works 💕

+ summary. When the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide.

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

+ warnings. threats against a baby’s life, unwarranted death, mom problems, trespassing, pan violence, hiding a (not dead) body, tying people up with hair, curse words, drinking, thievery, deadly chase, sword/pan fight, recklessly jumping from a great height, graphic descriptions of wounds and blood, general violence, dark family matters (it’s pretty twisted!), orchestrated infidelity.

+ author’s note. happy early birthday to golden baby jungkook!! this fic took me wAY too long to write but she’s finally here! HUGE thank you to my big brain frenemy @guklvr​ for beta reading and hyping me up by boosting my confidence level +2000 even tho she’s on vacation and should be relaxing LMAO i would’ve postponed this until next year if u didn’t push me so TY ILY LOADS CARL 💘 i also wanted to shoutout #1 jk ryder supporter @dewykth​ and wofe @yeojaa​ for encouraging me every step along the way, y’all are the best n ily both to pieces 💝💕

You are positively ravenous.

Flurries of people scurry past the towering bars of your crib, yet none spare a glance in your direction despite your boisterous wailing. Like moths to a flame, they’re all huddled in one corner, surrounding a panting woman that clutches her rotund abdomen in one hand while tightly clasping onto a bejewelled crown in the other.

“What are you waiting for?” she spits out, hardened orbs narrowed in on your pathetic form.

“Your Royal Majesty, it’s only been an hour since you have given birth, please reconsider—”

Her glower is redirected onto the younger woman’s trembling form. “Are you questioning your Queen? Shall we reconsider your life as well?”

“No,” she begs, her tone quivering with anguish, “please spare my ignorant self.”

Your facial muscles begin to cramp and the walls of your throat feel like sandpaper, which only serves to exacerbate your violent sobs. The insistent suckling on your thumb is doing nothing to quell your raging stomach.

Her lips peel back to reveal two rows of pearly white, dazzling teeth framed by a nasty snarl. “Somebody slit that brat’s throat!”

Another midwife adorned in the bloody rags of childbirth darts across the cramped space with a weeping bundle of rough canvas in her arms. As she scrambles to deliver the shuddering newborn into his counterfeit mother’s arms, the clumsy woman trips over thin air, flying across her enraged Queen’s lap. Without a second thought, her backside is pierced by a shiny steel sword, sullied in a crimson liquid when it reappears.

The introduction of another babe deters your cries for attention. Instead, you distract yourself with a dull glimmer that you catch in your peripheral. Your chubby fingers hopelessly extend toward the dingy stars dangling above your head, just out of reach, reflecting the bright orange tiger lily printed onto the high ceiling of your cage.

“Not a soul shall speak of today's treachery.”

You’re well aware that your short arms could never stretch the distance required to satiate your unending curiosity; but they stay aloft, searching for the reassuring warmth of your mother’s embrace.

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

Screams of agony overwhelm your developing eardrums as your tiny hands come to cradle your head, willing the pain to end.

Every inch of your walls is covered with abstract paintings, doodles of twisting branches snaking around the edges, dainty birds in every colour under the sun, and a joyous little girl dancing in her own brilliant freedom. No matter where you look, bespeckled tiger lilies are buried within the intricate linework like easter eggs, waiting to be found.

Your favourite by far is the uncanny depiction of the image stashed deep inside the crevices of your memory, a sight your heart desires to view most from up close. The miniature illustration captures your longing gaze pinned on the multitudinous lights ascending from a foreign location, golden hair streaming down your back and flowing over the fireplace in your determination to capture its vast length.

You attempt to steel your nerves for the umpteenth time, but you can’t help your nervous pacing across the minuscule length of your room. The entire tower is spotless as a result of your mindless cleaning—floors scrubbed twice, nonexistent dust wiped away, and trinkets set at the perfect angle to encourage your mother to comply with your outrageous request.

Today is the day, after all. The day that you’ll finally convince the stubborn woman to bring you out to watch the masses of floating lanterns disappear into the night sky.

The pitter-patter of your bare feet scuttling against the concrete floors nearly drown out the melodic appellations from outside your window.

“—down your hair!”

You dash over to the aperture, hastily gathering the ends of your mane to fling down while fixing the bulk of it onto the hook above your head. When the figure enshrouded in a black cloak snatches up your tresses, looping it around to create a foothold and carefully wedges one leg inside, you haul them up through the makeshift pulley.

By the time both of their feet are safely planted on the ground next to yours, sweat is beginning to form by your temples and the perpetual ache in your arms flares from consistently being forced to heave another grown adult up the stretch of the colossal tower.

“Welcome home, Mother.” You pull the rest of your hair inside and turn to face the stunning woman who lowers her excessively long hood, the extra length of fabric intentionally stitched on to keep her identity obscure as she travels.

Your mother sweeps you up into her comforting embrace and you allow yourself to relax in her arms, resting your cheek on her chest while your digits tightly clasp on to one another around her middle. Her chin settles onto the crown of your head.

“You would think that lifting me up all these years would give you some more upper body strength,” she says, her disappointment practically tangible. Placing both manicured hands upon each of your shoulders with a light squeeze, she pushes you back to examine your body from head to toe. “But look at you! My poor, delicate, little flower.”

Your forehead creases from your raised brows as a tense smile completes your agitated countenance.

“Oh, darling, what’s wrong? Come, come with Mother.” The adamant woman latches onto your forearm, dragging you over to the rustic fireplace and pressing down on your shoulders. Ever the obedient child, you kneel down onto the thick rug below.

Your mother delicately takes a seat on the antique chair beside you, a weary sigh slipping past her lips before she starts sweeping a brush through your golden strands. As per tradition, you sing the incantation that’s essentially engraved in the back of your mind at this point.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

A gleaming shimmer races across your tresses at the verse and from the corner of your vision you watch the light creases marring your mother’s features fade in rapt attention. She hums along to the tune with a detached, distant look in her eyes.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

You allow your lids to slide closed, gathering all the courage you can muster for the following conversation.

“What once was mine.”

Once the last note fades and a deafening silence reigns, she gently urges, “Tell Mother everything.”

This is it, it’s now or never.

“Uh, well, as you know,” you mumble, clearing your throat, “my eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.”

“Mhm, and I’ve already gotten your present as well,” she hums, steadily working her way down your mass of hair.

You falter at the information she casually reveals, guilt eating away at your conscience for preparing to ruin her good mood. “Yes, I know you’re always thinking of me, but, uh, well—”

“You can tell me, darling.” You register your mother’s heavy palm stroking your head, coaxing the words to tumble out of your mouth.

So you lay it on her. “I was just wondering if you would take me to see the lanterns this year.”

“What was that?” she questions, rightfully so when the garbled words blurt out quicker than you can process.

Before you can second guess yourself, you stammer, “C-can we please go see the lanterns?”

The brush suddenly halts in its path, suspended within the waves and dips of your many strands. Although you can’t see her, you know your mother well enough to feel her stiffen up, peeved at the topic you’ve brought up many times before.

“Petal—”

You interrupt, desperate to plead your case, “Mother, please, I’ve been waiting for—”

“Zip it.” You instantly clamp up at her hissing.

Your mother takes her time to stand, stalking over to halt directly in front of your hunched form. Her daunting figure looms above you, fierce orbs evoking a filthy shame that sinks its claws into your spine, and you lower your stare to her ankles from its intense weight. “Enough. I don’t understand why you keep asking this idiotic question when you already know what my answer is going to be.”

Her spontaneous refusal dampens your spirit, but you press on. “I just, uh, thought that I could see them once for my birthday a-and then I’d never ask to leave the tower again.”  

With a scowl as cold as an executioner’s axe, her arms come to cross beneath her bust. “I’ve already told you time and time again that they’re to celebrate the healthy birth of the Prince, any special ‘connection’ you feel to these lights is simply misguided and naive.”

You scramble to gather the scraps of bravery she shredded in order to sputter out, “But it’s my b-birthday too. Even if it’s just a coincidence, I wanna see them with my own two eyes.”

“How many times do I have to explain to you how dangerous the world is outside these walls? Do you know how many people are jumping at the chance to use your magic for themselves?” She rolls her eyes, chiding at you as if you’re a petulant child who disobeyed their elders one too many times. “If your little heart wants some adventure, you can go downstairs and explore the living room, besides darling, you should be thankful that nothing has happened all these years.”

“How am I supposed to be thankful for anything when you keep coddling me like this!” you lash out, frustration bubbling over at her usual response and refusing to toe the line any longer. Any notion of gently swaying her judgement or prompting her to consider your point of view is thrown out the window.

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

“What?” Her words turn to ice—syllables forming razor-sharp blades that figuratively line your throat, poised to strike the second you step out of place. “Do you want to repeat that?”

Your breaths quicken, deathly afraid of the repercussions that will follow if you decide to continue your rebellious act. It wouldn’t be the first time that she punished you for begging to leave the tower.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, head hanging low and voice laced with resignation, “I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Aw, my precious petal,” she coos, her mood drastically flipping one hundred and eighty degrees as the edges of her lips subtly point upwards at your obedience. “That’s why Mother is here, to guide you in the right direction. You know that I’m only looking out for you, right?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Evidently content with the outcome of the conversation, she turns back to continue brushing through your tresses.

By the time her ebony cloak rests upon her thin shoulders, hood draping over her face, your hair is already hanging by the hook above the window and she hops through the opening to lower herself to the ground below. You watch as her figure shrinks with the increasing distance, only turning back once to give a short wave before disappearing through the lush greenery.

And then you’re alone once again.

In the hours that pass after your mother’s departure, you become well acquainted with the five stages of grief. Of course, your requests to leave have been denied more times than you can count on both hands, but you foolishly believed that mentioning the eighteen years you spent cooped up in one place, fending off boredom, would hit a soft spot.

You forgot that your mother doesn’t have any of those.

Obviously, she anticipated your attempt to convince her by throwing yourself a pity party, as she deliberately mentioned purchasing a gift in advance. Out of all your celebrations, you couldn’t recall a single time where she prepared—much less remembered—your birthday.

Utterly absorbed within your final stage of acceptance, you lose yourself within your thoughts. That’s why the steady, rhythmic tapping on the cobblestone metres below makes you jump, mind wiped clean of everything except questioning the origin of the sound. Goosebumps manifest across the length of your arms, already slick with cold sweat.

Initially, you believe that your mother may have misplaced something, but your doubt accumulates when you don’t hear her usual jingle follow the rapping. You wonder if she is harbouring acrimony at your earlier outburst—even though she seemed quite pleased as she left.

Thus, like the loving daughter you are, you gather the ends of your hair, about to throw the lump over the aperture when you take notice of the stranger’s bulky frame and lack of disguise. Last time you checked, Mother certainly hadn’t chopped all her curls off either.

You can feel your heart thumping in your head, chest rising and falling expeditiously to compensate for the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through your veins. In your distress, her words come back to bite you, echoing within your mind that he must be after your magic.

Mother knows best, after all.

Discreetly glancing back down, you spot the man scaling the wall using two arrows, a feat which you’re sure he wouldn’t be capable of performing without those well-defined muscles, attractively outlined through his thin clothing. Realizing that you’re wasting time ogling at the intruder, you spin back to survey your room, scanning the area for any weapons you can use to defend yourself.

You disregard any prospect of overpowering him and decide to approach the confrontation by taking advantage of your ability to startle him. Before long, the sounds of the rigid arrowheads wedging into the spaces between the stones are no more than a couple of metres away, and you grab the nearest object in a blind panic.

All too soon, his large hands are gripping the window sill, and you scurry to press your body against the wall directly next to the opening. You grip the handle of metal tighter, struggling to keep your heavy breaths silent as you watch his fit form effortlessly raise himself up past the open window.

When he lands inside, you’re transfixed by the way his shirt hangs on his brawny body, the veins in his arms enlarged from the physical exertion of carrying his weight up the tower. Just for that moment, you let your eyes roam his lean figure in unadulterated fascination.

“Hah! Stupid guards, thinking they could catch me after—”

And then that moment ends.

A loud clang resounds throughout the cramped space as a result of the pan in your hand bashing into the back of his head. For a split second, you worry if the force behind your swing is enough to knock him out cold, but then he meets the floor headfirst. You wince for him.

With the substitute weapon in hand, you circle around his seemingly unconscious form up to his head, which is turned away from your prying stare. In order to decipher his level of cognizance, you crouch down and bow over him to get a better look at his face.

Long, dark locks that were perfectly mussed before his fall now cover nearly half his countenance, so you push them to the side to reveal his closed lids and strong brows. Following the curve of his cheekbones, you pass his cupid’s bow to gaze upon his thin lips, a tiny beauty mark laying directly underneath—an intimate detail that you feel uncomfortable knowing.

A faint blush colours your cheeks as you comprehend how utterly breathtaking the stranger is, drastically disparate to the stories your mother told you as a child, where men resembled ogres that lived under bridges, grotesque and unkempt.

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

He reminds you of the princes you read about in picture books—dashing and strong, willing to go to extreme lengths to find their Princess, their one true love. You know you’re taking it too far when you begin to fantasize about his personality purely based on his, admittedly, strikingly handsome appearance. With a vigorous shake of your head, you force yourself out of your reverie and get back to your task.

You stretch two fingers out to rest just beneath his nostrils, feeling the warm air that leaves his body at constant intervals, a good sign that he was not only alive but knocked out cold.

You prod at his shoulder, whispering, “Are you awake?”

No reaction.

With this confirmation, you take hold of one of his wrists with both hands and clench your jaw while leaning back, trying to use your body weight to help drag him. He proves to be much heavier than you initially believed, though you feel him moving inch by inch. Rather than another human being, you simply think of him as a heavy sack of potatoes for the sake of your conscience as you shuffle backwards, heading for the wardrobe on the other side of the room.

By the time you reach said armoire, you collapse on the ground next to him, gulping in as much air as you can. Now, there was simply the problem of shoving him inside. You turn your head to face the stranger, pouting at the prospect of having to lift his bulky self.

After much pushing and rearranging, the doors finally close behind him, although, as you predicted, stuffing him in there took much longer than you would like to admit. You aren’t sure how comfortable he is in the disfigured pretzel position you left him in, but his contentment is not at the top of your list of priorities right now.

Rubbing your palms together, you go to pick up the frying pan that lay discarded on the floor near the window when you take notice of the brown satchel that sat next to it. You have no use for any kind of travelling equipment, obviously, what with your whole life existing in this tall building, and your mother only carries a quaint, woven basket around. She is insistent on living as modestly as possible, and that includes whatever goodies she brings back from her adventures.

That rules out everyone but the stranger. The bag does look more masculine, anyway. Grabbing the strap, you raise the object in question up to have a closer inspection and find the leather to be heavier than expected. There are odd bumps protruding from its exterior, filling you with a tenuous curiosity.

Carefully, you lift the flap open to expose a heavily jewelled crown. Perplexity is written within the creases of your brows as you reach to grab the item within and drop the empty satchel. From your inexperienced eyes, the thing is as real as it gets, a shimmering gold decorated with the finest jewels in the kingdom. The different colours of each gem catch the light, reflecting the brilliant rays onto the walls of your room.

Your impromptu analysis concludes with an inexplicable pull towards the diadem, which you’re uncertain how to act upon until you involuntarily place the crown on your head. You turn to face the mirror leaning against the wall and it feels so right, as though two matching puzzle pieces have finally been brought together. The reflection staring back at you seems complete in ways you have never been before.

Yet, you can’t begin to fathom the reasoning behind all these strange epiphanies, unfamiliar with the tranquillity that quiets the constant buzzing in your head. Overwhelmed, you remove the crown and not a moment too soon, for a familiar, shrill shriek meets your ears.

“Petal!”

Your stomach lurches. Eyes darting to the wardrobe, you’re reminded of the man inside. You know if Mother saw him, she would definitely freak out, maybe even refuse to visit for the next week to drive you insane with solitude. But, then again, you could use him as an example to show that you could handle yourself out in that dangerous world she was always going on and on about.

“Let down your hair!”

You stuff the diadem back in the bag and stow it in an empty flower pot.

Giddy at the prospect of having a legitimate argument to reinforce your reasoning to leave the tower, you dash to the window sill and fling your hair over without a second glance outside. The rush of excitement blinds you from the sensitivity of your sore muscles as you haul her up.

“Petal,” your mother grits out, staggering inside due to your rushed actions, “what did I tell you about checking who’s calling before letting your hair down?”

“Hello, Mother!” you brush off her question, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “I have something really important to show you!”

“Don’t change the subject.” She squints her eyes at you, lips pursed with frustration. “You're getting more and more reckless. One of these days, a crook will make their way up here and you’ll be foolish enough to invite them inside, maybe pour them a cup of tea while you’re at it?”

“I’m truly sorry.” You decide to humour her to prevent her temperament from flaring, throwing out a meaningless apology—one you’re used to blurting out left and right.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” she says, as smug and haughty as always. Your mother removes her coat, handing it off to you. “But today’s your lucky day! Just as I was about to visit, I remembered to bring your present!”

Your heart warms at your mother’s unusual thoughtfulness, although you’re much too eager to prove your strength first. “Ah, thank you, Mother. But I really want to show you—”

“Something more important than your mother’s present?”

“Of course not! I just wanted to get it out of the way so that I could enjoy your present later.” She seems unconvinced, so you add, “Y’know how they always say to leave the best for last?”

The older woman heaves an exasperated sigh, shoving you out of the way as she heads for the armchair in the corner. She slumps her tired form on the rickety seat as it creaks its refusal, then waves her hand, gesticulating that you get on with whatever it is you have up your sleeves.

Perspiration gathers within your palms and you fight to ward off the minuscule smile that plays on your lips while you gradually make your way back to the wooden armoire, “So, you’re always going on about how weak and fragile I am…”

“Yes.” She rests her chin in her hand, scrutinizing every hair on your head as though the answers to your ridiculous behaviour are buried within the multitudinous strands. “And what of it?”

“Well, I just thought that I should show you,” you start as your back hits the old furniture and your fingertips graze its rough texture. “That I’m more than capable of handling myself when we go out to—”

“When we go out?” she interrupts, irritation hardening her sharp features as she fixes you with an enraged scowl. “And where do you suppose we’re going exactly?”

You hesitate as your earlier confidence slips and you scramble to correct your word choice before she completely blows you off. “Uh, I just meant that this will show you how strong I am, and, uh…”

An eerie silence occupies the room when you find yourself at a loss for words. You know that your blabbering will get you absolutely nowhere, so you tighten your grip on the handles of the wardrobe, counting on your actions to speak louder than your words ever could.

“How old are you turning again, Y/N? It was eighteen, was it not?”

You shrink under her abrupt question, choosing to play along to pacify the shreds of annoyance flickering in her orbs. “Yes, Mother.”

“And for how long are we going to play this game?” she asks, standing with her basket in tow. Your mother rounds closer to you and your gaze automatically flies to the floor.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“What’re you hiding this time? Did you find another mouse? A rat?” she mocks, resting one hand on her hip. “Ooh, did a raccoon find its way inside?” Once her face is a mere couple of inches from your nose, you allow your eyes to meet her own, dreadfully empty ones. The sight sends a chill down your spine.

You release your hold on the furniture, dejection seeping from your tone. “Two mice this time.”

Her boisterous cackle echoes off the stone walls and she clutches her stomach in an attempt to quell the onslaught of laughter. The gesture reminds you of the countless other times you tried to ‘prove yourself’ through similar methods when you were younger, catching rodents that occasionally found their way into the nooks and crannies of the tower.

The first time you caught a mouse, you’d been ecstatic, rushing to show it off to the only person you knew. Although at that age, rather than a ticket to freedom, you were simply seeking your mother’s approval and perhaps a few praises here and there. You wanted to prove that despite your lonely upbringing—with your mother lounging around the tower for only a few hours every other day—you could handle yourself. She wouldn’t have to worry.

Evidently, you were too young to understand your mother’s rash nature, and she immediately assumed the worst—that you had somehow managed to sneak outside and wanted to prove your calibre by hunting down a nearby animal. The harsh scolding you received that day still lingers as a scar on your wrist, a painful reminder to never cross your mother.

“The outside world is not a simple matter of ‘two mice’ darling. You should know better than to think I’ll ever be impressed by these foolish displays of strength.” She swoops you up into her arms and you automatically bring your hands to circle her lithe waist. “That’s why you’ll always need Mother to protect you.”

Your chin rests on her shoulder, stare unfocused as you dismally state, “Yes, Mother.”

“Now, onto more exciting matters.” A couple of light, successive pats strike your back and you’re released from her hold. She is quick to open her wooden basket and rummage through the contents, reaching inside for what you assume to be your birthday present. The vegetables in her hand don’t excite you, but you put on a fake grin for her anyway. “I’m making your favourite soup!”

She scurries away from your static form to head past the doorway, but you stop her in her tracks with a low voice. “I’m not really feeling up for soup today.”

“You know how far the journey is to get some of these vegetables, let alone how expensive each one is!” she exclaims, waving said produce in her hand as she spins to face you.

“I’m really sorry, Mother,” you mumble, flashing her your best puppy-dog eyes. “But I ran out of paint recently and I’m feeling kind of down about it.”

She tuts. “That’s a three-day journey, Petal.”

“I know, it’s just that when I can’t distract myself with painting, I get these horrible thoughts of leaving the tower.” Doing your best to reason with her, you shift your weight to the other foot and fiddle around with your fingernails, attempting to appear as innocent as possible. “And I think those paints are a much better idea than going out to see the lights.”

A few seconds pass before a groan escapes your mother’s lips. “You’re lucky Mother loves you dearly.”

You stumble into her torso, grateful that she is unintentionally following along with your plan—a tedious scheme that you were saving as a last resort. She strokes the crown of your head, allowing you to nuzzle your cheek into the comfort of your mother’s embrace before her immediate departure.

Goodbyes are exchanged with some more reprimands sprinkled into the conversation, then she scales down the building and is no longer in your line of sight. You rub the nape of your neck, inching towards the armoire as you ponder whether a trip to indulge in your greatest desires is worth it when weighed against the lifelong bond you have with your own blood.

While navigating through your moral dilemma, you twist open the knob and watch as the scruffy man’s body slumps down to the floor without the support of the door to hold him upright. You refrain from cringing at his reddened nose.

Prioritizing your safety first, you retrieve your trusty pan and manhandle his body onto a chair, the seat still warm from your mother’s presence. This time around, you won’t be able to attain the upper hand by catching him off guard, so you settle on tying him up.

The question is: with what? You have no reason to keep ropes casually lying around the tower and one glance at his bulging biceps assures you that sewing thread will not be enough either.

As you’re thinking about stuffing him back into the wardrobe until you come up with a better idea, the blond strands at the edge of your peripheral catch your eye. For the first time in your life, your excessively long hair proves to be of use.

When he is tightly restrained to the armchair, your tresses acting like a straitjacket around his torso and snaking around his legs, you step back to appreciate your work. Your eyes drift over his corded muscles and roam over his face once again.

Before you let yourself get lost in his model-like features, your free hand reaches out, palm outstretched, to slap him across the face.

You nurse the stinging pain ebbing atop your outermost layer of skin, cradling the appendage to your chest as you hiss out a low whine, although the sound is masked by the low timbre of a groan. Your body stiffens while you gawk at the stranger, watching him gather his surroundings, whipping his head back and forth before his chestnut orbs land on you.

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

“No! Uh, I mean, hush!” you exclaim, deepening your voice for a rather weak, intimidating effect. “I’m doing the talking here.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat before you can utter another word. His doe eyes bore into yours and you step back, instantly feeling threatened by the intensity of his gaze. He wriggles around in his restraints, testing his extremely limited range of motion.

A prolonged, slightly awkward, silence stretches in the air as you attempt to recall the interrogation questions you practiced while tying him up. Regrettably, you come up blank.

He rolls his eyes at your lack of speech, raising a single brow.

“Well?” he questions, seemingly accepting his lack of free movement and slouching comfortably against the back of the chair. “I thought you said you were gonna do the talking?”

You grit your teeth at his impertinence, shaking off the nerves of talking to another human being that was not your mother as you adorn a superficial, bold facade. Striving to exude the same persuading tone that all those mystery books depicted, you mimic the slow strides you’ve read detectives take around their suspects.

“How did you find me?” You round the corner to escape his unimpressed glare, circling around him.

In turn, he cranes his neck to peer over at you, bewilderment written in the slack of his jaw. “Find you? Who says I was looking for you?” He whistles lowly catching sight of your mane, “That’s some hair you got there. Is that what’ve you tied me up with?”

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, marching back to the front of the chair to dramatically slam your hands down onto his bound wrists, effectively halting his faint wriggling. “Then why did you come all the way up here, huh?”

The dashingly handsome stranger’s tongue prods at his cheek, serving to rile you up further. Taking his sweet time, he inspects the space around him before his focus comes back to you, and he leans in, smirking devilishly. “Sure as hell wasn’t for you, Princess.”

At the odd nickname combined with the close proximity, a flush tints your cheeks and you take a few steps back. He chuckles at his small victory—a deep, melodic sound that sends your flustered state into a muddled craze of butterflies, threatening to burst from within. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at the man, more so to collect yourself than to unnerve him.

“Got something in your eye?”

You tilt your head back and grumble, exasperated at his lack of cooperation followed by his audacity to tease you further. “For your information, my eyes are working perfectly fine.”

“Good for you. Now, if you’ll just untangle me and give me back my bag, I’ll be out of your hair. Literally.” He grins at his joke, which you don’t find quite as funny.

“Like I’ll believe that.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I’ll ask you again. How exactly did you find me?”

“As I said, Princess,” he jeers, his impatience made visible by the bulging veins lining his neck, “why would anybody be after your poor ass? I mean, just looking at the place, doesn’t look like you’ve got much else other than a bunch of hidden property and a shitty old tower.”

“Shitty?” You repeat, accosted at the stranger’s portrayal of the place you grew up.

He takes another look around the place as if to confirm his accusations before curtly nodding his head.

You glower at his blunt words, taking personal offence for the many hours you spent decorating, cleaning and doting over the building. “Well, I didn’t know we were expecting a rude guest. Then again, guests are invited inside, aren’t they?”

“Listen, you seem like the ditzy type, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. I got into a bit of a scuffle with some scoundrels and before I knew it, I was outnumbered!” he recounts slowly and melodramatically as if he is presenting a bedtime story to a child. “Then I stumble through some vines and find this gigantic tower!

“And to my surprise, rather than hidden treasure, this place has some naive, pan-wielding maniac at the top,” he concludes with a sigh, soundlessly implying that you should pity the unfortunate situation he stumbled upon—the unfortunate bit caused by your interference. All you feel is a burning itch to sock him across the face again, although that wouldn’t be too helpful in discovering his real objective.

His whole story sounds like pure bologna to you, but you feed into his obvious lies with a hum of acknowledgement. “Must’ve been so hard for you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he whines, a pout forming on his pink lips.

You flash a close-lipped smile and thrust the metal weapon centimetres from his nose with more force than intended, though it seems to do the job when you catch his eyes widen slightly before reverting to the same relaxed stare as before. His posture is evidently tenser than a few seconds ago, which builds your pliant determination.

“Either some truths are gonna come out of that smart mouth or you’re gonna take another nap,” You threaten, waving the pan back and forth.

“Okay, easy now.” The stranger bends his hands upwards by the wrists, waving his fingers down slowly, as though he were calming a raging bull. “There’s no violence needed in this okay? We can make a deal.”

The sound of his cooperation piques your interest, so you inquire, “What kind of deal?”

“First of all, can you lower that?” You comply with his request, although you keep the skillet in the air, ready to strike at a moment's notice if he tries anything funny. “Okay, Princess, how about you give me the satchel, let me go without any trouble and I won’t tell anyone about your little hideout here, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m the one with the upper hand here.” If you two are to come to a compromise, you’re going to need more from the stranger than his word to keep quiet. “And I need you to take me to see the lanterns at the capital.”

A hacking cough morphs into a distorted chuckle in his throat. “Hm, you see, that would be a bit difficult considering the rocky relationship I have with the royals.”

You cock your head to the side, raising the metal menacingly.

His fists curl into balls as a strained grin stretches across his face. “But I guess we could make it work.”

Pleased with his compliance, you continue with your conditions, “You take me to see the lanterns tomorrow night, bring me back home in one piece and I’ll give your bag back. Then you can jump out of the window for all I care, just keep your mouth shut about this place.”

“Do I even have a choice in the matter?”

“Nope.” His lack of protest makes you giddy, and you allow yourself to credulously overestimate your influence over the man. It has to be that or your frightening frying pan, right?

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

A childlike wonder brightens your countenance as you speedily unravel your locks from around the stranger, whipping the bulk of it over the hook and out the window. With his newfound freedom, you catch him combing through miscellaneous trinkets and in fear of him identifying the location of his bag, you call out, “There’s no use, you could ransack the whole tower and never find your precious satchel. You’re better off fulfilling our agreement.”

Fitting your trusty skillet under your arm, you don’t spare him another glance and hope that your bluff is enough to deter his scouring. Thankfully, the clattering of objects ceases and he saunters past the vase with his dear bag inside. Your attention flits to the verdant scenery below.

You allow an exuberant screech to rip through your vocal cords while you effortlessly fly down, your body wrapped around your hair as though the strands have solidified into a firepole and land on the plush, vibrant grass with a bounce. The prickly sensation on your bare skin is not what you imagined the spindly plant to feel like, yet you revel in its oddities nonetheless.

Your companion follows along with less flair, steadily climbing down using the two arrows that were left between the stones. By the time he reaches the ground, you’re already feeling the consequences of sticking your bare feet in the mud by a river.

He rolls his eyes at your antics and darts off while you tread toward the water to wash off the muck between your toes. You swish your foot back and forth, watching the current run off with the dirt and avoiding the miniature fish that gather around you. Their bright orange bodies are stark against the rocks underneath, easy to spot due to the clear, crystalline stream that you’re splashing around in.

When one of them decides to start nipping at your ankles and the rest of his posse tag along, you wade deeper—searching for a grassy area to withdraw from their persistent suckling. As you’re scouring the landscape, enjoying the slight breeze blowing through your hair, you find yourself alone.

This doesn’t bother you at first, used to the notion of having only your own inner thoughts as company. You’re preoccupied with rinsing the brown stains that mark one section of your tresses and gather the clean, soaked mass into your arms before you realize that the tour guide you recruited has gone missing.

At first, you can’t believe he abandoned the precious crown that he appeared to cherish so greatly, but before you can think too deeply about it, a light smack meets the nape of your neck.

“Looking for me, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that,” you whip around, a glare directed at his triumphant smirk. “And where were you anyway? Not trying to run off already, are we?”

He raises his hands up as though he has been caught red-handed, although his digits are curled around what looks to be strips of tree bark and long strands of weeds. Just as you’re about to question him further, he crouches down and grabs one of your ankles, lifting your leg out of the water and closer to him. You yelp and shift your weight to rest on your other foot.

“What?” He secures a few layers of the rough wood to the sole of your foot, wrapping the flexible plants around the bark and expertly tying it at the top. “This is what I get for being considerate isn’t it?”

“Is considerate even part of your vocabulary?” you tease, the relief at his presence causing you to lower your guard.

He freezes halfway through fastening the second makeshift shoe onto your other foot when the orbs staring up at you light up with mischief. Changing position, he folds forwards then rocks back to stand up to his full height. “Ah, I see how it is. Then I would never do something so thoughtful, right?”

“I take it back! I take it back, just finish it up,” you beseech.

“That’s what I thought, Princess.” He bends over to complete the second knot then scampers off to the forest as soon as the job is complete.

As you test out the peculiar slippers—inwardly marvelling at the barrier they provide against the elements of nature—you vocalize your displeasure with the nickname he has taken to calling you, “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

His strides ease up from his hurried pace, shortening to compensate for your smaller steps. “Aw, does Princess dislike being reminded of who she is?”

“I’ve never heard of a Princess living outside of a castle before.”

He hums, tilting his head in wonder. “Is your tower not considered a castle?”

“Not when I’m the only one living there,” you mutter under your breath, although you’re not sure if he catches it or not based on his silence. Regardless, you change the subject before he has a chance to respond. “So are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

Sneaking a peek at his side profile, you catch the endearing crinkle that appears by his eyes when he grins. “What’s with the sudden interest? I mean, I understand the enthusiasm but—”

You strike his elbow with the bottom of the skillet and he whines like a kicked puppy.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just thought we should be on a first-name basis if we’re going to be travelling all this way together.” You amuse yourself by twirling the skillet around in your grip, acting as though there’s a gigantic pancake that you professionally flip onto its other side. “I would prefer my name over ‘Princess.’”

“I kinda like the ring of it though.” He winks at you, but you’re too invested in your cooking charades to notice. “You can call me Geum.”

“Geum? Like ‘gold’? What kind of name is that?”

“Ooh, someone’s judgemental.” Snatching the pan, he brandishes it around like a deadly cutlass in a seasoned pirate’s hand, bounding around you. He ends his show with the tip aimed straight at your heart.

“Just saying. You’ve got to admit it’s a bit… unique.” You halfheartedly brush him off, fighting to keep your grin from showing. As a side note, you announce your name.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Before he can prance off, you pluck the skillet out of his grasp and tear through the dense bushes with your treasure. His war cry echoes throughout the expansive woodlands as he rushes after you, untangling your hair from lone branches as he goes.

To claim that your feet are about to fall off is a gross understatement.

You have been travelling alongside Geum for hours now without a single break. Despite the high spirits that you two kicked your trip off with, the elation from brushing against the silky plants, cooing at the wildlife that crossed your path, and inhaling the fresh scent of damp moss and wet tree trunks from yesterday’s showers wore off quickly.

You’re inclined to believe that your enthusiasm began to subside when Geum yanked you away from running your finger along one set of rich emerald leaves—narrowly avoiding what he explained to be poison ivy. Your curious hands have been cemented to your sides ever since that close encounter.

After your lively bickering dies down, rather than a peaceful, quiet walk, listening to the whispers of the wind and the pleasant chirping of the birds, the antsy man beside you puts you on edge. He can’t stop looking from side to side, trying to peer past the endless birches and elms that obscure your view.

Is Geum expecting someone?

Perhaps some parts of his story are true. Perhaps having a ruffian with other delinquents hunting him is not the best partner to accompany you on this journey—not that you have much of a choice in the matter, it’s either him or no one. You’re unsure which option is worse.

Any conversation you strike is met with teasing remarks, so you give up on prodding him for any substantial information. But with the sky darkening and the breeze turning brisk, you’re about to mention camping out somewhere when Geum says, “We should settle down for the night.”

“I never thought I would agree with something that came out of your mouth.”

“That’s why you’re wrong most of the time.” And there it was, another snotty retort that practically begs you to deck him with the pan you keep tucked in your underarm.

The quibble ignites a fire under your skin, the flames licking at your sides and providing some warmth amidst the chill in the air. “Most of the time? So you’re saying that you’re wrong sometimes?”

“Yeah, nobody can always be right.” He flashes a lazy smirk your way, adjusting the bundle of your locks in his arms. “Like when I said that your hair isn’t an inconvenience.”

You take a second to process his snarky words. With your mind occupied, stuck in a whirlwind of potential reprisals, you unintentionally head towards the distant outline of the castle when you approach a crossroad branching in two opposite directions.

Just as you’re about to let loose a nasty quip, his warm hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from the faraway mansion. You overheat at the source of the touch, thoughts going haywire.

“Hey, hey!” In hopes of snapping him out of his reverie, you raise your voice. “You can’t blow off our deal now, don’t you want your precious satchel back?”

When he offers no explanation for his cryptic actions, you attempt to pry off his fingers with your other hand—making sure not to trip over your own two feet while you’re at it. Your wriggling is all for nought because Geum’s iron grip is too durable to be outmatched by your fumbling digits.

“Geum, please just,” you plead, ceasing your struggle when the delicate skin in his grasp begins to sting from his strength, “let’s talk about this, okay?”

You’re so preoccupied with regaining your freedom that you don’t notice the dingy sign you two pass; a rubber duck with the words The Snuggly Duckling etched onto the wood. “Shut up and hurry.”

Your jaw drops at his insolent tone, astounded at his change in demeanour. There’s no playful spirit behind his words this time, only a sharp annoyance accompanied by his sudden haste that you feel all too strongly in your wrist. You stumble after him and duck your head through a small doorway, your mind caught up in formulating a coherent response that consists of sounds other than your outraged sputtering.

“Don’t tell me to—”

You’re cut off by the ruckus inside the establishment. Burly men surround the two of you, drinking, howling in laughter, practicing their aim with throwing knives—there’s even a large group of people fighting in one corner. The amount of blood streaked across the walls, their clothes, and pouring out of their open wounds is concerning. You can smell the metallic tang from the entrance.

When the hand around your wrist disappears, you find yourself yearning for the physical connection, serving as some kind of reassurance that he is not leaving you to the metaphorical, and sort of literal, wolves before you. In order not to lose Geum as he wades through the crowds, you latch on to the thin hem of his shirt. He pays you no mind and continues onward.

Skillfully slipping through the giants while you bumble behind him, you two arrive at a row of vacant barstools. You loosen your grip at the unexpectedly tranquil space, such a drastic contrast to the commotion in the background that it’s like you’ve been transported to another place altogether.

You’re brought back to reality from the loud grunt that booms throughout the joint, although you tune out again when you hear a punch being thrown, then a crack that you can only hope isn’t a bone. Or two.

“Uh, Geum?” you ask, although he pays your appellation no mind. His attention is focused on the intimidating, tattooed man behind the counter.

“Joon.” Your unofficial tour guide takes a seat. “A mead?”

Determined to stick close to the only familiar face in the building, you slide onto the seat next to Geum. The overwhelming scent of liquor hits you hard, causing you to crinkle your nose the exact moment that your narrowed eyes spot the bartender, Joon, awkwardly cough into his fist, trying to stifle his snickers for your sake.

“Just a water for her.”

While Joon confirms Geum’s order with a slight nod, you cast your head down to stare at your twiddling fingers. Your mind is still reeling from the abrupt change in scenery, unsure how to carry yourself in this new setting. It was no problem in the dense forest, with only Geum to judge you—but it isn’t like you’re trying to impress him anyway.

In here where hordes of broad men are gathered, drunk out of their minds with crimson staining their attire, you’re scared. Everything is too raucous, too rancid, too overwhelming. You’re uncertain whether the trip to the capital will play out as you’ve imagined and you turn towards Geum to tell him as much when—

“Was this from me?” You instinctively flinch at his tug on your elbow, although regret rushes down your back, clawing against your spine like ice-cold water when hurt flashes across his shadowed orbs. Before you can blink, it’s gone.

As a feeble apology, you offer a tightlipped smile. Referring back to his words, you examine your arm and grimace when you spot the blooming scarlet streaks encircling your wrist, taking the shape of Geum’s slender digits. “Oh, uh, don’t worry. It’ll fade.”

It’s not a lie since the marks will eventually fade. You hope it doesn’t turn black and blue before that though.

A clear glass is thrust your way, which you’re overjoyed to snatch from Joon’s hand, noting Geum’s copper liquor from the corner of your eye. Hours of travelling without any form of hydration definitely took its toll on you, evident by your severely chapped lips that you can’t help but swipe your tongue over every minute—not that the dried saliva is doing you any favours.

Before you have a chance to sip from heaven in liquid form, you’re halted by a gentle finger tracing the length of your forearm. Thankfully, you’re not as skittish this time around, remaining frozen until Geums pulls back; the pale, discoloured scar he was following having tapered off into your natural skin. “Where’s that one from?”

His strange inquiry confuses you with its unusually intrusive nature considering his inability to chat seriously five minutes ago. You pause for a second to debate on revealing the truth or constructing a comical narrative for the sake of avoiding a sombre turn to the light conversation. Despite your decision, your lips rebel, taking on a mind of their own. “A punishment.”

Bronze orbs snap up to yours, boring into the deepest parts of your soul and uncovering each of your secrets one by one as if they’re gems, buried within the layers of your lonely childhood. You’re transfixed. “Mother said it would remind me to never leave the tower.”

The condensation running down the side of the chilled cup meets the edge of your palm, sliding down your index finger and becoming a stark reminder of your parched mouth. You lift the glass to take a sip, but a taste renders your control inoperative as you guzzle down the rest, leaving not a single drop inside.

Your famished stomach makes itself known with a growl when your thirst is quenched. Attracting the attention of the bartender with a small wave, you ask, “Is there any chance you’ve got some food here?”

“We’ve got anything as long as you’ve got the coin for it, blondie.”

You shudder in alarm at the introduction of another patron in the bar. Leaning away from the repulsive drawl to your left, you shift over to position yourself as far away as possible. Seeing your discomfort, the stranger takes a few steps forward to invade your personal space once more and you recoil back with a jerk of your torso.

The abrupt motion messes with your centre of gravity, tipping you over the edge of the barstool. Just as you’re about to have an unpleasant meeting with the floor, a palm darts out to the small of your waist and steadies you. You follow the arm up to Geum’s clenched jaw.

“She’s not looking for anything that you guys can offer.”

Your throat tightens at your companion’s harsh answer, wary of how the other men will react. The burly man to your other side bursts out in obnoxious laughter and a glint of light reflecting off of his silver teeth catches your eye, which you recognize from earlier. He’s one of the goons that was involved in the fistfight near the entrance.

“As if you’re packing anything better.” He nudges his lackeys behind them and they chuckle along like they’re all in on one big joke.

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

Panicked at his provocation, you glimpse at the challenging smirk plastered across Geum’s lips. You aren’t sure why he’s trying to pick a fight or if there’s any logical reasoning behind his actions at all, but you tap on the arm still attached to your torso, conveying your opinion on his moronic pride with your widened eyes.

Of course, men will be men, and the little posse arranged behind the silver toothed boss riles their leader up, encouraging him with disgruntled yells and unintelligible speech to prove their dominance. With you in between the two blockheads, you’re sure that you’re not going to like how this plays out.

Dismissing your distress, Geum takes a sip of his drink. He seems unbothered by the commotion surrounding him and you envy his nonchalant demeanour.

“You got any bite behind your bark, pretty boy?” His lackeys change tactics, switching over to goading Geum on. You assume their greater numbers spark their courage, reassured that they could overpower one man. “Or are we just trying to impress this little miss right here?”

“I’m not sure if it’ll be very fair for you guys,” Geum says cockily, scrutinizing each member from head to toe then returning to his sweet mead. “I mean, just looking at you boys, doesn’t look too impressive if you ask me.”

If the atmosphere didn’t thicken with a fatal tension, you would have giggled at his smart mouth. But the other man’s nostrils flare in resentment, beginning to surge forward before he’s interrupted by a spindly boy who thrusts a paper below his nose. “Boss, you were right, it’s him.”

His unsightly features twist upwards in joy, displaying his horrendous set of chompers once more as he chuckles. That’s when you realize that a sinister smile can be much more frightening than any bellow of rage. “Looks like you’ve got quite the bounty on your head there, Geum.”

At the snarl of his name, your eyes dart to the wrinkled sheet in his hand which he graciously flips to face your direction. An uncanny depiction of Geum’s face is drawn, a sum containing many zeroes painted underneath his name. What appalls you the most is the red, bolded letters at the very top, distinctly spelling out wanted.

Geum is a wanted criminal.

While your mind is reeling, sight blurring and breath quickening from the influx of information, the man in question unabashedly finishes off the last of his alcoholic beverage and proceeds to slam the glass onto the counter. Through all of the clamour, you pick up Joon’s exasperated sigh in the background.

The door to the establishment flings open, hinges creaking as the wood bounces back from the sheer force of the blow. While everyone is distracted by the bustle, Geum stealthily hops off his seat, slipping an arm around your waist to soundlessly lead you to the other side of the counter. Although you’re reluctant to follow, you refrain from squabbling with him in order not to attract any unwanted attention.

“We’ve received a report that a well-known thief has been spotted in the premises—”

Geum kneels in front of the shelves lined with drinks of all shapes and colours, fiddling with something you can’t see from your position behind him. Following his lead, you crouch behind him, softly muttering in disbelief, “You really think they won’t find us hiding here?”

A click is heard as a few of the racks cave in on themselves, revealing a concealed passageway. Geum shakes his head towards the opening, silently directing you to enter first. You’re hesitant to accompany him any farther but you’re pushed forwards by Joon’s calf on your back and you understand that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter anymore.

If you’re caught now, you’ll be accused of being an accomplice to whatever crimes Geum committed.

You spare a thankful nod to Joon, stealing a glance at the guards blocking the entrance while you’re at it. Their white uniforms are decorated with accents of bright oranges and reds, a familiar flower fastened to the right side of their chest. One of them holds another copy of Geum’s wanted poster which you tear your gaze from, willing yourself to escape from this mess before thinking about anything else.

Geum shoves you through the opening, and you crawl through the underground passage as fast as you can in order to keep his pinching fingers away from your ankles. You two are far enough to safely whisper short phrases to one another, but he insists on being a nuisance as he urges you to pick up the pace.

It’s pitch black when the trapdoor shuts behind Geum, and you’re unable to make out your own hands in front of your face; with no other path in sight, you blindly head forward. As you continue, you pass torches burning with a bright fire that provide light, illuminating the stones around you and the shadows following you. You wonder how often this underground system is used to have fire running at all times.

Eventually, the tunnel’s height expands enough for the two of you to comfortably tread through on your feet. If you weren’t tired enough from walking for hours on end, the brutal jog which Geum sets is more than enough to tire you out within mere minutes.

“Geum,” you heave, unable to catch your breath with your chest fruitlessly rising and falling, never passing enough air for you to gather your senses. He’s too far to catch, effortlessly sprinting ahead, yet you still uselessly reach out to capture his attention. “Geum.”

You push yourself to the limit, another few minutes passing by before your powerless body can no longer handle the stress of the strenuous activity, and you slow down, coming to a full stop. One hand on the rocky wall steadies your dizzying sight as you hunch over, throat burning and stomach aching. Even though you try to remain standing, your legs involuntarily give out and you end up on the floor.

As you try to regain your breath, hands grasp your shoulders and gently shake you back to reality. Geum’s intense gaze is only centimetres away, torso bent to level with you. “You can do this, come on. We have to lose them.”

“I,” you huff, “I can’t… It’s… too much.”

Geum’s arms return to his sides, his brows furrowing as you watch the gears whirring in his head through your blurry vision. When he spins around to face the exit, you cry out in a hoarse voice, believing that he’s leaving your pathetic, crumpled form to fend for yourself—but instead of running off, he crouches to the ground with his backside to you. “Get on.”

In spite of your resolute will to arise from your folded position, your legs can’t seem to extend outwards in order to climb onto his back, which you convey by tapping his shoulder and pitifully shaking your head. Geum’s lips pry apart to respond, but his words are drowned out by the pounding footsteps that echo throughout the tunnel walls. He curses under his breath as he turns and scoops your fetal form into his arms.

All you can register is his natural woody scent enveloped in the sweaty musk that drenches his frame, your body clutched tightly to his torso as he races to the end of the tunnel. You grip his thin shirt in one fist, unfamiliar with the warmth fluttering in your chest, so you brush it off as another side effect from the arduous sprinting.

A bright light can be seen at the very end, but your eyes are locked on the well-defined jaw of the man carrying you as if you were as light as a feather, running as if your lives depended on it—which they kind of do.

You couldn’t differentiate the pounding of Geum’s shoes from the mob of guards pursuing you two. As you slowly recover from your exhausted state, the guilt of becoming a burden settles into the creases of your face, worrying lines etching onto your features from thinking about your impending fate.

Your thoughts wander to the reasoning behind this violent chase. By the fancier uniforms they sport, you suspect their position to be rather high, perhaps palace guards or ones belonging to the royal family. Reminded of the wanted poster clutched within one of their hands, the image stirs unease within the depths of your stomach that’s already stinging from the massive amounts of cardio you’ve done today.

Before you can connect any dots, you’re out in the wilderness again, although instead of the sun’s blazing rays on your face, the moon’s tender beams spill over your surroundings. The sort of serenity that accompanies the stillness of the later hours are interrupted by your rapidly beating heart, which is amplified by the pulse felt on your left side.

After a few more strides, Geum comes to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong?” You tilt your neck to look at his face in curiosity. Although he doesn’t appear fatigued, his cheeks only slightly flushed from exertion and a few sweat droplets racing down his temples, you ask anyway, “Are you tired?”

The grip under your legs lower you to the ground and you stand in front of Geum, beginning to worry about losing your advantage over your pursuers. He doesn’t provide a verbal response to your questions, simply shaking his head and causing the tips of his hair to sway back and forth with the motion. The strands cover his eyes when he stops, but he doesn’t bother to brush them aside.

Geum’s shoulders slouch, heavy from the weight of defeat. You’re unnerved at his strange actions, turning to look ahead at the obstacle that’s forcing him to give up all hope.

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

Your knees buckle at the length of the drop, which seems never ending from your viewpoint. The tenebrous shadows of the night obscure the bottom, painting the jagged walls with uncertainty at any chance for survival. Your heart constricts as the despondency emanating off of Geum slithers its way into your rapidly diminishing resolution.

“When they get here,” he announces, bravery shining through his firm tone, “I need you to run as fast as you can. I’ll distract them, just focus on getting back to the bar. Tell Joon to take you somewhere safe and trust no one but him.”

You’re baffled at his complete change in attitude as well as his idiotic plan. There’s no trace of humour in his piercing orbs though, simply an obstinate determination that implores you to obey his orders. But you aren’t about to abandon the first friend you’ve ever made. “Are you insane? What do you think you can do against trained soldiers?”

“There’s no other choice.” He nudges your torso to position yourself behind him, both your backs to the cliff, watching the guards get closer and closer. Dread weighs ponderously on your limbs, the adrenaline pumping in your veins with every footstep marching to surround you two. You’re cornered.

The soldier closest to Geum unsheathes his sword and steadily approaches. You slip the rusty pan into his hand and he inconspicuously reaches back to pat your thigh, reminding you of his reckless scheme.

Seeing your defensive stance, the guard rushes forward, thrusting his sword forward to slice through layers of skin. Instead, the clang of metal against metal resounds throughout the empty cliff and your apprehension increases tenfold with your front row seat to Geum’s doomed duel, fending off a glinting sword with your rickety skillet.

Although he’s fighting well considering his enormous handicap, you spot more soldiers creeping their way into the skirmish, unable to stand and watch one of their own be bested in battle. Overall, the odds weren’t looking too great for your pan-wielding knight.

You have to do something. With Geum’s plan off the table, you can’t think of anything other than taking your chances with the cliff. You gather all your faith in the landscape, Geum, and yourself while taking a deep breath. Waiting for an opening within the clash, you cautiously inch towards Geum and when one particularly hard blow jolts both men back a few steps, you snatch up the opportunity.

Before another guard can take his ally’s place, you rush over to snake an arm around Geum’s lithe waist, tugging his back to meet your chest. During this process, he nearly elbows you in the face, writhing around in your tight hold until he recognizes your delicate hands on his stomach.

With the enemy frozen in confusion at your ostensibly desultory actions, you take advantage of their shock to stumble backwards, proving harder than necessary due to Geum’s long legs tangling with your own as you head towards the edge. You’re nearly there when one of the guards pick up on your plan to escape, jumping into action with his razor-sharp sword and waving it in a deadly arc that nearly slices both of your heads off clean.

Thankfully, you lose your footing on a slippery rock and tip over.

While airborne, any air is momentarily robbed from the heavy drop in your gut and a terrified shriek rips past your mouth as you lose your tight grip on Geum, utterly absorbed in your fear. The distance between you two grows, but because of his quick reflexes, Geum is able to fist a clump of your clothes in his hands and pull you into his chest with one hand resting on the nape of your neck.

You don’t have enough time to react to the new position before both your bodies are enveloped in gelid water. All of your nerves fire off, enraged at the sudden change in temperature. A violent shiver overtakes your limbs in a weak attempt to warm yourself up.

Although Geum’s palm on your neck withdraws to wade your bodies back up to surface, the grip around your middle only tightens.

The stream parts as you two float back up to meet the chilly air, greedily filling your lungs as you unravel from one another in order to paddle your way to shore. The current sweeps you along, aiding your furious efforts to reach the ground again.

Geum arrives at the muddy grass before you, swiftly lifting himself out and turning to fish for your soaked form. White puffs of your breath escape your mouths because of the low temperature, yet they dissipate as quickly as they’re formed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes and nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

The fire crackles alongside the chirping crickets, forming a peculiar orchestra with the breeze blowing through the rustling leaves. You extend your frigid digits as close to the flames as you dare, desperate for its warmth, yet recoiling from the sting of its heat all the same.

“Might as well stick your whole hand in there while you’re at it.” Geum emerges from the tenebrous thickets of the forest, making his way into the dull glow of the bonfire with a bundle of skinny twigs in his arms.

You’re drained from the day’s events, but you flash him a smile brimming with gratitude, appreciative that he’s intent on keeping the fire alive despite his inevitably numb appendages. You insisted on swapping turns, allowing his body to warm up a bit while you scavenged for wood, although he dismissed your offer multiple times, claiming that moving around was much more effective for him than any flames.

You’d have to disagree with him there. The burning fire feels incredible heating up your skin from the outside in.  

“If you take a second to come and enjoy the warmth, then maybe you wouldn’t be so moody,” You jest, rotating the fish skewers that Geum expertly caught in the river with a sharpened branch. By the slightly burnt edges, you suppose it’s ready. “C’mon, let’s eat before you head off again.”

He grunts his affirmation, depositing his findings on top of the ever-growing pile of wood and taking a seat on a fallen log located a couple of feet away from you. You allow the meat to cool down before separating the fish from the stick it’s impaled on and passing it to him.

“Is your hair dry yet?” He’s too preoccupied with forcibly ripping the fish in half to avoid scaling it, so he doesn’t catch your affectionate, lingering gaze.

You hum, grabbing a lock of your wet strands. “Not quite.”

He places his meal next to him on the log and leans over to take the bulk of your tresses in his grasp. You watch as he lays the blonde strands near the fire, quietly giggling at his strange logic.

“You think the heat is going to make it dry faster?” The appearance of his wide grin elicits the return of the bizarre tightening in your chest, a crushing pain that makes it difficult to breathe. You haven’t had a bite of the fish but nausea swirls in your stomach as your hands turn clammy and you rip your eyes away from Geum in hopes of collecting yourself.

Seeing your doubt towards his surely infallible rationale, his brows scrunch together and he pauses his movements in his perplexity, a distant look swirling in his eyes. He should be completely unaware of the turmoil raging within you, yet all your previous worries dissipate with the smoke of the fire as his face becomes increasingly wrinkled, flashing an expression more ludicrous than the last.

After you beg and plead with him to stop, cheeks aching from smiles and belly throbbing from laughter, he breaks out into his own set of snickers. More than satisfied, Geum grabs his fish again and begins to nibble on the meat inside. “You never considered getting a trim?” he asks between bites.

A few seconds pass as you calm yourself down from your hysterical state. “Never allowed to,” you answer, short and vague to keep the pleasant atmosphere.

“Allowed to?” His voice is laced with his astonishment. “Who’s telling you what to do at your age?”

Fidgeting with your own skewer, you ponder over an answer that’s precise enough to satisfy his curiosity, yet obscure enough to conceal your identity at the same time. Your eyes dart from side to side, following the light of the fire as it illuminates a wet, crimson stain on the sleeve of Geum’s jacket.

“What’s that?” you question, scuttling over to his log and sitting down next to him. To get a better look, you grab his elbow and pull it towards you.

“Nothing. Don’t change the subject.” He tries to shrug off both your concern and your hand that’s clutching onto his arm, which only makes you tighten your grip. At the increase in pressure, a low groan slips past his lips and you instantly release your hold at the sound.

“Does it hurt?” The memory of the guard wildly slashing his sword in the air comes to mind and you realize that although the blow didn’t cost either of your lives, his upper arm must have borne the brunt of the force instead.

“It’s fine.” He attempts to brush you off again, but you’re as clingy as a leech and refuse to budge from his side.

You latch on to the lapel of his jacket and tug. “Take it off.”

Despite your solemnity, his low chuckle sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Already asking me to strip? I’m not that easy, Princess. How about you take me on a date first and I’ll think about your offer?”

“You know what I mean,” you grumble, exasperated that he persists on maintaining his incessant teasing while injured.

When he finishes cleaning off one half of his meal, about to reach for the other, you move to stand in front of him. You dismiss the wild pounding of your heart to focus on slipping his jacket off of his opposite arm.

He puts forth no effort to stop you, although he’s definitely not helping much with his limp, bulky appendages that are a lot heavier than expected. Slowly but surely, you tenderly thread his injured arm out of his sleeve with careful hands.

The white, short-sleeved shirt he’s sporting underneath makes it easy to spot the splotches of crimson dyeing the hem of his sleeve through the dim, orange light. You approach his laceration delicately, treating him like a frightened animal. He snorts at your earnest actions.

Lifting the fabric covering the entirety of the gash, you gasp softly at the depth of the wound, grimacing as though it’s your own limb that’s been hurt. “You shouldn’t be moving around with this, you’re not letting it heal.”

“I’ll endure any pain to keep you close,” he whispers, sweet honey dripping from his words as he loops his other arm around your waist, effectively pulling you in between his open legs.

His chin is a mere few centimetres from your belly button, gazing up at you with a flirtatious wink as he perches his hand onto your lower back. You hold your breath, worried that he can hear the utter chaos erupting within your chest due to the close proximity.

Flustered, you push at his broad shoulders, desperate for some room to breathe. Geum flinches at your touch and you instantly regret your thoughtless behaviour. Your concern at the severity of his wound multiplies tenfold, feeding into a disquiet that nestles into every cell in your body. “I’m serious, it doesn’t look good.”

One hand falls into his lap while the other comes up to ruffle his damp locks. “Don’t get shy now, Princess.”

Taking in the defeated slouch to his back, the distant glaze that darkens his bronze orbs, you think about your hair. You think about how much younger your mother appears after she detangles each strand. You think about all the scars you’ve avoided throughout the years by singing a simple tune.

This man saved your life, and it’s time for you to repay the favour. You consider waiting until he’s asleep to heal his arm, plagued by the distress of being mistaken as a witch. Mother warned you about those kinds of people, who are ready to ruin your life in order to improve their own—anything ranging from taking advantage of your unworldly qualities to selling you for a pretty penny.

Mother always knows best. Right?

You peer into his expressionless eyes that stare holes into the dancing flames, the other uneaten half of the fish still laying untouched. From the limited time you’ve spent together, you shouldn’t feel this distraught at his pain, as though a chunk of your heart is bleeding out with him and leaving you in a puddle of your own misery.

But one look at Geum’s laceration and even a child could tell that the relentless stream would end his life before long. No matter how well he can conceal his shallow, rapid breathing, you begin to make sense of his sweaty, pallid countenance that shreds any remaining skepticism you hold against him—dismissing the wariness brought about by those wanted posters.

“Geum.”

His eyelids shut close at your grave tone. “I know. It’s fine.”

At your hesitant tone, he sluggishly spares you a placid, tame smile. You hate it.

The Geum you’ve come to know is exuberant, taking all his hardships in stride with a sly smirk to boot. He’s brilliant, craftier than any artist, and resourceful even in the face of despondency. He’s compassionate, extending his own neck to save yours, always sympathetic to your plight.

This Geum is hollow, a shell of the person you knew.

The crushed downturn of his doe eyes doesn’t belong to his captivating features. You yearn to watch that classic, mischievous glint sparkle in his irises as he taunts you endlessly, testing how high your pulse can spark when he invades your personal space yet again.

You take a seat next to him. “No, uh,” you stammer, “I got a solution. You just can’t scream or freak out or anything, okay? Most importantly, you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul.”

Before he can react to your cryptic warnings, you separate a lock of your hair, wrapping it around his wounded bicep. He raises a single brow at your strange antics but provides no further opposition. You’re pleased with the amount of trust he’s placed in you.

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine,”

Starting from your roots, a golden glimmer races across the tresses of your hair. Bewildered, Geum recoils in his state of shock but remains rooted in his spot nonetheless.

“Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

He follows the scintillating shimmer in your strands until he reaches the portion wrapped around his bicep. You absentmindedly wonder if he can feel his flesh reconstructing, cells dividing at a rapid rate to close the smooth gash.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

Your lids slide open to stare at his wide eyes, his jaw hanging ever so slightly. You’re glad to see that his previously pale complexion has given way to his natural, lively undertone.

“What once was mine.”

When the last notes fade out, eventually overpowered by the lone hoot of an owl, you gingerly untangle your hair from the shell-shocked man. Geum slaps his other hand over the healed skin, his head rapidly darting between examining his arm and making absurd facial expressions that convey his amazement. From his naturally cool composure, you treasure this rare moment of awe.

“Wha—”

Your stressed squeak halts him in his speech. “Please don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more so than you when he continues, “Not freaking out. What’s there to freak out about? I mean, magical healing hair? Completely normal.”

Your grin is filled with mirth at his nervous tone, and you lift his prodding digits from the site of the wound. Or at least where it used to be. “You feel okay?”

With all of your attention directed towards analyzing his healthy appendage, ensuring that your magic had not screwed up somewhere along the process, you miss Geum’s tender gaze roaming over every inch of your countenance. “Yeah, I guess I’m more than okay now.”

“I promise I’m not some kind of witch or anything like that. Just, uh, was just born with it,” you try to explain despite being in the dark about many of the nitty-gritty details yourself.

“Born with magical hair?”

You giggle at the absurdity of his question, although the validity remains true, it’s rather peculiar to hear it out loud. “Some of us are born with more talent than others. But that’s also why I can’t cut it,” you smile sheepishly, deciding to answer his earlier question now that your secret is out in the open.

“It turns brown and loses its magic.” You gather all your strands into one fist, pulling the mass to the side to expose the short, chestnut coloured strands underneath. You feel vulnerable and exposed with your neck out on display, sharing the fragility of your powers with a man you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.

But it’s Geum, and he doesn’t feel like a stranger to you. “An overbearing mother is also part of the reason, but that’s a story for another time. Carrying it around can be heavy and the tangles can be brutal, but I guess it has its perks.”

He hums, stretching his torso to throw some twigs into the fire in hopes of enlarging the dwindling flames. “Yeah, I, uh…”

You stay silent, neither dismissing nor pressuring him into voicing his thoughts.

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

A teasing smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you lean closer and nudge his arm. “You don’t say?”

He scoffs at your playful demeanour and pushes you back with one finger on your forehead. When your upper body is tilted away from him and your head is facing the starry night sky, he retracts his digit and speaks so softly that the noise is almost carried away by the wind. “It’s Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” you test it out, matching the syllables to the face. It’s a bit strange after getting accustomed to associating him with the name ‘Geum,’ but in a way, it complements him better.

“Yeah.” He pauses and you shift your body to study him, memorizing the slopes and angles of his side profile. His orbs reflect the flickering fire, engulfing the newly added branches in its blaze. “I just thought somebody should know.”

“Is Geum your alias... for when you’re being a criminal?” Although you’re hesitant to delve into the subject, especially right after he’s begun to unveil his true identity, your curiosity outweighs reason and you can’t contain yourself. You can’t say that you’ve never questioned the diadem hidden in his satchel.

Crowns don’t belong to convicts who run from justice.

You wait for his answer with bated breath, unintentionally trapping your lower lip between your teeth in anticipation. Please, Jungkook.

“If you’re trying to ask what I did,” he hisses, knuckles turning white from his clenched fists, “Yeah, I stole it. Those assholes don’t deserve their riches.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his anger radiating off him in waves. You wish you could eat your previous words because of how furious he’s become, but you’re committed to finishing the job. “Are you talking about the King and Queen?” Your brows pinch together in your discomfort. “Was that their crown?”

“This is your first time out of that tower, right?” You confirm his inquiry with a quick nod of your head. “How much do you know about the kingdom?”

“Jungkook—”

He tuts, fixing you with a strict glare. “Answer the question.”

“Well…” While recalling all the knowledge you picked up from your mother and the few historical books within your collection, you fiddle with a strand of your hair and organize your thoughts. “The castle is located in the middle of the capital, said to loom over the entire kingdom with its height. After it was rebuilt to accommodate more space for the Prince, everyone, from poets to milliners, cried over the beauty carved within those walls.”

He expels a deep sigh, causing you to question the legitimacy written in those pages you recited. “I asked about the kingdom, not the castle.”

His question leaves you dumbfounded. The information you collected over the years is limited to everything inside that grandiose, opulent building. There was nothing about the land, animals or even the common folk.

A gust blows the smoke of your little bonfire towards you, and you blink rapidly to avoid any soot from lodging itself into your eyes. Jungkook plucks a large leaf from one of the plants nearby, lazily fanning the fumes away. “That cozy castle and the royal family sitting on top of it all couldn’t care less about their people. They rake their luxuries from our hard work when even one jewel off that crown could feed hundreds.”

You process the cold truth in silence, a shiver overtaking your limbs in spite of the heat in front of you. “Is that why you stole it?”

“I don’t care if they want to plaster my face all over the kingdom and put a bounty on my head, I’m not going to stand around and watch people die from their greedy hands,” he states, proud and resolute.

You’re torn between the anguish nipping at your heels and the relief washing over your head. Living sheltered in that tower, you had no clue about the perils outside your own stone walls, is this what Mother was trying to protect you from?

However, discovering the true nature behind Jungkook’s crimes restores your faith in him, and your shoulders relax as you crane your neck to peer at the stars again. With your curiosity quenched, you move on to another question. “So, how many people get to call you Jungkook?”

He follows your example, leaning back and revelling in the breathtaking sight. “Nobody knows my real name, everyone calls me Geum.”

Your jaw drops a fraction from the admittance, feeling rather privileged that he chose to share it with you. “Your family calls you that too?”

“Don’t have any,” he brushes off your sympathetic gaze with a shrug.

“Why the name Geum?”

You catch his tiny, forlorn smile in your peripheral. “I grew up hearing all about the royal family’s massive parties, overflowing with family, friends—people. They were never lonely. And since they were parading their money around, I thought that was it, that was the secret.”

The dejected tone in his voice clogs your airways and makes it difficult to breathe, stunning your motionless form into remaining as still as a statue, the magnitude of his sorrow sweeping over you in fatal waves.

“And I hoped that maybe naming myself ‘gold’ might give me some luck with that.” With his shoulders downcast, his eyes flicker over to you, gauging your reaction.

You desperately wish you could turn back time to console the young boy whose heart was too big to fit inside his tiny body. Although he’s grown into it now, you strive to ease his suffering by even the slightest fraction. “I think ‘Jungkook’ is even better for making friends.”

The edges of his lips flip upwards as he navigates his face to halt directly right in front of your own, pressing one hand to the other side of your farthest thigh and caging you in. “Would you be my friend, Princess?”

All your blood rushes to your head, warming your cheeks. In a futile attempt to preserve any of your remaining dignity, you shrink back to maintain some distance. But his smirk grows at the sight of your shy response to his advances, his orbs flitting down to your pink lips before returning to your eyes. He looks absolutely ecstatic over your flustered state.

His hot breath fans over your lips and you gather any rational sense you have left inside your muddled brain to push him back, missing the split second his confident facade cracks and a sliver of insecurity shines through. It’s instantly replaced by a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No matter what you decide to call yourself, I’ll always be your friend.”

Seconds seem like hours as the two of you stare at each other, seeking to uncover the words left unsaid. Jungkook’s palms press against his knees, pushing off of them to come to a standing position and effectively ending your little moment. “I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

You nod, staring at his retreating backside that ventures into the adumbral forest once more. Even though the perpetrator of all these complex emotions is no longer within sight, you feel unsettled from the mere thought of him, yet your heart yearns for him all the same.

“Oh, Petal, I thought he would never leave!” A distinctly high-pitched cry rings out in the empty space, a voice which you didn’t expect to hear until at least tomorrow night.

Your head whips to the side to confirm your suspicions. “Mother?” Her dark figure emerges from the shadows and your heart drops to your stomach. You fumble for the right words, at a loss from her unexpected appearance. “How did you—”

“The better question is how could you, Petal?” she corrects, continuing to step into the light provided by the fire. The once comforting flames turn harsh, sharp pops bursting forth from the aggressive combustion. She lowers her hood to reveal the disappointment etched into her youthful features—and without fail, the sting of upsetting her burns through your conscience. “Really, how could you betray your own mother like this?”

You stand, determined to explain yourself, “Mother, he’s different from the monsters you told me about. If you get to know him, he’s sweet and caring and kind an-and he isn’t after my magic!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, my naive, little Petal.” She tilts her chin up slightly, peering down at you. “Everyone is the same out here, all looking after themselves.”

You approach her within a few strides. “Mother, please listen to me, he’s different! Even though he puts on a tough front at times, he’s really considerate on the inside.” You fiddle with the tips of your fingers as you whisper the next part, “And I, uh, I think he might like me.”

The reaction you least expect is her startling outburst of laughter, powerful enough to fold her in half, and you wait for her giggles to quiet down before warily stepping forward. Your mother is acting awfully strange. “You think he likes you? And what makes you think that?”

You blanch at her ruthless words, wincing as though they assumed a physical form and punched you repeatedly in the gut.

Her maniacal snickers abruptly cease and a frown mars her lovely face once again, her expression one you recognized from previous reprimands, whether it was shattering a vase or begging to go outside. Your chin falls down to meet your chest, unable to muster up your faux bravery for any longer.

“I’m asking what gave you the idea that he would like some insolent, unsightly brat like you?”

You can’t open your mouth to respond, frozen in fear.

“Hm, what’s with the silence? You seemed so certain earlier, Petal. This is why you never should have left, look at this pitiful romance you’ve created,” she mocks, rounding your nervous form like a predator playing with their prey. “Let’s put him to the test then, shall we?”

Your head snaps up at her odd suggestion, eyes widening at the satchel she uncovers from behind her slim form. “You found it?”

She tosses the bag to you and you outstretch your arms—only to catch it a second too late. The bag drops to the floor and the flap flips open. You race to collect the sparkling crown that tumbles out, hastily shoving the diadem back inside before Jungkook wanders back, even turning towards the fire to ensure his continued absence.

“Why so scared?” your mother questions smugly, “I thought you said that he’s different from the rest of them?”

“He is!” you exclaim, rushing to defend him.

“Then give it to him, let’s see if he stays once he has the crown back in his hands. But don’t come crying back to Mother when he runs for the hills,” she snarls, lifting her hood over her short curls and withdrawing into the woods.

Your mind reels from your mother’s visit, but your concern lies with where to stash the leather satchel in your grasp. Dead leaves crunch under approaching footsteps and you examine your body, contemplating the best area for your idea.

Hiking the hem of your dress up to your stomach, you loop the strap of the bag through your left foot, twisting and repeating until it’s coiled around your ankle and the pouch snugly rests against your skin. You shimmy the satchel until the middle of your thigh where it refuses to go any higher.

Satisfied, you release your dress, smoothing the fabric down and confirming that nothing is suspiciously sticking out. You violently shake your leg back and forth to ensure there would be no future problems and sure enough, the straps tenaciously cling onto your thigh throughout all your testing.

“Hey, look what I found! He’ll definitely save us some travelling time tomorrow, but I don’t think he likes me much.”

Jungkook appears from the area your mother disappeared with an overwhelming pile of lumber in his arms. You stroll over to lessen the load, but he brushes you off and bypasses you to drop it beside the fire.

A white horse tromps along after him, trying to nip at the crown of his head while he shoos it away with a waving hand. The comical sight distracts you from the dreary thoughts of your mother, although the stiff strap wrapped around your leg forbids you from forgetting about it.

When you snap out of your reverie, Jungkook is cocking his head to the side at your unusually spacey behaviour.

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

Rather than sore feet, the next day your entire crotch is painfully numb from riding Maximus, the quirky horse who holds an obnoxious grudge against Jungkook for reasons unknown to you. While Max allows you to rub his cheeks, scratch his neck and run your fingers through his mane, he huffs if Jungkook so much as breathes too loudly.

Oddly enough, the stallion follows Jungkook around like a lost puppy despite his cold attitude. What is with males and their inability to show their appreciation for one another?

Jungkook insisted on being in front and taking hold of the reins even though Max refused to let him mount his back at first. After some caresses and loving words with the sweet animal, Max permitted you to hop on—which Jungkook was not pleased with. It was a nice change of pace to watch the ordinarily suave man lose his cool over a horse’s favouritism.

In the end, the only way Jungkook was allowed on was by sitting behind you, latching onto you for stability. The animosity growing between the two males adds to your amusement, so you remain unbothered by the hostile glares you can feel Jungkook throwing over your shoulder and the aggressive puffs of air that blow through Max’s nostrils every once in a while.

“Tell me how you found Max again?” Skepticism leaks into your tone, courtesy of Jungkook’s thieving habits.

You could practically feel his eyes roll back into his head as his arms tighten around your waist. His built torso is glued to your back, which repeatedly distracts you from the path ahead. “I told you that I was collecting some twigs off of the ground when this guy appeared out of nowhere! I was scared shitless.”

“You mean to say that someone accidentally lost their horse in the middle of the woods?” You glance sideways to peek at his chin, lodged into the crook of your neck. His face is merely a couple of millimetres from your own.

When he insisted on resting his head there, you had thoroughly embarrassed yourself with a flaming face, resembling a ripe tomato ready for the picking, coupled with your inability to enunciate any word properly. But after hours of his head smooshed against the side of your face or leaning against your upper back, you finally relax into his hold, finding comfort and safety in the appendages coiled tightly around you.

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

You scoff at the impish grin stretching across his cheeks at his own horrible excuse.

The castle comes into view in the ensuing half-hour, the imposing building no longer obstructed by the towering trees of the forest. Your spirits are dampened slightly by the cruel secrets Jungkook revealed yesterday night, although your giddiness at the prospect of living out your dreams makes you vibrate in excitement. You remind yourself that you’re here for the magical lights, not the castle.

The faint pounding against your back picks up speed for a reason drastically different to your own. He is essentially walking right into his own imprisonment—his wanted posters more than likely plastered across every flat surface inside the marketplace with soldiers littered around the premises. You gather the sturdy reins into one hand, freeing the other to hold Jungkook’s conjoined digits over your stomach.

Completely engrossed in Jungkook’s dilemma, neither of you notice Max racing into town until a screech pierces your ears. You apologize profusely for the spilled legumes that begin rolling away from the young woman, and you whip Max into trodding off before she curses you out.

Once you’re satisfied with the amount of space between yourselves and the unlucky woman, you tie Max’s reins to a nearby fence and race to join the festivities carrying on all around you. Spotting Jungkook’s unsure form lagging behind, you dart back to tug on his wrist, flashing him an encouraging smile before lugging him from one stall to another.

You don’t get far before you experience a sharp pain on your scalp. With the large amounts of people bustling around the tiny square, your hair is a tripping hazard that you try to quickly bunch up into your arms. Your hair is way too long to carry by yourself, so you turn to ask Jungkook for help, though he’s nowhere to be found.

Your mind races to the worst-case scenario. The guards must have caught sight of him, capturing him off guard while you were none the wiser and now he’s going to be hanged for his crimes all because you were too stupid to—

A couple of little girls with flowers decorating their braids physically yank you out of your trance, their tiny hands gathering your multitudinous strands and dragging you off to the side. You’re about to protest against their actions, more concerned over Jungkook’s whereabouts than anything, but after catching a glance of said man playfully waving at you from a few feet away, you allow yourself to be whisked away.

The three girls deftly move from left to right, taking locks of your hair with them as they knot it all into one humongous five strand braid. When you stand up to your full height, you’re amazed to see that none of your hair touches the ground. Considering the hefty weight that pulls at the back of your head, you know this solution can’t last too long.

They scatter various fresh flowers all over, the scent of the blossoms wafting around your figure. As you’re appreciating their handiwork, an arm wraps itself around the curve of your lower back, drawing you into a herculean chest while you blow air kisses filled with your gratitude to the snickering girls.

Jungkook maneuvers you into a narrow alleyway, and you get a chance to admire his glittering irises from up close.

“Guards?”

He only grins.

You’re certain to keep an eye out for any wandering soldiers from that point on, with you pulling Jungkook behind crowds or him dragging you into the gaps between small buildings. Despite the situation being rather stressful with your lives at stake, your escapade is thrilling nonetheless and you enjoy being pressed up against his lean frame, carelessly giggling to yourselves.

Although neither of you carries any silver, window shopping proves to be equally as amusing—browsing through homemade accessories, toys and masks that you play around with, flashing ridiculous faces at one another.

The delicious smell of baked goods drifts through the streets and prompts your mouths to fill with saliva. You appreciate the artistry behind their beautifully decorated exteriors, adorned with colourful frosting and sprinkles. One booth catches your attention and you latch onto Jungkook’s hand to drag him along.

Rows and rows of shiny green bottles are positioned in perfect rows on a table inside the booth and plushies hang from the sides, acting as bait to any passerby. You tug on the hem of Jungkook’s dark vest, gesticulating towards the game with awe.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few silver coins that glint in the sunlight. Your eyes widen into saucers at his mischievous grin and you smack his arm, chiding him for his wandering hands as he assures you that he found them on the ground. When he goes as far as to insist that he saved them from being trampled on, you can’t help your tinkling laughter from escaping.

Perhaps it’s karma that prevents your rings from landing on top of any bottle, but the exhilaration of watching the rings soar in midair with a flick of your wrist as Jungkook’s chants fill your ears is priceless. Certainly more precious than any stuffed animal.

You two amble about the streets again, side by side. Long fingers intertwine with your own and your heart flips in your chest, suppressing the raging flush that threatens to colour your cheeks whenever Jungkook is involved. You look around your surroundings, trying to conceal the cheeky grin on your face, resembling that of a toddler with their favourite candy.

Before long, your travelling gaze takes notice of the people hunched over on the ground, concentrated on the stones below them. With a closer look, you discover the sketches littered across the stone pathways—some spanning the entire street and some smaller than your palm.

You bolt over to join them with Jungkook in tow. This whole hand-holding business is proving to be more useful than you thought.

There are pieces of different coloured chalk dispersed throughout the streets, and you pick up an orange one, urging Jungkook to do the same. He searches around for a bit until he decides on a white coloured chalk.

By the time you’re finalizing the tiny drawing you sketched onto the uneven stones, the stub in your hand is half the size of your pinky. Your joints ache from kneeling for so long, but you’re more than satisfied with the bright tiger lily staring back at you.

You stand up, brushing off of any stray rocks that have embedded themselves onto the bare skin of your legs and nudge Jungkook’s arm with your foot. He grumbles under his breath that you ruined the white blob he claims to be a bunny, but you jest that it was doomed the moment he picked up the chalk.

The retort silences him and you stretch your hand out to help him stand, grinning sheepishly at the pout on his pink lips. He accepts your peace offering, although rather than using your aid to get up, he yanks you downwards and your unstable body lands right into his lap. You squeak at his retaliation and wriggle violently in his hold as he curls himself around you, his chin resting onto your shoulder and arms wrapping around your torso to quell your futile efforts of escape.

“You like the nation’s flower?” He questions, nuzzling his face into your upper back.

“Nation’s flower?”

He hums his confirmation and you feel the pleasant vibrations on your neck before he’s nodding towards the purple pennants that dangle off of thin strings, stretching between buildings. Now that you’re actively inspecting the marketplace for the flower, you notice the continuous motif of the orange lily sprouting everywhere from decorations to paintings.

Jungkook seems to have abandoned all hope on his own masterpiece, for he lifts you up by your underarms and leads you away.

As you venture through the rest of the market, grazing through the various stalls, you examine all the knick-knacks depicting the famous tiger lily. It soothes you slightly, recognizing the flower decorating your walls back at the tower.

Lost in your trance, you don’t catch Jungkook slinking away, disappearing into the crowds.

As you turn the corner to browse the next stall’s wares, a massive stained glass window depicting a family of three catches your eye. The man appears stern with his furrowed brows and deep-set frown, and the woman’s forced smile fits awkwardly onto her face. She’s holding a tight bundle of canvas, a tiny face peeking through the layers of fabric in her arms.

Rays of the setting sun pierce through the coloured, translucent material and surround the art piece with an ethereal glow. You’re transfixed by the woman, reminded of your own mother’s delicate features.

You shake off the unpleasant feeling of your last encounter with her and analyze the three squares dedicated to the child’s crumpled face. The only noticeable detail you can make out is his chubby cheeks.

“Interested in the Prince?” A warm breath whispers into your ear, “Am I not good enough for you anymore, Princess?”

You spin around to face Jungkook, barely able to contain your delight as you examine the playful glint in his eyes. “Bold of you to assume there was ever a point where you were good enough for me.”

He scoffs, hands automatically coming to loop around your middle. “I know you’re not suggesting that I’m anything less than stellar company.”

You hum aloud, feigning contemplation by rubbing at your chin and a wide grin breaks his irked performance. He tries to hide his little slip by burrowing his face into the crook of your neck.

His soft cheeks on your bare skin along with his large hands squeezing at your sides elicit all your muffled giggles to burst past your lips. Pure, unadulterated glee bounces around your stomach.

Some of the lilies lodged within your golden strands fall loose and flutter onto the ground with the movement. You intercept one that drops from near your temple, plucking it out of the air and slotting the stem just above Jungkook’s ear.

He pulls away from subjecting your clavicle with his tiny nips in order to rest his forehead against yours. Your head is cradled by one of his palms and you watch as his heated gaze roams down to your lips. Entranced by his overwhelming presence, your eyelids slide shut as he leans forward slightly, tilting his head to the side before a meaty hand encloses around the circumference of your upper arm, yanking you away from him.

Panic seizes your muscles. Your heart threatens to shatter your rib cage with its fierce pounding. The soldiers. You extend your other arm to reach out for Jungkook—the same alarm piercing your flesh is reflected in his blazing orbs. Before he has the chance to rush after you, a dainty woman clothed in a primrose dress sweeps him away as well.

Barely a whole day has passed since you began running away from the soldiers, yet you’re more than certain that the soldier’s attire solely consisted of their royal uniforms, which did not include any flowy, pink garments. You whip back to your own abductor; a stout, jolly man with a cheshire grin stretching from one ear to the other.

He releases you in the middle of a swarming mass of people, moving their bodies left and right to the beat being pounded out on tabors and the sweet melody spilling from a nearby flute.

The man spins you around, encouraging you to let loose and sway your hips to the upbeat song as you’re handed off from one partner to the next. Somewhere within the chaos, you spot Jungkook’s longing stare and you subconsciously inch closer to his side.

The second that you two are within reach of one another, you dart into his arms. Just as you’re about to slip into his comforting embrace, a scrawny boy takes your place while an older woman wraps her arms around your shoulders. She wastes no time before guiding you into a dip, her palms supporting your back.

Upside down, Jungkook’s annoyed countenance is an amusing sight that you gleefully chortle at. Knowing that he is similarly distraught at the prospect of being unable to dance together soothes your aching desire and you savour the thrilling experience of moving as one part of a greater whole.

You prance and twirl your heart out as if it’s your last time. And you’re sure that it will be.

Eventually, both of you are able to slither your way out of the dancing crowds, and the cheers die down the farther you get from the main square. The sun is rapidly falling past the horizon and the capital is shrouded in the deepening twilight. You assumed that he would lead you to see the lanterns about now, but you’re clueless as to why you two are heading away from the castle.

“Jungkook?”

He turns back to you with a breathtaking smile resting on his lips, the dwindling light casting an otherworldly radiance around him. Reaching for your hand, he intertwines your fingers with his own as he leans down to softly bump his forehead against yours. “You’ll see.”

Jungkook directs you towards the moat that surrounds the marketplace, ushering you into one of the many gondolas lined up against the dock. You narrow your eyes at him and he attempts to reassure you with a simple, “We’ll bring it back.”

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

But you’re so entranced in his spell that you follow along without more than a tiny squeeze at your interlaced digits. You release his hands before he jumps into the boat, the wood swaying back and forth under his weight, worrying you instead of the unbothered man a few feet away. As you take a sharp inhale, about to follow in his footsteps, Jungkook grips the sides of your hips and lifts you into the gondola with him.

You fix him with a reproachful glare at his unexpected actions yet the silent scolding doesn’t last long, for you’re hopeless to the sight of his elation, sticking to him like a second skin. Powerless against his charms, you sit on the thin wooden seat on the other side of the boat and watch him grab an oar, dipping it into the water and propelling you two forward.

You want to admire the unobstructed view of the sparkling night sky, but nothing can beat the galaxies hidden within Jungkook’s eyes, thus you try to seem as inconspicuous as possible in ogling him from your peripheral. However, your futile efforts are rather pointless considering your position, facing the handsome thief rowing the boat at the other end.

You think the title is fitting since he’s stolen your heart without a problem as well.

Once he deems your spot satisfactory, Jungkook strolls over to your side, taking a seat on the bench across from you. His legs slot in between the spaces of your own.

“Now that I think about it, it’s the Prince’s eighteenth birthday too,” he states. “He must be pretty excited, taking over the throne and everything.”

You perk up at the news. “He’s succeeding the King?”

“Mm,” he affirms, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “King announced an early retirement or something because they’d already found the Prince’s betrothed. His coronation is today.”

You nod your understanding, thinking about the responsibilities bearing down on the poor boy. “It’s kind of weird to think about, y’know, being the same age and even sharing the same birthday but leading completely different lives. He’s about to get married, lead a country and me...” you falter, pausing to string your thoughts into a coherent sentence. “Well, this is my entire dream. Seeing these lights is everything to me.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re living your own life, on your own journey. Comparing yourself to others does nothing but rob yourself of your own happiness.”

You hum with a teasing lilt to your tone. “Suddenly the boy who named himself ‘gold’ in the hopes of attracting some friends is giving me advice?”

He breaks out into a chuckle, doubling over and laying his forehead on your shoulder. His hands reach out for the locks of hair resting on your lap, plucking one of the flowers swimming in your strands. Like Hansel and his bread crumbs, many of the blossoms that fell off throughout your time in the marketplace left tracks of your whereabouts. Only a few flowers remain with you.

With the delicate daisy between his thumb and index finger, he rolls the pads of his fingers against each other, spinning the white petals so fast that they blur together into a splotchy circle surrounding the yellow centre. Once he becomes bored with the flower, he lifts his head and stretches his arm out with a classic smirk that heightens his flirtatious nature. “For you, my lady.”

You huff at the offering. “You act as if it wasn’t already mine in the first place.” Despite your sharp words, you gingerly pluck the stem out of his grasp, fingers brushing against his own. When you raise the daisy up to your nose, the invigorating floral scent startles your senses once more.

With not much else to occupy your time, you decide that now is a better time than ever to dislodge the wilting buds from your tresses. You face the side of the gondola overlooking the water, grabbing onto the ledge and leaning forward.

You muster all the grace you have within your bones to place the ivory daisy onto the water’s surface. The flower drifts along the calm current, painting the atmosphere with a tranquil serenity.

Despite your best efforts to suppress them, your clumsy tendencies shine through when you tip your torso over a smidge too far, losing your balance and diving headfirst for the water. Jungkook is quick to latch on to your wrist, steadying you before you accidentally throw yourself overboard.

You’re sheepish in both your apology and thanks. To avoid any further mishaps, one of his hands remain on your lower back and the other collects the remaining blossoms in your tresses, handing them off to you.

A slow rhythm develops between you two and your raging thoughts come to a standstill, a red light halting the traffic within your mind. In front of you, a garden of assorted blossoms assembles, floating gently towards the ornate castle. One sprout catches your eye.

A tiger lily.

Directly below its long petals, a flash of bright red catches your eye in the reflection of the water. Jungkook’s deep voice cleaves through the soft sloshing of the water. “The lanterns.”

“It’s…” You struggle to piece together proper words to describe the sight before you. One lantern lightens the dark sky, drifting alone in the expansive space before a bunch of others race to join the first. Their warm, yellow glow overpowers that of the moon, painting the landscape in an orange tint that seems to welcome you into its embrace.

“Beautiful.”

You’re too distracted by the enchanting sight before you to notice his eyes trained on your profile, and so you soundlessly agree with a nod of your head. It’s as if time has ceased in its endless ticking, halting in its tracks for another world to open where only you and Jungkook exist.

You don’t mind the idea as much as you think you would.

“I have a surprise.”

You turn over to face him, head tilting in curiosity. He carries a paper lantern in his open palms and your brows furrow at his attentive, considerate behaviour. “Jungkook?”

“We should join in on all the fun, right?” A genuine smile illuminates his soft features instead of the usual smirks he casually throws your way. Oddly enough, despite your inability to operate in front of his flirty personality, you adore both sides equally.

“Kook, wait.”

He perks up at the nickname, reminding you of a dog with its tail violently wagging back and forth—you can’t help but be enamoured by him. You raise the hem of your dress up to the middle of your left thigh and he sputters, looking away. “Hey, hey! I know I’m pretty irresistible but this boat is not the place to—”

“No, you idiot.” You snicker at his unexpected timidity, shimmying the coiled strap down your leg and covering your decency once again with the fabric. “I have something for you too.”

He peeks at you, ensuring that you’re sufficiently clothed before turning to face you. A cold sweat settles over the outer layer of your skin as you watch his brows raise at his satchel in your hands. Keeping the lantern in one hand, and his steady gaze focused on your eyes, he gently pushes the bag down to the floor of the boat, the metal of the crown banging against the wood.

“All I need is you,” he whispers the words into the empty space of the night, the syllables getting lost somewhere within the mellow breeze blowing by. Your heart constricts at the reassurance that this time, Mother is wrong. You fight back the tears gathering at your waterline and grab the other edge of the lantern after he lights the candle inside.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod and the two of you slowly lift your arms to release the lantern with the masses drifting above you. After a bit, you lose sight of your paper lantern and you glance back at Jungkook to ask whether he was able to keep track of its location, but your voice gets stuck in your throat when you become captivated with the childlike wonder buried within his orbs, roaming over the sky and examining every single lantern at once.

His scouring eventually leads him back to you. He catches you staring, but neither of you care enough to break the moment. His eyes soften and you two shuffle forward on your seats, being pulled toward one another like magnets. Your legs entangle with his in the cramped area and you lean forward until your lips are millimetres from one another.

From this close, you have a perfect view of your reflection within his brilliant irises, the shallow scar that runs along his cheek, the cute birthmark right under his mouth. His eyes are locked on your mouth and you take that as the go-ahead signal to close the gap and slot your lips against his soft ones.

With your evident lack of experience, Jungkook takes control immediately, a hand flying to the back of your head, threading through your hair to keep you in place as he sucks at your lower lip. His tongue swipes at the closed seam that blocks him from your mouth, and you instantly open up to clash tongues, although you shrink back soon after, letting him explore your hot cavern.

You sneak a peek at him every time you two separate for air, confirming that this is indeed reality and not some product of your wild imagination. He invades all your senses and keeps you locked to him like an addict desperate for their fix, his other palm searing through your clothing with its heat and burning a hole through the thin fabric of your dress.

When you finally pull away, you feel feverish and dizzy as a raging blush colours your cheeks. You can’t find it in yourself to look directly into his eyes, but he reaches for your chin and forces you to study the haze of passion in his gaze.

Every part of your body is lit aflame from his touch. Hooked on the feeling of his plush lips pressing against yours with your tongues swirling in tandem with one another, you’re about to lean in for more when his eyes dart off to the side and he abruptly jerks away as if you burned him with your embrace.

His startling jolt snaps you out of your dazed state. With your head out of the clouds, you notice that the lanterns have already moved onto the next town over, taking their warmth with them. The fire within you, kindled by Jungkook, dwindles with the uncertainty of your future together.

Without so much as another word, Jungkook snatches the oar from the bottom of the boat and jumps back to his position at the front of the gondola. He urgently paddles the two of you back to land and you fumble for words. “Jungkook, I—”

“It’s not you.” His statement is reassuring in writing, although his tone is detached, distant in a way that crushes the passages to your lungs. Lost in your dejection, you’re powerless to prod him for any more information than that.

Before the boat can hit the edge of the dock, Jungkook springs out with his leather satchel tucked under his arm, pausing to mutter, “I just—I have to take care of something. Please believe me when I say I’ll be back.” His anguish leaks into his voice and you will yourself to nod, a forced smile on your lips. “Wait for me.”

He dashes off with your heart in his hands. You steady your shaky breath and place your faith in him, the man you have come to trust with your life.

You spend the next half hour struggling to get out of the gondola, craving the flat land to ground yourself. By the time you manage to clamber out, there are a couple of discoloured blotches on the length of your dress that put your many failed attempts on full display. You fan one of the bigger spots to help it dry faster, but the fabric becomes chilly with the extra wind and a shiver slips down your spine from its icy temperature.

Languid footsteps approach your frigid frame and you brighten up, forgetting about the cold. “Took you long enough. Y’know, for a second there I was worried you’d actually lef—”

You pick up more than one pair of feet advancing on you and your eyes widen at the lanky, redheaded twins that stop in front of your path. Cursing your quivering limbs, you cringe at the tremor in your voice when you ask, “What did you do to him?”

They simultaneously snort at your question and the one on the left replies, “Sorry about this, lass, but you’re gonna have to come with us.”

The blood drains from your face and you repeat, louder, “What did you do to him?”

“Aw, don’t get all riled up now. But don’t worry your pretty little head, we’re going to take you right to him.” They corner you back to the dock and you scramble to locate a weapon to defend yourself with. At your wit’s end, you prepare to jump into the murky waters.

However, before you get the chance to move another muscle, an intense pain blooms at the back of your skull, wrapping around to your temples accompanied by a flash of light exploding behind your eyes. Then everything goes black.

Your head pounds as a dull ache nestles itself deep within your bones. Your vision is nothing but a blurry, indecipherable mess of colours, so you opt to keep your eyes closed instead. You’re kneeling on cold tiles that rub your knees raw when you subtly shift into a more comfortable position, discovering the existence of the shackles around your wrists and ankles.

“—nd the girl. We expect you to keep your end of the deal.” The rugged tone that speaks is one that you recognize from before your blackout—one of the redheads.

“Yes, yes, all the charges laid against you have been cleared,” a high-pitched voice meets your ears and you subconsciously grimace, physically recoiling from the sound. Thankfully, your sharp motions go unnoticed. “You’re free to go.”

“What?” You hear shuffling nearby, the rustling of clothes getting farther away from you. The distinct, metallic sheen of a couple of swords being unsheathed follow and the footsteps come to a sudden stop. “You promised us gold.”

The woman scoffs, “Now why would I give you crooked-nosed knaves anything more than a death sentence?”

Many polished boots clamber against the ground with such force that the vibrations can be felt through the flesh of your folded calves. The grunts and garbled screams that ensue are silenced within seconds and two hefty weights hit the floor with a limp, lifeless thud.

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

There’s more shuffling, then something is dragged past your crumpled form. The throbbing across your cranium worsens and you’re incapable of fending off the blissful oblivion of desolation any longer, thus you surrender to the darkness once more.

The next time you open your eyes a harsh light coats your surroundings and the blocks of colour are clearer, sharp enough to decipher the intricate detailing painted on the tiles beneath your knees. Someone chokes on a wet cough, and your eyelids snap shut once more. Your nose crinkles in disgust as well.

“Her tiny skull should have been rolling through these halls eighteen years ago.” The woman’s wretched tone fills your ears, words full of deadly poison.

You remain chained, kneeling against the ground with your head lowered. A numbing sensation lingers no matter how much you fidget in place, bearing down your limbs with the weight of your useless nerves that refuse to fire off.

Another, deeper, voice responds, “Tone it down. Her magic is powerful, the advantage we hold over the other kingdoms is colossal with this kind of sorcery on our side. If she falls, the whole empire will fall with her.”

Sorcery? Although you can count the number of people you met on one hand, you’ve studied heaps of books and drilled your mother with enough questions to know that your magic is unique and rare—a product of alchemy that occurs merely once every millennium.

“I see no point in keeping her around when we cannot access her magic at our will, she is as good as worthless to us. That halfwit of a sister was incapable of locking this churl in a tower for long enough, and look at her now, running around, wreaking havoc with a criminal.”

Your mind swirls with the sudden barrage of information, unsure as to why these two strangers hold deep insights into your life, as well as the knowledge about your unusual hair.

“There is nothing to worry about, Jimin is on the throne. We will simply send her away once again,” the gruff voice states, exasperation clear in his tone.

A deafening thud reverberates throughout the spacious room. Helpless to the dreadful fear swimming in your veins, your body shudders in response to the noise.

The woman shrieks, clearly at her wits’ end, “I want her dead! Guillotine, hang, drown, burn, I could care less. She poses a threat to Jimin’s throne with her existence, and we have gone through too much to have our plans foiled by this knave. We were merciful enough in having my imbecilic sister continue to meet with Jimin throughout the years.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh before the man answers, “Have some heart, darling, that is her son you speak of.”

“In the eyes of the people, he is my son and the King,” she seethes. Her enmity is strangely familiar, yet you fail to identify the woman through her voice. “Quit acting as if I am the only sinner here and remember how much we both sacrificed for our blood to inherit the King’s throne.”

“It is not your blood though, is it, dear wife?”

The tension within the room is thick, palpable in the dense air in the way that makes breathing difficult. “You must have enjoyed sleeping with my sister more than I believed. Do you want to call her back here? Play a good husband and wife for the counterfeit King?”

You couldn’t keep the tremours from breaking out over your body as your breaths quicken and an abundance of liquid races to your eyes. It was all beginning to come together, but you wait for the two to confirm your suspicions.

The man chuckles with hollow intent. “Do you fail to recall your own words, pleading with me to follow this foolish scheme of yours? I would have much rather preferred a foreigner rule the kingdom alongside our daughter.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said eighteen years ago.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to repress the sounds of anguish that tears at your skin to brutal shreds. Enraged rivulets stream down your cheeks, and you lift your torso to stare at your legitimate parents. They turn to you, the man distraught and the woman with pure disgust.

“How—” you stammer through your heavy wails, “how could you?”

“So the Princess found out.” Your biological mother raises from her royal seat, storming over the short distance to your trembling form. “Fine, we can strike an agreement.”

She reaches behind your head to grab a handful of your hair, yanking your head up to peer up at the exquisitely decorated ceiling. When you yelp in pain, she crouches down to your level, baring her pearly white teeth as she threatens, “Leave. Be a good little girl and go hole yourself back up in that tower. Don’t worry, Mommy will come get you if we ever need that magic of yours, hm?”

You desperately wriggle around to loosen her hold, but she only grips your strands tighter, pulling downwards to introduce more pain to your scalp. “That thief will stay right here to ensure you keep up your end of the deal, alright?”

At the mention of Jungkook, your heart stutters and your expression morphs to that of despair, momentarily forgetting about the strain to the sensitive skin of your head. “Where is he?”

She smirks and snaps her fingers. The door to the throne room is pulled open with a loud clack, and Jungkook’s weak, bloody form stumbles through the grand entrance, hanging upright with the help of two sturdy guards.

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

“Mopping all his blood off the floor would be terribly tiresome for the maids.” She jerks your head down to bear witness to the sneer stretching across her lips. “It’s all up to you, really.”

“Let me heal him!” you agonize, sobs ripping through your chest, burning through every tissue to the outermost layer of your skin. “Pl-please, please let me heal him. I’ll leave, I won’t say a word, I’ll do anything you want—I’m b-begging you, please.”

The wicked smirk playing on her lips grows wider at your pleading. She shoves your head away, the momentum of the push throwing your whole torso over to the side, bringing about a harsh meeting with the floor. With Jungkook occupying every crevice of your mind, there’s no space to register the pain pulsing through your groggy body.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You scramble to your hands and knees, disregarding the scrapes and bruises littering your limbs. Despite your tunnel vision directed towards reaching Jungkook, your movements are sluggish from the extended period of time spent kneeling in one position.

The guards supporting him release their hold on his arms, and you scramble to catch his limp frame in your arms, but your depleted muscles can only manage to soften his fall with your body. You detangle yourself from him and hurriedly begin wrapping your hair around his torso.

Your jaw trembles at his damp locks, sodden with sweat and stuck to the side of his head dripping in crimson. The vicious colour oozes out of the deep gashes you locate across his back, peeking through the tears in his shirt and stains the bloody spit drooling from the corners of his cracked lips. Great purple welts fill the rest of his exposed skin, completing the heart-wrenching picture before you.

You pick up the weak croak of your name, and you hiccup from your fierce laments at his red-rimmed eyes. “Guess I was right all along, Princess.”

Your mother’s cruel words follow the nasty glower she shoots his way. “Shut up or we’ll end your pitiful life now, you filthy criminal.”

“Jungkook, I’m here,” you reassure him, beginning to wrap your excess strands around his arms before he stops you with a stained hand. “Jungkook let me—”

“Stop,” he mutters, gripping his side in pain.  

“No! I can’t—I can’t let you die.” You grit your teeth, disobeying his words and going to wrap your tresses around his broken body once more.

“If you go back there,” he coughs, an alarming amount of blood spurting out, “then you’ll—”

“It’s fine, everything will be alright, okay?” You press your palm over his hand and the icy bite that greets you hardens your resolve. “We’ll figure it out.”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to sing the incantation engraved into the back of your mind when Jungkook’s fingers graze your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch, examining every crimson stain marring his delicate features.

His doe eyes soften at your orbs roaming his face and when your gaze settles on his thin lips, he snatches the chance to land a peck against your mouth. The fleeting kiss fills you with greed, and your eyes flutter shut despite your rationale as you dip towards him for another.

You halt, gasping at the gut-wrenching sound of your tresses being severed from the base of your neck, the noise snapping you back to reality. Your eyes widen at Jungkook’s relieved countenance as his torso reclines to the ground, the sharp dagger in his hand rattling onto the tiles beside him. When you reach back to assess the damage, your hand grips onto the short strands that reach no further than your shoulder.

You glance back at the heaps of dead, brown hair sprawled across the palace floor and your mind wipes clean of any coherent thought. Instead, your chest caves in on itself, breathing made impossible because of your collapsed airways and you choke out, “Jungkook, what did you—”

“What an absolute halfwit, does he think he did anyone a favour with that little stunt of his? Without your hair, we have no need for either of you.” Your biological mother laughs, the notes turning ominously maniacal towards the end. “Kill them.”

Guards immediately surround you two, and in a weak attempt to protect him from their pointed swords, you cradle Jungkook’s powerless form to your chest. You prepare yourself to bear the end of their piercing blades.

“What do you roaches think you’re doing?” she seethes, blazing orbs flashing with white-hot fury. “I said, kill them!”

The gigantic doors burst open again, but this time, a lean man strides forward. His blond strands are neatly styled away from his forehead and the regal red robe hanging upon his shoulders elegantly sway after him. The soldiers part ways to make room for the intimidating man and one of his retainers at the door announces, “The King is here!”

You struggle to even out your frantic breaths, thankful for the distraction that grants you a break to rack your brain for a method to escape the dreadful situation you two have found yourselves in. Debating whether you should fight back, sneak away or plead for forgiveness, your eyes dart wildly around the room. A woman donned in a black cloak lingers slightly behind the King, gazing at you with a murderous glare that sends pin needles into the thin lining of your stomach.

“That’s enough,” the King states.

“Jimin.” The former Queen races up to him but is stopped by the retainers that encircle the King.  “What business do you have here? There are more important matters for you to attend to.” Her eyes narrow at the sight of the woman behind him.

“No, I think this has gone on long enough.” He sweeps his gaze over to the two of you, Jungkook barely clinging onto life, nestled within your protective embrace. The woman latches onto his bicep, her head vigorously shaking back and forth, yet you’re uncertain whether her disagreement will relieve your anguish or worsen it.

Despite her insistence, his head nods in your direction and the woman that raised you begrudgingly marches up to you, barely acknowledging your presence in favour of pressing her palms against Jungkook’s open lacerations. He winces at the pressure and just as you’re about to tell her off, you discern the thick gauze that rests between her hand and Jungkook’s side, the sterile white shade expeditiously being replaced by a bloody crimson.

“What are you talking about, dear?” the former Queen asks, a hard edge to her tone. “These two are hedge-born lowlives, simply not worth your time.”

He crinkles his nose in disgust, flicking his hand towards the former King and Queen. “Lock them up in the dungeons.”

Both their eyes widen comically, jaws dropping to the floor. However, you can’t find joy within their despair when Jungkook’s survival is still up in the air.

The woman sputters, recklessly thrashing her body to escape the soldiers’ grip. The man simply lowers his head, seemingly having accepted his fate as he follows the guards without another word.

“Did you forget who put you in that throne, Park Jimin?” the woman screeches, the blood vessels lining her neck about to implode. “How dare you disrespect your pare—”

“How could I ever forget your treacherous actions?” he spits out, disgust lacing his voice, “How could I ever forget how many lives you’ve ruined, dear aunt.”

“We did it all for you!”

“You did it for yourselves,” he hisses. Relief trickles through the tips of your fingers, spreading across your body like wildfire from the King’s aid. “Get them out of my sight.”

“You worthless—” Her shrieks echo throughout the halls, though you’ve long lost focus in their conversation after watching the two wretched souls being punished and put in their rightful place.

Your aunt passes some thick bandages from inside the bell sleeve of her cloak. You gratefully accept the offering, pressing it against his lower back—wishing that it’s not too late, that Jungkook has not lost too much blood yet. The passive stare that your aunt fixes you with crams your head with doubt and you begin to panic, bringing one of your hands up to cradle his face.

Although you’re convinced that you wailed through an entire year’s worth of sobs, the tears sliding down your face refuse to stop, dripping down and landing onto the dirtied skin of Jungkook’s cheek. You press your forehead against his, hoping against hope that some magic remains within your body, that the tiniest bit will reveal itself like a bag trick and heal his wounds.

But your magical hair was extraordinary enough, and this is no fairytale.

“Get those two to the physician’s,” the King orders.

Guards scramble to action, ripping you apart from Jungkook as you unsuccessfully attempt to resist being separated again. You’re absolutely spent from the tiring events of the past couple of days and your weary legs give out as the soldiers lift your drained form into a standing position.

Jungkook is moved onto a sturdy sheet, then carried away past the double doors and out of sight. Your flimsy arms wrap around the shoulders of two guards as they assist you in following Jungkook to the physician, passing the King on your way.

His plush lips stretch into a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, but the adrenaline from earlier wears off and the sting of your own wounds drains you of your manners, uncaring that you’re facing the King. Thankfully, he dismisses your discourtesy instead of beheading you, and you’re hauled away from the gracious man.

On the way, you’re close enough to overhear what he mutters under his breath. A garbled scream rips through your throat in protest, and you shoot the King the deadliest glare you can muster. He releases a deep sigh at your childish antics, waving as you turn the corner.

“Poor guy doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.”

You spend the next few, rather tedious, days in a luxurious bed, being fretted over by everyone from the maids to the chefs. It was difficult to indulge in the extravagance that the castle had to offer when you were anxiously awaiting news regarding Jungkook, which they refused to disclose until your own condition improved.

After all the pampering, you were permitted access past the confines of the expansive room you were forced to recover in. Your injuries were minor in comparison to Jungkook, thus you were granted freedom much earlier than him.

Not like he was capable of stepping outside of his room anyway.

Although his body is repairing his torn flesh incrementally, he shows no signs of consciousness—not the twitch of a finger, the flutter of an eyelash, nothing. Doubt claws a bit higher up your torso each day, waiting for the moment that the disquiet slithers up your esophagus and suffocates you.

Despite the crushing news of his coma-like state, you work diligently to ensure that neither you nor Jungkook becomes a burden to the castle by picking up various duties. Jimin continuously waves off your attempts to help, but you’re restless and desperate for a distraction from wondering about Jungkook’s condition all the time.

Jimin banned you from performing some of the maid’s tasks once, then sorely regretted it when he had to tend to your nervous breakdown in the afternoon. Since then he has kept his comments on your excessive working habits to himself.

Today you’re in Jungkook’s room, dusting off the spotless shelves that house the many herbs being grounded into powders and rubbed as a salve onto his injuries daily. You organize the rolled bandages for the second time in the past hour and mop every inch of the floor.

You can’t devote yourself to lingering by the unconscious man’s side for too long, otherwise your mind gradually begins to spiral into every possible worst-case scenario and you simply can’t handle the reality of a future without him. It sounds overly dramatic—many of the maids you have grown close to over the months claimed as much when you brought up your journey together.

But they didn’t hear his melodic laughter that followed his teasing smirks when he said something flirtatious, effectively making your heart skip a beat. They didn’t feel his hand always reaching out to make contact with you in some way, craving your touch to ground him to reality. They didn’t see his eyes softening when he gazed at you as though you were holding his entire world in your eyes.

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

You strain the mop of its excess dirtied water before stowing the tool away in the storage room. When you return, a draft filters in through the open window and you race over to close it, worried that Jungkook may catch a bothersome cold that will delay his healing process.

You take a seat on the lavish mattress adjacent from his thighs as you stare out the window in front of you. The air remains stale in spite of the fresh breeze that blew into the room seconds prior, and the dull atmosphere persists due to the lifeless man inhabiting its space.

You’re uncertain how many more times you can handle walking into this room with his weak body lying motionless on these pristine sheets, but you will endure it all without complaint for him. A knock at the door catches your attention, and you twist around to meet Jimin’s friendly beam. “How is he?”

“Same as he always is,” you state, allowing yourself to take in Jungkook’s sunken cheeks and pale face. “Unresponsive.”

“You wanna join me in the gardens for some fresh air?” At your unsure raise of a brow, he convinces you with, “You’ve been cooped up in the castle the whole day.”

The both of you head out to view the lush scenery outside, seated amongst the blooming tulips, although your eyes are drawn to the lilies that border the lilac cosmos. You trace the familiar shape of the orange flower with your pupils, reminiscing on the doodles decorating your room’s walls back at the tower. That seems like forever ago now.

Other than his lack of consciousness, Jungkook’s condition remains relatively stable and yet you still find it burdensome to stray too far from his side. The staff is under orders to instantly notify you should he arise while you’re away, but that doesn’t ease the disquiet that rouses whenever you leave the castle walls.

You’re convinced that the second you wander off, he will wake up without you there; a thought too unbearable to consider. You crave to lose yourself within his molten ember orbs once more, exploring the undiscovered galaxies in his gaze.

“These past few months must seem unfathomable,” he starts, pressing his lips together to ponder over his next words before continuing. “I don’t know how my mom treated you in the tower but, knowing her, I’m guessing it wasn’t too great.”

His casual mention of the affectionate term you pleaded to call your mother for ages—the topic she despised almost as much as you begging to venture outside the tower—stung the slightest bit. From her actions, it was evident that she never cared for you as much as her own, biological son, but it was difficult to dismiss the joyful memories you shared with her, no matter how few and far between they were.

“She started visiting me a few years back, explaining all their horrendous crimes and insisting that she was the only one I could trust. She told me about you, too. Your mother ordered her to lock you away in that tower and ensure that nobody ever found out the truth in exchange for my seat on the throne. ”

Your head lowers at the information, brows furrowing as you contemplate your true relationship with the woman that raised you from birth.

“When my mom caught word of you travelling with the thief, she returned the crown in hopes that Jungkook would run for the hills, and you would be left to come back with her. Her goal was to overtake the kingdom from your mother.” His eyes gloss over with a distant sheen and you sympathize with him; the boy was used as a tool, just like you.

“It’s reassuring in a way.” His strange admittance prompts you to glance up at him, confusion swirling within your orbs. “At least we’re both suffering from our family’s despicable actions.”

Our family.

His optimistic viewpoint hits you like a wave crashing against the shore, sharing his vast fortitude and washing away a fraction of the sombre agony tormenting your heart. Although Jimin’s life was no doubt disparate from your own, you two are connected through the blood running through your veins. Even if those same bonds brought you to a tragic meeting with your own wicked parents, at least you could rely on one person within your family.

The edges of your lips curl into a tiny smile aimed at the blond man across from you, your own short, chestnut coloured hair providing a stark contrast. “I’m glad I can rely on you, Jimin.”

He readjusts his weight on the green, iron chair and leans forward to rest his elbows on the metal table between the two of you. “I think this is the first time you’ve called me by my name without me having to remind you.”

You quietly giggle at the memories flooding your mind, from the hostile attitude you first approached him with, then the days he comforted you over Jungkook’s motionless form, to Jimin demanding that you call him by his first name. You consider yourself extremely lucky to have someone as gracious and compassionate as Jimin to be your half-brother.

“I know we’ve already gone over this,” he starts with a serious edge to his tone, “but this is your last chance.”

You rip your gaze away from the plants to lay a couple of light pats to his hand. Despite the lack of context, the topic is familiar to you, as he has gone over this with you many times. “No, I don’t want the throne. You trained for this position your whole life, so I’m entrusting the kingdom to your capable hands. All I ask is for you to fulfill my request.”

Jimin releases a heavy sigh. “If you really want him free of all his crimes, there’s no way you two can live within the capital.”

“That’s fine with me.” You shrug your shoulders, unconcerned about the prospect of having to leave the busy city. “I don’t think I could live somewhere like this anyway.”

You don’t expand on your reasoning, and he doesn’t question you further, simply sparing you a solemn, understanding gaze. Supposedly, you aren’t supposed to pick favourites within your family, but Jimin is definitely golden in your eyes.

“Deeply sorry to intrude, Your Royal Majesty, but your betrothed is at the door and wishes to meet with you.” A guard inches his way towards your table with his head bowed, hands respectfully gathered behind his back.

Jimin looks to you with an apology on his tongue, but you wave him off before any explanations can spill from his plump lips. “Go get your girl.”

A bright smile enlightens his features as he springs up from his seat, dusting off his uniform before bounding after the guard. When he quirks his head back, you demonstrate your encouragement through a thumbs-up that you wave from side to side until he is satisfied, facing forward with a gleeful snicker.

You inhale the outdoor air, about to head inside yourself to rearrange Jungkook’s bandages again when your eyes wander back to the tiger lilies that caught your eye earlier. Within a few strides, you reach the vibrant buds, stretching your hand out to pluck a few stems. The sweet smell invades your senses.

With a tiny bouquet in hand, you make your way back inside, the metaphorical load on your shoulders a bit lighter than it was before. You expertly maneuver your way through the halls towards Jungkook’s room with the dwindling hope that today will be the day that his honey orbs reflect the sun’s light filtering in the window, filled with the mischief and tenderness that you remember.

When you’re met with his unmoving form instead, another sliver of that faith shatters into tiny shards.

You shake it off and head back to the windowsill, where an empty flower vase rests. The lilies within your grasp are carefully inserted inside and you place the bouquet back onto the tiny platform. Their floral scent wafts throughout the space as you take your place beside his legs.

As part of your usual routine, you use this time to relax. Just for a moment, you give yourself the room to breathe, giving your brain free rein to feel the emotions raging within you and fantasize about your future with Jungkook. You imagine yourself in a tiny cottage, craving a quaint place to live after the immense tower you were raised in.

The two of you would settle down there, adopting a pet to keep you company before you inevitably brought a few children into the world. Their genders didn’t matter, as long as you could raise them with Jungkook, forming a tight-knit family that shared all the love the both of you lacked growing up.

A warm hand wraps around your wrist. Your head snaps to follow the direction of his arm, curving into his broad shoulders, and past his sharp jaw with your heart in your throat. Tears gather at your waterline, spilling over onto your cheeks as you hiccup from the sudden sobs that overtake your body.

The doe eyes that stare back at you carry your whole world in their weight.

+ epilogue.

Tiny footsteps scuttle around the wooden floors, screaming in delight from being chased by a much larger, yet still very childlike, man. “Betchya can’t catch me, daddy!”

Your husband playfully roars at the taunt, speeding up his strides to snatch the little girl up into his arms. She shrieks at the hand that comes up to tickle her little torso.

“Okay, okay, enough playing you two,” you command, calming the baby boy in your arms that becomes far too excited from the chaotic energy erupting within your cottage. “It’s dinnertime!”

“Dinnertime!” your oldest repeats, violently wriggling around in her father’s grip to force him in lowering her back to the ground so that she can run to her spot at the table. She looks from side to side, doe eyes flitting back to you with a pout on her lips. “But where’s Pascal, Mommy?”

You pass the baby to Jungkook, freeing your hands in order to bring the steaming hot food from the stove to the table. The beige chameleon fades back into his natural emerald colour once you grab him by his scaly torso, dropping him into your daughter’s awaiting hands.

Her squeaky voice chides, “You can’t hide from Mommy.”

A boisterous, yet melodic neigh notifies you of Max’s presence in your backyard, and you shamble past the wooden door to hand the carrots you prepared for him. He snorts in delight as he lowers his head to the floor and begins chomping away. At the sight of his dirtied mane, you take a mental note to give him a thorough wash and brush later on.

Before you head inside, you catch sight of a blond man making his way towards you. “Jimin!”

His eyes reduce to two crescents from the wide grin that occupies his face. He swapped out his imposing robe for a commoner’s shirt and slacks, and they strangely suit his lithe form better than his bulky uniform.

“And where’s our lovely Queen?” You tease, elbowing him when he reaches out to ruffle the top of your head.

“Taking care of things that I don’t want to do.” You two snicker, ecstatic to see one another, and you step aside to let him coddle your children. The slight breeze in the air gingerly kisses your face, rustling the leaves on the trees surrounding your tiny house, and you close your lids to relish in the tranquillity of nature.

A pair of familiar arms curl around the shape of your waist and a smile creeps onto your lips as you open your eyes to examine Jungkook’s face, inches away from your own. He brushes your brown strands over your shoulder, leaning in for a quick peck as a loud chorus of disgust is vocalized behind you.

Both of you break out into giggles at your daughter’s behaviour and turn to face your family waiting for you inside. With your hand tangled with his, you walk to a brighter future together.

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