#and i would not have gotten this far without y’all encouraging me

[whumpy-wyrms]

hey how’s the next chapter of tllr coming along ?

hi anon!

honestly i feel like it’s around 70% done (at 4k words, it’s gonna be a long one lols). but honestly i’ve had like no motivation to write at all for the last couple weeks :( i’m trying tho

some encouragement would be nice i feel.. i Know my writing is good but my brain is making me think it’s shit >:( i hate feeling this way about the stuff i make

[sciencewife]

The portrait is familiar, but the reality is warped and twisted, like a reflection in a broken mirror.

Happy 1st Anniversary to Schrödinger’s Cave!

(A big thank you speech under the cut)

It’s impossible for me to express just how excited I am to celebrate this anniversary, or how grateful I am to everyone who’s been with me on this journey. It’s been a wild ride so far, and I’ve accomplished a lot with this story over the past year. But I couldn’t have done it without everyone’s support and encouragement.

I’d like to thank:

My beta readers, for not only spotting mistakes I missed, but also giving me live reactions of the events in each chapter draft I’ve sent.

My Bearers of The Knowledge, for signing Aperture NDAs promising not to divulge spoilers and keeping SC’s greatest secrets from day one.

Everyone who has made fanart and memes for SC. One of the greatest joys is seeing that someone took time and energy out of their day to make something to celebrate something you made. You have made me smile, cry, and kick my feet in glee. I have every piece you all have made saved, and I will treasure them—and you—forever.

Cave Johnson and Caroline, who have lived rent free in my head since the beginning of my Portal obsession. This divorce fic extravaganza would not have been possible without a good dose of Caveline brainrot.

My Portal mutuals who supported and encouraged me as a new writer when I first broke ground on this fic. Without y’all this fic would’ve gotten nowhere!

@the-dangerous-mute-lunatic, whose test subject Cave art inspired the creation of this AU.

@wiezumbeispiel, for being my combuter expert and helping me design a Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System. And worsening my brainrot about this fic /pos.

And last but not least, I’d like to thank my readers. Whether you’ve been with the fic from day one or you just started reading, it is a privilege to share my story with you. Thank you for writing comments (whether an essay, a sentence or two, or unhinged keyboard smashing. It all brings me joy), for leaving kudos, and staying with this fic so far. I’m excited to have y’all along for the ride wherever this fic goes next!

[multiplicity-positivity]

Hello! This is John and the host (hi you can call me N :) ). We have talked a lot more in therapy and we are considering a diagnosis of p-did (this because the host never seems to leave front unless we get a new host) or did. We still can't control switches and honestly our memory hasn't gotten any better even trying to do some stuff in therapy and we learned from a family member that we had a tbi when younger and that might actually be a significant part of our cognitive issues and memory issues cos even when the host doesn't leave front he still loses a lot of memories (especially stressful ones but just general ones too). We really appreciate your advice cos it makes us feel more valid. I was wondering if you had any advice on how to give alters their own sort of spaces if we have aphantasia and no inner world bcuz of it? Or if you had advice on how to have persecters safely in front? We've been pairing them with littles and caregivers because they seem to at least be motivated to prevent our youngers from getting hurt even when wanting to hurt the body and it's worked well, we all really do want to see our persecters be happier and not hurting us :)

-john (and N.)

Hi, John and N! We’re happy to hear that y’all seem to be making some progress in therapy - we hope things continue to go well for y’all in that regard!

We don’t have aphantasia, but we have heard from systems who do have aphantasia and have been able to achieve some level of success with building an inner world! You can check out the account @aphantasicheadspace for a bit more detail on how to build a headspace with aphantasia.

However, when it comes to giving alters space without an inner world, a good substitute might be finding ways for alters to express themselves and have their own spaces externally. This could mean getting each alter their own journal, setting up notes/documents/blogs/online spaces designated for specific alters, creating alter-specific playlists, encouraging alters to explore their own self-expression when they front, and other things of that nature. Depending on how many alters you have, you could also consider putting together a box of comfort items that relate to each alter, so they can physically have some items that help them feel safe and secure in their identities when fronting. Our system uses a combination of all of these in order to help each alter express themselves in ways that make them happy!

As far as how to help persecutors front more safely… most of our advice can actually be found in this post we wrote a while back!

That post ^ has a lot of information, but we think that setting boundaries, trying to understand your persecutors, and making attempts to treat them with kindness and compassion can be great ways to get them in the front without causing too much harm to your system. This would also be a great thing to bring up to your therapist - it’s a therapist’s job to help their patients minimize harm!

If pairing those persecutors with littles or young alters seems to be working, we don’t see the need to stop doing that! Every system is different, and we think it’s great that y’all are finding ways to let your persecutors front while avoiding causing your system harm!

We hope something here can help or be of use to y’all. Good luck out there! We’re rooting for y’all and wish your system the very best. Thanks for reaching out!

[finnuf]

hi everyone!  💓 first intro because i prewrote this pog? i am so excited omg [suddenly forgets how to write an intro] uhhh...i’m so happy to meet everyone! everyone should have already gotten a message from me by now, but regardless, i’m carly, aka [drumroll] admin eirika! honestly cannot express how excited and thankful i am that you’re all here. it’s really surreal to me that uf is actually open after i’ve worked on it pretty much every day since mid may. it was originally just a fun project for me that i didn’t really think would amount to anything, and then i put so much effort in that i had to see it through SDDSGSDGSDG and it’s already been fun to run, and this is only the start! really looking forward to being y’all’s admin for a long time 💕

ALL OF THAT ASIDE, i know i know some of you already and i know there are plenty of you that are brand new to me, so depending on who you are, it’s either great to see you again or meet you. i’m pumped to talk to and plot with everyone! you don’t have to like this post to plot because i’m in everyone’s ims anyway but if u want to like this post to, idk, validate me and give me attention or something, feel free SDSDGDGGD i’m honestly best at plotting through tumblr ims these days but i’m also @YURlLECLERC on twitter so feel free to follow me there if you’d like. it’s kind of a dumpster fire of a space, fair warning SDTSDGSDG but u will get to know me quickly!!

NOW who u really need to get to know is this guy ← finnuf, also known as kim finnian. i’ll ramble about him for a while under the cut!

finn is an emo bitch baby

but he’s almost valid. almost

his dad was the margrave of etlia, in charge of maintaining etlia’s border because their territory (lucinier) was on the border with gleerium

he wasn’t an Absent Father but he was a busy father that usually had finn babysat by a knight most of the time. teaching him how to fight was a team effort and he fell in love with the sword at a pretty young age

@ufvivian​ is his baby sister! (not actually baby, she’s only two years younger than him)

as a kid and teenager finn was kinda a punkass but in a way that was more endearing than annoying to most people. pretty charming and social and very eager to take over for his dad

not in a powerhungry way but in a “omg i am so excited being margrave seems so cool dad let me help” way but his dad never really humored him and told him to focus on growing up well

until his dad got sick

he somehow managed to transition finn into performing his duties slowly even as his health declined more and more

finn was margrave lucinier in everything but official title when gleerium launched their full scale invasion that ultimately led to etlia falling to them

his dad died right before gleerium reached and conquered dromare meaning finn was Actually margrave for like two days before king andreas stripped everyone in etlia of their power

as the one in charge of etlia’s border at the time he thinks the fall of etlia is his fault entirely

to make matters worse there are rumors that he actually poisoned his father because he wanted his power

finn was so humiliated and felt like such a failure, instead of rallying his people and trying to defy gleerium’s rule or at the very least encourage them in a time of extreme grief, he simply: ran away

he did not tell a single soul. he didn’t leave his sister a note, he managed to escape his loyal bodyguard without notice, literally not a word to anyone

he went about as far as he could get from gleerium and went to podakko, where he figured he could be whoever he wanted to be, even though he didn’t know who he wanted to be. not margrave lucinier, that’s for sure.

he’s been in podakko now for about a year and doesn’t talk about his past; he prefers to just go by finn.

he spends most of his time drinking and getting in fights now. he mostly fights for money in arena battles, but sometimes he will fight for free just for fun.

getting beat up feels thrilling, apparently. probably has something to do with him feeling like he deserves punishment or something. he needs therapy (too bad.)

he’s also a mercenary that takes just about any job, so he travels around the continent a lot on jobs, which means he can run into all sorts of people.

despite all of this he’s honestly not a bad guy. he has a really kind heart that he now has under lock and key because he’s experienced so much pain in the past year. sometimes he’s sarcastic and acts full of himself but a lot of times he’s sincere and just Sad. he tries to still be charming tho. we’ll see how he does with that as i write him LMAO

i always imagined he has lots of healer friends since he gets beat up so much. thanks to warp pads he can probably get to u no matter where u are!

also worth noting that he hates gleerium. he has some wistful plan in his head about going back to gleerium and killing everyone responsible for the fall of etlia but he hasn’t worked out how to do it yet

he’s stupid but thankfully not stupid enough to assassinate anyone without some kind of plan. not yet anyway

this is all i can think of for now, which i’m sure is plenty SDSDGSDG thank u for reading and i’m very excited to plot with everyone <3

EDIT: he was also a student at lotus academy until his dad started getting sick, so he probably bailed about two years ago, just around when he started adult classes. he wasn’t mad about it, especially because as he got older the gleerium kids really started pissing him off

[silv3rswirls]

Rockstar

No one requested this I just really want bad boy Jungkook to ruin my life.

Lord save me I love the whole vibe of this Jungkook.

Summary: At a time like this, the last place you expected to be was some seedy bar downtown, but here you were drinking shitty beer and making eyes with the live band’s drummer. 

Warnings: Female reader, dirty talk/degradation, public sex (y’all fuck in an alleyway), alcohol, smoking/marijuana use, unprotected sex, slight strength kink, hair pulling, slight breeding kink? (not sure if this can qualify as that)

Word count: 4k

When you and your boyfriend broke up, you had imagined yourself laying around at home and drowning your sorrows in take-out and sappy romance movies. That’s what you had planned at least, but your friends had other plans. They had come to your apartment with plans to go to some little bar downtown. A small underground place that had been the talk all around campus lately. They had cheap drinks, live music, and seemed to be the perfect party setting lately. You decided to go after they pestered you enough, encouraging that this is what you needed after the breakup.

It wasn’t that you hated going out to these kinds of things, you just weren’t much of a partier. Sure, you drank at times, but never really let yourself go like a lot of students did. You had never seen anything wrong with this, but apparently, your boyfriend had. He broke up with you and cited his biggest reason as being that you were just too boring to date. And he did it over text no less. This guy had been your high school boyfriend and the relationship had carried on into your college years, you really hadn’t thought you would break up at this point. You thought, maybe it was for the best. He seemed way more interested in spending his college years partying and hooking up anyways, but it didn’t stop the hurt you felt over the breakup.

You knew he was a bit of an asshole and maybe that’s what you had liked so much about him, but besides that, the two of you had been together for so long. He had been your first boyfriend and kiss, he had taken your virginity, the whole shebang. He had been your only boyfriend as well, so your experience with anyone else was next to nothing, and in a way it made you feel a bit nervous about getting back out there. 

But, your friends usually didn’t steer you the wrong way so you thought why not? Maybe going out would be fun like they said. You would be going to a bar single for the first time, exciting right?

Honestly, it wasn’t.

You were currently sitting at the bar alone while your friends had found others to distract them. You didn’t mind, just wished you weren’t the weirdo sitting alone like this. You were taking a break from dancing as your feet were beginning to hurt and the crowd left you a bit lightheaded. The bar hadn’t been what you envisioned when everyone told you about it. It was a small place, some kind of obscure dive bar or something. The walls were packed with signs and posters, neon lights illuminated them in color. The stage was towards the other end of the place, relatively small with lights shining onto the crowded- they were currently red, bathing the whole place in its hue. A few tables and chairs had been pushed more to the side, but a few people sat and talked, played cards, or snacked on the stale chips left out. Fans spun lazily above you, doing nothing in the way of cooling the stuffy place off. Smoke moved around the dance floor fluidly, mingled with the stench of alcohol and sweat as people danced and crowded at the stage in excitement. There was laughter and smiles all around the bar, some intoxicated and others conversing with vigor. There was a wall of muted bottles glittering behind the counter, stacked with dozens of things you hadn’t even heard of before. Some looked intriguing, but you were content with the admittedly watered-down and cheap beer. 

The bar may have been a little rundown, but it soaked in the ambiance of a night of rock music and mistakes. 

You held your head, nursing the small headache coming from the dozens of conversations being had over the bass of the live band- some group you had never heard of and couldn’t even remember their name. It was good music though, not necessarily what you thought you would be partying to tonight. They dominated the atmosphere as the young crowd, made mostly of university students like yourself you assumed. You took a bitter sip of your drink, not quite drunk, but feeling it enough to slip into your feelings. You wondered if your ex would find this boring or not. Maybe the fact that you were sitting alone instead of enjoying yourself was enough to prove you weren’t exactly the life of a party. If only your friends would come back, you thought before finishing your drink and hoping down from the bar. 

“Hey, come dance with us!”

A group of girls around your age called you to follow as they made their way back into the crowd. You thought for a moment, before smiling and tailing after them. One held your hand as you pushed your way through the crowd, muttering sorries you knew no one could hear as you bumped and pushed. They took you to the front of the crowd, laughing and giggling as they accepted you into their group without a thought. You couldn’t help but smile as well, looking up at the band as they played. It felt a little unreal to be so close to them, the music pounding in your ears and the lights blinding you and staining your whole being in a red hue. Music filled the air so easily, the sound reaching everyone in the bar. Some let go and listen while others continue chatting, but it speaks out to them all in some way. You didn’t know the words but sing anyway. You yelled, so loud and raw as you got lost in the feeling; the anger and upset you felt over your ex fueling your desire to let go and have fun. It felt right, that moment. Intense and freeing as the vibration of their playing made your head tingle and your body want to jump up and down with everyone else. 

As you let yourself get lost in the atmosphere your eyes drifted across the young men playing before you and you catch one of their eyes lingering on you and between the brief breaks between songs you spare him looks that are barely glances and it feels like he’s doing the same. By the time their set ends you feel some accidental bond lingering between your shared glances and disappointment drowns you when you realize it’s time he leaves. 

“I can’t believe this'' You mutter as you step outside into the cool night air. You couldn’t find a single sign of your friends, so you assume they left you behind. Maybe it was your fault spending your time at the front with a new group of girls, they probably hadn’t been able to find you. Checking your phone you found a few missed texts from them and sighed. They had been your ride back home, but it looked like you would be calling an uber instead. Pulling at the hem of your dress as the cold breeze nipped at your thighs, you walked down the street a bit in search of a bench or something you could sit at since the bar had kicked the remaining customers out.

You jumped slightly at the sudden flick of headlights turning on as you walked past the alleyway between the bar and some closed-down restaurant next to it. Squinting a bit you spotted the guys from the band loading the equipment up. “Looking for an autograph?” You mustered a nervous smile as one of them looked over at you, his eyes locking on yours as you had with the drummer on stage. You hadn’t gotten the best look at the drummer while he was performing, the lights had been blinding and you weren’t able to make any specific details out on him. But he looked similar enough.

“I mean, If you're offering one?” He matched your smile waltzing up to you with a Sharpie in hand. He scanned you up and down quickly before telling you to give him your arm, so you did and shuddered at the feeling of the sharpie dragging across your skin. You inspected the autograph, just two letters scribbled fancily on your forearm. “JK?” you asked.

“Jungkook actually, and you are?”

“Y/n” you replied, looking up from his writing.

“So Y/n, how does it feel to have such a famous rockstar’s autograph?” You laughed, “you don’t seem all that famous just yet.”

Jungkook simply smiled and went on, “you know, I saw you making eyes at me from the crowd.”

“Oh really?” You breathed, feeling a bit nervous as he brought it up.

He hummed, “It was hard to make out, but with how hard you were staring I could tell.” He teased.

“Lucky for you then.” You shivered as another cool wind blew through the alley attacked your exposed skin. Jungkook seemed to notice because he turned to look at his bandmates before offering to let you come inside with him. You chewed the inside of your cheek, normally you would never even of gotten so far into a conversation with a guy like this. Maybe it was the shitty beer or the high of the show, but you felt a bit daring and accepted. You and Jungkook sat down on the old, scratched-up leather sofa found in the back of the bar. It seemed the other members badly packed up most of their belongings, as one of them ran around the room grabbing what was left. “Shouldn’t you help?” You wondered aloud and Jungkook only shrugged as he handed you a beer.

“They’re fine, right Jimin?” The member looked over at you two, taking in your presence for a second before smiling.

“Of course, we’re done here. See you later Jungkook.” He threw a wink in your direction before grabbing the last bag and hurrying out. 

“Isn’t that your ride home?” You fiddled with your beer bottle as Jungkook opened his up and moved to take yours and do the same. 

“I have my own. Don’t worry so much Y/n.” You nodded and looked around the small back room. Pressed on the other side of the room were some boxes and storage space, a rack with some old clothing, and a small television set up on a counter that ran along the wall. There was a table riddled with empty and half drank bottles and glasses, from the band you presumed. The back door was cracked open with a brick, so the cold draft still hit you. The place smelled old and dusty, liquor lingering in the air as you listened to the shuffle of staff cleaning up in the front. You and Jungkook talked for a bit, mainly about the show and his band and you told him a little about yourself. How you were in university across town and were just trying to get out with some friends who ended up leaving you behind. At first, you hadn’t been sure how hanging out with him would go, unsure if you had enough in common to talk, but it turned out to be easy. Jungkook, despite all the tattoos and strong build, seemed pretty nice. Of course, deep down you kept yourself aware of why you were here. You were pretty positive that Jungkook hadn’t asked you to stay behind with him just to talk, there had to be other intentions. Hoping for a hookup you assumed and while you weren’t sure what exactly you were doing here, it felt oddly right.

“So, your boyfriend didn’t care that you came to such a shitty bar alone?” You watched Jungkook as he stood up and walked to the door. He kicked the brick out of place and opened it all the way, sitting down in the doorframe.

“I don’t have a boyfriend to be mad at me” you sighed, “broke up like a month ago.” 

“Seriously?” He looked back at you, brushing his dark locks away. “What dumbass would break up with you?” You laughed and got up to join him in the doorway, watching as he fiddled with something in his hands as you sat down. He pulled a lighter out and lit the blunt in hand, looking over at you before offering. “Want a hit?”

You stared at him for a second before smiling, “you first.” He complied, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. He glanced at you as he did so, holding it out for you next. You held his wrist to keep him from shaking against the cold and leaned to take a hit for yourself.

“You’ve never done this” he laughed, watching you sputter and cough, your face scrunching up at the unfamiliarity. 

“Kind of?” You laughed, swatting at him as he blew smoke into your face.

“So tell me about him.”

“What?” “Your ex, tell me about him. He break your heart?” You scoffed, looked up at the building that towered above the two of you and to the night sky. Jungkook kept up smoking beside you, following your gaze lazily as he waited for your response. The truth was; you weren’t sure if you were heartbroken or not. The two of you had been distant for a while before breaking up, but there was still a certain sadness that sat within you. He was your first love and maybe if he had ended things sooner you’d be more upset. You were upset, but you felt more anger towards him than anything. 

“He, uh- he broke up with me because he thought I was too boring.” You laughed. “He was always more of a party animal, you know? I don’t even know how he managed to make me fall for him way back when...you know he did it over text?” 

“Shit, over text?” He raised his brows at you, a small grin curving his lips. “You must’ve been pissed.” He coughed through another hit. “So he thinks you’re boring? You don’t seem it. You should’ve seen yourself out there earlier, I thought you were wasted or something” he joked.

“Well, I don’t normally do this kind of thing. It was a last-minute decision to come.” You explained, taking a sip of your beer.

“I’m glad you did” Jungkook grabbed your hand to bring the bottle to his lips for a long swig. “You’re pretty cool.” You smiled, a bit taken back by the compliment. Jungkook held eye contact with you for a moment before his eyes drifted down to your lips and you can tell that he’s thinking about moving in closer, so you take the initiative and do it yourself. He’s just centimeters away from kissing you, his breath hitting your face, a mix of cologne, alcohol, and smoke hitting you. Before you know it his lips are on yours, cold and a bit rough upon touch. You can feel a swarm of butterflies eat at your stomach as you try to relax in his hold. His kiss is not at all the same as the ones you shared with your ex, it wasn’t inspired or felt like a chore; it was hot and a bit sloppily and sparks a new feeling of passion inside you.

Jungkook’s arm found its way around your waist, tugging your body closer to his while the other held the side of your face. His tongue finds its way inside your mouth and you feel a hand wander down to your thigh, resting a bit under the bottom of your dress as his chilled hands groped and pinched your flesh. Soon things begin to get more heated and you find yourself pulled into his lap while he kisses and sucks at your neck. You jump a little when you feel his hand slide down your waist and grab your ass. He smiles into your neck, breaking away to look at you. Your lips were shiny and red from the make out, your neck in a similar fashion as fresh hickies were making their mark. He looks at you intently, a desire behind his eyes that felt like had been forever since you experienced it. He’s practically undressing you with his eyes when he asks, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you nod immediately, living off the rush of hooking up with him- with anyone in so long. Jungkook grins and stands the both of you up, backing you against the wall and trapping you in another heated make-out session as his hands begin to wander over your body. Your back arches as he brushes over your chest, shuddering as he cups your breasts and squeezes firmly. His leg slips between your thighs, pressing against your pussy and rubbing the tiniest bit. You shifted under him, your face flushed as you felt yourself growing more and more worked up.

It felt like forever Jungkook continued playing and teasing you, but soon you felt his fingertips brush under your dress, fingers hooking around your panties and pulling them down. You reached to bunch your dress up farther for him, shivering as the cold air hit your sensitive skin. He squeezed your plush thighs, one hand slipping between your legs to touch you. “Cold?” He asked, amused as you squirmed under his touch, his fingers dragging up and down your slit a few times as he looked down at you, his eyes locked on yours as you merely shuddered and wiggled under him. His breath was hot against your skin as he went back to kiss at your neck, an air of neediness around the both of you as you moved your hips against his hand’s movements, hoping for some more attention rather than teasing. Jungkook’s forehead rested against your shoulder as he looked down at you, his face starting to flush in excitement as hard-on pressed against his jeans. Slowly he let two fingers dip into your pussy, taking in the feeling of you squirming and tensing slightly around him. You grabbed at his arm, panting and whimpering as he attacked your clit, rolling the bud between his fingers and pushing you to cum.

Feeling a bit impatient, Jungkook pulls away and ignores your whiny complaints. “Want me to fuck you?” He asks, not waiting for your answer as he works his jeans undone. “Turn around” he urges and you do so, your skin pressed against the rough of the bricks, leaving you to wince slightly, but ignore it as you feel his hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him. You glance back at him, anticipation clear on your face until you feel the head of his dick press against your thigh before he adjusts himself to press into you. You gasp, a small groan hanging in your throat as he slowly pushes in. He takes in the sight of you bent over for him, your thighs shaking and muscles tensing under his touch. “Fuck, that’s it,” Jungkook’s voice comes from behind you, teasing as the edges of his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. You can feel his body over yours big and strong as he grips your hips tight, effortless moving you to meet his thrusts.

“J-Jungkook” You moan, writhing in pleasure and slight disbelief you were actually fucking a guy you just met. Your head turned at the sound of people walking by on the street. Suddenly struck with panic and the realization you were letting him fuck you in an alleyway. “There’s people-”

“Shh” Jungkook smirked, “better be quiet unless you want someone to hear you getting fucked.” 

“But-” you gasped as he thrust into you again, snapping his hips rough and picking the pace up. You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold in the moans threatening to spill out of you. 

“Don’t want anyone to see what a needy slut you are?” You dropped your head with a shake, whimpering as he reached to find your clit again, rubbing circles around your hardened nub. “You’re not doing a very good job” he commented

“Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice shaking before you let out a sudden, loud moan. It is almost hard for you to recognize yourself due to the desperation laced in your tone, need clouding your mind as you ate up the pleasure he was giving you. It felt like it had been months since the last time you really got off and despite the somewhat unorthodox situation, you were reveling in just how much it turned you on. “Only w-want you to see how much of a slut I am-” Your words fell off towards the end, drowned in your whines.

Jungkook eats up your words, grunting and groaning quietly to himself as he fucked into you. “Quiet, baby.” he mocks with a tease in his voice. You buried your face into your arms, clenching around Jungkook as you came, your stomach tensing up and moans muffled. “You’re so hot” Jungkook groaned, his hand running up your back and into your hair, fingers lacing themselves in your locks before tugging your face up so you were looking up. You squealed as he kept thrusting into you, shaking at how sensitive you felt. “I didn’t think you’d be so easy,” he commented, “but look at you, bent over all pretty for me.” Jungkooks voice was growing shaky, nearing his orgasm as he let go of your hair. “Where should I cum baby?”

“You can inside if you want” you breathed, breathless as you felt another orgasm nearing. 

“Shit, really?” You could hear the grin in his tone as he pounded into you.

“I’m on the pill.” You moaned,  a shaky please falling from your lips.

“Don’t worry baby,” he grunts “gonna fill you up.” You let out one last moan as Jungkook’s grip tightens on your hips and he stills his movements, shooting his load into you as he closes his eyes with a soft moan. You pant, taking in the feeling of his cum inside you, leaving you a dripping mess when he pulls out. He stands over you for a moment, catching his breath and admiring his work. “Fuck, so pretty,” you hear him murmur.

Eventually, the two of you find your way back inside, finding the restroom to clean up and come down from the romp you just had. Jungkook thought quiet helps you clean up and fix your dress. You take a few minutes to sit down and relax, you were feeling tired from the long night you had and you were sure Jungkook must’ve been as well since he had performed on stage as well. “Let me give you a ride home?” He turns to you as you gulp down some water.

“Well, it’s the least you can do, right?” You tease and Jungkook just smiles and leads you back outside. “Of course you have a motorcycle” you snorted, laughing in slight disbelief as he joined you.

“What else?” He asked, waiting for you to get the situation and wrap your arms around him. It was cold, but you closed your eyes as he drove, taking in the chill of fresh air and the soft rustle of the city around you. He took you home, dropping you off in front of your complex. He stopped you before you could leave, pulling out the sharpie and handing it to you. “Give me your number” he urged, letting you scribble it down on his hand.

“Call me sometime?”

He merely grinned with a lazy shrug, “Maybe.”

You watched him ride off from inside the lobby, chewing your lip as you went over the events of the night. “Whose boring now?” You laughed to yourself, the sadness your ex had left long forgotten. 

You weren’t sure if Jungkook would call, but sure hoped he would.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Long Con Part Two

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: Thanks for all of the encouragement on the first couple of parts of this 🥰💕 I hope y’all had a good week! 💖 Warnings: Cursing; some angst Summary: “Shitty liars need to practice, Pike.” 

“Alright, I’ve got a list,” You said, shrugging off your bag and setting it down beside Marcus’ couch. “A list?” Marcus repeated, coming back from the kitchen with a glass of water for you, “Of what?” “Thank you-- Things that we need to sort out before we get to Austin. Look, you’re a shitty liar, right? Your words, I’m paraphrasing,” You tacked on, reaching into your bag and pulling out your notebook and a pen.

“Uh-huh,” Marcus agreed amusedly. “Right, so  hopefully if we sort out our details now, you won’t feel so freaked when we’re down there. And you won’t be trying to cobble together facts on the fly. That would get incredibly messy— especially if we’re going to pull this off all week.” “A full week of lying to my family,” Marcus sighed, “Talk about a long con, huh?” You glanced up at him from under your lashes, amused. “God, you’re such a boy scout. And technically you’ve already lied to them, you started the second you told Marnie that you were bringing me— though that’s technically not a lie anymore. Just...Don’t think about it as lying, pretend you’re undercover or something,” You shrugged, flipping your notebook over to your list of questions. “So I’d be lying to myself about the lie? Isn’t that compounding it?” “You’re overthinking it, Agent.” “You might want to start calling me Marcus.” “Right,” You muttered, “I will...Remember to do that.” “So what’s on the list?” Your eyes darted up from your list as you watched Marcus shrug out of his suit jacket. You’d seen Pike in less-than-pristine states before, especially throughout the Coleman case. You’d seen him with his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and when you were half-tweaked on caffeine in your cramped office, it was… more than a little distracting. You leaned forward, picking up the glass and taking a pull from it before setting it down and settling back again. “Basics first,” You said, “How we met. I say we stick with ‘work’.” “That’s not a lie.” “I know, I thought you’d like that.” “I do.” “Okay. How long have we been together?” “Uh...Few months at least-- Five?” “I can handle five,” You jotted it down, “How come you haven’t mentioned me to them before?” You glanced over at Marcus, smiling a little when you saw his panicked expression. “Or have you gotten this one already?” You added. “No, I haven’t-- Work has been busy? Again, I think that would be sufficient, so-- Hang on.” You raised your brows as Marcus leaned back against his couch. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “What’s happening over there?” You asked. “We should change how long we’ve been together to...Maybe two or three months? If we’d been together for five and I hadn’t said anything, my family would be very suspicious.” You nodded, scribbling out ‘5’ and writing ‘2-3’. “‘Kay. Are there any significant past relationships - serious girlfriends, fiancés that I should know about? I don’t need full details, just, like, broad strokes so that if someone mentions something, I’m not completely in the dark.” “One ex-wife, one ex-fiancé,” Marcus answered without hesitation. You nodded a little, jotting that down, and stilled when he added, “My ex-wife will be at the wedding.” “Good to know. Is that contentious?” “No,” Marcus shook his head, “No, it ended amicably.” You considered Marcus, his puppy-dog eyes, soft smile and kind nature, and you couldn’t imagine it ending any other way. “She’s still close to my family,” He tacked on. “Oh,” You laughed a little, “Great. That’s gonna be fun for me.” “What do you mean?” Marcus frowned. You shot him a look. “Your family is still close to your ex-wife. You’re bringing a new girlfriend home. You don’t think this could get a little tense? Or is your entire family just as nice as you are?” Your brows rose as Marcus laughed a little, his head ducking bashfully at the question. “We try not to judge,” he conceded, shrugging, “I’ve brought a couple of other people home since the divorce. They’re not going to jump to conclusions.” You hummed, glancing further down your list. Your stomach twisted at one question, but it was one that you knew that you had to ask. “Speaking of jumping to conclusions,” You shifted in your seat, “Is there anyone in your family that might run a background check on me?” “A background check?” “Yeah,” You nodded, “I mean, I know my records are sealed and wouldn’t pop if someone ran a normal background check on me, but if anyone in your family is in law enforcement like you and...And went poking?” “No, they wouldn’t,” Marcus shook his head. “You sure?” “I’m positive.” You lowered your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek to stopper asking for a third reassurance as you jotted the note down. “...You don’t trust easily, do you?” Marcus asked softly. The question turned your blood icy for a moment. But for as much ire as it raised in you, you were careful not to take offense. You knew that he wasn’t trying to get a rise out of you - you were doing the guy a favor, and it would be pretty ill-advised of the man to piss you off at this point. “What ever gave you that idea?” You teased instead, giving him a look out of the corner of your eye. Marcus’ lips twitched with a smile and you returned it. “Alright,” You added, looking through the rest of your list, “Let’s see what else we’ve got before we start drilling this stuff.” 

“Drilling?” “Shitty liars need to practice, Pike.” “Marcus.” “Hey, it was better than ‘Agent’.” “At least I’m not the only one that needs practice.” -- 

“Run it by me again,” You requested, tucking one leg up under yourself and leaning back against the arm of the couch. Marcus sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. He’d ditched the tie, had popped the top few buttons of his shirt, and his sleeves had been rolled up around his elbows. The man looked a little haggard - it was precious. He straightened up, brow scrunching before his head tipped to the side just a little. “Okay. Okay, we met a year ago when I moved to D.C... You work with the Bureau, assisting on cases, mostly art forgeries.” You nodded encouragingly, waving him on. “We started dating two and a half months ago,” He’d settled on that, finally, not wanting to pick two or three, “After we spent so much time together on the Coleman case. You’re an art history professor, you...Have been engaged twice before,” He added, pointing a finger at you. You rolled your eyes a little bit. “Keep going,” You ordered. You raised a brow as Marcus’ brow furrowed a little more, his head turning just a bit. “You don’t have any siblings, you’re not close to your family, and we have not set any plans for the future in stone...Yet.” “Why do you keep tacking on that ‘yet’?” “Because my family knows me. They know I think about those things, and they know I don’t get into relationships unless I really think there’s something there. If they feel me pulling back on that, they’ll think it’s because I’m worried about scaring you off.” “You’re bringing me home not only to meet your family, but to stay there for a week and for a wedding-- which your entire family will be attending. I think that’s a healthy fear,” You retorted. Marcus smiled a little bit, raising his hand in concession. “How’d I do?” He asked. “Much better. You didn’t close your eyes halfway through to remember the details and you stopped ticking things off on your fingers. You do this thing, though, when you’re getting ready to lie, it’s like watching someone wind up for a pitch.” “What do I do?” “You do this--” You imitated Marcus’ furrowed brow and tilted head, “It’s subtle, but you always do it.” “You think my family’ll notice?” “Only if you play poker with them.” Marcus chuckled, slouching back against the arm of the couch and scrubbing his hand over his face. “God, I’m beat,” He muttered. You nodded a little, shutting your notebook and getting ready to tell Marcus that you would get out of his hair. “Wanna go get some dinner?” Was his next question. -- “Did you seriously just order pancakes?” You asked, brows raised. You’d wound up at a diner not too far from Marcus’ apartment - somewhere where the staff seemed to know and were very fond of him. “Yeah,” Marcus nodded firmly, “Dinner is the best time for breakfast.” You chuckled a little, reaching out and taking up your soda. “So, engaged twice?” He asked. You rolled your eyes a little. “Once in college, when I was young and...Quite stupid,” You admitted, “And then once a couple of years ago.” “What happened the second time, if you don’t...Mind?” Marcus cringed a little as he asked. It took you a moment to answer, and he rushed to add, “You don’t have to tell me.” You shook your head. “It’s okay,” You promised, “I, um… I told them that I had a record.” Marcus’ expression softened. “You hadn’t told them before?” “We moved really fast, which I usually don’t when it comes to relationships. I don’t know, usually that stuff is always on my mind when I’m with someone, but with them it never really felt like it mattered. When I did tell them, though, it…” Your eyes lowered to the table as regret twisted in your stomach, “It broke everything.” “Did you tell them what happened?” “They didn’t give me the chance.” The two of you were quiet for a few moments - Marcus digesting this information as you sat in the swirl of bitterness that it had dredged up. “Anyway,” You shook your head, drawing the both of you out of it, “Guess it shouldn’t really matter that they left when they did. I realized later that, given their reaction, they were going to leave no matter when I told them… How much of that you disclose to your family is up to you.” Marcus didn’t say anything for a few moments, searching your face. “Know what I never understood?” He finally asked. “What?” “Why they never nailed any of the people buying from you or your grandmother.” You shot him a skeptical look.  “You know that it’s not punishable by law to buy a forgery or be a rich piece of shit.” “You were a kid,” Marcus frowned. You considered this for a moment, directing your eyes to the ceiling to find the best way to order your thoughts. “...I was a minor,” You contended, “But I was old enough to know that what we were doing was wrong. I… I knew that we were duping people, I knew that it was illegal. I knew the paintings were forgeries, and I knew that the people that we were dealing with were dangerous. I’m just lucky I wasn’t tried as an adult.” “You were raised to do all of that and then left hung out to dry by the person that was supposed to protect you,” Marcus argued quietly. You swallowed thickly, hurriedly looking to the table as you felt tears spring up in your eyes. You tried not to think about these things most days. And for Marcus to have this level of empathy, of understanding...You were sure that the man had glanced through your case file at some point when he started working with you, but hadn’t expected this. Most people didn’t look too far past what you were doing to try and understand how you’d come to be in your position. But then, most people weren’t Marcus. “...No wonder I don’t trust easy, huh?” You tried to joke after you’d blinked the tears away and lifted your eyes back to his, a thin smile on your lips. Before he could say another word on the matter, the food arrived.  

The two of you tucked in quietly, After a few minutes, you nudged his foot with yours. 

“Tell me about Marnie? And her fiancé, um… Hazel, right?” You requested. 

Marcus’ face pulled with a fond smile, and you felt ease wash over you again. -- “So, just let me know what the wedding colors are so I don’t wind up wearing a dress that matches them and we should be all good,” You reached for your bag as Marcus pulled his car up in front of your apartment building. “Sure thing.” “And if you think of anything else that your family might ask about us, you know, so we can plan ahead.” “I will.” “Okay-- Oh! Uh… Are you a big PDA guy? Like, is that something your family’s going to expect?” “I tend to be kinda touchy, yeah, but I can tone it down.” “Well, what are we talking about here? Hand-holding, hugging?” “Yeah,” He nodded, “And probably a hand on your shoulder or your back, maybe a kiss on your cheek or forehead or…” Anticipation thrummed through you as his gaze darted to your lips. “‘Kay,” You nodded a little, feeling your heartbeat tick up in your chest. “We don’t have to--” Marcus started to reassure, but you waved him off. “It’s totally fine,” You reassured him, “I trust you.” Marcus smiled at you, a gentle smile overtaking his lips. “Glad to hear it. I’ll get you those wedding colors as soon as I can.” “Thanks,” You smiled, “Night, Marcus.” “Goodnight,” He chuckled as you got out of the car. Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​​​ ; @spideysimpossiblegirl​​​ ; @blueeyesatnight​​​ ; @elen-aranel​​​ ; @yespolkadotkitty​​​ ; @artsymaddie​​​ ; @phoenixhalliwell​​​ ; @lunaserenade​​​ ; @winniedaboo​  ; @empress-palpat1ne​​​ ; @randomness501​​ ; @nutmeg-20​ ; @leonieb​​ ; @the-feckless-wonder​ ; @lou-la-lou​ ; @captain-jebi​ ; @supernaturalgirl​ ; @naturenebula21​ ; @evelynseventyr​ ; @giselatropicana​

[erendcaptainofthevanguard]

My Horizon: Forbidden West thoughts!

Major spoilers ahead!

I honestly don’t even know how to start this… trying to process everything that happened in the main story has me dizzy. And if I’m being candid, completely drained.

If there’s a good summary of how I responded to most of the main story revelations it’s “What the fuck”; which, if I had gotten a penny for every time I said that phrase, I’d be rich.

But I guess I’ll try to start at the beginning with the thoughts I've had thus far!

I might update this if I think of more!

Thoughts at the beginning of the game:

The opening movie/cutscene were amazing, and the transition into the continuation of Aloy’s journey was smooth. Plus, Varl (nice beard) was such a wonderful companion to have following us in the beginning; It felt natural to me.

MERIDIAN! THE SPIRE!

I was so fucking excited to see it again, and my favorite song playing in the background?! So gooooood.

MARAD, AVAD, ITAMEN AND NASADI, VANASHA AND UTHID!!!! <3

Avad… I love you. But, please, stop.

Erend seeing Aloy again :D Erend getting hurt D: Erend, understandably, upset that she left without saying goodbye :( Passive aggressive Erend is scary and heartbreaking at the same time 0/10 would not want to see him like that again, please and thanks.

Returning Characters!

Let me come back to the returning/mentioned characters of the first game. Yes yes yes!!! We love to see it. At least, I loved to see it. We, of course, have the major supporting characters: Varl and Erend <3 my boys. Like I said earlier, it felt natural to have Varl there, and it was comfortable. He is such a lovely, supporting person who truly cares for Aloy (alongside his… spiritual? devotion to her for being the anointed of the Nora). He was the friend she needed to tell her (convince her) that getting help from others’ is okay, especially when they care for her and want to help. His openness and eagerness to learn was so lovely, too, and when he said he wanted to try to open the rest of the Noras’ perspectives to the old world and tech after this was all done… I love Varl SO MUCH.

Erend… my boy. I can’t help but feel so damn connected to and invested in his character. I was so excited to see him again and what role he would play in this story. When we finally saw him again, I was so excited that he was happy to see Aloy, but when he suddenly got passive aggressive it took me by surprise at first. Erend has faith in her abilities and appreciates her for everything she’s done for him after his sister’s murder and with Dervahl. So when she disappeared from Meridian without a single word, I could see why this would greatly upset him to the point of using passive aggression, as much as it hurts to see him hurt. I mean, he just lost his sister, and then his good friend that he adores just poofs! I don’t know… I’d be pretty sad about that too. ((That being said I must say that I do not encourage passive aggression; it can be extremely hurtful to others)) Anyway, even before HFW came out, that’s kind of why I posted that meme (I’m sorry), because Erend unfortunately has gone through traumatic events in his life (but also what character hasn't?). – I got off topic and went on a rant, whoops… but, altogether he didn’t play as big a role as I wanted him to, but it was still an important one in my opinion. He was present, willing, and actively learning new things to help out his friend. And of course, in the ending quests he was with her. More on this later, maybe. Who's to say?

I actually squealed like a fangirl when I saw Marad. An underappreciated character imo. And, if I must say, he looked really good in these updated graphics. IDK Y’ALL I’M SORRY ALL THESE CHARACTERS ARE LOVELY.

My dear Sun-King Avad… sigh. I don’t really know how to say this. Am I underwhelmed? Was I expecting him to change much in the months Aloy was gone? What he said just… it felt weird?? At this point, I just feel like I blacked out during that scene. I think it was because he said almost the same thing in the previous game, and Aloy was clear to say that she had other obligations to take care of first, even if it were to be a possibility. IDK I love Avad sooo much, but the same question threw me off. Although, I LOVED the part where he said he wasn’t intending to stay on the throne long, wishing for Itamen to take it when he’s old enough; and maybe joining Aloy on her travels? Yes, I like that idea more than her cooped up in a palace ‘getting to know’ him.

I’m glad we got to see Itamen comfortable and happy!! And Nasadi, as well. That was relieving and very heartwarming.

Vanasha and Uthid, oh boy. I love them, and I’m happy they are finding success and happiness after the war. :’)

I wasn’t as invested in Petra in HZD, but I still love her character and I’m SO glad that she’s getting recognition.

Before I started HFW, I read the Talanah comic… and when she showed up and mentioned finding her friend in the forbidden west… *wipes sweat from brow* Talanah is fucking amazing and deserves nothing but the best, as every other strong woman in this game does. So, that quest… dear lord I was UPSET. Not only because of the obvious, but just Amadis. I… I just can’t.

Sylens… as much as I hate his actions, I really like his character. The only thing I don’t understand is his reasoning and motives for not telling Aloy anything. Like, I hear them, I do understand them as motives, but I just fail to be convinced, if that makes sense. (Although his not so subtle warning to Aloy about Tilda was lovely). But, all in all, the thing I’m most excited for in a potential next game is actually them maybe working together??

HOO BOY let me talk about Nil for a second. It took me fucking forever to find this man in the forbidden west, and admittedly most of it is my fault for not wanting to do any racing side quests in games in general. They aren’t my thing and are very frustrating to me… and dear god playing the gauntlet runs??? Horrible. Even my PS5 was lagging terribly, which didn’t make it any better. Anyway, the second he walked on screen during the first gauntlet race introduction, I knew it was him. I could never mistake those steel gray eyes for anyone else. Skip to me finally winning that goddamn last race: omgomgomg dear lord omg. I don’t know what I was expecting, but goddamnit Nil stop being so attractive!!! And cute!!!! Like, was it only me thinking he looked so fucking cute?!?! Ahem… The whole interaction with him was amazing. I loved how he found something to sate his bloodlust and murder to something that wasn’t, ya know, outright murder lmao. (I was thinking the whole time that he would fit in really well with the Tenakth.) Maybe I care too much about Nil, but his hair! HAIR REVEAL!! I just…. Hwooo. Nil the loml.

Lastly, that amazing little hint of Gildun!!! I almost cried.

New main supporting characters!!!

Okay, so I watched the introductory cast video on youtube before playing HFW, and Noshir Dalal talked about his character, Kotallo, and how he really enjoyed him and thought that we would like him. Maybe it’s because I was expecting a likable character because of that video, but NAH. Kotallo is such a breath of fresh air?? Sure he didn’t fully understand or trust Aloy in the beginning, which is understandable, but the progression we see of him is just *chefs kiss*. 10/10 would sacrifice myself for Kotallo. I love his continuing drive and motivation to fight despite being shunned by the Tenakth for losing an arm. And his openness to learn of the old world tech? AMAZING. He is such a sweetheart, I love him SO SO MUCH.

I don’t know where to start with Zo. Her character is so beautiful in many ways. Her strength, stubbornness, perseverance, kindness, compassion; this list could go on and on. She cares so much for her people and the world, it’s honestly inspiring. Her excitement to learn more about the land-gods and of the old world in general makes me smile. Zo’s love is so strong; just as she is. In the end… her being able to get revenge on Erik was such a great parallel to Varl’s death, as heartbreaking as it was. She and Varl deserved so much better, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. I really hope she gets to settle down with her child and live a loving and happy life at the end.

Alva, already coming from a place where the old world is revered, it was interesting to see her interacting with Aloy and GAIA’s existence. Her drive to learn more valuable information to save her people showed her cunningness and persistence. Not to mention, she’s fucking adorable and loveable. Alva’s character is so different from the rest that it’s almost overwhelming at times, but it’s a great dynamic.

Tilda is…. Interesting. I don’t really have much to say about her because she felt cold, despite her attempts at warmth. If that makes any sense. We find out that she is/was in love with Elisabet, and even with her for a time, which was lovely yet sad, because throughout the story we learn of Elisabet’s unwillingness to let people get close to her. I also really liked her rivalry and banter with Sylens lol. But the rest I’m not really sure what to say. She was helpful in regards to fighting the rest of the Far Zenith, but, as we all know, her motivations and her intentions were kept a secret from Aloy. The last boss fight tho?? I was shouting 'what the fuck' the entire time lmaooo

When Beta first showed up, I almost pissed myself. It was so weird seeing another Aloy/Elisabet clone. At first, it was easy to tell that she was uncomfortable and uneasy, which made me really want to save her from the Zeniths. But the logical part of her, with the intensive knowledge they forced her to learn, made her hard to interact with at first. I mean, who wouldn't be hard to talk to if they were completely isolated and forced to learn everything all their life? That's traumatic af. It was sad and frustrating, but I think that was the point. When Aloy was able to convince her to trust her, it was so heartwarming and relieving. Beta is very sweet, and I hope she also finds a peaceful, love-filled life if they survive Nemesis. (Plus the family/sister dynamic they chose for Aloy and Beta was so sweet.)

Main Story:

I’m not 100% sure what I was expecting when it came to the main storyline and what would happen, but it wasn’t this. I honestly did not consider the world and story to take this direction. Not to say it was bad, but I guess it wasn't in my scope which made me baffled? And those were my thoughts before getting to the end. That??? I– dude, what the fuck.

Like, up until the part of retrieving the GAIA backup, I was chillin’. But then BAM, he’s some creepy-ass alien-esque people who want to kill you :) Oh, and here’s another you.

Sidenote: the boss fights in this game were fun! I genuinely felt scared when we fought Erik the first time, because what the fuck was happening?!

Fetching the subordinate functions was cool, and I had a great time adventuring the world to do so. The Poseidon quest was really cool, especially when everything lit up at the end! Aether (I can’t not think of Genshin anymore, whoops) was also amazing, because we got to meet Hekarro and Kotallo and Dekka :)

Gotta be honest, the Quen tribe intimidate me, even with Ceo out of the mix. But I know it’s mostly because of him and the fact that they tried to kill me on sight. But they are chill afterwards and pretty respectful of Aloy after they see that she's... Sobeck.

The quest to get the Omega clearance fucked me up. I knew Ted Faro was a piece of shit fuck-up, but oh my god. Glad he’s finally dead, though it almost killed Aloy and Alva. A part of me is also glad they chose not to show us what he looked like. I don’t think we needed to see that; the hologram was enough.

So, uh, Gemini. Yeah, no. I’m gonna probably state the popular opinion here that Varl should not have died. I saw it coming when they started the sequence of him trying to fight Erik off, so I was bracing for it, but I was still dumbfounded that it actually happened. Other than to protect Aloy and the rest, his death feels like it served no purpose, narrative wise. (Unless it does have some other narrative significance that I can’t pinpoint at the moment that others can analyze, please enlighten me!) But, as of now, It felt like they killed him just to have someone die. And to have it been Varl??? I was honestly mad and fucking heartbroken. Especially since, here we have an immortal, highly advanced tech person to aid us, but somehow he still ends up dying? I feel like Tilda could've used some sort of tech to save him. But we know she probably wouldn’t have even if she could. And besides the dialogue options for the companions and the very sad scene with Zo, they really didn't give anyone time to grieve. Idk maybe I’m still letting my emotions speak for me, because it’s been hard to process all of this and I’m still upset.

I remember when I thought that potentially fighting a Horus was going to be our biggest problem. Boy, was I wrong. Again, I just didn’t think the scope of this game would be so big. If there’s a third game (probably not a DLC?), which I’m assuming they will make considering how they ended it, I can’t even begin to think how they’ll fight/defeat Nemesis. I have a few little ideas or speculations, but they're small and not very realistic/credible.

A small thing, but the only things I do not like are machine strike and the gauntlet runs, only because I hate strategy board games (because I’m bad at them and don’t want to learn them) and racing. I know others like it, and that’s totally fine and great. But the fact that I need to play machine strike for an achievement makes me see red. If only I wasn’t an achievement seeker, I’d be fine lmao.

Either way, Horizon: Zero Dawn/Forbidden West continues to be one of my favorite games of all time. The world, the characters, the story; everything is beautiful.

Forbidden West itself was a phenomenally made game. Despite the various bugs, it still remains as a great experience filled with improved and new mechanics. The gameplay is familiar enough from the first game, but has just enough new things to make it feel fresh and fun.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2021 #5: Freebie - Passion (Aberrant pt 2) NSFW

((Since some of y’all are thirsty and let’s face it I am deep in this backstory))

Corran fumbled with the door to their room, managing to get it open without dropping Emelia. “Don’t slam it!” She admonished as he kicked it closed behind them.

It was only a few steps to their bed, to drop her on the mattress and follow her down, kissing her once more. Gods, the shape of her mouth fit perfectly against his, and her taste was more delectable than his favorite meal.

She broke the kiss, preventing him from chasing her with a hand against his chest. “Lock the door,” she panted.

Corran grunted in frustration, but got up to do as she bid. As much as he hated pausing now, it was better than possibly being walked in on by their small son; the lock would keep him at bay for a brief time.

Corran yanked his shirt off as he crossed the room, the night air doing little to cool the fever in his skin. He threw the lock and turned back to the bed, eyes already adjusted to the dim light, his breath caught by the sight of her.

“Stop,” he ordered as she finished removing her dress, leaving her in her flimsy petticoat and chemise. Emelia blinked at him, head tilted in her usual quizzical expression while letting the dress fall to the ground. Corran stalked forward, unlacing his breeches. “I want to undress you myself,” he told her, his voice pitched low. He was gratified to see her shiver in response, waiting while he removed his boots so he could drop his pants, left only in his smalls. He saw the tip of her tongue flick over her lips as her gaze took in his arousal through the thin fabric.

Corran fell on her again, mouth finding hers once more, tongue plunging between her lips. He made his way down her neck as he untied and unhooked her remaining clothes, freeing her shoulders to kiss along them. Emelia’s cool hands smoothed over his back and sides, and she made sweet little sounds of pleasure as his lips and teeth raked over familiar sensitive places. “You feel hot as an oven,” she murmured. “Are you all right, love?”

“More than,” Corran replied, freeing her breasts. He cupped and squeezed one, her head falling back as he nipped the stiffened nipple of the other. They weren’t large breasts, but perfect for being held, or taken into his mouth. The shape and feel of them had changed after being used to feed their child, but Corran couldn’t recall anymore how they used to be and he liked them just fine now.

He pushed her clothes down her slender torso and over her hips, which she lifted for him. He pressed kisses to her ribs, her stomach, her sides. His tongue traced along her stretch marks, teasing the sensitive places they led to. She had been so worried about the effects carrying and bearing a child had on her form, but Corran thought the lines and altered shape of her abdomen lovely--further reminders of the love and life they had created together.

Her fingers raked through his hair as he found the waist of her smalls and pulled them down along with her petticoat. He had not quite freed her legs but his impatience won out, helping her kick off the tangle of fabric as he nipped at her inner thighs and over her hips. A needy whine came from her and destroyed what was left of his resolve, his mouth covering her sex.

Emelia arced beneath him, a small cry passing her lips. He grinned against her softness, relishing the scent and taste of her desire as he laved his tongue along her wet folds. He thrust his tongue into her as deep as he could, knowing it wasn’t enough for her but gods he loved how she tasted, how she spread her legs further, inviting him closer and deeper. He made his way up to the sensitive nub at the crown and covered it entirely, sucking and licking at it. She practically wailed, one hand gripping the sheets, the other his scalp. He knew exactly how much pressure to use, how to use his tongue in long strokes to push her swiftly to the brink.

“Gods, Corran, I—” she was writhing in his grasp, breath catching. He hummed an affirmation against her, unrelenting. Usually he liked to draw this out, taking his time while slowly ratcheting up her tension, ensuring she was ready to take him in, but tonight he needed to drink from her and hear her scream for him.

She did, calling his name while her hips bucked as much as he would allow, the heady scent of her release filling his nose, her taste filling his mouth, finally overpowering the aftertaste of Avengret’s blood as he pressed his tongue into Emelia again. He looked up, breathing heavily, watching her. Her midnight hair pooled around her head on the skewed pillows, chest heaving, golden-brown skin slick and shining with sweat as her sparkling dark eyes returned his gaze.

“Perfect,” he growled, rising up to kiss her again, her arms and a leg eagerly wrapping around him as she responded with equal fervor, working his smalls down his legs to free and stroke his throbbing cock.

“Gods, Em,” he moaned, her touch making him dizzy. “Soon as you’re ready—”

“Take me, Cor,” she urged, guiding him. “I need you inside.”

He needed no further encouragement, shifting position and thrusting into her, hilting himself in one swift motion. She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. Corran groaned against the curve of her neck; she felt so damned good, wet heat tight around him, soft muscles fluttering and clenching along his length.

“Oh, gods,” she exclaimed as he drew back and thrust again, setting a quick, hard pace. He lifted himself, arms straight with elbows locked, watching her, knowing just the right angles to keep pressure on her clit while also dragging himself over that sweet spot inside her. Emelia’s head tossed, face scrunching, breath coming in gulps and gasps with each rough stroke and her body’s own responses, rocking to meet his every motion. Her nails left scratches down his arms as their bodies slapped wetly against each other, the bed frame creaking and squealing and slamming against the wall.

Her hips stuttered, internal muscles clenching and fluttering wildly as her breath came shorter, her tension building. Corran grinned, sweat dripping from him to splash on the pillows and her. “Th-that’s it,” he managed. “Come, Em; lemme hear you.”

“Cor—!” She lost coherence as she cried out, lifting toward him, her release pulsing around him as he continued his hard pace, falling to his elbows as he did not, could not, let up, his own tension building until the rush of blood in his head nearly drowned out all other sound. She gripped the nape of his neck and his back now, her nails digging into his skin and cutting through the haze of sensation. He reached down and hooked his arm under her leg, opening her further, taking him deeper as he needed more of her, more, more…

There!

He shouted her name, vaguely aware he had pushed her from the previous orgasm to yet another peak as he spilled inside her, Emelia crying out again and clinging to him for dear life as she shook like a leaf, body still jumping against his as they both slowly came down.

Corran rolled and fell to the side, pulling her tight to him, stroking her hair and back, burying his face in the crook of her neck again, idly licking the bruising bite mark he had left there, claiming his mate. He was heaving for air and sweating like the sinner he was, but the raging firestorm in his veins had abated, the Song merely a faint echo in his head and drowned out by the little sounds his wife made as they recovered.

“L-let me up,” she finally said, still shaky.

He growled and held her closer.

“I need to clean up,” she insisted, finally extricating herself while Corran pouted. She could barely stand, wobbling as she snagged her robe and unlocked the door to make her way to the wash.

Corran lay on his back, arms splayed, staring at nothing, head blessedly free from the earlier buzzing, empty of thought beyond the growing awareness of the aftermath of their lovemaking. He eventually forced himself up to pull the soaked coverlet off the bed--they hadn’t even gotten underneath it to the sheets--leaving it in a ball in the corner to be dealt with in the morning. He filled a glass from the pitcher she kept on the nightstand, drinking it swiftly and pouring another to drink at a more normal pace.

By the time Emelia returned, their discarded clothing had been picked up and hung on the correct pegs along the wall to also be dealt with on the morrow while Corran lay among the turned down sheets.

She slid into bed next to him, hands remaining a cooling balm as they ran over his chest. “Zaine’s still sleeping, somehow,” she said. “Though we were loud enough to rouse the dead.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” he teased, pulling her close once more.

“Certainly not,” she answered, looking down at him. “Though I am curious what brought that on.”

For a wild second he thought of telling her, but dismissed the notion before it even finished forming. He brushed strands of damp hair away from her face and smiled. He would continue to keep her as far from his people’s war as possible; he had decided that from the beginning. “Can’t a man want to swive his beautiful wife he adores with all his heart now and again?”

She laughed, that easy blush blooming on her cheeks once more. “I suppose he can; I know I enjoyed it. Although,” she yawned and settled against him, using his chest as a pillow.

“Although?”

“We were reckless; I’ll have to track myself for the next moon.”

His heart paused for a moment as he realized what she meant. While she often took a medicine to regulate her cycles, he usually wore a skin, or finished outside of her to be on the safe side. That...had not happened tonight, and he wondered how much of that was the dragon’s influence versus his simple, instinctual need for his beloved after the day’s events.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing,” he said, not realizing immediately he had said it out loud, but then she tilted her head up.

“You want another baby?” She asked, tentative.

Could he maintain his responsibility to the cause, reaffirmed just this day? Probably, though it would be difficult. He had waited long enough, while life itself, he was finding, did not. “Do you?”

She hummed a little, snuggling in again. “It could be nice,” she replied. “I think Zaine would like a brother or sister.”

“Well,” Corran said, licking his suddenly dry lips. “If tonight doesn’t do it, I suppose we’ll just have to try again.” He tilted her chin up to kiss her one more time--gods, he really did love kissing her--and smiled. “Assuming you’re agreeable.”

“I’m sure you’ll convince me,” she replied, lips brushing his as they spoke. They laughed together, and he continued to stroke her back as she settled back down to using him as a pillow.

It took time for Corran to fall asleep, aware of Emelia’s steady breathing and her soft form alongside him, cooling the remaining heat in his blood. When he finally did close his eyes, he dreamed of her laughter while dragon wings beat through the sky.

---

(Direct sequel to Aberrant, Day 2 prompt for the FFXIVWrite2021)

[captainrexisboo]

Shameless Flirt

Hey hoes! I’m (partially) back!!!

I had a sudden burst of writing inspo. I am very excited to finally give y’all my long awaited Hevy X Reader fic!! I loved writing this, Hevy was so fun to get into the head of. I was going to post this yesterday but then (of course, right as I wanted to start posting again lmao) Life Happened aHA-

Anyways! The Reader Is A Lady (although, it’s not really specified aside from she/her pronouns. still tagging it as female reader though)! No warnings apply, just a lot of flirty banter and a bit of smoochin! Reblogs, replies, and comments are highly encouraged. I love hearing from y’all! Enjoy!!!

~

Technically, it was your day off. However, being the workaholic you were, and bored just sitting in your quarters, you decided the best course of action was to pick up some things you had left at one of your workstations in the ARC training sector...like the stopping point of your last project. You waved and smiled past the guards and troopers patrolling the halls, the vode knew you so it’s not like they were surprised when you strolled through the stark fluorescent halls in your lounging civvies you brought from Corrie. It’s not like you didn’t do this every other off day. It’s not like they haven’t tried to stop you- but not even ARC Commander Blitz could give you orders to go relax as you hunch over another blaster, detonator, or even some type of launcher, without you grinning like a cheeky loth-cat, “I am relaxing, Commander.”

After the first few months of working alongside Blitz, he came to understand that nothing was going to come between you and your work. At least nothing short of the consequence of you kicking and screaming all the way back to your quarters. So he let you be. “Don’t mind her, boys, that’s just our weapons tech. She’s always at the armory, or here in the target range. Think of her as a part of the training- don’t you dare get distracted.” Every new batch of ARC-trainees got told the same thing, and everytime you’d smirk into your work with a casual but polite wave over your shoulder, not even bothering to look back-

“And what about after training, Commander, will she still be ‘distracting’ up here?”

-until today. His shameless intention laced his words, and you could feel his eyes run up and down the curve of your spine, following the shape of your legs. You stood straight from your bent position over the standing turret, turning around with an unimpressed brow as you cocked out a hip, “I sure will, but you’ve got curfew to make, trooper.”

It was easy to single out the flirt, even if they were all wearing helmets. There were five trainees this time, four of them had their shoulders shaking as they choked back giggles with varying snorts and fake coughs at their brother’s expense. The one second from the end to your right seemed taken aback by your retort, spine stiff, and visor still looking at you dead on. You slid your eyes over to where Blitz was sighing and shaking his head, taking as step forward as he ordered, “Fives, thump your brother’s helmet for me.”

“Aye, sir,” Fives managed to breathe out the two syllables without breaking, but needing to clear his throat before swatting the upside of the flirt’s head, effectively taking his gaze off of you and immediately to the floor. Blitz made his way across the room to stand in front of the trooper, and even though they were the same height, Blitz carried himself in a way that made him seem to loom over the younger soldier.

“CT-782, you said your name was Hevy, right?” 

“Yes sir,” Hevy confirmed, voice coming out low, in a natural huskiness some clones seemed to have, as he stood even straighter, trying to mimic the Commander’s practiced stance. Blitz nodded a couple times, humming sagely- you recognized this though. He wasn’t thinking at all, he was just adding tension, the dramatic bastard. You couldn’t help but scoff silently at his demeanor as he took an inhale before continuing.

“I’ve read up about you and your brothers, soldier. The outpost at Rishi, getting recruited into the 501st, your entire batch surviving every fray, hells I just saw all five of you in action during the Separatist invasion just a couple days ago,” Blitz took a moment to exhale, something that could have been mistaken for a sound of intrigue, “You no doubt deserve to be here. An entire batch making it to ARC training? This hasn’t been done since the last batch made specifically to be ARCs themselves. But son-” in the pause, now you could never be sure, but you were positive in that moment you heard the grating clicking of Hevy grinding his teeth at the term, “-I don’t recommend playing with fire. Lucky as you all have been, even in ARC armor, you’ll get burned.”

Hevy stole a glance back at you, to which you gave him a mock salute with your screwdriver and a delightfully crooked smirk before turning back to your work.

Instead of taking his Commander’s words to heart as a warning, he took them as a challenge. From that day on, whenever he found himself in the same room as you (provided Blitz wasn’t there to reprimand him) he would try his hand to win you over. Admittedly, it was very fun to trade bouts of wit with him. He was a cocky brute, but held a sharp tongue. His hot-headedness made it especially entertaining to get him all riled up, teasing him back, only to give him a flick on the nose or a poke on his chest plate. Hell, there was one time you went as far as squeezing his bicep. Specializing in weaponry, especially the heavy duty kind, his arms were definitely impressive. How could you not take that chance? 

On the slower days, when he was too tired to even run his eyes over you, he’d still find you hunched over your workspace in the armory to watch you perform your task of the day. An arms specialist finding interest in a weapons technician’s work? Shocker. Still, being surrounded by the blasters and countless ammo and bombs in the armory, listening to the gentle clicks of your tinkering and watching your fingers go through repeating nimble motions over metal plates and little rivets did seem to put him at ease after a rough day. It was something you could much too easily relate to. Over the course of Domino squad’s ARC training, those days where he gave you quiet, warm company were your favorite.

Today was not one of those days.

You had been given a new assignment, transferring from the training base...to travel with the Domino squad once they graduated in the next few days. And it seems like they just got the message too. You rolled your eyes as you heard his low whistle from across the room, but from the safety of being turned around you couldn’t help a sly grin take over your face. 

“And what, praytell,” Hevy’s gruff voice fills the armory as his boots echoed off the walls with their weighted falls, like you could hear the sway in his step to the beat of his walk, getting closer to you as you continued to lean over your work table, “Did the Domino ARCs do to get a pretty little thing like you to be our weapons technician?”

“Oi, leave her alone, Hevy,” ever the gentleman, Echo tried to ‘defend your honor’ from the shameless flirt as he walked in not a moment later, “Unless you want her to issue herself for a transfer to a different band of ARCs? Keep talking to her like she’s some meat pie, see where it gets you.”

“Awh, thank you, Echo,” you cooed over your shoulder before pushing up your goggles to give Hevy a sugar-coated pout, “Eat shit, Hevy.”

Hevy knew this game, taking his helmet off he shot you a charming wink, before turning to his brother, “What other ‘band of ARCs’? We’re the only notable ones, all the other ARCs are in CO positions, or are riding it solo and getting contracted to separate battalions for separate missions every day! We’re the only full squad of-“

“Half a squad,” Echo interrupted, taking off his helmet to shoot his brother a criticizing arch of his brow, “You realize a full squad is nine soldiers, right? This stuff has been drilled into us since decanting-”

“Then why do they call us the Domino squad?”

“Rolls off the tongue better than Domino batch,” you grumbled into your work, slipping your goggles back on and trying to focus amidst their conversation, “Look, are y’all actually here for something, or-?”

You trailed off, continuing your practiced movements as you waited for an answer. Hevy leaned next to you on the table, careful not to jostle it, or you, with his weight. He had learned that lesson the hard way...some nights his shin still throbbed with the memory.

“We’re gonna celebrate, not just the graduation, but now with you getting to tag along!” Hevy’s unusual cheeriness made you pause in your work. You turned to him, about to say something when he continued, “And we want you to join in the celebration too, mesh’la.”

You blinked at him, surprised by his offer. Sure, you were friendly to the troopers, and Hevy seems to have gotten especially comfortable around you, but you didn’t think they’d want to invite you to something as special as that. You pulled the goggles completely off your head, setting down your tools as you turned around to lean against your table, “I’ll bite. What’s the catch?”

Echo and Hevy looked between themselves, before glancing at you with mirroring expressions of confusion. 

“Why do you want me to join?” you elaborated, bringing up a hand to count on your fingers, “You wouldn’t want me there unless you had a reason for me to join, what is it? Contraband liquor? Snacks? Do you want me to secure the armory for the get together so you don’t have to have it in the barracks, or my quarters, or what?”

“The catch,” Hevy took a careful step into your space, mimicking your new pose, giving you an amused if not surprised smile, “is for you to have fun, not surrounded by guns and ammo.”

“And that’s coming from Hevy,” Echo scoffed, but agreeing with a wide shrug of his shoulders as he crossed his arms. You looked between the two of them as the moment stretched out for what felt like a lifetime… for Hevy at least. All the times he spent with you, all the terrible flirting and unashamed eyeing- he really wanted you to join. He could feel sweat begin to creep down his neck, the longer he waited for a response, swallowing down a gulp of dry air as his gaze flicked nervously over to Echo. Echo simply rolled his eyes- all of Domino Squad knew about Hevy’s true feelings for you. It was hard not to take notice when Hevy was just, well, like that. But they never seemed to learn about Hevy’s quiet times in here with you, how you two would partake in silent togetherness, finding peace in each other’s company. Not that Hevy was embarrassed, far from it, but he liked having that little piece to himself. Of course, he wanted more of you to himself, but for now those comforting silences while you built and rebuilt blasters were enough for him, because they were enough for you.

You kept your gaze neutral as you weighed the option of joining in your mind. It was far from a bad option, you liked this batch. They had been through a lot together, loved and protected each other like brothers should, and along with Hevy they accepted you as one of their own. What was one night?

“Yeah, alright,” you looked between the two ARCs, a grin forming as you stole a glance at Hevy, “I’ll join in. When is it?”

Hevy could jump for joy at your agreement, but he was still leaning on your workspace. Instead he smiled wide, tattooed cheeks crinkling parallel to the corners of his eyes, letting out a relieving breath, “Tomorrow night, the eve of our first deployment as ARCs. Be at our bunks at 1930…and if you do have any liquor-”

“Hevy-”

“Of course I have liquor,” you interrupt Echo’s chiding with a wink to the heavy gunner, bringing your forefinger up to trace Hevy’s jawline, gliding along the sharp edge, the pad of your fingertip calloused from years of work, and swelling with pride at how his dark eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your teasing touch. Coming off with a playful tap to the tip of his chin, his eyes snapped open at your sultry chuckle, “See you tomorrow, soldier.”

You turned back to your work, slipping your goggles on a final time, but not before a quick and casual wave over your shoulder, “Later, Echo.”

Echo couldn’t figure out your mood toward Hevy worth a damn. He looked between your aloof manners and Hevy’s moony grin, deciding it just wasn’t worth trying to pick your brain at, partially because he was smart enough not to get involved, but also he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stomach the answer. Catching his brother's eyes, he made a discreet gagging motion to him before fitting his helmet back on and walking out the door, “See you, techie.”

Hevy stayed back a bit longer, continuing to watch you work. He was completely quiet, but his silence was deafening. You breathed out a huff of laughter, the tops of your ears beginning to heat up at his attention, wetting your lips, “Well?”

“Hm? Well what?” he shook himself out of his stupor, blinking back into time at your voice.

“Are you gonna leave now n’ let me work?” You cursed inwardly at your harsh words. You liked Hevy, deep down he was a real sweetheart, but you always found yourself being so coarse to him. Thankfully, he was as much of a hardhead as he was a hothead, and he met your indifferent glare with a devilish grin that made your heart jump doubletime.

“No, I think I’m gonna sit right here and watch your lovely hands make something amazing.”

“Amazing?” you scoff, shaking your head at his compliment, “I’m just fixing up another DC-15A that some cadet broke. You need to head to the med station if you think that’s amazing. We both know the Z-6 rotary is far superior-”

“When you’re done with it, it’ll be the best DC-15A in the GAR,” Hevy interrupted, eyes shifting between your face and your hands, “Everything you do is amazing.”

You stopped what you were doing at the genuinity that filled his praise. He always spoke to you with a hint of truth, a bit of heartfelt sincerity to make his easy way of speaking more personal to you, more interesting. But there was something in his expression, maybe the dreamlike haze filling the depths of his eyes, or the way that his accent rolled off his tongue that had you placing your palms flat on the table before speaking low to him, “Hevy, what are you doing?”

“I thought I was pretty clear,” he shrugged with a sideways grin, still careful of the lean on your table, “I’m watching you. You’ve let me before-”

“I mean with the…” you gestured to his full self, keeping your eyes on your now resting project, “The whole...flirting thing.”

You caught him off-guard. The two of you have been at it for months now, but neither of you had ever said or acknowledged anything about it. It was like a silent pact between the two of you, continue the performance, but don’t mention the game. To suddenly come out of the unsaid arrangement, Hevy felt himself draw back, slowly lifting his weight off the table, “Do you...not like it? I mean I figured that you...you know, you’ve always responded…”

You couldn’t believe it. After always having something to say, being able to trade quips, building a friendship over the shared banter and ripostes, the fearless ARC trooper you’ve seen grow so much these past few months was babbling out broken sentences at a single question.

“I can stop, if you’d like.”

It was that whispered phrase that brought you back into the moment, turning to him with burning cheeks, “I didn’t say that.”

“Well then what do you want?” He took a step into your space, brow set and a jaw flexing as he frustratingly tried to understand your sudden shift, “We’ve been...flirting-” the word left him like he was saying it for the first time, each syllable carefully leaving his lips- “since the day I met you. Mesh’la, if you don’t like it, say something! We’re about to go to work together, travelling the galaxy for a long time-”

“Exactly,” you countered, poking at his chest as you stood defiantly to him, tearing off your goggles and mussing your hair off to the side, “Whatever this is, are we gonna continue it? Continue dancing around each other like some kind of goddamned soap opera where everyone but us gets off on our own self-denial?”

“Self-denial?” Hevy repeats, an incredulous sound leaving his chest as you saw a fire spark behind his stare, “Sweetheart, I’m not denying anything, especially things I haven’t been asked!”

“Alright then, fine!” Somewhere down the conversation, your voices had raised to shouting in the small space, even as you two stood almost nose to nose, and your breath hot on his lips you asked, “Do you like me, trooper?”

“Like you? It was love at first sight when you first told me off,” Hevy couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed at his confession, just focusing on fueling the flames between you, “And what about you, techie? How do you feel about me?”

“I think you’re a smartmouthed asshole with a heart of gold and a pretty face- yeah, I like you a whole fucking lot!” 

This was ridiculous. You knew it was ridiculous. You could see it in his face too, the two of you breathing heavy, barely a hair’s width away from each other. You’re unsure who started it, later on you two would always claim the other giggled first, but eventually you found yourselves holding onto each other for support as you laughed out the rest of your pointless venom. His arms fit around you perfectly as your hands held strong to his wide shoulders, your laughter filling the room together, the sounds swirling in their melody as everything started to click perfectly into place. Once everything quieted down, your head resting against his chest as his hands ran up and down your back, you exhaled low and steady against him, slowly rocking in his hold, “Plastoid isn’t that comfortable to rest on, huh?”

“You should try wearing it,” Hevy snorted at your comment, leaning over to rest his cheek on the top of your head, “So...what now?”

You hummed, feigning thought before angling your face to brush your lips over the column of his throat, murmuring into his skin, “I wouldn’t be against a kiss.”

Something rich left his throat, the sound deep and thrumming through his chest before one of his hands found its way into your tresses on the back of your head, tugging gently at your hair to guide you to his lips. You couldn’t stop the brief hitch in your breath at the daring move, but you wouldn’t have expected anything less from the brash soldier. At your word he took the lead, slanting over your mouth in a soft motion, breathing you in as easy as air. You followed in confidence, welcoming the boldness with which he kissed you as the same boldness that had him playing the game you both set up. A small noise of satisfaction left you, not just from the perfect pressure from his lips moving so softly against yours, but also from the way his hand gripped so firmly at your waist through your canvas jumpsuit, his other hand still carding so thoughtfully through your hair; it was a sweet little gasp that Hevy swore he’d be replaying in his head for a week. Or at least until he was able to make another sound tumble out of you.

Your hands came up to cup his cheeks, thumbs tracing the edges of his tattoos, pulling him impossibly closer. The payoff of this single kiss was absolutely worth all those months of gentle torture, the teasing touches and glances, discreetly watching his lips when he’d talk and thinking about how he’d feel against your own. Or even how he’d taste. In a stroke of your own audacity, you ran a slow, languid lick of your tongue against his lips, and the growl that came from him made the most delightful of shivers shoot right down your spine.

He had a robust, spicy taste, earthy and rich with a bit of heat that came tickling at your tongue. It wasn’t too surprising- he smelled the same way, smoky and hearty with the biting musk all clones seemed to carry with them. What did surprise you was the honeyed velvet of his own tongue eagerly coming to meet yours as you repeated your action. You could feel his infuriating grin at the helpless whimper that dripped from you at the feeling, and you nipped brazenly at his bottom lip in retaliation.

Before he could respond to your playful attack, the two of you froze as a throat loudy cleared from the entryway of the armory. Hevy almost didn’t pull away from you, a near silent broken whine coming from him (for your ears only) as he came off of your lips with a wet smacking sound. After a quick flex of his fingers, he removed his hands from you just as slowly, your own hands sliding down from his face to clasping behind your back. You both turned to face the bucket of Commander Blitz, arms crossed and stance wide in the doorway. He nodded toward the hall, “You left the door open.”

You cleared your throat, pursing your lips to keep from saying something ridiculous. Hevy clenched his jaw, trying to accomplish the same thing. Blitz’s visor smoothly slid to gaze over you, and you straightened in the mimic of his cadets. “You finally relaxing, techie?”

A short chuckle escaped you, lips twitching up in a coy grin, “I am, Commander.”

He nodded, that same dramatic humming leaving him as he turned then to Hevy, who tensed at full attention to the ARC Commander. “What about you, son. How’s that burn feel?”

“To be perfectly candid, sir,” Hevy, always pushing the limits, turned to shoot you a look with a quick lick of his lips before responding, “Absolutely thrilling.”

Blitz nodded again, taking slow steps into the room, like how Hevy had earlier that day, letting each step echo off the walls until he was about two feet away, “I’m happy for you both, but please. Don’t be stupid. You’re lucky it was me walking by and not one of the longnecks, or the nat-born chief trainers. Close the doors. And do me a favor, wait till you’re both off Kamino for any of the heavier stuff, okay?”

You and Hevy both confirmed the Commander’s request with quick nods and mumbled “Yes sirs,” making him let go a long breath. Uncrossing his arms, he pointed to Hevy, “Trooper, hit the showers. Move it.”

Hevy shot you one last look, if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was bashful, before saluting Blitz, grabbing his helmet and marching out of the armory. You stood straight, still under Blitz’s cold stare from his visor, until he sighed, slapping a companionable hand on your shoulder, “If he steps out of line, I better be the first vod you call. I will kick his ass so hard, he’ll be knocked back to failing the Citadel the first time-”

“At ease, Commander,” you rolled your eyes, you hand coming up to hold onto his, brushing your thumb over his knuckles with a soft breath of laughter, “He didn’t lay a hand on me until I asked him to.”

Blitz squeezed your hand, taking off his own helmet to look at you. He looked a little older than Domino did, cheeks slightly hollowed and eyes a bit deeper set, a bittersweet shine coming over his amber stare, mouth twitching up into a lopsided smile, “I’m gonna miss you, after you go off with those fools.”

“You’ll make great friends with the next techie who comes along. Who knows, maybe they’ll actually listen to you,” you smile back at him, the two of you masking the tears threatening to fall from your lashes. He pulls you in, touching your foreheads together, before giving two more pats to your shoulder.

“And remember,” he pulls off of you, placing his helmet back on and causing his voice to come out in a soft static, “Please, for the love of Jango, don’t-”

“Don’t be stupid,” you salute to him, winking for extra effect, “Aye-aye, ori’vod.”

[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.

[reluctant-mandalore]

The Boba Fett Babysitting Archives: Naptime

Boba Fett struggles to put the chaotic and energetic child in his care down for a nap. 

Warnings: fluff, child care, no reader, uncle boba babysitting, not beta read

Word Count: 2953

Pairing: No romantic pairing. Just uncle boba and grogu bonding. 

a/n: So I thought about doing the Din part in it’s own separate part buuut I decided that it wasn’t too big of a deal just to have it here as a mini continuation. Sooo enjoy! Boba needs a nap y’all. 

Boba Fett, arguably the best bounty hunter in the Galaxy, was capable and skilled in many things. He could pilot a ship without skipping a beat, shoot targets with pinpoint accuracy, and of course there were no questions about his abilities in terms of bounty hunting. He was good at what he did and that was a fact, but him taking care of a child was another story completely.

The bounty hunter had been struggling to get the child, his precious nephew, to take a nap for what felt like hours now. It wasn’t as if the kid was throwing a nasty fuss or anything, but rather, the issue was the abundance of untamed energy the little creature seemed to have at the moment.

Boba was having a difficult time trying to manage the bursts of excitement that the child had possessed today. Finding himself struggling to get the little one to even sit still long enough so he could be tucked in properly. Clearly the sugary cookies that Boba had let him eat as an afternoon snack was turning out to be a bad idea.

“Where’s Fennec when you need her?” He had grumbled more to himself than anything, wishing that his friend was here to help him instead of off chasing the bounty he had sent her after. He wasn’t sure how, but Fennec had turned out to be great at getting the kid to go down for a nap, no matter the type of day he was having. “Why do you listen to her but not me?”

The child had only let out some happy gibberish at the man’s words. Soon allowing more giggles to leave him, as he reached out from the crib towards his favourite uncle. His little hands making grabby motions at the toys which the man had taken away not too long ago.

“Oh no you don’t.” He had said, soon turning around quickly to go put the toys away, as the child had let out a surprised sound while watching, “It’s naptime not playtime. These toys are going in the chest until after your nap.”

The child had instantly frowned at hearing Boba’s reasoning behind taking the toys. His ears drooping and eyes wavering with a pleading look that usually held the ability to melt even the toughest of people's heart. Boba had long since gotten used to that look though, and instead of crumbling under the child’s gaze, he had put away the toys. The chest closing afterwards with an audible click that had only made the kid pout more.

The disappointed child had let out a displeased sound and Boba had felt a ping of guilt tugging at his heart at the sight of him. He didn’t like having to be the one to take the child’s fun away. There was a reason the little one had enjoyed his time spent with the bounty hunter after all. He had made it quite apparent that he was the fun uncle, and honestly, if Boba himself wasn’t so tired he might even let the child skip the afternoon nap. Unfortunately for the kid, the bounty hunter was getting old, and even he needed a quick nap from time to time.

“Grogu...” The child’s ears had perked again at hearing the bounty hunter speak his name, an air of hope finding itself within his round depths, “Lay down, it’s time to get some sleep.”

The excitement that the small creature had showed had died once more at hearing the man’s words. The sight of his frown this time causing a chuckle to leave Boba as he patted the child’s head fondly. He had tucked him in soon after, making sure the blanket was snug and comfortable around him, as he spoke soft encouragements of sleep to the kid. Whispers of promised fun to happen after their own respective naps dancing quietly within the small room.

Once satisfied with seeing that Grogu had begun settling down and drifting off to sleep, Boba had left the room quietly. Shutting the door extra carefully, as if he was afraid it would combust at the even the tiniest of movement, before making his way to the throne room. His own yawn escaping his lips at the thought of finally being able to get in some rest before the child awoke again.

Entering into his famed throne room, the bounty hunter had found himself stunned in place at the sight before him. A pool of confusion finding itself settled in his gut, as he almost did a double take at seeing the child he had just put down for a nap now sitting on his throne. The man had blinked in surprise at first, shocked to see the kid just casually sat there—giggling and laughing—instead of asleep in his own bed.

“Who put you here?” He had asked in disbelief, still not quite able to grasp the fact that the child had managed to get to the throne room ahead of him, and without him having had noticed. Clearly someone had to have helped him. There was no other way the kid could have gotten here otherwise.

Gorgu had only cood happily up at his uncle, clearly not willing, or even able, to voice who had decided to remove him from the comfort of his sheets. Boba had felt himself sigh, a tired grumble leaving him, as he scooped the child into his arms once more. Soon making his way back to the kid’s room as the little one squirmed and spoke in gibberish to him the entire way. His little attempts of reasoning against naptime falling deaf on the man carrying him off to bed.

“It’s naptime, ok?” Boba had stressed again to the child, an odd sense of desperation finding itself embedded in his voice, “Grogu you need to sleep.”

The child had let out a disappointed sound again, his ears lowering at hearing his uncle's suggestion, as he was once more tucked into the soft sheets. A hum had left Boba as he did this,  and he made sure that the blankets were just a little more snug around the child this time. Before he soothingly rubbed his fingers along the little creature’s large ear in a calming manner.

“Rest up kid.”

Once again Boba had left the child in his bed, a sigh of relief leaving his lips as he made his back to the throne room. His own excitement for a quick nap obvious in each step he took as he nearly skipped through the hallway. The few remaining servants that day passing each other weird looks at seeing this, but not voicing their concern in fear of how the man would react. Though frankly the Mandalorian didn’t really care what they thought of his clear excitement. He just wanted to go take a nice long nap.

Soon, he had once again entered the throne room, the joy he felt for a nap dying though as he stopped in place once more in shock at seeing the child sat on the decorative chair just as last time. He had even pinched himself wondering if this was all just some sort of strange dream, though the sound of the happy babbles and coos coming from the child still sat before him said otherwise.

“What in the maker… how did you get here?”

The child had only giggled at the bounty hunters question. His hands waving up excitedly as he spoke in chattered gibberish to the man. The smile the child wore probably the brightest he had seen it all day, and if he wasn’t already so exhausted, he was sure he’d have a matching one tugging at his lips.

Boba had just let out a tired sigh though, shaking his head rather fondly, as he picked up the child and held him in his arms again. “Alright enough games, time to get some sleep ad’ika.”

The bounty hunter had turned around swiftly after his words. Once again making his way back to the child’s room for what felt like the hundredth time that day, as the little creature squirmed in his arms. His whines and pleading babbles against the dreaded nap to come increasing the closer they got to their destination. Although Boba was unrelenting in his goal of putting the energetic child down for a rest.

Most times he would have given up on the idea of the child napping by this point. Boba just didn’t simply have the energy or time to be wasting on making the kid do things he clearly didn’t want to do and it was a known fact that he liked to twist the rules. He’d let the kid get away with and do things the other Mandalorian would never even think of allowing. Today was not one of those days though, and all Boba wanted to do was get the child to sleep so he could get his own nap in.

Arriving at the child’s room, the bounty hunter had once again gone to work at putting the kid to rest. Tucking him within the fluffed sheets and running a smoothing touch along his ear just as he did last time to help the kid relax. He had even quietly hummed a gentle tune he recalled from his own childhood, hoping that the soft notes and murmurs would help with bringing the child closer to the brink of sleep. Then, when he was certain the kid would not be following him, he left once more and made his way back to the throne room.

“Oh you gotta be kidding me.”

It seems Boba would not be getting a break today when it came to this, because of course when he had entered into the throne room again he was met with the sight of the kid happily seated on his decorative throne. He’d have to take the child to his room again, and hopefully this time the little one would stay where he belonged. Otherwise the bounty hunter was sure he’d end up losing his sanity.

Unfortunately for Boba though, this sequence of events had repeated three more times before he finally decided to call it quits. Now finding himself slumped on the throne with the child rocking and giggling within his arms. He didn’t have the energy to take the kid back to his room by this point, nor did he have the will to figure out how the little creature had kept managing to get here without any help. As far as he was concerned, those things were for after nap Boba to figure out.

“You’re quite a handful when you want to be, aren’t ya?” The bounty hunter had said in between some yawns, his eyes threatening to slip shut behind the helmet which shielded his features from view as he continued speaking, “Always causing some sort of trouble for me.”

Grogu had smiled sweetly up at the man while he listened to him talk, soon reaching towards the chin of his helmet and holding onto it fondly. Another shrill of giggles leaving the child, as his sides were tickled by Boba, who only chuckled tiredly at the sound of the small creature laughing energetically in his arms.

“Well if you won’t take a nap in your room then you can take one here with me.” Boba had said before settling himself more comfortably into the throne, and letting his eyes finally shut themselves completely, “I think we both could use a nap, don’t you?”

The child had frowned and allowed his ears to lower as he peered up to the bounty hunter. Seeing how serious his uncle was, he had begun to squirm in the man’s arms again, hoping to free himself and escape the nap which he had been avoiding all afternoon. Although, he had given up after a brief while at discovering that the hold on him wasn’t leaving anytime soon. The small huff that left the kid in the moment making the still awake bounty hunter smile beneath the helmet. As he shifted his weight so he could hold the child closer into his chest and sink them both further into the throne all while another yawn had left him.

The little one had cooed out his own yawn at the sound of Boba’s. Trying to shake away his own need for sleep before finding himself relaxing more in the man’s hold. The small child had then nuzzled himself tightly into the bounty hunter, allowing his head and ears to tuck into the curve of his arms. His eyes now beginning to flutter as his sudden tiredness tugged at his young mind.

“Seems like you’re more tired than what you’re letting on.” Boba had laughed quietly before opening his eyes again to glance down at the child, who had only hummed back quietly in reply. “Finally ready for that nap?”

This time the only reply Boba has received was a soft snore from the child. The sound of which had brought a feeling of relief to flow through him. He had did a quick check of the time, humming at the knowledge that they still had a few hours before Din was to arrive back to pick up the child. Surely they would both be awake by that time. So, with this in mind, he had once again closed his eyes. Feeling his tiredness finally overtake him and send him to join the child in a well deserved sleep.

----

“Boba?”

The other Mandalorian had called as he had first entered the palace, his voice ringing out into the wide space and echoing back without a solid reply. The lack of a response causing him to take a look around the open and empty area in bewilderment at its strange emptiness. Now finding himself even more confused and concerned at how strangely quiet the palace seemed that day.

“Where are you two?” He had found himself asking out loud, still unsure of where exactly the other hunter had disappeared off to with his foundling and hoping to hear some sort of reply, “Are you two alright?”

Din had once again received no answer from a single soul. Only finding a long drawn out silence in place of his words. There weren’t even any servants around for him to ask for any help in finding the other bounty hunter. It was honestly so strange and worrying to see the palace so devoid of life.

The Mandalorian had already known something was off when Boba hadn’t greeted his arrival in the docking area with the child like he usually did. The lack of anyone else being around had made this concern of his even worse though, and the longer he went without finding anyone he had found himself on the verge of panicking. This had easily made him become worried beyond belief and he had quickly found himself practically running to the throne room. Hoping that once he got there he would finally find the other bounty hunter and his foundling safe within its confines.

When finally entering the room Din had found himself freezing in place almost instantly at the sight laid out before him. His breathing heavy and ragged as he found another surge of confusion and surprise pooling inside of him. His mind trying its best to function correctly as it slowly came up to speed with what he was looking at during this moment.

“Would you look at that…” He had said in a soft voice, just barely above a whisper as to not disturb them both and allowing a small smile to cross his lips, “Must have had a tiring day.”

The Mandalorian had definitely found the both of them, something which had both relieved and relaxed him at seeing them safe. The two were both clearly in a sleeping state, with Boba lounging out on the throne and the child tucked closely into his chest. Snores left both the sleeping figures, though the bounty hunters were deeper and more gruff, filling up the large throne room easily.

No wonder no one was here, not a soul would even dare to think of risking waking them up and having to deal with the famed bounty hunters wraith.

Din’s smile had suddenly widened, and he let out a chuckle at the sight of them both cuddled together on the throne. He wasn’t used to seeing the other Mandalorian in such a carefree state. Boba always seemed to have a certain edge to him, even while in the presence of the child, but at this moment he found it hard to believe that it was the same man sitting in front of him.

He supposed being the uncle of a chaotic little jedi in training would do that to you though. He knew first hand just how tiring looking after Grogu could be after all, and he didn’t doubt for a second that the little creature had managed to do something to make the other man seem so exhausted.

The Mandalorian did briefly think about waking them, but finding that he didn’t have the heart to do so, he had decided to leave them be for the moment. He had some work to do in the nearby town anyway, and there wasn’t really any harm in letting them rest for a little longer.

So, with this in mind, Din had chosen to leave the room just as quietly as he had entered. Only turning to look over at the two sleeping again briefly before leaving. Another smile resting on his lips as he whispered a soft farewell to the uncle and nephew enjoying their naptime together on the throne.

“Sweet dreams you two.”

[rosiehunterwolf]

Happy Fanfic Writer’s Day!

I only just found out this was a thing like an hour ago and scrapped this together last minute shhhhhhhh

I have so many talented writer friends that I’ve met on here. Like, so many. I appreciate and love you all, and I may or may not go on a reading spree later so… 😅

That being said, I do have a few that have really stood out to me that I’d like to mention today. I recommend checking these authors out if you have not done so already!

@amourshipper393 has some nice little one shots I’ve read, mainly dealing with post-seabound…. definitely worth a read and can’t wait to see more from her!

@arpeggiopeg I’ve also stumbled upon some one-shots from her account, and I’m just floored at the quality. I suspect there’s more works that I haven’t read though and am totally going to look into it!

@gwenbrightly My first friend in this fandom, we connected over my reviews on her stories and she eventually lead me over to Tumblr. Her stories are just really fun and cute (not to say there isn’t angst!) and I’m just in love.

@frogs-that-bounce As far as I know she only has a few one shots written, but they’re wonderful nonetheless. Was absolutely amazed by her first piece, and it sparked a friendship I am really grateful for. She’s really got a way with playing with your heartstrings. Love ya bestie ❤️

@ninja-go-to-therapy We haven’t talked much but some of her one shots have honestly had me bawling like a baby, she’s been inspiration for some of my own works.

I think most of you already know @lloydskywalkers but I couldn’t NOT reccomend them, I love literally every one of their works and honestly they have been a huge source of inspiration to me, and is the reason I found my passion for the sibling trio today. Honestly, they don’t know this, but I don’t think I would’ve gotten as deep into the ninjago fandom as I am today without them.

@fabro-de-omres aAhhhh what can I say about Fabro, y’all she’s just amazing and go read. It’s just the perfect mix of fluff and angst and it just clicks with me. And of course, she created the lovely ninbingo, which really helped to get my works out there. She’s been really encouraging to me in my writing and I’m just so grateful :)

Unfortunately I haven’t really gotten a lot of opportunities to explore the fandom deeper, which is why most of these are close friends, but after school starts I’m going to make an effort to start reading more. All of you who write are greatly appreciated and I look forward to seeing what you come up with! Seriously, the world of fandom would be dead without fanfic writers!

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

It hurts like hell.

Tags: @wonderlust75 @sickofbitches @lexiibishop @noz4a2 @just1bri @redwolfs-world @queenbeered

Master List

Twenty-One

I could feel the spinning of the lights in my head as we finally made it to the hospital. It hurt. I don’t know what I expected a gunshot to feel like. But imagining and knowing are so far apart. The pain let me know I was still living.

“How the fuck did this happen?” I could hear Bishop talking to someone in the room.

“It was an fucking ambush,” Hank’s voice answered. “How’s she doing?”

“Bullet went through. Lost a lot of blood,” Bishop answered, “but she’s strong. They said she should be coming around soon.”

I groan feeling the pain still shooting through my shoulder as I start to sit up, “It hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“You were fucking shot, Hermana,” Hank says, “I’ll get a nurse, then go check on Riz and Coco.” He stands and heads out of the room.

“What happened to Coco?” I ask weakly.

“The explosion,” Bishop answered, “his eyes got fucked up. Angel and Gilly are with him now.”

“And Riz?” my eyes search his.

“Just came out of surgery,” he replied. “Rest now.”

“I just want to go home,” I look past him at the nurse, “when can I go home?”

“Should be able to go home today,” she says, “Doctor will be in here soon to confirm.” She hands me a cup with pain pills and a cup of water, “Those should help. You can arrange physical therapy with the medical center in Santo Padre.”

An hour later, I’m fitted in a sling and sitting in a wheelchair. A clear plastic bag in my lap holding my bloody clothes and broken heels. “They were my favorite pair,” I looked back at Bishop who was pushing my chair to the lobby where the rest of the Mayans were waiting. I give a nod to Coco sitting in his own chair.

“I’m sitting down with the Kings in the morning,” Bishop says.

Coco looks up, “Why? This is a charter play.” I knew what that meant.

“The deal with Charming affects the whole MC,” Bishop responds.

“They fucking ambushed us,” Gilly’s voice getting louder behind Coco. “After a fucking sit down.”

“I know,” Bishop said. I could see the turmoil in his face as he looked from Coco to me and the rest of the Mayans. The right thing. The right thing for his guys, the club, for me wasn’t an easy thing.

“Let’s get home,” Hank stated, “Get some rest. Put this on the table tomorrow.”

“Creep and I will stay with Riz,” Taza says.

“Keep me in the loop,” I look up at him, “he saved me.”

“Of course,” he leans down and gives me a peck on the cheek, “Anyone of us would have done the same, cariño.” I knew it. Riz proved it.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Bishop stated, then pushes my chair out the front door to the van waiting outside. I settled behind Gilly who was driving us back letting Coco ride shotgun. The ride back was silent. Anger clung to the air. It was raw and it was real. I couldn’t shake the image of El Palo’s eyes as they stared at me before he pulled the trigger. He never met me before that day and he hated me.

“Hey, we’re here,” Gilly called back to me. The van door slid open and EZ grabbed my bags and Angel took my hand and helped me down. I was groggy from the drugs but I could still feel the pain in my shoulder.

“I’ll drive you home tomorrow,” Bishop led me up the steps and down the hall to the dorm, “the Kings will be here early.” I take a seat on the bed. I tried not to think about how many cum stains were on the mattress. I was exhausted.

“I have to call the Irish,” I grumbled as Bishop helped me off with my shoes. “Whatever I tell them will change what goes on with Charming and with you.”

“I know, querida,” he kissed my forehead and pulled back the blanket, and tucked me under. “I can’t tell you how to land on that shit. We gotta figure out the best call for all of us.”

I woke the next morning to the piercing ring of my phone, I cried out in pain as I remembered my shoulder had a fucking whole-blown in it. Bishop had already gotten dressed and was likely at the table. Figuring out what to do about the VM.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Are ya alright, lass?” the thick Irish accent of Declan Brogan asked. “Chibs told us what happened at the meeting last night.”

“I’ll be ok,” I winced as I placed my arm back in the sling, then down the pills, Bishop left on the nightstand. “Is there any other way to keep the business going without that new partner?”

“I’ve put it to Chibs to find another way, but the fucking Mexicans fucked this up,” he responded, “never trusted them.”

“You never trust anyone that has a deeper tan than off-white,” I shuffle to my feet. “I can’t see the Mayans' answer to what happened being anything but retaliation.”

“Aye,” he replied, “if they don’t we will.”

“And that will cause everything to fall the fuck apart,” I wasn’t sure what to do. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

I never realized how hard it was doing things with one hand. I washed up in the bathroom and struggled to change my shirt and slide my pants up over my hips. Fortunately, I found yoga pants and one of Bishop’s black tanks stashed here. I look up as I hear a knock on the door.

“Yo, Malibu,” Angel saunters in, “Bish sent me to see if you needed any help.”

“I got the front bandage changed,” I said, “just need help with the back. My bra is hooked all wonky, can you fix that? And tying my shoes. How are your ponytail skills?”

“You’re asking for a lot,” he said, taking the sterile bandage from the table and then sat behind me on the bed.

“You saying you can’t handle it?” I flinch a little as his hand touches my back gently. Angel changed the bandage expertly. I was almost shocked.

“Na, just used to taking bras off not putting them on,” he fumbles, fixing the hooks, “I am a pro at that too.” Proud of himself he pulls the back of my shirt back down. He ties my sneakers and takes my hairbrush from me and brushes the tangles from my hair.

“I’m surprised,” I smooth my hair with my only available hand. “Thank you.”

“You scared us last night, Malibu,” Angel’s voice didn’t have the same tone as normal. “Can’t have you getting killed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time someone shoots at me,” I offer a smile and walk with him down the hall. Gilly slides a chair out for me and sets a beer on the table in front of me. “Bishop?”

“The kings,” he points to the stained glass door.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Coco. He looked out of it. Wasn’t sure if it was the pain or the anger that gave him that look.

“Fucked,” he replied and took another drag from his cigarette. I nodded. I didn’t know his exact diagnosis but I did know that if his eyesight didn’t improve he couldn’t ride. If he couldn’t ride he couldn’t wear a patch. And for him the patch was everything. Coco’s family outside of the MC was beyond fucked up.

I turn, watching the kings and their crew file out of the stained glass door. I met Bishop’s troubled eyes with my own. The weight of things. Whatever decision either of us made would fuck things up for someone else.

“They heading out?” Gilly asked as the clubhouse door closed behind the other kings.

“They’re staying at Vicki’s until we sort this out,” Hank answered.

“What’s to sort out?” Coco inquired.

“You’re a smart man, Coco,” Bishop stated. “You know what’s at stake here.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “My fucking eyesight. It don’t get better I may never fucking ride again.”

Bishop looked at me then back to Coco, “We’re looking at millions of dollars in gun revenue for the entire Mayan organization.”

“So the CEOs of the Mayans Incorporated are deciding what’s best huh?” Coco’s one eye narrowed as he stood, “I hope y’all came up with a medical plan cause I’m gonna fucking need it.” Then storms out the front door.

“I’ll stay close,” Gilly followed after him. Bishop nodded and paced the floor. After asking Hank to reach out to Alverez, he looked at me. I could see the weariness in his eyes. He hadn’t slept since we got back. He carried it all with him. Coco, Riz, me. He bore that weight on his shoulders.

I stand following Bishop to a corner table. “I’m here, babe,” I tell him, my hand laying over his, “whatever you need.”

“I know, querida,” he kissed my temple, “I know.” I should have told him what Declan said but I couldn’t lay another burden on him. Not now. Not until they decided.

---

I sit at the table alone nursing a beer, watching the stained glass again. I lost count of the minutes that I’d waited for a club decision for anything. This time Bishop was getting council from Marcus. Bishop needed that guiding hand. That family connection to point him in the right direction. Or to encourage him to forge his own path. He was after all a king in his own right.

“I can take you to Vicki’s if you’d like,” Hank said when he exited the room.

“I’ll wait for Bishop,” I give him a smile, “has he eaten anything?”

“Have you?” he responded.

“I’m supposed to take care of you,” I tell him.

“And we’re supposed to take care of you, cariño,” he said, “if something worse than this,” he points to my sling, “had happened to you, it would break him.”

I nodded, “If anything happened to him,” I look at the big biker, “well I’m just hoping you don’t let me find out what would happen without him.”

I stood up when the stained glass slides open again and Marcus and Bishop walk out of Templo. “We’ll have to meet sometime when someone hasn’t just tried to kill me,” I give the former biker a peck on the cheek.

“When this is all settled,” he replied, “I’ll have my wife give you a call and we’ll have dinner or something.” He glances back at Bishop with a nod, “Primo.” Then left through the front door.

The Mayans dropped their phones in the basket outside the stained glass door, I watch as it closed behind them. The vote for payback. The pain in my shoulder wanted fucking vengeance, for myself, for Coco, and for Riz. But I knew that the deal with the VM was the one thing that kept the Irish guns in the hands of the Mayans.

I took a sip from my Diet Coke feeling every tick of the clock pulsing through my vein. The pain, stress of the wrong decision. I jump at the sound of the door being forcefully slung open and Coco storming out muttering curses in Spanish I didn’t understand. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or upset at the ‘No Vengeance’ vote.

I waited, watching as each man came out of Templo, none of them seemed fully satisfied with the vote but they knew it was the best thing for the club. Bishop slides the chair out beside mine and stuffs a cigarette between his lips. He doesn’t say a word for a long time. He doesn’t have to, I can feel how heavy the crown had become.

“If I didn’t have to think about the entire fucking club,” he said resting his hand on mine, “I’d kill every last one of those motherfuckers.”

“I know,” I replied. “It’ll work itself out.” I didn’t have a chance to tell him what Declan said to me this morning. The Vatos would be dead for what happened. By Mayan King or Irish.

I give his hand a gentle squeeze, preparing the words, to let him know that the deal would be dead no matter what. “Bishop…” I’m interrupted by the vibration of his phone.

“Shit,” Bishop said softly to his caller. “I’ll let them know.” His chair scrapes the floor as he stands. “Riz didn’t make it. Just spoke to Taza. He died about fifteen minutes ago. The vote is null and void,” he watches the faces of his men, “We’re going to war.”

---

Neither of us slept very well. How do you sleep when the person who saved your life lost his in the process?

“Can you stay with Vicki until we figure this shit out?” he asked as he helps me get dressed. “I won’t be able to help you. And she can use someone to be there with her.”

“Yeah,” I place my arm in the sling after smoothing my shirt down. “I can do that. Do you need help with anything else?”

“No, mi Amor,” he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, “just for this shit to be done.”

He carries my overnight bag and places it in the back seat of my SUV, then helps me in the passenger’s seat. We rode in silence across the desert road to Vicki’s. Bikes were lined up, the club had already arrived.

“You need anything,” Bishop told Vicki, “don’t hesitate…” Vicki sobbed her acknowledgment then buried her face again in Taza’s chest. I didn’t speak enough Spanish to make out exactly what she said, but I could feel Vicki’s pain. Her heart was crumbling in pieces.

“Riz was her only family this side of the border,” Gilly said. I nod looking for something to do someway to help but there was nothing. And every inch of the place had a biker standing in it.

“Sit down, Princesa irlandesa,” Oso Ramos said to me. “You’re trying to do too much.”

“And you’re not trying to do enough,” I said back. I saw them circling Bishop like vultures. I knew they were trying to convince him to change his decision. “How many casualties do you think would justify it? Would you have a different view if the dead Mayan had an Oakland flash?”

“This is not the fucking time or /your/ place,” Ramos responded.

“I guess it’s not,” I stormed off, running smack into Angel’s chest as I head into the kitchen.

“Watch where you’re going, Malibu,” he said.

“Get out of my fucking way,” I responded. I needed out and Angel was blocking my escape. After I had a clear head. I sat down at the kitchen table and pull a cigarette out of an abandoned pack, I place it between my lips and flick a lighter, leaning into the flame. The burn of the smoke as I inhaled was soothing. I was able to focus again.

“Thought you didn’t smoke,” Angel said behind me.

“I don’t,” I inhale again flicking the ash in the tray. I wanted to wipe the tears from my face but I had no free hands. “Sorry about before.” He nodded then pulled a chair out to sit beside me, lighting a cigarette of his own.

“I didn’t know Riz well,” I said, “I know he liked to sing softly to himself in Spanish when he was working on his bike in the garage. I know he kept an arrowhead in the pocket of his kutte with his cigarettes. And I know that even though he didn’t really know me,” I sniffed, “he dove in front of a bullet to save my life.” I could feel the tears start pouring down my face. I couldn’t hold back the sobs. Angel wrapped his arms around my shoulders and let me cry. I let out everything I’d been holding in over the last several days.

“You’re snotting all over my shirt, Malibu,” he said.

“It’s fucking ugly anyway,” I responded.

[canimal]

There is a real person behind every single story you read.

Maybe the world has gotten colder and more impersonal or the pandemic has made everyone suspicious of everyone and see other people as enemies. Or it could be the On-Demand, Netflix-binging consumption that’s made even kind people turn selfish in their demands for more content. But Fandom isn’t as much fun as it used to be.

I’m old enough to remember when this was a place to feel safe to share your creations with other fans who were just as excited to read them. It was a community, a place you could feel like you belonged when the real world got hard. For many of us, it was an escape.

I miss those days. Am I the only one who feels like it’s all changed?

2018 was the HARDEST year of my entire life. Sorry, 2020 and 2021, y’all have NOTHING on 2018, at least in my personal experience. Every single day was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. I can’t tell you how many times I HAD to write just to give me something to keep my mind occupied. Fandom was my escape. Even after I got caught up in some ridiculous nastiness more than once when the petty drama that always seems to follow a group of any people existing in the same space couldn’t avoid me, I had a place I could find joy and safety and a sense of belonging.

It’s not something I like to talk about (or even remember) but my year of shit bled into the early half of 2019 too. At my absolute lowest point of my entire life, literally and not hyperbolically, on the edge of a full emotional nervous breakdown, I was lost and struggling for something to hold on to to keep my head above water. Perhaps I put too much hope and faith in Fandom that should have been directed elsewhere more capable of handling it.

One hateful comment I wasn’t expecting pushed me over the edge. It was embarrassing. Now I can look back cringing with red cheeks and think, “Wow, that was an overreaction, dumbass”, but at the time I just wanted to run far away. An ordinary day when I wasn’t so fragile, I could’ve just rolled my eyes and moved on. But I wanted OUT. I wanted to run away from Fandom, forget it ever existed, and live far, far away from it.

I deleted all of my stories. Almost immediately I knew I made a mistake, but my stubborn nature made me dig in my heels and say “Fuck it. I want to leave. I want to move on with my life.” That was the only way it seemed possible at the time.

I didn’t expect the bombardment of messages I received after that over the next 24 hours. Almost entirely from people I’d never heard from before or spoken to, they were requests for me to send them PDFs of my stories or demands that I repost them because they were in the middle of reading them. A few audacious souls even asked if they could “adopt” my WIPs and finish them for me the way they wanted to finish them. Some messages were from kind readers expressing concerns about me and my well-being, but the overwhelmingly majority of them were from strangers demanding more, more, MORE!

It made me feel reduced to nothing but a machine whose sole purpose was to churn out more content for ungrateful, spoiled, selfish brats to consume more stories for which they would never even offer a simple “thank you” in return. All of the late nights I stayed up forgoing the sleep I loved (and needed) to finish another chapter were for nothing. The hours and hours I could’ve spent with my family and friends instead of in front of my computer were for nothing. It was all for nothing.

Maybe a day passed before I recovered all of the stories because I couldn’t imagine going through another minute of my FFN inbox, my Tumblr Asks, and my FB Messenger blowing up with messages from strangers demanding my stories. It was too much. All I wanted was to be left alone. Clearly that wasn’t the way to go about it.

Then when I recovered the stories, MORE messages came through except they were decidedly less friendly than “Yo, The Minister’s Secret is gone. Send me a pdf. I was in the middle of it.” These messages were full of vitriol about what a disgusting human being I was. One Ask I remember responding to (still cringing when I think about it - both the content of the ask and my response) accused me of doing it all for attention and I should be ashamed of myself. (I didn’t respond kindly which I’m still a little embarrassed by, but I still stand by most of what I said… barring most of the expletives.) Most of the Asks were deleted without comment, but wow, I still occasionally get a doozy!

I lost a lot of readers after that. Even more potential readers, I’m sure. It’s something I regret. It makes me sad sometimes to think about someone I know who won’t even talk to me now because of that particular incident. I know there are others who didn’t appreciate my horribly embarrassing moment of weakness. I wish I could take that whole incident back, but sadly, there’s no “Undo” button in life.

My reputation, which in some corners of the fandom already wasn’t very good, suffered a lot. I get it. I really do. Of course I understand actions have consequences. There were plenty of other less drastic and harmful decisions I could’ve made in that moment. I wasn’t thinking clearly and wish I could’ve just stepped away from my keyboard for a few days.

I’ve never wanted to talk about this because I’m still embarrassed even 2 1/2 years later. A lot of changes have gone on in my life since then that have made me a more emotionally stable, happy human being that I wish I could’ve been back then.

My whole point on writing this rambling post is because I want to remind everyone that even if the Fandom has changed, the people haven’t. There’s a human being behind every story, every fanart, every fan blog, every review - a human being with their own struggles and weaknesses and crises. We can’t afford to forget that.

You literally don’t know if your one word of encouragement is what is helping a person who is struggling take the next step forward or if your callous rudeness or indifference is the last straw for another.

The world is mean and nasty, but that doesn’t mean we have to be too. Fandom is an escape.

[shyneanon]

Heyyyy so y’all know how I usually like to write HT!Sans but today I kinda wanted to write him creepy the way some people like to write him. I thought it’d be kind of fun to do that. Yandere, mwahaha. So I guess this is sort of an x reader fic but the feeling is not mutual.

That said, before reading: We know yandere-type characters are preeeeetty out of touch with reality and are obviously supposed to be unsettling. Meaning in this, Sans isn’t exactly paying attention to MC when she says “no.” It doesn’t get really sexual, but still, it’s non-con. So if that bothers you, maaaaybe don’t read this. Just felt it was fair to warn you guys, I don’t want to upset anyone.

---

How long had you been down here?

You weren’t sure anymore.

As of late you had been engaged in an inner debate regarding whether you would rather be dead. You weren’t sure. At least if you were alive there was… a chance?... you could get home and eventually die there, happy.

But that was seeming farther and farther away. The memories of home were already fading. Amazing how the human mind becomes accustomed to its current surroundings, yeah? How quickly things become “normal.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it was just you and Papyrus in this house, where you were currently chained up in the living room. He wasn’t so bad. Scary to look at, sure, but friendly, and relatively normal when it came to holding conversation.

It was Sans who made things so unpleasant.

He hadn’t done anything to you, it wasn’t like he hurt you. He was just… creepy. The way that his one red eye would just lock onto you and just… stare, unblinking…. It scared you. The look was intense. Too intense. You just wished you knew what he was thinking. At first, you’d told yourself he probably didn’t mean to be creepy. He had a big injury in his head, maybe it had screwed up his understanding of social norms. Stuff like not staring. And it only freaked you out so much because of the way he looked and how he didn’t need to blink.

But he freaked you out for other reasons too.

A couple of times he had approached you, and you’d thought that maybe he was going to strike up a conversation. You’d witnessed him have conversations with Paps before. That was when he seemed the least creepy. When he was just acting normal around his brother. He made some pretty messed up jokes but that didn’t really bother you too much. It just seemed like whenever he took notice of you he got really really weird. He’d sat down next to you, and you’d been a little nervous, but you had decided to try and start a conversation. Which had… kind of worked. Sans seemed fine with, uh… indulging you? Like he thought you just wanted to talk and was happy to listen. He made some comments, but mostly just listened. That wasn’t weird.

It was the touching that had been weird.

Again, he didn’t do anything to you, as far as you were aware he wasn’t some sort of sick pervert. But he’d just… started touching your hair, and even your face, the whole time his eye just locked on whatever it was his fingers were preoccupied with. He’d only seemed to be half paying attention to what you were saying.

You were pretty sure he’d even sniffed you a couple of times.

So from then on you’d just tried to pretend like he wasn’t there. He’d sat next to you a couple of times, probably expecting a conversation, but you’d just smiled politely at him and he’d gotten up and left, looking disappointed and even a little annoyed. He didn’t seem to mind when you spoke to his brother, though, so you didn’t think he was like… yandere, for lack of a more succinct term. So that was at least a relief.

Still, you did your best to ignore the sounds coming from the kitchen, of cooking. The times when you least wanted to talk to Sans were when Papyrus was out. Times like now. Sans was making a meal, and you could smell it, but you refused to say anything. He could take it as an invitation for more hair-sniffing.

Eventually the sounds of cooking stopped and you could hear him eating. Your own stomach felt kind of empty. But usually Papyrus was the one to cook meals for you. Thank God.

When Sans left the kitchen with a plate in his hand, you tried to ignore him… until he stopped in front of you.

“Hey,” he said.

Um.

“Hi,” you said.

He held up the plate. “I have food for you.”

“Oh, OK. Cool.”

He sat down next to you. Dude, take a hint. You could see that on the plate were medium-sized pieces of cooked meat. Instead of handing you the plate, though, he grabbed a singular piece of meat and then held it out to you. When you reached out to try to take it he pulled back.

What the… Is he mocking me?

You almost had to hold back a wounded response, but he then held the piece up to your lips and moved closer to you.

… O… oh.

“Um,” you said. “This is really nice but you can just hand me the plate—“

“Just eat.”

… OK. You opened your mouth and he slipped the food into it; once he withdrew you started chewing, not looking at him. But you could feel his red eye locked onto you.

Then you felt his fingers running along your neck, and you flinched.

“It’s OK,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

You said nothing, just turned when you were done with your first piece of meat. As you did he leaned in, breaching your personal bubble.

“I would never hurt you,” he said.

“Thanks, Sans,” was your only reply, and he smiled.

“Y… You’re welcome.”

He fed you the next piece of meat, sliding it in farther this time. Your lips closed around it, and… was his breathing picking up?

“You’re… pretty when you eat.”

The hell does that mean? Still, you smiled, albeit awkwardly. “Thanks.”

He got closer to you. Dude did not know how to read the room. You did not like him touching you and stuff. Still, one of his fingers started to twirl itself in your hair, like a fork twirling around in spaghetti to get it to wrap around itself.

Another piece of food. Yep… his breathing was heavier, fanning against your cheek. As if you didn’t feel uncomfortable enough, he leaned close to your ear.

“I like being alone with you.”

You didn’t like where this was going. “That’s nice,” you replied, doing your best to keep your responses curt.

Still oblivious to the fact that you didn’t like what was happening (or did he just not care?) he fed you more. You looked at the plate. There were only two pieces left. Once he was finished he’d probably get up and go. Hopefully.

He kept talking: “You make me think of a deer.”

You looked at him, despite your better judgment. Was… he talking food-wise? Did… did he want to eat you?

“So graceful, and gentle, and shy....”

One of his hands cupped your cheek.

“Like a little doe.”

His teeth a hair’s width away from your ear, he hummed.

“Can I call you that?”

You said nothing, not sure what to—

“My little doe?”

After forcing yourself to swallow your meat, you said, “Your little doe?”

That seemed to excite him. His pupil dilated. “Yes…. You’re my little doe.”

You leaned away, debating on whether to talk back. Sans carried a giant axe with him everywhere. Would he get violent if you protested?

He set the plate of food aside. Shit.

“Sans,” you began, and his pupil dilated more. His breathing got heavy.

“Yes… Say my name….”

Before you could say anything his arms wrapped around you and pulled you close. You started to shake. His brother wasn’t here to stop him. How far would he go without supervision? He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t go… that far, right?

Deciding you didn’t want to take your chances, you started to squirm, but it did no good. His grip was like that of a bear trap.

“Don’t be scared,” he said. “I would never hurt you. Never.”

He leaned in closer and you kept struggling. It wasn’t helping but you wanted him to know you were not on board.

Either he didn’t notice or he didn’t care, because his teeth pressed against your lips. He immediately started to pant, his pupil so big his whole eye almost looked black. He just stared at you as his teeth moved against your lips. When his eyes lidded in an expression that looked like he was getting high, you weren’t sure if this was better or worse.

“Mm-mmh,” he murmured, leaning into you more. “Mmh….”

OK, this was it. You were done. You started to push back. “Sans, st—“

“My little doe,” he breathed. “(Y/n)... my little doe….”

“Stop touching me, Sans.”

“I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt you.”

He kept saying that like it was going to make you feel better. “I don’t care. I don’t like it when you touch me. I said stop.”

“It’s OK,” he said, although it sounded almost like it was to himself more than you. “It’s OK. You’ll like it soon. Just let me keep going.”

He pressed his teeth to your lips again. You started to worry. Again, he wouldn’t… go all the way, right? You began to realize that if he did, you didn’t have an ounce of the strength needed to stop him. Not to mention that you were chained to the wall. You kept pushing but he didn’t stop. He really seemed to think that if he just kept at it you’d suddenly decide you were fine with it.

“Mmh… Mine…. Just think about me….”

You tried to pull away but it didn’t work. Well, you certainly weren’t paying attention to anything but him, but not in the way he wanted.

“I love you… my doe….”

His teeth moved to your neck. You whimpered, but despite the obvious fear in it he seemed encouraged.

“I’ve been in love with you… since we met…. I’ve wanted this for so long….”

A purr.

“Isn’t that romantic…?”

A tongue you hadn’t known he had ran up your neck, and you swallowed, not sure if he was trying to turn you on or if this was a taste test.

“So good,” he muttered. Oh fuck, it was the latter.

He gave you another taste, moaning.

“I said I would control myself…”

You could see his large eye locked onto you again, wide.

“But I can’t control myself around you. Not now… that I have you all to myself. Not anymore.”

With that he bit down and you yelled. The bite was so hard it drew blood, and his tongue ran over the wound. Another moan escaped him.

He’s going to eat me. He’s going to eat me alive and he’s going to be getting off to it the whole time.

Now concerned for your life, you started to push his face away. “Get off!” you managed.

“It’s OK, my doe… I won’t eat you…. Not you….”

He moved your arms aside like it was nothing and nibbled your ear.

“I love you too much to eat you. I can’t imagine my life without you. I would die.” He leaned in, his red eye staring hard. “See how much I love you? I would die without you. I love you. I love you so much.”

He kissed your cheek, and you grimaced.

“If anyone tried to take you away… I would tear them apart.”

You realized just how much you were trembling. His words didn’t make you feel safe at all.

“Isn’t that so romantic, my little doe? That I’m so devoted? That I would kill for you?”

Getting sick of this, you hissed, “I’m not your little doe. I’m not your anything. Fuck you.”

He flushed blue, his eyes lidding again. “So… feisty….”

He kissed you again, his teeth gently trying to pry your lips apart. When you resisted he bit down, and took advantage of your small cry of pain to slide his tongue into your mouth. He groaned, his eye looking up and his movements slowing as he explored your mouth.

“Nngh….” He sighed, flushing blue and closing his eyes. His tongue found yours and he moaned again. “Mmh…~”

You remembered the large, jagged hole in his skull, and you reached up with one hand and hooked your fingers into it, tugging hard to the side. You weren’t sure if it would hurt but apparently it did, because he released your lips with a hiss of pain. You squirmed to get out of his grip but it wasn’t any looser.

“Why did you do that?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Because I want you to stop!” you yelled.

“But I love you. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t fucking care! I don’t love you back!”

He didn’t take much notice. “Little doe... we’re all alone. It’s so quiet. It’s just us. Paps is busy and won’t be back for a while.” He leaned in. “This is the romantic moment that I’ve been waiting for. To confess to you. To tell you how I feel.”

He breathed against your lips.

“While Paps is gone, we can do anything. Anything you want. Let me prove how much I love you…. Let me make you moan for me. You don’t even have to love me back, I don’t care, just enjoy what I do to you. Just enjoy the feeling of me deep insi--”

You screamed.

This seemed to finally snap him out of it, because his look grew panicked and he clamped his hand over your mouth. “What the hell are you doing?! Don’t scream! If anyone finds you they’ll kill you!”

You pried his hand away from your mouth. “Stop touching me or I’ll keep screaming until someone finds me and kills me!”

He immediately put you back down, moving away from you. You made a point of wiping your lips and neck of all the unwanted affection, and you glared at him, moving as far away as you could. At least he seemed to want you alive. That was an advantage— perhaps your only advantage— against him.

“If you touch me ever again I’ll scream,” you told him.

He looked hurt, though that meant nothing to you after what he’d just done. He seemed to remember the pieces of meat that were left and, thankfully, slid the plate over to you.

“I understand,” he said, standing up. “You’re not in the mood right now. You’ve had a bad day. That’s OK. That’s OK. It’s OK. We can do this another time, when you’re feeling better. When you’re not upset. You’ll like it then.”

After one last glance at you, he left, muttering “She’ll like it then” to himself over and over. Once he was finally out of sight you curled up into yourself, resisting the urge to vomit. Creep! Sick creep!

All those times he had stared at you or touched your hair… Had he been planning this all that time?

You would tell Papyrus about this when he came back. You had the bite mark as proof.

At least you had Papyrus. But your inner debate was over.

You would rather be dead than here.

[just-jordie-things]

Hey! Can you do 36 and/or 41 for zuko?

prompt 36: “we can never be together” kiss prompt 41: forbidden kiss fuck y’all know i love angst lets do this ___

Your whole life, you’d been nothing but loyal.  As a servant, that was technically the point, but you’d done far more than anyone before you.

You were assigned to the Fire Prince at a young age, too young in your opinion, but you'd been grateful for it.  Because you were only children, you didn’t know any better, and became fast friends.  Of course, he would still ask things of you, if there was laundry to be done, or if he was craving a snack, he asked you, but you’d never minded.  Because he was kind.  Some days, he even asked you to show him how you would do basic chores.  He didn’t really take an interest in them, but he’d always had an interest in you.

As you got older, that friendship blossomed into something more, and suddenly you were in a tricky situation in that you were infatuated with the prince.  He was one of the few people, besides his mother, who showed you nothing but compassion, and it was just too easy to fall for him.  He must have known, you don’t know how he couldn’t.

Your touches lingered, he’d take your hand in his arm as you walked through the gardens, and you’d carefully take the time to adjust the wrinkles in his clothes or the stray hairs out of place to make sure he was always presentable.  And then there was the cheek kissing, in parting one of you would always kiss the other’s cheek.

In your defense, it was never one sided.

When the fateful day of his banishment came, you were there, for every minute.  From the Agni Kai- where you’d sobbed into Iroh’s arms, the old man trying to keep you quiet as not to draw attention to your improper outburst- to the ship that would take him far away from the place you’d called home.

The day you’d gotten on that ship, he’d demanded that you stay, that it wasn’t safe for you to join him on such a long and likely difficult journey.  But you’d reminded him that it was your duty to serve his every need, and that you would never let him go on his own.

You promised to stay by his side, no matter what.

You’d said those words.

A lot had changed since that day three years ago.

You’d grown, in every sense of the word.  You matured, and developed a mind of your own, one that wasn't shaped and sculpted by the Fire Nation’s perfectionist ideals.

Ba Sing Se is what truly changed you.  Living an ordinary life, meeting the most interesting people, merchants, travelers, performers, artists- you fell a little bit in love with anyone who told you their life story, no matter how mundane it was.

The banished prince tried to understand it, and maybe he did for a period of time, but he’d changed too.  You could never quite tell if it was for the better or worse.

Now, standing before the Avatar’s lifeless body, and the young waterbender who held him in her arms, sobbing, you knew that the prince you’d once loved hadn't changed at all.

Because he’d always been this way.  He was always cruel behind closed doors, you had simply been an exception to the rule.  That sentiment provided you no warmth, and as you defended his sworn enemy now, he knew it.

“Zuzu, tell your pet to get out of the way,” The princess spoke threateningly, not even addressing you as she pointed her hand menacingly towards you, ready to strike you with lightning if it meant taking care of the Avatar.  “Or else she’ll have a matching mark on her face”

It was cruel, so cruel, and you wondered how he could just stand there and let her say something so terrible.

“(y/n), come on, don’t do this,” Zuko said to you, in complete denial about what it meant that you were protecting the Avatar.  “Let’s go home” 

You shook your head, speechless as your eyes flickered between Zuko and Azula.

Eventually they landed on Iroh, who was in earth-made handcuffs from the Dai Li, and he gave you a small smile.

Acceptance.  Encouragement.

He was prompting you to do what you’d planned when you’d first leapt in front of Aang and Katara- two people you didn’t know, you’d never met, but you trusted.

You trusted them more than the boy you’d loved your whole life.

“No” You said, your voice steadier than ever.

Zuko blinked, and reeled for a moment.  You’d never said that to him before, and he couldn’t believe the weight of what was happening.

“(y/n),” He repeated your name, his brows drawing together.  “Just... come home with me” 

He held his hand out to you, but you shuffled back towards the Avatar.

“No,” You repeated.  “I won’t.  I’m staying.  I’m going with them” 

You turned around, your eyes meeting those of the crying waterbender.  She looked surprised, but was too busy trying to heal the Avatar to say or do anything.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Zuko stormed towards you, but you didn’t even flinch.  “If you choose this now, there’s no going back!” 

“I know,” You whisper back to him.  “And I won’t,” 

He shakes his head, and you can see his eyes glossing over as he tried to keep his conflict to himself.  You knew why he was struggling, and so did he, but he would never admit it.  Not now that you’d betrayed him, and not with his sister present.

“I can’t stay with you,” You said, your voice cracking as tears of your own rise up to your eyes.  “Not like this.  Not when I- I don’t recognize you,” 

A tear slips down your cheek as you gesture vaguely at him.

“I don’t even know who you are” You whimper.

Zuko’s taken aback by this, and he wants to reach out to you.  He wants to hold you and dry your tears and tell you that he’s yours, he always has been, and you don’t have to leave him.

But you’re afraid of him now.  He can see it in your eyes, and he can hear it in the way your voice shakes.  

You want nothing to do with him.

“(y/n), I can’t go without you, I- I’ll bring you, whether you come willingly or not” 

It’s an empty threat, you know from the way his tone is quiet, and unsure.  And you know that he would never fight you, even now.

You reach out and wipe a stray tear from under his eye, and give him a bittersweet smile.

And then you surprise the entirety of those in the cave with you, as you lean in, and press a kiss to his lips.  It’s chaste, and had someone blinked, they would have missed it.

But to Zuko, it was final.  It was goodbye, and it was the middle finger of farewells.

You pull away all too soon, your hand lingering on his cheek for a second longer, before you drop it, and back away from him.

“Goodbye, Prince Zuko” 

He keeps Azula from attacking you as you help Katara and Aang to the safety of Appa’s saddle, because he couldn’t bear to see you hurt.

As you leave him, probably forever, he’s not sure what to do next.

He realizes he never even said goodbye.  The last words he’d spoken to you was a threat to take you as his prisoner.

What was the point of having his honor if you wouldn’t be by his side? You said you didn’t recognize him, but he didn’t even know who he was without you.

He’d had you his whole life, and he'd never appreciated it in the ways he should have.

Now, not only were you gone, but you’d be actively working against him.

You’d gone from his loyal servant, his only friend, his one true love, to an enemy, a traitor, a threat to the country.