#two seconds in and Disney has already given me everything I asked them for

[bowling-alleycarpet]

BASH BROTHERS BBACK BASH BROTHERS BACK BASH BROTHERSBACKSKDMKDKDMD

[finspal]

hit me with your kill shot, baby

nightweb

Summary:

“Then how do you know about the venom?” Wade asks.

Peter opens his mouth, licks those pretty lips, and closes it. “I um, you know,” he tilts his head, a red flush blooming in his cheeks. “Masturbated before?” he whispers out the word, and then he’s back to hiding on Wade’s shoulder.

“Pete, my love, if we wanna go somewhere with this, you need to mentally graduate middle school first.”

Notes:

Hey... my first spideypool fic and it’s with peter going feral with spidey traits during sex.

a more detailed version of the sex and peter’s spidey traits is there in the end notes, if you would like to know before reading. i promise it’s nothing extreme. most of this is actually kinda cute. kinda.

disclaimer: spiders don’t mate like this irl. i legit made this shit up.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

It was three months into their relationship when Peter finally revealed it.

Three months, fourteen days, and a few hours give or take (Wade isn’t that good with time) since they started dating, to be exact. And a good two years of being acquainted with each other. And it is going spectacularly great, they watch Disney marathons together, patrol together, kiss and cuddle and say gay shit from time to time. Everything Wade didn’t even dare hope for. Peter is lovely and angelic on the best of days, blushing at compliments and holding Wade’s hand while he read through his fat nerd textbooks, and downright fucking annoying and bratty on the worst days, forgetting to eat and sleep and burying himself in paperwork and hero-ing, being awfully snappy and rude. Wade, of course, can bear with it all. He himself is one heavy burden in a relationship. So putting the two of them together and doubling the problems to carry was a given, which they are both totally chill with.

The actual problem is that Peter shuffles away the moment their making out gets a bit more intimate, he stiffens and chuckles nervously when Wade’s hands go lower the waist, murmuring an excuse to stop and move on to something else. Which Wade accepts, obviously, and will completely respect. Consent is sexy and all that. But he can’t help but wonder why. Petey kisses very enthusiastically, flushing and whining, face all red and lips all swollen and eyes all glossy. There’s force behind his kisses and his fingers leave bruises which fade in seconds on Wade’s shoulders with the tense grip.

So yeah, Peter is, on some levels, intimate with him. And while Wade does want more, he also wouldn’t mind not having sex at all, because their relationship already makes him the happiest he’s been. He’d never break up with the most gorgeous boy in the world over something as stupid as penetrative sex. But yet—

He just wants a reason.

And above all, he’s scared of the reason.

Because if Peter is very politely refusing sex and willing to go without it because he didn’t want to look at Wade while doing it, Wade would be honestly devastated that he’s resigning Peter to a life of forced celibacy.

The other reason, a darker one that makes his previous murder instincts light up at the speed of light, is one he doesn’t dare entertain for too long. Because he has a good track record which is nearing a full year that he does not want to break.

Thus, he plans an intervention.

Peter is on the couch, clad in only boxers and a thin white t-shirt, reading another textbook with a headache inducing title that Wade has given up on reading because he just could not begin to give a fuck about it. Munching on a chocolate, another in hand for Peter, Wade skips towards the couch and jumps over it, landing on the side next to the hero. Peter makes an annoyed noise, but doesn’t look away from his Chemistry texts.

“You’ll never know the psychopath sitting next to you~” Wade hums, chewing loudly, swaying back and forth. This doesn’t award him as much as a twitch, so he continues, “You’ll never know the murderer sitting next to you~” He wiggles his eyebrows at the word murderer, but Peter isn’t even looking at him. He repeats the song twice, and finally gets a reaction. Peter groans, lifting a hand to weakly slap his shoulder.

“Please stop singing that shitty song, please.”

“Alright, my bad, singing tracks from D.C movies in a marvel fanfic, that’s blasphemy.”

Peter’s back to ignoring him. Is chemistry really that interesting? Wade fucking hates science. He shifts closer and puts an arm around the boy, pulling him closer, caging him in. The way he fits so snug in his arms… Peter is not skinny, but his muscles have an acrobatic build, sinewy and long, flexible. So it’s easy to curl him, mold him into something smaller. Something precious. It makes his heart warmer to feel Peter snuggle in, even if he had been acting bratty moments before.

A hand moves to card through Peter’s soft hair. “We need to talk, Petey.”

“Hm?” Peter’s soft brown eyes peek up at him, frowning. “About what?” A nervous edge in his tone makes Wade laugh, so he trails a hand down to grip Peter at the wrists, which always makes his boyfriend pliant and needy. Particularly because his fingers press on the small slits there, a spot where Wade has discovered to his delight, Peter is deliciously sensitive at.

Peter never lets anyone touch his spinnerets, especially considering how it’s an erogenous zone for him. But Wade has special privilege, which he loves to abuse.

“Nnnggh,” Peter whines the moment he feels pressure at his little web-making slits, but then turns to scowl up at him. “Seriously? I was in a pretty difficult chapter.”

“Oh? Your mind still on chem? Now that just won’t do,” he bends down to bite Pete’s ear, nipping at it, then slowly licking the edge. He feels Peter shudder under him, as he slowly bends Peter over the couch, getting the boy to lay down on his back. Distantly, he hears the thud of a book fall to the ground.

“Urgh, Wade,” Peter complains, voice shaky. “You taste like chocolate!” The weak little pushes he’s doing to resist Wade’s assault are useless, not a speck of Spidey super strength in them. Which can only mean one thing. Peter doesn’t want Wade to stop. Not really. Encouraged, he trails a line of wet kisses from Peter’s crimson, cute ears all the way down to his lithe neck, which is exposed all for Wade, Pete having thrown his head back to sink it into the couch. The hero’s chest heaving as he clutches onto Wade’s shoulders, Peter’s eyes are closed, and his mouth parted.

He’s so sensitive, Wade thinks, so responsive. So beautiful.

Keeping a tight hold on Peter’s right wrist, his fingers playing with the slit, generating small cries of stimulation, Wade chances a touch lower, his other hand moving from Peter’s hips towards his groin.

The change is immediate.

Peter pauses, his breath hitching, his eyes snapping open. The sudden defensive pose makes Wade still, but he doesn’t move away. When he gets no response, he bends down to press another kiss on Peter’s pale neck, which already has a few red spots from his previous assault. Peter shivers under him, but squirms around when he feels a hand on his inner thigh.

“W-Wade…” he whispers, “Wade, wait.”

Wade looks up, their eyes meeting. His hand massages Peter’s inner thigh, reaching under the hem of the boxers to meet soft pulpy flesh underneath.

“Wade, stop!”

Wade immediately let’s go, bouncing backwards in his hurry to get away, and almost topples off the couch. He sits on the back of his heels at the side, frowning, heart thudding with new found concern. Peter’s chest is heaving, a pretty flush on his cheeks and neck, his ears red and his eyes hazy.

“Hey, what’s wrong, baby boy?” he asks, voice gentle, reaching forward.

Peter looks conflicted and guilty, the flush from earlier dissipating to leave a troubled look which Wade instantly dislikes. “’M sorry,” he mumbles, “not in the mood.”

“You’re hard,” Wade comments. “Not that it matters!” he adds hastily, getting increasingly worried at Peter’s distress, at the way a flash of fear passes in those brown eyes when Wade had mentioned the state of his dick. The warning bells that rang before are full blown in Wade’s head, the voices edging them on as well. Something alarming, something ugly festering inside of him.

“Hey, hey,” he grabs Peter by the shoulders, forcing the boy to look at him in the eye. “Look, we don’t have to do anything extreme, now calm down alright? You’re safe.”

Peter’s brows furrow. “‘Of course I’m safe,” he says, and he shakes himself away from Wade’s arms, and crosses his own. “I’m not scared, Wade. Never. I’ll never be scared of you.” He rolls his eyes at the thought, reaching out to punch him lightly. “You big oaf!”

Wade relaxes, shifting closer again and allowing Peter to snuggle back into him, running a hand through Peter’s spine. “Tell me what’s wrong, sweet thing,” he says into the brown hair he buries his face into. “You know I can’t keep ignoring it. I totally get not wanting to bang Freddy Kruger, but you seem so enthusiastic and then the next second—”

“Wait,” Peter states, pulling away—again, Wade is going to super glue this brat to his side or so help him God— “you think I don’t want to have sex with you?”

“Baby boy, I added two and two together. Got five, obviously. You’ve been refusing to go further, and I totes respect it.” Wade scratches the back of Peter’s ear like a cat, making the boy struggle with paying attention to what he’s saying. “I pieced it together. Super glued. Connected the dots. et cetera.”

“Wade!” Peter exclaims. “Oh my God, you’ve got it all wrong!” He sits up, and with lightning reflexes, plops himself down on Wade’s lap, thighs spread between Wade’s waist. He grabs the man’s face with both hands, and plants a big fat kiss on his lips. “I do want to… you know, have sex.” He whispers the last word.

Planting his hands on either side of Pete’s trim waist, Wade edges him on. “But…?”

Face scrunching up, Peter once again looks distressed, his nose doing the little twitching thing it does when his lips turn into a frown. Wade leans forward and kisses his nose. Then his cheeks. Then his lips. “Tell me, baby boy.”

Peter drops his head onto Wade’s shoulder, hiding himself. “You’ll think I’m weird,” he says, voice muffled and miserable. Wade thinks this statement is utterly fucking ridiculous. He voices it out loud.

Peter just squirms around his lap, until he heaves a deep sigh and looks up. “I have this condition.”

Wade freezes, thoughts going haywire, the voices reaching the darkest conclusions. “...an illness, Petey?”

“No. It’s from the, uhhh, bite, I guess,” Peter replies, his tone quiet and dejected. The bite? Wade thinks. And then, Oh. obviously. The spider bite.

“Did the bite do something to your lower region? Do spiders reproduce asexually? Is that a thing? I wonder if this author did actual research on spiders or is just writing whatever the fuck he wants—”

“Wade!” Peter whines into his shoulder. “I’m serious! I don’t want you to think I’m weird.”

“There it is again. Sweetheart, between the two of us, nothing is normal in this relationship.”

Peter mumbles something that’s so muffled Wade doesn’t understand it. “What’s that, Petey? A little louder, love.”

“I said,” Peter says louder, looking up, “I get more spider traits when I’m near orgasm.”

Wade pauses, processing this. “Okay, so. Is that like, suddenly growing eight legs and eyes in bed type trait orrrr…”

“Ew, babe, what the fuck,” Peter laughs, and Wade grins in return, happy to see him relaxed and laughing again.

“Let’s not discriminate there Petey-pie, I’m sure there’s a Peter out there in the multiverse who does exactly that.”

“Well, I’m not him. I just produce venom from my mouth and succumb to spider instincts.”

“You—Sorry, didn’t catch that right. You produce what?”

Peter sighs, his pretty face pushed back into Wade’s collarbone. “I start producing this venom from my fangs, which grow when I’m about to uh, cum. And I get these…” He shudders. “Instincts to do things that spiders do.”

“Spider instincts… fangs… venom…” Wade echoes, and Peter nods miserably into his shoulder. “Aw, babe, why so blue? This is so much better than you saying you find me too ugly to fuck! This is just some cute additional stuff we gotta sort out in bed, no problemo, sweet thing!”

“Wha—Wade, you were never the problem. It’s one of those “it’s not you, it’s me” situations!” Peter punches Wade’s side. “And did you not hear what I just said? I produce venom. I become some freak that could kill you. Those aren’t stuff which we can just sort out, are you out of your mind?”

“Alright take it slow, so you produce venom which I can’t die from, obviously. And what else? Elaborate on the instincts here. What’s next? Radioactive cum?”

Peter stiffens in his hold, making Wade’s eyes grow wide. No fucking way.

“So you have a spider cock that makes poisonous cum? What poor soul made you realize it? Death by radioactive spidey cum and probably dumped in the Hudson… What a way to go...”

“What? Wade, holy shit, I didn’t kill anyone! And I don’t know if my cum is… like that. I hate this conversation.”

“Then how do you know about the venom?” Wade asks.

Peter opens his mouth, licks those pretty lips, and closes it. “I um, you know,” he tilts his head, a red flush blooming in his cheeks. “Masturbated before?” he whispers out the word, and then he’s back to hiding on Wade’s shoulder.

“Pete, my love, if we wanna go somewhere with this, you need to mentally graduate middle school first.”

“Shut up!” Peter groans, looking up. “Everytime I tried masturbating after the bite, I got scared when I started to.. you know, do the thing.”

Wade nods slowly, a realization dawning. “So you’ve never… with someone else..?”

Peter’s face is bright red, and it’s totally fucking adorable. Even his ears are a crimson shade, his fists clutching Wade’s t-shirt. It’s confirmation enough.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus, you’re a virgin!” Wade yells, making Peter flinch.

“Well it’s not like I can have sex when my own orgasm scares me, can I? I don’t want to risk… killing someone for a stupid orgasm!”

“This is cruel. This is inhuman. You’ve doomed yourself to a life of celibacy because you’re too pure to kill someone over a good nut!” Wade moans, and then the sheer ridiculousness of it crashes into him, and he hugs Peter to his chest, laughing into the crook of a pale visible neck. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“Did you not hear anything I just said?”

“Yes and that’s not a problem!”

“How the fuck is that not a problem?”

“Baby boy, I can’t die. You know that. You can bite me all you want—”

“No. Hard no. I’m not risking that. I don’t want to kill you.”

“You won’t. And it’s just a bite, babe, I can handle you when you’re all horny spider on me.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“C’mon, gimme some credit here, sweetheart. You think I can’t handle one horny little spider? Scouts Honor, I’ll keep you under control.”

“And what if I succumb to my instincts?”

Wade shrugs. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I’d bite you, inject the venom into you and paralyse you, then cocoon you in my web and keep you there till my instincts go away. I might even get the instinct to… to eat you and that terrifies me to no end.”

Wade takes a few seconds to think of a cohesive response. The last thing he needs is a panicked Peter, so he shouldn’t act too repulsed and terrified, which he honestly is not. If anything, he feels a little aroused, but he didn’t vocalize that either. Def not the time.

“Okay, you don’t want to do that. I understand. So trust me when I say I’ll keep you under control.”

Peter fidgets on Wade’s lap, a conflicted look on his face. It’s obvious he wants to say yes, but, bless him, he’s paranoid he’s going to hurt Wade. It’s so disgustingly sweet.

“Pete, baby, I promise I’ll take care of you.” Wade says, no hint of humor in his voice.

Peter takes a deep breath. “I trust you,” he admits. “I just don’t trust me.”

“Okay, understandable. And you don’t have to do this. Your choice, alright? If you wanna go forever without sex, then fine! If you want me to fuck you senseless and then let you tie me up and keep me in your little web, also fine!”

He didn’t miss the way Peter’s pupils dilated and the way he licked his lips at the mention of fucking. Except the ball is now on Peter’s side of the court. He’s said what he said, and it’s Pete’s turn to give a response.

A few minutes of silence and cuddling later, Peter finally moves around. “Okay,” he whispers. “Give me a few days?”

“Take all the time in the world, baby boy.”

A few days turned out to be almost three weeks, but Wade didn’t comment on that. In fact, he’s kept his mouth shut and all his advances are non-sexual. Kissing and cuddling and hand-holding is about everything he’s kept himself limited to. Patrol stays smooth, filled with petty crime, and Peter’s college workload keeps him occupied for a good chunk of their time. Wade himself is kept busy with different recon jobs and other non-fatal missions he’s taking.

All in all, they’re back to normal. Wade could almost believe his Peter goes feral during sex conversation was made up and he had hallucinated the whole thing.

Until one day he comes home to Peter unpacking a box in the living room, sitting on the couch.

“Oooh, baby boy, whatcha got over there? I haven’t ordered anything in a while!” He strolls over to the other side, watching Peter take out the last of the wrapping and pull out—

“Holy shit! Pete, what the fuck!”

“What?” Peter asks casually, placing the metal handcuffs and gag on the couch, inspecting them, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Wha—Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Am I in some shitty BDSM fanfic for real? Why the hell would you order this? Go back to being a blushing virgin.”

A slight redness forms in Pete’s cheeks. “This isn’t for—for that.”

“Well? Enlighten me, then?” Wade grins cheekily.

Peter scrunches his nose, grimacing. “Please don’t quote Fifty Shades. Ew.”

“No quoting trash movies, no singing songs from different franchises, what’s next? No quoting the comics?”

Peter ignores him, then picks up the handcuffs by the chain. The cuffs hit each other and make a clicking sound. “These are pure Vibranium handcuffs. I won’t be able to break out of these,” he remarks, and proves it by tugging at the ends, with a good amount of super strength. Nothing happens.

“Sweet. Now where the hell did you get those?”

Peter shrugs. “I’m mutuals with Shuri on Twitter.”

“You told the princess of Wakanda you want to be tied up in bed?”

“No, I told my online bestie.”

“Oh, of course Twitter is the perfect place to tell people you wanna be tied up and gagged.”

“She owes me one anyway, after I stole some high level Stark tech for her just to see if outside tech is compatible with these nanobots she’s making.”

“Yeah, okay, nerd. So you’re fine with stealing fucking Stark tech for your “online bestie” but when I blow up a facility it’s suddenly not fine.”

“Those… are not the same thing.”

“Minor differences,” Wade waves his arms, pointing at the gag. “And what about that?”

“Also for me.”

“Oh em gee! I feel like Christmas came early.”

Peter sighs. “If I… try something, I want—no, I need you to restrain me. Cuff me. And if I try to bite you too hard, gag me.”

“Only when that happens? What if I just want to gag you when you get bratty with me?”

Peter flushes a sweet red, rolling his eyes. “We can try that another time.”

“We’ll have another time?! Baby boy, you’re a gift!”

“Only if the first time goes well,” Peter reminds him. He then hands Wade a silver shiny key, and proceeds to cuff himself. He shakes his hands a little, adjusting to the cuffs. Then he pulls them apart, his wrists cutting into the metal at the end, with a significant amount of strength. Nothing happens. He tugs again, till his fists turn a pretty shade of red. Still, nothing happens. He grins up at Wade, albeit shakily. There’s an edge of anxiety in his form that makes Wade frown.

“Something wrong, Petey?”

“Oh, nothing. Just, um, scary I guess. Knowing I can’t break out of them.”

“Pete, I’m not gonna cuff you with these in bed if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“But you have to if I try to kill you!”

“What part of I won’t die permanently do you not get, Petey pie?”

“And what part of I still don’t want to fucking kill you do you not get?” Peter snaps. Wade doesn’t respond to that, instead focusing on the pale hands still cuffed in front of him. He sits down next to Peter on the couch.

He takes the cuffs carefully into his hands, using the key to unlock them. Taking them off, he brings Peter’s hands up to his face, kissing the soft skin. He turns them around to lick at the spinneret, then pressing a wet kiss on it.

“Okay,” he says, pressing kisses on the slit. “I promise I won’t let you hurt me. Fatally.”

“You never break your promises.”

“Never, baby boy.” He licks another strip along the little slit at Peter’s wrist, making Peter release a cute whine. “You have my word.”

He looks up to Peter looking dazed and flushed. He’s gorgeous. “Tonight, then?” Peter asks weakly, obviously aroused.

Wade smiles, leaning forward to press a final kiss on his forehead. “Someone’s excited. That makes two of us.”

Peter’s already dried and laying in bed by the time Wade comes out of the shower. The cuffs and gag are placed neatly at the bedside table, an arms length away, easy to reach and grab. They had tested the gag on Peter as well, which Peter tried to open on his own and couldn’t, but he didn’t look or sound nervous the way he did with the cuffs. In fact, with the way his eyes looked hazy when he wore it, Wade is quite sure he liked it. Wade still can’t believe Peter got them both made from Vibranium all because he didn’t want to risk hurting Wade. He feels touched. Loved.

“Well, if this isn’t the sweetest sight to ever grace my eyes,” he remarks, not taking his eyes off the laid out form. Peter’s beautiful, as usual. His arms are over his bare stomach, lightly touching his defined abs. His skin smooth, patches of scars in a few places where knives have graced a little too deep. His eyes, doe-like and brown and staring up at him with so much fucking trust, Wade could just die (if he could).

Wade gets to a comfortable position, bracketing Pete’s thighs with his, looming over his boyfriend. He then leans down to kiss at the exposed skin at the collarbone. He tastes sweet, like the bodywash they share. He licks and nips, holding Pete close, gentle and loving. He hears a sharp intake of air above him.

“I trust you,” Peter says.

“And I trust you,” Wade reminds him, moving up to pepper Peter’s face with kisses. “This trust? It goes both ways, baby boy. You trust me to take care of you, I trust you to tell me if you don’t want this. At any time. Coolio?”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes.

Wade goes back to pressing kisses, biting soft skin, letting his scarred hands run all over Peter’s naked skin, leaving deep red marks all over. Peter’s skin is so sensitive, so easy to mark, so easy to bruise. He hears soft panting, and smiles to himself. His Petey makes the loveliest noises, so high and desperate. His hands travel down to grab a thin, strong waist, large enough that his thumbs almost touch at Pete’s belly button. Pete, who’s been tracking his movements with his eyes the whole time, seems to notice this too, which makes him let out a small whimper, and let his head drop to the pillow.

“Relax,” Wade murmurs, drawing circles at Peter’s hip. Peter’s arms are grasping the sheets below him, muscles flexing. He’ll most likely tear some good bedsheets tonight, if he keeps this up.

He goes down till he comes face to face with Peter’s dick, half hard, twitching, pretty and red. There’s a fine amount of hair at the top, but Peter shaves his body so it’s easier to wear spandex, so it’s mostly hairless everywhere else. Pressing a sweet kiss at the top, he drags his tongue down till it reaches the tip.

“W-Wade..”

“Relax, sweet thing,” he repeats.

He brings both down his hands to grip Peter from behind, feeling up his ass, the soft flesh so easy to squeeze. He feels a hand grip his head.

“D-don’t suck, please,” Peter begs, his eyes glossy and nose tinged red. Already? Well, Wade thinks, he’s not been orgasming for a while, so he’s bound to be sensitive. Doubled too with the enhanced mutation.

“As you wish,” he says, pressing more kisses on Peter’s pretty dick, but not taking it into his mouth, no matter how much he wants to. “We can try that another time, right, sweet thing?”

“Yeah..” Peter already sounds so wrecked. With just a few touches and bites and squeezes. He’s yet to show any animalistic trait, or grow fangs like some vampire and start draining Wade’s blood or some shit. Wade snickers as he coats his fingers with lube, keeping the packet next to Pete’s hip at the bed. Since Peter doesn’t want too much stimulation on his dick, he moves to snatch a shaking arm with his free hand. Circling Peter’s rim with lubed fingers, he begins to lick and bite at the slit on Peter’s wrist.

Peter cries out, almost arching his back with the force he uses to press his head into the pillow. Breathy pants and little whines bubble out of him so easily, and Wade slowly inserts a finger. It’s relatively easy to slide it in, and Wade did have suspicions Peter probably tried some of his own fingers in the shower because everything related to sex makes him anxious. Right now, he chooses to continue his spinneret play, drawing out the most delicious little noises from the boy underneath. His one finger becomes two, thrusting in and out easily.

Peter’s pants get breathier and higher, and soon he’s panting for more, little please, Wade’s and more, more! tumbling out of his pretty lips, bitten red. His hips thrusting down to meet Wade’s fingers eagerly, his dick now rock hard. Wade inserts the third finger the same time he lets his tongue lick through the slit on Pete’s wrist, making Peter release a small howl and tear up. He closes his eyes and pants. There’s saliva collecting at the corners of his mouth.

Wade continues to finger his boy open, murmuring little praises. Whispering “you’re doing so good, sweetheart,” and “taking my fingers so well, look at you, so gorgeous, all laid out for me.” Peter would keen and whimper and flush all over at every word, squirming beneath him.

When he hits the spot inside Peter with a quick thrust, his three fingers scissoring Peter’s hole, stretching it, the boy’s eyes snap open.

“Holy shit!” Wade yelps. The pupils in Peter’s eyes have dilated to almost nothing. There’s a strange glint shining within them that makes him look both ethereal and lethal, the eye being rimmed red emphasizing it. Wade doesn't stop fingering Pete, but he lowers himself down a little, and presses another kiss on Pete’s spinneret. The reaction is instant.

Peter opens his mouth and hisses. Then he immediately whimpers and looks away. “Wade..”

“Hush, shh,” Wade coos, traveling down to press kisses all over Peter’s face, his finger rubbing and pressing on the slit of Pete’s wrist, his other fingers stretching him open still. “You’re doing so well, baby boy, so fucking well. Don’t hide from me.”

“Wade…” Peter says once again, his face smashed into the pillow, his face no longer visible. Wade doesn’t like that, releasing the wrist to gently grasp Pete’s chin and make him look up. There’s a wet spot on the pillow where Peter had his face smashed in. For one, fear-filled second, Wade thinks Peter started crying. Then he realizes there’s a liquid dripping from Peter’s mouth. His eyes snap up and take in the heaving, blushing face.

The two canines at the side of Pete’s lovely mouth have elongated, sharpened. With his mouth parted as he panted, trails of a liquid slightly whiter than normal saliva drip from the newfound fangs. The fangs, which are only about an inch long, small and cute, but sharp and deadly, just like Peter. The venom it’s secreting slips through the corners of Peter’s mouth, but he sucks it back in and swallows. There are tears beginning to form in his eyes. Some spill over.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Wade says, kissing away the tears before they have a chance to reach the bottom of Pete’s chin. “Holy shit, Petey, you’re gorgeous, your little fangs are adorable, my love.”

Peter lets out a choked sob, saliva and venom mixing to create a steady stream of liquid to drip from his mouth. Wade takes the edge of the pillowcase and wipes away most of it.

“When are you going to fuck me?” Peter asks, voice breaking, when Wade is done.

“Why, can’t handle my fingers any longer?” Wade teases, emphasizing his point by thrusting rougher, stretching wider. The lewd squelching noises make Peter blush, but the continous fucking is making his eyes glaze over again, taking him under. Soon, Peter’s panting again, baring his sharp little fangs at Wade, even going as far as to hiss at him.

“You’re so fucking cute, even with three fingers up your ass and literally spitting out poison,” Wade sighs, “that sounded more romantic in my head.”

“Fuck me,” Peter demands.

“Oooh, baby boy’s got fangs.” Literally.

“Wade,” Peter grits out, slurping up venom and saliva, “Wade, enough!”

“Nuh-uh!” Wade ignores his own dick throbbing to be in Peter. He has loads of self control when it comes to poor Wade Jr.

“WADE!” Peter screams, and his eyes go full black for a second, before he lets out another hiss, and he once again bares his fangs, his nails digging into Wade’s arms.

At the next thrust to Peter’s prostate, Peter lets out a growl which—finally—sounds animalistic, and before Wade can even comprehend what’s happening, Peter springs into action. He leaps up, grabbing Wade’s shoulders and forcefully wrenching his fingers out of his hole and pushing him down onto the bed.

“Holy fucking shit,” Wade breathes, staring up at the growling, salivating Peter. His pupils fully black, his fangs bared wide open, venom dripping down to Wade’s chest.

The next second, Peter’s lowering himself onto Wade’s length, taking him quickly inch by inch. Wade groans at the tightness, Peter feels so fucking good wrapped around him, he reaches up to grab Peter’s hips, and thrusts upwards the moment Peter is seated. Peter howls at the same time Wade moans.

Peter stumbles forward into Wade’s chest, Wade bracketing him with his arms and thrusting his hips up to meet Peter’s ass, and Jesus Christ, is Peter the sweetest and sexiest thing he’s ever had. He can feel venom and saliva wetting his neck and chest, and Peter’s cries are high pitched and laced with arousal.

“Fuck.. fuck, Wade, oh my God,” he gasps, and he clutches Wade’s shoulders hard enough it could crack with just a little more force.

“Yeah, my little spider? You like that? Am I making you feel good?”

“Yeah, fuck yeah, you are, so good to me, God, breeding me so well…”

Wade almost loses the rhythm of his thrusts at Peter’s words, releasing a choked moan. Did Peter just say breeding? Is this the instinct thing he was talking about? Holy shit. Wade is so turned on he can barely fucking think. He’s got enough kinks to put about half the tags in AO3 to shame.

“Yeah? Want me to breed you, baby? Fuck little babies into you?” Should he have said eggs? Fuck.

“Yes, fuck, Wade, please, please!”

He flips them over, caging Peter once again, and begins a rough pace, both his hands reaching down to thumb at Peter’s spinnerets, pressing on them and massaging them. Peter genuinely starts crying then, and there’s so much fluid on his face, tears, venom and saliva, that he glistens. Peter’s a pretty crier. The wetness makes his cheek gleam and his lips pink and glossy, his eyes red and lovely, his lashes damp and long.

Soon enough, Peter snaps up to bite him. Wade’s sharp reflexes make him dodge easily, but an average person would have probably gotten his throat bitten out. Peter makes a high growling sound at the back of his throat, his eyes blazing with an intense fire. He pushes his head for momentum and snaps up again, and Wade finds himself dodging one more time. Peter going feral means one thing: he’s about to orgasm.

“Alright, Petey pie,” he says, grabbing Pete’s sexy long legs and bending them forward, making the knees touch his shoulders. Forcing Peter down by holding the boy’s hands onto his shoulders, he plays with the spinnerets as he begins to fasten his pace. The stimulation temporarily makes Peter forget his instinct to bite, crying and moaning as he drips venom down his neck.

“My feisty sweet thing, my favorite spider in the whole wide world, you’re so lovely like this, my feral baby boy,” Wade murmurs, and he feels his orgasm closing in, so he takes one hand down to grab Peter’s dick. Peter’s too gone to form words anymore, making high pitched cries and whimpers and low hissing noises and growls.

When they orgasm, it’s only a few seconds apart.

Wade doesn’t have much time to recover before he’s flipped again onto his back. Before he even takes a moment to adjust, his hand moves out into the table to snatch the metal gag. He looks up to see Peter on his lap, growling again, like a fucking possessed chihuahua. There’s cum splattered between their stomachs, venom dripping into it. By now Wade’s sure Peter’s produced enough venom to kill an entire elephant pack.

“Baby, I’m putting the gag on you now, because my Petey doesn’t want to bite me, and I gotta respect that, kay?” He waits for Peter to strike, and when the boy moves down with another cute hiss, his sharp little fangs bared, Wade stuffs the metal gag into his mouth, reaching up to quickly clasp it tight. Peter lets out an alarmed whine, already drooling through the gag, but doesn’f fight it as much as Wade expected him to.

But he still couldn’t bear watching the tears reform in Pete’s eyes and spill over. The poor thing is whimpering, staring up at him with weepy eyes.

“You did so good, baby boy,” he whispers, finally raising a hand to cup a damp cheek. Peter hisses and growls from his throat, but still leans into the touch. “So perfect.”

He brings Peter down to rest the boy on his chest, feeling it get wet with tears and venom and saliva.

“But you were right. No normal person could have survived that.” He shifts to pat Peter’s hair. There, there. “But that makes us super duper compatible. A perfect zodiac match. 100% Tinder matched. The INFP to my ENTP.”

He stiffens when he feels a sticky feeling on his naked chest. He looks down to see Peter creating a web with his spinnerets, slowly creating a nest, a cocoon on their bed. He’s still dripping venom.

“Hm, well. This won’t lead to any fatalities,” Wade says, watching his little spider weave web after web from his wrists, making the white cocoon large enough that soon it’s encompassing Wade’s entire 6”2 frame. Peter silently continues to make it bigger and softer, until it covers them both. He makes little chittering noises from the back of his throat, still whimpering and crying, as he does this, and Wade feels so endeared he could cry. Then he curls up on Wade’s chest, still gagged, still dripping, wet eyes still a deep black.

As they drift away into sleep, with Peter secure in Wade’s arms, Wade can’t help but let the warmth spread through his chest. Peter loves him. It’s evident in all his actions.

When Wade opens his eyes, it’s to the sound of ripping webs and his shoulders being shaken. He yawns out loud, and looks up, and it’s to Peter’s panicked face. Peter. His Peter. Normal, brown and doe-eyed Peter with cute non-lethal teeth and no venom. Though from the stickiness he feels on his chest, there’s plenty of venom, and other fluids everywhere on their skin. And also the gag in Peter’s mouth.

“Mmmphn!!!!” Peter whines, and Wade laughs.

“I quite prefer you this,” he says, moving to towards the drawer to fish the key out. He unlocks the gag and it falls out with an wet splat, followed by quite a big amount of venom and saliva. Their bed is wet almost everywhere, and they only now notice that some of the bedsheets have ripped. He taps Peter’s cheek softly. Peter blushes a dark red.

“Wade,” he mumbles, and wow, his voice wrecked from screaming and growling and getting fucked is a sound Wade is already falling in love with. “Did I hurt you?”

Wade can’t stop the snort of amusement from escaping. “With those tiny little things you call fangs? It would tickle me at most, baby. The only reason I didn’t let you bite me is because you didn’t want to. Also because we don’t know what it could do.”

“Hmm,” Peter hums, massaging his jaw. He’s looking around at the mess in the sheet with a sweet flush. “Maybe I should take a sample and test it.”

“Here comes the fucking scientist. I prefer Feral Horny Petey begging to be bred.”

“I did not!” Peter splutters, his face red to the ears. “That was the spider talking!”

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that.”

Peter makes another choking noise and brings a hand up to hide his face. Wade scoots forward to press a kiss into his damp hair. Then he traces the dried cum on Peter’s stomach.

“See? No radioactive cum. That’s another universe, baby.”

Peter peeks out from between two fingers. “Yeah.” He looks at Wade, his face splitting into a full toothy grin that makes Wade’s mind and heart feel like unicorns and sunshine. “That was amazing. I… um,” he looks up shyly. “I’d love to do it again.”

“And if those aren’t the magic words,” Wade sings. “I’d be honored.” He watches Peter wince as he gets out of bed, his pale body littered with red patches, which would probably heal in a few hours.

“I can’t believe you’ve been denying yourself this for so long. Do you know what that means?”

“What?” Peter asks, making his way to the washroom.

“A lot of catching up to do, baby boy!”

“Keep trying and maybe one day I’ll let you use the cuffs!” Peter calls out, before shutting the bathroom door, leaving Wade to grin like an idiot in the mess they made on their own bed.

The future is bright and kinky.

Notes:

Peter forms fangs which secrete venom when he’s about to cum, and tries to bite Wade and inject him with it. wade restrains him by gagging him with a metal gag. then peter makes a tiny web for them to sleep in. peter also has spinnerets in this.

peter: i could /kill/ u!!!!

wade: ok

peter, during sex: *hiss* *tiny fangs* 😠

wade: this could kill me. with its cuteness.

i didn’t put much thought into why peter has these traits i just wrote this shit in 24 hours 😭

i guess this is the part in the authors note where i say haha guys i’m actually scared of spiders irl but like. they don’t. they’re chill.

anyway, hope you enjoyed this!! i’d appreciate kudos and comments ^___^!!!!

[vemuabhi]

Disney Romance - Brave’s Blue - 200 followers special

@holykillercake swan!!! Sorry for the wait! Thankyou for requesting! You know how much I love Killer, This story took a while for me to get inspiration and actually write it, but here I am with this! Please don’t keep high expectations, I may not reach them.

Pairing : Killer X Princess! Reader

Word Count : 3.6K

Warnings : Nothing but Fluff, a long ass fic written by me!

A/N : Yes Its the Movie Brave! I hope you like it! Its lengthy but please give it a chance! Its the story of our favorite Pasta Boy!

“Princess Y/N, its an honor to meet you. I’m Jason, prince of Goustvania, I’ve heard so much about you and your Kingdom”, Jason said as he looked at you. You both were in your garden which had beautiful plants and flowers.

“Prince Jason, don’t get me wrong but, as this is a formal meeting for suitors, and I would like to keep it that way”, the way you said it, made Jason to gulp. He was not a potential suitor and he knows that. By pulling some strings he made it to the list. There are many princes who wanted to marry you.

You were not only beautiful but were also the princess of the wealthiest Kingdoms. Not even a single death due to starvation was recorded in your country. As marriages are a part of a treaty, if a person could marry you, you’d definitely share your riches to help.

“So, I’ve heard that, your country is really big and has the absolute weaponry with a very powerful army”, she looked at the prince who was scared to even speak to her. But he didn’t want to waste the opportunity.

Putting on his brave smile, he said, “My country is beautiful and definitely has the most powerful machinery”, proudly he ended, only for you to nod in return by taking the silver cup in front of you. It contained the finest tea, which was brewed from the leaves of Assam.

“Prince Jason, but my resources say that your country is in the verge of war with another 5 countries. And in your last war, even though you’ve won, you’ve lost many soldiers. Is it true that you’ve been requiting many soldiers to compensate the loss”, you took another sip of the tea as he gulped.

“I also heard that you’ve already been engaged to princess Lucy from the snow kingdom. I didn’t hear anything about breaking your marriage”, Jason had chills sent up and down his spine because of the questions you were asking. Not even his friends knew about the information of him getting engaged to princess Lucy.

“I suppose that even she doesn’t know that you are here. The partner that I’m choosing needs to be loyal. I’m sorry but you are no longer a suitor. I’ll make arrangements for you to leave this place within a day”, you bluntly said getting up.

“Oh no, Please listen to me. I’ll break the engagement as soon as possible. Just give me anoth-”

“Please don’t make me repeat myself. Ive already made up my mind”, you replied sternly and walked out of the garden without giving him another glance.

You felt your mood was ruined after meeting him. ‘How can people be so disloyal towards their partner?’, you thought as you entered your chambers. It had blue curtains, blue carpets, a big blue bed. Simply said, it was a pastel blue aesthetic with also a touch of white to it. You had twenty minutes time before you had your next job to check the travel and trade matters of the country. You removed your closet before you plopped on the bed and closed your eyes.

Blue always calmed you down. That’s the reason why you wanted your room to be with blue stuff. Blue reminded you of the sky. The peacefulness was what you required in your hectic life as a princess, who is taking care of the country. As the King was feeling sick, you took the job on yourself and took care of the country yourself from the past two years. You knew the kings, princes wanted to marry you because of your country. Everyone was selfish and had the same motive. You were sick of this. You mostly tried not to meet princes and tried to dismiss the proposals. You wanted a person, who could love you and be loyal to you. To love the country as you loved. Would respect your opinions as a queen.

Little did you know, Prince Jason wasn’t happy with your decision. As he went to the house of the witch of your Kingdom. He sat before her and asked her, “I need a potion. A potion which can make a person to change, to go feral, like an animal”, rubbing his hands nervously he looked at the witch.

She asked no questions, just stretched her hand forward. He placed a bag of silver coins in her hand. The old witch went to her cupboard and took out a very small bottle with olive green liquid.

“Mix it in her food and it’ll do its job”, she mumbled and Jason started to return to your castle.

But little did he know, every single potion had a reversing effect. This potion was asked with a person with full intent to destruction, anger, greed. A potion was available to reverse the spell.

“My lady, my lady”, you heard a voice calling you so you opened your eyes and looked at the person before you. It was your butler Heat. You woke up with a groan and asked him, “How long have I been sleeping?”

“It’s been 30 minutes my lady, you are getting late to check the Travel and trades of the country”, he said sternly. You grunted as you sat on the bed.

“My lady, that’s not how a princess should behave and Oh lord!”, he exclaimed looking at the corset on the floor and walked towards the door, “Please dress appropriately”, he closed the door behind him.

“Damn corset”, you cursed as you picked it up. Heat was your head butler and also very skilled fighter. He talked less and worked more, a reason why you chose him as your assistant. He gave wise suggestions and always respected you.

You wore your corset with the help of a maid and went to your office to work again.

Being a prince, Jason easily slipped with the maids into the Kitchen, and saw the tray of food, which was supposed to be given to you, just before Heat could enter the place, Jason added the portion into the tea cup.

Like every day, as you were doing the paper work and Heat placed the tray of food in front of you. You took the cup of tea and savoured the fragrance. Before sipping it, you asked Heat, “Why were you late by 10 minutes?! You know how much I am addicted to tea”, your glossy eyes conveyed how you felt.

“Prince Jason was talking to maids in the Kitchen, so there were a lot of maids slacking off and not doing their respective works”, he replied.

“Is that so, then get him out of the castle as soon as possible”, you ordered and he bowed.

“By the way, don’t even think of skipping the work. Last time I had to do your work because you sneaked out”

“Tsk, how rude!”, you said to yourself as he left. You drank your tea with so much happiness and continued to work. Suddenly, you felt pain in your chest. You placed your hands on your back in an attempt to remove the corset. But even after removing the corset, your pain still didn’t subside. You fell to your knees and panted for air as you closed your eyes. Then suddenly your pain stopped. You opened your eyes and your gaze landed on your hands. Your eyes opened wide.

‘What the hell?!’, You looked at your torso and you noticed that you were not… normal.. You took the fine silver plate with your claws and saw your reflection in it. You couldn’t believe your eyes. You turned into a bear now. ‘But why? How?’, your thoughts were stopped with a knock on the door. Indicating Heat will enter now.

You didn’t know what to do, so you opened the window and jumped down it. If Heat was to see you, he wouldn’t even spare a second glance and Kill you as you looked like a bear and search for you. You slowly climbed down and escaped into the forest by not being seen by any soldier. You ran in the forest quickly trying to process everything. ‘Why? How?’, your questions weren’t stopping in your head.

You stumbled because of a rock in your way and rolled down into the deeper part of the forest. There you tackled some people in your way. You couldn’t stop rolling till you got hit by a tree in front of you. Clenching the side of your head with your claws, you slowly got up. You stood on two of your legs and cursed, “Oh Davy Jones! What have I ever done?”.

“What the hell?!”, you looked to your side and saw that you crushed 4 people and you saw a guy with a mask, standing a few meters away from you.

“Tsk, I hope I didn’t kill them”, you said and again the Mask dude flinched. You both stared at each other for a while before he spoke, “How the hell can you talk?”

Your brain took a few moments to process and then you gasped. “I can talk!!! I didn’t think I could talk! Hey Mask man, can you help me”, you asked and walked towards him only for him to swiftly take his weapons out.

You took a step back and said, “No! Don’t harm me! You don’t know who I am!”, you said as your back hit the tree. You maintained eye contact with the mask and hid behind the tree.

The man was very confused at your actions. He was actually about to fight some people but you crushed them to death. So he owed you one. He asked, “You shouldn’t harm me”.

“I won’t! And you also, please… don’t hurt me”, after hearing your request, he hid his weapons and walked towards you as you also did the same.

“How can you talk?”, he asked again.

“Oh! I am actually not a bear. I am a human, but I don’t know why I became like this. Please help me. I wanna turn back”, you requested.

‘The only reason why I am decided to help is because this bear crushed these jerks. But what it is asking doesn’t make any sense. Its way too much work’, he thought and said, “Too much of trouble. Do it yourself”, with that he started to walk away.

“No! Wait!! Please help me. If I go to any other human, they’ll freak out and I’ll be Killed. I am a human for real. Don’t leave me. If you were turned into a bear, you’d want to be turned back. Please help me, I never begged anyone in my life like this. Please understand”, you said as you walked beside the masked man. ‘Tsk… this stupid bear is kinda right’, he thought and stopped in his tracks.

He huffed, “let’s sit and talk”, he said as he sat on a big root of a tree and you sat opposite to him.

“Tell me clearly. How did you turn into a bear? Did you drink any potion or anger any witch by doing or saying anything rude?”, he asked you and you shook your head no.

“I didn’t even go to any witch and didn’t take any potion”, you replied looking down. “I never thought I’d turn into a bear. I’ve always taken care of the people around me”.

The man before you sighed and said, “Don’t be disappointed just yet. How much time has it been? Since you turned into a Bear”. You looked at him and replied, “Its been 3 hours, if Im correct. I’ve been wandering in the forest from more than an hour, and it took me a while to escape from my house”.

He hummed as he nodded and again asked you, “You said that you didn’t anger any witch but did you anger anyone in particular?”, he asked. You thought for a while and Jason’s image popped into your head.

“I… I rejected a proposal to get married and… the person was really mad at that”, you admitted.

“Did you eat anything, that person gave you?”, he questioned

“But after I rejected, I didn’t even meet that person again. I only got on with my daily tasks”.

“It doesn’t have to be given. Must’ve slipped something in your food”, the masked dude said and got up. He continued, “Let’s go, you must be hungry, Wandering the Jungle all by yourself”

You looked at him with a bit suspicion. ‘What if he kills me and sells my skin or make me a coat for himself’, negative thoughts started to run in your mind and he noticed how you were hesitating.

“Look, I have enough food thanks to the Princess. I don’t have any reason to kill you”, as he said it making your heart skip a beat.

“Okay…”, you mumbled and walked behind him to a small hut, which was inside the forest. Hiding from all the other villages. Apparently, he was a poor armorer, weapons specialist and also a former bandit. So, he didn’t want to be mingled with the villagers. He maintained few connections with some people who wanted customised weapons. Entering into his hut, you were mesmerised by the wide range of weaponry.

“Woah! You seem very talented, why don’t you work for the Princess? I’m sure she would love all your creations”, you said as the man washed vegetables and fruits for dinner.

“No way. It’s the palace. I’m sure there are so many people working for Princess anyway. Also… I’m a former bandit”, he confessed. ‘Why would a princess want a person like me in her castle working for her? I’d scare her’, he thought.

“Tsk… your talent is going waste. You would be really helpful to the army, they have been in need for weaponry and there might be a conflict with another country soon”, you replied as you took the apple and gobbled it in one bite. You were really hungry and were thankful for the food.

“Why are you speaking like you know all the things about the Kingdom?”, those words made you to choke.

“Rumours”, you lied as you drank the water from the jug leaving your claw marks on it.

“I’m sure the Princess will manage those problems in a blink of an eye”, he replied.

“Why are you so sure?”, you enquired only for him to sigh and lean back on the wall.

“Because she made the country enrich and developed the poor villages. Now people atleast can eat twice a day due to her. I became a bandit only because I had no food. But since I get food, I left that. But still some people are angry at me because of my deeds of the past”,”.

“Oh!! We have a fanboy here”, you teased him only him to trying to deny it. Even his neck was turning red because of your teasing.

“Did you see her?”, he replied by shaking his head no.

The next day you he wasn’t in the hut when you woke up. You started to search for him. Then you found him coming back.

“Welcome back! Where did you go?”, you enquired him as you looked at his mask. He noticed that you were walking on your fours this time. But the way you came towards him and greeted him, made his heart warm. He had never experienced such treatment.

“I met a customer to give his order to him. I also asked him about any witches he knew in the area”, he said and your eyes lit up with hope.

“I also met the witch and asked her about this condition, she said its cure able”, he ended and you cheered with happiness and rolled on the grass.

“YAY!!! Will she help? What should be done?”, you rolled again only for him to slip out a chuckle and stop it quickly. He himself was shocked at how you could make his sealed lips to talk more and also to let out a chuckle.

“She asked me to create something for her and in return she’ll give me the potion if she likes what I make for her”, he confessed. Guilt started to form in your heart. About how he had to work for her, to save you.

“I now need to think what she would like”, he said with relief in his voice and walked towards the hut.

After a lot of designs and dissatisfactions, you both started to eat. He cut his vegetables separately to eat them through his mask while you just ate them… well like a bear. Then you got an idea. Even if she was a witch, she was a girl after all.

“What if… you give her a blade, which can be hidden in her skirt?”, you managed to speak. You both noticed that your voice was getting hoarser than it was.

“I need to work quickly. I can’t fail you now. I guess the time is running out”, he sighed and added, “You are walking on your fours too”.

With in an hour the design was ready and the mask man started to create the new weapon for the witch. You went out and played with the butterflies as he made it.

After another hour with the beautiful blade, he stepped out of the place and waved you bye. You managed and said, “Thank… you”.

Now his time was slipping out and he had to be quick. He handed the weapon to the witch and she analysed it for a while and nodded her head as an approval with a satisfied smile. The masked man sighed in relief and took the blue potion which was in a small container. He quickly headed towards the hut in the forest. He had to save you as soon as possible.

By the time he reached home, he noticed that the hut was almost destroyed from the inside with many claw marks and the weapons were thrown everywhere. You were still in the house, emerging from the darkness. It was already evening and the sun was setting. He saw how your eyes seemed nothing like before. They were just like a wild animal. Before he could even think, you punched his face so hard that he flew and hit the wall. His mask broke into pieces because of the force.

Not giving up, he jumped on you and held your face tightly as he wrapped his legs on your waist. Your claws on his body hurt so much. Blood was dripping but he stayed like that. Trying to calm you down and call you.

“LISTEN TO ME! I KNOW YOU ARE STILL IN THERE! I GOT YOU POTION”, he screamed on the top of his lungs, as you tried to throw him away. But at last, you looked into his eyes. He had light blue eyes. Blue, was your colour. Looking into his eyes, you calmed down and stopped struggling. He took out the small container and opened the lid. He slid it into your mouth and patted your head. Soothing you down.

Slowly you could feel the change. The pain was inevitable. But you kept looking at those blue eyes of the man in front of you. That kept you sane and you closed your eyes and fell down on your knees. You opened your eyes, panting for air. You noticed that your hands were back to normal as well as your torso. Suddenly you felt a blanket over your shoulders. You looked up and saw the man with cheeks redder than any tomato you’ve ever seen. Your senses slowly got to you and that was when you noticed that you were… not dressed.

Pulling the covers even closer to you, he stepped away and walked towards the other room. He swiftly came back and handed clothes to you and without looking back he walked towards the main door and closed it.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were… a lady?” he asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were really handsome?”, you replied making him blush even more as you wore his clothes.

He wore a mask and agreed to walk you home. You apologised for messing his apartment. After you reaching your castle, he was absolutely stunned just as the guards at the entrance. He tried to leave but, you didn’t let him go. “Work for me, its an order”, you announced and walked with him still his hand in yours.

Heat was absolutely pissed at your behaviour and was surprised to look at the man beside you. “Who is this?”, Heat asked and you replied, “He is going to be our new armorer, I hired him and I want no objections from you”

“No objections huh? You leave the palace, dump your paper works on me, come back with a masked dude and demand no objections? Tell me what’s his name and where you met him?”, Heat inquired making you gulp. You turned towards him and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Killer”, he chuckled.

“Killer, I met Killer in the forest”, you said proudly to Heat as he shook his head and mumbled, “Unacceptable”. As for Jason, he thought he was scammed and never came across you ever again.

One Year Later

As you handled your paper work Killer stayed in your room to keep an eye on you. His work was exceptional and helped the soldiers to get good results in their weapon wielding. You glanced at Killer and said, “Killer why don’t we get married?”, almost giving the poor man a heart attack.

You knew he was turning into a tomato under his mask. “Killer, we have been dating since a year. Lets get married”, you said as you stood up from your place.

“Yes! Yes Lets get married”, he replied as he fiddled with his hands, head facing down. You placed a hand on his mask and removed it. Pulling him down you captured his lips with yours in a Kiss and smirked at your success. Now you were really marrying a person, who was kind, who was selfless, respected you, was loyal and also loved you to death.

XOXOXOXO

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[sepublic]

TOH deserves better

           Y’know what?

           Now that I’ve… Had time to really focus and think and process about the news for The Owl House and its shortened Season 3, now that I’ve really dealt with other things in my life, I’m…

           I’m angry. I’m genuinely MAD…

           The Owl House has always been a comfort show for me! It’s a show I’ve loved, its characters and worldbuilding and mystery is fascinating to me and it’s inspired me! When Season 1 ended... I was excited. I was prepared. I braced myself for the story that Dana Terrace and the writers intended to tell us. I knew we had at LEAST two more full seasons to go, based on Dana’s comment about a third season.

           Season 2 would’ve been a safe season in a sense. A season where we’re in the middle of the action, where we can get onto things that have been planned and set up; But at the same time, it’s not the final season! It’s not the end. There would’ve been an entire, full season, twenty or something episodes after that. I could’ve sat back and enjoyed Season 2 in all its entirety, as another phase of the story set in the middle, and when it was all said and done, I could speculate and hope and wish and think about this final third season; Assuming we wouldn’t even get a fourth!

           But no… NO, Season 3 is literally just. THREE episodes, each twice the normal length, so like six episodes; But still, it’s obvious with how it’s formatted into a trio that Season 3 will be less a season, and more the final battle and climax of the show, the culmination of everything else! Which means for all intents and purposes… Season 2 IS the final season of the show. That everything we want to see, we hope to see; It can only happen in Season 2, because Season 3 is the final battle in a sense.

           Warning: A LOT of text and upset ramblings below!!!

           And that deeply angers me. I’ve done the calculations and there are fourteen episodes we’re missing out on, due to Season 3 being cut down. Fourteen episodes to do any wide variety of things; To focus on side characters, to flesh out lore and plot. To extend and focus on character arcs, to introduce and establish things; Fourteen episodes to introduce, develop, and finish various arcs and smaller plots! There’s SO much to do in fourteen episodes, especially in regards to relationships, and even representation as we talk about Luz and Amity and everyone else!

           And out of NOWHERE, out of the blue- We don’t get that! Dana Terrace herself admitted on Twitter that she left in December to focus on the news. I’m not entirely sure on how production works, but I imagine she and the crew were working on Season 2A when they got this news… Which means they’re going to have to COMPLETELY rehaul and rehash their plans for Season 2B as a result. They’re going to have to hastily pull together and rush the arcs they had planned out, so it can lead up to Season 3.

           They expected fourteen episodes of development; And now they have to resolve that within the remaining ten or so episodes of Season 2, which is already jam-packed with the original plans. At this point, any criticisms for the show’s writing or pacing that might come later down the line… I can’t take it seriously in good faith. Not when I know how Disney just screwed over Dana and the crew so suddenly, so abruptly, so HUGELY. Season 2 was supposed to be the mid-point, and you KNOW there are a bunch of arcs and little plot points that will never see the light of day, or be rushed, to accommodate the change!

           And it really angers me. Season 3 would’ve been made after a lot of fandom response- So all you fans of the Detention Kids, who would’ve liked to see more of them? Season 3 would’ve been the time for Dana and the crew to throw the fandom a bone… EXCEPT, because it’s only three/six episodes, there’s no way the Detention Kids will get focus now. Not when there’s the actual climax of the show left. There’s no room to have fun, to focus on side characters or expand even more on pre-established ones. Fourteen episodes’ worth of kind, small little moments that stand out- Gone, down the drain, never to see the light of day to begin with!

           I just… Feel so BAD for Dana and the crew; Dana fought so hard for this story! Her roommate said that nobody wanted to see a story about an old witch and her young apprentice, and you know what, Dana FOUGHT for that story and got it for us! She had to deal with censors for Lumity, but she fought for that! Dana and the crew were EXCITED to tell us, they no doubt had so much planned and in store, you can tell from the tone of the Reddit AMA and the Charity Livestream, all of which were done months before Disney told Dana and the crew about Season 3 being downsized.

           And like… Dana herself said that she’s still down to do future Owl House content. If Disney asks her to –with pushback from fans- then yeah, she could do more! We might get an epilogue or sequel series… But that doesn’t change how the pacing of the show will be disrupted. How a lot of arcs will have to be prematurely rushed through and finished, instead of having the loving time taken to develop and appreciate them.

          Characters will be rushed through, we had FOURTEEN episodes taken from us! Characters like Belos or Kikimora, or Odalia and Alador, the antagonists- They’re not guaranteed to survive or make it past the end of Season 3, so even if we got more content post-S3, it wouldn’t really be able to remedy for their drastically-shortened screen time, unless through flashbacks or resurrection or whatever. Characters, arcs, development, all are being shafted here.

           And this ANGERS me! Like I said, The Owl House is my comfort show. I finished Season 1 with the full understanding that we weren’t even halfway through yet; We still had SO much more to do, so much more to see, amidst all of the wonders that Season 1 had provided! But now I feel cheated. I feel cheated, because sike! Actually you WERE halfway through, and that changes everything about the tone, the pacing, the setting of the show. Suddenly I’m already looking forward to and anticipating the end, because the end is DIRECTLY after Season 2; And I can’t enjoy it as much, because now I have that anxiety and dread as Season 2 ends that… THIS is the final, full, regular season.

           It was just supposed to be another season for me to enjoy, to further flesh out the show- And out of nowhere, I have to approach this with a sudden sense of finality, I’m forced to really appreciate it even further, because this is it! This is all we have left, when until then, I thought we had so much more! And it’s angering. It’s abrupt. Season 2 was in many ways supposed to be carefree and hands-off…

           But now, I have to approach it in an existential sense. With the full understanding that the show is essentially ENDING by this point, with each new episode, we’re on a timer now. We’ve lost the luxury of Season 1, that Season 2 would’ve had, if it was the midpoint in the series. And now I can’t enjoy things as much because just as quickly as I got these new arcs and characters and developments, I have to watch them be quickly wrapped up. 

          I barely even got them, I was looking forward to more of it, there should’ve been more, and then bam! It’s already done, just kidding! Like it was handed to me, and then abruptly torn out of my hands barely a few seconds later, after I’d anticipated an entire day alone with it.

           I hate this. I’m angry, I’m sad, I’m disappointed. I had so much wonder and joy that this was only the beginning, but now it’s actually the ending! I had so much to look forward to, so much promised- And this show was doing well! It was SUCCESSFUL, Lumity brought a HUGE influx of popularity, and you know what? The show deserves that! 

          Not just for being good in general, but also- This is SUCH a huge step forward in representation, especially given how this is DISNEY of all channels… With Luz being a bisexual, ADHD, character of color! Amity fully being a lesbian ON-SCREEN, no censors, nothing held back, her crush treated and fully indulged the way a straight person’s would’ve been!

           The Owl House deserves so much for just that alone. So much attention, and it got attention, it was arguably at a peak because now so much fans are tuning in… And Disney, those paradoxical cowards, they decide to end it early!? I’m angry. I’m frustrated, I’m sad, I was told to expect more, to just enjoy myself in the moment, but now I have to readjust my sense and perception of everything in anticipation of a sudden end.

          And I’m sure that’s what Dana and the crew have to do as well, they were so excited, no doubt planting things in Season 2A to be resolved later in Season 3… But nope, now they have to rush it through and finish it in Season 2B, along with everything else they had planned! And they might have to cut out stuff from Season 2B, to make room for the ending of those pre-established arcs!

           It’s frustrating and clumsy and sudden, and it just… ANGERS ME! It makes me genuinely mad and frustrated, like I want to punch a wall… And I hate it! And a part of me hopes and wishes that if the fans really DO give enough of a backlash and demand, maybe Disney will change its mind. 

          If we say enough, ASAP, then maybe Disney will delay Season 2B so that Season 3 can be extended back to its proper length, allowing Dana and the crew to redo Season 2B as they originally intended. I’d be fine with waiting additional time, as much as the crew needs, to redo Season 2B with the understanding that they have that full third season back!

           I’d GLADLY, happily, let the crew take their time to redo Season 2B to its original glory and plans, to better set up a full Season 3! I’d let them take their time, I wouldn’t complain at all, I’d still watch! So Disney, go ahead, change your plans abruptly AGAIN, it’s not like you have no qualms screwing over this show or other content creators with this kind of back-and-forth, look at Matt Braly having to contend with True Colors being delayed and almost censored, only for the whole thing to be useless because the original episode was leaked anyway! He had to rush out the Season 3 intro, I’m betting this RIGHT now!

           But even if it was delayed, even if it was released early… It doesn’t change the actual show itself. It doesn’t change the actual story, just how it was presented- But the story itself, it remains intact. The Owl House doesn’t even get that. Brevity can be the soul of wit, but if you’re suddenly told out of nowhere to chop it down, it’s not gonna be the soul of anything. 

          It’s just… SO UNFAIR, and it makes me genuinely pissed off. Like, I could handle True Colors being delayed by the end of the day, because the show is otherwise the exact same- But TOH being so drastically reduced, abruptly shortened, I think that’s honestly objectively worse… So I braced myself for and adapted to one bad thing, and then got another thing even MORE terrible! Much more terrible, in fact- Amazing.

           I’m just… Tired and frustrated. Like it feels like I had this happy thing in my life and it was taken away from me, I can’t even have that, I can’t have the hope and anticipation for more, that’s it! It’s already done and gone! I knew I’d have to prepare for that eventually, but in a manner that felt fleshed-out and well-rounded, like I’d really had my time to enjoy and appreciate… But just kidding! It’s like a punch in the face, and it makes me honestly depressed and sad, and I kind of don’t know what to do besides… Ask for more, and hope?

          A part of me feels like the investment, the enjoyment, was lowkey all for nothing, meaningless and worthless, now that so much was cut down- And obviously it IS worth it, it always is! But in the moment of despair, I’m asking… Is that it? It was all for nothing, then… All that effort. All of that speculation and enjoyment and anticipation. 

          All you had look forward to, all of that emotion you put in- So much of it is going to be left unresolved because how the show was so enormously cut down. And now it makes me hesitant to invest in other shows, I’m afraid, in case they get cut down like this, in case my attention is punished and deprived for engaging with the material like that to begin with.

           As a viewer and someone who loves and enjoys media, I feel like there’s a trust that’s being breached, I can’t really rely or depend on things I enjoy to last or stay there, so why bother getting invested? Why put in the effort for fandom and content if it’s going to be gone like THAT, if all plans are thrown out the window, and all attention and feedback is meaningless! 

          What’s the point of showing that you love this, of expressing yourself, if you’re going to get even LESS than what you’d cautiously hoped for? Why hope at all? There’s this bitterness left inside of me, that you shouldn’t have bothered enjoying or getting invested, or pouring yourself into this, because in the end you weren’t going to get anything close to that.

           Which, fan content is ALWAYS valid! But it’s usually done to expand on stuff that’s already there… But if there was nothing there because it got pulled last second, then why bother? Why enjoy if it’s so brief? Why invest if the conclusion is so sudden and out of nowhere? Why care at all? And I know that shouldn’t change how I feel… 

          But with Infinity Train and Amphibia, I guess I really can’t count on anything, not even the mutual solidarity of numbers, to change a thing. So why hope for and ask for more and better? Why even enjoy what I have, knowing it’ll be cut off by itself in the future because the planned arcs were forcibly dropped? I can’t enjoy an episode as part of a larger story now, just a shorter one, and now there’s this pressure.

           Pressure, that’s it- A pressure on the show. A pressure on the writers and audience. To suddenly cram in and make the most of this time. Pressure on every Season 2 episode to go above and beyond to make up for the almost complete and utter lack of Season 3; Season 2 will practically have to carry the weight of TWO seasons on its back, two condensed into one! And it just… There’s so much pressure. No time to breathe or enjoy myself or relax, because now it’s all suddenly ending and fleeting in front of my eyes when I hadn’t done that, and now I go back and yell “Come back!” 

          I wish I’d enjoyed it more knowing it was already ending, but it’s too late. I wish I could’ve done something, but what could I have done? And I really did try to appreciate and cherish this to my ability, but I did so expecting more, as I should’ve- And now it feels I didn’t do enough. I feel cheated. Like the rug was pulled under me, that my effort was rendered naught and never enough no matter how hard I tried, the game is rigged.

           I’m frantic. I’m paranoid. I’m already having to say goodbye and brace myself for the end, when I expected at least another full year to unapologetically not have to worry about that, to just be in my zone and be myself and ENJOY… To not have to worry existentially like that. I can’t have that peace, I can’t have that longing, lasting fun. 

          I knew it’d come to an end, but now I can’t have the time to properly enjoy and relax and appreciate it, to truly live it out meaningfully and deliberately… I’m going to have to laser-focus now and put aside other things, because this thing is NOW and won’t last, unlike the rest; And in a way, that kind of rush and pressure, it just ends up paradoxically making the whole thing LESS fun, even!

          So in my attempts to appreciate and enjoy it more, I enjoy it less. It’s like a punch in the face in direct retaliation for getting invested and attached, for actually being connected to the story. I’m being punished for enjoying, for letting myself feel, so why ever bother with that, ever again? Why should I get attached? I’m just punished for that, so I won’t bother. I won’t put myself out there so even if it DOES see itself through, I won’t have been there for it from justified paranoia, and then I’ll miss out when it IS there. Like I can’t win, no matter what- So why participate?

          It doesn’t matter, it’s all useless. “It makes me happy”, well, maybe that’s no longer even a reason to do and make and enjoy things anymore, huh! And now I’m just… Bitterly putting it aside. Feeling like I should’ve known better, that at least I’m being more ‘mature’. I feel like Luz in the first episode, throwing her book away, her prized hyperfixation that invigorated and brought so much meaning to her… I feel like Luz, just almost apathetically, in resignation, throwing it into the trash while someone smiles and tells me it’s okay and good and I SHOULD have done that, actually!

           It’s making me tired and exhausted. I didn’t want to have to suddenly feel and deliberate over all of this, all at once, right now- But I feel I’d regret it even more if I DIDN’T do that, and then it ended, and the time and moment, the opportunity, it passed! It’s a frantic dread and paranoia that means I can’t appreciate and enjoy properly, because every little thing I so desperately claw at and prize and treasure, but also I keep telling myself not to get my hopes up, and…

          It lowkey makes me want to curl up and cry? And sob, because now that insecurity, that voice in the back of my head, it was RIGHT, I really should’ve listened to it to begin with, and not ever bothered! Don’t risk the trust in connecting with someone else’s story that’s still in process, only ever engage with stuff fully finished. 

          I can never enjoy that anticipation and hope now, of being along the ride for the journey, of just getting to look out the window and wonder; Not knowing the ending, but looking forward to it! And I can’t do that anymore, not when I’m afraid of the trip suddenly grinding to a screeching halt out of nowhere!

           But yeah, I’m just… I…

           …I’m sad. I’m angry, and now I’m sad. Depressed, outright, directly because of this, when otherwise I wouldn’t have been- And that’s painful and frustrating and makes me feel like I’m being tossed around a whirlwind, with no hope. No say or agency, just a constant bad hand I have to brace myself for. So all I can do is curl up and lie down and hope for the worst to be over, and never dare to be so ungrateful or greedy to ask or hope for more, for good things, just for the bad things to lessen or stop.

          In the end, it didn’t even matter, so I should just throw it all away, never try again; And everything I did beforehand, up until then, I’ll look back at it all, those fond and innocent memories, and I’ll look back with an eternal bitterness that will forever corrupt and scar those recollections. So even the past, which allegedly can never change, is ruined for me! The past never gets better, it only gets worse, so WHY… Why believe and hope, and love and live???

          I’m just a stupid fool for being so invested in this cartoon, in fiction, why don’t I just GROW UP and focus on REAL things that matter, huh?!? I really do feel like Luz genuinely thinking and resigning herself to the Reality Check camp, having that childlike passion and joy just whittled down and strangled, feeling it die out; Knowing it will, so just getting it over with and killing it now, before I have to mourn later.

          I shouldn’t ever put forth the trust in engaging with others’ stories, just my own because I at least have control there, I should just be alone and by myself with only my stories, and never get to connect with or experience companionship with others’ stories, ever again. Just build up my walls and hide and be alone and isolated as I’ve always been- It seems even with fiction or media, I’m STILL by myself! There’s an intimacy in reading and emotionally engaging with others’ stories, where other writers put a piece of themselves into that… Hoping others will read and respond and reciprocate, and feel the same!

           Well, maybe I shouldn’t put myself out there, either, in fears of being punished and cut off and whittled down like that! Why express myself, why be, why live? Why be invested into the soul of others, manifested in their own content, if it’ll never come to fruition, if my own soul will only hurt for connecting?! This is worse than a fave or a comfort character dying, because at least the integrity of the story itself remains and is worth it.

          There’s always the chance of a return or a revival or a flashback to appreciate, but THIS… This is real life. And it’s THE ending in the most abrupt and literal and tangible sense, of the media itself; An ending more powerful and harsh than any resolution to an arc. Because now NOTHING will ever be expected to come out from this, ever again- No new content, nothing else to enjoy. Media is like a fantasy, an escapism from real life, but even when I fully expected and accepted and saw the boundary and end between fantasy and reality… I still get punished with reality regardless! I can’t escape that real life because it WILL go out of its way to directly cut in and interfere, and ruin, what I love.

           So why escape? Why invested? Why love? Why should I ever feel comfort??? It’s all stupid. I’m stupid. Life is finite and it’s merely what’s directly in front of you, don’t dare to dream or imagine, or think or hope, just focus on what’s in front and get by and try to live… Or at least ‘survive’. Or ‘not die’, I guess.

          And now I resent real life even more for ruining this for me, when beforehand I could still like and appreciate it, even if I still needed some time away every now and then. So paradoxically, trying to get me to focus on real life, has made me detest it moreso! It’s that whole thing of don’t bother trying because you’ll just get punished for it, just passively wait and receive, don’t LIVE. Don’t stake initiative or agency.

          At least if a character dies, the universe and immersion is still intact, if not moreso because then you feel and become even MORE connected and get that emotional catharsis, everything up until then and after takes on a whole new meaning and appreciation; But if it ends in real life, the immersion is gone. The fantasy is permanently shattered, and now it’s all worthless in hindsight because you’re reminded that it was never real to begin with.

          And what little you DID get, is now ruined; And you’re not going to get anything else new, either! You can’t even KEEP things anymore… You’re just a bitter fool who’s going to get old and wither, look back, and become even MORE bitter and miserable. All of the emotion you felt, it’s been rendered worthless and meaningless, that connection once made… And I hate to see things ruined like that, so maybe don’t have things to begin with!

          I’m bitterly, enviously jealous of others who still manage to enjoy, because why are you still invested?! Why still keep trying, don’t you realize how pointless it is!? And now I’m just ruining that for them, I’m ruining THEM, in my own mind and heart and place in life. How can you still keep going!? So even that stuff they make, that fandom content that exists on its own more or less in a sense, even THAT is marred and ruined for me… And I feel like I’m internally ruining that for others, that makes me feel guilty as I loathe myself for being so awful, so why believe that I can be better? Why try to be better then?!

           I’m envious, because you guys still manage to cope and handle this in a realistic way, in a safe and mature manner. And anything others make, it’s just a cruel, cold reminder, a mockery even, of what I’ve lost, of my dashed and ruined hopes. And then I can’t bear to look at or even enjoy THAT, especially stuff made post-announcement, because you guys managed to keep making it anyway. And me, I didn’t, so what does that say about miserable old me? But then don’t make this about MYSELF…

          Seriously though, if you’re going to still enjoy and create, please do so! Don’t let this bitter fool stop you. Don’t let me hurt you. Just keep going out there and be yourself, me, I’ll… I’ll figure something out I guess? But yeah, that’s MY problem, not yours, those of you who keep creating anyway, you’re everything I admire and more! You’re all heroes in a sense, and I encourage and fully support you- If my ramblings make you hesitate or discourage you, then just throw them aside and disregard that! I’d never want to intrude or interrupt someone’s own expression, not when I mourn my own, that’s for sure!

           And y’know what? Other people who keep creating… You remind me that there IS hope. That there maybe is a point in going on and being invested, especially indie creators, because y’all have control and agency and take over what you make, and don’t have to depend or rely on, or fear, some gross corporation butting in and pulling the strings, threatening to revoke and take it all away! Thank you, I’m grateful, truly I am, I’m eternally indebted in a way I can never fully repay. Maybe I can try to make up for this by continuing to make my own things… So now this depressed, cynical rant, suddenly it takes a more hopeful turn as I write it, because of others!

           And now I’m thinking to myself… It IS worth it to connect. For those little moments of inspiration and joy and hope that others can instill. Thanks, you guys. Out of nowhere, you suddenly made it better for me, and kind of helped me overcome this depressive slump; And here I was, just thinking and resigning myself to the end! I guess it never really IS the end… And what I said about feeling like Luz, throwing away her beloved book and joy of her life? Well, she DID go back to grab that book, and in doing so, found love, found family, and happiness she couldn’t have anticipated beyond her wildest dreams!

           …Even so, wishful thinking aside, this has all been a whirlwind to me;

           I’m tired.

[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.

[let-them-read-fics]

I’ve Got You

Requested by Anon: “Could I request a jennie scenario where her girlfriend is scared of water / swimming and jen calms her down like reader did in your ‘safe with me’ work?”

Pairing: Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3,626

Warnings / Misc. -- Some Angst, PTSD / Flashbacks, Anxiety, Crying, Fluff, Happy Ending

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: To the anon who requested this: thank you so much! I wrote it all in one go (at like 3am, mind you), and I had a blast with it. I took it a little more on the angsty side, but I really hope you guys enjoy it. Happy reading, let me know what you think!

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Waking up in Jennie’s arms has always been a lovely thing, but something about this time seemed even more perfect than usual. Early morning sunlight glittered into the room, creating an almost dream-like haze, and some of the rays landed on her skin. She looked like an angel -- features slightly puffy with sleep, a small pout on her lips. Her head was against your shoulder, and her arms snaked around your waist, anchoring you close to her body. You always loved cuddling in close with her, the two of you keeping each other warm throughout the night.

Stealing a glance at the clock, you realize that the two of you almost overslept; the girls want to meet downstairs at the hotel’s restaurant in an hour. With that notion in mind, you know what you have to do; reluctantly, you gently shake Jennie to wake her up.

“Jennie, baby, we’ve gotta hurry or else we’ll be late.” 

She lets out a groan, her voice a bit gravelly, and ignores your words, opting to pull you in closer instead. 

“5 more minutes.” The words come out as a mumble, barely intelligible, but you grin. Jennie’s always been the type to sleep in when she can, and you can’t blame her; with as hard as she works, it’s completely understandable.

“Alright, but that’s it! We seriously have to get up after that.”

With a gentle nod, she snuggles into your side again, bringing a hand up to rest against your neck.

As your eyes rake over her delicate features, you start to recall the plan that all of you had decided on for the day. With the girls taking a break from practices and rehearsals to shoot a new show for their Youtube channel, you have plenty to do -- today’s agenda called for ziplining and mini golf, to be precise. Given how close you are with all of the girls, it’s no wonder that they were able to sweet talk their managers into letting you tag along for the ride. Of course, you’ll have to wait until they get all of the filming done to join in on their escapades, but regardless, you’re beyond excited to see them having fun.

With the 5 minutes officially over, you hatch a plan on the best way to wake Jennie up again. You start by gently rolling her onto her back, and proceed to pepper feather-light kisses all across her face. Soon, you feel her stir underneath you, her eyes fluttering open in the cutest way possible. Perhaps in an alternate universe, she worked as a Disney princess instead of an idol; she’s definitely qualified to be one.

“Hey cutie,” she says, voice laced with remnants of sleep, and pulls you in for a quick kiss. One of your arms is around her waist, with the other one propping you up so that you can look down into her eyes. 

“C’mon beautiful, let’s go.” 

Once she’s had a chance to rub her eyes and get adjusted to the light, you scoop her up in your arms and carry her to the bathroom. 

“Oh no, looks like we’ll have to shower together if we wanna make it on time…” Her eyes exude mischief as the words fall from her lips, and you play along. 

“What a shame.” 

She kisses you again, smiling widely against your lips, and the two of you start getting ready.

~~~~~~~  

“There you guys are! It sure took you long enough.” 

Both Jennie and yourself have to bite back your smiles. After a quick apology, the girls are already busy talking about what the day has in store.

“I know we’ll probably be tired after filming, but maybe once we get back here we can go down to the pool to unwind? I saw the spa, too; it looked really nice.” At Rosé’s innocent suggestion, you soon find your heart beginning to palpitate. Anything but that, you think to yourself, your mind already beginning to betray you with intrusive thoughts. 

You can’t blame her for proposing the idea -- after all, it’s a beautiful day outside, and the weather is perfect for swimming. But the problem lies deeper: you’ve never told any of them -- including Jennie -- about your fear of the water (swimming, to be exact). Even thinking of it makes you sick to your stomach, and you suddenly feel a bit overwhelmed. 

“I’m gonna run to the restroom, okay? Be right back.” 

As you stand, Jennie asks if you want her to tag along -- had she noticed your uneasiness? With a quick squeeze to her hand, you assure her that you’ll be fine, and you begin your walk. 

Once in the safety of the bathroom, you take a deep breath to steady yourself as your hands grip the marble surface of the countertop. Memories of that fateful summer day come flooding in, and you’re unable to push them away any longer.

It was a gorgeous day, the sun high up in the sky, shedding its heat down on everything below. Your family had decided to spend the day outside, grilling and swimming, the usual summer traditions that you held every year.

Delicious smells carried over from the food being cooked by your father, and you shouted praise to him from across the yard.

“Smells good, pops!” 

He yelled a thank you back, and your brother got your attention from his place beside you. 

“Wanna race in the pool?”

“You’re on, loser, but don’t cry when I beat you!” You throw him a smug look, and laugh when he shoves you.

“Yeah yeah, you’re going down!” He exclaims as he darts past you, getting a head start to the pool.

“Not fair!” You run after him and jump in, ready to wrestle him and make things even.

The water is cool against your skin, working in perfect contrast with the beams of sun shining down. You’re faced with a rude awakening, however, as you come back up to the surface: your brother is waiting on you, and he pounces. 

In the beginning, the wrestling match is quite fun; the two of you can’t contain your laughter as you push each other around, splashing water at one another. In no time, though, things take a tragic turn; with one particularly hard shove, you’re sent under, falling down the slope of the pool and towards the deep end. The slippery surface of the liner underneath your feet offers no grip, and soon you find yourself struggling for even a breath of air. 

Panic begins to spread throughout your body as you feel yourself losing control; oblivious to the gravity of the situation, your brother is still giggling -- he has no idea what’s actually happening. With each urgent thrash, you’re sent a little further away, out of reach of your brother. 

Shortly after he realizes you aren’t messing around, he attempts to help you. Seeing as how he’s only a couple years older and just a few inches taller than you, he’d also be struggling in the deep end. He soon discovers this fact as he reaches for you, only to almost go under himself. He knows he has to think fast and reassess his plan of action, so he jumps out of the pool and runs further down, closer to where you are. 

“Mom! Dad! Help,” he yells out, searching for something to throw to you. He spots a floatie nearby, and tosses it into the water near you. Unsure of if you can even really make out what he’s saying, he still tells you to grab it.

In a flash, your mother and father are next to him, terrified of the sight before them. Without hesitation, your father jumps in, successfully managing to grab your now limp body and pull you out of the water.

Your breathing is shallow, and your family begins to fear the worst. They shake your limbs in an attempt to wake you, but it doesn’t help. Your mother begins compressions, suddenly very thankful that she took those classes in the past, and your brother and father rush inside to call for help.

Despite it taking a few minutes, her actions are successful, and you come to. With a sputtering heave, you lean to side and cough up all of the water that had made its way into your lungs. Your mother pats your back and huddles next to you, tears streaming down her face. When the others return, they hurry to wrap you in their arms and embrace you. A few minutes pass as you all sit together, everyone happy that you’re alright. 

Being the person that you are, you decide to use humor to deflect and cope with the insanity that just went down. “Welp… that was something. Let’s pretend I won that match, okay?” You suggest, looking at your brother with a trace of a smile playing on your lips. He shakes his head at you, confused at how you’re already joking about it, but he laughs nonetheless. “No way!”

As the memories begin to leave your mind, you attempt to get a grip on yourself; surely you had been away for a bit, and Jennie would likely be coming by to check on you any second now. Grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser, you wet the edge of it, and wipe the sweat that’s formed on your forehead and neck. 

After drying yourself off and calming down, you exit the restroom and make your way back to the table. Jennie sends you a relieved look, as if to say, Thank God, I was worried. You manage to send her a fairly convincing smile, and she seems to accept it. Once seated again, she takes your hand into her own, rubbing her thumb in random patterns over your skin. You relax at the contact, and soon join back in with the conversation. 

~~~~~~~

“Today was so much fun! Remember when they dropped Jisoo in super fast? That was hilarious!” Lisa and Rosé cackle at the thought, whooping loudly with laughter. Jisoo proceeds to smack them on the arm in response, saying, “Oh yeah? Well at least I could actually get a hole-in-one when we golfed; Lisa missed the ball completely!” The maknae glares at the other girl for flaming her like that, but soon they’re all trading playful insults and goofing around.

You hung back a few paces, allowing them to have their fun while your mind drifted back to what would surely happen later that evening. As much as you hated keeping something as big as that from them, you were a bit embarrassed. Out of everything there is to fear in the world, yours is water? On top of that, you didn’t want to let them down or spoil their fun; they’d been looking forward to this little trip for awhile, and you didn’t want to keep them from swimming and having a good time. Completely lost in all of the negative thoughts vying for your attention, you failed to notice Jennie approach you. She had picked up on the scowl that fell across your features, your brows furrowed and lips drawn tight in a line. It was clear that something was troubling you, so she went to investigate. 

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Her words come out softly, a gentle request for you to share what’s troubling you. When you stay silent for a bit longer than she likes, she stops walking, and you subconsciously do the same. 

Releasing a sigh, your eyes cast away from hers, you respond, “It’s nothing, baby. I promise.”

For a moment, it seems like she’ll give in and accept your answer -- which, of course, is the one thing you desperately want. Knowing you better than that, though, she can see right through you; still, she decides to spare you this time. “I don’t believe that, jagi, but I’ll wait for you to tell me about it whenever you’re comfortable.”

“Thank you, Jennie. I will.” You wrap an arm around her, and she settles against your side as the two of you make your way through the hotel lobby. 

~~~~~~~

This was a mistake in every sense of the word. Why didn’t you just stay in the room and let Jennie come down with the girls? They all wanted you there, but surely you could’ve at least tried to talk your way out of it. 

The 5 of you scour the area surrounding the large pool, searching for a table and some chairs to recline in. Eventually, you see one in the distance, and lead the way there. With each new step towards your destination, the fear within you grows a little larger, and you wonder how hard it’ll be to keep pretending like you’re fine.

Once everyone has set their things down, they take their shoes off and begin to pull their hair up. You opt to sit down on one of the chairs and lay back, attempting to calm your nerves. 

“You’re not coming in, Y/N?” Jisoo asks, her head tilted to the side.

You retrieve a book from the bag you brought down and hold it up, saying, “I’ll just hang here and get caught up with some reading. You guys go ahead.” 

Jennie looks to you, but you simply open the book and pretend to be invested in the pages. Telling her about your fear is definitely not an option, especially at the current moment; if you do, you run the risk of throwing yourself into a panic attack. It’s all you can do to seem calm and collected right now, and you can’t afford to blow your cover like that.

She trails after the girls, albeit a bit dejectedly, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. Now able to take a moment for yourself, you look around: the evening is just as spectacular as the day had been before it, the deep colors of the imminent sunset lighting up the sky with their gorgeous patterns. Sunsets have always been one of your favorite things, so you take some time to enjoy the sight. 

Jennie steals glances at you from her spot in the pool, making sure to keep an eye on you. It isn’t hard to see that something’s bugging you, but she knows not to push you to open up; she’s always willing to wait for you. A smile tugs on her lips when she sees your face brighten as you look at the sky, and she wishes whatever’s plaguing your mind would just go away. You deserve to be happy like this, a smile on your sweet face, right where it belongs. She wishes she could take away all of your struggles. 

After a while, you’re now -- ironically -- invested in your book. The sound of Rosé calling for you draws your attention to the pool again, and you meet her eyes. “Y/N, my hair tie snapped. Do you mind bringing me one from my bag?” 

Your breath hitches; you weren’t prepared for that one. With a gulp, you nod to her and attempt to send her a smile. It’s not like you could just say no. Your fingers shake slightly as you rummage through her bag in search of one of the bands, and you work to center yourself again. You can do this. 

As you near the edge of the pool, your legs feel heavy, every step seemingly harder than the last. A strange sensation of numbness takes over your fingers -- something that almost always happens when you get this nervous -- and you subtly shake them to gain feeling again. “Here you go.” You manage to make the words sound cheery despite the inner battle you’re fighting. 

“Thank you, love.” At her reply, you return from the crouched position you had been in when reaching it to her, and you think you’re home-free. About three steps later, as you’re walking back to your seat, everything changes.

“Go long!” Another hotel guest shouts from your left.

Before you can realize what’s happening and get out of the way, a body collides with yours, sending you into the pool. It all happens within an instant, and you don’t even have time to hold your breath for the impact. You hit the water with a splash, liquid already shooting up your nostrils.

Your mind is reeling with memories of that day, sending you into a series of flashbacks as you scramble to get to the surface. Strangely, you feel just like you had that day: the panicky feeling seeping in with no signs of stopping, your lungs burning as they plead for air, the feeling of your limbs thrashing hopelessly at the water. 

Before long, two arms wrap around your waist, pulling you towards the surface and side of the pool. You’d know those arms anywhere: they’re Jennie’s. She pats your back -- just as your mom had all those years ago -- and helps you cough out the water. Thankfully you hadn’t been under long, but it was still terrifying either way. The girls all trade scared looks as they do their best to comfort you and make you feel safe. Jennie can sense that you’re majorly overwhelmed, so she decides to take you somewhere that you can be alone and recover. 

Once out of the pool, she quickly wraps a towel around your trembling body and leads you into the hotel lobby, sitting you down on a secluded couch that’s tucked away from everyone’s view. You eek out a quiet thank you, even in the state you’re in, needing to let her know how much you appreciate her help. She sits down beside you, settling into the comforter, and pulls you up against her chest. Soft, soothing circles are rubbed against your back, her other arm keeping your body snug against hers. 

“It’s all gonna be okay, jagi. I’m here, you’re safe. I’ve got you, I promise.” Her lips are beside your ear -- she knows how distant things can sound to you when you’re having an attack. The hand on your back stops its motions; she brings it up your cheek, rubbing the skin there as you lay your head on her shoulder. Her lips press sweet, gentle kisses against your shoulder, and she thanks the universe when she feels you relax some. “I love you, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.” Those words bring tears to your eyes, and some of them spill onto her arm; as she feels them, she almost starts crying with you. Seeing you upset like this always makes her emotional, but she does her best to stay strong for you.

“I’m sorry, Jennie.” Sobs rack your body, causing parts of the sentence to come out louder than others. 

“For what, baby?” She pulls back enough to look into your eyes, her hand still on your cheek, moving slowly. 

“That I didn’t tell you about what’s bothering me. I’m afraid of swimming; I had a traumatic experience with it in the past.”

“Oh, baby. It’s okay, you don’t have to be sorry. Do you want to tell me about it now?” Her words are so understanding and kind that you curse yourself for not telling her sooner. You simply nod in affirmation, and begin to relay the story. The entire time, her eyes never leave you, and she holds you close. Anytime a particularly hard detail for you to describe comes up, she strokes your hair and tells you to take as much time as you need. There’s no rush, and she makes sure you understand that.

Eventually, once you’re feeling loads better and are fully calmed down, you meet her gaze again. “Thank you for everything. I love you so much; I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you. You knew just what to do.” She smiles that earth-shattering smile of hers again, and if your heart wasn’t so tired from the time it just had, you know it would’ve skipped a beat. “That’s my job, baby.” Her eyes fall to your lips, in her unspoken request to kiss you. You grin, pulling her in closer, and connect your lips. She tastes like cherries and everything else that’s good in this world, and you revel in the fact that you’ll be the one kissing those lips for the rest of your life. The two of you part, both a little breathless as always, and you rest your foreheads together. “Let’s go see the girls.”

~~~~~~~

After many hugs, tears, and one long story later, all of you are in Lisa’s hotel room. The girls understood your fear and didn’t think any less of you at all; they wished, though, that you had told them sooner. They all want the best for you, and to see you happy, no matter what. Everyone is glad to see you doing better, and the mood is substantially brighter than it had been before. 

“Did Lisa tell you that she beat that guy up for bumping into you?” Rosé asks, a smile on her face.

Lisa’s expression shifts into anger at the mere thought of him, and she says, “He deserved it, I’m not gonna let anyone get away with that.” She shrugs her shoulders, and all of you laugh at the fact that she actually roughed him up a bit.

“Can’t argue with that,” Jisoo says patting your back tenderly and sending you a smile.

“And she’ll do it again, BOP BOP!” Lisa says, causing everyone to burst out laughing. Jennie rolls her eyes at the other girl and buries her face in your shoulder, seeking shelter from the cringe. 

“I love you guys.”

“We love you, too, Y/N.” They all say in unison… at least, as close as they can get to it.

Thanks for reading!!!

[realcube]

karasuno boys spending christmas with you 🎄

;tw// christmas (?), santa ig, extreme fluff, shoplifting, underage drinking, violence, ennoshita, kinoshita and narita exclusion 😞

(a/n): ik the gif isn’t hq but look how cute it is (○｀ 3′○). also i’m aware that i wrote a rather western-washed version of Christmas (despite the characters in question not being western) but as someone of an asian ethnicity, imo western traditions surrounding Christmas are a lot more..festive (?) which i hope that isn’t offensive considering that Christmas was popularised by the west. so, in short, sorry the traditions aren’t those that are celebrated in japan (or asia) but i just found it i had a lot more inspiration to write it this way. :) perhaps i’ll make a part 2 with aoba johsai or nekoma celebrating Christmas with japanese traditions

Shōyō Hinata

you spend christmas at his house bc he wants to be with his sister on the day

and any sibling that you live with, he insists that they stay over too 

but if you don’t have any younger siblings then y’all just spend the whole day spoiling natsu

hinata absolutely adores how well you get on with his sister, it just makes him so happy seeing his two favourite people having fun together 

although, it did make him a bitter when he asked natsu if she likes the doll he bought her and she said,

“Yeah, thank you. But look at the Furby (L/N) got me! It’s pink and so fluffy, feel it! And it talks, it’s eyes move and-” Then she continues to rave on about how amazing your gift was.

honestly, y’all spend the whole day pampering natsu; making sure she has the best christmas possible

y’all made gingerbread cookies with her, helped her built a snowman (or rather, a snowwoman because she insisted that it was a lady), snowangels, opening presents, christmas crackers, watching movies - the whole shabang.

probably the only time in the day were she was sad was at 10PM when hinata insisted that she goes to bed

natsu looked at you to back her up in her argument that she should be allowed to stay up late on christmas but you kinda just stood there like 🧍‍♀️/🧍‍♂️

not wanting to get involved in their family drama (unproblematic liege 😍😩)

eventually though, natsu did go to bed and as soon as she was sound asleep, you and hinata spent the night cuddling while watching more christmas movies as you were both too tired to do anything else

you ended up falling asleep in his arms and it was a christmas miracle that his arm didn’t get pins and needles like it usually did while cuddling for a long period of time

Tobio Kageyama 

i’m a firm believer that he doesn’t celebrate christmas

not that he doesn’t like the concept, it’s just doesn’t understand the hype

plus - other than going to nationals - there isn’t much he wants and from what he knows, santa can’t make that happen

but as soon as you come over to his house on christmas day with a tub filled with cookies shaped and decorated like volleyballs, suddenly christmas is his favourite holiday

he invites you inside to eat the cookies with him and you notice that he’s watching a volleyball match on the TV

you giggle at how passionate he is about about the sport and offer to cast a Christmas movie from your phone onto the TV

he says yes since this is probably the 10th time he’s rewatched the same match 

you scroll through the list of christmas movies available on Netflix, “Wanna watch Arthur Christmas?”

“No.”

“How about the Grinch?”

“Eh, no.”

“Ooh! What about the Nativity? I love that movie-”

“No thanks.”

So you ended up watching Frozen and Frozen 2 (on a different streaming site) because Kageyama didn’t like any of the Christmas movies available on Netflix

You figured that Frozen kinda counted as a Christmas movie because..there was snow :) 

anyway, you already knew Kageyama tolerated Disney Movies so Frozen was your best bet

and as it turns out, he was oddly engaged by the movie which gave you an opening to slip into his arms, stifling an evil snicker the whole time

as we all know, when Kageyama is into something he is into it.

so whenever the climax of the movie comes up (or any part with high suspense) you feel him squeeze you slightly and tense up 

AND IT IS THE MOST ADORABLE THING PERIODT 🥺😩

so yeah your christmas with him is not overly Praise The Lord but it very fun and cute since it mostly consists of Disney movies

(also Barbie: A Christmas Carol because it gave you both overwhelming nostalgia since he has a big sister who i now headcanon to be a barbie movie addict ✋)

Kei Tsukishima 

the biggest grinch™

mostly bc every year he drops hints to both his mum and brother that he wants new headphones but every year he still gets a snowglobe from his mum and something dinosaur related from his brother

even though his brother is aware that he is ‘too old for that shit’ now 

but Akiteru just loves seeing his brother’s pissed off face whenever he opens his gift (which is a similar size to a headphones box) to find something like a Jurassic Park Lego set

anyway, backstory over - in short, Tsukishima very much dislikes Christmas

So when you appear at his door with a gift, he slams the door closed

“Tsukishima!” You roar as that was quite rude - even for Tsukishima - since it was snowing and you were clearly freezing, “Let me in! I’m freezing my tits off out here!”

Eventually, he did let you in and gave you a hot chocolate as an apology but as soon as you tried to hand him the give, he refused to take it

“No.”

“Why not?” You whined, clearly upset that he wouldn’t take the gift you went through so much effort to get your hands on.

“Because I didn’t get you anything.”

You rolled your eyes, “You got me this hot chocolate - now, take it. It’s seriously not much.”

Upon eyeing the wrapped box in your hand, he realised it was about 9x9″ - the same size as the tub you usually deliver food in, meaning that the gift was probably some sweet treats

“Alright.” He sighed, accepting he gift as he figured that he could easily pay you back by making Christmas cookies with you or something

He hummed, delicately unwrapping the gift and his heart skipped a beat as he noticed the present inside was in a black box rather than a clear tub which you normally gave homemade treats in

nevertheless, he persevered in unwrapping the box 

when he finally finished, his heart dropped yet he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with joy

“Wireless headphones.” He muttered to himself, doing everything in his power to resist the smile tugging on the corner of his lips but it was challenging, to say the least

“Yeah!” You chirped, “Don’t worry about the price though, I got them on a Black Friday sale.” You lied, aware that it was usually considered rude to talk about the price of a gift you’ve given but knowing if you didn’t say anything, Tsukishima would assume you paid full price (which you did smh) and immediately empty his bank account in order to pay you back

You could almost envision the situation already; “Would you like it in cash or cheque?”

“Neither, Kei!” 

“You seriously got me branded headphones?” Non-imaginary Tsukishima asked, unable to pry his eyes off the long-awaited gift in his hands

“Y-Yeah.” You stuttered at his unusually sinister voice. “I wanted to buy you noise-cancelling headphones and Google said these were the best ones available that weren’t selling for millions of y--”

“I love you.”

You did a double-take, “Huh?”

“I love you.”

You did a..triple-take.. “I-I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I’m not saying it again, dumbass.”

now, tsukishima wasn’t a very affectionate person but considering you paid full price for headphones (yes, he knows. you’re not a very good liar 😐) for him, the least you deserved was forehead kisses 

plus, he was determined to make you as happy as you made him that day

so can get all the kisses you want, all the hugs, all the cuddles, all the smiles, all the cookies-  everything!

but that’s not to say that he’s not going to get you anything in return as subtly through the day he was gathering info on what to get you 

by the end of it, he had a whole list but unfortunately - after looking at his bank account - he realised that the only thing he could afford was an easy-bake oven (┬┬﹏┬┬)

Tadashi Yamaguchi

y’all spent Christmas at your house because Yamaguchi was absolutely entranced by your massive Christmas tree

he also slept over because you both wanted experience the Christmas morning buzz together 

also because your parents were working on Christmas day and Yamaguchi didn’t want you to be alone 🥺

(he didn’t tell you that though as he didn’t want you to think that he felt bad for you or anything)

after you both completed you morning routines, you raced downstairs (quite literally raced; you won.) to open the presents

the milk and cookies you both hand left out for ‘Santa’ was gone because your parents chugged the milk and scarfed the cookies before they left for work

“Open the presents I got you first!” You urged Yamaguchi, pointing to the two presents wrapped in Sanrio wrapping paper

 Yamaguchi did so; sitting on the floor cross-legged to open the larger, box-shaped gift first

“Candy!” He chirped with a smile, gently shifting through the selection of sweets you got him, his grin stretching as he did so and once he was finished, it was beaming ear-to-ear. “You know me so well, thank you so much, (L/N).” 

You giggled, a light blush crossing your features at the praise - then motioning to the second, smaller, thinner gift.

Yamaguchi accidently tore the wrapping paper off to reveal basic, charcoal face masks.

You quickly interjected to explain, “You said that you were embarrassed about how the animal-themed face masks your mum bought you were too childish and that they just made your skin more oily so bought you those; less embarrassing and supposedly good for oily skin.”

Yamaguchi’s heart fluttered upon hearing how much attention you paid during his random rants, “Thank you, babe!” He enthused, hugging the mask to his chest.

After that, you opened the gift he bought you and were over the moon when you realised that it was a box full of adorable stationary 

“I noticed how you kept complaining about your pens running out of ink during class and..yeah..I hope you like it..”

You obviously loved it and expressed that by giving him a big bear hug and many kisses (づ￣ 3￣)づ (*≧︶≦))

By then, it was around Midday so you had time to play in the snow for a bit before Yamaguchi had to go home to spend the rest of Christmas with his family

but of course he came back on Boxing Day to binge watch movies and cuddle with you 🥰

Daichi Sawamura

okay; I am going to say this and you aren’t going to argue with me bc I know that I’m right:

if you have any younger siblings or cousins staying in your house for Christmas (and I mean younger like 5 or less) and the kid isn’t a little shit

daichi (with your assistance) will dress up as Santa and you will dress up as an elf to surprise the child with a visit 

daichi would be like ‘ho ho ho!’ and you’d be like ‘shut up, santa, you fatass.’ 

and the kid would be like ✪ ω ✪

y’all would take pictures and shit before santa dips 🚶‍♂️🛷

after that, you both would head back to his place to celebrate a kid-free christmas 

you don’t open gifts because you both mutually agreed not to get anything for each other this year since you had ‘grown out of presents’ (tsk).

but you did get a RingFit Adventure from one for your relatives for Christmas so you and Daichi spend an hour or two playing that 

it’s surprisingly taxing though so you’re both puffed afterwards

so you decided to make spaghetti for yourself and Daichi and a Christmas miracle occurred..he got off of his ass to help you cook 🤩

usually he’d hide his fear off fucking up under toxic masculinity but today he actually let you teach him how to make food and he was a natural chef tbh

however, his habit of grabbing your ass or holding your lower back wasn’t especially helpful while he had tomato sauce all over his hands

you changed into a different pair of bottoms as the spaghetti cooled down

then, a second Christmas miracle occurred

Daichi gave you both permission to eat in the living room, on the couch, so y’all could watch a movie or something as you ate

every other day of the year, daichi would have to be killed before he let anybody eat in the living room - forget on his new couch 

but today was a special so he let it slide

originally, the plan was to watch a Christmas movie but then you noticed that a new episode of y’alls favourite show was out - House Hunters - so you just watched that instead 

hey, it made you both happy so why not?

especially with daichi’s running commentary which you outwardly expressed annoyance to but internally loved

“Andromeda will never be Suzanne, rest easy.”

“That house is so ugly, next.”

“Why’s their budget so low? May as well just buy a caravan.”

“They are so fucking picky.”

“Her face annoys me.”

IT LIKE HIS ALTER-EGO IT’S AMAZING

anyway, merry christmas to the daichi stans and that is from me, not daichi - he actually forgot it was Christmas at noon

Kōshi Sugawara

SUGA IS DOMESTIC LIKE DAICHI BUT MAKE IT ❄ FESTIVE❄

y’all bake christmas cookies together, exchanges small gifts, bake carrot cake, watch The Polar Express, bake pudding, kiss under the mistletoe, bake-- yeah, there was a lot of baking

get ready to work out twice as much and start dieting if you don’t want to develop an illness due to the amount of sugar you consumed

to be honest, Suga was kinda lost for things to do on the actual day of Christmas bc y’all were so hyped preparing for it so he had no idea how to top that

I mean, you both went on romantic, late night car drives to buy a tree

cute couple trips to the store to purchase decorations 

planning out and putting the decorations around the house (and with both of your keen eyes for design, the house ends up looking gorgeous ofc)

you ornamented the tree in his living room but it was so tall that he couldn’t reach the very tip to put the final decoration on top

so you hopped onto his shoulders and stuck the star on top with a smile

but he wasn’t done with you yet, he rushed around the house with you on his shoulders while you clung onto his hair as if your life depended on it 

he did most of the festivities with you before Christmas but he saved one special one for the day

“(Y/N), let’s bake something.” 

You sighed, shooting him a weary smile, “Suga, we’ve been baking all day.”

“Just one last thing! It’s not even baking actually, more like assembling.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his statement, “Hm? What is it?”

“Let’s make our dream houses with gingerbread!”

Of course you agreed. Not just because he is the cutest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on but also since it sounded rather fun

“What are those?” You pointed to the weird rectangular designs on the roof of his house

“Solar panels.” He hummed, elegantly icing the sides of his house, “I want my future house run on that energy.”

“Anyway, what’ve you got on your house?” Finishing off the final swirl on his door, he turned to look at your gingerbread home and deadpanned 

A sheepish grin formed on your lips as you noticed his blank expression towards your ‘dream home’ which has walls garnished with golden, edible glitter and sugar paper sanrio characters on the roof along with many other extremely unconventional things 

“Hey,” you shrugged, “Let me have my dreams.”

“Of course,” Suga agreed, his usual sweet smile returning, “Although, in an ideal world, I thought we’d end up living together and starting a family. However, I don’t think we can do that if you planning on putting a horse head on our front door.”

“IT WAS JUST LYING THERE, KŌSHI! IF ANYTHING IT’S YOUR FAULT FOR GIVING ME ACCESS TO A MARZIPAN HORSE!”

“I DIDN’T THINK THAT YOU’D DECAPITATE IT, (Y/N)! I THOUGHT YOU’D USE IT FOR A STABLE OR FARM OR SOMETHING!”

“YOU SHOULD KNOW ME BETTER THAN THAT!”

Asahi Azumane 

you both spent christmas day in your respective households, promising each other that you’d spend boxing day together 

until around 7PM when you had to come over to his house bc he called you, extremely puzzled at the fact that random mutuals from school (and the whole volleyball team) were on his instagram page, facebook, snapchat and any/every other social media platform wishing him a happy birthday

“I don’t get it.” He spoke through the phone, confusion and anxiety apparent in his voice, “My birthday isn’t for another six days. Why do they think it is today? Is this a joke?” 

“Uh, can I come over? I’d love to see you.” 

“Um, sure.” He replied, even more confused that you didn’t answer his question and instead asking one yourself

you spent the rest of the day with him, trying your very best to distract him from social media by doing various activities 

you both baked, watched movies, played board games (he’s a beast at battleships) then you moved on to other games like charades - basically every bs excuse you could come up with to get him to stay away from his phone

but that’s not to say you didn’t enjoy every second of it bc you did

he is so cute like whenever you are doing an action which he can’t interpret, his automatic guess is ‘are my beautiful gf (Y/N) (L/N) who i love very much? (= ❛ ᴗ ❛=)’

PRECIOUS 💓 

and then you are just like, ‘yes, i am, baby. but i am also optimum prime. your turn.’

anyway, by the end of the day there was no way you were able to prevent him from finding out about the joke now

so you just decided to tell him - figuring that it’d be better for him to hear it from you rather than someone else

“See.. y’know how jesus was allegedly born on christmas day? well, the joke is that..you kinda look like what people assume jesus would’ve looked like..”

Asahi had to do a double-take at what you just said, “Th-they..think I look like jesus?”

“yeah.”

Ryūnosuke Tanaka

you’re both broke af so you spend Christmas day pretending you are a rich couple

you slept over at his house too so you could start early in the morning and by that I mean 10:30AM

firstly, you and tanaka flick through an Argos catalogue (which you found on the ground, so there were a few mud stains on it 😶) to select the gift(s) you were going to buy for your ‘children’

but really it was just you and him going through it and circling all the toys y’all wanted as kids but couldn’t afford/didn’t get

“I super badly wanted one of those kiddie monster trucks that you could control with a remote as a child so my son is going to need one of those.” Tanaka said, circling the monster truck with a marker

“Yes, of course. And I asked for Monster High dolls every year as a kid but my parents said they were everything god hates so let’s buy that because we stan satan in this house, apparently .”

“Of course, of course.” He said in his best ‘rich person’ voice which was actually just an english accent

After resenting your parents for around an hour, you both moved onto the next activity of your rich person Christmas which included reading your horoscope in an english accent

that only lasted a few minutes though because both of you couldn’t be bothered to read

you also planned to look at the stock market (just like all rich people do on christmas day, obvs) but it was so boring

you took a glance then just went ‘okay, bye.’

next, you had caviar - just like rich people eat for every meal of the day, i think.

except it was actually black pop rocks  

“ah, yes. scrumptious.” “the flavour is immaculate.” 

then, as dawn drew close, you and tanaka preformed your final rich person activity 

no, it wasn’t being rude to minimum wage workers

no, it wasn’t being ungrateful

no, it wasn’t exploiting the working class under capitalism

no, it wasn’t being generally stuck-up and cocky

instead, it was going to the grocery shop and buying everything rather than shoplifting :)

“what should we get, babe?” you asked tanaka, in awe at how many different brands of toilet paper were on the shelves. “Have you ever noticed how spoiled we are for choice when it comes to toilet paper?”

“uh, no.” he replied in reference to the toilet paper question, “Hm, how about some gingerbread men or something?”

his suggestion was just met by a blank stare and silence

“JUST KIDDING! WE’RE TOTALLY BUYING BOOZE!”

“Hell yeah!” 

luckily, because tanaka looked a lot older than 17 and also since the cashier was too tired to check his ID, you both managed to buy the drinks without getting caught

“Merry Christmas, Ryū.” You hummed, fidgeting with his hand which was interlocked with yours as you walked through a rather prestigious neighbourhood and admired all the extravagant christmas lights

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N). Love you.”

Yū Nishinoya 

you and noya spent the whole day in his backyard and since it was a white christmas, you were able to spend the 90% playing in the snow

at first, you both went outside with the intention of making snowangels and taking cute couple photos in the snow 

but the weather was just so inviting that you had to stay for a little longer even when you did finish taking pictures; so you made the ‘ultimate’ snowman  

by that, it was just the biggest snowman y’all could make without it falling apart with stones for eyes, spiking out twigs for hair and an empty Monster Energy can for a nose 

once you had completed the snowman and basked in it’s glory for a moment, you went to head inside - but then you felt something hit your back

you turned around to see noya snickering, a mischievous grin on his face which you couldn’t stand

so what started out as him playfully throwing a snowball at your back, eventually turned into a full-on snowball battle to the death

there were snow forts, piles of snow ammunition, mini snow-warriors guarding the edges of your fort, a snow-princess which you were trying to steal from each other’s fort to win (basically like capture the flag but colder..) and a few brunch bars in the middle of the battle field for snack breaks 

it was all going smoothly until Noya ran up to your base, obviously with the intention to steal your princess 

“stay away from her, you fiend!” You yelled, jumping into an offensive stance - your neighbours must hate you bc of all the noise you and Noya made.

Noya screaming his battle cry as he rushed towards your fort, batista bombing you to the ground before you had a chance to attack him with a snowball

now that you were out of the equation, he scurried over to your princess which was perches on a little snow podium you made for her

he grabbed it, lifting it above his head like a trophy and letting out a loud victory cry “I win!”

he then turned to you and laughed upon noticing that you had your face buried into the snow in shame, “You have been defeated, (L/N)! And the great Rolling Thunder prospers!” 

“That’s a stupid nickname.” You groaned, outstretching your arms to allow him to pick you up, “Now take me inside, I’m tired.”

“Alright, babe.” He spoke softly, seemingly coming down from his adrenaline high. 

He strolled towards you, scooping you up into his arms - off the snow - and carrying you inside

unbeknownst to him, you had fallen asleep as he held you and once he put you down on the couch and noticed- i- my man almost died of happiness

“Oh my god, (Y/N)! You’re so fucking cute! (❤´艸｀❤)” he hollered, peppering your face in kisses

“Shhh..” you hushed Noya, sticking your bottom lip out to form a pout 

Noya nodded understandingly before hopping onto the couch beside you and snuggling up 

[pm-my-hubbies]

Lani’s Crown | H.C.

Summary: Reader and Henry’s daughter has landed herself in a bit of trouble and needs to understand the importance they put into her hair.

Pairing: Dad!Henry x Black Mom!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

I knew this day would come and unfortunately, I hadn’t prepared myself for it. “Hey, don’t forget you gotta have that talk with Lani pretty soon,” my conscience would remind me as I stared in awe at a queen with a head full of kinky hair. Like the snap of a hypnosis’ fingers, the task would slip away from me and I would return to whatever I had on my plate for the time being. Apparently, this “talk” wasn’t at the top of my to-do list.

My eyes shift from the shoulder length hair on the right side of my five year-old’s head to the gapped up left side. Something tells me she was reenacting Halle Berry’s notorious transformation scene from Catwoman as it’s become a favorite of hers in the past couple of weeks. This idea prompts me to hold in the snicker threatening to fall past my lips because right now is not a laughing matter.

“I honestly don’t know what to say Ailani.” I speak. It’s not that I’m mad at my baby because that’s what she is: a baby. She’s still struggling to steady the handlebars of her bicycle when she rides and her tongue has begun poking out the side of her mouth as she attempts to loop her shoe laces together. She doesn’t know how special her hair is because I hadn’t told her. And even if I did, it’ll take her brain ages to digest the information.

“I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean it.” she whimpers.

“I know baby but... why did you go for the scissors? You know you’re only supposed to use them for cutting paper and when adults are around. What happened?”

Today had been a good day at the restaurant. As the manager of the small-staffed bakery not too far from Lani’s school, majority of the tasks outside of sitting behind the desk fell onto me two weeks ago when three of the employees decided “a mental break” was necessary (I would’ve been fine if I hadn’t seen one of them chugging down beer after beer when I went out for drinks with some friends on a Friday night). Garlic wafted up my nostrils the moment I stepped over the threshold into our home and I knew something was up as my husband was cooking my comfort meal. He didn’t say anything when I asked of our daughter’s whereabouts. A nod in the direction of our dining room that was connected to the living room was all I needed to know something had happened. Lani has already placed her crayons to the side of her paper on the dining room table and peeked up at me with solemn eyes.

“Charlotte and I were play—” she began.

“Wait, Charlotte?”

Lani bowed her head in shame. “Yes.”

God fucking dammit. “Lani, why would... why would you play with Charlotte after Mommy told you to not be around her anymore?”

Her head was still low but I managed to catch the next statement clear as day. “Because she said I could make more friends if my hair was short like her and the other girls.”

I felt as if I were on fire. My body burned with anger and once again, it wasn’t directed towards Lani. Charlotte was once the little girl you wanted your children to play with every single day. But after some time, her true bad habits made an appearance and next thing you know, you were constantly disregarding the ringing of your doorbell as she shouted for your child. To add on to her pest-like behavior, Charlotte’s parents could never recognize the wrongs in her actions.

I shouldn’t be surprised such words could come from a child’s mouth but I am. Maybe it’s because it’s been a while since I allowed another kindergartener to bully me and I assumed times have changed for them to not talk out of their asses. Yet, here we are.

“Ailani, can you look at me? Please?” I calmly asked.

My daughter finally picked her head up and it was in this moment that all frustration I felt for her former friend dissipated. Her round cheeks were wet with fresh tears, brown eyes the size of saucers.

“Oh Ailani.” I cooed, walking around the coffee table dividing us to plant myself on the floor next to her. I pulled her onto my lap, her face pressing against my chest as her body racked with sobs. “Shhh, it’s okay.”

“I hurt your feelings, Mommy.”

“You did baby but that’s beside the point. Your feelings are hurting right now and it’s landed you in some mess.” I explained. Internally, I was chanting to not let the waterworks flow.

Lani continued her moment of sadness at most likely destroying the pride I held for her hair. The left side was the only destruction, which left more on her head. Still, blades made contact with the kinks at an inappropriate time.

Eventually, her body ceased the shaking and all I could feel was the large gulps she took as she calmed down. I guess now was the time to talk to her.

“You did hurt Mommy’s feelings because I love your hair. But at the same time, Mommy never told you how special your hair is so you wouldn’t do what you did.” I began. “Most girls want a crown to look like the Disney princesses they see on TV. I was one of those girls but I only wanted the tiara to be like the other girls. Do you hear me?”

She nodded. “Mmhm.”

“Good. Your grandmother told me that I didn’t need a crown to be pretty or like other girls because I already had one with me that followed me everywhere. And that, my Love, is my hair. Sit up for a second.” My daughter did as told, straddling my lap with bloodshot eyes looking into my watery ones. I placed my hand in her hair to massage her scalp. “The thing about your hair and my hair is that it’s unique. It’s what makes us beautiful. Some days we’ll braid it and other days we can wear it loose. The best thing about our hair is that it’s like a magicians hat to people that don’t look like us.”

“A magicians hat?”

“Mmhm. See, the only thing you know about a magicians hat is that it’s the same one they always wear. And every time they reach into it, it’s something new they pull out that amazes the audience every single time. With you, people will always see you with the same hair style until you straighten it. And every time you straighten it, it’ll be longer than before and amaze people each time. And that, my Darling, is because people are idiots when it comes to us and our hair.”

The cutest of giggles escaped Lani’s lips and I couldn’t help but to grin at the sound I got out of her. “Mommy no!”

“It’s true Lani! A lot of people don’t know much about our hair except to tell us how to style it. Your dad’s an exception, even though he can be a little dumb at times.”

“I heard that!” Henry exclaimed from the kitchen.

I chuckled as I leaned to the side to respond with, “Mind your business!”

“Can’t do that when you brought me into it.”

I glanced back at Lani with a smirk on my face. “You know what, your dad is right for once.”

Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the lower level of our home as Henry exited the kitchen to enter the living room where Lani and I sat. He held a similar smile to the one I wore when mocking his correctness. “Is this how you discipline our daughter when I’m not around? Throw me under the bus?”

“Not exactly.”

“Goodness woman.” He chuckled, treading over to where we rested. He swung his legs around my shoulder to plop down behind me on the sofa and place his hands on my shoulders. “Everything good now?”

Although her original hairstyle was jacked up now due to the scissors, I continued rubbing my hands through her beautiful hair. “I think so. But before I tell you to go upstairs and start running your bath water, I want you to remember something: girls like Charlotte are not your friend.”

“Your mother is right Lani.”

My head tilted up slightly so I could toss him a smile of appreciation for backing me up. “Friends do not tell you to change how you look so you can hang out with them. They chose to be your friend and should deal with it. Do you understand?”

“I think so.” Although it was meant to be a statement, she answered it more of like a question.

“Can you try to repeat that back for Mommy and Daddy but in your own words?”

She rapidly nodded her head. “Um... Charlotte should play with me because she likes how I look?”

“That’s our girl!” Henry praised her with a pinch to her cheeks.

“That’s right. And if she tells you what to do again, you either tell the teacher or tell her to stop. Yes?”

“Yes.” She affirmed.

“Good. Now go run your bath water for Mommy and then I’ll be up to wash you before we eat dinner.”

As soon as she hopped off my thighs to disappear up the stairs, Henry wrapped his arms around my neck. His lips landed on my cheek for peck. “You handled that well.” He mumbled.

I gently massaged his forearms with my hands. “You think so?”

“Yes. I was expecting the worse. Yelling, maybe a pop or two.”

“Some people will think I’m the worst parent for restricting my daughter from doing such a thing as today but that’s the thing: she’s not their daughter. If she cuts her hair, I have to bend over backwards and find styles for her hair and I really don’t have the time for that.” I elaborated, a huff following right after. “She’s lucky she did this today because now, she has an excuse to see her auntie Marilyn.”

“Oh but your Saturday.” I wasn’t looking at him but I could hear the pout in his voice as he pressed another kiss to my skin but this time on my neck.

I deeply exhaled. “I know, I know. I’ll just reserve it for Sunday like we’re supposed to anyways.”

Silence filled the spacious room now. Within seconds, the faint sound of water hitting the hard surface of our bath tub upstairs interrupted the peace that had quickly formed between Henry and I.

“Now that I’ve given her the heart-to heart talk, it’s your turn to talk with Charlotte’s parents.”

“What? Why me?” He groaned like a child restricted to the confines of his home on a Friday evening.

“Because I can’t catch a case. That little girl pissed me off and I won’t be so nice if I talk to her parents. And even if I did play nice, they’d still say something. When it’s you, there’s less backlash.”

“I— dammit. You’re right.”

“Get to work Superman.” I playfully ordered as I stood up between his legs to stretch my cramped limbs. A giggle my lips as his hand lightly connected with my ass. I felt like a love struck high schooler all over again when I spun around to lean against his strong frame and place my hands on his pecs. “You’ve got some saving to do and for once, it’s not me.”

“Indeed I do.” He mumbled before leaning down to deeply kiss me.

[ameliasnormandy]

Hey Disney Kingdom Keepers Idea (Please Reblog if you love this as much as I do)

              Hey again,

                             So, I have been thinking about a new idea (I know, I’m always thinking of new ideas). There was a book series that I loved when I was younger, Kingdom Keepers. Kingdom Keepers followed the story of five young adults (like 13 to 15) that became Disney World (and then later other Disney locations) Holograms. They are used to communicate information to the guests. The real reason they are made Disney tour holograms is to explore the park and help save Disney from the evil lurking around, usually from one of my favorite Disney villains of all time, Maleficent. By making them holograms for the park, they become part of the park.

              Anyway, I have thought that now is the time for Disney to make a live-action version. I mean, they have Disney+ (though the version that I see might be a little bit better on Hulu, hey, Disney is totally allowed to do what it wants) and all. I have a few notes on what I think would make it a little more interesting (I always do, I love to add my own thoughts into everything).

So, first, I think that they should embrace the idea that the book exists in the world of the TV show. Let the characters, or a few of them read the book, go a little meta. There isn’t anything wrong with embracing the meta. Sometimes it can add a little to the story. The characters have heard about the story. Some of the characters more likely to accept it, while others seem to dismiss the idea more readily. Given this meta-writing theory, the audience doesn’t have any preconceptions going in because the characters are not the book characters. They are a separate entity that knows about the book, but they are not forced to follow what the book says.

              The second thing that I think Disney should do is raise the age of all of them. Making the Kingdom Keepers in their early to mid-twenties helps in so many ways. One the books would become popular again, with all crowds. The younger crowd could grow up along with the book before finding themselves falling for the older characters, which they can grow up with again. The older generations that have already read the books will find it refreshing that they could find a character close to the struggles that they are facing. It will also allow the writers to use the book as a jumping-off point without forcing them to use it as its main source (again, it’s super ok to be meta). Also, the people that can afford to go to Disney alone are millennials and some Gen Zers. Giving them a show that will connect back to the parks could give them even more reason to go and inspiration to go.

              The third thing that I think Disney would want to do is change the story just a little. Make one or two of the stars people that some people have seen before. Disney has a catalogue of actors right now that would be great for this. This could make the story more interesting because now we have people who the world knows mixed with people that could blend in with the crowds. This would change the dynamic of the group and make them communicate with each other. Also, I am not saying that they couldn’t use all people that the world knows. I am simply saying that in the world of the show, only one or two should be people that are already known (bonus points for Disney using one of their own people, like a Disney channel star).

              Why would Disney benefit from this (because they are a private company and one of their main things is money)? More people might want to go to Disney, and with the crowds waning, it might be a good thing. Also, Disney could use the lower crowds to their advantage when it comes to filming, and if you think about what is about to come to Disney World (the 50th anniversary), this is the perfect time to do it. It would be something even more extraordinary to add to the already impressive lineup. Disney could find a place (near Disney World) to film down there for sites that they couldn’t get filmed in the actual park, and later that area could become a touristy area in-of-itself (Yay for them, more profit).

Adding Disney music (which they have a ton of) could make a killer soundtrack and would actually be cheaper for them than adding a new soundtrack (filled with new songs) to a show.

Disney could also use the songs, the characters, and the story itself to create a unique collection of souvenirs, as a bonus, of course.

              Disney could really have an exciting hit on their hands. Now, I am going to ask something that I don’t usually ask. Please, if you like this idea, please like it. If you think this might be an ok idea, reblog it and share it with everyone you like (or don’t like). I know the likelihood of this getting to Disney is a million in 1, but if there is even a chance for this to happen, I would love to see it, and I would need your help.

I would hope that Disney would be willing to let me be a small piece of this, but I know they are a company. I know that, in reality, they don’t have to bend to my whim. It’s partly owned by them (the other owned by the author Ridley Pearson). They have every right to do what they want with their own intellectual property, but still, it would be nice if they were at least slightly interested in letting me be part of this. I mean, I think I could help them bring some fresh ideas to all of this (I already have so many more, if you want to hear, let me know). Now, again this only works if Disney is interested. Again, I implore anyone who thinks this might be a good idea to reblog and like, and share wherever you can.

Maybe together, we can all do something really extraordinary. Thank you!

[sprnklersplashes]

songwriter!janis fic (unrequited crush, no-very-happy-ending) 

also on ao3

It all started because she loved Taylor Swift when she was in middle school. Who is she kidding, she still loves Taylor Swift, but that’s where all this began. A middle school girl’s obsession with Taylor Swift. A confused, sad girl with a broken heart and smudged black eyeliner, finding refuge in lyrics about loneliness and anger and revenge. They became anthems for her, mantras to mutter when the warzone of middle school became too much for her.

“Someday, I’ll be living in a big old city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean.”

“Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in.”

“I can still see you, this ain’t the best view.”

It amazes her. It’s honestly as if Taylor Swift has managed to look into her life and given her a bundle of songs for whatever she needs. For when Regina has thrown her one too many snide looks, for when she’s standing at the door of North Shore High on her first day, for when she eats lunch alone, for when her mom is the best mom she could have asked for, for when she and Damian are lying on the grass in her backyard, staring up at the sky, laughing at absolutely nothing. The songs become the soundtrack to her life, the chords and those raw, honest lyrics an emotional outlet she so desperately craves. Taylor, and her songs, become a confidant, almost a close friend who always knows what to say.

With all that in mind, perhaps it was only a matter of time before she asks for a guitar for Christmas. She’s fourteen, braces and a slight lisp, and jumps up and down like a mad woman when she sees it under the tree.

She practices for three days straight, until her fingers bleed, but Should’ve Said No is the first song she learns off by heart. She yells the lyrics with maybe a little too much passion, but her parents applaud her nonetheless.

Like she said, that’s how it all started.

Because that same Christmas, she realises that screaming her feelings while playing guitar actually feels pretty cathartic. And that if it worked for Taylor Swift, it could work for her. So she writes stuff down, plays around with chords and strumming until the beat on the guitar matches the one in her head. She grabs a page and a pencil and writes and re-writes her innermost thoughts and feelings on the page until they sound the way she wants them to. She plays around with rhyme schemes and structure and everything she’s been taught about in English class, and a thrill runs through her as she does so. It’s the same breathless high she feels when she paints or draws, the rush that comes from creating something.

Her parents sit on the other side of her bedroom door, no doubt exchanging worried glances as she repeats the same verse, same chorus, with only a word changed. She watches them when they think she can’t see, peering through the crack in her door. The conclusion they seem to come to is ‘well, as coping mechanisms go, it’s pretty good, and she’s happy, so who are we to stop it?’.

It takes her four days to finish her first song. And it sucks. But she keeps it, writes down the lyrics and chords in one of the few empty notebooks she has, and there’s no going back from it now. She writes, and she writes, and she writes, near enough every day. She likes to think she gets better with each one. She learns more chords, buys a cheap ukulele the summer after freshman year, tries her hand at piano during a particularly difficult few weeks. She doesn’t plan on doing anything with them. They’re just her little pieces to hold on to. Her therapy sessions outside the carpeted office.

No-one knows about it. She has a reputation to keep up, after all. The loner-by-choice, too-cool-for-school, aloof art freak. Everyone has their roles to play in the ecosystem that is high school and, much as she hates the entire system, that is hers to play. And she plays it well, if she may say so. The fact that hardly anyone knows her past that facade suits her just fine. After all, if people think she doesn’t care, she can’t get hurt. No-one needs to know that Janis Sarkisian actually has feelings.

Even less need to know that she writes songs about said feelings.

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By the time she reaches her junior year, she’s onto her third notebook. She keeps them tucked away in her sock drawer, expertly hidden so only she can find them. Damian teases her about it, calling her “the protagonist of a Disney Channel Original Movie”. She just rolls her eyes and reminds him that “if either of us is gonna be Disney’s first openly gay character, it’ll be you”. He can’t argue with that.

It should be noted that when Janis said that no-one knows about her songwriting, Damian was the obvious exception. He found out just weeks after she started. There’s no keeping secrets from him.

Between all her notebooks, she’s written around forty songs.

Then she meets Cady Heron one day. The human embodiment of a labrador puppy, complete with wide, lost eyes. She likes her instantly, decides to take her under her wing because Lord knows the girl needs it. Cady’s smile is infectious, her laugh like a summer breeze. She has dimples and caramel-coloured hair and really likes maths.

She meets Cady on a Monday.

By that Saturday, song number 41-titled “Dimples and Curls” is more or less complete.

She plays it for Damian, hands only slightly shaking as she changes chords, the strumming short and upbeat, the melody strangely happy for such a bittersweet song.

He applauds her, but the subject of the song hangs in the air even after she’s played the last chord and the music fades. Unsaid, but not unknown. Just like her songwriting, Janis couldn’t keep a crush from Damian if she tried.

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“Hey, check it out.”

Cady drops onto the seat across from Janis, the whole table shaking as she does so. Like a small meteor just hit Earth. Janis looks up from her lunch, pretending like she had been doing her own thing and not watching the door until Cady came in. Pretending like her stomach doesn’t do little flips at the sight of her crossing the cafeteria. She pulls the flyer towards her and hums in amusement.

“The winter talent show,” she reads before chomping off a carrot stick. “Oh, is it that time of year already?”

“Seems like only yesterday we was welcoming the young’uns into this brave new world during the harvest season,” Damian sighs, putting on a delightfully over the top Southern Belle accent, no doubt influenced by their reading of Streetcar Named Desire in English class. Janis cackles, and nearly chokes on her lunch as she does.

“And now the cold winds of winter are descending upon us,” she replies, her accent equally heavy. She bats her eyes for good measure, because she can and because it makes Cady laugh. “Oh but I pray the children will survive this season, it is often rough for them.”

“I am never showing you two anything winter related ever again,” Cady says.

Janis just shrugs and runs her hand through her hair before her eyes go back to the flyer. Clearly, whatever sophomore they got to design it this year did their best; found the prettiest looking snowflakes on Google Images to put on the cartoon stage, decided to write in some swirling, slanted font rather than the start-studded block lettering they usually went for. It’s still the same as it is every year, meaning just as mockable, but she’ll give them points for tying.

“Well, anyone here going for it?” she asks. She looks from Damian to Cady and back again, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Last year and all that.”

“Not sure I can,” Damian sighs. “I mean, I’m booked up with Spelling Bee rehearsals and spring cabaret auditions happening next semester.” He drums his fingers against his throat. “Gotta give the little vocal chords some rest, you know?”

Janis’ response is to sing the lowest note she possibly can before turning to Cady and giving her a pointed look, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Who? Me?” Cady’s cheeks turned crimson and she shakes her head so much that the caramel curls bounced around her shoulders. “No way. Damian can take the stage, I’m fine with my calculators and textbooks.”

“You could always solve equations in front of everyone,” Janis says. “I could call out college-level questions from the audience and you solve them in under 30 seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she giggles. She leans forward slightly, eyes glittering, and Janis does her best not to squirm. The effect Cady Heron’s eyes have on her should be studied by scientists. “What about you, Janis?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks back to when she helped on stage crew last year, as well as helping out (or taking over) with the set design. It had been fun, the kind of challenge she needed to keep her mind off the slowly-going-off-the-rails plan. And she was told it looked good on her college applications, because all people can think about apparently is college, college, college. “Maybe. They might need another genius stage manager.”

“And you’ll step in if they can’t find one?” She digs Damian in the ribs for that comment.

“But not performing?” Cady asks, and Janis freezes. Performing had never even crossed her mind before. She’s used to backstage, hell, she likes backstage. It’s not that she has stage fright or anything, and if she had, her stunt at Ms Norbury’s little healing session would have squished it. She had just never thought about it.

But Cady had, apparently.

“I-No, I-I don’t think so,” she stammers out. “Um, I might do backstage again, but not actually doing something, you know, talent related.” She bites her tongue and clamps her lips shut before anything else can come out.

“Okay then,” Cady replies slowly. She gets up from the table, her little empty water bottle in her hands. “I’m going to go for a refill, save my seat.”

“No problem,” Janis says, but Cady’s already jogging away.

She doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that Cady’s known her too long to think of her as cool, and so this kind of awkward babbling isn’t really surprising to her. Instead of thinking about it, she just sets her head on the table and lets Damian rub her back.

“You were nowhere near as bad as you think you were,” he assures her.

“Title of your sex tape,” comes her murmured reply. Damian chuckles and runs his fingers through her hair, like she’s his pet cat. It helps.

“So you’re definitely not going for the talent show then?” he asks.

Her first instinct is to say no, because of course she isn’t, because she never has before and she sees no point in breaking a three-year streak, but the answer catches in her throat. At the same time, something begins forming in her brain, pieces of a melody she’s already known, words filling in blank spots in her brain, and her fingers twitch involuntarily, playing the chords on an invisible guitar. Without a word, she grabs a notepad and pen from her bag and scribbles the words down before she forgets them, quickly becoming breathless just by sitting there. She forgets, for a moment, everything else, the talent show, Cady, even Damian next to her, and just revels in the task and the quick buzz she gets just from writing. Just like that she has one eye on the clock, itching to get home and put her notes into the rest of the song.

But with those notes came an idea, an idea so completely out of left field she almost laughs at it.

“Janis?” Damian asks, just slightly unnerved by her. If anyone else were at this table, even Cady (especially Cady), she would have had to excuse herself and run to the bathroom, or just hope the words stayed in her head long enough for her to get a quiet moment. “Did the Goddess of Music just possess you again?”

“Maybe,” is her response. He doesn’t know it, but she answered both the questions he asked in the past minute.

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She sits on her bed that night, her homework half-done and strewn across the desk, abandoned in favour of the guitar sitting in her lap and notebook open on her bed. She’s been working on his song for the better part of a week, inspiration and motivation seemingly striking and then fading whenever she gets a free moment. Abandoning it has crossed her mind-she’s no stranger to abandoning things that aren’t working-but for some reason she hasn’t quite been able to shake this particular song off.

Maybe it is Euterpe, the Goddess of Music, descending upon her because this song has to be finished, it has to be, Olympus willing it so.

Or maybe it’s because this song is one of the most personal things she’s ever written, a love letter she’ll never send, and the idea of it sitting unfinished drives her crazy.

She plays another chord and sings the line again, changing the ending slightly, and makes the adjustment in her notes.

She’s crazy. This is already crazy, her secret double life as a wannabe T-Swift, but now she’s gone beyond that. Thinking of actually playing it. On a stage. In front of people. She doesn’t care what people think of her, she stopped caring about that a long, long time ago, but holy shit what will people think of her after she does this? Life isn’t like the movies, she knows that much. It won’t be some pretty, softly-lit moment where the crowd sits with teary eyes, Cady runs onstage and kisses her and she’s offered a deal by some big shot producer, and they all live happily ever after the end. What could happen is people think she’s even more of a weirdo than they do now.

Or she gets tomatoes thrown at her head and she’s booed off the stage. That’s a possibility.

She calls Damian, because that’s the only way she sees out of her little thought cul-de-sac. She puts the phone on speaker and props it up against a pillow, keeping her hands free for her guitar and her pen. He picks up on the third ring, just as she’s strumming out a G chord.

“Oh, is someone prepping for her Grammy?” he asks. “You’re still taking me as your date, right?”

“Only if my dog can’t go,” she replies. She taps her nails against the wood, the rhythm too fast and frantic to just be a habit. Yes, she can tell Damian anything, and being nervous in front of him is laughable, but sometimes her body forgets that. “So, I was thinking about the talent show.”

“Oh? You’re going for stage crew again? Cool.”

“No-not exactly.” She knows he can’t see the smile creeping across her face, but she’d wager he can hear it through the phone. A small swarm of butterflies flutters in her chest, leaving her just slightly out of breath. “I… I. think I’m going to try performing in it.”

A burst of laughter comes through the phone, slightly tinged with static, and Janis wishes he were here so she could slap him. Even if it’s not malicious in intent at all, and she’s laughing right along with him. Slapping is kind of a love language for them.

“Okay, okay cool. What’re you going to do?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” she says, and then she plays the opening chords to her latest experiment. She doesn’t add in the lyrics, not yet. Still, she sits back and basks in his applause when she finishes, cackling into her hand. He might be one person, but he’s got enough enthusiasm to match a packed auditorium. “What do you think?”

“I’m into it,” he tells her. “So… that’s the one you’re doing?”

“Think so.” She tosses the pick between her fingers. Like he could feel her smile, she can feel his raised eyebrow through the phone, the elephant in the room poking her with its trunk. “Yes, I know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it,” she tells him, and he doesn’t deny it. She looks back over the lyrics she’s written and re-written. Despite some adjustments, it’s still in essence the same. Still about a girl with pretty hair who smells like vanilla and cinnamon, who has a boyfriend and is unknowingly breaking the heart of a girl with black eyeliner and paint stained fingers. Because her boyfriend is pretty and clean and smells like soap and can do math, and how is the poor art girl even meant to compare to that?

“Yes,” she says after a while. “It is about Cady.”

“Aw, my poor lovestruck songstress,” he sighs. He shifts then, and the air shifts with him. “You sure that’s the one you want to sing? I mean you have dozens of other non-Cady related songs. I’m sure Mr Duvall would love to hear Angry Teenage Lesbian Anthem.”

“First off, I gave that one a title, it’s called Shattered,” she reminds him. “And-” She freezes, the rest of her sentence catching in her throat. He’s right. She could perform one of her other songs, that are already finished and therefore removing the pressure to have this one finished, polished and stage-ready. And of course, it would mean she wouldn’t be standing in front of her entire grade and telling them all how badly she’s in love with her best friend. Showing her deepest secret to the people who have already driven her out of school once. It’s a far safer, potentially less traumatic option for her.

But…

“No,” she says. “I know it sounds crazy but I feel like… I feel like I need to do this.” She swallows thickly and picks softly at the guitar strings. “It’s like… like this way at least I’m telling her, you know? Even if she doesn’t know it.”

Of course, Damian gets it.

“That’s beautiful, babe,” he tells her. “So you’re actually doing this?”

“I’m actually doing this,” she replies firmly. “And tomorrow, I need you to make sure I don’t chicken out before I sign up.”

“Got it. I’ll just order you to do it as Senior Co-Chair of the Student Activities Committee.”

“That’s an abuse of power.”

“Then consider yourself abused baby.” He laughs and she laughs with him, and then she hears something on Damian’s end. “I have to go. A certain little sister of mine has a princess costume that needs attending to. See you later.”

“See you later,” she replies before he clicks off the call. She looks down at her paper, then at her guitar, and thinks about what she just committed to. “I’ve got some work to do.”

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The song goes through four rewrites in the weeks leading up to the talent show. The whole first verse is changed, the chorus scrapped and replaced with a new one, then that one is scrapped and she goes back to the old one. She sits hunched on her floor with a pencil in her mouth, wondering if what she’s written is too personal or not personal enough. If it’s too obvious that Cady, smart cookie that she is, will work it out and that’ll lead them down a new, scary path. She cuts some lyrics that give the game away, opting to replace one about love for numbers with love for learning, because that opens up the pool to half their grade. She writes about Cady’s blue eyes rather than specifically those double dimples that make her melt. Maybe she’s compromising her artistic vision, but it might be worth it if it’ll keep her crush a secret. She keeps the old lyrics tucked in the back of her notebook, just to have them.

Meanwhile, she’s also dealing with the fact that people know she has signed up for the talent show. That Miss Too Cool For School Loner Art Freak Janis is actually performing at a school event. And she doesn’t even get extra credit for it. They’re surprised, and curious, and none more so than Cady. The other girl appears at her side almost instantly after first period, skinny little arms wrapped around her bicep and blue eyes alight.

Oh, the things those eyes do to her.

“Janis!” she squeaks. “I saw-on the sign up sheet-your name! Oh my God, is this a joke? Did Damian put you up to it?”

“No, no, I signed up of my own accord,” Janis tells her. That only makes Cady bounce more, ponytail bobbing up and down.

“Oh wow, that’s amazing!” she says. She stops then, her mouth freezing in its place and her cheeks turning pink. Slowly, she comes down to Earth, like a balloon that had the air let out of it. Janis can almost hear the wheeze. “I mean um, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“It’s pretty grool,” Janis replies, and just like that Cady bounces back up again.

“Oh my gosh, what are you going to do?” she asks. “Or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“You think I have some secret knife-throwing talent?” she grins. She hesitates for a moment, looking down at Cady’s excited face, because even if this isn’t telling her… it’s telling her. “I’m… I’m going to sing.” She pulls on the strap of her backpack and avoids Cady’s eyes. “Something I wrote.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Hey!” she laughs. “I can write stuff. I can be deep.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about it,” Cady says, bumping her arm against Janis’. “But for real, Janis, I can’t wait to see it. I know you’ll be amazing.”

Warmth spreads across her pale cheeks, a pink blush no doubt colouring her face, and she somehow manages to choke out a “thanks” as her brain turns to static. Her only thought is ‘Cady thinks I’m going to be good’, and it’s written in glitter pen across her brain.

“This is going to be great,” she goes on. “Oh, wait until I tell Aaron. He’s got a break in his schedule that week so he’s coming up to see the talent show! Isn’t that great?”

And just like that, Janis’ good mood falls. Her face stays the same, because she’s trained to do it, but everything behind it crumbles.

“Yeah, that’s great,” she replies. Cady squeezes her hand, oblivious, and drags her along the hallway, chatting away about some lion documentary she had watched last night.

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She finishes the song that night. She arrives home with a heavy chest, so full of complicated, messy feelings, and her conversation with Cady still so fresh in her mind, her ears still ringing from the emotional whiplash. Her parents barely get a ‘hello’ as she enters and bolts up to her room, her hands shaking, the thoughts swirling around her brain desperate to be let out.

And let them out she does. She writes so quickly they look more like smudges than words, her fingers flying over rapidly changing chords, her voice broken and panting as she sings. The words almost write themselves, like the song has taken on a life of its own and she’s just along for the ride. She barely remembers to pause, to breathe, so wrapped up in the storm she’s created with just her guitar and pen.

It’s only when she finishes and falls back on her bed that she notices the tears in her eyes. She blinks them away and pulls herself up, her notebook in her hand. It’s done. The perfect blend of her own honest feelings and just enough smokescreen to keep people from knowing who it’s really about.

There’s no backing out now, she thinks. Her stomach drops, like she’s on the top of a roller coaster about to go down. A laugh bubbles up in her throat and leaves her breathless, her head spinning while she’s still laying there.

If holy shit were am adjective, she'd use it to describe how she feels. Because holy shit.

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Being backstage when she’s not on crew is a strange experience. She stands with her guitar slung around her body, in the middle of a current of students moving around her, half with the clunky microphones and walkie-talkies she’s used so many times before. She asks five of them if she can do anything to help-because they’re her people and she needs to do something to occupy her time-until she finally takes the hint and leaves them to it. Stagehands are the most efficient parts of any production, as she told Damian once. They’re a well-oiled machine at this point.

“Yo!” For a second, Janis thinks she imagined the whisper, just one in a jumble of backstage noises, until Damian appears at her side. A tiny ‘shit’ escapes her mouth, her body jerking. Barely anyone bats an eye at her, except him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Don’t worry. I think at this point a small breeze could knock into me and I’d crumble.”

“The great Janis Sarkisian gets nervous?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Only when she’s doing something incredibly personal and scary in front of her entire grade,” she whispers back. She swallows past the lump in her throat. “Aside from that I’m a beacon of confidence and unshakable will.”

“Hey.” He taps his knuckles against hers. “Remember how scared you were at Norbury’s assembly?”

“You mean after I had my picture all over the school with the d-slur written underneath it?” she mutters. “Yeah, I was shitting myself.”

“And yet, look what you did there,” he reminds her. “You were amazing. And you’re going to be amazing here too. Once you get on that stage, all those butterflies are going to make you fly, kid.”

She smiles, her heart warm, and pressed her face into the crook of Damian’s neck.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky to have him, but she knows better than to tempt fate.

“Janis Sarkisian?” She lifts her head to find a freshman girl with a headset around her neck looking at her. “You’re up next.”

“Okay.” It’s only now she becomes aware that the last minute of Fairytale Of New York is playing, the notes will soon fade out, and that’s her cue. She turns to Damian and lets him straighten her black cardigan and fiddle with the collar of her shirt. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.” He drops a whisper of a kiss to her nose. “But good luck.”

She holds her half-heart necklace as he goes, the twin to the one around his neck. It’s as close as she can get to having him with her. Her chest tightens as she makes her way to the stage and she tries to breathe through it, because the next thign she knows, Mr Duvall is announcing her name, and she’s being greeted by a blinding spotlight that thankfully obscures most of her peers’ faces.

“Uh, hi,” she says into the microphone placed out for her. It’s just people , she reminds herself. Somewhere in that crowd, second row, seat 14, is Damian, and she breathes easier. And next to him is Cady, the girl this song is about, and for some reason that straightens her spine and irons out the shaking in her voice. She takes the pick out of its holder and tosses her hair back. “This is a song I wrote about being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back.” She blinks and hopes no-one sees the tears in her eyes. “So sing along if you get into it, because we all know it’s a shitty ass feeling.”

She plays the first chord, and then any and all doubts she had about this flee her. As cliche as it sounds, the song takes over her, and she blows through the nerves in the first verse. The experience becomes cathartic instead, like releasing a pressure valve on her soul. Even with the little diversions she threw in, she hasn’t felt this open and god damn free since last year, paraded on her peers’ shoulders with both middle fingers up. Except now she’s not flipping anyone off, or proving a point, she’s just finally telling someone how she feels, and holy shit, it’s amazing. Whatever the aftermath of this is, she won’t care, it’s worth it just for this feeling.

As she sings the last word, and that final note rings in the auditorium, her hands are shaking, her cheeks wet with tears and her hair sticky with sweat. She touches beneath her eye and her fingers come away stained black.  She hasn’t cried in front of people since middle school. She doesn’t care.

The cheers of her classmates ring in her ears, Damian’s whooping the loudest of all, and as she takes her bow, she hopes she’ll remember this moment for a long time.

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“Oh my God!” she’s barely into the auditorium when Cady launches herself at her, arms wrapped around her neck and legs circling her waist. Janis nearly topples over, digging her back leg into the ground just in time, and hugs Cady with the same ferocity. “You were amazing!” she yells into her shoulder, the sound muffled by Janis’ hair.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” She sets Cady down, but the other girl keeps a tight grip on both her arms. Janis wonders if it’s to keep herself from flying away, given the amount of bouncing up and down she’s doing. “I can’t believe you wrote that! It was so good! You need to record it, Jan. Do you have any other songs?”

“Just a few,” she says. “And I don’t know if I’m in the business of making an album any time soon.” She swings her guitar case a little. “This might have been a one-time thing.”

“Well, even if it was, it was awesome,” she says.

“Thank you, Caddy,” Janis replies. “That means a lot.”

Her mouth runs dry as Cady smiles, all baby pink lipgloss and sparkling eyes and full cheeks. If this were a movie, she thinks, this would be the part where they kiss. No need for talking, or an explanation. Because Cady would have just known. The music would turn soft and twinkly, and the lighting would match it and it would look like they’re in a dream and they’d just kiss, and it will fix all of Janis’ problems. Maybe a single tear will run down her cheek. And then they’ll run off into their new lives as the end credits roll.

How sweet that would be.

But her life isn’t a movie. If she wants anything, she has to go for it herself.

And that includes-

“Caddy.” Her name is delicate on her lips, handled with care. Cady looks at her, giving a simple ‘mm-hm’ in response, and Janis’ heart beats out of control. “That song I just sang, it-”

“Hey, guys.”

Also if this was a movie, Cady’s sweet, lovely, nice boyfriend would not be barging in right now. He’d either be a douchebag who she doesn’t feel bad about hurting, or he’d be nonexistent.

Unfortunately, this is not a movie, and Aaron Samuels exists and is the human equivalent of a squishmallow.

“Hey Aaron.” He slings his arm around Cady’s shoulders, and she leans into his touch almost instinctively. “Janis, you were great up there. I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“It’s a bit of a new hobby,” she says, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat, and finds a bottle of water being handed to-thrown at-her.

“Hydrate those chords,” is Damian’s greeting.

“This is what I get for being friends with a theatre kid,” she sighs before she takes a drink. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was until now.

“Okay, so we’re all going for pancakes,” Aaron says. “I take it you two are coming?”

“How can I say no to pancakes?” Janis asks. “Uh, you guys go ahead, I have to get my stuff from the green room.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for you,” Cady says. “Aaron brought his car so he can drive us.”

“Grool.” Cady and Aaron turn around together, Aaron spinning his eyes around his finger and Cady lacing her fingers through his, talking about something she can’t hear. It’s like watching them through a sheet of glass.

Not a movie. Not unless it’s one of those really, really sad movies. Sad homophobic movies.

“You okay?” Damian asks. She snorts at the question. Nothing has changed, so of course she’s okay. But then, nothing has changed, so she’s not really okay.

“I did it,” she sighs. “It’s out there. I told her, unofficially. Whether or not she works it out…” She runs her hand through her tangled hair. “That’s something else entirely.” Damian hums in agreement, a sympathetic look on his face that soon morphs into a grin.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Mom.” They snort, Janis caught between a laugh and a sob, and squeezes Damian’s hand. She’s not optimistic about any romance in her future, at least where Cady is concerned. She and Aaron are still rock-solid and she’s happy for them, whenever she isn’t angsting about it. It’s a weird combination to have.

And at least she’s done this now. Despite a future for her and Cady not being in the cards for now, she’s glad she did it. The secret isn’t out, not entirely. Just written on the walls in invisible ink.

“Come on,” she tells Damian. “I actually do have to get my bag, and you can use this as an opportunity to double check the ghost light is on.”

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

Cady and Aaron keep their promise and wait for them, waving off their apologies as they jog across the parking lot. Cady lets Damian take the front seat with Aaron and slides into the back with Janis instead. Janis frowns, confused as to why she isn’t taking her normal seat up front, and Cady rolls her eyes.

“There was a draw on the way here, and we lost,” she explains. “And now Damian has control of the aux chord,” She gestures with her head to the passenger seat, and Janis turns just in time to see him open his Spotify and scroll through his playlists. As the opening notes to Waving Through A Window fill the car, it’s met with three loud groans. Damian only turns it up louder, and adds in his own backing vocals.

“So, that song you sang,” Cady asks, leaning back in the seat. “Was it about anyone in particular?”

Janis looks down, her hands pressed together in her lap. If this is the moment the universe decided to give her, it’s a really terrible moment. Not only is Cady’s whole boyfriend sitting an arm’s length away from her, but she left her nerve back in the auditorium. Clearly, her and fate aren’t on each other’s wavelength.

“You wouldn’t know her,” she says. “She doesn't even go here.”

“Oh,” Cady replies. Her face falls, but she’s not too put out by it. Why would she be? She nudges Janis’ shoulder, a proud smile on her face, and squeezes Janis’ hand. “Well, if she has someone like you into her and she hasn’t taken the chance yet, then she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Janis only thanks her, and quickly changes the subject.

Someday she might tell her for real, but for now she'll stick to the songs.

[thirdhandidiot]

Ok so hear me out, young dialuci au

Lucifer and his brothers are still in heaven, Diavolos father is still around, running devildom. They’re practically kids. Diavolo has always admired lucifer, even from afar when he was unallowed to speak to lucifer. He is infatuated and he doesn’t try to hide it, but he’s also doesn’t know why. Lucifer is just this gorgeous angel who he longs to be in the presence of, but only sees him maybe, once every hundred years (or whatever time frame works for demon biology). Diavolo has effectivly been pining for centuries, and lucifer, thanks to his father, never so much as looked twice at diavolo, believing himself to be above demons, not wanting to be tempted etc etc. So one day when he suddenly notices hike, he is shocked. Has that demon always been here? Why is he acting like he remeber me? Isn’t he the demon kings son? Maybe he’s just carrying out formalities, they must be different there, right? Lucifer is just starting to form his own ideas about life, no longer blindly following what his father and the other, older angels tell him. His conversation with diavolo never progeresses beyond introducing themselves and polite conversation before Micheal comes over to retrieve him, claiming their father wanted to speak to them. Diavolo Is upset but doesn’t want to cause a scene or ruin lucifers perception of him, he realises that this is the first time lucifer has really recognised him and whilst it hurts that he’d spent centuries thinking about a boy who would only have given him the time of day out of a sense of duty, he can’t help but be delighted, running every word, every facial expression lucifer made back in his mind, determined not to forgot even a single second.

Cue Diavolo going home and telling Barbatos all about the conversation. Barbatos has watched his lord pine for lucifer and no matter how friendly diavolo wants them to be, he can’t tell diavolo that it will never happen. The demon king is strict about letting him see timelines (much more so than diavolo as we know him) and he’s still young, he doesn’t yet know that one day they wil fall. He does everything he can and more to try keep diavolo happy, believing that there’s no hope for him, wondering if it’s better to try and steer diavolos interests away from the angel, or indulge him and hopes he grows bored. Diavolo can often be found ‘exploring’ the crossover between heaven and hell whenever he has free time, hoping to catch a glimpse of lucifer. At first it seemed hopeless, but one time Lucifer had been passing on patrol with Micheal, spotting him, amd diavolo could have sworn lucifer face brightened even just a little upon seeing him.

Cue Lucifer being strictly reprimanded for conversing with demons beyond strictly necessary, he is the pride of the heavens and it wouldn’t do to have him sully himself with the likes of the demon lords son. Lucifer disagrees, thinking about how much more kindness diavolo, Prince of hell, showed him in those few minutes, than the entirety of heaven ever has in its long, sterile existence. He doesn’t speakup though, wanting to set a good example for his younger brothers. Lucifer never speaks of his encounter with diavolo, eventually almost convincing himself that diavolo was trying to lure him in with false kindness, and whilst deep in his heart he knows it isn’t true, he tells himself this often enough that he can never think of the conversation without the doubt seeping in. His holds true until he one day spots Diavolo whilst patrolling with Micheal and wonders how he ever believed that. He can feel the Diavolos joy and overwhelming love for him and he’d never felt lighter. He wishes he could feel that lighthearted every day, but it’s over in seconds, Micheal grimacing at diavolo in polite warning. Lucifer knows he can’t go back without raising suspicions, especially after his patrol paths are changed. Diavolos infatuation with lucifer was mistaken as malicious by the heavens, believing that the soon to be king would love to claim ruin to one of heavens favourite angels.

Diavolo doesn’t know about the change, and still visits the inbetween, it’s his escape. He’s crown Prince and just become an adult, and with a mother no longer in the picture, the court is desperate to have him marry soon. He hates it, he doesn’t want to force any of these women to be with him. Months and months of countless ladies, dutches, baroness and even other princesses pass before he is shouted at, told what a pain he is being for them, how he’s only thinking of himself, they need a new heir and he needs someone to rule alongside. He’s a demon, not a saint, he snaps back, he doesn’t want to be with a woman, please stop trying. He Court Are annoyed beyond belief but start sending princes, barons and the like, thinking that maybe that would appease him. And thats when Diavolo realises, looking at these men that they want him to marry, he already knows who he wants to be with, and it’s the one he knows he can’t have. But Diavolo is so much stronger than anyone gives him credit for, he knows that he cannot truly love any of these people and as such, refuses to marry. He buries himself in other royal duties in hopes of appeasing the King, his father, amd whilst the king isn’t happy, he chooses to let it go, even if only for a few centuries, it’s good to see diavolo applying himself instead of wandering the realm and chattering time away and attending parties.

But sometimes, when diavolo can’t sleep, he returns to the inbetween, his safe place, away from all the rules, regulations and royalties of his day to day life, just to fantasise of how different it could have been. Demons can’t become angels, he knows that, maybe they could have lived a life on Earth together, among humans, he always had a soft spot for humans, would lucifer? Could the two of them run away together, never returning, forgotten by time to live the life they wanted? But he knows that it’s not possible, that time never forgets, and that lucifer couldn’t love him, he’s an angel, he’s a demon, he’s told himself a thousand times, but he can’t help but daydream, filling every resting moment with his ideal reality. He almost asks Barbatos if it’s possible, but after a millennia of longing he stopped, not wanting to worry the poor man, he works so much. So that’s where he stays, in the dead of night, streetlights long since darkened, looking over, he knows lucifer must be out there and well, he supposes he’s always been alone, it’s nothing he can’t handle

Lucifer knows. Lucifer dreams of going to talk to the Prince who loiters by the inbetween. The Prince who he knows as helped lost angels, sending them back to where they’re safe. If he truly was waiting to kill him like the vicious beast heaven depicts him as, surely he wouldn’t be so kind, so understanding.

Diavolo Is still at the inbetween when he’s alerted by Barbatos‘ Pressence. Theres a war, and not just a small territorial one, angels are rebelling. Armies are being sent to attack heaven whilst it’s weakest. Diavolo doesn’t agree with war, but his father is acting monarch, he can’t stop this. He almost prays that night, to god, for lucifers safety.

[Mr Rose by Spence Hood, the song that hit me like a truck before I wrote this. I can’t but imagine diavolo singing it, about lucifer, Someone Said it sounded like something a Disney Prince would sing and I couldn’t stop untill I’d written this]

[luzswonderland]

Thoughts on Season 2 Thus Far..

I gonna keep most of my thoughts on all the episodes brief, but also long enough where you guys can get the idea of where these episodes stand in levels of importance to me. I already have a lot personal favorites in this first half of the season and hope that the second half will deliver the same energy.

EPISODE 1:  Separate Tides

Good episode to start off the second season

Episode does a good job of addressing the different circumstances that Eda, Lilith, and Luz have with adjusting to life after the events of “Young Blood, Old Souls.”

We see the Golden Guard for the first time. With a voice too. I have more to say about him later when I get to the future episodes. But he is a treat!

The reintroduction of the portal and Emperor Belos’ plans for the human world in this episode, does a good job of reminding the audience of what is as stake this season.

Adore Luz and Eda’s pirate outfits ❤ 

Overall, a strong start to a very ambitious season.

Episode 2: Escaping Expulsion (Personal Favorite)

We finally see Amity’s parents!!!

Wasn’t expecting Odalia’s eyes to be blue, but both parents fit the personalities I originally envisioned them to have

Luz teaching Eda and Lilith to use magic through the glyphs was so cute and shows how different both Eda and Lilith are when it comes to approaching magic

Love how Amity’s separation from Luz was the trigger that caused her to stand up to her parents

Even though I kinda knew the expulsion from Hexside wasn’t going to permanent, it still shows how much pull Amity’s parents have at Hexside and the Boiling Isles. 

Looks like the abominations that Alador has made for profit will be used to fulfill whatever plans Emperor Belos has for the human world. 

Loved Amity and Luz’s interactions!!!

Episode 3: Echoes of the Past (Personal Favorite)

Fantastic King centered episode

I know that invisibility spell will come in handy in one of the later episodes. Good job, Luz

Hooty and Lilith are a riot this episode. Was not expecting them to get along at all this season.

I thought the show was going to make them polar opposites, but good to see that Hooty has a fan in the house.

King trying to remember his past and recounting his childhood memories was so sad because you realize that he has been trying to find out who he really is this entire time😭

The temple where King was born holds so much history and I hope we go back there soon

Will we find out what happened to King’s dad? What potential does King hold? Find out next time on DBZ!!!

Episode 4: Keeping Up A-fear-ances

Finally get to see Eda and Lilith’s mom and her palisman’s a hawk.

Love the pattern of all members of the Clawthorne family having bird themed palismen. I wonder what palisman Eda’s dad has.

Love how the episode addresses the blatant issue that Gwendolyn has with trying to find a cure for Eda. She cares for her daughter, but she is being blinded by ambition

The scams in the book she was reading were kinda funny tho

Lilith being upset that her mom favors Edal more than her is relatable, but also makes sense considering how the curse impacted Eda’s childhood

Lilith wanting to travel with her mom makes sense and I’m happy she made the decision to do that

Lilith’s beast from is cool

We finally get more information about there being another human that came to the Boiling Isles long ago!!!

We finally catch up with what’s going on at home and see that Luz’s imposter is blending in just fine and Camila is none the wiser. At least that buys Luz some time in the Boiling Isles

Episode 5: Through the Looking Glass Ruins

We get a Gus-centered episode and I’m here for it. I love it when the show deviates from the main narrative and focuses on the supporting cast

Even though I’m not the biggest fans of their personalities, the introduction of the students from Glandus High was great

I really love the character designs of these students, especially Bria, she looks so cute

Gus getting more character development and bonding with Mattholomule was good to see, I hope we see more of their interactions in future episodes

SO MANY LUMITY MOMENTS!!!

Luz getting more attracted to Amity

Amity putting her job on the line, so they could find Philip’s diary

Luz saying that she hopes to show Amity the human world one day

Luz successfully getting Amity’s job back

The kiss on cheek at the end of the episode by Amity

The blushing!!!💜💚-I can go on and on

Amity’s new look fits her well and shows that she is starting to live for herself and not her parents-Good!

Through the help of the Echo Mouse, we also get more information about why Philip came to the Boiling Isle in the first place.

But the Echo Mouse is being picky and stops before it gets good😫

Episode 6: Hunting Palisman (Personal Favorite)

This is my favorite episode of the season so far and probably my top ten favorite episodes of the series.

We are finally introduced to Hunter as the Golden Guard and he is a treat

Everything from his character design, to his goals, to his interactions with Luz make him very intriguing.

The kids begin to pick out their palisman and a lot of them fit their personalities, especially Willow’s.

I’m glad the show is addressing the fact that Luz doesn’t know what she wants to do when she becomes a witch because tbh I’m not sure either. I know she wants to help and protect the people of the Boiling Isles but she can’t really do that if she wants to go back home.

What a good time to bring up this internal conflict

Kikimora wanting to get rid of Hunter makes sense seeing as how the Emperor’s Coven is based of performance

LIST OF FAVORITE HUNTER AND LUZ MOMENTS:

Hunter and Luz’s interaction on Hunter’s ship

Luz slapping Hunter to wake him up😂

Luz stealing Hunter’s staff

Hunter revealing his family history and why he defers to Emperor Belos

These two give off a good sibling vibe and I want to see more of this later

I originally thought the red cardinal was going to be for Luz, but it ends up being Hunter’s palisman at the end of the episode-Interesting

Whatever Luz’s palisman is going to be, I hope it’s an animal that fits her personality because I thought the red cardinal would have been perfect

Maybe she will get a violet-backed starling as a palisman🤔

Hunter comes off as very complex immediately and I love that the show let’s us know that he trying to figure out his place in the Boiling Isles as a powerless being.

Episode 7: Eda’s Requiem

An Eda centered episode is such a plus for this season

So far I feel like the show has had Eda be a main plot point, but she hasn’t really been given her own episode-This episode takes a good step in the right direction

Eda feeling like she’s losing both Luz and King because they have both trying to find out more about their personal journeys is equivalent to a mother accepting that fact that her kids are moving across the country 😥

Eda reuniting with Raine is nice to see. You can automatically tell right off the bat that they have history

Raine being a rebel against Emperor Belos while working under Emperor Belos as a coven leader is BOLD AF

I see why Eda fell for them

We are introduced to the Abomination and Beast Keeping Coven leaders and I love their character designs, especially for Darius

The scene where Raine and Eda play together was so beautiful and does a fantastic job of representing how pure their relationship was and currently is 

I love how Raine realizing that Eda has more to live for than she thinks and puts a stop to the song they play in order to sacrifice himself

I know we are going to see Raine again, but I really hope Belos doesn’t do anything bad to them. Raine is a sweetheart

Even though Luz and King lose the Gland Plix race, it was still nice to see that Eda came towards the end of the face.

The reveal of King wanting to take Eda’s last name at the end of the episode is one of the main reasons why I love King and Eda’s relationship. They really do come off as mother and son❤

Episode 8: Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Hooty’s Door (Personal Favorite)

This is a Hooty’s centered episode which is a first for this show, but this ended up being one of my favorite episodes of the show because of what it addresses

Hooty helping King accidently discover his powers was a shock to me because I just through their interaction was going to end up being pointless

King can now be more useful in battle 😁

We finally see Eda’s dad and see why Eda has a hard time accepting her cursed side.

We also learn how the curse has negatively impacted her relationship with so many people, such as Raine 😥

Eda accepting her cursed side is the first step to begin this traumatic healing process. At this point, I don’t think the show will cure Eda of her curse and I don’t think they should honestly. It teaches the audience that you sometimes have to live with what you have whether it be a disease, a physical disability or mental illness.

GOOD LESSON👌👌

Eda’s harpy form looks amazing. I can’t wait to see what the show will do with this form in the future.

Hooty helping Luz with her crush on Amity was one of the best parts of the episode.

The Tunnel of Love scene and the mixed signals from Luz and Amity had be dying🤣

Luz building up the courage to ask Amity out was so sweet and so real at the same time.

It came off as real conversation between awkward teens trying to figure a romantic relationship out🥰

LUMITY IS CANON!!!😍💜💚

This happened sooner than I thought, but I’m glad it did. This is huge, especially for a Disney show.

Just when I started to like Hooty a lot more, he had to mess it up when he ate a letter from someone who could be King’s dad (?)

DANG IT, HOOTY

Hooty freaking out when he thinks he messed with helping King, Eda and Luz never got old 😂

The comedy was on point with this episode and I love how everything just falls in to place.

Episode 9: Eclipse Lake(Personal Favorite)

This episode had so much going on and I have a lot to say.

We get back to the Emperor Belos plotline of him trying to get to the human world and find out the Belos has actually been to the human world previously🤔

I wonder what Belos wants to do with Hunter and how he relates to these “plans”

Hunter is totally going to get betrayed by his uncle 😥

Amity’s palisman is adorable, I guess she got it off-screen

“DragonClaw Z”😂😂😂

Love how everyone is coming together to protect the house, it shows they really know what’s at stake

Amity using every opportunity she gets to call Luz her girlfriend is so cute❤

Hard to believe she hated his girl’s guts at the beginning of last season lol

Sick Luz is funny Luz

More lore about the secrets of the Boiling Isles and Titan’s Blood

I really wish Luz could have came to Eclipse Lake with the rest of the cast, but I guess the rest of the cast needed to experience Hunter for themselves lol

Hunter being roasted by Eda, King and Amity was hilarious 😂

“A bad, but sad boy.”-Yep that’s our Hunter 🤣

Hunter trying to get into Amity’s head concerning her relationship with Luz and her role in the Boiling Isles was surprising

I’m going to assume that Amity hasn’t been in a romantic relationship before so everything with Luz is new to her. Amity is usually very level-headed.

Even though Harpy-Eda is cool, I like that Eda doesn’t know how to control his form yet, it shows that she has a lot to learn before this form this 100% mastered

Hunter’s desperation to get his uncle’s approval is just sad; I really want to know his backstory because this isn’t it at all

Praise King for helping Amity figure out the text messages🙌

I love how Amity tries to relate to Hunter, it sweet and shows how much she has grown. If only see did a better job of hiding the key 😣

The fight between Amity and Hunter is amazing. I love when the show just flexes its animation like this. 

It may not be better than Eda and Lilith’s fight, but I still felt the tension between these two characters. When these two grow up, they are going to be some of the most powerful witches in the Boiling Isles for sure.

Hunter getting to Amity’s head about harming Luz is a low blow imo, but I’m glad Amity knew what was at stake in the situation

Crushing the key was smart tho. Even in stressful situations like these, Amity still keeps her cool. We love to see it😉

Luz can now use some of the Titan’s Blood from Amity’s glove to try to return back home!!!

This episode had no business being this good. When the plot kicks in the show, it never fails to deliver.

Episode 10: Yesterday’s Lie (Personal Favorite)

We finally catch up with what’s going on back on Earth and find out more about Luz’s impersonator. 

The gang making a makeshift portal out all of Eda’s junk is very creative. I wondered what they were going to do with that stuff now that Eda can’t sell human collectables anymore.

The dimension that Luz enters through the portal is very trippy and creative. It makes sense since the portal they made is not authentic. 

Luz mirror hoping and seeing someone impersonate her had to be scary. I couldn’t imagine.

We find out that Luz’s impersonator is actually a creature from the Boiling Isles known as a “Basilisk”

Vee’s backstrory is awful, I completely understand why she came to Earth and got comfortable after what she went through

We find out that Eda interacted with humans with an alias known as “Marylin”😂

Even though Luz doesn’t find a way home, this is the next best thing to let her mom know that she is okay.

Jacob gave off weird vibes immediately, so when he captures Vee to use her for fame, I wasn’t surprised.

What did surprise me was the fact that Jacob has been watching Vee for a while and he had the house where she transformed in monitored

I wonder if he’s seen anything else🤔

Camila is the GOAT. She came through and helped Vee out. A lot of people would have just ignored the situation, but she knew that Vee was important to Luz and I respect that👏👏

I’m glad she also agrees to keep Vee despite the situation

The scene between Luz and Camila was very heart-wrenching. Luz came clean about everything and Camila’s reaction to that was expected but it was still sad to see

The music and Camila trying to reach out to Luz was just 😭

This episode is a great mid-season finale. This episode addressed so much and foreshadows a lot of plot points to come in the later episodes.

The first half of season 2 had some bangers. More than half of these episodes are already in my top favorites of the series and we still have 11 episodes left. Good Job Owl House. I can’t wait see what the other half has left in store 🙌🙌

[vampiremeerkat]

This is not a request just a question: Have you ever thought of doing art on the Disney version of hades & persephone? I know in the hercules show they never had her show up (and from what I read they were going to change her to being hades & demeter's daughter, and they were in a custody battle). I guess they had a hard time trying to work her in. Though I'm sure you could've made the story of the two work, evil guys & sweet gals is something you're good at writing.

I have not, I don't think I've ever drawn Hercules fanart. Maybe a few sketches attempting Meg back in early high school. Why make Persephone his daughter. There are multiple Greek characters argued to be his offspring, they could've gone with any of them. Though Hades wished to marry one of the incest children of his incestuously conceived brother, because triple incest is even cooler, I wouldn't deviate too much from Persephone's initial role as his love interest. I think their monogamous relationship, especially in contrast with how that whore Zeus lived his life, is the one element that drives people to put the two names together in the first place. But well, daughter or wife, scrapping Persephone was for the best. Hercules is about Hercules, not Hades and his family life. Anyway, you're probably not even asking me how I'd make it work in the original movie, rather as a stand-alone story. Not that you explicitly asked anything at all. I'd cut Persephone off from Zeus and his sister wife, and make her a mortal woman, one described to be flawless and pure of heart and mind. The kind of person any god would love to have as a sacrifice. Having that said, her soul is unknowingly sold to Hades by her father to save his deathly ill wife. While minding her own business, she's suddenly dragged into the underworld and told the news. Having learned from Meg, Hades no longer sees the benefit of keeping feeble, grieving humans around as servants and contemplates kicking her down the soul pit right away, but the differences between Persephone and Meg are quickly picked up on. Unlike Meg, Persephone hasn't given him one resentful look, and her silent defeatist mentality has him take pity on the foo'. And she's hypotizingly beautiful, that helps, why not. Anyway, Hades "cheers her up" by letting her be his replacement Meg, opposed to an immobilized spirit in a gooey lake, but he finds himself increasingly unwilling to give her chores -mainly those that are bound to humiliate her or risk her safety. She's too honest and not bold enough, you can't send her to swoon a giant centaur. The fact Hades even cares is the dilemma; he never had to contemplate whether something was inappropriate with the headstrong Meg, though he excuses his reluctance as not wanting the jobs to be half-assed. He feels charmed by Persephone's patience and tolerance for him, which is more than what anyone's ever graced him with. She shows understanding for his discontentedness and feels for the way he's being treated by humans and gods, since no one likes death, after all. One of her biggest compliments to him would be the fact how comedic and animated he is for a god of death, which would make the underworld a surprisingly fun place if he'd allow the dead to fade away whilst experiencing the same joy he brings her. Hades is perplexed to learn he brought her joy this entire time, since he was set on being her intimidating boss. Throughout the story, Hades still has his eyes on Hercules, who's claimed -and has continued to be- the one thing that prevents a successful future for him. The oracles give him a new, vague prediction that introduces the existence of a star, which has to keep on shining if he wants the guarantee he'll receive a gratifying life. Hades keeps his sights on the night time sky in order to protect this supposedly fragile star when it shows up. Meanwhile, Persephone's mother is looking for a way to find and save her daughter, which ironically worsens her health. She dies during her strenuous journey, and when her soul enters the underworld, Hades recognizes her and has to make the decision whether to spare this woman a second time, or to admit her time ran out months ago. While he's thinking it over, Persephone shows up, but doesn't make her presence known. Hades sends the soul back to the land of the living, and the spying Persephone becomes instantly smitten by him over it. She never tells him she watched him do this, though, and there isn't much else she says or does to express her changed feelings, since she was already being nice to him and doesn't know how to take the next step. As for the main conflict.. I guess it would be the other gods learning Hades has a human girl for a slave, since he proudly "shows her off" by having her wait for him outside the borders of whatever divine area he's visiting. Perhaps he mentions her as well, but then it was believed he was talking about a goddess. Hercules feels most offended and plans to save Persephone, and since Hades already has beef with him, sees no problem in trying to kill him for barging into his domain again. He sends everything he has Hercules' way, but he perseveres. When Hercules makes it clear to have come for Persephone, Hades calls him a womanizer, because yo, and contemplates using her as a bargaining chip/trap. This would involve killing Persephone in order to kill him. Hercules expresses willingness to take dangerous risks if it entails saving a life, making it appealing for Hades to go through with it, but he can't, because Persephone is his girl. Hercules sees his chance and beats him to a pulp, but Persephone intervenes and exclaims not to be in danger. He's a bit skeptical over her acceptance of the villain, but chooses to believe her and withdraws. Hades learns she's the prophesied star he needed to spare, or some sappy shait. As for the ending, it's made clear it's not healthy for mortal beings to live in the underworld, so she and Hades agree to do (mostly) scheduled visitations. He fires her from being his servant and she reunites with her mother and remorseful father. I'll give the original mythology a little twist; where Spring and Summer-like days are the moments she's staying with Hades, while colder days signal her return home, caused by Hades' stage 3 depression. Not that it matters much, I suppose, Hades should be able to visit her as well, but I imagine the man is busy.

[popculturebuffet]

Goof Week: Sports Goofy in SoccerMania: GoofTales Woo-oo! (Paid For for WeirdKev27)

Gorsh all you happy people and welcome back to Goof Week, my Weeklong Celebration of everyone’s favorite goofus. 

And today we have a special treat, something nice and obscure but something that still has a vital place in Disney History. Welcome folks to Sports Goof in Soccermania!  

So yesterday in my Goof Troop review I wished there had been another DuckTales episode with Goofy, you know maybe find out what happened to Peg, see Max and Roxanne again that sort of thing.  Whelp SOMEONE must’ve hid a Monkey’s Paw around here somewhere because I got this special instead on comision. This is a VERY intresting little artifact as it came out only 4 months before DuckTales, was produced around the same time, and was written by Tad Stones, who would both go on to work on DuckTales and even more importantly create Darkwing Duck. 

Not only that but it has some odd things attached to it: it’s the first major production starting Scrooge, as he had an educational short about him, the first animated appearance of the Beagle Boys and most important the FIRST time Russi Taylor would voice Huey, Dewey and Louie, something she’d do till her passing a few years ago. At the time of this article she has not been recast, though I personally vote for Cristina Valenzuela, who took over the role of Young Donald and frankly does such a good job with that voice I didn’t know if Russi had already recorded lines for Season 3 before her passing. 

So what IS Sports Goofy in Soccermania you ask? It was a TV Special from 1987, again four months before DuckTales, that was later sold on VHS. My guess is Disney intended for this to become a regular thing like the Charlie Brown or Garfield specials, but my honest guess is with DuckTales MASSIVE success they wanted to put all the TV Animation resources into making more shows to go with it. The fact the special is essentailly a Scrooge story with Goofy in it and Scrooge and the Boys were now tied up in DuckTales probably helped the decision. So we only got one of these and i’m proud to share it for Goof Week. So join me under the cut to see what a Sports Goof is, what Scrooge sounds like without Alan Young or David Tennant andto see me refrence the film UHF because I likes it. 

 So we open with the titles which are neat and then open at the Money bin, we even get a great sign gag that looks like something Carl Barks would write.

So Scrooge greets his nephews the way he greets everybody.. with a canon to the face... though he backs of firing once he realizes it’s them. The boys ALL wear red this special so .. I guess Huey won and now rules all three bodies with an iron fist? So the Huey Hive Mind asks Scrooge for a donation, a standard Scrooge setup, ask the rich asshole for money, as their trying to help the local soccer program and they need a buck fiddy for a trophy. 

Scrooge’s voice here.. is terrible. I do not like to bash voice actors, they are hard working talented people who do a lot of great stuff, often for less pay than they deserve, and this blog ALWAYS makes that painfully clear. And Will Ryan is not without talent: While he hasn’t done much i’m familiar with he did play Petrie in Land Before Time and was great in it. So while I don’t dislike him as a person.. he did an utterly DREADFUL Scrooge. He dosen’t really attempt to do a scottish accent despite the character still saying cannae at one point, and as for what accent he is going for...

His Scrooge just sounds like someone trying to do a “foreign” accent and failing. It just sounds weird and makes every bit of his dialouge aside from one a chore to sit through. And the dialouge isn’t bad dialouge, it’s a well written and animated Scrooge even with the lower budget than Ducktales, but the voice just ruins it for me. Even without Young and Tennant to compare it to this just blows and the fact it’s paired up with the iconic Russi Taylor voice for the triplets.

This being Scrooge he instead fishes a Trophy out of the bin that’s all banged up and dinky and shoos them out. So in natural Barksian fashion the trophy turns out to be worth a million dollars. So we get some reaction shots.. INCLUDING GRANDMA DUCK!

For DuckTales fans joining us who have ZERO idea who that is, since she sadly did not make it into the reboot and Frank did have ideas, Grandma Duck is Donald, Della and Gladstone’s grandma. She’s a sweet old country woman who lives on a farm and is in fact the one who sold him Kilmotor HIll, with her husband renaming it from Killmule hill. I like her a lot since she reminds me of my own grandma and like her she still works when she can. Donald’s cousin Gus loafs around and eats as her farmhand. As you can tell I like her a lot, agani because she reminds me of one of my grandmas so this was nice even if she was only around for 20 seconds of screentime. 

This ends up in the paper and sends Scrooge through the roof, literally when he finds out. 

Two notes  before we move on: The bin has a unique really cool design , though I get why other productions haven’t used it: besides this one’s obscurity while cool it just looks a bit TOO nice for Scrooge. Even in 2017 while still damn cool looking it still looks practicle. This .. is not that.

This looks like MC Hammer built this. It still looks awesome bu tit’s just not Scrooge sadly. 

The other is that his Butler is named Jeeves here, but looks almost exactly like Duckworth. Just feels weird is all. 

Naturally the Beagle Boys happen upon the paper too and their leader, no name given has a plan: Enter legitmately and win the cup all legal like, which dosen’t sound like it lives up to the beagle code of no hones twork.... until he brings up theri going ot cheat their asses off. 

Meanwhile Scrooge tries bribing the boys with a giant trophy at their house... with Donald oddly absent despite Anselmo having taken over for Nash by this point. I know he was still a bit rough at the roll, but come on. It’s just.. weird especailly for reasons i’ll get into soon. 

So Scrooge agrees to sponsor the boys teams so he can get the trophy back square, and is forced to buy a knew ball and here we FINALLY get Goofy. I say finally because this special is 20 mintues long and it takes almost a fourth of it for him to arrive. It’s just weird for him to not be in it for so long. I mean I don’t want THIS

Flashbeagle didn’t take a fourth of the special to get to Flashbeagle. It did take longer than that to get to the title track but when your sitting on THIS

You gotta use it JUST right. Goofy here is not played by Bill Farmer, which IS odd as he did start playing him that year, but my guess is they weren’t sure if they were going with Farmer or the actor who played him in this special, Tony Pope, so they were trying out both as whoever DID get the role would have it for life. Disney takes the casting of the sensational 7 VERY seriously, as evidenced by the fact most cast changes are caused by death and unlike with Tony and Donald it’s clear Colvig hadn’t picked a succesor. I can also see why it’s a hard choice: while farmer IS excellent and was the right man for the job, Pope is still excellent in the role, bringing the warmth and energy you’d expect from Goofy and having excellent comedic timing that’s vital to getting the dog man right. I can see why this was such a hard choice, even if I also see they went with Farmer: Farmer just has slightly more energy to the roll. It’s a small diffrence and something that dosen’t effect the special, but it is a KEY diffrence and the reason Bill’s THE goofy to me even over his original voice actor Pinto Colvig. 

Also I may of mispoke there... see it’s not Goofy in this special it’s SPORTS Goofy. No really every bit of dialogue refers to him as Sports Goofy. It’d be like if they refered to then CEO Micheal Eisner as Won’t Think Through Eurodisneyland Micheal Eisner. 

So Sports Goofy helps them get a ball in an honestly awesome way and shows despite his clumsy manner, he’s damn cordinated, easily putting everything up and showing some real skill with the ball. So Moneygrubbing Scrooge decides Sports Goofy is his ticket to get the trophy back and recuits goofy as coach and star player for the boys team. 

So Asshole Scrooge meets his team the Greenbacks.. which are a bunch of random animal characters with no real personality. They are a hippo, a goat, expresso the ostrich, a navy (blue) seal,  an elephant in a beanie, a killaroo and a cheetah or leopard. But I have one question, really simple really easy one...

You need 11 players for a soccer team, thank you google. So they DID get that accurate. With Goofy and the Triplets you only need 7 more. THIS is why Donald’s absence is glaring: he’s just oddly not there when they needed 7 other characters but Elephant in a Beanie gets in there. And it’s not hard ot fill either: Donald , Daisy (Because duh), Gyro and Grandma Duck (Because both cameoed but I only mentioned Grandma Duck, though this is ALSO Gyro’s first apperance), Gladstone (who as it turns out had a cameo storyboarded that didn’t make it into the final product), Gus (Since grandma duck) and Scrooge’s butler since he was in an earlier scene anyway so why waste the character model. They could still play the same roll as easily steamrolled underdogs and it’d make more sense.  It just baffles me that with such a deep bench to play from, they don’t use ANY OF IT in favor of the cast of Animal Soccer World.

The Greenbacks can’t play for greenjack, which worries Scrooge.. but Goofy is able to carry them to the finals, while the Beagle Boys make their way there too. We find this out.. via newspaper transition. We get a bunch of headlines telling us what happened instead of you know a montage because that costs money and they already spent 1.50 making this special.. they only have 50 cents left. 

So the Beagles recognizing Sport Goofy is the only thing in their way plots a kidnappin. We get a gut busting scene of the beagles all hiding in Sports Goofy’s house with him being oblvious only to spring on him. 

The next day with Sports Goofy a no show the team is bummed, even mor ewhen they find a kidnapping note from Don’tGetNotToLeaveEvidence Beagle Boys. Seriously give that to the officals. 

So Asshole Scrooge tries to give a rousing speech... and it is a sight to behold and the one highlight of pope as scrooge... it’s why I picked it as the article image. That glitching isn’t me by the way: it REALLY does that. Coupled with the yellow eyes i’ts just fantastic. So the team decides to morosely play the game and Hivemind Huey boos scrooge for not having faith in him. Instead of again you know telling the officials. Maybe assimilating the other made Huey dumber. I

So the game begins and the Cheating Beagles cream the Give Up To Easily Green Backs, while Sports Goofy watches from the other Crime Beagles hideout. It honestly reminds me of UHF: a dumb well meaning guy whose vital to something succeding is kidnapped.. it dosen’t involve Weird Al dressing up as rambo but still. It also makes me want UHF but with the disney cast. Fethry as weird al, Donald as his best friend, Fethry’s girlfriend for the comcis as weird al’s girlfriend, Gyro as philo, Goofy as Stanley, and Pete of course is Stacey Keach. I could go on but you get the point. Someone draw this.  Sport Goofy is a clever bastard and escapes by working one of his shoes off, taking a nearbye knife and cutting himself free.. and almost stabbing a beagle boy in the face but that would just make two. Sport Goofy escapes and the lunkheaded beagle boys chase after him IN THEIR CAR WHILE GOOFY RUNS AHEAD OF IT.  Goofy, he can really move! Goofy, he’s got attitude! Goofy HE’S THE FASTEST THING ALLIIIIVEEEEEE. Sport Goofy makes it in time fo rhalf time, rallies the troops and it goes how you’d expect: They overcome the beagles blatant cheating, win the cup, the beagles attempt to cheat with a rigged ball backfires and they all get arrested. It’s by the numbers stuff. We end with Scrooge deciding to dontate the trophy instead (though in a great bit asking if it was tax deductible), and posing for a team shot> We get some awesome credits music and we’re out

Final Thoughts:

This special is mediocre: There are only a handful of great jokes, it’s your standard “teamwork makes the dreamwork plot” that dosen’t work because our underdogs really CAN’T play without their star, and Scrooge’s voice hurts to listen to. Pope and Taylor are great and while Will Ryan is an awful Scrooge, he is a good Beagle Boy or five. 

It IS worth a watch though. It’s riffable enough with the sometimes sloppy unfinished animatoin in the last part and Scrooge’s terrible voice, and it is still is a neat oddity for 90′s kids like myself to not only see Russi’s first thing as Huey Dewey and Louie, but to also see Scrooge and Goofy with vastly diffrent voice actors, as well as Gyro and the Beagle Boys first animated apperances. The fact this came just months before Ducktales makes it all the more intresting. So if your looking for a legit good Disney product.. this is shoddy at best if well meaning. But as a bit of disney history, especially only clocking in at 20 minutes so it’ sa brisk watch, it’s worth a look if your into that. 

Next On Goof Week: We come on in To The House of Mouse where goofy becomes faster than a speeding punchline,  more powerful than pete when his family has to wrestle him to the ground to take him to the doctor and able to make tall leaps of logic in a single bound. it’s SUPER GOOF!

So thank you for reading and if you liked this review give it a like and consider joining my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. As a patron you’d get access to exclusive reviews, the patreon’s discord and to pick a short each time I do one of these shortstaculars. Donald’s comnig next month and the deadline is in only a few days to join up for said month so the clock is ticking. Even a dollar a month helps me reach my stretch goals so please i fyou can sign up today and if not, I understand and i’ll see you at the next rainbow

[suituuup]

A Merry Crazy Christmas

for @raincloudtoyoursunshine. Merry Pitchmas!

shoutout to @scylla-ramshorn for the idea :)

*

“Bedtime, guys!” 

“Noooooo,” Logan whines, dramatically face planting on the floor of the playroom. “I wanna stay up ‘til Chwistmas!”

Beca rolls her eyes, having expected as much. “Come on Finn, go brush your teeth.” 

Her son nods without objection, shuffling past his mom to head to the bathroom. 

“Logan Jade,” Beca tries the stern voice and full name, even though she’s not really the authoritarian mom; Chloe is, and their youngest knows that perfectly well, and she likes to take advantage of it every time. “I’ve got Santa’s phone number, remember? He won’t be happy to hear you’re not listening to me.” 

Beca’s lost count of how many times she’s threatened to text Santa over the last few weeks. It proved pretty efficient to counter toddler tantrums. 

Logan grumbles in a very Beca way (it’s sort of scary sometimes, how much she acts like her) but pushes to her feet, dramatically dragging them on her way to the bathroom.

Beca waddles after them, one hand supporting her lower back while the other rubs her large belly. 

She’s three days away from her due date, and she’s miserable. Everything aches, her feet and ankles are swollen, and she needs to pee every five minutes. 

Once both kids have washed up, she reads them a bedtime story of Logan’s choice before tucking them in. 

“M’gonna stay awake,” Logan mumbles as Beca tucks the covers around her, even though her lids are steadily drooping. 

Beca smirks knowingly. “Sure you are.” She bends down to kiss the tip of her nose. “Goodnight, baby.” 

She heads to the master next, closing the door behind her. “Kinda wish we could use the Santa card all year long,” she says as she leans against the surface for a moment. 

Chloe chuckles from her spot on the floor, surrounded by a dozen unwrapped presents. “Let me guess, Logan?”

Beca hums and lowers herself on the bed, eyeing the already wrapped pile. “Our kids are spoiled.” 

Chloe grimaces as she looks around as well. “Yeah, we might have gone overboard.” She glances at Beca. “How you feeling?” 

A groan flits through Beca’s lips. “So done with this pregnancy. That baby better be cute.” 

Chloe laughs, pushing to her feet and making her way over. Christmas is only the day after tomorrow, so present-wrapping thankfully doesn’t have to be finished tonight. She sits down next to her wife, kissing her covered shoulder as her head comes to rest over her belly. “A few more days at most.” 

“I know,” Beca sighs, covering Chloe’s hand with her own. “Strong chances this baby is a Logan 2.0, you know that, right?” 

Chloe’s pregnancy with Finn was difficult, and the doctor advised against her carrying again, so when they decided to have a third baby, it was a no brainer that Beca would be the one to get pregnant. 

Chloe simply smiles. “I love that she’s so much like you. I know she’s going to grow up to be a determined, badass and loyal human being like her mama.” 

Beca rolls her eyes at her wife’s cheesiness. “The teenage years coming before that might be the death of us.” She groans again, tilting her head back. “And I need to pee. Again.” 

Chloe pushes to her feet and gives her a boost up. “Call me if you need help up the toilet seat.” 

Beca’s response is a huff as she slowly waddles to the bathroom. She thankfully manages to do everything on her own, and slides into bed when she makes it back, falling asleep to Chloe wrapping more presents. 

The creaking of the bedroom door as it’s pushed open the next morning draws her out of her slumber. She cracks one eye open to see her two kids tip-toeing inside, hair disheveled from sleep. 

“No baby yet,” their youngest, Logan, whispers to her older brother Finn. “Maybe he’s waiting ‘til Chwistmas morning!” 

“Maybe,” Finn whispers back. “I don’t think the baby knows when Christmas morning is, though.” 

“I tell,” Logan states decidedly, walking over. 

Beca’s lying on her side with a pillow wedged between her thighs and another behind her back, the only position she’s able to fall asleep in. Chloe’s somewhere behind her, but cuddling has been off limits for the past month as Beca gets as hot as a freaking furnace during the night. 

While Finn climbs onto the mattress, Logan comes to stop in front of Beca. 

“Whatcha doing, Munchkin?” Beca mumbles sleepily as Logan presses her ear to her large bump. 

“I listen to the baby,” she murmurs, eyebrows stitched together in focus. “Why’s it late, Mama?” 

“I guess they like where he is now. Warm and comfortable. You two were late, too.” 

“But the baby can’t miss Christmas,” Logan points out with a heavy frown. 

Beca chuckles, reaching out to smooth her hand over her hair. “There’s always next Christmas.” 

“Where’s Mommy?” Finn asks after a beat. 

Because of the mountain of pillows, Beca didn’t notice her wife wasn’t in bed anymore.

“Probably downstairs making breakfast,” she answers. “Wanna go see if she needs help?” 

Both kids nod and Logan follows her brother out and down the stairs while Beca spends a few seconds struggling to sit up. 

“Mama!” Finn’s shout makes her freeze on her way to the bathroom. He appears in the doorway a handful of seconds later, worry flashing in his features. “Mommy fell!” 

Beca blinks. “What do you mean she fell? Where’s she??” 

“Outside, she says she can’t get up!” 

“What?” Ignoring her bladder about to burst, Beca makes her way downstairs as quickly as possible given her state and follows Finn to the open front door. She gasps upon finding Chloe sprawled out on her back in the snow covered driveway, a shovel laying next to her. “Baby, what happened??” 

Chloe groans. “Don’t come out here, it’s slippery.” She huffs. “I think I threw my back out.” 

“Oh no.” Beca grimaces, eyeing the state of the driveway and debating whether it’s safe for her to go help Chloe. With the giant watermelon weighing her down, she’s got more chance of face planting than successfully dragging Chloe up. “Hold on tight, babe, I’ll call one of the neighbors.” 

“It’s okay, Mommy!” Logan calls out sweetly before Beca ushers them inside so they don’t catch a cold as they’re only wearing their pajamas and it’s freaking freezing. 

She grabs her phone and makes a few calls, eventually managing to get a hold of their across the street neighbor, a dude about their age. He comes over right away and helps Chloe up, supporting her weight as they walk inside the house and towards the couch. 

“Thanks, Brad,” Chloe mutters with a wince as she sits down. 

“No problem. I’ll shovel the rest of the driveway for ya.”

“I cuddle you better, Mommy,” Logan says, climbing on the couch and snuggling into Chloe’s side while Beca heats up a pad in the kitchen. 

“Mm, thanks baby.” 

“Here,” Beca says when she comes back, handing her the pad. 

“I wanted the driveway to be cleared in case we needed to go to the hospital,” Chloe mumbles, grimacing as she shifts to set the pad on her lower back. “Shit, I’m old.”

Logan gasps. “Bad word, Mommy.”

“Mm I know, I’m sorry Pumpkin. I’ll put a dollar in the jar later.” She glances up at Beca, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I should call Jenny to let her know we might need her to drive you if the baby comes today.” 

Jenny’s Chloe’s closest colleague and friend in town. The Bellas are all scattered around the country, the closest being Aubrey in Boston. 

“She’s probably swamped with Christmas Eve dinner with her parents coming over and all,” Beca points out. “Besides, I really don’t think the baby’s coming today.” 

Chloe seems to internally debate Beca’s objection for a moment. “Fine. But I’m calling her the minute you have a contraction.” 

“Alright,” Beca concedes. “You’ll probably be more comfortable in bed. Think you can climb up the stairs?” 

Chloe nods. “Yeah, let’s give it a try.” 

Once upstairs, she helps Chloe out of her down jacket and props pillows under her back to ease the pain. “I’ll be back with some pain meds, alright?” 

“Is mommy okay?” Finn asks when she makes it back downstairs, blue eyes full of empathy. 

“She’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Beca assures him gently, running her fingers through his red curls. “Just needs to rest up for a bit.” 

She entertains the kids on her own for a while, whipping up a simple lunch. Logan thankfully doesn’t fight her to go down for a nap, and Finn seems content hanging out downstairs to watch a Disney movie while Beca goes to lie down for a bit. 

Her lie-down ends up being a two-hour nap, and she wakes up in a flash to the sound of the fire alarm. Chloe is still out cold from the pain medicine and Beca shuffles out of the room and heads downstairs as quickly as she can. 

“Finn?!” She calls out, following the burning smell to the kitchen. 

The seven-year-old is standing in the middle of the room, frozen as smoke seeps out of the oven. 

“Baby, step back,” Beca instructs, yanking him away from the oven. She opens it, relieved to find no actual flames, and opens the window above the sink to let some clear air in. Grabbing the oven mitts from the drawer, she takes out what looks like a cake and sets the baking pan out on the window ledge. She focuses on her son next, crouching to his level as her eyes sweep over his body for any signs of injury. “Are you hurt, Finn?” 

He shakes his head, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. “I-I wanted to help and-and make Ch-Christmas d-dinner,” he stammers. “I’m sorry.” 

Beca’s expression softens. “Oh, baby…” She pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m just relieved you’re alright.” 

“Bec?” Chloe appears around the corner, one hand braced over her lower back. “What happened?” 

“Our little guy wanted to make dinner to help out but things didn’t go as planned.” 

Finn sniffles, glancing at Chloe. “I made a cake and put it in the oven but then I went back to watch TV and I forgot about it until the alarm. But it was too late.” More tears leak out of his eyes as his features crumble. “Santa is not gonna come anymore. I ruined Christmas.” 

Beca shakes her head. “You didn’t ruin Christmas, honey. You wanted to help us, which is really sweet, but it’s not safe to use the oven on your own. So next time you should ask one of us, alright?” 

Finn nods. “Okay, I promise.” 

“And Santa is absolutely still coming,” Chloe adds with a beaming grin. “Because you’re kind, and devoted, and the best big brother there is.” 

“What’s devoted?” He asks in a small voice. 

“It means that you love your family and friends and will do many things to make them happy, like trying to make Christmas dinner.” Beca smiles. “But we can still make that happen. Wanna help mama make grilled cheese? That’s an acceptable dinner, right?” 

Finn’s head bobs up and down; grilled cheese happens to be his and Logan’s favorite. 

When Logan wakes up, the three of them spend an hour decorating the table and making dinner while singing Christmas tunes. They watch a movie Finn and Logan picked out, and the kids set a plate of cookies and a glass of milk next to the Christmas tree for Santa. 

“Oh man, what a day,” Beca mutters with a sigh as she crawls into bed after making a few trips downstairs to arrange the presents around the Christmas tree. “How are you feeling?” 

“A bit better,” Chloe says from her spot next to her. “This Christmas will definitely be one we’ll remember. I threw my back out, our son almost set the house on fire and--” 

Beca gasps. “My water just broke.” 

An almost comical length of silence follows as Chloe and Beca stare at each other with wide eyes. 

“Or I peed my pants, but I just used the toilet.” 

“You’re kidding,” Chloe whispers. 

Beca throws her wife a glare. “Fuck. Can you drive?” 

“I’ll manage.” 

It’s a good thing they already set up the car seat and that it hasn’t snowed anymore during the day, so their driveway is clear. 

“Whassgoin’ on?” She hears Logan mumble when Chloe crosses the hall to wake the children up. Beca’s water broke two hours ago, and her contractions are close enough that they need to head to the hospital. 

“The baby is coming,” Chloe says gently. “So you guys are going to go to Ms. Jenny’s for the rest of the night while mommy takes mama to the hospital.” 

While Beca’s labor with Logan lasted over twenty-two hours, this baby is in much more of a haste to meet the world. 

Riley Josephine Mitchell is born at 6:13 am on Christmas morning. Beca’s chest feels fit to burst with love as their tiny screaming baby is laid on her chest, her cries quieting down as soon as she feels Beca’s warm skin. 

“It’s okay, baby girl,” she murmurs, brushing soft kisses to her forehead. Her eyes find Chloe’s equally teary ones. “Merry Christmas, love.” 

Chloe beams, resting her forehead against the side of Beca’s head. “Merry Christmas.” 

Yeah… definitely one they will remember. 

[artificialqueens]

Me and You Together, 1/? (Taywhora) - Ortega

fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.

a/n: i honestly have begun this wip with glitter and jesus. i have no idea how many chapters it’s going to have or what exactly the plot is going to be…all i know is that it’s fwb (flatmates with benefits) to lovers taywhora with a background love triangle involving Ellie bc she’s my fav. pls enjoy and pls leave me love because i am a keyworker so really one comment = one 6pm clap xo

P.S. the Friday mentioned in this fic is the one A’whora’s obsessed with and was dancing to on her insta…not the popular Rebecca Black song. also 100 points to anyone who knows the song Lawrence and Ellie get excited about in the club.

content note: they’re freshers at uni in the UK and this country has a binge drinking problem xo. please don’t expect any of these girls to be acting responsibly. if you think you might be influenced by a fic talking about alcohol, smoking, sex and drugs, this might not be for you luv xo

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December- Fell in love with her in stages

A year ago if you had asked A’whora what she was doing on a Tuesday night, the answer would’ve been mundane.

Homework, maybe, if she could be bothered. She could always copy it from Mocha in registration, after all. Making tiny outfits for Barbie dolls out of fabric scraps, very probably; she hadn’t stopped doing that just because she was older, the only difference from when she was nine was that she didn’t make her Barbies talk anymore. Invariably she’d stay up til’ well past her bedtime, earphones plugged in to her laptop and trying not to sing along to the playlist of dance music she’d spent a year cultivating. She’d poked fun at her Mum for still giving her a bedtime at the big age of eighteen, but she’d maintained that while her girl was living under her roof it would be bed by eleven on a weeknight and out no later than three on a weekend.

These rules, however, were quickly disposed of as soon as she’d got the keys to her uni flat. As soon as she’d found out her other flatmates were just as riotous and chaotic as she was and loved a night out just as much, her weeks had been filled with nights she’d never forget in bars she couldn’t remember, heads against speakers and sore feet from heels and ridiculous pre-drinks with even more ridiculous cocktails.

One such cocktail is the one her flatmate’s making for her now. Ellie doesn’t have any of the professional equipment a usual bartender would, but that doesn’t seem to stop her- the messy countertops are a treasure trove of obscure liqueurs and alcopops, and Ellie twirls a yellow-blonde curl around her finger before giving a gasp of satisfaction as her hand settles on a sticky green bottle.    

“One shot of apple soors, half a can of blue Monster, top up the rest with vodka,” she explains as she works with the various bottles and cans quickly, pouring into the pint glass they’d stolen from one of the pubs on a bar crawl during Freshers Week. She hands it to A’whora with a cheeky, mischievous grin on her painted face.

A’whora sniffs her glass and feels her nose wrinkle up involuntarily at the concoction her flatmate’s poured for her. “Els, if I drink that I’ll die.”

Ellie, to her credit, simply gives a snort of disapproval in response. Her pink acrylics click against the quarter bottle of vodka as she tightens the lid and replaces it in their freezer, all shiny and slick with frost. “Well if you are gonna take three hours to get ready then you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences of playing catch-up, babe.”

“Bitch,” A’whora jokes, rolling her eyes before sipping from her glass. The mixture makes her screw her face up so she takes another sip, then another until the weird sour-sweet-burn in her throat becomes more like a cocktail than cough syrup.

“Good, right?” Ellie prompts her, leaning against their kitchen counter proudly.

“No,” A’whora deadpans, causing her friend to burst out laughing. Then, realising something, she cocks her head. “Wait a second. What the fuck did you call the green drink?”

Ellie frowns. “Soors.”

“…Sourz?” A’whora says back to her, already giggling at the difference in dialects.

“Don’t play the pronunciation game with me, bitch.”

“Oh, I absolutely will when you’re just saying it wrong.”

“Lawrence!” Ellie shouts through to their other flatmate, sitting on the sofa and frowning at the bluetooth speaker as if it’s personally committed some crime against her. Ellie holds up the bottle as Lawrence snaps her head round, dark curls flying over her shoulder. “What’s this?”

“Liquidised heartburn,” she says instantly. A’whora snorts as Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Fuck’s sake. What’s it called?”

“Soors,” Lawrence shrugs back at her, and Ellie gestures triumphantly at A’whora who can only pout in reply.

“Listen, I can get Tia, Bims and Tayce through here and they’d all outnumber you, so. Shut it.”

“Yeah bet you’d love to get Tayce through here, A’whora,” Ellie smirks, raising both her eyebrows at her in an infuriatingly smug expression.

A’whora is clamped for a couple of reasons, the first being the God-awful nickname all her flatmates use against her. She’d managed to acquire it the first time they’d all played Never Have I Ever together and A’whora had drank for pretty much every situation or scenario presented to her. Before she’d known it, her very lovely, very Disney Princess-esque first name had been replaced by a pun that Bimini had come up with in the midst of their third rum and coke, and thus Aurora was dead and A’whora was born.  

The second reason for her silence is a result of the mention of one of the girls she’s living with. A’whora had never really expected to develop a crush on any of her flatmates, which had been a ridiculous thing to assume- given the fact she’s attracted to girls and was going to be living with other girls, the odds would dictate that at least one of them would be her type. Luckily, though, she hasn’t developed any feelings for any of them. At least, that’s the lie she’s telling herself, as the cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward.

Tayce is different to Ellie, Lawrence, Tia and Bimini, though. None of the others get A’whora so flustered when they speak to her, none of the other others get her heart racing so fast it threatens to fly out her ribcage. She doesn’t feel the same sense of dizzy joy when she’s alone with any of the others: only when Tayce makes dinner with her, or when she comes to her room at ten at night for chats, or when they play Tayce’s stupid video games together and she beats her way-too-many-consecutive-times in a row to be considered fair. A’whora has tried to explain it away as just wanting to be liked, just wanting to be good friends, just just just until she can’t justify her own excuses any more and has instead resigned herself to repressing the feelings she has for her friend. The tension between them is building, though, and it’s only a matter of time until something happens.

“BITCH!”

A’whora jumps a little, flinching as she realises she’s gone too long without a comeback. Ellie’s expression is expectant and impatient as she clicks her fingers once, twice, three times in her face.

“Shut up, Ellie-phant,” A’whora manages to mumble almost incoherently as she turns on her heel, walking through to the living room area to sit with Lawrence and join her on her quest to making their speakers work.

Their flat is an odd one. The front door leads to a prison cell-style line of equally pokey rooms- Lawrence’s, Tayce’s, A’whora’s, Bimini’s, Ellie’s and Tia’s respectively- and two bathrooms. Then another door opens out onto two hobs, endless cupboards and grimy, cluttered countertops, and a scrub of shitty green carpet and three worn out red-purple sofas that look as tired as Bimini does when they come home from a random afterparty just as A’whora leaves for lectures. It doesn’t in any way look like a normal flat, but A’whora supposes they’re about as far away from normal as a sentient slice of cheese.

“Oh babe, you must be crushing crushing. I don’t think I’ve heard you come out with a comeback as shit as that in the whole four months we’ve lived together,” Ellie continues the conversation, buzzing behind her like an annoying fly.

“It wasn’t shit, it was good!”

“Lawrie, what’s a good comeback to me calling A’whora a whore?” Ellie appeals to her friend again.

“Rich of you to be calling anyone a whore. You come from a long line of whores. You’re a whore, your maw’s a whore, your maw’s maw was a whore. There’s cave paintings of your ancestors wi’ twelve dicks in their mouths. There’s tapestries of them gettin’ shagged left, right an’ centre. There’s clay sculptures of them being whores. Pipe the fuck doon,” Lawrence reels off, Ellie growing more and more breathless with hysterical laughter beside her and A’whora falling into giggles too.

“Well this was a weird time for me to enter the conversation.”

A’whora feels her heart lift and her face light up when she turns around and sees Tayce walking through to join them, the posture of a model with her fingers curled elegantly around the stem of a wine glass. She flicks her long, dark hair over her shoulder as she sits down on the small sofa beside A’whora, and she wonders how Tayce can sit in a way that makes the stained, battered, scratchy upholstery seem like the set of a high fashion photoshoot.

“Just talking about you,” A’whora sticks her tongue out at her, laughing at the way Tayce reels in fake horror and Lawrence explodes with laughter across from them.

“The valour, the bravery and the backbone,” Tayce grumbles, rolling her eyes. Her gaze rests upon something behind A’whora- the back of the sofa. Maybe there’s a new rip in it, God knows how that can have happened. She holds back a gasp, though, when Tayce reaches out and runs a gentle finger down her spine against her bare skin; an advantage of the sparkly backless cowl neck top she’s wearing that she hadn’t known existed until now. “Speaking of backbones, you’re such a skinny minnie.”

“Did you go to the school of backhanded compliments?” A’whora teases, deflecting from the way her heart’s still thrumming in her chest at the contact.

“Shush, you. You know you look bloody gorgeous,” Tayce says back to her, and even though there’s a laugh to her voice A’whora knows she means it. Her heart’s still going like a train but she can chalk that up to the half can of Monster Ellie’s dumped into her drink, so when she mutters out a thanks hun, same to you she hopes it doesn’t sound as insincere as it feels.

The thing is, she does look gorgeous. She’s dressed in a black lace bodysuit with straps that criss-cross up the back and a tight leather skirt that makes her legs look even longer than they already are. She’s opted for heels like A’whora has (unlike Ellie and Lawrence who have designated night-out trainers stained with spillages of drinks gone by) but hers have straps that are laced all the way round her calves and tied with a knot at the top. Everything about her outfit makes everything about her look outrageously good, and A’whora thinks it should be illegal for anyone to be this ethereal.

Tayce looks as if she’s about to fire something back at her judging by the little smile on her face but she’s interrupted by an outrageously loud boom from the speakers, as something that could be Lady Gaga but is too deafening to be deciphered screams through it. As the girls all flinch there’s a frantic diminuendo that comes from Lawrence mashing the volume button until the pitch is finally bearable and they can all take their hands off their ears.

“Lawrence, did you get the speakers working?” Ellie quips sarcastically, to which Tayce and A’whora burst out laughing and Lawrence almost elbows Ellie off the sofa opposite.

In the melee A’whora almost doesn’t notice Bimini and Tia come in, and they look ready to start the night if a little panicked.

“What the hell was that?” Tia asks quickly, opening the fridge and grabbing her bottle of premixed Malibu and pineapple before perching herself on the couch beside Ellie. “I thought part of the building had exploded.”

“Nah that was just my vagina, babes,” Lawrence says offhandedly, the others either screeching with laughter or groaning in anguish. Bimini crosses the room with their selection of drinks cradled in their arms and budges Tayce and A’whora up with an oi, oi!, A'whora’s pulse thudding at her wrist as a result of her close proximity to her crush.

No- her friend. Her friend who’s never going to be anything more than that.

With the six flatmates assembled, drinks poured, and tunes on, their pre drinks can begin. Pres at their flat often look like drinking games, yelling along to early 2010s pop, tipsily booking taxis and then touching up their makeup in the waiting time before they arrive. Tonight is no different; they bicker about where they want to go and eventually decide on the union because although it’s “too het” according to Ellie, it’s admittedly cheap and a good night out. A’whora chips into the conversation every five minutes with shady, catty jokes that Tayce howls at and leans into her side and clutches her arm or her hand or her thigh.

The contact is nice. They’ve reached that stage of their friendship where they’re touchy and close a lot of the time- A’whora’s constantly playing with Tayce’s hair and Tayce thinks nothing of just walking into A’whora’s room and getting under the duvet with her. They throw their arms around each other and bump shoulders as they walk and touch legs on the sofa, much like they’re doing now. A’whora has never been a cuddly type of friend- to be honest, she still isn’t- but there’s something about doing all this with Tayce that she doesn’t mind. It’s a comfortable kind of intimacy, a knitted blanket of sorts, but it’s a fragile space for Tayce to occupy too and A’whora knows it’s risky to let her rip a wall down she’s never been aware of til now.

The night rolls along and with every refill of A’whora’s glass the music gets turned up a little more, a little more, a little more until they’re all having to yell over each other as they play wiggly wiggly woo, who’s most likely to. It’s all fun and games until it gets to who’s most likely to sleep with a flatmate, and there’s a confusing mess of finger-pointing where Lawrence points to Ellie, Tayce points to Lawrence, and Bimini, Ellie and Tia point to A’whora.

“Fuck off, why’s it me?” she screeches in outrage, trying to cover up the fact her cheeks are burning and that Tayce seems suddenly all too close to her.

“Because! It’s you! It’s A’whora!” Bimini laughs, their accent making them seem all the more mischievous and shit-stirring.

“Well! If I’m sleeping with a flatmate that must mean one of you’s gonna be involved, doesn’t it?!”

“Right, sorry, yeah,” Bimini nods understandingly, before immediately switching to point to Tayce. There’s an arena-crowd roar that erupts from the others, one that makes A’whora laugh and blush scarlet at the same time. She sneaks a look at Tayce, who’s regarding her with much the same expression.

“I’m down if you are, hun,” A’whora jokes-but-not-really, shaking Tayce’s arm as if it’ll take away from the weak joke she’s trying to make. Tayce only shoots her a wink with her tongue trapped between her teeth.

“In your dreams, love.”

A’whora’s glad of the others laughing so she can pretend to join in, occupy herself with something other than the overwhelming urge to reply to Tayce with exactly.

The rest of pres fly by tipsily and incoherently. They get a noise complaint from the weird flat underneath them which seems solely comprised of six boys who never go outside, which prompts them to book taxis even though the union is only about a ten minute walk away. A’whora helps Tia re-glue on her eyelashes in a rush and Bimini spontaneously fills a hipflask with Ellie’s apple sourz, “for the road”. When the taxis roll up outside Lawrence hurries them all out the door with the urgency of a mother of five, and before long they’re standing in a queue around the block, Bimini and A’whora sharing Tia’s huge puffer jacket because neither of them thought to pick up coats in their haste to leave.

Tayce pulls a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket, flips the little cardboard lid of them open and offers them round to the others. A’whora takes one because Tayce is offering, and really Tayce could offer them grenades with the pins pulled out and A’whora would accept if only to get her smile flashed at her again or the chance that their hands might touch during the transfer. A’whora thinks Tayce is every public health campaign’s worst nightmare as she watches her hold the cigarette between her index and middle fingers, wrap her lips around the end and inhale. Her cheekbones are razor-sharp as she drags then lets the breath go, red lipstick on the paper and the smoke curling up into the sparkly, dark night sky.

She is beautiful.

It’s because she’s beautiful that A’whora shouldn’t be surprised by the events that begin to unfold as they enter the club. Ellie immediately makes her way over to a booth, picks up the little sign that says it’s reserved and chucks it onto the dancefloor to get trampled underfoot and covered in sticky cocktail spillages. Tayce’s round is first because she lost Ring of Fire back at the flat so she goes over to the bar for shots, promising she’ll be only a couple of minutes and the others believing her; the way she looks ensures she never has a long wait time at the bar.

So they wait. And they wait. At first they don’t even notice how long they’ve waited- the tunes are good and loud and so they all yell along happily. Until Lawrence turns to the others with narrowed eyes.

“Here. Where the fuck is Tayce? She’s been ages.”

They all scan the bar, and Ellie suddenly points dramatically over to the other end of it. “Oh!”

Because Tayce is standing at the bar with no drinks and no interest in any of the bartenders taking drinks orders. She’s talking to a tall blonde with a dazzling smile and a low-cut crop top, and something inside A’whora burns and sinks at the same time. Tayce is allowed to be talking to a pretty girl. She’s not not allowed to. But it doesn’t make her any less jealous of the attention she’s giving her.

It’s a horror movie she can’t look away from. She’s aware that Ellie has gone to get the drinks instead, but that’s all she can absorb from her surroundings. She tunes out of the conversation at the table as she continues to watch the two of them interact. The girl’s got muscles, and her hair falls in neat waves on her shoulders, and she’s smiley and charming and doesn’t talk much, preferring instead to listen to Tayce. A’whora is different. A’whora is constantly on transmit; loud and opinionated and gobby and, okay, sometimes a little bit judgemental. She can’t do charming and demure. She can’t be what Tayce is very clearly interested in.

A thud next to her causes A’whora to whip her head round, tearing herself away from the scene playing out in front of her and ripping the plaster off.

“Fuck’s sake. Jaegerbombs with Red Bull? Puh-rison!” Ellie half-whines, half-shouts.

“Red Bull is the standard, not everyone can have the same taste in energy drinks as a sixteen year old virgin gamer,” A’whora narrows her eyes, gratefully accepting the drink from her nonetheless and shotting it back as if it’ll help blind her, or perhaps forget what she’s seeing.

“God. Who pissed in your coco pops?” Ellie fires back, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Bold of you to assume anything specific has happened to make her this bitter, mean and salty,” Tia jokes from A’whora’s side, and as the others scream and laugh A’whora in turn fixes her with a glare, wishing momentarily she had laser beams for pupils.

“Ooh, that’s made me want a tequila,” Lawrence cries enthusiastically, too loud even from the other side of the booth.

“Eh, excuse me! I just got you a Jaegerbomb, finish that first,” Ellie chastises her like a world-weary parent, pushing the glass towards her friend and sliding her hand over the table, sticky with the ghosts of questionable drinks’ past. A’whora has to snort at her tone.

“Yeah Lawrence, finish your Jaegerbomb or you won’t get any dessert. Listen to your responsible Mum whose eyelash is coming off.”

A big roar of laughter flies up from the others, and it’s Ellie’s turn to glare at A’whora this time. She looks as if she’s about to say something back when Bimini sniffs their glass and frowns.

“Is Jaegerbombs vegan?”

Everyone apparently wishes to ignore the lack of grammatical sense to their sentence, and it’s Lawrence who responds first. “They’re vegan in the same sense that bleach is vegan?”

Bewilderingly satisfied, Bimini raises their glass to the middle of the table and the girls join them, cheering as they all clink them together and chuck the drinks back. The fact A’whora can’t join in leaves her eyes to fall on Tayce and that girl again. Tayce is smiling and it’s the brightest thing in the club, laughing as the girl flips her hair and touches her hand and tells some joke that’s obviously not as funny as anything A’whora could say. She wonders if she’s ever made Tayce smile like that. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but she can’t remember.

“You know they used to use Jaeger as cough medicine? And for ages it was drunk by, like…old Tories who went on deer hunts,” Tia reels off excitably, and A’whora can’t help but roll her eyes affectionately at her friend’s bizarre general knowledge. “There’s this rumour that it’s got deer’s blood in it.”

Bimini splutters, coughs, and chokes all at once. As Lawrence slaps their back entirely too roughly in a way that’s about as helpful as a water gun at a house fire, A’whora can’t help but turn to face Tia incredulously.

“What the fuck did you say that for?!”

Tia shrugs, too tipsy to register A’whora’s disbelief. “Fun fact.”

“You didn’t think to pipe up with that when Bims was asking if it was vegan?”

“It’s just a rumour!” Tia says defensively, then turns to Bimini to check they’re okay. A’whora huffs in exasperation, folding her arms and throwing her back against the supposedly cushioned walls of the booth. As she stares straight ahead and ignores the fuss her friends are making, her eyes fall on Tayce again and her heart hurts more than it should to see her with her phone out and the girl beside her doing the same. They’re so clearly swapping numbers. They’re allowed to swap numbers. It’s not like A’whora’s got dibs on Tayce, it’s not like she’s got any right to feel a burn in her stomach and a flame in her heart and a feeling of something slipping away.

“Right!” Lawrence all but yells, forcing A’whora to tear her eyes away. “I’ve finished my Jaegerbomb, Mum, can we get tequila now?”

Ellie sighs. “Fine! But you’re buying me this one, bitch.”

“I’ll come with,” A’whora says, thinking she’ll need at least ten more units of alcohol to stop feeling feelings.  

“We’re going for a boogie, catch us up,” Bimini decides, as Rhythm is a Dancer blasts on the overhead speakers and Tia lets out a whooo! that’s way too white for a mixed-race girl.

So they move, A’whora bum-shuffling her way out of the booth and following Lawrence and Ellie, her feet sore in her heels. She purposefully blocks Tayce out of her peripheral vision as she leans against the bar, but she’s only separated from her by about six people also waiting and if she tilted her head forward she could definitely catch her eye if she wanted.

“Rhythm is a dancer, two for one at Asda,” Ellie sings along, bopping her head enthusiastically. A’whora laughs weakly, her proximity to Tayce and that bitch she’s talking to entirely too distracting.

“Shut your hole and tell me what you’re wanting,” Lawrence orders her. Ellie drums the palms of her hands against the bar as she semi-shouts sambucaaaaa, and A’whora asks for a vodka. She’s aware she’s mixing entirely too many spirits and her hangover tomorrow will be potentially life-threatening, but she doesn’t care.

“Tayce is still there. Should we shout her over and see what she wants?” Ellie suggests, craning her neck. A’whora firmly shakes her head.

“She’s wanting that baby Hulk she’s been talking to all night, apparently,” she all but spits, shocking herself at her venom. It’s clear she shocks the girls as well, and Lawrence turns around and simply raises her eyebrows at her.

“Men’s dress trousers in a hotel.”

A’whora can only blink. “What?”

Lawrence pauses for dramatic effect (or perhaps that’s just the Jaegerbomb making its alcohol content known). She points a finger at A’whora, then finishes whatever point she’s making. “Pressed.”

“Purrr!” Ellie laughs in agreement, grabbing A’whora’s shoulder and shaking it in an action that’s probably meant to be gentle but almost shakes her bone out of its socket. “Oh my God, that totally explains why you’ve been such a bitch all night.”

“This wee cow’s been a bitch her whole life,” Lawrence joins in. A’whora knows she’s got a proper face on by now, Dot Cotton licking piss off a nettle, but she can’t help it. She hates being wound up and she makes this perfectly clear to her friends via her furious silence.

“Nah, but tonight she’s a jealous bitch,” Ellie sticks her tongue out at her, and A’whora huffs.

“I’m not jealous!” she lies. “I’m just pissed off that she comes on a night out with us and she spends it talking to some random bitch she barely knows instead of her friends.”

“Wait. Oh my God, do you fancy Tayce?” Lawrence asks, a bull in a china shop on cocaine. Before A’whora can defend herself Ellie barks a laugh.

“Aw Lauzza, come on to fuck! Have you ever walked in when it’s been just the two of them? They’re so fucking flirty it’s disgusting.”

“DISGUSTEN!” Lawrence shouts, and it goes about ten percent of the way to drawing A’whora out of her mood.

“I don’t flirt with Tayce! I don’t fancy her either!” A’whora cries, exasperated. She realises too-late that her volume may have been too loud, but when she looks over at the topic of conversation again she’s both disappointed and relieved to see that she hasn’t registered a thing. “Anyway, you know you can’t shag your flatmate. It’s like the first rule of having flatmates. It would just make everything awkward.”  

“That the only thing stopping you?” Lawrence looks at her pointedly.  

“The bartender’s free,” A’whora glances just over Lawrence’s shoulder, and she turns around so fast it almost makes her feel dizzy. While Lawrence orders it leaves Ellie to turn to A’whora and pat her hand sympathetically.

“Why don’t you just go up to her?” she suggests. “I mean would it be so bad if you did just shag and get the pent-up tension released and then you can both just move on? I mean it’s not like you want to be her girlfriend or anything.”

A’whora presses her lips together and doesn’t reply. Her silence seems to communicate too much as Ellie’s mouth drops open a little and she fixes her with a pointed stare. “Oh, A’whora.”

“Look, I don’t know,” A’whora rushes to defend herself, her words spilling out over themselves in the way they sometimes do when she’s tipsy. “Like obviously she’s gorgeous but also, like…I do like her as a person as well, and I like being around her and just enjoying her company-”

Ellie splutters a giggle. “Enjoying her company, are you eighty years old in a care home?”

“I’m gonna slap you in a minute, shut up!” A’whora laughs incredulously. “But, like, I just…I don’t know if she likes me back like that, you know?

Ellie frowns. “I think, then, my advice would be…don’t shag her if you don’t think you can keep it to just that. ‘Cause obviously you don’t want to end up getting hurt.”

“Right, yeah,” A’whora replies, nodding.

If she’s honest, she’s disappointed. Obviously she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to sleep with Tayce- because fucking look at her- but just like Ellie said, she knows she would end up getting hurt if anything happened between them. Tayce would probably consider it a one-time thing and A’whora would be let down, or it would turn into some long, drawn-out friends with benefits scenario that would probably make everything worse.

The thing is she can only repress her feelings so much and tonight she’s feeling like one of Ellie’s cans of Monster that Tia shook up as a joke and ended up spurting out its contents so violently that there’s still a green-blue stain on their kitchen wall. A’whora’s way too close to telling the girls about every time she’s pictured her and Tayce falling asleep together and waking up together, every time she’s imagined them planning actual dates, every time she’s wanted to kiss her on the sofa- not necessarily even a kiss kiss but just a peck on the cheek, a soft one pressed to the crown of her head, a little one against their knuckles as they hold hands.

It all sounds ridiculous and silly and way too high school. Nothing seems to work the same at uni. Everyone just seems to shag, hook up, kiss strangers they’ll never see again in the shadows of grimy clubs. Everything seems to happen when everyone’s drunk. Everything’s done out of lust rather than love. Everything is so short-term because you can’t plan for the long term if you wake up and don’t remember the night before.

A’whora loves uni, but she doesn’t like that.

Besides, she’s already done all that in high school anyway. Sixth form had been like a crash course in freshers’ week; if she wasn’t drinking in parks or going to house parties she was sneaking into nightclubs using a fake ID that even Stevie Wonder could’ve seen right through. She’d half-heartedly slept with boys and figured out she liked girls when a sleepover after a party took a turn. She’d tried smoking and she came to the conclusion that she didn’t like it enough to buy her own cigarettes, she’d tried mandy once and that was once too much for her. All of that has prepared her well for uni- she’s street smart and has her head screwed on (for the most part- she’s still testing her limits as far as alcohol’s concerned). But feeling like she’s feeling for Tayce is uncharted territory, and out of everything she’s already done and experienced A’whora finds it hard to believe there’s not an age limit on this sort of thing because it all feels more risky and dangerous than smoking roll-ups in a children’s playpark at one in the morning ever did.

A wayheyyy! from Lawrence cuts through her thoughts and she accepts the shot she’s holding out to her, wordlessly clinking it together with Lawrence’s and Ellie’s and slamming it back as if it’s some form of medicine she desperately needs.

“It’s so weird that you don’t do the whole lime and salt thing,” Ellie wrinkles her nose at her friend, who in turn punches one of her own tits with what seems to be pride.

“‘Cause I’m made of strong stuff, babes. Right, what’s the conclusion on this one? Does she fancy Tayce or no?”

“Surely this is a bathroom stall conversation?” A’whora pouts, annoyed that her feelings for Tayce have been brought back up.

As Ellie relays to Lawrence what she’d said to A’whora, A’whora momentarily wonders if she’s in control of anything in her life any more.

Lawrence nods when Ellie’s done. “Smart advice. ‘Cause it would make things awkward for the flat. ‘Magine trying to make a Pot Noodle in the middle of a live-action episode of Eastenders.”

A’whora screws her face up in confusion. “All episodes of Eastenders are live action?”

“Y’know what the fuck I mean,” Lawrence rolls her eyes in exasperation. “Well we’ve given you our blessing and basically we represent the whole country, so. Go for it.”

“Thanks, Nicola Sturgeon, good to know I have your approval,” A’whora smirks at her, amused. When some Becky Hill song comes on over the speakers she takes it as her cue to smooth down her skirt, flip her hair over her shoulder and rest her little shot glass back on the bar. “Right, we going to have a dance or what?”

As she takes her friends’ hands they all but strut over to the dancefloor, and A’whora can see Bimini and Tia pulling shapes that they probably think make them look mysterious and sexy but actually just make them look as drunk as they no doubt are. Before A’whora can push through the crowd, Lawrence tugs her and Ellie back a bit.

“Here, I think I’ve remembered something Tayce told me once, if this is of any use to you?” she begins.

All of A’whora’s nerve endings light up like one of those colourful optical fiber lamps she had when she was small. Her eyes have clearly flown open and her mouth’s dropped slack without her even having to try, so desperate is she for what Lawrence is about to tell her. Ellie’s beside her equally expectant and anticipative, and Lawrence laughs at the pair of them before she continues.

“It was the pair of us and Tia…Christ, when was it…cannae mind. Think you’d gone home for the weekend and Ellie was doing something wi’ Bims…anyway, coupla’ bottles of wine in and we start playing wee stupid games. We’re doing snog, marry, avoid and Tia gives her…fuck, cannae even remember. Let’s say it was Ellie, Bimini and you. Now I can’t remember what she said for the other two but…” Lawrence pauses dramatically, and A’whora is a hair’s breadth away from practically begging her for the information she’s taking so long to impart. “…she said she would marry you because then she’d get to shag you more than just once.”

A’whora doesn’t think her eyes can go any wider but she somehow manages it. She doesn’t really know how to react but Ellie’s doing enough screaming to suffice for the two of them.

“When the fuck were you gonna tell us that?! Fuck, I can’t believe you never told me that! When did this happen?!” Ellie practically screeches in her face.

“Telt you I cannae mind! Maybe like…a month ago? I don’t know,” Lawrence supplies unhelpfully. Usually A’whora would try to rip the piss out of the way her accent’s gone ten times more Braveheart than usual after her series of drinks, but all she can think about is what she’s been told and, well…she can’t help the butterflies in her heart and the way a satisfied, triumphant grin spreads slowly onto her face.

Ellie’s equally as excited beside her. She whacks A’whora on the arm as she squeals with enthusiasm. “See! Now we know she likes you too!”

A’whora feels as if she’s made of glitter and confetti as she spins around in the direction of the bar. Her heart gives a dip on its rollercoaster of emotions as she sees that Tayce has somehow caught the attention of a different girl- long, dark hair and a blue and orange outfit and a mouth that’s moving at about a mile a minute.

There’s a second before A’whora makes to turn away in disappointment when Tayce’s pupils suddenly flick over to rest on her. Tayce’s self-assured expression and body language seem to falter when she catches A’whora’s eye, and she shoots her a little smile that- if A’whora didn’t know the girl better- she’d say was shy.

“Now the challenge is actually getting a chance to talk to her,” A’whora pouts. Chatting up Tayce and maybe getting to fall into bed with her really isn’t a time-sensitive issue; it doesn’t need to happen tonight, but A’whora’s had a chaotic combination of alcohol that makes her think there’s really no time like the present and hey, maybe this is her one and only chance.

“Well, we can keep an eye on her and when she’s free, then that’s your chance,” Ellie smiles, supportive and excited.

“What chat-up line are you gonnae use? I’ve got a cracker you can have if you want,” Lawrence insists, and A’whora and Ellie share a doubtful look.

“Go on.”

“What did one haggis say to the other haggis?” Lawrence begins. Without giving the other girls a chance to interject, she finishes. “…’Gonnae shaggis?’ ”

“And on that note,” Ellie shakes her head and rolls her eyes, taking both of them by the hand and pulling them into the crowd to join their other friends.

It’s amazing how easy it is to forget about the object of her affection chatting to random girls on the other side of the room when Bimini’s grabbing her and almost launching her across the dancefloor with their euphoric pogo-ing along to each and every song that gets played. The five of them drunkenly bum-ba-ba, bum-ba-ba along to Head & Heart and cheer for Tia when she does Nicki’s rap in Swalla without even stopping for breath. A’whora laughs in confusion with the other girls as Lawrence and Ellie get way too excited, squealing and clutching each others’ hands when some clubland tune that’s apparently much bigger in Scotland than it is in the other three corners of the UK gets put on, the lyrics of which seem to consist solely of the words up-up-up and awayyy. Bimini and Lawrence collect more drinks from the bar and A’whora very nearly knocks Ellie’s out of her hand when Friday comes on and she punches the air.

And then Tayce is on her own.

A’whora’s heart almost siezes up with how fast it jolts into full-blown palpitations because this is the moment she can finally go over and talk to her, the chance to turn their friendship into maybe something more even if that something more is only a random hookup after a night out, but it only takes the time for her to shake Ellie’s arm and point in Tayce’s direction for her to see that, yet again, she’s been approached by someone tall and confident and stunning and everything that A’whora wishes Tayce thought about her.

Her face falls and Ellie snaps her fingers in her line of vision, forcing her to look at her and the motherly expression of tough love she’s wearing.

“Hey. When has anyone ever stopped you getting your own way?” she yells at her over the music, and A’whora laughs half in amusement and half in agreement. As she falls silent, Ellie jerks her head towards the bar. “Go get her, bitch.”

It might be the alcohol, but it hits A’whora with a ironically sobering clarity that Ellie’s right.

So she takes a breath in and struts confidently over to the bar, practically able to feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins (although that could well be the caffeine from the second Jaegerbomb she’s downed this evening with Bimini’s encouragement). She smooths down her skirt so the split runs up the front of her thigh and not the side, adjusts the neck of her top so it’s framing her chest the way she wants it to. She could be nervous but the combined alcohol she’s drunk so far this evening pushes that feeling to the back of her head, replacing it with all-consuming confidence that she can feel from the inside out. She looks good, better than good, and she knows she can flirt even though she’s never really tried to flirt with Tayce. Well, never intentionally.

Okay, that’s maybe a lie.

The realisation that she’s actually going through with this is enough to make her want to freeze to the spot but by some miracle she’s still walking forward until she’s three, two, one steps away from her flatmate and the girl at the bar with too much plastic surgery and hair the shade of a vomit-coloured highlighter pen. A’whora wedges her shoulder in between the pair of them, hears the girl give a little tut/sigh hybrid from behind her but A’whora’s not really interested in bickering with her, not when Tayce’s eyes have fallen on her and she’s looking at her, really looking at her with a little playful smile on her painted lips.

“Hey baby boo,” Tayce says by way of a greeting, and A’whora feels her heart melt just a little. She’s being adorable, but she’s not going to let that damage her confident, composed exterior. Until Tayce follows up by running a hand down her arm and lacing their fingers together. “I haven’t seen you all night, I missed you.”

With that, A’whora feels the little cocky smirk she’s wearing break out into a shy grin, one that she hopes doesn’t look as ridiculously goofy as it feels. “Well. Maybe you would’ve seen more of me if you hadn’t been playing Take Me Out with half the bloody girls in here.”

“Who, me?” Tayce gasps, clutching the gold chain around her neck and pretending to be affronted. A’whora doesn’t mean to roll her eyes but she clearly does, and the small giggle she draws out of Tayce as a result makes it almost worth it. The squeeze Tayce gives her hand turns that almost into a definitely, as does what Tayce follows up with. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know.”

“You’re cute…all the time,” A’whora claps back, wishing she had some sort of drink in her hand to press against her face as she feels her blush start to bloom across her cheeks.

“I know, babe, that’s why I’ve been getting my drinks bought for me all night,” Tayce winks.

If Awhora uses that as a signal to pull her bank card from her bra, that’s nobody’s business but her own. The way Tayce’s gaze flicks to her chest lights a match in her heart. “Well…let me buy you one and then you won’t have to miss me so much.”

Tayce’s awed smile spreads slowly onto her face and they agree on tequila shots, the phase of the evening where they were nursing their drinks left firmly in the dust as the bartender hands them a salt shaker, two little shot glasses and two wedges of lime. The way Tayce’s tongue slides over the side of her hand before she sprinkles the salt and the way their eyes meet as she licks it up makes A’whora’s mouth dry, so the tequila’s welcome for a split second before she remembers why she hates it, the flavour and sheer strength of the alcohol akin to being hit by a truck.  

As she grabs desperately for the lime like it’s an oxygen mask on a crash-landing plane, Tayce laughs and shakes her head pityingly. “You always end up ordering tequila and you always, always hate it.”

A’whora blinks as she composes herself, gives a little shiver of recovery. She cocks her head at Tayce inquisitively. “I didn’t know you remembered that.”

Tayce looks to the ground as she smiles, tucks a piece of her long hair behind her ear. It’s endearing and soft and it makes A’whora panic, so she presses her lips together and raises an eyebrow at Tayce questioningly. “So, how’d your little episode of Blind Date go anyway?“

"Gosh, you’re really pressed about this, aren’t you?” Tayce’s eyes are narrow as she smirks at her, and now it’s A'whora’s turn to look embarrassed. The soft laugh Tayce gives is reassuring so A'whora’s gaze drifts back up again and their eyes meet as she speaks again. “Well, there was, uh…blonde lady. Blonde lady with the muscles and the eyeliner. God, what was her name?”

“This is off to a flying start.”

“Kameron!” Tayce yells in her face as she remembers. It makes A’whora snort with laughter, something that’s probably wildly unattractive but she knows Tayce has seen her do it before. “And then there was, uh, Priyanka. I remember her name because she kept telling me every two minutes. That was a wild conversation.”

“Uh-huh. Who was the bitch I elbowed out the way?”

Tayce smirks at her, wobbles a little in her heels and steadies herself against the bar. “That was…Detox.”

“Radox?”

Tayce splutters. “Detox!”

“Should’ve called herself Botox, would’ve been nearer to the mark,” A’whora turns up her top lip. Tayce explodes in an outraged laugh beside her, clutches her wrist in a way that makes A’whora hope she won’t be able to feel her rapid pulse.

“Says Aurora Georgia Boyle, who asked for lip fillers for her eighteenth and was actually allowed to get them!”

“Don’t full name me, piece of shit!” A’whora gasps in mock-offence, shakes herself away from Tayce’s grip but finds her inexplicably nearer to her than she was before. She’s not necessarily complaining, though, because her whole left side is against Tayce’s right and there’s some form of other-worldly magnetism that seems to keep them pressed together. It makes her heart flutter so she tucks a section of hair behind her ear before she frowns. “I never told you that. How come you know that?”

“You did tell me! Back in freshers week! You just don’t remember,” Tayce giggles, poking her cheek with one acrylic nail. It should hurt more than it does. Maybe it does hurt and A’whora can’t feel it. She’s had a lot to drink.

It’s the alcohol she blames when she hooks an arm around Tayce’s waist, tilts her head and drops her volume to a murmur. “You seem to remember a lot of things about me.”

Tayce’s eyes widen just that little bit. “Well you’re a bit of an unforgettable person, really.”

Her words make A’whora’s heart light up so much that she can feel herself glowing from the inside out. She brings her other arm around Tayce in a tight hug, her hands joining at the small of her back, and Tayce mirrors her so they’re both anchoring each other. It’s hard for her to remember whether they’ve ever shared a hug like this before. It seems too intimate for friends, but A’whora doesn’t mind.

“Tayce.”

“Rory,” Tayce replies, mimicking her whine and the way she draws her name out. A’whora likes the nickname she gives her probably more than she should; she supposes it’s because only Tayce uses it and because it’s rooted in her actual given name.

A’whora pouts, squeezes Tayce’s waist. “I missed you tonight, you know.”

“Missed you too. Missed you so much,” Tayce murmurs back.

She’s already said it, A’whora knows she’s already said it, but with the way they’re both gazing at each other it seems to mean something more, something different. It’s ridiculous- they’re both drunk, and famously no good decisions have ever happened when two people have had this many assorted shots, but somehow it feels like all of this is just right.  

A’whora drops her head to rest it on Tayce’s shoulder and she feels her arms tighten around her in response. Her lips graze her neck as she murmurs against it. “Not leaving me again.”

There’s a pause where she can’t really see Tayce’s expression or how she’s reacted. Her heart freezes, and the terror and reality of having crossed the line between friendship and whatever the hell this is suddenly consumes her whole body. She’s relieved, then, when Tayce eventually mutters against the crown of her head.

“All yours, baby.”

And she presses a kiss to her hair. Just like A’whora’s been dreaming about for so long.

She feels giddy and dizzy with absolute euphoria, so it’s that she blames when she puts her lips against Tayce’s neck again and plants one, two, three little kisses there in quick succession.

“Tayce,” she whispers again. She doesn’t really know what she wants to say or how to say it, but she knows she doesn’t want to go back to the dancefloor, and she doesn’t want to be with their other friends. She just wants her and Tayce together for however long she’ll let it be that way, and she doesn’t even care about the busy bar or the drunk students that bump into them every so often or the stares from the rowdy group of rugby lads that would usually make her feel intimidated, but not when she’s with Tayce.

When she’s with Tayce everything seems a little bit better somehow, just by her being there.

So maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s the tequila, or maybe it’s the feeling of having Tayce’s arms around her that makes A’whora tilt her head back up again and meet Tayce’s waiting lips with her own. There’s none of the usual hesitation or awkward pause that comes with kissing someone new because really the amount of times A’whora’s imagined this, dreamt about it, thought about it in daydreams that completely unhook her from reality, it’s as if it’s happened before.

Nothing has prepared her for the real thing though. How Tayce brings a hand up to rest at her jaw and how the other stays placed against the bare skin of her back, warm and supportive. How the both of them sway a little, unsteady in their heels as if they’ve been knocked for six. How Tayce’s body is close against hers and A’whora pushes a hand in her hair in an attempt to somehow bring her even closer. How kissing Tayce leaves her breathtaken and satisfied yet somehow amplifies her feeling of longing, because the more she gives to her the more A’whora wants and with every second that Tayce’s lips are on hers she can only feel the heat that’s pooling in her stomach growing more and more intense.

When Tayce pulls away and A’whora can only catch her breath, she fixes her with a lazy, half-lidded smile that makes her insides turn to melted honey.

“That was nice,” she blinks, and she’s a second away from kicking herself- because, really?- when Tayce giggles softly under her breath. She brushes a little piece of A’whora’s hair off her face, and the gentleness of the action throws her a little. A’whora brings her arms up to loop around her neck, and she leans in close again. “I wanna do it again.”

“I want to do…a lot of things. With you,” Tayce says, casual and chill as if her words haven’t just sent A’whora up in flames.

“Like…?”

“Like…maybe come back to mine and I’ll show you, baby.”

The whole moment’s perfect enough for A’whora to almost overlook the blunder Tayce has just made, but her nature dictates that she can’t let her get away with it. “We…we live together.”

Tayce lets out a snort, bumps her forehead against A’whora’s as she despairs of herself. “Right. Well…we gonna go home, then?”

A’whora doesn’t need to be asked twice. She laces her fingers in Tayce’s, resolves to text the others to tell them they’ve left, and stumbles towards the exit with her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

When she blinks, she’s tired, she’s in bed, it’s bright, and she’s confused as all hell.

The headache hits her like a sledgehammer to the face and she blinks slowly and heavily, adjusting herself to her surroundings. She’s in her own room, she can tell that much from the photos of her and her friends from back home on the cupboard and the fairy lights on her desk that aren’t switched on. Her mouth feels like a badger’s shat in it and her eyes are all achey, and as she throws an arm up to rub at them she’s surprised when she doesn’t see any leftover eye makeup on the back of her hand.

“The kraken awakes.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” A’whora flinches, her head whipping over to the foot of her bed to find Tayce sitting cross-legged leaning against the wall, her phone in her hand. She’s wearing her old leggings with the bleach stains and the hole at the calf, and a purple tie-dye sweatshirt that’s a size too big for her. Her hair’s loose and framing her face and the only makeup she has on is the little scattering of eyeliner that’s hanging tight to her lash line and has managed to escape the makeup wipe.

She looks disarmed and shy. There’s something comforting about it, because A’whora feels confused and completely on the back foot and she has no idea what’s going on. But there’s a warm smile on her face and it meets her eyes, so despite her disorientation A’whora feels safe.

“How long’ve you been there? Were you just watching me sleep like some…creepy Twilight vampire?” A’whora groans, sitting up and leaning forward and taking a deep breath as if it’ll make her headache go away.

Tayce laughs in a way that makes A’whora think the question’s flustered her, but she’s not sure. “The others went to get breakfast. I said I’d stay with you. Didn’t want you to be on your own feeling like shit and maybe having the fear.”

“I am having the fear. I don’t even know how we got home.”

The way Tayce’s face drops in what looks like abject panic makes her wonder what did happen last night. “Wait. What do you actually remember?”

A’whora’s heart is racing as she scans her mind for memories. Pres, club, drinks, booth. Tayce talking to some girl. Dancefloor. Tayce. Talking to Tayce. Kissing Tayce-

Kissing Tayce.

“Oh, no,” A’whora blurts out involuntarily. Her eyes are wide as she looks at Tayce. “We…did we? We did?”

Tayce’s face seems to relax as she bursts out laughing, and it all comes flooding back to A’whora and hits her like a train. Everything that had seemed like such a good idea last night now seems like the most awkward situation in the world now that Tayce is here, on her bed, and they’re both sober.

“Tayce, no,” A’whora whines, putting her head in her hands as her friend keeps laughing. “No! That’s so awkward. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it was a good kiss,” Tayce smiles back, somehow both coy and self-assured at once. It’s her reaction that causes a new wave of cold horror to crash against A’whora, a wave on a rock.

“Oh, Jesus. Did anything else happen?”

Tayce grows animated. “God, yeah, we had the best sex ever. Sixty-nines, scissoring, we got the vibrators involved. It was bloody lush.”

A’whora’s too hungover to realise that Tayce is winding her up until she screeches with laughter right in her horrified face. “Oh my God, Rory, your face! No I’m joking, ‘course I’m joking.”

“Thank fuck,” A’whora sighs a world-weary sigh of relief, throwing herself back down against her pillows and immediately regretting it for the way her brain ricochets against her skull and makes her headache ten times worse. “So what did happen?”

“Well, you wanted to walk back because you wanted to look at the stars, so when we got to the square we lay down and looked at the stars for a bit. And then I wanted to go get chips and cheese but you were dragging me back home because you were so horny,” Tayce looks at her pointedly, and A’whora groans with embarrassment, grabbing her pillow and shoving it over her face. “But then after we got up the stairs and in through the door you said you felt sick, so I then had to hold your hair back while you threw up last night’s pasta bake and what looked to be about fifty different kinds of alcohol into the toilet bowl. Then I had to put you to bed and stay up half the night making sure you didn’t choke on your own tongue while you were asleep. Best one night stand I’ve ever had.”

When A’whora takes the pillow away, Tayce winks at her. She feels like putting the pillow back.

“I’m honestly so sorry,” she pouts. She is sorry. Part of her wishes she could at least properly remember what it had felt like to kiss Tayce. All the memories of the moment are much too paper-thin and flimsy, butterfly wings that’re all too rapidly flying away. Tayce isn’t giving her any cause to be embarrassed, but A’whora is anyway.

So she’s not sure what Tayce is going to say when she leans forward, takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “Go brush your teeth.”

A’whora thinks she might be the first person in history to have cause of death: cringe written on her birth certificate. “You’re really adding insult to injury, aren’t you? Telling me all the embarrassing shit I did while I was off my face and then basically telling me my breath smells like dog shite.”

Tayce laughs as she shakes her head. “Just go do it, idiot.”

She’s never been one to say no to Tayce so A’whora drags herself out from under her duvet towards the little sink tucked away in the corner of her room, the cold chill of the freezing air hitting her bare arms and her feet and rendering her even more miserable. It’s only when she’s halfway through scrubbing at her teeth when it registers that she’s even got pyjamas on.

“Did you have to put my pyjamas on for me?” A’whora asks around her toothbrush, realising all too late that trying to talk through a mouthful of toothpaste is probably as unattractive as vomiting into the toilet bowl.

(The toilet bowl is definitely worse, but she’s just thinking this to help herself feel better.)

Tayce looks up from her phone and raises an eyebrow. “Nah, you managed to do it yourself. You did make me watch you put your stick-on bra on your forehead, though. Apparently it was the funniest thing in the world.”

A’whora just groans as she turns back to the sink, spitting out the toothpaste and following it with mouthwash just to completely clean her mouth of the various alcoholic sins of the night before. She crawls back into bed with a wearied sigh, and she’s surprised when Tayce falls on her side and scoots up beside her, laying on her side and facing her so their noses are almost touching. A’whora feels her heart lift and her pulse speed up, and it’s not helped by the way Tayce reaches out and tucks a little piece of hair behind her ear.  

Tayce trails her fingers across to cup A’whora’s cheek, and she’s almost whispering when she speaks. “Thank God. Just wanted to do this again.”

When she leans in A’whora shuts her eyes, meets her halfway, and feels every cell in her body electrify when their lips touch. If kissing Tayce in a club when they were both drunk was good, then kissing her hungover in bed is somehow even better, and A’whora’s mystified at the way her headache seems to completely disappear with every second she spends with her lips on Tayce’s, kissing her gently and softly as if they’ve got all the time in the world. Tayce smells of everything comforting- Tresemme shampoo, snow fairy shower gel, the fabric softener she uses that’s way too expensive for a student budget. Fresh and clean and somehow new. It’s the simplest heaven A’whora has ever experienced.

Tayce pulls away and they both giggle, embarrassment and awkwardness gone now that the elephant in the room’s been addressed. A’whora only realises Tayce has taken her hand when she lets it go, pushes herself off the mattress and crosses the room towards the door.

“We should do that again some time,” she smiles wickedly by way of a goodbye, and A’whora can only nod bashfully in reply and agreement. Tayce has given her hope to hold on to, and she knows she’s going to cling to it ridiculously until whatever this is happens again.

She can’t wait.

Just as Tayce opens her door and A’whora resigns herself to her leaving, she lifts her head off the pillow when she hears her flatmate’s voice again as she disappears into the hallway.

“And go have a shower. You smell like tequila.”