#I AM A DISEASE WILD ANIMAL

[goodold-fashioned-killerqueen]

born to draw block people making out... force to draw houses....

[capricioussun]

Someone on ig called Dos wife material and while that’s very sweet, he is not <3

[feral-bird-enjoyer]

get rabies-ed loser

your poor little meow meow fucking bit me

[luvsicktyun]

A KISS FOR THE CURSED - ,, ୧ ‧₊˚ c.yj

》 In a kingdom of stone and gold, there lived a princess with hair as pink as the dawn. Her heart, though draped in royal jewels, was heavy with the weight of expectation, for the king and queen demanded she find a husband worthy of her title. The castle’s walls pressed close, and her spirit yearned for freedom, for something beyond the cold, glittering halls.

One day, when the pressure became too great, she slipped away from the castle and wandered into the woods, seeking solace in its quiet embrace. It was there, among the trees, that she met him—a boy, no older than she, with eyes like the forest and a bow slung over his shoulder. He was a hunter, living in a humble cabin, selling the fruits of his labor to those who passed by. But in the way he moved, so graceful and wild, the princess saw something more—a soul untainted by the constraints of royalty....

》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…

pairings » archer!yeonjun x princess!reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » royal au » forbidden romance »

warnings » smut, loss of virginity, fingering, oral (f) receiving, angst, longing, forbidden romance, yeonjun hunts animals, reader has pink hair, very heavily inspired by the 'once upon a broken heart' series by Stephanie garber, major character death, kai is seventeen in this, also featuring beomgyu briefly, blood, beatings, dungeons, toxic parents, royal hierarchy, a bit of grumpy x sunshine, readers pov is 2nd person "You" yeonjun's pov is 3rd person "He" a lot is in yeonjun's pov though, yeonjun has a noticeable scar on his eyebrow (for the plot), kind of love at first sight, this is not slow burn sorry, there is a disease called "The fever"

« 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 »

word count « 24K »

The golden glow of a single candle bathes your chambers, its light dancing across the silk-draped walls. You sit at your vanity, brushing your hair with slow, deliberate strokes. The polished wood of the brush feels cool in your hand, a small comfort against the storm brewing inside you. Behind you, there’s the soft rustle of skirts, a sound that sets your nerves on edge even before she speaks. “Darling,” your mother begins, her voice sweet, almost sing-song as she opens your door without so much as a knock.  “You’re twenty now. A woman grown. You can’t keep hiding behind those books and tapestries forever.” She glides across the room and perches on the edge of your bed, her posture as poised and deliberate as her words. 

“I’m not hiding, Mother,” you reply without turning to face her. Your reflection catches hers in the mirror—a study in contrasts. You, unadorned and weary. Her, perfect and poised, a mask of maternal care that you’ve come to mistrust. She was not the sweet doting mother she pretends to be, and you felt her icy-ness as soon as she neared you. 

“Of course not,” she says with a light laugh, the sound brushing away your words as though they were a child’s excuse. “But it’s time you thought seriously about your future. The kingdom needs alliances and a good match could secure that.” 

You place the brush down with deliberate care and turn to face her. “And what if I don’t love any of these ‘good matches’? Am I to bind myself to someone who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end?” You had grown tired of this same conversation. One you've had a million times over with her and your father. 

She sighs, and for a moment, the warmth in her voice almost feels real. Almost. “Oh, my sweet girl, love is a luxury we can’t always afford. Your father and I—” She pauses, her hand drifting to her heart as if recalling a fond memory. “We grew to love each other over time. You’ll see. Love often follows where duty leads.” You narrow your eyes, searching her face for cracks in the mask. “Did it? Did love really follow, or did you simply learn to endure it?”

Her expression wavers—just for a heartbeat—but it’s enough. The softness in her eyes hardens, and when she stands, it’s with a grace that feels more commanding than comforting. “Don’t let childish notions blind you” she says, her tone sharper now. “The world isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a harsh, unyielding place, and one day, you’ll rule it. You must start preparing for that now.” 

Your throat tightens, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “I would rather rule with my heart than sell it to the highest bidder.” 

Her lips curl into a smile, and she steps closer, cupping your cheek in her hand. The gesture is tender, but her eyes betray her—calculating, assessing. “You’ll understand someday, my love,” she murmurs. “And when you do, you’ll thank me for guiding you.” You pull away, your skin burning where her hand had rested. She lingers for a moment longer, her presence suffocating even in its quietness. Then, with a swish of her skirts, she moves to the door. The click of it closing echoes in the silence she leaves behind. You stare at your reflection, your chest heaving with unshed tears and unsaid words. The candlelight catches the glint of defiance in your eyes, and in that moment, you vow that no one—not even your mother—will decide your future for you.

You had never snuck out of the castle before. The thought had scared you enough that you hadn’t ever dared to attempt it, but tonight you felt you had to. The suffocating four walls of your chambers had felt so overbearing that the thought of another second in them would cause the end of your life. You had to escape, even if only for a few hours at least. You needed fresh air. To feel the wind in your hair, smell the trees and feel the grass between your fingertips. 

You rarely get that these days, with all the preparations of finding you a husband and shipping you off to some unknown country with a man that was to be your husband and yet a stranger at the same time. You couldn't handle it anymore. You grabbed your cloak and made quick work on sneaking out. 

The castle sleeps. Its towering spires stretch into the star-speckled sky, dark against the moonlight. You slip from your chambers, the soft soles of your boots muffling each step on the cold stone floor. The velvet cloak swirls around your ankles, its deep green fabric blending into the shadows as you descend the servant's staircase. Your heart races, but not from fear. It's the exhilaration of escape, of leaving behind the suffocating weight of expectations.

The conversation you and your mother had not even an hour ago swimming in your mind. The words of your father this morning echoing in your head like a cacophony "This lord has lands to the west," they said. "That one commands an army. It’s time to secure your future.” You grit your teeth at the thought, gripping the edge of your cloak tighter. They don’t understand. Marriage isn’t what frightens you—it’s the thought of marrying someone who sees you as a pawn, not a person. You couldn't bring yourself to have a marriage like your mother and fathers. A marriage that lacked authenticity, lacked real love. You refused it. Rebuked it. 

The air is cooler as you reach the garden gate, slipping through the narrow gap you discovered years ago. The guards won’t check here; they never do. Beyond the walls lies freedom, the forest calling to you like an old friend. The scent of damp earth and pine greets you as you step into the woods. The moon guides your path, its light filtering through the canopy. You keep your pace quick but quiet. You had a general idea of the outlands of the castle from all of your lessons. You needed to know how to get out of the castle in case of an attack. You were sure that your teachers didn't know you'd be using the information they taught you to sneak out, but here you were. 

The forest feels alive tonight. Crickets chirp in the underbrush, and a gentle breeze stirs the leaves above. Each step takes you further from the castle, from the expectations, from the stifling weight of duty. You keep your steps light trying your best to make as little as sound as possible. You couldn't risk being caught. Then you hear it, a faint thwack ahead, the unmistakable sound of an arrow striking wood. You freeze, heart leaping into your throat. Slowly, carefully, you edge closer, stepping around a patch of dry leaves to avoid making a sound. Peeking around a thick oak, you see him. A man unfamiliar to you. He stands in the clearing, tall and strong, his silhouette framed by moonlight. A bow is in his hands, an arrow already knocked. His movements are fluid, deliberate, as if every motion is a part of a dance. The arrow flies, and your breath catches as it strikes dead center on the straw target.

He’s beautiful. The moon shines just enough through the branches of the trees above him creating a halo like light over his head and face. You should turn back. You know this. You should retrace your steps and leave before he notices you. But you don’t. Something about him holds you in place. His focus, the grace in his movements, the quiet strength in the way he adjusts his stance. He’s close to your age, maybe a year or two older, with dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck. He’s the most handsome man you have ever laid your eyes on. And by far the most graceful. 

He reaches for another arrow, the muscles in his arms flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt. You crouch lower behind the tree, your cloak pooling around you. The thrill of sneaking out has faded into something else—something warmer, something unfamiliar. You had never had the privilege of just watching a man so..closely like this. You weren't even allowed to be around a man without a chaperone. You tell yourself you’re just curious. It’s not often you meet someone out here in the woods. But as you watch him, you realize it’s more than that. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever seen before. 

He has no idea you’re here. And for now, you’re content to watch, hidden in the shadows of the trees, as he draws and releases, each arrow flying true. The world feels smaller at this moment. The castle and its demands are miles away, and the only thing that exists is you, the moonlit forest, and the archer practicing under the stars. You watch for only a breath longer before the stillness breaks under your foot. A dry leaf, hidden beneath the forest loam, crumples with a loud crack that seems to echo in the night. The archer freezes. His body tenses as he pivots toward you, bow raised, an arrow drawn in a heartbeat. The sudden movement sends a jolt of panic through you, and you instinctively step back, pressing against the rough bark of the tree.

“Who’s there?” His voice is sharp, low, and commanding. The moonlight glints off his eyes—hard and narrowed, scanning the shadows where you’re hidden. You hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, you consider fleeing, but before you can move, he spots you. “Show yourself,” he demands, the arrow steady in his grip. 

Slowly, you step out from behind the tree, your hands raised in a gesture of surrender. The cloak’s hood still shrouds your face, but the moonlight catches the strands of pink hair peeking out. His gaze sharpens, and you see his brow furrow as he lowers the bow slightly. “a girl?” His voice softens but only slightly, his tone still laced with suspicion. He lowers the bow completely but doesn’t relax, his eyes studying you intently. “What are you doing out here, creeping around like that?” 

You swallow, suddenly acutely aware of how small you feel under his piercing gaze. “I wasn’t creeping,” you say, your voice soft but steady. “I was… walking. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Walking,” he repeats, his tone flat and disbelieving. He glances at your cloak, the fine embroidery glinting faintly in the moonlight. “In the middle of the night. Alone. Right.” He snorts, shaking his head as if the very idea is absurd. “Who are you?” His demeanor startled you, not expecting such a graceful man to sound so..rough. 

You hesitate. You’re not ready to give your name���or your title. “No one important.” If he knew you were the princess there was no guessing what he would do. Turn you in? Kidnap you? Hold you for ransom, it was unknown but you'd rather not find out. 

He arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “No one important who sneaks through the woods and watches people like a ghost.” 

Heat rises to your cheeks, both from embarrassment and indignation. “I wasn’t watching you—well, not on purpose. I heard something, and I… got curious.” You couldn't explain to him that you didn't get out much, he would ask too many questions. You'd rather have him think you a dumb naive girl then a sheltered princess. 

His expression softens, but only slightly. He seems to accept your answer, though he doesn’t seem thrilled about it. “Curiosity gets people into trouble. Especially out here.” You should feel insulted by his gruffness, but instead, you find yourself intrigued. There’s something captivating about the way he carries himself, the guarded way he speaks. He’s not like the polished, over-rehearsed lords who populate the castle halls. He’s… real. It was as perplexing as it was scary, how little knowledge you had of the common folk, how little you saw them. He was beautiful like a prince, even more than most but something about him felt unpolished and you admired that. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant. But you can’t help the way your eyes linger on him, tracing the sharp angles of his face, the way the moonlight highlights his dark hair. He’s beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair, though his scowl adds an edge to it, like he’s carved from stone. He notices your lingering gaze and narrows his eyes. “What?” How he wasn’t more concerned by a random girl creeping on him in the middle of the night had struck you. 

“Nothing,” you say quickly, pulling your cloak tighter around you. “I just… I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that before.” Which was the truth. You had never seen the guards in true action, you had only seen them practicing and even then they were nowhere near as precise as this man was. 

His scowl deepens, though a faint hint of surprise flickers in his expression. “You were watching me.” 

Your cheeks flush again, and you look away, hoping the shadows hide your embarrassment. “Only for a moment. You’re… good.” 

For the first time, he seems caught off guard. He looks at you as if trying to figure you out, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, whoever you are, it’s late, and you shouldn’t be out here. Go home.” You hated the way he spoke to you, like you were a useless pesky object in his way. Like everyone around you spoke to you. 

His tone is dismissive, but you don’t move. Instead, you tilt your head, studying him. “Why are you out here, then?” 

He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “That’s none of your business.” 

“And me being here is none of yours,” you counter, surprising yourself with your boldness. You had never talked back to anyone before. Partly in fear of what your mother and father would do to you as a punishment. For a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes catching the moonlight. 

“You’re stubborn,” he mutters, shaking his head. 

“And you’re grumpy,” you reply, the words slipping out before you can stop them. 

“Suit yourself. Just don’t get in my way.” He says with a snark, dismissing you completely. As he turns back to his target, knocking another arrow, you find yourself smiling beneath your hood. For the first time in days, you feel alive—caught in the strange, thrilling pull of the forest, the night, and the boy who doesn’t know who you are. It was hopelessly refreshing, having someone to banter with. He hadn't known you were the princess. All expectations of respectfully boring conversation were not needed here, you felt normal. 

You don’t leave. Something about him keeps you rooted to the spot. Maybe it’s his impenetrable demeanor, so unlike anyone you’ve met before. Or maybe it’s the way he seems utterly unconcerned by you, as though you’re not worth the effort of a proper scolding. Either way, instead of retreating, you take a few cautious steps closer. “What are you still doing here?” he asks without looking back, his voice carrying a rough edge. He draws another arrow and lets it fly. Thwack. It lands squarely in the center of the target. You swear you could have drooled at the sight alone. You were just a girl after all. 

“I told you—I was walking,” you say, folding your arms beneath the cloak. 

​​“In the middle of the night. In that?” He gestures vaguely toward you without turning. Your cloak shifts as you glance down at yourself. The hem of your pink dress peeks out, delicate and impractical. The sight of it makes you wince. It’s not exactly what you’d have chosen for sneaking into the woods, but there hadn’t been time to change. You had very minimal time before the confines of your bedroom swallowed you whole. 

“Yes, this,” you reply, tilting your chin. “Not all of us plan our wardrobe for forest excursions.” 

That earns you a glance over his shoulder. His eyes rake over you, lingering just long enough to make you self-conscious. Then he snorts. “You look like you wandered out of a ball. Did you lose your way to the dance floor?” Your spine straightens at his words. He didn’t know..did he? 

Your cheeks burn. “For your information, I didn’t plan to be out here tonight.” You try your best to avert the subject, avoiding all talk of balls and princess-like duties. 

“Oh, clearly,” he mutters, turning back to his bow. “Because you definitely blend right in.” 

You roll your eyes, stepping closer again. “Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky?” Your lips purse suppressing your smile. That gets his attention. He pauses mid-draw and glances at you, one eyebrow raised. For a moment, you think you’ve caught him off guard, but then his lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smirk. “Lucky,” he says dryly, before loosing the arrow. Another perfect shot. 

You shake your head, exasperated but oddly entertained. “You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re nosy,” he counters, retrieving another arrow. 

“I don't get out much.” You say with a lift of your shoulders. 

“Clearly.” He deadpanned. “What’s your excuse for being out here, anyway? Fancy dresses and all?” 

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, pulling your cloak tighter. “I needed to get away.” 

“From what?” he asks, his tone skeptical. 

You glance at the ground, then back up at him. His eyes are on you now, not the target, and you feel a strange urge to tell the truth. Not all of it, but enough. “Look who's being nosey now.” He snorts as you continue “My parents,” you admit softly. “They’re… overbearing.” 

He snorts. “Overbearing parents? Shocking.” 

You narrow your eyes. “I’m serious. They’ve been pressuring me nonstop, telling me who I should be, what I should want. It’s—” You trail off, shaking your head. “It’s exhausting.” 

For a moment, he just looks at you, the teasing edge in his expression fading. “So, what? You ran off to the woods to escape their nagging?” 

“Something like that,” you say, lifting your chin. “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

He huffed a laugh and leaned against his bow. “Fair enough. But sneaking into the woods wearing that dress?” He gestures again at the hem of your gown. “Bold choice.” 

“Do you ever stop criticizing people?” you shoot back, though there’s no real venom in your words. 

“Not when they make it this easy.” His smirk returns, faint but noticeable. 

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling beneath your hood. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not leaving.” 

“Suit yourself,” he mutters, turning back to his target. “Just don’t expect me to babysit you if you trip over your fancy shoes.”  

You bite back a retort and instead settle against a tree to watch him. He doesn’t seem to mind—though he throws the occasional glance your way, as if checking to make sure you haven’t disappeared or done something foolish. The silence stretches, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the rhythmic thwack of his arrows. It’s strangely comforting, this moment shared with a stranger in the middle of the woods. For the first time in weeks, the weight of the crown on your head feels a little lighter. 

You watch as he moves with practiced ease, drawing and releasing arrow after arrow. The steady rhythm of his practice feels like the heartbeat of the forest, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. For a moment, you close your eyes, letting the quiet wash over you. The weight of the day—the endless parade of suitors, the sharp-edged words of your parents, the suffocating walls of the castle—feels distant now, almost unreal. Out here, under the stars, you’re not the princess with a duty to marry for the good of the kingdom. You’re just… you. 

The thought stirs something bittersweet in your chest. You know this moment can’t last. Sooner or later, you’ll have to return to the castle, to the expectations and the responsibilities. This fleeting sense of freedom, of solace, will be nothing but a memory. You open your eyes again, focusing on him. He’s still at it, firing arrow after arrow with a precision that’s almost mesmerizing. There’s a quiet determination in the way he moves, as though this practice is more than a simple pastime. It feels like a ritual, a way of carving out his own space in the world. He moved like he was meant to be there, like the act of archery was engraved into his soul. 

For a brief, foolish moment, you wonder what it would be like to stay. To slip away from the castle every night, to watch him practice and trade sharp words under the moonlight. But you shake the thought away. It’s impossible. Still, you linger. You don’t want to leave just yet—not while the night still feels alive around you, not while you can still breathe without the weight of the crown pressing down.

Silently, you push away from the tree and step back into the shadows. The forest seems quieter now, as though it knows you’re leaving. You glance back once, catching the faint glint of his bow in the moonlight, the outline of his form as he lines up another shot. You slip away before he can notice, retracing your steps through the woods and back toward the castle. The chill of the night air clings to you, and the weight of reality begins to settle back onto your shoulders with each step closer to the towering walls.

By the time you slip through the garden gate, the spell is broken. The castle looms ahead, its windows dark and silent, the very air around it heavy with expectations. But for a few precious hours, you had tasted something different—something real. And as you climb the servant’s staircase back to your chambers, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever see him again. 

The morning sun filters through the stained-glass windows of the dining hall, casting jeweled patterns onto the long oak table. You sit in your usual seat, the one that feels more like a throne than a chair, the weight of your parents’ presence pressing down on you like the crown you don’t yet wear. Breakfast is a quiet affair, at least for you. The clink of silverware and the murmurs of servants fill the space as your father, The king mutters about political alliances to your mother, The Queen. His deep voice carries a sharp edge, his words precise and biting, even when directed at your mother. You keep your head down, focused on the food sitting in front of you. 

You barely hear him call your name. Your thoughts are elsewhere—lost in the forest, in the soft rustle of leaves and the quiet thwack of an arrow hitting its mark. You see the archer in your mind’s eye, his focused gaze, the smooth movement of his hands as he loosed each shot. “Are you listening?” your father snaps, his voice cutting through your reverie like a whip. 

You blink, startled, and glance up at him. His dark eyes are cold and unforgiving, his thick brows drawn into a scowl. “Yes, Father,” you lie, though you have no idea what he just said. Trying to gather yourself. Your father was a very angry man, even more so when you were being disobedient. 

He doesn’t believe you—he never does—but he waves it off, taking another bite of bread. “Good. Then you understand how important this ball is.” 

The word ball yanks you out of your thoughts entirely. You sit up straighter, your heart sinking. ���A ball?” You narrowly avoided most balls claiming to be sick, or having your nursemaid lie and say you had lessons very early in the morning. Not like your parents knew you were lying, they rarely kept track of those things, only that they were being done. 

“Yes,” your mother says, her voice softer but no less resolute. She looks at you with the faintest trace of pity, but it does little to soothe the knot forming in your chest. “It’s time for you to meet suitors. Proper ones. The lords of the neighboring countries will all be in attendance.” 

You shake your head, your fingers tightening around the silver spoon in your hand. “I don’t want a ball. I don’t want suitors.” You regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. Any defiance to your father was a grave mistake, one you were sure you’d regret shortly here. 

Your father slams his goblet onto the table, making you flinch. “You don’t get to decide what you want,” he growls. “You have a duty to this kingdom, girl. Do you think your whims matter when alliances are at stake?” His words shake you. You knew how he felt but hearing him say it didn't make the blow any less hurtful. It brought you back to the quiet nights you spent curled into a ball on your bed at eight years old wondering why your daddy didn't love you like the other daddies did, why was yours so mean. 

You lower your gaze to your plate, your stomach twisting. The archer’s face flickers in your mind again, unbidden. You wonder what he would say if he saw you like this, cowed under your father’s fury. The pink hue of your long hair covering your face shielding you from your embarrassment. “You’ll go to your dress fitting after breakfast,” your mother adds, her tone brisk as though she’s trying to smooth over the tension. “Nursemaid Kora will take you. Everything must be perfect.” 

Perfect. The word feels like shackles on your wrists. 

“Do you understand?” your father demands. 

“Yes,” you say quietly, though the word feels like ash on your tongue. The king grunts, satisfied, and turns back to his food. The rest of breakfast passes in strained silence, broken only by the occasional murmur of servants or the scrape of knives on plates. Your thoughts were loud as they rattled around in your head. 

Oh how did you long for a normal life, with a normal family and parents who loved you. You glance toward the far end of the room, where the king’s guard stands like statues, their polished armor gleaming faintly in the morning light. Their presence is a constant reminder of the cage you live in—one gilded and grand, but a cage nonetheless. 

Your mind drifts again, this time to the forest, to the sense of freedom you’d felt beneath the trees. To the archer, with his sharp gaze and quiet strength. You wonder if he’s out there now, practicing his craft in the clearing. Does he think about you at all? Did he even notice the way you lingered last night? You thought of his beautiful face and the way the moonlight caught it just right. 

Foolishly you thought of a life with him. One filled with love and light, one that you had only conjured in your mind. It was unattainable and you were sure you would never see him again but still the thought loosened your bones and slowled the rapid beating of your heart. You didn't even know his name, and he yours but still you daydreamed the way he would whisper it, into the woods and into wind all the way until it reached you. It would engulf you, swirling around your being and reaching your heart. 

Your mother calls your name with a softness that only you knew was faux. “Come.” She says rising from her seat. “Kora is waiting.” You nod numbly and stand, your pink dress swishing around your legs as you follow her out of the dining hall. But your heart stays behind, tangled somewhere between the memory of the archer’s steady hands and the ache of knowing you’ll likely never see him again. 

The village square bustled with life, though as always, it seemed to pulse around him, not with him. Yeonjun stood near the edge of the market, his wares laid out neatly on a rough-hewn table: freshly skinned rabbit pelts, bundles of dried herbs, and slabs of venison wrapped in cloth. He adjusted the placement of the furs, not because they needed straightening, but because it gave him something to do.

The morning sun warmed his back, but he felt no comfort in it. A pair of women whispered as they passed, their glances darting his way like skittish birds. One muttered a prayer under her breath, her gaze lingering on the scar that cut across his brow—a mark left by a long-forgotten accident but whispered about like it was the devil’s curse. They always whispered about him. Yeonjun the orphan. Yeonjun the cursed. He clenched his jaw and focused on his work, brushing his fingers over the pelts. Let them talk.

“Still brooding, I see.” Yeonjun didn’t need to look up to recognize the voice. Beomgyu, his only friend, or as close to one as he allowed. The man sauntered over, carrying a sack slung across his broad shoulders, his cheeks red from the morning chill.

“I’m not brooding,” Yeonjun muttered, though he didn’t lift his head. 

“Sure you’re not.” Beomgyu dropped the sack beside the table with a dull thud. “You’ve got that same ‘stay away from me’ look you always do.” Beomgyu sent Yeonjun a crooked teasing grin. 

Yeonjun gave him a sidelong glance. “It works, doesn’t it?”

Beomgyu laughed, a deep, easy sound that drew a few more glances from the villagers. Unlike Yeonjun , Beomgyu seemed immune to the weight of their stares. His carelessness was off putting to Yeonjun “You know, you might be less miserable if you actually talked to people once in a while.”

“I talk to you, don’t I?” Yeonjun said flatly.

Beomgyu shook his head, still smiling. “I’m not people. I’m a saint for putting up with you.” A saint was far from what Yeonjun would call Beomgyu. The boy was anything but a saint. 

Yeonjun huffed a quiet laugh despite himself, but the faint flicker of amusement quickly faded. His mind drifted unbidden to the girl in the woods. Her cloak, the way the moonlight caught the strands of pink hair peeking from beneath it. Who was she? Although he rarely frequented the village, opting to stick to his little cabin in the woods, he was sure that he would spot that bright pink hair anywhere on any given day. Everyone came to the village on selling days, surely he would have seen her walking around, right? 

He’d told himself to forget her. To let her vanish into the shadows of memory like everything else. But the image of her standing beneath the trees, her voice soft but bold, wouldn’t leave him. “Anyway,” Beomgyu said, breaking Yeonjun’s thoughts, “I came to ask you something.”

Yeonjun raised a thick brow. “What?”

Beomgyu grinned, a little too wide. “There’s work up at the castle.”

Yeonjun’s expression darkened immediately. “No.” 

“Don’t be like that,” Beomgyu said, unfazed. “The princess’s ball is coming up. They need extra hands for the feast. We’d be in the kitchens, nothing fancy. Just bringing up meat for the royals.”

“I said no,” Yeonjun growled, his voice low.

Beomgyu leaned against the table, crossing his arms. Gone was the playfulness, a look of desperation in its place. “Look, I know you hate the nobles—” 

“I don’t hate them,” Yeonjun snapped. “I just don’t care for their games.” 

“Fine. Call it what you want. But they’re paying good coin, and we could use the work.” Beomgyu’s voice softened slightly. “You could use it, Yeonjun. How long are you going to keep doing this?” He gestured to the table, to the furs and meat that earned just enough to keep him alive. Yeonjun glanced down, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He did need the money. 

“Fine,” he muttered finally, his voice sharp and bitter. 

Beomgyu clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.” Yeonjun flinched away from the touch, shrugging it off. He started packing up his things, his movements quick and tense. But even as he worked, his mind drifted again to the girl in the woods. 

Her voice had been so sure when she’d said she was curious, her smile hidden beneath her hood. And yet, there had been something else in her eyes, something that mirrored the ache he carried in his own chest. Almost like a mirror of himself. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t see her again. 

Everyone he loved—everyone he cared for—was gone. His family, his friends. Death followed him like a shadow, and he would not drag her into it. He wouldn’t. He would take the coin from the castle and leave. He wouldn’t think about her again. But as he slung his pack over his shoulder and followed Beomgyu out of the square, he knew it was a lie.

The cabin creaked as the night wind curled around its edges, pushing through the gaps in the wooden shutters. Yeonjun sat by the hearth, sharpening his hunting knife with slow, deliberate strokes. The repetitive motion grounded him, giving him a momentary reprieve from his restless thoughts. The fire crackled, casting shadows on the walls, but the warmth did little to soften the cold weight in his chest. The girl from the woods was still there in his mind, her pink hair catching the moonlight, her voice lilting like birdsong. He hated that he kept thinking about her. 

A sharp knock at the door broke the stillness. Yeonjun froze, his hand tightening on the knife. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the door. No one came out here—no one dared, except for Beomgyu. And Beomgyu never knocked, opting to barge whenever he pleased. Another knock, louder this time.

With a sigh, Yeonjun stood and set the knife on the table. He crossed the room, pulling the door open just enough to see who stood on the other side.A boy no older than seventeen stared up at him, his cheeks flushed from the cold and his arms full of rolled newspapers. His oversized coat hung awkwardly on his skinny frame, and his breath came in little white puffs. 

“Mr.Yeonjun!” the boy said brightly, his voice breaking through the quiet night. Yeonjun recognized him as the oldest Huening son, Kai. A paper boy for all of the village. Why he was delivering Papers this late at night was beyond Yeonjun. 

“What are you doing here?” Yeonjun said sharply, glancing past the boy to the empty forest path. “You’re supposed to leave the paper on the doorstep.” 

Kai shifted on his feet, suddenly nervous under Yeonjun’s glare. “I—I know. But I wanted to see you.” 

“Why?” Was all Yeonjun said, not in the mood for a long winded conversation at this hour. 

Kai’s face lit up, his nervousness replaced with eager determination. “I’ve seen you. In the woods. Shooting your bow. You’re amazing! No one in the village can shoot like you can.” He took a step closer, his wide eyes shining with admiration. “Will you teach me?” The light from the cabin illuminated the boy's features, catching the stark blonde of his hair and his boyish features. Although Yeonjun was only a few years older than the boy he had felt far more wise beyond his years. Kai was comparable to a..well a child in Yeonjun’s eyes. 

Yeonjun stared at him, the boy’s words settling like an unwelcome weight in his chest. “No,” he said bluntly. 

​​Kai’s  face fell, but he pressed on. “Please, I’ll work for it! I can help with chores, or—” 

“You don’t understand,” Yeonjun interrupted, his voice low and hard. “I don’t have time to waste teaching some kid how to shoot arrows.”

Kai flinched, but he held his ground. “I—I could learn fast,” he stammered. “I swear I’d—”

“Go home,” Yeonjun snapped, his hand tightening on the door. “It’s late. You shouldn’t even be out here.” Kai hesitated, but he finally nodded. Yeonjun shut the door without another word. He leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly as Kai’s footsteps faded down the path.

The room felt colder now, the fire’s warmth unable to reach him. He shook his head and went back to his chair, picking up the knife again. He didn’t need anyone else relying on him. He didn’t need one more thing to care about. Everyone who had ever mattered to him was gone. Kai didn’t understand what he was asking for. Yeonjun couldn’t be a mentor, a teacher, a protector. He wouldn’t risk letting someone else into his life—just to lose them too. The paper still sat on the doorstep, forgotten in the cold. 

The grand hall of the castle was an entirely different world from the forest Yeonjun knew so well. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and perfumes far too sweet for his liking. Chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, their flickering candlelight casting golden hues over the polished floors and the opulent tapestries lining the walls.Yeonjun had never set foot in the castle before. Being surrounded by so many nobles who shot him noticeable looks of disdain was something he would never get used to, even as the hours ticked by. 

Yeonjun moved silently through the crowd, a tray of roasted duck balanced on one hand. His dark tunic and dress pants, provided by the castle staff, were a poor attempt at blending in. He still felt like a wolf among peacocks. The nobility barely noticed him as he passed, save for the occasional stare, their laughter and chatter a dull hum in his ears.“Keep moving,” Beomgyu muttered as he brushed past with a tray of wine-filled glasses. “And don’t glare at everyone. You’ll scare off the coin.” 

Yeonjun grunted but said nothing, his focus on his task. He hated the castle, hated the hollow grandeur of it all. The villagers whispered about the luxury the royals lived in, and now, seeing it up close, Yeonjun understood why they seethed with resentment. “Ladies and gentlemen!” a booming voice called, silencing the room. The herald stepped forward, his red and gold uniform gleaming in the light. “May I present her royal highness, Our very own Princess. Daughter of The King and Queen!”  

Yeonjun froze.

The crowd turned toward the sweeping staircase, where she appeared, her head held high, her movements graceful and deliberate. She wore a gown of shimmering silver, the fabric catching the light like starlight on water. But it wasn’t the dress that made his chest tighten. Stopping in his tracks in the middle of the dance floor. 

It was her hair.

Pink. 

His breath caught in his throat as memories of the woods flooded back—the girl in the cloak, her bold words, her curiosity. He had thought of her endlessly since that night, but he’d never expected this. She descended the staircase slowly, her expression serene, but Yeonjun caught the brief flicker of nerves in her eyes. She scanned the room, her gaze brushing over the sea of faces, until it landed on him. Her steps faltered, just barely, and only for a mere second. It had gone unnoticed by everyone but him. He knew the look in her eye matched his own. 

Yeonjun saw the recognition in her widened eyes, the way her lips parted as though she might speak. But then she blinked, regaining her composure. Her gaze slid away as though nothing had happened, and she continued her descent. His grip on the tray tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. He had vowed not to see her again, and yet here she was, standing among the very people he resented most. He wasn’t sure what the feeling in his chest was. Resentment? Anger? A little bit of pity? Really he shouldn't be surprised that she didn't tell him who she was the night in the woods but still..Yeonjun felt like a fool. 

The evening wore on, the ball unfolding in a haze of music and laughter. Yeonjun moved through the crowd, refilling glasses and delivering trays of food. But his attention was drawn to her, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work. She danced with suitors, her gown flowing around her like liquid light. She smiled at them, laughed at their jokes, but Yeonjun saw the tension in her posture, the way her smile never quite reached her eyes. He had only known her a short while and still he knew the true feeling behind her faux smile. How had no one noticed how much she hated this? How did the King and Queen not? Or did they just not care?

Despite the distance between them, she noticed him too. Their eyes met across the room again and again—when he passed by with a tray of wine, when she lingered near the edge of the dance floor. Each time, her gaze lingered a moment too long before she looked away. Yeonjun felt fear that someone would notice, someone who would think that there was more there than what led on. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t want to see her. By the time the night began to wane, Yeonjun was certain of one thing: the princess was just as out of place here as he was. 

As the night went on the small glances toward each other had become too much for Yeonjun to bear. The need for food and drink was starting to die down as the nobles became more intoxicated, sticking to their silly little dances and belly laughing conversations. He decided excusing himself to go outside for fresh air was the best thing for him. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the stifling ballroom. Yeonjun leaned against the stone balustrade of the castle balcony, the distant sound of music and laughter muffled by the heavy doors behind him. Above, the sky stretched endlessly, stars scattered like flecks of silver against the inky black. 

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his dark hair. This was a mistake—coming here, taking this job. Seeing her. He knew even being near the castle would bring him trouble. He knew he hated royals for a reason. The door creaked open behind him, the soft rustle of fabric giving her away before she even spoke. Yeonjun closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. He looked around at his surroundings. “Shouldn’t you be inside, Your Highness?” he said without turning around to look at her. 

“I could say the same about you,” she replied, her voice carrying that same mix of curiosity and defiance he remembered from the woods. Yeonjun turned, his arms crossed. She stood just a few feet away, the silver gown catching the faint light like moonbeams on water. Her pink hair spilled over her shoulders, and she looked more like a dream than a person. A dangerous dream. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said flatly. “Someone might see us.” 

“I don’t care,” she said, stepping closer, teetering on a thin line close to danger. 

“Well, I do,” he shot back. “If anyone gets the wrong idea—” 

“Let them,” she interrupted. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

​​Yeonjun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“There is,” she insisted. “I—I wanted to explain.”

“Explain what?” He gestured toward her, his voice dropping. “That you’re a princess and I’m just some cursed hunter? That we shouldn’t even be in the same room together?” Her eyes knit together at the word cursed, it had given Yeonjun a small sprinkling of foolish hope that she hadn’t heard about him, and what people whispered about him and his family. 

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t back down. “You’re angry.” Her cheeks flush from the cold. If it weren't for the circumstances Yeonjun would have thought it to be cute. 

“I’m not angry,” Yeonjun said sharply. “I’m realistic. You shouldn’t be here, and I definitely shouldn’t be here with you.” 

She stepped closer, her voice softening. “Why not? Because I’m a princess?” Her pink hair framing her face in the most delicate way. 

“Yes!” he snapped, his eyes narrowing. “Because you’re a princess. And if anyone sees us out here, I’ll be the one paying for it, not you.” 

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “You’re right. I am a princess. And all night, I’ve had to smile and pretend that everything’s fine. That I’m perfectly happy dancing with men who don’t know a thing about me. But I saw you, and for a moment, I felt…” Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat. They were definitely inching towards a very dangerous game, one he didn't want to play. 

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Yeonjun interrupted, his voice low. He couldn't hear her say it. 

“Why?” She asked, crossing her arms. “Because you’ll be tempted to feel something too?” 

He scoffed, looking away. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Unable to look her in the eye. 

“Oh, I think I’m right,” she said, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes. She smiled, and for a moment, the tension in his chest tightened. 

“You don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I don’t want…” He trailed off, his hands clenching into fists. 

“Don’t want what?” she pressed gently, not that she had to press much. Yeonjun would soon turn to a pile of mush for her if she needed him to.  

“I don’t want my head to end up on a stake,” he said bluntly, turning back to her. “All because you’re having some sort of quarter-life crisis.” 

Her mouth opened in surprise, then closed again as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re infuriating,” she muttered. 

And you’re reckless,” he shot back. 

She tilted her head, studying him. “Is that why you keep looking at me? Because you think I’m reckless?” 

“I’m not interested in falling in love,” he said firmly, ignoring her question. 

The words seemed to land heavier than he intended. For the first time, her confidence faltered, her expression softening. “You’re lying,” she said quietly. The look on her face hurt Yeonjun more than he would like to admit. 

“Think whatever you want,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But nothing good can come of this. Go inside, Your Highness. Your kingdom’s waiting.”

“What’s your name?” She asked with a whisper. “Please grant me that.” Her voice pleading was soft enough to melt his heart. 

“Choi Yeonjun, my name is Choi Yeonjun, and I'm sorry.” Before she could respond, he slipped back into the ballroom, leaving her standing alone on the balcony beneath the stars. 

The days following the ball were restless. You went through the motions of royal life—meals with your parents, lessons on etiquette, the endless parade of suitors vying for your hand. But none of it could hold your attention. You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Yeonjun. 

His name was an anchor, tethering you to something real in a world that felt increasingly false. Every glance exchanged at the ball, every word spoken in the woods, played on a loop in your mind. By the third night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You knew the risks, but the yearning to see him again was stronger than your fear. As the castle sank into sleep, you enlisted the help of your nursemaid, the one person who had ever shown you an ounce of warmth. 

“She’ll kill me for this,” she muttered, bundling you into a heavy cloak. “But I’ll not have you looking like a caged bird any longer. Be back before dawn, child.” With her help, you slipped past the guards, past the watchful eyes of the palace, and into the night. The forest was alive with the sounds of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the wind. It guided you, just as it had the night before, to the clearing where you had first seen him. The path there was more grueling than you remembered, probably due to the anticipation of seeing him again. 

There he was. Yeonjun stood in the moonlight, his bow drawn, the string taut as he aimed at a crude target pinned to a tree. He let the arrow fly, and it struck true, embedding itself with a satisfying thunk. You stepped forward, the forest floor damp beneath your boots. “Impressive as always.” 

He spun around, his hand already reaching for another arrow. But this time, he didn’t nock it. His shoulders stiffened as he recognized you, and his brow furrowed in frustration. “Princess,” he said sharply, his voice low but tinged with anger. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to see you,” you said, as calmly as you could manage, the rapid beating of your heart against your ribcage a testament to what you actually felt. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Yeonjun hissed, stepping closer. His eyes were dark, and the tension in his frame reminded you of a coiled spring. “Do you have any idea what could happen if someone found out?” 

“I don’t care,” you replied, lifting your chin. “I had to come.” You could admit that you were being incredibly stubborn but you didn’t care. This was something you had to do. 

He shook his head, his jaw tight. “Go home, Your Highness. Now.” 

“No.” The single word hung in the air between you, and the silence stretched until it was broken by the first raindrop splashing onto the ground. The cold finally sets into your bones and sends a shiver up your spine. You wrapped your cloak closer around your body not letting the droplets of rain sway you. 

Yeonjun looked up at the sky, his expression darkening. “It’s going to pour. You need to leave.” 

“And leave a lady out in the rain? How very gallant of you,” you said, unable to resist the jab. You weren’t above a bit of manipulation. 

He muttered something under his breath before sighing deeply. “Fine. But only until the rain stops.” He turns without another word leading you down a small path. Your footsteps light as you follow closely behind him. The rain picked up in an instant pelting you in only the short walk to the cabin. 

The cabin looked cozy enough, nothing grand but you loved it. It felt intimate and new. You fought a small smile as you overlooked the dark wood, this is where Yeonjun lived. He opened the door without a word gesturing for you to go inside. 

The cabin was warm, the fire crackling in the fireplace as you stepped inside. Yeonjun shut the door behind you, his movements tense. He didn’t speak as he grabbed a blanket and thrust it toward you. “Dry off,” he said curtly. 

You took it, sitting down in the lone chair by the fire. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unspoken. “You’re angry,” you said finally. 

“Of course I’m angry,” he said, his tone clipped. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? If someone finds out—” 

“I’m careful,” you interrupted. “No one followed me. Kora made sure of that.” 

“That’s not the point,” he said, pacing now. “You don’t belong here, and I don’t belong in your world. Whatever this is—” He gestured between you. “It needs to stop.” 

“Why?” you asked, standing. “Because you’re scared?” Throwing the blanket he had given to you onto the chair. 

“I’m not scared,” he shot back. 

“Yes, you are,” you said, stepping closer. “You’re scared to feel something, scared to let someone in. But I see it, Yeonjun. You’re not as closed off as you pretend to be.” 

He froze, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know me. 

“Then tell me,” you said, your voice softening. “Tell me about your life. Let me understand.” 

“You're making this difficult.” He said looking over at you, his eyes tired. His eyes caught the dark specs beautifully. Although only a few years older than you, you could tell he loved a much longer life. Had to endure things you've never even dreamed of, it aged him. 

“Why? Because I’m here?” You were not going to let this go. 

“Because you don’t belong here,” he snapped, finally meeting your gaze. “You have no idea what this world is like, what it costs.” 

You hesitated before speaking. “Then tell me. Show me what it’s like.” You pleaded again. 

His laugh was bitter, hollow. “What’s the point? You’ll go back to your castle and forget all about it.” 

“I won’t,” you said firmly. “I promise.” 

Yeonjun hesitated, the fight in him faltering as he sank onto the bench across from you. The firelight danced across his face. For a moment his vulnerability painted him as a young boy, one who suffered great loss. “My family,” he began, his voice quiet, “used to live in a village not far from here. My parents, my sister, and me. We didn’t have much, but we were happy. Then the fever came.” You didn’t dare interrupt, your chest tightening as you watched him. “They died within weeks of each other,” he said, staring into the flames. “One by one. And I… I couldn’t save them. Couldn’t do anything.” 

“Yeonjun,” you whispered, your heart aching for him.

“I’ve been on my own ever since,” he said, his voice hardening. “It’s better that way. No one else to lose. The fever hit many families but a lot of them survived. Mine did not. They call me cursed and…I started to believe I am.” 

You leaned forward, your hands gripping the edge of the chair. “But you had something beautiful once, something most people never get—a family that loved each other. I’d give anything to have had that.” He frowned, his gaze flickering to you. 

“My parents… they care about power, appearances,” you said bitterly. “I’ve never been more than a pawn to them. I used to dream of having a family like yours, people who loved me for me. Even if I lost them, at least I’d have had it for a little while.” 

Yeonjun’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away. “You still have a chance to love,” you said softly. “To let people in again.” 

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Everyone I love… they die. It’s like I’m cursed.” You sat across from him, your hands folded tightly in your lap to keep them from trembling. You hadn’t anticipated how deeply his words would cut not because they hurt you, but because they made you ache for him. 

“You loved them,” you said softly, breaking the silence. 

He didn’t look at you, but his jaw tightened. “Of course I did.” 

“And they loved you,” you continued. “That’s why it hurts so much, isn’t it?”

His gaze flicked to you then, sharp and guarded. “What’s your point?” 

“That love isn’t a curse,Yeonjun,” you said, leaning forward. “It’s a gift. Even if it’s fleeting, even if it’s painful when it’s gone, it’s still worth having.” 

His laugh was bitter, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Easy for you to say. You’ve never lost everything.” 

You hesitated, your chest tightening. “You’re right. I haven’t. But I’ve never had what you had, either.” 

Your voice trembled. “I used to dream about having a family like yours. A mother who held me when I cried, a father who wasn’t so… cold. Even if it didn’t last forever, at least I would have known what it felt like to be truly loved.” You said again. Yeonjun’s expression softened, his eyes searching yours as though he was seeing you for the first time. 

“That’s why I came here,” you said. “Not just to get away from them, but because you made me feel something real. For once, I wasn’t just a princess. I was… me.” 

He looked away, his fingers running along the edge of his bow. “You shouldn’t have come back. You’re playing with fire, and you don’t even realize it.” 

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly. 

He shook his head. “This—whatever this is—it can’t happen. You and I are from different worlds. There’s nothing but heartbreak waiting down this road.” 

“I’m willing to take that chance,” you said, standing and crossing the room to him. And you were telling the truth. You had never truly felt love, so even if fleeting you’d kill to feel it just once. You didn't know what the future held for the two of you but you knew you were capable of loving Yeonjun, for however long the universe would allow it. 

He looked up at you, his dark eyes conflicted. “You shouldn’t be.” 

“Why not?” you challenged. “Because you’re afraid? Or because you think you’re not worth it?” 

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, you reached out and rested your hand on his. His fingers tensed beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest. 

“Yeonjun,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let someone in. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching. When he opened them again, the raw vulnerability in his gaze stole yours. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

“I know exactly what I’m asking,” you said, leaning closer. 

Your heart pounded as you searched his face, waiting, hoping. And then, slowly, he lifted a hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin. “I shouldn’t…” he murmured, but the words trailed off as his gaze dropped to your lips. 

“You should,” you whispered. And then he kissed you. 

It was tentative at first, a soft, testing press of his lips against yours. But the hesitation didn’t last long. The tension that had crackled between you from the moment you met ignited, and the kiss deepened, pulling you into its heat. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your head to deepen the connection. His other hand rested on your waist, steadying you as your knees threatened to buckle beneath the intensity of it. 

You felt everything in that kiss, his pain, his longing, his fear, and you poured your own emotions into it, trying to tell him without words that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to push you away. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths ragged. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, the sound of the rain outside mingling with the crackle of the fire. 

“This is a mistake,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. 

“Then let it be my mistake,” you said, your voice trembling. “But don’t push me away because you’re scared.” 

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his armor, the pieces of himself he had tried so hard to keep hidden. He didn’t move away. If anything, Yeonjun seemed frozen, his fingers still tangled in your hair, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your hand where it rested against his chest, matching the wild rhythm of your own.

Then, as if something inside him broke free, he pulled you closer. His lips found yours again, no longer tentative but fierce, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word, every buried feeling, into the kiss. You melted against him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, anchoring yourself as the world seemed to spin away. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened, heat building between you like the fire crackling in the fireplace. 

Every touch, every movement, felt like a revelation. The roughness of his fingers on your skin, the way he tilted his head to take the kiss deeper, the quiet, almost desperate sound he made when your hands slipped up to cradle his face—it was all overwhelming and intoxicating and completely consuming. When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Yeonjun rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if he was trying to steady himself. His hand remained on your waist, his thumb brushing idly against the fabric of your cloak.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. 

“I think I do,” you whispered, your own voice shaky. A sense of unfamiliar excitement pooling in your belly. 

“You don’t understand what you’re getting into.” He breathed out. 

“Then explain it to me,” you said, your tone soft but insistent. 

He hesitated, his eyes flicking down to your lips again as though he couldn’t help himself. Instead of answering, he kissed you again. 

This time, it was slower, softer. It wasn’t born of desperation but something deeper, something quieter. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache, his hands cradling you like you were something fragile. You lost yourself in it, the world outside the cabin falling away. There was only Yeonjun. The taste of him, the warmth of his touch, the quiet strength in the way he held you. 

When he pulled back again, his lips barely brushing against yours, he rested his forehead against yours once more. “This can’t last,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Maybe it doesn’t have to,” you replied, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe we just let it be what it is, for however long we have.” 

His eyes opened, and the vulnerability there was almost too much to bear. “You’re going to ruin me, princess,” he said softly.

“Then let me ruin you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. This time, he didn’t hesitate. The kiss was more hurried, rushed and sloppy. 

“I don’t know if I can hold myself back.” He spoke with a huff. 

“Don’t.” Was all you said as you toyed with the collar of his shirt. “Don’t hold back, I want this.” 

“Have you ever done..anything before?” The question left an embarrassing red tint to your cheeks. Of course you hadn’t. This had been your first kiss. 

“No.” Your voice a whisper as you hide your blush with your hair. 

“Are you sure you want this?” His voice was firm as he gripped your hips firmly in his hand, almost like he was grounding himself. As if it was taking everything in him to not pounce on you this very moment. 

“Please.” You spoke with a newfound desperation. “I’m sure.” 

His lips attached to your neck next. It was tender and soft. The delicacy he used only quickened the speed of your already rapidly beating heart. His hands found the sleeve of your dress before slowly bringing it down your shoulder and your arm. The light from the fireplace is a catalyst to your warmth. The light illuminated the two of you like starlight. His lips moved the expanse of your neck and met your collarbone in feather-like kisses. 

“You're beautiful.” He whispered, moving your hair back. 

“Can I take this off?” Your voice was hushed with a lit of intimidation hanging in the words. You gestured to his white shirt pawing at the buttons. 

“Of course.” His smile was warm, comforting. You made quick work of unbuttoning the buttons yanking his shirt off in one fail swoop. You took your time inspecting the contours of his chest and torso. In awe of his sheer beauty. He was young, toned, and beautiful. Your fingers delicately danced around his body taking mental pictures. 

“Like what you see?” He smirks at you, a tilt to his lips you found incredibly adorable. 

“Yes.” You said simply with a shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Can I take this off?” His hands toy with the dress you wore. It wasn't a big puffy dress like you would wear on a normal day. It was flat and required no corset, no zipper. It simply slipped off. A surge of confidence rushed through you and you figured you'd take hold of it before it washed away. 

You pushed Yeonjun back against the plush couch. His back connected with the cushion behind him. His face lit up with an adorable surprise. “What are you-” 

“Shh” You smiled playfully. You rose from your seat now standing directly in front of him. You reached your hands to your sleeves pulling them down slowly. 

Yeonjun smiled, resting his hands behind his head before sending you a mock bow of approval. “Suit yourself, your highness.” 

“Shut up.” You giggle shyly pulling the rest of the dress down until the fabric meets the floor in a pile. 

“Absolutely beautiful.” He said with an unashamed look in his eye. You stood bare in front of him now, only panties and nothing else. No bra to hold in your breasts. You had never been so exposed. You reached down, riding yourself of the last of your clothing. 

You had never been naked in front of a man before. Oddly you weren't nervous with Yeonjun, you felt content, you felt reassured. 

“Come here.” Yeonjun’s voice was rough and almost hoarse, it was incredibly sexy. 

You sat before him, completely naked but full trusting. “I’m going to prep you first okay Princess?” 

You nodded dumbly as he carefully laid you down on the sofa falling to his knees in front of you. “Tell me if you want to stop at any point and I will. Am I clear?” You nodded again, finding it hard to muster up words when he was looking at you like that. 

“Use your words sweetheart.” 

“Yes.” The one word like a green light to Yeonjun. His mouth falling to be level with your core. You watched with keen fascination as his breath fanned the most intimate part of you. His tongue licked up one strip causing a gasp to leave your lips. Your hips lifting from the couch in surprise. His growl of disapproval sent shivers down your spine as his hands firmly pressed your hips back down onto the couch. 

His mouth reattached to your slit lapping and licking at the sensitive bud. “Oh-” You whined your mouth involuntarily curling into an ‘O’ shape. 

His eyes searched for yours wildly, a desire for approval in his gaze. “How’s that feel?” He asked coming up for a breath. 

“G-good.” You stuttered out. “More..” 

“Greedy are we Princess?” he quirked a thick brow at you. 

“Mhm..” You moaned unashamed of your clear desperation. His hand lifted ghosting over your entrance, his tongue back to lapping up your juices. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” 

“W-what?” Your mind was in a daze as his thumb lazily circled your clit, his tongue still ghosting over your entrance. 

“Has this little princess ever touched herself?” His voice was rougher now, more demanding. 

“Y-yes.” You admitted shyly. “Sometimes” 

Yeonjun tsk’d slowly adding a finger into your awaiting entrance, taking it slower so as to not hurt you. 

“My god.” You whispered. 

“Dirty girl..” Yeonjun trailed off, reaching his free hand up to grab onto yours that was clutching the cushion of the couch in your hand. 

“More..” You whined, grinding yourself against Yeonjun’s hand, a desperate moan leaving your lips. 

“I think you're ready.” He pulled his finger out with ease. A hiss of pleasure leaving your lips. 

“Are you ready sweetheart?” His words were gentle as he quickly removed his pants and boxers. The sheer size of him catching you off guard and rendering you near speechless. 

“Words, princess.” His tone held authority, something that had your mind abuzz and your skin ablaze. 

“I’m ready” You panted. Yeonjun carefully crawled over you taking a second to look down at your body, his eyes traveling the expanse of you. “Beautiful.” He said for what seemed like the millionth time tonight. 

He lined his cock at your entrance running the angry red tip up and down your slit a few times, catching the pool of heat in its wake. “I’ll go slow.” 

You nodded desperately waiting for when he would finally be inside of you. 

He pushed in slowly the stretch of him burning like wildfire in your body, a jolt of pain flying up your spine. 

Your gasp rang free throughout the cabin. The sound of the fire crackling in the distance serves as a comfort to you. “Are you okay?” Yeonjun asks when he was finally fully seethed inside of you, unmoving. 

“Yes.” You breathed out. “Just hurts a little.” 

“I can wait to move.” He suggested but you shook your head at the need for him to move out weighing the pain. 

“No. Please move.” 

Yeonjun nodded, pulling his hips back from slowly pushing them back in. His breath hitched in his throat a sigh of content following. “Tight.” He grunted out. 

He continued to slowly push in and out of you with tender precision. Soon you found yourself craving more, faster, harder you needed to feel him completely. 

“Faster.” You whined out. “You can go faster.” 

“Yeah?” He hissed out “Whatever your highness wants.” 

A small smile graced your lips at his playful words. His hips pushed into you fasted the sound of your skin slapping ringing in the air around you. 

“Feels so good.” You moaned. Running your hands down your body, your fingers finding your clit, making small slow circles over the nub. 

“I’m almost there.” Yeonjun panted, his breath fanning over your face. 

“Me too” You whined, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you like a freight train. 

Yeonjun continued his brutal speed, your body moving in tandem with his, taking everything he gave you. Your heart pounding in your chest as you teetered on the edge. 

“I’m coming.” You squeaked out as your orgasm hit you. It blinded you, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. Yeonjun followed suit, his hips rutting into you before stilling. 

The both of you stood still, saying nothing only looking at each other. A bubble of a laugh creeping up in your throat and finally leaving your lips in an eruption. 

Yeonjun’s eyes widened as he watched you laugh, him still deep inside of you. 

“What are you laughing at?” He asked with a look of amused bewilderment. 

“I don't know.” You giggled out. “I’m happy.” 

Yeonjun smiled, a small semblance of smile falling from his lips. “Me too.” 

The rain had stopped by the time you stood at the door of his cabin, your cloak pulled tight around your shoulders. The world outside was silent, save for the occasional drip of water from the trees. Yeonjun stood in the doorway, his figure outlined by the soft glow of the firelight behind him. “You shouldn’t come back,” he said, his voice low and conflicted. Even after what you had just done he was still thinking of what could happen and not what was currently happening. 

You turned to face him, your heart heavy but determined. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but the weight of the night kept it from reaching his eyes. You had done irreversible things. Things that could quite frankly get him killed.  “I mean it, princess. It’s too dangerous—for both of us.” 

“And yet you kissed me,” you said softly, stepping closer. “You fucked me.” You continued. 

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?” 

“I’ve heard it before.” You smiled with mischief. 

The faintest trace of a smirk crossed his face, but it faded quickly. “If you’re set on defying all reason, at least let me promise you something.” 

Your brows furrowed as you searched his face. “What?” 

“I’ll write to you,” he said, his voice steady. “I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way to get the letters to you. Just… so you know you’re not alone.” 

Your heart clenched at his words, the tenderness in his tone cutting through the sadness that had been building in your chest. “You’d do that?” 

“For you?” He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.” 

The weight of his promise settled between you, heavy and fragile all at once. You stepped closer, your hand reaching for his. His fingers closed around yours, calloused but warm, grounding you even as the moment felt like it might slip away. The thought of not knowing when you'll see him next wounded you. “I’ll wait for them,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

His gaze softened, and for a moment, you saw past the walls he had built around himself. “You’d better.” 

You smiled, a small, bittersweet thing, before tilting your head up to him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was softer this time, slower, as though he was memorizing the feel of you. You poured everything into that kiss—the unspoken words, the hopes, the promises—and when it ended, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“Go,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Before I change my mind.” 

You nodded, stepping back reluctantly, your hand slipping from his. As you turned and started down the path, you glanced over your shoulder to find him still standing in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated by the firelight. And though your heart ached, the promise of his letters gave you a small, stubborn flicker of hope. You’d see him again, you'd make sure of it. 

The morning light streamed through the small window of Yeonjun’s cabin, catching motes of dust that swirled lazily in the air. He sat at the rough-hewn table, a piece of parchment spread before him. His fingers tightened around the quill, ink blotching on the page as he wrestled with the words he needed to say. How did he write to a princess? Especially one who he kissed, one he made love to. One that looked at him like he wasn't a broken man, and made impossible promises feel real? 

Yeonjun groaned, running a hand through his unruly hair. He had spent the better part of the morning trying to figure out how he was supposed to get this letter to her without drawing attention. The thought of a royal guard intercepting it. Of the consequences for both of them—kept him frozen in indecision. A sharp knock at the door startled him, and he quickly folded the letter, tucking it under the edge of a book before standing. His hand instinctively went to the knife on his belt as he opened the door. 

There stood Kai, the paperboy, clutching his satchel and beaming up at him with wide, eager eyes. “Kai,” Yeonjun said, exhaling. “What do you want?” 

“Good morning to you too,” Kai said, undeterred. “I’ve been practicing with the stick bow I made, but it’s not the same as the real thing. You’re the best archer in the village—probably in the kingdom! Teach me.” 

“I told you before, I don’t have time for this,” Yeonjun said, stepping back and starting to close the door.

“Wait!” Kai stuck his foot in the doorway. “What if I do something for you? Like chores or hunting or—” 

Yeonjun stopped, the boy’s words sparking an idea. He narrowed his eyes at Kai. “You deliver papers to the castle, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Kai said, straightening proudly. “Every morning. They don’t let me in, though. Just to the servants’ entrance.” 

Yeonjun hesitated, glancing back toward the folded letter. “If I give you something—something important—could you deliver it discreetly to the princess? Without anyone else knowing?”

Kai blinked, his face scrunching in confusion. “The princess? Why would—” 

“Can you do it or not?” Yeonjun interrupted, his tone firm. 

Kai considered him for a moment, then grinned. “I can do it. But you have to promise to teach me archery.” 

“Fine,” Yeonjun said, grabbing the folded letter and handing it to Kai. “This stays in your satchel until you hand it to her.” 

Kai tucked the letter into his bag and gave Yeonjun a cheeky salute. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Yeonjun watched the boy leave, his heart pounding. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. 

Kai trudged up the winding path to the castle’s servant entrance, whistling a tune as the satchel bumped against his hip. The gray stone walls loomed above him, casting long shadows in the morning sun. Despite his usual bravado, his stomach twisted with nerves. Delivering a letter to the princess was risky business, even for a street-savvy paperboy. When he reached the small, iron-banded door tucked away behind the stables, he knocked twice, then twice more, just like the man had told him. A moment later, the door creaked open, and a woman in a plain gray dress peered out. Her sharp eyes softened when she saw him. 

“You must be Kai,” the nursemaid said, her voice low but kind.

“That’s me,” he said, flashing her a grin. “I’ve got the letter.” 

He pulled it from his satchel, holding it up like it was a royal treasure—which, in a way, it was. The nursemaid took it carefully, glancing over her shoulder before tucking it into the folds of her apron. “You’re certain no one saw you?” 

“Course not,” Kai said, puffing out his chest. “I’m good at being sneaky.”

She smiled faintly. “Thank you. The princess will be grateful.” 

Kai tilted his head, curiosity lighting his face. “Why’s the princess getting letters from a huntsman, anyway?” 

The nursemaid’s expression grew stern. “That’s not for you to wonder. Just keep this quiet, understand?” 

“Understood,” Kai said, holding up his hands. The nursemaid nodded, slipping back inside. The door shut with a soft thud, leaving Kai alone with his thoughts. As he walked back toward the village, he couldn’t help but grin. Whatever was going on between the princess and the huntsman, it was far more exciting than delivering papers. 

The grand hall felt stifling, the air heavy with expectation. You sat at the long, polished table, your parents at either end like sentinels of your fate. The man they had brought to meet you sat across from you, his eyes scanning you like a merchant appraising goods. He was handsome in a sharp, cold way, his words polished but hollow. “This is Lord Kang Taehyun.” your father said, his voice booming with authority. “A man of great standing. He’s traveled far to meet you.” 

You forced a tight smile, your hands twisting in your lap beneath the table. “It’s a pleasure, my lord,” you said, your voice strained. 

Lord Taehyun inclined his head, his smile more a calculated gesture than genuine warmth. “The pleasure is mine, Your Highness. I’ve heard much of your beauty and grace, though I see now that words fail to capture the truth.” The flattery felt like acid on your skin. You glanced at your mother, hoping for some reprieve, but her expression was as composed and unreadable as ever.

“You will have much to discuss,” your father said, his tone dismissive. “Taehyun, perhaps you and the princess might take a walk in the gardens.” 

“No,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Your father’s gaze snapped to you, sharp and unyielding. “What did you say?” His words felt like tiny little prickles in your skin. 

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the marble floor. “I said no. I don’t want to walk. I don’t want to… to discuss anything.” This new found confidence surprised not only your father but you as well. The tension in the room thickened, your mother’s eyes narrowing, your father’s face darkening with anger.

“Sit down,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. You knew he meant business but something in you wouldn't allow for what was about to take place to happen. You were going to fight like hell. 

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “You can’t make me do this.”

Your father rose to his feet, his hands slamming onto the table. “You will do as you’re told. This is not a request—it is your duty.”

“Duty?” you cried, your voice breaking. “Is that all I am to you? A pawn to be traded away?” The words hung in the air like a slap. Your father’s expression turned thunderous, but your mother spoke first, her voice cold and clipped. “That’s enough.” 

You turned on your heel, tears spilling over as you fled the hall, their voices chasing after you. Your feet carried you through the winding corridors of the castle, past servants who quickly looked away, until you reached the sanctuary of your room. Slamming the door shut, you sank to the floor, sobbing into your hands. It felt as though the walls were closing in, every word your parents had said pressing down on your chest. 

You had only tasted a small ounce of freedom but you would do everything in your power to not lose it. The night you spent with Yeonjun was the best night of your life. For the first time in your life you felt real. You had finally felt like someone, seen you as you and not just a pawn in a nobel game. 

You picked yourself up from the floor as the tears still cascaded down your face. Throwing yourself onto your bed letting your mind think of Yeonjun and Yeonjun only. 

The night was silent when the knock came at your window. You rushed to it, your heart leaping when you saw the familiar figure of your nursemaid, Kora She slipped inside, handing you a folded piece of parchment. “It’s from him,” she whispered, a small smile on her lips. He kept his promise. He wrote to you. Your heart soared a prickling of hope bubbling in your chest. With Yeonjun, the world felt just all the more bearable. This tiny piece of paper was a saving grace in the mess that was your life.

Your hands trembled as you took the letter, the sight of his handwriting calming the storm inside you. Once the nursemaid left, you lit a candle and unfolded the parchment, your eyes drinking in the words. 

“Princess,

I hope this finds you well, though I know life in the castle is anything but kind to you. I don’t know what I can offer with my words, but know that I’m thinking of you. I can’t seem to stop. I spent all day at the woods’ edge, wondering if you’d appear again, though I know it’s foolish.

Stay safe. Write back if you can. Just knowing you’re out there—somewhere—makes the world feel less empty. 

Yeonjun.” 

You clutched the letter to your chest, his words filling the cracks in your heart left by the day’s events. Taking a deep breath, you reached for your quill and parchment sitting on your bed eager to write back. 

“Yeonjun, 

Your letter was exactly what I needed tonight. The world here feels so cold, so confining. But your words... They warmed me. I wish I could tell you how much they mean to me, how much you mean to me. You call yourself foolish for waiting by the woods, but I find myself thinking about you just as often.

There are moments I wish I could escape all of this, if only to spend another night in the rain with you. You make me feel free, even when I’m trapped within these walls. I don’t know how long this will last, or what the future holds, but I promise I’ll keep writing as long as you’ll read my words.

Yours Always”

You folded the letter carefully, sealing it with trembling hands. The nursemaid would come again in the morning to deliver it, but for now, you tucked it under your pillow. As you blew out the candle and lay in the darkness, your thoughts drifted to Yeonjun. His voice, his touch, his promise. It was enough to keep the despair at bay, at least for tonight.

The days that followed were a blur of tension and despair. Your father’s booming voice echoed through the halls, issuing orders to increase security, though you didn’t know why. Guards were stationed at nearly every corridor, their cold eyes watching your every move. Even the gardens, once your brief sanctuary, felt like a cage.  

You suspected it was about control. The more you resisted their plans, the tighter they held the reins. Your father rarely spoke to you directly now, preferring to bark commands to your mother or the staff. Your mother, ever the strategist, would sit by your bedside at night, her hands clasped primly in her lap as she spoke of duty and legacy. Her words slid off you like rain on stone. But even in the midst of their suffocating demands, there was Yeonjun. 

His letters arrived like whispers of freedom, tucked beneath your pillow by your nursemaid each morning. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth that broke through the chill of the castle. You read them over and over, tracing the ink with your fingertips until the parchment softened. 

“Princess,

Every day feels longer than the last without you here. I thought I was a man who had learned to live without hope, but you’ve made me realize how much I’ve missed it. The woods are quiet now, but I hear your laugh in the wind and feel your presence in every shadow.

I don’t know how this will end, but I promise I will keep writing to you, as long as you’ll have me. You’re the first thing in a long time that has felt real.

Yeonjun”

His words were a balm to your raw emotions, and you clung to them like a lifeline. They were your secret rebellion, a quiet refusal to let your parents steal the one thing that gave you solace. You don’t know what you would do moving forward but you knew for certain that the thought of a life without Yeonjun became more and more painful, it was something you wouldn't allow to happen. Even if it killed you. So Each night, by the flickering light of a candle, you wrote back to him. 

“Yeonjun,

Your words are the only thing keeping me sane. I feel trapped here—my parents are relentless, the guards omnipresent. Even my own footsteps feel like they’re being watched. But when I read your letters, it’s like I’m back in the woods with you, standing in the rain. For a moment, I’m free again.

I don’t know how I’ll get through this, but knowing you’re out there, thinking of me... it’s enough to keep going. I hope you’ll write to me as often as you can. Your letters are my escape.

Yours always.”

The exchange continued for days. Each morning brought a new letter, and each night you penned your reply. The routine became your lifeline, a fragile thread tying you to something brighter, something more alive. The grueling dinners with your parents, the endless stream of suitors paraded before you—none of it mattered when you knew a letter was waiting under your pillow. Yeonjun’s words reminded you of what it felt like to be seen, truly seen, and not as a piece on your father’s chessboard. You closed your eyes, letting his words settle into your heart. The stars above seemed brighter somehow, as if he were reaching out to you through them.

Your mother always told you that love was not real. That you could never love someone more than you loved yourself but that was a lie. It makes you sad sometimes. When you thought of your mother. Was she once a girl like yourself staying up until the wee hours of the night daydreaming about the possibility of a real love, had she ever felt it? You weren't sure. 

Your fingers itched to write him back, to tell him how much he meant to you, how his letters were the only thing keeping you from breaking beneath the weight of your parents’ demands. But tonight, there were no words strong enough. Instead, you held his letter close and let the quiet night envelop you. For now, his letters were enough. And soon, you would find a way to see him again. 

The morning sun filtered through the trees as Yeonjun stood by the edge of the clearing, watching Kai fumble with the bowstring. The boy’s arms trembled under the tension, his grip clumsy as he tried to draw back the arrow. "Not like that," Yeonjun said, stepping forward. He placed a steadying hand on Kai’s shoulder and adjusted his stance, forcing the boy to straighten his back. "You’re holding it like it’s going to bite you. Relax." 

Kai exhaled sharply, his face scrunched in concentration. "This is harder than it looks." His blonde hair blowing in the wind that bristled through the clearing they occupied. 

He watched Kai try again. The boy managed to draw the string back this time, though it wobbled precariously before he loosed the arrow. It sailed a pathetic few feet before flying into the dirt. Kai groaned, slumping in frustration. "I’m never going to get this." 

"You will," Yeonjun said, his voice firmer now. "But not if you give up. Again." The boy looked at him, his brown eyes uncertain, but he nodded. He retrieved the arrow and tried again. And again. And again. 

The days that followed were filled with more of the same. Each morning, Kai would show up at Yeonjun’s door with that wide, determined grin, a bow slung over his back and a bundle of arrows that were too big for his quiver. Yeonjun taught him everything—how to adjust his grip, how to judge the wind, how to stay calm and focused even when the target seemed impossible. At first, Kai was frustratingly bad. His arrows veered wildly off course, his fingers blistered from the bowstring, and his skinny frame seemed ill-suited for the demands of archery. But the boy never gave up. Each time Yeonjun corrected him, Kai listened intently, his determination outmatching his skill. 

One morning, as they rested under a tree after hours of practice, Kai finally opened up. Completely unprovoked. There must have been a lot of things weighing on the boy's mind. "My family’s poor," he said, staring down at the bow in his lap. "My father makes paintings to sell, and my mother does her best, but it’s not enough. My older sister works at the tailor’s, and my little sister’s too young to help. I’m supposed to be the big brother of the house now, The one to look to when Father is at work, but..." He trailed off, his voice cracking. Yeonjun didn’t respond right away, letting the boy gather his thoughts.

"I don’t want to feel useless anymore," Kai continued, his voice quiet but steady. "If I can hunt—if I can bring home food or sell furs—maybe things will get better. Maybe my family won’t have to struggle so much." Yeonjun studied the boy for a long moment. He saw the desperation in Kai’s eyes, the same desperation that had once driven him to the woods all those years ago. He understood too well the weight of carrying a family’s survival on your shoulders, the feeling of always falling short.

"You’re not useless," Yeonjun said finally. His voice was quiet, but there was an edge of warmth in it. "You’re trying. That’s more than most people would do." Kai looked up at him, surprised. 

"And you’re getting better," Yeonjun added, his lips quirking into a small, rare smile. "You actually hit the target today. Granted, it was the edge, but it counts." Kai laughed, a sound that was bright and unguarded. For a moment, Yeonjun felt something he hadn’t in years—a faint, flickering sense of hope. He had seen a lot of himself in kai. He too was seventeen trying to make ends meet while also growing and learning. He reminded himself to give the boy some reprieve, he was doing what most people in this village were doing. Trying to make it. 

It was a week later when Yeonjun made the decision. They had finished another grueling day of practice, and Kai was leaning against a tree, his face flushed with exhaustion but glowing with pride. He had hit the bullseye twice that morning, a feat that had him grinning ear to ear. Yeonjun walked over to his small cabin and retrieved the bow that hung on the wall. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its gold accents catching the light like fire. He had carved it himself years ago, imbuing every stroke with a sense of purpose and pride. It was his favorite bow, his most prized possession. 

He walked back to Kai, who was packing up his own battered bow. Without a word, Yeonjun held out the golden bow to him. It was a present that he had cherished from his father. He had given it to him early in his life when Yeonjun took interest in archery, and now he was giving it to Kai. 

Kai stared at it, his eyes wide. "Is that...?" 

"It’s yours," Yeonjun said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knew he was deserving, Kai was going to grow up to be an amazing huntsman, maybe even better then Yeonjun. Yeonjun was sure of it. 

The boy gaped at him, his hands hovering uncertainly over the bow. "But... this is your favorite. I can’t—" 

"You can," Yeonjun interrupted. "And you will. You’ve earned it." 

Kai’s hands trembled as he took the bow, his fingers tracing the smooth curves and intricate carvings. "I don’t know what to say," he whispered. 

"Say you’ll keep practicing," Yeonjun said, his voice softer now. "Say you’ll use it to help your family. That’s all I want." 

Kai nodded, his eyes shimmering with emotion. "I will. I promise." 

“Good.” Yeonjun smiled a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Now head home it's getting late.” 

The castle had become unbearable. Every corridor felt like a gauntlet, every shadow a trap. Guards patrolled relentlessly, their footsteps echoing like a drumbeat of oppression. Your father’s anger was a constant storm, and your mother’s calculated words were no less cutting. Everyday a battle for your freedom. Your father would not budge, his demands becoming more cold and less patient. The looming specter of the marriage broke you. The man they had chosen—a stranger from across the sea—was everything you feared. Another piece in their endless political game. You didn’t want to be a pawn, but they weren’t giving you a choice. That night, as the moon rose high above the castle, you made your decision to see Yeonjun again, no matter the beefy guards.

You slipped into the gown you had worn earlier, pulling your dark cloak tightly around you. With a deep breath, you tiptoed past the guards stationed outside your chamber. The halls seemed endless, the flicker of torches casting long, wavering shadows. Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening, every glance from a passing servant a threat. But somehow, you made it. Past the gates, past the patrols, and into the forest that had become your sanctuary. 

The knock on his door was hesitant at first, your courage wavering as you stood in the cool night air. The woods were quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. You wondered if he would even answer, if he was still awake. But then the door creaked open, and there he was. 

Yeonjun stood in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to concern the moment he saw you, calling your name in confusion. You were the last person he expected to see tonight. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The weight of the past days pressed down on you, and before you could stop yourself, tears spilled down your cheeks. 

His brows knit together, and he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. "What’s wrong?" You stepped inside, the warmth of his cabin wrapping around you like a blanket. It smelled of wood and the faint, earthy scent of leather. He closed the door behind you, his gaze never leaving your face. 

"They’re marrying me off," you finally managed, your voice trembling. "To a man I’ve never met. A man I don’t want." 

Yeonjun’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "When?"

"I don’t know," you whispered, sinking onto the edge of the small cot in the corner. "Soon. My father is furious. My mother says it’s for the good of the kingdom. But I..." You shook your head, burying your face in your hands. The weight of what your parents were doing finally settled in. A moment later, you felt the bed shift as he sat beside you. His presence was solid, grounding, and when his hand hesitantly rested on your back, it was as if a dam broke inside you.

"I can’t do it," you said, your voice muffled. "I can’t live like this. I don’t want to be a pawn in their games. I just... I just want to be free." 

Yeonjun was silent for a long moment, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady. "We’ll figure it out. I don’t know how yet, but we will." 

You looked up at him, your tear-streaked face meeting his determined gaze. "How can you say that? You don’t even know what they’re capable of." 

"I don’t have to know," he said, his tone firm. "I know you. And I know you’re stronger than you think." 

His words were like a spark in the darkness, a flicker of hope that refused to be snuffed out. You searched his face, finding no hesitation, no doubt. Just him—solid, unyielding, and somehow, impossibly, yours. A beautiful man, who had cared for you. Who has seen more of you than anyone before. A man you were falling for, and hard. Before you could think better of it, you leaned forward, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. 

"Tell me you mean it," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me this isn’t just a dream." You didn’t care if you sounded silly and childish. This was the equivalent to whispering pinch me i’m dreaming but it didn't matter, you needed to hear it. 

His hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your skin. "It’s real," he murmured. "I promise you, it’s real." And then his lips were on yours. 

His hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. The kiss was sweet but heated like you were catching up on lost time. You had missed his touch only feeling the ghost of him in his letters. 

His arms tightened around you, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, a language only the two of you could understand. "You should go back," he said eventually, though his arms didn’t loosen their hold.

"I don’t want to," you whispered. 

His lips brushed your temple in the lightest of touches. "I’ll find a way to see you again. I promise."

And somehow, you believed him. There was no way you’d be marrying a man you didn't love, not a single chance. 

The castle was quiet when you slipped back through the hidden servant’s entrance. Your heart pounded with every step, the weight of the evening still clinging to you like a second skin. The cool stone walls of the passage pressed in, amplifying the sound of your footsteps.When you turned the corner into your room, your nursemaid, Kora, was waiting. Her arms were crossed, and her lips were set in a thin line, but her eyes betrayed her worry more than her anger ever could. 

"You’re lucky the patrols didn’t catch you," she said, her voice low but sharp. You had seen her angry before and this was not one of those times, she looked more worried than anything and strangely it made you feel warm. 

You closed the door softly behind you and let out a shaky breath. "I needed to go."

Her expression softened at the sound of your voice, her stern demeanor melting into concern. "Child, what are you doing to yourself?" You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you pulled off your cloak and sank onto the edge of your bed, your fingers clutching the fabric tightly. The weight of her gaze made it impossible to avoid the question, so you finally looked up. 

"I love him," you admitted, the words trembling as they left your lips.

Your nursemaid’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a soft sigh as she sat beside you. She reached for your hand, her grip warm and steady. "You’ve always had such a stubborn heart," she said, a faint smile playing at her lips. 

"I can’t help it," you said, your voice breaking. "I don’t want this life anymore. I don’t want the titles, the suitors, the ballrooms. I just want... I just want to be free. With him." Tears welled in your eyes again, and before you could stop yourself, they spilled over. "I can’t do this, not without him. I want to run away, leave it all behind."

Your nursemaid pulled you into her arms, holding you close as your tears soaked into her shoulder. She smelled of lavender and the faint, comforting scent of home. "I understand," she murmured, her voice gentle. "But you must be careful, my love. The world isn’t kind to people like us who dream beyond our station." You had never really felt a mother’s love before, not in the way you had longed for. The closest you ever gotten was with Kora. Not only was she your nursemaid but your mother figure. She was nurturing, caring, compassionate like a mother should be. But she was also stern and would tell you exactly what you needed to hear, even if you didn't want to hear it. You had loved her like a mother. 

You pulled back slightly, your face still damp with tears. "You’ve always been there for me," you said, your voice trembling. "When my own mother didn’t care—when she looked at me like I was just another duty to fulfill—you loved me. You raised me. You’ve been the only real mother I’ve ever known." 

Her own eyes glistened now, and she cupped your face in her hands. "You’ve been my joy since the day you were born. I wanted to shield you from all of this. If I could give you the freedom you want, I would. You deserve to be happy, my dear. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you." The words had felt like another crack in the crippling foundation of your heart. Soon you would overflow then explode with the constant raging emotions inside of you and you were sure when that happened Kora would be right there, helping you every step of the way no matter what decision you decided to make. Admitting to her out loud that you had loved Yeonjun changed something inside of you. 

"I don’t know what I’d do without you," you said, your voice cracking. 

She kissed your forehead, her touch light and filled with affection. "You’ll always have me. But promise me you’ll be careful. If you love him as much as you say, don’t let that love make you reckless. It’s a dangerous world, and I won’t see you hurt."

You nodded, a fresh wave of tears streaming down your face. "I promise." 

The two of you sat there for a long while, her arms wrapped around you like a shield against the storm outside. For the first time in days, you felt a glimmer of peace. Moments like this had made you mourn a relationship you never had with your own mother. 

"I love you," you whispered. 

"And I love you," she replied, her voice soft and steady. "More than you’ll ever know." 

​​You fell asleep that night with her words echoing in your mind, the warmth of her embrace still lingering into the morning when you awoke again and she was gone, a blanket thrown over your body like a last single trace of her. 

The morning sunlight filtered through the trees as Yeonjun stood in the clearing behind his cabin, his bow slung across his back. Kai was already there, eagerly stringing the bow Yeonjun had given him. His tongue poked out in concentration, and the boy’s scrawny arms strained slightly as he drew it back. "Focus on your breath," Yeonjun instructed, leaning against a tree. "Pull smoothly, don’t yank it. Let the bow do the work."

Kai nodded, exhaling slowly before releasing the arrow. It sailed through the air, wobbling slightly before it struck the edge of the target. Not dead center, but better than it had been just days ago. "Yes!" Kai exclaimed, pumping his fist. 

Yeonjun couldn’t help but smile. "Not bad. You might not be completely hopeless after all." 

Kai grinned, his face lighting up with pride. It was very.. Boyish almost. It reminded Yeonjun so much of who he used to be. He reached for another arrow, his excitement infectious. As he prepared to shoot again, he glanced over at Yeonjun. "You know, my parents were really proud of me last night."

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What’d you do to deserve that?"

"I caught my first rabbit," Kai said, his voice swelling with pride. "With this bow. My parents sold it at the market, and we made enough money to buy bread and meat for the week. My sisters were so happy. My mom even cried." 

Yeonjun’s chest tightened at the boy’s words, a strange mix of pride and longing settling there. "Good work, Kai. You earned that." He had the most perfect prodigy of himself. Someone he knew had the potential to be a great hunter and an even better archer than Yeonjun had ever been. 

Kai beamed, his cheeks flushing slightly. "It’s because you taught me. If it weren’t for you—"

"Stop," Yeonjun interrupted, though his tone was gentle. "You put in the effort. I just showed you how." 

Kai hesitated, then said softly, "I just wanted to say thank you. For the bow, for the lessons... for everything." Looking down at the ground to hide his reddened cheeks, kicking at the dirt beneath his feet almost bashfully. 

Yeonjun looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don’t get all sentimental on me. You’ll ruin my reputation." He said with a laugh. The joke hanging in the air between the two of them. 

Kai laughed, but his expression quickly turned serious. "You’re not as mean as everyone says, you know. You’re actually... really kind."

Yeonjun snorted. "Don’t spread that around. I’ve worked hard to keep people away, and I’d rather not ruin a good thing."

"But why?" Kai asked, tilting his head. "You’re not scary. You’re..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. 

"Cursed?" Yeonjun offered dryly.

Kai shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Maybe." Yeonjun smiled at his Joke, something he found himself doing a lot more lately. 

His turned serious sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. "You remind me of myself when I was your age. Scrawny, stubborn, trying too hard to prove something to the world." 

Kai titled his head “That wasn't too long ago, you're not that much older than me you know?” 

“Yeah, I know.” Yeonjun sighed out, “You Still remind me of my younger self. I’m a lot more grown up than my age suggests. I’ve had to grow up early.” 

Kai’s eyes widened. "Really?" His innocence warmed Yeonjun’s heart. 

"Yeah," Yeonjun said, a distant look in his eyes. "Only difference is, you’ve got a family who loves you. Don’t take that for granted, Kai. Not everyone’s that lucky."

Kai frowned, sensing the weight behind Yeonjun’s words. "What about your family?"

Yeonjun hesitated, then shook his head. "Not something you need to worry about, kid. Let’s just say... it didn’t turn out the way I wanted."

“I know they died..” Kai said, surprising Yeonjun. “I’m sorry. I can be your family now.” 

“I appreciate that.” Yeonjun’s voice was low, soft. Like he was savoring the moment but not wanting to look vulnerable. “You’re a good kid, Kai. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise."

Kai nodded slowly, his youthful energy appearing once more. "I won’t let my family down. I’ll keep practicing, and I’ll take care of them." 

Kai grinned, his spirit returning as he straightened his bow. Yeonjun reached into his coat and pulled out a folded letter. "Here," he said, handing it to Kai. "Same deal as last time. Get this to the nursemaid, and make sure it reaches her. No one else." 

Kai took the letter with a solemn nod, tucking it carefully into his satchel. "I won’t mess up. You can count on me."

"I know I can," Yeonjun said softly. "You’re tougher than you look."

Kai flashed a determined smile and slung his bow over his shoulder. As he turned to leave, he paused, glancing back at Yeonjun. "You know," Kai said, his voice tentative, "you’re kind of like the big brother I always wanted." 

Yeonjun froze, the words catching him off guard. He swallowed hard, his voice rough as he replied, "And you’re like the little brother I never asked for." Kai laughed, waving as he disappeared into the woods. Yeonjun watched him go, a strange warmth settling in his chest. 

The wind howled outside Yeonjun’s cabin, rattling the wooden shutters as he sat at his small, worn table. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. He ran his fingers over the letter he’d received from Kai earlier, the princess’s words already memorized but still giving him solace. He was about to turn in for the night when a sharp knock echoed through the cabin. Yeonjun frowned. Kai was long gone, and he wasn’t expecting anyone else. 

He opened the door cautiously, but no one was there. Instead, an envelope lay on the ground, the seal glinting faintly in the moonlight. Yeonjun bent down to pick it up, his pulse quickening.

He stepped back inside, closing the door behind him as he examined the envelope. The weight of it felt different from her usual letters. The paper was finer, the edges gilded with gold. For a moment, he thought Kai had brought it late, maybe as part of some grand gesture. But when he broke the seal and unfolded the paper, his stomach dropped. it wasn’t her handwriting. The words danced mockingly across the page, each one sinking like a stone in his chest. 

“You are cordially invited to a masquerade ball at the royal palace to celebrate the forthcoming marriage of  The Princess to Lord Kang Taehyun.” 

His grip on the paper tightened, the edges crumpling beneath his fingers. He read it again, hoping he’d misunderstood, but the meaning was clear. 

Her marriage announcement. 

The room felt suddenly stifling, the walls closing in as his heart pounded against his ribs. He stared at the invitation, anger and confusion warring within him. She hadn’t mentioned this in her letters. Not once. He knew they were trying to force her into a marriage but not that they were going through with one. 

"Why didn’t she tell me?" he muttered to himself, his voice harsh in the quiet cabin. 

Yeonjun paced the room, the invitation clutched tightly in his hand. Every instinct screamed at him to stay away, to keep his head down and let this royal mess unfold without him. But the thought of her standing in that grand ballroom, her eyes filled with sorrow, surrounded by strangers, was unbearable. He sank into his chair, his head in his hands. The memory of her tear-streaked face from the night she’d come to his door haunted him. The way she’d clung to him, her voice trembling as she confessed her fears. 

"I have to see her," he said aloud, the resolve hardening in his chest. His eyes fell back to the invitation. A masquerade. If there was ever a way for him to slip into the palace unnoticed, this was it. 

But what then? What could he possibly say or do to change the course of her life? With a heavy sigh, Yeonjun placed the crumpled invitation on the table and leaned back in his chair. The fire crackled softly, the warmth doing little to ease the chill that had settled in his chest. Tomorrow, he would decide what to do. But tonight, he let the weight of the truth settle over him, the words on the page a stark reminder of just how precarious their love truly was. 

The night of the ball had finally arrived. Yeonjun sat in the quiet of his cabin, the fire in the hearth reduced to glowing embers. His packed bundle rested on the table ​. Everything felt heavier tonight—the air, his thoughts, the weight of what he was about to do. He’d spent the day going over his plan, but now, as the moment drew closer, his mind turned to the boy who’d become a surprising presence in his life: Kai. He’d spent the day going over his plan, trying to get his affairs in order. Earlier, he’d gone to look for Kai. The boy was usually eager, always hovering around his cabin or running errands in the village. But today, Yeonjun had called for him several times, even gone to the square to see if he was there, but there’d been no sign of him. 

“Probably busy with his family,” Yeonjun muttered to himself, trying to shake off the unease that crept in. He thought of Kai’s bright grin the last time they’d spoken, the pride in his voice as he told Yeonjun about finally catching his first game. The memory pulled at his heart. He’d wanted to talk to the boy, to tell him everything, to hand over the cabin, the bow, and all the tools of his trade. But with no time to waste and no sign of Kai, Yeonjun had to make peace with leaving it all behind without explanation. 

"I’ll leave it all to him," Yeonjun murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "The cabin, the bow, everything." It wasn’t much, but it was all he had. And Kai deserved a chance—a real chance—to make something of himself. He thought back to the day he’d handed Kai the golden bow, the way the boy’s eyes had widened with reverence. That same boy had caught his first animal just days ago and had been beaming with pride when he told Yeonjun about his family’s gratitude. 

“They’ll need this more than I will,” Yeonjun muttered. “Kai will understand.” He sat at the small table, a scrap of paper and a stub of charcoal in hand. The words didn’t come easily, each one feeling like a goodbye he wasn’t ready to say. But by the time the fire had burned down to its last embers, the note was finished, folded neatly and left on the table. Yeonjun stood, shouldering his pack. His gaze swept the small cabin, taking in the worn wood, the faint scent of smoke, the memories etched into every corner. 

"This is the right thing," he said softly, though the ache in his chest made him doubt. As he stepped outside, the cold night air bit at his skin, and the quiet of the woods enveloped him. He turned once to look back at the cabin, the soft glow from the window casting a faint light into the night. “Kai will be fine,” he whispered, as if convincing himself. “He’s stronger than he thinks.” And with that, Yeonjun made his way toward the palace. The plan was set, and his resolve was firm. Tonight, he would find her, and together they would leave this world behind.

The masquerade ball was in full swing, a sea of gilded masks, shimmering gowns, and laughter that echoed through the grand halls of the castle. Yeonjun, hidden in plain sight among the servants, carried a tray of fine goblets filled with wine. The facade of calm he wore barely concealed the storm brewing inside him. He’d caught sight of her several times already, dressed in a gown of deep emerald green that hugged her frame and glimmered under the chandeliers. The mask she wore couldn’t hide her identity from him, not when her pink hair peeked through in soft waves. But it wasn’t just her beauty that consumed his attention—it was the man beside her. 

Kang Taehyun. 

The one she was supposed to marry. 

Yeonjun clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the tray. The man was broad-shouldered, and carried himself with an air of entitlement that grated on Yeonjun’s nerves. He stayed close to her, far too close, speaking in a low voice that made her frown, though she masked it quickly for the sake of appearances. It made Yeonjun’s blood boil. 

This was why he was here, why he’d come despite the risks. He couldn’t stand idly by while they paraded her around as if she were a prize to be won. Moving through the crowd, Yeonjun kept his head low, blending in with the other servants. He waited for the right moment—when her parents’ eyes were elsewhere, when the suitor was distracted by a gaggle of nobles seeking his attention. Pathetic. And he thought he was worthy of her? 

When it came, Yeonjun didn’t hesitate. He set his tray down and approached her from the side, careful not to draw attention. As he passed, his fingers brushed hers ever so lightly, and he slipped a small folded note into her hand. She flinched at the touch but quickly covered her reaction, slipping the note into the folds of her gown without looking. Yeonjun didn’t wait for acknowledgment. He melted back into the crowd, his heart pounding.

The note in your hand felt heavier than it should, the words scrawled in familiar handwriting still burning in your mind. "The garden. Now." 

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you scanned the ballroom. The glittering chandeliers and elegant guests seemed to blur together, a hazy backdrop to the storm of emotions churning inside you. You’d recognized him instantly, despite the servant’s uniform and the simple black mask concealing part of his face. Why was he here? What was he thinking? You spotted Taehyun across the room, deep in conversation with your father, his smooth laugh carrying over the hum of the crowd. Your mother stood nearby, her sharp eyes scanning the ball for potential allies, rivals, and threats. The guards stationed at the doors kept their watchful gazes moving, their vigilance a constant reminder of your gilded cage.

Slipping the note into the folds of your gown, you waited for the right moment. When your mother turned to speak with a duchess, and your suitor became engrossed in a conversation about trade routes, you slipped quietly toward the side door leading to the garden. The cool night air hit your skin like a balm, the oppressive heat and noise of the ballroom fading with each step. You moved quickly, your gown brushing against the gravel path as you made your way through the moonlit garden. And then you saw him. 

Yeonjun stood near a stone bench, his figure half-hidden by the shadows of the trees. His head turned at the sound of your approach, and even in the dim light, you saw the tension in his expression melt into something softer. "You’re here," he said, his voice low and rough. 

"You told me to come," you replied, your heart racing. "What are you doing here? If anyone sees us—" 

"I don’t care," he interrupted, stepping toward you, his eyes blazing. "I couldn’t stand watching you with him." 

You froze, his words hitting you like a jolt. "Yeonjun, you can’t just—" You couldn't risk someone seeing you. No matter how badly you just wanted to run into his arms and never let go, this could turn dangerous and fast. 

"I had to," he cut in, his voice fierce. "You’re going to marry him, aren’t you? That’s what this whole masquerade is for. To announce it to the world." 

His words stung because they were true, but you didn’t have a choice. "It’s not what I want," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "But I don’t get to decide." 

"There’s always a choice," he said, his tone sharp, almost desperate. "You don’t have to do this. We can leave tonight—just say the word, and we’ll be gone." You stared at him, the weight of his offer pressing down on you. His intensity, his recklessness—it should have frightened you, but instead, it made you ache. Leaving was all you could ever think about. Leaving the prison you grew up in finally with the man you loved would be everything you had dreamed of. 

"Leave?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. "And go where? They’d find us. They always do." 

"Let them," he said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. "Let them try. I won’t let them take you from me." 

His words broke something inside you, the carefully constructed walls you’d built to endure this life. You looked up at him, tears stinging your eyes. "Yeonjun, this is madness." And it was, but word by word he was convincing you. 

"Maybe it is," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "But I can’t lose you. Not to him. Not to anyone." 

The night seemed to still, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you. Slowly, you reached up and removed your mask, the cool air brushing against your tear-streaked cheeks. "I don’t want to lose you either," you whispered, the truth spilling out before you could stop it. He closed the distance between you in a single step, his hands cradling your face as his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened, years of longing and frustration pouring into it. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. 

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathless. His fingers brushed your cheek, his touch achingly gentle. "What do we do now?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and hope. 

“We go.” he said, his voice steady and sure. "Together." 

“Now?” You asked, your voice unsteady and unsure. 

“We have to,” he nodded, his tone urgent, almost frantic. His hand was firm around yours as he began to lead you deeper into the garden, away from the prying eyes of the guards and the glittering lights of the ball. “It’s now or never, Princess.” You hesitated at his words, glancing back toward the castle, its grand silhouette looming like a watchful predator. But the pull of his hand—and the fierce determination in his eyes—spurred you forward. The garden paths twisted and turned, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your hurried steps the only sound in the quiet night. The cool air bit at your cheeks, and your gown tangled around your legs, but you didn’t stop. He didn’t stop. 

“We’ll make it,” Yeonjun muttered, half to himself, half to you. “Once we’re past the outer gates, they won’t be able to follow us. Not tonight.” Your heart thundered in your chest, not just from the exertion but from the enormity of what you were doing. Running. Escaping. Leaving everything behind. Ahead, the garden’s stone archway came into view, the dense forest beyond it a promise of freedom. But as you reached it, something sharp and cold slithered down your spine—a sense of foreboding you couldn’t shake. 

“Yeonjun, wait,” you whispered, pulling on his hand. 

“What is it?” he asked, glancing back at you, his brow furrowed. 

Before you could answer, there was a faint rustling behind you. Then, a muffled cry—a sound so brief and so quiet you weren’t sure you’d heard it at all. 

A hand wrapped around your mouth muffled your screams of protest, throwing you backwards and away from the view of Yeonjun. The last thing before going dark was Yeonjun’s slumped body against the wall and the face of your father looming over the balcony…grinning. 

Yeonjun’s eyes fluttered open, and the world around him spun in dizzying circles. The pounding in his head was the first thing he felt—a sharp, blinding pain that seemed to come from deep within his skull. He was lying on cold stone, his body twisted in uncomfortable angles, the rough texture of the floor scraping against his skin. His wrists were shackled behind him, and he could feel the weight of the iron biting into his flesh, a constant reminder of his captivity. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of mildew, and the faint dripping of water echoed in the darkness.

"Awake at last," a gruff voice sneered from somewhere above him.

Yeonjun tried to lift his head, but the effort sent another wave of pain through his skull, making his vision blur. He blinked, trying to focus, and found himself staring up at two guards, their faces shadowed by the dim light of a single torch mounted on the stone wall. "Where am I?" he rasped, his throat dry and cracked. 

"The king’s dungeon," one of the guards answered, stepping forward with an air of superiority. "You should feel honored. Not many get to see it." Yeonjun tried to push himself up, but a sharp kick to his ribs sent him crashing back to the floor. He gasped, struggling to catch his breath as the pain radiated through his body. His fingers curled around the cold stone beneath him, grounding himself as he tried to regain control. 

“Why were you sneaking around with the princess?” the second guard asked, his voice low and threatening. “What were you planning?” 

Yeonjun didn’t answer. His lips were sealed, his mind racing. He wasn’t going to give them anything. The first guard knelt down, bringing his face close to Yeonjun’s. “Don’t play dumb with us,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “We know about the little messages you sent. Through that boy.” 

Yeonjun’s heart skipped a beat. His mind raced. Kai. They had taken him. His body ran cold, a shiver shooting up his spine. “What did you do to him?” Yeonjun demanded, his voice hoarse but filled with venom.

The first guard chuckled darkly, pulling something from behind his back and tossing it onto the floor in front of Yeonjun. It clattered against the stone with a sickening sound, and Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat when he saw it.

A bloodstained arrow. 

The arrow that had once been his, now soaked in the blood of the one person who had truly believed in him. A boy, not much younger than him but so full of life. Only wishing to make his family proud. Dead..because of him. 

"Recognize this?" the guard taunted, his grin widening. “Your little messenger screamed your name the whole time. Begged us to let him go. Begged for you to save him.” 

Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat, his vision swimming as the truth hit him like a blow to the gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. No. no. no. Kai. 

“No,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. Almost like a plea to any god that would hear him. Any god with mercy. 

“Oh, yes,” the second guard said, leaning in with a malicious smile. “And the old woman? The nursemaid? She put up quite the fight. But don’t worry. She didn’t last long either.” The words sliced through Yeonjun like a blade, and for a moment, everything in him went cold. 

"You bastards!" he shouted, his voice breaking with fury as he surged forward, only to be stopped by the chains holding him in place. He rattled them with all his strength, the metal digging into his wrists, but he couldn’t escape. The guards laughed at his struggles, their cruel amusement echoing off the stone walls of the dungeon. 

“You brought this on yourself,” one of them said, standing to leave. “All of this—on you. On them.” The sound of their boots faded as they retreated down the hallway, their laughter still ringing in his ears. Yeonjun was left in the suffocating silence of the dungeon, his heart heavy with grief and guilt. His body trembled as he slowly sank back onto the cold floor, the bloody arrow still lying in front of him—a symbol of everything he had lost.

Kai. Kai was dead. They had taken him, tortured him, dumped him god knows where. His family, oh god his family. Yeonjun couldn't take it. The curse, he knew it was real and for the first time since the death of his family he had felt it tenfold, piercing him like his very own arrows. They were the archer and himself the prey, left in agony to be eaten by the wolves of the kingdom. How dare they?

Kai was innocent. He was pure. He was good. All things Yeonjun was not. And Kora, Kora had only had nothing but love for the princess. She nurtured her and raised her. She did more than the queen could ever do, gone. Because of him. He closed his eyes, the weight of it all crashing down on him. His chest ached with the unbearable loss, and for the first time in years, tears welled up in his eyes. But there was no one left to comfort him. 

A sharp kick to Yeonjun’s stomach jolted him awake, the breath ripped from his lungs as pain shot through his body. He doubled over instinctively, coughing and gasping for air, but the guards were relentless. Rough hands grabbed him by the arms, dragging him to his feet. His legs felt weak beneath him, his head pounding from the lingering ache of his earlier beating.“Get moving,” one of the guards barked, shoving him forward. 

Yeonjun stumbled, the chains on his wrists clinking with every step as they led him out of the dim dungeon. The harsh light of the corridor burned his eyes, but he kept his head down, biting back the groan of pain that threatened to escape. As they marched him up a winding staircase, the familiar sounds of the grand hall grew louder—the murmurs of people, the echo of heavy boots on marble, the crackling of torches. Yeonjun’s heart sank. He didn’t have to guess where they were taking him.When they shoved him into the throne room, the sight that met him was worse than anything he could have imagined. 

The king sat on his golden throne, his expression smug and triumphant. The queen was beside him, her cold gaze fixed on Yeonjun as if he were nothing more than filth beneath her feet. And there, standing just to the side, was the princess. Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen as though she’d been crying for hours. The moment she saw him, her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. 

“Ah, the infamous hunter,” The king said, his booming voice dripping with mockery. “I must say, I didn’t expect such a... lowly creature to have the nerve to court my daughter.” Yeonjun said nothing, his jaw tightening as he stared at the marble floor. 

The king rose from his throne, descending the steps slowly, savoring every moment of Yeonjun’s humiliation. “What? Nothing to say? No impassioned defense of your love? No heroic declaration of your intentions?” Still, Yeonjun remained silent. 

The king laughed, a cold and hollow sound that echoed through the chamber. “You see, princess?” he said, turning to his daughter. “This is the man you chose. A coward who can’t even speak for himself.” 

“Stop this!” the princess cried, stepping forward. Tears streamed down her face, her voice cracking as she pleaded. “Please, father, stop this! He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“Silence!” the queen snapped, her tone sharp and unforgiving. “You will not disgrace this family further by defending him.” 

“But-” 

“I said, silence!” The king roared, and the princess flinched, her shoulders trembling as she bit back a sob. 

The king turned back to Yeonjun, his smirk returning. “Your little messenger is dead, you know,” he said, his tone almost casual. “And the nursemaid. Both gone, thanks to you. All because you thought you could play hero.”

Yeonjun’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury. His heart twisting in his chest. 

The king gestured to one of the guards, who held up the bloodstained arrow as a grim trophy. “The boy cried for you, you know. Right up until the end.” Yeonjun’s chest heaved, rage and sorrow clawing at his insides, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a response.

The king’s smirk deepened. “No clever retort? No fiery protest? Very well.” He raised his voice, addressing the room. “Choi Yeonjun, the hunter, is hereby sentenced to death for his treasonous actions and his insolence against the crown.” 

“No!” The princess’s scream pierced the air, raw and desperate. She ran forward, throwing herself in front of Yeonjun. “You can’t do this! Please, father, I beg you!”

The queen rose from her throne, her expression cold. “Move aside, child. This is what must be done.” 

“No! I won’t let you!” She turned to Yeonjun, her tear-filled eyes locking onto his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This is all my fault.” 

“Enough!” The king’s voice boomed, and the guards seized the princess, pulling her away from Yeonjun. She struggled against them, her sobs echoing through the hall as they dragged her back toward the throne.

Yeonjun stood tall, his eyes meeting the king’s without a trace of fear. If this was how it ended, so be it. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. But as the princess’s cries filled the room, a new thought burned in his mind. The memory of Kai, bright eyed and cheery. And everything he had taken from the both of them. She was apologizing but she was not the one at fault. He was. 

Yeonjun sat slumped against the cold stone wall of his cell, his wrists raw from the iron chains and his body aching from days of neglect and torment. His head hung low, the heavy silence of the dungeon pressing against him like a weight. Every sound—the drip of water, the faint scuttle of a rat—seemed magnified in the stillness. Sleep had come and gone in fleeting, restless bouts, and this time was no different. A muffled commotion echoed from somewhere outside the cell. At first, he thought it was another cruel trick of his mind, the dungeon’s oppressive quiet playing games with his senses. 

But then, there was a distinct clatter—a guard’s voice shouting, followed by a heavy thud. His eyes blinked open, groggy and unfocused. He straightened as best he could, his pulse quickening. Footsteps. He squinted into the darkness, barely registering the soft sound of keys jangling. The door creaked open, and a figure slipped inside, cloaked in the faint torchlight spilling from the corridor. 

“Yeonjun.” a hushed, urgent voice whispered. 

His breath caught. It was her. 

“Princess?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and cracked from disuse.

She was at his side in an instant, her hands trembling as they fumbled with the lock on his chains. Her face, framed by the faint flicker of the torchlight, was a mix of desperation and determination. “What are you—how—” he began, but she silenced him with a sharp look. 

“No time for questions,” she said, her voice low but steady. “We need to get out of here. Now.” 

The chains around his wrists fell away with a loud clink, and she moved to the shackles on his ankles. “How did you even get down here?” he asked, still stunned as he rubbed at his sore wrists. 

She glanced up at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the dire circumstances. “My nursemaid taught me more than just calligraphy and how to curtsy,” she said, her tone almost teasing. “Turns out, lock-picking and sneaking around are also valuable skills for a proper princess.” 

Yeonjun blinked at her, equal parts impressed and incredulous. “Remind me to thank her—oh, wait.”

The smirk faltered, her eyes darkening with pain. “She taught me everything I needed to survive. And now we’re going to survive this. Together.” 

The last shackle came loose, and Yeonjun rose to his feet, his legs shaky but functional. She handed him a small dagger she’d tucked into her belt. “Where did you even get this?” he asked, gripping it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. 

“Confiscated it off a guard,” she said matter-of-factly, peering into the hallway. “You’re not the only one who knows how to fight, you know.” 

He couldn’t help the faint smile that crossed his lips. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”

“You’d better not,” she shot back, her gaze darting around the corridor. “Now, let’s go before anyone notices.” The two of them crept through the winding passages of the dungeon, their movements swift but careful. The princess led the way, her steps light and purposeful, and Yeonjun followed close behind, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and disbelief. Every shadow felt like a potential threat, every distant sound a prelude to discovery. But somehow, they moved unnoticed, slipping past guards and evading detection at every turn. 

As they ascended a final set of stairs, the faint light of the moon filtered through a nearby window, illuminating their path. Yeonjun paused for a moment, glancing at the princess. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with curiosity. “You could’ve stayed safe, let them—” 

“Let them kill you?” she interrupted, her tone sharp. She turned to face him fully, her eyes blazing with emotion. “Do you think I could’ve lived with myself, knowing I left you here to die? After everything—after Kai, after Kora?” He opened his mouth to respond, but she shook her head. “You don’t get to question this. I made my choice. And I choose you.” Her words rendered him momentarily speechless, and all he could do was nod, his throat tight with unspoken emotion. 

“Now come on,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him forward. “We’re almost free.” The night air hit them like a cool balm as they slipped out through a side gate. The castle loomed behind them, a monolith of power and oppression, but they didn’t look back. They ran, side by side, into the darkness. 

The forest was eerily quiet as they approached the cabin, their breaths clouding in the cool night air. Yeonjun slowed as the familiar structure came into view, his steps growing heavier with every inch closer. The small home that had once been his sanctuary now felt hollow, haunted by what had been lost. The princess stayed close, her gaze shifting between him and the cabin, sensing the weight he carried. 

Inside, the room was as he had left it—simple and sparse, with few possessions to speak of. Yeonjun moved with purpose, pulling the golden bow from where it hung on the wall. He ran his fingers over its polished surface, the faint grooves where his hands had gripped it countless times. It had been his most prized possession, a symbol of his skill and survival. Now, it felt like a monument to the boy he’d lost.

“We’ll bury it here,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with grief. “It belongs with him.” 

The princess nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I’ll help.” 

They stepped outside into the moonlit clearing, the ground soft from the recent rains. Yeonjun worked in silence, digging a small grave beneath the large oak tree at the edge of the clearing. The princess stayed by his side, her hands brushing against his to offer support when she could. When the hole was deep enough, Yeonjun carefully laid the bow inside, his movements deliberate and reverent. He placed a folded letter atop it—a message he had written to Kai’s family, explaining everything. His voice broke as he murmured, “I’m sorry. You deserved so much better.” 

The princess touched his arm, her fingers light but grounding. “He knew you cared for him. You gave him hope.” 

Yeonjun swallowed hard, nodding as he covered the bow and letter with soil, patting the earth down until the grave was complete. The princess knelt beside him, placing a small wildflower she had plucked from the forest nearby atop the fresh dirt. Together, they bowed their heads in silence, a quiet tribute to a boy whose life had been far too brief. 

Inside the cabin, Yeonjun sat at the worn table, scribbling out one final letter. His handwriting was rough, but the words were heartfelt.

“To the family of HueningKai,

I write this with a heavy heart. Your son was brave, determined, and far too kind for this world. He reminded me of the best parts of myself, and I hope you know he made a difference, even in the short time he was with us.

I leave everything I own to you: my cabin, my tools, and whatever small coin I’ve managed to earn. May it ease your burdens and honor the boy who fought so hard for his family.

Kai deserved better, and I will carry his memory with me for the rest of my days. 

Yeonjun.” 

He sealed the letter, pressing his thumb to it as though it were a seal, and placed it on the table where the family could find it. The princess stood nearby, her eyes glassy as she watched him. “You’re doing the right thing.” 

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable but softening. “I hope so.” 

With that, they gathered the few supplies they needed—food, water, and some tools for their journey. Yeonjun paused in the doorway, casting one last look around the cabin that had been his home for so many years. “This place was never really mine,” he said, his voice low. “It was always meant for someone else.” 

She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. “Then let’s find something that is ours.” 

They stepped out into the night, the forest stretching out before them, vast and unknowable. The princess glanced back once, her heart heavy with the weight of what they left behind, but she didn’t falter. They walked hand in hand, leaving the cabin—and their old lives—behind. Together, they vanished into the horizon, bound by love, loss, and the hope of something better.

taglist. @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar

[lola-writes]

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐈 ║ I. Adonis ║ Marcus Acacius x Hanno's sister!reader

➣ Deliciae Imperii -> Delights of the Empire

➣ Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Ao3 | Ko-Fi

➣ Chapter II. | Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2,9k

Synopsis: As an esteemed warrior of the Numidian army, your world turns on its axis when you’re taken prisoner by the Romans. Ever since your stealth attack that nearly cost the General of the Roman army, Marcus Acacius, his life, he appears to have taken a special interest in you. Under his tutelage of swordplay and carnal things, you delve deeper into the heart of the Roman Empire, uncovering its instability, and Acacius’ true intentions with you…

Chapter Themes & Warnings: POV first person, use of y/n, blood, detailed descriptions of violence, terms of endearment (anaticula, Adonis), slavery, Roman history, vomiting, angst, swearing. See series masterlist for full themes & warnings!

Song: Fight for Survival – Klergy

a/n: The original plan was for this to be a oneshot, but in the end it seemed impossible. I've got a lot planned for this story. Hope you stay tuned! 🥰

Anaticula (duckling), Adonis (god of beauty and desire)

Poem by @fairytalesques

Enjoy the read!

Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

I am a rose unfurling, winter’s bloom. Poison dripping down my throat and out of my bladed fingers. I spin stars into black holes, drive monsters to extinction in the dead heat of summer. You ever stop to think what life could have been if the poison had been potent? A lifeline in the carnage. A blessing or a curse? The flower is now festering like a disease but with Adonis I’ll be safe, he keeps the antidote. 

The metallic tang of blood, thick and cloying, hung heavy in the humid air, a shroud of death as thick as smoke. It was a symphony of war, conducted by the piercing shrieks of the wounded and the barked commands of the officers. A cacophony that blurred my senses as I moved with deadly precision through a haze of silver and red.

I fought with the savage efficiency of a wild animal, yet my kills were clean and quiet, each motion honed by years of training under Hanno's tutelage. My vision tunneled to a singular, deadly focus – the annhilation of the Roman usurpers by any means necessary. In this moment, I was a force of nature, an instrument of retribution. I would purge the land of their corrupted touch if I were to die trying.

The enemy pressed on, a relentless tide. For every ten I felled, another twenty rose to take their place. Yet somehow, the more I fought, the stronger I became, as though the adrenaline that infiltrated my every tissue contained a potent elixir that invigorated my muscles and dulled their exertion. 

Clashing blades rang in the air. Our two armies mingled near indistinguishably; clanging, crunshing and screaming. It would be difficult to tell friend from foe, if it weren’t for the Romans distinctive galeas, the red fur frilling atop the silver helms like beckoning targets. 

Just then, the crowd parted like clouds from the sun, unveiling a figure descending the battlement steps, a silhouette of lethal grace. Donning a sable breast plate emblazoned by Sol, sprawling across his chest with a douzen golden rays, he moved with the effortless grace of a dancer, his blade a blur of silver death, his countenance molded into a rigid canvas of authority. A retinue of red fringed galeas encircled him, their bodies his shields, their presence a testament to his rank. 

My gaze fixed him through the crowd as the next wave of men in their peculiar-looking helmets came charging at me. I ducked, slicing open the patellas of the first two, making them buckle in the sand. The third I dodged, sidestepping before plunging my blade into his brachial plexus. The fourth I parried, our blades screeching in unison, before I kicked under his flared skirt. There wasn’t much fight left in him after that.      

Jubartha’s words echoed in my mind as I tracked the approaching entourage, “Take out the leader of your enemy, and it matters not how much blood stains your sword.”

He moved fluidly like a windless sea. His spatha whipped around him, trailing shadows in the dust-ridden air, splattering the sand with blood. His expression was a paradox. As though he would not rest until Rome had pocketed another conquest, while simultaneously longing for a different fate entirely.

Crimson trailed around him like crushed punica granatum. None breached the shield of bodies surrounding him, and those who tried did not emerge alive, like prey entering a lion’s den. 

I caught a glimpse of Hanno and Jubartha atop the parapet, fending off the ruthless wave from the assaulting sea. The walls had been breached, our numbers were dwindling. A sense of desperation seized me, a reckless courage driving me forward.  

There was but one choice at my disposal.

I sprinted up the steps of the opposite parapet, scaling the heights with desperate urgency. Ducking behind a wooden pole, I dashed across the platform until I reached its bosom. I leaned out over its edifice, where down below, a second protective roof had been built. I started the climb downward, the splintering wood tearing at my hands like an angry cat. I landed on the roof with a thud and crouched towards the edge. Our men were still charging through the opening of the parapet, but before I knew it, they began to slow, getting knocked back by the shield wall of fearsome Roman guards. I rose to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, adrenaline surging through my bloodstream. My hand found the hilt of my sword and clasped it into place. For what I was about to do, risking becoming unarmed was to invite my doom.

The chaotic shadowy flare of guards flanking the steady shadow of an unyielding assassin grew in the sand below. I filled my lungs, washing out the biting fear of death creeping around the edges. 

A warrior’s oath echoed in my mind: I am Numidia. 

I dipped, toes to the edge. A head of dark and silver emerged below. 

What could go wrong?

I leapt. 

The fall felt decelerated, as if in a dream, and all surrounding noise faded underwater. My feet met his back, and a heavy grunt of startlement escaped him as he fell forward. His body broke my fall, and I rolled with the force of the impact, swiftly regaining my footing as I turned to face him. Dazed for but a second, his face dusted with sand, he grappled for his sword. But before he managed to get a proper grasp of the hilt, I pressed my boot atop his knuckles. He groaned in frustration behind gritted teeth. The next second, my one hand had clasped the knife from my boot, while the other had gathered a fistful of his hair and snatched him backward. 

In the third second, my blade was poised at his throat, ready to claim his life when, for reasons unexplained, the edge paused in his skin. 

In the fourth second, I had met his eyes, and an unfamilliar current passed down my spine. They were big, and brown, and full of contradictions, staring up at me with equal surprise, malice, and admiration. But no fear. His chest was heaving. His hair was a full, tangled mess of black and silver beneath my fingers, textured from the unsettled sand. The strands of silver had leaked into his beard which covered his dark, dirt-and blood-spattered complexion. His nose was sharp, angled like the limb of a bow, and his lips were slightly parted from gnashed teeth. The wound I had inflicted seemed to defy the vision of him I had before me, bleeding red but ichor. 

In the fifth second his resistance faltered, his head growing heavy against me. But before I could savour my victory, a sharp blow clattered my teeth, and suddenly my body was not my own. My vision blurred, my ears buzzed, and my fingers loosened the grip of the knife, no matter how hard I fought against it. 

In the sixth second, I was laying in the sand, grasping for consciousness. I thought I could hear Hanno screaming in the distance, but it was just beneath the surface. Gathering the last ounces of strength I had left I reached for the blade laying inches away. The contours of Adonis hovered over me, as one of the guards kicked my weapon out of reach. My other hand dragged itself to my waist, half-limb, seeking to undo the clasp to my sword.

“Tsk tsk tsk...” Adonis clicked his tongue. I winced as his boot came down on my hand, pressing down. “You have some fight in you, anaticula,” his voice, laced with what I would percieve as… concern, circulated around my head like a distant echo. “Grab her.” The words consumed me, nuzzling my cognisance like a warm blanket, and as I lifted off the ground, I faded into oblivion. 

_

Vae victis. Woe to the vanquished. 

The declaration travelled with me between the realms of my unconsciousness, followed by the distant wails of bereaved mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters. 

I awoke to the comforting crackle of the fire we used to cook our supper. The air was thick with the scent of fresh fish, and the vague neigh of my stallion drifted in from outside. I sighed, nuzzling my face into the pillow, and was captivated by the unfamiliar softness of it. Something was different. The ground beneath me seemed to shift and sway, and as I opened my eyes, the pillow under my cheek was foreign to me – vibrant with patterns winding around the fabric like climbing vines.

Reality slowly dawned. I was not home. And the crackle of the fire and the neighing from my stallion was in fact the creaking and squeaking of ship timbers. 

I groaned as a sharp pain lanced through my skull. Everything came back to me. The Roman invasion. The battle. The blow to the head. Adonis … 

My breath stilled when I met his gaze across the room. Clad in the same sable armor and a royal scarlet cape, he was seated at the head of a table bedecked in plates of fish, cheese, fruit and caraffes of wine. He held my stare with a distant look of interest, rolling a purple grape between his fingers before plopping it into his mouth, his jaw clenching and unclenching. 

The throbbing pain pulsed in my temple in tune with my heart as I sat up on the setee. Sludge stuck to my thoughts and it felt as though my center of gravity was off the way the room kept rocking.

“Easy,” came his voice, a low rumble. His chewing ceased, his movements stilled, as if ready to rise in haste.

The ship’s rhythmic rocking intensified, the sound of waves lapping against the hull growing louder. A cold sweat broke out on my brow. My breathing surged and grew ragged, trying to subdue the rolling sense of nausea consuming me. 

But it was futile.

With a violent shudder, I retched, the contents of my stomach emptying onto the wooden planks.

I stared blankly at my mess, a strange blend of satisfaction and shame washing over me. Relishing at the thought of having defiled the ship of the Roman usurpers, I was humbled by doing so in front of the man who I failed to kill. My guts were ready to spill again at the very thought.

His chair creaked against the floor as he rose. I only saw his legs as he approached, dropping to his haunches in front of me – in my vomit, and I recoiled, equally to his sudden advance as to the indignity of it. He moved with intent, the scarlet cape pooled around him, and I could not help but feel intimidated. It was like he didn’t know what he was standing in. Or rather, didn’t care. Furthermore, based off his attire alone, he was too high in station to be on his knees for a commoner like me. Even less, kneeling in a commoner’s bodily fluid. 

He was so cool and calculated, from how he moved to how his gaze settled on mine, though something alive played in his dark brown eyes. Something that could snap at any second. His complexion was still riddled with dried dirt and blood from the battle, and the cut in his neck had leaked down his throat like spilt ink. 

I knew not if it was the sudden uprising of nerves, his closeness, or a result of the blow to my head, but the words slipped past my lips without thought. “You’re a truly terrible commander.” I dried the dribble off my chin with the back of my hand.

A furrow etched between his brows and genuine concern flickered in his eyes, like he was contemplating whether it might be true. “I conquered your city,” he parried.

“I nearly killed you,” I retorted.

A hint of malice clouded his features. “Nearly.” His tone of voice gathered timber; that the word came off as a threat. 

He stared at me. The urge to look away was so strong it itched beneath my skin. He expected me to. Though something foreign and astute made me persevere. Holding eye contact with him felt like a deadly game. But it also evoked a whisper of adrenaline, as warm as spiced wine. 

Finally, his eyes drifted downward to the pool of vomit at his feet. “I’ll have someone clean this up,” he said, before leaning forward and putting his arms around me. 

Adrenaline shot through me like a violent storm, and I pushed him away instinctively. His face was a mask of indifference, and he reached for me again, and this time he didn’t let go, no matter how hard I fought him. He carried me up off the settee as I kicked, squealed, grunted and clawed. My mind raced with the thoughts of what he might do to me. His breast plate was ice cold against my skin, but I was too frantic to notice. I came to my senses once he dropped me down in a chair next to the table. He glared at me, clearly unimpressed by my defiance, before grabbing a plate off the table, methodically filling it with a chaotic assortment.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, breaking off a twig of grapes as a final touch before serving it to me, rounding the table to seat himself.

I simply gaped at him, too bewildered to respond. My chest heaved from exertion, my tense body clutching onto the wood of the chair, trembling slightly from the waning adrenaline spike.

“You need not fear me, anaticula,” he soothed. His voice was a strange blend of velvet and steel, a combination I believed to be uniquely his; calming and unsettling me in equal measure. And despite the ingrained hatred I harbored towards his people, an inexplicable, vexing trust for him began to bloom within me.

“I am General Marcus Acacius,” he boomed, as though I would have trouble hearing him from across the table. Where he came from, I’d wager men stood to attention at the mere mention of him, but I remained indifferent. Belittling him was all the power I had.

His name grew heavy in the air, silence stretching. I’d expected him to explain my fate next. That I would be sold as a slave for men to plunder as they wished, or perhaps executed for having his life at my disposal. Perhaps he’d do it himself.

“What do I call you?” he asked finally.

“Whyever does that matter?” I snapped.

“Is it so strange to wish to know the name of the woman who nearly killed me?” His voice dipped at the very mention of it. 

“I’ll be dead soon enough,” I said with feigned indifference. Acacius stiffened, watching me carefully. “Or if you do not kill me, I’d kill myself before I ever become a slave.” I watched him relax slightly and continue his meal.

“That’s not going to happen,” he muttered inbetween chews.

My gut flared with anticipation, “Which part?” I demanded.

He looked up at me. “What’s your name?” he asked, deliberately ignoring my question. 

“Y/N,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper. 

He repeated my name, the sound rolling off his tongue like honey while he fixed me with his eyes dark like amber. I grew strangely warm and restless, and a sudden urge to flee seized me, a wild beast gnawing at my nerves. 

“Where is my brother?” I blurted out, rather raggedly, a note of desperation creeping in, but as I did, I recalled I had not seen Hanno since the start of the battle. Was he even alive?

“Your brother?” he asked, like the notion I’d have a family was aberrant to him, a fleeting spark of uncertainty passing through his eyes. He swallowed sharply, picking at the salted fish on his plate. “With the other prisoners,” he muttered.

“So,” I began, molding myself out of the rigid posture I had assumed, and leaned forward. “Why am I here?” I asked, casting a disapproving look around his opulent cabin.

He stopped and fixed me with a gaze ice-cold. “For safe keeping,” he said sternly. “You nearly killed me today, Y/N. I wouldn’t want to find out what else you’re capable of.”

Vague images flickered before my eyes – chaos, then darkness. “You talk as if it’s some big feat,” I scoffed.

His eyes, twin pools of lethal venom, bored into me. “I assure you,” he hissed, resting his bracers against the edge of the table, a hint of admonition lingering in his voice, “It is.”

My face heated at the thought of having impressed him, but the word ‘nearly’ was a nettlesome creature.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” I said, the words bitter on my tongue.

Acacius cocked his brows in recognition and poured wine. “Why didn’t you?” he asked, raising the cup to his lips. 

The question caught me off guard, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. I recalled myself hesitating. I had the blade at his throat. I could have ended the battle there and then, declared Numidia victorious against the power of Rome. But I couldn’t do it. 

“I-,” I don’t know, I thought. 

A sharp knock on the door shattered the silence, and a sentry entered the room, bowing slightly. “General Acacius,” he spoke, his voice laced with duty and reverence. “Rome awaits.” 

Chapter II. | Series Masterlist | Chapter III

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[frankingsteinery]

there are many interpretations on just what the “nervous fever, which confined me for several months” that victor experienced was, but i don’t think anyone has yet put forward the idea that it was based on hypochondriasis. (in general i will refer to this source, a practical treatise of hypochondriasis written by john hill in 1766, in regard to just what hypochondriasis is–it’s a very interesting read and i would recommend it!)

hypochondriasis (which now carries a different meaning–i am not referring to hypochondria i.e. abnormal anxiety/fear about one’s health) was a non-specific condition that encompassed many varieties of the “nervous illnesses” of the 18th century. the concept was derived from theories of bodily humors and was once considered a special form of melancholy resulting from an excess of black bile, or alternatively that it was an obstruction in the body caused by high emotion, among many other explanations–but in hypochondriasis, and in the 17-18th century in general, the idea that the health of the mind and the body were inherently linked was HUGE. while it’s not readily definable it was generally seen as the masculine equivalent to hysteria in females, which is thematically important in ways i’ll get into later.

in short, hypochondriasis: 

is caused by grief and/or “fatigue of the mind” i.e. intense, prolonged study or focus on one thing, particularly night studies

those who are educated, studious, isolated, sedate and inactive (not among nature), are more susceptible

typically begins and reoccurs in autumn months

results in self-isolation, depression, a “disrelish of amusements,” wild thoughts or overthinking on one subject, and a sense of oppression in the body

physically, it causes low appetite, heart palpitations, dizziness, confusion, night sweats, emaciation, convulsions, etc

fits of high emotion, excessive exercise, and shock can cause relapses, even months or years after the first event

is said to be cured by mild medicine, but no chemistry; but above all, it is cured by the study of nature, and hypochondriac people should get frequent air and exercise

the parallels to victor are rather blatant. the study of natural philosophy becomes victor’s “sole occupation,” and he describes being “animated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm.” in the treatise, those subject to the disease are said to be those who have “greatly exerted [the mind’s] powers” and have ”determined resolution…intent upon their object [of attention]”. It’s also noted that “whatever tends to the ennobling of the soul has equal share in bringing on this weakness of the body.” 

it is this focus on creating new life, and later, this self-isolation, that results in his “cheek becom[ing] pale with study,” and his “person had become emaciated with confinement” and he “seemed to have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit.” it is to the extent that his eyes become “insensible to the charms of nature” and he neglects correspondence with his friends and family. he becomes “oppressed by a slow fever…and nervous to a most painful degree” and, like those with hypochondriasis, believes that “exercise and amusement would then drive away incipient disease.”

it’s also notable that the height of victor’s illness–directly after the creature’s creation–occurs, like in hypochondriasis, in autumn. during it, he describes many of the physical symptoms attributed to hypochondriasis: weakness, heart palpitations, dizziness, wild thoughts and paranoia, convulsions, etc. it’s only after henry’s care that he is able to recover, and in particular, after viewing a scene of nature:

I remember the first time I became capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared, and that the young buds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window. It was a divine spring; and the season contributed greatly to my convalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in my bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as cheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion.

throughout the novel, these symptoms will reoccur (relapse) in times of high emotion, shock and stress–justine’s trial, the confrontation at the alps, during the creation of the female creature, etc. overall he meets the marks of hypochondriasis nearly down to a T.

and, returning to the idea that hypochondriasis is essentially the male equivalent of hysteria, which was only attributed to females at the time, this is relevant because frankenstein is a female narrative synthesized through a male narrator. by extension victor also meets many of the marks of hysteria. in general, the creature’s creation feminizes victor: victor remarks that he becomes “as timid as a love-sick girl” during his illness and describes his fever as “painfully nervous” and alternating between “tremor” and “passionate ardour.” during and after the creation process, victor exhibits what was then perceived as “feminine” emotional freedom–anxiety, weakness, self-doubt, fear, etcetera. considering this in-context that 1) victor’s labors allude to mary shelley’s own traumatic experiences with childbirth 2) this was written in a turning point in history where high-class men who had "nervous" senses/feelings were beginning to be seen as effete instead of stylish (they used to be thought fashionable because they were more in-touch with their senses than the lower classes or something to that effect), this all seems very intentional.

now, what do i think victor actually had (since humorism has, obviously, since been disproved)? a 2-for-1 psychotic disorder + whatever concoction of germs he acquired from sticking his hands in corpses for weeks on end combo. but that’s for another day!

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION: SHADOWCUTE, EGALITATION DU DROW, THE MAN WHO HAS NEVER HAD A COLD AND PROMISES OF FROTTING.

ALL I CAN DO FOR TONIGHT FOLKS, but I might end up doing another compilation very soon since the inbox situation is dire 💀

Thank you so much for showing so much interest in my character and my art! And an extra especial Thank You as always to anyone who has taken the time to leave a nice compliment or words of encouragement in my mail!

Now, onto the debauchery.

Surprisingly, no! While they may have been stuck at the hip since the early game, DU drow most definitely wasn't interested in becoming intimately involved with anyone at that stage - having lost all of his memories and seemingly kidnapped by mindflayers and all, he was a little on edge. Besides, Shadowheart struck him as rather juvenile in the earlier game, which kind of erased any possibility of his interest in her growing. By the time she """matures""" in DU drow's eyes he was already locked in with Astarion, and their friendship was also firmly established.

He did not. I think if he had been more observant as a Bhaalist he could have put two-and-two together - but he was far too self absorbed for that. He is under the impression that Helena (Orin's mother) had a divine pregnancy.

Besides women more often falling into a category that he is sexually attracted to (which doesn't affect his treatment of them by much either as long as he and Astarion are together, he may just steal a glance down their shirt or something) not really!

He has specific prejudices about women from the drow race for the same reasons everyone else has, but otherwise sex or gender doesn't impact his views. The one exception I can think of that may apply here is that he has a slight soft spot for mothers.

And don't worry, your english is perfectly fine!

Hello! I have gotten an ask about this before where I went much more in-depth, but I can't find it right now. The TLDR is that he doesn't care as long as you can still "pull your weight" outside of whatever the disability is. How reasonable his expectations are vary on how much he likes the person in question, but generally speaking he doesn't care and this would be something that bears much less weight than race or attitude - if they don't make it into a problem, he just won't bring it up.

He does have a vile sense of humor though; that might come up if he's trying to hurt someone's pride or, ironically, has built enough of a rapport with that he's comfortable joking around about such things with them.

Have a great day yourself!

I don't think there is anything wrong with relating to fictional characters, even if they are profoundly flawed or even straight up evil. Hopefully that's a vehicle for self-examination and introspection - after all, we are all flawed ourselves.

Honestly it is very hard for me to picture him old, at least in the conventional sense.

Truthfully, I am preeeeetty settled on DU drow being an immortal being at this point. I think it makes sense that Bhaal would have just stopped his aging at some point so he can be at peak performance while following through with his bidding, and that just seems to make sense to me based on prior BG lore. He changes over-time in other ways that I most certainly plan on drawing, but it might take a while for me to get there!

LOL, I think he retained knowledge of illness and disease just fine, so if he were to come down with something he wouldn't panic - probably quite the opposite. He strikes me as the kind of guy who wouldn't walk into a hospital unless a limb was dangling off by an artery - and even then, his friends probably had to insist he went.

Luckily he must has the immune system of vulture after so many years of eating half-cooked wild animals and rolling around in the cold dirt, so he very rarely contracts disease. When he does, he likely just tries his best to hide it or dismiss the concerns of anyone around him about it.

I'm glad to hear that! I remember being concerned that DU drow's scars may get read as rather exploitative or disrespectful when my art first started getting traction - I'm relieved that not only that seems to never have happened, but that people like yourself can actually gain some self-confidence from it!

Listen now that I know that there is an audience for it -

I'm not sure how I feel about simply making a book with art that already exists online and charging people money for it - especially when I have prints for sale that are most definitely of better quality than a zine and can actually serve to decorate your home! But I suppose if an opportunity like that popped up and it made sense, I don't see why not!

Oh he hates her guts, LOL. He would respect The Hag Grind for the pure comedy of it if she weren't so disgusting to look at or so unpleasant to talk to. He's particularly irate at her during act 3 when she tries to trick him into killing that little girl's mother, since he almost follows through with it (one of my few moments of lore save-scumming because I felt like SUCH an idiot).

He definitely didn't take up on her offer in act 1 for the failed tadpole treatment!

And as a bonus, here are some Viscious Mockery inspired taunts Ethel definitely bombarded him with during every fight.

[danieyells]

Could I pretty please ask for any Haru stuff you found? 🥺 I've been afflicted with the Haru simp disease and only information/content of him can cure me 🛐

HARU'S CHANGED MY FEELINGS ON HIM not that i disliked him at all before but like. . .you know how he acts like the team mom? His voicelines make this worse. I thought he was more like a meddlesome but chill guy with a lot of energy. The truth is this poor man is a single mother with two unruly kids, a house full of animals, and VIRTUALLY NO HELP BESIDES YOU. No wonder he drinks nearly every fucking night. I get why Jabberwock doesn't have ordinary students but jesus christ please get some helpers in here. My man is overworked.

I ended up putting almost all of them in because. . .he is struggling poor boy. I have officially edited this to contain all of Haru's voicelines! Sorry for the wait!!

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"Hey, nice timing! One sec, I've just gotta finish feeding everyone."

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"You've got some letters! Better open them before that goat lookalike makes a meal out of them!"

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"Folks are going wild over the Anomalous Animal Back To Nature Tour, and this is your chance to experience it at a discount rate! C'mon, help me hand out these fliers!"

"Everyone stuffs up sometimes. Don't let it get to you—just think of it as a funny story you can pull out later and laugh at! Gahaha!"

the only way he knows how to cope with his pain is to laugh at it. . .my therapist told me that was good actually! he's well adjusted! disregard the nightly drinking.

"You sure are fond of {PC}, aren't you, Peekaboo? You did nothing but bite me for the first three days after we met."

tbf you were from another house and it was probably fresh after the clash. . . .

"You reckon I work hard? Nah, this is nothing to write home about. All right, let's head to the next zone!"

"Hey, nice work out there today! Let's knock a few more jobs off the list then take a break, hey?"

oh my god you take breaks? or are you telling the player to take a break while you keep overdoing it. . . .

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"Morning! Let's get this show on the road!"

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Hey, {PC}! What a coinkydink! I just finished my rounds."

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Ren? He's working at that whacky restaurant again. I'll have to go pick him up later."

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Towa's off to that hill again? I was gonna ask him to hold down the fort... Guess I'll have to stay put tonight."

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Am I tired? Nah, don't worry, if there's two things I have confidence in it's my stamina and my bad luck!"

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"The Sinostra folks are causing a kerfuffle again... I don't need any of that! You should take care not to get dragged into their mess too, you hear?"

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"You wanna know how to get the animals to like you? You just gotta show how much you love them, like this— Ow! Don't bite me, Peekaboo!"

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"None of our critters have warmed to Ren at all, even though he spends all day with them... Guess that handsome face only works on humans."

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Phew, time for a bre— Hm? That sounded like the Capybus! I'm gonna go check on her, watch Peekaboo for me!"

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"All right, the kids are all in bed. I'll just ask those two to hold down the fort, then I'll head out for a little walk..."

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"I went to wake that sleepyhead Ren up this morning, but it was like he couldn't see me even though he was looking straight at me. Reckon his eyesight's bad?"

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Course I eat, don't worry about that! Just earlier I pinched some of Peekaboo's veggies when I was making his lunch and had them with a piece of bread!"

Please eat food. . . .

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"So much to do... Gotta take in the washing and get the shopping done... Argh! There's not enough hours in the day!"

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"This? It's an energy drink. Don't feel like the day's started till I have one. (gulp) (gulp) Pwaaah!"

PLEASE EAT FOOD AND SLEEP. . . . . . . . .

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"Ah man, there's soap all over the walls again! You're so good at playing with the animals Towa, if you could just learn how to clean up after you'd get full marks..."

Towa i love you but please help your mother boyfriend captain. . . .

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Ah! I can't do dogs! How'd you get in here?! Towa!! Come here!! No!! Don't bite me!!"

He is terrified of dogs????? Towa absolutely electrocuted the shit out of that dog. Rip in pieces. That dog truly fucked around and found out. It will never go in the dorm again.

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Thanks for helping out again today, you're a real lifesaver. Sorry I can't walk you back..."

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"You reckon I look like an acrobat when I'm using my stigma? Gahaha! Maybe I'll practice balancing on a ball then!"

Baby no you are not a clown please what if you break something again--

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"...(gasp) Crap, I fell asleep... Did you put this blanket on me? Cheers... Maybe I'll grab a few more minutes..."

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"I swore I'd take responsibility for protecting all the lives in this park. I can't let anyone die on my watch."

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I don't know where I'd be without all the critters in this place if I'm honest with you. Well, gotta be my animal magnetism that's keeping them here anyway! Gahaha!"

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Hm? There's some critters whose nails were getting dangerously long so I was giving them a clip. Come here, I'll do yours too if you want!"

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Oh, off for a cheeky night out? Gahaha! I know a good place, want me to take you?"

get wasted with him and give him somebody to talk to!! he needs someone besides romeo and rui to listen to him rant sometimes!

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"A soft bed to lie down in and someone to chat with till I drift off... I'm really living the high life here."

He's a simple man. . .it's easy to imagine him holding your hand here while he dozes off. . . .

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"Really learned the ropes here, haven't you? Once we have a little cash to spare, I'll buy you your own Jabberwock uniform!"

they must be expensive if it takes until Affinity 25 to get you one! He's so conscious about his finances(disregard all of the stuff he buys and never uses--) that being given a purchased gift is surely the highest tier of affection from him haha. But also. . .he treats the anomalous animals and oftentimes even the other ghouls in Jabberwock like they're his kids. This is his way of saying 'you're part of this family too.' Which is very sweet.

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"Today's shearing day for the fluffy squad! It's actually a pretty hefty task, so I've gotta hop to it if I want to be done before summer..."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Bucket, check. Trowel, check. Me and Towa are heading to the mountains to pick some veggies. You wanna come?"

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"We've been getting a lot of balmy days lately, and the sun's up longer. Can't help but dilly-dally when I'm working..."

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I've gotta clean out all the sparrow nests soon or they won't be able to look after their kiddos properly. Looks like there's... 61 nests total..."

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"A lot of customers have been saying they wanna stay cool in the summer so I changed up the course. Now we have a special summer-only waterside tour!"

(between 11am and 4pm)

"It's hot so I invited Ren to go fishing, but his face screwed up like a prune and he yelled at me. What's he got against fish?"

Probably the same thing you have against dogs. . . .

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Phew... Finally finished harvesting all the feed crops for the day... Everyone's health is dependent on their quality, so now's the time to do it right."

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Lotta bugs around this time of year... But they're important for the food chain, so I've gotta take care of them... Argh!! Give it a rest with the buzzing!"

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"Hey, nice timing! I'm about to make a fire with the dead leaves I collected so I can bake some potatoes, take a seat!"

(between 11am and 4pm)

"I like the Jabberwock uniforms. They're made out of high-performance fabric that keeps you warm when it's cold out and safe when you're handling venomous critters!"

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"The hibernation squad's gonna start eating us out of house and home this month... The food bill's gonna be rough... Eeek!"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"You reckon that's a rabbit on the moon? No way, it's a toad! C'mon, look closer!"

apparently the pareidolic toad in the moon is a Chinese myth! I wonder if they mean to suggest Haru is actually Chinese.

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"Rounds are quicker in winter since some of the critters hibernate. Makes things a little easie— Why's the kitchen on fire?!"

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Brr... Can't help but get green-eyed looking at the furry critters when it's this cold..."

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Nice and toasty... Hm? I'm talking about Peekaboo! He's better than a hot water bottle in this weather!"

Haru putting Peekaboo on your tummy when you're having cramps or just in pain in general is a cute mental image, especially since Peekaboo likes you lol

(between 8pm and 5am)

"It's cold outside so some of the critters have been sneaking into our rooms at night. You heard Ren scream just now, right?"

His birthday: (September 20th)

"It's my birthday?! Oops, totally slipped my mind... Thanks for remembering!"

Your birthday:

"Happy birthday. The Capybus is all yours today—I've got a custom birthday tour all planned out for you!"

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year! How'd I ring it in? I was milking the cow and when I looked up I'd totally missed the first sunrise! Gahaha!"

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"You're kidding, I can really have this?! They say a little sugar helps sweeten a tired day! Thanks a million, this'll keep me going a while!"

White Day: (March 14th)

"Ta-da! I bought you some hand cream, for the chocolate you got me last month. Thanks for everything you do here."

hand cream when you do all of that manual labor and probably have to wash your hands a lot is a really practical gift actually, gg haru

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"Can you believe this? Ren got up early, and Towa fed everyone for me! ...Tried to make a joke for April Fools but it just made me feel empty inside..."

Halloween: (October 31st)

"Check it out! The pumpkin Capybus, in town for three days only! I sacrificed sleep and some of our budget to get her ready!"

If it's painted I really hope that paint is waterproof. . .never know when Towa's gonna make it rain. . . .

Christmas: (December 25th)

"Merry Christmas! This is a reindeer, she lives up in the mountains! And I'm Sagara Claus! Gahaha!"

just don't let romeo see it lolol

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"Hey there, miss! Looking gorgeous as ever! ...Wait, I was kidding! Come back!"

(13 affinity and above)

"You seem pretty flat out today... Nothing for it, I'll get a few other things out of the way while I wait for you to get back."

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"Phew, that's a relief... I was worried one of ours ate you... Glad to see you back."

Once again. . .an absolute sweetheart. And a single mother who is desperately in need of some help around the house. That April Fool's line really got me lolol poor guy. All of his have a lot of energy to them so i feel like i posted more than Haku, who's kind of a more low key guy lol. . . .

[bearfools]

a few things i think people should know.

not directed at anyone in particular, but ive received multiple messages (some deleted, some not) from people and i think ill make a post about some stuff i wanna clear up as a therian.

i am aware that im bodily human, im aware that this will not change.

i am aware that acting wild (or as someone said, "gross" and "ill mannered") does not make me an animal

no, i am not a little kid discovering new terms on the internet and using them for clout. i am an 18 year old man who had been questioning therianthropy for a very long time

no, i am not offended by people saying silly hateful things, ive seen about every basic piece of therian hate (directed at me and also other people) and none of it bothers me

no, i am not in any way attracted to animals and i do not partake in any kind of animal abuse. its weird that people assume that right after saying "youre human!!" like am i a beast or not make up your mind lmao?

no, i dont mind if you ask "silly" questions, in a community as misunderstood as therians/alterhumans i am always happy to help people understand

yes, i believe in past lives. though i do not believe theyre fully to blame for my therianthropy and i dont think every kintype of mine has a detailed backstory. i was likely many animals before i was human and i dont kin anything but bears

i had like one person ask if this was a religious thing, its not, idk how common of a misconception that is but i wanted to put it out there. im not outwardly religious, im agnostic but unbothered by any other beliefs

yes, im aware that animals live outside in the cold with diseases and predators, i am grateful for the things i am given that wild animals are not.

no, you cant hunt me (and also, what the hell? again, if youre arguing that im human then why would you hunt me?)

"how do you know your beliefs are real?" i dont. im simply a person on this earth, same as you, i dont know what lies after death, i dont know what lies before birth, but i prefer my "weird" beliefs over never believing in anything.

after i made that post about young therians (thank you all for the love by the way!) i had a few comments along the lines of "messy eating is human/making faces and acting like an animal doesnt make you an animal" i know, i know that im not a bear, i know that what i do is not limited to therians. I know kids play as animals all the time! but at the end of the day i'm happy. are you? does leaving spiteful messages make you happy?

do you send a comment on tumblr and stare at your reflection in the screen and feel fulfilled? im asking genuinely, because if it doesnt make you happy, then why do it? it doesnt affect me, worst case scenario im annoyed and then dont interact. Do you think that ill hear you say "youre not a bear" and then go "oh my bad" and delete my account? as if i havent been told those exact words my whole life (even before i knew what the internet was!)

[thebookishwallflower]

I want to make a post to inform people about the current situation with the bird flu (/avian flu/H5N1) outbreaks.

I don't want to cause panic but do want to spread information.

This is especially important if you live in an area that has a news system you don't trust to give accurate, timely, or honest news about something like a possible new pandemic, use your own judgement.

If that applies it is going to be very important to make sure you stay informed and follow these H5N1 outbreaks yourself and know how to best protect yourself.

I am no expert, but I do know a good bit about disease and influenza in particular, and have been following the H5N1 outbreaks as they've been happening, so under the cut I'm going to do my best to inform everyone I can.

Please stay safe, stay informed, and spread information, not germs.

What's bird flu and why do I care? (What's bird flu and why do I care?)

Avian flu and bird flu mean the same thing, an influenza virus that (primarily) infects birds. H5N1 denotes a specific strain of avian influenza. H5N1 can spillover (when a pathogen spreads from it's normal host organism to a new host organism) from animals to humans.

How could I get H5N1? (How could I get H5N1?)

Human to human transmission has not been observed yet (12/1/24) during this current outbreak. You can get this from contact with wild birds, especially water fowl, domestic birds, cattle, pigs, horses, dogs, and bats. It is also possible to get from raw (unpasteurized) milk and undercooked meat from infected animals.

What's the big deal then? (What's the big deal then?)

The common flu is not very pathogenic. How pathogenic something is determines how sick something makes the host, something that is highly pathogenic can cause severe disease. H5N1 is considered a HPAI, Highly Pathogenic Avian Influenza.

H5N1 is also a Type A influenza virus, most known Type A influenza viruses can infect birds. There is one Type A human flu in circulation at the moment, however it isn't very prevalent.

"IAV poses a significant risk of zoonotic infection, host switch, and the generation of pandemic viruses. IAVs can infect humans and a variety of animals, such as pigs, horses, marine mammals, cats, dogs, and birds (S1)."

IAV - Influenza A Viruses | Zoonotic infection - when an infectious disease of a non-human host infects a human host | Host switch - when a cross-species transmission of a pathogen can lead to successful, stable, and continuous infections

Every species the flu infects, the more strains that pop up under a sub-type IAV, the possibility for recombination increases. "Recombination occurs when at least two viral genomes [or strains] co-infect the same host cell and exchange genetic segments (S2)."

The flu is pretty good at recombination, when given the chance. It is also really good at mutating, and fast. If there were to be a recombination event and a new strain evolved (this would be called an antigenic shift) that was highly pathogenic, highly infectious (good at spreading, which H5N1 is), that could then infect humans and cause human-to-human transmission we might have a pandemic on our hands. This has not shown signs of happening during this outbreak*, this is what to look out for.

This (a recombination event) is what caused the 1918 pandemic during WW1. This pandemic killed an estimated 50 to 100 million people in 1918, in a world with a population of around 2 billion. 7.1 million died of COVID 19, as of 11/9/24 (S3), from a population of around 8 billion.

We know more, we are prepared, it's not guaranteed to happen, and it's not guaranteed to be as bad. But the possibilities are endless and it's extremely important to be prepared and stay informed.

So what do I do? (So what do I do?)

Again, stay informed, and that might mean checking independent news sources, the CDC website, and more, to keep yourself updated, especially if you know your local news won't do it for you. You should also familiarize yourself with the symptoms of influenza, if you have it, stay home.

Keep yourself safe, we had a pandemic already, you know the drill. Cover your nose and mouth when sneezing/coughing, wash your hands, sanitize your hands, and get your flu shot. And, in addition, avoid contact with wild birds, poultry, pigs, and cattle if you can.

In the event that this gets worse, social distancing is very important, being outdoors, wearing a mask, and all the stuff above, you can shed the virus for around a week before you start feeling bad. Keep yourself safe and don't infect anyone else.

If that doesn't sound like it'll do much, I promise you it does. Those are all classified NPI's (non-pharmaceutical interventions) and even epidemiologists were shocked at their impact and importance during the COVID-19 pandemic. They did work, and they were incredibly effective—as long as they were carried out.

I don't want to cause panic or worry anyone, but that is how information ends of suppressed. I want to make everyone aware of what we might face so that we can fight it and be strong and stay safe.

If anyone has any questions, wants any clarification, any corrections, or wants to know some good places to learn more about this stuff please don't hesitate to contact me (@'s, dm's, or asks), I will answer as best I can.

Here's the CDC's page covering the H5 bird flu current situation.

S1 - https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC5578040/

S2 - https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC7106159/

S3 - https://data.who.int/dashboards/covid19/deaths?n=c

*with the exception of this coverage (as a possibility): https://www.theguardian.com/world/2024/nov/19/bird-flu-cases-mutation-canada

[sirowsky-stories]

Isolated Incident

My goodness it's been a minute! Hello, tumblr, wonderful to see you again 🤗

Description: When a hike doesn't go quite as planned you're forced to seek shelter for the night, only the little cabin isn't empty when you reach it.

Warnings: Marcus Pike x Female Reader, reader is defined as female but has no physical descriptions at all, mention of the bear vs. man thing, smut, minor angst.

Author's Note: This is something of a request from my good friend @bilibiche although I've altered the setting from winter to autumn because it just came easier to me right now, oddly enough. Sorry for the delay, and I hope you like it, love!

Word Count: 4720 Author's Masterlist Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Wednesday 12:38 PM

   ”Can I ask you a serious question?” one of your newer colleagues wonders while you’re having lunch together.

   “I thought all your questions were serious…” you say with a critically raised brow, because this particular guy is of the less than goofy sort, and it bothers you how it feels like he’s labelled you as flimsy, or lax, just because you approve of a little light-hearted fun now and then.

   “Well, yeah, but like serious as in; life or death.”

   “I’m not sure what you mean by that, but sure, ask away.”

   “Okay. Why would you risk your life just to walk to the top of a mountain?”

   You can’t help but smile a little at his apparent lack of insight into how the world works, but you soon turn serious again since it’s not really a fun topic.

   “I hike because the woods are peaceful and make me feel strong and at ease with myself. And if some wild animal does decide to try and eat me, I actually have a much better chance of scaring off a bear or puma, than a man.”

   He looks slightly confused by that.

   “Sure, but… the leading cause of death for female hikers worldwide is drowning or falling, not encountering either men or animals.”

   “And the leading cause of death for women worldwide is cardiovascular disease, but you don’t see us leading healthier lives just because we know that,” you counter, and he tilts his head with curious interest.

   “So, you equate the risk of hiking to the risk of dropping dead from an unknown disease?”

   Instead of trying to explain to him that you never actually weigh the dangers of anything you do, since that would just put you off of doing anything, ever, you decide to give him a comparison he might understand.

   “I look at it this way: When going to a club, or on a date, is even more dangerous to my overall health than being alone in the woods, why shouldn’t I walk to the top of a mountain?”

Thursday 07:41 AM

   The drive was long, especially when you’d decided to get started before dawn to get the most out of the daylight hours, but now that you’re on the trail, the fatigue has vanished and not even the light drizzle and grey skies are able to dampen your mood.    You’ve only walked this trail once before, and you’re planning on exploring a different section of it this time, which is supposedly a bit more challenging as you get closer to the top, so it somehow feels like the mountain is still completely new to you.

   In terms of height, the mountain is a small one, only about a thousand feet, but the base of it stretches for about ten miles in every direction, making it massive all the same. And the view from the peak is amazing since nothing else in the area comes close to the same height.    It boasts impressive cliffs where erosion and the occasional earthquake has cracked the stone and generated immense landslides, and since rain is pretty consistent around here, some of those cliffs have become breathtaking waterfalls.

   The woodlands are thousands of years old, untouched save for the narrow trail which is kept clear by the many hundreds of feet which tread on it every year. It’s illegal to cut down trees or start fires, or just do anything which negatively impacts the natural state of the forest, like leave garbage or dig any hole bigger than what might be needed to bury your natural waste.

   And to help people keep to these rules, a volunteer group has built little cabins on regular intervals along the trails, where hikers can take shelter in case of bad weather or if they get injured.    Each cabin has basic survival equipment like chopped wood and lighting tools, jugs of fresh water, first aid kits, candles and blankets. And there’s a wood-burning stove in all of them.    You’ve never needed to use one, but you’ve familiarized yourself with them anyway.

Thursday 11:24 AM

   The weather improves all through the morning, first with the stopping of the rain and then gradually becoming less cloudy, until the entire sky is suddenly bright blue above you, just in time for your lunch-stop.    You’ve gotten high enough by now that the trees are much fewer and further apart, and there are large sections of bared rock in between, some of them chiselled smooth by millennia of rainfall and snow, and others covered in soft moss.

   You don’t stay for long, both to avoid getting chilled by the autumn air, but also because your timeframe is limited. It takes roughly six hours to get to the top, and then between five and six hours back down, depending on how slippery it is, and that’s about as much daylight as there is for the time of year, so there isn’t much left over for you to sit around. Not if you wanna avoid having to stay the night.

   There’s a sleeping bag designed for arctic survival in the bottom of your backpack, and protein bars as emergency food if you should need it, so you are prepared to spend the night on the mountain if it becomes necessary, but you’d prefer not to.    Which is why, just as you reach the top and notice another shift in the weather, you start to feel a bit anxious.    You take a few pictures up there and give yourself a moment to just sit and catch your breath, but the looming black clouds on the horizon won’t let you fully relax.

   It looks incredibly dramatic, the contrast of the soft-looking woodlands with their colourful fall leaves against the dark pine needles, all caressed by bright midday sunlight, against the darkness of the incoming storm and the shadow it casts over the landscape further to the east.    That weather system is going to swallow up the sun soon, and if it lingers, which it looks like it probably will just going by the size of it, you’re not gonna have another six hours of daylight. You might not even have half that.

Thursday 16:18 PM

   The rain comes down so hard that even your baseball cap isn’t enough to let you have full vision in front of you, and although it isn’t fully dark yet, your flashlight is your only hope of seeing where the hell you’re putting your feet, not to mention where the trail is.    You’d hoped to make it down to where you’d parked your car, but it’s taken you twice as long to walk down as it did going up, so you still have at least four hours left, and it’ll be pitch black and way too dangerous to keep moving long before then.    So, when you reach the next cabin, you decide to call it a day.

   But as you approach the unassuming little wooden structure, you can see faint lights through the one small window in the door.    There’s no electricity out here, so it’s not like someone could’ve accidentally left the lights on when they left, unless a hiker forgot to blow out a candle, which seems unlikely. Even the rookies on this trail know better than to jeopardize their own or someone else’s chances of survival by burning down a cabin.

   So, in conclusion, there’s another hiker here, and you haven’t seen a soul along the trails so you have no idea who this person might be. But you also can’t keep going to the next one, because it’s more than an hour’s walk away.    Suddenly your conversation with George pops up in your head again, and you find yourself weighing the risk of sleeping in a cabin with a stranger, compared to the risk of walking in the pouring rain in complete darkness on a trail you’re not really familiar with.

   “Shit…” you mutter to yourself, before slowly approaching the cabin.

   You knock on the door, since it seems rude to just walk in, even though whoever’s occupying the tiny house doesn’t have any more of a claim to it than you do.    It takes a few seconds, during which you don’t hear anything at all from inside, until the door swings inward and a tall man comes into view before you.    He’s wearing wool underclothing, the figure-hugging kind designed to keep people warm and dry closest to the skin to prevent hypothermia, so he’s probably not a rookie.

   “Hi,” you half-shout over the thunder of the rain, thinking you probably look like a drenched cat, while this guy looks more like a movie star than anyone you’ve ever met.

   “Hi. Come on in,” he offers with a smile, and you only hesitate for a second because this man’s smile is as disarming as a cat’s purr.

   “Thank you.”

   Once inside you take off your pack and then get started on your soaked outer layer of clothing, while he politely closes the door for you and then moves over to the stove where he’s apparently in the middle of boiling some water.

   “That’s some monsoon level rain,” he chats while he works. “How long have you been out there?”

   “Yeah. Uh, since 7:30 this morning. I could tell from the peak that it was gonna come in fast, so I tried to keep up the pace, but the trail was still wet from the morning drizzle.”

   “I came from the south trail and there was a lot of fog down there this morning, so I decided to wait and get a later start, but then I got stuck in this instead. It wasn’t on any of the forecasts, as far as I know.”

   “No, it wasn’t. I chose this week specifically because the worst of the autumn rains have hit two weeks later for the past five years,” you share, since he’s being very kind and keeping his eyes on what he’s doing while you strip down to your underwear and then put on a dry set of underclothes, almost identical to his.

   “Same. I’ve been coming here around this time every year for almost a decade now.”

   “If you came from the south and you decided to stop here you must be doing the circle trail, right?” you ask, curious now that you’ve begun to feel comfortable around him.

   There are three trails that lead from the bottom to the top of the mountain from three different directions, each one difficult in its own way, from steepness, to long stretches where the trail is impossible to see, to marshlands and tricky seas of rounded boulders that like to shift under your feet.    But the circle trail takes you along all of them while also bringing you around the entire base of the mountain. It’s the hardest one and it takes a minimum of three days to complete.

   “That’s right. Is this your first time here?” he wonders while you take your sleeping bag out of your pack and use it as a cushion when you take a seat closer to the stove, facing him.

   “Second, but I love this mountain.”

   “You’re not a rookie, though,” he observes. “You’ve got all the right gear. I noticed the bear spray on your shoulder strap, and the stiletto on the other one.”

   “Honestly, I carry those mostly in case I need to protect myself from people,” you admit, to which he smiles again.

   “I figured. And you’re right to do so.    I know you don’t really have any reason to believe me, but I promise you won’t get any trouble from me.”

   You just nod in return, and he refocuses on the stove, where his water is now steaming hot, so he pours it into a thermos and then reaches for his wood-carved cup and what looks like a packet of dehydrated soup.

   “You want one?” he asks when he sees you looking at the cup.

   Initially, you’re about to decline because you have your own emergency food with you and he clearly has a long way to go before he’s leaving the mountain, so you should let him keep his nutrition.    But you don’t have anything you can heat up with you, except for plain water, and while you’re not exactly cold, the prospect of warm soup after a long day of walking sounds too good to pass up.

   “Do you have enough to spare?”

   “Don’t worry about it, I’m ex-military, I know how to stay alive even if I run out of food,” he offers, and then just hands you a packet. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

   You give him your name after thanking him for the soup, but while you dig out your own cup, you decide to let your growing curiosity take over.

   “So, what’s a former military man with good manners doing all alone in the wilderness on a random Thursday afternoon?”

   “That’s possibly the most subtle way anyone’s ever asked me if I’m single,” he chuckles, and the humour brings a playful glimmer to his eyes.

   “Don’t forget the subtle hint to unemployment as well,” you smile in return while stirring the soup, and a warm laughter rocks him back a little where he sits.

   “That’s right. You’re good, I like it.    Well, I’m actually really crap at taking vacations, so my boss has made it a tradition to kick me out of the office around this time of year. And since I don’t know how to exist without a purpose, I spend that time out here, which should tell you everything you might wanna know about my relationship status, reminding myself how big the world is and how easily it can crush me.”

   “Wow, you’re just a big bag of sunshine, aren’t you…” You say it with a smile, but the ironic tone is unmistakeable. Still, he just chuckles again.

   “Alright, look, I know it sounds kinda negative, but it’s really the opposite. I’ve been in wars, seen people’s lives be destroyed by hurricanes, pulled animals out of mudslides, dug skiers out of avalanches. I’ve seen survival where it should’ve been impossible, so when I come out here, it reminds me that no matter how bad a situation I might find myself in, there’s always hope.    Knowing I’m small and fragile doesn’t make me feel any less alive. It makes me feel like every step is a victory.”

   Having no words to offer in return to something so unexpectedly profound, you end up just staring at him, suddenly wanting to know absolutely everything about this man.

   “And the good manners I got from my mother,” he finishes with a wink, making you laugh.

Thursday 22:19 PM

   You spent the entire evening talking and getting to know each other, but eventually your curiosity gave way to fatigue, forcing you to accept that no matter how interesting this man is, you’ll have to part ways in the morning, so you might as well get some rest.    Learning that he’s an FBI-agent was a bit of a shock, since he looks like he belongs in Hollywood, but it’s done nothing to dull your attraction to him. And you are attracted to him. Way too much for someone you just met.

   The rain is still hammering the metal roof and the fire crackles in the stove as you try and create a comfortable sleeping place with nothing but the blankets as mattrasses on the wood floor, although the padding of your respective sleeping bags helps a bit.

   “I love the sound of the rain,” he quietly ponders after you’ve both settled in.

   “It’s like it harmonizes with the background noise of your mind and creates a melody only you can hear,” you chime in, and hear him turn his head towards you.

   You’re both on your backs right next to each other, so you turn your head as well, meeting his brown eyes, turned black by the darkness of the cabin now that you’re no longer by the fire.

   “Exactly,” he whispers, and a peculiar look sneaks into the frame of his features.

   Something you can’t name but somehow know in your soul all the same. And the longer you meet his gaze, the clearer that expression becomes.    Until you realize that his response isn’t just referring to the rain, but to the harmony that each of you have instilled in the other, by just existing in the same space.    He’s telling you that he feels it too. How the two of you just… fit.

   So, with a nervous inhale setting a thousand butterflies lose in your stomach, you roll onto your side and gently press your lips to his, silently begging him not to pull away, not to reject you when you’re taking a chance. Pouring all your hope into the perception you’ve created of him as a good man. A man worth that chance, even if just for tonight.    He meets your lips with soft desire, the most welcoming sensation anyone can offer, and you let all guards and barriers fall.

   The sleeping bags are rearranged to accommodate you both together, then the clothes are discarded without hurry or fanfare, because this isn’t two people merely wanting a release, but seeking a connection.    He settles down on top of you and you pull his sleeping bag over his back, then you lay there just looking at each other while your bodies warm one another.

   “Of all the things I imagined might happen on this hike, this wasn’t one of them,” he whispers, and at first you think he’s just being sweet, but then he continues. “Which is my way of saying I don’t have any protection with me.”

   Surprised that he’s even thought of it, you need a few seconds to decide how to respond.

   “Same. But I still want to.”

   He nods in agreement, letting his fingers trace your jawline.

   “Would you trust me to pull out?”

   You hold his gaze for a long moment, seeking any kind of crack in his gentlemanly character, and when you can’t find it, you have your answer.

   “Yes.”

   The next kiss is deeper, filled with craving and lust but still so warm and harmonious. You’re both still seeking connection, figuring out how to fit together entirely without tension, and it isn’t until you feel yourselves relax into one another that he finally unites your bodies.    He pushes himself inside and you both seem to enter a new dimension in your shared pleasure, somehow knowing what the other feels without words.

   You settle your hands on his lower back, letting one slowly slide up to the nape of his neck, making him shiver, and he scrapes his teeth against your shoulder in return, generating the same response in you.    His hips are firm but rolling with each push to give you more friction, and every time you shift yourself to alter the angle between you, he follows your lead, letting you show him what you need.

   And when the pressure builds and the need takes over, you’re already so attuned to each other that it happens organically.    But then, just as you’re about to fall into the rapture, you feel him tense. Holding back, to let you come before he has to pull out, but in doing so, he breaks the harmony.

   “Don’t,” you whisper through strained breaths, tightening your arms around him. “Stay.”

   He doesn’t question it, he wants it just as much as you do, and the moment the tension eases, you’re suddenly falling together, and it’s better than anything you’ve ever experienced before this moment.    Every time his muscles curl, your body responds, and vice versa, until you’re both so drained that your bodies won’t move at all anymore.

Friday 06:11 AM

   The dusky light of dawn wakes you, and Marcus is the first thing you think of.    He’s still there, having only just managed to lift his torso off you before he passed out last night, but his arm is resting heavy over your stomach and his legs are still entwined with yours while he sleeps soundly, nestled against you.    For a few minutes you just watch him sleep, wishing that time would stop today and let you stay here with him, but then he stirs.

   You don’t say anything even when he eventually opens his eyes and smiles at you. You just keep looking at him, and he quickly figures out why.

   “You’ll see me again, honey,” he promises in a husky morning voice, and you want to believe him.

   But life has taught you not to expect you’ll get to keep the amazing. It always seems to come and go according to someone else’s will, never listening to what you want or need.    So, you close your eyes and try to burn the image of him into the backs of your eyelids.    A kiss graces your lips then, and in his touch the promise seems so real.

   “We should pack up,” you hear yourself say, even though that’s the opposite of what you want.

   He lets go of you when you sit up, and a part of you wishes he’d forced you to stay with him, even though that would only prolong the inevitable.    You each pack in silence. There’s no fire this morning, because then one of you would have to stay until it burned out, which means that breakfast is simple and quick.

   “I know what you’re doing,” he says when you’re pulling your pack on, “I’ve done it myself so many times, trying to cut ties before I get hurt, but I’m not gonna let you do it to me.”

   “Marcus… I want to keep you,” you admit once you’ve clipped all the straps into place. “I didn’t even know it was possible to feel this connected to another person, of course I wanna see you again.”

   “Then why are you trying to say goodbye to me?” he understandably wonders, and you sigh deeply, looking for the words.

   “Because connection is hard. Relationships are hard. And I’m soft…    You look at me and you see this strong woman out here all alone, ready to take on anything, but underneath all that, I’m just scared,” you explain, somehow feeling smaller while you watch him quietly absorb and consider his reply.

   “We all are.” He says it so simply, and yet the words sound so heavy.

   Resting your hands against your hips, you lower your gaze to the floor and try to silence your fears for a minute.

   “And what if we work?” you question, watching him as he tries to follow your logic.

   You can see the moment it clicks. The moment he realizes what you’re really saying.    Because in the end, it isn’t this moment that’s going to solve anything.

   “We’ll figure it out.”

   “But that’s the thing… I finally have my life figured out. I finally have the house I’ve scraped and saved for my entire life, the job that makes me happy and lets me live the way I want to, the true friends that I can depend on for anyth-…“

   “And yet, you’re still alone,” he gently cuts you off, and the look in his eyes is so sad it makes your chest tighten. “Because you’re scared. Just like I am.”

   You step out of the cabin without another word, setting a careful pace on the slippery track, still saturated with water even though the rain has stopped, and the sun is about to rise to a mostly clear sky.    He doesn’t have your number, nor do you have his. Walking away means ending this relationship before it’s even begun, but somehow it feels like the easier path. Still, every step taking you closer to your car makes your feet feel a little bit heavier.

   The woods deepen, growing wilder with the lower altitude, until you need to keep your arms up in front of your face to keep the branches from scratching it.    You emerge from the path onto the road exactly where you’d entered it yesterday, and your car is right there waiting for you.    The drive home feels longer than any journey you’ve ever taken.

Friday 10:32 AM

   Your house somehow looks lonelier than before. Even the flowers in your garden seem to have lost some of their colour and the chirping of the birds sounds hollow to your ears.    And all this is because of him. Because for a few hours, you experienced true harmony, and now nothing could ever compare.    Part of you regrets ever meeting him, and another part regrets walking away. But it’s done.

   The rest of the day is endless and too short at the same time, spent in a haze of confusion while you do the laundry, cook, clean up the kitchen, shower and try to watch something on TV. All while Marcus fills every corner of your mind, every second that passes.    When you eventually fall asleep it’s with an anxious restlessness which has you twisting and turning, waking up every thirty minutes, and dreaming strange things in between.

Monday 07:46 AM

   “I thought you said the hikes make you feel better…”

   “Huh?”

   “When I asked you why you’d risk your life to walk up a mountain you said it was because it makes you feel better,” George reminds you at the breakfast break, but you still have no idea why he’s bringing this up.

   “Yeah. What’s your point?”

   “Only that you look more like you’re feeling worse.”

   “Thanks a lot…” you scoff. “It wasn’t a great hike.”

   “How come?”

   “It rained most of the time.”

   “And here I thought all you outdoorsy people didn’t mind rain.”

   “It just wasn’t a great hike, okay,” you snap at him, not at all interested in talking about this with him, or anyone else, for that matter.

   “Alright, I’m sorry I asked.”

   He’s quiet for a while after that, scrolling on his phone like everyone else in the break room. But just a few minutes before your break is over, he suddenly looks up from his device with a very puzzled wrinkle between his brows.

   “Uh, who the fuck is Marcus Pike?”

   You literally drop your own phone onto the table and just stare at your colleague with absolute shock. And when he doesn’t get a response, he glances back down at his phone and then looks back up at you, even more confused.

   “Why is he asking about you? How the hell does he know we work together? How did he even get my number? Who is this guy?”

   “He’s… an FBI-agent,” you finally reply, and George turns a shade paler.

   “Why does an FBI-agent wanna talk to you? And why would he go through me?”

   “My number isn’t that easy to find, I guess he decided to take a shortcut.”

   “Again, why?”

   You’re not remotely interested in sharing the details of your meeting with Marcus with your coworker, so you counter with a question instead.

   “What exactly is he asking?”

   “He just texted me asking if I could pass the phone to the woman sitting across from me. Wait… How does he know where in the room we are?”

   “Because your idea of phone security is sharing your data with absolutely everyone,” you admonish, then snatch the device from his hand.

   The moment you see the message, a call comes through from an unknown number, so you take a breath and then pick up the call before you can change your mind.

   “Hi,” he answers, identical to the way he did when he answered the door at the cabin, and it immediately makes a lovely warmth spread through you.

   “Agent Pike. This is unexpected,” you reply, highly aware that you’re in a room full of people who are all listening.

   “You’re surprisingly hard to find, honey. But once I figured out where you work, your address was a piece of cake,” he confidently announces, and there’s something in his voice that makes you feel like his confidence is about more than a victory over a technical limitation.

   “Where are you, right now?”

   There’s a soft laughter on the other end, and right then, you can hear birds in the background. The same chirps you always hear from the trees around your house.

   “I did promise you’d see me again.”

THE END

@harriedandharassed @pedrostories

[dailynoodlezz24]

Ok, i had the thought (since i love werewolves and vampire stuff, liches, all that-- I blame Skyrim and its unhealthy amount of beautiful mods-- and Dungeon Meshi just seems so perfect about it with its races and stuff) what if Marcille's a dhampir, basically a human vampire crossbreed, who seeks to become fully vampiric in order to be able to sire in lieu of the dungeon lord/universal longevity plot. (Spoilers: she still doesn't get it in the end lmao) Falin is a longtime friend of hers through a backstory I still haven't made up yet, and Marcille's introduced as a new addition to the main cast, who are a party of hikers (or for some sort of venturing activity). Month in, Falin's gone and had herself eaten by some weird dog described in only folklore, which Laios would later excitedly incite as a "lycanthrope". (They tried to call emergencies for a missing person, but they came up with nothing. Everyone thinks Laios is going insane when he concludes that the sight they saw after Falin became officially missing, blood trails and offly wolfish tracks fading off to somewhere, was the work of a wolfman, or a werewolf, and suggested going to search for Falin themselves. Namari and Toshiro leave promptly) Chillchuck and Marcille stay with him, one determined with his navigational skills and the other fully believing in this supernatural theory. They decide it's best they start camping in the forest, deeper and closer to the wilderness, prompting them the idea: hunt for their share. Which may or may not be illegal :shrug They meet Senshi, one hell of a wildchef man. (Marcille's total disgust with the idea of eating out in the wild stems from the fact she doesn't want to survive off of squirrels again. But this food is pretty good, and she's eating other animals than small rodents this time. Chillchuck just doesn't want to hear about the weird ass facts about how skinwalkers might be related to humans and their horrific hunting tendencies while eating.) The deeper they go, the more strange and bizarre this forest becomes. First normal, unassuming, then the ravens start speaking and the rabbits have horns. And if you peer into it close enough, your eyes might just find company in where the campfire doesn't reach. So on and so on, they find Falin's bones in the corpse of the creature, and suddenly there's a little guy with white hair and crazed, purple eyes(thistle), who beats them all off with a stick(not actually lmao). Last they see is Falin's remains being reanimated with the dripping blood of the stranger. (Marcille had tried in desperate attempt to revive Falin with her own blood/bite, but to no avail, revealing herself in the process. The only thing she can note is the awful taste of something doglike, aka the lycanthrope disease circulating in Falin's bones-- since they were chomped before she died RIP.) Now they're against a highly aggressive abomination under the servitude of someone out to get them. And the opps are on them(canaries) Now I'm just thinking abt whether or not to make Marcille also a werepyre? Considering it would make sense for her to also get her human-half infected into something "full-fledged" in the way she hadn't intended, and still come up without the ability to sire(she wants to make a cauldron for company, a cauldron being like a vampire made family, due to the same motives of keeping her loved ones). Thank you for reading my ramblings, I am brimming with ideas for this AU.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - June 6, 2023

1. Biden orders 20-year ban on oil, gas drilling around tribal site in New Mexico

Hundreds of square miles in New Mexico will be withdrawn from further oil and gas production for the next 20 years on the outskirts of Chaco Culture National Historical Park that tribal communities consider sacred, the Biden administration ordered Friday.

The new order from Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland applies to public lands and associated mineral rights within a 10-mile (16-kilometer) radius of the park. It does not apply to entities that are privately, state- or tribal-owned. Existing leases won’t be impacted either.

2. Groundbreaking Israeli cancer treatment has 90% success rate

An experimental treatment developed at Israel's Hadassah-University Medical Center has a 90% success rate at bringing patients with multiple myeloma into remission.

The treatment is based on genetic engineering technology. They have used a genetic engineering technology called CAR-T, or Chimeric Antigen Receptor T-Cell Therapy, which boosts the patient’s own immune system to destroy the cancer. More than 90% of the 74 patients treated at Hadassah went into complete remission, the oncologists said.

3. Federal Judge Makes History in Holding That Border Searches of Cell Phones Require a Warrant

With United States v. Smith, a district court judge in New York made history by being the first court to rule that a warrant is required for a cell phone search at the border, “absent exigent circumstances”. For a century, the Supreme Court has recognized a border search exception to the Fourth Amendment’s warrant requirement.

4. Indigenous-led bison repopulation projects are helping the animal thrive again in Alberta

Indigenous-led efforts are reintroducing bison to their ancestral lands in Alberta, bringing back an iconic species that was nearly extinct. These reintroduction projects, such as the one led by the Tsuut'ina Nation, have witnessed the positive impact on the bison population and the surrounding wildlife.

The historical decline of bison numbers was due to overhunting and government policies that forced Indigenous peoples onto reserves. These initiatives aim to restore ecological integrity while fostering spiritual and cultural connections with the land and animals. Successful results have been observed in projects like Banff National Park, where the bison population has grown from 16 to nearly 100, providing inspiration for future wilding efforts.

5. Breakthrough in disease affecting one in nine women

Sydney researchers have made a world-first leap forward that could change the treatment of endometriosis and improve the health of women living with the painful and debilitating disease. Researchers from Sydney's Royal Hospital for Women have grown tissue from every known type of endometriosis, observing changes and comparing how they respond to treatments.

It means researchers will be able to vary treatments from different types of endometriosis, determining whether a woman will need fertility treatments.

6. Latvia just elected the first openly gay head of state in Europe

The country’s parliament elected Edgars Rinkēvičs to be its next president, Reuters reported prime minister Krišjānis Kariņš saying.

Rinkēvičs publicly came out as gay in November 2014, posting on Twitter: “I proudly announce I am gay… Good luck all of you.” In a second tweet at the time, he spoke about improving the legal status of same-sex relationships, saying Latvia needed to create a legal framework for all kinds of partnerships.

7. France bans short haul flights

The introduction of France’s short-haul flight ban has renewed calls for Europe to cut down on journeys that could be made by train. Last week France officially introduced its ban on short-haul flights.

The final version of the law means that journeys which can be taken in under 2.5 hours by train can’t be taken by plane. There also needs to be enough trains throughout the day that travellers can spend at least eight hours at their destination.

----

That's it for this week :)

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[4amarcanethoughts]

Get to know your mutuals! Thank you to @joyful-soul-collector for tagging.

What's the origin of your blog title? I have a bunch of sideblogs dedicated to my most active fandoms and I am an insomniac. My first ever fandom sideblog started the trend as a joke and I just carried on the tradition!

OTP(s) + Shipname: Jayce and Viktor is the main one right now. I also love Ed and Stede from Our Flag Means Death.

Favourite colour: Iridescent white

Favourite game: Dungeons and Dragons for sure! I also like playing Jackbox games with friends.

Song stuck in your head: To Be Seen - Searows

Weirdest habit/trait? Sitting and doing things in the dark. I just prefer existing in dim light because lights can be overwhelming and the darkness keeps my mind calm. Doesn't help I'm stuck in fluorescent lighting all day haha!

Hobbies: Writing, Singing, Crafting, and Baking

If you work, what's your profession? I'm a medical laboratory technician in blood sciences!

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically? Since it specifies realistic, I'd like to be a biomedical scientist in immunology. It would mean getting another degree but I don't mind that too much.

Something you're good at: I'm good at writing! I recently wrote my first children's book and intend to write more when the inspiration comes back. A poetic style of writing is my favourite to do.

Something you're bad at: Socialising. I'm quite awkward but I still like chatting to people.

Something you love: Snails! I adore snails, I used to have pet giant African land snails for a few years.

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: The immune system, pathogenic disease, my fifty million apocalypse stories, etc.

Something you hate: Willful ignorance and anti vaxxers. Both suck very much.

Something you collect: Pins! I have so many. They're on my lanyard, my dunagrees, my pinboard, and my ita bag.

Something you forget: The thing I was meant to be doing.

What's your love language? Gift giving and quality time. Also words of affirmation.

Favourite movie/show: Arcane for sure at the moment. I also love The Walking Dead, Good Omens, Our Flag Means Death, and a bunch of apocalypse/zombie shows.

Favourite food: Pizza

Favourite animal: Snails! 🐌

What were you like as a child? Strange is the best way to describe it honestly.

Favourite subject at school? Science! All the science.

Least favourite subject: Religious Education. No thanks.

What's your best character trait? I'm very passionate about the things and people I love.

What's your worst character trait? I tend to keep things bottled up inside until they come out all at once, I'm still working on not doing that.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be? Being able to sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow! That would be amazing.

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? I'm not sure, I'm not particularly enamoured by anyone in the past. Maybe Oscar Wilde.

Tagging anyone who wants to!

[rebeccathenaturalist]

This may not seem like a very impressive photo, but it's very exciting for me! I just set up my bird feeders in Portland a few weeks ago, and unsurprisingly no one showed up immediately. The scrub jays found the endless plate of peanuts after a few days because they're just smart that way, but since the two old cherry trees in front of the apartment building got cut down last month the most convenient shelter for smaller birds to retreat to after visiting the feeder is gone.

Imagine my joy this morning when I got up and saw not one but TWO red-breasted nuthatches (Sitta canadensis) visiting the black oil sunflower seed feeder! One female (pictured here) and one male, likely a mated pair, have been flitting back and forth, making their little chittering sounds back and forth (as opposed to the territorial "beeping" more commonly heard earlier in the year.) Hopefully their activity will signal to other songbirds that there's food, and the local woodpeckers will discover the suet feeder.

I know bird feeders have become increasingly controversial in recent years, due in part to the risk for disease transmission. This is why it's so important to clean them regularly, not just removing old food but spraying them down with a 1:9 bleach:water solution and then scrubbing thoroughly with hot soapy water. I've only ever had one house finch with conjunctivitis show up, and I was quick to bring the feeders in and leave them in for a few weeks before cleaning and putting them back out.

And yes, I agree that a yard full of native plants that provide year-round food opportunities for birds and other wildlife is ideal. However, I don't have a yard. I have a 3x8 balcony, and I live in one of the older neighborhoods in Portland that, but for a few yards, is pretty scarce on native plants and pretty heavy on non-native ornamentals, so natural food sources are thin on the ground for those birds and other wildlife that are tolerant of urban living.

I'll get some natives in pots next spring for pollinators, but apartment management says I have to remove any dead vegetable matter in the fall, which means getting rid of seeds birds would normally eat over winter. I won't be able to create an appreciable amount of food for birds in this space, so feeders are the next best option, giving them something to eat without further reducing their fear of humans. (Let's be clear: any wild animal that lives in this neighborhood has got to be pretty tolerant of us, but that doesn't mean we should be encouraging them to be even less wary.)

Plus, quite honestly, they're good for my mental health; while I don't regret my move back to Portland, I do miss the easy access to a wide range of native biodiversity right outside the door. Being able to once again look out my window and see birds visiting is really good for me, and helps me get through those days when I am stuck at the computer for far too long.

[an-actual-attack-helicopter]

Book 6, Episode 3: The Frozen Ship Analysis/Commentary

Pretty atmospheric scene. And is that...whale sounds...? Yup, there a whale sounds all throughout this scene in the background. Fits pretty well, actually.

The Shadowpaw only breaks the ice after Callum takes Sneezles.

"Sup, i came here so that when i faint it will be your responsibili..." thud

"'Rayllum.' Seems like a nice name for a ship."

"I mean look at it. This ship is going nowhere!" Just wait a few episodes broski. By the end, Rayllum shippers are the only ones not sobbing like they lost their unicorn daughter.

Okay okay I'll stop with the jokes about this scene. We all get the gist.

Where the hell he get the sponge lol? If he got a wild one we would have to like sterilize it and stuff. And he wouldn't wanna harm it. Maybe they just brought it though.

Then we got Rayla crying over a romance novel. Seriously though, I think she relates to Skall. Like, after the two years she was gone, she felt that it was for nothing and she really just needed to be with Callum. And then...

Condrad, if you were here-

*KICKS DOOR* RAYLA RAYLA IM HERE- OWWW *PUSHES DOOR BACK OPEN* IM HEREEEE

Yet another example of how the animators and stuff played with lighting more this season. I can't stop talking about this. They've really improved.

"K I L L M E ."

viren in episode 8 be like--

Okay, there is no way Damian's respiratory disease wasn't related to Soren's. Maybe it was a virus spreading throughout Katolis. Buuut he said he had been living with it his whole life, and if Soren caught it you would think Callum would too. Maybe he did and he just recovered? Or maybe certain people are more susceptible to it. OOOOOR it's genetic and Soren and Callum are actually distant cousins. Okay, okay, I'll stop.

Anyway, I find it so funny how loudly Callum is shivering. Bro is trying to guilting her into sharing the blankie without having to ask lmfao. It literally comes off like that though--

Also, the scene where they almost kiss but Callum stops because he has to reveal something totally reminds me of a certain Claudium scene from season 2. Okay, enough Rayllum fluff, time for the pain. And the addiction allegories. Hear me out.

"I did cocaine again."

I mean, look at this. She even uses the word "quit." DARK MAGIC = DRUGS BASICALLY. Is it just me??? WHY ARENT PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT THIS??? IT'S SO GOOOOOOD. The animation too btw, like DAYUM.

Imagine the pearl breaks and aaravos gets out and is like "bro why are my toes on fire" shbfhdghjjkhh

This combined with Rayla's theme playing in the background...am i a Rayllum shipper now?

Finally, we're back to Viren and his deluded selfishness. He claims not to plead for mercy, and yet, he rambles on about how he is better than he was before. Cool shot though.

That's about it for this one. More packed than episode 2, though.