#Twisted Black Heart (dark AU verse)

[the-chipped-cup-awards]

2024 Chipped Cup Awards - Masterlist

Here, once again, are the winners of the 2024 Chipped Cup Awards

FLUFF:

Family: Tea and Roses by @thatravenclawbitch

Comfort: Struck By a Golden Arrow by @avatoh

Fix-it: Ritual by @peacehopeandrats

Reunion: A Dream is a Wish by @rowofstars

SMUT:

Kink/BDSM: On The House by @kelyon

Romance: Brandy, Apples, and Spice by @rufeepeach

Comedy: Accidents by @peacehopeandrats

Threesome: Fulfilling a Fantasy by @thescholarlystrumpet

First Time: Queen Takes Knight by @emospritelet

PWP: In the Dark and Wicked Hours by @rowofstars

ANGST:

Death: Strong for Belle by @desperatemurph

Hurts So Good: To Have and To Hold by @thatravenclawbitch

Misunderstanding: Unexpected But Not Unwelcome by @tickletorso

ROMANCE:

Date (overall) Lost and Found by @peacehopeandrats

Courtship: The Sweetest Dream by @threepwoodmarley

First Meeting: Portrait of the Heart by @chippedcupwrites

GENERAL:

One Shot: Pages of Reverie by @chippedcupwrites

Series: Lover’s Leap by @eirian-houpe

Novel Length: Mountains, Streams, and Magical Things by @peacehopeandrats

Short Fic: Babysitting by @timelordthirteen

Holiday Centric: Brandy, Apples, and Spice by @rufeepeach

Remix: Our Masks by @lotus0kid

Crossover: A Blade for Belfrey by @eirian-houpe

Dark Castle: Marble by @peacehopeandrats

Storybrooke: Leaving Storybrooke by @peacehopeandrats

"Missing Years": The Tent of Infinite Adventure by @peacehopeandrats

Wish!Verse: Deception by @eirian-houpe

SPECIAL CATEGORIES:

Golden Lace: The Storybrooke Whisky Appreciation Society by @threepwoodmarley

Woven Beauty: Undefined Desires by @worryinglyinnocent

Background Swanfire: To Have and to Hold by @thatravenclawbitch

Afterlife: Granted by @peacehopeandrats

Drama: Love Me Before the Last Petal Falls by @deliriumsdelight7

Supernatural/Sci-fi/Horror: The Cunning by @mareyshelley

Comedy: Lacey and the Tramp by @chippedcupwrites

AU-Original: Wretched Beginnings by @poorobscureplainandlittle

AU- OUAT: Tales of Gold by @JurisLadyAnna

AU-Other Media: The Black Swan by @deliriumsdelight7

Creature: The Finfolk’s Bride by @chippedcupwrites

Unexpected Twist: Contract by @kelyon

Bobby Squared: A Blade for Belfrey by @eirian-houpe

Trope: Love Me Before the Last Petal Falls by @deliriumsdelight7

English Language: To Nurse by @charon53

EVENTS

RSS: If You Will Be My Queen by @eirian-houpe

Fluffapalooza (Fic): The Tea Shop by @peacehopeandrats

Fluffapalooza (Art): Kiss Me Again, It’s Working by @milaeryn

Monthly Rumbelling: The Landlord and the Princess by @Rumplerose (AO3)

CHARACTER AWARDS

Belle: The Not So Dark One by @charlotteashmore13

Dark One!Belle: Rags to Riches by @alphashley14

Lacey: Sore Hearted Souls by @nerdrumple

Spinner!Rumple: Witch and Spinner by @Strummer_Pinks

Dark One!Rumple: Gilded by @eirian-houpe

Wish!Rumple: Once There Was a Wish by @peacehopeandrats

Mr. Gold: The Caretaker by @thestraggletag

Detective Weaver: Forgery by @peacehopeandrats

Baelfire/Neal: A House Built With Love by @of-princes-and-savages

Gideon: Finding You by @clarahue

OC Rumbelle Child: The Zoo by @peacehopeandrats

Villain: Cora in On the House by @kelyon

BFF/Wingman: Mountains, Streams, and Magical Things by @peacehopeandrats

ART

Fan Art: Kiss Me Again, It’s Working by @milaeryn

Graphic Art: And Love is When Someone Who Even KNows Your Scars Stays To Kiss You by @chippedcupwrites

AU In Art: Belle Isn’t Fascinated by the Idea of Marrying Gaston by @notonlymice

Fluff Art: Belle French and the Dork One by @chippedcupwrites

Angsty Art: In My Memory It Doesn’t End by @ace-cf-cups

Comic/Graphic Novel: Wearing Each Other’s Clothes by @angelqueen13art

Use of Color: Kiss Me Again, It’s Working by @milaeryn

Video: Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me by @chippedcupwrites

SUPERLATIVES:

Best Artist: @chippedcupwrites

Best Author: @kelyon

Best New Author: @ace-cf-cups

Best Rumbelle Fic: The Language of Flowers by @deliriumsdelight7

Best Anyelle Fic: Let’s Spend the Night Together by @ifishouldvanish

Best Anyem Fic: Tyger Tyger by @shakespeareanhoneybadgers

Rumbelle Lifetime Achievement: @jackabelle73

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Anonymous asked: (For twisted!Ikkaku) - What was it like after your night with Doflamingo? Can't imagine it having been too comfortable awhile afterwards.

Twisted Black Heart Day

“‘Uncomfortable’ is a horrible understatement,” she said, entire body clenching at the awful memory. Joker had not been especially gentle, and given the size of him, internal bruising at minimum would have been unavoidable even if he’d been the most delicate, loving partner who had ever bedded her. Doflamingo might have prepped her with his tongue and fingers, but the smile on his face as he’d rammed his massive cock inside her had made it obvious he delighted in her screams of agony with every hard thrust.

Ikkaku had had many rough lovers and had quickly built up a high pain tolerance. It was necessary, given the things Law often asked her to do, but at least he had been kind enough to teach her to find the pleasure in it. That way she couldn’t be so easily broken. Doflamingo’s brutal fucking had pushed even her limits, and it was only due to her will and training that she’d been able to even stumble out of his quarters the next morning. Blood and cum stained the bedsheets, bruises painted her body, and worst of all, a weight in her heart that came from the knowledge that Law had allowed this.

But at least Baby 5 had been the one to stumble across her in the palace’s halls and not one of the other Family members. The maid had been easily convinced of both the need to keep quiet about her state and of getting her to Law. And while her Corazon had clicked his tongue and shaken his head at her pathetic state, he’d treated her injuries, including the internal tearing, and told her she’d done admirably to have survived the night with Doflamingo. That had lifted Ikkaku’s spirits, though there had still be cruel whispers in the back of her mind reminding her that Law had handed her over to Joker in the first place.

She definitely needed a few days to recover in the infirmary, but the Corazon always does an exceptional job fixing his toys, so it didn’t take long for Ikkaku to get back to work.

[tsxndxre]

AU added to Kaoruko, Claudine, Junna, and Hikari! 

Based off the costumes that Revue Starlight Re:Live had provided for us, is an au of dark war period. Dark Versus Light. The Northern Black Lion Nation has had enough of the so called “peace” that the Sun Nation of the South has been spouting, draining them of their resources and land. Along with a dark past that only Kaoruko and Maya’s families know of, she demands for blood from the young lady of the Sun. Filled with a vengefulness to reclaim what rightfully belongs to her, Kaoruko has launched a full out war against Lady Tendou Maya of the South. Her loyal knights stand by her side to make sure her lady gets her bloodlust satisfied but perhaps are separated from people they are loved by.

All designs are listed above where their names are listed.

Individual roles are as followed.

Kaoruko: Dark Queen and Lady of the Black Lion nation. A Cruel and Wicked Queen are the rumors that fly in the wind. The personage she puts on in order to scare her subjects into submission, she’s certainly not underneath torment and cunning schemes to get what she wants. However, she’s also a girl tainted by the sin of Sloth, being lazy sometimes to push her servants to do some things for her. 

Claudine: Black Lion Nation’s highest knight. She’s a skillful girl in the ways of the sword, using a Broadsword as her weapon. She earned her title from demonstration of her skills and climbing the ranks to prove herself to Kaoruko. A proud and ambitious girl who will always fight her hardest against any opponent until she wins. 

Junna: Black Lion Nation’s Sniper and Tactician. An intelligent girl who wields the bow and talents is based on her arrows of flame and light. She also helps play as one of Kaoruko’s high advisers during times of peace. While she keeps a perfect honor student personage, she’s actually quite cruel and sadistic as her master, often suggesting the most cruel methods of torture among her peers. 

Hikari: A skilled assassin in Kaoruko’s ranks. Her usage of the swing dagger is used more of an advantage than a hindrance as she is fast and stealthy enough to get close to enemies before they could realize what’s happening. Some rumors carry that she can use the shadows to hide her from her enemies and that’s how she is able to carry her dirty work from Kaoruko. Despite her skill, she finds that she’s very emotionally vulnerable when fulfilling her mission to take out Maya with the appearance of a small light night who wants to be her friend. But she will take her out no matter what the cost.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Friend? Perhaps for another woman, one who wasn’t so fanatically loyal as Ikkaku, such a banal word would be heartbreaking. And yet, she took it as the declaration of her immense value to him, for it was so much more than a subordinate. A friend was someone he trusted, listened to, cared for. Certainly he never called any of his whores his “friends” for they simply weren’t worthy. Didn’t have her devotion. Didn’t love him like she did.

Yes, she was his friend, and she hoped to someday prove to him that she could be more than that.

Leaning into his palm, she sighed happily. It appeared she had read the situation correctly - her perfect Corazon was cutting himself free from Joker’s wretched strings. Finally, he’d come to realize what she’d always believed, that he was superior to some false king.

And on top of that, he was entrusting her with what sounded like a massively important task. Her heart swelled in her chest with pride. Further proof that he loved her more than that harpy Monet or any of his other flings. They couldn’t be trusted like she could. None of them had her brains or her experience with laboratories. Truly, she was something special to him.

“I’d be delighted,” she whispered back, eyelids dropping to half-mast as she envisioned the glorious future before them. A future where Law sat on a bloody, golden throne, bodies at his feet and her standing beside him. Perhaps after Doflamingo was gone, they could take out the World Government. Law had seemed restless at how unchanged this new era had been so far, so why settle for breaking one gear in the machine? They should shatter all of them!

Arching her head back, she relished the feeling of his fingers in her hair and the sensation of his breath fanning over her cheeks. It was so tempting to lean in and kiss him, but she stopped herself. He’d been angry at her mere minutes before - would he even be in the mood for her affection?

No, it was best to let him take the lead. To be in control. If he wanted something, he’d take it and she’d gladly let him.

“I’ll find every weakness and advantage for you, Law,” she promised, daring to reach up and press her hand against his chest, right over his heart. “After all, it’s for the good of the kingdom, right? I’d simply hate for something terrible to happen to the factory due to some oversight.”

ikkaku-of-heart​:

A silent sigh of relief escaped her lips when Law’s grip around her arm eased, the pain fading slightly. There would surely be a bruise later, but if that was the worst he inflicted on her, she’d take it and be grateful. Almost as grateful as she was for the blessing of the soft, charming smile he graced her with. A smile just for her. Her heart fluttered at the thought.

It was nearly enough to distract her from his words, but years of training had taught her to absorb everything he said, especially his orders. Something didn’t add up, though. Of course he’d want her to keep quiet about what he was doing – information like this was valuable, and dangerous to the Family if such weaknesses got out. Hell, she could even understand not wanting her to say anything to the other executives, as they might become angry that Law had been entrusted to fix their mistakes.

But even Joker wasn’t to be told? Not that she had any desire to so much as speak to him, but hadn’t this investigation been his orders? Or had Law noticed these issues on his own and had chosen to quietly correct them? But then why would he be so angry that she’d seen the plans?

Obsidian eyes widened as another possibility hit her. One that seemed too good to be true. Her heart pounded in her chest as she carefully analyzed the situation. If she was wrong, she’d be horribly punished for even daring to think Law might betray Doflamingo.

But if she was right, her beloved Corazon had at last seen what she’d always known and was finally attempting to break from Doflamingo’s chains.

“You can always trust me,” she affirmed, gazing up at him in adoration, daring to hope her dream was coming true. That Law would, in fact, not sacrifice himself for that wretched false god and be taken from her. “I owe you everything. Whatever you need, its yours. My help, my silence, my body, my life, it’s all been yours since you first took me under your wing.” Even if she didn’t live to see Law’s ascension to his rightful place as leader of this wretched organization, she’d die happy so long as he was no longer under the boot of a lesser man.

Doflamingo might have been a devious puppeteer, but he still paled in comparison to the true godlike brilliance and power of Trafalgar Law.

Biting her lip and raising her hand to touch the back of his reverently. Many called her crazy. Fanatical. Broken. But she wasn’t stupid, and thus, Ikkaku chose her next words carefully. “Law…just so you know, whether or not you choose to tell Joker about these weaknesses…I certainly wouldn’t say a word to him about it. For any reason. My loyalty to you is absolute. Should anything ever happen to you…well, I don’t think I could ever bring myself to follow anyone else.”

   He can see the gears working in her mind. Sometimes this particular tool is too smart for her own good. Law does love it when his subordinates are so in tune with him that they can practically sense what he desires from them, but it is in moments like these when he worries that familiarity is a double edged sword. Those dark eyes widen, a realisation blooming inside her. Yet, he sees no shock or hatred. He sees adoration, elation, and even relief. The devotion of one who sees him as greater than all other men, including his own master.

   Perhaps he should attempt to cut her strings. After all, Trafalgar Law already owns Ikkaku’s heart. Does that not make his hold far greater than the puppet master’s?

   A rush of affirmation, more than necessary for a simple order. Cold eyes watch her, drinking in her words that drip with her fidelity. He knows all of this, knows that his engineer would give him everything he asked. He could flay the skin from her bones and she’d thank him for it. It is an intoxicating thing, knowing he has so much power of her entire being. It sends a chill through him.

   “Such devotion,” he sighs, smile slipping back onto cold features. “How lucky I am to have such a loyal and willing … friend.”

   Not a truth. She is more toy than friend, more tool than person in his eyes, but he knows such familiarity is something she would long to hear. Just as she is so careful not to outwardly say what she seems to suspect, Law is careful to maintain and cultivate this love she holds. He’s already constructing ways to turn this to his advantage. Give this task to Ikkaku and if something goes wrong he can claim he had nothing to do with it. Make her his patsy, his scapegoat. She has never been shy about proclaiming how superior to Doflamingo he is, even if Law has warned her to keep such opinions to herself. It’d be easy to convince she acted on her own fanaticism.

   “Just maybe you can do far more for me than keep this secret,” he continues, a hand rising to cup Ikkaku’s cheek. Fingers slip into her hair and he leans forwards, words becoming an intimate whisper. “How would you like to use your wonderful brain to find every weakness in the SMILE factory for me?”

[coalitiongirl]

Fic Recs (under 300 edition)

So I wanted to get back to reading Swan Queen fic regularly, and I asked people to rec longfic that they'd read (not written) and loved that had fewer than 300 kudos! I haven’t read most of these, but I’ve collected them here so y’all can go through the list and discover some new fics with me! Please try to kudos and review every fic that you read! It means the world to the writers and will keep em writing, and then we all win. 😁

Atonement by SgtMac (M): With Regina's magical heart failing thanks to years of previous evil, Emma and Regina and Henry (and Granny!) set out to save her life by traveling to the Enchanted Forest and requesting help from ancient magical beings known as the Guardians. Given a mission as simple as it is impossible - to achieve atonement by creating peace - the ladies find themselves joining a rebellion and fighting for the very soul of the Enchanted Forest all while trying to help Regina to understand that the self-loathing and guilt which have driven most of her actions don't have to doom her chance for a new beginning or even, a chance to live and love again. A S4(ish) SQ love story set against the turmoil of war and the chaotic savagery of the old world.

Blood and Sand by cheshire6845 (E): A/U The Savior is a slave forced into the role of fighting as a gladiator for the House of Hearts. The odds are against her survival as she will have to win in the arena, navigate Cora's schemes, outlast a general's vengeance, and not be killed out of spite by the current House of Hearts Champion - Regina the Undefeated. This story follows the major plot points of Starz Spartacus with some twists along the way.

But what if there was no time by KizuRai (M): When she wakes up, it's dark. She can't move, she can't see, she can't feel and she can't hear. Where am I? She feels a forceful oppression, pressing her down, draining her of her energy and she's powerless to stop it. How did I get here? The question of here is relative, she's not even sure where here is. What happened? There must be some reason for being stuck here but her memory is fuzzy, like all her thoughts are being sifted through a filter. Who am I? She's not sure if she actually exists or she suddenly became sentient in the darkness.She hears a voice reverberating in the distance, it's distorted and quiet but she hears it all the same. It breaks the monotony of the silence. Someone's coming for her, they will get her out. She's just not sure she wants them to as the price might be too great.

Finding Home by evl_rgl (T): “I wanted to remember you so badly that I pulled back your cursed town just so that the memories would make sense. I needed you so badly that even when I had no memory of you, I still tried to find you.” Regina gave Emma and Henry memories of a happy life together before they fled Pan’s curse, leaving them with no memories of their lives in Storybrooke. However, when the memory spell shows signs of failing, threatening to rip apart the minds of both Emma and Henry, Regina makes a drastic choice to go back and fix it, understanding that it will mean living alone in a world where her son doesn’t know her. Was the spell really faulty, though? (swanqueen)

Five Flames by MariaComet (U): In the past, Emma Nolan disconnected from her peers in high school, preferring to keep to herself. In her sophomore year of high school, she decided to try and join the boy’s wrestling team because she was bored. She didn’t expect herself to become the champion of the most bullied kid in school or the secret best friend of the school queen. She also didn’t expect to join a club that would change her life. In the present, Emma is trying to cope with a humiliating loss in her martial arts career. She claims to be “training” but is stuck in limbo between wanting to retire and try again. She is isolated from her former best friend, Regina Mills, a local celebrity chef and the rest of her old friends. When one of them calls her with an idea to honor their deceased teacher, she is confronted with unresolved feelings and questions about how powerful love truly is.

A Glamour of Truth by PrincessCharming (T): After 2x10, Regina uses magic to show Emma the obvious truth. A tentative trust forms between them amid hilarious bickering. With Emma's help, Regina struggles to regain a place in her son's life... until Cora arrives, wanting her daughter back. Pieces of Regina's past emerge showing that the board was set long before the game started. The final battle begins soon.

His Dark Materials 'verse by MoonlitMidnight (M): A modern Alternate Universe in which Dæmons (the external physical manifestation of a person's 'inner self' that takes the form of an animal) are present. In which Emma and Regina have led slightly different lives and they make slightly different choices.

How Many Miles to Avalon? (WIP) by RavenOutlander (E): Regina would do anything to save Emma from the darkness and bring her back home safe and sound. Even put up with the two idiots, Captain Guyliner and a bunch of dwarves she decidedly wanted to drop off at the nearest exit. But in their search for Emma, they find that she might not need that much saving after all. Caught up in a search for the infamous Philosopher Stone, an all out war between DunBroch and Camelot, and ghosts from the past to haunt her every waking moment, Regina finds herself scrambling to keep her and her family's happy endings from falling apart.

The Hyperion by FrankenSpine (M): After wishing upon what she believes is a shooting star, Emma Swan finds herself aboard the Hyperion, the royal starship of an alien Queen from a faraway galaxy. She quickly learns of the tensions between the Queen's people and her own, but the Queen takes an interest in her and agrees to take her away from Earth forever. Adventure awaits. *(Loosely based on Guardians of the Galaxy with just a hint of Farscape)*

If Wishes Came True (It Would've Been You) by Angeii_K (M): After Regina films a guest appearance on her friend Neal’s popular show, he invites her to spend the weekend with him and his girlfriend. What she never expected was to actually like the woman. Sparks fly between the two, which results in them questioning everything and making choices they will later regret. 4 years later, they meet again in the most unexpected of ways. Now co-stars on the same show, they are forced to work through the emotions from their last encounter. What will happen next? Only time will tell.

The King Doesn’t Have To Know (WIP) by highheelsandchocolate (M): The White Knight had never seen anyone like her before: the Queen was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her possessive yet neglectful husband, however, was another thing entirely.

The Lich by Dangereaux (M): Gay disaster Emma, exasperated Regina, and a monster. A Halloween special.

Maybe if We Close Our Eyes we Can Reach the Stars by wellthizizdeprezzing (T): Emma is a lonely astronaut. Regina is an adventuring alien. Their paths cross leading them onto a journey of new discovery. Between galaxies and many miles of cold black space, despite not speaking the same language, they manage to fall for each other. An out of this world love story.

A prisoner long forgotten by sugarsweet_19 (M): ‘I wish I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood and as black as the wood of the window-frame. Soon after she had a little girl, who was as white as snow, with lips as red as blood and with her hair as black as the ebony of the window-frame. She was therefore called Snow-white.” This is how our story starts but how will it end?The evil queen as been locked up in a tower and forgotten that is until princess Emma looks for a place to hid from her parents after they tell her she has to marry Neal the son of the dark one.

Revenge of the Three Little Pigs by mskyo (M): Regina and Emma find themselves alone and looking for the rest of their party. The Evil Queen must face the consequences of her past actions. Will Emma come to her aid, or understand that justice must be served... *Some chapters have fairly graphic sex, and violence*

Things I Almost Remember by cheshire6845 (T): A/U Despite an oncoming war between the Dark and the Light, Emma and Regina are best friends growing up in the Enchanted Forest. When war does come, they find themselves on opposite sides. Regina will have to defy her mother to save Emma. Will Emma be able to save Regina when Cora curses her daughter to live in the Land without Magic?

What We Make (WIP) by DiazTuna (M): “My mother.” He says calmly. He’d known all along, she’s aware. But he’d known that today would be the day that would get this going. She wants to ask what it was like, to have woken up this morning, laced up his boots and walked into hell just knowing. “It’s programmed the cyborg to kill her. Before I have a chance to be born.” -In which the leader of the future sends his best soldier back to the past to save his mother from a killer cyborg. Terminator AU.

The Wrong Way by pcworth (M): Takes place right after Zelena steals Regina's heart. Zelena offers Regina a chance to go back in time with her and change both of their lives for the better. But what will be the price of that decision. Slow-burn to SwanQueen

zombie trash by 13pens (T): Zelena could have her brain and eat it, too. Fic operates on three premises 1. this takes place in any universe where zelena is a reformed asshole 2. zombies are a thing and exist iZombie style 3. i have NO chill

[ecto-stone]

So I don’t really know that much about that my blood au you created could you tell me a bit about it?

Ha hah I Hope this is Edible

So My Blood Au is just Me dumping all the cool stuff i can think of into a DP what if Vlad is Good ^For Starter MB Vlad or Vladimir Jude Masters is a Paranormal investigater/ hunter/exocist in a sense. He seemingly Perfect in People eye, Not Really on the inside as he have many problem stem from living so long and going though alots of thing that he prefer not to talk about that he hide from People , go so far as to adjust his own emotion to what he find fit to the situration making him really hard to read. (Not Jack and Danielle, those are close enough 2 peel him like an onion if they sense something off). -Vlad And Danny are not same kind of Halfa in this AU, Vlad is Two soul (Half Blue Demon Vampire Ghost, Half Human twisted together and blend into one) and Danny is Soul within soul (Going though the accident give him two identical soul that over lapped each other) -Ghost are nerf and ecto beam and ecto Base attack can harm ghost but they can't harm Physical thing in living world Unless they are infuse with Core element same with Human entering Purgatory. -The world have 5 Realm: LivingWorld, Purgatory (GhostZone), Elsewhereness, Fairy Land and Unworld. +Going with the idea that originaly Vlad is supposed to be a vampire and many ghost in the series feel like they are more supernature creature then Ghost. Living world now have many Human and other Creature living among each other , hidden in plain sight +Purgatory: Where Ghost go and heal before they move onto Elsewhereness (Heaven in this verse) or Rebirth back to the living cycle. There are many area in Purgatory that fit human decription of after life look like , this is due to collective faith and ideal of many Ghost focus with each other to created these Resting stop. Incidentally like the living world these area are also watch over by being call King and Queen of the Death (Caretaker and protector of the Death soul, a being with incredible power capable of bending reality). Most well known one are the King Dark, Prince Argon and Princess Dora of the Dark Age Zone. Queen Desire of the thousand and one night. ect.. newest King of the death is Ghost Writer (library of the forgotten) but he prefer not be refer to as king, just Ghost writer. +Elsewhereness: The final resting Places of enternal Bliss. Once the Soul is ready to let go of all earthly desire, they are send here. Not much is known about this realm or it location. When a Soul reach enlightment it will automatically know where to find it. The realm also House many god. +Fairy Land: Home to care taker of the childhood inocent and many god that work to keep the universe running. Most common creature that live here is Fairy with two side one silly colorful side that appear to children to granted what ever their heart desire. The other is the Blue fortune side that Weaved the fabric of Luck and fate. +Unworld: A Dark realm with one way in no way out. It house many dangerous creature, ancient outer god and unspeakable Evil that have been banish to through age by god and human. >the Origin Story: +Vlad and Jack are Friend from Childhood (Their Bond are really tight kinda like Sworn Brother ) unlike their canon counter part meet in college. They Hunt Ghost but in more of a Release soul from their earthly bound kind of way via the info they get from the Masters Family Grilmore. (There is one major inconvience is that You need to wait for the correct day and time to perform ritual sending ghost back to purgatory so they can Move on to Elsewhereness/heaven of this verse ) +They Meet Maddie in college (Maddie and Vlad almost alway in a total clash with each other with Maddie tech almost Hunter like way in dealing with ghost and Vlad more traditional Way of Handling them) Which end with Three of them forming the Original Ghost Trio. With Maddie accept Vlad and Jack Respect the Death ideal. And Vlad and Jack incorperate More Technology into their Asset. +Maddie point out the inconvinient of having to wait for the correct day for each ghost to send them back to Purgatory (Their room are fill with

Container for ghost), Which lead to them comming up with the idea of Making a Ghost Portal. <Note: MB Vlad is not into Romantic relationship, Platonic one Matter to him more> >The Accident: No diet soda the Accident is purely due to one miscalculation that cost Vlad life (his Head got Blash Clean off infront of Jack and Maddie) In that Split Second of His face getting disintigrating, Vlad get a Glim into UnWorld (the Realm where are Demon and evil of the four realm are banish to) and Got Latched on and Pushed Back to the living world by a Demon Vampire Ghost Both Soul are now inhabited Vlad headless lifeless body, in Which about 3 day after Vlad burial that Vlad Body got completely decontructed inside the coffin and recontructed into a body that is more fitting to host both . Vlad have a hard time remembering Who he is after kinda get rebirth and Wander the world until he Get Suck into a Natural Ghost Portal and got Flunk Back in time. >Journey of an Immortal Being: -Vlad Stuck in the Past, He recovered his memories, Going through existenal crisis, Evil phase, Evil make me feel bad, Not Evil anymore, Found out that he is immortal now, Existenal crisis part2, Acceptance, Travel the World and Start doing the what ever he like, learning old way of magic still helping ghost and other supernatural being. -Caused several Major Change to the past that Mythical Creature got un extinct. (Due to the Law of life and death this does not affect who get born or not, it just that the world got alots more races now and those used to be born human in the original timeline might get born as another races entirely) -Get Mistaken for Messiah.( Look You can't kill Vlad, He would just be gone for like 3 day then comeback) -Caused the legend of Dracula. -Vampire cult have a horrible obession with Vlad as a Whole. Look like vampire act like one, can walk in plain day light and more importantly the ability to Open a Portal to Unworld . ( Vlad don't use this ability much and can only open small one as it is very energy consuming) -Meet his own ancestor Which is the Fentonightingale that Later Splited into Fenton and Nightingale (later change to Masters) leading to revealation that Jack and Him might be very distant Related. -Bickering With Time God (Do not trust the Clock Man that work for the Eyes) -Get Caught in War far too many time. -Meet Phantom (an odd entity that is oddly clingy to him) in the Great War. -Meet Other Some of the DP ghost when they still alive -The Horrible Bar incident that reveal Phantom true nature, an evil being that wish to turn the world back to it original nature of nothiness and try to turn vlad to the his side, Kill, Seal in Rock Case covered with Sigil to prevent Phantom from escape, Chuck it into the ocean. - The Contruction of the Coffin Ghost Portal. (Havent actually went into the Purgatory caused the CCP is one Way Portal. -Forming of many Hidden town that home supernatural being. Amity Park is one of them. - And many more unseen story >Daddy Stolen Ribbone saga (MB Vlad is sterile, he want to have kid but can't.) -The Vampire cult that he have grudge with attemp to Clone or at least created a child that have Vlad Power through ritual and cult like method. Imagine Danny Clone but even more mess up . -Vlad end the life of most of them by his own hand (they are suffering, it is best to let them go) -Birth of Danielle: +Danielle Evelyn Masters or just Dani/Dee for short is the only Stable child come out of this whole odeal. She is Created From Vlad Ribone like a Twisted Eve. And like in the book it caused both of them to be very attached to each other in a Fatherly Daughterly Way. +Dee Have Vlad Ghost power and Demonic Power but No ghost form (Her default funtion as both and whether she is in ghost mode or Human mode is all Up to energy control) and no connection to Unworld there for she can't open portal to Unworld. Dual Soul nature Wind/Fire.

+She like Frog and is interested in Marine biology (which Vlad have full support over, she have a room fill with Vlad hand made frog plusie that she all named. +He raise her teach her everything he know about how to deal with supernatural being and how to Snipe Vampire from a long distant with pin point accuracy.

+An kidnapped incident with the Vampire cult latter resulted in Dee Death at the age of 12 (1999), and Vlad becoming fully Merged into one Being with Plasmius. and wipe out the entire vampire cult in a horrible Vlad the impaler way). +After wiping out the remainder of the cult, vlad go into retirement and work as a wall Painter < he work supper fast on celling painting and no one know why> >The Boy Who Fly (2 year before the start of actual MB story) -Danny Gain his power at the age of 10, his parent know. The event of Portal acivation caused the whole town to have a black out. -They move House alots for 2 year. And Jack try his best to make his family as normal as they can be after accidenly k his friend all those year ago and now half eff his own son. -They finding out amity park their new home is on accident when the RV engine die mid way through the middle of no Where (The town shown it self to those in need) -Danny hide his abiltiy. But after a gym incident. and getting Praise by his peer for it instead of scold like with the adult Danny start getting bolder using Floating power around his new friend when no adult is watching. <Vlad who is Working on the Giant Raven paiting for the School Saw this and know imediately What Danny is> -They offically meet each other on the the roof top, when Danny mom ask him to go down the store and by some bread and he decided to try to Air Frog Swim to it. They become friend and Vlad even teach Danny how to fly properly before having to leave (they visit each other alots after the revealation, and vlad is a good adult friend that Danny can talk to) (Danno forgot about the bread and return home breadless) -Jack may stop with the whole Paranormal hunter/ghost scientist job but not Maddie. She keep doing it behind his back due to danny special need in ecto base consumtion (he havent grow abit since the accident and keep getting smaller and it concerning) -Jack found out and they have a Fight. which lead to Maddie go to his Sister house. -Danny Found out about why his dad was so stressed out about ghost thing now. When looking through his parent old stuff with his new friend tucker. (Dude why does your parent have a Picture of the wall painter in thier old junk). He show the image to Vlad. -Danny Get jack to tell the story about the inccident. Dad what if i tell you that Your friend who die 18 year ago survived and is on our front door right now. Reunion, Jack feeling guilty about making them both like this. Go Get Maddie. Happy reunion of the trio. -Fenton Parent become accepting to Danny condition, Danny have a good mentor that can teach him ho to control his power And they live happy ever after for now

[blossom-hwa]

inspired by a song from ‘the ballad of songbirds and snakes’ (I highly recommend the book!!)

(lyrics modified slightly to fit the story, and no copyright infringement intended!!)

wc: 2.4k ~ haknyeon x gender neutral!reader ~ nobility!au (ish) ~ triggers: blood, death (nothing graphic) ~ the boyz masterlist

prequels: don’t be silly | shattered

for @thepixelelf​​​ :)

[ birds in the heavens ] Lying on a field filled with smoke and ash, you drag in a long breath.

So this is what it’s come to.

You cough, pain shooting through your chest as the metallic tang of blood fills your mouth. Just a few years ago, you never would have imagined this – a battlefield death, so far from home, a fall from grace…

No, not grace. Not you. He was grace. He was everything beautiful in this war-torn world, sunlight on the grass, stars in the sky, flowers in the meadow beyond the village, blue and red and pink and white woven in a wreath that you placed on his head with trembling fingers and a smile only he could put on your face.

Where was grace but in the curve of his lips and the scrunch of his eyes as he laughed? Where was grace but in the rough brush of his fingers to your smooth skin, worlds apart united for brief, beautiful moments in the touch of your hands together? There was a time when you thought you were grace, fine clothes and elegant dances and lilted words, but he was grace, truly, sunbeams personified, tanned hands rough from work deftly twisting grass together into a makeshift ring that fit perfectly on your fourth finger, a crude proposal in the eyes of anyone in your circle but so beautiful in your eyes, accompanied by a voice of sugar and honey, birdsong whispering between the blades of shifting grass, promises of a future where the warmth of his touch would never leave your skin.

What was the song he sang? Something about valleys and trains, roses and violets and red and blue…

A memory of his voice washes through your mind, a taste of honey sweet against the bitter ash coating your tongue.

Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

He used to say that he’d wait to hear the train whistle during the months he knew you’d be there. He said it took everything in him not to run to the station and blow both of your covers, he wanted to see you so much.

What wouldn’t you give to see him now?

Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by,

So I can see my true love go by.

A smile stains your trembling lips. Where the first verse was his, this one was yours. Only you could speak of mansions and true love and not be entirely joking – you used to promise him you’d build yourselves a house someday, a house where you could live together in secret peace, away from the prying eyes of your family and their spies.

Go write me a letter, send it by mail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Capital jail, love, to the capital jail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

A sob racks your body, ash settling in your throat and mixing with the blood bubbling on your tongue. How were you two to know that the third verse he sang so teasingly, eyes squinting with laughter as he swore to you with honey-sweet seriousness that he’d love you to the end, would become truth? That he’d be imprisoned in that very jail and later killed, with you sent to the battlefield to die? You couldn’t even send letters, like in the song.

There’s a fourth verse to the song, a verse you’d sing together, but the sun burns overhead and seals your lips shut. Its rays sear into your eyes, scorching your heart with the guilt, the knowledge that you have no right to sing or even remember the verse, and it hurts, but you can’t look away. Won’t look away. It’s the sun, what he was, pure warmth and light made whole into one human being whom you were lucky enough to love – how could you let that go?

How could you let him go?

Tears spring into your eyes. They fall slowly, cutting tracks through the grime on your face. One hand struggles to rise, to wipe them away, but you can’t. You can’t. The tears… they’re him. What you have left of him. Tears, tears only, and the dried grass tied around your finger…

Your face burns under the sun. It’s bright, so bright, just like him.

You were so bright, love. The hand that tried to wipe the tears now aches to reach up to the sky, fingers enclosing around a ray of light in a futile effort to bring it to your lips, to kiss him one last time before the darkness blurring your vision takes you completely. Bright as the sun. I could never close my eyes to you.

Even if it burned.

An image appears in the sun, his face contorted in pain and agony as they dragged him to the center of the square. Two guards held you back as you screamed. Four more stood in front of him, guns raised.

The sun blazed that day, just like his eyes as they stared into yours with all the conviction of a man who knew he had done nothing wrong, the bravery of a boy who had been taught to love and only love.

Even when the one he loved could do nothing to save him.

The same sun flares overhead, witness to your love, witness to his death, and now, soon, a witness to yours. It shines unflinchingly, fierce, unforgiving – you couldn’t save him. You couldn’t.

I couldn’t. A sob rips through your bleeding body. Pain tears into every wound in your skin, but it can’t compare to the ache in your chest, the knowledge of a death you couldn’t prevent. I’m sorry. I couldn’t.

I failed.

The sun feels colder now, warm rays chilled under your confession of failure. It hurts to stare, to keep your eyes open even as cold fire sears anger into your wounds, but it’s penance. Punishment. Just like when they stripped your title and shoved you into war, a nameless foot soldier to be buried under a heap of other nameless bodies, retribution for loving a boy they believed to be beneath your station.

Beneath my station. If you could, you’d snort. If only they could see that the farmer boy they scorned to death was so much more than all of them. Than all of you.

Sunlight personified, sparkling in a blue sky without a cloud.

You blink. There are clouds now, of gray smoke from firing guns stained red from the screaming bodies falling all around you. But the sun cuts through it all to shine on you, cold, unforgiving in the knowledge that you failed to protect the boy who loved you to the end, even as bullets ripped into his body the way they now have ripped into yours.

I failed.

I’m sorry.

I failed.

Blood trickles down your face. Your eyes remain open, focused on the sun. They burn, but it’s nothing compared to the punishment you deserve for not keeping him alive the way you promised yourself you would.

I couldn’t. Another sob wracks your bloodied chest. Everything hurts. I couldn’t.

But then –

A face you never thought you’d see again leans over your ruined body, bright, visible, even as darkness further coats your eyes.

The sunlight grows a little warmer.

Haknyeon?

You couldn’t, love. A hand reaches out, caresses your bloody cheek with a softness of touch that almost makes you close your eyes. You couldn’t. And that’s okay.

Tears fill your eyes afresh. No, it isn’t, you try to argue with the vision that can’t be real but that feels so real, so frighteningly warm in this one moment. I couldn’t save you. You should’ve lived.

You couldn’t, Haknyeon repeats, eyes sparkling. He looks so healthy, so whole – no bullets in his chest, no blood running down his face. Your heart aches. It’s okay. Please believe me, love. It’s okay.

The softness in his voice makes you want to believe it, makes you want to fall into his honeyed words that flow, smooth, through your ears, soothing the pain throbbing all over your body. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, you try to argue through cracked and bloody lips that cannot speak. Don’t give it to me. I don’t deserve it.

His touch feels so real against your skin. It’s a good thing I’m not here to forgive you, then, he laughs, for there was never anything to forgive.

Blood bursts from your lips as ash tickles your nose and you cough again, this time curling into his phantom touch. Then why are you here, if not to condemn me?

A question remains in the air, unsung, unsaid, but heavy as the clouds of smoke settling on the field.

Surely you can’t still love me?

He shines, warm, light, brighter than the sun overhead. You hear the answer to your question in his next words even if he doesn’t say it and it hurts, hurts so much – you don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve any of the love he still holds for you –

Close your eyes, love, Haknyeon whispers. Close your eyes. I’ll take the pain away.

Panic rises in your chest. You can’t. You can’t close your eyes, can’t lose sight of him or the burning sun, penance for your crime, the last sight of your lover that you will take as your soul slips away – you can’t let this gift go, this last vision – it’s all you have left of him besides the tears and the grass ring wrapped around your finger –

Close your eyes, love. His smile trembles, but his palm remains steady against your cheek. Close your eyes, and I promise you will still see me.

You blink unsteadily against the black spots dotting his face and the sunlight. Truly?

Truly.

The sun dances between the spots in your vision. To close your eyes and lose sight of the sky and of him, or to keep them open and take the image of him, smiling to your grave?

But it hurts so much to keep them open. Burns. And he said he’d still be there even if you closed your eyes against the burn, against the sun…

Maybe you will still feel his warmth, even if you give in to the darkness.

Slowly, slowly, your eyes flutter shut. Black washes across your vision and you almost panic – you can’t see him, he said you’d see him but you can’t and now you don’t have the energy to open your eyes once more – but then warmth settles on your forehead and, oh –

It’s him. His lips, kissing your grimy, bloody skin. And you can still see him, see his smile as he comes closer to cup your cheek with his hand once more, his palm warmer than the sun ever was.

It’s okay, Haknyeon whispers, words ghosting across your skin. I’ll take the pain away. Remember our song?

It hurts so much to breathe a few words from your lips, but for him, you manage. Yes, I do.

Sing with me.

And somehow, you know that if he were granted a last request at the end of his life, it would have been this. For you to sing with him one more time.

Who are you to deny him the last wish he never had?

Your lips begin to move, ever so slightly.

Down in the valley, valley so low,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

The train, love, hear the train blow,

Late in the evening, hear the train blow.

His song buoys you on, lifting words from your throat even as the pain begins to blur, to fade, taking your voice with it.

Go build me a mansion, build it so high,

So I can see my true love go by.

See him go by, love, see him go by,

So I can see my true love go by.

You falter at the next verse, unshed tears choking your words, but he continues, fingers still stroking your cheek as his song filters through your ears, soft, sweet.

Go write me a letter, send it by mail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Capital jail, love, to the capital jail,

Bake it and stamp it to the capital jail.

Bitter grief wells in your throat, mixing with the blood. If you couldn’t sing the last verse, there’s no way you can do the fourth. You can’t. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to sing the verse that you always sang together, soft under the sun in a meadow of flowers, holding each other close as you whispered the words into each other’s ears. You don’t deserve to say those words to him, I love you, because even when he loved you to the end, your love wasn’t enough to keep him alive.

Come, love. A hand takes yours, toys with the dried grass tied around your finger. Sing with me. Please.

I don’t deserve it.

Yes, you do. He kisses your forehead again, soft as a flower petal against your skin. You still love me, and I still love you. Nothing has changed.

But –

Nothing has changed, he murmurs. Nothing has changed.

Tears no longer spill from your eyes, but if you had the energy, you’d let them fall. Okay, you whisper. Okay.

Thank you.

You struggle to move your lips as the pain fades, disappearing into the touch of his skin against yours. But his voice stays strong, warm, golden as the sunlight still washing over your skin.

Roses are red, love, he sings. Violets are blue. Birds in the heavens know I love you.

A last trembling smile spreads small across your face, lyrics lingering on your lips.

Know I love you, oh, know I love you…

His arms wrap warm around your shoulders, warmer than sunlight, and the last words whisper soft into your ear as the world finally slips away.

Birds in the heavens know I love you.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 well wish for the couple they deserve it)

[ikkaku-of-heart]

It hadn’t surprised her when Law had stopped Ikkaku on his way out. She had the feeling he’d end up purposely putting off his meeting given how annoyed he’d been with one Eustass Kid the last time they spoke. Joker hadn’t really called on him; it was a power game, forcing the other man to wait. But since Law didn’t want this deal to fall through, he’d sent his lovely little engineer into the parlor to hopefully put the brutish man into a more agreeable mood.

Kid wasn’t unattractive, at least. His muscular physique certainly fit her preferences, even if he didn’t have any delicious tattoos for her to trace and admire. That metal arm, though, well, perhaps if he did end up working with Law she could get a better look at it. The workmanship was quite impressive. Nothing compared to her own skills, of course, but at the moment they didn’t matter.

For now, though, she had a more pressing task to attend to - keeping the fiery captain occupied until her Corazon deigned to grace them with his presence.

With a sensual smirk she did as Kid bid, kneeling between his spread legs and running her fingers along his inner thighs. Leaning in, she nipped at his abs to tease him as one hand deftly unbuckled the belts around his waist. The other cupped his crotch, assessing what she’d be working with.

Well. It seemed the arm wasn’t overcompensation for anything. Good. She hated having to fake enjoyment. A little pain always enhanced her pleasure.

Blood red lips smiled up at him as she pulled down the waistband of his pants, allowing his cock to spring free. Turning her head slightly, she gave it a few teasing kisses and kitten licks. Her lipstick barely left so much as a smear, though she hoped to leave a few marks on him before their time together was up.

Something to remember her by, and potentially give more incentive to agree to her Corazon’s proposal.

“Law can be very accommodating when the mood suits him,” she purred, looking up at him through long, black lashes. Hot breath danced across Kid’s engorged length as she added, “And he always makes sure to dole out rewards to those who deserve them.”

As if to demonstrate just what kind of rewards he might have in store for the future, Ikkaku wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock before working her way down his shaft, swallowing as much as she could with relative ease. She’d been trained well, after all. Law expected only the best from her.

@ikkaku-of-heart​ asked: "My Corazon’s sends his apologies for the delay; his Young Master has called on him unexpectedly,“ Ikkaku said, sauntering into the villa’s parlor. Unzipping her black leather jumpsuit and letting the material fall to the floor, revealing her naked body, she purred, "He’s sent me to help keep you…entertained until he returns.”

Kid almost felt like he regretted stepping foot in this damn place. It wasn’t just because of who ran this country, but also the man he was planning to make an underground deal with. Upon first meeting he didn’t like him, all bad manners and a sense of psychotic energy that would make anybody not nearly as strong as Kid tremble with fear or with an immense need to attend his every need. But not Kid, at least he had the satisfaction of seeing the man leave with an angry expression last time they met, but now it seems he’s unintentionally gotten back at him by making him wait.

However, as he leant his head on a fist and tapped a foot out of growing boredom, a woman finally appeared to explain that there’s been a delay in that bastards appearance. He raises his head with annoyance, but before he can raise his voice and temper, the brunette had already rid herself of all her clothes in a promise of making his wait worth his while.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all… And hey, if that Trafalgar bastard finally decided to show up in the middle of this, he’d have one hell of a show to watch.

Rugged features now lit up in interest, hands now resting on his spread thighs while his metal one pats his leg in a come hither gesture.

“ Well now, didn’t think your boss would be so accommodating. How about you come get on your knees for me and show me if your mouth can make the wait worth it.”

[periminkle]

blazes of deceit

this fic is a part of the disney collab hosted by @btswritingcafe​!! please go check out all the other talented writers and their works 💕

+ summary. When the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide.

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

+ warnings. threats against a baby’s life, unwarranted death, mom problems, trespassing, pan violence, hiding a (not dead) body, tying people up with hair, curse words, drinking, thievery, deadly chase, sword/pan fight, recklessly jumping from a great height, graphic descriptions of wounds and blood, general violence, dark family matters (it’s pretty twisted!), orchestrated infidelity.

+ author’s note. happy early birthday to golden baby jungkook!! this fic took me wAY too long to write but she’s finally here! HUGE thank you to my big brain frenemy @guklvr​ for beta reading and hyping me up by boosting my confidence level +2000 even tho she’s on vacation and should be relaxing LMAO i would’ve postponed this until next year if u didn’t push me so TY ILY LOADS CARL 💘 i also wanted to shoutout #1 jk ryder supporter @dewykth​ and wofe @yeojaa​ for encouraging me every step along the way, y’all are the best n ily both to pieces 💝💕

You are positively ravenous.

Flurries of people scurry past the towering bars of your crib, yet none spare a glance in your direction despite your boisterous wailing. Like moths to a flame, they’re all huddled in one corner, surrounding a panting woman that clutches her rotund abdomen in one hand while tightly clasping onto a bejewelled crown in the other.

“What are you waiting for?” she spits out, hardened orbs narrowed in on your pathetic form.

“Your Royal Majesty, it’s only been an hour since you have given birth, please reconsider—”

Her glower is redirected onto the younger woman’s trembling form. “Are you questioning your Queen? Shall we reconsider your life as well?”

“No,” she begs, her tone quivering with anguish, “please spare my ignorant self.”

Your facial muscles begin to cramp and the walls of your throat feel like sandpaper, which only serves to exacerbate your violent sobs. The insistent suckling on your thumb is doing nothing to quell your raging stomach.

Her lips peel back to reveal two rows of pearly white, dazzling teeth framed by a nasty snarl. “Somebody slit that brat’s throat!”

Another midwife adorned in the bloody rags of childbirth darts across the cramped space with a weeping bundle of rough canvas in her arms. As she scrambles to deliver the shuddering newborn into his counterfeit mother’s arms, the clumsy woman trips over thin air, flying across her enraged Queen’s lap. Without a second thought, her backside is pierced by a shiny steel sword, sullied in a crimson liquid when it reappears.

The introduction of another babe deters your cries for attention. Instead, you distract yourself with a dull glimmer that you catch in your peripheral. Your chubby fingers hopelessly extend toward the dingy stars dangling above your head, just out of reach, reflecting the bright orange tiger lily printed onto the high ceiling of your cage.

“Not a soul shall speak of today's treachery.”

You’re well aware that your short arms could never stretch the distance required to satiate your unending curiosity; but they stay aloft, searching for the reassuring warmth of your mother’s embrace.

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

Screams of agony overwhelm your developing eardrums as your tiny hands come to cradle your head, willing the pain to end.

Every inch of your walls is covered with abstract paintings, doodles of twisting branches snaking around the edges, dainty birds in every colour under the sun, and a joyous little girl dancing in her own brilliant freedom. No matter where you look, bespeckled tiger lilies are buried within the intricate linework like easter eggs, waiting to be found.

Your favourite by far is the uncanny depiction of the image stashed deep inside the crevices of your memory, a sight your heart desires to view most from up close. The miniature illustration captures your longing gaze pinned on the multitudinous lights ascending from a foreign location, golden hair streaming down your back and flowing over the fireplace in your determination to capture its vast length.

You attempt to steel your nerves for the umpteenth time, but you can’t help your nervous pacing across the minuscule length of your room. The entire tower is spotless as a result of your mindless cleaning—floors scrubbed twice, nonexistent dust wiped away, and trinkets set at the perfect angle to encourage your mother to comply with your outrageous request.

Today is the day, after all. The day that you’ll finally convince the stubborn woman to bring you out to watch the masses of floating lanterns disappear into the night sky.

The pitter-patter of your bare feet scuttling against the concrete floors nearly drown out the melodic appellations from outside your window.

“—down your hair!”

You dash over to the aperture, hastily gathering the ends of your mane to fling down while fixing the bulk of it onto the hook above your head. When the figure enshrouded in a black cloak snatches up your tresses, looping it around to create a foothold and carefully wedges one leg inside, you haul them up through the makeshift pulley.

By the time both of their feet are safely planted on the ground next to yours, sweat is beginning to form by your temples and the perpetual ache in your arms flares from consistently being forced to heave another grown adult up the stretch of the colossal tower.

“Welcome home, Mother.” You pull the rest of your hair inside and turn to face the stunning woman who lowers her excessively long hood, the extra length of fabric intentionally stitched on to keep her identity obscure as she travels.

Your mother sweeps you up into her comforting embrace and you allow yourself to relax in her arms, resting your cheek on her chest while your digits tightly clasp on to one another around her middle. Her chin settles onto the crown of your head.

“You would think that lifting me up all these years would give you some more upper body strength,” she says, her disappointment practically tangible. Placing both manicured hands upon each of your shoulders with a light squeeze, she pushes you back to examine your body from head to toe. “But look at you! My poor, delicate, little flower.”

Your forehead creases from your raised brows as a tense smile completes your agitated countenance.

“Oh, darling, what’s wrong? Come, come with Mother.” The adamant woman latches onto your forearm, dragging you over to the rustic fireplace and pressing down on your shoulders. Ever the obedient child, you kneel down onto the thick rug below.

Your mother delicately takes a seat on the antique chair beside you, a weary sigh slipping past her lips before she starts sweeping a brush through your golden strands. As per tradition, you sing the incantation that’s essentially engraved in the back of your mind at this point.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

A gleaming shimmer races across your tresses at the verse and from the corner of your vision you watch the light creases marring your mother’s features fade in rapt attention. She hums along to the tune with a detached, distant look in her eyes.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

You allow your lids to slide closed, gathering all the courage you can muster for the following conversation.

“What once was mine.”

Once the last note fades and a deafening silence reigns, she gently urges, “Tell Mother everything.”

This is it, it’s now or never.

“Uh, well, as you know,” you mumble, clearing your throat, “my eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.”

“Mhm, and I’ve already gotten your present as well,” she hums, steadily working her way down your mass of hair.

You falter at the information she casually reveals, guilt eating away at your conscience for preparing to ruin her good mood. “Yes, I know you’re always thinking of me, but, uh, well—”

“You can tell me, darling.” You register your mother’s heavy palm stroking your head, coaxing the words to tumble out of your mouth.

So you lay it on her. “I was just wondering if you would take me to see the lanterns this year.”

“What was that?” she questions, rightfully so when the garbled words blurt out quicker than you can process.

Before you can second guess yourself, you stammer, “C-can we please go see the lanterns?”

The brush suddenly halts in its path, suspended within the waves and dips of your many strands. Although you can’t see her, you know your mother well enough to feel her stiffen up, peeved at the topic you’ve brought up many times before.

“Petal—”

You interrupt, desperate to plead your case, “Mother, please, I’ve been waiting for—”

“Zip it.” You instantly clamp up at her hissing.

Your mother takes her time to stand, stalking over to halt directly in front of your hunched form. Her daunting figure looms above you, fierce orbs evoking a filthy shame that sinks its claws into your spine, and you lower your stare to her ankles from its intense weight. “Enough. I don’t understand why you keep asking this idiotic question when you already know what my answer is going to be.”

Her spontaneous refusal dampens your spirit, but you press on. “I just, uh, thought that I could see them once for my birthday a-and then I’d never ask to leave the tower again.”  

With a scowl as cold as an executioner’s axe, her arms come to cross beneath her bust. “I’ve already told you time and time again that they’re to celebrate the healthy birth of the Prince, any special ‘connection’ you feel to these lights is simply misguided and naive.”

You scramble to gather the scraps of bravery she shredded in order to sputter out, “But it’s my b-birthday too. Even if it’s just a coincidence, I wanna see them with my own two eyes.”

“How many times do I have to explain to you how dangerous the world is outside these walls? Do you know how many people are jumping at the chance to use your magic for themselves?” She rolls her eyes, chiding at you as if you’re a petulant child who disobeyed their elders one too many times. “If your little heart wants some adventure, you can go downstairs and explore the living room, besides darling, you should be thankful that nothing has happened all these years.”

“How am I supposed to be thankful for anything when you keep coddling me like this!” you lash out, frustration bubbling over at her usual response and refusing to toe the line any longer. Any notion of gently swaying her judgement or prompting her to consider your point of view is thrown out the window.

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

“What?” Her words turn to ice—syllables forming razor-sharp blades that figuratively line your throat, poised to strike the second you step out of place. “Do you want to repeat that?”

Your breaths quicken, deathly afraid of the repercussions that will follow if you decide to continue your rebellious act. It wouldn’t be the first time that she punished you for begging to leave the tower.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, head hanging low and voice laced with resignation, “I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Aw, my precious petal,” she coos, her mood drastically flipping one hundred and eighty degrees as the edges of her lips subtly point upwards at your obedience. “That’s why Mother is here, to guide you in the right direction. You know that I’m only looking out for you, right?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Evidently content with the outcome of the conversation, she turns back to continue brushing through your tresses.

By the time her ebony cloak rests upon her thin shoulders, hood draping over her face, your hair is already hanging by the hook above the window and she hops through the opening to lower herself to the ground below. You watch as her figure shrinks with the increasing distance, only turning back once to give a short wave before disappearing through the lush greenery.

And then you’re alone once again.

In the hours that pass after your mother’s departure, you become well acquainted with the five stages of grief. Of course, your requests to leave have been denied more times than you can count on both hands, but you foolishly believed that mentioning the eighteen years you spent cooped up in one place, fending off boredom, would hit a soft spot.

You forgot that your mother doesn’t have any of those.

Obviously, she anticipated your attempt to convince her by throwing yourself a pity party, as she deliberately mentioned purchasing a gift in advance. Out of all your celebrations, you couldn’t recall a single time where she prepared—much less remembered—your birthday.

Utterly absorbed within your final stage of acceptance, you lose yourself within your thoughts. That’s why the steady, rhythmic tapping on the cobblestone metres below makes you jump, mind wiped clean of everything except questioning the origin of the sound. Goosebumps manifest across the length of your arms, already slick with cold sweat.

Initially, you believe that your mother may have misplaced something, but your doubt accumulates when you don’t hear her usual jingle follow the rapping. You wonder if she is harbouring acrimony at your earlier outburst—even though she seemed quite pleased as she left.

Thus, like the loving daughter you are, you gather the ends of your hair, about to throw the lump over the aperture when you take notice of the stranger’s bulky frame and lack of disguise. Last time you checked, Mother certainly hadn’t chopped all her curls off either.

You can feel your heart thumping in your head, chest rising and falling expeditiously to compensate for the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through your veins. In your distress, her words come back to bite you, echoing within your mind that he must be after your magic.

Mother knows best, after all.

Discreetly glancing back down, you spot the man scaling the wall using two arrows, a feat which you’re sure he wouldn’t be capable of performing without those well-defined muscles, attractively outlined through his thin clothing. Realizing that you’re wasting time ogling at the intruder, you spin back to survey your room, scanning the area for any weapons you can use to defend yourself.

You disregard any prospect of overpowering him and decide to approach the confrontation by taking advantage of your ability to startle him. Before long, the sounds of the rigid arrowheads wedging into the spaces between the stones are no more than a couple of metres away, and you grab the nearest object in a blind panic.

All too soon, his large hands are gripping the window sill, and you scurry to press your body against the wall directly next to the opening. You grip the handle of metal tighter, struggling to keep your heavy breaths silent as you watch his fit form effortlessly raise himself up past the open window.

When he lands inside, you’re transfixed by the way his shirt hangs on his brawny body, the veins in his arms enlarged from the physical exertion of carrying his weight up the tower. Just for that moment, you let your eyes roam his lean figure in unadulterated fascination.

“Hah! Stupid guards, thinking they could catch me after—”

And then that moment ends.

A loud clang resounds throughout the cramped space as a result of the pan in your hand bashing into the back of his head. For a split second, you worry if the force behind your swing is enough to knock him out cold, but then he meets the floor headfirst. You wince for him.

With the substitute weapon in hand, you circle around his seemingly unconscious form up to his head, which is turned away from your prying stare. In order to decipher his level of cognizance, you crouch down and bow over him to get a better look at his face.

Long, dark locks that were perfectly mussed before his fall now cover nearly half his countenance, so you push them to the side to reveal his closed lids and strong brows. Following the curve of his cheekbones, you pass his cupid’s bow to gaze upon his thin lips, a tiny beauty mark laying directly underneath—an intimate detail that you feel uncomfortable knowing.

A faint blush colours your cheeks as you comprehend how utterly breathtaking the stranger is, drastically disparate to the stories your mother told you as a child, where men resembled ogres that lived under bridges, grotesque and unkempt.

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

He reminds you of the princes you read about in picture books—dashing and strong, willing to go to extreme lengths to find their Princess, their one true love. You know you’re taking it too far when you begin to fantasize about his personality purely based on his, admittedly, strikingly handsome appearance. With a vigorous shake of your head, you force yourself out of your reverie and get back to your task.

You stretch two fingers out to rest just beneath his nostrils, feeling the warm air that leaves his body at constant intervals, a good sign that he was not only alive but knocked out cold.

You prod at his shoulder, whispering, “Are you awake?”

No reaction.

With this confirmation, you take hold of one of his wrists with both hands and clench your jaw while leaning back, trying to use your body weight to help drag him. He proves to be much heavier than you initially believed, though you feel him moving inch by inch. Rather than another human being, you simply think of him as a heavy sack of potatoes for the sake of your conscience as you shuffle backwards, heading for the wardrobe on the other side of the room.

By the time you reach said armoire, you collapse on the ground next to him, gulping in as much air as you can. Now, there was simply the problem of shoving him inside. You turn your head to face the stranger, pouting at the prospect of having to lift his bulky self.

After much pushing and rearranging, the doors finally close behind him, although, as you predicted, stuffing him in there took much longer than you would like to admit. You aren’t sure how comfortable he is in the disfigured pretzel position you left him in, but his contentment is not at the top of your list of priorities right now.

Rubbing your palms together, you go to pick up the frying pan that lay discarded on the floor near the window when you take notice of the brown satchel that sat next to it. You have no use for any kind of travelling equipment, obviously, what with your whole life existing in this tall building, and your mother only carries a quaint, woven basket around. She is insistent on living as modestly as possible, and that includes whatever goodies she brings back from her adventures.

That rules out everyone but the stranger. The bag does look more masculine, anyway. Grabbing the strap, you raise the object in question up to have a closer inspection and find the leather to be heavier than expected. There are odd bumps protruding from its exterior, filling you with a tenuous curiosity.

Carefully, you lift the flap open to expose a heavily jewelled crown. Perplexity is written within the creases of your brows as you reach to grab the item within and drop the empty satchel. From your inexperienced eyes, the thing is as real as it gets, a shimmering gold decorated with the finest jewels in the kingdom. The different colours of each gem catch the light, reflecting the brilliant rays onto the walls of your room.

Your impromptu analysis concludes with an inexplicable pull towards the diadem, which you’re uncertain how to act upon until you involuntarily place the crown on your head. You turn to face the mirror leaning against the wall and it feels so right, as though two matching puzzle pieces have finally been brought together. The reflection staring back at you seems complete in ways you have never been before.

Yet, you can’t begin to fathom the reasoning behind all these strange epiphanies, unfamiliar with the tranquillity that quiets the constant buzzing in your head. Overwhelmed, you remove the crown and not a moment too soon, for a familiar, shrill shriek meets your ears.

“Petal!”

Your stomach lurches. Eyes darting to the wardrobe, you’re reminded of the man inside. You know if Mother saw him, she would definitely freak out, maybe even refuse to visit for the next week to drive you insane with solitude. But, then again, you could use him as an example to show that you could handle yourself out in that dangerous world she was always going on and on about.

“Let down your hair!”

You stuff the diadem back in the bag and stow it in an empty flower pot.

Giddy at the prospect of having a legitimate argument to reinforce your reasoning to leave the tower, you dash to the window sill and fling your hair over without a second glance outside. The rush of excitement blinds you from the sensitivity of your sore muscles as you haul her up.

“Petal,” your mother grits out, staggering inside due to your rushed actions, “what did I tell you about checking who’s calling before letting your hair down?”

“Hello, Mother!” you brush off her question, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. “I have something really important to show you!”

“Don’t change the subject.” She squints her eyes at you, lips pursed with frustration. “You're getting more and more reckless. One of these days, a crook will make their way up here and you’ll be foolish enough to invite them inside, maybe pour them a cup of tea while you’re at it?”

“I’m truly sorry.” You decide to humour her to prevent her temperament from flaring, throwing out a meaningless apology—one you’re used to blurting out left and right.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” she says, as smug and haughty as always. Your mother removes her coat, handing it off to you. “But today’s your lucky day! Just as I was about to visit, I remembered to bring your present!”

Your heart warms at your mother’s unusual thoughtfulness, although you’re much too eager to prove your strength first. “Ah, thank you, Mother. But I really want to show you—”

“Something more important than your mother’s present?”

“Of course not! I just wanted to get it out of the way so that I could enjoy your present later.” She seems unconvinced, so you add, “Y’know how they always say to leave the best for last?”

The older woman heaves an exasperated sigh, shoving you out of the way as she heads for the armchair in the corner. She slumps her tired form on the rickety seat as it creaks its refusal, then waves her hand, gesticulating that you get on with whatever it is you have up your sleeves.

Perspiration gathers within your palms and you fight to ward off the minuscule smile that plays on your lips while you gradually make your way back to the wooden armoire, “So, you’re always going on about how weak and fragile I am…”

“Yes.” She rests her chin in her hand, scrutinizing every hair on your head as though the answers to your ridiculous behaviour are buried within the multitudinous strands. “And what of it?”

“Well, I just thought that I should show you,” you start as your back hits the old furniture and your fingertips graze its rough texture. “That I’m more than capable of handling myself when we go out to—”

“When we go out?” she interrupts, irritation hardening her sharp features as she fixes you with an enraged scowl. “And where do you suppose we’re going exactly?”

You hesitate as your earlier confidence slips and you scramble to correct your word choice before she completely blows you off. “Uh, I just meant that this will show you how strong I am, and, uh…”

An eerie silence occupies the room when you find yourself at a loss for words. You know that your blabbering will get you absolutely nowhere, so you tighten your grip on the handles of the wardrobe, counting on your actions to speak louder than your words ever could.

“How old are you turning again, Y/N? It was eighteen, was it not?”

You shrink under her abrupt question, choosing to play along to pacify the shreds of annoyance flickering in her orbs. “Yes, Mother.”

“And for how long are we going to play this game?” she asks, standing with her basket in tow. Your mother rounds closer to you and your gaze automatically flies to the floor.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“What’re you hiding this time? Did you find another mouse? A rat?” she mocks, resting one hand on her hip. “Ooh, did a raccoon find its way inside?” Once her face is a mere couple of inches from your nose, you allow your eyes to meet her own, dreadfully empty ones. The sight sends a chill down your spine.

You release your hold on the furniture, dejection seeping from your tone. “Two mice this time.”

Her boisterous cackle echoes off the stone walls and she clutches her stomach in an attempt to quell the onslaught of laughter. The gesture reminds you of the countless other times you tried to ‘prove yourself’ through similar methods when you were younger, catching rodents that occasionally found their way into the nooks and crannies of the tower.

The first time you caught a mouse, you’d been ecstatic, rushing to show it off to the only person you knew. Although at that age, rather than a ticket to freedom, you were simply seeking your mother’s approval and perhaps a few praises here and there. You wanted to prove that despite your lonely upbringing—with your mother lounging around the tower for only a few hours every other day—you could handle yourself. She wouldn’t have to worry.

Evidently, you were too young to understand your mother’s rash nature, and she immediately assumed the worst—that you had somehow managed to sneak outside and wanted to prove your calibre by hunting down a nearby animal. The harsh scolding you received that day still lingers as a scar on your wrist, a painful reminder to never cross your mother.

“The outside world is not a simple matter of ‘two mice’ darling. You should know better than to think I’ll ever be impressed by these foolish displays of strength.” She swoops you up into her arms and you automatically bring your hands to circle her lithe waist. “That’s why you’ll always need Mother to protect you.”

Your chin rests on her shoulder, stare unfocused as you dismally state, “Yes, Mother.”

“Now, onto more exciting matters.” A couple of light, successive pats strike your back and you’re released from her hold. She is quick to open her wooden basket and rummage through the contents, reaching inside for what you assume to be your birthday present. The vegetables in her hand don’t excite you, but you put on a fake grin for her anyway. “I’m making your favourite soup!”

She scurries away from your static form to head past the doorway, but you stop her in her tracks with a low voice. “I’m not really feeling up for soup today.”

“You know how far the journey is to get some of these vegetables, let alone how expensive each one is!” she exclaims, waving said produce in her hand as she spins to face you.

“I’m really sorry, Mother,” you mumble, flashing her your best puppy-dog eyes. “But I ran out of paint recently and I’m feeling kind of down about it.”

She tuts. “That’s a three-day journey, Petal.”

“I know, it’s just that when I can’t distract myself with painting, I get these horrible thoughts of leaving the tower.” Doing your best to reason with her, you shift your weight to the other foot and fiddle around with your fingernails, attempting to appear as innocent as possible. “And I think those paints are a much better idea than going out to see the lights.”

A few seconds pass before a groan escapes your mother’s lips. “You’re lucky Mother loves you dearly.”

You stumble into her torso, grateful that she is unintentionally following along with your plan—a tedious scheme that you were saving as a last resort. She strokes the crown of your head, allowing you to nuzzle your cheek into the comfort of your mother’s embrace before her immediate departure.

Goodbyes are exchanged with some more reprimands sprinkled into the conversation, then she scales down the building and is no longer in your line of sight. You rub the nape of your neck, inching towards the armoire as you ponder whether a trip to indulge in your greatest desires is worth it when weighed against the lifelong bond you have with your own blood.

While navigating through your moral dilemma, you twist open the knob and watch as the scruffy man’s body slumps down to the floor without the support of the door to hold him upright. You refrain from cringing at his reddened nose.

Prioritizing your safety first, you retrieve your trusty pan and manhandle his body onto a chair, the seat still warm from your mother’s presence. This time around, you won’t be able to attain the upper hand by catching him off guard, so you settle on tying him up.

The question is: with what? You have no reason to keep ropes casually lying around the tower and one glance at his bulging biceps assures you that sewing thread will not be enough either.

As you’re thinking about stuffing him back into the wardrobe until you come up with a better idea, the blond strands at the edge of your peripheral catch your eye. For the first time in your life, your excessively long hair proves to be of use.

When he is tightly restrained to the armchair, your tresses acting like a straitjacket around his torso and snaking around his legs, you step back to appreciate your work. Your eyes drift over his corded muscles and roam over his face once again.

Before you let yourself get lost in his model-like features, your free hand reaches out, palm outstretched, to slap him across the face.

You nurse the stinging pain ebbing atop your outermost layer of skin, cradling the appendage to your chest as you hiss out a low whine, although the sound is masked by the low timbre of a groan. Your body stiffens while you gawk at the stranger, watching him gather his surroundings, whipping his head back and forth before his chestnut orbs land on you.

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

“No! Uh, I mean, hush!” you exclaim, deepening your voice for a rather weak, intimidating effect. “I’m doing the talking here.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat before you can utter another word. His doe eyes bore into yours and you step back, instantly feeling threatened by the intensity of his gaze. He wriggles around in his restraints, testing his extremely limited range of motion.

A prolonged, slightly awkward, silence stretches in the air as you attempt to recall the interrogation questions you practiced while tying him up. Regrettably, you come up blank.

He rolls his eyes at your lack of speech, raising a single brow.

“Well?” he questions, seemingly accepting his lack of free movement and slouching comfortably against the back of the chair. “I thought you said you were gonna do the talking?”

You grit your teeth at his impertinence, shaking off the nerves of talking to another human being that was not your mother as you adorn a superficial, bold facade. Striving to exude the same persuading tone that all those mystery books depicted, you mimic the slow strides you’ve read detectives take around their suspects.

“How did you find me?” You round the corner to escape his unimpressed glare, circling around him.

In turn, he cranes his neck to peer over at you, bewilderment written in the slack of his jaw. “Find you? Who says I was looking for you?” He whistles lowly catching sight of your mane, “That’s some hair you got there. Is that what’ve you tied me up with?”

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, marching back to the front of the chair to dramatically slam your hands down onto his bound wrists, effectively halting his faint wriggling. “Then why did you come all the way up here, huh?”

The dashingly handsome stranger’s tongue prods at his cheek, serving to rile you up further. Taking his sweet time, he inspects the space around him before his focus comes back to you, and he leans in, smirking devilishly. “Sure as hell wasn’t for you, Princess.”

At the odd nickname combined with the close proximity, a flush tints your cheeks and you take a few steps back. He chuckles at his small victory—a deep, melodic sound that sends your flustered state into a muddled craze of butterflies, threatening to burst from within. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at the man, more so to collect yourself than to unnerve him.

“Got something in your eye?”

You tilt your head back and grumble, exasperated at his lack of cooperation followed by his audacity to tease you further. “For your information, my eyes are working perfectly fine.”

“Good for you. Now, if you’ll just untangle me and give me back my bag, I’ll be out of your hair. Literally.” He grins at his joke, which you don’t find quite as funny.

“Like I’ll believe that.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I’ll ask you again. How exactly did you find me?”

“As I said, Princess,” he jeers, his impatience made visible by the bulging veins lining his neck, “why would anybody be after your poor ass? I mean, just looking at the place, doesn’t look like you’ve got much else other than a bunch of hidden property and a shitty old tower.”

“Shitty?” You repeat, accosted at the stranger’s portrayal of the place you grew up.

He takes another look around the place as if to confirm his accusations before curtly nodding his head.

You glower at his blunt words, taking personal offence for the many hours you spent decorating, cleaning and doting over the building. “Well, I didn’t know we were expecting a rude guest. Then again, guests are invited inside, aren’t they?”

“Listen, you seem like the ditzy type, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. I got into a bit of a scuffle with some scoundrels and before I knew it, I was outnumbered!” he recounts slowly and melodramatically as if he is presenting a bedtime story to a child. “Then I stumble through some vines and find this gigantic tower!

“And to my surprise, rather than hidden treasure, this place has some naive, pan-wielding maniac at the top,” he concludes with a sigh, soundlessly implying that you should pity the unfortunate situation he stumbled upon—the unfortunate bit caused by your interference. All you feel is a burning itch to sock him across the face again, although that wouldn’t be too helpful in discovering his real objective.

His whole story sounds like pure bologna to you, but you feed into his obvious lies with a hum of acknowledgement. “Must’ve been so hard for you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he whines, a pout forming on his pink lips.

You flash a close-lipped smile and thrust the metal weapon centimetres from his nose with more force than intended, though it seems to do the job when you catch his eyes widen slightly before reverting to the same relaxed stare as before. His posture is evidently tenser than a few seconds ago, which builds your pliant determination.

“Either some truths are gonna come out of that smart mouth or you’re gonna take another nap,” You threaten, waving the pan back and forth.

“Okay, easy now.” The stranger bends his hands upwards by the wrists, waving his fingers down slowly, as though he were calming a raging bull. “There’s no violence needed in this okay? We can make a deal.”

The sound of his cooperation piques your interest, so you inquire, “What kind of deal?”

“First of all, can you lower that?” You comply with his request, although you keep the skillet in the air, ready to strike at a moment's notice if he tries anything funny. “Okay, Princess, how about you give me the satchel, let me go without any trouble and I won’t tell anyone about your little hideout here, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m the one with the upper hand here.” If you two are to come to a compromise, you’re going to need more from the stranger than his word to keep quiet. “And I need you to take me to see the lanterns at the capital.”

A hacking cough morphs into a distorted chuckle in his throat. “Hm, you see, that would be a bit difficult considering the rocky relationship I have with the royals.”

You cock your head to the side, raising the metal menacingly.

His fists curl into balls as a strained grin stretches across his face. “But I guess we could make it work.”

Pleased with his compliance, you continue with your conditions, “You take me to see the lanterns tomorrow night, bring me back home in one piece and I’ll give your bag back. Then you can jump out of the window for all I care, just keep your mouth shut about this place.”

“Do I even have a choice in the matter?”

“Nope.” His lack of protest makes you giddy, and you allow yourself to credulously overestimate your influence over the man. It has to be that or your frightening frying pan, right?

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

A childlike wonder brightens your countenance as you speedily unravel your locks from around the stranger, whipping the bulk of it over the hook and out the window. With his newfound freedom, you catch him combing through miscellaneous trinkets and in fear of him identifying the location of his bag, you call out, “There’s no use, you could ransack the whole tower and never find your precious satchel. You’re better off fulfilling our agreement.”

Fitting your trusty skillet under your arm, you don’t spare him another glance and hope that your bluff is enough to deter his scouring. Thankfully, the clattering of objects ceases and he saunters past the vase with his dear bag inside. Your attention flits to the verdant scenery below.

You allow an exuberant screech to rip through your vocal cords while you effortlessly fly down, your body wrapped around your hair as though the strands have solidified into a firepole and land on the plush, vibrant grass with a bounce. The prickly sensation on your bare skin is not what you imagined the spindly plant to feel like, yet you revel in its oddities nonetheless.

Your companion follows along with less flair, steadily climbing down using the two arrows that were left between the stones. By the time he reaches the ground, you’re already feeling the consequences of sticking your bare feet in the mud by a river.

He rolls his eyes at your antics and darts off while you tread toward the water to wash off the muck between your toes. You swish your foot back and forth, watching the current run off with the dirt and avoiding the miniature fish that gather around you. Their bright orange bodies are stark against the rocks underneath, easy to spot due to the clear, crystalline stream that you’re splashing around in.

When one of them decides to start nipping at your ankles and the rest of his posse tag along, you wade deeper—searching for a grassy area to withdraw from their persistent suckling. As you’re scouring the landscape, enjoying the slight breeze blowing through your hair, you find yourself alone.

This doesn’t bother you at first, used to the notion of having only your own inner thoughts as company. You’re preoccupied with rinsing the brown stains that mark one section of your tresses and gather the clean, soaked mass into your arms before you realize that the tour guide you recruited has gone missing.

At first, you can’t believe he abandoned the precious crown that he appeared to cherish so greatly, but before you can think too deeply about it, a light smack meets the nape of your neck.

“Looking for me, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that,” you whip around, a glare directed at his triumphant smirk. “And where were you anyway? Not trying to run off already, are we?”

He raises his hands up as though he has been caught red-handed, although his digits are curled around what looks to be strips of tree bark and long strands of weeds. Just as you’re about to question him further, he crouches down and grabs one of your ankles, lifting your leg out of the water and closer to him. You yelp and shift your weight to rest on your other foot.

“What?” He secures a few layers of the rough wood to the sole of your foot, wrapping the flexible plants around the bark and expertly tying it at the top. “This is what I get for being considerate isn’t it?”

“Is considerate even part of your vocabulary?” you tease, the relief at his presence causing you to lower your guard.

He freezes halfway through fastening the second makeshift shoe onto your other foot when the orbs staring up at you light up with mischief. Changing position, he folds forwards then rocks back to stand up to his full height. “Ah, I see how it is. Then I would never do something so thoughtful, right?”

“I take it back! I take it back, just finish it up,” you beseech.

“That’s what I thought, Princess.” He bends over to complete the second knot then scampers off to the forest as soon as the job is complete.

As you test out the peculiar slippers—inwardly marvelling at the barrier they provide against the elements of nature—you vocalize your displeasure with the nickname he has taken to calling you, “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

His strides ease up from his hurried pace, shortening to compensate for your smaller steps. “Aw, does Princess dislike being reminded of who she is?”

“I’ve never heard of a Princess living outside of a castle before.”

He hums, tilting his head in wonder. “Is your tower not considered a castle?”

“Not when I’m the only one living there,” you mutter under your breath, although you’re not sure if he catches it or not based on his silence. Regardless, you change the subject before he has a chance to respond. “So are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

Sneaking a peek at his side profile, you catch the endearing crinkle that appears by his eyes when he grins. “What’s with the sudden interest? I mean, I understand the enthusiasm but—”

You strike his elbow with the bottom of the skillet and he whines like a kicked puppy.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just thought we should be on a first-name basis if we’re going to be travelling all this way together.” You amuse yourself by twirling the skillet around in your grip, acting as though there’s a gigantic pancake that you professionally flip onto its other side. “I would prefer my name over ‘Princess.’”

“I kinda like the ring of it though.” He winks at you, but you’re too invested in your cooking charades to notice. “You can call me Geum.”

“Geum? Like ‘gold’? What kind of name is that?”

“Ooh, someone’s judgemental.” Snatching the pan, he brandishes it around like a deadly cutlass in a seasoned pirate’s hand, bounding around you. He ends his show with the tip aimed straight at your heart.

“Just saying. You’ve got to admit it’s a bit… unique.” You halfheartedly brush him off, fighting to keep your grin from showing. As a side note, you announce your name.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Before he can prance off, you pluck the skillet out of his grasp and tear through the dense bushes with your treasure. His war cry echoes throughout the expansive woodlands as he rushes after you, untangling your hair from lone branches as he goes.

To claim that your feet are about to fall off is a gross understatement.

You have been travelling alongside Geum for hours now without a single break. Despite the high spirits that you two kicked your trip off with, the elation from brushing against the silky plants, cooing at the wildlife that crossed your path, and inhaling the fresh scent of damp moss and wet tree trunks from yesterday’s showers wore off quickly.

You’re inclined to believe that your enthusiasm began to subside when Geum yanked you away from running your finger along one set of rich emerald leaves—narrowly avoiding what he explained to be poison ivy. Your curious hands have been cemented to your sides ever since that close encounter.

After your lively bickering dies down, rather than a peaceful, quiet walk, listening to the whispers of the wind and the pleasant chirping of the birds, the antsy man beside you puts you on edge. He can’t stop looking from side to side, trying to peer past the endless birches and elms that obscure your view.

Is Geum expecting someone?

Perhaps some parts of his story are true. Perhaps having a ruffian with other delinquents hunting him is not the best partner to accompany you on this journey—not that you have much of a choice in the matter, it’s either him or no one. You’re unsure which option is worse.

Any conversation you strike is met with teasing remarks, so you give up on prodding him for any substantial information. But with the sky darkening and the breeze turning brisk, you’re about to mention camping out somewhere when Geum says, “We should settle down for the night.”

“I never thought I would agree with something that came out of your mouth.”

“That’s why you’re wrong most of the time.” And there it was, another snotty retort that practically begs you to deck him with the pan you keep tucked in your underarm.

The quibble ignites a fire under your skin, the flames licking at your sides and providing some warmth amidst the chill in the air. “Most of the time? So you’re saying that you’re wrong sometimes?”

“Yeah, nobody can always be right.” He flashes a lazy smirk your way, adjusting the bundle of your locks in his arms. “Like when I said that your hair isn’t an inconvenience.”

You take a second to process his snarky words. With your mind occupied, stuck in a whirlwind of potential reprisals, you unintentionally head towards the distant outline of the castle when you approach a crossroad branching in two opposite directions.

Just as you’re about to let loose a nasty quip, his warm hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from the faraway mansion. You overheat at the source of the touch, thoughts going haywire.

“Hey, hey!” In hopes of snapping him out of his reverie, you raise your voice. “You can’t blow off our deal now, don’t you want your precious satchel back?”

When he offers no explanation for his cryptic actions, you attempt to pry off his fingers with your other hand—making sure not to trip over your own two feet while you’re at it. Your wriggling is all for nought because Geum’s iron grip is too durable to be outmatched by your fumbling digits.

“Geum, please just,” you plead, ceasing your struggle when the delicate skin in his grasp begins to sting from his strength, “let’s talk about this, okay?”

You’re so preoccupied with regaining your freedom that you don’t notice the dingy sign you two pass; a rubber duck with the words The Snuggly Duckling etched onto the wood. “Shut up and hurry.”

Your jaw drops at his insolent tone, astounded at his change in demeanour. There’s no playful spirit behind his words this time, only a sharp annoyance accompanied by his sudden haste that you feel all too strongly in your wrist. You stumble after him and duck your head through a small doorway, your mind caught up in formulating a coherent response that consists of sounds other than your outraged sputtering.

“Don’t tell me to—”

You’re cut off by the ruckus inside the establishment. Burly men surround the two of you, drinking, howling in laughter, practicing their aim with throwing knives—there’s even a large group of people fighting in one corner. The amount of blood streaked across the walls, their clothes, and pouring out of their open wounds is concerning. You can smell the metallic tang from the entrance.

When the hand around your wrist disappears, you find yourself yearning for the physical connection, serving as some kind of reassurance that he is not leaving you to the metaphorical, and sort of literal, wolves before you. In order not to lose Geum as he wades through the crowds, you latch on to the thin hem of his shirt. He pays you no mind and continues onward.

Skillfully slipping through the giants while you bumble behind him, you two arrive at a row of vacant barstools. You loosen your grip at the unexpectedly tranquil space, such a drastic contrast to the commotion in the background that it’s like you’ve been transported to another place altogether.

You’re brought back to reality from the loud grunt that booms throughout the joint, although you tune out again when you hear a punch being thrown, then a crack that you can only hope isn’t a bone. Or two.

“Uh, Geum?” you ask, although he pays your appellation no mind. His attention is focused on the intimidating, tattooed man behind the counter.

“Joon.” Your unofficial tour guide takes a seat. “A mead?”

Determined to stick close to the only familiar face in the building, you slide onto the seat next to Geum. The overwhelming scent of liquor hits you hard, causing you to crinkle your nose the exact moment that your narrowed eyes spot the bartender, Joon, awkwardly cough into his fist, trying to stifle his snickers for your sake.

“Just a water for her.”

While Joon confirms Geum’s order with a slight nod, you cast your head down to stare at your twiddling fingers. Your mind is still reeling from the abrupt change in scenery, unsure how to carry yourself in this new setting. It was no problem in the dense forest, with only Geum to judge you—but it isn’t like you’re trying to impress him anyway.

In here where hordes of broad men are gathered, drunk out of their minds with crimson staining their attire, you’re scared. Everything is too raucous, too rancid, too overwhelming. You’re uncertain whether the trip to the capital will play out as you’ve imagined and you turn towards Geum to tell him as much when—

“Was this from me?” You instinctively flinch at his tug on your elbow, although regret rushes down your back, clawing against your spine like ice-cold water when hurt flashes across his shadowed orbs. Before you can blink, it’s gone.

As a feeble apology, you offer a tightlipped smile. Referring back to his words, you examine your arm and grimace when you spot the blooming scarlet streaks encircling your wrist, taking the shape of Geum’s slender digits. “Oh, uh, don’t worry. It’ll fade.”

It’s not a lie since the marks will eventually fade. You hope it doesn’t turn black and blue before that though.

A clear glass is thrust your way, which you’re overjoyed to snatch from Joon’s hand, noting Geum’s copper liquor from the corner of your eye. Hours of travelling without any form of hydration definitely took its toll on you, evident by your severely chapped lips that you can’t help but swipe your tongue over every minute—not that the dried saliva is doing you any favours.

Before you have a chance to sip from heaven in liquid form, you’re halted by a gentle finger tracing the length of your forearm. Thankfully, you’re not as skittish this time around, remaining frozen until Geums pulls back; the pale, discoloured scar he was following having tapered off into your natural skin. “Where’s that one from?”

His strange inquiry confuses you with its unusually intrusive nature considering his inability to chat seriously five minutes ago. You pause for a second to debate on revealing the truth or constructing a comical narrative for the sake of avoiding a sombre turn to the light conversation. Despite your decision, your lips rebel, taking on a mind of their own. “A punishment.”

Bronze orbs snap up to yours, boring into the deepest parts of your soul and uncovering each of your secrets one by one as if they’re gems, buried within the layers of your lonely childhood. You’re transfixed. “Mother said it would remind me to never leave the tower.”

The condensation running down the side of the chilled cup meets the edge of your palm, sliding down your index finger and becoming a stark reminder of your parched mouth. You lift the glass to take a sip, but a taste renders your control inoperative as you guzzle down the rest, leaving not a single drop inside.

Your famished stomach makes itself known with a growl when your thirst is quenched. Attracting the attention of the bartender with a small wave, you ask, “Is there any chance you’ve got some food here?”

“We’ve got anything as long as you’ve got the coin for it, blondie.”

You shudder in alarm at the introduction of another patron in the bar. Leaning away from the repulsive drawl to your left, you shift over to position yourself as far away as possible. Seeing your discomfort, the stranger takes a few steps forward to invade your personal space once more and you recoil back with a jerk of your torso.

The abrupt motion messes with your centre of gravity, tipping you over the edge of the barstool. Just as you’re about to have an unpleasant meeting with the floor, a palm darts out to the small of your waist and steadies you. You follow the arm up to Geum’s clenched jaw.

“She’s not looking for anything that you guys can offer.”

Your throat tightens at your companion’s harsh answer, wary of how the other men will react. The burly man to your other side bursts out in obnoxious laughter and a glint of light reflecting off of his silver teeth catches your eye, which you recognize from earlier. He’s one of the goons that was involved in the fistfight near the entrance.

“As if you’re packing anything better.” He nudges his lackeys behind them and they chuckle along like they’re all in on one big joke.

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

Panicked at his provocation, you glimpse at the challenging smirk plastered across Geum’s lips. You aren’t sure why he’s trying to pick a fight or if there’s any logical reasoning behind his actions at all, but you tap on the arm still attached to your torso, conveying your opinion on his moronic pride with your widened eyes.

Of course, men will be men, and the little posse arranged behind the silver toothed boss riles their leader up, encouraging him with disgruntled yells and unintelligible speech to prove their dominance. With you in between the two blockheads, you’re sure that you’re not going to like how this plays out.

Dismissing your distress, Geum takes a sip of his drink. He seems unbothered by the commotion surrounding him and you envy his nonchalant demeanour.

“You got any bite behind your bark, pretty boy?” His lackeys change tactics, switching over to goading Geum on. You assume their greater numbers spark their courage, reassured that they could overpower one man. “Or are we just trying to impress this little miss right here?”

“I’m not sure if it’ll be very fair for you guys,” Geum says cockily, scrutinizing each member from head to toe then returning to his sweet mead. “I mean, just looking at you boys, doesn’t look too impressive if you ask me.”

If the atmosphere didn’t thicken with a fatal tension, you would have giggled at his smart mouth. But the other man’s nostrils flare in resentment, beginning to surge forward before he’s interrupted by a spindly boy who thrusts a paper below his nose. “Boss, you were right, it’s him.”

His unsightly features twist upwards in joy, displaying his horrendous set of chompers once more as he chuckles. That’s when you realize that a sinister smile can be much more frightening than any bellow of rage. “Looks like you’ve got quite the bounty on your head there, Geum.”

At the snarl of his name, your eyes dart to the wrinkled sheet in his hand which he graciously flips to face your direction. An uncanny depiction of Geum’s face is drawn, a sum containing many zeroes painted underneath his name. What appalls you the most is the red, bolded letters at the very top, distinctly spelling out wanted.

Geum is a wanted criminal.

While your mind is reeling, sight blurring and breath quickening from the influx of information, the man in question unabashedly finishes off the last of his alcoholic beverage and proceeds to slam the glass onto the counter. Through all of the clamour, you pick up Joon’s exasperated sigh in the background.

The door to the establishment flings open, hinges creaking as the wood bounces back from the sheer force of the blow. While everyone is distracted by the bustle, Geum stealthily hops off his seat, slipping an arm around your waist to soundlessly lead you to the other side of the counter. Although you’re reluctant to follow, you refrain from squabbling with him in order not to attract any unwanted attention.

“We’ve received a report that a well-known thief has been spotted in the premises—”

Geum kneels in front of the shelves lined with drinks of all shapes and colours, fiddling with something you can’t see from your position behind him. Following his lead, you crouch behind him, softly muttering in disbelief, “You really think they won’t find us hiding here?”

A click is heard as a few of the racks cave in on themselves, revealing a concealed passageway. Geum shakes his head towards the opening, silently directing you to enter first. You’re hesitant to accompany him any farther but you’re pushed forwards by Joon’s calf on your back and you understand that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter anymore.

If you’re caught now, you’ll be accused of being an accomplice to whatever crimes Geum committed.

You spare a thankful nod to Joon, stealing a glance at the guards blocking the entrance while you’re at it. Their white uniforms are decorated with accents of bright oranges and reds, a familiar flower fastened to the right side of their chest. One of them holds another copy of Geum’s wanted poster which you tear your gaze from, willing yourself to escape from this mess before thinking about anything else.

Geum shoves you through the opening, and you crawl through the underground passage as fast as you can in order to keep his pinching fingers away from your ankles. You two are far enough to safely whisper short phrases to one another, but he insists on being a nuisance as he urges you to pick up the pace.

It’s pitch black when the trapdoor shuts behind Geum, and you’re unable to make out your own hands in front of your face; with no other path in sight, you blindly head forward. As you continue, you pass torches burning with a bright fire that provide light, illuminating the stones around you and the shadows following you. You wonder how often this underground system is used to have fire running at all times.

Eventually, the tunnel’s height expands enough for the two of you to comfortably tread through on your feet. If you weren’t tired enough from walking for hours on end, the brutal jog which Geum sets is more than enough to tire you out within mere minutes.

“Geum,” you heave, unable to catch your breath with your chest fruitlessly rising and falling, never passing enough air for you to gather your senses. He’s too far to catch, effortlessly sprinting ahead, yet you still uselessly reach out to capture his attention. “Geum.”

You push yourself to the limit, another few minutes passing by before your powerless body can no longer handle the stress of the strenuous activity, and you slow down, coming to a full stop. One hand on the rocky wall steadies your dizzying sight as you hunch over, throat burning and stomach aching. Even though you try to remain standing, your legs involuntarily give out and you end up on the floor.

As you try to regain your breath, hands grasp your shoulders and gently shake you back to reality. Geum’s intense gaze is only centimetres away, torso bent to level with you. “You can do this, come on. We have to lose them.”

“I,” you huff, “I can’t… It’s… too much.”

Geum’s arms return to his sides, his brows furrowing as you watch the gears whirring in his head through your blurry vision. When he spins around to face the exit, you cry out in a hoarse voice, believing that he’s leaving your pathetic, crumpled form to fend for yourself—but instead of running off, he crouches to the ground with his backside to you. “Get on.”

In spite of your resolute will to arise from your folded position, your legs can’t seem to extend outwards in order to climb onto his back, which you convey by tapping his shoulder and pitifully shaking your head. Geum’s lips pry apart to respond, but his words are drowned out by the pounding footsteps that echo throughout the tunnel walls. He curses under his breath as he turns and scoops your fetal form into his arms.

All you can register is his natural woody scent enveloped in the sweaty musk that drenches his frame, your body clutched tightly to his torso as he races to the end of the tunnel. You grip his thin shirt in one fist, unfamiliar with the warmth fluttering in your chest, so you brush it off as another side effect from the arduous sprinting.

A bright light can be seen at the very end, but your eyes are locked on the well-defined jaw of the man carrying you as if you were as light as a feather, running as if your lives depended on it—which they kind of do.

You couldn’t differentiate the pounding of Geum’s shoes from the mob of guards pursuing you two. As you slowly recover from your exhausted state, the guilt of becoming a burden settles into the creases of your face, worrying lines etching onto your features from thinking about your impending fate.

Your thoughts wander to the reasoning behind this violent chase. By the fancier uniforms they sport, you suspect their position to be rather high, perhaps palace guards or ones belonging to the royal family. Reminded of the wanted poster clutched within one of their hands, the image stirs unease within the depths of your stomach that’s already stinging from the massive amounts of cardio you’ve done today.

Before you can connect any dots, you’re out in the wilderness again, although instead of the sun’s blazing rays on your face, the moon’s tender beams spill over your surroundings. The sort of serenity that accompanies the stillness of the later hours are interrupted by your rapidly beating heart, which is amplified by the pulse felt on your left side.

After a few more strides, Geum comes to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong?” You tilt your neck to look at his face in curiosity. Although he doesn’t appear fatigued, his cheeks only slightly flushed from exertion and a few sweat droplets racing down his temples, you ask anyway, “Are you tired?”

The grip under your legs lower you to the ground and you stand in front of Geum, beginning to worry about losing your advantage over your pursuers. He doesn’t provide a verbal response to your questions, simply shaking his head and causing the tips of his hair to sway back and forth with the motion. The strands cover his eyes when he stops, but he doesn’t bother to brush them aside.

Geum’s shoulders slouch, heavy from the weight of defeat. You’re unnerved at his strange actions, turning to look ahead at the obstacle that’s forcing him to give up all hope.

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

Your knees buckle at the length of the drop, which seems never ending from your viewpoint. The tenebrous shadows of the night obscure the bottom, painting the jagged walls with uncertainty at any chance for survival. Your heart constricts as the despondency emanating off of Geum slithers its way into your rapidly diminishing resolution.

“When they get here,” he announces, bravery shining through his firm tone, “I need you to run as fast as you can. I’ll distract them, just focus on getting back to the bar. Tell Joon to take you somewhere safe and trust no one but him.”

You’re baffled at his complete change in attitude as well as his idiotic plan. There’s no trace of humour in his piercing orbs though, simply an obstinate determination that implores you to obey his orders. But you aren’t about to abandon the first friend you’ve ever made. “Are you insane? What do you think you can do against trained soldiers?”

“There’s no other choice.” He nudges your torso to position yourself behind him, both your backs to the cliff, watching the guards get closer and closer. Dread weighs ponderously on your limbs, the adrenaline pumping in your veins with every footstep marching to surround you two. You’re cornered.

The soldier closest to Geum unsheathes his sword and steadily approaches. You slip the rusty pan into his hand and he inconspicuously reaches back to pat your thigh, reminding you of his reckless scheme.

Seeing your defensive stance, the guard rushes forward, thrusting his sword forward to slice through layers of skin. Instead, the clang of metal against metal resounds throughout the empty cliff and your apprehension increases tenfold with your front row seat to Geum’s doomed duel, fending off a glinting sword with your rickety skillet.

Although he’s fighting well considering his enormous handicap, you spot more soldiers creeping their way into the skirmish, unable to stand and watch one of their own be bested in battle. Overall, the odds weren’t looking too great for your pan-wielding knight.

You have to do something. With Geum’s plan off the table, you can’t think of anything other than taking your chances with the cliff. You gather all your faith in the landscape, Geum, and yourself while taking a deep breath. Waiting for an opening within the clash, you cautiously inch towards Geum and when one particularly hard blow jolts both men back a few steps, you snatch up the opportunity.

Before another guard can take his ally’s place, you rush over to snake an arm around Geum’s lithe waist, tugging his back to meet your chest. During this process, he nearly elbows you in the face, writhing around in your tight hold until he recognizes your delicate hands on his stomach.

With the enemy frozen in confusion at your ostensibly desultory actions, you take advantage of their shock to stumble backwards, proving harder than necessary due to Geum’s long legs tangling with your own as you head towards the edge. You’re nearly there when one of the guards pick up on your plan to escape, jumping into action with his razor-sharp sword and waving it in a deadly arc that nearly slices both of your heads off clean.

Thankfully, you lose your footing on a slippery rock and tip over.

While airborne, any air is momentarily robbed from the heavy drop in your gut and a terrified shriek rips past your mouth as you lose your tight grip on Geum, utterly absorbed in your fear. The distance between you two grows, but because of his quick reflexes, Geum is able to fist a clump of your clothes in his hands and pull you into his chest with one hand resting on the nape of your neck.

You don’t have enough time to react to the new position before both your bodies are enveloped in gelid water. All of your nerves fire off, enraged at the sudden change in temperature. A violent shiver overtakes your limbs in a weak attempt to warm yourself up.

Although Geum’s palm on your neck withdraws to wade your bodies back up to surface, the grip around your middle only tightens.

The stream parts as you two float back up to meet the chilly air, greedily filling your lungs as you unravel from one another in order to paddle your way to shore. The current sweeps you along, aiding your furious efforts to reach the ground again.

Geum arrives at the muddy grass before you, swiftly lifting himself out and turning to fish for your soaked form. White puffs of your breath escape your mouths because of the low temperature, yet they dissipate as quickly as they’re formed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes and nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

The fire crackles alongside the chirping crickets, forming a peculiar orchestra with the breeze blowing through the rustling leaves. You extend your frigid digits as close to the flames as you dare, desperate for its warmth, yet recoiling from the sting of its heat all the same.

“Might as well stick your whole hand in there while you’re at it.” Geum emerges from the tenebrous thickets of the forest, making his way into the dull glow of the bonfire with a bundle of skinny twigs in his arms.

You’re drained from the day’s events, but you flash him a smile brimming with gratitude, appreciative that he’s intent on keeping the fire alive despite his inevitably numb appendages. You insisted on swapping turns, allowing his body to warm up a bit while you scavenged for wood, although he dismissed your offer multiple times, claiming that moving around was much more effective for him than any flames.

You’d have to disagree with him there. The burning fire feels incredible heating up your skin from the outside in.  

“If you take a second to come and enjoy the warmth, then maybe you wouldn’t be so moody,” You jest, rotating the fish skewers that Geum expertly caught in the river with a sharpened branch. By the slightly burnt edges, you suppose it’s ready. “C’mon, let’s eat before you head off again.”

He grunts his affirmation, depositing his findings on top of the ever-growing pile of wood and taking a seat on a fallen log located a couple of feet away from you. You allow the meat to cool down before separating the fish from the stick it’s impaled on and passing it to him.

“Is your hair dry yet?” He’s too preoccupied with forcibly ripping the fish in half to avoid scaling it, so he doesn’t catch your affectionate, lingering gaze.

You hum, grabbing a lock of your wet strands. “Not quite.”

He places his meal next to him on the log and leans over to take the bulk of your tresses in his grasp. You watch as he lays the blonde strands near the fire, quietly giggling at his strange logic.

“You think the heat is going to make it dry faster?” The appearance of his wide grin elicits the return of the bizarre tightening in your chest, a crushing pain that makes it difficult to breathe. You haven’t had a bite of the fish but nausea swirls in your stomach as your hands turn clammy and you rip your eyes away from Geum in hopes of collecting yourself.

Seeing your doubt towards his surely infallible rationale, his brows scrunch together and he pauses his movements in his perplexity, a distant look swirling in his eyes. He should be completely unaware of the turmoil raging within you, yet all your previous worries dissipate with the smoke of the fire as his face becomes increasingly wrinkled, flashing an expression more ludicrous than the last.

After you beg and plead with him to stop, cheeks aching from smiles and belly throbbing from laughter, he breaks out into his own set of snickers. More than satisfied, Geum grabs his fish again and begins to nibble on the meat inside. “You never considered getting a trim?” he asks between bites.

A few seconds pass as you calm yourself down from your hysterical state. “Never allowed to,” you answer, short and vague to keep the pleasant atmosphere.

“Allowed to?” His voice is laced with his astonishment. “Who’s telling you what to do at your age?”

Fidgeting with your own skewer, you ponder over an answer that’s precise enough to satisfy his curiosity, yet obscure enough to conceal your identity at the same time. Your eyes dart from side to side, following the light of the fire as it illuminates a wet, crimson stain on the sleeve of Geum’s jacket.

“What’s that?” you question, scuttling over to his log and sitting down next to him. To get a better look, you grab his elbow and pull it towards you.

“Nothing. Don’t change the subject.” He tries to shrug off both your concern and your hand that’s clutching onto his arm, which only makes you tighten your grip. At the increase in pressure, a low groan slips past his lips and you instantly release your hold at the sound.

“Does it hurt?” The memory of the guard wildly slashing his sword in the air comes to mind and you realize that although the blow didn’t cost either of your lives, his upper arm must have borne the brunt of the force instead.

“It’s fine.” He attempts to brush you off again, but you’re as clingy as a leech and refuse to budge from his side.

You latch on to the lapel of his jacket and tug. “Take it off.”

Despite your solemnity, his low chuckle sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Already asking me to strip? I’m not that easy, Princess. How about you take me on a date first and I’ll think about your offer?”

“You know what I mean,” you grumble, exasperated that he persists on maintaining his incessant teasing while injured.

When he finishes cleaning off one half of his meal, about to reach for the other, you move to stand in front of him. You dismiss the wild pounding of your heart to focus on slipping his jacket off of his opposite arm.

He puts forth no effort to stop you, although he’s definitely not helping much with his limp, bulky appendages that are a lot heavier than expected. Slowly but surely, you tenderly thread his injured arm out of his sleeve with careful hands.

The white, short-sleeved shirt he’s sporting underneath makes it easy to spot the splotches of crimson dyeing the hem of his sleeve through the dim, orange light. You approach his laceration delicately, treating him like a frightened animal. He snorts at your earnest actions.

Lifting the fabric covering the entirety of the gash, you gasp softly at the depth of the wound, grimacing as though it’s your own limb that’s been hurt. “You shouldn’t be moving around with this, you’re not letting it heal.”

“I’ll endure any pain to keep you close,” he whispers, sweet honey dripping from his words as he loops his other arm around your waist, effectively pulling you in between his open legs.

His chin is a mere few centimetres from your belly button, gazing up at you with a flirtatious wink as he perches his hand onto your lower back. You hold your breath, worried that he can hear the utter chaos erupting within your chest due to the close proximity.

Flustered, you push at his broad shoulders, desperate for some room to breathe. Geum flinches at your touch and you instantly regret your thoughtless behaviour. Your concern at the severity of his wound multiplies tenfold, feeding into a disquiet that nestles into every cell in your body. “I’m serious, it doesn’t look good.”

One hand falls into his lap while the other comes up to ruffle his damp locks. “Don’t get shy now, Princess.”

Taking in the defeated slouch to his back, the distant glaze that darkens his bronze orbs, you think about your hair. You think about how much younger your mother appears after she detangles each strand. You think about all the scars you’ve avoided throughout the years by singing a simple tune.

This man saved your life, and it’s time for you to repay the favour. You consider waiting until he’s asleep to heal his arm, plagued by the distress of being mistaken as a witch. Mother warned you about those kinds of people, who are ready to ruin your life in order to improve their own—anything ranging from taking advantage of your unworldly qualities to selling you for a pretty penny.

Mother always knows best. Right?

You peer into his expressionless eyes that stare holes into the dancing flames, the other uneaten half of the fish still laying untouched. From the limited time you’ve spent together, you shouldn’t feel this distraught at his pain, as though a chunk of your heart is bleeding out with him and leaving you in a puddle of your own misery.

But one look at Geum’s laceration and even a child could tell that the relentless stream would end his life before long. No matter how well he can conceal his shallow, rapid breathing, you begin to make sense of his sweaty, pallid countenance that shreds any remaining skepticism you hold against him—dismissing the wariness brought about by those wanted posters.

“Geum.”

His eyelids shut close at your grave tone. “I know. It’s fine.”

At your hesitant tone, he sluggishly spares you a placid, tame smile. You hate it.

The Geum you’ve come to know is exuberant, taking all his hardships in stride with a sly smirk to boot. He’s brilliant, craftier than any artist, and resourceful even in the face of despondency. He’s compassionate, extending his own neck to save yours, always sympathetic to your plight.

This Geum is hollow, a shell of the person you knew.

The crushed downturn of his doe eyes doesn’t belong to his captivating features. You yearn to watch that classic, mischievous glint sparkle in his irises as he taunts you endlessly, testing how high your pulse can spark when he invades your personal space yet again.

You take a seat next to him. “No, uh,” you stammer, “I got a solution. You just can’t scream or freak out or anything, okay? Most importantly, you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul.”

Before he can react to your cryptic warnings, you separate a lock of your hair, wrapping it around his wounded bicep. He raises a single brow at your strange antics but provides no further opposition. You’re pleased with the amount of trust he’s placed in you.

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine,”

Starting from your roots, a golden glimmer races across the tresses of your hair. Bewildered, Geum recoils in his state of shock but remains rooted in his spot nonetheless.

“Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

He follows the scintillating shimmer in your strands until he reaches the portion wrapped around his bicep. You absentmindedly wonder if he can feel his flesh reconstructing, cells dividing at a rapid rate to close the smooth gash.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

Your lids slide open to stare at his wide eyes, his jaw hanging ever so slightly. You’re glad to see that his previously pale complexion has given way to his natural, lively undertone.

“What once was mine.”

When the last notes fade out, eventually overpowered by the lone hoot of an owl, you gingerly untangle your hair from the shell-shocked man. Geum slaps his other hand over the healed skin, his head rapidly darting between examining his arm and making absurd facial expressions that convey his amazement. From his naturally cool composure, you treasure this rare moment of awe.

“Wha—”

Your stressed squeak halts him in his speech. “Please don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more so than you when he continues, “Not freaking out. What’s there to freak out about? I mean, magical healing hair? Completely normal.”

Your grin is filled with mirth at his nervous tone, and you lift his prodding digits from the site of the wound. Or at least where it used to be. “You feel okay?”

With all of your attention directed towards analyzing his healthy appendage, ensuring that your magic had not screwed up somewhere along the process, you miss Geum’s tender gaze roaming over every inch of your countenance. “Yeah, I guess I’m more than okay now.”

“I promise I’m not some kind of witch or anything like that. Just, uh, was just born with it,” you try to explain despite being in the dark about many of the nitty-gritty details yourself.

“Born with magical hair?”

You giggle at the absurdity of his question, although the validity remains true, it’s rather peculiar to hear it out loud. “Some of us are born with more talent than others. But that’s also why I can’t cut it,” you smile sheepishly, deciding to answer his earlier question now that your secret is out in the open.

“It turns brown and loses its magic.” You gather all your strands into one fist, pulling the mass to the side to expose the short, chestnut coloured strands underneath. You feel vulnerable and exposed with your neck out on display, sharing the fragility of your powers with a man you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.

But it’s Geum, and he doesn’t feel like a stranger to you. “An overbearing mother is also part of the reason, but that’s a story for another time. Carrying it around can be heavy and the tangles can be brutal, but I guess it has its perks.”

He hums, stretching his torso to throw some twigs into the fire in hopes of enlarging the dwindling flames. “Yeah, I, uh…”

You stay silent, neither dismissing nor pressuring him into voicing his thoughts.

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

A teasing smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you lean closer and nudge his arm. “You don’t say?”

He scoffs at your playful demeanour and pushes you back with one finger on your forehead. When your upper body is tilted away from him and your head is facing the starry night sky, he retracts his digit and speaks so softly that the noise is almost carried away by the wind. “It’s Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” you test it out, matching the syllables to the face. It’s a bit strange after getting accustomed to associating him with the name ‘Geum,’ but in a way, it complements him better.

“Yeah.” He pauses and you shift your body to study him, memorizing the slopes and angles of his side profile. His orbs reflect the flickering fire, engulfing the newly added branches in its blaze. “I just thought somebody should know.”

“Is Geum your alias... for when you’re being a criminal?” Although you’re hesitant to delve into the subject, especially right after he’s begun to unveil his true identity, your curiosity outweighs reason and you can’t contain yourself. You can’t say that you’ve never questioned the diadem hidden in his satchel.

Crowns don’t belong to convicts who run from justice.

You wait for his answer with bated breath, unintentionally trapping your lower lip between your teeth in anticipation. Please, Jungkook.

“If you’re trying to ask what I did,” he hisses, knuckles turning white from his clenched fists, “Yeah, I stole it. Those assholes don’t deserve their riches.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his anger radiating off him in waves. You wish you could eat your previous words because of how furious he’s become, but you’re committed to finishing the job. “Are you talking about the King and Queen?” Your brows pinch together in your discomfort. “Was that their crown?”

“This is your first time out of that tower, right?” You confirm his inquiry with a quick nod of your head. “How much do you know about the kingdom?”

“Jungkook—”

He tuts, fixing you with a strict glare. “Answer the question.”

“Well…” While recalling all the knowledge you picked up from your mother and the few historical books within your collection, you fiddle with a strand of your hair and organize your thoughts. “The castle is located in the middle of the capital, said to loom over the entire kingdom with its height. After it was rebuilt to accommodate more space for the Prince, everyone, from poets to milliners, cried over the beauty carved within those walls.”

He expels a deep sigh, causing you to question the legitimacy written in those pages you recited. “I asked about the kingdom, not the castle.”

His question leaves you dumbfounded. The information you collected over the years is limited to everything inside that grandiose, opulent building. There was nothing about the land, animals or even the common folk.

A gust blows the smoke of your little bonfire towards you, and you blink rapidly to avoid any soot from lodging itself into your eyes. Jungkook plucks a large leaf from one of the plants nearby, lazily fanning the fumes away. “That cozy castle and the royal family sitting on top of it all couldn’t care less about their people. They rake their luxuries from our hard work when even one jewel off that crown could feed hundreds.”

You process the cold truth in silence, a shiver overtaking your limbs in spite of the heat in front of you. “Is that why you stole it?”

“I don’t care if they want to plaster my face all over the kingdom and put a bounty on my head, I’m not going to stand around and watch people die from their greedy hands,” he states, proud and resolute.

You’re torn between the anguish nipping at your heels and the relief washing over your head. Living sheltered in that tower, you had no clue about the perils outside your own stone walls, is this what Mother was trying to protect you from?

However, discovering the true nature behind Jungkook’s crimes restores your faith in him, and your shoulders relax as you crane your neck to peer at the stars again. With your curiosity quenched, you move on to another question. “So, how many people get to call you Jungkook?”

He follows your example, leaning back and revelling in the breathtaking sight. “Nobody knows my real name, everyone calls me Geum.”

Your jaw drops a fraction from the admittance, feeling rather privileged that he chose to share it with you. “Your family calls you that too?”

“Don’t have any,” he brushes off your sympathetic gaze with a shrug.

“Why the name Geum?”

You catch his tiny, forlorn smile in your peripheral. “I grew up hearing all about the royal family’s massive parties, overflowing with family, friends—people. They were never lonely. And since they were parading their money around, I thought that was it, that was the secret.”

The dejected tone in his voice clogs your airways and makes it difficult to breathe, stunning your motionless form into remaining as still as a statue, the magnitude of his sorrow sweeping over you in fatal waves.

“And I hoped that maybe naming myself ‘gold’ might give me some luck with that.” With his shoulders downcast, his eyes flicker over to you, gauging your reaction.

You desperately wish you could turn back time to console the young boy whose heart was too big to fit inside his tiny body. Although he’s grown into it now, you strive to ease his suffering by even the slightest fraction. “I think ‘Jungkook’ is even better for making friends.”

The edges of his lips flip upwards as he navigates his face to halt directly right in front of your own, pressing one hand to the other side of your farthest thigh and caging you in. “Would you be my friend, Princess?”

All your blood rushes to your head, warming your cheeks. In a futile attempt to preserve any of your remaining dignity, you shrink back to maintain some distance. But his smirk grows at the sight of your shy response to his advances, his orbs flitting down to your pink lips before returning to your eyes. He looks absolutely ecstatic over your flustered state.

His hot breath fans over your lips and you gather any rational sense you have left inside your muddled brain to push him back, missing the split second his confident facade cracks and a sliver of insecurity shines through. It’s instantly replaced by a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No matter what you decide to call yourself, I’ll always be your friend.”

Seconds seem like hours as the two of you stare at each other, seeking to uncover the words left unsaid. Jungkook’s palms press against his knees, pushing off of them to come to a standing position and effectively ending your little moment. “I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

You nod, staring at his retreating backside that ventures into the adumbral forest once more. Even though the perpetrator of all these complex emotions is no longer within sight, you feel unsettled from the mere thought of him, yet your heart yearns for him all the same.

“Oh, Petal, I thought he would never leave!” A distinctly high-pitched cry rings out in the empty space, a voice which you didn’t expect to hear until at least tomorrow night.

Your head whips to the side to confirm your suspicions. “Mother?” Her dark figure emerges from the shadows and your heart drops to your stomach. You fumble for the right words, at a loss from her unexpected appearance. “How did you—”

“The better question is how could you, Petal?” she corrects, continuing to step into the light provided by the fire. The once comforting flames turn harsh, sharp pops bursting forth from the aggressive combustion. She lowers her hood to reveal the disappointment etched into her youthful features—and without fail, the sting of upsetting her burns through your conscience. “Really, how could you betray your own mother like this?”

You stand, determined to explain yourself, “Mother, he’s different from the monsters you told me about. If you get to know him, he’s sweet and caring and kind an-and he isn’t after my magic!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, my naive, little Petal.” She tilts her chin up slightly, peering down at you. “Everyone is the same out here, all looking after themselves.”

You approach her within a few strides. “Mother, please listen to me, he’s different! Even though he puts on a tough front at times, he’s really considerate on the inside.” You fiddle with the tips of your fingers as you whisper the next part, “And I, uh, I think he might like me.”

The reaction you least expect is her startling outburst of laughter, powerful enough to fold her in half, and you wait for her giggles to quiet down before warily stepping forward. Your mother is acting awfully strange. “You think he likes you? And what makes you think that?”

You blanch at her ruthless words, wincing as though they assumed a physical form and punched you repeatedly in the gut.

Her maniacal snickers abruptly cease and a frown mars her lovely face once again, her expression one you recognized from previous reprimands, whether it was shattering a vase or begging to go outside. Your chin falls down to meet your chest, unable to muster up your faux bravery for any longer.

“I’m asking what gave you the idea that he would like some insolent, unsightly brat like you?”

You can’t open your mouth to respond, frozen in fear.

“Hm, what’s with the silence? You seemed so certain earlier, Petal. This is why you never should have left, look at this pitiful romance you’ve created,” she mocks, rounding your nervous form like a predator playing with their prey. “Let’s put him to the test then, shall we?”

Your head snaps up at her odd suggestion, eyes widening at the satchel she uncovers from behind her slim form. “You found it?”

She tosses the bag to you and you outstretch your arms—only to catch it a second too late. The bag drops to the floor and the flap flips open. You race to collect the sparkling crown that tumbles out, hastily shoving the diadem back inside before Jungkook wanders back, even turning towards the fire to ensure his continued absence.

“Why so scared?” your mother questions smugly, “I thought you said that he’s different from the rest of them?”

“He is!” you exclaim, rushing to defend him.

“Then give it to him, let’s see if he stays once he has the crown back in his hands. But don’t come crying back to Mother when he runs for the hills,” she snarls, lifting her hood over her short curls and withdrawing into the woods.

Your mind reels from your mother’s visit, but your concern lies with where to stash the leather satchel in your grasp. Dead leaves crunch under approaching footsteps and you examine your body, contemplating the best area for your idea.

Hiking the hem of your dress up to your stomach, you loop the strap of the bag through your left foot, twisting and repeating until it’s coiled around your ankle and the pouch snugly rests against your skin. You shimmy the satchel until the middle of your thigh where it refuses to go any higher.

Satisfied, you release your dress, smoothing the fabric down and confirming that nothing is suspiciously sticking out. You violently shake your leg back and forth to ensure there would be no future problems and sure enough, the straps tenaciously cling onto your thigh throughout all your testing.

“Hey, look what I found! He’ll definitely save us some travelling time tomorrow, but I don’t think he likes me much.”

Jungkook appears from the area your mother disappeared with an overwhelming pile of lumber in his arms. You stroll over to lessen the load, but he brushes you off and bypasses you to drop it beside the fire.

A white horse tromps along after him, trying to nip at the crown of his head while he shoos it away with a waving hand. The comical sight distracts you from the dreary thoughts of your mother, although the stiff strap wrapped around your leg forbids you from forgetting about it.

When you snap out of your reverie, Jungkook is cocking his head to the side at your unusually spacey behaviour.

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

Rather than sore feet, the next day your entire crotch is painfully numb from riding Maximus, the quirky horse who holds an obnoxious grudge against Jungkook for reasons unknown to you. While Max allows you to rub his cheeks, scratch his neck and run your fingers through his mane, he huffs if Jungkook so much as breathes too loudly.

Oddly enough, the stallion follows Jungkook around like a lost puppy despite his cold attitude. What is with males and their inability to show their appreciation for one another?

Jungkook insisted on being in front and taking hold of the reins even though Max refused to let him mount his back at first. After some caresses and loving words with the sweet animal, Max permitted you to hop on—which Jungkook was not pleased with. It was a nice change of pace to watch the ordinarily suave man lose his cool over a horse’s favouritism.

In the end, the only way Jungkook was allowed on was by sitting behind you, latching onto you for stability. The animosity growing between the two males adds to your amusement, so you remain unbothered by the hostile glares you can feel Jungkook throwing over your shoulder and the aggressive puffs of air that blow through Max’s nostrils every once in a while.

“Tell me how you found Max again?” Skepticism leaks into your tone, courtesy of Jungkook’s thieving habits.

You could practically feel his eyes roll back into his head as his arms tighten around your waist. His built torso is glued to your back, which repeatedly distracts you from the path ahead. “I told you that I was collecting some twigs off of the ground when this guy appeared out of nowhere! I was scared shitless.”

“You mean to say that someone accidentally lost their horse in the middle of the woods?” You glance sideways to peek at his chin, lodged into the crook of your neck. His face is merely a couple of millimetres from your own.

When he insisted on resting his head there, you had thoroughly embarrassed yourself with a flaming face, resembling a ripe tomato ready for the picking, coupled with your inability to enunciate any word properly. But after hours of his head smooshed against the side of your face or leaning against your upper back, you finally relax into his hold, finding comfort and safety in the appendages coiled tightly around you.

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

You scoff at the impish grin stretching across his cheeks at his own horrible excuse.

The castle comes into view in the ensuing half-hour, the imposing building no longer obstructed by the towering trees of the forest. Your spirits are dampened slightly by the cruel secrets Jungkook revealed yesterday night, although your giddiness at the prospect of living out your dreams makes you vibrate in excitement. You remind yourself that you’re here for the magical lights, not the castle.

The faint pounding against your back picks up speed for a reason drastically different to your own. He is essentially walking right into his own imprisonment—his wanted posters more than likely plastered across every flat surface inside the marketplace with soldiers littered around the premises. You gather the sturdy reins into one hand, freeing the other to hold Jungkook’s conjoined digits over your stomach.

Completely engrossed in Jungkook’s dilemma, neither of you notice Max racing into town until a screech pierces your ears. You apologize profusely for the spilled legumes that begin rolling away from the young woman, and you whip Max into trodding off before she curses you out.

Once you’re satisfied with the amount of space between yourselves and the unlucky woman, you tie Max’s reins to a nearby fence and race to join the festivities carrying on all around you. Spotting Jungkook’s unsure form lagging behind, you dart back to tug on his wrist, flashing him an encouraging smile before lugging him from one stall to another.

You don’t get far before you experience a sharp pain on your scalp. With the large amounts of people bustling around the tiny square, your hair is a tripping hazard that you try to quickly bunch up into your arms. Your hair is way too long to carry by yourself, so you turn to ask Jungkook for help, though he’s nowhere to be found.

Your mind races to the worst-case scenario. The guards must have caught sight of him, capturing him off guard while you were none the wiser and now he’s going to be hanged for his crimes all because you were too stupid to—

A couple of little girls with flowers decorating their braids physically yank you out of your trance, their tiny hands gathering your multitudinous strands and dragging you off to the side. You’re about to protest against their actions, more concerned over Jungkook’s whereabouts than anything, but after catching a glance of said man playfully waving at you from a few feet away, you allow yourself to be whisked away.

The three girls deftly move from left to right, taking locks of your hair with them as they knot it all into one humongous five strand braid. When you stand up to your full height, you’re amazed to see that none of your hair touches the ground. Considering the hefty weight that pulls at the back of your head, you know this solution can’t last too long.

They scatter various fresh flowers all over, the scent of the blossoms wafting around your figure. As you’re appreciating their handiwork, an arm wraps itself around the curve of your lower back, drawing you into a herculean chest while you blow air kisses filled with your gratitude to the snickering girls.

Jungkook maneuvers you into a narrow alleyway, and you get a chance to admire his glittering irises from up close.

“Guards?”

He only grins.

You’re certain to keep an eye out for any wandering soldiers from that point on, with you pulling Jungkook behind crowds or him dragging you into the gaps between small buildings. Despite the situation being rather stressful with your lives at stake, your escapade is thrilling nonetheless and you enjoy being pressed up against his lean frame, carelessly giggling to yourselves.

Although neither of you carries any silver, window shopping proves to be equally as amusing—browsing through homemade accessories, toys and masks that you play around with, flashing ridiculous faces at one another.

The delicious smell of baked goods drifts through the streets and prompts your mouths to fill with saliva. You appreciate the artistry behind their beautifully decorated exteriors, adorned with colourful frosting and sprinkles. One booth catches your attention and you latch onto Jungkook’s hand to drag him along.

Rows and rows of shiny green bottles are positioned in perfect rows on a table inside the booth and plushies hang from the sides, acting as bait to any passerby. You tug on the hem of Jungkook’s dark vest, gesticulating towards the game with awe.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few silver coins that glint in the sunlight. Your eyes widen into saucers at his mischievous grin and you smack his arm, chiding him for his wandering hands as he assures you that he found them on the ground. When he goes as far as to insist that he saved them from being trampled on, you can’t help your tinkling laughter from escaping.

Perhaps it’s karma that prevents your rings from landing on top of any bottle, but the exhilaration of watching the rings soar in midair with a flick of your wrist as Jungkook’s chants fill your ears is priceless. Certainly more precious than any stuffed animal.

You two amble about the streets again, side by side. Long fingers intertwine with your own and your heart flips in your chest, suppressing the raging flush that threatens to colour your cheeks whenever Jungkook is involved. You look around your surroundings, trying to conceal the cheeky grin on your face, resembling that of a toddler with their favourite candy.

Before long, your travelling gaze takes notice of the people hunched over on the ground, concentrated on the stones below them. With a closer look, you discover the sketches littered across the stone pathways—some spanning the entire street and some smaller than your palm.

You bolt over to join them with Jungkook in tow. This whole hand-holding business is proving to be more useful than you thought.

There are pieces of different coloured chalk dispersed throughout the streets, and you pick up an orange one, urging Jungkook to do the same. He searches around for a bit until he decides on a white coloured chalk.

By the time you’re finalizing the tiny drawing you sketched onto the uneven stones, the stub in your hand is half the size of your pinky. Your joints ache from kneeling for so long, but you’re more than satisfied with the bright tiger lily staring back at you.

You stand up, brushing off of any stray rocks that have embedded themselves onto the bare skin of your legs and nudge Jungkook’s arm with your foot. He grumbles under his breath that you ruined the white blob he claims to be a bunny, but you jest that it was doomed the moment he picked up the chalk.

The retort silences him and you stretch your hand out to help him stand, grinning sheepishly at the pout on his pink lips. He accepts your peace offering, although rather than using your aid to get up, he yanks you downwards and your unstable body lands right into his lap. You squeak at his retaliation and wriggle violently in his hold as he curls himself around you, his chin resting onto your shoulder and arms wrapping around your torso to quell your futile efforts of escape.

“You like the nation’s flower?” He questions, nuzzling his face into your upper back.

“Nation’s flower?”

He hums his confirmation and you feel the pleasant vibrations on your neck before he’s nodding towards the purple pennants that dangle off of thin strings, stretching between buildings. Now that you’re actively inspecting the marketplace for the flower, you notice the continuous motif of the orange lily sprouting everywhere from decorations to paintings.

Jungkook seems to have abandoned all hope on his own masterpiece, for he lifts you up by your underarms and leads you away.

As you venture through the rest of the market, grazing through the various stalls, you examine all the knick-knacks depicting the famous tiger lily. It soothes you slightly, recognizing the flower decorating your walls back at the tower.

Lost in your trance, you don’t catch Jungkook slinking away, disappearing into the crowds.

As you turn the corner to browse the next stall’s wares, a massive stained glass window depicting a family of three catches your eye. The man appears stern with his furrowed brows and deep-set frown, and the woman’s forced smile fits awkwardly onto her face. She’s holding a tight bundle of canvas, a tiny face peeking through the layers of fabric in her arms.

Rays of the setting sun pierce through the coloured, translucent material and surround the art piece with an ethereal glow. You’re transfixed by the woman, reminded of your own mother’s delicate features.

You shake off the unpleasant feeling of your last encounter with her and analyze the three squares dedicated to the child’s crumpled face. The only noticeable detail you can make out is his chubby cheeks.

“Interested in the Prince?” A warm breath whispers into your ear, “Am I not good enough for you anymore, Princess?”

You spin around to face Jungkook, barely able to contain your delight as you examine the playful glint in his eyes. “Bold of you to assume there was ever a point where you were good enough for me.”

He scoffs, hands automatically coming to loop around your middle. “I know you’re not suggesting that I’m anything less than stellar company.”

You hum aloud, feigning contemplation by rubbing at your chin and a wide grin breaks his irked performance. He tries to hide his little slip by burrowing his face into the crook of your neck.

His soft cheeks on your bare skin along with his large hands squeezing at your sides elicit all your muffled giggles to burst past your lips. Pure, unadulterated glee bounces around your stomach.

Some of the lilies lodged within your golden strands fall loose and flutter onto the ground with the movement. You intercept one that drops from near your temple, plucking it out of the air and slotting the stem just above Jungkook’s ear.

He pulls away from subjecting your clavicle with his tiny nips in order to rest his forehead against yours. Your head is cradled by one of his palms and you watch as his heated gaze roams down to your lips. Entranced by his overwhelming presence, your eyelids slide shut as he leans forward slightly, tilting his head to the side before a meaty hand encloses around the circumference of your upper arm, yanking you away from him.

Panic seizes your muscles. Your heart threatens to shatter your rib cage with its fierce pounding. The soldiers. You extend your other arm to reach out for Jungkook—the same alarm piercing your flesh is reflected in his blazing orbs. Before he has the chance to rush after you, a dainty woman clothed in a primrose dress sweeps him away as well.

Barely a whole day has passed since you began running away from the soldiers, yet you’re more than certain that the soldier’s attire solely consisted of their royal uniforms, which did not include any flowy, pink garments. You whip back to your own abductor; a stout, jolly man with a cheshire grin stretching from one ear to the other.

He releases you in the middle of a swarming mass of people, moving their bodies left and right to the beat being pounded out on tabors and the sweet melody spilling from a nearby flute.

The man spins you around, encouraging you to let loose and sway your hips to the upbeat song as you’re handed off from one partner to the next. Somewhere within the chaos, you spot Jungkook’s longing stare and you subconsciously inch closer to his side.

The second that you two are within reach of one another, you dart into his arms. Just as you’re about to slip into his comforting embrace, a scrawny boy takes your place while an older woman wraps her arms around your shoulders. She wastes no time before guiding you into a dip, her palms supporting your back.

Upside down, Jungkook’s annoyed countenance is an amusing sight that you gleefully chortle at. Knowing that he is similarly distraught at the prospect of being unable to dance together soothes your aching desire and you savour the thrilling experience of moving as one part of a greater whole.

You prance and twirl your heart out as if it’s your last time. And you’re sure that it will be.

Eventually, both of you are able to slither your way out of the dancing crowds, and the cheers die down the farther you get from the main square. The sun is rapidly falling past the horizon and the capital is shrouded in the deepening twilight. You assumed that he would lead you to see the lanterns about now, but you’re clueless as to why you two are heading away from the castle.

“Jungkook?”

He turns back to you with a breathtaking smile resting on his lips, the dwindling light casting an otherworldly radiance around him. Reaching for your hand, he intertwines your fingers with his own as he leans down to softly bump his forehead against yours. “You’ll see.”

Jungkook directs you towards the moat that surrounds the marketplace, ushering you into one of the many gondolas lined up against the dock. You narrow your eyes at him and he attempts to reassure you with a simple, “We’ll bring it back.”

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

But you’re so entranced in his spell that you follow along without more than a tiny squeeze at your interlaced digits. You release his hands before he jumps into the boat, the wood swaying back and forth under his weight, worrying you instead of the unbothered man a few feet away. As you take a sharp inhale, about to follow in his footsteps, Jungkook grips the sides of your hips and lifts you into the gondola with him.

You fix him with a reproachful glare at his unexpected actions yet the silent scolding doesn’t last long, for you’re hopeless to the sight of his elation, sticking to him like a second skin. Powerless against his charms, you sit on the thin wooden seat on the other side of the boat and watch him grab an oar, dipping it into the water and propelling you two forward.

You want to admire the unobstructed view of the sparkling night sky, but nothing can beat the galaxies hidden within Jungkook’s eyes, thus you try to seem as inconspicuous as possible in ogling him from your peripheral. However, your futile efforts are rather pointless considering your position, facing the handsome thief rowing the boat at the other end.

You think the title is fitting since he’s stolen your heart without a problem as well.

Once he deems your spot satisfactory, Jungkook strolls over to your side, taking a seat on the bench across from you. His legs slot in between the spaces of your own.

“Now that I think about it, it’s the Prince’s eighteenth birthday too,” he states. “He must be pretty excited, taking over the throne and everything.”

You perk up at the news. “He’s succeeding the King?”

“Mm,” he affirms, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “King announced an early retirement or something because they’d already found the Prince’s betrothed. His coronation is today.”

You nod your understanding, thinking about the responsibilities bearing down on the poor boy. “It’s kind of weird to think about, y’know, being the same age and even sharing the same birthday but leading completely different lives. He’s about to get married, lead a country and me...” you falter, pausing to string your thoughts into a coherent sentence. “Well, this is my entire dream. Seeing these lights is everything to me.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re living your own life, on your own journey. Comparing yourself to others does nothing but rob yourself of your own happiness.”

You hum with a teasing lilt to your tone. “Suddenly the boy who named himself ‘gold’ in the hopes of attracting some friends is giving me advice?”

He breaks out into a chuckle, doubling over and laying his forehead on your shoulder. His hands reach out for the locks of hair resting on your lap, plucking one of the flowers swimming in your strands. Like Hansel and his bread crumbs, many of the blossoms that fell off throughout your time in the marketplace left tracks of your whereabouts. Only a few flowers remain with you.

With the delicate daisy between his thumb and index finger, he rolls the pads of his fingers against each other, spinning the white petals so fast that they blur together into a splotchy circle surrounding the yellow centre. Once he becomes bored with the flower, he lifts his head and stretches his arm out with a classic smirk that heightens his flirtatious nature. “For you, my lady.”

You huff at the offering. “You act as if it wasn’t already mine in the first place.” Despite your sharp words, you gingerly pluck the stem out of his grasp, fingers brushing against his own. When you raise the daisy up to your nose, the invigorating floral scent startles your senses once more.

With not much else to occupy your time, you decide that now is a better time than ever to dislodge the wilting buds from your tresses. You face the side of the gondola overlooking the water, grabbing onto the ledge and leaning forward.

You muster all the grace you have within your bones to place the ivory daisy onto the water’s surface. The flower drifts along the calm current, painting the atmosphere with a tranquil serenity.

Despite your best efforts to suppress them, your clumsy tendencies shine through when you tip your torso over a smidge too far, losing your balance and diving headfirst for the water. Jungkook is quick to latch on to your wrist, steadying you before you accidentally throw yourself overboard.

You’re sheepish in both your apology and thanks. To avoid any further mishaps, one of his hands remain on your lower back and the other collects the remaining blossoms in your tresses, handing them off to you.

A slow rhythm develops between you two and your raging thoughts come to a standstill, a red light halting the traffic within your mind. In front of you, a garden of assorted blossoms assembles, floating gently towards the ornate castle. One sprout catches your eye.

A tiger lily.

Directly below its long petals, a flash of bright red catches your eye in the reflection of the water. Jungkook’s deep voice cleaves through the soft sloshing of the water. “The lanterns.”

“It’s…” You struggle to piece together proper words to describe the sight before you. One lantern lightens the dark sky, drifting alone in the expansive space before a bunch of others race to join the first. Their warm, yellow glow overpowers that of the moon, painting the landscape in an orange tint that seems to welcome you into its embrace.

“Beautiful.”

You’re too distracted by the enchanting sight before you to notice his eyes trained on your profile, and so you soundlessly agree with a nod of your head. It’s as if time has ceased in its endless ticking, halting in its tracks for another world to open where only you and Jungkook exist.

You don’t mind the idea as much as you think you would.

“I have a surprise.”

You turn over to face him, head tilting in curiosity. He carries a paper lantern in his open palms and your brows furrow at his attentive, considerate behaviour. “Jungkook?”

“We should join in on all the fun, right?” A genuine smile illuminates his soft features instead of the usual smirks he casually throws your way. Oddly enough, despite your inability to operate in front of his flirty personality, you adore both sides equally.

“Kook, wait.”

He perks up at the nickname, reminding you of a dog with its tail violently wagging back and forth—you can’t help but be enamoured by him. You raise the hem of your dress up to the middle of your left thigh and he sputters, looking away. “Hey, hey! I know I’m pretty irresistible but this boat is not the place to—”

“No, you idiot.” You snicker at his unexpected timidity, shimmying the coiled strap down your leg and covering your decency once again with the fabric. “I have something for you too.”

He peeks at you, ensuring that you’re sufficiently clothed before turning to face you. A cold sweat settles over the outer layer of your skin as you watch his brows raise at his satchel in your hands. Keeping the lantern in one hand, and his steady gaze focused on your eyes, he gently pushes the bag down to the floor of the boat, the metal of the crown banging against the wood.

“All I need is you,” he whispers the words into the empty space of the night, the syllables getting lost somewhere within the mellow breeze blowing by. Your heart constricts at the reassurance that this time, Mother is wrong. You fight back the tears gathering at your waterline and grab the other edge of the lantern after he lights the candle inside.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod and the two of you slowly lift your arms to release the lantern with the masses drifting above you. After a bit, you lose sight of your paper lantern and you glance back at Jungkook to ask whether he was able to keep track of its location, but your voice gets stuck in your throat when you become captivated with the childlike wonder buried within his orbs, roaming over the sky and examining every single lantern at once.

His scouring eventually leads him back to you. He catches you staring, but neither of you care enough to break the moment. His eyes soften and you two shuffle forward on your seats, being pulled toward one another like magnets. Your legs entangle with his in the cramped area and you lean forward until your lips are millimetres from one another.

From this close, you have a perfect view of your reflection within his brilliant irises, the shallow scar that runs along his cheek, the cute birthmark right under his mouth. His eyes are locked on your mouth and you take that as the go-ahead signal to close the gap and slot your lips against his soft ones.

With your evident lack of experience, Jungkook takes control immediately, a hand flying to the back of your head, threading through your hair to keep you in place as he sucks at your lower lip. His tongue swipes at the closed seam that blocks him from your mouth, and you instantly open up to clash tongues, although you shrink back soon after, letting him explore your hot cavern.

You sneak a peek at him every time you two separate for air, confirming that this is indeed reality and not some product of your wild imagination. He invades all your senses and keeps you locked to him like an addict desperate for their fix, his other palm searing through your clothing with its heat and burning a hole through the thin fabric of your dress.

When you finally pull away, you feel feverish and dizzy as a raging blush colours your cheeks. You can’t find it in yourself to look directly into his eyes, but he reaches for your chin and forces you to study the haze of passion in his gaze.

Every part of your body is lit aflame from his touch. Hooked on the feeling of his plush lips pressing against yours with your tongues swirling in tandem with one another, you’re about to lean in for more when his eyes dart off to the side and he abruptly jerks away as if you burned him with your embrace.

His startling jolt snaps you out of your dazed state. With your head out of the clouds, you notice that the lanterns have already moved onto the next town over, taking their warmth with them. The fire within you, kindled by Jungkook, dwindles with the uncertainty of your future together.

Without so much as another word, Jungkook snatches the oar from the bottom of the boat and jumps back to his position at the front of the gondola. He urgently paddles the two of you back to land and you fumble for words. “Jungkook, I—”

“It’s not you.” His statement is reassuring in writing, although his tone is detached, distant in a way that crushes the passages to your lungs. Lost in your dejection, you’re powerless to prod him for any more information than that.

Before the boat can hit the edge of the dock, Jungkook springs out with his leather satchel tucked under his arm, pausing to mutter, “I just—I have to take care of something. Please believe me when I say I’ll be back.” His anguish leaks into his voice and you will yourself to nod, a forced smile on your lips. “Wait for me.”

He dashes off with your heart in his hands. You steady your shaky breath and place your faith in him, the man you have come to trust with your life.

You spend the next half hour struggling to get out of the gondola, craving the flat land to ground yourself. By the time you manage to clamber out, there are a couple of discoloured blotches on the length of your dress that put your many failed attempts on full display. You fan one of the bigger spots to help it dry faster, but the fabric becomes chilly with the extra wind and a shiver slips down your spine from its icy temperature.

Languid footsteps approach your frigid frame and you brighten up, forgetting about the cold. “Took you long enough. Y’know, for a second there I was worried you’d actually lef—”

You pick up more than one pair of feet advancing on you and your eyes widen at the lanky, redheaded twins that stop in front of your path. Cursing your quivering limbs, you cringe at the tremor in your voice when you ask, “What did you do to him?”

They simultaneously snort at your question and the one on the left replies, “Sorry about this, lass, but you’re gonna have to come with us.”

The blood drains from your face and you repeat, louder, “What did you do to him?”

“Aw, don’t get all riled up now. But don’t worry your pretty little head, we’re going to take you right to him.” They corner you back to the dock and you scramble to locate a weapon to defend yourself with. At your wit’s end, you prepare to jump into the murky waters.

However, before you get the chance to move another muscle, an intense pain blooms at the back of your skull, wrapping around to your temples accompanied by a flash of light exploding behind your eyes. Then everything goes black.

Your head pounds as a dull ache nestles itself deep within your bones. Your vision is nothing but a blurry, indecipherable mess of colours, so you opt to keep your eyes closed instead. You’re kneeling on cold tiles that rub your knees raw when you subtly shift into a more comfortable position, discovering the existence of the shackles around your wrists and ankles.

“—nd the girl. We expect you to keep your end of the deal.” The rugged tone that speaks is one that you recognize from before your blackout—one of the redheads.

“Yes, yes, all the charges laid against you have been cleared,” a high-pitched voice meets your ears and you subconsciously grimace, physically recoiling from the sound. Thankfully, your sharp motions go unnoticed. “You’re free to go.”

“What?” You hear shuffling nearby, the rustling of clothes getting farther away from you. The distinct, metallic sheen of a couple of swords being unsheathed follow and the footsteps come to a sudden stop. “You promised us gold.”

The woman scoffs, “Now why would I give you crooked-nosed knaves anything more than a death sentence?”

Many polished boots clamber against the ground with such force that the vibrations can be felt through the flesh of your folded calves. The grunts and garbled screams that ensue are silenced within seconds and two hefty weights hit the floor with a limp, lifeless thud.

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

There’s more shuffling, then something is dragged past your crumpled form. The throbbing across your cranium worsens and you’re incapable of fending off the blissful oblivion of desolation any longer, thus you surrender to the darkness once more.

The next time you open your eyes a harsh light coats your surroundings and the blocks of colour are clearer, sharp enough to decipher the intricate detailing painted on the tiles beneath your knees. Someone chokes on a wet cough, and your eyelids snap shut once more. Your nose crinkles in disgust as well.

“Her tiny skull should have been rolling through these halls eighteen years ago.” The woman’s wretched tone fills your ears, words full of deadly poison.

You remain chained, kneeling against the ground with your head lowered. A numbing sensation lingers no matter how much you fidget in place, bearing down your limbs with the weight of your useless nerves that refuse to fire off.

Another, deeper, voice responds, “Tone it down. Her magic is powerful, the advantage we hold over the other kingdoms is colossal with this kind of sorcery on our side. If she falls, the whole empire will fall with her.”

Sorcery? Although you can count the number of people you met on one hand, you’ve studied heaps of books and drilled your mother with enough questions to know that your magic is unique and rare—a product of alchemy that occurs merely once every millennium.

“I see no point in keeping her around when we cannot access her magic at our will, she is as good as worthless to us. That halfwit of a sister was incapable of locking this churl in a tower for long enough, and look at her now, running around, wreaking havoc with a criminal.”

Your mind swirls with the sudden barrage of information, unsure as to why these two strangers hold deep insights into your life, as well as the knowledge about your unusual hair.

“There is nothing to worry about, Jimin is on the throne. We will simply send her away once again,” the gruff voice states, exasperation clear in his tone.

A deafening thud reverberates throughout the spacious room. Helpless to the dreadful fear swimming in your veins, your body shudders in response to the noise.

The woman shrieks, clearly at her wits’ end, “I want her dead! Guillotine, hang, drown, burn, I could care less. She poses a threat to Jimin’s throne with her existence, and we have gone through too much to have our plans foiled by this knave. We were merciful enough in having my imbecilic sister continue to meet with Jimin throughout the years.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh before the man answers, “Have some heart, darling, that is her son you speak of.”

“In the eyes of the people, he is my son and the King,” she seethes. Her enmity is strangely familiar, yet you fail to identify the woman through her voice. “Quit acting as if I am the only sinner here and remember how much we both sacrificed for our blood to inherit the King’s throne.”

“It is not your blood though, is it, dear wife?”

The tension within the room is thick, palpable in the dense air in the way that makes breathing difficult. “You must have enjoyed sleeping with my sister more than I believed. Do you want to call her back here? Play a good husband and wife for the counterfeit King?”

You couldn’t keep the tremours from breaking out over your body as your breaths quicken and an abundance of liquid races to your eyes. It was all beginning to come together, but you wait for the two to confirm your suspicions.

The man chuckles with hollow intent. “Do you fail to recall your own words, pleading with me to follow this foolish scheme of yours? I would have much rather preferred a foreigner rule the kingdom alongside our daughter.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said eighteen years ago.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to repress the sounds of anguish that tears at your skin to brutal shreds. Enraged rivulets stream down your cheeks, and you lift your torso to stare at your legitimate parents. They turn to you, the man distraught and the woman with pure disgust.

“How—” you stammer through your heavy wails, “how could you?”

“So the Princess found out.” Your biological mother raises from her royal seat, storming over the short distance to your trembling form. “Fine, we can strike an agreement.”

She reaches behind your head to grab a handful of your hair, yanking your head up to peer up at the exquisitely decorated ceiling. When you yelp in pain, she crouches down to your level, baring her pearly white teeth as she threatens, “Leave. Be a good little girl and go hole yourself back up in that tower. Don’t worry, Mommy will come get you if we ever need that magic of yours, hm?”

You desperately wriggle around to loosen her hold, but she only grips your strands tighter, pulling downwards to introduce more pain to your scalp. “That thief will stay right here to ensure you keep up your end of the deal, alright?”

At the mention of Jungkook, your heart stutters and your expression morphs to that of despair, momentarily forgetting about the strain to the sensitive skin of your head. “Where is he?”

She smirks and snaps her fingers. The door to the throne room is pulled open with a loud clack, and Jungkook’s weak, bloody form stumbles through the grand entrance, hanging upright with the help of two sturdy guards.

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

“Mopping all his blood off the floor would be terribly tiresome for the maids.” She jerks your head down to bear witness to the sneer stretching across her lips. “It’s all up to you, really.”

“Let me heal him!” you agonize, sobs ripping through your chest, burning through every tissue to the outermost layer of your skin. “Pl-please, please let me heal him. I’ll leave, I won’t say a word, I’ll do anything you want—I’m b-begging you, please.”

The wicked smirk playing on her lips grows wider at your pleading. She shoves your head away, the momentum of the push throwing your whole torso over to the side, bringing about a harsh meeting with the floor. With Jungkook occupying every crevice of your mind, there’s no space to register the pain pulsing through your groggy body.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You scramble to your hands and knees, disregarding the scrapes and bruises littering your limbs. Despite your tunnel vision directed towards reaching Jungkook, your movements are sluggish from the extended period of time spent kneeling in one position.

The guards supporting him release their hold on his arms, and you scramble to catch his limp frame in your arms, but your depleted muscles can only manage to soften his fall with your body. You detangle yourself from him and hurriedly begin wrapping your hair around his torso.

Your jaw trembles at his damp locks, sodden with sweat and stuck to the side of his head dripping in crimson. The vicious colour oozes out of the deep gashes you locate across his back, peeking through the tears in his shirt and stains the bloody spit drooling from the corners of his cracked lips. Great purple welts fill the rest of his exposed skin, completing the heart-wrenching picture before you.

You pick up the weak croak of your name, and you hiccup from your fierce laments at his red-rimmed eyes. “Guess I was right all along, Princess.”

Your mother’s cruel words follow the nasty glower she shoots his way. “Shut up or we’ll end your pitiful life now, you filthy criminal.”

“Jungkook, I’m here,” you reassure him, beginning to wrap your excess strands around his arms before he stops you with a stained hand. “Jungkook let me—”

“Stop,” he mutters, gripping his side in pain.  

“No! I can’t—I can’t let you die.” You grit your teeth, disobeying his words and going to wrap your tresses around his broken body once more.

“If you go back there,” he coughs, an alarming amount of blood spurting out, “then you’ll—”

“It’s fine, everything will be alright, okay?” You press your palm over his hand and the icy bite that greets you hardens your resolve. “We’ll figure it out.”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to sing the incantation engraved into the back of your mind when Jungkook’s fingers graze your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch, examining every crimson stain marring his delicate features.

His doe eyes soften at your orbs roaming his face and when your gaze settles on his thin lips, he snatches the chance to land a peck against your mouth. The fleeting kiss fills you with greed, and your eyes flutter shut despite your rationale as you dip towards him for another.

You halt, gasping at the gut-wrenching sound of your tresses being severed from the base of your neck, the noise snapping you back to reality. Your eyes widen at Jungkook’s relieved countenance as his torso reclines to the ground, the sharp dagger in his hand rattling onto the tiles beside him. When you reach back to assess the damage, your hand grips onto the short strands that reach no further than your shoulder.

You glance back at the heaps of dead, brown hair sprawled across the palace floor and your mind wipes clean of any coherent thought. Instead, your chest caves in on itself, breathing made impossible because of your collapsed airways and you choke out, “Jungkook, what did you—”

“What an absolute halfwit, does he think he did anyone a favour with that little stunt of his? Without your hair, we have no need for either of you.” Your biological mother laughs, the notes turning ominously maniacal towards the end. “Kill them.”

Guards immediately surround you two, and in a weak attempt to protect him from their pointed swords, you cradle Jungkook’s powerless form to your chest. You prepare yourself to bear the end of their piercing blades.

“What do you roaches think you’re doing?” she seethes, blazing orbs flashing with white-hot fury. “I said, kill them!”

The gigantic doors burst open again, but this time, a lean man strides forward. His blond strands are neatly styled away from his forehead and the regal red robe hanging upon his shoulders elegantly sway after him. The soldiers part ways to make room for the intimidating man and one of his retainers at the door announces, “The King is here!”

You struggle to even out your frantic breaths, thankful for the distraction that grants you a break to rack your brain for a method to escape the dreadful situation you two have found yourselves in. Debating whether you should fight back, sneak away or plead for forgiveness, your eyes dart wildly around the room. A woman donned in a black cloak lingers slightly behind the King, gazing at you with a murderous glare that sends pin needles into the thin lining of your stomach.

“That’s enough,” the King states.

“Jimin.” The former Queen races up to him but is stopped by the retainers that encircle the King.  “What business do you have here? There are more important matters for you to attend to.” Her eyes narrow at the sight of the woman behind him.

“No, I think this has gone on long enough.” He sweeps his gaze over to the two of you, Jungkook barely clinging onto life, nestled within your protective embrace. The woman latches onto his bicep, her head vigorously shaking back and forth, yet you’re uncertain whether her disagreement will relieve your anguish or worsen it.

Despite her insistence, his head nods in your direction and the woman that raised you begrudgingly marches up to you, barely acknowledging your presence in favour of pressing her palms against Jungkook’s open lacerations. He winces at the pressure and just as you’re about to tell her off, you discern the thick gauze that rests between her hand and Jungkook’s side, the sterile white shade expeditiously being replaced by a bloody crimson.

“What are you talking about, dear?” the former Queen asks, a hard edge to her tone. “These two are hedge-born lowlives, simply not worth your time.”

He crinkles his nose in disgust, flicking his hand towards the former King and Queen. “Lock them up in the dungeons.”

Both their eyes widen comically, jaws dropping to the floor. However, you can’t find joy within their despair when Jungkook’s survival is still up in the air.

The woman sputters, recklessly thrashing her body to escape the soldiers’ grip. The man simply lowers his head, seemingly having accepted his fate as he follows the guards without another word.

“Did you forget who put you in that throne, Park Jimin?” the woman screeches, the blood vessels lining her neck about to implode. “How dare you disrespect your pare—”

“How could I ever forget your treacherous actions?” he spits out, disgust lacing his voice, “How could I ever forget how many lives you’ve ruined, dear aunt.”

“We did it all for you!”

“You did it for yourselves,” he hisses. Relief trickles through the tips of your fingers, spreading across your body like wildfire from the King’s aid. “Get them out of my sight.”

“You worthless—” Her shrieks echo throughout the halls, though you’ve long lost focus in their conversation after watching the two wretched souls being punished and put in their rightful place.

Your aunt passes some thick bandages from inside the bell sleeve of her cloak. You gratefully accept the offering, pressing it against his lower back—wishing that it’s not too late, that Jungkook has not lost too much blood yet. The passive stare that your aunt fixes you with crams your head with doubt and you begin to panic, bringing one of your hands up to cradle his face.

Although you’re convinced that you wailed through an entire year’s worth of sobs, the tears sliding down your face refuse to stop, dripping down and landing onto the dirtied skin of Jungkook’s cheek. You press your forehead against his, hoping against hope that some magic remains within your body, that the tiniest bit will reveal itself like a bag trick and heal his wounds.

But your magical hair was extraordinary enough, and this is no fairytale.

“Get those two to the physician’s,” the King orders.

Guards scramble to action, ripping you apart from Jungkook as you unsuccessfully attempt to resist being separated again. You’re absolutely spent from the tiring events of the past couple of days and your weary legs give out as the soldiers lift your drained form into a standing position.

Jungkook is moved onto a sturdy sheet, then carried away past the double doors and out of sight. Your flimsy arms wrap around the shoulders of two guards as they assist you in following Jungkook to the physician, passing the King on your way.

His plush lips stretch into a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, but the adrenaline from earlier wears off and the sting of your own wounds drains you of your manners, uncaring that you’re facing the King. Thankfully, he dismisses your discourtesy instead of beheading you, and you’re hauled away from the gracious man.

On the way, you’re close enough to overhear what he mutters under his breath. A garbled scream rips through your throat in protest, and you shoot the King the deadliest glare you can muster. He releases a deep sigh at your childish antics, waving as you turn the corner.

“Poor guy doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.”

You spend the next few, rather tedious, days in a luxurious bed, being fretted over by everyone from the maids to the chefs. It was difficult to indulge in the extravagance that the castle had to offer when you were anxiously awaiting news regarding Jungkook, which they refused to disclose until your own condition improved.

After all the pampering, you were permitted access past the confines of the expansive room you were forced to recover in. Your injuries were minor in comparison to Jungkook, thus you were granted freedom much earlier than him.

Not like he was capable of stepping outside of his room anyway.

Although his body is repairing his torn flesh incrementally, he shows no signs of consciousness—not the twitch of a finger, the flutter of an eyelash, nothing. Doubt claws a bit higher up your torso each day, waiting for the moment that the disquiet slithers up your esophagus and suffocates you.

Despite the crushing news of his coma-like state, you work diligently to ensure that neither you nor Jungkook becomes a burden to the castle by picking up various duties. Jimin continuously waves off your attempts to help, but you’re restless and desperate for a distraction from wondering about Jungkook’s condition all the time.

Jimin banned you from performing some of the maid’s tasks once, then sorely regretted it when he had to tend to your nervous breakdown in the afternoon. Since then he has kept his comments on your excessive working habits to himself.

Today you’re in Jungkook’s room, dusting off the spotless shelves that house the many herbs being grounded into powders and rubbed as a salve onto his injuries daily. You organize the rolled bandages for the second time in the past hour and mop every inch of the floor.

You can’t devote yourself to lingering by the unconscious man’s side for too long, otherwise your mind gradually begins to spiral into every possible worst-case scenario and you simply can’t handle the reality of a future without him. It sounds overly dramatic—many of the maids you have grown close to over the months claimed as much when you brought up your journey together.

But they didn’t hear his melodic laughter that followed his teasing smirks when he said something flirtatious, effectively making your heart skip a beat. They didn’t feel his hand always reaching out to make contact with you in some way, craving your touch to ground him to reality. They didn’t see his eyes softening when he gazed at you as though you were holding his entire world in your eyes.

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

You strain the mop of its excess dirtied water before stowing the tool away in the storage room. When you return, a draft filters in through the open window and you race over to close it, worried that Jungkook may catch a bothersome cold that will delay his healing process.

You take a seat on the lavish mattress adjacent from his thighs as you stare out the window in front of you. The air remains stale in spite of the fresh breeze that blew into the room seconds prior, and the dull atmosphere persists due to the lifeless man inhabiting its space.

You’re uncertain how many more times you can handle walking into this room with his weak body lying motionless on these pristine sheets, but you will endure it all without complaint for him. A knock at the door catches your attention, and you twist around to meet Jimin’s friendly beam. “How is he?”

“Same as he always is,” you state, allowing yourself to take in Jungkook’s sunken cheeks and pale face. “Unresponsive.”

“You wanna join me in the gardens for some fresh air?” At your unsure raise of a brow, he convinces you with, “You’ve been cooped up in the castle the whole day.”

The both of you head out to view the lush scenery outside, seated amongst the blooming tulips, although your eyes are drawn to the lilies that border the lilac cosmos. You trace the familiar shape of the orange flower with your pupils, reminiscing on the doodles decorating your room’s walls back at the tower. That seems like forever ago now.

Other than his lack of consciousness, Jungkook’s condition remains relatively stable and yet you still find it burdensome to stray too far from his side. The staff is under orders to instantly notify you should he arise while you’re away, but that doesn’t ease the disquiet that rouses whenever you leave the castle walls.

You’re convinced that the second you wander off, he will wake up without you there; a thought too unbearable to consider. You crave to lose yourself within his molten ember orbs once more, exploring the undiscovered galaxies in his gaze.

“These past few months must seem unfathomable,” he starts, pressing his lips together to ponder over his next words before continuing. “I don’t know how my mom treated you in the tower but, knowing her, I’m guessing it wasn’t too great.”

His casual mention of the affectionate term you pleaded to call your mother for ages—the topic she despised almost as much as you begging to venture outside the tower—stung the slightest bit. From her actions, it was evident that she never cared for you as much as her own, biological son, but it was difficult to dismiss the joyful memories you shared with her, no matter how few and far between they were.

“She started visiting me a few years back, explaining all their horrendous crimes and insisting that she was the only one I could trust. She told me about you, too. Your mother ordered her to lock you away in that tower and ensure that nobody ever found out the truth in exchange for my seat on the throne. ”

Your head lowers at the information, brows furrowing as you contemplate your true relationship with the woman that raised you from birth.

“When my mom caught word of you travelling with the thief, she returned the crown in hopes that Jungkook would run for the hills, and you would be left to come back with her. Her goal was to overtake the kingdom from your mother.” His eyes gloss over with a distant sheen and you sympathize with him; the boy was used as a tool, just like you.

“It’s reassuring in a way.” His strange admittance prompts you to glance up at him, confusion swirling within your orbs. “At least we’re both suffering from our family’s despicable actions.”

Our family.

His optimistic viewpoint hits you like a wave crashing against the shore, sharing his vast fortitude and washing away a fraction of the sombre agony tormenting your heart. Although Jimin’s life was no doubt disparate from your own, you two are connected through the blood running through your veins. Even if those same bonds brought you to a tragic meeting with your own wicked parents, at least you could rely on one person within your family.

The edges of your lips curl into a tiny smile aimed at the blond man across from you, your own short, chestnut coloured hair providing a stark contrast. “I’m glad I can rely on you, Jimin.”

He readjusts his weight on the green, iron chair and leans forward to rest his elbows on the metal table between the two of you. “I think this is the first time you’ve called me by my name without me having to remind you.”

You quietly giggle at the memories flooding your mind, from the hostile attitude you first approached him with, then the days he comforted you over Jungkook’s motionless form, to Jimin demanding that you call him by his first name. You consider yourself extremely lucky to have someone as gracious and compassionate as Jimin to be your half-brother.

“I know we’ve already gone over this,” he starts with a serious edge to his tone, “but this is your last chance.”

You rip your gaze away from the plants to lay a couple of light pats to his hand. Despite the lack of context, the topic is familiar to you, as he has gone over this with you many times. “No, I don’t want the throne. You trained for this position your whole life, so I’m entrusting the kingdom to your capable hands. All I ask is for you to fulfill my request.”

Jimin releases a heavy sigh. “If you really want him free of all his crimes, there’s no way you two can live within the capital.”

“That’s fine with me.” You shrug your shoulders, unconcerned about the prospect of having to leave the busy city. “I don’t think I could live somewhere like this anyway.”

You don’t expand on your reasoning, and he doesn’t question you further, simply sparing you a solemn, understanding gaze. Supposedly, you aren’t supposed to pick favourites within your family, but Jimin is definitely golden in your eyes.

“Deeply sorry to intrude, Your Royal Majesty, but your betrothed is at the door and wishes to meet with you.” A guard inches his way towards your table with his head bowed, hands respectfully gathered behind his back.

Jimin looks to you with an apology on his tongue, but you wave him off before any explanations can spill from his plump lips. “Go get your girl.”

A bright smile enlightens his features as he springs up from his seat, dusting off his uniform before bounding after the guard. When he quirks his head back, you demonstrate your encouragement through a thumbs-up that you wave from side to side until he is satisfied, facing forward with a gleeful snicker.

You inhale the outdoor air, about to head inside yourself to rearrange Jungkook’s bandages again when your eyes wander back to the tiger lilies that caught your eye earlier. Within a few strides, you reach the vibrant buds, stretching your hand out to pluck a few stems. The sweet smell invades your senses.

With a tiny bouquet in hand, you make your way back inside, the metaphorical load on your shoulders a bit lighter than it was before. You expertly maneuver your way through the halls towards Jungkook’s room with the dwindling hope that today will be the day that his honey orbs reflect the sun’s light filtering in the window, filled with the mischief and tenderness that you remember.

When you’re met with his unmoving form instead, another sliver of that faith shatters into tiny shards.

You shake it off and head back to the windowsill, where an empty flower vase rests. The lilies within your grasp are carefully inserted inside and you place the bouquet back onto the tiny platform. Their floral scent wafts throughout the space as you take your place beside his legs.

As part of your usual routine, you use this time to relax. Just for a moment, you give yourself the room to breathe, giving your brain free rein to feel the emotions raging within you and fantasize about your future with Jungkook. You imagine yourself in a tiny cottage, craving a quaint place to live after the immense tower you were raised in.

The two of you would settle down there, adopting a pet to keep you company before you inevitably brought a few children into the world. Their genders didn’t matter, as long as you could raise them with Jungkook, forming a tight-knit family that shared all the love the both of you lacked growing up.

A warm hand wraps around your wrist. Your head snaps to follow the direction of his arm, curving into his broad shoulders, and past his sharp jaw with your heart in your throat. Tears gather at your waterline, spilling over onto your cheeks as you hiccup from the sudden sobs that overtake your body.

The doe eyes that stare back at you carry your whole world in their weight.

+ epilogue.

Tiny footsteps scuttle around the wooden floors, screaming in delight from being chased by a much larger, yet still very childlike, man. “Betchya can’t catch me, daddy!”

Your husband playfully roars at the taunt, speeding up his strides to snatch the little girl up into his arms. She shrieks at the hand that comes up to tickle her little torso.

“Okay, okay, enough playing you two,” you command, calming the baby boy in your arms that becomes far too excited from the chaotic energy erupting within your cottage. “It’s dinnertime!”

“Dinnertime!” your oldest repeats, violently wriggling around in her father’s grip to force him in lowering her back to the ground so that she can run to her spot at the table. She looks from side to side, doe eyes flitting back to you with a pout on her lips. “But where’s Pascal, Mommy?”

You pass the baby to Jungkook, freeing your hands in order to bring the steaming hot food from the stove to the table. The beige chameleon fades back into his natural emerald colour once you grab him by his scaly torso, dropping him into your daughter’s awaiting hands.

Her squeaky voice chides, “You can’t hide from Mommy.”

A boisterous, yet melodic neigh notifies you of Max’s presence in your backyard, and you shamble past the wooden door to hand the carrots you prepared for him. He snorts in delight as he lowers his head to the floor and begins chomping away. At the sight of his dirtied mane, you take a mental note to give him a thorough wash and brush later on.

Before you head inside, you catch sight of a blond man making his way towards you. “Jimin!”

His eyes reduce to two crescents from the wide grin that occupies his face. He swapped out his imposing robe for a commoner’s shirt and slacks, and they strangely suit his lithe form better than his bulky uniform.

“And where’s our lovely Queen?” You tease, elbowing him when he reaches out to ruffle the top of your head.

“Taking care of things that I don’t want to do.” You two snicker, ecstatic to see one another, and you step aside to let him coddle your children. The slight breeze in the air gingerly kisses your face, rustling the leaves on the trees surrounding your tiny house, and you close your lids to relish in the tranquillity of nature.

A pair of familiar arms curl around the shape of your waist and a smile creeps onto your lips as you open your eyes to examine Jungkook’s face, inches away from your own. He brushes your brown strands over your shoulder, leaning in for a quick peck as a loud chorus of disgust is vocalized behind you.

Both of you break out into giggles at your daughter’s behaviour and turn to face your family waiting for you inside. With your hand tangled with his, you walk to a brighter future together.

[the-chipped-cup-awards]

2024 Nominees Part 2

Here we continue to celebrate our wonderful writers and artist and share the next list of nominees under the cut

Best Dark Castle

Spy by @peacehopeandrats

Tea by @peacehopeandrats

Marble by @peacehopeandrats

Pages of Reverie by @chippedcupwrites

Shades of Blue by @ReyloAreHairGoals

His Little Wife by @Lady_Janes_Fics

The Weakness Inside Him by @Tickletorso

Best Storybrooke

Golden Thread by @enchantedflower

Symmetrical Simulations by @peacehopeandrats

War In Pieces by @peacehopeandrats

The Meeting by @peacehopeandrats

Leaving Storybrooke by @peacehopeandrats

Best Missing Years

Leaving Storybrooke by @peacehopeandrats

The Tent Of Infinite Adventure by @peacehopeandrats

Balloon by @peacehopeandrats

Unconventional by @Peacehopeandrats

Sacred Promise by @ace_cf_cups

The Storybrooke Whisky Appreciation Society by @threepwoodmarley

Best Wish!Verse

Once There Was A Wish by @peacehopeandrats

Deception by @eirian_houpe

Special Categories

Best Golden Lace

One Lover, Many Dreams by @peacehopeandrats

War In Pieces by @peacehopeandrats

Wax by @peacehopeandrats

The Storybrooke Whisky Appreciation Society by @ThreepwoodMarley

Weakness by @ThreepwoodMarley

Best Woven Beauty

Gift by Peacehopeandrats

Undefined Desires, by @worryinglyinnocent

Best Background Swanfire

To Have and to Hold - @ThatRavenclawBitch

Fragments of the Past, Glimpses of Tomorrow, by @wierdogal

Best Afterlife fic

Granted by @peacehopeandrats

Belle's Promise by @bellerina98

Awakening by @eirian_houpe

Best Drama

Time’s Curse by @eirian_houpe

Love Me Before The Last Petal Falls by deliriumsdelight7

Ad Luceum by @reolf

Best Supernatural/Sci-fi/horror

No Light Over London by @lotus0kid

The Cunning by @mareyshelley

Mortuus Loqueris Ad by @Jackabelle73

Best Comedy

The Third Wheel by @tickletorso

Lacey and the Tramp by @chippedcupwrites

Best AU (Original)

Wretched Beginnings by @poorobscureplainandlittle

Wild by @Peacehopeandrats

Two Could by @eirian_houpe

Secret of the Seas by @eirian_houpe

Scattered by @eirian_houpe

Best AU (Based on Once Upon a Time)

Tales of Gold by @JurisLadyAnna

A Knack for Losing Everything by @AntiKryptonite

Best AU (Based on Other Media)

Rumbelle’s ‘The Princess Bride’ by @Trash_000

Modern Wonders by @eirian_houpe

The Black Swan by @DeliriumsDelight7

Time’s Curse by @eirian_houpe

Best Creature

The Finfolk’s Bride by @chippedcupwrites

The Cunning by @mareyshelley

Fallen by @eirian_houpe

Before the Storm by @reolf

Best Unexpected Twist

Contract by @Kelyon

His Little Wife by @Lady_Janes_Fics

The Price by eirian_houpe

Best Bobby Squared

The Gold Motel by mrgoldsdearie

A Blade For Belfrey by eirian_houpe

Best Trope

Love Me Before The Last Petal Falls by @DeliriumsDelight7

Wounds and Scars by @Peacehopeandrats

Beauty Compelled by @eirian_houpe

Premonition by @ace_cf_cups

Before the Storm by @reolf

Best English Language

To Nurse by @Charon53

His Ray of Light by @ace_cf_cups

Events

Best Rumbelle Secret Santa

Wrapping Up Her Christmas Gift by @Kelyon

Gluttony, a RSS Fic by @thestraggletag

The Sweetest Dream by @threepwoodmarley

Christmas Secrets by @peacehopeandrats

If You Will Be My Queen by @eirian_houpe

Make Me Feel Alive Again by @cartoonjessie

Finding the Fun by @tickletorso

They Said it Was a Party by @of-princes-and-savages

There Can Only Ever Be by @notalwayslate

Mysterious by @reolf

Portrait of the Heart by @chippedcupwrites

Rumbelle Secret Santa by @99goosebumps

Already There by @Jackabelle73

Best Fluffapalooza Fic

The Tea Shop by @peacehopeandrats

Dragon Day by @importantgalaxyrimaway

Content Rumbelle #1 through #8 by @Jackabelle73

Best Fluffapalooza Art

Kiss Me Again, It's Working by @milaeryn 

Rumbelle (Something There) by @personinthepalace

Best Monthly Rumbelling

Encounter - Rumplerose (AO3)

The Landlord and the Princess - Rumplerose (AO3)

Honorable - Rumplerose (AO3)

Character Awards

Best Belle

The Not So Dark One by @CharlotteAshmore

Lady of the Lake by @rumplestiltskinsbulge

Beauty Enlightened by @eirian_houpe

Ingredients by @peacehopeandrats

Delivery by @peacehopeandratsThe Oldest Door by @peacehopeandrats

Best Dark One!Belle

Rags to Riches by @alphashley14

Fallen by @eirian_houpe

And onward to part 3!

[ikkaku-of-heart]

// @afailedkingsheart For the Black Heart/Heart of the Joker verse //

There was an insistent tapping that panged on his mind while teal hues followed every which way the woman before him paced. Clear annoyance on her mind as he sat on the little fold out chair before his throne of suit seats. All which remained empty at the moment as his officers were out perusing the streets and glory of his kingdom. Their kingdom.

Trouble raced in his mind and her steps, clearly distressed but trying to think of a way to address her young master, or so he assumed. He always enjoyed the loyalty of his Corazón's subordinates. An extension of their own family growing as their power swelled.

Lavender tinted glasses hid his obvious gaze, otherwise, his face was the stone wall, emotionless mask he always wore. A light tap against the metal of the folding chair was his draw to attention regarding her to speak what was on her mind.

Ikkaku generally wasn’t the sort to bring her problems or concerns to others - especially Joker himself. Doing so might make her seem weak to her fellow Hearts, or worse, her Corazon, yet she felt she had no choice this time.

The heels of her boots clicked on the tile floor while she paced back and forth. Her teeth gnawed on her thumbnail as she considered the best way to address Law’s superior. Technically hers, too, though in her mind no one was above Law. Sure, Donquixote Rosinante might have been King of Dressrosa, but she was certain he was secretly a puppet. After all, Law was the one who spoke for him, who gave the commands and came up with the brilliant plans. There was no question that he was basically heir to the throne and Joker’s empire, much as she knew the other executives loathed that thought. They could all act like a big, happy family, but Ikkaku knew those fools secretly resented the Corazon.

It was part of why she was so worried. Those opportunistic bastards would be watching him closely, ready to pounce upon the slightest show of weakness. Especially that disgusting wretch Trebol.

“You’re of course more than aware that Law will always faithfully serve you and your empire,” she began, doing her best to remain diplomatic despite her irritation. Puppet king or not, Joker was still powerful, and more than that, Law would be displeased with her if she disrespected his Young Master. “However, I’m worried you’re putting too much on him. He's been sleeping even less than normal. Barely eating, too, because he’s constantly running around fulfilling your orders. And now you’ve sent him off on another mission. A solo mission.”

Yes, that was certainly a concern. Law was immensely capable and powerful, but a lack of sleep and proper meals could even make him ever-so-slightly vulnerable. And yet Joker had sent him away without his Hearts to protect him.

Unable to help herself, Ikkaku glared at Rosinante out of the corner of her eye as she continued to pace. Even if he didn’t suspect his executives would be willing to backstab and send assassins, what about their other enemies? Other pirates, Marines who held no stock in the Shichibukai title, hell even the Revolutionary Army might be looking to take out the Surgeon of Death!

“I...attempted to talk to him about getting more rest. About letting us take on some of the work, but he said it’s his responsibility. Except it’s not!” Fury flashing in her dark eyes, she spun on her heel to face Joker, brow furrowed with concern and barely-repressed anger. “I know he’s the most capable executive, but that is not excuse for the others to slack off and leave him to clean up their messes! Especially not at the expense of his health!”

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Kidnapping was rather par for the course when it came to the Hearts. Their Corazon often needed fresh subjects for his experiments and donors for his black market organ trade, but usually it was Uni who was tasked with such a thing. However, while he had made the initial capture, it was Ikkaku who had been assigned to deliver the target to the client.

Usually Law would have her be the point of contact for the sake of seducing the client, but to her immense surprise and pleasure he’d given her the order to make use of her other skill set - ensuring the high-tech weapons this Vital person offered in trade were the real thing, and potentially reverse-engineer them herself so they wouldn’t need him in the future. She was rather excited at the prospect, as while her days were often filled with drafting and building new and wonderous weapons and torture devices for her Corazon’s pleasure, this sort of thing was quite fun to do, like solving a puzzle. Even better if she could find ways to improve on the weapons - truly that would impress the man who ruled her heart.

So there was a bit of a spring in her step as she strolled into the warehouse, dropping the bodybag with the still-living but tightly-bound occupant slung over one shoulder and a briefcase in her other hand.

“Of course he can still talk,” she said matter-of-factly, looking the client over. Skinny, pale, hardly what she’d picture of an arms dealer yet apparently he was good enough at his job to earn the Surgeon of Death’s business. “That was part of the deal, and my Corazon always follows through. And considering the price you and Law agreed on, I’d think he’d be well worth waiting for.”

To emphasize her point and prove the man wasn’t dead nor mute, she dropped the bag, a smile curling her ruby lips at the muffled yelp she received when the bound man inside hit the concrete floor with a heavy thud. “But since you’re in such a rush, I suppose we should get started, shouldn’t we?” Her grin grew more devious and promising as she set the briefcase down on the abandoned barrel with considerably more care and gentleness. Unlocking it, she presented an assortment of torture devices for Vital to pick and choose from like a charcuterie board. “I’m Ikkaku, Law’s trusted engineer, and all of these I designed myself to bring an exquisite variety of pain. Please, do try them out.”

@ikkaku-of-heart​​

     Everything, thus far, had gone surprisingly to agreed-upon plan; the pirates had done their part and stayed out of the news for the time being, and he had provided with a solid enough lead to the target. Not that the ill-fated victim was meant to die quite yet, not when there was overlap in his jobs. In exchange for a small handful of rare but powerful and well-crafted weapons, there had been but a simple enough kidnapping of a particular man who held information on a different specialized weapon he was after, a blade of some legend. Vital understood he wasn’t the only one after that sword and that man, but part of his power remained in retaining a certain level of anonymity, especially when it came to dealing with the government, so pirates had been the correct choice for him to turn to. The deal had been struck out of mutual agreement, and he was fairly certain that they wouldn’t outright betray him, at least not right away.

     If they were smart and like himself, they’d wait until he dragged the appropriate information out of the kidnapped victim before deciding to betray him. But for now as he lounged in the warehouse as their meeting spot, heels of his boots bumping against the side of the barrel he was seated upon as he kicked his legs, all he afforded an approaching individual was a frown.

     “I normally don’t care about sticking close to the clock but you really took your time.” The criticism was offered with only a dismissive tone as at last he hopped off the barrel to stand, studying the woman who donned the tell-tale Jolly Roger. He also figured she wasn’t a spy or anything of the like – the Hearts had a nasty reputation that warded people from parading under their symbol falsely. “So. How’d it go? He can still talk, right?” It was clear there was no concern for the man’s welfare as long as he was still coherent and able to converse – able to feel pain. 

     “If it wasn’t clear from the correspondence with your crew – I’m Vital.”

[doeilovr]

Turn Back Time

-> Pairing: Lee Taeyong x femReader, special guest Kim Doyoung

-> Genre: Angst, Idol Taeyong au, Cheating au, break up au, a bit of smut (like 1 paragraph)

-> Warnings: cheating, cursing, suggestive themes, mention of sex, physical violence, self doubt

-> Summary: And it was moments like this you wished you could turn back time, to make him stop hurting you. Taeyong was your world and all you ever wished for was to be his too.

-> Words: 2.6 k

Disclaimer: this is not how Lee Taeyong is at all! This is merely fiction! Cheating is also not okay, just be kind, people and love truthfully!

You knew something had changed, when you heard Taeyong walk into your shared bedroom.

He was out late again, working on choreography and writing lyrics at the studio.

A month ago he would have cuddled up to you in bed, pecking you on the cheek, before he would fall asleep with his arms wrapped around your body.

But he had stopped doing that and just got into bed as silently as possible, trying not to wake you up. You were awake though. Thinking about what had changed between you two.

In the morning you would get up before him, staring at him sleeping peacefully in your bed, regretting whatever you did wrong.

You were making breakfast for the both of you when Taeyong joined you in the kitchen, his blonde hair messy and his eyes sleepy.

“Good morning”, you smiled at him, tempted to stroke his hair. Taeyong’s cold expression brought you back to reality. “Morning”, he mumbled, grabbing an apple from the counter.

You wanted to tell him you made breakfast for him, but he was faster. “I’m going to the studio. It’ll be late, no need to wait for me”, he announced, not waiting for an answer and disappearing back into the bedroom.

Your stomach twisted, you just couldn’t understand what you did wrong. You weren’t even hungry anymore, putting the freshly cooked food in the fridge for another time.

You were determined to win Taeyong back, even if you didn’t know why you had lost him on the first place. Maybe he got tired of you because you never surprised him. Maybe he wanted you to be more spontaneous. With these thoughts in mind you bought coffee and made your way to the studio.

You entered the recording studio, knowing Taeyong was alone, as it was late already. He stood in the recording booth, practicing some random verses. He looked good, wearing a white tee and ripped black jeans. His blonde hair was messy, as he was constantly running his fingers through it.

To be honest, he just looked tired.

Your breath hitched in your throat, when he locked eyes with you. Taeyong put down the headphones and stepped out of the booth.

“What are you doing here?” He walked past you, pressing some buttons on the computer.

“I brought you coffee”, you smiled, placing the Americano down next to him. Taeyong side eyed you, noticing your black coat. You felt his hot gaze on your body, making your cheeks flush.

“Yeah, actually I’m not just here for that.” Carefully you pushed Taeyong down on the leather chair behind him. He let you guide him, intently watching your every move.

You placed a kiss to his soft lips, before you grabbed his hand, guiding it to open up your coat. It had been a while since you last kissed and you had missed him. The feeling of his lips against yours. Taeyong watched you with intense eyes, opening the coat to reveal a set of white lingerie.

You had bought it just for him and felt nervous to show yourself like this, since it had been a while you two last had sex. Or just any other intimate interaction.

You sat down on his lap, your eyes never leaving his face. Taeyong gulped visibly, before you placed another kiss on his lips, this time using your tongue. His hands roamed around your body and his member twitched beneath you. Fuck, he felt so good.

Your hand traveled down his chest, all the way to the button of his jeans. You stroked him through the fabric, making him inhale sharply. “I want you, Taeyong”, you whispered, a sudden desperation in your voice.

There was a flicker in Taeyong’s dark eyes, his hand moving to yours and grabbing it quickly. Just when you thought you got through to him, he removed your hand from his crotch, pushing you off his lap.

You stepped back, watching him with sad eyes. Did he really not love you anymore?

Taeyong got up, cursing under his breath. “Don’t fucking do that”, he mumbled, his eyes moving quickly.

“Taeyong-“, you tried to reach out to him, but he moved past you and got back into the recording booth. You felt so vulnerable, closing the jacket and hugging yourself.

Was that it? Was that how you broke up with him? Why couldn’t he just explain himself or at least talk to you? You wiped away a tear that threatend to run down your cheek and left the room.

In a quick pace you moved down the long corridor, making your way to the exit, while trying to calm down. On your way around a corner you bumped into someone’s chest.

“Y/n?” Doyoung smiled down at you. You greeted him quickly and hoped he wouldn’t notice your glistening eyes.

“Are you here for Taeyong?” You started shaking your head vigorously, trying to smile back at him, but you looked rather awkward.

“I’m on my way out, actually.” Doyoung’s smile faded a bit. He just knew you too well, sensing that there was something wrong.

“Everything alright?” He furrowed his brows. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just tired”, you waved your hand around. “I’ll get going now, see you around.” Doyoung nodded, waving goodbye to you and watching you walk away.

Something for sure wasn’t right. You didn’t look happy at all. And Doyoung wondered why?

Back home you cried yourself to sleep. You loved Taeyong too much, how could he so easily turn away from you? That night he didn’t come home at all.

You just got out of the shower the next evening, when Taeyong texted you. You hadn’t heard from him the whole day and felt beyond disappointed. He could have so easily talked to you, but he chose to ignore you. “I’m out with the boys”, the text read. You didn’t reply and went on with getting ready for bed.

You were lying awake for way too long now, taking a glance at the clock to see it was not even midnight yet. Your phone suddenly rang, it was Doyoung.

“Hey y/n”, he greeted.

“Doyoung.” You often talked over the phone like this, but it had become less and less after Taeyong distanced himself from you. You felt weird being around his friends without him, which was stupid to be honest, as they all seemed to like you a lot.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” He gasped a little, probably just now realizing how late it was.

You chuckled. “No, don’t worry.” It felt good to talk to him again. “Are you also at the club?” You were curious. Honestly you just wanted to know if Taeyong had maybe talked to them about you. Who knows, maybe he was more talkative with them than with you.

“What do you mean? Who’s at the club”, he asked confused.

You chuckled nervously. “Taeyong told me he was out with you guys.”

Doyoung was quiet for a moment. “No. Taeyong did go out, but not with any of us. He went out with Jia, she’s collaborating with him, I don’t know.”

Your heart sank and you sat up in your bed, turning on the lamp. “What”, you mumbled. “Which club?”

“Pretty sure they went to Octagon. Is everything okay, y/n? You know you can tell me”, Doyoung reminded you softly.

You bit down on your lips, emotions washing over you. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going back to sleep now”, you lied. Doyoung didn’t ask any further questions and said his goodbye before hanging up.

You sighed, dropping the phone on the bed. Taeyong lied to you. He had lied. But why? Did he cheat on you? Was he cheating on you right now?

He was. In the past week, while you were waiting at home, doubting yourself and everything you ever did wrong, he was with Jia. So he was now. In the club, dancing and making out with her, trying to get you out of his head.

That’s how you found yourself standing in front of the club the same hour. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. To your luck, Doyoung showed up too, knowing damn well something wasn’t right. He got you in the club and searched for Taeyong with you.

When you finally spotted him you didn’t feel shocked or mad. No. You were sad. Sad, disappointed and broken-hearted. You still loved this man after all, even if you saw him cheating right here and in front of your eyes.

“Y/n”, Doyoung mumbled, following your gaze to Taeyong. Despite the loud music you could hear him clearly. Doyoung couldn’t believe his eyes either. Taeyong was cheating with Jia. His best friend was cheating on his other best friend.

Fuck.

“You knew?” Doyoung stared at you wide eyed, feeling nothing but empathy.

You nodded, tears prickling in your eyes. Seeing him make out with her so easily made you feel sick. You never thought Taeyong was able to hurt you like this.

You always thought the best of him. He was so caring. You didn’t know where it went wrong, but suddenly he treated you like you were the worst person ever. He replaced you and seemed to not even feel bad about it.

Walking towards Taeyong your steps felt heavy. You couldn’t lie to yourself any longer, he didn’t love you anymore. He hurt you and you wanted him to know that.

Stopping in front of him you waited until Taeyong caught your figure next to him, immediately staring at you with wide eyes. He almost pushed Jia back, startling her, before she also noticed you standing there.

Unlike him, she didn’t look fazed at all. You wondered if she even knew you were his girlfriend. You barely held back your tears and your voice was shaky.

“Whatever I did to you, I’m honestly sorry. I hope you’re fucking happy now.” You stopped for a second, taking in Taeyong’s face one more time, his shocked expression.

Quickly you disappeared in the crowd, making your way to the exit, Doyoung running behind you. As you got out of the club, the fresh air hit your face. Hot tears fell down your cheeks, as you slowly walked down the alley.

Doyoung came up next to you. “Are you okay”, he mumbled, putting a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t look okay. And he hated seeing you this broken.

Another voice called your name and you both turned around to find Taeyong angrily walking up to you. “Y/n”, he shouted.

He looked so angry and for what reason. Doyoung quickly stepped between the two of you. “Taeyong, fucking leave her alone”, he shouted, but Taeyong only pushed him to the side.

“You fucking knew”, he shouted at you and you stepped back, scared. “What sick game are you playing”, he added.

Now you got angry too, poking his chest with your index finger angrily. “I defended you all this time. I made up stupid excuses for you and your behavior, when you didn’t even have the guts to talk to me. This is so fucking low Taeyong, even for you”, you shouted back.

“Please, you’re obsessed with me. You even show up in the same fucking club, knowing I’m with someone else. You’re a pathetic bitch.” You saw the change of expression in his eyes as soon as he said the last words.

“Y/n-“ his face softened and he tried to reach out for you, but you quickly interrupted him, slapping him across his face.

Out of reflex, Taeyong shoved you to the ground and you landed on your butt. You gasped, finding yourself sitting on the cold asphalt. Taeyong realized what he just did and wanted to help you up, but Doyoung had already rushed to you side.

“Y/n are you okay?” Doyoung grabbed your hand. You couldn’t help but burst out in tears, letting Doyoung help you up. “Please take me home”, you whispered and he quickly nodded.

Taeyong watched you two walk away, Doyoung sending him a death glare as you both turned around.

He couldn’t believe how far he had went. He hated himself so much for hurting you. He had hurt you with cheating and now he had even hurt you physically. Taeyong never wanted this to happen either. He had been tired for a long time, stopped giving you attention and touching you. But you did the same.

When Jia came to the studio, flirting non stop, he just let her. He would mindlessly fuck her until you would give him attention again. But when the time came around and you did, he had grown tired of you, too.

He hated himself and he had projected it onto you until he hated you too.

You thanked Doyoung at the entrance to your apartment, watching him drive off with the taxi, before you entered the building. Unlocking the door, you walked inside, immediately aiming for the bedroom, just wanting to go to sleep.

You were shocked seeing Taeyong in your room, examining a picture of you two together. He turned around, looking at you. For the first time in weeks he looked as sad as you. As hurt as you.

“Y/n can we talk, please”, he asked gently, moving towards you.

“It’s too late, Taeyong.”

“I love you so much”, a tear rolled down his cheek.

“No, you don’t. If you love someone you don’t ignore them, or hurt them or cheat on them. You hate me Taeyong. And I don’t even know why”, your voice cracked before you could finish your sentence.

“No, y/n. I don’t hate you.” He stepped closer again, taking a hold of your hand. “I hated myself so much. I was so sick and tired of everything. I let it all out on you. And I’m honestly so sorry. I love you so much, please.”

You cried more, your heart hurting in your chest. His fingers stroked over the back of your hand, a feeling you had been longing for for such a long time.

“You cheated on me, Taeyong”, you whispered.

He nodded, pressing his lips together, to hold back tears. “I don’t have any feelings for her. Please, y/n. Believe me, please.”

“It hurts, Taeyong. I gave you my heart and you threw it away just like that.”

Taeyong’s other hand moved to cup your face, wiping away the tear that had left your eye. “I didn’t. My heart belongs to you, you’re the love of my life.” He paused, breath shaky. “I have no excuse. Cheating on you was wrong in so many ways. I started because I thought I would find my love for you again. But fuck, I realized it was never gone in the first place. I never want to hurt you again, y/n.”

You cried out one more time, before stepping forward and hugging Taeyong tightly. He immediately pulled you closer, rubbing your back and kissing your head.

“I love you so much”, he whispered over and over again.

After a while, you pulled away from him again, sniffling and wiping your tears away.

Taeyong was all you had and wanted, but his actions scarred you deeply. You looked up at him, pecking his lips softly. It was lovely moments like this you wanted to last forever.

And it was moments like this you wished you could turn back time, to make him stop hurting you. Taeyong was your world and all you ever wished for was to be his too.

But sometimes it’s not meant to be. You would find someone else, someone that would love and appreciate you, even if times were tough.

And maybe one day you’d be someone’s world. And maybe Taeyong would be someone else’s.

a/n: I rewrote this so many times lol I hope you enjoy it. It was my first attempt on smut so please bear with me. I’d also appreciate any feedback <3

[ddullahan]

hadestown au 1

HI SO My anxiety has been through the fuckin roof for the past few weeks and in a fit of stress I deleted the first look of the bees hadestown au that I posted a few weeks ago. I’m feeling much better now and I wanted to repost it because I really am super excited about it >< Anyway, second verse, maybe same as the first, here we go! ---------------- it’s an old song As all tales begin, there comes a moment of question. The precipice we all stand at, toes hanging over the edge, eager to take the plunge. The question, different for every eye and ear turned to the story, starts as a feeling. It buoys us through the long swathes of paragraphs ahead. It seeps into our minds, and pushes us off the edge. We have that moment of freefall. Of realisation. We have to trust in something to catch us. Like most fairy tales, it begins with once upon a time. There laid a railroad track.   If you've ever heard the rails sing on a good, windy day, you'd know the sound sticks to the back of your mind. There to stay until the dark of night, when it creeps up to whisper wanderlust into your bones. The song of the rails is a low and resonant thing, humming into the willows scattered along the railroad sides. They used to say the rails were the Fates groaning in your ears. Urging you along. Waiting in anticipation for the train to come to call. Waiting for the story to start its freefall. The metal likes to wail beneath blackened wheels on hot, summer days. Days much like the one in which our story begins. Once upon a time - Metal chatters under the weight of an ancient, scorch-marked train. Decorated with blacked out windows. Panes of glass soot-stained, like they’d been brushed with fire one too many times. Coal smoke bursts from its chimney with a grudge, flooding the gray skies in the type of black smog that you can taste in the back of your mouth, long after the train’s disappeared. It was painted white once, a long, long time ago. A gift from the boss man down below for his flowering wife; but it’s one of those gifts you shove in the back of your drawer. One of those things that you spend your nights lying awake in bed, thinking in guilty chords. The train still runs, but the old white sides are now black and cold. Like the panting of dogs on the skin of your heels, the wind still blows hot behind it. The only thing it tows are souls to their final destination, but it won't take you if you ain't got the gold to board. It’s a fact almost everyone knows. ‘Cause the old legends say the road to hell could lead you out of poverty, but you gotta pay the toll to get that good money. The wind cracks and snaps after the train; sends the short ribbons of inky black hair whipping. Snapping into the brown-skinned face of a hungry young woman.   Blake Belladonna’s eyes glint like knives with a debt to pay, and her steps are sure footed against the rolling rocks under her boots. She wears a weathered bag slung over her shoulder, and a once-warm leather duster now worn to shit and hole-y. She seems small among the billowing willows and smoggy skies. She doesn't know where she's going or how she got to the railroad at all - but she knows how to turn her collar against the wind. And she knows how to run.   Metal shrieks, pulling her eyes up like a hand to the chin. She’s left to watch as the ruined, black omen of a train screams past a small, dilapidated station. It’s the only structure for miles. The cicadas are screaming along to the wailing of the tracks in a symphony, until the locomotive vanishes over the curve of a distant hill. The station's dry, mud-caked windows send silt drifting to cracked, rotting floorboards. The coke-bottle thick panes rattle angrily in their fragile frames, and then come to find their peace once more. Damn this is a dump, the young woman thinks, approaching the station. But it'll have to do. The sun's rays sink into her skull and turn her warm brown skin hot to the touch. It's far too hot for April. Stepping into the shade is an immediate relief, until the hot wind kicks up again. It blasts in her face as if to remind her it's there. As if she could ever forget. She's used to the way it whispers starvation in her ears. She throws the door open and escapes from the wind; stumbles her way into the empty station. Small and dusty like it’d been forgotten, filled with only two benches facing each other and a single door hiding behind them in the gloom. There's a sign on the door that reads "End o  th  line Caf ". Faintly, she can hear music behind it. Blake doesn't hesitate, and heads for the door. The knob breaks off in her hand, but it feels familiar and solid so she pockets it and heads inside. Follows the hallway and the pull of her feet to the music. The walls grow darker and thicker with polished wood. Her steps don't seem to echo and the music has since paused. The quiet starts to make her anxious. She doesn't like dark hallways. She's dreamt of them enough for a lifetime. The further she goes, the more her unease starts to grow and the more she starts to wonder if she's been here before. It's ridiculous, really. This is the farthest south she'd ever gone. Or was she in the east? Her anxious heart speeds up for a reason she can't see, and it's like her feet already know where to go. The hallway turns suddenly and she finds herself standing at the rim of an amphitheater of sorts. The music fades back in. There's a band jamming to soft jazz in the stands, people crowded and conversing at tiny tables scattered about the flat floor at the bottom. There's a man at a piano playing a diddy, there's a flicker of gold in the kitchen beyond. It's alive in a way that she hadn't seen in a long time, and she finds her feet eager to join the dancing 'round the tables below. She takes a step and nearly runs into another woman, decked out in a crisp white and red suit. She’s older, maybe late thirties or mid forties - has this eternally kind, yet melancholy smile. Her features are fair, but tired. Her black hair is pulled back like Blake’s, but tipped with red like the ends had been dipped in paint. Blake apologises immediately - "E-excuse me, sorry," and starts picking her way down to the tables. "No worries dear," She hears faintly behind her, the older woman's face already blurred from her memory. She blinks and suddenly she’s on the bottom floor, with the movers and shakers rattling cups with their stomping jive. She wants to move with them, but she's already reaching for an empty chair, like her hand was following its own storyline. The flash of gold catches her attention again. Her feet slip into a shallow groove in the floor, and she is rooted. Something crashes, and her eyes follow the clattering sharp shards of porcelain. One piece with purple trim bounces off a brown boot. She notices a hole near the big toe. Blake looks up, and her heart decides to freefall.   All the way across the floor stands a young woman in an apron. A bucket of newly broken dishes lay at her feet.   Her eyes are so pale and pretty they have their own orbit amidst the aging lights above. Her blonde hair ripples into liquid gold, twisted messily into a bun. Broad shoulders are cinched into position with suspenders and there's an off-white shirt rolled up to her elbows, the hem tucked into a pair of trousers. The skin of her strong forearms are tanned and riddled with freckles, spreading constellations all the way up her neck and across the gradual slope of her nose.   Oh, there's something familiar about all of this. Blake feels it in her bones. There’s something familiar in the ‘o’ of her startled mouth. Something about the empty hands she hovers, still holding an imaginary bucket of plates. She's got those sharp lilac eyes pinned on something in front of her.   It's a jolt to realise she's staring right at Blake. Though suddenly, that older woman in the white and red suit sweeps by that freckled face, and it's with a smile and a wave that their staring contest ends. No one claims the victory as the spell breaks. The older woman asks something that Blake can't hear, but she knows her voice is soft and sweet. Her feet move like she’s skating on air, and Blake decides to focus on that. She focuses on that instead of the heartbeat in her chest. She doesn’t think about how her pulse no longer feels like it belongs to herself. The golden woman nods stiffly and turns. Follows the gliding woman to the back of the house, and Blake is left with a heart migrating into her throat. The hungry young woman quickly tears her gaze away, uproots her feet from the grooves in the floor, and sits at the table she'd claimed. Her skin feels clammy. Her body is buzzing. She shrugs off her bag and coat, then pulls her bag into her lap. As if there was anything in there worth protecting. It could be minutes, it could be hours. She's really not sure, when a shadow falls over her table, and the sight aches like an old friend. A bottle of some fizzy drink is set gently before her, the bottle cap rattling towards her side of the table. Sunflower Pop, it reads. She looks up. The poor young woman, with her liquid gold locks wrapped in a messy topknot, stares right back. They're both struck speechless.   If there was ever a moment where destiny fills the lungs, it was then. Anticipation strings itself between their ribs, the cords like telephone wires humming their universal tune. I found you. I found you. I found you. But neither of them say a word to each other. The anticipation feels closer to a noose than a cup-and-string, the longer they spend breathing in the other's presence. The hungry young woman with hair black as night, just couldn't look away. Couldn't make her voice work right. The gold haired woman's jaw seems to work, but there was still no sound to be heard. Eventually the woman just turns around and walks away, toddling and tripping like her knees were unsteady. Blake sits where she left her, feeling much more than sympathy. She feels like her chair would collapse with her if she tried to follow. And again, there are voices whispering in the back of her mind. The wind already found her inside this place, its voices groaning and hollow. It always finds her, and she knows. She knows it always will. But as her slender fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle left on her table, Blake tastes the fizz and hums. Feels the crackle of carbonation all across her skin as she tracks the tall blonde with her eyes. The wind doesn’t feel like a whip in this vibrant, lively place. That has to count for something. Maybe she should stick around, just for one day. Maybe she would stick around and wait for the band to play.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part one)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

I got big plans for this AU! Hopefully you all enjoy it!

Featuring @spooner7308‘s Sixtended OC, EB!

Word count: 2722

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

Mud slopped around her ankles as the late afternoon rain pattered off waxed robes and soaked into the churned forest soil. The woods around this area were shrouded in thick mist, too dense to see through, so Katherine scrambled up a nearby tree, moving slowly but carefully, swinging higher until she could see clearly around her. Something about being high up relaxed her, even as she surveyed the land. 

War had ravaged the territory outside her province. Straight ahead, thick, billowing tendrils of dark grey smoke twisted high into the air, evidence of another battle fought. She wondered how many died this time. 

To the right, the distant city, Orkpool. The people there were heavily influenced by the celestial gods, too much so for Katherine’s personal taste. 

And to the left, a wall of dark clouds bearing heavy rainfall. The soft grey sky was already being consumed in its mass. The forest would be replenished with its water.

Katherine paced over the stretch of winding tree branches, watching the surrounding perimeter closely. Her village was much too soft to be on guard duty, as they didn’t really believe in violence, so she decided to step up and make sure no threats were trying to come in. With the war going on, they could never be too safe. Her father didn’t seem to understand that no matter how many times she spelled it out for him.

Sighing, Katherine ran her fingertips over the length of the bow strapped to her back. It was made of soft birch wood and carved with small knobs and pointy bits, perfect for her hands. When she first got it when she was just a teenager, she had fantasized about defending the entire village with just the weapon alone, sending down a barrage of arrows down on the enemies and wiping them out with a single attack. 

But now she’s almost thirty and she doesn’t really feel like much of a hero.

She had spent her entire life cooped up in the forest. And it wasn’t that she didn’t like Ghent, she did, she just wished for more freedom to explore. But after the death of her mother, her father tightened the security of the village. Nobody leaves and nobody comes in without an intense security check. Well, at least they moved past killing anyone on sight- now THAT would have caused a war just by itself.

Rustling came to Katherine’s left and she turned, spotting a squirrel munching away on some berries a few feet away. She crouched down, slipping her bow off of her back. She knocked an arrow and aimed for the animal’s heart, hoping to take it out with one shot. It would make an excellent snack for her friend.

Arms muscles tingling with the strength of drawing back the string, Katherine exhaled a breath and--

  “KATHERINE!!!!”

The arrow flew into the tree trunk, and the squirrel shrieked in fright and took off into the underbrush. Katherine growled in frustration and swung her head down to the young man standing below the tree she was in.

It was Elan, an Wood Elf like her, but several years younger. He had chords of ivy woven in his oak brown hair, and his dumb hazel deer eyes were blinking in confusion.

  “Oh. Were you hunting?” He said obliviously. “Sorry!”

Katherine rolled her eyes and hopped across the branches to retrieve her arrow. When she hopped down from the tree, Elan looked nervous.

  “You shouldn’t jump from that height,” He said, as worried as always. “What if you break your ankles? Or your leg? Then what shall we do?”

  “Not leave me out here to die, I hope,” Katherine said, gliding past him. He jumped and hurried after her, skittering like a baby deer that lagged behind its herd. “And this wouldn’t be such a problem if we set up an actual guard post. Then we can have proper ladders AND security.”

Elan actually wrinkled his nose at that prospect. “I prefer having everyone in the village. It’s safer that way. Especially for you, princess.”

Katherine struggled to suppress a groan. She hated that she was considered a “princess”, when their village couldn’t even rank to a real kingdom. Just because she was the chief’s daughter didn’t mean she was anything special.

  “I told you to not call me that, Elan.” Katherine chided.

Elan fumbled. “I-I know, but--”

  “No buts. Don’t call me princess. It’s just weird.”

Katherine whisked past him quickly, breaking through a threshold of braided willow curtains to enter into her village.

Ghent was a marvelous forest city made of hunts and tents and tree houses. A winding river wove through the territory, burbling several spring deposits near the many shops and apothecaries. Colorful flowers bloomed like starbursts from house to house, making the place seem more like home and less like a prison that you weren’t really allowed to leave. Elves and fauns and satyrs and a few cat-folk mulled around, shopping or eating or selling their wares. A certain faun with speckled brown fur like an axis deer, bounded up to her and happily strummed a lute.

  “There she is!” The faun chirped in a singsong voice. “The princess has returned! The city is saved!”

Katherine shoved the faun playfully. “Oh, shut up, Anne. And don’t call me princess!”

  “Uh oh, princess is getting feisty!” Said another voice from behind.

Katherine whirled around to see a smirking satyr standing there. Her fur was a deep russet brown color, contrasting her lighter brown hair, and her body was held with great strength. This particular satyr always had an abundance of smugness, which she didn’t care to hide. Like right now.

  “There’s my partner in crime!” Anne trotted over to the satyr. 

  “Ran off again?” Maggie asked Katherine. “You disobeyed your father. I like it.” She smirked even wider.

Katherine shook her head. “Someone has to. We need to stay safe.”

  “We are safe,” Anne said. “Don’t worry so much.” And then, to completely contradict her words, “Oh, by the way, that orc lady is back.”

Katherine groaned. Of course.

After just a brief moment of scanning the area, she spotted the half-orc sitting by a small campfire and chewing on some dried deer strips, sticking out like a sore thumb in the village.

EB was a mountain of a woman thanks to her orc blood. She had dull, greyish-green skin, matted dark brown hair, and a terrible under and overbite, with the sharp canines almost overlapping each other. Her upper body was scrawled with inky black tattoos of things Katherine didn’t understand, and her face, neck, and chest were marred with several scars in various stages of healing. The most recent seemed to be a stab wound in her shoulder, dressed in a dirty bandage that looked like it needed to be changed. When Katherine walked over, she stood up, towering over the usually very tall wood elf.

  “Elizabeth,” Katherine said.

  “It’s EB,” The half-orc rumbled, and her voice was deep and biting. Up close, her face looked like it was set in an expression of permanent rage. “I’ve told you that many times before.”

  “My apologies,” Katherine said. “EB. Why have you returned to my village?”

  “I am once again asking your people to join us in our fight,” EB said. She slipped a scroll out of her crumpled satchel and thrust it into Katherine hand’s. The paper was stained by rainwater, mud, and droplets of dried blood that had seeped through the leather of her bag. “Henry will not be asking again.”

  “It’s about time,” Katherine said, nothing bothering to open up the declaration. “I’ve given him the same answer three times now. I’m glad he finally took the hint.” 

She tried to hand the scroll back, but EB didn’t take it. She just glared. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab the massive ax on her back and slice Katherine’s head in two.

  “You don’t have a choice.” EB said.

  “This is not our fight.” Katherine deflected. “I’m not putting my village in danger just because of some petty war. And for what? What exactly are you people fighting for?”

EB faltered for a moment, letting her guard down for just a second. She blinked her flashing flash eyes, then gathered herself up again, gruffly saying, “You would know if you joined.”

Katherine barked a laugh. “Nice try.”

Once again, EB’s expression twitched, but this time it actually stayed slightly more fearful. She reached out and grabbed Katherine’s forearm with a huge hand, squeezing it tightly.

  “Listen,” She hissed softly, urgency in her usually-rude voice. “You all seem like good people. I don’t want you to die. You have better chances surviving in the war than defying what Henry wants. Trust me, I’ve seen what he can do. I’ve had to do horrible things. I don’t want the same thing happening to you.” She gripped tighter until Katherine thought her bone may snap in two pieces. “Please, Just agree. Fight with us.”

Katherine looked up at the huge half-orc and said, “No.”

EB was taken aback. She released Katherine’s arm and stepped away, quickly settling her facial features back into rudeness so as to not break the obvious mask she was having to wear. Then, she snorted.

  “You’ve got guts,” The half-orc said. “It’s a shame that they’ll soon be sprawled out all over your village.”

Katherine raised her nose haughtily. “We aren’t as weak as we seem.”

EB eyed her up and down, then said, “I sure hope so.”

Then, she gathered her belongings and stalked out of the village, earning wary looks from civilians as she went. The moment she was out of the willow curtains, Katherine exhaled a shaky breath and rubbed her forehead tiredly. She looked down at the scroll in her hand and worried about what she just got herself into.

  “What was that all about?” Maggie asked as she and Anne trotted over.

  “Another alignment pact,” Katherine said, showing them the rolled up piece of paper. “I didn’t agree, of course. I don’t want anyone fighting in a war.” Then, softly, “I don’t think half of us would even know how to properly fight.”

Anne tilted her head at the scroll. “Oh dear. Well, at least you saved us! No war for Ghent!” She strummed happily on her lute.

Katherine chuckled lightly, hoping to look on the bright side of things like her distant cousin. She turned to go to her tree house, hopefully to rest up before dinner and--

  “OW!!”

That’s right. She had more company. Though, this one she was actually looking forward to seeing.

Katherine walked over to the apothecary hut where the cry originated from and peeked inside. Past the shimmering vials and bubbling cauldrons and various ingredients hanging up, was a straw bed where a young woman laid.

She was an Aasimar of around twenty-three, with glowing golden skin, pupil-less silver eyes, and long, luscious dark brown hair that had glistening yellow feathers growing out from the scalp. She was bold-faced and well-muscled on her arms and neck, and there were patches of golden-white feathers fluffed on her shoulders, where wings would sprout if she commanded them. Despite her nun’s robes, her belly was thick and swollen with pregnancy of around five months. Her frustrated expression brightened when Katherine knelt beside the bed.

  “Kat,” She said in relief. “Finally.”

  “Sorry, I was out scouting,” Katherine said. She watched as the village’s physician, an old Wood Elf named Faedi, ran her hands over the Aasimar’s stomach. “How are you, Catalina?”

  “In hell,” Catalina groaned, slumping her head back on the pillow. “I HATE being pregnant. Faedi says there’s no way to speed this along with ‘hurting the baby.’ What about ME? You know how hard it is to wear armor AND be as fat as a beached whale?”

Katherine chuckled and ran her fingers through Catalina’s hair to soothe her. “You aren’t fat, dear,” She said. “And maybe you shouldn’t wear armor, then?”

Catalina eyed Katherine’s thin frame and rock-hard muscles incredulously. “I am NOT giving up my armor. I already gave up booze. That’s ALL you’re taking from me!”

Katherine laughed, smoothing down some unruly gold feathers on Catalina’s head. “I do hope your baby does not inherit your stubbornness.” She looked at Faedi. “How is the baby?”

  “Healthy, Faedi said. “Very active, too, which is good.”

  “Keeps kicking me in the fuckin’ ribs,” Catalina grumbled. “Why couldn’t I have slept with, like, a mermaid? I rather lay eggs then deal with this.” She lifted her head to yell at her stomach. “Like, hey, bitch! You aren’t even paying rent! The least you can do is not beat me up!”

Katherine couldn’t help but laugh again. Catalina always knew how to cheer her up, even if she did so without really realizing it. Even now, with risking her life every day for having to hide her pregnancy from the church, she still remained fierce, brave, and courageous. 

  “I don’t think laying eggs would be very fun,” Katherine said. “There would be a lot to lay.”

  “At least eggs don’t have legs.” Catalina said, then laughed. “Ha. Eggs. Legs. That rhymes. I am hilarious.”

Katherine remembered the first time Catalina showed up in her current state. They had been friends for years, but never before had she seen the young woman look so worried. She had clutched at her middle and begged for an examination, where Faedi had then announced she was with child. Catalina explained to Katherine that she had slept with a sweet man named Arthur, desperately needing to get her mind off of things, but found that he was gone when she woke up the next morning, leaving only his sperm fertilizing her eggs to remember him by. Since then she’s been hiding her pregnancy from the church she worked at, making excuses for morning sickness and mood swings and cravings. But now she looked too far along to hide the bump under several layers of robes.

  “It may be best for you to stay in the village until you deliver,” Faedi said. “I’m worried about you getting discovered.”

  “I agree,” Katherine said.

  “I don’t want to intrude,” Catalina said, but Katherine shook her head.

  “Please. I insist.”

Catalina smiled. “Thank you, Kat.”

Faedi excused herself from the hut a few minutes later to go check on some other patients, leaving Katherine and Catalina alone. Beside the bed was a shiny silver sword and polished steel shoulder pads, since Catalina insisted on wearing protection and fighting when necessary, even with her pregnancy. She didn’t like being hindered, but Katherine knew she would have to stand down eventually, especially when she got further into her trimester.

  “Oh no,” Catalina said. “Not that look.”

Katherine raised an eyebrow at her. “What look?”

  “The ‘I’m worried over Catalina’s pregnancy’ look,” Catalina stated. “You always get it when you look at my sword.”

  “I just want you and the baby to be safe,” Katherine said, earning her a loud groan that made her smile.

  “I AM safe, though. Now that I’m here, I don’t have to worry about being discovered and crucified.” Catalina said. “I’m safe.” And then she yelped loudly. “Ow! You spineless, pig-fucking bastard! Stop kicking me!” Katherine laughed and set a hand on Catalina’s belly, rubbing soothing circles around it. She felt light kicks underneath her palm, but Catalina didn’t cry out at those.

  “I think they like you,” Catalina said. “Thank god for that. Now I know to come to you when they won’t let me sleep!”

  “Oh, so then I won’t get sleep?” Katherine said.

  “Yup!” Catalina beamed, and Katherine laughed.

The good mood was abruptly cut short, however, but shouting from outside the hut. Katherine shot to her feet instantly, with Catalina right behind her, but she ushered the young woman back down.

  “But--” Catalina tried to argue.

  “No buts. Stay here.” Katherine ordered, then ran out, taking her bow from its straps. Was EB back? Was Henry really going to attack the village for not siding with him?

A crowd was gathered by one of the ponds. Katherine could see Maggie pointing a flint-tipped wooden spear at something as she rushed over. She knocked an arrow as she pushed through the group and--

--and aimed for a tiny Tiefling child with pure white skin.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

It was true that the mental, physical, and emotional abuse she’d endured at the hands of her older brothers was nothing compared to what Law had put her through. She’d hardly been spoiled, especially after going on the run after seeing her grandfather get murdered by cultists, but nothing she’d experienced could even come close to her Corazon’s disciplinary measures.

Of course, she had no intention of giving Nami the story of her life. Her past was nothing – Law had cleansed her of the putrid stink of Joras, Ushi was dead, and the island itself…

Well, it had rather mysteriously disappeared last she’d heard. Earthquake and typhoon hit at the same time, according to the papers. No survivors. Terrible shame.

“Well, once you’ve had Law’s caliber of pain, everything else just feels like kitten licks,” Ikkaku said airily. Nami might act all superior, but she was confident that the thief would be brought down off her high horse sooner or later. Hopefully by pissing off the Corazon. Perhaps a few gentle squeezes of the heart would teach her some humility.

Still, at least they were in agreement that pain was nothing compared to the benefits they reaped. Dressrosa really was paradise for those who proved themselves worthy.

One of the palace’s servants wandered over and offered Ikkaku a cold drink, which she accepted with little more than an acknowledging nod. Glancing at Nami, she decided that perhaps she might prove herself suitable of dwelling there. She wasn’t like Doflamingo’s fawning floozies at least. The beautiful ginger might even be smart enough not to buy all that “family” bullcrap the warlord spouted.

She would still never be worthy of the Corazon, though.

“Clearly you haven’t met Baby 5. Now that’s a brainwashed toy,” she said with a derisive snort before sipping her cocktail. The poor maid was bound to go on another rampage soon; last Ikkaku had heard, Law had been ordered to give her latest “boyfriend” a house call. “And I wouldn’t expect you to understand, nor am I going to waste my time converting you. Simply put, everything I am, I owe to Law. He’s been a generous benefactor, and whatever he asks of me I’ll gladly give. You may think my devotion fanatical, but I get the feeling that’s because you’ve never really had someone to believe in,” she said condescendingly.

ikkaku-of-heart:

Self-inflicted? How…interesting. Ikkaku was no medical expert, but she’d seen her fair share of stab wounds, and whatever Nami had done to herself had not been clean or methodical. But since they weren’t exactly friends, and never would be, it was doubtful she’d ever find out what had driven this bitter tart of a woman to such extremes.

So instead, Ikkaku simply gave a scolding cluck of her tongue. “You know, a smart person would go to a professional to get an ugly or embarrassing tattoo removed.”

Her amusement was cut off by the ginger’s mention of her own scar. Dark eyes narrowed at her tone, once again insulted on her Corazon’s behalf. Instinctively she leaned forward, almost considering getting to her feet, but changed her mind at the last minute. This girl really was pushing her luck, but killing her out in the open, where Joker’s eye candy could witness it? Law would be furious if she’d been goaded into such an armature move.

“It was my well-deserved punishment for sassing him when I was a new recruit,” she hissed, a warning in her voice. Much as she wanted to simply spew curses at her, since Nami asked, she’d kindly explain exactly what happened when some smart-mouthed brat pissed Law off. Perhaps curiosity would someday kill this cat for her. Or at least get her tongue removed.

Teeth bared in a cross between a grimace and a mad smile, she sneered, “Have you ever seen an autopsy? How the coroner makes a neat little incision, then breaks open the rib cage like a peanut to get at the soft organs underneath? Well, imagine being in the corpse’s place, but you’re alive and awake while it’s happening. Strapped down so you’re unable to move, but able to feel every cut, every bone snap, the gloved fingers caressing your heart and lungs and squeezing. It was agony.”

Settling back into her chair, she inhaled slowly through her nose to calm her racing heart, slipping on a pair of gold sunglasses to cover her eyes. Ikkaku knew she’d deserved what her Corazon had done to her. She’d dared speak against him, after all. It had been an act of tough love. It had made her stronger. Molded her into the perfect subordinate Law needed. Sure, the nightmares had lingered for months, but once he’d felt she’d learned her place, he’d more than made up for his harshness.

“A lesser woman wouldn’t have survived such treatment, and it was a valuable lesson. One I learned well, and I’ve been rewarded for my loyalty ever since. You’ll never understand the lengths Law will go to keep his people happy. What’s a little pain when a man like that hands you what you’ve always wanted on a silver platter?”

The smirk returned to her lips as she recalled such an occasion. Sailed all the way to the West Blue to pick up a very special gift for her. The hours they’d spent in the dungeon together, making her oldest brother scream and beg for mercy.

Little did Ikkaku know that Nami didn’t have anyone to go to to remove the disgustingly ugly tattoo that adorned her shoulder for the better part of eight years. All she had was a dull knife, already soaked with someone else’s blood and her own resolve. Divulging that little bit of information to her didn’t really seem to have a point; the less this woman knew about her, the better, in all honesty. This whole arrangement was still a job, after all. Getting close to her ‘co-workers’ was probably the lowest thing on her to-do list, and Ikkaku was hardly someone she wanted to get goody goody with. She’d rather carve out the raven’s heart before stooping to that level. So, resting her cheek against a freckled shoulder, a bored expression resting over her features, Nami listened to Ikkaku’s less-than-friendly explanation of how she got the scar she indicated. It was obvious she was trying to scare her with the description, but more than what was being said would need to be done to insight fear in Nami. A lot more. She was right in her initial assessment that Ikkaku received it from Law, and that was all Nami really cared about, everything else really just went in one ear and out the other. A hum did escape from her throat despite herself, though. What a man this woman vowed her life and loyalty to. ❝ Sounds to me like you didn’t get put through a lot of torture until you were dropped in Law’s lap, ❞ Nami commented, flicking at the water with the tips of her fingers. ❝ A shame. ❞ Giving her head a gentle knock so the sunglasses perched on the top of her head slid back over her eyes, resting a little further down her nose than she really wanted, Nami shifted and pushed herself back up to sit on the ledge of the pool once more, legs still dangling into the cool liquid. ❝ If that’s the case, I’ll commend you. Sounds like he put you through hell. But you’re right, what’s a little pain if this is what you get out of it? ❞ Bringing a hand up she waved it half-heartedly to indicate their surroundings, the pool, the palace in general. ❝ That being said, I still think you’re a brainwashed toy, and maybe a touch insane from your views, ❞ Nami continued with a grin, eyes returning to Ikkaku from where she’d been lazily staring off into space. ❝ Law doesn’t sound like much of a saviour to me, yet you treat him as such. ❞