#anyway read itttt

[trans-yllz]

the thing about tgftos is that it's So good so I want to read it again but it also hurts my heart so bad so I'm scared :(

[quitesins]

Ahhh my favourite Deku x reader dynamic is the one where the reader is a bit rejecting of Deku, you know, makes him really work for it. Not that it’s any easier on the reader though— I feel like loving Deku would force you to be honest. All that pent up angst and hostility crumbling with one smile from the man.

[crowleys-bentley-and-plants]

one day im gonna cave and buy Dante's divine comedy in italian and then it's over for everyone but especially for me cuz i dont speak italian

[rockium-z]

ghost thoughts

i am. eepy ahahaha, but happy 8th 7th comic anniversary to @entityneo!! sometimes (many times.) i think about this fancomic and go a little insane

less sleep-deprived edit: i cannot count. nice

[verystrongblimp]

I've been obsessed with @repertoire 's Ashe/Dedue fic "in shelter, at rest" recently. So I decided to draw my version of the Violet Inn. I highly recommend you read it, it's one of the top fics for the game in my opinion, i just love it so much❤️❤️❤️

[gorbo-longstocking]

Chapter 2

Finally, the two of you arrived back to the main street. A street light flickered overhead, a testament to how poor the upkeep of the Narrows seemed to be. Red Hood’s attention turned to the lone, wavering light, and he let out a small sigh. While he was distracted, a cat darted from a knocked over trash can to scamper deeper into the darkness. When you moved to follow, Red Hood’s grip on your shoulder, while remaining gentle, tightened.

“How far do you live from here?”

His voice drew your attention away from the disappearing cat. You hadn’t even caught its scent. Turning to him with a smile, you hummed in thought as you retraced your steps through the night. “Quite a ways.”

“And you walked here on your own?”

“With my only shadow on my heels, of course,” You joked. The corners of your lips twitched into a coy smirk as you stared down at him.

“Of course,” He parroted your words with a sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Come on, I’ll walk you home. It’s a quiet night anyways.”

Your smile fell into a look of confusion. Dog-like in the motion, you cocked your head to the side, trotting after him. “Why?”

“Because if I leave you to skip around by yourself, you’re going to get shot,” Red Hood responded with an easy shrug. You noticed there was a hint of irritation to his tone. He really was worried about you, a stranger. What a good boy.

“I see!”

[taamlok]

how life feels when you don't have an annoying bitch in your ear constantly talking about how much they hate a popular character and all the women who like them

[the--firevenus]

What best about tumblr is it's basically like a journal entry that occasionally someone can read, but it's like on YOU if you decide to read my deepest darkest nastiest secret and it scarred you for life.

[foxcassius]

im at work and when i come to work on sundays i come in at 9 even tho we open at ONE PM so i get to sit here for 4 hours and "get work done" and what that really means is i get to read a moomin book i had sent from cleveland public main branch

[rainbowbeanstyles]

reading messages from past months feel like a dagger through my heart

[volfoss]

i cant even like post about the horrors that are going on currently because im gonna get too mad but oh my god. like i would give her really good credit for writing a character like marius that has 0 self awareness about his insanely disgusting behavior bc like. that CAN work. you can make the reader feel disgust and see things through the eyes of someone who is horrible while not romanticizing the behavior. clearly anne did not get the memo for this one.

[x-h3kk3ning-x]

Sometimes life is rough, and you are having A Day about it...and then you get 2 Kudos from strangers on your fic that you havent updated because of Going Through It.

[chaninfused]

EVER READ SOMETHING SO SDHFGJSKDGFBSDJKFSDF

Worn-Out Soles [1] | b.c

pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 10.1k notes: — this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. — mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you back—or die trying. Part 1 >> Part 2

To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist

When the soft rap of your lady in waiting sounds at the door, you barely look up before calling her in. Out of the corner of your eye, Chaeyoung curtsies in the doorway. “Your Highness.”

You continue scribbling at the papers strewn around your desk. “Yes?”

“The royal cobbler has arrived.”

The pen in your hand stops midair.

Slowly, slowly, so as to keep the smile twitching on your lips from taking up your entire face, you raise your head to see Chaeyoung standing in the doorway. “Have my sisters been informed?”

Her eyes glint with mischief and the knowledge that you haven’t managed to fool her at all. “Of course.”

“Well.” You stand up, placing the pen carefully down. Steadfastly ignoring Chaeyoung’s grin, you step around the desk. “I suppose we will all just have to go and meet him, then.”

. . . . .

Yuna’s sharp squeal hits Chan’s ears even before he steps foot into the pavilion, which is all the warning he needs before five princesses accost him at the entrance, bouncing on their toes. “Chan!”

“Hello, Your Highnesses,” he laughs, maneuvering his heavy box around them. “What makes you so excited today?”

“Did you bring our shoes?” Ryujin asks eagerly. 

Chan frowns, but not before letting them see the glint in his eye. “Was I supposed to bring shoes, now?”

Amidst the chorus of whines from the youngest and giggles from the older girls, one voice joins the fray. “Well, my sisters would be dearly disappointed if you hadn’t.”

Chan’s heart skips a beat in his chest as he turns around to meet your smile. You stand in the pavilion’s entrance from where he just came, the flower-wreathed arch framing your image perfectly under the sun shining bright in the sky. 

A sharp elbow jabs him from behind. “Say something,” Jisung hisses. “You’re staring.”

Chan can feel his ears going red. “Would you be disappointed too, Your Highness?” he asks, making a mental note to flick his apprentice’s forehead later. 

“I believe I would.” You step forward with that warm smile still on your face, and for not the first time in his life, Chan wonders what good he must have done in a past life to deserve standing in your presence like this, a sunflower forever basking under the light of your grin. “You know we all look forward to your shoes, Chan.”

Chaeyoung, your lady in waiting, mutters something under her breath. Chan doesn’t quite hear it, but from the giggles of your sisters and the glare you flash at her, it can’t have been anything good. 

Chan’s ears must be flaming by now. Putting down the box, he musters his most natural smile. “Well, good thing I won’t have to disappoint any of you,” he says, undoing the latch. “Come closer, Your Highnesses—I hope you are pleased with these.”

Oohs and aahs and squeals of excitement slowly begin to fill the pavilion as Chan and his apprentices begin to hand out the shoes. It’s with no small pride that he takes in the cries of delight from each of the princesses—with each pair made of the finest quality material, hand stitched and sewed with sparkling thread in intricate designs, there is a reason Chan trusts very few people to help with his handiwork. He grins as the five young princesses begin to spin around the pavilion, joyous grace evident in every one of their movements…

You step forward shyly, and Chan snaps back to earth. “Anything for me?” you ask. 

“Are you kidding?” Jisung snorts before Chan has the chance to respond. “He spent days on yours!”

“By all the stars—I spend days on all of them,” Chan hisses, praying his hair covers his ears. 

“You don’t usually spend two entire weeks trying to get each design right, though.”

Chan stares at his second freckled apprentice, who only stares back with an innocent expression. Jisung he can understand being a pain in the neck, but Felix?

Your shy laugh sounds like bells. “Am I that demanding a customer?”

“Oh—oh, stars, no.” Chan swallows hard, ducking into the box for the last pair of shoes. “I just—” he holds out the box and tries not to react when your fingers brush his as you take it, eyes focused intently on his face—“I just wanted to make them… right.”

Right? Right? Seriously, that was the only word you could come up with?

You start to untie the box, completely oblivious to Chan’s inner imminent mental breakdown. Slowly, too slowly, you lift the shoes from their cushioned spot inside, Chaeyoung taking the box from your hands. For a moment, you don’t react. 

Chan starts to lose it. 

You don’t like them. You hate them. The design isn’t what you wanted, there are flaws in the fabric, something is terribly wrong with the shoes despite all the time he spent on them—he’s messed it up this time like he always feared, seriouslymessed up—

Your eyes meet his once more, sparkling brighter than the sun and the stars. “I—Chan.” You step forward, holding the shoes to your heart. “Chan, they’re beautiful. Thank you so much.”

Chan’s knees nearly give out right then and there. Thank all the stars.

“You’re—I—” You look down at the shoes and back at him, as though you’ve lost your own words. Chan’s heart soars with the shine in your expression. “You do this every time,” you say, almost laughing. “Words can’t describe how much talent you possess, how hard you must have worked for this. These are truly…a work of art.”

He swallows down the overwhelming smile itching to reveal itself on his face, forces it into something smaller, more manageable, and infinitely less manic than it would have been. “I’m glad you like them, Your Highness.”

“Chan! Chan!” Ryujin and Chaeryeong come running up, Yeji following behind with a half annoyed, half apologetic glance that she flashes at you. Chan watches as you turn to them, smiling first at Yeji with something in your eyes that immediately wipes the worry and annoyance from your sister’s face, then at the younger girls clamoring for your attention. “Play us music, please! Like you did before!”

You shoot an apologetic look at him. “Girls, don’t demand things from Chan,” you admonish before turning back. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. It would be my honor.” He smiles at the young princesses. “Give me a moment to tune, yes?”

The two of them cheer before skipping away, Yeji corralling them towards the center of the pavilion. You look at him, expression soft. “You really don’t have to, you know.”

“I know,” Chan says, pulling out his small flute. “But I enjoy it, and I have some time before my next appointment.” You still don’t look convinced, so he speaks again. “Truly, Your Highness. Your sisters are adorable. I like playing my flute, and I like watching you all dance. It’s a pleasure.”

Finally, you relent. “All right then, Chan. Although—” You stop for a moment, then seem to set your jaw with determination. “May I ask, will you be at the festival?”

Chan blinks. The Moonlight Festival, only the most important festival of the year, the festival that sees the most foreign royalty and dignitaries traveling to your kingdom to partake in the celebrations? “…Yes, I suppose I will.”

“Right.” Your lips curl in light embarrassment. “I…if you happen to be by the palace that night…” 

Behind you, Chaeyoung looks extremely amused. So do Jisung and Felix. 

That does not bode well for either Chan or you. 

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…” You swallow hard, but your eyes don’t stray from his even as your younger sisters run up to try and drag your attention away. “Only if you can, since I’m sure you’ll be quite in demand, please save a dance for me.”

Ryujin and Chaeryeong pull you off, then, eagerly shouting for you to put on your shoes and spin with them in a dance. And as Chan watches you laugh with them, beginning to whirl across the pavilion with graceful steps as light as air, joy spilling from your fingertips into the flowers and grasses and leaves…

All he can think of is his answer, which is of course. 

. . . . .

“…Your Highness?”

You jerk up with a start. Immediately you tear your eyes from the magnificent pair of shoes sitting by your doorway, but it's too late. When you turn your head, Chaeyoung’s face is staring right into yours.

“Stars, Chaeyoung!” You jump again. “What are you doing?”

“I should be asking you that, Your Highness.” She pulls back, one eyebrow raised in an arch. “You’ve been zoned out for the past five minutes.”

It’s the shoes. It’s the damn shoes. You groan, letting your face fall into your hands. Why must Chan’s handiwork distract you so much? Can’t he make them a little less ogle-worthy, less intricate and delicate and graceful and just—a type of beautiful that words can’t describe—

“Are you sure it’s just the shoes you like?” Chaeyoung asks, the other eyebrow rising to join the first. You don’t even need to lift your face to see the smirk on her lips, you can hear it just fine. “Or perhaps the cobbler who made them?”

“Stop it,” you mutter, dragging yourself up once more. You can’t resist the urge to let your gaze wander over the shoes again, though, imagining the care and devotion that must have gone into every stitch, every design. It almost pains you to think about dancing in them, dirtying the silk and ruining Chan’s handiwork as you wear them out. 

Chan. You just manage to catch yourself before you sigh. His face dances before you in your memories, his bashful smile, his dark hair that always seems to be ruffled by the wind, his sweet eyes crinkling as he laughs. He’s lovely—beautiful—and you can’t fight the heat crawling up your cheeks whenever his strong, calloused fingers brush yours every time he hands you his latest masterpiece. 

He’s beautiful, to be sure. Handsome in the most attractive way to you. But far more attractive is the love he brings to everything and everyone he touches, as though every person he meets couldn’t help but fall in love with his soft kindness, his quiet joy, his gentle earnestness that comes with everything he does. You see it in every delicate golden stitch on the white satin slippers he made you for the upcoming festival. You see it in every seam he sews on all of the other slippers he’s made for your sisters. You feel it in every scant touch you share, see it in his eyes whenever you manage to meet his gaze. 

Stars above, all you can think of is the dance you might share with him on the final night of the festival. If you see him, and if he sees you. 

With a sigh, you finally look back at your lady in waiting, apologies already on your lips. “I’m sorry, Chaeyoung. I must seem a mess.”

“You kind of do.” Chaeyoung’s blunt tone lifts the corners of your lips. “But it’s the festival. The preparations always drive everyone mad. And combined with your little star-crossed romance—” she easily dodges the swipe of your hand, giggling all the way—“I’m sure you’re very overwhelmed.”

The word stop finds its way onto your tongue once more, but you don’t let it fall because it would be useless. And besides, Chaeyoung’s right—you are overwhelmed. You love the Moonlight Festival, really you do, but being one of those in charge of organizing the largest event of the kingdom every year makes you want to scream to the heavens sometimes. 

Maybe you should try that. It sounds like it would relieve some stress.

“Well.” You look down at the piece of paper you were scribbling on before Chan’s craft distracted you (as well as thoughts of his dark hair and smiling eyes as he handed you the shoes). “At least the guest list is finalized. I think.”

“Oh?” Chaeyoung cocks her head. “Who’s coming?”

“An assortment of foreign royals—Joshua and his entourage will be here, thank the stars—and some of the ambassadors whom we sent overseas will return for the occasion.” You flip through a few more sheets. “Of course we also had to account for all the nobility who will be staying at or near the palace during the week.”

“Are Jun and Jeongyeon coming back?”

A real smile spreads across your face at the mention of two of your best friends. “Yes, they are,” you say. “With Minghao and Sana.”

Chaeyoung grins. “It will be wonderful to see them.”

“Surely it will.” You heave yourself up from behind the desk, clutching the sheaf of papers in hand. “Come with me to drop these off with my father?”

. . .

The king’s quarters are in the wing completely opposite from yours and your sisters’. You have no actual idea why this is the case, but you like to joke deprecatingly to Chaeyoung (when no one else is around) that it’s because he has no intention of seeing any of you more than he must. Which is a fair assumption, in your opinion. He doesn’t even show up to dinner these days, just takes his meal with his advisors or foreign dignitaries alone. Unless he decides he also needs you. 

The guards part ways upon your entrance into the west wing, bowing respectfully as you pass. You give them a brief nod before stopping in front of your father’s door, knocking twice on the wood. 

“Who is it?”

“Y/N.”

“Come in.”

Any trace of your previous smiles falls away as you step into the cold room. Your father hardly looks up from his desk even as you approach. “What is it?”

“I have the finalized guest list, as well as the other preparation details you asked for today.” You place the papers in front of him. “That is all. Please let me know if there are any issues.”

All you get is a hum in response. 

Only years of having dealt with this behavior keep you from doing much more than press your lips into a thin, thin line. “I will be off, then.”

You’re opening the door when he speaks again. “Y/N.”

There’s enough time to exchange one bemused glance with Chaeyoung before you turn around. “Yes, Father?”

He’s actually looking at you this time. In his eyes swims some sort of emotion—if you didn’t know better you’d say it was something like regret or worry, but why would he feel anything like that?—as he scrutinizes your face. His throat bobs as though he swallowed something. As though he has something he wants to say, but can’t. Or won’t. 

“Father?”

All the emotion falls off his face as soon as the word hits the air. “Don’t forget that you will take dinner with me tonight,” he says, eyes dropping back to the papers on his desk. “The convoy from Ourania will have arrived by then.”

You frown. Since when have you ever forgotten an appointment and needed him to remind you? There was no reason for him to have said that, none at all. In fact, you almost feel offended, but then you look at him again.

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow. 

Maybe he did really have something to say, but decided against it at the last minute. 

Whatever. You shake off the lingering discomfort. If what he wanted to say was truly important, he would have spoken. Your king may be an absent father, but he doesn’t generally shirk his duties. “Yes, Father,” you say, then shut the door behind you. 

. . . . .

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s moping, Lix.” 

“Well, he should stop.”

“I am not moping,” Chan says loudly as he dumps scraps of leather into a pile in the far back of the shop.

A beat of silence follows. Then Jisung snorts. “That’s exactly what someone who’s moping would say.”

“Or, it could be that I’m not moping, and you’re misunderstanding things completely.” Chan turns to his two apprentices, both staring owl-eyed at him and his probably very red ears. “Did neither of you hear me ask if one of you could go out and get something for us to start dinner?”

Jisung’s shit-eating grin turns sheepish. “I forgot.”

Chan tries to hide an exasperated smile with a sigh. “It’s fine, just go now.”

Without missing a beat, Jisung grabs Felix, and with a shouted farewell, the two of them go crashing out the door. 

Chan returns to cleaning the mess in his workshop, putting away tools, tossing leather scraps into the scrap bag as they emerge from corners he didn’t even know existed. He is not moping. If anything, he’s—daydreaming. Of something. Moping implies that he is upset. He is anything but. 

“If we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

He snorts a little. As if the answer would be anything but yes. Which you probably know, because over the years he’s learned that despite his attempts to hide his affections he is still extremely obvious. And if Jisung and Felix are to be believed—which, unfortunately, they often are, because even if they’re loud and obnoxious and love to tease him at any point in time, they’re very observant and usually right—

You hold a similar affection for him, too. 

The knowledge doesn’t do much, though. Because for all Chan loves you and prays that his love is returned, it wouldn’t matter if it was. In fact, it might even be for the worse. You are a princess and he is but a cobbler, a commoner without magic, which means he could never be yours. If this were one-sided, at least you might still have a chance at happiness elsewhere. But if you truly do love him back…

Chan swallows down a wave of guilt. It’s not his fault, he knows logically. He doesn’t control your feelings any more than he controls his. But in moments like this, he wishes more than anything that things could be different. That he might have magic, that he might have been born a noble, that he might have even the tiniest of chances with you. 

Hm. Maybe he is moping. Chan sighs. He should stop. He should focus on something better—namely the fact that he might finally have the chance to dance with you in just a couple of weeks. A smile begins to lift his lips at the thought as he exits the workroom to wait for his apprentices to return.

As if on cue, the door opens with a loud bang. Two pairs of feet tramp indoors, and then there’s the sound of something thumping onto the table. 

It’s suspiciously quiet. Especially for his loudmouth apprentices.

Someone shushes the other. Probably Jisung hushing Felix. Silence ensues. 

“…Is he still moping?”

“Obviously, Lix.”

Chan sighs. 

. . . . .

The week before the festival brings with it flowers, paintings, gifts from envoys from countries near and far, foreign royalty settling into the palace with their entourage or sending ambassadors if, for some terrible reason, they can’t make it this year. Two days before the full moon, you’re pretty sure you haven’t sat down in over twelve hours—you ate your lunch standing in a corner of the kitchen, and only because Yeji dragged you there under threat of knocking you out for several hours so you could take a break. 

Beloved sister, even if not by blood. Also a royal (literally) pain in your behind sometimes. But a needed one.

The palace bustles with controlled chaos, servants in your country’s colors and those of so many foreign lands mingling in the halls as they scurry from room to room carrying linens and luggage and trays of food. They’ve nearly crashed into you more than once, but who can fault them for trying to do their job? It’s all you’re trying to do, too. 

(“Chaeyoung, tell me something that will get me through this,” you ask on the third day of this mess, head in your hands as you squat on the floor.

“Well, Your Highness, on the final night of the festival I believe your beloved cobbler may save you a dance.”

She dodges the swipe of your hand with a cackle, but despite what you would have your lady in waiting believe, her words do lift the burden on your heart and make it a little easier to smile.)

Finally, the week before the full moon arrives. You stand with your father in the throne room, looking out into a sea of seated royalty all gazing back, solemn excitement dancing in their eyes.

This is what you’ve been waiting for. What you’ve been planning this festival for—the celebration of the full moon, yes, but also the hum of excitement in this room, what your very country is so known for. Pride swells in your chest and you stand taller on the dais, smoothing the folds of your ceremonial robes—glowing white, accented with curves of darkness for the still not quite full moon. As each day passes, the darkness will fade from your clothes until you and most of the other festivalgoers are clothed only in white, to honor the moon and the night.

Your father finishes his little speech to a smattering of applause through the room. He turns to you and nods curtly. 

Dipping your head in reply, you step to the center of the stage, bowing to the audience. “As my father, king of our land and holder of our magic, just said, I first welcome you to our kingdom once more.” Another polite round of applause. Smiling, you begin to relax, letting your mouth move in the words of welcome you’ve practiced so many times that you could say them in your sleep. 

That is, until the throne room door opens with an ominous creak, cutting you off mid-sentence. 

Confusion rustles through the crowd as people turn their heads to see who dared interrupt such a time-honored tradition. You yourself let your words fade from your lips, eyes narrowing towards the door in time to catch a glimpse of bright, fiery red.

The emblem takes you a moment to place at first. It looks familiar but not in the same way of so many other royal insignias, in the way that you’ve seen it emblazoned on the clothing and jewelry of real, breathing, living people. You have only ever seen this emblem, fire curling around a spiked rose dripping blood, in textbooks. Because this emblem belongs to a kingdom only ever described to you as having risen from the depths of hell itself. Born of death and flames and blood, nothing the pure magic of your land would ever dare to touch—

“His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.” 

Your butler bows low, but even from here you can see that he’s trembling. Your eyebrows furrow further—you have questions, many of which will no doubt be directed at him later when this is over and you have a chance to try and figure out just what in the world is happening—but then—

The king himself steps through the doors, flanked by an armored entourage.

Red and black drape his body, gold hung in chains around his shoulders and chest. A crown of blackest metal rests on his forehead, studded with glowing rubies and amethysts, and a matching necklace hangs around his neck. He’s handsome—ridiculously handsome, as though he were carved from stone by the finest sculptors the land of Apollon had to offer—but the haughty curve of his lips sends walls thrusting up around your heart, hardening your mind to his beauty. 

He stalks up through the center aisle, coming to a stop level with the first row of seats. His boots click together on the hard floor, a sound that echoes through the now-silent hall. 

One dangerously curved eyebrow raises, and a vision comes to you of a curved blade sparkling under the moon, arcing down in a silver flash before it buries itself in someone’s flesh. 

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” That haughty smile plays cruelly on his lips, sending a shudder up your spine. “I trust you know why I am here.”

Your eyes turn to your father. Outwardly, he doesn’t look as though anything has gone amiss. His fingers, however, clench the arms of his throne with such force they’ve turned almost as pale as the marble itself. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“No? Then perhaps I must jog your memory.” The smile disappears, revealing eyes cold as ice despite the fire burning within them. Those sitting the nearest to the king flinch. You gulp, despite yourself. “I believe I was promised an invitation to your famed festival.”

Your father’s jaw twitches. 

“Imagine my surprise as these past months came and went, with not a word from Your Majesty’s hand.” The prince’s theatrical sigh echoes throughout the room. “I thought it only fair, then, that I come to receive an explanation of this misunderstanding.” He tilts his head, revealing a jawline as sharp as the imaginary blade still curving in your mind. “One does know, of course, that a promise made to a Kereseian will never be broken.”

You look straight at your father, the king, who sits wordless on his throne. Why isn’t he saying anything? 

Are these claims true? you demand through your eyes. Why did you make the promise? Why didn’t you honor it?

What in the world is going on?

Silence stretches in the throne room, echoing off the stone walls and floors. With every second that passes, your fingers clench more tightly in your skirts, itching to say something, anything to rectify this mess even as your heart pounds in fear, but words won’t come to your lips because your mind is still spinning as it tries to understand the prince’s words and the implications they have on your family—

Your father’s voice cuts through the silence. “I am well aware of this.”

Your own eyes widen in shock as gasps fill the room, but he continues. “There must have been a mistake when the invitations were sent.”

The second dangerous eyebrow rises, fire burning sinister in dark eyes. “A mistake.”

For a moment, you really think that fire might come to life and burn this entire room to the ground. 

Your father’s eyes don’t waver. “Yes.”

Everyone’s eyes are riveted on the two men, one high on the throne, one standing tall below. Neither of them looks like they will give in anytime soon. 

Which means you might all be dead in a matter of minutes, if what you’ve read of Kereseia is true.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Your heart nearly pounds out of your chest as the eyes of the hall come to rest on you, including those of your father and the bloodred king. Surprisingly, your voice doesn’t shake. “Allow me to clarify one thing. It is true, then, that the king had been promised a place in our celebration, and that therefore he should be allowed to participate in our festivities tomorrow.”

The entire hall seems to hold its breath as they await your father’s reply. You’re not sure whether you want him to say yes or no.

“Yes.”

Gods and stars above. 

You swallow hard amidst the gasps and whispers, turning back to the king. “Then I must apologize, Your Majesty,” you say as steadily as your thudding heart will allow—anger or fear, which is it? Perhaps some of both. “I was in charge of the festival’s guest list and many of its preparations, and yet I was never made aware of this…promise. I can only suppose that as your family has not…graced ours with your presence in many years, the knowledge of this promise was perhaps misplaced or miscommunicated. For that, I do apologize, and take full responsibility.”

The Kereseian king holds your gaze for one, two, three long seconds. You swallow hard, refusing to look away, but you can feel yourself trembling all over. 

Then that deadly, knife-blade smile begins to curve his lips once more, and you have the sudden feeling that you have just made a very, very grave mistake. 

“…No,” he finally says slowly, eyes traveling over every inch of your face. “No, you would not have been made aware.” 

Even though there is still a healthy distance between you two, the oil in his voice, the deadly beauty of his face, the lascivious sweep of his gaze makes you want to take a step back. As though instead of just looking at you with his own eyes, he’d…licked you, or something, instead. 

And beyond that—what does he mean? That you wouldn’t have been made aware? Of course you didn’t realize he was coming—your kingdom has never invited his, as far as you know—and your father never said anything, but his words imply that someone knew and should have told you but that he knew they never would—

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow. 

You picture your father behind his desk, that moment of strange emotion you saw in the thin press of his lips to each other. Something he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue, perhaps. But something he never did. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at your father. His king’s crown stands high and haughty on his head, his hands placed on the golden armrests of his throne, but the skin of his face has drawn tight around his skull, fingers gripping his seat with undue force. You recall the readiness with which he gave his assent to the prince’s demands, the slightest shake in his voice that only a few of you could have heard. As though he knew the prince’s words had been spoken true. 

What deal did he make with the kingdom of hell that could have resulted in this?

“Accommodations for you and your entourage will be prepared as soon as possible, Your Majesty.” You try for a smile. “Until then, please feel free to partake in the evening’s activities. I’m sure you will find something to make your journey worthwhile.”

The prince’s handsome smile curls white, sharp. Like a curved dagger’s blade held up to the light, right before it plunges into your eye. 

“Yes.” He seems to lean in closer, that knife-blade grin never once faltering from his lips. “I’m sure that I will.”

. . . . .

Year after year, the Moonlight Festival has never failed to bring joy to Chan’s life. When he was young and his parents were alive, they always took him to the night markets, bought him all the sweets their money could spare, and danced with him in the crowded streets, their three giggles echoing off the laughs of everyone else around them. The royal family has never spared expense on these annual celebrations, meant to honor the entity from which Terpsichore, the kingdom’s patron deity, draws her power. All of the most famous dancers in the kingdom swear up and down that they dance better under the full moon, and as Chan laughs and spins from one person to another, joining hands with a woman and her husband before whirling off to yet another joyous stranger, he agrees. The nearly-full moon above glows pale and bright in the dark night sky, lending energy to all those who celebrate on the earth below. 

Yet this year, the celebrations are dampened. By no fault of the royal family, of course—even if Chan didn’t know you were the one behind almost all of the planning for this festival, he could say beyond a doubt that this year’s festivities were fantastic, maybe even more dramatic than last year’s. But whispers permeate the dancing, rumors of a kingdom long cut off that has come to Terpsichani for the first time in decades, maybe even centuries. 

Kereseia. 

Chan doesn’t like to speak ill of anyone, but his parents told him tales of the Kereseians as a child to scare him into behaving. All children are told the same stories, of fire curling around thorny roses and a kingdom eager to kill.

And now they aren’t just stories. The kingdom is actually here, in Chan’s homeland of Terpsichani, allegedly by invitation of the current king. 

They haven’t made an appearance in his area, not yet at least. Chan doesn’t expect that they will. He more or less expects them to be like some of the haughtier royalty from other kingdoms, rarely straying from the immediate vicinity of the palace—and for that he is thankful. He’s not sure he wants to come face to face with any member of that entourage.  

Though anxiety twists his stomach every time he thinks of you near them, being forced to entertain them throughout this weeklong stay. 

It’s not as though he could do much about it, though. He’s just a cobbler in love with a princess, and no matter how he may fancy himself an acquaintance of your family, a friend if he’s being generous, his shoemaking privileges extend about as far as conversation with you. Which is privilege enough. He won’t be greedy. But thinking about you in that palace, being forced to speak with the Kereseian king himself…

Maybe the Kereseians are nicer than he gives them credit for. Chan doesn’t know. But though he hopes that’s true, something tells him that it's probably not. 

Whispers still seem to permeate the excitement of the crowds as Chan fights his way to the palace on the final night of the celebrations, though nothing can fully mute his eagerness when he finally muscles his way as close as he can get to the stage. An enclosed area meant for nobility and visiting royalty blocks his full view of the stage, but no matter. The moon will be full tonight, shining from above to illuminate the loveliest spectacle of the entire festival—the Terpsichorean dance. 

Named for the goddess of dance, Terpsichore herself, it is the ultimate homage to the moon. Chan knows the dance itself varies by region, but all serve the same purpose and bring the same honor. And of course, in the capital city itself, who would perform the dance but the daughters of the royal family themselves?

Chan just manages to keep himself from blushing. He watched you dance last year and the two years before wearing white and gold slippers he’d crafted himself, and it had only made him fall even more in love with you. Perhaps it’s shallow, but Chan finds it hard to believe anyone in the crowd could feel anything else if they’d seen you spinning about so gracefully in your white robes edged with gold, a dancing ray of the moon herself. 

More and more people crowd in as the sun sets further, until the front of the palace is packed with spectators and the sun only just peeks over the horizon. For all the teasing he had to endure from his apprentices when he left early, Chan feels endlessly grateful that he was able to secure a spot near the stage. 

Familiar melodies begin to filter in from the musicians around the stage. The crowd begins to settle, eager whispers turning into cheers as the introduction begins for your piece. By the time the musicians have finished, the crowd is cheering and the sun has finally set, the full, pale moon beginning to hover in the sky. 

The music pauses. Changes. Everyone falls silent and Chan finds himself holding his breath as he waits for what he knows will come next—

Your lovely figure draped head to toe in white silk edged in gold that just catches the moonlight, a ray of the moon sent specially to bless the kingdom now. 

Chan’s breath lodges in his throat. His chest aches. You’re always lovely, always so lovely, but as you begin to dance, he wonders if the word lovely even begins to capture the mystery, the beauty of your existence. No, not a single word could. But that is what his kingdom’s art is for—dance. A way to express what words cannot. 

Just as your performance does now. 

It’s no ordinary dance, the way you flit through the air. No. Throughout the kingdom there are those blessed by the goddess herself with magical abilities that come with dancing talent—painting memories through the air through a well-placed movement, calling on rain or sun to bathe the earth. Chan himself has no magic though he loves to dance, but his mother was blessed with the ability to recreate memories through her movement. 

But those of the noble and royal lines may be blessed with a different ability, one that marks their special honor by the goddess Terpischore herself. They can weave emotion as they dance.

Just as you do now. 

The crowd gasps, sighs, cries as one as you whirl across the stage, painting sorrow, joy, hope—all emotions Terpsichore felt through her journey to godhood, to patronage of this kingdom, to her ultimate tie to the moon. For all Chan watches, almost refusing to blink for fear of missing a single moment, he knows he could never hope to describe the sight before him, for words could never capture the beauty of your movement. 

The song ends. You flutter your way to the front of the stage amidst cheers and shouts for an encore, and you bow once, twice, five more times before the crowd quiets enough for you to disappear behind the stage, leaving everyone to disperse under the rising moon.

Chan allows himself to be swept away with the crowd, filtering into the streets as musicians take up their instruments and begin filling the roads with cheer. He tries to stay by the palace, though, remembering your request.

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

Ordinarily, he would never presume to take a dance from your hand. But you requested. 

And never would he even think of saying no. 

The minutes tick past, though, the moon rising steadily in the sky, bathing the streets in cool, lovely light. Chan laughs, dances, even catches a glimpse of his apprentices as they spin through the crowds shouting things he can’t hear, but though he keeps a hopeful eye out, not once does he see you until—

Someone taps his shoulder, and he spins around to see a very familiar face. 

“Your—” Just in time, he sees the finger you have on your lips and cuts himself off before revealing your location to everyone in his vicinity. 

“Sorry,” you say, smiling sheepishly. “I snuck away, I don’t want to be found out so quickly.”

You’ve changed out of the filmy white robes you danced in. You still wear white, just like the rest of the crowd, but your clothes are certainly sturdier and more serviceable than your dance garments were. Even then, though, your beauty still shines beneath the moon, and Chan has to remind himself to breathe. 

“You were beautiful,” he says, all in a rush. Then he blushes. “I mean—you’re always beautiful.” His blush deepens as you giggle behind a hand. “But your performance…it was beyond words.”

“Thank you, Chan,” you reply sincerely, eyes shining. “I’m glad you were there to see it.”

“How did you feel about it?” he asks. “Were you happy?”

You nod immediately. “I think it was probably the best I’ve ever danced in my life,” you laugh, pulling him clear of someone whirling past. “I was nervous, for certain. But I love this piece, and I’ve practiced it so much. I’m very happy with how I did.”

Chan’s heart seems to burst under the brightness of your smile. “I’m incredibly happy you feel that way, Your Highness.”

“Well, I must thank you for it, too.” You hike up your skirts slightly, waggling a very familiar pair of slippers at him—white satin embroidered with gold accents, every stitch done by his own fingers. “Your shoes are incredibly comfortable, Chan. And so beautiful. I say this all the time, but I almost feel bad dancing in them, they’re such works of art.”

“Well, that is what they are made for.” Your smile gives Chan the courage to continue. “And I will always be happy to make you more, whenever you’ve worn a pair out.”

You look truly moved, your smile growing softer, shyer under the pale light of the moon. Chan himself can feel the redness of his cheeks creeping up his ears. You reach out and take his hands. “Thank you, Chan. I hope this does not come across as…too much, but you are very precious to me.” Your voice takes on a serious note that wasn’t there before, but your eyes shine brighter. “Not just your shoes. You are a wonderful person, and I am happy to have known you, even for the brief duration of our lives.”

Chan’s heart thuds in his chest, his ears echoing with your words. “You—you are very precious to me too, Your Highness,” he gets out, voice trembling. “I will forever be endlessly grateful that we have met.”

For a moment, you only stand, staring into each other’s eyes. Chan forces himself to breathe, to take in the moment—he will never be as close to you again as he is now. 

“I do recall asking that you save me a dance,” you finally say, eyes sparkling. Chan’s heart leaps as you continue. “Do you have the time to indulge me, just this once?”

“Of course,” he breathes, squeezing your hand lightly. “Your Highness.”

He doesn’t say the words that ached to come after, though.

For you—I have all the time in the world. 

. . . . .

In the end, you’re not sure how long you dance with Chan. It started as one dance, but even when the crowd separated the two of you, sending you off to other partners as the crowd laughed and cheered and spun, you always came back together, over and over again, like…

Like it was meant to be. 

A sudden ache races through your heart, and in response, you hold Chan tighter. Not enough to hurt, hopefully not enough for him to even notice. Because as right as this feels, as right as you know this is, so many others would tell you in a heartbeat that this is not your place—would even go so far as to physically pull the two of you apart, if they could. 

You love Chan. Have known it for a long time, actually, ever since the day you watched him place Yuna’s first pair of slippers on her feet with the softest smile on his face and every confusing feeling you’d been trying to figure out hit you with the force of a thousand suns. It’s been years since then and the love you have for him has never lessened, only grown. 

And, you’re almost sure, it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe that Chan loves you too. 

Which makes it all the worse. Because if this was one-sided, at least you could comfort yourself with the cold knowledge that you’d be the only one suffering in this love that no one would accept. But if Chan loves you too, then what is this, this something-but-nothing that the two of you have now? Something that won’t just hurt you, but will also hurt him. The best thing you could do would be to end things cleanly on your end, and pray Chan will move on. 

Only you can’t. Selfishness, you suppose. The knowledge of how it feels to have Chan’s arms wrapped around you like this only makes it harder—safe, warm, peaceful, even in this chaos of dancers under the full moon. Even this simple frame for partner dancing, closer than you’ve ever dreamed but still leaving some distance that closes every so often as he pulls you out of reach of another laughing couple, is enough to make you feel lightheaded. You’re in too deep. You couldn’t try to drag yourself out of this if you tried. 

This is the closest you’ve ever been to Chan, wrapped in each other’s arms as you spin about the roads in front of the palace, cheeks warm with sweat and laughter. Perhaps only your oldest sisters and Chaeyoung know how much courage it took for you to ask him for a dance, how nervous you were for this one little tryst to work out—but it was worth it. Because this is likely the closest you’ll ever be. The closest you’ll ever allow yourself to be. 

You’ll never tell him how you feel, after all. Even if you know, and he knows, and everyone knows. Because even though it’s meant to be, it isn’t. And that hurts. 

Chan seems to be oblivious to your thoughts as the music begins winding to a close, which you’re forever grateful for as you smile at him. His dark curls stick to his forehead with sweat. His eyes shine almost brighter than the moon itself. 

Dancing stars, you love him. You love this gentle man who holds you with so much care, who looks at you like you hung the full moon in the sky. You love him so much. 

“Your Highness?” 

You blink at Chan, whose expression has turned worried. Damn. You let yourself slip. “Are you tired?” he asks, already guiding you to the edge of the fray, away from the brunt of the music and noise. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. You must need to return soon.”

“No, I—it’s all right.” You try to cheer up, but reviving your fallen smile proves harder than you thought it would. Fumbling for an excuse that isn’t I was thinking about our hopeless love story and made myself upset, you say, “It’s…a lot of things. With the festival.”

Chan’s eyes narrow slightly. “Was it…”

Your heart drops in your chest, and suddenly all the previous lightheartedness of the night has gone, replaced by a curtain of dread. “Kereseia,” you finish quietly. 

A short silence punctuates the air between you two. In the whirl of your performance, the final day of celebration, and the ecstasy of dancing in Chan’s arms for the first time in your life, you’d forgotten about the problems that sprouted in your life, fully formed, just a week ago. 

The hand holding yours tightens its grip. You welcome the added pressure, squeezing harder as you try to ground yourself against the anxiety beginning to seep back into your chest. “So it’s true,” Chan says lowly, his eyes turning dark. “They’re here.”

You nod slightly. It’s not surprising that he’s heard something already. Rumors spread quickly, and it would only take one whisper about a kingdom as notorious as Kereseia to spark a wildfire. Really, you wish that was it. That it was just a strange delegation from a kingdom never before seen, come to demand that you include them in your celebrations once more. 

But the king. He…

“Your Highness!” 

Your eyes snap open. You hadn’t realized you even closed them. Chan is gripping your arms now, almost like he’s holding you upright, and you realize you must have been falling, and he caught you. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying to breathe. After the first gasp, breath comes more easily. “I just—this week has been—I love the festival, and I love planning it, but—”

Against your will, unwanted memories of the past week come flashing into your mind. The first time you spoke with the Kereseian king, when he interrupted the opening ceremony for nobility with his grand entrance. Those many times—too many to be coincidence—when you ran into him in the hallways and he begged so graciously for a moment of your time, only for you to feel dirty all over after he spoke to you, his eyes wandering over your figure all the while. When you were trying to speak with your sister and he suddenly appeared, somehow snatched you away, and by the time you realized he was holding your wrist it already felt like snakes had been wiggling up your arm. 

“He’s terrible,” you whisper. 

Chan sucks in a breath and immediately you regret speaking. “Who?” he asks, voice quiet. Dangerous, maybe. “The Kereseian king?”

Well, there’s no denying it now. Even if you tried, he would know, anyway. “Yes,” you reply miserably.

Chan’s eyes, worried and concerned, despite their hardness. Nothing like the sickly sweet, oily looks the Kereseian king had for you every time you spoke. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Yet. You pray Chan didn’t hear the word you left out, though something tells you he did. “It’s just—the circumstances surrounding their visit. My father won’t tell me anything.” Not for lack of trying, too. You stormed into his office the minute you had time, seething with embarrassment at having to take responsibility for the whole mess of “missing” the invites for the Kereseian delegation, and beyond his trite apology for not telling you earlier, you couldn’t get a word out of him beyond it will be cleared up soon and don’t anger them.

You’ve seen him four times since then. Each time, though you tried, he wouldn’t tell you a thing. 

“It’s nothing, Chan,” you say again, as though repeating it will make it true. You attempt a smile. “Really. The festival will soon be over, and this Kereseian business will…go away.” Hopefully. Chan doesn’t look convinced, so you curve your lips wider even though you know this smile is far from reaching your eyes. You try for a joke. “At least, it won’t be my problem to deal with. It’ll be my father’s.”

Chan looks at you closely, and in that moment, you want nothing more than to sink into his arms and cry and tell him everything. Instead, though, you bolster that smile, and though by the end you’re sure Chan hasn’t been convinced of anything, he doesn’t continue to pry. “All right,” he says, worry still on his face, but the concern melting into a small smile instead. “But in any case, it’s late. Maybe—”

“Maybe, Your Highness, it’s time for you to return.”

. . .

For a moment, you think that this is just a bad dream. That you’ll pinch yourself and wake up, and when you do you’ll be back in bed. Safe. Away from the voice. 

But you slowly turn around, coming face to face with the Kereseian king himself. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

“Your Highness.” He tilts his head in what looks like an attempt at respect, the little smirk that makes your skin crawl never leaving his handsome face. “Your family is looking for you.”

“Your Majesty.” You take a small step in front of Chan, who seems to be frozen to the spot, and give  a slight curtsy. “My sisters knew where I was. Did they send you?”

There’s no way they did.

“Not exactly.” His smile widens. “I heard your father ask where you were, and volunteered my services to find you.”

Behind you, Chan shifts. You raise a foot beneath your skirts and step slightly on his toes. He’s smart. He’ll understand that that means please don’t get involved. 

“Who’s this?” The king peers past you and you actually feel your throat close up. Not Chan, not Chan, not Chan! “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I don’t believe we have either,” Chan replies, voice polite but cold. You’ve heard that tone before. It usually comes out when one of the more aloof nobles doesn’t plan to give him the time of day or the proper respect due to a human being. “Your Majesty…?”

For all the situation, Chan’s blatantly fake confusion almost makes you want to laugh. “Chan, allow me to introduce His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.” You realize then that you don’t know the king’s name and that almost makes you laugh for real, especially as Chan dips into a stiff bow that looks anything but natural. “Your Majesty, my good friend, Chan.”

“Your good friend,” the king repeats, slowly, like he’s testing out those words on his tongue. You can almost feel Chan stiffen next to you, and you pray you won’t have to step on his foot again to keep him from trying to interject. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Chan. I do have a duty to escort Her Highness back to her family, however, so I fear we must part.”

“Do not worry,” you reply quickly, as smoothly as you can before Chan can retort. “I was going to return soon, anyway. Please, Chan, have fun at the festival.” Your smile turns real, if only for a moment, as you meet his gaze. “It’s the final night. You should enjoy it.”

Chan’s eyes flicker to the side, where you know the Kereseian king stands. “So should you.”

“And I did, thanks to you.” You take his hand, squeeze it for a minute—far longer than you should, with the king’s gaze boring into your shoulder, but you ignore it until you have to let Chan go. “I will be all right,” you add in a whisper that hopefully only he can hear. “Really.”

He doesn’t look happy. His lips press together almost into a line, his eyes dark and serious like you’ve never seen before. But he must sense it when you want this to end, so he only nods, curves his lips slightly, and bows. “In that case, have a good night, Your Highness.” When he rises, his smile is wider. “I had a wonderful time.” With that, Chan disappears into the crowd, leaving you with a man you don’t trust at all. 

Without another word, you turn back towards the palace and begin walking. If it’s a little quicker than your usual pace, you try not to let that on.

Unfortunately, the king keeps up. “I didn’t know that princesses of Terpsichani were allowed dalliances outside of nobility.”

You laugh a little, trying not to let the edge in your voice sound. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, you’ve only been here a week. There is a lot of you don’t know about us.” Annoyance creeps into your tone, despite your efforts to keep it out. “And Chan isn’t a dalliance.”

“Well, he seems quite taken with you.”

Anger fizzles in your chest, threatening to spill into your words. “We’re friends,” is all you say.

“Good, then.”

Frowning, you turn toward him. “Good?”

“I wanted to ask you something.” The king’s eyes seem to glow under the moonlight, pulsing pools of shadow. You almost fear drowning in them. “Do you know why I have come here, to your kingdom?”

Nothing about this feels right. “I was under the impression it was for the Moonlight Festival, Your Majesty.” You turn to continue on to the palace, but his cold hand catches your wrist. Pulls you back. 

“So your father really told you nothing,” he murmurs, almost as though to himself. Before you can digest that, though, he continues. “It was for the festival, Your Highness. Partially. But that was not the promise your father gave me, you know.” His lips curve and you can only think of the cruel blade of a knife, silver under the moonlight before it sinks into your flesh. “He promised me you.”

He promised me you. 

“…What?”

“He promised your mother, first.” The king laughs as though you aren’t reeling, about to fall if not for his wrist still grasping yours. “And to my father, not to me. But the poor woman was so sickly after your birth, and ill. My father wouldn’t want a weak woman to bear his own child.” He peers into your eyes and you can do nothing to pull away. “This my father said, and so yours bargained a second time. One of his daughters for my father’s son.” White teeth glint as he grins. “Me.”

Disgust roils in your stomach and gives you the courage to speak. “But why?” you cry out. “Why would my father make such a bargain in the first place?”

“Don’t you know how much trouble your father and mother had, conceiving you?” He smirks. “I suppose, at some point, your father had to take matters into his own hands. And my own father wasn’t going to say no to a princess with magic as strong as yours.”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up. In a horrible way, it makes sense—you know your mother had trouble with your birth and had always wanted more children even after you were born, which is why she adopted your sisters before she died—but this can’t be true. It can’t be. “I don’t believe you,” you snap, ripping your arm out of his. “I don’t believe you!”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me.” Suddenly he has both of your wrists clamped between his fingers, his skin seeping cold into yours. “I will have you, a darling queen to dance with me and entertain my court day and night, and you will have my child. And with your blood, that child will be able to walk in the sun, as so many of us Kereseians cannot.” 

Vaguely, you realize you’ve never seen one of the Kereseian delegation under daylight—always in a room with no windows during the day, or milling about at night. You didn’t know they couldn’t walk in the sunlight. 

You’re learning so much tonight, and none of it is good. 

“So we can do this one of two ways.” His face is so close to yours, so handsome but so cold and so repulsive when his breath hits your skin. “You can come willingly, and we will announce our engagement tonight to your father. It will be wonderful news to crown the final night of the Moonlight Festival, will it not? Our marriage two weeks from now on the new moon, as befits Kereseian royalty.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips. Engagement. As if—as if you would ever—

“Over my dead body,” you snap. 

The king isn’t even fazed. “I thought you might say that,” he says with flippant ease, though if you didn’t know better you’d think you heard a ripple of a snarl in his tone. “But think wisely, Your Highness. Your father signed a contract with our kingdom of hell. We did not coerce him. He came to us. We delivered on our end, and now he must deliver on his.” He laughs. “Will you try to resist fate?”

Despair claws its way into your heart, ripping open your throat as you try to think. Try to speak. Your head is spinning and everything is wrong—your father, who you trusted, your mother, who is dead—

Against your will you wish you had never told Chan to leave. That he was still here with you. That you could draw from his strength in this moment where you feel so powerless. But he shouldn’t be caught in this, though. You’d never want him injured. Never want him hurt. 

Not in the way you’re sure the Kereseian king could manage.

His memory lends you courage, though. Fate. This is no fate—it will not be your fate. You will not go willingly into the kingdom of hell, and you will not sign your life quietly away to this monster who dares claim you so.

“Over. My. Dead. Body.”

The king’s eyes darken. “Very well, then,” he says, and just for a second his grip loosens. You try to snatch the moment to break free but then it tightens and you gasp against the pain as he brings you even closer. “I should make this clear now, though, Your Highness.”

Flames whirl up from the ground. Heat flares at your skin. And then you’re falling, falling, falling into the earth and the blistering wind is tearing your body apart piece by piece and there’s a horrible noise in your ears that you have a terrible suspicion is your own scream—

Your feet slam into a hard floor. You nearly buckle where you stand, knees shaking, only held up by the painful grip the king still has on your hands. Everything around you is dark, lit up by strange, curling flames, and it is cold. So cold.

He smiles down at you now. Knife blades. Weapons to kill you as his mouth comes closer to whisper in your ear. 

“You don’t have a choice."

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

[cussima]

IM GONNA TALK ABOUT ITTTT

my first shift story time <3

(w pics lmao)

I have absolutely no idea how i woke up last night but I thought of my dr sp and i was sooo up to seeing him i decided i was going to shift.

and i did.

there was no method there was nothing 😭 i simply decided I'd be in a reality with him and i woke up in a university dorm after a morning nap

ᯓ ♡ i did realize one thing: every time i had tried to shift before i had been so concentrated on my body.

so i got up, i knew i had had a class before that and i was going to have another one soon. It was almost noon (checked on a clock) and i had another class fairly soon but i had 1 job: finding this man.

so i walked through the whole university looking for the head master's room (idk what they're called in english 😭) to find a list with all the student's names for that year and try to find his name (yk like psychos do) (under the reasoning that if he goes to the school then i can find him so yk just STALKING like a mad woman) (it was also that awkward time before the technology boom, a few printers but no proper computers like we have now so i figured most things would be saved on paper and I'd have to open every drawer and bla bla bla i was full on detective mode) but the head master's office wasn't empty 😭 (idk why i assumed it would be) so i very awkwardly asked one of the teachers there if i could see the list (after small talk and when she asked why i wanted to see it i had to be like "yeah.. i just want to check something really quick:)" and they agreed, which felt SO WRONG to me because isn't knowing that information like illegal nowadays idk) and when i was going into the office to look for it I saw my dr sp walk out another room and we made eye contact

it could be because i'm down bad but it was so intense (he has a very intense gaze actually lmao) and i just got the most violent butterflies in my stomach he was SO MUCH TALLER THAN ME and he had the cutest eyes and his hair was soso messy it was hilarious. I knew that we had seen each other on campus like that a lot, but we had never had a proper talk (i just knew) and after all that i had to PRETEND like i still had to check the list so i went into the damn information office and went through the papers super quickly and pretended like i had checked whatever i wanted to check

(me reading that goddamn list) after that i was pretty sure i was late to class but i hadn't shifted to go to class i had shifted to see my dr sp and i did so i just shifted back

ANYWAYS THAT'S IT

[hueningstar]

Heyyy! Could you do stebro soob? I just read the Beomgyu's and I loveeee itttt! I never followed so quickly! Love your work!

Not So Sibling-Like

Summary : You and Soobin have been living under the same roof for about a year since your parents got married. While you try to maintain a sibling-like bond, there’s a tension that neither of you can ignore.

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A/N : Heyyyy! Thank you for checking out this oneshot. I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to share your thoughts after reading. Happy reading!!! :))

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Pairing : Stepbro!Soobin × Stepsis!reader

Warnings : sexual tension, nipple play, kissing, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), p in v action, soft dom soobin, loss of virginity (reader)

MDNI

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You’re studying in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the carpet while Soobin lounges on the couch behind you, scrolling through his phone. His long legs are stretched out, occasionally nudging your back.

“Can you stop doing that?” you snap, turning around to glare at him.

Soobin smirks lazily, tilting his head. “Stop doing what?”

“That!” you huff, pointing at his foot.

“Oh, this?” He nudges you again, this time more deliberately, his socked foot brushing against your lower back.

You grab a pillow and throw it at him. “You’re so annoying!”

Soobin easily catches the pillow, setting it aside. “You’re cute when you’re mad.” he teases, his voice low, the playful tone making your cheeks heat up.

“Don’t say weird things.” you mumble, turning back to your notes, but the warmth of his gaze lingers.

He leans forward, his presence suddenly overwhelming as he rests his chin on the back of your shoulder. “Why not? I think it’s fun.”

You freeze at the proximity, your breath hitching. His voice is softer now, almost a whisper. “I mean…you don’t really think of me as your brother, right?”

Your grip on your pen tightens as you struggle to find a response, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

"What are you studying anyway?" Soobin's breath ghosts across your ear as he speaks, his voice purposefully husky. His hand comes to rest on your hip, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

You swallow hard, trying to focus on the notes in front of you, but his touch is distracting. "Just some math homework." you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Soobin's hand moves to your waist, his fingers squeezing gently.

"Math, huh?" Soobin's other hand reaches out to grab the notebook from your lap, his fingers brushing against yours in the process. He sets the notebook aside, his attention fully on you now. He turns you around to face him, his hands settling on your hips.

Your heart races as you're forced to meet his gaze, his hands holding you in place. "Soobin, what are you-" you start to ask, but he cuts you off by pressing his lips against yours in a soft, but insistent kiss.

He pulls back slightly, his breath mingling with yours as he whispers, "You always ignore me when I'm trying to talk to you about normal stuff. Maybe if I kiss you, you'll actually listen to what I have to say."

His hands tighten on your hips as he leans in again, pressing his lips to yours more forcefully this time. He parts your lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss and making it clear that he has no intention of stopping.

His hands roam upward, resting on your lower back before slowly sliding up your sides. He breaks the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, murmuring, "You always wear such baggy clothes. I wonder what you're hiding underneath..."

Soobin's hands reach up to grip the hem of your shirt, his fingers curling under the fabric as he starts to lift it. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you realize he's going to see you in nothing but your underwear. "Soobin, wait-"

Soobin pauses, his eyebrows raising quizzically at your hesitation. His hands linger on the hem of your shirt, thumbs grazing your bare skin teasingly. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you're shy now after all this time."

He smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Come on, I've seen you in a swimsuit before. This can't be any worse." His hands resume their upward motion, slowly lifting your shirt to reveal more of your torso.

Soobin's eyes widen slightly as he sees your midriff, taking in the flat stomach hidden beneath baggy clothes. He swallows hard, his smirk growing wider as he continues to lift the shirt, revealing more skin. "You... you're..."

"You're so much cuter than I imagined," Soobin finally finishes, his voice a little hoarse as he finally pulls the shirt over your head, leaving you in just your simple white bra. His hands move to your sides again, thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts through the fabric.

You blush furiously at Soobin's compliment and the way he's staring at you. You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out as he reaches behind you to unclasp your bra. "Soobin, wait, we shouldn't-"

Soobin ignores your protests, his fingers deftly unclasping your bra and sliding it off your shoulders. He lets out a soft gasp as he takes in the sight of your bare chest, his eyes drinking in the sight of your delicate breasts. "Fuck, you're perfect."

Soobin's hands come up to cup your breasts gently, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles around the sensitive area. He looks up at your face, seeing your flushed cheeks and closed eyes, trying to hide behind your shyness.

Soobin leans in, pressing soft, teasing kisses along the swell of your breasts. His breath is hot against your skin as he murmurs, "Don't hide from me, sweetheart. I want to see every reaction, feel every shiver..."

Unable to resist Soobin's earnest exploration, you reluctantly open your eyes, meeting his intense gaze. A soft gasp escapes your lips as his thumbs swipe across your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. "S-Soobin..."

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your simple black panties, slowly pulling them down your legs, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable before him. "You're gorgeous..." His voice is husky with desire as he looks you over. "Absolutely perfect..."

Soobin spreads your legs gently, kneeling between them. He runs his hands up your inner thighs, teasingly close to your most intimate area. He can feel your trembles, your shyness, and it only makes him want to worship you more. "Look at me."

Your legs quiver as Soobin's touch lingers just inches from your center. Slowly, you lift your gaze to meet his. The intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch. He smirks lightly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your belly. "So soft..."

With a chuckle that tickles your skin, Soobin moves closer, his breath warm against your most sensitive area. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll take good care of you..." He whispers before trailing teasing kisses along the inside of your thigh, deliberately avoiding your center.

Soobin chuckles softly, his breath tickling your skin. He leans up to capture your lips in a tender kiss, pulling back just enough to murmur, "Shh, it's okay. I'll take good care of you..."

His fingers finally reach their destination, gently parting your delicate folds. He looks up at you with unblinking eyes, his expression serious. "Have you... have you ever done this before?"

Your heart races as Soobin's touch finally finds your most sensitive spot, his fingers gently exploring your wetness. You bite your lip, hesitating before shaking your head. "No... never. You're my first." you whisper, a mix of nervousness and excitement in your voice.

Soobin's eyes widen slightly at your admission, a soft gasp escaping his lips. He looks up at you with a newfound sense of reverence, his touch becoming even gentler. "Really? I'm... I'm your first?"

You nod, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. The realization that Soobin will be the first to touch you in this way, to make you feel these new sensations, sends a thrill of excitement through you. "Yes... just you."

Soobin begins slowly, his fingers working with tender precision. He alternates between gentle strokes and teasing swirls, gauging your responses. Your gasps and soft moans encourage him, making his heart race.

As Soobin continues to explore your body, you find yourself getting lost in the sensation. The feeling of his fingers inside you, the way he curls them to hit just the right spot, it's all so new and overwhelming. "Soobin... ah...!"

Soobin's breath hitches at the sound of your voice, his own arousal spiking. He can feel your tightness clenching around his fingers, the heat of your pussy enveloping him. He knows he needs to be careful, but it's getting harder to hold back.

Unable to resist any longer, Soobin leans down, replacing his fingers with his tongue. He laps at your clit, sucking gently as he slides two fingers back inside, curling them to stroke your G-spot.

Your body arches instinctively as Soobin's skilled tongue finds your most sensitive spots, waves of pleasure radiating through you like electricity. You tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him close as incoherent moans spill from your lips.

Soobin's own breathing becomes ragged as he tastes your sweetness, the sounds of your pleasure driving him wild. He can feel you getting closer, your inner muscles fluttering around his fingers. With a final, strong suck on your clit, he sends you tumbling over the edge.

He continues lapping at you through your orgasm, prolonging the intense waves of pleasure that wash over you. When he finally pulls back, he wiping his glistening lips with a satisfied smirk. "You taste... heavenly." he whispers, crawling back up to lay beside you.

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, a fine sheen of sweat covering your skin. You turn to face Soobin, your eyes sparkling with wonder and gratitude. "That was... incredible." You trace a finger along his jaw, marveling at the tender expression he wears.

Soobin catches your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertips. "I'm glad you liked it..." He nips gently at your finger, a mischievous glint entering his eye. "But we're just getting started..."

Soobin rolls onto his back, guiding you to straddle his waist. His hardening length presses against your sensitive core, and you gasp at the intense sensation. "Ride me," he whispers, his hands resting on your thighs. "Take control this time."

Heart pounding with exhilaration and a touch of nerves, you position yourself above Soobin's waiting erection. With a deep breath, you slowly sink down, your slick walls stretching to accommodate his thickness. A low moan escapes you as he fills you completely.

His abdominal muscles tense beneath your touch as you begin to move, finding a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. Soobin's fingers dig into your thighs possessively, encouraging you to move faster, harder.

You lock eyes with Soobin, a heady rush of arousal surging through you at the desire blazing in his gaze. Your fingers splay across his chest as you grind down onto him, savoring the delicious friction. "You feel so good inside me."

Soobin's lips curl into a devilish grin at your praise, his cock twitching inside you in response. "You take me so well, like you were made for me." he husks, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples.

Leaning forward, you capture Soobin's lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, your tongues tangling desperately. He responds with equal fervor, swallowing your moans as you ride him with wild abandon. The change in angle has him hitting new spots inside you, pushing you rapidly towards another peak.

With one hand supporting your hip and the other snaking between your thighs to toy with your clit, Soobin starts thrusting upward to meet each of your movements. "Come for me again, sweet girl," he whispers against your lips. "Let me feel you milk my cock."

Your body obeys his command, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your inner walls clamp down around Soobin's cock, sucking him deep as he thrusts up into your convulsing pussy. He groans, his own release building at the intense stimulation.

Feeling your pussy squeeze and pulse around him sends Soobin careening over the edge. With a strangled cry, he pulls you down, burying himself as deep inside you as possible as he fills you with his hot seed.

Your breath comes in short gasps as Soobin leans back, smirking at the way you’re left speechless. His hands linger on your waist, steadying you, but his teasing gaze holds an intensity you can’t quite decipher.

“See?” he murmurs, voice low and laced with mischief. “I always get what I want.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart races. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here.” he quips, tilting his head with a grin that makes your knees feel weak.

Before you can respond, he releases you, stepping back with a smug expression. “Guess you’ll have to deal with me being around… always.”

The tension lingers in the air as he walks away, leaving you torn between frustration and a strange, fluttering feeling you can’t quite shake.

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taglist : @soobunni

[saintspeils]

✮ How I shifted ✮

✧ (And how you can too) ✧

╰☆☆ To start ☆☆╮

i'm sure you've heard HUNDREDS of shifting stories that tell you "all you need to do to shift is simply just decide to." believe me, i get the frustration you feel after hearing/reading that. And while I agree that the common statement is true, it doesn't do much to help you understand it better.

so, i'd like to go in depth about what it means to decide to shift, my first shift, and what i believed changed in me to make that my first successful shift.

My first shift

my first shift was actually at night. i had just eaten dinner while scrolling loablr (love y'all) and wanted to hop into the shower. all those people telling you about their first shifts that ended up being when they least expected it? they meant it 😭

anyways, after i had gotten into the shower, i stood there for a minute with water dripping down on my back. i sort of just zoned out and started to think about shifting as a whole.

it finally hit me, somehow. shifting isn't hard at all. Simply decide to shift, decide that, you, in that moment, have just shifted. truly believe that no matter what you have shifted. And from there i imagined my dr, feeling all of the sensations on my body and looking around my dr room.

and so i decided to believe i had shifted, ignoring the water pounding on my back, and only focusing on my dr. and GIRL, when I tell you what came next was REAL i mean itttt

like no joke it was that deciding factor that accepting shifting was something i had just done was all i needed.

"but sophie! how do i do that!?" ☆☆╮

╰☆☆ well, it's easy.

all of those descriptions you've heard about what shifting really is? That it's just some divine thing that happens when you completely let go and the universe throws you into your dr? that you'll know you shifted when it happens? throw them out of the window immediately.

throw them out of the window. and once you do, decide that shifting is what you make of it. decide that shifting is simply not believing a thing about what this reality has to say. it's what you believe it is.

example, decide that shifting is imagining your dr and taking note of your surroundings. decide that feeling remnants of this reality while imagining your dr don't matter. if you decide that your interpretation of shifting is shifting, you'll have shifted. and in turn, you'll truly have changed your perspective.

the pure satisfaction that comes with your first shift is completely unmatched. so to end this off, im not going to tell you to keep trying, and youll shift eventually. im going to tell you to decide what shifting is to you, and decide you are going to do exactly that.

so go on, don't be shy. go get ur first shift right now and change that part in your bio that says you've never shifted.