#sir im just star hunting

[paralien]

got stopped by the police while comet hunting, calling that them cometing at me

[tinydefector]

Star Gala dress

(Mtmte) Starscream × human reader

A small little thing I enjoy is Senator Starscream of Vos, and this also gave me the excuse to write about this dress.

WARNING: hints to future smut, mentioned nudity.

Wordcount: 2k

Request and ask open, read pinned post

Starscream masterlist

11

111

________________

The young human liaison stands off to the corner of Starscream's office desk reading through appointments and schedules for upcoming events. "Sir, I have more council data for you," they call out to the Seeker as they turn and walk closer to him, transferring the schedules and meetings.

Starscream barely acknowledged the young human, continuing to pore over reports and schematics on his desk. As they approached, he let out an exasperated ventilation and raised his optics to meet their gaze.

"What is it now? I'm a very busy mech, in case you hadn't noticed." He gestured imperiously at the datapads stacked high around him. "I don't have time for the trivial matters. So this had better be important."

The seeker leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chromsteel cockpit impatiently. , he had little patience for being interrupted while working. But as the human was his earth embassedor, it was his unfortunate role to deal with their petulant requests and demands.

"Well? Out with it. I don't have all cycle," Starscream snapped. His piercing red optics bored down at the human, he knows he shouldn't be snapping at them, but the stress of the cycle was already getting to him.

They sigh softly, "There's gala that you have been requested to be at as one of the 'Repentant' and also new senator of Vos. They have asked that we both attend for publicity purposes. They want both the senator and the human ambassador attending. I believe they want you to do some speaking or such after the incident with those protested outside your home, but from what I can read its mainly just other higher ups of Cybertron's social networking coming together for political face value again" they reply while scrolling throught their own data pad.

Starscream let out an irritable ventilation at the news. "Another one of these pointless mingling exhibitions, I presume?" he hissed derisively.

Playing the politician was not something he had ever seen himself doing, he had been a military leader and scientist, but he had little choice as one of the few remaining Vosian Seekers with enough knowledge on political matters. Since the fall of Vos, he had taken up representing his Seeker constituents on Cybertron - whether he wanted to or not.

"And I suppose they think parading you around with me will make me seem more 'palatable' to the masses," he scoffed, glaring down at his little ambassador. As if mingling with snobby council mech wouldn't do his prossesor in more.

Still, he had little choice if he wished to hold onto the dwindling scraps of power and influence he had left. With a frustrated huff, Starscream rose from his seat. "Very well, we'll attend this affair," he grumbled begrudgingly. "But make no mistake - you are to stay by my side the whole even, primus knows im not hunting you down if one of those council mech get their servos on you. Try not to embarrass me."

A soft laugh leaves the embassdors lips'. "Sir considering you already put up with me as is, I won't be leaving your side regardless. Plus you enjoy my charming wit and gossip to much. But yes I believe they wish for you to show off our alliance" they reply with a smile to the Decepticon as they move closer to wards him.

Starscream let out an impatient vent at the human's response. "Your company is a necessary chore at best, fleshbag," he retorted. He glowered down at the tiny organic, wings flicking irritably.

They walk up closer staring him in the optics with a raised brow ans crossed arms . "A chore huh?, I didnt realise getting kisses being a chore Mr, guess i won't be sharing the bed with you tonight since its such a chore" they teases their lover, knowing full well they had caught starscream in a fib.

Starscream's optics flashed dangerously at the human's teasing remark. "Careful," he growled softly."

However, his armour flared subtly in reaction to their challenge. As much as he loathed admitting any weakness, this tiny organic had somehow managed to work their way past his defenses. Against his better judgment, the Seeker  found himself strangely enamoured with the human.

Leaning down until his facial plates were mere inches from their upturned face, Starscream indulged in a quiet vent. "You know as well as I that appearances must be maintained in public," he stated lowly. "But in private...well. Let's just say I find your company... not entirely objectionable."

His clawed digit reached out to delicately brush their cheek in a rare unguarded moment of affection. Despite his cold demeanour, Starscream cared deeply for his consort, however much he refused to show such vulnerability openly.

A soft laugh leaves their lips as they run a hand across starscream's faceplate. "Hmmm, keep telling yourself that handsome," they reply before pressing a kiss to starscream's lips. " For all your snark and scowling, you're not as big of an asshole as you try to act." they hum contently.

Starscream's optics flashed at the human's brazen words, but he made no move to rebuke them further. Instead, he vented softly as their lips met his own, the gentle contact stirring something deep within his spark.

"In matters of politics and power, have weaknesses make you easy prey," he stated gruffly, though without his earlier bite. Seekers valued strength and cunning above all else.

Still, behind closed doors was another matter. "You have a most insolent mouth... but I confess, where you are concerned, I find I do not entirely mind."

His clawed digits reached to ghost almost tenderly along their cheek. Starscream found he was willing to set aside his usual façade. They had come to mean more to him than he ever dared admit.

"Hmm, glad you enjoy when I talk my mind, Stars." They pressed another kiss to his lips before just resting against starscream's bulk. "Fuck I need to find something decent to wear if I'm going to get paraded around a social gathering" they mumble softly. They weren't initially prepared for an event like that, most times they stuck to the office and were never far from the seeker.

Starscream let out a soft vent as their lips met once more. "In private, you may say what you wish, fleshling," he replied in a rumble. "But do try to mind your glossa in public. Less i have to get involved"

The Seeker peered down at their smaller form resting against him protectively. "As for appropriate attire, I may have something in storage that could suffice for your diminutive size."

During Vos's heyday, the Seekers had many diplomatic functions requiring certain getups. While the outfits were tailored for flightsuits and armour, perhaps a piece could be tailored down further for a human or some that were originally for pets of past senators.

"Come. Let us search my archives and see if any pieces are in presentable enough condition after vorns of neglect," Starscream said, extending a clawed digit for them to climb onto. The public face he showed the world was cold and severe, but in private moments, his consort brought out a softer, rarer side to the fierce Seeker.

Testing on clothing for a gala wasn't what they had planned, but it was enjoyable except for the fact that Starscream wasn't happy with anything they had been tired of yet. "Stars, this is the 8th outfit. Are you really that picky?" They ask while grabbing another outfit.

they slowly changed into it, making sure the chains hung  the right way and the choker was set in place. They walk out wearing a shimmering black dress, which showed skin of their hips, neck chest, and arms. It makes starscream stop to admire. "What about this one?" The call out while double checking everything was in place.

Starscream's optics roved appraisingly over the human as they emerged wearing the shimmering black dress. "Hmm, not bad..." he murmured appreciatively. As much as he grumbled about the task, the Seeker did appreciate aesthetic beauty. and this particular outfit did justice to their form. "Spin," he says while making a motion with his servo.

"The material compliments your organic optical structure and plating," Starscream observed. As a scientist at Spark, he couldn't help but be intrigued by alien biology, however primitive. And he had to admit, the fragile frame could produce pleasing visual and tactile sensations on occasion.

Venting softly, the Decepticon stroked a clawed digit gently down their arm. "I suppose this one will suffice to showcase our...alliance, as they say. It highlights certain appealing assets while maintaining... some modesty." His mouthplates twitched in a rare half-smile. "You clean up passably well for a human, sparkbug."

They roll their eyes at starscream before grabbing his servo and pressing a kiss to it. "Glad you like how I clean up, Mr. demanding, your privilege is showing again," they reply with a teasing smile. "You could use a new lick of paint before the event too, don't want these little scratches on show" the state with a wink before walking to go get changed out of the dress and to store for the gala.

Starscream let out an amused vent at the human's spirited retort. "Insolent creature," he said with a hint of affection. 

Still, he made no move to rebuke them further. As loath as he was to admit any chinks in his armor, this human was right, he did indeed need a new coat of paint before the event, less the other mech and femme figure out the scratches were from the ambassador.

The Seeker watched appreciatively as they began to change out of the dress, leaving their back exposed to him. "Do try not to damage that piece before the gala. It would reflect poorly on me to have my...consort attired in anything less than their best." His mouthplates quirked faintly.

"I'll make sure to keep it safe and ready for the gala," they reply only to gasp softly when they feel starscreams lips against their back.

Starscream rumbled softly as his intake pressed gentle kisses to the human's neck, relishing their pleased reaction.

"See that you do, sparkbug," he murmured against their spine. "I wish to show off my talented...consort to my peers." His gaze held an unfamiliar warmth as he gazed upon the tiny organic, his servos wrap around their waist, digits spreading out Across their soft skin.

Humans were primitive, fragile things, but this one stirred something within the Seeker none had before. With surprisingly tender digits, Starscream traced idle patterns against their side, lingering to savour the minute but pleasing tactile feedback their skin provided with tiny bumps.

"Now, let us complete preparations for this tiresome political display. But know that after, your frame is mine and mine alone to clain," Starscream murmured possessively against their ear, relishing their shiver of reaction. His human may be small and fragile, but they had become his in a way none ever had before.

They laugh. "I didn't realise you liked the dress that much, hmm shame you have to wait three cycle before you get to rip it off me" they teases him with a quick kiss, as they try to flee his grasp.

Starscream let out an irritated vent at the human's teasing words. "Insolent little pest you are," he growled, capturing their intake in another firm kiss to wipe the smug look off their faceplate. 

While he cherished this fragile organic, their boldness tried his patience at times. "Three cycles, is it?" The mighty Seeker rumbled against their ear again, glossa flicking out teasingly. "Very well then, bug. But know that when the time comes, I fully intend to savour stripping that fine material from your form... and everything underneath. I intend to have you bed bound for a while. " His clawed digits tracing almost affectionately over their frame left no doubt as to his meaning.

"I very much look forward to it, my handsome shooting Star," they reply.

[verdemoun]

Ghhhhshh im so sorry bc im like. Pretty sure u made a post abt the callander boys pretty recently but.. If ur up to it can we get more on whqt u think of them?😋 i love them SOOO MUCHHH and the way u talk abt them is always so AWESOMEEEE

rubbing my grubby little mits together

The origins of my Mac and Davey Callander: their parents immigrated from Scotland when Mac was a wee toddler. Davey was later born in America. Mac had a completely normal childhood, went to school, and was well on his way to being just some guy when their father was killed in a wagon incident. He left school to look after Davey while their mother tried to find work. Being a woman, this was nearly impossible, and it wasn't long before their house knew the glow of a red lamp. A few months shy of Mac's 10th birthday, their mother also passed away (syphilis) and he was left orphaned and sole carer for a 4 year old Davey

Mac spent the next 3 years in a perpetual state of terror, selling what he could, stealing what he had to, chasing the pipe dream of giving Davey a normal life. Less than a year after their mom died, the landlord kicked them out. For Davey, their new life of camping out under the stars was another amazing adventure. Mac, in contrast, was so stressed his hair fell out in chunks and the only time he slept was when he collapsed.

Things got a lot easier after Mac decided to pick a handgun off a guy who passed out drunk at a bar. Originally, it was for safety, and then the occasional intimidation tactic in a hold-up, and then before they knew it Davey was 17 and they were committing their first bank robbery together.

They'd never run with the gang before the VDLs. It had only ever been the two of them, which showed in their uncanny ability to know what the other was thinking at all times: especially on a job. The only thing witnesses would report them saying to one another was Mac giving Davey a firm 'no' for seemingly no reason - every single time Davey had been thinking about doing something stupid, like firing his weapon just to scare the poor accidental hostages more. Or maybe killing the teller and just breaking their way into a vault instead of waiting.

Dutch was the one to recruit them, using bounty posters as a catalogue for potential new members. It was 1896: Mac had just turned 31, Davey 26 - and everyone except Dutch immediately hated them. It was obvious that Dutch wasn't looking for recruits, he was looking for replacements. John had run off and Arthur was bedridden with mourning having found Eliza and Isaac's graves. For Dutch to pick up two similarly aged, similarly talented gunslinging brothers felt like a punch to the gut: they were all replaceable.

But damnit, for outlaws, the Callanders were just too likeable for it to stick. When the awkwardness of having not interacted with anyone other than his brother for over 20 years was too much, Mac factory-defaulted to his polite Scottish Catholic upbringing. He was a brute, but always addressed the gang seniority as sir, or ma'am, and smacked his brother hard over the head reminding him to thank Pearson for the burnt, tasteless gruel.

Davey had the same appeal as the then even younger Sean Macguire: he was loud, he was energy, twitching to go and always the first to volunteer for a mission no matter how small the take was going to be. Unlike Sean, though, he had an off switch in the form of his brother. Davey was like a hunting dog with Mac holding the leash. But that energy was what the gang desperately needed that dark year, when half of them were considering taking off just so they could get a damned night's sleep with a colicky infant Jack around.

Davey loved an audience: being around a regular group of people was the best thing to happen to him. Javier learned English from Davey because Davey would constantly talk to him despite the fact Javier was lucky to pick up every third word. Not being the youngest anymore also inflated Davey's ego tenfold. Sean might have been 17-18, but the hero worship he had for Davey was obvious. They both had the gift of the gab and could talk to each other until they went hoarse, and Sean obviously picked up Davey's impulsive, reckless 'hit 'em hard and loud' mentality on a job.

On a job, it was like music. Mac was used to being the one making plans: he could pick bigger scores now that it wasn't just him and Davey. With a look Mac would send Davey to the back door, and when the sight of one lone gunman started to make people think they could fight back, Davey would burst in on queue to make them think twice. The VDLs that went with just learned where to slot themselves in like puzzle pieces coming together - and if the Callanders had made it to Horseshoe Overlook, they would've had enough money to make it Tahiti. The gang had never lived so comfortably before. The stew actually started to taste good.

Arthur's rage hearing about Mac's death was personal: Mac really was one of his besties in the gang. He might have hated working with him, because Mac wasn't the sort to take orders from anyone, but in camp, Mac was one of the few people he could talk to. They were a similar age, but what they really bonded over was that silent feeling of having the entire world on their shoulders. Arthur's entire adult life was dedicated to the gang, the same way Mac's entire life had been dedicated to keeping his brother safe. They could just sit quietly around the campfire and drink, until liquor loosened their lips enough to properly bond over how unfair their lives had been without ever actually complaining about the hand they'd been dealt.

Mac was the only member of the gang, outside of the OGs (Dutch, Hosea, John (and Abigail), Grimshaw and Tilly) that Arthur ever told about Isaac.

[the-whispers-of-death]

no fuck that im killing Kevins ass, skinning him alive, making mud boots out of his skin and jewelry out of his bones and presenting them to Sarabi while i hold Kevins severed head with a bow neatly tied aroud his neck as an extra gift. motherfucker thinks he deserves happiness? nuh-uh his ass is dead for hurting Sarabi like that not my house sir im flaying that bitch alive come here Sarabi baby i will set the world on fire just to watch the flames dance in your eyes no one on this earth deserves you i love you and always will if you want to marry someone marry me i will provide stay loyal and i won't pull the shit Kevin did. it's always a fucking Kevin i swear to god i will hunt down his entire bloodline if it means Sarabi is happy fuck is you on about im about to blow up the entire solar system just to gift the brightest star and the biggest supernova to Sarabi as our wedding gift. fuck it i'll become god and make him the most powerful and immortal being to ever live just so i can build him a throne from the bones of the ones who harmed him i swear to buhjeesus i will eat Kevin alive how dare he!? i am channeling my full eldritch powers just to make Sarabi happy. Kevin was, is and will always be trash he doesn't deserve shit except suffering fuck Kevin Sarabi deserves the world and all it's riches i will become a CEO just so i could pamper Sarabi and give him everything he ever wanted fuck Kevin and his family they can choke while i buy Sarabi a house and fifteen cars

You're so valid for this, bestie. Sarabi has been fucked over by this situation the most.

Because not only is Kevin allowed to marry the man he wants due to being classified a widower, he also gets Sarabi's benefits. He gets the guy AND Sarabi's money! He's spending the money while pretending to be the grieving widower.

Poor Sarabi, he has the short stick. Why did I do him like that?

You go treat Sarabi right, because Kevin surely isn't. In this household, we hate Kevin. Don't know why Sarabi was hoping Kevin would fall in love with him, he wasn't even friend material much less husband material.

[gloriousevanlution]

Fandom list because I think I had this on my old acc but idk ((Stars next to the ones I'm REALLY into))

Arcane ★

Adventure Time (+Fionna and Cake) ★

DEADPLATE

Spiderman + Spiderverse ★

ALIEN STAGE

Percy Jackson/HoO/Magnus Chase/etc ★

The Owl House

The Last of Us

Baldur's Gate 3 (I'd like to note I also play D&D) ((i'm the dm))

harry potter BUT only marauders era...I fucking HATE that old hag jkr....

Hell Followed With Us/The Spirit Bares it's Teeth/Compound Fracture

The Hollow (haven't watched it in ages...)

How to Train Your Dragon

The Legend of Vox Machina

Maze Runner

Hunger Games

Ramshackle

Seraph of the End

Stardew Valley

kind of The Walking Dead? not very into it rn but i watched it, i can discuss it i suppose

I am Not Okay with This

Night Has Come

Our Flag Means Death

(this begins the webcomic section because there are SO FUCKING MANY OF THEM.)

Les Normeux ★

Marionetta ★

Hooky

Not So Silent

The Prince of Southland

Love Me to Death

High Class Homos

Jackson's Diary

Star Children ★

Star Catcher

Bailin and Li Yun

School Bus Graveyard

It Strikes a Chord

The D!ckheads

The Doctors are Out

Castle Swimmer

Icy Copper

Covenant

Nevermore ★

23:4

Hyperfocus

Finding Fiends

Boyfriend of the Dead

Fluidum

Ocean Boy

Wind Rose

Type-Blind

Stare Down

Spicy Mints ★

Fathoms of Atonement

Amythest Ring ★

Novae

The Silence of Songbirds

Peanut Soup

My Missing Oscar ★

Hunt for the Holy Pearl ★

anddddd i'm done listing these i've gone on for too long....

Music !! (just my favorite artists at the moment, i won't bore you to death...) ((these would all have stars im just too lazy to add them)

Sir Chloe

Jhariah

Nothing But Thieves

St. Vincent

Penelope Scott

Mitski

Being Dead

Florence + The Machine

Dreamville

Weyes Blood

Various game and show soundtracks... (Elden Ring, TLOU, Witcher 3, Arcane, ALIEN STAGE, Adventure Time)

alr i'm done i swear...This was so fucking long what the hell...

[hyukascampfire]

you grabbed me by the hair and dragged me through the mud and then cut my heart out with this one. what the hell. i knew it was gonna hurt but damn. YOU DONT GET TO JUST TREAT ME LIKE THIS. NO MF AFTERCAREOR NOTHING JUST HURT. and also, the whimsy? yeonjun and reader literally just wanting each other but the world is just so fucking cruel? i loved their dynamic and the BANTER it was good enough to eat. i crown u banter queen. he’s so witty, this yeonjun is literally just FOXFOXFOX to me, more than usually even. god.

“The castle and its demands are miles away, and the only thing that exists is you, the moonlit forest, and the archer practicing under the stars.” this is so mfk pretty,, i literally FEEL this. and the archer practicing under the starts… i love this fic.

It was her hair. Pink. call me delusional and say i’m doing too much but i think that the color pink could literally be a character in this fic. it’s there in little glimpses and wisps, but for some reason, each time it felt monumental. that’s actually so incredibly beautiful. it’s not secret that this fic is pink coded, but lowkey i think it goes further than that. i literally cannot explain to you how this makes me feel.

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

jk i’m not leaving actually. you’d have to peel me off of this yeonjun.

“Yeonjun,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let someone in. Even if it’s just for a moment.” fucking hell im choked up. just a little. baby let yourself be loved 💔

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice hoarse. IM ABT TO BUST WTF how did you know that this is my favorite thing. butterflies >.<;

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

“For you?” He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.” just fell down to my knees in abject horror and agony. oh my god.

"I don’t want to feel useless anymore," Kai continued, his voice quiet but steady. "If I can hunt—if I can bring home food or sell furs—maybe things will get better. Maybe my family won’t have to struggle so much." fucking cries Kai nodded, exhaling slowly before releasing the arrow. It sailed through the air, wobbling slightly before it struck the edge of the target. Not dead center, but better than it had been just days ago. "Yes!" Kai exclaimed, pumping his fist. 

i can not and will not be addressing kai and kora’s fates. the ability to make me so disgustingly attached to them in 24k words when some 100k novels can’t even manage that for me is beyond beautiful, and i did cry and now my chest aches and so i will NOT be going into that. for my own good. the letter to his family. you are a sick individual.

She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. “Then let’s find something that is ours.” this is so very much summative of them. they both have these massive names to them, a legacy that precedes them, and yet really they have nothing more than each other. especially after being stripped of the very last things that they could call their own, the only interpersonal connections that they ever really got. in the end, all they had was each other and a future. i’m making myself choked up just writing this but UGH there is something about having nothing beyond hope.

hope is i think is a constant theme in this fic. the two of them start with absolutely zero, with any semblance of it stomped into the dirt. that was, until they met in that forest, and then they let themselves hope despite it all. despite how dangerous it was, and despite how they both knew that it’d give them hell. and it did. but in the end, at the very least, they still have that hope, yk? it was such a beautiful transformation to read. i love you for writing this and i am going to mystified and in agony over this until further notice.

A KISS FOR THE CURSED - ,, ୧ ‧₊˚ c.yj

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

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

》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…

pairings » archer!yeonjun x princess!reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » royal au » forbidden romance »

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

« 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 »

word count « 24K »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “Overbearing parents? Shocking.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. The word feels like shackles on your wrists. 

“Do you understand?” your father demands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun raised a thick brow. “What?”

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

Yeonjun’s expression darkened immediately. “No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun froze.

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

It was her hair.

Pink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re reckless,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not scared,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words sweetheart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever touched yourself?” 

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

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

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

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

“My god.” You whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Please move.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

“Yeonjun, 

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

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

Yours Always”

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun”

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

“Yeonjun,

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

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

Yours always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t want to," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cursed?" Yeonjun offered dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her marriage announcement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kang Taehyun. 

The one she was supposed to marry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bloodstained arrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeonjun.” a hushed, urgent voice whispered. 

His breath caught. It was her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the family of HueningKai,

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

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[honeybeewhereartthee]

MDD MINI CORNER (NOT HC???): Plushie Accident

||Twisted wonderland x Ensemble stars||

?:"I swear it's not my fault!"

??:"they all say that, Alicechi. but we both know it's your fault."

You heard someone chats as you walk home one Halloween night holding Mayoi hand.

"What's that ?" You wonder as you look around what could be that cause of that noise.

Mayoi:"I don't think it's good to--"

MC:"my doll hunting sense is tingling --"

before mayoi could stop you, your already run. "...and they are gone... " Mayoi sigh before he fallow you along.

"OMG A DOLL!" he then saw you hugging a doll while being stared by two stranger.

"I--... IM SO SORRY IS THAT YOUR DOLL? PLEASE FORGIVE MC, IF YOU WANNA PUNISH SOMEONE DO IT TO ME INSTEAD!" sensing those two don't look normal, mayoi quickly apologize on his knee.

"Lol, is this the effect of villains to normal people." The one with short fluffy rainbow hair and aurora eyes giggle at the quick reaction of mayoi.

"Alicechi just because your a damn Elsa doesn't mean you could openly insult ok!?" The one with flaming blue hair clicked his tongue by the words of his fellow dorm mate.

"IM NOT ELSA WHAT THE HELL!?" The one called Alicechi yelled back. Before he sigh and look at the two human, one is kneeling and one is shamelessly hugging a certain fea that is turned to a doll. Not by him of course, totally not because of him.

"uwahh. No! No bullying mayoi ( ･ั﹏･ั)" snapping our of your trance you stood up in front of mayoi still holding the unknown doll on your hand.

"M-MC...!!" Mayoi can't help but be flustered and embarrassed that your standing up for him.

"lolol what's this, a couple? Holy shit is this person really going to protect a dude taller than them? Ahahaha" The one with flaming blue hair laugh mockingly at the two.

"I hope you get your ass kick for mocking gremlin people." Alice commented as idia continue to say insulting words.

"holy that dude is crying--" idia was about to say more about Mayoi who's already in tears.

"NO BULLYING MAYOI!!" you already send a hand chop to his nape's pressure point.

"Agh....!!" Not expecting the attack and being weak in physical education. Idia is knock out.

"Lol what did I told you, dorm leader?" Alice chuckle as he takes picture of his dorm leader embarrassing pose of defeat.

"Anyway. Can I have the doll in your hand now, miss/sir?" Alice turn to look at you with soft smile.

"..." Suddenly realize that the doll would have to leave you become reluctant to part ways with it.

"*Hic..." You cried. "M-MC! D-dont cry please!" Mayoi quickly tried to console you.

"... Lol a-alicechi bullying kids ..." Idia commented in the ground, through his groaning in pain as he realize his body is paralyze down his nape.

"IM NOT!" Alice denied. Before he sigh as he look at you and to your companion.

"Oh... OH!!" You look confuse as Alice person look at mayoi strangely. "It's one of the unfortunate soul wandering the world!" He says as he point at mayoi who froze.

"H-huh... N-no I-im human --" he denied the claim, fearing the worse.

"I know. I can see that." Alice chuckle. "Well at least some good thing happened from a deal years ago." His words seems full of enigma as if he knows what's up.

"Agh... Is this the one you said you went to this world accidentally?" -idia.

"probably... No it's totally this world." Alice chuckle before he point at mayoi and then to you.

"Miss/sir, do you love Doll so much? Wanna hug your companion doll form again?" You look at him confuse at his offer.

"D-DOLL MAYOI? (〃ﾟ3ﾟ〃)" you unconsciously nodded because you wanted to hug mayoi plushie form again.

"Y-yes-- N-NO--M-MAYBE?" Not wanting to let out your feelings yet you still wanted it. Leading to a confusing answer.

"... M-MC...(•‿ •,)"-mayoi. I know MC miss my doll self. (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

"okii~" Alice smile as he point at mayoi who then turn back to his doll self. "Ooh l, it's the second one." He commented as he look at the DD. "Anyway it's temporary his back after 30 minutes." He explained.

"I wonder if that curse you put to draconia is a temporary thing too. Can't wait to see your kingdom war against fae." -idia.

"MAL WOULD BE FINE. ITS LILIA FAULT OK!" -alice.

"sure, sure blame the innocent guy." -Idia.

"..." -alice. Since when that old fae a innocent guy?

"uwaaahh mayoi doll formmmm~~" you already on your knees to hug mayoi doll form with the other doll. Showering them with kisses. "Love you, I love you~" you said between smooches.

"weird kid | yup." -idia, Alice

...

25 minutes later with you only hugging the two dolls.

"can I have the other doll--"

"sorry no can't do." -alice. "Not because I don't want too. That's a person... A fae, the prince of dark fae." As he said that the two dolls disappear in your hands and two tall figure appear beside you, one hold you protectively, while the other look at you in great interest.

"N-no... MC is mine!" Mayoi cried out as if he heard some words from the other doll earlier.

"Hmm, is that so? But they seems fine with me... " The prince of fae, Malleus Draconia stared at the two of you. "

Woah, your tall!" You commented, looking up to the figure.

"Child of man, your very interesting. I hope we shall meet again. You as well. Phantom." Malleus smirk as he grab hold of your right hand and softly kiss the back of it. Before he disappear with green sparkling dust.

"...good gott. He left us. Whatever." -alice cannot believe this. He then pick up his dorm leader and look at you two.

"Your MC right?" You nodded your head. " Thank you for loving the unfortunate children of this world. That person would be so happy to see such scene... That his wish have been with a reason... Good bye now ~" with that Alice disappear with blue star dust left behind.

A thought come in mind. You wonder at that very moment if the blue star mayoi and others meant is a literal star or a person who can grant wish but without a limit?

Alice Bylur My main blog Twisted OC

MC of @allimili

[wickedyan]

Puppy

Character: Levi Ackerman

Tags: nsfw, fingering, use of ‘puppy’, mafia au, voyeurism.

A/n: A ha ha,,, long time no see huh/// Heres an apology fic! Im out of my toxic household, im job hunting and ive just been put on medication to help out with my tourettes! Life’s good hehe.

THANK YOU FOR 1K FOLLOWERS FJKSDFHJKF technically 1.1k+ hehe <333 mwah 

NSFW BELOW

-

Your cheeks burned at the loud squelching noises coming from your cunt, with Levi’s long fingers massaged that special spot that had you seeing stars. Your hips moved on their own, thrusting to meet each deliberately slow piston of his fingers. Fuck, it felt so good, but it just wasn’t enough to let you cum, too gentle, too slow. Levi was very clearly aware of it, the slight pull to the corner of his mouth in a sinister smirk giving him away. Your tears only had his cock twitching against your lower back.

The men on the opposite side of Levi’s desk were clearly uncomfortable, but you were too far gone to care, eyes rolling back in your head and drool dribbling down your chin. Levi held himself as though he didn’t have a slut drooling over his finger on his lap, snapping at the men for taking too long to answer a simple question.

“Oi, eyes on me, boys. I know she’s a sight, but she’s not yours to ogle at.” The drawl of his voice rumbling from his chest into your back had goosebumps rising and a whine tearing through the makeshift gag fashioned from Levi’s tie in your mouth.

His eyes flicked down to you, and he pulled his fingers from your sloppy cunt, admiring the slick that covered them. The tip of his tongue emerged from soft, pink lips, wrapping around his fingers with a sigh. He always did love the taste of you. You couldn’t stop the moan from rumbling in your throat, more tears prickling as he left you empty and unsatisfied.

“Yes sir.” His underlings had gotten pretty good at ignoring you, should they wish to keep their life.

“Good. Now, how is our stock for this month shaping up?” The men continued on, answering Levi’s questions, and getting him up to date on everything going on in the Mafia he ran. You wiggled on his lap, grinding your ass into his crotch, biting your lip as his cock twitched. The tell-tale sign of his arousal betraying the cold expression he wore.

Levi sighed before returning his fingers to your pussy. No longer the teasing strokes, he curled his fingers up and jackhammered into your cunt. It had your toes curling, your teeth biting into the gag so hard you were sure you were ruining it, your cunt clenching around his fingers. You were desperate for release.

“P-heese…” You cried through the gag, begging him to let you cum. His eyes met your own, pleading ones.

“Have you been a good girl? Do you deserve to cum?” He murmured to only you. You nodded your head, tears threatening to surface again as he slowed down his movements. Snot dribbled from your nose, thighs quivering and hips bucking.

“Are you gonna answer me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked, “Now there’s a good puppy…”

You cursed through the gag, making a mess all over his lap and crying openly into his chest. He snuggled you close, sending the other men in the room out the door promptly.

“Look at the mess you made, puppy. You had better clean this up.” He shoved you down on your knees, forcing your face into his crotch where your juices dribbled down onto the chair. You got to work quickly, licking up each drop of your own cum with little kitten licks, eyes locked with Levi’s.

[morallygreyintrovert]

Nobody asked but I’m going to detail my every thought watching this episode here so enjoy:

1. Why on earth did this episode open with an upbeat montage? I literally said “what the fuck”out loud. I don’t know about you after defeating God and losing my adoptive son and my best friend (who confessed his secret love to me then died immediately after whom I’m also secretly in love with) I’m going to be pretty fucking devastated not doing chores?

*also forgot to add but Sam or Jared is looking super good in this montage, especially the shirtless scene. I’m not a Sam girly (Cas girly till I die) but even I was like “jeez is that man fineeeeee”

2. I definitely won’t be going to a pie festival? Like wtf was that?? Why is Sam more upset about Cas’ death that Dean. Dean is just like ‘ah well, shit happens and life goes on’ like sir are we going to pretend you didn’t go completely non-verbal watching the love of you life die in front of you.

3. Vampmines as the final big bad?? Like I think vampmines are kind of funny and that did make me laugh.

4. I do appreciate when shows comes full circles and there’s literary symmetry. A show ending how it started. So I like that it’s an old Case of John’s.

5. I like the rock music as the screens pans to Deans machete slicing through a vampires neck.

6. Sam should have let Dean use throwing stars, the boy just loves his toys.

7. Jenny? Who the fuck is Jenny? Like honestly when I watched this the first time I have no idea who she was, I had to google who she was. Like literally like I said I’m all for symmetry but out of all the people they could of brought back? Why her? It makes no sense, 0 sense.

8. However Deans whole interaction with her is super funny.

9. NOOO THE CAMERA JUST ZOOMED IN ON THE REBAR. i can’t believe Dean is about to die like I know he is but I don’t believe it. only 18 minutes into the episode. AHHH HE’S JUST BEEN IMPALED NOOOOOOOO.

10. It’s so sad that Sam doesn’t immediately realise Dean’s situation. The panic in his eyes 😢 Dean refusing to let Sam get the first aid kit or even trying to save him kind of reminds me of the door titanic scene like there was definitely enough room for both of them, Jack didn’t need to die. DEAN DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE.

11. I know early Dean wanted to go on a hunt and I may have been okay with that (I wouldn’t) but WHERE WAS HIS BLAZE OF GLORY?? it wasn’t even a vampire who killed him IT WAS A FREAKIN RUSTY NAIL. Also that man didn’t not want to live (because of his grief for Cas obvs). They spend MINUTES saying goodbye I’m sorry Sam could of saved him.

12. Dean telling Sam about that night he came to get him from Stanford and he was there’s for hours nervous because he was scared of Sam rejecting him and him begging Sam not to leave him. NOOOO IM IN SO MANY TEARS.

13. Dean telling Sam to “keep fighting” as he choosing to die THE HYPOCRISY

14. “My baby brother” 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

15. Sam “it’s okay. You can go now” me, screaming at my tv in tears “NO IT’S NOT OKAY, DON’T GO!!!!!! IT’S NOT OKAY”

Annnnnd that’s all I watched because I’ve turned it off now in disgust. As it turns out, Enough time has not passed and the grief is still raw. I’ve seen all I’ve needed to see as my fic is canon until a second before Dean is impaled and that’s when my fic diverges from this shit show of a final episode.

That’s all she wrote.

I have watched the Supernatural fully only once, I have rewatched seasons 1-8 a fair few times and episodes with Cas and Gabriel I have watched a dozens times but I have never watched season 15 or the last 2 episodes more than once.

Until today. I have not been able to bring myself to do it but as I have resumed writing my post season 15 fix-it fic, I wanted the end of the show fresh in my mind. So for research purposes I’m putting myself through the pain of watching ‘Carry On’ (I’m not or never will be able to bring myself to watch ‘Despair’ again. Okay maybe I’m being a bit dramatic but whatever)

Wish me luck.

[yandere-daze]

omg dazeee happy to see you round again、hope you had a good week!!!

been reading thru the asks now and... omg... im so sorry for the poor people that'd be targets for yan shu. you included i know you fit in this category HAHA. i personally cant stand shu and... my god. on jp from the very first free pull i got shu's basic 5* and it was an actual jumpscare 😭 besides this i kept having weirdest pulls in my life. like. i got both leo and izumi 5* one after the other in another free pull... i was like. how. when i saw the newdi logo and it wasnt natsume i was kinda sad </3

as for eng i saved up for 70 pulls and decided to do them on the basic 3-5* scout in hopes of natsume (there was no natsume) ;; but i did get the catboy ritsu which was one i passed on and got like second 10 pull? it made me happy i was like. wow that was fast. HAHA... i also kept rolling tatsumi like crazy and maxed his 4*... welp. he was also the first one to call me on jp. man needs to chill. even if your self aware yan au didnt exist id still believe something was up with how much tatsumi keeps appearing on my screen upon random notices 😭 dont have anything against him、however im kaname fan numero uno /j

oh also i was wondering if i could be darlingnon? its a nickname another blog gave me and its cute :)

(Yes you absolutely can be darlingnon, I agree that it´s a very cute nickname!! ^^)

Thank you, I hope you had a good week as well!!

Omg I know right? Shu is hunting all of us down and no one is safe at this point 😭 I´d be careful now if I were you, it looks like Shu is slowly spreading his influence if he suddenly appeared on your very first free pull yncljnf

I love it when there´s neat coincidences like that and two characters appear one after another. I swear I had something like that happen to me recently but I can´t for the life of me remember who it was. It´s still very lucky that you got them both from a free pull even if it´s kind of unsettling and I´d be worried that they struck some sort of alliance to keep you for themselves. This theory is only supported by Ritsu showing up as well, soon enough all of Knights is going to show up on your doorstep at this rate sfbsjlnf

Natsume is probably somewhere in a hidden room, plotting some sort of scheme to finally win you over once and for all and he still needs some time before he can finally put his plan into action. Spells need some time to work their magic, you know?

HELP everyone is just going crazy in your phone now, even Tatsumi isn´t safe anymore😭 First calling you because he wants to know where you are and who you´re with and then pestering you by giving you his 4 star card over and over! Sir you´re being a bit too obvious right now! Please calm down!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

72 Hours In Montreal [Part I]

A/N: Many moons ago, the incomparably lovely @im-an-adult-ish​ pitched a Montreal concert fic idea (jokingly, I think), and quite a few of my followers fell in love with it. They were even kind enough to vote on which Queen member should be the love interest, and there was a clear winner: John! 

I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and at last, here is the first of three chapters of this new mini-fic. I’m going to tag some of my past readers, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 💜

Series Summary: John Deacon is a rock star at a crossroads. Y/N is a world-weary employee at a Yankee Candle shop. They’ll only ever have three short days in Montreal together...or will they??

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (not graphic). 

Word Count: 6.8k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​ @rhapsodyrecs​ ​​​ @joemazzmatazz​​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​​ @namelesslosers​​ @inthegardensofourminds​​ @sleepretreat​​ @hardyshoe​​​ @sevenseasofcats​​ @jennyggggrrr​​ @madeinheavxn​​ @whatgoeson-itslate​​​ @herewegoagainniall​​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​​ @pomjompish​​ @allauraleigh​​  @bluutac​​ @johndeaconshands​​ 

The obnoxious British men are still laughing. The one with the mustache, suspenders, and illogically tight red leather pants is standing on the tiptoes of his equally red Adidas shoes to paw candles off the top shelf so he can sniff them. The blond one has no less than eight jars balanced precariously in his wiry arms. Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing is billowing through the shop speakers.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna break something,” you moan in a whisper, covering your eyes but peeking through your fingers. Your apron is suddenly too tight around your waist; your cheeks are roaring with blood as you envision the inevitable confrontation: Sir, unfortunately you ruined some of our giant tacky overpriced candles and so now you have to pay for them. So sorry. Paper or plastic? We take Mastercard.

“Who?” Kevin asks. He’s holding a broom in one pudgy, pinkish hand and a dustpan in the other. He has surrendered.

“That one. Suspenders and moustache guy. Red shoes guy. Dorothy without Toto.”

Kevin cracks a smile. “That is frighteningly accurate. He is rather whimsical, isn’t he? Maybe he’ll click his heels and disappear back to London or wherever.”

“We aren’t in Kansas anymore,” you mutter in commiseration. Actually, to be perfectly literal, you’ve never been to Kansas in your life.

“Wait, I think I might have met that guy before somewhere.” Kevin squints with great concentration. “He looks oddly familiar…”

“Hm.” You check your eyeliner wings in your reflection in the cash register screen. From what you can tell, they’re every bit as tragically asymmetrical as you remembered. Spectacular.

“Staring won’t make it better,” Kevin notes, very unhelpfully.

“I know,” you reply, miserable, toying with your bangs so you can hide behind them.

“How does that even happen? The right one is practically a 90-degree angle. The left one looks like you drew it on with a Sharpie.”

You groan. “I’ll try to scrub them off during my break.”

“If you’re not too busy helping me sweep glass off the floor, sure,” Kevin says. “I told you, I took an electrical engineering class as an elective once. I could totally take a look at your bathroom.”

“I thought you said you failed that class.”

“No, I said I got a D in that class. Ds aren’t failing.”

“Well now you’ve convinced me.” You scrutinize your reflection again, frowning. You rent a rather dilapidated one-bedroom apartment above a bakery just a few blocks from the Yankee Candle shop. The apartment always smells like powdered sugar and baking bread, which you like. What you don’t like is everything else about it: the peeling paint, the low water pressure, the windows that you can’t wrestle open, the occasional mice, the shoddy electrical wiring. On any given day, there’s an approximately 27% chance that the bathroom light won’t turn on when you flip the switch. This morning you had been on the losing side of those odds, and with the only mirror in the apartment being the one mounted over the sink—and the overcast November skies outside offering painfully little natural light—you had haphazardly guesstimated your way through your makeup routine before dashing off to work. Your guesstimation skills, apparently, are not all that great.

“If he’s The Wizard of Oz...” Kevin points his broom handle from the snickering moustached man to the gangly, poodle-haired one who has been trying to decide between two candles—Christmas Cookie and Cinnamon Stick—for twelve uninterrupted minutes. He’s wearing a parka spotted with patches: a NASA emblem, a soaring rocket, a smiling green extraterrestrial face, Saturn and its rings. “That guy’s gotta be Star Wars.”

“Or Alien,” you suggest, clutching your chest and pretending to die melodramatically.

Kevin laughs. “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“Close Encounters of The Third Kind.”

“What about that one?” Kevin nods to the guy who has large blue eyes and bleach-blond, fried tufts of hair sticking out in every direction and a grin that is simultaneously childish and foxlike. Under Pressure comes on the shop speakers, and the British men all start cheering and high-fiving each other, leaving their candles momentarily tucked under their arms or quivering precariously on the edges of wooden display tables. You are entirely mystified. “God, he’s gorgeous.”

“Bye Bye Birdie,” you decide. “Beautiful. Charming. Beloved by all. Perhaps a little dangerous. I can picture teenage girls sobbing themselves to sleep as he gallantly marches off to war.”

“You think he’s gay?” Kevin asks hopefully.

“I don’t think he’s dressed well enough for that.” The blond man is wearing a shapeless, polka-dotted sweater that has ‘NIVEA’ spelled across the front, for reasons that are difficult to fathom.

Kevin sighs, crestfallen. He suffered a nasty breakup with his boyfriend Patrick two weeks ago, and is enthusiastically on the hunt for a rebound to distract him. “You’re probably right. Okay, last but not least.” Kevin aims his broom handle at the fourth and final British stranger. “What shall we call him?”

You consider the man who has wandered away from the others. He’s wearing Levi’s, a black bomber jacket, aviator sunglasses, a mop of unwrangled auburn hair, thoughtful lines that break around the corners of his hidden eyes. He is browsing unhurriedly, perhaps even distractedly, through the fruit-scented candles. He picks up a jar of Macintosh Apple, sniffs a few times, then sets it back down precisely where he found it. He even spins the jar so it’s label-side-facing-outwards again. You warm to him immediately.  

“One of the James Bond movies?” Kevin offers. “He seems…enigmatic somehow. Esoteric. Yet still clearly leading man material.”

“Casablanca,” you say, not tearing your gaze from the stranger. “I can imagine him waving off some old flame on a foggy, night-draped airport runway, breaking hearts with sparse words of wisdom. Can’t you?”

“Oh, that’s exactly right!” Kevin sighs again, dreamily, yearningly. And whether he’s yearning for his ex-boyfriend Patrick or Bye Bye Birdie a.k.a. NIVEA-sweater man or passion or sex or love or maybe just the ineffable high that accompanies the beginnings of things, you couldn’t say.

You peer at your reflection in the cash register screen once again, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “Maybe if I—”

“Freddie!” Star Wars cries, and you whirl just in time to see The Wizard of Oz, whizzing around and giggling and preoccupied with teasing NIVEA-sweater man, stumble into the six-foot-tall tower of Christmas Tree-scented candles and send countless jars crashing to the tile floor.

“I knew it!” you unleash in a rush of misery and exasperation, the biting threat of tears in your eyes and the back of your throat. And of course, it isn’t just about the mess on the floor, it isn’t just about having to tell your manager and hoping to God he doesn’t fire you. It’s about your derelict apartment, it’s about your fucked up eyeliner, it’s about everything that’s happened in the past eighteen months; it’s about the never-ending feelings of helplessness and inertia and predestined ruin, it’s about not being able to get fifteen meters down the street before life throws up another red light, another jagged sinkhole gaping like ravenous jaws. And none of that is these ridiculous British men’s fault; yet still, in that moment the fury you feel towards them is overwhelming.

“Jesus christ,” Kevin mumbles, stepping out from behind the counter to survey the damage, his hands still clutching the broom and dustbin.

“You couldn’t just mosey around and ask which candles are on sale and maybe sniff one or two like a normal person?!” you explode. “You had to come in here acting like goddamn animals and destroy like a third of our inventory?!”

“I’m so sorry,” The Wizard of Oz sputters, looking at you and Kevin with wide, profusely apologetic dark eyes. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man are helping him to his feet, albeit with very spirited chidings. Kevin is grudgingly asking if he’s alright. Casablanca is already trying to sort through which candles are broken and putting those that survived aside. And when he casts furtive glances from behind his aviator sunglasses, they’re directed not at Kevin or The Wizard of Oz but at you.

“Freddie, bloody hell,” NIVEA-sweater man laments.

“I’ll pay for them all,” The Wizard of Oz tells you. “I’m so, so, so terribly sorry, you’re absolutely right to be cross with me, and I’ll pay for everything. Here, let me get my wallet…” He digs around in the pockets of his preposterously tight red leather pants.

“Uh…sir…” Kevin begins uncertainly, not wanting to break the bad news.

“It’s going to be hundreds of dollars,” you inform The Wizard of Oz. “Maybe over a thousand. You’re really going to pay that? Or are you just going to wait until we start sweeping up and then sprint out the front door the first chance you get?”

“Hey,” Kevin warns you quietly. He wants you to keep this job probably even more than you do. You are, by his own admission, far and away his favorite coworker.

“No, no, darling, please, let her scold me, I deserve it.” The Wizard of Oz at last locates his wallet. He sashays to the counter, brushing nuggets of glittering glass off his clothes, and counts out two thousand Canadian dollars in hundreds. “Will that do? You can keep the change as compensation for the inconvenience. And we’ll help clean up as well, has anyone got an extra broom?”

As you stare down at the money, shocked into speechlessness, three hulking men dressed in black come barreling into the shop.

“Lord in heaven, Freddie, what happened?!” one asks. He has a thick beard and an Irish accent and closely resembles a grizzly bear.

“I made a complete ass out of myself and am now trying to win the affections of this marvelous creature,” The Wizard of Oz replies, flourishing a hand towards you. “Is it working, dear?”

“Kind of,” you admit, still stunned.

“Oh my god.” The broom tumbles out of Kevin’s grasp and clatters on the floor. He points at The Wizard of Oz. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You…you…you’re Freddie Mercury, right?”

In reply, The Wizard of Oz only flashes an enormous, toothy, dazzling grin.

“Oh my god,” Kevin says again, a starry, awed smile rippling across his round face.

“Please don’t make his ego any bigger,” Star Wars pleads.

“And you’re Brian May!” Kevin replies. “And you’re…” He turns to NIVEA-sweater man, snapping his fingers, trying to remember. “Robbie…no, Ronnie…uh…Ricky…?”

“Roger Taylor.” But it comes out like ‘Rogah Taylah.’ NIVEA-sweater man extends a hand for Kevin to shake, not the least bit offended. “It’s a pleasure. Sorry about the candles.”

“No problem, sir!” Kevin squeaks as he takes Roger’s hand, beaming. The men in black—the band’s security, you’ve gathered—have descended upon the crime scene, confiscated Kevin’s broom and dustbin, and are rapidly clearing glass and chunks of candlewax from the floor and discarding the mess in a trash bin that usually collects only chewed gum and unwanted receipts.

“So I guess I probably shouldn’t have yelled at you,” you tell Freddie Mercury guiltily, all the venom in your voice evaporated. You’re no Queen superfan, true, but everyone knows the words to Bohemian Rhapsody and We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions. And Another One Bites The Dust. And Killer Queen. And Crazy Little Thing Called Love. And Somebody To Love. Your thoughts are suddenly a racing, indecipherable blur. Your knees are boneless. You’ve never met a celebrity before. Well, not unless you count professional hockey players, which you definitely don’t.

“No, you absolutely should have,” Freddie retorts. “I was dreadfully discourteous. I’m positively mortified about it. I should be punished severely. Have you got anything behind the counter to whip me with? A riding crop, perhaps?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not that I know of. I’m sorry I called you an animal.”

“I’m sorry about the candles. There, now we’re even. Wait, not quite yet.” He calls over to Kevin: “Darling, how would you and your friend like front row seats at our show tonight?”

The squeal that bursts out of Kevin is not human.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Freddie Mercury says, very pleased.

“This is really too generous of you,” you protest, although your heart isn’t in it; Kevin might legitimately strangle you if you screw this up, and you’re finding that you want to see Queen in concert too. It’s something to interrupt the powerless, unrelenting monotony; it’s like something that might happen in a movie or a dream.

“Nonsense!” Freddie announces cheerfully. Star Wars and NIVEA-sweater man—or, rather, Brian and Roger—are chatting with the security guys and nodding along as the bearlike Irishman reviews the day’s itinerary.

You peer over at Casablanca. Now that the floor is mostly clear, he’s migrating towards you and Freddie. You glance apprehensively down at your reflection. “Goddammit,” you mutter, manipulating your bangs again, wishing you could disappear. “I meet a rock star for the first time ever and I look like this.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kevin says, obviously lying.

“I like it,” Freddie tells you, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his knuckles. “It’s very goth raccoon chic.”

“My bathroom light wouldn’t turn on this morning and I was late for work and I guesstimated and that was clearly a poor decision.” Poor decisions are my expertise, you think instinctively, and feel a tug of something you don’t quite have the words for. Shame, grief, disappointment, a raw sting like a flame beneath your palm, a dread like a child who’s lost their mother’s hand.  

“I’ve offered to take a look at the wiring!” Kevin exclaims. “I told you, a D is passing!”

“Kev, babe,” you reply. “I really, truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but you’ll probably just make it worse. And then my landlord will hate me and keep my security deposit and write me awful references and I’ll have to live in an endless string of ancient, hideous apartments until I die.”

“It’s an electrical problem?” Casablanca asks, pushing his aviator sunglasses up into his unruly hair. His unveiled eyes are a blueish grey—they remind you of one of the candles, maybe Beach Walk or Bahama Breeze—and very direct. He stares at you and you stare back, and at some point you realize that everyone is waiting for you to answer.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess so. Sometimes nothing happens when I flip the switch. That’s the extent of my handyman knowledge, unfortunately.”

Casablanca nods. “I could take a look, if you like.”

Not Beach Walk. Not Bahama Breeze. Warm Luxe Cashmere, maybe. “Now that really is too generous. I couldn’t possibly put a rock star to work on my terrible apartment.”

“John’s got a degree in electrical engineering, that’s right in his wheelhouse,” Brian counters.

“Yes,” Roger says, grinning, teasing in a way that has absolutely no malice in it. “He’s more of an engineer than a rock star anyway, isn’t he?”

“Seriously?” Casablanca—John, you mentally correct yourself—doesn’t seem much like an electrical engineer. But Roger’s right: he doesn’t really seem like a rock star, either. What John seems like is steady and abiding and perceptive, attentive, unflinching. He studies you like some people study paintings, like you once studied paintings; not in a passing-by-in-a-crowded-hallway type way but in a patient way, a methodical way, with the quiet that comes from knowing that vision in the frame is older than you will ever be and will still be hanging on that wall when you’re bones in a box somewhere.

Freddie lights a cigarette and puffs on it decadently. Smoking definitely isn’t allowed inside the Yankee Candle shop, but you aren’t about to snap at Freddie Mercury for the second time today. “Oh, let him tinker around in your flat, darling. It’ll make his day.”

“Is it far?” John asks you.

“No, really, Casa…uh, I mean, John, I appreciate the offer more than I could possibly express but I—”

“It’s just a few blocks north,” Kevin says, and tosses you a wily smile.

“How convenient!” Freddie trills. “When does your shift end, dear?”

“Not until 5:30.”

“She can take a long lunch break.” Another smile from Kevin. “Honestly, there’s not much to do around here now that the Great Candle Massacre of 1981 has been remediated.”

“Splendid!” Freddie says, radiant.

You shake your head, very slowly. “This is the weirdest day of my life.”

“Then you clearly haven’t lived enough,” Freddie quips.

“Fred!” Roger presses. “Are we going to the bookstore down the street or not? That was the whole deal, we suffer through your candles, you suffer through our books.”

“You didn’t seem to be suffering,” Brian says.

“Of course I’m suffering. That cashier over there almost murdered me,” Roger slings back.  

Freddie sighs and rolls his large, dark, expressive eyes. “Yes, darling, of course, don’t give yourself an aneurism. We’ll go to the bookstore, John can rendezvous with us later.” Now he turns to you. “We’ll send a car to your flat at 7 to pick you and Kevin up for the show tonight. Don’t let John leave without knowing your address. Wear something deliciously opulent. Lots of sparkle. Maybe furs.”

“I make eight dollars an hour,” you tell him.  

“Or you could just wear nothing.”

“Sparkle and furs it is.”

Freddie chuckles and turns to the men in black. “Chubby, my dear?”

The towering bearlike Irishman replies: “Yeah, I’ll go with John. Don’t wreck anything else while I’m gone. Don’t get yourselves deported before the show. EMI will have your heads on spikes.”

Freddie pretends to be scandalized. “Causing destruction? We would never.” He saunters towards the shop door, jingling the bells as he swings it open, and waves like royalty. “See you tonight, darlings!”

“Bye!” Kevin shouts after him. And then, after Freddie, Roger, Brian, and the two non-bearlike men in black have departed: “Oh my god I just met Freddie Mercury and he’s amazing and he knows I exist and he spoke to me and tonight he’s sending a car to take me to a concert and I’m going to have front row seats and what if he invites me to have a drink afterwards oh my god.”

John, evidently unaffected, prompts you: “So your place is just a few blocks away?”

“Yeah. Just let me get my coat…”

The man in black—Chubby, as Freddie had introduced him—fetches your coat off the rack by the door and holds it up so you can slip inside it. No one has ever done that for you before.

“…Thanks…?” You button your coat, feeling a little like royalty yourself at the moment.

John pulls open the door, the tiny metal bells jangling, and gestures out into the streets of downtown Montreal. He’s wearing his aviator sunglasses again; the November wind gusts through his hair. You catch threadbare ghosts of cigarette smoke and cologne that the breeze lifts from his skin like pages of a book. And he smiles, just barely. “After you.”

You walk north together along the path of the sidewalk with your hands in your pockets, your breath fog in the cold, weaving through the bustling crowds of tourists and holiday shoppers, Chubby trailing not far behind and displaying his talent for keeping watch while not letting on that he is. To even your own horror, you can’t seem to shut up.

“John, this is so kind of you, this is completely unnecessary, you really shouldn’t feel like you owe me anything because Freddie already paid for the candles twice over and I was totally unprofessional for yelling at customers, even annoying customers, and Kevin and I are already getting a free concert tonight and so—”

“Okay,” John says firmly. “You have to talk about something else now.”

“I can’t talk about anything else. All I can think about is how ridiculous this is.”

“Have you lived in Montreal long?” he asks, very casually, as if you’re strangers in line next to each other at Starbucks.

“My whole life.” Minus a little over three years, but you don’t need to get into that. “My parents live over in Verdun, right on the St. Lawrence River.

“Sounds scenic.”

“It certainly is.” You’re trying not to look at John, because every time you do it’s hard to stop. You look at the cars rolling by instead. “This is super embarrassing, and I don’t mean to offend you, but what exactly do you do in Queen?”

He’s not offended; he thinks it’s hilarious. “I’m the bassist.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah, bassists are quiet and reliable or whatever. Bassists don’t terrorize Yankee Candle employees.”

“You’re not a Queen fan?”

“I’m a casual and appreciative listener, but I wouldn’t call myself a fan. I couldn’t pick any of you out of a lineup, clearly. Roger is the drummer, right?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Drummers are feral, almost universally. Which means Brian must be lead guitar.”

“And what do you think of lead guitarists?”

“Word on the street is that they are brilliant yet micromanaging egomaniacs, but I don’t want to bash your friend or anything.”

John chuckles, like there’s some joke you aren’t in on yet. “No, please, bash away. So you prefer bassists.”

And finally you do look at him, and you regret it immediately; because now you’re caught in the thoughtful crinkles around his eyes and the barely-there stubble of his cheeks and the playful curve of his lips and how the wind ruffles his auburn hair the same way it steals leaves off of slumbering trees. You almost walk right past the bakery. “Oh, wait, we’re here.”

You lead John and Chubby upstairs to your chronically irritating apartment. John removes his sunglasses, inspects your bathroom light switch, then asks if you have a specific kind of screwdriver. You bring him the toolkit that has lived beneath the kitchen sink since before you moved in and he roots around, finds what he’s searching for, and unfastens the light switch plate from the wall.

“Please don’t electrocute yourself,” you fret, as Chubby meanders around in the living room and tries not to intrude. “If you die your groupies will never forgive me.”

“Who says I’ve got groupies?” John replies, amused.

“I just assumed all rock stars do.” Your eyes flick down to his hands as he fidgets with the wiring; and you notice randomly—or, maybe, not all that randomly—that he’s not wearing a ring. You’re still ruminating over that when he returns the light switch plate to the wall, secures each of the four screws with a few deft twists of his wrist, and performs a test flip. The light turns on immediately.

“Mission accomplished,” John says mildly.

“What?! No, no way, no freaking way.” You flip the switch again. The light turns off and on obediently. You try it at least five more times. Perfection. “…How?!”

“Just a few loose wires. No great hardship.” He tucks the screwdriver back into the toolkit.  

You gape at him. “That took you…like…two minutes.”

“Aren’t you glad my band wandered into your candle shop and almost demolished the place today?” He rests his hands on his waist; his sturdy, skillful, ringless hands. “Anything else I can fix for you?”

“Definitely not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at you. You stare back.

“Stop looking at my fucked up eyeliner.”

John laughs. It’s a delightfully clear, disarming sound. “That’s not what I was doing.”  

“I should fix my makeup and go back to work now. And you should probably go help your friends burn down the bookstore or blow up a Starbucks or do whatever else is on your agenda for today.”

“Soundcheck and dinner, actually,” John says. He slides the toolkit back beneath your kitchen sink, meets Chubby by the front door, and pauses there to give you one last lingering, laden gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“In my best furs,” you purr in your most convincing Freddie Mercury impression.

“Or nothing at all,” John suggests levelly. And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It turns out better than you thought it would. Your tan, knee-high suede boots are celebratory without being too uncomfortable. Kevin brings you a faux fur jacket that he stole from Patrick during the breakup. You find a glittery black dress in the back of your closet that you once loved, then couldn’t stand to look at, then forgot existed entirely; but tonight it’s like you’re seeing it with brand new eyes. It fits even better than you remember. In the mirror, you look like a stranger and a hauntingly familiar acquaintance and yourself all at once.

Chubby arrives in a black limousine at precisely 7pm, parks along the curb next to the bakery, and honks the horn twice. You and Kevin dash down the narrow steps and climb into the backseat, finding complimentary cigarettes and bottled water and chilled champagne. As the limo rolls though Montreal under changing traffic lights, Kevin prattles on about the band, their history, their albums, their tours…and John in particular. He tries to tempt you. You resist valiantly…for the first fifteen minutes, anyway.

Finally, you sigh in capitulation. “Okay. Fine. I get it. What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s divorced,” Kevin says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I saw it on the cover of a tabloid a while back. Very contentious, spicy stuff. He’s got like eight kids.”

“He does not have eight kids!”

“Okay, maybe not eight. But he has a lot,” Kevin insists.

You rearrange your hair with deliberate flippantness. “What do I care if he’s divorced?”

Kevin grins. “You know why you care.”

“Stop,” you plead.

“Look, all I’m saying is that he definitely likes you. And you like him. And I haven’t seen you like anybody, ever, in the…wait, let me count…the nine whole months that I’ve known you. When was the last time you even had a boyfriend? When was the last time you got laid? Oh my god, it hasn’t been nine months, has it?! That’s way too long to go without sex. No wonder you’re so serious all the time. It all makes sense now. You poor thing. You’re in dick withdrawal.”

“Assuming that’s my problem—which it isn’t, by the way—if I wanted to get laid there are far easier ways to accomplish that.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “But you don’t want just any dick. You want British bassist dick. John Deacon dick. Casablanca dick.”

“This friendship is terminated.”

Kevin cackles, pouring himself a glass of champagne that bubbles over the top and spills onto the limo floor. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I’m glad we can do this together.”

You fill a champagne flute with bottled water and clink your glass against his, smiling. The limo is turning into the parking lot of the Montreal Forum. “Me too.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The backstage room that Chubby escorts you and Kevin to after the show is full of chatter and heavy smoke and roadies and fans and musicians and journalists, trays of hors d'oeuvres, wine and Stella Artois and vodka and tequila and rum, the electric promise of things that will go unmentioned in the morning. There are stacks of stereo speakers in the corner rumbling out Another One Bites The Dust. You and Kevin camp out on a green velvet couch—making small talk with each other to avoid making it with anyone else—until the band arrives.

John is still wearing his concert outfit: blue pants, blue shirt, a black leather jacket that gives him an edge like a knife. He passes out a few polite nods; but Freddie and Roger are undeniably the suns in this room, and the guests their planets. Freddie is soon surrounded by a constellation of followers and whisks Kevin away with him. John, meanwhile, comes straight to where you’re sitting on the couch and stands in front of you with his messy hair and his veil of cologne and his mystery-candle-blue eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks in that calm, measured way that you’ve learned he has. “Rum and Coke? Moscow Mule? Hurricane? I’ve been on a mojito kick recently.”

“I don’t drink.” And you wait for the inevitable awkwardness that usually follows that sentence, when he says why? or seriously? or maybe just oh in wilted disappointment.

Instead, what John says is this: “No problem. Rum minus the Coke?”

You smile up at him. You can’t help yourself. “That would be perfect.”

There are innumerable drinks already poured on a table, dark carbonated liquid trembling in red plastic cups as the bass from the stereo speakers quakes through the crowded, droning, smoke-hazed room. John moves from cup to cup, taking tentative sips before shaking his head and putting them back down on the table. After each attempt, he casts you a rueful smirk before continuing on to the next cup. At last, he finds two unadulterated Cokes and brings them to the couch: one for you, and one for him. He sits beside you with one of his legs crossed over the other, a lit cigarette in his right hand, a red plastic cup of Coke in his left, and his eyes on you in a way that isn’t hungry or arrogant or restless but merely, benignly contemplative. You find yourself thinking of paintings in museums again, you even start to feel a little like one; and you wonder what colors he sees in you, what types of brushstrokes, what signatures scribbled in the corners of the canvas, what shadows painstakingly penciled in to mimic the angles of the sun.

You tell John about growing up in Montreal, about autumn strolls along the St. Lawrence River, about snowfalls and Mont-Royal and Chinatown and the Notre-Dame Basilica, about the exhilarating turmoil of the Summer Olympics in 1976. You tell him about how Kevin is in his last year at Concordia University and works part-time at the Yankee Candle shop for money to invest in his hair gel and travel fund. You tell him so many things he doesn’t notice all the parts you leave out. In return, John tells you about himself; not about John Deacon the bassist of Queen, but about the understated man who likes cars and electronics and the Beatles and tea in the evenings beside a roaring fireplace. And when his arm comes to rest on the back of the green velvet couch, and then across your shoulders, and then around your waist, it doesn’t feel strange at all. You lean into him as you exchange stories and clandestine giggles until you’re nearly in his lap, and that doesn’t feel strange either. And you haven’t had a drop of alcohol—you haven’t in almost a full year, in fact—but you feel a little drunk tonight, because your cheeks are hot and the room is blurry and the world is brimming with a pure, rose-gold, uncomplicated happiness.

The other band members periodically stop by to say hello, clutching their drinks and making stilted pleasantries as you and John smile drowsily up at them, looking nothing like the soberest people in the room. Chubby and the rest of the men in black are simultaneously omnipresent and scarce, which you are beginning to think is a requirement inked into their job description. Kevin, having been fully absorbed into Freddie’s entourage, is beaming and flushed and extremely, blissfully tipsy. And they all watch you and John not with scandalized sideways glances but with warm approval swimming in their gleaming eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you yet,” you tell John when you are alone again. “For improving my dreadful apartment. So thank you. You really didn’t have to do that. I hate that I marred your time in Montreal with unpaid labor.”

He shrugs it off. “I like fixing things. It’s what I’m best at.”

“Besides being an internationally acclaimed rock star, you mean.”

“I’m honestly not so sure I’m cut out for the rock star life.”

“You are, though. I saw you. I watched you all night.”

John just stares at you, and then he leans in even closer, inhaling deeply. You can feel the heat of his breath on your collarbone, your shoulder, your neck; goosebumps spring up across your skin like stars at twilight. “What the hell is that? Perfume? Lotion? Shampoo?”

“It’s probably sugar and baking bread, because I live on top of a bakery.”

“Does Yankee Candle make anything that smells like you?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “They definitely do not.”

“They should,” John murmurs. And with the rough whirlpools of his fingertips he turns your face to his so he can kiss you.

It should be kind of humiliating, right? Making out with some guy you just met on a green couch in front of thirty strangers, your hands getting tangled in each other’s hair, your lips meeting again and again, taunting darts of the tongue and quick painless bites and stifled moans and grasping tugs at clothes that you’re starting to wish weren’t there at all. It should feel embarrassing, you should feel overexposed, here in this land of unfamiliar expectations and accents and faces. But no one seems to be watching too closely. This must be so tame in the world of rock stars, it occurs to you; almost wholesome. And you can’t remember a time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“There’s a pool table in the next room,” someone says, startling you, and you break away from John to discover Roger perched on the arm of the couch, grinning coyly as he sips his emerald glass bottle of Stella Artois. “I mean…you know. If you’re into that. John’s got all sorts of moves, we played for days at a time at Ridge Farm. You could challenge him to a round or two. Place bets. But be warned…he’s a total pool shark.”

“Is he?” you ask mischievously, clasping the lapel of John’s leather jacket. Even if you freed him, he shows no indication of retreating. He’s raking his knuckles back and forth along the length of your thigh that your little black dress leaves exposed, never venturing above the hem.  

Roger winks. “Just thought you might want to know.” Then he hops off the couch and disappears into the crowd again.

John is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours, and no lower. He’s trying to not be even vanishingly forceful. He’s trying not to sway you. But you know exactly what he wants. “Do you…?”

“Show me how to play pool,” you whisper. And you lead him through the shuffling bodies and boisterous, increasingly intoxicated laughter and cumulus clouds of cigarette smoke to the door on the other side of the room.

Beyond the threshold you find a pool table and not much else. It’s terribly unceremonious; it’s absolutely perfect. You can hear Blondie’s Call Me playing back in the packed room where the rest of the band is still reveling, the bass crawling through the walls to radiate in your eardrums, your bones. You lock the door and reach out to flick off the harsh florescent lights, but John stops you. You don’t have to ask him why. He wants to be able to see you. He asks if this is okay—again, wordlessly, with the forthright blue of his eyes—and you nod. And then he kisses you as you drag him in, breathing in his cologne and nicotine, tasting the virgin Coke on his lips that he drank just for you.

John tears off his leather jacket. You toss the faux fur that Kevin lent you to the floor. You climb up onto the pool table, and John follows you. You yank off his shirt, link your suede boots around him as he positions himself between your naked, down-soft thighs. And then John stops.

“Look, I have to be honest,” he says. His hands tremble as they cradle the small of your back, just barely. “I’m newly divorced, and I’m really out of practice, I mean really out of practice, and this is not at all my usual way of doing things, and if I’m total rubbish or only last like thirty seconds or something I just want to apologize in advance and swear that I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this worth it for you. Because I like you. I really, really like you.”

“I’m a little rusty too,” you confess with a small, sheepish smile. But he doesn’t need to know exactly how rusty you are, or in how many ways, all those layers of blood-hued ruin that spin webs from the skin down to the marrow.

John seems relieved. “Then maybe we’re even.”

You’re not even, you’re nowhere close; but it’s comforting that he thinks you could be.

John kisses you again. His hands find the zipper on the back of your dress, and then the tiny metal clasp of your bra, and then the black lace of your panties…and then everything else as well.

~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you return together to the green velvet couch in the next room, not with bashful swiftness but with your hands entwined, your eyes satiated and calm, your clothes unapologetically rumpled. The partying is winding down. The song pouring through the stereo speakers is In The Air Tonight by Phil Collins. And now you and John don’t talk very much at all; you just sit there with fresh cups of Coke, your head resting against his chest, his left arm draped around you, watching the rest of the universe spin on like a carousel as your feet stay rooted to the earth.

“So you’re the smart one,” you say eventually. “You must be, with an electrical engineering degree.”

“You’d be surprised. We’re rather erudite, as far as rock stars go.” He smiles drowsily down at you. “Freddie’s got a degree in graphic art and design. Roger has one in biology. Brian has the better part of a PhD in astrophysics. He might even go back to finish it one day. He probably will, just to be able to lord it over us.”

“Wow,” you reply, distantly, suddenly feeling very small.

“What did you study?” he asks you.

In truth, you never finished college; but you aren’t going to tell John that. “Something useless.”

John is intrigued, and perhaps a little concerned as well. His brow furrows with grooves like lines of fortune in an open palm.

“I wanted to be a painter,” you explain, smirking at the absurdity. “But the world doesn’t need painters anymore. They have pictures and videos that are just as clear as real life. They don’t need my fantasies or interpretations. They have reality.”

“I think we still need painters,” John disagrees, his calloused fingertips tracing lazy circles around your bare shoulder.

“Really?”

“Yeah. For when reality requires improving.”

You let a few moments of silence tick by. And then you put on your faux fur jacket, finish the last of your Coke, stand and find your balance on the low heels of your boots with exhausted, shaky calves.

John jolts upright, somewhat alarmed. “Hey, you don’t have to—”

“This was great, John. This was the best night I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. But I have to go home now.”

“Okay.” He studies you, processing. “Okay, okay. I’ll have Chubby drive you.”

“That’s really not necessary, I can get a cab…”

But John has already waved Chubby over, and the massive man appears serendipitously with an impossible degree of stealth. Kevin finds you, staggering, babbling breathlessly about all of his adventures, showing you where Freddie and Roger and Brian signed his chest with a black Sharpie, repeating the same stories on an identical loop every few minutes. As you leave, you offer John a brief parting wave; and he returns it, like a reflection in a mirror, but he’s wearing a pensive frown and eyes dark with thought. Then again, maybe you are too.

Chubby leads you and Kevin outside to the waiting limousine. You slip into the backseat, ply Kevin with bottled water, open the sunroof so moonlight and cold, reviving November air can flood in like a river.

Kevin is coming down now from the high of the champagne and the concert and the carousing with Freddie Mercury. He blinks, soaking you in, really seeing you for the first time in hours. “Wow, you had a good night with Casablanca. You had a really good night.”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, resting your head against the window and watching the stars and streetlights pass by above like seasons. “And it will never happen again.”

[chasseuses]

reasons why I love jade leech and why you should too.

yes- my overwhelming love for jade has brought me up to this point. this is just me rambling about jade. i may regret doing this bUT FUCK IT LET'S GIVE THE MUSHROOM MAN SOME LOVE ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽

NOT GONNA FUCKING LIE BUT THE FIRST TIME THE OCTAVINELLE BANNER THINGY WHEN TWST WASN'T RELEASED I-????

I THOUGHT THE TWINS LOOKED WACK + AZUL

"no way in hell am I gonna stan these two lmaoo they look wack smh"

turns out I was wrong-_;3+4+_(_+($_+($+$(&+$(+$(#+$

I PAID NO FUCKING ATTENTION TO OCTAVINELLE saying to myself that I AM A RIDDLE SIMP THROUGH AND THROUGH

lol but

chapter 3

changed my life

SIR HIS VOICE-- HELLO????????? BRO???_($99#($($($ I HAD LITERAL SHIVERS GO DOWN MY SPINE WHEN I HEARD IT BECAUSE O H G OD

the fact that his exchange with floyd, yes the "ne jeido" "e floyd" thingy, IS ABSOLUTELY SO FUCKINDHDSKDHJSVRJSGDHDDGDJDGDJDGSJDGJSDHJSHSJSJSJDJDJJ J CANT BRRATHE

ok I'll get serious now fuvk

Jade Leech, the vice dorm leader of Octavinelle and the twin brother of Floyd Leech. Founder of the Mountain Lovers club and a fucking adorable dork who loves mushrooms and terrariums.

God knows how I love him so much I can cry over him for weeks.

100/10 seems shady af- looks like he can kill you, and he can. that's kinda hot don't u think so???

bruh, the way he talks about creepy things while smiling all gentlemanly is kinda hot. ik it's weird to be attracted to this but pLEASE-

THIS MAN HAS SHARP TEETH I WILL CRY PLEASE [REDACTED] ME.

HE HAS REALLY REALLY REEEEEALLY NICE EYES‼️ IT'S ONE OF THE BIGGEST REASONS WHY I LOVE HIM SO MUCH‼️( also purple eyeliner hehehe u gotta love him )

His matching earring with Floyd?? Absolutely wonderful. The thought that the both of them have matching earrings i --- cr y a little everytiime.

Also- that darker and longer strand of his hair? I want to play with that, please.

his mf face oh god, do you ever think abt how he could say "I'll gobble you up." in his normal voice and we can't fucking tell if he's serious or joking because of his fucking normal expression oh god gobble me up please-- IM KIDDING OF COURSE, maybe.

He has nice, long, slender hands. Perfect for unprotected h*nd h*lding 😳 GODDAMN I WANT TO HOLD HIS HAND WHEEEJFHEKBFKEHDJFHDKCHKCHKDHCKDHCJ

Also the glove-????? I'D PREFER IT IF HE TOOK IT OFF BUT THAT'S ONE NICE GLOVE YOU GOT THERE 😳

holding hands with him will be a fucking blessing sent directly from the heavens above. pls stan him.

he's an eel. that is all

LOOK AT HIS MF EXPRESSIOFN I A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A SIR-??'?($83)$+#)+")$+_("!$

ok back to the topic-

do you ever think about how-- how he loves mushrooms sm and even founded a club because he likes hunting for them in mountains?? DO YOU EVER THINK ABOUT HOW HE'S PROBABLY ALL ALONE WHILE DOING THAT????????? LET ME INTO THAT CLUB‼️

He likes gazing at stars. Please pleasr please let me gaze at the stars with u sir

He's pretty good with his hands- or so they say 👀 he can cook-- and he draws 👀 you gotta love a man who can use his hands well don't u think so too 👀👀👀

this bitch is 190cm tall. that is all. i want him to tower over me.

"Fufu, I grew up in the deep sea up north. The cold in the freezer feels pretty good." YOU CAN PUT HIM INA FR E R ZER IT'S RLLY RANDOM BUT HE CAN STAND THE COLF WHICH IS A FNKDHFKSBDKSHDJSGDKXHKSGCKSHCKDGXKDHCKDKC

have I mentioned his obsession with mushrooms??? This!! THIS CUTE EEL RAISES HIS MUSHROOMS WITH ALL OF HIS HEART DJDJDNXB ALL THE LOVE AND AFFECTION FOR HIS SHROOMS..... ISN'T HE JUST-???"($(_+($+_ THE CUTEST?????

DO YOU SEE HOW SOFT HE LOOKS???? I WANT HIM TO LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT TOO WTF ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽

AND THE WAY HIS CHEEKS..... HIS CHEEKS GO SQOOSH GFJSJSHZKHRKDHRJSHD JEIDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽

HIS TALENT IS SERVING TEA‼️‼️ DON'T U WANT SOMEONE AS GENTLEMANLY AND HANDSOME AS JADE TO SERVE U TEA ‼️‼️

Don't you just hate how Jade can go from "I'll have her home by 8" to "Your daughter calls me daddy too" bECAUSE I

I'm not even gonna explain this one.

JUST IMAGINE IF HE,,,,,, IF HE WENT FERAL‼️‼️ I WOULF PAY TO SEE THAY OH MY hjfhdkDHSKDHSKDHKXJDKXHD FERAL JADE E E E E E E E E E

yeah so you know his one voice line that goes "Clothes feel so restrictive… It’s been a while since I came on land, but I’m still not used to them." Yeah then take them off! I won't mind (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

DID I MENTION ABT HIS TERRARIUMS???? I LOVE HIM SO MUCH OH GOD HE'S SO CUTE DO U JUST IMAGIEN HDIFMFEBJFHDNFB FOCUSINDGFJDUFJDNJRNXKDBDKDBDKDJKFDHKXHFKDJDKDK wait jm freaking out

this man.... this man can cook. and that seals the fucking deal for me because 😭

He!! Loves!! His!! Brother!! KFNSKDHKSJDKSHDJD BABY 😭😭💖😭💖💖😭‼️HfbskdhHFKSBFKSBDKSNDN JEIDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

he likes unpredictable things which is why he likes being with floyd all the time i 😔 I'll be unpredictable for u ZjfjsjdJFBDJFND KIDDING

this is floyd's caretaker we're talking about 😭 which means he is husband material ™ DONT CHEAT ON HIM ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽

or else 👀

did i mention how cute he fucking looks everytime his cheeks go sqoosh because istg I start simping whenever I see it.

ALMOST FORGOT TO ADD BUT LIKE-??? THE WAY HE SAVED MC AND CATER FROM ROOK AND TREY DURING THE BEANDESJD SEVENT I WILL FJDJFJFKDJFJJDHCJDHFKDHFKHFJDCJDHCNDJFBJDHFKDJFJDJFKCIFNCKFBCKFNFKFJKDJFKRBFKDJFKFJJF

KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR HELL YEAH HE'S PERFECT

lastly, i want him to punch me in the face. that's it.

AND I THINK THAT'S IT-??? ( Of course not- i can point out more things i love abt him but like-???? I NEED TO CALM DOWN!! anyways, pls stan jade i love him so much i cr y <3

[little-kat07]

The Perfect Cake

[OH MY GOD GUYS LOOK WHAT I FOUND!!! 

A couple days ago, i suddenly remembered that I HAVE AN AO3 ACCOUNT. I completely forgot I had one. So I went back and looked at my works and holy hell guys, I had a ONESHOT BOOK! BUT I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT ONESHOTS WERE SO I CALLED THEM ‘Sanders Stories’, BECAUSE THEY WERE SANDERS SIDES. THEY’RE KIND OF CRAPPY BUT ALSO REALLY NOSTALGIC AND I’M SO HAPPY I FOUND THEM!!!!

This one particular one is called “The Perfect Cake,” and i’m actually kind of proud of past me for it, even though it’s not that good. It’s fluffy Logicality with a gallon of Patton angst because that is literally all I’m good at writing.

So I’m going to leave this here, as well as a link to the book! GUYS I’M JUST SO HAPPY!]

[In case you’re confused, the link I send will be to the whole book so the first chapter isn’t the one that I’m pasting here. This chapter, The Perfect Cake, is the second oneshot and the first one is prinxiety]

Link to book

---

Pairings: Logicality

TW: Baking, feelings of worthlessness, crying, birthday, breakdown

Summary: It’s Logan’s birthday tomorrow, and Patton is determined to bake the PERFECT cake for it (Even if he hasn’t baked that much before.) He’s trying his best, but he can’t do it alone.

---

Patton stood in the center of the kitchen.

He often had the same feeling in his stomach before he cooked something big; He had to mentally prepare himself for hours of work.

Logan's Birthday was tomorrow, and Patton had to make it the best possible birthday! This was the anniversary of the first day Thomas went to preschool- the day Logan was formed.

Patton remembered that day like it was yesterday. He remembered a small toddler with an intelligent sparkle in his eye knocking on the door of the commons, he remembered how he swore Patton's hugs might suffocate someone. He remembered growing up with him, and slowly falling in love, and-

Shoot. No. These emotions weren't logical, it was impossible for Logan to like Patton back. He had to stop thinking like that.

Illogical feelings or not, tomorrow was Logan's day to shine, and it had to be perfect. Patton had to bake the most amazing, most beautiful, most delicious cake ever to grace the Mind-scape.

Patton took a deep breath and got to work.

After a few hours, Patton had been worked to death. He had been trying and trying to make the perfect cake, but it was always just wrong, or the product of a mistake. His pink apron was wrinkled and dirty, and he had streaks of batter all over his face. He had started at 6 am, and it was now 8. He sighed and rubbed his face, grateful that he still had his optimism.

"Patton? You ok, Padre?"

Patton turned to find Roman standing in the kitchen doorway, eyes sparking with worry.

Patton smiled. "Oh, I'm alright, kiddo. Just trying to bake a cake for Logan. I can't seem to get it right."

Roman smirked and came in. "Want some help? I've never baked before, but I'll help if it's bothering you."

Patton grinned and gave the Prince a huge hug. "Thank you so much, kiddo! I'm sure you will be a great help!"

Oh, how wrong Patton had been.

Virgil had often joked about how Roman wouldn't stop singing to save his life, and Patton was pretty sure that was true. Every 5 minutes, just as they started to get some work done, the prince would start belting out lyrics to disney songs or dancing around the kitchen. They got as far as perfectly mixing the batter before Patton had to stop him.

"Look, kiddo..." Patton started, rubbing his hands together and trying to find a way to put this nicely. "You helped me make the perfect batter, and I am so proud of you for that, but I think maybe you should clock out? You have been a great help, but you... Um... Sing a lot." Patton winced, afraid Roman was going to be offended.

Roman nodded in understanding and put a hand on patton's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. I know I can be distracting. Do you want me to go see if Virgil will help you?"

Patton nodded, thankful. "That would be great!"

Roman left the kitchen yelling "HOT TOPIC! PAT WANTS YOU!"

Patton watched him go with a proud smile, and then turned to clean up the kitchen.

Just as he was halfway through cleaning, Virgil came into the kitchen with his hood up. "Sup', Pop star?"

Patton grinned and gave Virgil a big hug, which the emo reluctantly returned. "My dark, strange son! I am baking a cake for Logan’s birthday, and I need your help!" Patton pulled away from Virgil, smiling. "Roman already helped me make the batter, but he can be a bit much in the kitchen. Would you mind helping out for the rest of the process?"

Virgil shrugged. "I have nothing better to do."

Patton knew that that was Virgil's way of saying "I would love to."

Virgil was very helpful cleaning up the kitchen. He had a sort of efficient way of doing things, just one after the other, not saying a word. It was kind of satisfying to watch.

It got a bit hectic after that, though. Once they were done cleaning, they had to pour the batter into the pans. It was going to be a big cake, like, "Corpse Bride" big. So they had to use multiple pans and lots of batter. Virgil had violently shaky hands, and had lots of trouble pouring the batter in. In the end, Patton had to pour all the batter himself, and the kitchen ended up very messy.

Virgil's eyeshadow was darker than when he had initially come in. "I-im sorry... I didn't mean to mess up, I just-"

Patton smiled at him and pulled him into a hug. "No no, you didn't do anything wrong, kiddo! You just had a little trouble with steadying your hands. I'm very proud of you for helping me clean up, but maybe we should get someone else to help us here? Maybe Jan?"

Virgil smirked sadly. "I think maybe i'll duck out for now, but I'll tell Janus you want his help."

"Thanks, son!"

Virgil stepped out of the kitchen yelling "HEY SNAKE BOY!"

Patton sighed. This was not going the way he had wanted it to. He did realize that if Janus ended up being bad at this, his last choice was Remus, and he was terrified of going down that road.

He had just cleaned the batter from the stovetop when Janus walked into the kitchen. "Hey Pat, did you need something?"

Pat smiled tiredly. "Hey, Janjan. I was going to bake a cake for Logan, but i'm having some trouble. Roman and Virge weren't so good at it, so I wanted to see if you would help?"

Jan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm tooooootally not disappointed that you worked with Emo and Sir Singalot before you thought about the second smartest person here," He said sarcastically.

"Mm-hm!" Patton managed to say before taking a deep breath to control himself.

Janus helped Patton bake the cake and even out the tops with a bread knife. The next thing they had to do was spread the buttercream filling on the layers so they could be stacked.

Jan looked in the fridge like Patton told him to. "I don't see the buttercream."

Patton walked over and scanned the fridge. It was gone.

He took a few deep breaths and ran a hand through his hair. "Where the heck is it? If I have to make more, I swear I will-"

"Make more of what?" Remus poked his head into the kitchen curiously.

"The buttercream filling for Logan's cake is gone."

Remus cocked his head. "Buttercream? Hmmm... OH! Yeah, I ate that."

Patton's eyes widened. "You did WHAT?" Remus smiled fearfully while Patton yelled. "THE ONE THING YOU EAT THAT IS ACTUAL FOOD, AND IT HAS TO BE THE BUTTERCREAM?"

For once, Janus looked worried. "Patton, are you ok? You aren't acting like yourself..."

The dad side breathed in and out rapidly, his hands running through his hair. He tried to calm himself down- He was the happy side, not the angry side. He could get through this. "I'm fine. I'm calm. I can do this."

"Gee, I'm sorry, Pat," Said Remus. He suddenly grinned. "I can throw it up for you, if you want!"

"NO! No, no. I think we will be ok," Janus said, pushing Remus out of the room. He turned to face Pat. "Patpat, are you ok?"

Janus sometimes called Patton Patpat, mostly as payback for Patton calling him Janjan. But when the two became good friends, they used them as nicknames instead.

"I'm fine, Janjan. I'm just having some feelings. Feelings are okay though! I'm ok."

Janus sighed. "If you say so."

They worked together to make a new batch of buttercream, allowing the cake to cool. The original buttercream had been baby blue, but Patton had no more baby blue dye, so they used indigo instead. They layered and stacked the cake with the buttercream, used support sticks to keep the cake from falling over, and then started to layer it with dark blue fondant.

Patton looked over at Janus. "Would you mind taking off the gloves? Sorry, but this is very delicate and I think you should use your bare hands."

Janus frowned. "I shouldn't. I have scales on my left hand, if I use it, it will leave a scale imprint on the fondant."

Patton blinked sadly at him. "Oh, ok."

Patton handled the fondant, and as he fit it into place, he thought the cake looked beautiful. "Only one thing left to do: DECORATE!!!"

Patton was an amazing decorator.

After years of theming cookies and cupcakes to each side, baking birthday cakes, and writing messages in crofters jelly for a scavenger hunt, Patton had a handle on how to make things look presentable. Right now, It was a giant 3-layer cake with blue fondant covering, but soon, it would be a masterpiece.

Janus coughed uncomfortably behind Patton. "Um... Since i'm not very good at this stuff... Can I go? I have my own present I wanted to work on."

Patton smiled at him. "Sure! Don't spoil anything to Lolo, ok?"

Deceit nodded and almost left the kitchen before turning back and saying, "Uh, hey, Patpat? Don't stress yourself out too much, 'Kay?"

Patton nodded back. "Of course."

Janus smiled, relieved, and left.

---

---

Patton was SO TIRED.

It was 8 in the morning on Logan's Birthday. Patton had worked all night on that cake and when he had finally finished it, he went right to bed without doing anything in between. He had just woken up, feeling groggy and confused, but he made himself get out of bed because it was Logan's special day.

Logan woke up that day happy. He knew that a birthday was pointless, it was a celebration of one year passing in an entities life, it made no logical sense. But if the other sides wanted to shower him with attention once per fricking year, he did not want to miss this chance.

Patton got out of bed the last out of all the others. Logan had woken up to the other four sides, Janus, Remus, Roman, and Virgil ready for him in the living room with gifts and treats. Logan had thought that Patton would be the first there, energized and grinning, the way he always was. But Patton was nowhere in sight.

When Patton did come out, he put on his best happy face and gave Logan the biggest hug he could muster. Logan smiled a little. "To this day, I swear, your hugs might suffocate someone!"

Patton laughed and grinned at him, just happy he had gotten through yesterday.

First, they made breakfast. Jan made waffles with crofters jelly and eggs, and they all sat around the table reminiscing about the past. They talked about when logan first got his glasses, when he had a stutter, and everything else that Patton could remember. Which was everything, since Patton kept every memory stored in his room.

Next, they had gifts. Roman gave him a lab in the imagination; with chemistry sets, a telescope, and books upon books upon books. It was his own little area in Roman's realm so Logan could enjoy himself every now and then. Virgil gave him a dictionary of every word in the world, in every language. Janus gave him a replica of the Library of Alexandria, with all of the scrolls and books still there. "The original one was burned down with all of it's knowledge," he said, "So here is-" "OH MY GOD I LOVE IT THANK YOU!" Remus gave Logan an animal to dissect. But it wasn't a real animal, it was something Remus had made to give Logan something to do.

Patton promised Logan that his gift would come after dinner. He felt as though his cake paled in comparison to all of the gifts his friends had given. I mean, the Library of Alexandria? Patton sunk lower in his chair.

After gifts, they had lunch in a beautiful field that Roman had created, where the flies ate grass instead of your food, and every bird was adorned with beautiful shimmering colors and tail feathers. They had PB&J sandwiches (with crofters, of course), Goldfish, and apples. They talked for hours about nothing in particular, every now and then asking Roman about the creatures that walked by.

Logan was having a great time, but something seemed off. He looked around at the group and his eyes settled on Patton. The more he looked at him, the more tired he seemed. Logan noticed shadows under Patton's eyes for the first time, and saw that his smile was beginning to look more and more forced. Logan began to worry that one of them had done something wrong. The usual bundle of joy and energy that was Patton looked a lot more docile and tired than before.

Once it started to get dark (because Roman had set a day-night cycle in the imagination just so they would know when to go) they went back to the commons for dinner. Janus cooked some brown sugared ham with peas and rice, while Patton left to get the cake ready.

As Patton walked into the kitchen, he took a look at the cake on the pedestal. Dark fondant with baby blue frosting in swirls, and a little fondant necktie decoration on the second tear to tease about Logan's necktie. The name "Logan" was scribbled in white frosting on top.

He remembered the tall pillars in the Library of Alexandria Jan had made, he remembered the sparkling equipment Roman had conjured. He remembered the giant dictionary, the animal-

Patton looked at the cake and sighed. He honestly didn't know what he was thinking. But this was what he had done. He would just have to work with it, and maybe make up for it with a different gift later.

He picked up the large cake in his arms. It was very heavy, and there was one whole room between the kitchen and the dining room; the living area. Patton just had to bring it over.

He left the kitchen with the cake, and he was doing well with it considering he couldn't see his feet, and then he tripped.

...and then he tripped.

His foot caught against something on the ground and he stumbled, causing the cake to drop out of his arms and onto the floor. It fell sideways, and broke upon impact, and the cake broke up on the floor. Bits and pieces everywhere. Patton had fallen, and he had scraped his elbow, but he didn't care. He didn't care anymore.

He had spent a whole god-forsaken day trying to get this right. He remembered Roman's singing, Virgil's shaky hands, Remus's eating habits, Janus' scales, and he could feel himself sinking into the ground. He just wanted this to be perfect. Logan deserved something perfect.

The cake was broken, and the world was quiet, and Patton wondered for a moment if he had gone deaf. The Mindscape was silent. He felt the tears on his cheeks, but he didn't cry. Patton was the joyful and happy side, so he didn't cry. Water fell from his eyes in waterfalls and rivers across his skin, but he wasn't crying, that's not how he worked. Even when sobs racked his body and made his chest hurt. He wasn't crying.

It was just a god forsaken cake, why the heck was he crying? It was just a cake. It was just a cake.

Shoot, this isn't ABOUT THE CAKE.

Logan and all the other sides sat in the dining room, talking happily about whatever came to mind. Patton had left to get the cake, but he hadn't come back yet. Logan had eaten his dinner and was now staring at the door. He tried to focus on the conversation, but he thought Patton seemed a little late.

"Hey, Nerd, whatcha' looking at?" Roman asked, walking up behind his chair, bending down, and following Logan's line of sight.

Logan didn't turn his gaze from the door. "I feel like Pat should have been back by now. Actually, Roman, maybe you could check on him?"

Behind Logan's back, Roman and Virgil exchanged a glance, and Roman understood immediately.

"Actually, Lo, maybe you should go check on him? It is your cake after all."

Logan stood up from his chair and walked out of the dining room. "I suppose so."

Virgil snickered. "Oh my god, he is so oblivious. I ship them so badly..."

Logan walked out of the dining room and almost choked.

Patton was on the floor, with his hands in his face. Was he crying? Patton didn't cry. He was too happy to cry. He was too fricking perfect to cry. WHO THE HECK MADE PAT CRY?

Then logan saw the floor. The cake, he realized, was broken up and smashed to bits on the ground. The fondant was ripped apart, save for a small black fondant necktie. Patton must have dropped the cake. It looked like it had been big.

Logan didn't hesitate for a second. He kneeled down beside Patton, wrapping his arms around him and quietly letting him sob.

Patton felt someone's arms around him, and they had glasses, he knew, because the glasses were pressed against his temple. But that meant it was Logan. Logan was here, and he can see the cake, and he is probably so mad. Patton wrapped his arms around Logan and cried into his shoulder. He didn't like Logan to be angry. Hugs fixed that. Right?

"Pat? Patton, don't cry, what's wrong?"

Patton could barely find the breath to speak.

"I-I dropped it. The thing... I-I mess-Messed up... It's all g-gone..."

"Shhhh. Shhh, it's not your fault, don't worry. Patton, I love the cake. It's looks like it was beautiful, thank you."

Patton just kept sobbing, his glasses getting foggy. Logan knew the side was emotional, but really, it was just a cake, and Logan wasn't even mad at Patton. In fact, Logan didn't think he was capable of being mad at Patton.

Patton was sad about the cake. Of course, it was horribly destroyed, and he had spent a long, tiresome day making it perfect. And now it was all gone, and Patton had no gift to give.

To Pat, this was bigger than that though. Logan was supposed to have the perfect birthday, but Patton had messed all of that up. He had nothing to give logan. Every day of his life, his goal was to give something, to be helpful, and to care for others. He had messed up today.

"I-i don't know wh-what to do. I just... I just wanted-d to g-give you something. I-It's a-all gone n-now. Th-the d-day is ruined."

Logan frowned. What would someone with a better sense of emotions say? Seeing Patton like this made him so sad, what could he do?

He remembered something Pat had said to him a long time ago, when he was getting used to emotions. 'When someone is feeling down, speak from the heart! The best thing you can do is tell them the truth, and if they don't like it, then they have a right to feel a little sad. But you should still try!'

"Pat, I know you are sad. I understand that you wanted to make this a good day, but it WAS a good day. I enjoyed every moment of today. Sure, the cake is messed up, but it's the thought that counts, and you are already the best gift I could ask for."

Patton looked up in confusion. "Me?"

Logan was usually really bad at emotions, but right now, emotions seemed to be all he could muster. "You are so caring and joyful. And sweet. And kind. And I don't care about the cake, or any gift you give me, the fact that you are so set on making me feel cared for is enough. I'm just happy you're here, ok?"

Logan brushed a tear from Patton's eye and smiled. "I'm just happy you're here."

[cardest]

Sweden playlist

Goodness! The Swedish Chef is deliriously pleased with this Sweden playlist. Det här är otroligt! It’s not far off 350 songs. Can we get there? I think so. (I tried to get songs by Retaliation and 10,000 years, but maybe later when someone puts up those songs on Youtube). This is epic!

What songs and bands have I overlooked for this? I bet there’s plenty. Sweden is just oozing with so much talent and so many great bands. Listen to the playlist here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1-HqTl9SJKkER2dKbR2NWkE Add your songs and suggestions. Tack! SWEDEN

001 The Muppet Show - Swedish Chef goes bezerk in the kitchen 002 Grand Magus -  Fear Is The Key 003 In Flames -  Pinball Map 004 Entombed - Like This With The Devil 005 Soilwork - Figure Number Five 006 The Divine Comedy - Sweden 007 Bathory - Reaper 008 ABBA - Take a Chance On Me 009 Therion - Gothic Kabbalah 010 Moloko - Indigo 011 Katatonia - I Break 012 Opeth - The Baying Of The Hounds 013 Sabaton -  Carolus Rex 014 Europe - Scream Of Anger 015 Jean-Louis Aubert - Stockholm 016 Blues Pills -  Jupiter 017 Amon Amarth  - The Pursuit of Vikings 018 Triakel - Alla Gossar (Swedish folk music ) 019 Arcana - As the End Draws Near 020 Kenta  Guldkorn  - Stockholm 021 Tiamat - Whatever That Hurts   022 AVATARIUM - The Starless Sleep 023 Spiritual Beggars  -  Star Born 024 Dismember - Dreaming In Red 025 Lasse Berghagen - Pomperipossa 026 In Solitude - Sister 027 Sahg III - Baptism of Fire 028 Ebba Grön - Mona Tumbas Slim Club 029 Nightingale -  The Dreamreader 030 Roxette - Dressed For Success 031 Ghost - Rats 032 Yngwie J. Malmsteen – Far Beyond The Sun 033 Candlemass - Crystal Ball 034 Bathory - Under The Runes 035 Orup - Stockholm 036 Katla - Embryo 037 Pugh Rogefeldt - hog farm 038 Trees of Eternity - Gallows Bird (feat. Nick Holmes) 039 Paatos - Shame 040 THE STRANGLERS  - SWEDEN 041 Katatonia - Brave   042 Brighter Death Now - No Salvation 043 Nationalteatern - Livet är en fest 044 Meshuggah -  Bleed 045 Sir Douglas Quintet  - Meet Me In Stockholm   046 Ulf Lundell - Stockholm City 047 In Mourning - Fire & Ocean 048 Dark Tranquillity - The Science Of Noise 049 Blue Swede - Hooked On a Feeling 050 Clawfinger - The Truth 051 John Coltrane - Dear Old Stockholm 052 The Hellacopters - In The Sign Of The Octopus 053 Hypocrisy -  a coming race 054 Carola - Mig Var Du Står 055 Bloodbath - Let The Stillborn Come To Me 056 Vapnet - Stockholm sett snett uppifran 057 Mercy - Im Your Pervert Priest 058 The Spotnicks - Hava Nagila 059 Vanhelgd - Allt Hopp ar Fobi 060 Mammoth Storm - Fornjot 061 Vomitory - redemption 062 Entrails - No Cross Left Unturned 063 Virna Lindt - Attention Stockholm 064 Night - Fire Across the Sky 065 Dungen dar -  Har du vart i Stockholm 066 The Hives - Hate To Say I Told You So 067 Sabaton - Gott Mit Uns 068 Svante Thuresson Och Totta Näslund - Stockholm Sweetnin' 069 Lake of Tears -  To Blossom Blue 070 Scott Walker - The Seventh Seal 071 Garmarna - Vänner och fränder   072 Stockholms Negrer - Det förlovade landet 073 Thåström - Ballad om en gammal knarkare 074 The Haunted - Godpuppet 075 Ordo Equilibrio - The First Harvest 076 Therion -  The Dreams Of Swedenborg 077 VINTERSORG - Fjällets mäktiga mur   078 Aeon - Aeons Black 079 Arckanum - Trulmælder 080 Edge of Sanity - Enigma   081 Scar Symmetry - The Illusionist 082 Tribulation -  Melancholia 083 Witchcraft - It's Not Because Of You 084 At The Gates - At The Gates 085 Unleashed - The One Insane 086 Candlemass - ancient dreams 087 Hasse Andersson - Guld och grona skogar   088 Crucified Barbara -  Electric Sky 089 Evergrey -  The Grand Collapse 090 Lord Belial - Bleed on the Cross 091 Hedningarna - Räven 092 Dismember - Pieces (with intro) 093 Entombed  - Sinners Bleed 094 MUSE - Stockholm Syndrome 095 Bathory - Valhalla 096 Gösta Berlings Saga - The Shortcomings Of Efficiency 097 Tiamat - The Ar 098 Oz - Turn the cross upside down 099 Grand Magus - I Am The North 100 Soilwork -  Light The Torch 101 Spiritual Beggars - Fools Gold 102 Stuck In Motion - Moon 103 Cult of Luna - Receiver 104 Arcana - A Cage 105 Memento Mori - The Seeds of Hatred 106 Wolfbrigade - Barren Dreams 107 Dr Zeke - Jag Ska Aldrig Dö 108 Yngwie Malmsteen - gimme gimme gimme (your lust after midnight) 109 Arch Enemy - Pilgrim 110 Torch - Watcher Of The Night 111 Magic - Vi drar på disco 112 Refused -  Elektra 113 Grave - Into The Grave 114 Lädernunnan - Ensam I Natt 115 The Orchard Enterprises - Fear Might Harm Self 116 Suma - Swordlord 117 Kulning - Ancient Swedish herdingcall 118 Bob Hund - Ska du hanga med Na 119 Dark Funeral - As One We Shall Conquer 120 Disfear - Get it off   121 Ghost -  From The Pinnacle To The Pit 122 Morbus Chron - Chains 123 Heavy Load - Traveller 124 Therion - Tuna 1613 125 Entombed -  Left Hand Path 126 Hearse - Mountain of the Solar Eclipse 127 Monolord - The Last Leaf 128 Night Viper - The Wolverine 129 Agrimonia - A World Unseen 130 Jonathan Hultén - Nightly sun 131 Diabolical Masquerade - Blackheim's Quest To Bring Back The Stolen Autumn 132 Army Of Lovers - Crucified 133 Dissection - Where Dead Angels Lie   134 Noctum _Liberty in Death 135 Europe - Open Your Heart 136 Darkane  - Secondary Effects 137 Candlemass - Codex Gigas 138 Bathory - Enter Your Mountain 139 ABBA - Ring Ring (Bara du slog en signal) Swedish Version 140 Watain - Malfeitor 141 Louise Lemón - Devil 142 Cult Of Luna - Vague Illusions 143 Diablo Swing Orchestra -  Black Box Messiah 144 Opeth - Nectar 145 Hills - Milarepa 146 Ceremonial Oath - The Book Of Truth 147 Dark Tranquillity - Silence And the Firmament Withdrew 148 Göteborg Sound - Björn Borg 149 In Flames -  Reflect The Storm 150 MESHUGGAH - Demiurge   151 Expiremental Pop Band - Gothenburg 152 Millencolin - polar bears 153 Hedningarna - Pornopolka 154 Ratata - Ogon Av Is Liv Utan Spanning   155 OBSCURITY - Roses With Thorns 156 Nifelheim - Sodomizer 157 Soilwork - One With The Flies 158 Gardenian - Netherworld 159 Cemetary - Sundown 160 Månegarm - Hemfärd 161 Garmarna - Herr Mannelig 162 YE BANISHED PRIVATEERS - First Night Back In Port   163 VINTERSORG - Svältvinter 164 SNOWY SHAW - Nachtgeist 165 Moloken - The Titan Above Us 166 BEWITCHED - HARD AS STEEL (HOT AS HELL) 167 The Night Flight Orchestra - Green Hills Of Glumslov 168 Vanhelgd - Gravens Lovsång 169 Marduk - Christraping Black Metal 170 Garbochock - Streberbarn 171 Negative Self - Back On Track 172 Nightingale - Sleep 173 Iggy Pop - Five Foot One 174 Owe Thörnqvist - Varm korv boogie 175 Candlemass - Elephant Star 176 Tiamat - Cold Seed 177 Dismember - Shadowlands 178 Hypocrisy - Penetralia 179 Therion - Melez 180 Yngwie Malmsteen - You Dont Remember Ill Never Forget 181 Woven Hand -  Swedish Purse 182 Roxette - Joyride 183 Wolf -  Skeleton Woman 184 Europe - Seven doors hotel 185 ABBA - Me Knowing Knowing Youse   186 Opeth - Ghost Of Perdition 187 Katatonia - I Am Nothing 188 Sabaton - Uprising 189 Bathory - Total destruction 190 Cult Of Luna - Owlwood 191 Cortex - Warrior Night 192 Trettioåriga Kriget - Krigssång 193 Lee Hazlewood A House Safe for Tigers 194 Dead Sleep - Back to black 195 Greenleaf  - Tides 196 The Crimson Shadows - When I'm Going Away 197 The Night Flight Orchestra - Transmissions 198 Anekdoten - Nucleus 199 Enhet För Fri Musik - Det Finns Ett Hjärta 200 In Flames - Jotun 201 Dungen - Ta det lugnt 202 Ghost - Ritual 203 Witchery - A Paler Shade of Death 204 Landberk - Tell 205 At The Gates - Blinded By Fear   206 Anna von Hausswolff - Epitaph of Theodor 207 Uran - Mr Piggy 208 Runemagick  Remnants of the Old 209 SKÁLD - Flúga 210 Sacramentum - Far Away from the Sun 211 Dawn - Malediction Murder 212 Nifelheim - No more life 213 Craft - The Cosmic Sphere Falls 214 Solitude Aeturnus -  Waiting for the Light 215 ARCH ENEMY - War Eternal 216 Nasum - Worldcraft 217 Insision - No Belief 218 The Oath - silk road 219 Shining - Förtvivlan Min Arvedel 220 Burst - I Exterminate The I 221 Bloodbound - Stormborn 222 Puissance - Love Incinerate 223 Electric Boys - All Lips 'n Hips 224 Exgenisis - Embers 225 Don Cherry - GamlaStan - The Old Town By Night 226 Raison D'etre -  Sub Specie Aeternitatis 227 Bloodbath  - Weak aside 228 Therion -  Opus Eclipse 229 Cult of Luna - I: The Weapon 230 Marduk - The Sun Turns Black as Night 231 Ragnar Grippe - Symphonic Songs: Part 1 232 Unanimated - From a Throne Below 233 Entombed - Hollowman 234 Grande Royale - Royale 235 PAGANIZER  - Soulless Feeding Machine 236 Bathory - Woman of Dark Desires 237 Paranorm - Critical Mass 238 Refused - The Deadly Rhythm 239 Golgata - Med din kyss kom mörkret 240 Ett Dödens Maskineri – ‘Låsta dörrar 241 MÖRK GRYNING - Fältherren   242 Daughter Chaos - The space born 243 BLUES PILLS - Rhythm In The Blood 244 LUCIFER - Ghosts 245 November - Mount Everest 246 Dissection - Night's Blood 247 Tøronto - Lights Out At Bedlam 248 ICE AGE - Breaking The Ice 249 Sweven - By Virtue of a Promise 250 Ghost-  Year Zero 251 TRIBULATION - Strange Gateways Beckon 252 Drain S.T.H. - Crack the Liar´s Smile 253 Horisont - Odyssey 254 Witchcraft - Snake 255 Kirstie Sarboe - Ein Student Aus Uppsala 256 Sodomisery - Reapers Key 257 Opeth - Under The Weeping Moon 258 Olle Adolphson - Gustav Lindströms visa 259 Therion - The Wild Hunt 260 Bloodbath - Bloodicide 261 Bathory - The Golden Walls of Heaven 262 Soilwork - Follow the Hollow 263 Magnus Härenstam - Huddinge, Tullinge, Tumba 264 OBSTRUKTION - Hopeless Path 265 Amon Amarth - The Way Of Vikings 266 Anguish - When the Ancients Dare to Walk 267 Palme sköt först - Spiders 268 Totalitär - Allt Är Inom Dig 269 Vassago - Sign of Vassago 270 Larma - Elitens Eskapism 271 ENSNARED - Anti-Prophet 272 Third Storm - Forgotten Deity 273 Chronic Decay - Ecstasy In Pain 274 Transport League - Man Sized Drain 275 Nasum - mass hypnosis 276 Inevitable End - Memento 277 Candlemass - Dancing in the Temple (Of the Mad Queen Bee) 278 Gadget - Remote 279 Sayyadina - Nothing 280 Coldworker - The Contaminated Void 281 Katatonia - Teargas 282 In Flames - Dead God in Me 283 Trial - Motherless 284 Watain - Satan's Hunger 285 Bewitched - Rise Of The Antichrist 286 Shining - Jag Är Din Fiende 287 In Solitude - Witches Sabbath 288 Comecon - The House That Man Built 289 Marduk - The Black Tormentor of Satan 290 Lifelover - M/s salmonella 291 Naglfar - Enslave the Astral Fortress 292 Sacrilege - Sweet Moment of Triumph   293 Spiritual Beggars - Monster Astronauts 294 Massgrav - Det Här Är Stockholm 295 IRON LAMB - Backstabbers 296 The Hives - Tick Tick Boom 297 Candlemass - Dark Reflections 298 Megatomb - Forbidden Altar 299 Entrails - Condemned to the Grave 300 Katatonia - Gateways of Bereavement 301 Träd, Gräs och Stenar - Sanningens Silverflod (Djungelns Lag) 302 Hammerfall - Let the Hammer Fall 303 Obnoxious Youth - Mouths Sewn Shut 304 GRAND MAGUS - Wolf God 305 Dark Funeral - Unchain my soul 306 Entombed - Say it in slugs 307 Amon Amarth - Runes to My Memory 308 Ghost - Absolution 309 Hypocrisy  - Dominion 310 Edge of Sanity - Darkday 311 Orbit Culture - North Star of Nija 312 Cemetary - Caress the Damned 313 DOZER - Through The Eyes Of Heathens 314 Grave - Now and Forever 315 ARCH ENEMY - Bury Me An Angel 316 Skraeckoedlan - Universam 317 Cult of Luna - I remember 318 Doris  Svensson - Did You Give The World Some Love Today, Baby 319 Svard - A Rift in the Green 320 Evergrey - Monday Morning Apocalypse 321 Lightbringer - Lightbringer in Sweden 322 Bastard Priest - ghouls of the endless night 323 Westkust - Cotton Skies 324 Maggot Heart - sex breath 325 Abruptum - De Profundis Mors Vas Consumet 325 Raised Fist - Flow 326 Makthaverskan - Antabus 327 Eternal of Sweden - Heaven's gate 328 Wolfbrigade - Fire Untamed 329 Fyfan - Intrangd Och Instangd 330 Opeth - Svekets prins 331 Martyrdöd - Hexhammeren 332 The Haunted - Liquid Burns 333 Dismember - Override of the Overture 444 Bathory - Under the Runes 666 Dark tranquillity - A Bolt of Blazing Gold

Play the songs here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC1-HqTl9SJKkER2dKbR2NWkE

Next edition of Sweden playlist will have tracks from: God Macabre, Deutsch Nepal , Retaliation, In Slaughter Natives and 10,000 Years.

[marmosa]

hogwarts theatre program hc’s

i was chatting with a friend of mine and she brought of something about how Hogwarts had a drama department that collapsed because there was too much drama 😭😭 very much on brand tbh. but this hc list was born out of that conversation and i just very much AHHHH. also under the cut are some character related hc’s 😋🙈

***

run crew just moving things with their wands from the wings so their transitions are like ultra smooth

alternatively, because they’re using magic the transitions are worse...somehow??

“how did you manage to knock out an actor?” “IM SORRY SOMEONE WAS TALKING AND MY AIM WAS OFF”  

programs having enchanted photos, so each headshot also includes the shenanigans from before the photo was taken

professor mcgonagall having to okay the play because dumbledore is too nice and will literally let anything through

trying to convince mcgonagall to let them do a more raunchy show

“absolutely not”

“well professor dumbledore said it was a lovely idea!” 

“ALBUS”

mic checks would just be seeing who knows how to use the voice amplifying charm correctly or not

actors enchanting one another as pranks during rehearsals and professor flitwick nearly seizing from the stress

flitwick is the director, it has been decided 

an enchanted orchestra!!! so at the end of the play when the cast motions to the pit the instruments fly out and do their own little bows 😭

idk if hogwarts has an orchestra with actual students uhhh,,,, moving on

CLOSING NIGHT PARTY IN THE GRYFINDOR COMMON ROOM

non-theatre kids have to go hide in their dorms or escape elsewhere cause they don’t want to deal with it akdjksfb

someone hexing the makeup of a lead that they don’t like so their foundation turns green after they apply it

or their hair spray turns their hair a different color

idk just hexing the lead with a fat ego’s products because they’re a pain in the ass

the ghosts are brought in to critique the run throughs, this is sir nicholas’ favorite past time, he has a note pad and pen and everything  

“sir nicholas?”

“yes?”

“did you hear we’re doing romeo and juliet this year?”

“is that so? i knew shakespeare, bloody prick he was.”

sound techies having to hunt down the idiot who won’t un-charm their voice so their lines keep echoing through the department and it’s driving people crazy

props creators seizing because flitwick for some reason was like “we have magic MAKE THE PROPS MORE COMPLEX”

really and i mean REALLY elaborate sets because it’s a magic school why tf not

forget a wooden standie of a castle, mf’s built a whole castle out of bricks and enchanted it so it didn’t fall through and crack the stage

students all doing shitty american rendition’s of english accent when they do typically english productions for ✨ ambience ✨

tech week is hell

i mean bloody anarchy

dumbledore is nice enough to get them special catering

but extra snacks doesn’t calm the storm

flitwick is ruthless, he will tear a performance apart to make it better if he has to

“did you finish the last touches on the costumes?”

“no, i thought you did?”

[panicked screaming]

don’t even look at the stage manager, they’ll literally kill you

“you STILL haven’t memorized your big monologue@%^*#”

“it’s not my fault!! snape keeps assigning too much work!”

“serverus is going to get my foot up his ass if he doesn’t-”

“PROFESSOR”

asking hagrid for creatures that will be featured in plays

he usually always says yes just because he loves seeing his babies star in the productions

ron suddenly getting fifty “unrelated” owl requests for charlie’s contact info

“please ron we need the dragon”

“for what” 

“it’s confidential, just please-,”

“what for-?”

“JESUS RON JUST GIVE US THE DRAGON”

george is stage manager

fred is lights head

they were first put in there for detention but quickly realized they liked it 

it was also a lot easier to get away with wack shit

“fred would you stop messing with the lights?? we’re having a run thru”

“why don’t you come up here and do it urself then, genius????”

“hold my mf script”

“GEORGE NO”

harry keeps getting cast as token hot straight boy male lead tm

not necissarily that he is straight, just,,,,, the typecast

^^^ alternatively cedric

cedric is mr. heartthrob 

he’s the hot sports guy u don’t expect to audition

but does and gets in

and now every1 wants a piece of that

when he dies graduates the department is Devastated </3

ron keeps getting cast as token silly best friend who’s there 4 comic relief

hermoine keeps getting cast as token feminist girl tm

(no those aren’t just their book roles whaaaaat)

opening night is a Big Deal

idk why

it just IS

“i heard we get house points if more students from our house show up!”

“really?!”

“no.”

[infinite-hearts-333]

Broken pack, Broken wolf

Sander sides, Analogical (Eventually), Logan Angst, Werewolf AU

WARNING: really bad writing, angsty, lack of sleep and starvation, swearing I'll add to this

Before

Part 6- Let me mend you, dear.

Logan was bathing in warmth. It wasn't not normal, his pack normally snuggled up to each other at night, whether they be in human or wolf form. He let out a soft happy rumble as a hand carded through his hair with unbelievable gentleness. Empero? He rumbled, shifting closer. Are the others hunting? I thought I told you to wake me for hunting! When he didn't hear Empero's bark like laughter, he shifted more, now concerned and trying to open his eyes. Empero? Where are you?

"Shhh shh." Said a soothing male voice. "It's okay." The voice was nicely familiar, and he let a soft content growl. Who.... He mumbled. "It's okay Lo, I've got you." Everything clicked together. He was dead. That was Virgil. Logan softly whimpered, tucking closer to the other. "Shhh shhh it's okay, you're okay. I'm here." His body felt so, so, so heavy, his eyelids weighed down from lack of sleep. Normally, he would just wake up, like any other morning, but the difference this morning was that he was with someone. Werewolves can not sleep without another with them. So now that Logan was cuddling someone, his brain would make him sleep for as long as possible.

Virgil shifted him, patches of warmth pressing against his lower back and head, gently, carefully moving him and then,- Logan was dropped back into a world of bliss he nearly started crying. Warmth swallowed his whole form, pressing against his chest and warmth moved in hypnotising patterns down his back. "Oh shit- hey, hey hey hey hey! It's okay, it's okay, don't cry!" Virgil said in a slight panicked voice. Something moved from his back and gently brushed against his cheek, wiping away the tears. "Was that too much? Im so, so, so sorry! Do you want me to move you?"

"N-no!" Logan croaked out, his voice cracking. In his weak state he managed to tighten his grip, forcing his eyes to barely open, taking in the sight of a burry virgil. "P-please... stay.. J-just not use t-to it.." he choked out. Virgil didn't say anything, most likely nodding, since he was slightly shifted once more, before the both of them settled down and stilled. Logan guessed he was laying on top of Virgil, since he was rising and falling with Virgil's breathing. "T-t-thank you...." Logan mumbled. "I-i've been so l-lonely.... S-so tired.... C-can't sleep... w-without.."

"Shhhhhh, shhh it's okay Lo, i'm here now. I'm going to help you. I swear." Virgil said in a soft gentle voice carding a hand through Logan's hair and stroking the other's ears. Logan softly whimpered. "S-s-so tired......" Logan wheezed out. "Then rest, i'm not going anywhere. I'll summon us some food and I'll send Princy and Dad a text, m'kay?" "B-but my w-work-" Virgil made a snorting sound. "But your work nothing, you are resting, full stop. You can't even open your eyes, let alone stand!"

Logan softly huffed, but said nothing curling in closely. Virgil smirked, proud that he won the argument. Logan's ears perked as he picked up a clicking noise from above him. "It's okay." Virgil said softly. "I'm just texting Pat and princy." Logan sluggishly nodded, and let his eyes slip shut and finally, for the first time in three years, Logan fell asleep without a problem.

Virgil stayed by Logan's side, lightly rubbing the others back as he used one hand to messily text the others.

😈EMO BOI😈: yo guys

🐶Pop-Star🐶: Hiya kiddo!

🌟Sir-Sing-a-lot🌟: yes Shirley temple?

😈EMO BOI😈: Specs isn't feeling great. I'm gonna stay with him till he's better k?

🌟Sir-Sing-a-lot🌟: oh~ are you sure that's the only thing dark and stormy knight~? I've seen the faces you make at our nerd~!

🐶Pop-Star🐶:oh no! 😢😢 Should I make him some soup??? 😁

😈EMO BOI😈: Back off princy!!

😈EMO BOI😈: and yer pat that would be great

🐶Pop-Star🐶: Okie dokey!!!

Virgil softly sighed, placing his phone back down and went back cuddling Logan. Logan rumbled happily and Virgil smiled, pressing a small kiss to Logan forehead out of pure impulse, and then blushed furiously and pretended it never happened, laying down properly, cuddling and playing with Logan's ears lovingly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~Sorry I haven't been posting lately, life's been ruff, and exams and all that ish. Also, sorry it isn't as long as normal, nor as good as I can do so Yer.... sorry.~

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