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[raajrajasharma]

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[halfmoth-halfman]

life's little comforts

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Soap finally gets a better glimpse into your relationship with the Lieutenant- even if it's not the way he wants. Word Count: 3.9k Warnings: alcohol, smoking/cigarettes, torture, gore, blood, canon typical violence Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part two. part four.

It’s late in the day when Soap walks into your office.

He hadn’t planned on being here, but after literally running into you- he wasn’t paying attention, and you took a corner too quickly- you’d asked him to grab a file from your office and bring it to you in Price’s office. You didn’t give him the chance to decline- not that he would’ve- continuing down the hall with a quick thanks.

It feels a bit like breaking and entering, like sneaking into his parents’ room as a child when they weren’t home. It’s too quiet, the sound of boots against the vinyl plank echoing in his eardrums as he heads to your desk. It’s a stack of papers in a bright blue file; you can’t miss it, you’d told him. 

He can miss it, apparently, since the file seems to be absent from your desk. Your plethora of colorful office supplies sits neatly organized atop your desk alongside your phone, computer, and printer, but there’s not a single file in sight. There are stacks of papers on the filing cabinets- the doors of which, he discovers, are locked with no key in sight- behind your desk and an absurd amount of sticky notes covering the locked glass planes of the pill cabinets. His only other option is-

He doesn’t want to go through your desk. It feels silly but somehow he imagines the desk sitting in front of him to be an extension of you. If he peeks inside the drawers, will he find clues about what makes you, you? He can’t imagine you’ll be angrier about him going through your desk than not bringing you the file but still, he hesitates.

It takes him two minutes to talk himself into it, telling himself not to look at anything that doesn’t look work-related. 

It takes one minute for him to completely disregard that as he pulls open the bottom drawer and sees the thick black edges of a picture frame beneath the file he was sent to find. He pulls the file and the frame from the drawer, setting the file on your desk with no consideration as he examines the photo. Saying the picture is old is an understatement. Deep creases run down the center and across it- someone’s folded and unfolded it several times- with the edges frayed away to almost nothing. The image is faded to all hell, but Soap recognizes the two figures in it with ease.

You’re in a warehouse perched atop a stack of black military crates, putting you at eye level with Ghost, who stands leaning against the crates in the space next to you. Your hair is longer, left down and pushed back by a pair of sunglasses and you’re dressed in all black with a matching tac vest. Ghost is dressed similarly, all black and all tactical, but the familiar skull plate is replaced by a pair of black sunglasses resting over his painted balaclava. The two of you are facing each other, covered in dirt and grime and what is most likely blood, but you’re beaming up at Ghost like you’ve won the lottery, as he cradles your left hand in his gloveless hands, caught in the process of sliding a solid black ring onto your finger.

The words Ghost & Hornet are scrawled across the bottom in someone’s chicken scratch above a date that's been worn away. 

How long ago was this taken? Why is your callsign Hornet? What did you do before you became the 141 doctor? Who took this picture? If it wasn’t one of you who took it, then who gave it to you? Questions swirl around Soap’s head as he stares down at the picture in his hands. 

“Did you grab that folder?”

Soap drops the frame back into the drawer, kicking it shut with lightning speed as the door swings open and you peek your head inside. 

“Got it right here!” You barely take a step inside your office before he’s meeting you at the door, shoving the file into your hands. “Need anything else?”

“No, that was it,” you smile up at him- a small imitation of that same beaming smile in the picture- taking the file. “Thanks for grabbing it for me.”

“Of course, Doc.” Soap follows you out of your office and the infirmary, watching you continue down the hall before he splits off toward the barracks. 

He respects you and Ghost, respects your privacy, but all the clues and all the hints have piled up into a perfect little mystery waiting to be solved. 

What’s the saying: curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

-

Three weeks turns to six weeks turns to nine weeks turns to twelve.

If Soap never has to see the glittering crystal white of snowfall again, he’ll be glad for it. The mission wasn’t supposed to take this long but, as all missions that take place in the ass end of nowhere seem to do, something went wrong and the team is stuck in the Narsaq mountains. 

Everything was fine after the first delay; the team was frustrated but optimistic for the most part. After the second delay, there were small cases of worry and bickering but everyone was able to stay on track. Things go downhill at the start of month three and by the end of the fourth month, it’s a miracle that any of them are speaking to each other.

Soap drags his feet up the stairs to the base rooftop where Ghost is on watch. He assumes you’re there too; Price had sent you to relieve the Lieutenant not ten minutes ago before deciding two pairs of eyes were better than one and sending Soap up after you. You weren’t happy about it- your hatred of the cold stronger than anyone else’s- and you’d frowned at Price’s orders, stomping your feet the entire way out of the room. Soap could see the irritation rolling off of Price in waves before the Captain uncharacteristically snaps at him to follow you and send Ghost back down.

The rooftop door is held open by a rock, letting the soft flurries of snow drift inside and coat the top four steps. Soap takes those steps carefully, not trusting the rusted railing and the way it grates and shrieks whenever someone leans on it. Bracing himself for the cold, he tucks himself further into his heavy jacket, stepping onto the rooftop and into the ankle-deep snow. He turns to the right and comes to an immediate standstill when he spots you and Ghost. 

You’re both leaning against the broken a/c unit, staring out into the endless white of the mountain range. Ghost’s mask is pushed up to his nose as the two of you pass a cigarette back and forth but he’s shed his jacket, leaving him in a thermal long-sleeved shirt. There’s no mystery as to where the jacket went; you’re happily drowning in the oversized garment, snuggling into the fabric every time you pass the cigarette back to Ghost.

Soap creeps back to the staircase, stepping softly to avoid the crunch of the snow. He peeks outside again, catching you as you watch Ghost take a long drag from the cigarette. He holds the cigarette out to you, keeping his eyes forward; a perfect distraction as you lean forward and press a kiss to the sliver of skin on his wrist peeking out between his glove and shirt sleeve. You pluck the cigarette from his hand, looking back out over the snowcaps with a playful smile- the first smile Soap’s seen on your face in weeks. Ghost shakes his head, pinching your ear when you turn away from him but it’s obvious the way the tension eases from his shoulders. 

Soap chuckles to himself, moving back down the staircase to take a seat at the bottom of the steps as he decides Price can wait a few more minutes.

-

Rough missions are par for the course for the 141, everyone knows it. 

Everyone has their own way of coping, their own personal rituals for decompressing. Before you had joined, Soap had no idea what Ghost did after a particularly hard mission. Staying true to his namesake, the man would simply vanish, appearing hours, sometimes days, later without a word. 

He never explained, and no one ever asked.

It’s still true now, though everyone knows if they really need his whereabouts they can ask you; whether or not you’ll tell them is a different story.

But then there are the missions that stick- the missions where the blood sinks into the skin and stains the bones red. Where dying faces are burned into the backs of their eyelids and imprinted in the parts of the brain that will last long after everything else has faded. Where the chorus of bullets and death rattles drown out all other sounds long after the fight has ended.

Ghost doesn’t bother with pretense after those missions. Instead, he beelines to the infirmary, disappearing into your office where you allow him to stay, keeping the door locked unless you- and only you- need to get something. 

Soap gets it- he’s probably one of the few who do- which is why he does his best to keep his distance from you and your office unless it’s an emergency. 

It’s late when he passes by the infirmary. Exhausted and sore, he shuffles towards his room on his way back from the fitness center- his own way of coping- passing by the infirmary doors. It looks mostly empty, the only light coming through the glass on your office door, and he thinks for a brief moment that he should check on you and ask after Ghost. 

He makes it to your door, taking note of the shade that’s drawn halfway up. He bends slightly to get a clearer view inside, the lamp on your desk the only dim source of light in the room. Ghost sits in one of the chairs in front of your desk with the entirety of his body weight leaning forward against you as you stand between his legs. His head is down, pressed against your stomach and his hands grip tightly onto your hips. 

Soap doesn’t need more light to see the tension wound up in Ghost, the weight of the mission bearing down on his bowed back.

You, on the other hand, are the embodiment of peace, supporting the weight pressed against you, hands running over Ghost’s shoulders and kneading into the tight muscle. Your fingers dip just under the collar of his shirt, skirting across the edges of his mask and you bend your head slightly. Soap can see your mouth moving and Ghost nods to whatever you ask him. 

You gather the bottom of the balaclava in your hands, pushing it up just enough to get your hands underneath and around the base of his skull where you continue kneading into his skin. Ghost melts into you, pressing himself as far into you as he physically can. 

You say something else and Ghost leans his head up to look at you just as you lean down and-

Soap steps back from the window, turning in his heel to head straight out of the infirmary with the affirming knowledge that you’ll both be okay.

-

There was a healthy mix of excitement and apprehension when Price told them they were teaming up with another task force. Guesses were thrown out over who this new team would be, what they’d be like, who’d be the better shot-

(“There’s no way they’ll be a better shot than me!”

“Everyone’s a better shot than you, Johnny.”

“…that hurts, Lt.”)

You don’t take part, letting the team speculate without adding anything yourself. Soap and Gaz try to get your input, teasing you until they think you’ll relent but they get nothing out of you.

Two weeks later, they’re gathered in the briefing room when the doors burst open, followed by the thundering of boots as three strangers in solid black tactical gear swarm you. Soap is on his feet in seconds as the largest one grabs you by the waist to swing you around and you…laugh?

You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? What’s going-

“At ease, Sergeant,” Price laughs, entering behind the boisterous group alongside an unfamiliar woman. The three strangers set you down, the smallest one looping an arm around your shoulders while the man who had picked you up claps Ghost on the shoulder with a wide smile. 

“Missed us, Casper?” 

“Like a knife in the gut,” Ghost deadpans.

It takes a minute for things to settle before Price makes introductions: Sergeant Theodore “Grizzly” Lin, Sergeant Charlotte “Firefly” Bishop, Sergeant Kenneth “Trip” Hale and Captain Juliana Owens. 

Your former team. 

Soap has so many questions, so many things he needs to know, but he doesn’t get the chance after introductions are made as Price and Captain Owens call the room to attention.

The mission sounds simple: your team has the locations of several hidden terrorist cells and will infiltrate and wipe them out with the 141’s help. It’s nothing either team hasn’t done before, but the additional manpower will help to get this done before the enemy decides to move house.

They mesh well with the 141, blending in almost seamlessly on base.

On the field is an entirely different story. 

The 141 works well together, Soap knows that, but your team is on an entirely different level. They operate like a single person, moving with and covering each other without a word- like they were trained to protect each other from birth. Soap isn’t sure what’s more unsettling: the ease with which they hunt down their enemies or how effortlessly you slip into your role alongside them. He knew you could handle yourself, but after watching expertly slice through the jugular of a close-range enemy before twisting your hands around their neck to force the blood from their artery out through your fingers, he realizes how deeply the team has underestimated you.

And if he’s a little scared of you after that mission, he’ll never tell. 

For the three months that your former team occupies the 141 base, Soap takes every opportunity to speak with your old teammates. He gets the most information out of Grizzly; the man is more than eager to brag about your abilities. Trip and Firefly offer occasional information if he asks, but it’s usually too vague for Soap to understand- like some kind of inside joke he’s only partially in on.

He gets a few tidbits from you: Theodore is as cuddly as a teddy but fights like he’s trying to maul his enemies, Charlotte- Charlie, she prefers- is a former fighter pilot with an allegedly long history with arson, and Kent is a mastermind when it comes to trip mines despite being clumsier than a newborn deer. He gets a couple of old mission stories from you too, nothing too detailed, some including Ghost, and all suspiciously absent of your involvement.

 He asks Grizzly one day during a rare moment of downtime when you’re too occupied in your office to stop him-

(“What’s the story with the Doc?”

“Who? Hornet?”

“Why Hornet?”

“You ever seen a hornet in a beehive?”

Soap hasn’t. And judging by the feral smile that splits Grizzly’s face in two, he doesn’t want to.)

The teams go out to celebrate once the mission wraps up. It’s a long night filled with too much alcohol and too little supervision that ends at a run-down bar occupied only by both teams and the bartender. Soap taps out after losing the third round of billiards- even with Grizzly and Trip on his team, Gaz and Firefly still manage to wipe the floor with them every time- heading to the bar to get another beer.

“Cleaning crew cleared out the apartment. Said it looked like a random break-in, but we’re assigning you a new safehouse just to be sure.” Soap’s ears twitch as he hears Captain Owens speak. He glances to his right where you and Ghost sit at a table across from Price and Owens looking too serious for the occasion.

“What about the house?” you ask, folding your arms over your chest.

“No activity, but I’ve got eyes on it,” Owens sighs. 

“You can take some time if you wanna check it out for yourselves,” Price suggests. You and Ghost share a brief look, an entire conversation passed between glances.

“Maybe another time,” you answer with a casual shrug.

“I swear, I’ve never met a couple more averse to spending time together at home than the two of you-” Owens shakes her head, turning to Price with a teasing grin. “You lettin’ my kids have too much fun on your base, John?”

Soap nearly chokes on his beer as you groan, scraping your hands down your face, and Ghost rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t roll back into his head.

Your former Captain knows- that makes sense if he thinks about it- but Price… Soap clearly remembers Price denying any knowledge of your and Ghost’s relationship. If he knew, if it was meant to be a secret, then why give him hints?

Soap is desperate to know more, the alcohol spurring him on as he gathers the questions in his head sorting them by level of importance so he’ll know which to ask first come tomorrow. 

He doesn’t get the chance, as the team departs first thing without a word of goodbye and Price calls everyone in for a new mission.

-

Soap has seen his share of gruesome things, but this is-

They’re gathered around the small monitor, unable to tear their eyes from the screen. The video had been sent to Price with no name attached to it. It’s grainy, most likely recorded on an older camera but the audio…the audio is crystal clear.

And the way your screams echo through the room will haunt them for the rest of their days.

It was an accident. Through pure shitty luck, the team had been separated, then separated again, and once more until everyone was on their own trying to retrieve intel from an empty base that turned out to not be so empty. The intel was retrieved and their opponents made an uncharacteristically hasty exit. It isn’t until exfil arrives and you don’t that they realize what’s happened.

Now, after two months of agonizing silence, they get this.

You’re strapped to a metal chair, beaten and bloody, when one of your captors yanks your head up by your hair. He growls something at you in muffled Russian and when you answer him with silence, he spits in your face. You meet his taunting gaze with a severe glare and the man laughs, letting go of you to call someone else over.

He steps in front of the camera, blocking any view of you, but there’s still a clear view of one of his men approaching you with a cattle prod. The man speaks directly to the camera- directly to the 141- his voice almost drowned out by the buzz of the prod and the scream you let out. 

The video ends there, fading into jumbled static before starting over again.

“It’s proof of life,” Price sighs, shutting the monitor off. “They’re offering a trade. Intel for the doctor.”

“Can we trace it?” Gaz asks. 

“Laswell’s working on it.”

The room falls into silence and Soap can’t help but look at Ghost. He appears calm, standing still with his gaze focused on the monitor, but Soap knows better. There’s nothing in those eyes, Ghost’s mind completely vacant, an empty shell of a man stuck standing before them. With nothing more to add, Ghost turns, walking out of the room without a word- a true statement to his name.

He’s been like this since you disappeared- disassociating so hard he might as well have been taken with you. He broke out of it once, when Gaz suggested changing your status from MIA to KIA. 

Gaz’s black eye took almost three weeks to heal and Ghost vanished from the base until it did, returning without an apology and a tension that followed him into every room. 

It takes another agonizing week before Laswell comes back with anything, but she delivers more than enough information. Price is barely off the phone with her when the team is gearing up to go and find you.

And, oh, when they find you-

Soap isn’t sure there’s a need for the entire team as Ghost tears a warpath through their enemies. There’s no words, no mercy, no stopping as he cuts down person after person after person. He’s coated in gore and viscera, thick crimson a stark contrast to the bone white of his mask, hands dripping with enemy blood- an angel of death coming to collect. 

Soap finds you first while clearing a room as Ghost bludgeons one of the guards to death in the hallway.

You’re huddled in a corner of the cell, leaning against the grimy wall curled in on yourself. Soap lowers his gun, approaching cautiously as though you’re a wild animal, speaking softly, “Doc?”

Soap jumps back as you lunge for him, swinging what looks to be a piece of broken glass. He can feel the sharp sting as you catch his arm, taking several steps back until he’s almost out the door. You move back, pressing yourself against the wall with your hands up; your fingers so tightly squeezed around the shard in your hand, Soap can see the fresh blood sliding down your palm. 

“Easy, easy,” he coaxes, hands up, palms facing out as he calls back over his shoulder. “Ghost!”

The man materializes out of thin air, nudging Soap out of the way as he takes in the scene before him. You look like hell, dressed down in a torn shirt and pants with one eye swollen shut and covered in so much dried blood that they can’t tell where your injuries are. 

Slowly, Ghost takes a step into the cell.

“Don’t!” you yell, voice hoarse. “Nor- Norilsk, six years ago. We were…we were on a mission and one of our team was KIA. What was the last thing he said to us?” Ghost takes a careful step forward, bloody hands raised.

“Should’ve had that last drink,” Ghost speaks lowly, inching towards you. “Barely got it out through the blood but he never stopped smiling.” 

He gets close enough to reach out to you, hands gently wrapping around yours as he eases you into letting go of the glass. It clatters to the floor, snapping in half against the moldy concrete.

“I-I didn’t tell them anything.”

“I know.”

“They tried to get me to, but- but I didn’t-”

“I know.”

“I fought back.”

“I know, love.”

Ghost maneuvers you forward until you’re pressed against his chest, forehead digging into the hard pockets of his tac vest. Soap turns his back, giving the two of you a moment and keeping watch. He can hear Ghost’s low murmurs and the rattling of your voice.

You meet up with Gaz and Price ten minutes later, when you’ve collected yourself enough to separate yourself from Ghost. You roll your shoulders back, biting back the pain to stand as tall as you can. Price sets a hand on your shoulder, giving it a soft, comforting squeeze.

Are you okay?

You reach back where Ghost stands directly behind you. His hand finds yours, squeezing three times. You squeeze back once, then twice, then three times before letting go. You give your best smile, feeling the comforting weight of Ghost behind you as you nod at Price.

I will be.

[bonefall]

Do you know what the other animals that were trapped in cages are? I think there's a zebra, gray wolf and honey badger but I'm not sure

I caught five unique animals in the passage, lemmie share all of my guesses;

Easy; giraffe! Though I wouldn't really describe them as "yellow," WC has a habit of "cartoonifying" certain popular animals so this is definitely a giraffe (such as the tongue-slinging frogs in ShadowClan, real frogs do not have chameleon tongues)

The next one, the zebra, is also pretty apparent;

For those who didn't know, zebras are smaller than domestic horses! That's correct!

The one that stumps me the most is definitely this "weaselbadger" animal, but I'm fairly certain it's a honey badger yeah.

As opposed to a European badger like the cats are used to, a honey badger would look a lot thinner and more "weasel-like." They also have a solid white stripe that separates their black bottoms from their ticked top-fur, and I can't think of any other animal that has a separated fur color in that way.

There's also a very large snake of some kind, "coiled" around a branch. So, something arboreal.

While it's definitely a constricting snake, there isn't enough description about its color or behavior to tell if it's a boa or a python, nor what species it is. Since the largest reptile Ivypool naturally encounters would be adders, I also can't say if the "snake bigger than she could ever imagine" is actually that big.

If I'm making a shot in the dark though, the "small eyes" would make me guess it's a particularly old reticulated python. They're also common pet snakes, so it wouldn't be out of place at a skeevy ""Animal Sanctuary"" like this book is portraying.

(SIDE NOTE; I am satisfied with the portrayal of this particular zoo, which is clearly in someone's backyard and made from ramshackle planks and chainlink. I stand firmly against broad, untargeted "zoo slander" but I think the team did a good job in portraying this place as some crank's private collection.)

This next one, the "furry dog," is described with shaggy fur around its neck and shoulders, and then explicitly called gray when it attacks the human. Simple; that is a gray wolf.

While it's definitely a wolf, I'd need to see them describe the howl to tell you if it's Eurasian or American. American wolves lean harder on the first syllable and the call is more "shouty", while Eurasian wolves have a longer, more "melodious" songlike howl.

As for the "mane," that's a trait wolves can have. Some have larger neck ruffs than others-- usually influenced by climate. I don't know enough about wolves to tell you if that's purely genetic, or if it's influenced by the fact this individual lives in a place where it needs to develop a particularly thick winter coat.

(Also, funfact; the extinct British wolf was actually one of the largest gray wolf subspecies ever known. RIP British wolves)

And, lastly, of course, is the Scottish Wildcat.

Exactly as the book goes on to describe, they have blunt, bushy tails, green eyes, and tabby coats. They look like very large domestic cats!

[keehomania]

under the moon (달 아래) — kim namjoon (김남준)

this is part one, part two can be found here

✧.*

life had unraveled like the frayed edges of a delicate drapery. each thread that once held your world together seemed to have slipped through your fingers, leaving you grasping at memories that no longer felt like your own. the air had grown heavier, thick with a silence that pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe. colors that once brightened your days had faded to muted shades, as if the world itself had lost its vibrancy, reflecting the numbness that settled deep within you.

time moved differently, stretching endlessly in moments that felt like they would never end, yet slipping away in a haze when you tried to grasp it. nights bled into days, marked only by the quiet echoes of thoughts you couldn’t quite escape, thoughts that circled in your mind like a storm you couldn’t find shelter from. you were adrift, untethered, as if the solid ground you once stood on had crumbled beneath your feet, leaving you suspended in a void where nothing made sense.

even the simple things, the ones you had taken for granted, felt foreign and out of reach. laughter sounded distant, like a memory of a dream you weren’t sure you ever had. the warmth of sunlight on your skin felt like a distant echo of a comfort you could no longer feel. you had become a stranger in your own life, watching from a distance as it fell apart, powerless to stop the pieces from scattering.

you sat on the docks, your feet dangling over the edge, barely touching the cold, dark water below. the wooden planks were weathered and rough beneath you, each one holding the memory of countless others who had sat here before, lost in their own thoughts. the day was heavy with the scent of salt and seaweed, the gentle lapping of the waves the only sound breaking the silence. above, the sky was a vast expanse of blue, dotted with stars that seemed too far away to matter.

in your hand was a bottle of soju, the cool glass damp from the night air. you had been nursing it for a while, taking slow, deliberate sips, letting the burn settle in your chest before swallowing it down like a bitter truth. each sip felt like a small rebellion against the ache that had taken residence in your heart, but it did little to numb the pain.

the events of the past few days replayed in your mind, each one sharper than the last. you had trusted him, loved him with a fierceness that scared you at times. but he had left you, not just abandoned, but burdened with the weight of his debt—debts you hadn’t even known existed until the collectors came knocking. and as if that betrayal wasn’t enough, he had left you for your best friend. confronting her had been like walking into a nightmare. the hurt in her eyes when you accused her, the way she had looked at you with pity, not guilt. you had expected an apology, a confession that she had made a mistake, but instead, she had stood by him, unwavering. his mother’s arrival had only made things worse, her voice shrill and unforgiving as she berated you, her book club friends nodding along, their eyes filled with judgment. you hadn’t meant to cause a scene, but their anger, their righteousness, had pushed you out, sent you running until you found yourself here, alone.

you took another long drink from the bottle, the alcohol warming your throat as it went down, but leaving a cold emptiness in its wake. the docks had always been your refuge, a place where you could escape the noise of the world, but tonight, even the quiet seemed to mock you. you stared out at the horizon, the lights of the distant city blinking like tiny, indifferent stars, and you wondered how everything had gone so wrong.

a rustle caught your attention, and you glanced to your side. across from you, not too far away, sat a homeless man, his clothes tattered and worn, his face weathered by years of hardship. his eyes, however, were sharp, and they were fixed on the bottle in your hand. he didn’t say anything, just watched you with a mix of curiosity and hunger, and you could see the desire for a drink etched in the lines of his face. you sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of everything that had happened, and without a word, you extended the bottle towards him. he hesitated for a moment, then shuffled closer, his movements slow and deliberate. he took the bottle from your hand with a nod of thanks, but still, neither of you spoke.

the silence stretched between you, thick and impenetrable, as he took a swig from the bottle. you watched him, noting the way his hands trembled slightly as he drank, the way his eyes closed for a brief moment as the alcohol slid down his throat. he settled beside you, the two of you sitting in a shared, unspoken understanding of the night’s loneliness.

“do you ever wish you could sleep for the next hundred years?” you asked suddenly, your voice barely louder than a whisper. the words had slipped out before you could stop them, a quiet admission of the exhaustion that had seeped into your bones. you didn’t expect an answer, and the man didn’t offer one. he continued to stare out at the water, the bottle now resting in his lap, his silence a mirror to your own thoughts.

but you couldn’t stop. the words kept spilling out, each one tugged from the depths of your sorrow. “life is awful,” you continued, your voice cracking with the weight of the truth. “every time i think it’s getting better, it just gets worse. it’s like some cruel joke, this constant cycle of hope and disappointment.” the man didn’t move, didn’t even look at you. his silence was deafening, yet somehow comforting in its neutrality. he wasn’t there to judge or console, just to listen—or maybe, not even that. perhaps he was just a presence, a reminder that you weren’t entirely alone, even if it felt like it.

your voice faltered, and you felt the first sting of tears burning at the corners of your eyes. you tried to hold them back, to swallow the sobs that were building in your chest, but it was useless. the dam broke, and you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your cries. the tears were hot against your skin, your sobs muffled as you tucked your head between your knees, trying to make yourself as small as possible, to disappear into the night.

for a long while, the only sound was your crying, the grief pouring out of you in waves. the man remained silent, his gaze now fixed somewhere in the distance, as if he was watching a world that neither of you could see. you didn’t expect him to comfort you, didn’t even want him to. all you needed was to release the pain that had been choking you since everything had fallen apart.

when your tears had subsided into soft, hiccupping breaths, the man shifted beside you. he sighed, a deep, resigned sound, and for the first time, he spoke. his voice was rough, like gravel being dragged across pavement, but there was a quiet wisdom in it, a hard-earned understanding of the world. “life won’t get better just because you want it to,” he said, his words hanging in the cold air between you. he didn’t offer any more than that, no advice or platitudes, just the blunt truth that he had learned over years of hardship.

he stood up slowly, the bottle now empty in his hand, and he moved a few feet away, curling up on the wooden planks with his back to you. you watched as he settled down, pulling a tattered blanket around himself, his body already relaxing into sleep. the conversation was over, and you were left alone again, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. you stared at the empty spot beside you, where the bottle had rested just moments before, and felt an overwhelming sense of emptiness. life wouldn’t get better just because you wanted it to, but you hadn’t given up wanting, not yet.

you stood on the edge of the docks, the wooden planks beneath your feet creaking softly as you stared out at the water. the sun hung low in the sky, its golden light casting long, warm reflections on the rippling surface of the bay. the distant murmur of the city seemed to fade as your gaze followed the gentle dance of the waves, their rhythmic motion both calming and hypnotic. it was then you heard it—a sudden splash that jolted you from your reverie.

you turned swiftly, eyes scanning the dock for the source of the disturbance. panic gripped you as you spotted a small figure struggling in the water. a little boy, no older than six, flailed desperately, his tiny arms reaching out as he bobbed helplessly. his parents, oblivious to the danger, chatted animatedly on the dock, their laughter ringing hollow in the midst of the growing crisis.

your heart raced, and you glanced over at the homeless man who usually occupied a corner of the docks. he lay slumped against a crate, fast asleep, his tattered coat pulled tightly around him. desperation surged through you as you realized the responsibility of the moment fell squarely on your shoulders. you cursed under your breath, frustration and fear mingling as you pushed yourself into action.

without a second thought, you sprinted toward the edge of the dock. the world seemed to blur around you as you dove into the cold, dark water. the shock of the chill hit you hard, and for a split second, you were enveloped in a freezing embrace. the surface above you shimmered faintly, growing dimmer as you plunged deeper. your limbs cut through the water with urgency, each stroke bringing you closer to the struggling boy.

when you finally reached him, his face was etched with sheer terror, his eyes wide and glassy. you grabbed him firmly, wrapping your arms around his small, shivering body. he clung to you with a vice-like grip, his sobs muffled by the water. you kicked with all your might, pushing upwards, determined to get him to safety. as you breached the surface, the dimming light of the sun cast eerie shadows across the water. you could see the boy’s father now, his face a mask of fear and urgency as he maneuvered a small raft toward you. with a final burst of energy, you managed to get the boy onto the raft. the father, his face etched with gratitude, reached out a hand towards you.

you were about to grasp it when you noticed something strange. the sun, which had been steadily sinking, was now obscured by an enormous, dark shadow. your gaze followed the shadow up, and your breath caught in your throat. the sun was being eclipsed, a celestial body slipping between you and its light. the sky darkened abruptly, the shadow growing ever larger, swallowing the golden hue with an ominous, encroaching blackness.

panic gripped you anew as the raft’s father shouted at you to take his hand. but before you could respond, a strange, powerful force seemed to pull at you from below. the water beneath you churned violently, dragging you down with an insistent, merciless strength. the familiar warmth of the sun’s rays was now a distant memory, replaced by the encroaching darkness. you struggled against the pull, but the force was overwhelming. as you descended, the water around you grew darker and colder. You glanced up one last time, the surface above you now a faint, distant blur. the sun was gone, and the moon seemed to press down on you with an oppressive, unyielding presence.

in the depths of the water, you began to see fleeting, fragmented visions—glimpses of your best friend, their face full of concern; your boyfriend, looking at you with eyes filled with love and worry. these images flickered like memories on the brink of dissolution, fading in and out as you sank deeper and deeper. the darkness enveloped you, the water now a viscous black void. you reached out, but there was nothing to grasp, nothing to hold onto. the last remnants of light slipped away, and with a final, desperate gasp, everything went black.

the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the bustling streets of the goryeo dynasty's capital. a palpable excitement filled the air as the crowd gathered, their murmurs rising to a crescendo as they awaited the arrival of the imperial procession. the cobblestone streets seemed to vibrate with anticipation as the riders galloped in, their horses' hooves striking the ground in rhythmic beats. the crowd parted respectfully, creating a clear path for the approaching figures.

the lead rider, whose face was partially obscured by an ornate mask, exuded an aura of authority. despite the mask, his commanding presence was unmistakable. as he drew closer, the mask was subtly lifted, revealing the sharp features of kim namjoon, the fourth imperial prince of goryeo. his eyes, sharp and discerning, surveyed the crowd with a mix of regality and practiced indifference.

at the palace, the scene was one of a different nature entirely. the atmosphere within the grand palace complex was a blend of opulence and casual domesticity. In the palace's expansive hot springs, a more relaxed environment prevailed. the tenth prince, baekhyun, splashed gleefully in the steaming waters, his laughter echoing off the stone walls. his actions were a far cry from the formalities of court life, displaying a childlike exuberance that was both endearing and mischievous.

beside him, the fourteenth prince, kang daniel, remained close, his presence a constant in baekhyun’s playful antics. daniel’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he engaged in the water games, showing a loyalty and camaraderie that was evident in their every interaction. the water playfully splashed around them, creating a lively contrast to the otherwise serene setting. the third prince, kang chaehee, observed from a slightly elevated edge of the hot springs, a sly scowl playing on his lips. his eyes followed the two princes with an air of calculated disbelief, as though he were silently plotting his next move or simply reveling in their stupidity.

the thirteenth prince, kang younghyun, joined the others with a warm smile, his entrance into the water adding a new layer of mirth to the scene. younghyun’s demeanor was that of a congenial companion, blending effortlessly into the group as he splashed and laughed with baekhyun and daniel.

the eighth prince, kang chwe hansol, watched the scene unfold with a calm and thoughtful expression. his gaze, serene and contemplative, contrasted with the playful energy of the younger princes. hansol’s mind was occupied with matters of the palace and the well-being of its occupants, a duty that seemed to weigh heavily on him. the ninth prince, kang yeosang, also observed from a distance, his face a mask of indifference. his role in the royal family was less pronounced, but his presence was a constant backdrop to the more dominant personalities of his brothers.

as the evening wore on, hansol noted the conspicuous absence of the fourth prince. his brow furrowed slightly in concern. “if namjoon is any later,” he said thoughtfully, “he’ll miss the ritual ceremony.” the ritual itself played a vital role in the dynasty as a whole, a tradition that had gone on for what could have been centuries. its purpose was not only to bring the princes together, but to rid them and the palace of spirits and hexes.

baekhyun, still immersed in the water, nudged daniel playfully. “i heard,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “that namjoon’s been killing people like a wolf. maybe we’ll be next.” he let out a playful howl, imitating a wolf with exaggerated movements. chaehee’s eyes narrowed, and he chided sang with a tone of authority. “quiet, baekhyun. this is all but the time for such nonsense.”

just as baekhyun began to submerge himself deeper into the water, a sudden figure emerged behind him. you gasped for air, your heart pounding as you struggled to catch your breath. the shock of the cold water and the realization of being in such a strange and precarious situation overwhelmed you. your mind raced, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

baekhyun turned around abruptly, his eyes widening in disbelief as he stared at you. “there’s a girl in the water!” he called out in shock, his voice carrying across the hot springs.

the princes froze, their expressions shifting from surprise to confusion as they took in the unexpected sight. before you could fully process the situation, a voice to your left beckoned you. you turned to see a slave girl standing at the edge of the hot springs in the bushes, her eyes darting nervously between you and the assembled princes. she gestured urgently for you to come over and whispered a name that you struggled to understand—“come on, my lady nabi.”

you had no clear idea of what she was saying, but the urgency in her voice compelled you to follow. you moved toward her, the water clinging to you as you emerged from the hot springs, your movements slow and hesitant. the princes watched in stunned silence, their gazes fixed on you. hansol’s eyes widened slightly as he processed the situation. “na…bi?” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the rippling water. the name hung in the air, its significance unclear but laden with an unsettling sense of foreboding.

the slave girl, chayeon, moved swiftly and decisively, her demeanor a stark contrast to the chaotic scene unfolding around you. her clothes, though simple and practical, were impeccably clean, and her face wore an expression of stern disapproval. she guided you away from the hot springs, her hands gripping your arm with a firmness that left no room for argument.

“lady nabi, what are you doing here?” she scolded, her voice a sharp whisper that cut through the murmurs of the princes. “you mustn’t be here. how did you end up in the water? this is no place for you!” her words came rapid-fire, her frustration palpable. her eyes scanned you, as if seeking to understand how you had arrived in such a predicament.

as she ushered you away, her scolding continued, though her voice softened slightly. “are you feeling alright now? are you hurt?” her concern, though genuine, was laced with an undercurrent of irritation. the whirlwind of her reprimand left you bewildered, struggling to make sense of your surroundings.

you were still disoriented from the cold shock of the water and the suddenness of the situation. you wondered why chayeon kept addressing you as “lady,” and why you had been dragged into this unfamiliar place. your confusion deepened as you took in the scene before you.

the outdoor pools, set amidst the grand palace grounds, were filled with people clad in elaborate period clothing. their garments were rich with color and intricate designs, the fabrics shimmering in the soft light of the setting sun. the setting was almost idyllic, with the gentle sounds of the water mingling with the low hum of conversation. it struck you with a sense of surrealism—the opulence and the formality of the setting contrasted sharply with the disarray of your predicament.

a growing realization began to dawn on you. the period clothing, the palace surroundings, the way chayeon addressed you—it all seemed to indicate that you had somehow crossed into another realm, a place that bore the hallmarks of the hereafter. the thought was disorienting and unsettling. overwhelmed and unable to process the strange new reality, your vision began to blur. the world around you grew dim, and with a final, desperate gasp, you fainted, collapsing into the comforting embrace of darkness.

the fourth prince made his entrance at the palace gates. his arrival was marked by an imposing presence, the grandeur of his attire and the regal bearing of his posture commanding attention. as he rode through the gates, his lead attendant followed closely, speaking with a tone that was both respectful and cautious.

“your highness,” the attendant said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “remember to uphold the honor of your adopted family name before the king. after your audience, you will need to return to shinju.” namjoon’s face twisted into a sneer at the mention of his adopted status. his tone was laced with sarcasm as he replied, “ah, yes. i had forgotten that i’m not just an adopted son but a hostage in this palace.”

his demeanor hardened as he rode further into the palace grounds. the vast courtyard stretched out before him, the silence heavy with the weight of his impending actions. he dismounted with a grace that belied the storm brewing within him. his hand moved to his sword, and in a swift, decisive motion, he drew it from its sheath.

the courtyard was filled with startled gasps as namjoon took a swing and, to everyone’s horror, struck his horse. the animal reared up, a cry of pain escaping its throat before collapsing to the ground, lifeless. the suddenness of the act stunned everyone into silence. the scene was one of utter shock, with onlookers frozen in place, their eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and fear.

a soldier stepped forward, his voice trembling as he stuttered, “your highness, you’re not allowed to carry a sword inside the palace.” he extended his hand, a gesture that seemed both hesitant and necessary. namjoon’s expression remained unchanged, his eyes cold and unyielding. without a word, he handed over the sword, the metal gleaming ominously as it was taken from him. the soldier, still visibly shaken, added, “i will prepare a horse for your departure.”

namjoon’s response was delivered with an unyielding finality. “i won’t be going back,” he declared, his voice echoing with a resolve that left no room for further discussion. he wasn’t going back, he wasn’t going to allow himself to return to shinju as a hostage.

the world around you began to coalesce into something more tangible as you slowly regained consciousness. the first thing you noticed was the softness of the bed beneath you. it was an opulent four-poster, draped in rich, dark fabrics that exuded an air of both comfort and grandeur. the room was lit by the soft glow of an oil lamp, and the furnishings, though elegant, felt strangely foreign.

you groaned softly, your head throbbing with an intensity that made it difficult to focus. the pain was sharp and persistent, a constant reminder of the disorienting turn your life had taken. as you attempted to sit up, a woman in traditional attire entered the room, her presence graceful and composed. she had an air of authority about her, and she approached with a concerned expression.

“nabi,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. the name felt like an intrusion into your fragile state of awareness, and you looked up at her with a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“what do you mean, nabi?” you asked, your voice strained. “i’m (y/n) (l/n).” the declaration felt weak even as you spoke it, and you noticed the woman’s eyes widening in surprise. the woman’s face reflected a mix of shock and disbelief. “you’re not nabi?” she repeated, her tone tinged with uncertainty. her gaze darted between you and the door, as though she were expecting someone else to appear.

realization dawned on you, and a sudden, albeit delirious, laugh escaped your lips. “oh right, i died. i must be dead,” you said with a half-hearted chuckle. the absurdity of the situation hit you again, and your mind raced to piece together the fragments of your memories.

chayeon stepped into the room, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation. “no, you didn’t die,” she clarified. “you had a near miss, and we brought you here for safety.” her words did little to alleviate your confusion, and you blurted out, “i didn’t die?” your sense of reality felt tenuous, and your panic surged.

you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stumbled toward the door, the pounding in your head growing louder with every step. the sight that greeted you outside was both breathtaking and bewildering. you found yourself in a spacious courtyard, surrounded by traditional architecture that spoke of a bygone era. the buildings were constructed with ornate wooden beams, their roofs sweeping gracefully upward in elegant curves. the lush greenery and tranquil garden added to the sense of otherworldly calm.

the unfamiliarity of the scene only heightened your alarm. “where am I?” you wondered aloud, your voice trembling with a mix of anxiety and confusion. you turned back to lady ja, who had followed you out of the room, and pleaded for clarification.

her gaze softened with a mixture of pity and patience. “you are at the residence of the eighth prince, wang chwe hansol, in songak,” she explained. the name rang a distant bell in your memory, but the pieces were still not fitting together. as the words sank in, a realization began to form in your mind. “songak?” you repeated, the name resonating with a sense of historical significance. “is this goryeo?” the question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of historical context.

lady ja nodded, her expression confirming your growing suspicion. “yes,” she said, “the current king is taejo wang geon, the founder of goryeo.” her words struck a chord with you, and the implications of what she was saying began to crystallize.

the recognition hit you like a wave. songak was indeed the old capital city of goryeo. you were not just in a different place but in a different time altogether. the realization was both thrilling and terrifying. you had somehow been transported into the past, into the very era of taejo wang geon’s reign. the weight of the revelation was almost too much to bear. your surroundings, the people, the architecture—all of it was a vivid testament to a historical period you had only known through books and tales. you stood there, trying to come to terms with the fact that you had somehow come into someone else’s body, into a world that was both rich in history and utterly foreign to you.

lady ja’s voice broke through your thoughts. “think hard about where you are,” she urged gently. “this is the residence of prince haneul, and we must ensure that you are properly cared for.” you nodded numbly, your mind still grappling with the enormity of your situation. as you took in the sights of the palace, the historical context of your predicament began to settle into place. the world around you was not merely a fantastical dream but a reality rooted in a time long past.

the throne room of the goryeo palace was a place of imposing grandeur and intricate design. richly adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of historical triumphs, the walls of the room gleamed with polished wood and gold accents. the vast chamber was dominated by the throne itself, a majestic seat of authority, intricately carved and elevated on a dais.

king taejo wang geon presided over the court with a gravity befitting his esteemed position. his regal presence commanded attention, his robes a cascade of deep, rich colors that spoke of both power and tradition. at his side were the six princes, each seated in a manner that reflected their rank and status. however, the fourth prince, namjoon, was notably absent from this gathering, his absence a conspicuous gap in the otherwise well-ordered assembly.

the tension in the room was palpable as an official presented a dead bird, its lifeless form displayed for all to see. the bird had fallen dead after a single bite from the crown prince’s breakfast, an unsettling testament to possible tampering. the sight of the dead creature stirred murmurs of concern among those in attendance.

king taejo's gaze was sharp and unwavering as he addressed the issue. “find the culprit responsible for this heinous act,” he commanded, his voice echoing with the weight of authority. the room fell into a hushed silence as the gravity of the situation sank in.

amidst the tension, jackson wang, a cousin of the king, stepped forward with a calculated expression. his tone was smooth yet insistent. “your majesty,” he began, “i must speak. there are growing concerns about the crown prince, wang taehyung. rumors suggest that he suffers from an incurable disease, and some believe he is unfit to assume the throne.” the words hung in the air, charged with implications. his proposal was audacious, but not without precedent in the power struggles of the royal court. he entreatied taejo to consider dethroning wang taehyung and replacing him with another prince. the notion of replacing the crown prince was met with a mix of surprise and unease from those present.

outside the throne room, crown prince taehyung himself arrived just in time to overhear jackson’s suggestion. his expression was one of barely contained frustration and hurt, his position at the heart of the debate adding to his evident distress. he hesitated at the door, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the gravity of the situation. inside the throne room, king taejo turned his attention to the remaining princes, his gaze probing and expectant. “do any of you agree with wang jackson’s proposal?” he asked, his voice laced with the tension of the moment. “is there anyone among you who would like to see the crown prince replaced?”

the princes exchanged glances, their reactions a mix of anxiety and discomfort. some avoided eye contact, while others looked visibly taken aback by the king’s question. the atmosphere was thick with uncertainty as they weighed their options, each one acutely aware of the delicate nature of the discussion.

the eighth prince was the first to break the silence. with a calm yet resolute demeanor, hansol moved forward and knelt before the king. “your majesty,” he said earnestly, “i beseech you to reconsider these words. there is no one among us who wishes to replace crown prince tae. we are united in our belief that he is the rightful heir.” his plea was followed swiftly by the thirteenth prince, who also approached the throne and knelt. “i too implore you, your majesty, to retract this proposal. crown prince taehyung is our leader, and we support him wholeheartedly.”

third prince chaehee was next to kneel, his actions reflecting the collective sentiment of the princes. his expression was guarded, but his voice carried a sense of urgency as he added his support to the plea. the younger princes, recognizing the shift in the room, followed suit. they too knelt, their voices merging in a unified plea for the king to reconsider. “please, your majesty,” they said in chorus, “do not dismiss crown prince taehyung. he is deserving of his position.”

in the midst of this fervent display of loyalty, king taejo called forth his esteemed astrologer and fortune-reader, choi jisoo. the elderly man, dressed in robes adorned with celestial patterns, approached the throne with a measured step. he began his explanation with a reverent tone, his words flowing with the weight of ancient knowledge. “the stars,” he began, “do not indicate that the crown prince is unfit. instead, they reveal a future filled with promise and stability. the alignment of the stars suggests that crown prince tae is destined to lead with wisdom and strength.”

the king listened intently as he continued to elaborate on the celestial omens, his confidence in the prince’s future unwavering. the explanations of the stars, combined with the united front of the princes, seemed to sway the king’s judgment.

king taejo’s expression softened as he addressed the court. “i have heard your pleas,” he declared. “i reaffirm that crown prince taehyung will take the leading position in the upcoming rites. his position is secure, and he shall fulfill his duties as our future sovereign.” the room erupted into a murmur of relief and approval, but not all were pleased with the outcome. hyun’s expression darkened, a subtle shift in his demeanor betraying his displeasure. his eyes, though fleetingly narrowed, reflected a deep-seated discontent, suggesting that the issue was far from resolved.

in the lavishly adorned quarters of queen jiyoung, the air was filled with an opulent serenity. the queen's residence was a realm of understated luxury, with delicate silks draped over intricately carved wooden screens and the gentle flicker of oil lamps casting soft shadows across the richly decorated walls. the fragrance of jasmine and sandalwood mingled, creating an atmosphere of calm and refinement.

jiyoung, seated gracefully at a low, ornate table, was engaged in conversation with chaehee, her expression one of composed interest. her attire, resplendent in hues of deep purple and gold, emphasized her status and authority. the intricate embroidery on her gown depicted scenes of serene landscapes and mythical creatures, adding to her regal bearing.

“i must admit, chaehee,” she said, her voice smooth yet laced with an edge of surprise, “i didn't expect crown prince taehyung to emerge from this latest crisis unscathed. i had anticipated that his position would be in jeopardy, particularly with the evidence presented against him.”

chaehee, standing by her side with an air of practiced deference, offered a sympathetic smile. “your majesty, it seems the king has decided to keep the crown prince in his position for now. the princes’ pleas and the astrologer’s predictions seem to have swayed him.” her gaze hardened slightly, her fingers drumming lightly on the surface of the table.

a court lady approached with a respectful bow, interrupting their conversation. “your majesty,” she began, her voice tentative, “there is a visitor outside requesting an audience. he has been waiting for some time.” jiyoung’s expression shifted to one of irritation. “a visitor? at this hour? who could it be?” her tone was sharp, revealing her displeasure at the interruption.

the court lady hesitated before responding. “it is your son, prince namjoon, your majesty. he has been waiting outside for your presence.”

jiyoung’s irritation grew palpable. her sons were often seen as pawns in the grand scheme of palace politics, and the timing of this interruption seemed particularly inconvenient. “prince namjoon?” she repeated, her voice tinged with frustration. “i have no time for such distractions right now. tell him to leave. i am not to be disturbed.” the court lady bowed deeply, her face a mask of regret as she turned to deliver the message. “yes, your majesty,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of her duty.

the night descended upon songak with a veil of darkness, its silence broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind against the palace walls. within the confines of your room, the atmosphere was heavy with a sense of desolation and uncertainty. You had locked yourself away, seeking refuge in the solitude of the opulent space, but it offered little solace.

the room was adorned with luxurious fabrics and furnishings, yet the grandeur did little to dispel the turmoil within you. you huddled on the edge of the bed, wrapped in the silken covers but feeling cold and detached. your mind replayed the events of the day with haunting clarity. the dead bird, the tense courtroom, and the disturbing reality of your situation all blended into a nightmarish haze.

as you shivered beneath the covers, you grappled with the reality of your existence. “did i die in the water that day?” you wondered aloud, your voice trembling in the quiet room. the thought that your host body, nabi, might have met the same fate only compounded your anxiety. the idea that you had somehow taken on nabi’s life in this strange, historical world was both disorienting and terrifying.

“am i (y/n) (l/n), or nabi?” you questioned, your voice barely more than a whisper. the realization that you were living someone else’s life was an unsettling one. yet, amidst the confusion, you decided to view this as a stroke of fortune—a new chance at life, albeit in a form you had not anticipated. if you were to continue as nabi, you resolved to make the most of the unexpected opportunity.

the enormity of your predicament loomed over you. despite your determination, you were acutely aware of how little you knew about goryeo. the intricacies of the court, the historical context, and even the line of succession were mysteries to you. you weren’t even sure which king followed taejo. your attempt to guess was a shot in the dark, and you feared it might be embarrassingly wrong. as you sat brooding, the soft murmur of voices reached your ears from outside the door. prince hansol had returned home, and you could hear him speaking with his wife, lady ja. their conversation was laden with concern.

“she was in the water for two hours before resurfacing,” lady ja was saying, her tone filled with worry. “she was like a corpse. we fear she might harm herself.” chayeon’s voice joined the conversation, her words carrying a hint of distress. “she lost her memory. we don’t know what to do.”

the weight of their concern seemed to seep through the walls, intensifying your sense of isolation. lady ja’s anxiety was palpable, and the thought of harming yourself felt like a grim possibility. the fear that you might be beyond help was overwhelming. suddenly, the door to your room was thrust open with a force that startled you. standing in the doorway was hansol, his face etched with a deep concern. his presence was commanding, yet there was a softness in his eyes that belied his authoritative stance.

“please, don’t be scared,” hansol said firmly, his voice cutting through the fog of your confusion. “i brought you here, so i will help you through to the end.”

he extended his hand toward you, his gesture a lifeline in the midst of your turmoil. he brought you there? what exactly did he mean by that? the sight of his outstretched hand seemed to pierce through the haze of your thoughts. you looked at it, feeling a mix of desperation and resolve. the prospect of remaining in this strange new world was daunting, but the notion of giving up was even more so. despite the uncertainty, a new wave of determination surged within you. the realization that you could not go back or change your appearance fueled a newfound resolve to face the challenges ahead. you took a deep breath, gathering your strength, and reached out to grasp his hand.

as your fingers closed around his, a sense of commitment and hope took root. hansol’s grip was firm and reassuring, offering a semblance of stability in the midst of your disorientation. you looked up at him, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. “i trust you,” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering tremor of uncertainty. “’i want to make sense of this life.”

namjoon’s mind drifted back through the fog of time, to a moment of clarity from his childhood. the memory was etched into his mind with a precision that made it feel as though it had happened only yesterday. he was a young boy then, barely old enough to understand the gravity of the world around him. the palace, once a place of warmth and familial affection, had turned cold and unwelcoming. the loss of the crown prince, taejo and jiyoung’s firstborn, had cast a shadow over the entire court. the death had shaken the very foundation of their lives, leaving behind a void that seemed impossible to fill.

jiyoung’s grief was intense, her sorrow a constant, gnawing presence that colored her every interaction. she had been inconsolable, a stark contrast to the determined, almost clinical demeanor of king taejo. the queen’s eyes, once so full of life, were now heavy with an unspoken anguish. her hands, which had once cradled her child with tender care, now trembled with a mix of rage and despair.

in the aftermath of the tragedy, taejo had made a decision that seemed both practical and cold-hearted. he sought to fortify the kingdom’s borders through another marriage, a strategic move intended to bolster alliances and strengthen the realm. the political implications of his choice were clear, but to the grieving queen, they were an affront to her sorrow. as the king prepared to finalize his decision, the palace was awash with tension. jiyoung, her face streaked with tears and resolve, confronted him.

her voice was a strained whisper, laden with desperation. “how can you even consider another marriage?” she demanded. “do you not feel any sadness? is our loss so easily forgotten?” taejo responded with an unsettling calmness. “my decisions are guided by the needs of the kingdom,” he said. “this marriage is necessary for the security of our borders. it’s not a matter of personal grief.”

the queen’s eyes flashed with a dangerous intensity. her hand clenched around a small, ornate dagger, a symbol of her resolve. “you will choose between your marriage and your son,” she declared, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and anguish. she seized namjoon, who stood beside her, and pressed the dagger against his young throat.

the king’s face darkened, a storm of conflicting emotions crossing his features. “this won’t stop my decision,” he warned, his voice edged with a steely resolve. “you cannot use our son as leverage.” the tension in the room reached a breaking point. rhe queen’s grip on the dagger tightened, her face a mask of defiant rage. with a sudden, violent movement, she raised her hand, intent on striking out in her desperation.

taejo acted swiftly, his hand grasping her wrist in a desperate bid to prevent the impending violence. but the queen was resolute, wrenching her arm free from his grasp. in the struggle, the dagger’s blade sliced across namjoon’s young face. the sharp edge cut through flesh, spraying blood in a sudden, horrifying arc. hansol rushed forward in a panic. his eyes widened in horror as he saw the blood seeping from namjoon’s wound, the child’s face contorted in pain and shock. the sight was etched into his memory as he reached out, his own face pale and stricken.

years later, the mask namjoon wore was a constant reminder of that night, a physical manifestation of the emotional scars he carried. the memory of that moment—the struggle, the pain, and the betrayal—was a shadow that lingered in his past, shaping his present in ways both seen and unseen. the mask, more than a protective covering, was a symbol of the emotional wounds that had never truly healed.

as dawn crept over songak, its light filtered gently through the silk curtains of your chamber, casting a soft glow across the opulent furnishings. you emerged from the cocoon of your blankets, your mind still tangled in the disarray of your new reality. chaeyeon arrived promptly to escort you around the grounds, her demeanor a blend of professionalism and sympathy. the palace grounds were a sprawling expanse of beauty and grandeur, with meticulously manicured gardens, serene water features, and stately buildings that spoke of the power and wealth of the dynasty. the scent of blooming flowers and the soft rustle of leaves in the morning breeze created an atmosphere of tranquility.

chaeyeon led you with practiced ease, her steps light and graceful. she spoke with a calm, informative tone, filling you in on the details of your life as nabi. “this is the western garden,” she said, gesturing to a lush area adorned with vibrant flora. “you used to spend a great deal of time here, enjoying the serenity. and over there,” she pointed towards a grand pavilion, “is where you and lady ja often held tea parties.”

you nodded, feigning familiarity with the surroundings. “it’s all starting to come back to me,” you said, though internally you struggled to piece together the fragmented information. the “amnesia” you claimed was a convenient cover for your ignorance, allowing you to absorb details about your new identity without raising suspicion.

chaeyeon’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze scrutinizing you with a hint of suspicion. “are you certain you’re not faking your condition?” she asked, her tone laced with concern. “perhaps you had a secret relationship with someone or incurred a debt that might explain your current state.”

the accusation took you aback, and you paused, considering her words. “did nabi have a secret life?” you mused aloud. “was she someone who acted one way in public and another behind closed doors?” chaeyeon’s eyes widened slightly, her suspicion momentarily replaced by concern. “nabi was always so quiet and reserved,” she said, shaking her head. “it’s hard to believe she would have done anything underhanded.”

your tendency to refer to yourself in the third person seemed to convince chaeyeon of your genuine amnesia. she softened her stance, though her gaze remained thoughtful. “if you truly don’t remember, then we’ll have to help you piece together the fragments of your past,” she said, her voice gentler now. you sighed inwardly, recognizing the futility of explaining that you were merely inhabiting someone else’s body. the truth was far too complex to convey, and the best course of action was to continue with the pretense of amnesia.

as you walked alongside her, your gaze fell upon the distant river that meandered through the palace grounds. across it, you could see prince hansol and lady ja enjoying a quiet moment together. hansol’s attention towards his wife was marked by an evident tenderness, his every gesture reflecting a deep affection. curiosity piqued, you asked chaeyeon, “what can you tell me about prince hansol?”

her face lit up with pride as she spoke of him. “prince chwe hansol is truly the finest man in all of goryeo,” she said, her voice brimming with admiration. “he is often regarded as the one who should have been the first prince. his wisdom and kindness are unmatched, and he is deeply loved by all who know him.” you absorbed her words with a mix of relief and contemplation. from your limited historical knowledge, you wondered if he was the prince who later became king gwangjong.

as you continued to observe the serene interaction between hansol and lady ja across the river, you found yourself lost in thought, the quiet affection between the couple stirring something within you. the tranquility of the moment was abruptly shattered by the sharp voice of a woman you hadn’t noticed approaching.

“how dare you stare so rudely?” she snapped, her voice cutting through the calm like a blade. you turned to face the intruder, immediately noting her keen, almost predatory eyes. “being lady ja’s cousin is no excuse for such impropriety.”

before you could respond, chaeyeon quickly bowed low and urgently nudged you to do the same. “princess seulgi,” she whispered in warning, her tone laced with anxiety. princess seulgi, you thought, sizing up the woman before you. her posture was rigid, her gaze unyielding, and her expression one of barely concealed disdain. there was an air of superiority about her, as if she expected the world to bend to her whims. despite chaeyeon’s subtle attempts to pacify the situation, hana’s eyes never left you, narrowing slightly in irritation.

with a voice sweetened by insincerity, she said, “it’s such a shame, nabi, that you seem to have forgotten your manners along with your memory. you could stand to relearn quite a few things, it seems.”

the condescension in her tone was unmistakable, and you felt your irritation bubble to the surface. internally, you grumbled at her haughty attitude, unwilling to be cowed by her status. so, with a bright, wide smile, you met her gaze and replied, “if you dislike me, princess, just say so.” for a moment, silence hung between you, thick with tension. hana’s eyes widened in shock, her sharp tongue momentarily stilled by your audacity. she had likely expected you to cower or apologize, not to confront her so directly.

you continued, your voice steady and firm, “it’s clear you’re the type to bide your time, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in with criticism. but that doesn’t work with me.” seulgi’s shock quickly morphed into anger, her face flushing with indignation. “you insolent little—” she began, her voice rising as she spat out, “bitch!”

you raised your voice right back, ready to escalate the argument further. but just as the tension reached its peak, a commanding presence interrupted. “enough.” the single word, spoken in a calm yet authoritative tone, immediately silenced the room. you and hana both turned to see hansol approaching, his expression unreadable but his mere presence enough to quell the brewing storm.

he stepped between you and the princess, his gaze settling on you as he urged you to walk with him, toward the library. “nabi,” he began, his voice softening slightly, “it seems you’ve forgotten the proper way to greet a member of the royal family.” you felt a rush of embarrassment as the reality of the situation dawned on you. bowing hurriedly, you tried to recover, offering a modern and awkward, “hello.”

the corner of hansol’s mouth twitched slightly in what could have been amusement, though his expression remained mostly neutral. “i suppose your amnesia means you don’t remember much at all,” he mused, his tone more curious than accusatory. “including whether you’ve peeped on the princes’ bath before or after you lost your memory.” caught off guard by his question, you struggled to form a coherent response, heat rising to your cheeks. “i don’t remember,” you admitted, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.

hansol didn’t press further, his gaze thoughtful as he considered you. “what is it that you want to do with yourself now, nabi?” he asked. there was a sincerity in his tone, as if he genuinely wanted to help you find your place. “i brought you here when you first accompanied lady ja, and i intend to look after you. but i need to know what you wish for your future.” his concern surprised you. you hadn’t expected him to take such an interest, especially given that you were technically a stranger in this body. yet, there was a part of you that wondered why he would go to such lengths, even if you were related to his wife.

determined to assert some control over your situation, you squared your shoulders and said, “i’ll take care of myself, your highness.” the words came out more confidently than you felt, but you were resolved to prove that you weren’t a burden. he seemed taken aback by your response, his brows knitting together slightly in confusion. your modernisms, the casual way you spoke, must have seemed strange to him. “you’ll take care of yourself?” he repeated, as if trying to understand your meaning.

realizing your mistake, you quickly added, “what i mean is, i’ll find a way to live here and be of use. i don’t want to be a burden.” his expression softened again, though a hint of concern lingered. “very well,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “but you must understand that you’re not alone here. we all have roles to play, and we’ll help you find yours.”

as he spoke, he moved around the room, his steps measured and deliberate. you followed him, your eyes tracing the lines of the bookshelves that lined the walls. the library was grand, filled with volumes that spoke of a rich history you barely understood.

“i have many talents,” you blurted out, trying to reassure both him and yourself. “i’ll find a way to make myself useful, i promise.” you nearly ran into him as he stopped abruptly, turning to face you. his closeness made you tense, the air between you charged with a subtle, unspoken tension. he studied you intently, his gaze searching for something in your eyes.

“you seem like someone else,” he observed quietly, the weight of his words sinking deep into your consciousness. you were flustered by his remark, unsure how to respond. but before you could speak, he continued, “it doesn’t matter who you were before, nabi. what matters is how you move forward now.” his words were a comfort, a reminder that while your situation was strange and frightening, you had a chance to shape your own path.

“i won’t ask further about your memory,” he added, his tone gentle. “but you must not worry lady ja any further. she cares deeply for you, and so do i.” you nodded quickly, agreeing to his terms. “i won’t,” you promised, feeling a renewed determination to adapt to this life. with that, he dismissed you, and you ran off, your mind buzzing with everything that had transpired. as you left the library, you couldn’t shake the feeling that hansol saw through you, that he knew there was something fundamentally different about you.

as namjoon roamed the dimly lit library, his fingers traced the spines of countless books that lined the shelves. the scent of old paper and ink hung heavy in the air, a quiet reminder of the knowledge stored within these walls. the books there were far from ordinary, though—jisoo’s collection was infamous for its peculiar and often forbidden contents. namjoon’s sharp eyes quickly zeroed in on a particular shelf, one that seemed to be tucked away more carefully than the others. his lips curled into a smirk as he pulled out a slender, well-worn volume, its cover unassuming save for the faint, faded title that promised scandalous secrets within.

he flipped through the pages, his amusement growing with each explicit passage. lost in the irony, he didn’t notice jisoo’s approach until the man was practically breathing down his neck. “enjoying the collection?” his voice was light, almost teasing. his presence was like a shadow, creeping up without warning, and it made namjoon’s grip tighten on the book.

namjoon didn’t bother to hide the volume he was holding. he met jisoo’s gaze with a lazy smirk. “you’ve got an interesting taste. planning on lending me these?” jisoo’s eyes glittered with amusement, though the smile on his lips was sharp. “if it suits your fancy, i’d be more than happy to let you borrow them. but something tells me you’re not here just for a light read.”

namjoon’s expression hardened, and he snapped the book shut with a decisive clap. “why was i called here?”

jisoo didn’t seem perturbed by the shift in his tone. he folded his arms and leaned back against the nearest shelf, his posture relaxed yet calculating. “the court lady who prepared crown prince taehyung’s breakfast was found hanged this morning. a curious case, given that it’s rather difficult to hang oneself in such a manner.” namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “a suicide, then?”

jisoo shook his head, his gaze darkening. “not quite. a death staged as a suicide, which suggests the involvement of someone who knows their way around the palace. someone with the means to silence her before she could speak.” namjoon’s smirk faded as he absorbed the implications. “you’re suggesting it’s someone within the royal family. perhaps even a prince.”

jisoo nodded, his expression grave. “that’s exactly what i’m suggesting. and you’re the one I want to find the culprit.” namjoon let out a low, humorless laugh. “what am i, a dog now? people keep calling me a wolf, and you must think i’ve actually become one.”

jisoo’s gaze remained steady, unflinching. “you’ve spent years in the shadow of this court, namjoon, watching and learning. no one knows the intrigues here better than you.” he turned away, pacing slowly between the shelves, his thoughts churning. “i’m a hostage, jisoo, not a hound to be sent sniffing out conspiracies.”

jisoo��s voice followed him, cool and measured. “maybe you were. but that display earlier—killing your horse in front of everyone—that wasn’t the act of a hostage. it was the act of a man who no longer wants to live as one.” namjoon halted, his back to jisoo, his fists clenching at his sides. the truth of those words stung, even as they ignited a flicker of something deep within him—a desire for something more, something beyond the chains that had bound him for so long.

he continued, his tone coaxing, “if you fulfill this task, it could be your chance to claim that freedom you’re so desperate for.” namjoon remained silent, weighing the offer. the idea of being free, of no longer living under the constant threat of being used as a pawn, was tempting. but the risk was high, and the stakes higher still. it was then that jisoo dropped the final piece of information, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. “it was crown prince taehyung who requested this investigation.”

namjoon’s breath caught in his throat, and he turned slowly to face jisoo. “taehyung?” he echoed, his voice laced with disbelief. before he could respond, the door to the library creaked open, and tae stepped inside. his presence was commanding, even in the quiet, scholarly atmosphere of the room. he was dressed in the formal robes befitting his station, though there was an air of exhaustion about him, as if the weight of the crown was already pressing down heavily on his shoulders.

“crown prince taehyung.” namjoon bowed his head slightly, though his eyes remained on the prince, searching for answers. taehyung’s expression was calm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. “namjoon,” he greeted, his voice steady despite the tension that hung in the air. “i’m glad you’re here.”

jisoo stepped forward, his tone shifting to one of deference. “your highness, i’ve informed him of the situation.” tae nodded, his gaze never leaving namjoon. “there have been whispers of an assassination attempt during the upcoming rites. if those whispers are true, i need someone I can trust to root out the traitor before it’s too late.”

namjoon’s eyes narrowed as he considered the prince’s words. this was more than just palace intrigue—it was a matter of life and death. “and if i succeed?” he asked, his voice low, careful. tae met his gaze squarely, the gravity of the situation reflected in his eyes. “if you find the one responsible, i’ll give you anything you ask for.” namjoon’s heart pounded in his chest as the possibilities raced through his mind. this was his chance—his chance to finally step out from the shadows and take control of his own destiny. but he wasn’t about to make it easy for him.

“anything?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of challenge. taehyung didn’t flinch. “anything.”

namjoon let the silence stretch between them for a moment before he spoke, his voice steady and clear. “i want to live here, permanently.”

taehyung’s eyes widened slightly, the request taking him by surprise. he had expected namjoon to ask for land, titles, perhaps even power. but the capital, along with a wife, that was a different kind of demand altogether. “done,” he said after a moment, his voice firm with resolve. “if you find the culprit, i’ll see to it that you’re granted a permanent residence in songak.”

the ladies of hansol’s household bustled around the courtyard, their nimble fingers busy at work crafting delicate lanterns shaped like flowers. the air was filled with the scent of freshly cut paper and the faint tang of glue, mingling with the laughter and chatter of the women. each one of them worked with a practiced ease, folding and cutting the colored paper with precision to create intricate designs. you, however, were utterly hopeless at it. no matter how hard you tried, your fingers fumbled with the delicate materials, and your lanterns came out misshapen and clumsy.

it wasn’t long before princess seulgi took notice. her sharp eyes caught every flaw, every misstep, and she wasn’t one to let them slide. “it seems your amnesia has taken more from you than just your memory,” she remarked, her tone laced with disdain as she inspected your work. she held up one of your malformed creations with a look of barely concealed disgust. “this is hardly suitable for the rites.”

you bit back a retort, feeling your frustration rise. it was bad enough that you were struggling with those tasks, but having seulgi point out your failures so openly stung even more. still, you were determined to prove yourself, to show that you weren’t as useless as she made you feel. “i can still help,” you insisted, trying to keep the desperation out of your voice.

she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mocking smile. “very well,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “since you’re so eager to contribute, why don’t you make the glue for us?”

you didn’t miss the challenge in her tone, nor the way the other ladies exchanged glances, their expressions tinged with pity. making glue was a dirty job, often relegated to the lowest servants, but you swallowed your pride and nodded. “i’ll do it,” you replied, trying to sound confident.

the task was every bit as grueling as she had intended. you were sent outside, away from the cool shade of the courtyard, to work under the sun. the thick, sticky mixture of rice flour and water required constant stirring to keep it from burning, and the heat made the air feel heavy and oppressive. your arms ached from the effort, and sweat dripped down your forehead, but you pushed through, determined not to give seulgi the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

at one point, you paused to stretch, your body protesting the repetitive motion. you leaned back, stretching your arms overhead and bending at the waist to relieve the tension in your muscles. the movement was hardly graceful, but you were too focused on easing your discomfort to care. it wasn’t until you straightened up that you noticed hansol standing a short distance away, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. you froze, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. the thought of hansol watching you as you contorted yourself in such an ungainly manner made you want to shrink into the ground. quickly, you turned back to the pot of glue, resuming your stirring with renewed vigor. “the princess put me to this task,” you explained, trying to sound nonchalant despite your awkwardness.

hansol’s lips twitched in a barely suppressed smile. “i see you’re demonstrating your many talents,” he said, his tone dry as he echoed your earlier words. you couldn’t help but laugh, despite yourself. “yes, well, i suppose i should have specified that glue-making wasn’t one of them,” you replied, shaking your head at the absurdity of the situation. he chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. for a moment, the tension between you eased, and you found yourself feeling grateful for his presence. but before you could say more, he was called away by one of the other princes, leaving you to your task once more.

later in the day, the princes gathered to prepare for the upcoming rites, practicing a ceremonial sword dance that required both grace and precision. tenth prince baekhyun was by far the worst at the dance. his movements were stiff, his timing off, and after several failed attempts to keep up with the others, he finally threw down his sword in frustration. “this is pointless,” he muttered, his tone sulky as he stalked off to the side, clearly in no mood to continue.

the other princes paused, taking a break from their practice. ninth prince yeosang, took the opportunity to speak up. “is it true that the king intends to abdicate his throne to crown prince tae after the ceremony?” the question hung in the air, bringing everyone up short. even the most practiced of the princes couldn’t hide their surprise at the boldness of his inquiry. all eyes turned to jisoo, who had been observing the practice from a distance.

jisoo’s expression was unreadable as he responded. “i know nothing of the sort,” he said carefully, his tone giving nothing away. but his non-answer only fueled the tension. hansol frowned at yeosang, his voice low and admonishing. “you were foolish to say that, kwan. the king must not hear such rumors.” third prince chaehee crossed his arms and spoke up. “we’re all curious, hansol. and it’s not yeosang’s fault for asking. besides, jisoo didn’t exactly deny it outright.” the tension among the princes was intense, each of them silently weighing the implications of the question.

exhausted from the day’s work, you decided to rest outside, hoping to clear your mind. as you leaned back against a tree, you noticed a familiar figure walking by, his robes fluttering slightly in the breeze. it was jisoo, the court astrologer—and, you realized with a start, the hobo from the pier. the recognition hit you like a lightning bolt, and without thinking, you leapt to your feet and took off after him.

“wait!” you called, your voice breathless as you darted through the courtyard. jisoo glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing in recognition, and then he began to move faster, slipping through the narrow alleys of the city with practiced ease. you chased after him, your heart pounding in your chest, but he was always just out of reach, his figure disappearing around corners and ducking into shadows. finally, you lost sight of him altogether, standing in the middle of a busy street with no idea where he had gone. the disappointment was bitter, and you were about to turn back when the sound of hooves thundered through the air.

namjoon came riding furiously down the street, his horse galloping at a breakneck pace. villagers dove for cover as he barreled through, his expression set in a fierce scowl. you didn’t see him until the last moment, too distracted by your pursuit of jisoo to notice the danger. by the time you did, it was too late—you froze in the middle of the street, your eyes wide with shock as the horse bore down on you.

a peddler’s pack brushed against you, knocking you backward. you stumbled, arms flailing as you teetered on the edge of the ravine that bordered the street. the ground seemed to drop away beneath you, and you felt the sickening lurch of gravity pulling you down. panic surged through you, your mind racing with the realization that you were about to fall. but just as you began to tip over the edge, a strong hand shot out and grabbed you around the waist, pulling you up with a force that left you breathless. you were yanked into the saddle, your body pressed against namjoon’s as he steadied his horse with a firm grip. for a moment, you could only cling to him, your heart pounding in your chest as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. the world spun around you, the near-fall leaving you shaken and disoriented.

you stared up at namjoon, wide-eyed and breathless, your fingers clinging desperately to his robe as the horse thundered through the city streets. the wind whipped through your hair, your heart still pounding from the near fall into the ravine. for a moment, all you could focus on was the intensity of namjoon’s face—the sharp line of his jaw, the cool indifference in his left eye, the slight frown that seemed permanently etched into his brow. it was as if he held the world at arm’s length, letting nothing and no one touch him. the ride was brief but harrowing. you felt the rhythm of the horse’s hooves beneath you, the power of its muscles as it responded to namjoon’s every command. you wondered, not for the first time, what it would take to unearth a flicker of emotion from him, something other than the stoic mask he wore so effortlessly.

finally, namjoon slowed the horse, bringing it to a halt just outside the palace gates. the sudden stop jolted you from your thoughts, and you blinked up at him, still gripping his robe as if it were a lifeline. his gaze flicked down to you, the barest hint of curiosity in his eyes, before he looked away. without warning, his arm released you, and you found yourself unceremoniously dumped onto the ground. you landed in an undignified heap, the breath knocked out of you as you hit the dirt. for a moment, you could only lie there, staring up at the sky in stunned disbelief.

“what the hell was that for?” you demanded, scrambling to your feet and glaring up at him. you dusted yourself off, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “you could’ve at least helped me down like a normal person.” namjoon tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he regarded you. for a moment, you thought he might apologize—or at the very least, offer an explanation. instead, his lips quirked into a faint, mocking smile.

“perhaps i thought you’d enjoy the challenge,” he replied, his tone infuriatingly calm. you narrowed your eyes, not about to let him off the hook so easily. “you’re impossible, you know that? just because you ride in here like a—”

but before you could finish, namjoon clicked his tongue, and the horse reared up on its hind legs. you stumbled backward, losing your balance as the horse’s hooves pawed the air above you. panic surged through you, and you fell back onto the ground once more, landing with a hard thud. by the time you regained your composure, namjoon had already ridden off, the sound of his horse’s hooves echoing through the streets. you stared after him, fuming, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. he was insufferable, arrogant, and completely out of control.

“lady nabi, are you all right?” you turned to see chaeyeon hurrying toward you, her face etched with concern. she reached out to help you up, her hands warm and steady. “what happened? i saw you with prince namjoon just now.” you sighed, brushing off your clothes once more as you accepted her help. “it’s nothing. just a misunderstanding,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant despite your lingering irritation.

chaeyeon gave you a skeptical look but didn’t press further. instead, she glanced over her shoulder, as if worried someone might overhear. “princess seulgi is looking for you,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with urgency. “you should come quickly.”

with a nod, you followed her through the palace grounds, your mind still reeling from the encounter with namjoon. as you walked, she filled you in on the latest developments—apparently, seulgi was currently meeting with her brothers, or at least the six of them who got along. namjoon was noticeably absent, though it was clear from the tension in the air that his presence, or lack thereof, weighed heavily on the gathering.

by the time you reached the small courtyard where the meeting was taking place, you could already hear the low murmur of voices. the princes were discussing something in hushed tones, their expressions serious. as you and chaeyeon approached, you caught snippets of their conversation, the words charged with a sense of foreboding.

“…difficult to get along with him,” one of the princes was saying, his voice tinged with frustration. “he’s moody and unpredictable. it’s like walking on eggshells around him.” you recognized the speaker as tenth prince baekhyun, his youthful face twisted into a pout. his words were met with nods of agreement from the others, though no one seemed willing to voice their thoughts too openly.

just as he opened his mouth to continue, the door to the courtyard slid open with a soft thud. the princes fell silent, their eyes snapping to the entrance as namjoon stepped inside. the tension in the room was heavy, the air thick with unspoken worries. seulgi was the only one who looked pleased to see him, her face lighting up with a smile as she stood to greet him. “namjoon,” she said warmly, moving toward him with a graceful sweep of her robes. “i’m so glad you could join us.”

namjoon offered a polite nod. “it’s good to see you,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual warmth. but before he could say more, chaehee, the third prince, cut in with a smirk. “don’t try too hard with namjoon, brother. he understands the language of beasts better than people.”

the barb hung in the air, and the other princes stiffened, exchanging uneasy glances. even seulgi’s smile faltered slightly, her eyes darting between namjoon and chaehee, as if bracing for the fallout. but namjoon didn’t react as expected. instead, he simply met chaehee’s gaze with a calm, measured look. “ah,” he said softly, his voice as cool as ice, “that’s why i understand my brother’s words so well.”

the room went silent, the tension simmering beneath the surface. even the normally boisterous sang seemed cowed, his earlier bravado evaporating in the face of namjoon’s quiet menace. the princes exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how to respond. at that moment, the maids entered the courtyard, carrying trays laden with snacks and refreshments. it was also your cue to join the gathering, though you hesitated, doing your best to hang back out of sight. the last thing you wanted was to draw attention to yourself, especially with namjoon’s unnerving presence so close by.

but your attempt to skulk behind a pillar didn’t go unnoticed. baekhyun caught sight of you and immediately zeroed in, his eyes narrowing as he tried to place why you seemed so familiar. “you there!” he called out, his voice ringing through the courtyard as he stepped closer. “i know you from somewhere, don’t I?”

you froze, your heart sinking as his gaze locked onto yours. he was right, of course—you had crossed paths before, but not in any way you wanted to be reminded of. you went cross-eyed in panic, silently praying that he wouldn’t figure it out. but he was nothing if not persistent. his brow furrowed as he racked his brain, and then his eyes lit up with recognition. “wait a minute, weren’t you the peeping tom at the baths?” the words hit you like a ton of bricks, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out a denial. “no! absolutely not!”

but in your haste to deny the accusation, you stumbled backward, accidentally knocking into a maid carrying a tray. the tray wobbled precariously, and with a horrified gasp, you watched as the plateware went crashing to the ground, shattering into pieces with a deafening clatter. for a moment, the entire courtyard fell into a stunned silence. all eyes were on you—the princes, the maids, even chaeyeon—each one of them staring in varying degrees of shock and disbelief. seulgi’s expression darkened, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene.

“what have you done?” her voice was low and cold, her tone cutting through the air like a knife. “are you truly so incompetent that you can’t even keep out of trouble for a single day?” faced with her anger and a roomful of staring princes, you felt a wave of mortification crash over you. the humiliation was too much to bear, and without thinking, you turned and bolted from the courtyard, your footsteps echoing off the stone walls as you fled. as you ran, you caught a glimpse of namjoon out of the corner of your eye. he was standing off to the side, his expression unreadable as he watched you go. but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, or maybe something else entirely.

you ran through the palace corridors, your heart pounding in your chest. slowing your pace, you took a moment to lean against a column, forcing yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. “hang in there,” you whispered to yourself, willing your racing heart to calm. the palace, with its sprawling halls and myriad of secrets, was a dangerous place for someone like you—a place where one wrong move could mean disaster. but you couldn’t let yourself be consumed by fear or anger. you had to stay sharp.

as your breathing evened out, you heard footsteps echoing through the hallway. panic gripped you again as you realized who it was—baekhyun, the tenth prince. he was still convinced he recognized you correctly and was now on the prowl, searching for you. you quickly ducked behind a pillar, watching him from your hiding place. he moved with eagerness, his eyes scanning every nook and cranny as he walked. you bit your lip, hoping he would pass by without noticing you. then, he stopped in front of a door, peering through a small tear in the fabric that covered it.

you tensed, realizing where he was looking. on the other side of that door was chaeyeon, who had no idea she was being watched. baekhyun’s eyes widened with curiosity as he leaned in closer, clearly intrigued by what he was seeing. you felt a surge of anger. it was one thing to be an immature prince, but this—this was crossing a line.

before you could react, chaeyeon suddenly looked up and saw him. her eyes went wide with horror, and she let out a sharp scream that echoed through the hallway. the sound startled baekhyun, and he stumbled back from the door, his face pale with shock. without thinking, he turned and ran, his feet slipping on the polished floor as he tried to make a hasty escape. but he didn’t get far.

you stepped out from your hiding place, planting yourself firmly in his path. your eyes narrowed with determination, you crossed your arms over your chest, blocking his way. sang skidded to a stop, his expression a mixture of guilt and indignation. “what are you doing?” he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly as he tried to regain his composure. “move aside!”

you didn’t budge. “where do you think you’re going, prince baekhyun?” you asked, your voice stern, it almost sounded like a grandmother scolding an errant schoolboy. “you think you can just run off after what you did?”

his eyes darted around, as if looking for an escape route. “i didn’t do anything!” he protested, though his voice lacked conviction. “that slave—she’s lying! she can’t prove anything!” his mouth opened and closed as he fumbled for a response, but you cut him off, taking a step closer to him. “don’t lie, i saw it clearly,” you said, your voice firm. “what you did was wrong, and you need to apologize.”

the prince’s face twisted with a mix of outrage and disbelief. “apologize? to a slave?” he scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. “i’m a prince! i don’t bow to the likes of her—or you, for that matter!” but you didn’t back down. “you may be a prince, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat people like that,” you shot back. “you owe her an apology, and i won’t let you leave until you give it.”

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you could see the childish petulance rising in him. he turned on his heel, determined to storm off, but you weren’t about to let him go that easily. you reached out and grabbed the edge of his cloak, pulling him back. “let go of me!” he shouted, trying to shake you off. he shoved you hard, and you stumbled back, crashing to the ground. the impact sent a fresh wave of anger surging through you, and as you sat there, stunned, you decided you’d had enough.

without a second thought, you lunged forward, grabbing him by the ankle and yanking him off balance. he yelped in surprise as he went down, flailing his arms in a futile attempt to stay upright. the two of you hit the ground with a thud, and before he could recover, you pounced on him, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “what are you—?” he began, but his words were cut off as you pulled his head back, your eyes blazing with fury.

“you think you can just shove me around and get away with it?” you growled, your voice low and dangerous. “i don’t care if you’re a prince—i’ll still kick your ass.” he tried to push you off, his hands scrabbling at your arms, but you held on tight, refusing to let go. his struggles only fueled your anger, and before you knew it, the two of you were engaged in a full-on tussle, rolling across the ground in a tangle of limbs.

baekhyun managed to get one arm around your neck, pulling you into a headlock, but you were too fired up to care. you twisted and turned, using every ounce of strength you had to break free. when his grip loosened for just a moment, you sank your teeth into his arm, biting down hard. “ow! you bit me!” he howled, letting go of you in shock. but before he could recover, you kicked him in the side, sending him sprawling onto his back. you didn’t give him a chance to get up. you climbed on top of him, your fists clenched, and started smacking him repeatedly.

“spoiled brat,” you hissed, each word punctuated by a slap. “you think you can do whatever you want, but i won’t let you! you’re a pervert, a peeping tom—” sang flinched with each blow, his hands raised in a feeble attempt to protect his face. “stop! you’re going to regret this!” he shouted, but his words only fueled your rage.

“i’ll regret it?” you spat, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “you’re the one who should be regretting everything. you think i’m going to let you get away with this? not a chance!” his eyes blazed with fury, but there was also a flicker of fear in them. “you won’t escape unscathed, you know that?” he warned, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.

but you were too caught up in your fury to care. you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up so that your faces were inches apart. “we’ll see about that,” you hissed, before delivering a final, mighty head-butt. the impact stunned both of you, the force of it reverberating through your skull. baekhyun’s head snapped back, and he let out a pained groan, his eyes glazing over as he struggled to stay conscious. you, too, felt the dizziness wash over you, but you refused to let it show.

with him dazed beneath you, you rolled up your sleeve, ready to deliver a doozy of a slap that would leave a mark. but just as you were about to bring your hand down, a strong grip caught your wrist, stopping you mid-swing. you looked up, startled, and found yourself staring into the amused eyes of namjoon. his hand was wrapped around your wrist, holding it firmly but not painfully. he seemed almost entertained by the sight of you and sang sprawled out on the ground like children caught in a schoolyard brawl.

“what do you think you’re doing?” namjoon asked, his voice calm and composed, but with an undercurrent of amusement that made your blood boil even more. you gaped at him in surprise, struggling to find the words. “i—he—” you stammered, trying to pull your wrist free from his grasp, but namjoon’s hold was unyielding.

before you could say more, baekhyun, still reeling from the head-butt, tried to charge at you, his face twisted in anger. “let me go! she—she attacked me!” he yelled, his voice shaking with indignation. but hansol appeared just in time, stepping between the two of them with a stern expression. “that’s enough, baekhyun,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “there are eyes watching. we can’t afford to make a scene here.”

baekhyun glared at him, his chest heaving with fury, but he knew better than to argue with his elder brother. with a final huff of frustration, he flounced off, storming down the hallway in a fit. namjoon finally released your wrist, and you scrambled to your feet, your heart still pounding from the confrontation. you couldn’t believe what had just happened—the fight, the princes, and now namjoon, standing there with that infuriatingly calm expression.

you narrowed your eyes at him, the anger from before flaring up once more. “and what about you?” you demanded. the anger that had fueled your fight with sang still simmered beneath your skin, and now it was directed entirely at namjoon. “you’re not getting away without an apology.”

his brow arched, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. “an apology?” he repeated, as if the concept was entirely foreign to him. “who are you to demand such a thing from me?” you squared your shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “someone who deserves respect, that’s who,” you shot back. “or do you only apologize to people who share your bloodline? because if that’s the case, then maybe you should start practicing, seeing as you’re on such thin ice with your brothers.”

his eyes darkened at that, the playful glint disappearing as something more dangerous took its place. he stepped closer, towering over you, his presence suddenly more imposing. “so, if you’re a slave, i ignore you,” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate. “but if you were a princess, i’d bow at your feet? is that what you’re saying?”

you held your ground, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “i’m saying respect should be given regardless of status. but clearly, that’s a concept beyond your understanding.” for a moment, there was silence between you, the tension thick in the air. then, without warning, namjoon leaned in, his face inches from yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “when i do apologize,” he said slowly, each word enunciated with chilling precision, “it means you’ll die.” before you could respond, namjoon turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind racing. his words echoed in your ears, the warning clear, but so too was the challenge.

the moon hung low in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the palace grounds as you made your way to the bathing pools. the path was quiet, the only sounds your footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze. the stillness of the night mirrored the turmoil within you. the jisoo man you’d seen earlier—was he real, or had your desperate mind conjured him from nothing? it felt like a sign, divine or otherwise, a spark of hope that there was a way to return home. you desperately needed to leave goryeo, especially with the looming punishment for hitting a prince hanging over your head. every step toward the bathing pools solidified your resolve. if there was even the slightest chance that jisoo held the key to your escape, you had to find him.

the pools were a serene sight, surrounded by tall trees that shielded them from the rest of the palace. you hesitated for a moment, peering into the dark waters before slipping into the pool. the water was cool, a refreshing contrast to the heat that had built up in your body from your frantic thoughts. you submerged yourself, holding your breath as long as you could, as if the water could wash away the fear and anxiety knotting in your chest. when you finally emerged, gasping for air, your eyes locked onto a figure standing at the edge of the pool.

namjoon. his mask was off, revealing the multitude of scars crisscrossing his back and torso, alongside the gash on his eye. the moonlight accentuated the lines of his disfigurement, a stark reminder of the pain he must have endured. his gaze was fixed on the still water, lost in thought, until your sudden appearance shattered the silence.

his head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. for a moment, the two of you were frozen, caught in each other’s gaze. then, in a swift motion, namjoon’s hand flew to his face, covering the scarred eye with a mix of shame and fear. “did you see?” he asked, his voice hesitant, almost childlike in its vulnerability. you could only stare, your mind blank with shock. Tthe sight of his scars, the rawness of his question, rendered you speechless. but his expression darkened at your silence. he stepped closer, and before you could react, his hand shot out, grabbing you by the throat.

“i asked if you saw!” he bellowed, his grip tightening. the suddenness of the attack, coupled with the sheer strength behind it, made your heart race in terror. “please, please,” you gasped, your hands clawing at his arm in a desperate attempt to free yourself. “i won’t say anything! i swear.”

namjoon’s eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of deceit. the intensity of his gaze was suffocating, but you forced yourself to meet it, praying he would believe you. “forget me,” he ordered, his voice low and menacing. “forget what you saw here tonight.” you nodded jerkily, too afraid to do anything else. after what felt like an eternity, he released you, his hand trembling slightly as he backed away. he grabbed his mask and clothes, casting one last look at you before turning on his heel and disappearing into the night.

as he left, a small object fell from his grasp, unnoticed by him in his haste. you waited until you were sure he was gone before approaching the spot where it had landed. it was a hairpin, intricately designed, delicate in its craftsmanship. you picked it up, holding it gingerly in your hand. it was a small thing, but something about it felt significant, as if it held a piece of his story. clutching the hairpin to your chest, you slowly made your way back to the palace. the long walk back gave you time to think, to process everything that had happened. your heart still raced from the encounter, but beneath the fear, there was a growing realization that namjoon wasn’t just the cold, unfeeling prince you had initially taken him for.

by the time you reached the entrance of the household, the entire family was waiting for you outside. their faces were a mix of worry and anger, and your stomach dropped at the sight. “where have you been?” lady ja demanded, stepping forward with an air of authority. her tone was sharp, but the underlying concern was unmistakable. “you left without a word! the whole household has been worried sick.”

the word “family” struck a chord within you, and you blinked in surprise. It was such a simple thing, but hearing it made something inside you shift. you looked around at the faces surrounding you, at the worried expressions of the servants, the stern gaze of lady ja, and something clicked into place.

“I’ve… come home,” you whispered to yourself, the words heavy with realization. and for the first time since you’d arrived in this strange world, it didn’t feel so foreign. you didn’t feel so lost. there was still much you didn’t understand, still so much to figure out, but in that moment, you felt a small, tentative sense of belonging.

queen jinyoung soaked in the warm bath, her body submerged beneath the surface, save for her head resting against the smooth edge of the porcelain tub. steam rose in delicate wisps, curling around her face and obscuring the sharpness of her features. the water was scented with jasmine and lavender, calming scents that usually soothed her nerves. but tonight, they failed to quiet the storm brewing in her mind.

she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting back to the recent conversation she had with her eldest son, chaehee. it had been late at night, the palace shrouded in darkness, when he had come to her chambers. chaehee was always careful, always discreet, and he knew better than to be seen sneaking into his mother’s quarters at such an hour. the candles flickered as he entered, casting his face in a dance of light and shadow, highlighting the tension etched into his brow.

“we can’t wait any longer,” chaehee had said, his voice low and urgent. “the rumors are spreading faster than we anticipated. the court is abuzz with talk that the king may abdicate the throne to tae.”

jinyoung had felt her chest tighten at his words. she had known this day would come, had prepared for it, but the reality of it was still a bitter pill to swallow. taehyung, the crown prince, was favored by the king in ways that none of her sons were. he was seen as the rightful heir, the embodiment of everything the king wished to pass on to the next generation. but jinyoung knew better. taehyung was a threat—a threat to her sons, to their future, to everything she had fought so hard to secure.

“we need to speed things up,” she had murmured, her fingers gripping the armrest of her chair with a white-knuckled intensity. “the upcoming ceremony is our best chance. if we’re going to eliminate tae, it has to be then.” chaehee had nodded, his eyes gleaming with cold determination. “leave it to me, mother. i’ll ensure everything goes according to plan.”

“see that you do,” jinyoung had replied, her voice steely. “we cannot afford any mistakes.”

now, as she lay in the bath, those words echoed in her mind. the plan was set into motion, and there was no turning back. the fate of her sons rested on the success of this plot. her heart pounded with a mixture of anxiety and resolve. if tae were to ascend the throne, her family’s future would be in jeopardy. but if they succeeded—if they succeeded, her sons would finally have the power and recognition they deserved.

she closed her eyes, letting the warm water soothe her aching muscles, but not her troubled thoughts. the image of chaehee’s face, so full of confidence and ruthlessness, stayed with her. she had raised him well, molded him into the man he needed to be in this cutthroat world. but even as she took pride in his ambition, there was a part of her that worried. the stakes were higher than ever, and if they failed—no, she couldn’t think of that. failure was not an option.

the following day, the princes gathered in the training grounds for one final run-through of their sword dance. the air was thick with anticipation, the weight of the upcoming ceremony hanging over them like a shroud. taehyung stood at the front, watching the princes with a critical eye as they practiced the intricate choreography. the dance was a vital part of the ritual, a symbol of the unity and strength of the royal family as they drove out the demons from the palace.

the princes moved in perfect synchronization, their swords slicing through the air with practiced precision. tae couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as he observed them. despite the tension that often simmered beneath the surface, they were still his blood, and they had trained long and hard for this moment. as they completed the final sequence, tae’s lips curved into a rare smile of approval. “well done,” he praised, his voice carrying over the training grounds. “we’re ready.”

tenth prince baekhyun, panting slightly from exertion, turned to thirteenth prince kyeom with a mischievous grin. “do you think she’ll be here today?” he asked, a hint of eagerness in his tone. daniel smirked, catching the excited glint in baekhyun’s eyes. “who? the one who gave you that lovely black eye?”

the other princes chuckled, and baekhyun’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “it wasn’t like that!” he protested, though his smile betrayed him. “sure it wasn’t,” chaehee drawled, his voice laced with amusement. “you just happened to trip into her fist, is that it?”

the teasing continued, lightening the mood among the brothers. even namjoon allowed himself a small smile at baekhyun’s expense. but as soon as he caught hansol’s gaze on him, that smile faded, replaced by the stoic mask he usually wore. hansol’s eyes were thoughtful, as though he was trying to puzzle out something about namjoon, but he said nothing.

meanwhile, chaehee’s attention was drawn to a line of black-clad men entering the grounds, their faces obscured by demon masks. they were part of the ritual, their role to represent the evil spirits that the royal family would symbolically banish. but to hyun, they were more than just performers. he had chosen them carefully, ensuring that they were loyal to his cause. his eyes flickered with a brief, calculating light as he watched them take their positions.

but chaehee wasn’t the only one with a plan. unbeknownst to him, tae had been working on his own counterplay. the crown prince had always been astute, quick to sense when something was amiss, and he wasn’t blind to the undercurrents of tension surrounding the ceremony. that’s why, in a quiet moment before the ritual began, he sought out namjoon. the exchange of masks was swift, and soon namjoon was clad in the elaborate costume of the crown prince, his face hidden behind a mask that bore the markings of leadership. taehyung donned a simpler outfit, blending in with the other princes as they prepared for the ceremony.

the palace courtyard was packed with onlookers, all eager to witness the grand ritual. the air was thick with the scent of incense, and the rhythmic beat of drums set the tone for the performance. namjoon took the lead position, his presence commanding as he stood at the forefront of the princes. to everyone watching, he was the crown prince, the one who would lead them in driving out the demons.

the ritual began, a carefully choreographed mix of martial arts and dance. namjoon moved with fluid grace, his sword cutting through the air in perfect harmony with the rhythm of the drums. the other princes followed his lead, their movements synchronized as they played their part in the elaborate display. as the dance progressed, the demon-masked men entered the scene, their presence dark and ominous. they advanced toward the princes, their swords drawn, and the real battle began. namjoon took them on with an impressive display of skill, his movements precise and controlled. he danced between them, his sword clashing against theirs in a series of carefully timed strikes.

chaehee, also masked, joined namjoon in the fight, their swords working in tandem as they recited an incantation to drive out the demons. the performance was flawless, a testament to the hours of practice they had put in. but then, something unexpected happened. more masked men appeared, descending from above like shadows. their arrival was sudden and unplanned, and immediately, the king and jisoo knew that something was wrong. the newcomers weren’t part of the ritual—they were assassins.

the atmosphere shifted in an instant, the crowd’s murmurs turning into gasps of alarm as the assassins drew their swords and charged at namjoon. jisoo’s voice rang out, calling for the soldiers to protect the king, and the royal guards surged forward, surrounding the king’s platform. namjoon, still masked and mistaken for the crown prince, found himself at the center of the attack. he fought back with fierce determination, his sword moving in a blur as he defended himself against the onslaught. but the odds were overwhelming, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t fend them off alone.

hansol was the first to realize that something was amiss. without hesitation, he charged into the fray, his sword flashing as he cut down the attackers. the other princes followed suit, their faces set in grim resolve as they joined the battle. together, they evened the numbers, driving back the assassins with a renewed vigor. chaehee caught sight of one of the demons—the very man he had conspired with. their eyes met through the slits in their masks, and in that brief exchange, a silent understanding passed between them. hyun knew this was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment to strike and make it look like an accident.

with calculated precision, he maneuvered himself closer to namjoon. the sounds of clashing swords and the shouts of the combatants filled the air, masking the tension that thrummed between the two brothers. namjoon was fully engrossed in fending off another attacker when a third made its move. he twisted his sword in a way that seemed unintentional, a misstep in the dance of battle, and his blade sliced across namjoon’s arm.

he gasped as pain seared through him, his sword slipping from his grasp as he staggered backward. the world seemed to slow as he looked down at the wound, blood soaking into the fine fabric of his costume. for a moment, he was disoriented, his mind reeling from the unexpected betrayal. and then, as if on cue, one of the assassins saw his opportunity. the masked figure lunged at him, sword raised for the kill. namjoon, weakened and caught off guard, could do nothing but brace himself for the inevitable.

but at the last possible second, another figure intervened. a masked prince—swift, precise, and unyielding—threw himself between namjoon and the assassin, deflecting the blow with a resounding clash of steel. namjoon barely had time to register what had happened before he was pushed aside, the masked prince taking his place in the fight. the assassin hesitated, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift, and in that brief hesitation, the masked prince drove his sword through the attacker’s chest. the demon crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

the remaining assassins, sensing that their plan was unraveling, began to retreat. hyun, still masked, barked orders at the soldiers, commanding them to chase down the fleeing attackers. the courtyard was a chaotic whirlwind of movement as the soldiers pursued the assassins, determined to capture them before they could escape. the king, who had been watching the scene unfold with mounting dread, hurried down from his platform the moment the danger had passed. his gaze was frantic as he looked for taehyung, his fear palpable. but when he reached the center of the courtyard, he stopped short, his breath catching in his throat.

the mask had been removed, and instead of tae, he found namjoon standing there, clutching his wounded arm. the realization struck the king like a blow, and for a moment, he was speechless, the words caught in his throat. “where is taehyung?” the king demanded, his voice tight with fear and urgency.

namjoon, already in pain and now reeling from the king’s clear distress, felt a pang in his chest that had nothing to do with his injury. he swallowed hard, the hurt evident in his eyes, as he struggled to find the words to respond. the king’s priority had always been tae, and now, in this moment of crisis, it was clearer than ever.

before namjoon could respond, tae stepped forward, still clad in his simpler attire, but with a regal bearing that could not be mistaken. “i’m here,” he said calmly, though there was a sharpness in his tone that hadn’t been there before. the king’s shoulders sagged in relief, and he immediately moved to embrace tae, his concern for mamjoon seemingly forgotten in the wake of his son’s safety. tae, however, held himself stiffly, his eyes flicking toward namjoon with an unreadable expression.

queen jinyoung, watching from a distance, felt her heart sink as she realized her carefully laid plans had been thwarted. the ceremony had been the perfect opportunity to eliminate taehyung, but now, it was clear that her plot had failed. worse, her eldest son had been implicated in the attempt on namjoon’s life. she knew there would be consequences, and the realization filled her with dread.

namjoon, his face pale from the loss of blood, suddenly spoke, his voice cutting through the tension in the courtyard. “i’ll catch them,” he declared, his tone firm despite his injury. without waiting for permission or acknowledging the pain in his arm, he turned and began to walk away, his steps purposeful and determined.

“namjoon, wait—” taehyung called out, moving to follow, but the king grabbed his arm, holding him back. “no, taehyung,” the king said, his voice filled with urgency. “you can’t go after him. it’s too dangerous.” his eyes flashed with frustration, but he stopped in his tracks, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. he watched helplessly as namjoon continued on, his figure growing smaller as he disappeared into the palace corridors.

the city streets blurred past namjoon as he sprinted through the narrow alleys, his focus entirely on the figures moving with alarming speed across the rooftops. the assassins, their dark silhouettes stark against the night sky, seemed to dance effortlessly between the buildings, but namjoon was relentless. his breath came in sharp bursts, each exhale mixing with the cool night air as he pursued them with a single-minded determination.

his boots pounded against the cobblestones, his cloak billowing behind him like a dark specter in the night. the chase led him out of the city and into the dense woods that bordered the outskirts. the trees loomed tall and foreboding, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to ensnare the unwary. namjoon’s heart raced, adrenaline pumping as he navigated the underbrush, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across his path.

he finally caught sight of the assassins again, their figures moving with purpose through the trees. his gaze locked onto one of them—a particularly formidable figure—whose sword gleamed ominously in the moonlight. with a burst of speed, he closed the distance, drawing his own sword with a metallic hiss. the confrontation was immediate and intense. the assassin met namjoon’s blade with a skilled parry, the clash of steel echoing through the woods. they circled each other, eyes locked, each strike and counterstrike a testament to their training and resolve. mamjoon’s movements were precise and calculated, each swing of his sword a carefully measured attack. the assassin, equally adept, responded with a series of fluid, almost graceful maneuvers, his own blade a deadly extension of his will. it was his lifeline, it was what his second family taught him to do. the rumor had long swept the palace that namjoon had hunted down every wolf in the area, and he only proved it to be true.

as they fought, you had been wandering through the woods, taking a break from your sightseeing. the peaceful silence of the forest had been disrupted by the sounds of the fierce battle, and curiosity had drawn you further into the woods. the clash of swords was soon replaced by more hushed, but still tense, sounds as you stumbled upon a secluded clearing.

there, hidden behind the trees, you watched in horror as a group of masked assassins gathered around a figure you recognized as prince chaehee. the assassins, their heads bowed in deference, stood in a semi-circle around him. his expression was cold and calculating as he surveyed the group, his eyes gleaming with a ruthless edge. with a wave of his hand, he dismissed the failed assassins, his voice a low murmur of disdain. the air grew tense, and you watched in growing dread as his guards stepped forward. without hesitation, the guards drew their blades and executed the failed assassins. the silent, efficient killings were over before you could fully process what was happening.

you gasped involuntarily, the sound escaping before you could stifle it. the noise was faint, but in the quiet of the night, it was enough. chaehee’s head snapped around, his eyes scanning the shadows for the source of the disturbance. panic surged through you, and you took a step back, trying to retreat quietly. you bolted, stumbling through the underbrush as fast as you could manage. the woods seemed to close in around you, branches snagging at your clothes as you fled.

namjoon had managed to subdue the assassin he was fighting. panting heavily, he pressed the blade of his sword against the assassin’s throat, his eyes cold and unyielding. “tell me who you’re working for,” he demanded, his voice a low growl. the assassin, still reeling from the fight, hesitated. namjoon’s grip was unrelenting, and the assassin’s eyes darted nervously. his eyes flicked towards the trees, sensing that something was off. just as the assassin seemed on the verge of breaking, you burst into the clearing, breathless and disheveled.

“help!” you gasped, staggering towards namjoon. “you don’t understand, i saw—” before you could finish, the assassin saw an opportunity. he grabbed you, holding his sword to your throat with a threatening snarl. namjoon’s eyes widened in shock, his blade momentarily faltering. namjoon’s expression hardened, and he raised his sword, pointing it directly at your face. the cold steel of the blade felt like a chilling weight on your skin, and you could see the glint of the edge as it pressed against your neck.

“please,” you begged, your voice trembling. “just let me go.” namjoon’s smirk was icy and detached. “one woman means nothing to me,” he said, his tone devoid of sympathy. “tell me what i want to know.”

the assassin wavered, his grip on the sword loosening slightly. namjoon’s gaze was steely, his resolve unshaken. he pressed the assassin further, his voice a harsh demand for the name. victory seemed close at hand when you took a desperate measure. with a burst of adrenaline, you bit the assassin’s hand, the sudden pain causing him to stagger back.

the assassin stumbled in fury, moving to strike you again. namjoon’s reaction was swift, but before he could intervene, a dagger flew through the air, embedding itself in the assassin’s head. the figure slumped to the ground, lifeless, as hansol stepped into view. his arrival was dramatic but unwelcome for namjoon. the older prince’s presence was a complication namjoon had not anticipated. his eyes flashed with anger as he turned to confront hansol.

“you ruined everything,” he snapped, his sword still pressed close to your bloody neck, grabbed you roughly, his expression a mixture of frustration and rage. “why did you have to interfere?”

hanaol’s eyes were sharp and unwavering as he faced namjoon. with a flick of his wrist, he drew his sword, pointing it menacingly at his neck. “let her go,” haneul ordered, his voice firm and commanding. namjoon’s gaze met his, and in a swift, fluid motion, he whirled to clash swords with him. the metal of their blades met with a resounding clash, sparks flying as they engaged in a tense duel. the forest seemed to hold its breath as the two princes fought, their movements a deadly ballet of skill and precision.

“why should i?” namjoon spat, his voice laced with frustration. “this woman cost me answers. i won’t let her go until i get what I need.”

the night air was still and heavy as you stood among the trees, the remnants of the chaotic battle echoing in the distance. namjoon’s grip was a vice around your throat, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and disbelief. hansol, standing nearby, observed the scene with a stern expression. “you’re saying you saw a group of assassins being killed?” namjoon’s voice was a harsh whisper, his grip tightening as he tried to extract the truth from you. “by someone’s guards?”

you nodded frantically, trying to catch your breath. “yes, i swear. they were executed. i saw it happen.” namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “show us where.”

you led them through the woods, your heart pounding as you moved swiftly through the darkened paths. the eerie silence that followed was suffocating. when you finally arrived at the spot, the clearing was empty, devoid of any evidence of the massacre you had described. you looked around, your voice trembling. “i swear, it was here. they were killed by guards. i saw it with my own eyes.”

namjoon’s patience snapped. he grabbed you roughly by the neck, his face a mask of fury. “you’re lying,” he growled. “there’s nothing here.” fear surged through you, and you gasped for breath. “i’m not lying!” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “i saw it. i swear i did.”

hansol had been the one examining the surroundings. his eyes caught a subtle detail on one of the trees—a patch of blood, faint but unmistakable. “look,” he said, pointing at the stain. “they were definitely here.”

namjoon’s grip on your neck loosened as he turned to inspect the bloody patch. His expression shifted from anger to contemplation. “so whoever killed them is the one who hired them,” he deduced. he turned back to you, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “what else did you see? who else was there?”

panic gripped you, and you shook your head frantically. “i couldn’t make out the face. It was too dark, too chaotic.” namjoon’s eyes flashed with anger once more. “you’re lying. i know you are. don't you know i'll kill you for it?”

the threat hung in the air like a dark cloud, and your sobs grew louder as the weight of his words sank in. “why are you so cruel?” you cried out, your voice cracking. “what have i done to deserve this?”

he seemed momentarily taken aback by your anguish. his expression softened ever so slightly, but his resolve remained firm. “you’re in my way,” he said coldly. “i need to solve this issue, and if you’re not helping, you’re a liability.”

through your sobs, a memory surfaced—a fleeting image of the killer. you recalled a detail that had seemed strange in the midst of the chaos. “he had fur on him,” you blurted out. “i saw fur. i don’t know whose it was, but there was fur.”

namjoon and hansol exchanged a look of recognition. they knew immediately who the fur might belong to. namjoon’s eyes widened with realization. “if you didn’t see his face, then we’re still dealing with a mystery, but that clue is crucial. i need to find him now.” without another word, he turned and sprinted back towards the city, his figure quickly disappearing into the night. you were left standing in the woods, your body trembling with sobs.

hansol, watching you from a distance, observed your emotional state with a mixture of curiosity and concern. he approached you slowly, his expression softening. despite the gravity of the situation, he found something oddly endearing in your distress. he hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and gently enveloped you in his arms. his embrace was warm and reassuring, a comforting contrast to the harshness you had just experienced. “it’s okay,” he murmured softly, his voice soothing. “you’ll be alright. i promise.”

you clung to him, your tears soaking into his robes as you wept uncontrollably. hansol’s hand gently stroked your back, shushing you softly. “you did your best,” he said, his tone calming. “just try to stay calm. we’ll figure this out.” as the tears slowly subsided, you could feel haneul’s reassuring presence grounding you, offering a sliver of comfort amidst the turmoil. the night continued to envelop the woods in its dark embrace, but for a moment, in his arms, you felt a fragile sense of security.

you woke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the windows, a gentle warmth settling over you as you stirred from sleep. the sudden clatter of footsteps and the murmur of voices drew you from your dreams. you blinked groggily and found lady ja standing beside your bed, her face etched with concern. “wake up,” she said, her voice a mix of urgency and worry. “i’ve been looking for you. what happened to your neck?”

you touched the tender area where the assassin's blade had grazed you. “it’s nothing,” you assured her, offering a reassuring smile despite the sting. “i’m fine. it’s just a scratch.” she didn’t look entirely convinced but let it go, focusing instead on the bustle around her. the other maids were helping her sort through a collection of old gowns, meticulously folding and packing them.

“what’s all this for?” you asked, observing the activity with curiosity. “it’s for a donation,” lady ja explained, her tone carrying a hint of pride. “the king has these events from time to time, where old clothes are given to those in need. hansol goes to oversee the donations.”

you tilted your head, thinking. “does he go alone?” she nodded, confused. “yes, he usually does. why do you ask?” you shrugged. “i think you should go with him. it’s what husbands and wives do, isn’t it?” her eyes lit up with a soft smile. “is that so?”

you nodded enthusiastically. “of course. and if you want, i could even do your makeup for you. it would be my pleasure.” lady ja’s gratitude was evident in her eyes. “would you really? that would be wonderful.”

“absolutely,” you said, eager to help. you busied yourself with powders, oils, and brushes, working diligently to enhance her features. as you applied the makeup, you apologized for your lack of experience. “i’m not quite used to this yet. i hope it turns out alright.”

she seemed pleasantly surprised as you finished. “you did a marvelous job,” she said, taking the mirror you handed her. her eyes widened in amazement. “you’ve made me look so youthful.” you smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. “i’m glad you like it. enjoy yourself today.”

to your surprise, she had other plans. “no, you should come with me. i’d like your company.”

you both ventured out together, joining the others in distributing food to the children. from a distance, hansol observed you with a warm, approving smile. the scene was bustling with activity. you were handing out treats to the eager children when a small altercation caught your attention. one of the boys snatched a treat from his friend’s hand and dashed off, leaving his friend in tears.

without hesitation, you pursued the boy, your heart pounding as you caught up to him. you knelt to his level, pinching his cheek gently. “is it okay to steal from a friend?” you asked softly. the boy shook his head, eyes wide with remorse. “then,” you said with a smile, “how about we make a deal? if you give the treat back, i’ll give you both two each.” the boy’s face brightened as he returned the stolen treat. you handed out the additional treats, and the children’s smiles returned. lady ja watched, her eyes filled with admiration, while hansol’s smile broadened. the scene was one of simple joy, and it seemed to resonate deeply with both of them.

you found chayeon in the corridor, her calm demeanor contrasting sharply with your rising panic. your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve as you approached her. “chayeon,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “what’s the punishment for hitting a prince? is it severe?” she glanced up from her tasks, a hint of discomfort in her eyes. “it’s not something to take lightly,” she said vaguely, her tone evasive. “it could be quite serious.”

before you could probe further, the clatter of footsteps and the sight of two guards alerted you to prince baekhyun’s arrival. he climbed the stairs with an air of authority, his gaze fixed on you.

“you should show more gratitude,” he said as he approached, his tone unexpectedly light. you blinked, confused. “gratitude for what?”

his expression shifted awkwardly. “i had to beg the king to let you go unpunished.” you were taken aback by his unexpected revelation. “why would you do that?”

baekhyun hesitated, unable to find the right words. the silence stretched between you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if his actions stemmed from something more personal. the thought that he might be harboring feelings for you crossed your mind, but he remained tight-lipped. before you could voice your curiosity, you gave a sincere, “thank you.”

you turned to leave, but sang’s voice halted you. “wait,” he called, his tone shifting to something more casual. “you should repay me for this favor.”

you arched an eyebrow. “repay you how?” baekhyun’s gaze softened slightly, though he still maintained his composure. “i want to see you at least once a day, every day.”

a laugh bubbled from your lips, both relieved and amused. “that’s the least i can do,” you said, beginning to walk away. “consider this our first day,” he called after you, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. with a final nod, you walked away, feeling a strange mix of relief and curiosity about the new arrangement.

the night was cloaked in darkness as namjoon raced through the narrow, twisting paths leading to the hidden temple. his breath came in ragged bursts, the cold night air stinging his lungs as he pushed his horse to its limits. the news of the renounced monks taking refuge in an isolated temple had reached him in the midst of the chaos, and he knew he had to act swiftly. the steep, rocky hillside loomed ahead, its shadowed contours barely discernible against the moonlit sky.

the temple was perched precariously at the top of the hill, its ancient stone walls weathered and worn. as he approached, he could see the flickering glow of torches from within the temple's crumbling walls. he dismounted swiftly, drawing his sword as he climbed the final ascent. his mind raced with thoughts of the assassins who had attacked him, their inability to speak striking him as odd. he recalled tales of monks who had their tongues cut out as punishment, their silence a symbol of their penance.

reaching the temple, he found the entrance unguarded, the heavy wooden doors hanging loosely on their hinges. the interior was dimly lit by a few scattered torches, their light casting eerie shadows on the cracked and crumbling walls. the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and incense, a remnant of long-forgotten rituals. the temple seemed abandoned, but an unsettling sensation of being watched prickled at the back of his neck.

he closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the subtle sounds around him. the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of wooden beams, and the whisper of unseen movements made his senses keenly aware. suddenly, a figure lunged at him from the darkness, a dagger gleaming in the dim light. instinctively, namjoon deflected the attack with his sword, the blade clashing with metal. he spun around, narrowly avoiding a thrust from a spear, and with a swift and decisive motion, cut down the attacker.

the clamor of combat erupted as more figures emerged from the shadows, surrounding namjoon. he fought with a fierce determination, his movements fluid and precise. his sword sliced through the air, each strike calculated and deadly. the attackers were relentless, but namjoon’s skill was unmatched. he dispatched the first wave of opponents with ruthless efficiency, their bodies falling to the ground as he pressed on.

“where is your leader?” he demanded, his voice cold and commanding. when he received no reply, he growled in frustration. “is there no one here who can speak?” a burly man, his face concealed by a demon mask, charged at him. with a practiced swing, namjoon cut the man’s throat, the blood spraying in a grotesque arc. the temple’s interior was now a scene of carnage, the floor slick with blood and littered with the fallen bodies of the monks. namjoon’s sword flashed through the darkness, his movements a deadly dance of precision and power.

the fight was brutal, each clash of steel and every cry of pain adding to the growing chaos. namjoon’s dexterity with both the long sword and short dagger was apparent, his skill honed through years of training and combat. the battle seemed to stretch on endlessly, but namjoon’s resolve never wavered. his efficiency was such that within minutes, the last of the monks lay defeated on the cold stone floor.

the silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant crackle of flames. namjoon stood alone amid the carnage, his breath coming in heavy, labored gasps. just then, the doors to a nearby building burst open with a deafening crash, and a lone monk stepped out, his eyes cold and calculating. he bowed to namjoon, his expression inscrutable.

“are you the one responsible for this?” namjoon asked, his voice laced with steel. the monk’s gaze was unwavering. “these men had their tongues removed as punishment for their grave sins,” he said. “i have looked after them.”

namjoon’s face hardened. “then all i have to do is get rid of you.” the monk’s eyes flickered with a hint of something—fear, perhaps. “for whom are you doing this?” he asked. “does your mother know?”

namjoon’s smile was cold and dangerous. “a place of no speech, yet someone here has a lot of words,” he replied. he raised his sword, the blade gleaming in the flickering light. “you’ll die for her sake.” the monk’s defense was swift but ultimately futile. namjoon’s first blow was deflected, but he pressed on with a series of quick, lethal slashes. the monk fell to the ground, the life draining from him as namjoon’s sword pierced his gut. as the man gurgled out his final breaths, namjoon leaned in close, his voice a deadly whisper. “you’ve lived off the queen, so now you die for her.”

with that, namjoon turned and walked away, the weight of his bloody sword heavy in his hand. the temple was already beginning to burn, the flames consuming the ancient structure in a brilliant, destructive blaze. the night was filled with the crackling of fire and the distant wail of sirens as he made his way down the hillside. as he staggered away from the burning temple, the sight of the inferno lighting up the dark sky, he found himself near the palace. his heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. he needed to confront his mother, to make her understand the cost of her machinations.

in the dead of night, he slipped into the palace unnoticed, his steps silent on the cold marble floors. he made his way through the labyrinthine corridors until he reached queen jiyoung’s chambers. the door was slightly ajar, and he could see the queen sleeping soundly within. without hesitation, namjoon pushed the door open and stepped inside. his bloodied sword still dripping, he approached the bed where his mother lay. queen jiyoung stirred, her eyes opening in shock as she saw the figure looming over her. she shrank back, her face a mask of fear.

namjoon’s smile was a mix of sadness and resolve. “you will remember this night,” he said softly, his voice carrying a bitter edge. “you abandoned me, but i shall not leave. i ask only that you see me.”

the night air was still, heavy with the smoke from the burning temple. namjoon, covered in blood and soot, wandered through the quiet, his mind a tumultuous storm of rage and pain. his steps led him to a small, serene area by a river, where prayer stones were meticulously stacked by mothers who sought divine protection for their children. the sight of these humble offerings, imbued with the hopes and fears of countless families, was like a cruel reminder of the normalcy and peace he had been denied.

with a sudden, violent motion, he lashed out at the prayer stones. his sword, still slick with the blood of the monks, sliced through the air and sent a stack of stones toppling over. they tumbled and scattered across the ground, the delicate balance of their arrangement shattered. his face twisted into a mask of fury as he watched the chaos he had wrought, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.

you had been trailing on a path of your own, yet his distress and desperation were in reach. as you saw the destruction and the storm of emotions on namjoon's face, you rushed forward to try and stop him. but as you neared, he turned and roughly shoved you away, his strength surprising and painful. you stumbled, barely catching yourself as you fell to the ground. when you looked down, your hands were smeared with the remnants of the toppled stones and, to your horror, the blood that had transferred from his.

hia laughter came out in a jagged burst, a chilling sound that reverberated through the night. “it’s the blood of those i killed today,” he declared, his voice a mix of derision and anguish. he looked at you with a wild, unhinged expression, his eyes alight with a manic energy. the laughter died in his throat as he glared at you, his anger and despair mingling in a volatile mix.

“why do you even care about these prayer stones?” he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty space. “my mother shouldn’t be here praying. she should come to me and beg for mercy instead.”

you tried to hold him back, your voice trembling but resolute. “you’re injured,” you said, hoping to redirect his attention. you meant his hand, which was gripping the sword with a force that must have caused him pain. but instead of heeding your concern, namjoon grabbed you by the collar, his grip tight and unyielding. his eyes, though fierce, held a flicker of surprise at your lack of fear.

“i told you,” he warned, his voice low and intense, “i killed people.” his words hung heavy in the air, and you met his gaze with calm understanding rather than the fear he seemed to expect. you did not flinch or recoil but remained steady, sensing the torment within him.

“i understand,” you said softly. “tell me what happened. why did you do it?”

the vulnerability in your tone seemed to reach him, and for a moment, his fierce grip loosened. he stared at you, confusion and a touch of something like relief crossing his features. he shook his head, as if trying to dispel the emotions swirling within him. “go,” he said, his voice cracking. “you don’t need to be here.”

but you stood firm. “no,” you said. “i understand more than you think. you grew up in a world where wielding a sword was a necessity, where killing was not a choice but a survival tactic. what you did today—what you’ve done—was driven by what you were taught.”

namjoon’s face was a mask of conflicted emotions, his eyes searching yours for judgment or pity. instead, he found only empathy. “but what can you do?” you continued, your voice steady and kind. “what can anyone do in a world like this? you must be feeling so miserable right now. i think i understand.”

his grip on your collar finally released, and you took a step back, giving him space. he remained where he was, his body slumped slightly as if the weight of his actions was beginning to sink in. he stared at the scattered prayer stones, his breathing ragged and uneven. you turned and began to walk away, leaving him to grapple with his grief and anger amidst the ruins of the prayer offerings. the night air was cool against your face, and the distant sounds of the village were muted. as you walked away, you glanced back once, seeing namjoon standing alone in the moonlight, the broken stones a mere reminder of the cost of his struggles.

the punishment for namjoon’s reckless act of burning down the temple had been swift and severe. though his role in thwarting the assassination attempt had earned him some leniency, the king had ordered him to be isolated from the other princes for a time—enough to reflect on his actions and the consequences they might have had. he had fulfilled his promise and did all he could to protect tae, which did not go unnoticed. he was given the right to stay. in fact, he was given the right to stay at the palace, but with rewards came consequences. he was to remain confined to a small, remote building on the palace grounds, away from the eyes of the court and the whispers that followed his every move.

the morning had been uneventful, a silence hanging heavy in the air as namjoon spent his hours alone, the weight of solitude pressing down on him. the palace, so full of life and noise, felt a world away from where he now sat, by the stream that bordered the isolated quarters. the water moved slowly, mirroring his own sluggish thoughts as he stared into the distance, lost in the turmoil of his mind.

inside the palace, the maids were gathered in a small cluster, their voices low but urgent as they debated amongst themselves. “i’m not going,” one of them whispered harshly. “i heard what he did. he’s dangerous.” another shook her head, her hands trembling as she twisted the fabric of her apron. “but someone has to take him his lunch. he hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”

“then you take it,” the first maid retorted, crossing her arms defiantly. “i’m not risking my life.”

“i’ll go.” the maids turned, surprised at the sound of your voice. you stood at the edge of the group, having overheard their conversation as you approached. your expression was calm, resolute, as you looked at the tray of food they were hesitating over. “i’ll take it to him,” you repeated, stepping forward and reaching for the tray. the maids exchanged uneasy glances but made no move to stop you.

“are you sure, my lady?” chaeyeon asked, her voice laced with doubt. “they say he’s not right in the head after what happened.” you met her gaze steadily. “i’m sure.”

with the tray in hand, you made your way to the stream, your footsteps light and measured. the closer you got to namjoon’s solitary retreat, the more you could feel the tension in the air, like the calm before a storm. you found him sitting at the very end of the stream, where the water pooled in a small, quiet basin before continuing its journey downstream. he was alone, as you had expected, his figure tense as he sat with his back to you, staring into the distance.

for a moment, you hesitated, unsure if he had heard you approach. but then you gathered your resolve, stepping forward and setting the tray down on the ground beside him. the sound of the plate touching the stone was a soft, delicate clink that seemed to echo in the silence. “eat while it’s warm,” you said gently, your voice breaking the quiet.

namjoon didn’t respond, didn’t even turn to look at you. his silence was heavy, but you could sense the conflict within him, the battle between pride and despair waging just beneath the surface. you turned to leave, respecting his need for solitude, but as you took a step back, something stopped you. a frown creased your brow, and before you could think better of it, you sat back down beside him. the water flowed softly beside you, a soothing presence amidst the tension.

“i won’t say a word about what i saw,” you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the stream. you didn’t need to elaborate; you both knew what you were referring to—the prayer stones, his confession, the blood on your hands. namjoon finally turned to you, his eyes dark and intense as they searched your face. “i know,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur.

you tilted your head slightly, studying him. “how do you know? because you’ll kill me if i do?” to your surprise, namjoon’s lips curved into a small, almost incredulous smile. it was the first sign of softness you had seen from him since your encounter by the prayer stones.

“i can’t believe you’re not afraid of me,” he said, a hint of wonder in his tone. there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you, as if he couldn’t quite understand why you weren’t running from him like the others. you returned his smile, though yours was softer, more reassuring. “why would i be afraid of you?”

namjoon’s gaze faltered, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought. “you saw me without my mask,” he began, his voice tinged with a sadness that made your heart ache, “you should be afraid of an ugly face like that.” you shook your head, your expression earnest. “i could never be afraid of you,” you said softly, the sincerity in your voice undeniable. “besides, you were never ugly.”

the silence between you was thick with unspoken emotions, the air around you charged with the weight of what wasn’t said. namjoon studied you, as if searching for any hint of deceit in your words, but finding none. then, as if realizing the futility of his own brooding, he released a small sigh. “you should go,” he said, though there was no force behind his words. “this isn’t a place for you.”

you forced yourself to feign seriousness, though your heart ached for him. “eat the food,” you said, trying to bring some normalcy back to the moment. “i have to take the plates back.” his lips twitched into a faint smile, the closest thing to real warmth you had seen from him in a long while. “all right,” he conceded, reaching for the plate. you watched as he began to eat, your heart heavy with the knowledge of his pain, but also with a sense of hope that led him to think that he wasn’t as alone as he felt.

lady ja lay in her bed, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps as the illness that had ravaged her body slowly drained the life from her. the once vibrant, commanding presence of the lady of the house was now reduced to a frail figure, barely recognizable beneath layers of quilts. her face, once full of warmth and intelligence, was pale, her skin translucent like fragile porcelain, and her eyes were dull, clouded with the pain she could no longer voice.

beside her, hansol knelt, his tall frame bent low as he held her hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they clasped hers. he had seen her strength, her will to survive, but now all of that was slipping away, and he was powerless to stop it. the room was dim, the soft flicker of candlelight casting long shadows on the walls, as if the darkness itself was encroaching upon her. “my lady, please hold on,” he whispered, his voice thick with the desperation he could no longer contain. he squeezed her hand gently, trying to offer her whatever strength he had left. the weight of what was happening, of what he was about to lose, pressed down on him like an unbearable burden.

lady ja’s lips curled into a weak smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, as she gazed at him with a mixture of tenderness and resignation. “your highness,” she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room. “i know you don’t love me.”

her words struck him worse than a physical blow, and his eyes widened in shock, tears welling up and spilling over before he could stop them. he opened his mouth to protest, to tell her she was wrong, but the words caught in his throat, choking him with their falseness. he couldn’t lie to her, not now, not in those final moments. seeing the truth in his eyes, lady ja’s smile grew sadder, her hand—a mere shadow of its former strength—reached up to brush a stray tear from his cheek. the touch was feather-light, but it burned with the weight of everything left unsaid between them.

“i’ve seen the way you look at her,” she continued, her tone gentle, free of any bitterness or accusation. “i know you’ve grown to care for her.” haneul’s chest tightened painfully, guilt and sorrow warring within him as he struggled to keep his composure. the truth in her words was undeniable, and it tore at him to know that she had been aware of it, even as she lay dying.

“take care of her,” lady ja whispered, her voice growing weaker with each word, as though even speaking was now too great an effort. “If you can, marry her.”

the tears flowed freely now, silent but unrelenting, as hansol held her hand, feeling the life slipping away from her with each passing second. her breathing grew fainter, her chest rising and falling in a barely perceptible rhythm until, finally, it stopped altogether. her eyes fluttered shut, the last remnants of life leaving them as she passed into the silence that awaited her. for a moment, hansol was frozen, his mind struggling to comprehend that she was gone. the room seemed to hold its breath, as if the world itself had paused in reverence of her passing. he leaned over her, pressing her hand to his lips, the weight of his grief pressing him down until it felt as though he might be crushed beneath it.

it was then that you entered the room, returning home after what you had expected to be just another day. you stopped short in the doorway, your eyes landing on the scene before you—lady ja’s lifeless form on the bed, hansol hunched over her, tears staining his cheeks. panic surged through you, a cold, sharp terror that clawed at your chest and left you gasping for breath. the sobs began to tear from your throat uncontrollably, your mind refusing to accept what your eyes were seeing. you stumbled forward, your hands reaching out as if to pull her back from the brink, to undo what had already been done.

hansol turned at the sound of your cries, his expression weary and etched with sorrow, but there was something else there too—a deep, all-consuming sadness that made your heart ache. his voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as he spoke to you. “be quiet,” he said, his tone gentle yet firm, the words laden with a grief that was beyond anything you could imagine. “let’s not wake my wife.”

the absurdity of his request, of the idea that she could be woken, struck you like a physical blow, and for a moment, you stood frozen, staring at him in disbelief. the reality of the situation, the finality of her death, slowly sank in, and the sobs caught in your throat, leaving you breathless and trembling. you collapsed to your knees beside the bed, your hands covering your face as you wept, the sound muffled but filled with a raw, unfiltered pain that echoed through the room. hansol remained by lady ja’s side, his hand still holding hers, as he watched you with a look of profound sorrow. there were no words left to say, nothing that could ease the pain or make the loss any less devastating.

lady ja’s funeral was a somber affair, the sky overcast and heavy with unshed rain, as if the heavens themselves mourned her passing. the courtyard was filled with mourners, all dressed in white, the traditional color of mourning. the air was thick with the scent of incense, its curling tendrils rising like prayers to the gods above, carrying with them the sorrow and grief of those left behind. you stood among the sea of mourners, your heart a leaden weight in your chest, eyes fixed on the simple wooden casket that held lady ja’s body. it was adorned with white lilies, their delicate petals trembling in the light breeze, a cold contrast to the cold, unyielding wood that now encased her. the image of her peaceful face, so serene in death, was etched into your mind, and the tears you had fought so hard to contain began to blur your vision.

beside you, hansol was a figure of quiet devastation. his usually composed demeanor had crumbled in the face of such overwhelming loss. his eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, were fixed on the casket, his hand gripping yours with a desperation that belied his outward composure. you could feel the tremors that ran through him, the silent sobs that shook his frame as he struggled to keep his grief in check. chaeyeon stood on his other side, her small frame trembling with barely restrained emotion. her usually bright eyes were dulled with sorrow, and she clutched a small white flower in her hands, her knuckles white from the intensity of her grip. her gaze never left lady ja’s casket, and you could see the tears streaming down her cheeks, leaving glistening tracks in their wake. she had been so close to her, and now the loss of her was a wound that would take a long time to heal.

the princes had gathered as well, all of them standing in a line of solemnity. each one wore the same expression of respect and sorrow, but there was something different about the thirteenth prince, younghyun. his usually vibrant, youthful face was marred with an anguish that went beyond the collective grief of the others. his hands were clenched tightly at his sides, and you noticed how he seemed to shy away from the others, as though the weight of his emotions was too much to bear.

the ceremony passed in a blur, the priest’s words of blessing and farewell barely registering in your mind. all you could focus on was the sight of lady ja’s casket as it was slowly lowered into the ground, the finality of it hitting you with a force that nearly brought you to your knees. hansol squeezed your hand harder, as though grounding himself through your presence, and you held on just as tightly, a silent promise that you would face this together.

after the ceremony, the crowd began to disperse, each mourner paying their final respects before departing. you saw younghyun slip away from the others, his shoulders hunched, and you felt an urge to follow him. something about the way he carried himself, the way his steps faltered, tugged at your heart, and you couldn’t leave him to his grief alone.

you found him sitting on the stone steps that led to the courtyard, his face buried in his hands. his shoulders shook with the force of his sobs, and you hesitated for a moment before approaching, unsure of what to say. the last thing you wanted was to intrude on his pain, but you couldn’t stand to see him suffer alone.

“your highness,” you called softly, your voice gentle as you took a seat beside him. he didn’t look up, but his sobs quieted slightly, as though your presence alone was enough to offer some small comfort. “what’s the matter?” you asked, keeping your tone soft, hoping to coax him into opening up.

when he finally looked at you, his face was tear-streaked, his eyes red and puffy from crying. “i loved her,” he confessed, his voice breaking on the last word. you nodded, understanding the depth of his pain. “we all did,” you said, your voice filled with the same sorrow that weighed on your heart.

but he shook his head, his expression filled with a sorrow that went deeper than mere grief. “no,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “she was my first love.”

your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to him, your frown deepening in confusion. “why didn’t it work out?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

younghyun let out a bitter, humorless laugh, the sound rough and full of pain. “because hansol had her heart from the start,” he replied, his voice thick with regret. “no matter how hard i tried, no matter how much i loved her, she was always his.” his words struck you like a blow, and you felt your heart ache for him, for the love that he had never been able to claim. he had loved her so deeply, and yet it had never been enough to win her heart.

he turned to you, his gaze filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart clench. “she said i reminded her of you,” he said, his voice breaking once more. a tear slipped down your cheek, the weight of his words hitting you with a force you hadn’t expected. you reached out, placing a comforting hand on his, and he grasped it desperately, as though it were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.

“she would have given you a chance if she had known,” you said softly, your voice filled with the sincerity of your words. you believed that, in another time, another place, lady ja might have seen the love that younghyun held for her, and perhaps things would have been different. he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening for a moment before he released it, letting out a shuddering breath. he was silent for a long time after that, lost in his thoughts, and you stayed beside him, offering what comfort you could with your presence.

eventually, you knew you had to return to hansol’s place, to be there for him in his time of grief. you rose from the steps, giving kyeom one last look of understanding before you turned to leave. as you walked back, your mind heavy with the events of the day, you were suddenly stopped in your tracks when a hand was clamped over your mouth.

panic surged through you, your eyes widening in fear as you screamed, the sound muffled by the hand that held you. you thrashed violently, struggling to break free, but strong arms held you fast, lifting you off your feet. you were thrown onto a horse, the guards surrounding you offering no explanation as they forced you into the saddle. your heart pounded in your chest, terror gripping you as you were carried away, the familiar surroundings of the courtyard disappearing behind you. the ride to the palace was a blur of fear and confusion. you tried to make sense of what was happening, why you were being taken in such a manner, but your mind was too clouded with panic to think clearly.

when you finally arrived, you were still thrashing, your attempts to escape growing more desperate as they dragged you inside. the guards were silent, their faces expressionless as they hauled you into the grand hall where king taejo sat upon his throne, his gaze cold and calculating as he watched your approach. you forced yourself to bow, your mind racing with fear and confusion. “your majesty,” you stammered, struggling to keep your voice steady. “what is it that you needed?”

king taejo rose from his throne, his presence commanding and intimidating. he stepped down from the dais, his gaze never leaving yours as he approached, the weight of his authority pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

“i’m glad you asked,” he said, his voice smooth, almost pleasant, but there was an edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine. you locked eyes with him, your fear growing with each passing second as he came to a stop before you. there was something in his gaze, something dark and possessive, that made your blood run cold.

“you will become my wife tonight,” he declared, his voice firm and unyielding.

the words hit you like a physical blow, your mind reeling in shock and horror. you had never imagined this, never considered that such a fate would befall you. the reality of it crashed down on you, a wave of dread that left you trembling. but there was no escape, no way to refuse. you were trapped, a pawn in the king’s game, and the realization of it was more terrifying than anything you had ever faced before.

✧.*

a/n: this will take a while since this is based on scarlet heart and ts has like 20 episodes

[calicovobo]

Cat Chronicles

Summary: The snippets of life captured by a stray cat. 

Word Count: 927

A/N: Hello! This is my first piece of writing on this page, I hope you enjoy! <3

Part Two

You loved looking at buildings. As a cat who barely reaches the bottom of a park bench, buildings were always so tall and intriguing. The buildings with the pretty string lights draped across to the classic solid concrete ones that parents warn their children not to get close to unless they wanted to get taken by some villain, you loved them all. They each had their own story, inside and out. 

But, what you really loved about buildings was the amazing fight scenes you got to see with a front row view, watching as the heroes with their typical flashy quirks chase and take down villains. And while excited pedestrians had to stay back and cheer from a distance, you got to be right up close to the battle scene. You admit that you were quite a fan of these heroes, and in a classic cat feature, the bright lights never failed to catch your eye.

No one noticed you in your hiding spots next to dumpsters or in alleyways. It was perfect for your small and flexible body, and when the fight was as dramatic as they are, the attention is always pinpointed in a separate direction from you. 

“Great capture tonight Eraserhead, you just gotta finish up signing some forms and we’ll take care of the clean-up.” 

After a rather mediocre battle at 2AM, Aizawa couldn’t wait to go home and sleep. But as he was watching the clean-up crew start moving debris and damaged parts around the area, he saw in the corner of his eye a small figure trapped under a slanted plank of wood. 

‘Aw great, how am I supposed to get out of this’ you thought as you watched this giant piece of wood encapsulate your hiding spot. You just wanted to watch the infamous Eraserhead take down a villain! But instead your excitement made you too greedy for action and you found yourself trapped when they were battling. The slanted plank fell low enough to the point that you couldn’t fit to escape. 

‘Maybe I can slither into this tiny crack…yeah that may work- or or maybe when they do recycling tomorrow I can run out and leave!’ With your brain rushing to come up with ideas, you didn’t notice the slow but deliberate footsteps coming your way. 

“Come here, sorry for getting you caught up in the fight.” Startled, you watched as he, with his big strong muscles hidden by his classic dark fabric, lifted the plank and set it aside roughly. Looking up at him with your big green eyes and tri-colored fur, he was enamored by just how cute you were. Your calico coat was just so pretty and with those kind eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder if you were someone's beloved pet they lost. 

‘Big hero man is looking at me!’ You couldn’t believe that the hero of the night just became your personal hero! What a dream come true to be so close to one of your many idols! Your enthusiastic chirps and meows brought a soft smile to the tired hero’s face. 

“I’m glad one of us has enough energy to last the night.” Though he adored your obvious passionate energy, he couldn’t help but worry if you really were someone’s pet with just how trusting you are. He gladly complied as your warm body curled around and rubbed against his legs, just begging for pets. 

“Does this cat have an owner?” Aizawa asked as a member of the clean-up crew walked past with his big hands still giving you rubs. 

The worker was surprised as Eraserhead was infamous for leaving right away after his duty was done. “H-huh? Um, no I don’t think I’ve ever seen that cat before. Maybe it belongs to one of the buildings nearby and just got lost? I can contact the shelter to get it out of your way.” 

“No need. I can deal with it.” Aizawa said as he continued complying to your needy cravings of pets. The scene would make anyone freeze in their steps; a hero known for their deadpan and tired attitude petting a very happy and affectionate calico cat who was sticking to him like glue. 

‘Oh my gosh I love him!. Right there right there! It feels so good.’ It was impossible not to hide your pleasure as Aizawa rubbed behind your ears. You were putty in his hands and didn’t want the night to ever end! 

“Do you belong to anyone tiny? I have to go soon, got a class full of brats to teach tomorrow, tch.” He knew you couldn’t answer him but he didn’t want to leave you out here all alone. He was aware of the animal and cat haters who weren’t afraid to kick you aside, especially with how friendly you are towards humans. But, as the sky continued to get darker and as he remembered that he had an early class to attend to tomorrow, he knew he had to leave eventually. 

Aizawa had thoughts of just taking you into his arms and bringing you home with him but, if you really did have a family looking for you, he didn’t want to take you from that spot just yet. You looked at him curiously as he spiraled into a mental debate with himself. And, just as he was about to make his decision, you gave him one last head bump to his leg and hurried away. 

You loved humans but you were a cat meant to explore and venture, nothing could hold you back!

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

I would love a "Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot" in the POV of Hiccup again. The way you write from his perspective is great to read, especially with him fumbling (literally and figuratively) around our reader.

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 16

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,107

Hiccup talks to his dad and does some illegal town-ly maintenance. Stoick finally asks Hiccup to stop following you but he’s unfortunately a little late on the draw.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, Hiccup’s POV, unedited

<Previous - Next>

Hiccup stared out a crack in the door, pulling on the corner of his coat.

There was a short crunch from off to the side as he wondered what had brought you up the hill.

He could try the colored tailfins again. That was sure to catch your attention.

Hiccup had spent his afternoon hiding around corners shiftily, carrying seeds he’d just picked up from the docks and secreted away in his coat, sneaking back to his home.

Someone had been hoarding them, and it took him a pretty penny to get his hands on. 

He’d never saved anything ever and he worked at the forge scott free so it was more like something he’d have to pay in favors. Hopefully it was worth it.

He saw you walking down the hill from his house to the village and peered down at your retreating back as you became a speck, standing up on his toes in order to try and get a better look as the angle of his house on the hill became more and more of an issue.

He made a mental note to ask his Dad about why you were up there later.

He heard another crunch from the side.

Hiccup wasted barely a moment to shoot Toothless a look of betrayal, half marred by betrayal at his nonchalance as the Night Fury chewed on kindling and tracked it all over the house.

Said dragon’s head was low to the ground as he brunched through solid charcoal, paws awkwardly gripping the nearly horizontal end of the log.

His Dad was definitely not going to like that.

He promised himself that he was going to throw an eel into the fireplace when he had an eel. Hiccup made a note to jot that down for later.

His stupid dragon could be bought out by fish pretty easy on a normal day, but never when it came to his kindling. 

He’d clean it up later.

He spent a moment longer looking outside at sunny fields and almost didn’t notice the heavy beating of footsteps behind him and the shutting of the backdoor.

“Hiccup.”

He startled, turned and smiled awkwardly, face and shoulders stiff as he turned around, feeling and probably looking like a plank of wood.

Knowing he was there didn’t ever make it any easier.

He was met face to chest with his Dad, who he had to crane his head to look up at, looming above him.

His Dad talked to him to confirm if he was coming home that night for family dinner instead of going to the hall, something which no one else did. Hiccup wasn’t even sure if that was a privilege only they got or something.

Family dinners were definitely a new thing and Hiccup wasn’t sure how he felt about them, especially when most were spent chewing in silence.

He wasn’t sure if they could really be called family considering they were missing a very important member.

He had also, coincidentally, been avoiding his Dad.

Especially when he breached the subject of girls. But Hiccup wasn’t sure his Dad knew which girl Hiccup liked. He was able to shoot off a quick excuse and run for it, usually. He was very good at that. 

But really, who had he been talking to? Gobber?

His father cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing towards the door and back at his son, “So, you like-”

Definitely Gobber.

“Nope, no,” Hiccup said in a tone he hoped was dry, shoulders stiff as he stared at the wall out of the corner of his eye,  ignoring the slightly cold sweat that was beginning to gather at the back of his neck, “Can we talk about something else?”

Stoick gave him a look, “Don’t be following her around, you hear?”

“Huh?” Hiccup asked, voice cracking awkwardly.

Hiccup shoveled a palmful of dirt over a small lump in the ground with his hands, knees digging into the overturned dirt below, feeling pleased with himself. 

He sat back on the ground, pulling his legs out from under him to sit in something resembling a loose leg cross. 

He dropped his hands into the dirt, not minding the grit as it dug under his nails.

He stared at the good sized pouch by his side, mostly empty.

Getting ahold of the seeds was difficult considering you were the one and only delivery girl on Berk.

The package was a sort weighty, though nothing anywhere near unmanageable.

He wondered if it would be appropriate to get you a satchel or something. He could make it out of some of the leather he had left lying around the forge. He could pull out some tools, too, and print a few knots around the border of the hypothetical top flap. 

The beads dotted around the twine encircling his wrists and lining the draws of his tunic shifted, making a sort of barely noticeable crumpling noise as he moved.

You gave him a lot of those. Did that count as you liking him back? 

Hiccup groaned, leaning back on his hands and blinking into the sky, then closing his eyes.

He’d never been the type to wear jewelry -he’s always imagined that to be Snotlout’s thing, he always eyed that one guy down by the docks with the nose ox ring- but you gave them to him. 

He, against all odds, liked them a lot.

He wasn’t a planter, either. He hated it, actually. But… You said it. Girls liked flowers. Girls where you came from liked flowers. Girls here liked flowers, maybe. Hiccup never asked.

How long did it take roses to grow, anyways?

Hiccup shifted slightly, staring at one end of a scaled wall, debating whether or not it was a good time for him to bolt away from the flowerbed he was crouched on, despite the permission he’d gotten to be there.

Certain types of dragon dung made plants grow faster. He picked that up from some of the grain harvesters down by the fields, overheard it while he was messing around when he was younger, definitely illicit and something that they didn’t want getting back to his Dad then and something that, recently, Fishlegs was amicable enough to confirm.

Hiccup made an expression he hoped conveyed his appropriately sectioned disgruntlement.

He poured some into the large dragon feed bins. When the dragons dropped dung from the sky, they’d also be dropping rose seeds. They didn’t pass through dragons like they did other animals. Hopefully no one noticed.

Maybe he could find an import somewhere for a full bush. But he didn’t have anything to trade.

He didn’t even know if there were full rose bushes in the Archipelago.

Once they sprouted, convincing the other Vikings to take care of the rose bushes was going to be difficult, if the sprouts didn’t get trampled first.

He could pass it off as some public service effort, but really he was just doing it to try and woo you. The public service thing would definitely please his Dad, though.

Oh, gods. Hiccup was hit with immediate regret. 

The dragons were definitely going to burn the rose bushes and he would have spent a handful of coins for nothing. 

Could he paint the roses? He still had paint left from the other day. It made great fireproofing. He thought about making a mask, or something. That would be cool.

How much water did roses need, anyways?

He had no idea how he was going to convince his Dad that pipes were worth the resources it’d take to make and maintain them.

He imagined talking about it over the dinner table. Definitely not.

“What are you doing?” Came the deep-ish squeaks of a voice, probably a mirage, called to him like a fairy or a fae or a troll or something evil because he thought it. He ignored the thick shadow that overcame him.

“I can help!” The voice of Fishlegs squeaked again.

Hiccup glanced to the side, where indeed Fishlegs was looming over him, “Unless you like growing things, you can’t help me”

“I like gardening,” Fishlegs insisted, “And I’d… I’d like some flowers for R-my mother!”

“Roses?” Hiccup asked, leaning on his knees.

“Oh-oh!” Fishlegs said, “If you need help, if you’re trying to- you know, for her- she and my mother-”

He scowled again, feeling sort of grumpy and a little bit sad.

Hiccup definitely didn’t have a mother for you to learn with. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to take advice from the lord of suck. Again. Even if it was good advice.

“R-Right, well, nevermind about that,” Fishlegs continued, though Hiccup didn’t pay as much attention to why, “You need help growing roses?”

“No,“ Hiccup urged, miming to Gobber, arms waving from where he stood, alarm rocketing up his spine, secreted away in the shadows of an alley with Toothless.

Said Gobber was too busy peering around Hiccup’s father’s side to pay him any mind, roughly pushing his Dad’s tough, metal plated shoulder, urging him forwards.

Hiccup pulled his prosthetic out of the slightly sunken ground, where it had dipped in after he had tried to go around patting down damp upturned dirt with his boot, a leftover from the other day he’d spent planting seeds around Berk with Fishlegs.

Toothless, being Toothless, snorted, nodding to both Gobber and Hiccup’s father, blending slightly in with the shade in which both he and Hiccup hid.

Hiccup glared at him.

Toothless dropped his eyelids and stared blankly back as if asking Hiccup what he expected.

“I know, Bud. You don’t need to say it,” He grumbled.

How a dragon could be so expressive was lost on him.

There was obviously not much Hiccup could do to rebuke him, a few tons heavier and a lot more fiery in the throat than Hiccup himself in a very literal way, but he was sure he was going to kick the Night Fury off his bed the next time he tried to crawl in.

Hiccup liked it better when he was sleeping on his own anyways. Unless, of course-

Toothless smack him on the back of his head with his tail.

“Ow,” Hiccup rubbed his head, grumbling at his dragon.

Toothless slept on the foot of his bed some weekends which was a pain in the leg. Time two when, on special occasions only, he tried to set it on fire in his sleep.

You were standing in the sunlight, booted toes digging into the dirt, looking quite confused with a pile of possibly clean laundry in your arms, draped over both and occupying the grip of one hand, a coat with the Thorston crest thrown over your shoulders.

Stoick looked back at you with a blank expression, his large beard twitching. His helmet seemed to cover half his face as he stared blankly forwards. 

He looked sort of exhausted by the situation as you stared back, with another thin package in your other, free hand.

Hiccup couldn’t believe it.

Gobber tried to nudge his father forward again with his hammer arm, which didn’t do much. Even jumping into Stoick with his shoulder didn’t do anything and Stoick didn’t move an inch until he chose to move his feet, looking back at Gobber tiredly.

“What is your relationship with my son?”

“Huh?” You asked. He heard your voice vaguely from where he stood, not particularly hidden around the bend of a large house frame.

You seemed very focused on his Dad, though. Anyone would be in the situation. At least, that’s what Hiccup thought.

Everything in him burned with embarrassment. A little bit of him was very irritated with his Dad, sort of annoyed, too. 

Who tipped him off, anyways?

“How…” Hiccup’s Dad looked down at the card, comically small compared to his large hands, “Do you handle responsibility?”

Gobber threw his hands up in the back, waving them around like very thick sausages, freezing only when, finally, he caught Hiccup’s eye, frozen like a Terror on top of a fish barrel.

“Do you have any parents who would be open to discussion about-” Stoick asked gruffly, looking very unimpressed as Gobber walked up and tried to smack him on the back of his head, gesturing towards where Hiccup was hidden in an alley, trying to turn his attention away from you and only him.

Tried, being the key word.

Hiccup choked back a yelp as he half scrambled half backed very dignifiedly further back into the alley, swearing to the Gods Almighty that- Well, that- He couldn’t do much on his Dad’s front but he was definitely never talking to Gobber again.

[inneedofsupervision]

Movie Night? No, thank you.

Summary: Some obvious downsides are coming with enhanced senses, but you'll get used to it. The spidey sense thought that has not given Peter any trouble. It quickly became one of his favorite abilities. Until now. Until the Avengers thought, "Hey, let's watch a horror movie with the barely old enough teen in our team".

Peter quickly comes to an insight. Watching horror movies with a spidey sense?

Ten out of ten can not recommend it.

TW: They are watching a horror movie so there are mentions of violence, blood, and injuries, if that's not for you, skip the beginning.

She's running.

Running as fast as she can.

The stench of blood, vomit, and sweat that had made it hard to keep from giving up the last contents of her stomach has grown to be her slightest concern as she stumbles past weathered stone walls and destroyed doors.

"Elli! Elli, where are you?"

A sharp scream escapes her as she misses a step. With an earsplitting noise, the plank she stepped on yields under her weight, and she promptly sails along the rest of the floor plates down into the dark. A sickening squelch reaches the edge of the hole as a flood of hot, biting, breath-stealing pain forces an almost inhuman howl out of her before choking noises emit the frantic attempt to breathe through the pain. But she cannot stop. She needs to find Elli. Tears of dread run over her dirt-smeared cheeks as she claws at the walls to get up.

"Elli," the woman moaned in pain as she fought the urge to break right here and now.

"I'm coming, Elli. I won't leave you here."

She's breathing heavily. Her eyes gloss over, and the last flicker of light dims as she ignores the rusty pipe that had bored through her tight, staring at the wall looming over her. Elli. She has only thoughts for Elli.

With little strength left, the woman begins digging her nails into the moist wood before setting her uninjured foot onto a tiny ledge as she climbs. Her breathing and the blood pulsing in her head are the only sounds she can focus on as she fights herself upwards, needing to get Elli. As she almost made it out, her fingers claw into the ground frantically, grabbing desperately for anything to hold onto and pull herself up. Her hand wraps around something solid, and she doesn't think. She needs to get out, so she pulls and finally, finally makes it over the edge. With a cough and gasping for air, she collapses onto the floor, the blood that oozing out of the wound colors her jeans a dirty red. Sweat-matted hair falls over hunched shoulders as she dry heaves, body shaking with utter exhaustion.

"I'm coming, Elli." The words are mumbled, barely brought over cracked lips. Her breath hitches as a spasm shoots through her hand into her arm, and she glances at it as it begins cramping from how hard she is still holding onto her lifeline.

The lifeline.

"What-" she mutters as her eyes catch onto the object she's clinging to, which turns out to be a blood-stained boot.

"It's him," whispers Peter to no one in particular as he stares wide-eyed at the screen, watching the woman's eyes, caught in a full shot, gazing up at the pantleg that follows the boot until the realization hits her. He grimaces at the terrified scream that echoes through the room and squints his eyes as the axe comes crashing down.

"How could she not tell she was grabbing the boot of the killer? What kind of bullshit is this?!" Peter longingly looks over to Clint, who throws popcorn in the direction of the screen while protesting about the logic of the second lead character.

"As if you were any smarter than her."

Sam throws a pillow at the archer, Peter's pillow. The only thing that had shielded him from, well, he wasn't sure why he was hugging it, but it had brought some comfort. That was until Sam decided to fling it at Clint, who sputters as it's hitting him at the side of his head.

"Can both of you get a grip," grumbles Bucky from next to Peter's other side. He gets a fistful of popcorn thrown at him as an answer. Some of it lands on the teen, as well. Without his pillow, Peter's hands find each other on his lap, where they crawl into the sleeve of the opposite arm. At least like this, he could cross his arms over his chest and not look as much like he's hugging himself. His eyes wander over from the screen to Clint again, just in time for the killer to chase after another victim. His jaw tightens at the screams.

He hadn't always had this much trouble watching horror movies. Sure, he would get a bit spooked, but since the spider bite, it got worse. The suspense subconsciously triggers his sense of danger, leaving him extra jumpy. It doesn't get better with the rest of his senses sharpening to make him more aware of his surroundings, causing Peter to struggle even more to refrain from flinching at every loud noise. Clint shifts in his love-seat, arm thrown over the backrest as he relaxes into the cushion. For the last ten minutes, Peter had thought about excuses to change positions. He felt incredibly out of place, squished between Bucky and Sam, and wished Mr. Stark was here and not away on some gala with Pepper.

Mr. Stark would make him feel better.

The man would pull his arm around his shoulder, and the second he senses Peter jumping again, he would say that the movie sucks and suggest watching that terrible show about celebrities showing off their properties. He roasts their room decor, criticizing until Peter hits his shoulder to make him stop because he cannot stop laughing. Tony would grin, amused, and keep insulting someone else pointlessly expensive and ugly kitchen sink while Peter next to him chortles at the colorful slander. But Mr. Stark isn't here. His last resort for feeling a little better would be Clint. If he only could get up and walk over to the archer, he was very optimistic the other would sense his discomfort. Maybe not as fast as Mr. Stark, but Peter had noticed that, despite the teasing, Clint had a soft spot for him. The man would put his arm around Peter's shoulder in a half hug, claiming to need something to hold onto, joking that the movie was scarier than he remembered. Clint's great like that.

But Clint also sits at the other end of the room, completely draped all over the place and leaving little space to squeeze into. And even if there were room, Peter would need a reason to go over without embarrassing himself. Stuck between Sam and Bucky, still bickering, Peter pulls his hands out of his sleeves and debates if he should pull his knees onto the couch. Like that, he could always hug them to his chest to compensate for the loss of the pillow. But that could draw attention to him, and Peter didn't want to get teased. Maybe if he slowly starts with one leg? The teen keeps shifting in his seat, trying to act composed and not noticing that his constant moving caught the attention of the men sitting next to him.

"You've gotta say something?"

"Huh?" is Peter's eloquent answer.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "You're squirming around like you're sitting on hot coals. Something the matter?"

"Oh, I kinda need to go to the toilett."

The movie halts. Bucky looks at him with a frown, remote in hand.

"What are you waiting for?" he asks, gesturing for Peter to hurry up. The teen suppresses a groan. He hoped they would leave the movie playing. How is he supposed to stall time now? He half-heartedly gets up, wondering how long he should take since he didn't actually need to go.

"He's a little out of it today."

Steve carries a frown as he glances over his shoulder, where the teen has shuffled out of the room.

"Probably some teenage angst because of his finals coming up," comments Sam nonchalantly, head leaning onto his palm. "He will get over it." Steve doesn't look happy but seems to accept the plucked-out-of-thin-air explanation as he settles down again. Sam glances to the side. His and Bucky's eyes meet, and Sam rolls his eyes, wondering what he has done in his past life to be surrounded by these overpowered worrywarts as the ex-assassins expression told him he didn't believe one word. When Peter returns from his unplanned bathroom break, he stops, eyebrows rising at the scene before him. There was popcorn. Lots of it, everywhere. "What happened here?" he asks puzzled. "Clint said Sam wouldn't notice a killer standing in front of him even when he is about to get stabbed," explains Natasha, who doesn't bother looking up from her phone while Clint shields himself with a blanket to avoid the onslaught of popcorn getting thrown at him. "Okay," says Peter slowly, drawing the word out and giving the fighting men a confused side-eye as he walks over to Bucky. The latter looks about to get up at any second to end the chaos himself. "That's it," cheers Sam as Clint protests when the blanket gets ripped out of his hands. Peter glances at the soft fabric thrown onto his lap and brushes off the few crumbs sticking on it. Sam stands triumphantly over Clint, who, very maturely, sticks his tongue out at the man. Sam dumps the rest of the popcorn over the archer's head. "Jokes on you if you think I wouldn't eat the popcorn like this." Clint runs a hand through his hair, sending kernels onto the couch. "What are you, a raccoon?" Clint flips him off and bends down to take the fallen pillow, but Sam is quicker and kicks it out of the archer's reach. Clint doesn't look like he cares much as Sam bends down to take the pillow and thrusts it into Peter's arms. "Keep that before he gets any dumb ideas," orders Sam as he sits back down. Not only having gained a blanket but also a pillow, Peter only nods before taking the pillow, hugging it to his chest. He throws the blanket over it, pulling it closer around himself. "I will keep them safe," he says. The seriousness in his voice causes Steve to throw the bundled-up teen an amused look. The movie continues, and so does Peter's fidgeting and shifting. The blanket and pillow were a great distraction, making him feel slightly less over the edge as he could squeeze the cushion when the sounds from the movie got too much. But the suspense still sucks. His spidey sense wouldn't shut up, and he knew that's the whole point of watching a horror movie, to put the audience on the edge, fearing what would happen next. But usually, the audience doesn't own a sixth sense warning them about something that's about to happen, which is great for them because Peter could attest that having one and watching a horror movie is one of the most inconvenient

downsides in everyday life that can happen. They are only half an hour into the movie as Peter's knuckles grow white with how hard he's fisting them into the blanket. His eyes stick to the screen where the protagonist climbs over the beat-up fence to search the abandoned mansion for their lost friend. At the sound of a door slamming, the protagonist and Peter gasp simultaneously in shock, and the fabric under his fingers tears as he unwillingly grabs the blanket harder. He stares blankly at the destroyed fabric in his hands, hoping Mr. Stark won't be too mad. With stealthy movements, he rolls up the edge of the blanket, acting like nothing happened.

His leg bounces up and down as he debates come clean and asks if they could watch something else as another door slams shut. The woman walks down a dimly lit hallway. The music grows ominous, the camera focusing on the shaky hand going for the tarnished doorknob. Peter's leg shakes harder. He is about to open his mouth and tell the others he has forgotten some schoolwork he needs to do to Monday, when something flutters over his neck.

He twitches, instinctively scrunching his shoulders up, like a turtle caught of guard. His eyes break from the screen to look at Bucky, whose arm retreats from behind his head.

"You had this in your hair."

Peter blinks stunned at the man. Bucky lifts his hand and wordlessly lets a piece of popcorn fall onto Peter's lap. On-screen, the woman passes the door and walks up a staircase, following a bloody trail.

"Thanks," mumbles Peter, but it sounds more like a question. Bucky doesn't say anything, which isn't less confusing as the teen isn't sure how to interpret the man's gesture. The ex-soldier is hard to read. Peter runs his hand through his hair, but thankfully, he hasn't any more food stuck there.

"Attics and basements are equally bad choices," comments Clint with enviable serenity while munching on the popcorn he picks from his clothes, successfully shifting the attention back onto the movie where a blood-drawn arrow points towards the handle of a loft ladder. Peter doesn't even want to see what is about to happen, unconsciously shifting back so he can barely peek over his knees. The teen retreats his arms around his legs, the cushion pressing against his chest at the action. Squinting his eyes, he watches with tense shoulders as the woman steps onto the ladder, climbing up into the dark.

"What the heck?" hisses Sam as something bumps into him rather forcefully. With a frown, he stares down at the blanket burrito of a teen who wears a flustered expression. To Sam's confusion, the blushing teen doesn't pay mind to the one-sided fight on the screen but gapes at Bucky, who has his head turned towards the TV, looking as uninvested as he did since the beginning.

"What's up with you?" asks Sam, bewildered. He lowers his voice, noticing that the others hadn't seen what was happening. "You plan to jump on the ceiling next?"

"Bucky, he-" began the younger to defend himself but quickly clapped his mouth shut as said man turned his head to him, raising a single eyebrow. Sam's confusion grows as the kid honest-to-god pouts. "Never mind," mutters Peter, crossing his arms over his chest, but Sam sees him giving the long haired man a wary side-eye. Sam glances over the teen's head, catching Bucky's eyes. Bucky's lips twitch upwards. Sam shakes his head but keeps from saying anything.

Two could play that game.

Sam keeps paying only half of his attention to the movie, trying to catch up on what is going on between the two idiots next to him. It doesn't take long for him to figure out the pattern. As the suspense rose, so did the tension in Peter’s posture. Sam glances over to Bucky, catching the man's smug expression as he slightly shifts his arm. "Oh no, you don't," thought Sam, squinting his eyes. Peter barely stifles the tiny scream by smushing his face into the pillow as, out of nowhere, a hand claws into his side, digging their fingers into the soft spot under his ribs. Simultaneously, his left armpit gets attacked by a set of fingers worming their way into it, wriggling around experimentally. He jolts at the ticklish bold shooting through his nerves and lets himself fall to the side to avoid the feeling. He puts a hand on Bucky's knee, catching himself before he could stumble off the couch. "What's gotten you so jumpy today?" Peter's head whips in Sam's direction, the protest laying on the tip of his tongue, but as he opens his mouth, the only sound coming out is an embarrassing squeak as a finger pokes him in the stomach, making him jump and nearly hit his face against Bucky's chin. He slaps the offending metal digit away. "You guys suck," mumbles Peter as he straightens himself and crosses his arms protectively around his middle, sending them both a glare. "What did you just say?" Sam mock-threateningly wriggles his fingers in the teen's direction, but Peter catches the hand, holding it tight and only letting go after hearing a whispered plea. He gives the man a side-eye but lets Sam go and leans back onto the couch. To Peter's horror, it didn't end like that. Through the next twenty minutes, his whole attention got stolen by the men he gets nearly squished by, wary of every one of their movements. He wasn't paying attention to anything happening on the screen. Instead, he was busy catching sneaking fingers or batting hands away that reached out to poke him randomly. The pillow and blanket were lying abandoned in front of the couch. Toward the end of the movie, the attacks relent, and his focus is back on the screen where the main protagonist finds her beaten-down friend locked away in the basement, chained to a chair, desperately searching for anything to break the locks open. The camera zooms out at a low pace, slowly revealing more and more of the room. Peter's eyes are stuck on the barely lit corner behind the panicking women, his spidey sense spiking again. He hadn't even noticed that his sixth sense at some point had stopped reacting, only now since it’s beginning to buzz louder than ever. He subconsciously pulls his knees up, curling into himself, when suddenly something pushes him to the side. With a surprised yelp, he tips over, falling onto Sam's legs that the man had put on the couch table. "That's it. I'm done.” Sam throws his arms up in defeat. He flicks a finger against Peter’s forehead.

“You can't sit still for a minute, can you?"

The teen rubs his head with a frown, glaring up at Sam. "That wasn't my fault, it's Bucky! He push-AH!" Peter had been trying to climb down off Sam's legs as he was protesting about being falsely accused when he lost his balance thanks to a pair of hands grabbing his ankles. "You aren't the only one getting annoyed by his fidgeting," grumbles Bucky as he tugs on the teen's legs until Peter lies stretched out on the men's laps, glaring at them both for acting like jerks. "You two are so childish, you know that?" Peter growls and tries shifting and rolling off their legs, but an arm around his waist keeps him from going anywhere. "You distract us during the whole movie, and we are the childish ones?" Sam somehow manages to keep a straight face despite the betrayed and grumpy puppy look the teen's sending them. "Sorry kid but I cannot let that sit." He reaches his hands out, ready to continue where he laid off during the middle of the movie. He catches the teen's lips twitching upwards, a nervous slip of anticipation. "Stop it, Sam." Peter tries to sound stern. But that's kinda hard when you get pinned down by a super soldier and his annoying friend who decide, that they have nothing better to do than start teasing you. At this point, the movie caught no one's interest as all eyes glanced at the one-sided tickle fight breaking out on the couch.

“I hahahaven’t dohone anythihining!”

“You were squirming around and bumping into us the whole time. Neither me nor Bucky could concentrate cause of your fidgeting.”

“Thahat’s becauhse youhu kehept tickling mehehe!” protests the teen.

“Me?” asks Sam with acted surprise while holding one of Peter’s wrists down to attack his sides, causing the teen to try curling into himself, laughing loudly but failing thanks to the Super Soldier holding onto his legs “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

When Peter manages to finally capture Sam's hands and was about to slide off the sofa, a second pair of hands start squeezing right above his kneecaps. “Dohohoh’t!” he brings out between his laughter and tries kicking his legs away, but the teasing hands follow expertly. Peter bends over to fend the mean fingers off but makes the mistake of revealing his entire upper body. Sam doesn't wait, digging his fingers into the teen's armpits from behind. With a cackle, Peter falls back onto Sam's lap, where the older man takes the chance to claw into the teen's stomach and ribs, and the whole routine begins anew. By the end of it, Peter lies curled up between the two, red-faced and giggling as he tries catching both their hands, the ending credits of the movie rolling over the screen.

"Peter, the Boss is calling."

Several eyebrows rise in amusement at the speed at which the teen is up and pushes Sam half of the couch to grab his phone.

"Hey kid- did you run a marathon to reach your phone? What happened to your face?"

Peter's face flashes a new shade of red. He glares at Sam and Bucky who make kissy faces in his direction. The teen smiles sweetly at Mr. Stark before he holds a hand over the front camera and turns back, sticking out his tongue in their direction which earns a snort from Clint and a laugh from Steve and Natasha.

"Why did you cover the camera, kid? You're not hiding a house party, are you?"

"Oh, it's nothing, Mr. Stark. I just thought there was some dust on the lens. I’m with the others, we were watching a movie."

Sam shakes his head as he watches the interaction. "What a sneaky little-ow, what the hell!"

He rubs his shoulder, sending Bucky a glare.

Clint across from them wears a smug grin.

"You two are soft like soggy biscuits."

Sam grimaces while Bucky throws the pillow back at the cackling archer.

"It probably counts as a failure of assistance to let the kid sit next to you and get nightmares by watching this kinda stuff," argues Sam, crossing his arms over his chest. Steve huffs in amusement. Their heads turn towards Peter, who animatedly talks as he walks past them and towards his room, a smile painting his face.

"I don't think he's going to get nightmares," the blond says before glancing back at his friends. He grins, looking weirdly proud.

"Thanks to you two."

Read on Ao3

[blackroseguzzi]

Hi dear, how are you?

I saw you are taking Kai requests and I'm still reeling from chapter 3 of Otherworldly. So, I wanted to ask if you'd be comfortable writing some dark(?) smut for him x fem!reader? You choose how dark or vanilla the fic will be.

Feel free to ignore/decline and have a wonderful day 💙

SHOW ME 🔥 😈

Kai Anderson x Fem!Reader

A little Dark and a little Vanilla-personalities of our lovely Devine Ruler; Kai Anderson 🖤

Summery: You meet Kai at a party and something draws you to him. As you become intimate with each other you ask something of him without realizing what it means to him. There are a few sides to this complex human. The two sides confuse you yet make you completely melt into him.

Warnings: sex, sex, Smut, lots of language that you shouldn’t read if you’re not 18+, ITS SMUT- THATS A WARNING IN ITSELF. Also, my red flag Kai Anderson as my favorite warning.

Okay, I need to go shower because I feel so dirty hehe.

Winter won then battle with Kai about her Neon Glow birthday bash in the basement tonight. She had pleaded with her older brother to let her have her 21st birthday in their home - specifically his sacred quarters down in their basement. Kai had continued to object her requests until one night she had told him that if he allowed her to transform the place into glowing neon wonderland that she would attend the next Trump Rally with him. They shook on it, and Kai had even helped her with decorations.

Kai was not one to party, and he was currently locked inside of his room at his desk, his laptop open to a website about global security. He turned up the volume on his laptop as he watched videos to try and drown out the sounds of “one kiss” by Calvin Harris. He swore he heard this song 5 times since the party had started an hour ago. He sighed heavily, slamming his laptop and pushing back in his desk chair. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the noises from below. He could feel the vibrations of the base, a few muffled men’s voices mixed with the shrill voices of some of winter’s obnoxious girlfriends. He was curious to see what was unfolding down there and decided to check things out. Winter had politely asked him to stay the fuck away from her party, but clearly his listening skills needed some work. He felt like if she was using his sanctuary for her unearthly colorful millennial party, that he at least could assess the damages during the event.

The basement door was open, and he took a step in front of the party abyss. Down below was the blackness of the room, just a few flashes here and there of bright pinks and blues and neon green. Kai kept his statue-like composure as he descended down the steps. The music was vibrating the wooden planks with each step. He could see a crowd of people dancing provocatively with red solid cups in their hands. They were all dressed in white clothing or an awful shade of neon that glowed annoyingly in the black light Kai had helped place next to the make shift bar. He was surprised to see how full the basement had become. He didn’t realize his sister had known that many people, and that she actually liked parties like this. It was sickening to him that someone would enjoy this much color.

He took a seat at one of the bar stools, grabbing at an unopened Bud Light that was on the bar top. He twisted off the cap and took a swig- god awful. He could never understand the hype of beer. It was grotesque, and the way people pounded it like water repulsed him.

He scanned the room for any familiar faces but his view stoped at two people in the corner of the room. Their bodies illuminated by the fireplace that had been on.

There was one male, clearly intoxicated as his body swayed as he talked. He was in a white shirt splatted with the ugliest colored paints. It was vile to think he had purposefully done that to a perfectly good white t-shirt.

There was also a female, and she struck Kai’s interest immediately. In the sea of brightly colored clothing, she was dressed in a black turtleneck and a pair of ripped black jeans. Her hair was even dark, cascading down her shoulders. She looked extremely unimpressed with mr. paint splatter as he inched closer to speak to her over the music. He narrowed his eyes as he examines her closer. She was not one of the girls Winter had ever brought over, he would have noticed that porcelain skin and the shape of her curves.

He watched as your tongue moved around the straw of your drink, guiding it into your mouth. God, he wanted your lips around him like that.

You moved your head slowly over to Kai’s glare and for a moment the two of you synced eyes. You smirked shyly, the straw still between your velvet red lips. Kai swallowed down another chug from his beer bottle as a new song came over the speakers. You turned your attention to paint splatter and grabbed the collar of his ugly t shirt, dragging him to the middle of the basement where everyone was gathered dancing. You made sure to flash your eyes over at Kai as you grind her body on paint splatter. Kai felt his pants stiffen slightly and he was relieved that he was in dark clothing. He watched as your body moved slow and deliberate against the man behind you, yet you kept flashing looks to Kai as if seducing him. Kai’s heart thumped in his chest, watching as paint splatter decided to ruin his own party by grabbing your ass a little too aggressively. You pushed away, but he only leaned forward again, this time grabbing your neck and pressing your lips to his. Again, you pulled away more forcefully this time- and that’s when Kai stood up, chucking his empty beer bottle in the trash and sneaked onto the dance floor. His face stone and devilish, he approached Paint splatter and politely tapped his shoulder. The drunken man turned to face Kai who leaned in to whisper in his ear. Whatever he had said made Paint Spatters’ eyes widen and he looked between you and Kai before nodding and backing away into the crowded dance floor apologizing and yelling about getting more beer. Kai turned his focus onto you, smirking lightly.You could feel your face flush. You were extremely turned on by his harsh black eyes and blue hair pulled into a half bun. His smirk exposed the perfect kind of dimples that made your panties wet. He put his hand on the small of your back and pulled you close, “I’m Kai.” You felt your nipples harden as his breath hit your ear. You leaned in close so they were pressed on his chest as you whispered your name in return. He snaked his other hand onto your ass and pulled you close to his body and started moving slowly to the music. One of his thumbs had made it up in the hem of your shirt, touching your bare skin and you could feel your pussy throbbing. Kai nuzzled into you like he was trying to protect you from everyone else around you as they danced. He could feel you rubbing your body in all the right places onto his. He glanced into your eyes as you moved - You looked like a little lamb, one that he also was about to sacrifice.

You twirled your body around so that your ass was pressed tightly against his erect penis. You moved slowly up and down and pushed your ass further into him while he gripped your waist. Kai planted a careful kiss on your neck and you knew that tonight you were going to fuck this man’s brains out. Your throat yearned for his hands and his dick to be around and inside it.

Hell, you deserved to be adored, but also fucked so hard that afterwards you couldn’t stand up.

Kai moaned in your ear as you pushed your ass harder into him. He moved your hair so carefully from your ear to get as close as his lips could take him to your face.

“Get yourself another drink, and walk up to the second floor. I’m the first door on the right.” He let go of you slowly. You turned quickly and watched him slither in between the abyss of ugly neon drunken college students. His black shirt and striking blue hair standing out as he snuck back up the stairs. You ran your hands through your sweaty hair and took a breath. That was Winter’s brother? You had just become close with Winter over the last year. She had complained about her brother on multiple occasions. The way she talked about him made Kai seem like he had some major issues, but you reminded yourself that you loved a good walking red flag.

You bit your lip and looked around at the preposterous excuse of a ‘rave’. You surly wouldn’t miss it if you snuck out and up to Kai’s room.

You made your way to the makeshift bar, grabbing two solo cups and pouring a generous amount of fireball in both before descending stealthily up the stairs- headed to Kai’s room.

As you hit the top step the air became less foggy as you quietly made your way towards the stairs.

“Y/N?” You cursed to yourself before turning at the sound of Winter’s voice. “What are you doing up here? I have so much to tell you- Kelly totally just made out with me in the bathroom,” She drunkenly made her way over to you and pointing to the solo cups in your hands. “Are you double fisting or did you actually find a man friend down there to share shots with?”

“I was actually looking for you. We need to take a celebratory shot!” You did not want Winter to realize that you were about to go bring not only the drink, but your body to her brother upstairs.

“Oh cool, thanks babes.” She grabbed one of the solo cups and hissed as the fireball burned down her throat. “I’m so glad you came. Are you having a good time?”

“You know, it’s actually not as bad as I thought it would be,” You smiled at your friend who raised her eyebrows in shock at your words.

“Good, go back down there! There’s nothing up here except the bathroom and my idiot brother.”

You didn’t know how to respond so you decided to fill the void by shoving the edge of the solo cup in your mouth and letting the warm alcohol coat your insides with cinnamon flavored heat.

“Well, I’ll meet you down there. I need to freshen up in the lady’s room.”

Winter smiled at you before turning to descend back down the stairs to her party. You let out a breath, knowing how distasteful it was to fuck the birthday girls’ brother while she waited for you in the basement. There was just something so enchanting about Kai that you needed to feel him inside of you - just this once.

Quietly, you tip toed up the staircase towards Kai’s room. Your lips pressed together as rose your hand to knock. You could feel your heart in your throat as you saw the door knob turn and Kai appeared in front of you, that smirk of his forming once he saw you.

“I’m happy to see you decided to join me up here.” Kai threw an arm out and inviting you inside his room. It was dark, except for a lamp that was on at his desk. His room was filled with book shelves chalked full with novels and his walls were a dark Navy. You also noticed lots of paperwork stuck to bulletin boards above his desk - This was the room of a busy man.

“Mmm, I like a man who can enjoy the voice of Lana Del Rey,” You smiled as you walked over to Kai’s old record player, ‘Ride’ playing softly through the speakers.

“She has a beautiful voice,” He stated, walking up next to you. Having his body so close sent electric shockwaves through your vagina. You licked your lips before looking up at him. He had such strong features, and those eyes literally sent you over the edge. His hand raises, sweeping hair from your face as he cups your jaw, bringing your lips together. The softness of his kisses made you completely let go. Kai deepened the endearment and felt his erection welcome the both of them between their bodies. He could taste the fireball on your tongue and he walked your intertwined body over to his bed.

“I don’t do missionary,” You spoke, slightly out of breath. Oh, Kai liked you before but now he was loving you.

“Good, get naked right now and let me fuck you from behind.” Kai ripped off his shirt quickly and let his jeans drop to the floor. He watched you pull your top off, drooling over the way your breasts bounced as they fell from your bra. He took one of your nipples in his mouth and felt the shiver of your body as you moaned sweetly at his actions. He moved his mouth to your neck, sucking it aggressively. You dug your fingers into the flesh on his back and he groaned in enjoyment. He spun your around so that your ass was up against his dick and he slipped his fingers into your wet pussy, his digits tasting you. “I want the side of you that you don’t show anyone else,” You whispered as your backside was pressed against him, your hands reaching up to play with that blue hair that drove you crazy. His fingers explored your insides as if you were a road map to a treasure.

“Drop down like a good girl, and I’ll fuck you like a bad one.” Kai’s words sending goosebumps over your body. You leaned forward, your palms propped you up on the bed as he entered you from behind. He moved slow at first, until you were dripping at your folds, then he started to really hammer into you. You loved the way he smacked your ass and then would gently rub your hips. He was the perfect mix of pain & pleasure.

He exited you and gently pulled you up to face him.
“Your face is so… wow.. it’s just beautiful,” Kai spoke in between hungry kisses. You smiled against his lips at his words. Usually a man you just met that engaged in sexual acts with you only complimented your pussy, not your face. It made you crumble even more for Kai.

He jumped onto the bed and you crawled on top of him, your wetness letting him slide effortlessly back inside of you. He watched with a wide smile as you rode his dick, while rubbing your clit. You moaned deeply as his hands massaging your tits, making you go wild.

“Spit in my mouth.”

You looked down at Kai with a smirk, he was a kinky one. You licked your lips before sucking your saliva into the center of your mouth. You leaned forward as he opens his mouth for you. You forcefully spat your saliva into Kai’s open mouth and he hummed as his eyes closed, savoring your taste before he swallowed it. You grabbed his cheeks in your hand and let out a sinful giggle.

“You are a wicked one, Kai Anderson.” You pushed yourself down on top of him and feverishly kissed him, taking in his bottom lip between your teeth every so often, making his growls and groans more erotic each time.

You moved your hips around and sat back up throwing your head back in pleasure as Kai moved between pinching your nipples and needing them between his fingers. His hands were soft, and you kept getting a nose full of his oaky masculine scent that almost drove your animalistic instincts crazy. You had read somewhere that a woman was always sexually attracted to her partners smell. You had never enjoyed a man’s sweat until right now. It all came together to make so much sense, just like your pussy came together with his hard long and delicious cock. Kai sat up as your bodies stay linked and he snaked his hands around you so that one hand was on the small of your back and the other on the back of your neck. He pressed his forehead to yours as you moved your body. The earth seemed to slow down as your ears only filled with the sound of his breathing and the faint echoes of Rey’s ‘Tomorrow Never Came’. Your vulnerability in that moment made you slightly embarrassed. The way his thumb stroked your middle back and then when he kissed the tip of your nose you knew this man was some kind of mythical creature you possibly dreamed up in a drunken state. “Should we take this to the shower?” He whispered as your body continued to move up and down on top of him. Your nodded, happy to break the intense moment between the two of you. If you lasted any longer you knew you’d be utterly attached to this guy whom you barely knew.

You slid off of him, and he takes your hand and leads you to the attached bathroom. He turned on the shower and you immediately felt the steam engulf both your bodies while continuing to actively kiss. He cupped your ass and before you know it, your legs were wrapped around him as he carried you into the hot shower. He slowly re-entered you as he slammed your back into the shower wall, the water cascading down both of your sweaty bodies. You felt his dick so far up inside of you that you felt like you were getting the most intimate part of him. He pulled from the kiss to watch your face as he thrusted deep inside of you, your legs wrapped tightly around him, his hands still grabbing your ass cheeks to keep you from falling.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Kai moaned as he went in and out of you pleasurably. He was panting hard when you grabbed each side of his face in your hands and smashed your lips together again feeling your orgasm rising. You threw your head back as Kai started pounding you harder and faster. Kai was staring back at you with his intense eyes. He raised one arm up, throwing his hand around your neck, his arm wresting perfectly in between your perky breasts.

“You like when I choke you? Cum for me baby girl.” He squeezes your neck a little harder. You moaned in pleasure and suddenly you could feel Kai release himself inside of you, which in turn made you relax and let your orgasm come to fruition.

He slid out from inside you as your legs gently unwrapped from his waist and you planted them on the shower floor. He refused to let you go and you both just embraced in the shower, the water washing away the sinful things you had just done. What had possessed you to partake in this aftercare that Kai was giving you was unknown, but you stood there as your legs shook lightly from the orgasm that had overtaken your body moments before.Kai stroked your hair as your head lay on his chest-Eyes closed as the water pelted down on your skin. When it felt like you both hand lingered too long, you pulled away shyly. Kai shut the water off, hoping out of the shower and walking naked towards the cabinet of towels. He handed one to you, thanking him quietly before wrapping yourself into it.

He dried off his body before throwing the towel around his waist. You both didn’t say much as you exited the bathroom. Kai walked over to the record player and changed out the record. You loved the song that had started playing - Not Allowed by TV Girl.

“You want to lay in bed and listen to some music with me?” Kai asked, looking to you with a raised eyebrow. You were surprised at his eagerness to spend time with you after the relationship you shared this far had been strictly sexual.

“Ahh..yeah okay.” You rang out your hair in your towel before grabbing your clothes that were laying on the floor.

“No, no clothes,” Kai said quietly as he wrapped his arms around your naked body. He guided you to the bed as the sounds of music played in the air.

You felt the goosebumps appear as Kai’s fingers made little circles on your shoulder.

“So, I have to ask you a questioned- Why were you at this party tonight? You don’t fit the scene,” Kai’s body vibrated your ear as he spoke.

You smiled on his chest. “Winter is a good friend of mine actually. We share a lot of classes at college. To be honest that party doesn’t really fit her scene either.”

You moved so that you were now laying beside Kai, faces inches apart. His eyes were softer now, more relaxed and playful. He was a really handsome man, and you adored the small freckle on his nose and the way his eyes squinted when he smiled. Oh, and you couldn’t forget the dimples.

“Well I’m extremely grateful you came tonight, pun intended.” Kai chuckled as you playfully hit his chest.

“It’s my turn to ask you a question.” You propped yourself up on your elbow so that you could look down at Kai’s calm expression. He raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

“Are you always this intimate with girls after you just fucked them?” Your lips pressed together and you narrowed your eyes at him.

He shook his head “Never.”

“Then why are you being this way with me- a girl you plucked from your sisters basement party?”

He smiled and put his hand to your face to stroke your cheek “it’s simple- You told me to show you a side of me I don’t show anyone else.”

He smiled and put his hand to your face to stroke your cheek “it’s simple- You told me to show you a side of me I don’t show anyone else.”

He smiled and put his hand to your face to stroke your cheek “it’s simple- You told me to show you a side of me I don’t show anyone else.”

He smiled and put his hand to your face to stroke your cheek “it’s simple- You told me to show you a side of me I don’t show anyone else.”

He smiled and put his hand to your face to stroke your cheek “it’s simple- You told me to show you a side of me I don’t show anyone else.”

“Then why are you being this way with me- a girl you plucked from your sisters basement party?”

He smiled and put his hand to your face to stroke your cheek “it’s simple- You told me to show you a side of me I don’t show anyone else.”

[jantowrites]

Hugs & Kisses

♡ Author's note; My very first short fanfiction on this blog, AHHH! Please don't come for me in regards to the audio, I think it fits the vibe heheh.

And please let me know what you think. Given this is the first fic that I have published here, I would LOVE to get feedback on everything, don't be shy!

♡ Content: Fluff, best friends to Lovers, did I mention fluff?

♡ Pairing: Levi Colwill x Fem!reader

♡ Summary: You and Levi visit sea life, where you share a moment.

The hammering sound of raindrops hitting the umbrella Levi and I promptly walked under was soothing to the ear. It was mid-July, July the 18th to be exact, summer still peeking through the obscure autumn-like weather, with the humid breeze wrapping uncomfortably around the heart of England, London. 

Levi and I scurried up the staircase to the entrance of the sea life aquarium building. The soles of our shoes tapped against the concrete, occasionally splashing water here and there. Closing the umbrella, Levi shook the excess water droplets off it and opened the door for us to enter.

While inside, we exhaled in unison, not realising the air we held hostage for some odd reason. The air conditioning and the overall coolness inside the building forced me into a potent shudder as I felt goosebumps underneath my long-sleeved shirt.

Levi quietly chuckled under his breath before swiftly grabbing the back of his hooded sweatshirt and pulling it over his head. I watched as he allowed it to slightly bunch up in his grip before he extended his arm, motioning for me to take it from him.

‘Very well then, gentleman.’ I mockingly responded to his gesture before eagerly grabbing the soft, grey-colored material from his grip. 

‘Always.’ He replied before shrugging, an amused look plastered on his face.

Sliding the hoodie over my head, the delicate whiff of fresh laundry, combined with his day-to-day perfume, the scent I Loved so much, found its way into my nostrils as I allowed the warmth from the hoodie to engulf me while yet another shiver found its way throughout my body.

‘Bloody hell, look at the map bruv! This place is huge, will deffo get lost in here man,’ Levi proclaimed as he used his index finger to point at the map in front of us that showcased the entirety of the aquarium. Something about his remark made me snicker, mainly because there was a chance we’d get lost inside this building.

Throughout our friendship, Levi and I have had our fair share of ‘dumb and dumber’ moments. Our bond, me and him, was different than any I have. We met in kindergarten and built our friendship into a solid one. Now, here we stand in front of the sea life map.

Making our way to the entrance as we excitedly stepped into the aquarium, the scenery of the water around us, between thick glass, was all but underwhelming.

‘Oh, my gosh, Levi, you see that shark?’ I questioned, as it was the very first animal we spotted. We both hastened our footsteps to get a better view of the sea creature. Out of instinct, our hands almost instantly pressed against the thick, cold glass, watching the humongous fish swim past us. I left my eyes wandering,  following the shark before it disappeared from my peripheral view.

‘Bosh, this is only the beginning of the aquarium as well, you know? We’re gonna be in here for a while…’ I said as I turned to face him, whom I thought was still standing beside me, but the man had already moved to the opposite side, watching another shark swim past. I couldn’t help but laugh, knowing today would be a memorable event.

As we walked throughout the building, each with springs to our steps, the only words that made their way out of us were; ‘OOH!’ and ‘LOOK, LOOK!’ as we pointed at diverse things that caught our attention. Our excitement and giggles eventually became one with the similar noises of the kids in the building. 

After walking for a while, we took a well-needed break, plopping down to the nearest sets of wooden planks labeled as seats. By now, we were halfway through the aquarium. The thought did bring a type of sadness, knowing it would all be over soon. Nonetheless, I was happy that I was finally spending time with Levi. I had to convince myself that I fully understood why things had to change now that he had become a professional football player. But quite frankly, I didn’t understand why. Why our daily hangouts gradually became less prominent.

‘What you thinking ‘bout then, all quiet,’ He interrupted my thought process as he probably noticed that I once again, as usual, decided to live inside of my head for a brief moment.

‘Just-’ I paused, knowing I eventually would have to cough up a word that would convince him I hadn’t been pondering over our less frequent hangouts, ‘happy.’ I replied after the pause, pursing my lips into a thin line and slowly nodding my head in approval of my statement.

I heard him sigh, ‘How many more times do I have to keep telling you this, Y/N. I know you very flippin’ well, I know you’re not being honest right now, just talk to me.’ He nudged my arm with his elbow, pushing me to the side as I dramatically leaned sideways. In return, I was the one to sigh now, knowing I had to tell him how and what I felt.

‘Levi, I am being honest. I am happy. I just miss you a lot. I’ve missed hanging out with you…’ I answered, tapping the pads of my fingers against my pants, seemingly looking over at him through my lashes.

His mouth gradually shaped into the smile I adored so much. Levi swung his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a mixture of a side hug and an embrace. I took in the scent of his perfume that lingered on him, his beard lightly scraping against the very top of my forehead, and the heat that rose to my face. I felt the bliss of being in his presence.

‘I’ve missed hanging out with you too, Y/N. I know, I know we haven’t been able to hang out as we want to, it sucks.’ melancholy ringing in the tone of his voice. Pulling away from the embrace but maintaining a proximity of closeness that made my pulse rise, his eyes met mine.

‘However, I feel like I know a solution for that. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for quite some time now. Platonically, I like you, like a lot,’ he said before pausing, allowing his eyes to wander down at my lips, before quickly gazing into my eyes, ‘But romantically, I like you even more. Y/N..’ 

He paused yet again, scanning my face to try and soothe its puzzled appearance. 

‘Will you be my girlfriend?’

As if time had stopped, the jellyfish around us had stopped swimming, and the air had run out. I felt stuck. Not until the corners of my lips instinctively rose, not until then was I able to utter a simple but prominent; ‘Yes, Levi.’

The fit of laughter we broke into had to be one of the most intimate settings we had endured within our bond. A love like this never felt so sure and was nothing but genuine feelings reciprocated, filled with the rawest form of our emotions expressed. 

Cupping my face with his hands, I felt myself tremble under this touch as he leaned forward, merely inches away from letting our lips touch.

‘Can I kiss you, Y/N?’ he whispered against my lips, his cool breath hitting them.

‘Of course, you can,’ I replied, my stomach dipping right before we closed our eyes as he closed the tiny gap that never stood a chance. I instantly melted into the tender kiss, his lips perfectly set upon mine. It was as if our souls intertwined, morphed into one, and became the union we both had yearned for so long. In a language only he and I spoke, we shared our utmost Love for each other at that sweet moment.

[raajrajasharma]

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[acatalystrising]

I’m back! I have brought a liiiitle teaser of my upcoming fic, “Spell on Me” to share with you! Obviously this isn’t the full story, and it will very likely become its own series, but I’m much too excited to keep this to myself. Besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything new, so I hope you enjoy!

The full chapter will be posted soon!

This is based off the song, “You Put a Spell on Me” by Austin Giorgio!

TW: injury, blood, cannon violence, minor character death, other deaths mentioned/alluded to.

(Don’t you worry, there will be smut in the future!)

The rain was as relentless as your pursuers, shredding the humid air into cascading ribbons, curling back into the night sky.

You felt it soaking your clothes, any semblance of stealth lost with every creak of stiff fabric and squeak of your boots. But still, you ran down the miserable alleyways of an equally miserable planet, heart pounding like a drum fueled by terror and adrenaline.

Shouts echoed like blaster fire on the stone walls as you fled, your attackers right on your heels. Breath snagging in your throat, you twisted down an adjacent alley as fast as your legs would carry you, ducking and diving through the refuse and obstacles in your way. The problem? You had no clue where you were going.

And panic was a vicious enemy.

Tears blurred your vision, streaming freely down your cheeks as you fled. This was all one massive, terrible mistake. You’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now your friends had paid dearly for it. You most likely would as well - lost and panicked, shot and left for dead in a gutter.

One wrong turn led to another, and fear struck you in relentless waves when the scent of brackish saltwater and sewage wafted past your nose.

You couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. Even if you didn’t have a reason to keep living. Something inside you, a traitorous defiance, refused to give up so easily. Your friends were mostly likely dead…no, not most likely. Definitely. The acidic tang of loss welled in your throat, but you pushed on. There was nothing you could do for them now.

You spun around a corner, and your heart plummeted. A dock awaited you, the end a high wooden planked wall meant to shield from the churning waves. A massive building towered above to the right, shattered glass windows glinting in the moonlight, resembling a million eyes watching your every move. Chills skittered down your spine.

Your legs tried to lock in place, but angry shouts behind sprung you back into action. Heart pounding in your ears, you bolted down the pier, footsteps pounding on rotting wood. There had to be a way out, a chance to slip away. Perhaps there was another path behind the building…

You spun around a stack of craters three times your height, and slammed into something solid. Metal. Unforgivable. You fell to the ground with a sharp cry, the peeling wood biting into your palms. Had they already caught up to you?

Thunder rumbled like an angry roar, and as you looked up, lighting split across the sky, revealing an armored figure standing before you.

A mandalorian.

Horror unlike anything you’d ever felt before, even despite your current situation, flooded your veins as that t-visored helm tilted down, regarding you in deadly silence. It only took one more flicker of lighting to see the colors, the battle damage, and the markings to know this wasn’t just any Mandalorian…

Shit. This day was just getting worse and worse by the second. You’d know him anywhere, the hunter before you. Everyone in the resistance did.

Boba Fett.

You weren’t sure if he was here for you. It was possible, you supposed, but the armored figure before you didn’t move, nor did he speak. A heavy tension hung in the air, interrupted by vulgar shouts that grew ever closer.

In your panic, knowing your end was near, you did the first thing that popped into your terrified mind. The first stupid, desperate thing.

“Please take me. I’ll be your bounty, anything…” you swallowed hard when the helmet tilted further, slightly to the side, and you had the distinct feeling your life was being weighed, assessed for its value. Your voice cracked like a squeaky hinge, softer than you’d expected. “I’ll do anything. Anything at all. They…murdered my friends. Don’t let them kill me, I beg of you-”

A hand suddenly gripped your shoulder, yanking you to your feet. The force of the assault pulled you backward, and you screamed, swinging a hand at your attacker.

The Twi’lek gripped your arm and swung, his fist slamming right into your left eye. He released you, and you stumbled backward, shoulders slamming into the crates.

“Thought you’d give us the slip, huh?” His voice was laden with sarcasm as he approached, headtails whipping in the harsh wind. “Well, you’re wrong.”

Eye tearing up from the punch, you slid along the crates and to the wall, looking for any way out. More walls met your gaze, tall and unforgiving. You flung a frantic gaze to where you’d seen Fett, but saw only shadows. You should have known he’d leave you for dead. It was a foolish, desperate request, borne from the mind of someone who knew they were going to die.

You looked back at the man, and saw that four more now stood with him, brandishing blasters and vibroblades.

“Sorry, but you’re a witness. Can’t have those running amok.” The Twi’lek approached, weapon gleaming in the moonlight.

Your blood turned ice as he lunged. You twisted out of the way, trying to run back the way you’d come. The Twi’lek grabbed your hair, pulling you backward. You twisted and bit his arm, kicking at his groin. He cursed, the knife flashed…

Pain arced across the left side of your face, hot blood pouring into your already injured eyebrow from the open wound. Shaking, a whimper emitting from your chapped lips, and you staggered backward, legs buckling as you were once again backed to the wall. You dropped to your knees, tears streaming down your face. You pressed your left hand over your eye, blood already pooling around your fingers. Thunder rumbled above, and your attacker approached, vibroblade held ready in his hand.

“No more trouble, now, and I’ll let you die quickly after we’ve had a little fun.”

He stood above you, raising his blade…

And then a deep, rich voice that could give the best spotchka a run for its money made the man freeze in his tracks.

“Well, well, what have we here?”

The Twi’lek slowly turned, vibroblade dropping just a tad. His body blocked your view, but you heard spurred footsteps as someone new approached. The men didn’t utter a word. Fear permeated the air.

“Seems you’ve cornered something that isn’t yours.” The voice was cool, confident, in control. “She has a bounty. It’s mine.”

“A bounty? On her? Not that I’m arguing with you, Fett. It’s just…she’s not...” Her attacker’s cocky tone was gone, replaced with barely concealed dread.

“I won’t ask again.” The voice you now knew to be Fett’s was cutting, nearly a growl. A warning.

“She’s a witness…surely you understand…” The Twi’lek sheathed his vibroblade with quivering fingers, voice nearly shaking. “I’ll personally pay her bounty if you let us dispose of her for you. I’d say that’s a fair deal considering the circumstances. Besides, the boys wanted to have a little fun with her before we, you know…”

Horror flooded through you, followed by rage. Panic and terror kept your lips locked, but you stammered, hands clenched to shaking fists.

“Is that so?” The voice grew louder, nearly a purr over the thunder, punctuated by the staccato beat of spurred boots approaching.

The man hastily stepped aside as the now familiar armored figure approached, once again illuminated by the lightning threading the roiling sky.

Boba Fett, the notorious bounty hunter spoken of in terrified whispers, in the flesh like a nightmare made real, stood before you. Rain pattered off his helmet, dripping to the ground like blood.

“Well…” his voice rumbled through you, and she shivered. “Answer me truthfully.”

Without warning, he knelt so he was eye-level with you. When he spoke, his voice hummed with barely concealed fury.

“Which one did this to you?”

You blinked, shock rippling down your spine. You winced, touching your split eyebrow and looking at him in question. He nodded, and for some reason, you didn’t hesitate. You spoke lowly, terrified that the Twi’lek would hear and hurt you again.

“He did…”

Boba nodded, the movement quick and cutting.

Fett stood directly in front of you and turned to face your attacker. The Twi’lek hesitantly watched, clearly unaware of your exchange. Heart hammering in your chest, you watched the events unfold, wondering if you even had a chance of surviving this.

“Run along now.” Fett didn’t step away from you, yet his voice had taken a far more sinister tone. “She’s mine.”

Chills ran down your spine renewed. Did you actually have a price over your head? If so, your day just went from terrible to infinitely worse. He would most likely kill you, or whisk you away to a fate worse than death….

“Fett, I’m not letting you…”

Blaster fire echoed over the pier, cutting his words off short. You closed your eyes, expecting to feel the pain of the bolt blossom in your chest…

A loud thump broke through your panic, and you slowly opened her eyes to see the Twi’lek lying on the deck, blood already pooling around his body. His men cursed, turning tail and running away without another word. The head of the snake had been severed.

Silence fell on the pier, save for the flashing lighting and rumbling thunder.

Your eye stung, and you covered it with your hand again, shaking in terror as Boba Fett turned to face you, smoke still curling from the barrel of his blaster. That cutting, unseen gaze locked on you, expression hidden. All was silent and empty on the pier save for you both.

And now, Fett would have no witnesses when he disposed of you.

You flinched when Fett lowered the blaster, but instead of firing, he holstered the weapon with a snap. He knelt again, and you couldn’t help but try to scoot away. The wall blocked any chance of escape; solid and formidable behind you, but nowhere near as formidable as the person before you. Would he torture you? Throw you into the sea?

When he spoke, confusion and fear flooded through you in waves.

“You’re coming with me.”

-

This isn’t finished, and there will be much more to come! Tagging the Boba Besties in case you’re interested!

@hideflen @writingwintermoon @daimyosprincess @marierg @ceapa-mica @deewithani @thirsty-boba-fett-posts @bobathirstaccount @mnmovdoom @die-herzlos-engel @bobafetts-princess @dukeoftheblackstar @wings-and-beskar @kimiheartblade

[xpuigc-bloc]

COLOSSAL

GRACE EBERT

Archaeologists Uncover Rare Blue Frescoes of an Ancient Sanctuary and Servant Quarters in Pompeii

Archaeologists continue to uncover the area known as Insula 10 of Pompeii’s Regio IX neighborhood, and a recent finding includes a stunning sky-blue sacrarium, a space for ritual and conservation of sacred objects.

All images © Archaeological Park of Pompeii.

Archaeologists continue to uncover the area known as Insula 10 of Pompeii’s Regio IX neighborhood, and a recent finding includes a stunning sky-blue sacrarium, a space for ritual and conservation of sacred objects. Brilliant red lines the niches, where statues and other devotional iconography likely stood.

The 8-square-meter room is decorated in the Fourth Style (c. 60–79 C.E.), an intricate aesthetic that was less ornamental than its predecessor but took a more narrative and architectural approach. Adorning the walls are several women donning flower crowns and flowing garments, four of which correspond to the seasons. Two others grasp a plow and pedum, a shepherd’s crook, and are allegories of agriculture and sheep-tending.

Researchers believe the room was used for storage during a larger renovation when Mount Vesuvius erupted. The team uncovered 15 amphorae, two jugs, and two lamps in the space, along with building materials and a pile of empty oyster shells that were likely slated to be ground and added to plaster.

a woman in a flowing gown is painted on a blue wall with an architectural roof to the left

Pompeiians typically reserved blue for the most sacred of spaces, and neither the color nor the accompanying frescoes appear in a discovery nearby. As noted by The History Blog, archaeologists also excavated the servants’ quarters of the villa of Civita Giuliana, a stark contrast to the sacrarium. The room contained a bed, work tools, a basket, rope, and wooden planks, the shapes of which were preserved by volcanic matter, and researchers were able to recreate their forms in plaster. They explain:

As the ash solidified, forming a very solid layer known as “cinerite,” organic material such as human bodies, animals, or wooden objects decayed, leaving a void in the ground. These voids can be filled with plaster during excavation, to regain the original shape from the “negative” impression. A technique that led to extraordinary results in the villa of Civita Giuliana, from the casts of two victims and a horse to those of the modest beds in the servile quarter.

Archaeologists recently shared two videos from the sites, and you can find more tours and views of the ancient city from the Pompeii team on YouTube.

COLOSSAL

[meinkatz]

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[barbedbetty]

You and I

Halbrand x Reader

Warnings: no smut, some fluff, memory loss, memory flashes

PART ONE

The first thing I felt when I drifted back to consciousness was the lack of water lapping at my skin. There was no blistering heat burning me. No rough wooden planks on my makeshift raft to irritate my body.

I slowly opened my eyes and found myself in a ships hold.

My body was beyond exhaustion, even my eyes ached as they scanned the new surroundings. I didn’t care if i was laying atop a crate or a cloud, i closed my eyes and wanted to slip back into a dreamless rest.

I heard a door open, and every part that dreaded movement before snapped into action without warning.

The next thing I knew, I was standing up and braced in a fighting stance.

A man walked in, wearing some kind of sailors uniform. An ivory vest with golden details stitched across it delicately over a ocean blue tunic. He was tanned and scarred, his dark brown hair fell in soft wave-like curves around his gentle face. He was tall and could have been menacing but his demeanor was gentle.

He walked toward me slowly, he raised his right hand in surrender and in his left was a small tray with a bowl of food and a canteen.

“We pulled you from the sea last night.” He explained. “You’re safe here, no one else has been in here since you passed out.”

“Am I a prisoner?” I didn’t ease one screaming muscle in my body.

“No, you are a guest.” He set the tray on a small barrel and bowed towards me.

“Where are we headed?” I demanded as he stood upright again, clasping his hands in front of him.

“To our home port of Númenor.”

“Númenor?” The name felt familiar to her.

“Yes, I’m Captain Elendil of the Sea Guard.” He tilted his head and scanned my face. “What’s your name?”

“…Y/n.” I answered curtly.

“Where do you come from?”

I paused.

“Not Númenor.” I said and stood up straight, this man wasn’t a threat.

“I understand.” He nodded. “You will have to give a proper answer to our Queen. We don’t allow strangers on our island.”

He turned and left without another word.

I went for the tray and picked up the canteen and took a small drink, even though I wanted to drain the whole thing.

I sat down and looked at the bowl of food and then at my own hands, willing them to bring me an answer.

Where did I come from?

After meeting with Queen Regent Miríel and explaining that I had no solid memory of my life apart from my name, I was sent to a room to rest. The Captain had confirmed I had hit my head before they rescued me, there was a massive bruise and knot on the back of my head. Memory loss from being exposed to the sea for who knows how long was to be expected.

For the next couple weeks, I recovered and kept to myself. The Queen was weary of me, but left me to my own devices and I had no problem being confined to the Palace Grounds.

I tried to remember something from my life, maybe a husband or sister or maybe even a neighbor I hated. Even trying to remember my favorite color was a trial that took me a week to win. I must admit Elendil helped me crack that one, he pointed to my ring made of red metal and said I must love that color if I managed to keep the ring through everything I’ve been through.

I can’t believe I didn’t even realize I was wearing this ring to be honest. It felt like part of my body, and when I took it off I felt cold and alone, but back on I felt fearless and powerful. It must mean something to me, I feel it deep in my soul.

I wandered through the library and spent my time reading books and studying maps hoping something would give me a clue. Eventually, I was given a task of helping the lore masters find a certain scroll that the King had taken years before and before I knew it, they gave me a necklace with a mark of the scholars and I was part of their guild.

I began to build a life on the island, more out of necessity than choice but it was so peasant nonetheless.

Until they were brought ashore.

The same Captain that found me adrift brought back two more souls with him one day a couple weeks later. When I heard, I raced to the throne room where they were being taken.

I got to the room amidst a crowd of other nobleman and gentry. I was caught in the back before they were brought in, people were chattering left and right giving me snippets of gossip while I attempted to make my way closer to the front.

“An Elf, I tell ya! An elf as tall as a horse!”

“Seawater! I heard the Elf is no bigger than you, it’s a man they brought that’s taller than most on the island.”

“A she-elf, they oughta toss her back into the sea and be done with it all.”

“Both of them should be sent on their way.”

“What if they bring others back? More men? Or worse, more elves!”

The great doors opened and after the first two guards stood a woman more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen, well at least that I could remember.

Her hair was the color of the sun, her skin paler than milk, and her eyes were fierce and wandering. When I looked to the Queen, she was unmoved in body but in spirit I knew she was becoming uneasy.

Then I turned and felt more than curiosity at the strange man.

He walked pensively, scanning the room but not the people, he stood beside the Elf as they awaited judgement from the Queen.

Even though their backs were to me, I felt there was something about the man. Something…familiar. I stepped forward, forcing my way through the crowd in a daze. People were whispering things to me but I heard nothing except my heart beat.

That dark hair, those strong shoulders, that tall stature.

Something in my bones knew this man.

“What do they call you?” The Queen asked the man.

“Halbrand.” He answered simply, in a tone that sang like a bell to my ears.

A memory flashed through my mind, so powerful and unyielding that I gasped and fell to my knees. Head pounding I cried out as a flash of a darkened room took over my vision with a window revealing a moonless night and green eyes begging me for something.

“Are you okay?”

I blinked and was back at the throne room, I tried to sit up but my head reeled like I had too much mead.

“Someone get the healer!” A woman shouted as she cradled my head off the marble floor.

I turned my head and saw the man, he turned and we made eye contact.

And in that flash of a moment before someone knelt in front of me with a potion that made me sleep, I felt it as sure as I knew the sun rises: that man knew me too.

I woke up sometime in the night, my head throbbing but I was energized nonetheless. I remembered a room, a bed room to be exact, with a wide window the had a balcony and snow falling against a black night sky. And Halbrand as he called himself begging me to run away.

I jumped out of bed, grabbed a blue shawl, and bolted out the door.

I wasn’t sure where I was going but my feet were swift as I ran across the courtyard. My room was near the library now but when I first arrived I was given a room that overlooked the harbor. That had to be where he was. As I looked around the great hallway and into the throne room, I heard footsteps.

I hid behind a pillar and hoped whoever was walking was quick.

I peeked around and saw an empty, quiet room. I leaned back against the pillar to give it another moment but when I turned to my left, I saw Halbrand.

I opened my mouth to scream in surprise but he covered my mouth and pushed me against the marble.

“You don’t want to wake the guards, do you?” He whispered.

I shook my head and stared up in his eyes.

“Are you going to scream when I take my hand away?” He asked.

I shook my head.

“Okay, then follow me.” He took his hand off my mouth and grabbed my hand, he looked both ways and together we snuck off into the darkness.

“Where are we going?” I hissed as we ran along the outer walls of the castle.

“You’ll see.” He answered as we stopped at a dark corner and he peeked around to look for the guards.

An urge to giggle bubbles in my chest but I held it in.

He took me to a small garden in the courtyard and held my hand as we walked through green foliage until we hit an orange tree. We sat underneath it and leaned against the trunk side by side. An act that felt as familiar as breathing, I barely registered that he still had his finger intimately entwined with mine.

“Why are we here?” I asked him.

“Because I thought we could talk.” He smirked at me.

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked him.

He tsk’ed and leaned in close to me.

“I know you have questions about you, about me,” he paused and looked up and down my body and winked at me. “About us.”

He was smiling so knowingly at me, and my body, it made me blush.

“So we do know each other.” I whispered.

He reached over and cradled my cheek in his hand.

“Yes.” He whispered and stroked my cheekbone with his thumb. “Yes, we do.”

“What are you to me?” I asked quietly, I took his hand away from my face and held it between my hands looking at all the scars and lines it had.

“Your humble servant.” He bowed his head for a moment while smiling.

“You’re awfully familiar with me to be a servant.” I let out a giggle and he beamed.

“We found each other while in service to another.” He explained and let me continue mapping his palm. “But to me, you are a Queen.”

“Me? A Queen?” I scoffed and traced my finger down the center of his palm. I thought I saw him shiver out of the corner of my eye.

He reached back up and held my chin to tilt my head up to look at him.

“Queen.” He whispered as he leaned in. “Goddess. Woman. All words fall short in presence of your beauty.”

The silence that fell between us felt intoxicating. Like swimming in sweet wine.

I wanted to lean just a little closer, feel his lips against mine, feel his strong hands grip and pet parts of my body like an instrument. I wanted to get so lost in each other in this beautiful quiet moment.

“Halbrand.” I looked into his green eyes and sighed.

“Y/n.” He whispered back, his eyes looked over my face like he was trying to memorize it.

I felt a knot of anticipation in my stomach.

Looking into his green eyes felt like coming home. I couldn’t explain why, but I knew deep in my bones that he was mine and I was his.

Without a moment to second guess myself, I leaned forward and simply pressed my lips against his.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins as he gently moved his lips against mine and held my face in his hands.

Everything felt so right, it felt so natural, it was too much and not enough at the same time. He rose to his knees leaning over me as we kissed, gently pushing his tongue against mine and moaning when I threaded my fingers through his hair to encourage him.

He pulled his lips away and began kissing down my neck, his hands roamed down my body like he already knew it.

“ Miquelis” he murmured against my skin.

I gasped and for a moment, memories came flooding back in fragments. Red hot metal that was cool to the touch, blood and broken bones, screams of elves, clashes of swords, deep resonating voices that rang so loud my skull felt like it was going to split open.

Before I knew what I was doing, I pushed at Halbrand shoulders shoving him backwards.

He landed with a thud in the grass and I scrambled backwards panting with my back against the tree.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He said sincerely as he knelt in front of me searching my face. “I shouldn’t have assumed-“

“You-“ I cut him off.

There was a pause.

“You.” I whispered.

He was still as a statue, I could see his shoulder slowly rise and fall with his breathing but he was waiting for me to say something.

I took a moment to think back on what I remembered.

“You and I were a part of something.” I whispered. “Something dark.”

He swallowed slowly and nodded.

“What did you call me?” I asked.

“ Miquelis.” He repeated. “It means-“

“‘Sweet Kiss’.” I finished.

He nodded and kept watching me.

My head suddenly felt so fuzzy, with a pressure behind my eyes that was quickly becoming uncomfortable.

“I have to go.” I rose quickly and turned away from him.

I heard him chase after me an his hand gently took my elbow.

“Let me walk you back to your room.” He asked.

“No.” I tugged my arm away and looked up at him. “I need time alone.”

He nodded and took a step back.

I turned and hurried back to my room. Once I was behind a locked door, I pushed my back against the wall and sank to my knees. I tried to control my breathing but another memory was itching it’s way in and I wasn’t sure I wanted it. My heading was pounding and it felt like the room was spinning. I wanted to cry and scream and beg for it to stop but I knew it wouldn’t help.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes and let the memory flood my senses.

I saw Halbrand trying to talk to me in a forge, it was dark and snow covered every surface. The cold was bone deep but I felt nothing.

He was speaking but I couldn’t hear him. He took my face in his hands and had such a look of sorrow in his eyes that it broke my heart.

Suddenly a dark shadow figure emerged and dragged us apart.

“There will only be one ruler of Middle Earth.” A deep voice roared from somewhere in the darkness.

“There will be a king and his servants.”

The voice chilled me to my core, I was fighting with everything I had but whatever invisible force held me back was strong. Halbrand was on the opposite side of the room and shouting for me.

“To make sure you both obey, I will erase Y/no’s memory.”

Halbrand screamed, veins bulging across his neck and face as he fought and shouted. His pupils turned to skits like a snakes as he roared and fought to get back to me.

“If she can’t remember you, she can’t love you.”

Orcs burst into the room and grabbed me and dragged me out, I punched and scratched to no avail.

“And if you can’t find her, you’ll do as I say.”

Then darkness took me.

————————

Part 2: “Us”

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Tags: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @beatrice-san @arana-alpha @jooooosie @aarinisreading

[scathingsniper]

Interview

“Huh? Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

”Yeah? What’s this look like to you?”

”Like you’re going to wind up in a ditch before the night’s through, is what.”

Shinon raised his head to look the barkeep in the eye, and to prove that the glass he’d knocked off the counter a second ago wasn’t because he was feeling the effects of the drinks yet. Indeed, his eyes were still as sharp and hard as emeralds, but a pink flush had spread across his narrow face. With a few more, maybe he wouldn’t make it back to his new accommodations, but Gatrie wasn’t here to foot the bill and he didn’t like the place that much. He batted one stray chunk of glass toward the barkeep’s broom with the toe of his boot.

“No wonder you never have any customers. How can anyone enjoy themselves when the barkeep’s a judgmental bastard!”

The other man laughed and knelt down to sweep the rest of the glass into a box.

”All I’m saying is that it looks like you got something heavier on your mind.”

”I don’t.”

He shrugged, rose back up to his feet, and circled around the counter to dispose of the glass.

”Congratulations on your new position then. The folks at Garreg Mach monastery treat their people right, so I’ve heard. No more running around looking for mercenary work now, huh?”

”Yeah, who knows. A stuffy monastery’s going to get boring quick.”

Shinon crossed his arms over the counter and traced the tributaries of color in the polished grain. It was hickory, and a beautiful plank of it - one solid strip from end to end and carved into a wave. It would have made a fine bow, too, in any skilled bowyer’s hands but especially his, nimble and calloused without the privilege of comfort. An economical life had taught him early on about the value of weapons that could last when money didn’t, and how to wring any resource dry.

All of a sudden, he remembered the pair of wannabe-archers he’d watched in the training hall that afternoon and let out a snort that turned the barkeep’s attention away from picking shards of glass out of an old rag. 

”None of those spoiled brats look like they’ve ever held a weapon before.”

For every five arrows, only one ever made its mark, and barely. They had to have been sixteen, maybe seventeen, but far too old to be fumbling like that with no one around to crack the whip. By that age, Shinon was already making a name for himself as a mercenary. It was the only choice he had. That, or death.

Agitated, he reached for his mug and finished off the rest of it, thudded it back down to the counter and challenged the barkeep with his eyes to judge him again for the drink.

“Either their families don’t know that the instructors are training them to get killed, or they’re hardly more than sheltered babies themselves! You’d think those self-important fops would be storming the place if they found out their money was buying these half-rate lessons.”

Or maybe that was just his upbringing talking now. People who had more than pennies in their pockets could burn it if they wanted and hardly be any worse off for it. Kids though? Who’d throw their own kid into the fire?

“I asked them what they thought they were doing, shooting duds like that, and they said they were better at it with real bows. Idiots…”

Practice like it’s the real thing, otherwise what’s the point? He’d picked that up from his commander. Those training bows were doing those kids a disservice, too, so he’d loosened the strings, and as it turned out, that was all they really needed. Three shots out of every five hit their mark after. The rest of it was up to them to figure out.

”Why’d you take the job?” the barkeep asked, sliding another froth-topped mug toward Shinon, but he pushed it aside, instead leaning forward a little to study the man’s grizzled face like he couldn’t understand what he was asking.

”Money! Why else? I’m still part of a mercenary band back in Crimea, but the picking’s slim when there’s not a war going on.”

No thanks to Ike. And no thanks to the sub-humans that’d been leaving their countries more frequently lately. The next time he had to see one of their ugly, whiskered faces, it would be too soon. It was better that he found work on a different continent entirely, and someone had to make sure the Greil Mercenaries got the money they needed to stay fed and keep their weapons in working order anyway. Little Ikie was too busy playing with his new half-breed buddies.

“You don’t look too happy about it.”

“Happy?” Shinon scoffed. “What’s bein’ happy have to do with it? Are you happy working day-in and day-out?”

The barkeep shrugged. “I don’t mind it.”

Shinon tasted the new beer, made a face at it - like all the rest had been, it was lukewarm and not that great, but he kept coming back to this tavern anyway, for the whole week or so that he’d been in Fódlan.

“We’re just doing what we gotta do to live. That’s all.”

The barkeep hummed noncommittally, but left it at that. Shinon eyed him over the rim of his mug, downing half of it in two incensed gulps, then slammed it down like he had something more to say. Like how the only people who could afford to be happy were the ones who got everything handed to them on a silver plate. Or that you had to be an immature, idealistic fool to think life was anything more than a day-to-day grind. But he realized, too, that circumstance had finally swung in his favor and he benefited from being in the right place at the right time. It had landed him this cushy position at the Officers Academy. And it chafed.

He was a top-rate marksman, of course. The best Tellius had to offer. But he’d taken a bribe from a desperate priestess and left his last contract instead of killing her. It could have been anyone.

“Pah…”

He sunk his head down onto the counter and shut his eyes against his swimming vision.

“... The ditches around here aren’t all that comfortable, just so you know,” the barkeep pointed out lightheartedly. Shinon grumbled something, turned his head to shoot a glare up at the other man who’d come back with a glass and a rag in hand, and then raised back up onto his arms.

“I’m never coming back here, just so you know.”

“It’s a trek from here to Garreg Mach.”

Shinon sneered. “What are you gonna do without your only customer to keep you in business?”

The barkeep shrugged. “Who knows. I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“Hmph.” Shinon was unconvinced, but he rocked to one side to pull a purse from his pocket, counted out one coin per drink, and an extra for the broken glass. “Just like a cog in a wheel.”

“That makes two of us.”

Shinon smirked. “From one cog to another, you better start selling something other than lukewarm piss.” He slapped his hand down on the counter hard enough to make the coins jump and then staggered off the stool. “Good night.”

The barkeep chuckled. “Thanks for the advice.” He swept the coin into one palm. “Oh, and good–” He glanced up to see the door swing shut. “--luck.”