#for discovering who she is and giving up a life of thievery to settle down and take care of a town | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

periminkle · 4 years

Text

blazes of deceit

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

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

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

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

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

You are positively ravenous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—down your hair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What once was mine.”

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

This is it, it’s now or never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Petal—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Mother.”

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

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

And then you’re alone once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother knows best, after all.

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

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

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

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

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

And then that moment ends.

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

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

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

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

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

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

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

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

No reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Petal!”

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

“Let down your hair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

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

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

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

“Got something in your eye?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looking for me, Princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

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

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

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

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

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

Is Geum expecting someone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t tell me to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a water for her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geum is a wanted criminal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother always knows best. Right?

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

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

“Geum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What once was mine.”

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

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Born with magical hair?”

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

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

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

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

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

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why the name Geum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guards?”

He only grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nation’s flower?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook?”

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

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

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tiger lily.

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

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

“Beautiful.”

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

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

“I have a surprise.”

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

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

“Kook, wait.”

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

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

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

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

“That’s what I like to hear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s enough,” the King states.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We did it all for you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our family.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+ epilogue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #btswritingcafe #heartsforbts #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts au #bangtanscenery #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #cypherwritersnet #bangtanhq

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yfere · 5 years

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Shipping Calculus! Live Updates from C2E66(6)

A MASSIVE SHIPPING FEAST ON BOTH ENDS OF THE SPECTRUM this episode, hot DAMN. Thank you to @alarnia and @softazelma for helping with data entry. Masterpost here. I just...I don’t even have words, I’m too busy soaring.

-5 to Fjord/Jester unlike Fjord, as these two unfortunately give us a Complete Guide on how to Lose All The Battle Points—Fjord accidentally ditching Jester to get mauled by a winged monster for the third time in a row as he is Contractually Obligated to do, and Jester getting her own back by polymorphing the roc just as Fjord settled on its back, sending our dear warlock plummeting towards an early—and painful—landing. The hemorrhaging to the ship was mostly patched up by both of them being very regretful over the whole situation, Jester saying “sorry” a billion and one times, and so on. Then they dip back into point loss with Fjord Completely Failing To Be On The Wavelength when it comes to disguising as leaves, participating in dance parties, not making people exhausted with a hard ride on the moorbounders through the night, etc etc, but these were largely made up for by Jester’s appreciation for Fjord paying for their inn stay, his continued helpfulness with Sending, and most importantly Jester taking every opportunity to point out how RIPPED and TOUGH and SMART and GOOD AT ACCENTS Fjord is as he flexes for her benefit. Overall, a rollercoaster week, but we at the lab feel it balances to point loss when you factor in the massive physical toll these two took on each other, and not in the fun way. They can do better (the fun way, for instance)

+20 to Jester/Caduceus as these two show us Battle Points Done Right, with Jester casting an insect plague in the most Caduceus of moves, and NOT ONLY THAT, but making them an Oprah BEES gif, recalling the most Iconic of Jester/Cads scenes, and the most Iconic Jester Ship Mascot, comparable only to jellyfish. Caduceus calling Jester a “sugar pea” and making her squeal and hug him, a type of #BodyContact which earns the most possible points without lips being involved. Dancing with Jester and having a grand old time. Them earning Battle Points?????? with their protracted bat-catching session, and Caduceus using literally all of his Banes so that the itty creature never so much as nicks Jester. That’s love.

+10 to Nott/Cat Shaped Creatures Speaking of lip involvement, Frumpkin got a kiss from Nott before being let down!!! Caleb better watch out, or she’ll steal his cat right out from under him!! Massive point loss however for Jannick yeeting Nott off of him for daring to ride alone, because Caleb’s precious pets are nothing if not loyal. (that’s a +15 to Caleb/Cat Shaped Creatures right there!)

+37 to Fjord/Caduceus These two have their strongest week YET, with Fjord—voluntarily! opening up about the Wildmother, and Caduceus giving some amazing advice about meditation which lets Fjord get more peaceful sleep to ASMR ocean sounds! Caduceus talking about a “shining beautiful” destiny (always a point earner!), and opening up about HIS Wildmother dreams and past and quests as well! Caduceus saying he has faith in Fjord—though there’s some point loss as Caduceus seems to have joined Nott’s “There is Evil in the Fjord Club” by implying it’s only his good friendships keeping him on the straight and narrow, smh Caduceus. Cads adorably suggesting that they can ALSO stop in the abyssal temple before they leave town if that’s what Fjord wants, like visiting a gift shop. Caduceus as usual being the first to Fjord’s side for That Good Hjealing and Emotional Sjupport, which Fjord petulantly demands, and Fjord encouragingly saying “C’mon, baby” as Caduceus looks around for the pursuing roc. In the Creepy Tunnels, Caleb gets +2 to Cockblocking as Fjord wanted to be the one to help Caduceus out, but Caleb gets the honor. Later Cads helps Fjord look for magical arms and armor though, that’s pretty sweet.

+42 to Jester/Yasha LOVE??? LOVE WAS SAID????? ANNNND THEY HUGGED?!?!?!?!?! The “we” puts ever so slight a damper on things, but that is a Point Earner right there, with a lovely conversation about being Yasha’s New Family and defending her from anything that would upset her. Yasha getting teary, saying Jessie once more and making a joke about the king’s instrument being a rock harp, like….they are love?? Love?????? AND, annnnnnnd they get the Sexy Points for “Comes more with another person” HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS JESTER I’M LOVsjkajkgakajksakjkasjksajkfukewk;HA;GKJ BKfjkcbdjabkjsdbalkbB SJAK BKJBSAKJK;jkjdasbjksbjkdakasdsfnajdknmbznb

-1 to Beau/Pets While she gets point gains for charming a baby roc with some staff scritches and thrown food, she gets point loss for beaning the poor baby with that same staff, though luckily she doesn’t join Nott in the Baby Killing Club of this campaign. -1 to Caleb/Vulture Culture as despite using all of his spells to Live a Bird-Brained Life, he unfortunately drops his form too quickly to save Fjord, gets bit back to wizard form by the baby roc and told to shut up with the bird screeching by Beau. But Frumpkin gains some points for looking successfully for the pursuing roc.

-20 to Nott/Yasha You get the sense that Nott is trying to mend things with Yasha, but it always falls apart and falls apart horribly. “We’re safe in this smoke” leads to Yasha immediately leaving it, and after Nott has her flask taken she spends the rest of the episode talking about how shady and suspicious Yasha is which even Caleb “Nott is Never Wrong” Widogast can’t agree with. Searching the darling barbarian’s pockets and accusing her until Yasha gets fed up and yells that she didn’t FUCKING take it.

+15 to Beau/Yasha/Jester as they have another stellar week. Featuring Classic Threesome Moments, including “Should I give you some private time alone?” with both Beau and Yasha Very Much Wanting Her To Stay, and Jester sharing the Sugar Momma loveliness she’d been having with Beau with Yasha, in the form of a suggestive ring gifting joke and “dressing Yasha up” in the fancy clothing Beau recovered for the both of them. The three of them touching the stone Celestials and listening to their music

+17 to Beau/Yasha *starts singing Beyonce* she liked it, so she put a ring on it! ‘Nuff said. Beau’s terribly awkward but wonderful “We’ll protect you with our lives” also: goooooooooooooooooooooooood. Beau being incredibly worried over using Yasha as bait, more worried over dead Celestials, but forging ahead because they both know it’s the best option they have at the moment *sniffs* it’s Some Angst Here. Beau saying Yasha has “dope wings” and might be a “dope angel in irons” and suggesting that Yasha may have gotten her name by sleeping with a lot of people, the sheer dumbassery of which makes Yasha facepalm herself in the hopes of getting a Lesbian Amnesia concussion.

+20 to Beau/Jester as Dimension Door gets used once more for an incredibly sapphic and beautiful moment. Beau grabs onto Jester to try to throw her to safety, but stays when Jester asks, and Jester getting them both to safety?? Dare I say, Romance? Dancing together, loving shiny loot together, running their hands along the side of the tunnel and detectiving together. Beau saying Jester is pretty awesome, as always!

+4 to Fjord/Cowboy Vibes as for one glorious moment, he was yeehaw riding that roc. Alas.

+11 to Caleb/Fjord. Although a sincere effort was made, these two did not in fact earn any Battle Points as Caleb’s furious handwringing, running around, and smacking faulty cocoons and tossing feathers repeatedly failed to help Fjord out of his situation with the roc—only acting as a feathery transport to a cleric managed to do the poor man any good. Nonetheless, these two continued to Same Hat on planning as usual, going full speed (or not at all) with the moorbounders, Caleb directing Fjord towards Facely duties but admirably performing on some Facely duties himself when they first roll into town and get the side-eye. Fjord as always being Very Attuned to Caleb’s navigational skills, wanting to know what direction they’re going and wanting Caleb to do translation duty. Being excellent detective partners as they have been since the circus in identifying bodies and bones together. Point loss for Fjord apparently thinking that the best way to get Caleb’s attention is to throw an eldritch blast in the vicinity of his cat instead of, say, shaking him or something. Fjord…….when are you going to be nice to other people’s pets? Will you ever?

+1 to Caleb/Essik “But of course you must know of THIS EXTREMELY FAMOUS AND HANDSOME MAN ESSIK THEYLAS who will ABSOLUTELY VOUCH FOR US, IN FACT PLEASE ASK HIM TO I NEED AN EXCUSE TO TALK TO HIM.”

+5 to Jester/Graffiti as she pulls off a difficult prank in changing the sign to the “Ruddy Poon” in full view of the whole community. One of her weaker jokes of the episode, though, so less point gain.

+3 to The Mighty Nein/Oban as he’s apparently super impressed with how quickly and trustworthily they brought Yasha to the area. Compliments Jester on her singing skills. He must be a good guy then, right? Right?

-4 to Nott/Jester for Nott claiming erroneously that rocs eat leaves to Jester, absolutely wanting Jester to “waste” a spell looking for her missing flask (that Jester stole). Point gains for Jester casting lesser restoration on Nott and worrying about her alcoholism and recklessness to a heartbreaking degree….but unfortunately, balancing out to point loss considering the physical and emotional toll her thievery resulted in as Nott panicks and takes out her feelings on the rest of the party. We at the lab live in fear on what will happen once Nott discovers who IS responsible

+14 to Caleb/Jester she…..makes him laugh???? A rare accomplishment for which There Must Surely Be a Medal??? This alone earns All The Points for an Iconic Moment, but Caduceus gets +7 to Cockblocking for being the one Eagle Caleb carts around when the offer was originally extended to Jester. Caleb also catching onto Jessie (thank you Nott for this nickname I despise) and looking soft at everything she does, and dancing, and being the first to adorably compare Jester to a snap pea. Caleb agreeing with Jester that building bridges sounds nice. Point loss for Jester making far too much fun of Caleb for not knowing her demon stories and not seeing the obelisk, prompting him to weakly defend himself that he’s “doing his best.” More point loss for Caleb also pushing to ride the moorbounders to exhaustion, and just ignoring Jester’s “feelings” to talk to Caduceus, showing a lack of trust that is UNACCEPTABLE.

-500 to Nott/Alcohol Which needs no explanation.

+16 to Caleb/Caduceus as these boys get Good Quality Time, with Caleb flying Caduceus around everywhere, Caduceus continuing to think Caleb Magic is the Solution to Everything by suggesting alarms at the cave entrance and seeking out Caleb’s cat-based assistance three billion times. Caleb asking for Caduceus’ opinion and feelings specifically for guidance on what they should do, also thinking Caduceus Magic is the Solution to Everything by asking for a detect magic which Caduceus could not provide. Once more very emphatically forbidding Caduceus from wasting his spell slots on Daylight, because like a #KnightInShiningArmor Caleb wants to chivalrously cast that spell himself with the driftglobe. Caduceus chivalrously picking up the tab and buying incense both for himself and Caleb. Caleb holding onto Caduceus’ wrist for a full minute and proving Caduceus is a favorite for his Special Buffing Spells, because the wizard is too much of a scaredy-cat to just hold his hand, I suppose.

+20 to Everyone/Detective Work for finding gems, bones, maps, emblems, and identifying the precise coagulation of blood to determine when it was spilled! Nothing Conclusive was learned, but boy did it increase the Creepiness Factor of the episode!

-100 to The Mighty Nein/This One Particular Roc who will hold a grudge against them for the rest of time, woe unto them should they ever venture into the Barbed Fields again.

+19 to Jester/Cosplay of the Week for a much-complimented leaf disguise, and for dressing up in the bloody garb of some mauled nobles. Point loss because it was unclear to most of the judges that “leaf” is what she was going for, and not “healthy edible vegetable”

#long post #critical role #fjorester #widofjord #widojest #bashter #beauyasha #beaujester #lavorregard #nottasha #nott the best detective agency #clayvorre #clayleb #jestasha #shipping calculus #cr spoilers #shadowgast #fjorclay

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serpentlopez · 5 years

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Dangerous Games

Who: Eliana Persephone & Eros Sebastian @northsidesebastian

What: After using a Dark Web app to find someone willing to exchange designer drugs for “services,” Eliana discovers her mystery benefactor.

When: Oct 21, Evening

Where: At a remote cabin owned by the Smythes.

Notes: Mentions of drugs and exchanging sex for them

Sebastian

It wasn’t Quinn or Hunter’s fault that Sebastian was feeling like this, logically he knew that. Logically, he knew that his best friends were just doing what made them happy and he could be just as happy, they had given him a chance not long ago -- in fact, it was so recent that he still found himself having to hide the yellowing blemishes of their affections on his neck. But there was still something that stung from the current developments, almost like being left behind and shut out. Before it had been the three of them, fooling around, having fun and discovering new things about each other but now it was the two of them. They were a couple… again… and just like before, Sebastian felt like he was on the outside the velvet ropes, looking in while pretending to be happy about it. He was their friend, he had to support them and uplift them, regardless of how much it ached inside of his chest. Quinn and Hunter had always been better at expressing things that were complicated and too big for him to wrap his head around and again he knew logically that was his own fault. But this time, them committing to each other, taking that step to only be with each other, was harder now that Brina was gone. Before, she had been the one who stood there and reminded him that he was Sebastian Smythe, the rich boy with no heart or feelings to hurt, the man who never had a shortage of people wanting to fill his bed. She had been the rock who held him up in those college days benders of too many pretty faces, too many drinks and never enough drugs, while his best friend made him into a third wheel. She reminded him, what Quinn and Hunter had, Sebastian had never wanted to begin with. And now that his sister was gone, Sebastian brought back those old reminders.Which started with getting into hidden family secrets that were never supposed to see the light of day. Barrels full of designer drugs that he knew made on the black market in the form of a Dark Wed app and funded Sebastian’s hedonistic self-indulgent lifestyle. Family secrets, he chose to ignore to maintain his position on his high horse because if anyone knew that the Smythe fortune was made on drugs and other illegal activities, he would be no better than the criminals living on the Southside. But, regardless of their street value, Sebastian managed to skim enough from the hiding place, to fulfill his own fun as well as give him the brilliant idea of gaining access to the app to find someone new to play with. The recent couple of days had given Sebastian the taste for junk food, sort to say, so he searched the requests and profiles of people on the shady app looking for a snack when one caught his attention. One that was specifically looking for the expensive and finer drugs, which was a rare request it seemed, considering most people seemed to want the typical coke, jingle-jangle, or occasionally molly, so this one was particularly intriguing. Sending a quick message, Sebastian and the other person negotiated back and forth before reaching an agreement and a place to meet. Which, is where he was now, sitting on the plush couch, enjoying a glass of bourbon in a little known, except for his parents, Smythe cabin deep in the woods, where no one would ever see him. After risking being on the Southside for the last couple of days, it was good to finally relax and not worry about someone seeing Sebastian Smythe in a place he didn’t belong or see him falling so disgracefully from his throne as he waited for Persephone.

Eliana

Eliana Lopez was hardly a woman who couldn't get the things she wanted. Ever since she made the decision to leave home, leave her abusive father, she had decided that she would be a new person; a person who took what she wanted, did what felt good, made no apologies for the person she was. For the most part, that was exactly who she had become. Everyone in Riverdale knew her in some aspect or another; some because of the Serpents, others from her tattoo work, many were her hookups, and a few others she used to get high with. Even though the Serpents didn't peddle hard drugs, on the South Side, it wasn't difficult to find them. Cocaine had been a favorite piece of nose candy for the woman, often exchanging it with ecstasy when she really wanted to enhance a party, or a sex session. She had thought between those occasions and her pretty regular use of weed, she'd been completely satisfied. Then she had a night with Aiden Clarington. Sure, the sex was great. It had been the first time too. But that time, they'd raided his personal pharmacy and the drugs had been like nothing she'd tried before, made her see into the future, feel like every inch of her body was buzzing with electrical currents. She'd felt everything and nothing at the same time and while she'd been able to manage not feeling the addictive pull of lesser drugs, these left her craving. Having snagged some from Aiden before the end of their night, Eliana managed to get by with a few nights but as she ran out, she knew she would need more. Aiden had made it clear that his drugs were designer and expensive. Being that Eliana rarely had money like that, she had to search other outlets. That's how she found herself on an extremely discreet app that could connect her with all the things she truly craved.She created a profile for herself: Persephone, and uploaded a picture that didn't show her whole face. Best to keep some anonymity. Much of the app browsed almost like a marketplace, showing things she would purchase if she wanted, but nothing was exactly what she wanted and so a simple request ad was what led her so quickly to this cabin in the middle of the woods. Standing next to her bike, Eliana looked up at the place that she wouldn't have been able to afford in a million years. She wondered - but doubted - if Aiden came to this same place for his stash. Looking back at the road, the woman knew that she could turn around and leave before walking in. Though she'd been pretty free with sex, exchanging it for drugs was definitely crossing a prostitution line that she hadn't thought of before. But the road that led away from the cabin, also led away from the drugs, and that thought had her wringing her hands anxiously. Fuck it, she thought before walking up the cabin and reaching for the door knob. The exchanges she'd made with this mysterious benefactor had given her directions here, and said the door would be unlocked. Eliana's heart pounded in her chest as she briefly imagined a swarm of police settling on her as soon as she stepped in. Twisting the knob, she pushed the door open and peeked into the expensive looking foyer, forcing the nerves out of her usually confident tone. "Hello?" She called into the house. The lights were on, she was certainly not alone.

Sebastian

Money was great. It was everything in Sebastian’s world, in fact. It was got him out of bed in the morning and put him to sleep at night -- and the in-between, it kept him from throwing himself straight into Sweetwater with a cinderblock tied to his ankles. It was allowed him to live his best and most entertaining life, along with keeping power and control just under his fingertips. Money was basically the very root of Sebastian’s heart. But for once in his life, he found himself not in need of something as simple as money. He didn’t require that from the anonymous buying who was looking for the special that only he could provide right now. So, it was a lot more fun to see what else he could get out of her or how far she was willing to go to get what he had. It was a sense of control over one area of his life when everything else was slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t go to his favorite club anymore because he had ruined that with allowing himself to tread to close to the sun -- or rather a sunflower… He couldn’t call his best friends and see how many times he could make them scream his name as they came, or wrap himself in the warmth of their embraces as they usually demanded after sex… So, this would have to do. And as he heard the voice calling, signaling that his guest had arrived, Sebastian relaxed further. “In here,” he called back naviagting a direction for her to walk towards, swishing the contents of his glass, bringing it to his lips. This was going to be fun because regardless of who walked through the threshold of the large living area, Sebastian’s night was never going to be the same.

Eliana

Hearing that voice struck some kind of familiar chord in her chest, but why wouldn't it? In Riverdale, you had a habit of knowing - or at least knowing of - pretty much everyone. Her mind was a whirl of possibilities as she walked slowly down the hall with it's expensive decorations that she had only seen in the poshest of homes her parents used to take her to when she was younger. Everything looked too expensive to touch, and while Eliana was a mistress of chaos, there was something she wanted more. However it would be a lie to say she hadn't thought how easy it would be to snag one of the paintings and sell it. Luckily, thievery wasn't her endgame here so that disappeared from her head as quickly as it had come. Eliana certainly felt out of place here. She walked down the hall, leather boots meshing against the polished floors and carpet that likely cost more than her entire trailer. Part of her felt under-dressed, wearing the simple lace cut off top, pleated skirt, and leather jacket. She wasn't trying to impress whoever it was she was going to come face to face with. It was how she preferred to dress. Though if it helped to solidify a transaction then what could it hurt? As she approached the entrance to a large living room, Eliana reminded herself of the switchblade she had tucked into her boots. Just in case she needed to make an escape. Letting the last of her hesitation out in a sigh, Eliana walked into the room like she owned it, trailing her finger along a mantle place above a fire. "You should have told me I needed to dress up to walk into this place," she said, taking in the room before her eyes passed over to where he was sitting, and she felt like she was free-falling when she saw his face. "Smythe? Seriously?"

Sebastian

The sound of the slow footsteps fell in time with the beats of Sebastian’s heart, except the closer he got, the more rapid his pulse became. There was a certain level of erotic anticipation that built up as he waited for his visitor to finally come through. And once she did, his eyes being able to feast on the full petite stature of someone he instantly recognized as another Serpent, it brought the best smirk to his face. Maybe he was started to develop the taste for gang members since this week had consisted of one Serpent, one Ghoulie and now a female snake. Normally, he would start warning himself about over-indulging in such things but almost like a person with a sweet tooth, he found himself craving just a taste, maybe a tiny nibble at her suppled tattooed skin. He had been stuck on watching the confidence of her strut like she wanted him to know, that regardless if she didn’t belong there she would own it. But what was really the cherry on top of the whole dessert, was the surprise on her face. Of course, she knew who he was, everyone did and maybe he should know exactly who she was too but for the life of him, Sebastian couldn’t put a name to the face. Not that it mattered because she was just another person who wanted something from him and someone he wanted something from -- an adventure for the night.Pouring a second glass of amber liquid, in an expensive crystal cup, that probably cost more than the loud obnoxious bike he had just heard outside, Sebastian stood up from the couch, with the smug expression never leaving his face. “You probably could have worn the best thing you owned and still been underdressed, so don’t beat yourself up too much, sweetheart,” he said while holding out the glass for her. “The one and only, how lucky for you, right? Though, that reminds me before we talk any further or get into all the fun…” He waited until she took the cup before pulling out his phone, loading up the contracts. “I’m going to take a leap of faith here and assume you know what an NDA is, correct? You need to sign it before I say anything else to you about our agreed upon things.”(edited)

Eliana

Sebastian Smythe was practically the face of Riverdale. He, along with his nearest and dearest, basically ran everything from the fancy over-prices homes on the North Side to the very densest part of the forest where not too long ago, she and Charlie had disposed of the final remains of her psycho ex boyfriend. It shouldn’t surprise her that it was Sebastian standing before her with this cocky expression on his face that she would give anything to knock right off. Regardless, she was here for something too, and when he handed her a drink, talking about non-disclosure agreements, Eliana felt a slight amount of shame with how quickly she wanted to grab his phone and sign off. She knew exactly what she was doing here, and the truth of the matter was that Sebastian had what she needed. Signing this NDA only ensured she never talked about this. It didn’t make her contractually obligated to do anything. Yet. “Yeah, I know what they are.” Knowing how close she was to getting what she wanted, Eliana made a choice. She swallowed the glass of amber liquid, set it down on a table beside her. Part of her knew that Sebastian could get her what she wanted. Aiden had gotten it and the Claringtons and Smythes were basically two sides of the same coin. But there was also a rush of curiosity as she reached for the phone, followed the prompts to sign away her ability to talk about this. Adding her name to the bottom, Eliana turned the phone back to him, still surprised that she was here, alone, in this fancy home with Sebastian Smythe. “You know, most people talk openly without needing a contract to protect them.” Slipping her hands down to rest on her hips, Eliana tilted her chin up to look at him. He may be richer, better educated, and hot in a I’d-sit-on-your-face-just-to-shut-you-up way, but she wasn’t one to be intimidated. “You got your safety blanket. So let’s talk.”

Sebastian

There was an actual look of surprise on Sebastian’s face when the female said she knew what it was. Honestly, he had expected to have to explain it to her and tell her what a broken contract meant. Sure, he’d take a hit to his reputation but she would take a hit to her entire life. He would personally oversee the lawsuit and he really was a shark in that department and Sebastian wouldn’t stop until he owned everything from the shop she worked in to even the shirt on her back, even more so he could go after her family or anyone else connected to her if he decided to expend enough effort. And as the small but obviously fierce female hesitated, he was ready to show her the door and deny ever meeting her but there was a smile of triumph once the appropriate contracts were signed and uploaded to the law firm’s server as he took his phone back, wiping the screen on the front of his turtleneck. It was only then that he allowed his hungry eyes to now rack over her curvy frame. Every part of the girl begged to be touched and grabbed, her red lipstick covered full lips would look beautiful moaning his name. But there was plenty of time for that, as they had a whole night together and Sebastian had a lot of frustrations to work through. “I’m not everyone, darling.” He couldn’t risk the tongue wagging and the loss of respect he’d endure, especially after the way people already seemed to be trying to take their shots at him after his sister was gone. And also of course for Quinn and Hunter’s sake… It felt stupid that he was still trying to protect them as well as his family from his indiscretions but he cared enough not to associate them with any scandals.Finishing his own drink, Sebastian turned around to his briefcase, a bit Mafia in a way but he did enjoy the dramatics of it, opening it up to show her the good. “What you want, plus…” Sebastian put the case down and stepped in closer to the woman, his fingers lifting her already raised chin even higher, staring into her defiant face with a smug expression. “An extra two grand being routed to your account right…” He looked away for a second to press a button on his phone. “Now… For being such a good girl and signing the NDA without any fuss,” he cooed at her while his thumb traced along the soft jawline, to the soft raven hair letting his fingers flow through the locks gently. “Also a bonus two grand, if I push you too far past your limits, how does that sound?”

Eliana

He certainly wasn’t just anyone. Out in the real world, Sebastian Smythe wasn’t the type of man she would bristle at. He was rich, sure, and acted like his money could buy everything. Even her. And while she knew she could walk out at any time if she wanted to leave this all behind, Eliana also hadn’t seen that look on his face before. She felt like prey in the lingering gaze of a venomous snake. Usually she was the one to make people feel that way and she couldn’t say that she disliked it. The truth of the matter was, she’d heard plenty about NDAs from her father and his business associates. It had always been their way to make sure she didn’t open her mouth and ruin their reputations with their affinity for little girls. Eliana’s eyes turned down to look at the trunk full of items she wanted. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her veins. He hadn’t even cut corners by assuming she wouldn’t notice. Everything she wanted was right there in front of her, a high that she’d never experienced before, and her fingers ached with the urge to dive in immediately. Eliana restrained herself, turning her attention to that cocky expression on Sebastian’s face as his presence filled the space against hers. His fingers spread heat along her skin. Knowing that someone who hated her people so greatly wanted to touch her, have her, made her insides feel like a raging storm, full of lightning and chaos.A near playful grin crossed her lips as Sebastian so easily sent all that money her way. If Eliana had stayed with her family, she would probably understand how easy it was to throw away money like that. Thank God she didn’t. Perking an eyebrow, Eliana stepped in the final breath between them and let her chest brush against his. The low-cut top she wore showed off the swell of breasts she prided herself on, and she didn’t much mind making his eyes trail down at them. “I say, you send that bonus two grand now, and I won’t have any limits,” her voice was soft and seductive, no room to play with little flirtations.

Sebastian

It was always so much fun when people stood so tall before him, they tried so hard to attempt to show him that they had spines and that they weren’t merely toys for him to play with or they weren’t at the mercy of his whims. It had been his favorite thing about diving into the Southside recently. They were proud people -- proud, hardworking people who poured their blood, sweat, and tears into getting ahead, even if just by a little bit. They had grit and pride so strong they refused to ever flinch in front of him, even when Sebastian was the one in the room holding all the cards. It was enough to take his mind off of how insignificant he felt recently especially now that Hunter and Quinn weren’t… Sebastian forced himself to stop thinking about his best friends and instead focus on the woman before him. Which was proven to be easier as she pressed her body into his own. He could feel the taut curves and perky breasts, making his pulse pick up once more as he allowed his eyes to fall down, taking in the view of her cleavage from his elevated vantage point. This one had guts, he liked that and she wasn’t afraid to ask for exactly what she wanted. In one quick movement, he sent the extra money and closed his phone before putting it back into his pocket. “Done. Let’s hope you’re actually worth it…” He said as he pulled away from the other body, reaching into his other pocket and moving to the table in front of the couch. Spreading out the white powder on the shiny surface, Sebastian divided it into four lines, brows raising as he glanced up at her. “This one is a special blend. Better than any ecstasy or blow you’ve probably ever had. And when you cum on this… especially with me… I promise it’ll make you believe in God...”Leaning down with the chill of cold metal in his nose, Sebastian sniffed up a single line with a wince as the powder burned his sinuses as his head tipped back, letting the drug fill his system. This was what he wanted, to feel numb and in control. He needed it and he needed… Sebastian’s eyes opened to look at the woman with a smirk. “Are you going to stand there all night like a wallflower because if I wanted that, I would have that waitress from Pop’s here right now -- which I’ll admit might be fun to see what that wilted weed might look like moaning my name,” he half-joked holding out the platinum straw. “But I’d much rather see you cuffed to my bed, begging for me inside of you.”

Eliana

"Relax, Smythe. I was told if you do something well, never do it for free. Considering how much you paid me," Eliana's hand curled up the line of his chest as the sentence hung implied in the air between them, her nails trail along the fabric and spreading the sensation against the skin underneath. A devious grin curled her lips, knowing she was in this now. And while there was probably a moral outrage bone that she hadn't been born with, the thought of finding out what Sebastian could actually do was almost as intriguing at the way he described the lines of powder tapped out between them. She had almost rolled her eyes when she saw it, cocaine wasn't exactly new territory, but jesus what was she supposed to do with that endorsement? Reaching for the metal straw, Eliana scooped her hair off of her neck and as she leaned forward, she said, "Marley's too good for you." Hell, Marley was too good for pretty much everyone. She inhaled the drug, feeling the powder explode inside her nose and behind her eyes. She pinched her nostrils shut for a moment as she lifted her head and then set the straw down. Somehow both of them taking a line felt more like it sealed the deal than the contract had. Eli wasn't sure what it said about anything but she was quickly learning that the North Side was the place to be when it came to drugs. First Aiden, which his combination felt like wading in the pool while the powder that was shooting now through her blood had her doing a swan dive into the deep end.Eliana put the metal straw down, nodding slightly in her approval, and then slipped out of her Serpent jacket. The leather looked so out of place here. "Alright, Smythe," she said as she hung it over the back of a chair. "How about you introduce me to the big man upstairs?" If Sebastian wanted someone meek and gentle, he wouldn't have sealed the deal with her of all people, so Eliana didn't stop to think of being coy or innocent. She pushed him back onto the couch, his body just barely hitting the cushion before she climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. Her hand went to his neck as she leaned in and pressed her lips against his.

#para #para: sebastian #elianaxsebastian #para: dangerous games #persephonexeros

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pcy-babygirl · 5 years

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Pairings: Lee Taeyong x Female!Reader, NCT x Female!Reader (platonic) Genre: Dark!AU, Criminal/Gang!AU, Superhuman!AU // angst, slow burn, smut Series Warnings: dark themes (experimentation/human enhancement, kidnapping, thievery, murder), blood, sex, alcohol consumption, (more will be added if needed)

Chapter Warnings: alcohol consumption, angst if you squint (i think that’s it)

Word Count: 3.2k

Notes: Hey, so this is my first fanfic so I hope it isn’t terrible. I spent a long time writing this first chapter, trying to perfect it. I don’t make it super clear in this chapter, but this story takes place sometime in the near future or maybe in an alternative universe that has advanced technology than what we have today. I had cyberpunk aesthetic in mind when writing (i.e blade runner, cyberpunk 2077, etc.). This story won’t have humaniods or cyber enhanced people, but their will be biological and chemical experimentation involved. If you are uncomfortable with this then I suggest not reading. Anyway, happy reading! ♡

Heathens Masterlist

- Synopsis -

Heathens; this was what they called each other. People who didn’t fit into society nor were like other humans. A group of outsiders who had a plan, one that involved a naive and confused girl.

They were given numbers as names, but she knew them as NCT.

“We are the used and forgotten; you babygirl, are the innocent and brainwashed. In the end we’re both heathens to this unacknowledged dystopia.”

Neon lights, holographic billboards, and heavy traffic was all that you could see from the high level your room was on. Days were dull and desolate, while nights like tonight glowed fluorescent by technology and culture. Seoul had become the center for all advancing technology. The world calls it the future; where cures for fatal diseases would be discovered and life moved twenty times faster, it seemed. They call it: Neo City.

The alarm on the glass screen brings you back from your absent mindedness, alerting that it was time to leave for the fundraiser dinner. Walking away from the window and to the object mounted to the wall, you tap the glass and dismiss the reminder. You slip your uncomfortable heels on and check your appearance in the mirror. The sleeveless, cut-out dress was minimal yet elegant. The black material complimenting your skin tone nicely.

“You look stunning Y/N-ssi.”

“Thank you, Athena.” You reply back to the artificial intelligence system. Something the movies predicted, eventually the high class started living like Tony Stark with their own personal Jarvis. It was something that you found unnecessary.

Satisfied after smoothing your hair another time, you take the elevator down to the ground floor. A car was waiting for you when you stepped outside the apartment building. Rolling your eyes as you get in; you thought, “how typical of him”.

The fundraiser dinner was a get together for investors who were interested in your father's corporation, a research organization for cancer. Dinners like tonight were important, so you were told. It was to bring in new investors while also encouraging current investors to donate more based off of the newest research found. They were nothing compared to the annual gala your father holds for the corporation, which was his form of gratitude for his employees. As the founder's daughter, you were expected to attend all formal events.

The self-driving car pulls up to your destination and the backseat door opens automatically. You step out of the sleek vehicle and onto smooth, city concrete. Staring up at the tall building you get the feeling of déjà vu.

Always on the ground floor but never exploring what was above. Curiosity eats at you every time you go to one of these events. The opportunity to go next door and take a look upstairs in the labs was so close to you, yet so far away. You would get caught by security immediately.

You enter the reception hall that your father added next to the research center a few years ago. It was modern and expensive looking like everything else in the Gangnam District. The room was filled with round dining tables, all decorated with silverware, wine glasses, and floral centerpieces. Men and women were all dressed in formal cocktail attire, some being the company's staff but most were investors. You spotted your friend Yuri, a biochemistry research assistant, who worked at the lab. She smiles cheerfully when you step in front of her.

“Hey, are you excited for your trip to Japan?”

Remembering my planned trip abroad, my smile widens. “Very excited, it's going to be the first time I leave the country, the city even.”

It was true, you never left Seoul. Ever since you can remember, you were always sheltered from most of the world. Your father never allowed you to go past city boundaries; but you were an adult now, he couldn't stop you. So when the opportunity to go on a two week, college trip to Japan was available you took it. Your father was furious with you but settled.

“I'm surprised Minjun Choi-ssi is even letting you go. You're barely allowed to go to school, let alone out of the country.” Yuri huffed in annoyance. You two have known each since your first day of college. It was just a coincidence that she was getting her research experience time at your father's lab.

“He's just very protective,” you explain. Yuri's focus on your conversation was diminished and was now centered on someone else. He couldn't have been much older than you, maybe a year or two younger. He stands tall in his grey suit, brunette locks styled up and away from his pale face. He's stunning, you think.

Yuri must of thought the same thing because she turns her eyes back to you. This time they are filled with curiosity. “Do you know who that is?”

I shake my head; “No-” I turn my head back in his direction to see him walking our way, “-but he's coming over here.”

Before Yuri can do anything more than take in an anxious breath, the mysterious man is in front of us with a charming smile.

He bows to us in greetings. “Hello ladies, who do I owe the pleasure of meeting this evening?”

You grin, knowing your friend is probably too busy malfunctioning to answer him. “I'm Y/N, and this is my friend Yuri.”

He gently takes her hand and bends down to place a kiss on her knuckles. “It's lovely meeting you two. Yuri, a beautiful name for an even more beautiful girl. It means ‘lily’, yes?”

Yuri stands in a daze of fascination and a bloom of dark blush on her cheeks. Amongst it all though, she nods her head and smiles.

This makes the man's smirk widened. “Their beauty couldn't even compare. I'm Yoonoh.”

You quickly made an attempt to leave knowing you've became the third wheel. “I think I'm gonna get a drink at the bar.”

Yoonoh looks over at you, with his hypnotic smile still present. “I'll keep Yuri company in the meantime. I suggest getting the red wine, it's a special one tonight.”

He gives you a final wink before taking Yuri off to his table. Walking to the bar, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why did he say it like that? Shaking your head from your thoughts, you make it to the bar and order the wine suggested. You take small sips while looking at the large crowd of people; spotting your father talking to a young man with silver hair. He was shorter than most and currently laughing at, what you presume, was a joke your father just made. There's more young men here than usual, you thought. Were these men new staff or are they possibly chaebols? Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a deep voice next to you.

“Isn't it ironic that these people pour money into this organization even though they don't know half of what's actually being researched in the labs?”

You turn your head to the right to see the owner of the voice. Your eyes meet glimmering yet sharp, brown ones. The man in front of you is dressed in a black suit, the first few buttons of the white shirt underneath unbuttoned to reveal a silver chain underneath. His jaw could cut glass and his lips resembled the color of cherry blossoms in spring. His hair was stained bright red like blood, something that made you want to know who the hell this man was.

Not fully knowing how to comment; you stutter out, “I-I guess it's their blind faith. They believe this organization is going to cure cancer. If they see progress then, why stop?”

He scoffs before finishing his glass of soju. “It's easy to believe in a lie, little one. These days people want something to believe in. The promise of cures, tech innovation, the end of poverty and war are all just weapons used against us to keep the cycle of corruption going. Neo City is supposed to be the world's savior, but what if the people in it are the cause of our destruction?”

His words took you back by surprise but also made you curious. You've never known someone who speaks the way he does. He didn't view the world through rose colored glasses like everyone else. Who the fuck was this guy? Why was he here if he, seemingly, hates your father’s company?

“I have to go.”

You grab hold of the mysterious man’s jacket sleeve before he could leave, to his and your own surprise. “Wait…”

The red haired man gives me a warning glare, making me loosen my grip on him. “Sorry but, you never told me your name.”

His gaze drops from mine to the ground and he lets out a dry laugh. It was barely noticeable, because within seconds his eyes are back on you and he smirks.

“Taeyong.”

He was gone immediately after, vanishing through the crowd of who he called the naive and hypocritical. You couldn’t even spot his wine colored hair anymore. You turn back around to the bar and look down at the glass filled with red, smooth liquid. A reflection of yourself could be seen, one that was glazed over in tones of crimson. All the drink did was remind you of his words. Of the veil of lies he talked about. He couldn’t of been right. Your father runs a good company, your father is good. He adopted you as a child and raised you up, without a wife. Your father’s company makes cures, nothing else.

Not being able to stomach seeing red anymore, you step away from your wine glass and go to sit down at your reserved table. You wished your father had enough time for you to ask about Taeyong. Maybe he doesn’t even know who Taeyong is. Questions spun in your mind like a whirlpool, going over the same questions just to come up with another possibility. Your thoughts are put on halt by the tapping of a microphone. On the stage, behind the podium, in the center was the director of research for the Neo City's branch and company headquarters: Dr. Oh Daewon. He has been you father’s right hand man for as long as you can remember. There was something about the man that was always off putting to you. You could never figure out what it was, but you tried keeping as much distance from him as you could.

The doctor cleared his throat before giving the guests a forced smile. “Hello and thank you everyone for attending the investors’ dinner this evening. It is nights like tonight that aid our progress for the future. I would like to thank all the newcomers who are now joining us on this groundbreaking quest for a better human society. With the help of our international branches, the Seoul Mutations Division is just a few steps closer to a cure for cancer and alzheimer's. By creating mutations of different stem cells, we have discovered a revolutionary change in our trials. This could be the start of a healthier, stronger, human race. We are happy to announce that at this year’s gala, in two weeks, we will be presenting the final product that has been in the works for the past seventeen years.”

The audience applauded his influential speech, everyone except the young man with silver hair you noticed. Instead of a praising smile, he gave a stone cold glare at the doctor. He was unmoved compared to the people around him. He painted on the same expression on his face as Taeyong. Turning back to the front, you see your father replacing Dr. Oh at the podium. You only can take it bits and pieces of what he's saying, your mind was too distracted thinking about the list of questions you'd have for your father if he knew who Taeyong is.

Finally, your father's speech was over and everyone was welcomed to their entrees. You waited until your father was settled in his seat next to you to ask about the handsome red haired man.

"So, I met someone tonight I had never seen at one of these dinners before."

Your father hummed while chewing his kobe steak before swallowing. "He must be a new investor then."

You continue, "His name is Taeyong. He didn't give me his surname though, just 'Taeyong'."

"Ah", Father beamed. "That is probably Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul-ssi's associate. He mentioned that his associate would join the dinner at some point."

"Who is Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul?" You ask, the name being completely foreign on your tongue.

“He’s an investor, a very young one at that. He runs a business specializing in medical technology in Thailand. He’s interested in contributing to our Thai branch.”

You nod your head and continue to pick around your food, not having much of an appetite tonight. After a pregnant pause, your father sighs. "I think it would be best if maybe one of my men go with you on your trip tomorrow. For your safety."

You roll your eyes at this repetitive argument being brought up, of all places as well. "Father, I'm twenty-one years old. I don't need a babysitter."

"It's for your protection Y/N, you still need to know more about the world. I intend to give you a protected lifestyle for as long as I can. You are valuable to bad people."

Shaking your head, you throw your dining napkin on the table. "You've given me a secluded and sheltered life. I'm just now getting to experience things people my age do. I'm a grown adult now, I need to start making decisions for myself. I'm going without your security."

You could see your father physically holding back his anger, his ears started to turn red and his hand was balled up into a fist. You almost recanted, fearful of this side of him. When his eyes would grow darker and his mouth would turn into an ugly sneer. His expression took an unexpected turn though when he spotted Dr. Oh and his assistant approaching. It was like you could actually see the lightbulb flicker on in his head.

“How about you take Dr. Oh’s assistant with you?”

It seemed like you were never going to get out of this without him winning in some way. Your father gives the scientist the smile he gives when he wants something from his staff, already knowing he will get it because he’s their superior.

You move sideways to see the young assistant behind Dr. Oh. He was about the same height as the latter, his jet black hair styled up making him look more mature than what his actual age probably was. To you, he barely looked out of high school.

“Father, I’m sure Dr. Oh’s intern is my younger. How can he look after me if it will feel like I have to look after him?” You argue.

"Think of it as bringing along a friend, you two don't even have to talk to each other on the trip. It will be educational for him as well. If I remember right, Jeno is a first year at your school. I will ask a favor of the dean to add him to the list of students traveling." Father exclaimed with a triumph smile.

“What if Jeno doesn’t want to go? You can’t just send him to Japan without his consent first!”

“I’ll go…” All three heads, including yours, snap to the young man behind the scientist. He seemed unbothered by the situation, like this request was to go get coffee for everyone.

“Wonderful!” You silently glare at the younger you barely knew as your father spoke. “You will both leave at eight tomorrow.”

This was unbelievable, you thought. You were officially going to be babysat by someone who’s barely an adult. You didn’t blame Jeno, your father was to blame, but he didn’t help the situation by agreeing. You could of won the argument and would be flying with just your classmates tomorrow. Shaking your head, you lurch up from your dining chair and grab your clutch.

“I think it's time for me to return home.” You announce, bidding everyone a short bow before walking out of the banquet hall. The sharp, night, Seoul air brushes up your bare arms, sending uncomfortable chills down your spine. You shiver as you wait for valet to bring your car to the front. The wind is cut off suddenly by what you realized was a blazer suit jacket. Shocked, you look around for the owner of the jacket only to find silver hair and a dazzling smile.

“You should bring a jacket if you’re going to wear that beautiful dress, baby. It doesn’t accommodate the cold.”

His voice was sweet sounding, reminding you of lollipops. Something sweet and syrupy; if lollipops were melted down, they would be his voice. Although, behind the sugar there was a hint of mischief and seduction. Too much of him is an addiction, you think, he has the ability to rot your insides if you let him.

Shaking out of your thoughts, you stutter and hold back from a blush rushing to your already rosy cheeks. “Uh, thank you-” then you notice the invitation in the inside pocket of the jacket, “Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul-ssi?”

He gives you an impish smirk, “You can call me Ten.”

Confused, you question why he wanted to be called a number but never ask. The name oddly suited him well, better than his real name even. Ten was smaller than most men, his figure almost feminine in a way. Everything, from his nose to the fingertips of his hands were slender. He was somehow pretty and handsome at the same time. Elegant yet a sense of edge. Something though that Ten, Taeyong, had in common was that they were mysterious and obscure.

“Thank you, Ten.”

“You seem distressed,” he comments.

You instantly lie, not wanting your problems to be someone else’s. Especially a complete stranger’s. “I’m not.”

He hums soothly, “You’re lying, sweetheart.”

Looking up at him with anxiety, you knew you were caught red handed. You laugh lightly, just wanting to move on from the subject already. "Am I that bad of a liar?"

He moves closer to you, enough to reach out and tuck the blowing strand of hair from your face. "No, I'm just really good at detecting lies from the truth. Although, I myself would be lying if I said you didn't have stress written all over your face."

You return his smile slightly, not fully mirroring though. Looking behind you at the building next door again, it only clouds your mind up more.

"Do you ever feel like your life isn't in your control? That it's in someone else's hands? Just playing you like a puppet? And you're wishing to be released from their grasp, from their watchful eyes?" You look back at the unique man whose brown eyes have never left your own.

"All the time, Y/N."

There's a silent but not uncomfortable pause between you two. Nothing more than starting at each other and the black sky that's lit with neon.

Finally the valet brings around your car, apologizing for the wait and opens your back door. You hand the jacket back to Ten.

"Thank you for letting me borrow this. It was nice meeting you, Ten."

He folds the blazer jacket over his arm and gives you a warm smile. "We'll see each other soon sweetheart."

Give one last wave, you step into the vehicle, and tell the automated system you home coordinates. Soon enough you're rolling away from the silver haired man and towards your apartment. It wasn't until you were blocks away did you start to question.

How did Ten know my name?

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myeongchokrp · 5 years

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PROFILE LOADED • • • 《 RYEO SOLJU 》

“On the surface, RYEO SOLJU is a twenty-six-year-old PART-TIMER. Dig a little deeper and you’ll discover that she’s also a HITMAN that goes by the alias AURORA. Her allegiance lies with PHOENIX.”

TW SUICIDE, PARENTAL DEATH, GUNS, BLOOD, MURDER

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

“When life gives you lemons, Ryeo Sol-ju,” the little girl’s father spoke in a mellow tone, “do your best to squeeze them into people’s eyes.”

At that time, Sol-ju could not grasp the meaning or the message her father tried to convey. For one, she was only three years old and, two, it was her birthday — a day of celebration, not cryptic messages and even more dubious presents. To this day, she can vividly remember her small hands cupping the ripe, yellow fruit her father gifted to her, with confusion deeply set in her brown eyes as she stared at the tall figure of her father. To her befuddlement he responded with a smile, one that he showed to no one but his one and only daughter.

No, at that time, she had no idea what his words meant but when she turned fifteen, she finally understood.

Two weeks after her 15th birthday, life gave her a lemon made of steel and she learned that its nectar was, metaphorically or otherwise, faster than light itself and most importantly – it was effective and explosive. The day she was supposed to take her own life, just moments before her parents would perish at their own will instead of succumbing to the will of their captors, Ryeo Sol-ju discovered her lemon, hiding under the sofa, and she fought for the life she must have been meant to keep.

The lemon’s name was Glock 21 and it followed her every step for years to come, after she shot her way out of her family home where her parents’ bodies remained.

Despite her strict upbringing and violent climax, Ryeo Sol-ju never thought of herself as a person struck by tragedy. Rather than linger on what was, she decided that by continuing her parents’ heritage she would honour them far better than she ever could with tears and mourning. Raised to never look back unless she is danger, Sol-ju is as clever as she is resilient, and she has no interest in settling for less if she would be greatly inconvenienced.

She had learned early on that, should one follow a path of righteous violence, one must be willing to risk everything, including their own life. Yet, despite that, one could never describe her as careless. She might have got it from her mother, really, for Sol-ju never lets her guard down and she can rarely be found without an escape plan from any situation (or location). While she comes off as cold at times (merciless, even, was a word some used to describe her), she is certainly not detached from her humanity and soft spots hide somewhere deep inside her heart. One would just have to be determined, and patient, enough to dig deep and long to find them.

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

Looking back, Sol-ju thinks it comical that at the most crucial point of her life – namely two weeks after her 15th birthday – it was death that offered her the most important choices. The first choice was taking the suicide pill she had been grasping behind her back, or dare to reach for the handgun discarded under the sofa and risk everything for the infinitesimal possibility of escaping.

After locking her eyes with her father, whose quaint but reassuring smile told her that while he and his wife had to perish and would do so within a moment’s time, Sol-ju was meant to live. It had all been planned. Without a chance to bid farewell to her parents, Sol-ju took her cue and chose the second option — throwing, and then rolling her body towards the sofa, while her father worked on a short-lived distraction, Sol-ju reached for the gun and fought for her life. The last of what she’d seen of her parents was her father getting shot by the officer and her mother consuming the cyanide. The last of what she’d seen of the officers was the four of them attempting, much to their incredulity, to subdue a petite teenager, yet failing as their bodies fell back or forward after being shot. The last of what she’d seen of herself while still in her family home was a dirty, exhausted and terrified face in the broken mirror, and a messy hair soaked in sweat and blood. The last of what she’d seen of her house was an image of a fire’s rage consuming all under its path.

How is it possible that a fifteen year old child managed to take down four government officers, one may wonder? The thing is, she was never an ordinary child.

Today, she goes under the alias Aurora, and a number of fake names. Her current, official name, as listed on her documents, is Kim Sarang, and her birth place is listed as Pohang, South Korea. And although her official (and philosophical) alliance does not lie with any known anti-government organisation, the CIA, NIS, and Mossad have classified her as a ‘political terrorist’ who is known to have aided the war fronts, as a mercenary, in several countries.

Yes, who is she?

She is Ryeo Sol-ju, born October 1992, in a small North Korean village near Manpo city, to dissident parents. It was a village so small that it did not even deserve a name. It was her home, yet it was also the beginning front of her battleground. Ryeo Sol-ju’s maternal grandfather was a decorated Korean War veteran who fought for the North’s forces for years, having left his wife and five children behind for the sake of blind, political ideals. One of his two daughters would be married off to an officer, one would die young of tuberculosis, the eldest son would marry off to the city, one would become a family doctor, and the youngest of the sons, Ryeo Myung-soo, would take up a life path directly opposite to his father’s.

Ryeo Myung-soo would become a rebel. He, with a handful of well-armed, intelligent, dissident high school classmates, would found North Korea’s small, but insidious ‘terrorist’ cell named ‘Saeui Nagwon”, a more literal interpretation of the flower ‘strelitzia’ which, ironically or not, symbolised liberty. The cell was meant to overthrow the government and restore prosperity in the country. In 1991, Myung-soo married a woman from their organisation and they welcomed their one and only child in the autumn of the following year.

Named Ryeo Sol-ju, the daughter was raised into the life of her parents and their dissident allies, whose numbers dwindled as the years went buy. The first lesson Sol-ju learned from her parents was that of the ‘lemon’, and the second was how to fire a gun. She was only six years old when she learned how to operate a pistol, eight and a half when her mother started teaching her the art of thievery, ten when she started taking up combat skill lessons and eleven when she was taught about the ‘suicide pill’.

Sol-ju was somehow never too young to understand. She studied Korean history, and politics, religiously and all that her father taught her made perfect sense to her. When she grew up, she wanted to be just like her parents. In her eyes, they were fighters (and protectors) of freedom and the fact that they were involved in the deaths of their opponents – all government officials – unperturbed Sol-ju. The government was the enemy, after all.

Sol-ju never stopped believing that. At fifteen, when the government’s officials captured her mother, father and herself in their small, village home, Sol-ju thought that death was inevitable. Either she took the pill or she allowed herself to be publicly executed. Yet. In the last seconds she found salvation – a Glock 21 abandoned under their sofa.

She was the only one to come out of the ordeal alive yet this did not stop her. She was immediately taken in by the remainder of Saeui Nagwon and further trained into who she would become before turning twenty - one of the most infamous, Asian mercenaries. By that time, Ryeo Sol-ju already found herself on the North Korean authorities’ list of the ‘most wanted’, yet every time the officials got remotely close to her she would slip away from their grasp.

At twenty, when Saeui Nagwon’s numbers dwindled but to a dozen members, Ryeo Sol-ju was sent off abroad, where it was hoped she would be more successful in aiding others fight against their respective, oppressive governments. Saeui Nagwon was losing its grip in North Korea, but it did not have to mean the end of the finest of its members who could escape and promote their political ideals elsewhere.

She spent five years fighting abroad before being summoned back to Korea. After such a long time in war, she had difficulty adjusting to ‘normal life’, but the normalcy, unsurprisingly, lasted for a very short time. Now wanted by international agencies accusing her of terrorism, Sol-ju knew that if her father’s organisation was ever to rise again, the remaining seven members would have to go in indefinite hiding until they could reunite for one last strike. That was how she ended up as a member of Phoenix — the gang’s brand new hitwoman who seems to have sprung up out of nowhere. While only a select few of the gang’s high-ranked members know who she is, everyone else knows her as either Aurora or Sarang, a sporty and quirky arms enthusiast.

#mi:accepted #mi:phoenix #kim jiwon #kim ji won #gang kpop rp

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project-ml · 6 years

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Project: Lunar New Years 2018 Chapter Three

Concept/Plot: @qookyquiche, @chalala-chan, @panda013, @piikoarts, @purr-cat-stinate

Sketch Artist: @kuwaneko & @texmexchexmix

Line Artist: @texmexchexmix & @rionydal

Color Artist: @australet789

Fan Fiction

Author: @panda013 | (Ao3)

Beta: @pateatsaburger | (Ao3)

Word Count: 1524

Summary: Master Fu begins to explain the origins of the Lunar New Year Festival, telling the tale of a man called Nian, who made a deal with a black cat and later, fell under a curse.

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Marinette and Adrien shared a glance, but obliged Master Fu, settling into the cushions under his canopy. As they got comfortable, Marinette commented on some of the embroidery on various cushions, including a hanging tapestry that was at the rear of the area.

“Is that…Ladybug?” she asked curiously, gesturing. Adrien followed her hand and saw the classical Chinese style and cloaked and armored person standing proud before another human shrouded in darker colors. The one that almost seemed like Ladybug was offering a hand to the other, which the other had taken. It was…interesting, to say the least, but Adrien failed to see what it had to do with the origins of the Lunar New Year Festival.

Instead of giving a straight answer, Master Fu just smiled and said, “It will all be explained in due time, Miss Dupain-Cheng. And it all begins with a foolish creature known as Nian.”

Marinette turned her full attention to Master Fu at the somewhat familiar name. “Nian was the monster, right?”

“Some say that, but the truth is very, very different,” his tone was somber. “Long ago in China, there was a man called Nian.”

Nian had lived a rough life and had fallen on hard times. Food was scarce, well-paying work was hard to come by, and he had a reputation for ill luck. Times were especially rough, and this was when he was approached by a black cat.

“Nian,” the cat spoke, “I can give you the power to change your fate.”

As a man with nothing, Nian had little to lose and much, much more to gain. He was afraid, of course, because making a deal with a spirit could turn out very poorly. But Nian was only human, and he was hungry.

Nian struck a bargain with the black cat.

At first, he was careful with when and where he used his power. With the deal, he had gained powers of sight in the dark, hearing better than that of the average person, and even acquired some feline tendencies, but with these powers also came the dark one.

Nian had the power of destruction at his fingertips.

He was terrified of this power. It ate away at trees and plants and could even make stone and steel crumble before him. But with time came confidence; he had been given these powers for a reason. The cat had chosen him, of all people, so he must have the strength to wield this magnificent power.

Eventually, this confidence turned into a desire for more power, and this desire allowed the darkness to fall over him.

Nian was changing, falling prey to this misfortune. He was tired of being poor, exhausted, and hungry, so he started to take. At first, he fell to petty thievery, but the thrill and the chase urged him to new heights. He started to kill livestock and take the meat for himself. He would hunger no more, not when he had this power.

There came a day when the only village he had ever known banished him. He fell into a rage; why? How? It was the only place he knew, the only home he’d ever had, and they dismissed him. But he left an exile, as they demanded, leaving behind chaos in his wake. He poisoned the crops with a single pass of his finger, slipping off into the forests before they could notice and chase him down.

It was there that he discovered why.

Nian did not recognize himself. When he caught sight of himself in the stream, he understood why. His visage hardly bore any resemblance to the man he once was; Nian had the face of a lion, and when he dug his fingers into the soil, he noticed that they were tipped with claws. He scrambled back, and he realized that he was walking and had been walking on all fours, though he had no idea how long he had done so.

He ran. Nian ran far away from the village he had known, and far away from the face that haunted him in the stream. And eventually, he ran away from the memories of humanity that remained in his mind, too.

Livestock in the countryside was not enough for Nian. With time, he had returned to his old village, though he did not remember why it drew his ire or how he knew it by then. All he knew was that killing their animals was not enough to satisfy his hunger or his anger. Scaring their children and chasing them through the forest tided him over, for a time, but the guards they began to post prevented his fun and only fueled his rage.

They tried to kill him, but they always failed.

One night a year, Nian would slip into the village. He would prowl the streets and attack those who wandered around outside, or growl at locked doors. The villagers started to recognize his pattern, and they bolted their doors. Food was left outside, as if they believed giving up their food to Nian would convince him to leave them alone. And for a few years, it did. That one night a year was his, and he would do as he pleased in the streets.

The villagers feared him, and Nian reveled in this.

As the years passed, Nian grew bolder. If an offering left outside didn’t satisfy him, he would scratch at the door, allowing a trail of darkness to eat away at the wood. It was his warning, and the only warning they would get: if they didn’t provide an ample offering the following year, Nian would not be lenient.

But there came a year that no food awaited him. There were no guards posted, and he could sense no one residing in the village. He grew angry. Nian spent the night searching and searching, destroying doors to enter homes and sniff out the villagers, to no avail. When the light started to streak across the sky, Nian was forced to leave empty-handed and with an empty stomach. In his rage, he left destruction in his wake and left disease in the crops. And then he was left to wait, prowling the countryside and preparing for the next year. And when it came, he was met with the same result—an empty village, empty pantries, and missing livestock. It was the same for the next several years, and each time his ire only grew. The destruction he left in his wake increased with each passing year.

Word began to spread, and soon the entire countryside knew of the beast that wreaked havoc in the small village. The people were sturdy and stubborn, and even if they lived in fear of that one night a year, that their refuge in the mountains would eventually be discovered, they still remained.

This drew a brave young warrior to town. She wore the guise of an old man, and she came when the village was empty. The villagers had already escaped to the mountains in preparation for Nian’s yearly arrival, but this suited her.

With her cloak and her unnecessary cane, she waited, determined to face down the creature that struck terror in the hearts of men.

“Now, my children, it’s time for a break,” Master Fu unraveled the storytelling air, rolling his shoulders with a smile. “I need to stretch my old bones for a moment, so go. Grab a small snack and some tea, and when you come back, we will continue discussing the origins of the festival.”

“Master Fu!” Marinette and Adrien protested in unison. Adrien caught himself, but Marinette forged onwards. “Master Fu, you can’t just take a break here! What about Ch—Nian? And the person that’s disguised as an old man? I still don’t see how this is the origin of the Lunar New Year Festival!”

“All in good time,” Master Fu said sagely, stepping forward to pat her on the head. With a gentle smile he repeated, “The two of you should go find something to eat and some tea. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes to finish the tale.”

Marinette pouted, but Adrien sighed, pushing himself to his feet and bowing politely. He said something softly in Chinese that included a thank you, as far as Marinette could tell, and then turned to her. “I’ve been wanting to try tangyuan and I heard there’s probably some here…somewhere. Want to help me find it before we have to come back?”

He had to do something to keep his mind off of everything. The way that Plagg had curled up in his pocket, as close to a fetal position as he could get, was only lending validity to the suspicions that Adrien had about Nian and a deal with a certain black cat kwami.

He seemed a little off to her, so Marinette wondered if he had picked up the same idea as she had, about Nian being like Chat Noir. But Adrien smiled at her as if nothing was wrong, despite how pale he looked, and she let her shoulders drop, sighing.

“Alright,” she smiled at him. “Let’s go!”

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrinette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #lunar new years #project: lunar new years 2018 #themlgroup

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sarcasmtalia · 6 years

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Humour and Homicide

The narrative of Lady De Ath’s life can be hard to piece together from what you heard at the party. So, in case you’re curious, then here it is...the full story of the Ad Hominem Murder:

LADY ADMIN DE ATH was the daughter of the De Aths, the family who owned Rumford Hall and all its surrounding land. As their only child, Admin was raised to inherit the fortune. But she didn’t want it.

To get a taste of an ordinary life, she got a job as a critic with the local newspaper. Her column was anonymous, to prevent her parents from finding out. Unimpressed by much and in need of a way to vent her frustrations, she wrote scathing reviews of all she saw. She dismantled performances and plays with such wit and sarcasm that her critiques became the newspaper’s most popular feature. Because of this, two things occurred.

Firstly, her popularity meant that when she discussed with much disgust one RODERICH EDELSTAB and his acting skill, she almost derailed his career. He struggled on, however, eventually becoming a superstar. He used his newfound wealth and fame to discover his anonymous critic’s identity. Realising it was Lady De Ath, he attended her party to tell her just how much he’d succeeded, and just how wrong she was about him. Inside he knew, though, that without her criticism, he’d have never pushed himself to become the actor he is today.

The second occurrence to occur was the acquirement of a particularly special fan: ELVIRA BLOODSCHMIDT. Married to a man who claimed to love her, but spent his nights loving others, Elvira coped by reading the newspaper. It would remind her that there were people out there with lives worse than hers, and thus, she should endure. It was in those newspapers that she found the columns of the anonymous critic, and, as seemingly-mundane things do, they made her realise something important. When something is bad, no matter the severity, one can criticise it, and one can most certainly laugh at it; there is at least some joy to be had in misery. Thankful of these lessons, she wrote to the newspaper.

Elvira’s letters were passed onto Admin, and from there a friendship was born. Both women were trapped in situations they did not want to be in. Together, they decided they would run. They would run, far from Rumford, and be free together. Using the wages Admin had saved up from her job, they ran all the way across the world, and stayed in the hotel of one ALFRED F. BONES. There they stayed for months, their friendship growing stronger, until it became something more. But they were not to live happily ever after. One of them was not to live at all.

Elvira fell ill. Admin, desperate to save her, used all of her funds to pay for treatment, but none worked. Out of money and out of options, Admin stole from Bones’ hotel and returned to Rumford with a deteriorating Elvira to enlist the help of the best doctor she knew: IVAN BRAGINSLAY. He was, at the time, tending to the son of FELICIANO VARGASSASSIN. However, the boy was stable, and so Ivan answered Admin’s call. But there was nothing he could do.

Elvira passed away, and, without Ivan there to monitor him, so did young Charlie Vargassassin. Heartbroken, Admin retreated back to Rumford Hall and accepted her fate. Not long after, she lost her parents, and became the sole owner of her family’s fortune. Still loyal to her parents and regarding Admin with disdain for running off, many of the staff abandoned Rumford, leaving only the faithful YAO HANG to care for it and for Admin.

With Yao too busy and Admin too apathetic, Rumford Hall began to fall to ruin. This angered the locals, especially MATTHEW KILLIAMS, a retired soldier who had worked there in his youth. Others, however, saw it as an opportunity. BARON GILBERT VON MCMURDERY was interested in buying the De Ath’s land from them, and could see that Admin did not truly want it. However, Admin refused his many offers to purchase it from her. Though she didn’t want it, she definitely did not want him to have it.

Admin very rarely left the Hall. On one occasion when she did, a young man named KIKU HONDAGGER attempted to talk to her. A cheeky thing, he poked fun at her hermit-like nature, but failed to impress. Recalling all of her skills as a critic, she verbally destroyed him in front of his classmates, making him an object of ridicule for the rest of his schooling. ARTHUR CORPSELAND, a rather dim boy, was the only one willing to be his friend after the incident.

A few years after Elvira’s death, after Admin inherited her family’s wealth, Lady De Ath began to receive anonymous death threats. She went to the police, but they were of no help to her. So, she came up with her own plan. She began to hold parties, lavish and grand, for all kinds of guests. She became an infamous hostess; everyone wanted to attend her soirees. Knowing this, Admin planned her very last party. She invited everyone she had wronged in her life, everyone who could have reason to want her dead. Days before the party, she went to confession and revealed her sins to the good reverend FRANCIS GUNNEFOY. He tried to convince her not to go through with her plan, but she was determined. He attended the party to try and save her soul, but he was too late.

Admin gave her killer many opportunities to strike. She waited alone in rooms for minutes at a time, and stood at the edge of her balcony to stare up at the stars. Yet she lived. It wasn’t enough. So, as her butler prepared the drinks, she took a chance. She sent Yao away on a fool’s errand, and by the time he returned, the murderer had done what he needed to. Admin took her glass, gathered her guests to raise a toast, and was dead before she finished.

The killer might have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for the meddling ways of Admin’s friends, invited specifically to solve her murder. Though they hadn’t seen her since their school days, they managed to gather clues from her other guests about what her life had been like since. They discovered that she had been involved in an affair with Elvira, and realised that one of the guests was Elvira’s former husband: LUDWIG BLOODSCHMIDT.

Though Ludwig loved Elvira, he could never settle down. He’d hoped that would be enough for her, but it wasn’t. When she ran from him, he was furious. After hearing of her return, he headed to Rumford Hall to take her back and give Admin what he thought she deserved. But he was too late.

After Elvira died, Ludwig tried to move on. But he never could. Not knowing that things could have been different. If Admin hadn’t have seduced her, manipulated her, taken her from him, then she wouldn’t have gotten ill. She would be alive. Perhaps even Admin would be dead. That would be a fine thing indeed.

Ludwig began sending Admin letters. He called himself her anonymous critic. He told her that she should be dead. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to be dead.

And so, when invited to her party, how could he resist? He procured poison, and he waited for his chance. It was almost too easy in the end. Perhaps that should have made him realise that it was all a trap. But he was too angry to be rational; for if he had been rational, he would have realised that Elvira was her own person. She chose to run. He promised himself to her, and then broke that promise. If he hadn’t done that, perhaps she’d still be alive.

But blame is a funny thing. If you work hard enough, you can blame anything on anyone. Alfred F. Bones recognised that. Though Admin’s thievery caused him to lose his business, he did not blame her. He could have blamed her. He could have blamed Elvira for falling ill. He could have blamed himself for letting them stay. But he refused. And he was rewarded.

Always thankful to him for giving herself and Elvira safety, and always regretting stealing from him to delay the inevitable, Admin made Alfred the sole inheritor of her estate. Yao’s loyalty was rewarded with a position on his staff, and Matthew’s help was enlisted to restore the Hall to its former glory. The others helped Alfred to settle into their village, and often visited the Hall. They went not only to see him, but to see Admin’s grave, which lay within the grounds...

Right next to Elvira’s.

#humour and homicide #YES it was a gay love story all along #sorry about this but i have a novel-length word document with all the details #i had to get them out

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vokava-a · 6 years

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REUVEN BIANCHI , AGE 32 , CODE NAME : VIENNA . HOTEL ARTEMIS MEMBER . UNDERCOVER ASSASSIN KNOWN AS DEATHFALL . SEXUALITY : HOMOSEXUAL . ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : GREY DEMI ROMANTIC. LANGUAGES SPOKEN : ITALIAN & ENGLISH. ( ACCENT IS PRIMARILY AMERICAN TO KEEP HIS COVER )

reuven was always above his peers in terms of strength & ability . born in the city of rome italy, with an eidetic memory & a natural talent for martial arts some say reuven was unbreakable. that of course was a lie. reuven was raised by his father a wealthy bussiness man who blamed him for the death of his mother amanda. amanda died in child birth leaving sage bianchi to raise his child alone. money surely doesn’t buy happiness & in this case the apple does not fall far from the tree. young reuven grew up wanting for nothing, nothing accept for the respect & love of his father . hardly a difficult thing to ask especially from someone so talented , but alas things were what they were

reuven grew up under the abuse & neglect of his father . he was left in the care of many nannies who at first he held no ill will against. marina was one who he became particularly fond of at the age of eight. marina understood his pain & his need for approval, she became a sort of mother figure too him. had not the tradey happened, perhaps reuven could have had a better life . but alas things would never go his way.

marina confronted sage over his abuse, too long had she sat idly by, & mysteriously vanished the next day. marina had promised reuven that she would save him from this life & take him away where he might be happy. heartbroken at the news his father shares of her disappearance revuen becomes cold & distant. trust no one, everyone abandons you in the end.

from this point on his fathers abuse would not harm him, only harden him . there would be no tears for the wicked . the colder he becomes the more he hates the world & people for hurting him in ways no one will ever know. his next nannies are driven out as fast as reuven can set a fire. no one dies , but no one comes back the same either. he casts each one out in turn, the outbursts becoming more violent with each encounter. & thus in turn the punishments intensify.

when he is fifteen he discovers the truth. marina didn’t run away she was murdered by his fathers security after she told sage she was taking reuven elsewhere. enraged at his fathers actions reuven tackles him & attempts to choke him to death. his attempts fail when he is pulled off his father . throw out of his fathers home swearing his last vow “ i will kill you for this. even if it kills me “

for the next five years reuven works his way into the business. hes got the skills for it, hes got the brain for it, nothing is going to stop him now. petty theft is his first strike, hes got to fight to live. on a night where he has to compete for survival he is noticed by the wolf gang. impressed by the the teens fighting skills the leader of the gang takes reuven into their ranks where he learns his trade. hes taught their art of defense , thievery & trade all right under the nose of the very oblivious italian government.

reuven doesn’t care for their practice. his one goal in life is to take down his father . unfortunately things don’t go as planned. his father being who he is found out of reuvens doings & escaped to america where reuven eventually follows at the age of twenty one. it takes a year after his full status as a wolf dog is earned.

when he finally learns of his fathers location, reuven escapes to america to find him. leaving in the night without a trace , his fellow wolf dogs not knowing where he has gone. reuven never told anyone his motives it was better left hidden. his dreams are fulfilled when the bullet enters his fathers chest. years ago he would never have been able to get inside one of his fathers fortresses undetected, but today that changes.

some would say the story ends here. now young reuven can finally rest & pay for his misdeeds. but that would be a story of a boy who wanted to change, this was not that story. he has to escape, he can’t be pinned for this murder. like a thief in the night reuven flees, he has some scores to settle & some power he must take.

upon returning to italy reuven tracks down his old team & shoots them all one by one. hes always been the most handy with a gun, sharp reflexs & quick thinking. alone with the wolf dogs leader & his former mentor reuven shares his life story leaving the other male with some parting words. “ i want to an advocate to make change. to rid the world people who have done someone wrong. i will be a shadow serving justice to those who deserve it. “ & he shoots him. “ death falls on us all someday “

he calls himself deathfall , a hired hitman with no face. if you see him you die, he won’t even give you a second to blink. no one knows deathfalls true identity, only how to contact him when they require his services. reuven masks himself as a professional thief to gain admittance to the hotel artemis . as far as the crime world knows thats all he is, occasional heists to keep his reputation upheld. deathfall is a cloaked shadow that no one can catch. reuven ends up at the artemis many times, but tonight he is here with a arm wound he inflicted upon himself. his mission ? take down the target he is being paid to take down . there name & location remains entirely classified.

IMPORTANT FACTS : to be added to.

no one knows reuven is the son of sage bianchi. he dropped the last name after he was thrown from his home at a young age. no one even knew sage had a son reuven was hidden & never seen in company of his father publicaly

#i am so hype !!!!#( hotel artemis gv bio )#based of my captain spock verse #took a lot of inspo from there #so this is very dark #& does not paint sarek nicely #you have been warned #abuse tw #violence tw #guns tw #gangs tw #murder tw #death tw

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themysticmusegallery · 7 years

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For funsies, I’m laying out a few verses for my muses. Not full AUs, but rather different takes on their stories, essentially what ifs or in the cases of my longer lived muses different sections of their life. I’ll be listing these in each of the applicable blogs under Verses, and these can be requested for memes or RP at any time.

Without further ado, here are a few verses for Victoria Frankenstein:

(A note, these are pretty much all sections of her long life and options for her future, but any can be adjusted to present day circumstances if it helps interaction)

Little Delia: This covers Vicky’s early life before she discovered magic proper, the cutoff point generally being her ill fated doctor’s appointment. Here she lives with her family in a much younger New York. Known as Delia Goldman, she lives without knowledge of magic or magical creatures in a fairly poor part of town. She’s an incredibly shy girl, far more comfortable with her books or her dolls than with people. She’s very smart for her age, but unless she’s infodumping she often trips over her words, and rarely if ever makes direct eye contact. Her home life is often miserable, with her parents growing frustrated with her desire to read and learn about things other than the Jewish canon, how she recoils at social interactions and doesn’t even look her elders in the eye when speaking to them. This sadly is the kind of frustration that leaves bruises. Past a certain point her parents start to burn all her books save the ones specifically talking about their religion, forcing her to make little stashes of books where her parents can’t find them, often scattered around town.

Rat Queen: After being subjected to a charlatan’s “treatment” to try and turn Victoria, then Delia, “normal”. Rather than turn her into a good smiling Jewish girl, they got a hellion. Shortly after her procedure, she ran away from home, and quickly learned of her talent for necromancy, as well as those in the city who would take her head for using such talents on humans. So she began using them on something far more accessible and readily available in the depths of New York: rats. With a horde of undead rats swarming over those who stood in her way or stealing what she needed to survive, she drew the attention of the warlock Mairon the Red and his apprentice crew, Scarlet the pyromancer firebomber, Stick the illusionist trickster, and Mole the geomancer digger. For many years she ran with this crew, for better or worse through Mole’s cowardice, Stick’s arrogance, and Mairon’s advances, until one by one her competitors vanished. One through sickness, one through sacrifice, and one through the charms of fae, till only she and Mairon remained. This particular era of apprenticeship and limitations ended with Mairon’s death at the Rat Queen’s hands, felled by his own secrets that he’d thought were safely locked away.

Victoria, the Rat Queen after her mastery of using tides of dead rodents, is young and in some ways fairly brash at this age, but you can see the cunning that would later serve her well in full warlockhood. Of her group of warlock apprentices, she’s the most strategy and detail oriented. Due to her penchant for thievery, she also is usually the one providing for the others, pulling off jobs even Stick, the group pickpocket, can’t pull off.

Necromancer Ascending: These are more or less the formative years of Victoria’s warlock career, of her building her power base and resources while acquiring knowledge and connections enough to make her respected in the magical underworld. She goes through several names through this period, things like the Bloody Doctor or Lady Moreau, only settling on Victoria Frankenstein very late into this part. In general, the end of this era can be marked by her first execution, an unknowing (at least on the White Council’s part) test of her phylactery and Crimson Engine, a method for keeping herself around even after death.

In this part of her life, Victoria is far more cautious than she would become later in life, as she does not have a method for surviving a missing head till the very end of this era. It is here that she gets a penchant for disguises and false personalities, hiding in plain sight as she begins to merge science, medicine, and magic into her own unique spin on necromancy and biomancy. She’s beginning to develop her trademark personality, but only under several layers of false faces. She has quite a bit of power, but not as much as she would wield down the line, and not as much in terms of resources.

World War-Lock: This is a section of Vicky’s life, during her relatively modern run, taken specifically during the World Wars and the White Council’s war on Kemmler and his Thule Society. In the beginning of their attempted conquest of Eastern Europe, Kemmler and his servants began to court Victoria’s favor and resources. She was, after all, a powerful necromancer in her own right with a horde of her own and inventive magics that the White Council had trouble countering. With her on their side, they would have a much easier time steamrolling over native resistance.

Victoria wasn’t quite so eager. Kemmler and his society of necromancers, to her, stood for everything wrong with warlockdom. Far from “freeing themselves from the shackles of white magic”, they too often bound themselves up in ancient knowledge that clearly didn’t help their inventors to survive and, to her, pointless goals like ruling the world. Still, they were true to their word as far as necromancers tended to go, so she gifted them a few bits of technical knowhow and magical weaponry. Nothing world ending, of course, she saved those for funsies, but potent knowledge and items nonetheless. After a sustained silence on their end, Victoria made a surprise visit to see how her knowledge and weaponry were being used.

It was only then that she learned where the Thule society were getting their bodies to reanimate: the mass graves of the Holocaust. Now, Vicky will often point out that is not a good Jew. In many ways she’s almost the antithesis of that faith, forsaking most if not all of the Law and only celebrating the customs or traditions of the faith when convenient or if she were bored. One could even argue she carries some resentment for the faith due to the harsh orthodox treatment she recieved as a child. Even then, even through all that, deep down she still thought of these other Jewish people as her people. And to see them used like this, as puppets when they’d already suffered so much at the hands of the Nazis...

Perhaps it was one of the many selfish strains that tend to force Victoria into altruism from time to time, perhaps it was a shining moment of righteous clarity, but this revelation snapped something inside the necromancer. She did bring her horde to bear in Europe, but not as Kemmler and his lackeys had intended. Instead of turning them against the White Council, her monstrosities tore through the ranks of Holocaust dead, giving them “final rest” in Vicky’s eyes. She came in as a clad-in-black spectre of death against the Kemmlings, one of the few times she played into stereotypical necromancer style, calling down bolts of fire and earth on her foes from atop Bahamut, her largest zombie and her own personal mobile fortress.

While she did her share of fighting, she made sure to leave the thickest fighting to the White Council. After all, if Kemmler fell by her own hand, what would the Wardens think of it? Simply more infighting to take advantage of, and so she would get targeted as well. So began a very odd and tacit alliance between herself and the Council, rarely if ever acknowledged in word, only in the odd action on the battlefield.

Here, Victoria’s passions and fury are laid bare. She’s horrified and enraged that her own knowledge and tools were used to manipulate her own people when they’d already lived through the worst of humanity, and the magic she slings in this war is a major indication of this. She brings the worst in her arsenal to bear, and is much more flagrant about its use than she might otherwise be.

Deus Ex Thanatos: This is one of the major endings I have in mind for Victoria. Here, hounding from the White Council has hit its peak, annoying and frustrating Victoria into taking a route she might not have ordinarily taken. Finally snapping and wishing to shed any viable connection the White Council could use against her, she goes through a ritual ascention, using countless fossils to make countless microfractures in the time space continuum connected to the Great Dying, the Permian Extinction, one of the largest extinction events in Earth’s history. Taking in a massive amount of power into herself, reaped from the countless life forms dying on the other side of time, she ascended into godhood. Victoria the Necromancer became Victoria the Death God.

Of course, this came with its own set of problems. While she was largely rid of the White Council as an annoyance, she now had to deal with pantheons of other gods who didn’t take to the upstart very well.

So now you’ve got an even more confused, frustrated, unstable, emotional Victoria, who can incidentally command immense power and is unintentionally starting an underground cult among fledgeling necromancers.

Spirit Willing, Flesh Weak: Here, while Victoria wasn’t pushed as hard as her previous verse, she still expanded her knowledge of forbidden magics and pushed her powers forward. Unfortunately, this consistent push towards the dark arts is starting to take its toll on her soul and her body’s reaction to it. Past a certain point, her artificial bodies begin to break down before she says so, leaving an ambulatory rotting corpse before long. While she tries to remedy this by making bodies at a faster rate, but soon that became ineffective as the decomposition accelerated. At its climax, its all she can do to have some semblance of a human face on a skeletal body. At this point, she has become a true lich, fully undead with permanently glowing eyes and barely any flesh aside from a synthetic face.

Here, she fluctuates unpredictably from lamenting over her past appearance and her lack of need for bodily restrictions when it comes to magic. Here, she often truly seems insane, swinging between sad and angry and maniacal laughing in odd intervals. It is here, I think, where she could truly become not just an antagonist, but truly evil as her humanity slips away.

Victoria Redeemed: In this verse, as described in a long-ago Hundred Years meme, Victoria has renounced her ways. Possibly as an opposite reaction to her mind snapping in the other two verses, she finally seems to see the light and basically burns her home and work to the ground, laying to rest the thousands upon thousands if not millions of zombies therein, including her ever present Lassie. Of course with the built up magical energies of that place it may as well have been a nuke without the radiation, thankfully with a series of fake threats she managed to drive everyone else away.

Feeling she needed some isolation to get herself back on a better track, she went far away from her normal stomping grounds and found herself a little plot of land nestled in Oregon, with a peaceful cabin and a plentiful garden. She rarely if ever practices magic, and even then its usually to give the plants a little boost in bad growing years. She’s even given up smoking and drinking, which didn’t come easy but so far she’s clean. Only once she’s relatively confident in her abilities to abstain from black magic will she start to reach out to others.

She has no phylactery at this point, but neither will she avoid justice being sought. She knows she’s done terrible things with magic, but she would like to do some good before she finally goes.

#verses #Victoria the necromancer #Little Delia #Rat Queen #Necromancer Ascending #World War-Lock #Deus Ex Thanatos #Spirit Willing Flesh Weak #Victoria Redeemed

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auroraphilealis · 7 years

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Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) Chapter Nineteen

Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) 19/27

Genre: Chaptered, fantasy AU, Prince!Phil, Thief!Dan, romance, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff, slow burn (like serious slow burn)

Warnings: some violence, mentions of death (no main characters), dark magic, descriptions of wounds/blood, some hints of sexual scenes (but no actual smut), murder, dangerous situations, stealing/thievery

Summary: Captain of the Royal Guard and Prince of Morellia, Philip Lester has never been given the chance to find love. Instead, he’s run from a system that works to end class differences and improve equality for its citizens. Happy as he is to make the world a better place, Phil can’t help feeling bitter towards his ancestors for making it impossible for him to find someone who will actually love him for more than just his title, and strives instead for a life of justice and doing good - only to meet his match in the King of Thieves, a man who will change everything he once thought he knew in life. Together, they must depart on a quest to save the kingdom, and, in the process, destroy their differences and find their own form of love.

Word count: 240,000+

Updates: Sunday

Thanks so much to @botanistlester for betaing this giant monster, as she’s been super helpful and encouraging with her little comments and endless excitement. We couldn’t have done it without you <3

Disclaimer: In no way do I claim that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil

For reference, @snowbunnylester is Phil, @ineverhadmyinternetphase is Dan

(AO3 link) (Masterlist) (Previous)

Chapter 19

The mountain terrain was proving more and more unpleasant to traverse the longer the men moved along the winding pass upwards, with sharp rocks that could cut through the sole of their shoes if they weren’t careful, and a steep incline that was only getting steeper as they continued upward. Dan prided himself on his fitness, having been forced to lead a life spent mostly on the run for the majority of his years, but even he was puffing and panting after a hard day’s walk through the pass.

They’d had lunch pretty late, and it hadn’t settled well in their stomachs. Dan and the Duke had spent far too much time glaring at each other to focus much on their meals, but Phil had gotten sick of it soon enough. While the Duke tried to flirt, and lord his accomplishments that day looking for more praise from the Prince, Dan merely kept his mouth shut apart from snippy comments until Phil quite literally dragged him into his side to rest while they ate.

It had been warm and soothing enough to remind Dan of last night. At least, for as long as it had lasted.

Not long after, Phil had begun packing away their supplies once again, and forced them to continue on their hike.

For once, he was being the sensible one, and Dan hadn’t even been able to complain.

With the village long gone behind them, however, and the next quite a ways off still indeed, with the sun growing lower and lower in the sky, until, eventually, it was nothing more than a bright mark against the horizon, casting the world into dusk, Dan called the three of them to a halt.

"It's not safe to linger here in the dark," Dan explained, "There are thieves and bandits about." He couldn't help but give Phil's fingers a little squeeze in his, sending him a small, knowing smirk. This thief had yet to be discovered, at least.

The Duke seemed more than happy to stop, even more red-faced and exhausted than he’d looked when they’d first started out that afternoon. He dropped his pack instantly, and turned straight back to Phil, eyes glinting in the low light of the sun. "Allow me to set up camp, my Prince! For it has been a long and exhausting day, and you must be in want of your rest."

Dan held back the flare of anger that ran through him at the way the Duke was eyeing his Prince, and instead leaned naturally against Phil, winding one soft arm about his waist. He smirked a little at the Duke. "Well, you won't want to be setting up camp here."

Dan could actually physically see the Duke seething. He kept ignoring Dan, however, instead only giving Phil his attention. "Where would you have me set up, my Prince?"

Dan glared, because that was his name for Phil, but Phil instead turned to Dan with a wicked glint in his eye that Dan was really rather proud of. "Where do you suggest, my love?"

It amused Phil highly to screw with the Duke. He had enjoyed their day so far with how he and Dan had been able to tease and prod the Duke mercilessly, knowing the man could not react too negatively if he wanted to curry favor with Phil, and it was merely the icing on the cake when the Duke once more attempted to ignore Dan completely by addressing Phil instead, and Phil turned to Dan to return the question to his thief instead.

Dan's grin was spectacular. With Phil backing him up, the Duke could do very little but glare as Dan led the three of them along to a sheltered little hollow on the edge of the pass, covered by an overhanging rock, but open enough not to set off Phil's fear. Dan gripped his hand nonetheless.

It was a small cave he’d noticed when he’d first drawn the group to a halt, and he was proud of himself when the Duke started to mutter about how he would have found the area himself if Dan had only let him. Dan knew that was a load of bullshit, though, and just continued to smirk to himself as he gestured inside the small outcropping, going far enough and deep enough inside that they would be well sheltered from the elements, but also not quite deep enough for Phil to get too claustrophobic.

They’d be well hidden once inside, as well.

“We’ll be safe here,” Dan reassured Phil and the Duke, before releasing Phil’s hand and ushering him in. “Go get us settled, my Prince. I’ll get the campfire started,” he insisted, and then turned back around to offer the Duke another self satisfied grin before setting about doing as he’d said.

As Dan bent down, working on getting a flame started, a noise behind him had him spinning around, and then he was almost nose-to-nose with the Duke. Dan cast a quick glance around for Phil, but he was still busy with the packs out of earshot. Dan's eyes narrowed.

He could handle the Duke.

"You aren't going to succeed," the Duke hissed.

Dan simply arched a brow back at him. "No?"

"No, so you might as well just give up now." The Duke's eyes were glinting.

Dan slowly dropped into a crouch, though he really wanted to avoid a fight if he could - the mountain pass was narrow and the edge of the cliff incredibly steep. He met the Duke's eyes with a challenge. "You seem very sure of yourself, for a man who has never even had one kiss from my Prince."

The Duke's eyes flashed. "Soon, he will be mine. I have a way to be rid of you for good."

"I highly doubt you'll get so lucky," Dan answered silkily.

"You'll see," the Duke spat, standing once more and kicking some loose stones over Dan's prepared campfire, negating all the work he’d done so far. "Soon, you'll be out of my way for good, filthy commoner."

That word still hurt, no matter how much Dan wished it didn’t. He flinched before he could help it, and saw the Duke give a sly smile in response. No. Dan wasn’t going to show any weakness in front of him, refused to let the Duke have any modicum of control in this situation.

The Duke was dealing with a very dangerous man, and Dan wanted to let him know that. He was the King of Thieves, no damned rich highborn fool should be able to treat him like this.

So Dan rose to his feet and lashed out quick as a flash, grasping the Duke's arm before he could get any further away. He towered over the Duke, taking full advantage of his height, and lowered his voice to a dangerous hiss. "Be careful who you challenge, or you might not live to regret it."

The Duke paled in response. He looked over Dan quickly, and for the first time, a flash of fear was hidden deep within his eyes. Dan relished in that feeling, in knowing that finally the Duke was going to learn to show him respect, that this filthy commoner could and would fight back.

Besides, Dan had Phil on his side, and his faith in Phil was completely unshaken now. He knew his Prince would choose him, and it gave him strength to face down the Duke with all the confidence he could usually muster.

“You have no chance here,” Dan added flatly.

The Duke pulled away from him slowly, not looking away. He looked shaken, still a little pale, but that didn’t stop him from turning towards Phil as soon as he stepped away. Dan watched him leave, watched him settle as close as he could beside Phil, and although a flare of jealousy ran through him, Dan knew enough now to watch the subtle ways Phil rejected him. There was no leaning into the Duke’s space, no pulling him into a hug, like Phil would with Dan.

Dan finally felt secure enough to not be angry all the time. He finally felt more like himself again, like the King of Thieves, unshakable.

Dan turned back to building his campfire with a smile.

The cave Dan had found them for shelter was beyond perfect. It kept them hidden in a crevice of the mountain, but was open enough that it didn't trigger Phil's crushing sense of panic. Unfortunately for him, he was also stuck with the Duke far too close for comfort while Phil watched Dan build a campfire and start their dinner for them all. Phil would have been willing to help Dan if it weren't so out of custom that the Duke would question it as strange and Dan not being good enough for Phil.

However, one quick look at Dan showed a thief happier than Phil had seen in a few days, certainly around the Duke. Although the line of Dan’s shoulder was still tense, there was a smirk playing about his face, and for once Phil didn’t know what had put it there. He knew the Duke had had another word with him while he'd been setting up his and Dan's furs for the night. He could only hope that Dan had not taken the words to heart, as Phil would be unable to comfort him tonight with the Duke so close. Speaking of insecurities near another suitor would do no good for either of them; it would only make the Duke dig his claws in further, assuming he'd found weakness and could tear them apart.

Sighing, Phil tried to tune out the Duke speaking next to him, but it was hard when his voice was so loud and abrasive, the exact opposite of Dan's soothing tones. Even teasing, Phil preferred Dan's voice to this pretentious shit’s.

Dan glanced over at them every once in a while, but he was still smirking. He knew, now, that the Duke was not receiving Phil’s attentions. He could see it in the way Phil’s eyes glazed over as he spoke, the way he didn’t move any closer to the Duke than was necessary. It helped Dan, and he wondered how he hadn’t seen it before.

Phil was his. That much was obvious.

Dan turned back to the campfire, turning some of the deer meat he had roasting over the flames, when a noise outside the cave had him turning on the spot.

That had sounded like a footstep.

Suddenly on guard, Dan got silently to his feet, eyes narrowed. He stalked carefully to the very edge of the cave, Phil and the Duke sheltered behind him, and peered into the darkness of the encroaching night. The sun had set long ago, and only the weak moonlight lit up the mountainous land outside.

Something was disturbing the shadows, further up the mountain pass. Another footstep echoed down the rocks, silent to anyone who wasn’t listening. But Dan had spent too many years travelling alone to miss potential danger like this.

A slow patter of footsteps that Dan recognised all too well was moving steadily towards them, along with a bouncing light from higher up the path - a torch.

More precisely, a bandit's torch.

Dan cursed loudly. He grabbed a flaming stick from the fire and brandished it in front of him, moving quickly as he shouted orders to Phil over his shoulder. "Get back! Hide! Thief coming!"

Just as the Duke had reached out and placed an arm over Phil's shoulder, just as Phil had tensed and turned to glare at the Duke for the unwanted move and attention, Phil heard Dan curse, and he jumped up almost immediately at the terrifying words.

Jerking himself away from the Duke, Phil launched himself towards a dark, deeper and much smaller crevice in the far wall that would only fit one, one eye on the Duke in case he were to try something just then. The Duke was far too frightened, however, and it was obvious as he launched himself behind a large boulder near the back of the cave, just in time before Dan put out their flames.

Dan cursed the wasted meat that hadn't yet finished roasting, but the fire had to be put out. He hid their supplies as best he could, and then crouched at the entrance to their little shelter, hoping beyond hope that this thief wouldn't spot them, and if he did, Dan just had to pray that he wouldn't recognise Dan. He couldn’t risk having his identity revealed to the Duke, no matter how much Dan might relish the fear on his face if it should happen. But it would put too much at risk. Phil’s reputation above all else would be completely annihilated if he were associated with the King of Thieves in any way.

The three waited in a strained silence for a good few minutes, even the Duke knowing better than to spout a word. Dan couldn’t risk taking his eyes off of the area in front of him, so he couldn’t glance behind him to see if the Duke was taking advantage of Phil behind him, now, but the atmosphere was too tense to be afraid of that minor nuisance.

They had far more to worry about, and, as the bouncing torchlight came ever closer, Dan knew his fears were about to come to life.

They all held their breath, but no one moreso than the panicking Prince who couldn't even find it in himself to breathe. He knew, if the Duke were not here, Dan would find not trouble in protecting them both from a thief as King of Thieves, but they'd both agreed they would try and hide that knowledge from the man, and now, it seemed like those hopes were tumbling down. Surely, there was no way they were going to get out of this without the Duke finding out just who Dan was.

As the seconds ticked by, it became more and more apparent that there was no use in hiding the way they were -- the thief Dan had spotted was heading straight for them, no hesitation in his movements whatsoever. It wouldn’t have mattered if they’d never started a fire, this bandit would have found them. There was no doubt in Dan’s mind that he’d been watching them all day from the higher reaches of the pass, and had simply waited until sundown for the best chance to attack. Dan himself had done the same on many occasions. It was the perfect way to ambush travellers.

Now, though, Dan was desperate, crouching with one hand clasped to his torch, the other to his dagger. Worry for Phil was pounding through his veins.

After a few more tense seconds of waiting, the thief came rattling down the pass, far more nimble than any of Dan's group.

"Now, now, there's no use hiding!" the thief chirped, brandishing a torch and a wicked-looking curved blade. "I saw your fire, and I smell your meat. Come quietly, and we'll have no trouble."

Dan cursed inside his head.

He recognised the man.

This was one of Dan's closest comrades, a man named Brandon who had both seen Dan's face and knew his first name. They’d worked together often before, and while Brandon recognised Dan as his leader, there was no doubt he could reveal his identity at any minute.

Dan made himself as small as he could, thinking quickly.

Until Brandon took three steps closer to Phil's hiding place deep in the cave, still brandishing the sharp blade.

Phil watched with nothing short of worry in his heart as Dan was confronted by another bandit, heart pounding fast and hard in his chest when a wickedly curved knife appeared in his line of sight, far too close for Phil to be comfortable. He refused to so much as twitch, however, unwilling to give away his exact position, unwilling to put himself or Dan in harm's way should the bandit choose to throw his knife.

Phil could tell by the way the Duke cowered on the opposite side of the hollow, away from Phil, that the Duke had no intention of stepping in to help either of them. He would probably offer them both up on a silver platter, if it meant saving his hide.

Before Phil could do anything, think of anything, Dan was speaking up, full on confronting this bandit, and sending a fresh wave of fear crashing through Phil’s heart.

"Stop!" Dan called commandingly, voice booming from the shadows. "Or do you dare to take on me?"

The shock on Brandon's face was incredible. He jumped back like he'd been whipped, staring around the darkness of the cave, his torch brandished in front of him as he hunted for Dan. "I'll be damned, I know that voice! Show yourself!"

Dan battled with himself, knowing that the moment he stood up, there was no going back. He just prayed that Phil would have a way to shut the Duke up about this, or if not, he'd let Dan kill him.

Brandon was waving the dagger far too close to where Phil was hiding, so Dan swallowed his worry and rose to his feet, stepping into the torchlight with a hard glare, arms folded across his chest.

Brandon dropped his torch as his eyes lit up. "Well, curses to high heaven, it is you!"

"Indeed," Dan answered dryly, easily falling back into his old ways. "Now I'd be grateful if you stopped robbing my party."

"Of course, of course!" Brandon dropped his weapons, the torch clattering uselessly against the rock, and instead pulled Dan into a familiar hug, clapping him hard on the back. "Anything at all for my King of Thieves!"

Dan winced. He’d been hoping Brandon would at least go so far as to not say his title, but it seemed it was far too late for that now. There was no going back after this. Something would have to be done about the Duke.

Closing his eyes when the bandit revealed Dan's true title, Phil could do nothing but wilt. There went all their hopes, then. There was nothing to be done. The Duke could not continue on knowing that information. Phil had no qualms with killing if he needed to, and yet, even still, he closed his eyes and hated himself a little bit for this being such a necessity, even more so now than before. Before, perhaps they could have spared him. Now… never.

"Why are you travelling with two rich fools, though?" Brandon asked, peering at Dan closely. "I could spot you coming from hours away. Are they your hostages?"

"Not… exactly." Dan flicked one glance to the shadows, where Phil and the Duke were hiding. The Duke Dan couldn’t care less about, but Phil…

Dan was going to have a hard time explaining why he was travelling with a Prince of the Kingdom, never mind Captain of the Royal Guard on top of that.

But Brandon was an old and trusted comrade, one of Dan’s very best allies in his own world. In fact, he was one of the few Dan had trusted with his first name, and he’d always come to Dan’s aid when he’d needed it in the past. In return, Dan sent him what supplies he could from the capital, and always traded what he could.

If Dan could trust anyone from his own world, it would be Brandon.

Carefully, Dan turned back to Brandon with sharp eyes. "Swear to me you'll speak no word of this to anyone."

"As always, I obey my King." Brandon tipped his head, his eyes glimmering with interest.

Despite everything, that made Dan smile, glad to hear such words again.

He stepped back and threw a dramatic hand towards the shadows -- if this was happening, he might as well enjoy it, and Daniel Howell was nothing if not dramatic. "Alright then. Prepare yourself, Brandon, and please welcome Prince Philip, Captain of the Royal Guard."

Nothing could have prepared Phil for what happened next, however, as his own name was being called out almost proudly in the next few seconds. Stunned, terrified, but full of nothing more than absolute trust for his thief, Phil stepped out without a moment of hesitation, able to breathe a little bit easier now that Dan seemed to know the man who had been about to rob them.

The man seemed to hold a healthy respect for the King of Thieves, after all, and while Phil had yet to see the Duke’s reaction to the reveal of who Dan was, it was clear that he was now outnumbered. He wasn’t going to be pulling any tricks just yet.

When Phil stepped out, it became instantly clear that for as surprised as he’d been at Dan revealing him, the bandit was even more surprised. After all, while the bandit had known the King of Thieves was not alone, he surely wasn’t expecting his party to include the Prince himself, not to mention Captain of the Royal Guard.

Behind him, Phil heard the Duke began to shuffle out as well, looking too guarded by this turn of events to even be offended when Dan neglected to reveal him as well.

"Well. That was unexpected," the bandit stated in front of them, but his eyes weren't wide with surprise. Instead, a slow, sly smirk had began to curl his lips that made Phil feel marginally uncomfortable.

"As was your arrival," Phil retorted, taking another step towards Dan. He wasn't sure what he was meant to be to the King of Thieves, despite the proud way in which Dan had introduced him, and so Phil kept his distance to a degree, waiting on Dan's command and lead.

Dan watched with keen eyes as Brandon took in Phil's form, raking slow eyes down his body. Phil was looking quite uncomfortable, though, so Dan made sure to step in front of him just subtly enough to get his message across.

Brandon recognised the look, and although he flashed Dan a surprised glance, he backed down willingly enough. Brandon had always been one of Dan's closest allies, and he never questioned Dan's authority.

"Caught yourself a highborn, huh?" Brandon's grin was back to gleeful as he folded his arms, wicked blade still very much in sight. "Can't imagine why you've dragged him all the way out here, though. Unless you wanted to give me a bit of the fun?"

"Nothing like that is happening," Dan growled, once again moving protectively to Phil's side. The last thing he wanted was for Phil to get spooked, and Brandon cut an intimidating figure to anyone who didn't know him.

Phil didn't understand what was going on. The bandit was looking at Phil with a greedy look in his eyes, and Phil was starting to get the feeling it had nothing to do with the idea of what Phil, a Prince, might be carrying, and much more to do with what he might be packing.

Skin crawling at the very thought, Phil couldn't explain how relieved he was when Dan stepped in front of him protectively, arguing against the bandit when he claimed to desire a piece of Phil. In what capacity exactly, Phil was unsure, but it made him shiver and want to put some distance between himself and the bandit. Phil would gladly hide behind Dan for now if he had to, and he wouldn't even be embarrassed about it.

Surprise once again registered in Brandon's expression, and he looked between Dan and Phil with confusion. "What are you...?"

"He isn't for sharing. And he isn't my captive, either." Dan sighed when Brandon just looked more confused, so he waved him over. "Let me explain. Get our fire going again, seeing as you made me put it out."

"Only if you let me have some of your takings." Brandon's leering gaze ran off Phil - much to Dan's delight - and instead ran over to the Duke, who was standing on the sidelines staring in utter shock at Dan.

Dan grinned evilly in return. "What, my precious Duke?"

It wasn't until the bandit turned his attention on the Duke, however, that Phil felt another tingle of fear run down his spine. He didn't trust the Duke, no, but he also didn't want anything truly heinous to happen to him or Phil would never forgive himself. Dying at the end of Dan or Phil's blade, however, in order for Phil to protect those he loved… well, he'd have to live with that.

"You're the King of Thieves," the Duke hissed, piping up for the first time since this entire affair had started. "The Prince's Courter is the King of Thieves? The people will never stand for this!"

The words dropped through the air like stones to the bottom of the pool.

Dan broke the silence with a threat. "Which is why you aren't going to tell anyone, Duke."

Brandon's eyes were bulging out of his head. "Prince's Courter?! This story I have to hear, Dan, what the hell?!"

Dan looked from the Duke, back to Brandon, back to the Duke, and then turned to Phil with a heavy sigh.

"I think our cover's officially blown. I trust Brandon, he'll obey me to hell and back, but your good Duke might be more of a problem," Dan leered, eyes glittering wickedly and tone growing dangerous as he stalked the Duke short-distance. "Want me to take care of him?"

Eyes bulging as their love affair was outed and the bandit nearly pissed his pants, Phil moved quickly to step between Dan and the Duke.

"No one is taking care of anyone. The Duke will do as I say," Phil demanded, turning to send the man a sharp glare, "or risk everything he's come here to do."

Dan was a little disgruntled when Phil stopped him from simply getting rid of the Duke there and then, but he backed off willingly enough. Dan had enough trust now that Phil would know how best to deal with him, and Dan had his hands full with Brandon, after all. Brandon was looking greedily between Phil and the Duke, eyeing the expensive clothing and the heavy metal swords with interest. His gaze alighted on the gold and silver bracelet Phil was wearing, and the ring on his finger, and he raised his eyes at Dan.

Dan, despite himself, felt heat rise to his cheeks. "Yes, well," he said gruffly, "I said I would explain. Put that wicked knife away, Brandon, and go start the fire. I'll let you have some of our meat if you behave."

"If you tell me this story." Brandon's eyes were gleaming, but he at least looked to Phil with some respect now. He gave an oily bow. "If the Captain of the Royal Guard allows."

"Behave," Dan ordered lazily, and gripped Phil's hand very obviously in his own.

It appeared that, at least for the moment, the Duke was going to listen to Phil, because not long after Phil had gotten in between him and the Duke, the Duke was doing nothing more than backing closer to the wall next to the cave, rather than trying to inch past any of them. Phil's gaze was intense and hard as he watched him go, and his fingers played with the dagger at his waist in a vague enough threat that the Duke could not call him out for it.

"I'll deal with you later," Phil insisted. "Watch your tongue, or I may well have to cut it out for you, Duke Hemsworth," Phil hissed.

As Brandon moved out of the way to get the fire going again, using his still burning branch from earlier to help him with Dan’s wilted pile, Dan drew Phil slightly to the side. He kept one eye on the Duke, who’d done nothing but back himself into a corner stuck between Brandon, Dan, and the cave, and murmured so only Phil could hear, “Remember when you asked me to trust you? When the Duke first arrived?”

Dan's fingers curled protectively around Phil’s, causing Phil to turn to him with soft eyes, though he was still wary of the bandit Dan called Brandon. He would trust his thief, though, as his thief had trusted him, and while Brandon got the fire going once more, Phil allowed Dan to soothe him.

“Remember when you asked me to trust you?” Dan repeated, staring Phil straight in the eye. “And I promised you I would?”

Phil nodded slowly, his brows furrowed in worried confusion, but he didn’t open his mouth to argue, for which Dan was grateful.

“Good. Now I need you to do the same for me, Phil. I trust Brandon. Nothing will happen to us because of him.”

Phil’s mind was reeling with everything that had just happened, with the strange banter that Dan had held with this strange man who’d walked into their lives, and couldn’t help feeling like he’d well and truly officially walked into Dan’s world, now. Before, that had just been a taste. This… this is what Phil should suspect from here on out, if he wanted to travel with Dan.

But what Dan was saying… it was true. Phil would trust him the same way that Dan had trusted him, enough, at least, to wait until they were alone to question him before jumping to conclusions, just as Dan had done for him. Phil had a feeling that Brandon would not fill Phil’s head with lies the way the Duke had, either, and knew his job would be far easier.

“Okay,” he agreed, without hesitation, and though his mind was still spinning with everything that had changed in so fast an instant, he did not fight this. Instead, he merely allowed Dan to drag him in for a swift but perfect kiss, before drawing back away and leading Phil back over to where Brandon had settled with their fire.

The Duke still had yet to move, though he looked like he was itching to flee, and Dan walked past him with a smarmy smirk to head to where he’d left the pack with the deer meat, before returning once again to Phil’s side. He sat with him, close as ever, thighs touching, before he got to cooking.

"So," Brandon demanded as soon as the meat was done, and he could safely tear away at the large leg Dan had shared with him, "Story. Spill, King of Thieves. Why exactly are you Courting the Prince? And why is he accepting you?!"

Dan grinned. He deliberately leaned into Phil's side, watching Phil as he answered. "Well. It's a long story, and not one I believe you're deserving to hear."

"Why are you all the way out here, then?" Brandon demanded.

Dan flicked a glance at Phil, then looked back to Brandon, unsure exactly how much Phil would want to tell. "We're here… looking for something," Dan responded evasively. "We need dragon scale. For reasons."

Brandon's face blanched. “Dragon?”

"I know," Dan answered wryly. "But I’d remembered you telling me of a dragon who’d come in and stolen all your hoard. So we came here to look for it."

"You're mad," Brandon said casually, staring at Phil with renewed interest. "You especially, Captain. Following a man you've been trying to put in jail, and then going after a fucking dragon? You've lost it."

Picking at his own meal, Phil kept one eye glued to the plotting Duke off to the side, and the other on the bandit at his side, anxious and jittery with their identities being revealed so openly on both sides of their worlds. It felt uncomfortable and scary, something Phil had not been anticipating dealing with so soon.

He enjoyed the way Dan leaned into him though, enjoyed the way his thief appeared so proud of him, and only tensed again when the question arrived upon what they were doing.

Phil had been intending to let Dan handle this, but Brandon seemed intent on dragging Phil in.

"There are some things worth doing when you have something important to protect," Phil muttered in reply, throwing a dark look at the bandit across from him. "While you fear the King of Thieves far more than you fear me, I promise you, you'll regret the day you ever cross me."

Phil knew his words might not be as threatening as he wished they would be, considering Phil had never once actually caught Dan physically, and therefore might not be able to catch Brandon after all, but he hoped Dan was powerful enough that it would seem Phil and he were just well matched.

"So don't," he added for good measure, finally sinking his teeth into bloody meat, making a show of it as he glared at the bandit across for him. Gaze off of the Duke for now, Phil heard the telltale sign of movement, and only relaxed when he realized it was damn near impossible for the Duke to move away from Phil and down the mountain pass without Phil noticing.

He’d gone into the cave, then, and as Phil turned to offer him a glance, he found his suspicions proved true. The Duke was hiding away inside, looking disgruntled, harried, confused.

When Phil turned back to Brandon, the other man was smirking at him.

"Protective one, innit' he?" he asked of Dan, quirking a pleased brow at Phil's thief. Phil just caught the tail end of a pleased smirk before Dan was pinning Brandon with a glare of his own.

"As am I. Though I'm sure you know that already."

Feeling a rush go through him at the heat behind Dan's words, Phil hid a smirk behind his meal. It felt good, having Dan being so protective of him… better, even, then so long ago when he’d thrown a dagger at the Duke for him.

Dan stared Brandon down once again, making it more than apparent that Phil was not to be made fun of. He couldn't be more proud of his Prince than when he’d challenged Brandon, which was exactly the right thing to do with him. Dan was starting to see how Phil had been capable of putting all the thieves in the capital in jail, aside from Dan himself, of course. He'd caught Dan in a bit of a different way.

"Alright, I’m getting the message loud and clear." Brandon put both hands up, though he was still leering at Phil. "The Captain belongs to the King. Or maybe the King belongs to the Captain."

Dan sent a flat stare Brandon's way. "That mouth of yours has got you in trouble with me before."

"Meaning no harm, my King." Brandon bowed his head, suitably cowed, at least for the moment. His blade was safely back in place, at least, so Dan deemed him not to be an instant threat.

The Duke, he wasn't so sure of. He'd disappeared into the back reaches of the cave and hadn't said so much as a peep since, which made Dan worry that he was scheming something. Knowing that he knew Dan's true identity now was worrying, and not something Dan wanted to play around with.

He leaned into Phil, murmuring in his ear, "I think you should go and sort out the Duke. I can handle Brandon."

"Are you sure?" Phil whispered back, and the distrustful glare he shot Brandon's way warmed Dan's heart.

He hid his smile behind an eye-roll. "I can take care of my own, my Prince. I suggest you do the same."

Phil stared Dan down for another few seconds, eyes narrowed as he searched his gaze for any sign of trouble. When he found nothing, Phil merely grit his teeth, and reminded himself that he had to trust Dan. Dan had done the same for him, followed his orders, when Phil had insisted only yesterday. Phil could offer him the same sentiment, so he got up slowly, dinner mostly finished, and turned to follow the Duke back into the cave.

As he went, Phil knew he had no idea what he was going to do… but one thing was for sure; Phil was done playing games, and the Duke was about to learn that too.

Once Phil had gone, Dan moved towards Brandon, expression growing more serious. Brandon met his eyes with a stern look. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

"Trust me," Dan insisted.

"You always have my trust," Brandon answered easily, "And my loyalty, you know that. But are you sure you know what you're doing? A Prince?"

"I know what I'm doing," Dan assured him quietly. "But you have to keep this to yourself."

"Dan--"

"I know how this looks, Brandon, I'm not an idiot," Dan interrupted tersely. "But I assure you, I have not changed sides, and I have not been duped out of my ways. I am still the King of Thieves. The Prince and I have found a way to work together."

Brandon arched a brow, snorting. "Right. 'Work'. I'm sure that's all you've been doing."

"Whether we have or not is none of your business," Dan answered primly, though he could feel Brandon's gaze lingering on the marks Phil had left on his neck, on the ring and watch Dan was still wearing. Phil's courting gifts.

Brandon was cunning, more so than Dan sometimes gave him credit for. There was a reason he was one of the few thieves Dan had allowed into his inner circle, and that sharpness was evident now as he leaned in a little closer and murmured, “How serious are we talking, Dan? He’s got your bracelet.”

Dan glanced over to where Phil was leaning in close to the Duke. He could feel his eyes soften, and when he glanced back to Brandon, Brandon looked a little disconcerted.

“I can’t explain it,” Dan answered slowly. “Phil just… he’s not who I thought.”

Brandon arched a brow. “He tried to capture you, Dan. Last time you were here you were complaining about how he threw all of the others in jail. He’s the Captain, you wanted to kill him!”

“Not necessarily,” Dan answered coolly. “Only if he got in the way. And he didn’t. In fact… he’s sort of helping me.”

“He’s helping you steal,” Brandon answered flatly.

Dan laughed. “No, fuck, don’t let him hear you say that. But he knows who I am, what I do, and he’s… ok with it. Or at the very least, he won’t stop me. He’s doing good work in the capital, Brandon, he set up an orphanage.”

Brandon narrowed his eyes.

“A real one, not some hovel,” Dan continued. “And he’s got me out of some sticky situations.” Dan wasn’t about to tell Brandon exactly what sticky situations. The memory of being caught halfway up a chimney wasn’t one of Dan’s proudest moments.

Brandon still didn’t look convinced, so Dan added, “Trust me, Brandon. I know what I’m doing.”

Brandon shook his head, but he was grinning now, and stuck out a hand for Dan to shake. "I'll trust you with anything, King, you know that. A Prince. Bloody hell. I shouldn't put anything past you."

Dan was chuckling as he clasped Brandon's hand in his own. "No. No, you probably shouldn't."

The Duke was a cowering fool, Phil thought, as he made his way deeper into the cave only to find that the Duke had curled up in the far corner, legs and arms drawn to his chest protectively, and eyes shrewd as he stared at the approaching Phil.

“The King of Thieves,” the Duke said with a chuckle once Phil was close enough to hear him. Back here, they could just hear the murmur of Dan and Brandon speaking, though they were not deep in the earth at all, and Phil suspected they would hear very little of Phil and the Duke’s voice either.

“At least now the Kingdom can know why you haven’t put him behind bars yet,” the Duke added humorlessly when Phil nodded his assent. The words sent a sharp spike of fear through Phil’s heart that told him all he needed to know -- there was only one way this was going to end, only one way it had ever been able to end.

The Duke could not live on past this moment, no matter how much Phil abhorred death.

Throwing himself forward, Phil drew his dagger in a flash, taking it into his hand without hesitation and pushing it up under the Duke’s chin. The blade pierced at his skin as Phil moved his body to bracket the Duke’s against the cave wall he’d been sat against, body positioned in nothing less than a defensive offensive. Should the Duke struggle, Phil would be able to slit his throat in an instant.

“Oh, Duke,” Phil whispered, “How naive of you. Do you really think I’d let you speak a word of this to anyone?” he hissed, voice low and threatening. “I meant what I said before. I am not against cutting your tongue out, or breaking your fingers for that matter. Careful, or you’ll find yourself long dead before news of my courtship every reaches anyone’s ears but your own.”

The Duke would be so lucky if Phil were to do just that. He had no plans of letting the Duke leave this cave, no matter what he did or said. All Phil needed now… were some answers.

Below him, the Duke trembled in Phil’s hold. It was difficult to tell whether it was from fear, or anger, but Phil didn’t stop to consider that too much. The last thing he needed was to let his guard down, now.

Of course, that was the moment he did. The Duke’s eyes went wide, bugging in his skull as he went limp under Phil’s hold, loosening him enough that the blade was not quite touching his throat anymore, but close enough that Phil could still strike if he needed to. He wasn’t paying enough attention, however, far too busy trying to figure out what the Duke was about to say, when he opened his mouth on a strangled, “Okay, please, I --” only to cut himself off with a move so sudden, Phil had no chance to see it coming.

The Duke was not smooth, nor was he delicate. He had no finesse, and far less skill than either Dan or Phil, but it appeared he was an expert at taking his victim off guard in close contact, and that was no less true with Phil, who found himself winded and pinned to the same wall he’d had the Duke pinned to only moments before. The Duke was swift, though clumsy, as he knocked Phil’s arm away and disarmed him, grabbing onto his blade before it could clatter to the ground and alert Dan and Brandon to what was occurring.

The palm of his hand came up to bash into Phil’s nose, disorienting him enough that he was able to get away with the movement, and then, quite suddenly, he had his own dagger drawn to Phil’s throat.

Winded and dizzy, still trying to recover from the blow to his nose, Phil gripped tight to both of the Duke’s arms and glared hard into his dark eyes. For a moment, the two were locked in a tense stalemate, with Dan and the bandit just down the way, unaware of Phil’s predicament. Surely, if they just took a moment to glance behind them, past the shadow of night, they would see all, but would they be fast enough to rescue Phil if his life was truly on the line?

He wasn’t so sure, and the Duke seemed to realize this as well, grinning a deathly smirk at Phil.

Grunting, Phil suddenly shoved at the Duke’s arms, trying to send him sprawling backwards, take him off guard, using the weight he still had on one of his feet to keep them locked together, arms shaking. The crouched position hurt, and was taking every bit of strength that Phil had in him, but he wasn’t planning to ever let it go. Not if he planned to survive this night.

The Duke, for his part, merely shoved Phil back, locking them in a stalemate, neither man able to move, despite the Duke having a dagger to Phil’s throat.

"Careful, my Prince," the Duke hissed, casting a discerning eye towards Dan, "or I may very well destroy everything you've worked so hard for. And I'm certain you wouldn't like that, now would you? Stop playing with me. I am not an idiot, and I hold your greatest weakness in the palm of my hands right this minute."

Grunting, Phil allowed one of his arms to be dislodged from his hold on the Duke, and even allowed himself to be pressed closer to the ground, back bent awkwardly as the Duke stood threateningly over him. It was the only thing he could think of, to let the Duke think he had the advantage, and he was flicking through strategies so fast in his head that he thought he was back at school, trying to memorize the logistics of battle.

Sometimes, you had to give a step, to gain ten.

"And what's that?" Phil grunted, moving to reach for the curved, jagged knife Dan had given him before, the one wrapped around the opposite arm -- the one the Duke was still locked in combat with, but which he wasn’t watching, far too consumed with shoving the dagger at Phil’s throat. Phil’s arm was locked in a downward position, the knife hidden slightly from view. If he could just reach it...

Smirking, the Duke replied "Your heart."

For one moment, the words struck fear into Phil’s heart. The realization that the Duke very much so did hold his weakness in the knowledge of who Dan was, made him tremble and nearly lose his focus, but it was then that he recalled another strategy he’d learned so long ago, now.

His commanding officer in training had taught him to use his emotions to his advantage, rather than trying to control them. Sometimes, the simplest slip could gain the most advantage, as Phil had learned when a classmate had taken away a small Trigen Fairy he’d rescued, and he’d used his anger to beat them to a pulp, when they’d been four times his size.

Drawing on that strength now, Phil let the pain and terror hit him, clear as day to the Duke, to distract him for just a moment. If he could just get the Duke to let his guard down, even for a second…

“No one holds my heart,” Phil spat out.

“Are you sure about that, Prince Phillip? Because I was under the impression that not only did your supposed Courter the King of Thieves hold it, but so did your family, both of whom are at risk of death if you don’t make it to that Dragon in the next three weeks,” the Duke hissed back, looking beyond gleeful as he pressed the dagger harder still at Phil’s neck.

The words were enough to destroy him, and he nearly wilted completely against the stone floor beneath him. He was just barely holding on, eyes filling with tears, because the Duke was right.

But that only meant Phil was going to fight harder, still.

“Am I wrong?” the Duke added, when Phil had yet to reply.

“No,” Phil gritted out through clenched teeth. The Duke and he were pressed so close together now that Phil could feel the Duke’s breath puffing against his face. This was everything Phil had known was coming and yet had hoped to avoid.

He’d long since made up his mind what he had to do here, but he still had questions to ask.

“Why are you doing this? For the witch? What has she promised you?” Phil spit out, the words hateful, desperate, as he let his emotions rush forward. Just one second, the Duke just needed to slip for one second…

Phil’s fingers gripped tight to the handle of the curved knife he’d yet to use, tied so tight to his upper arm, that he almost feared he’d cut himself dislodging it. If he did, so be it. He just needed an opening now.

The Duke, on the other hand, did not react the way Phil had been expecting. His eyes went wide, and the devilish smirk turned to a confused frown as he stared down at Phil.

“The witch?” he asked, clearly confused, hand pushing harder against Phil. “What does the witch have to do with any of this? You honestly think I got myself involved with --” the Duke cut himself off, shaking his head and gritting his teeth. The dagger in his hands pressed so close to Phil’s neck, he felt it nick him, and he groaned as he tried to shove back harder against the Duke.

“I’m not stupid enough to fall for her tricks. Even her so called gifts…” the Duke, despite himself, looked enthralled for a second, before shaking it away. “Her gifts always look so good on the surface, but I know better. I’ve seen the things they do to people, their greed eating them away… No. I merely used her meddling in the affairs of your brother to my advantage. You see, Philip,” the Duke continued, his confusion turning once more to a smirk, “I want only one thing, and I think you know what that is.”

Phil’s strength was beginning to give out. He didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to hold himself together like this, keep the Duke away, prevent him from killing him, but he had to hold on. For Dan, for his parents… for himself.

“You see, Philip. While others seek the favor of the dragon, of the witch, to give them what they want, I see the truth. They will forever be in their debt. But if you go out and take it for yourself… well, then, there’s no one who can take it away from you, now is there?” the Duke mused, something gleeful in his eyes. “I want the crown, the power, the wealth… I want Royalty, my dear Prince, and the way I see it, you’ve only got one choice left here.”

Pulling back slightly, the Duke said, “Release the King of Thieves from your Courtship, agree to marry me, and then I will take you to the Dragon and help you save your people. Without me, you are helpless. The people of this mountain would sooner feed you to it than allow you any chance to get what you need.”

The moment was coming, Phil could feel it. The Duke was growing cocky, believing that he had won, that’d drawn the ace of hearts in this deck of cards they were pulling, but Phil knew the truth. He would get past the villagers, Duke or not, and like hell was he ever giving up Dan.

But he needed the Duke to make just one more mistake, let up just a little more…

Phil drew his curved knife from his arm band.

“And if I don’t?” he asked.

The Duke laughed. "Well then I'll have to kill you, and with you dead, the palace and the rest of the royals will fall with you. I don't believe you want that kind of blood on your hands now do you, Prince?"

Phil closed his eyes, let out a deep breath, felt his fingers grip tight.

"And if I do as you wish?"

The Duke leaned closer. "You'll marry me, and we'll have the King of Thieves assassinated, and then, my Prince, you will rule under me."

It was the moment Phil had been waiting for, the mistake he’d been expecting. The Duke had said the magic words, believed himself all powerful enough over Phil’s life to think he could get away with threatening Dan’s life, and he’d let up enough that Phil could move almost freely, now. In one, swift movement, Phil drew his arm free from under the Duke, and dragged the sharp, serrated end against the Duke’s throat.

Blood spilled from the wound like no other, spurting against Phil’s face as the Duke choked, blood burbling from his lips as Phil moved quickly to finish disarming him. The Duke’s dagger clattered uselessly to the ground beside Phil’s head, and Phil let himself fall limp against the Earth, forcing his knees to unbend so he could sprawl out properly while the Duke collapsed on top of him.

Phil’s arms came up to grasp onto the Duke’s, holding him in place before he could fully suffocate him, and he watched as the man who’d wrongly threatened to take everything away from Phil choked to death on his own blood.

“That, my dear Duke Hemsworth,” Phil hissed, “Was for threatening my Dan.”

The Duke’s eyes rolled to the back of his own head, and Phil watched as the life drained out of him, uncaring for the blood that now stained and ruined his borrowed tunic.

It was the gurgling sound that finally alerted Dan and Brandon to the scuffle happening behind them, and within seconds, Dan was on his feet with his dagger in hand, Brandon crouched next to him sporting his own wicked blade. They both fell into a natural crouch, spinning towards the cave with the fire at their backs, well used to fighting together.

Dan's heart was cold and gripped with fear for Phil, realising too late that he never should have allowed the Duke time with Phil alone away from Dan and Brandon. That was the last time Dan was letting his guard down.

He stalked slowly towards the back of the cave, motioning Brandon along with him, until they were close enough to see what was going on, only to find Phil, covered in blood, cradling the dead body of the Duke.

Dan let out a rushed breath and dropped his dagger instantly, running straight for Phil. Immediately, he bore some of the Duke's weight, lifting him off Phil to allow his Prince out of the tiny crevice he'd managed to squeeze himself into.

The Duke's dead body was far heavier than it might have looked. With blood dripping down onto Phil, he grit his teeth as he tried to hold the Duke up and away from him, not wanting to bear his weight in any other way. Phil was just trying to think of a way to get Dan and Brandon's attention when the two suddenly appeared, a low, terrified sound escaping from Dan's lips as he immediately moved in to help release Phil from the Duke's weight over him.

"Are you hurt?" Dan demanded, voice tight as he stared at Phil.

It took a moment, Phil’s eyes wide with the horror of what he’d just done, the panic and adrenaline of a fight like that, but he eventually managed to nod his head. Standing on shaking legs, Phil helped Dan to move the Duke’s body, dropping him unceremoniously in the middle of the cave. Phil reached up to wipe a hand over his face, sighing loudly as his heart raced in his chest.

It had only just occurred to him that he could have died, but he couldn't regret what had happened.

Dan relaxed marginally at knowing Phil wasn’t hurt, and helped Phil to dump the body of the Duke back in the centre of the cave.

The stench of blood was overpowering.

Dan studied the Duke, and it was easy to see the mortal injury -- a slit right across his throat.

Phil's blade was bloodied.

Brandon wolf whistled appraisingly. "The Captain has some skill." He nudged the Duke's body with his foot, watching as his head lolled. "Can I have his armour, if you won't be needing him anymore?"

Dan ignored Brandon, still fixated on Phil. He placed both hands on Phil's shoulders and spun him around.

"What the hell happened? I told you to talk to him, not put yourself in danger!" Of course, Dan knew Phil must be more than capable of protecting himself, but he was still shocked and a little scared. Phil had been close to death, and Dan had been right there but hadn’t had a clue. That was a terrifying thought.

Brandon's words were almost a blur, but when Dan spun Phil and forced Phil to look at him, those words hit home.

Phil could see the fear clear as day on Dan's face, the anger he was using to mask it nearly overpowering, and uncaring that he was covered in another man's blood, Phil dropped his knife, cupped Dan's cheeks, and pulled him into a searing kiss, eyes scrunched close as he tried to remind them both that he was alive.

Maybe Phil needed it just as much as Dan, though, because before he knew it, he was tangling his fingers through Dan’s hair and crushing their bodies together, keening into the kiss as he remembered the Duke’s threat. Phil had nearly died, but so could have Dan, and that was not something that Phil could have stood for.

His fingers threaded through Dan’s hair, cupped the back of his head, and then skated down over his body, dirtying his clothes, but Phil didn’t care. He had a Dan to touch, to reassure, to hold, and there was nothing else he could have wanted more in the world just then.

By the time Phil pulled away, he and Dan were both panting, and Brandon was ignoring them completely by beginning to pick apart the Duke's armor and personal items. Chuckling in relief, Phil dropped his forehead to Dan's shoulder.

"If it belongs to the Duke, take what you will. We have no use of it," Phil said just loud enough for Brandon to hear, chuckling again when the man broke into celebratory dance.

"I've got the Captain's blessing to rob, what a day this is!" Brandon sing-songed.

Phil merely shook his head, grinning into Dan's shoulder, and sighing as Dan wrapped his arms around Phil. His touch was like fire, gripping tight to Phil’s clothing like he never wanted to let him go again. He was tense, though, tense enough that Phil looked up at him in surprise, only to realize just how pissed Dan still looked, and that Phil had not yet answered his question from earlier.

"I did what I had to to protect you, my thief," Phil muttered lowly, heart still fluttering roughly in his chest. He could feel the exhaustion hitting him hard, could smell the blood on himself, and just wanted to get cleaned up already, but he still had an angry Dan to deal with. "He threatened you, my kingdom, my family. I would not stand for that,” Phil explained.

Dan didn’t look impressed, nor did he look convinced, so Phil narrowed his eyes at him and said, “I knew what I was doing. He would not have had the upper hand for long if I hadn't wanted him too."

Dan's eyes narrowed further and further the more Phil spoke. He might be overreacting, but he just didn't care - Phil was important to him, and the idea of losing him was not something Dan could bear. He nudged his chin against Phil's head and growled, "Either way, you shouldn't be putting yourself in danger like that. Brandon and I were right here. Why didn't you call for help?"

Phil shook his head. "I would not have allowed any blood shed without proper cause,” he said. "Had I called for help, there was little doubt the Duke never would have spoken to me the way he did. I wasn't going to allow his blood on my hands without reasonable cause; threatening your life was reason enough. And besides, had he felt more threatened by you than he already did, there would have been a higher chance one of us would have died. I wasn't risking your life like that.”

Phil's gaze was hard. He didn't want Dan to question him. They wouldn’t have been safe, had Phil done anything different, no matter how Dan wished it so.

"He's not your child, my King," Brandon interrupted as he scooped up a ring off the Duke's finger. "Unless your relationship is even weirder than I thought."

"Yes, OK, that's quite enough," Dan sniffed primly, turning his attention back to Phil. He squeezed him tight, refusing to let Phil move back from his chest, and pulled him in for another rough kiss.

Despite the blood covering his face, Dan was clearly just as desperate to remind himself that Phil was alive, because it was only seconds later that he was dragging Phil into another rough kiss. Phil melted into it, exhausted as he was, and let Dan dominate him.

"I won't lie; I'm glad he's dead," Dan murmured against his lips, "But I did not want you to be the one to do it. Won't there be repercussions? His family won't start a Royal feud, or something? What about the witch, you said he might be involved with her?" Dan shook his head, nibbling worriedly on his lower lip. "We can always say Brandon did it."

"Oh, thanks," Brandon huffed. "Nice to see such loyalty from my King."

Rolling his eyes once Dan had pulled away, Phil drew him close for another short peck.

"Who's going to know I murdered him, Dan? Unless you or Brandon plan on outing me, there's no reason there would be any political backlash. It's just as well I killed him rather than you. I would not have that used against you should that come out," Phil explained. “As for the witch… well. Turns out I was wrong about their involvement. All that information he could give us on her… he gave on day one.”

Dan frowned. “Oh? He had no more information?”

Phil shook his head. “He wasn’t involved. In fact, he seemed quite fearful of dark magic from the way he was talking, and I wouldn’t doubt he would simply flee if he ever saw her in reality. He was an opportunist; nothing more.”

Dan nodded slowly, taking that in. So their fears about some plot to take over Phil’s family were unfounded, but that wasn’t as reassuring as it should be. There was still no explanation for the curse, other than the witch feeling somehow jilted, and Phil’s family were still in imminent danger. The sooner they got that dragon scale, the better.

But it was hard to think on that now, when Dan had Phil in his arms, safe, alive. Dan was maybe melting just a little bit that Phil was being so caring and protective of him. It was one of the first times Dan had ever had someone else sticking up for him, standing up for his life, and it set Dan's heart to racing, and a broad, soft smile spreading across his face.

"Alright, ok, I'm glad I didn't have to die." Dan shook his head, straightening out Phil's fringe and dusting down his jacket, "But I can take care of myself. His threats were never that great. I don't like you in danger, my Prince. Even if you did do a good job of killing him."

"As if I like putting you in danger anymore than you do me," Phil replied smartly, crossing his arms over chest a bit defiantly. Dan seemed to have relaxed a bit, however, for which Phil was grateful. To top it all off, the Duke was finally no longer a threat, and wouldn't be interrupting their lives any longer.

As much as Dan wanted to keep kissing Phil, the drying blood was a little bit off-putting, so Dan reluctantly pulled away and turned to see Brandon still ransacking the Duke’s body.

Dan couldn't help but smirk at the sight. The great Duke Hemsworth reduced to nothing but a bloody corpse being robbed by thieves was a very satisfying sight, no matter how it may have happened. Still, Dan tapped his foot and raised an eyebrow down at Brandon. "If you've got a minute, I think the good Prince needs a bath. Where's the nearest water?"

"There's a lake up there." Brandon jerked his chin up the pass, then narrowed his eyes at Dan. "It's my main source, though. Don't go… defiling it."

Dan did nothing but smirk evilly, reaching down to entwine his fingers with Phil's and tug him on his way.

"I'm serious, King! No funny business!" Brandon called after them, but Dan was already chuckling as he and Phil disappeared back onto the mountain pass.

#phanfic #phanfiction #phanfictioncatalogue #phan #dan and phil #fic #steal my heart #iwritephanthings #snowbunnylester

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midnightskydancer · 5 years

Text

(CW: Bittersweet/sad ending)

Had a dream last night that I was living in small trio of single witches in 1930’s England. I was heavily pregnant, so they took me to a pool (for water therapy) in a forgotten part of London’s Underground.

But I immediately went into labor and had a water birth. The British police heard the baby crying, so we hid underwater (babies automatically hold their breath under water) until the coast was clear.

But me and the other two witches knew. It was illegal to be there, and if the police found I had given birth, they would have taken my child. It wasn’t safe for me and the baby anymore. We had to run.

So run I did.

Next thing I knew, I was standing in a train station holding my newborn son to my chest. He was wearing baby clothes now. I was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, hoping beyond hope we would make it to our train.

Two policemen came towards me...and passed by without so much as a glance. Apparently I didn’t match the witch description they were given.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I looked down at my baby. He was warm and fast asleep. Safe.

A nearby baby cried, and I watched his mother attend to him. She was with another child and her husband. They looked so happy, so sure of their future.

Looking back at my child, I thought about his future.

I had nothing. No money, no family, no husband to provide. There was no way I could rejoin my coven without risking my child being discovered by the police. I truly was on my own. The world was not kind to unmarried women like me.

My only shred of hope was a job offer from a distant acquaintance. It was far from legal however, I would be involved with forgery, thievery, and other illicit activities.

That was no life for a child.

I couldn’t bring him on a heist, and I had no idea of how to find a woman I trusted to care for him while I was working. There would be barely any money to survive.

As if sensing my distress, my tiny son began to stir in my arms. I made my way to the train platform and settled on a bench to nurse. I didn’t care if public nursing was frowned upon in the 30’s, my baby was hungry.

He was so small, and I loved him more than life itself. He deserved better that what I could give him. He deserved security. A normal life without worry.

Looking up, I saw a table with a bassinet. The sign was for a church who took care of orphans. I remembered them. Those kind people had helped me many a time. They were good, decent folks, who didn’t care who I was or what the law thought of women like me. They just loved and expected nothing in return.

It was then I realized what needed to be done. It broke my heart, but my baby had a better chance with them then he ever would with me.

The conductor called out final boarding.

I gently wrapped a nearby blanket around my now sleeping newborn, kissed his head, and placed him in the bassinet.

I didn’t look back until I was on the train. A kind-looking woman from the church had just appeared and was reaching for him.

Yes, he would be safe.

#stories #dreams #and today at gym i saw a baby with its mom and felt that it was my dream baby #dream stories #my writing #my posts

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ineverhadmyinternetphase · 7 years

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Steal My Heart (steal my whole life too) 14/24

Genre: Chaptered, fantasy AU, Prince!Phil, Thief!Dan, romance, enemies to lovers, angst and fluff, slow burn (like serious slow burn)

Word count: 240,000+

Updates: Sunday

Disclaimer: In no way do I claim that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil

For reference, @snowbunnylester is Phil, @ineverhadmyinternetphase is Dan

(AO3 link) (Masterlist)

A/N: Thanks so much for the response to last chapter!! Sorry we haven’t got around to answering all the comments yet, both Eliza and I have got some life stuff going on right now. Eliza in particular has a lot of stress so send her lots of love and well wishes <3 Thank you for continuing to read and (hopefully) enjoying this fic though!

Chapter 14

Phil let himself sink into that last, lingering kiss, knowing beyond a doubt what Dan was doing and that he was getting ready to draw them both apart, popping their little bubble of isolation. He was proved right when Dan leaned away from him.

Dan shuffled his way out of the furs and out of Phil’s arms, relieved that the sun had mostly risen now, warming the air in his cavern. He went to an area he'd sectioned off slightly and hunted through his clothes, finding a clean tunic to change into. As he moved, he spoke over his shoulder, "I have plenty of clothes, if you need any. And there's a small oasis just behind the cavern if you want to wash - I can show you. You must be sweaty, you stole all my blankets last night." Dan sniffed, although his displeased tone was ruined a little by the fact he couldn't stop grinning.

Phil had slept in Dan's bed last night. They'd probably be sharing many more nights together, if Dan got his way. There was very little to be disgruntled with.

The idea of an oasis was more appealing than Phil had thought it would be. He'd never been given much chance to try those kinds of things, and he understood that it was less likely to be as appealing as Phil's mind was making it out to be, but he wanted to know what it was like to live like Dan, to live among the world without the baths he had at home. He wanted to learn to take care of himself, to take care of Dan, and so he ended up agreeing with Dan.

"I would be happy to borrow your things," he murmured.

Dan grinned back at him, a slow warm feeling curling in his chest. The idea of Phil in his clothes was appealing in a way Dan hadn’t quite expected it to be, oddly domestic, something Dan had never expected to have. So he shuffled his way back over and tugged on Phil’s hand. “Come along, then. I’ll show you everything.”

Phil stood up, following after Dan as Dan pointed out his oasis, tucked away behind the cave in a secluded little cove. On the way, Dan paused by his bed, setting the little lion down among the pile of his most precious things - with the fairy tales and bear carved by his brother, where the locket had been until Dan gave it to Phil last night.

Phil shooed Dan off to take a bath first, grinning as he not only got to watch Dan place the lion plushie down in the pile he now understood to be number one in Dan’s heart, but got to stare at Dan moving around stark-naked, as neither male had bothered to get dressed again last night.

The long expanse of Dan's back and flank kept Phil's attention long past when it should have, and he licked his lips when Dan turned to show off all that skin, all those marks, that Phil himself had left.

Yeah. Dan was his.

While Dan washed and got himself ready for the long journey ahead of them, Phil looked through his pile of clothing, catching sight of more weapons than he had imagined he'd find. There were piles of daggers, most of which looked far less exciting than the three Phil had given back to Dan, as well as the hunting bow Dan had mentioned. The clothes were a mix of old and new, but he and Dan were similar sizes, and Phil knew approximately what he should wear to survive the desert, so picked out something that Dan had left for him to pull on after he had his wash.

After that, Phil turned to head back to the oasis just as Dan was leaving. Their eyes met, and Phil wondered that if things were different right then, if they could have bathed together. It seemed like an intimate thing to do, something Phil would have loved had they had the time. He sighed regretfully, and dropped the pile of clothes just inside the area of Dan’s home that held the oasis.

Dan watched him go, something awfully close to longing tugging at his chest. But he would have hours to spend with Phil in the desert, days and weeks and months of travelling stretching out ahead of them. Soon, this would become normal for them. For a short precious time, Dan could pretend to keep Phil.

Once Phil had gone on to wash, Dan turned back to his cavern, and grinned when he remembered the food store he’d been able to take from the Palace kitchens when they were last there. As if the actual King himself had given Dan permission to steal - had hugged him, of all things. It made Dan smile a little, to think of Phil’s family accepting him in whatever little ways they could.

It also meant they now had a lot more food than Dan had been expecting, so he set about making Phil breakfast, getting a fire going and laying out some meat and bread, chewing on a strip of meat as he went.

The water of the oasis was surprisingly warm, and Phil quickly discovered it was due to a small hole in the side that gushed out hot water. The small spring must have stemmed from a hot well, and Phil could see how the running water entered one direction, and flowed out another in two small streams that all coalesced in a giant hole in the middle of this room. Dan was lucky to have discovered something he could wash in that was warm but wouldn't burn him, and Phil allowed himself to enjoy lathering himself up, relaxing into the warm water, dunking under it to wash his hair. It was almost more lavish and amazing than Phil's baths back at the palace in the end, something Phil had not been expecting, and he had to remind himself that they may not be so lucky on their journey.

As Phil got dressed again, he realized he was quite hungry, and wandered into the main cavern of Dan's home once more in search of food. He found Dan already in the midsts of setting up a nice breakfast for the two of them and grinned. Phil moved to where Dan was settled down whittling away at a sharp knife while chewing on one thing or another, and plopped down next to him.

"So, my thief. I promised to obey you from here on out, and I fully intend to keep that promise. Care to share the plan, though?" Phil asked as he picked up a loaf of bread Dan had set out and tore off a piece from it.

Dan glanced up as Phil returned from his bath, smiling instantly. That was becoming a reflex reaction - Phil entered the room, and Dan smiled. Especially seeing him dressed in Dan's clothes, fresh from Dan's oasis. There was something so quietly intimate about it, so telling of a shared life. Dan's imagination was running away with itself, thinking of many other mornings like this one, spent in quiet domesticity with his Prince. Dan's heart gave a funny little flip at the thought.

Phil's words, however, brought Dan straight back to earth. He gave a small, sombre sigh, setting aside the knife he'd been idly sharpening after cutting up some of the meat. "You're just desperate to get down to business, aren't you, Phil?"

Dan knew they couldn't delay long, no matter what Dan personally might want. He expected Phil was worrying about his brother, and Dan had promised to help, so he would. Dan was itching with the desire to make Phil's world a little happier, in whatever way he could.

So Dan got back to his feet and strode over to a pile of parchments, hunting through them messily. Piles of trinkets and scrolls and stories and jewels were thrown carelessly to the ground until Dan emerged with a triumphant noise, holding up a map.

"Here we go." Dan dropped down by Phil's side again and stole a piece of his bread, chewing on it as he pointed at the map. "So according to your father, the dragon is over here, in the mountains at the Western border. Now, I've been to the villages out that way, and it's very remote. We'll need to cross most of the desert and then get over the river somehow, which means we need a lot of supplies. It's about a week's journey just to the edge of the desert."

Dan's finger moved up, then, away from the villages and higher up to the jagged area depicting the mountain range. "I've never been up that high," Dan admitted, "But the village people will know the safest routes. This map is quite old - I charmed it off a duchess after she'd bought it from a museum I was trying to break into, she ended up giving me three snake skins and a ball of cotton wool as well, long story - but because it's old, some of the detail may be a little wrong."

Dan chewed his lip. "I'd say - maybe three more days to find the dragon's cave. Then we wait for it to sleep, take a scale, and head back. So maybe two to three weeks in total - enough time to get back to Cornelia." He sent Phil a sidelong grin. "Am I the best at planning, or what?"

Phil listened intently as Dan spoke, heart racing in his chest for multiple reasons. One, Dan was pressed up to his side, and was stealing Phil's bread in the perfect imitation of casual intimacy and domesticity, something Phil had craved all his life. Two, he was anxious and terrified, ready to get back home to his family to keep them well and safe, and so he was far too anxious to hear the plan laid out before him. Three, he was excited. This would be the first true adventure Phil had ever been on, and he felt like he was being set free.

Chewing softly, Phil nodded along to show he was listening, snorting a bit at Dan's strange story about snake skin and cotton wool, almost wishing they had the time for Phil to stop Dan talking and explain what the hell had happened there. Instead, he stared at Dan's map thoughtfully, watched the way Dan mapped everything out, detail oriented and certain they'd be back in time to save the Princess.

"The best," Phil agreed morosely, still staring intently at the map. It might be old, but he wanted to memorize the planes of it, memorize Dan's plan, try to understand best how to help them both. They needed to pack for a three week trip at most, needed to figure out a way to cross the river, and had to face the indigenous people of the mountains in order to get to the dragon they either worshipped or feared.

Phil added, "I know how to build a bridge. I used to practice them over the moat at the East Gate. If there's no other way across that river, I know I can get us safely across if you trust me and watch my back. How wide is it?" he asked, knowing already he could make something sturdy enough but light enough to get them across if they moved quickly, if only the river wasn't too wide.

Dan's eyes lit up with interest when Phil mentioned that he knew how to build a bridge. He hummed thoughtfully, turning back to the river on the map and running his finger along the creased and lined parchment. "That could be really useful, actually. I was thinking we'd have to get all the way up North, where it's safe to ford, but if you can build a bridge then we should be able to cross further South. It's not too wide there, I think." He grinned and nudged Phil's side. "So you're not just a pretty face after all, hm?"

Phil rolled his eyes, ignoring that comment to say, "I'm trusting you to get us through the villages, Dan. I can't be the Prince there. Do you think you can charm them?" he asked, knowing the answer already when he looked back up at Dan's face. Biting his lip, Phil narrowed his eyes. "I swear to God if you flirt with them, I might have to kick your ass."

From the glint in Dan's eyes, Phil thought he knew the answer to that, and he groaned, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Fine, but your ass is mine. No kissing, no sex, just words Daniel Howell," Phil demanded.

Dan couldn't help but snicker and narrow his eyes into a playful glare. Phil's jealousy and possessiveness was more than a little endearing. Dan kind of wanted to push him over right there and remind him just how much Dan's ass belonged to him, but Dan had a feeling they wouldn't leave for several more hours if that happened, and the sun was already climbing. So he chuckled, “Oh don't worry, Phil, whatever happens I promise you'll be the one I return to."

The flirtatious avoidance of Phil's demand playfully annoyed him, and he narrowed his eyes at Dan. He could just see his mark showing above Dan's tunic, and pressed his finger there, turning his body to lean over Dan and make him feel small for once. He glared, bared his teeth, and leaned in to nip at Dan's chin.

"I better be the only one you're ever with again," Phil insisted, wishing for one second that he could push Dan over and show him just how much Phil meant it, but they had no time.

Dan couldn't help but snicker again, eyes delighted as he glanced up to Phil leaning over him and nipping at his chin. "Jealousy gets you going, I see," Dan all but purred, leaning into Phil to place his lips right by Phil's ear. "Interesting. You have nothing to fear, though - trust me, I have no desire to take anyone else, not now I have you as mine."

Dan was almost surprised to discover he meant what he said. Dan had never committed to one person before, and it felt a little alien. Now he had Phil, though, Dan couldn't even imagine looking at anyone else twice.

To prove his point, Dan leaned in and pressed a possessive kiss to Phil's lips.

It sent a thrill down Phil's spine to have Dan speaking low in his ear and then taking his mouth in a possessive kiss. Phil had never known he was a jealous person, but it seemed to be lighting a fire inside of him to imagine Dan using his charms on anyone but Phil for any reason other than to get them through their journey together. The last thing Phil was allowing was for Dan to run off with someone else, no matter how dumb that thought might be.

If anything, it was clear that Dan rarely felt this type of affection for anyone else, let alone had sex with them for any other reason than physical enjoyment and to get something out of them. It was clear that Phil had stolen his heart, and yet the jealousy burned hot and new. Even thinking of anyone else who had ever gotten the chance to be with his Dan was hard, and Phil had to shake his head to shake the thoughts away.

Being with Phil like this, it was the best thing ever, but also very distracting and they had a journey to start. So Dan forced his thoughts out of the gutter and settled for a chuckle instead. "Anyway. Travelling should work fine. I’ll get us through the mountains, don’t worry.” He tapped his chin, surveying Phil thoughtfully but with a wicked glint to his eye. "We will need a back story for you though. Maybe you can be my old, senile uncle who's convinced himself he wants to go gold hunting up the mountains."

"I'm not that much older than you," Phil grumbled, trying to force his mind back on thoughts of the incredible back story his thief had come up with for them rather than his romantic interests. "Four years doesn't necessitate a senile uncle of all things, but considering I treated you like my annoying nephew a few weeks ago, I guess this is what I deserve."

Dan stuck his nose in the air when Phil reminded him of when he'd been forced to play the past of Phil's nephew. "Yes, well," Dan huffed, "I'm sure I'd have got out of there just fine by myself. Just needed an excuse to talk to you again.”

Dan wasn’t pouting. He wasn’t.

Phil grinned, poking at Dan’s dimple that appeared when he pouted like that. "Don’t worry, my thief. I can do that. Gold hunting is a good cover, that way if they worship the dragon then they won't kill us because they'll think that we're fool enough to get killed ourselves."

Sighing again, Phil pushed a hand through his wet fringe, and reached out for a piece of dried meat, sucking and chewing on it for a bit as he thought.

“Senile old uncle it is, then," Dan continued, tone changing to teasing as he shook off annoyed thoughts of that last time he’d needed Phil’s help and rolling up his map to go stick it in his bag along with the other things he'd prepared for their journey. "Four years is enough, Lester. You're in your twenties." Dan deliberately made himself sound horrified, even as he scampered about his cavern preparing their supplies. He always loved travelling, but he had a feeling this would be even better now that he had a companion. “Honestly, as if I’d need the help of someone so old to get out of that house when I was stealing.”

Snickering, Phil knocked into Dan. "I'm pretty sure you somehow managed to fuck yourself that night, and if I hadn't been around to save you, things might have turned out very different for you. How did you end up handcuffed, anyway?" Phil wondered, suddenly unsure if Dan really had done that just to get Phil's attention or not. "Did you really not need my help then?" he wondered, standing up as well as Dan began to pack up some more things from his cavern to place among the objects they'd taken from the Palace.

Dan just pouted more as Phil questioned him about the night Phil had had to come to his rescue. "It really wasn't my fault," he said petulantly, "I was climbing through their chimney when they came home early. I should have realised - they were on their guard, I'd broken into just about every rich house in the capital that week. I should have moved cities, but, well. I wanted to stay close to you." Dan admitted, feeling the spot on his right cheek going red. "The handcuffs were the Lady's fault. She grabbed me out of the chimney, and found my daggers. I couldn't do much else but use your name. So I suppose you were maybe a little bit useful, yes."

Phil shouldn't have felt as gleefully proud as he did of the fact that Dan had been forced to use his name to protect himself all because he'd been too selfish to leave the city. Of course, Phil might have to throttle Dan if he did something stupid like that again, because who knew what could happen next time. If Phil was willing to let Dan continue his life as a thief, then Dan better work his ass off to keep that life safe.

He had no idea what Dan was looking for in his home, but he had a few thoughts of his own. "If you could find me like, kind of a lot of rope, that'd be good," Phil explained, watching Dan move about. "And, you know, ask me for help if you need it," he added. "I might be in my twenties, but I think I proved I'm not useless last night, and every other encounter we've ever had," Phil explained with another snicker.

Dan snickered when Phil asked for rope, and he moved to add some to his growing pile. "As you can see, I'm not the tidiest person," Dan admitted with a wry grin. "So it's probably best I find my stuff. We got most of what we need from your father, anyway."

"Pack that lot up," Dan added, nudging the pile over towards Phil, along with a bag. "You are my packhorse, after all." He dodged Phil's whack with a laugh, instead hopping on over to the corner he kept his weapons in. The bow he'd long loved was coming with them, of course, and Dan would need his usual favourite daggers, along with some spares, and knives for cutting up meat. Having Phil along meant Dan could afford to bring some of his heavier items that he usually couldn't manage alone.

Yes, Dan could get used to having a companion.

Rolling his eyes and attempting to slap at Dan for being annoying, Phil leant over and began to pack up a third bag for the two of them. It was a good thing Phil was a strong person or this might be a bit more difficult for them. He knew everything they had with them was of great importance, however, and knew the longer into the three weeks they got, the less stuff they would have. They needed to survive for three weeks, though, and Phil trusted Dan's judgement on what they might need.

Once the bag was packed and Phil was sure he'd be able to balance the three packs on his back, he moved to stretch and get himself settled properly. He watched as Dan moved about collecting hunting items, and decided that if they did run out of food, they'd probably be safe.

Phil was anxious to get on the road, though.

"So, how do I know quicksand is coming, then? And what other dangers should I be keeping my eye out for in your desert? I can't leave all the hard work to you," he explained. "I don't want to get myself or you hurt and screw us both over if I don't at least know what I'm looking out for. "

Dan glanced up and over at Phil at his question, arching a brow. He had absolutely no intention of getting Phil hurt, but after seeing the way Phil had just wandered off exploring earlier, Dan felt cold fingers of fear wrap around his heart. Dan couldn't imagine Phil getting hurt, could already feel the way that would damage him.

No, Phil wasn't allowed to get hurt.

Dan placed his weapons down by the packs and strode over to Phil, hands on his shoulders, looking straight down into his eyes. "For one thing, you are not going running off without me. Ok? You stick by my side at all times or I swear I will tether you to me with that stupid rope you're demanding we bring."

Dan dug his fingers into Phil's shoulders, holding him firmly in place. "For another - stick to the trails I point out. The desert can be tricky. Quicksand is easy enough to spot - if you see oddly thick mud, avoid it. Same with sand dunes. Don't stand under them for too long, if the wind changes you can get buried."

Dan's lips quirked up. "Basically, just obey me to the letter, and watch where you put your feet. Don't stand on snakes or scorpions, and only walk on the paths I show you, and you'll be fine. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, you hear? You're mine, Phil. I'm not going to let you hurt yourself."

Phil blinked, and suddenly Dan was there, stood determinedly in front of him with his hands on Phil's shoulder forcing him to stay in place. Listening intently, Phil nodded along with wide eyes, able to see quite clearly how serious and determined Dan was in his directions.

Avoiding mud and sand dunes were definitely things that Phil could do, though he kind of felt the way he usually did when he was out with his guard. They never taught him anything, just decided to keep him safe by telling him exactly what to do, and it was kind of irritating to Phil that Dan was doing the same thing to him too. Phil wanted to be able to protect himself as well, wanted to learn.

"I know you won't," he replied. "And I'm happy to have you protecting me, probably need it more than I can say when we're under such a strict time limit, but damnit Dan, I want to learn. Next time, I won't be so quiet. I don't care how badly you want to keep me safe, if my family weren't on the line, I'd be insisting you teach me how to protect myself rather than just ordering me around. I want to be free, and I can't be free if I rely solely on you and my guard to keep me from walking into one of nature’s stupid traps."

Phil just narrowly kept himself from stomping his foot on the ground like a child.

To be fair though, he did understand why Dan wasn’t considering anything but ordering Phil around. He also couldn't help being delighted at the idea of Dan tethering himself to Phil, figuratively or otherwise.

Dan was a little taken aback by Phil's sudden stubborn response, but then he reassessed the way he'd just spoken to Phil and realised he’d basically been treating him like a child. Dan tapped his fingers thoughtfully against Phil's shoulders. "Hm. I suppose you have a point. I didn't mean to be patronising - I just want you safe." He let out a slow sigh, meeting Phil's eyes, and his expression softened. "I want to give you freedom, Phil, but it's dangerous. I promise I'll teach you as we go, but some things just come with time and experience. You'll have to trust me and do as I say sometimes, at least in the beginning."

Dan narrowed his eyes a little at the thought of being like the Royal Guard, though. He'd always wanted to give Phil his freedom. Dan could see that Phil wouldn't be truly free if he just did everything Dan said - but it was tricky, when all he wanted was to make sure Phil was alright and safe and protected.

Perhaps he could give him a little more free reign.

Phil had already known that Dan just wanted to make sure Phil didn't get hurt on this trip, and he understood that, enough to realize that he couldn't just expect Dan to be willing to go through this whole thing via trial and error, but he still needed to get his voice heard, so it felt good when Dan acknowledged him and his desires.

Nodding, Phil said, "I know. I know this is the worst time for me to be petulant about it, but I want to see the world with you, Dan, and I can't do that if you don't trust me to keep myself safe, too. I'll always trust you. I'll even do as you say. But don't treat me like a child. I want to know why you tell me something, want to know the reason behind the moves we make and the things we do. I don't want to follow blindly, not because I don't trust you, but because I want to be your equal in everything, including this."

Phil couldn't help being proud of the way he'd phrased himself, hoped that Dan would understand and even agree with his need.

Phil's words had certainly given Dan a lot to think about. The fact that Phil was so adamant on them being equal gave new rise to his desires - as if Phil wanted more than to be free just for himself, but for Dan, too. He was embracing Dan's world entirely, wanted to be part of it, wanted to know how it worked and how to survive in it.

Dan was touched, but also worried. He wanted nothing more than to have Phil with him, by his side, but he worried. Dan's world was dangerous. Dan had grown up knowing nothing else, and while Dan had no doubts that Phil was tough, he didn't want Phil to have a hard, horrible life when he could have it so much easier. Dan didn't want to be the one to put Phil in danger.

He shook himself out of those thoughts for now, though. He had Phil here with him, and they had a task to perform, and that meant Dan could live out this little fantasy for now. Phil was here with him. That was all that mattered.

"Alright," Dan said suddenly, grinning mischievously, and stepping back from Phil. He pointed up to the cavern roof, where the sun was visibly climbing but was still in the early hours of the day. "First lesson. When do you think it's safest to travel in this heat? Especially considering we've got three packs to manage between us."

Choosing to stop thinking with the part of his brain that didn't want to be embarrassed by getting a question wrong, Phil looked up and said what seemed most obvious. "When the sun's setting. It's always hottest as the sun rises and settles in the middle of the sky, right?" Phil asked.

"Correct," Dan nodded approvingly, smirking at Phil. "Well - almost. You're right about sunset being the safest time, but the hottest part of the day is actually early afternoon. The sun's at its peak then. We should be safe for now."

He knelt and stowed his weapons away in various places about his body, aware that Phil would know where Dan kept them if he ever ending up having to fight him again. Dan recoiled from that thought.

Phil smiled broadly to have gotten even half of the question right, and nodded along with Dan's explanation of how it really was, realizing that it definitely made more sense. He wasn't going to allow himself to crack under embarrassment, however, not when Dan had already made it obvious he wasn't going to make fun of Phil with the way he'd replied, as if he were a proper teacher.

Relieved that they could definitely start heading out now, Phil reached for the dagger he'd discarded to Dan's floor last night in the midst of their more passionate adventures in an attempt not to hurt either of them, and shoved it into the little holster he'd created just for it that he'd slung along the inside of the trousers he was borrowing so it would have less of a chance of being dislodged from his person. Dan had also offered him another, longer, more jagged knife that Phil was keeping in a similar type holster along his arm. It reminded him of his sword as he strapped it on, and he turned to watch Dan get ready as well.

Dan slung one of their three packs over his shoulder as he straightened again, nudging the other two over towards Phil with a grin. "Normally I wouldn't recommend carrying such heavy loads, but we have a long journey ahead of us, and I have you to carry stuff for me." He snickered. "This is what I'm proposing we do - we travel in the early hours, as far as we can, but when it reaches noon we find shelter. I can show you how to safely do that - and I'll teach you, not just order you, calm down. Then we can travel again in the evening until nightfall. Sound ok to you?"

It was odd, for Dan, to be including someone else in his planning process like this. Ordinarily he'd be running off on his own, or barking orders at his subordinate thieves to obey him to the letter. Having an equal was something new for Dan, as well as Phil, it seemed.

PIcking up the bags Dan had tossed to him, Phil merely snorted at his joke, and nodded along to his plan, knowing that Dan knew best and just grateful he was making sure Phil understood all they were doing. Whether he did so by teasing Phil or not hardly mattered, but his jokes were small and lame anyway, making Phil relax as he allowed himself to believe that yes, this could actually work between them.

"Sounds great," Phil agreed, shouldering the two heavier bags Dan had loaded him with and getting ready for a long adventure.

Dan grinned at Phil's reply, and stopped for a second just to admire the absurdity of this situation. Here he was, the King of Thieves, about to lead the Captain of the Royal Guard out on a mission. Phil was all dressed up in Dan's clothes, with Dan's weapons and belongings and bags, and he looked just about ready to meld in with any of the thieving gangs Dan had come to know.

Dan shook his head, a smile slowly growing on his face. There was something wonderful about seeing Phil in his clothes.

"Off we go, then," Dan said lightly, reaching out to take Phil's hand and lead him into the desert.

The crawl through the passage outside again was a little hard on Phil, so Dan went first and moved all the rocks out of the way, then waited in plain sight so Phil had something to crawl towards. He took Phil's hands and pulled him through as soon as Phil was close enough, and rewarded him with a possessive kiss as soon as he was out.

As much as Dan would like to continue exploring Phil's mouth, however, the sun was climbing ever higher, so to make best use of the short time they had before noon, Dan linked his fingers with Phil's again and began to lead him across the desert. It was a little hot to be holding hands, and Dan was already sweating, but he didn't want to let Phil go. Dan liked the physical reminder that Phil was right there, that Dan had somehow managed to catch himself a companion better suited to him than he thought he'd ever find.

Dan's touch was quickly becoming a thing of dreams for Phil. Chest heaving with nerves but far more prepared than last time, Phil was rewarded for his bravery in facing his fears with a heated kiss from Dan that gave Phil all the bravery he needed, and then, despite the desert heat, they once again held hands as Dan pointed out the direction on the map they were following, beginning to lead them along in a weaving, almost serpentine like path, through the desert dunes and quicksand.

As they went, Dan made sure to point out the safest paths to Phil, explaining why the routes were the best rather than just telling him. Much to Dan's pleasure, Phil was an attentive listener and he asked all the right questions about life out in Dan's world. It wouldn't take too long for him to be able to survive out here alone - not that Dan had any plans of letting that happen.

As promised, Phil did everything that Dan asked him to, and was rewarded for his obedience and trust with explanations and how-to's on surviving the desert and knowing where to go. The paths became easier to navigate the more Dan explained, until Phil was seeing far more than he ever had before.

He knew before the winds had fully changed if a dune was about to collapse down and turn in on itself, knew before he could see muddied sand that he was treading far too close to quicksand, and could spot both rattlesnakes and scorpions far better than he ever had before. His gaze was wandering, but he behaved himself, didn't wander off the way he had just yesterday, and allowed Dan to lead and teach him.

One day, he wanted to experience this without the necessitated rush that was traveling as fast as they could. He wanted to properly see the desert that Dan called his home, wanted to experience as much of his kingdom as he could with his thief, and then, if he were to get so lucky, planned to take Dan away with him to faraway places that wouldn't even know either of their faces.

His biggest fear was being stripped of Dan too early, but despite Phil not fully agreeing with the morality of stealing from anybody, he knew he would always fight on Dan's side, fight to protect him no matter what he'd done.

Love was blind, Phil was quickly discovering. Should that terrify him? Perhaps a little, and perhaps it did.

The sun climbed ever higher, until Dan could feel it burning against the back of his neck. When it was at its highest and hottest point, Dan gave in and tugged Phil over to rest in what little cover they could find in the centre of the desert. He showed Phil how to set up a little protective shelter using blankets and sticks and rope, and they huddled under it together, Dan pressing himself up against Phil's side again even if it was a little warm. Dan couldn't resist it. He'd never realised just how much he craved human touch.

"I think you can sort out some lunch for us," Dan mumbled, wrapping himself securely around Phil's broad body. "Seeing as I did breakfast. Feed me, my Prince." He didn't even care if he sounded childish - Dan was too busy enjoying the sensation of having Phil in his arms.

By the time the sun was beginning to prickle too hot against Phil's skin, Dan was drawing them to a stop and helping Phil to build a lean-to. It was easy to learn, with Phil's background in bridges and such, and he collapsed next to Dan underneath it with a small huff. He thought he'd be less tired had it not been so hot. They'd hardly traveled, and Phil already wanted to collapse.

Grinning to himself at Dan's whiny command, Phil pulled the bag with food near the top closer to him, and began to pull together a small lunch. He dragged dried meats and bread out, placed them on top of the pack beside him, and then turned to Dan with a mischievous grin of his own.

Before Dan could so much as react, Phil had his arm around his shoulder, and was dragging him down until he was sprawled across Phil's lap.

He liked the way Dan looked there.

Picking up the half loaf of bread Phil had retrieved, he pulled off a bit of the middle - the best part - and begin to hand feed it to Dan.

Dan gave a loud, undignified squawk when Phil suddenly grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down, until Dan was falling and landing firmly in Phil's lap. He blinked, astonished, for the second or two it took him to regain control of himself, and then he narrowed his eyes up at Phil.

Not that Dan could honestly complain too much. Phil's lap was exceedingly comfortable, and he got to be close to Phil without having to hold his own body weight up.

So Dan curled into Phil easily enough, shifting a little until he got more comfortable, and nestled himself happily into Phil's embrace. He remembered all the times he'd had to berate Phil for not paying enough attention to him - well, Dan certainly seemed to have got his point across now. He lay his head against Phil's stomach, the soft material of his tunic pleasant against Dan's cheek, and Dan quite liked the sense of being shielded and held by Phil. He could probably get used to this.

Then Phil was breaking off a piece of bread and offering it to Dan, and Dan arched a brow. When he'd asked Phil to feed him, he hadn't meant quite this literally.

Well, Dan wasn't one to question if he was getting exactly what he wanted.

He leaned his head up just a little from where he'd nestled it against Phil's stomach, and took the bite of bread, giving Phil's fingers a cheeky lick. He nestled himself back into Phil's hold, swallowed, and said, "I mean, I'm not complaining if you want to dote on your King, Phil."

"Your wish is my command, my thief," Phil mocked, shivering a bit as Dan teasingly licking at his fingers, nestling into Phil's body and clearly making himself comfortable. It was nice, having Dan laying against him like this, staring up at Phil as if Phil had become the light of his world. The desert around them was lost on them until all Phil could see was Dan.

"If it pleases you," he continued, and then bent over to speak right against Dan's lips, "I'll always dote on you." Pressing a chaste kiss to Dan's lips, Phil then pulled back away, grinning like the hawk who'd caught the lizard and shoving a piece of crust into his own mouth before handing Dan a bit of the soft middle again, enjoying the way Dan took it from him easily. Phil could tell this was strange and new to Dan, however, to be treated like this by anyone, and his movements were stilted despite the happy gleam in his eye.

So Phil finally had someone to spoil. He wasn't going to waste the chance now that it was in his arms, and it was clear that Dan quite liked to be doted on, so both their wishes were coming true.

"Do you like that I have eyes only for you, my thief," Phil wondered as he started to feed Dan bits of meat as well.

Dan closed his eyes into the kiss, making a noise of discontent when Phil moved away too soon. He huffed, wrapping himself closer into Phil's hold, and went back to taking the morsels Phil fed to him. This was pleasant, if entirely new to Dan. In fact, Dan couldn't even remember the last time someone had looked after him. Dan's life had always been about fighting for survival, fighting to protect the ones he loved, until they got taken away. Then he'd just been alone.

Now, though... Now Dan was starting to discover the joy of leaning on someone else, of letting someone else take care of him. It should have made him vulnerable, but instead, Dan loved it.

"I do," he answered Phil's question, sending him a warm glance. "In fact, I'm going to make sure your eyes are always on me." He wrapped an arm around Phil's waist, anchoring himself firmly in place on Phil's lap. "I quite like this in general, to be honest. You have my permission to dote on me whenever you wish."

This was new, this warmth. It felt like every passing day taught Dan a new way to be intimate with Phil, another good thing that Dan had been missing out on. Wanting more of Phil's attention, Dan pushed himself against Phil's free hand, nudging his hair into Phil's touch. If Phil wanted to spoil him, then Dan was going to make the most of it, and nothing beat having Phil's arms around him, tugging at his hair, holding him close.

Laughing, Phil shook his head in amusement at Dan, enjoying the way his thief wrapped his arm around Phil's waist in order to force the two of them to remain close together. His fingers continued to pick at the pile of food splayed out next to him as he attempted to feed both himself and Dan, though admittedly, Dan was getting most of Phil's attention, especially when he moved to nudge his head against Phil's free hand in a clear attempt to soak up everything Phil had to offer to him.

Slowly working his way through the selection of meats and bread that he'd pulled out for their lunch, Phil gave Dan all the best bits without hardly caring for himself. Mostly, he just wanted to make Dan happy in a way he didn't think Dan usually got to be, and so it didn't matter to him if he ate the crusted bits of bread rather than the soft doughy center, and he enjoyed the scraps of meat that Dan didn't seem to enjoy as much while giving him the pieces he eyed when he thought Phil wasn't looking.

Eventually, though, lunch was finished, and Phil was sat there running his fingers through Dan's hair while they waited for the worst of the heat to pass. Dan's eyes were closed, his breathing even, but he was clearly not asleep. There was nothing relaxed about the way he held his body, even laying against Phil as he was, and Phil didn't blame him. Instead, he just memorized the creases on Dan's face, thought of the future they might have together, and tried to keep his thoughts from drifting into dangerous territory; like how Phil was going to handle the dark sides to Dan's lifestyle. He knew deep down he knew nothing of what Dan did, and while he understood and even respected the way that Dan stole from the rich and gave back to the people, he wasn't entirely sure what that all entailed.

Mostly though, he was just a fool in love who didn't want to give any of this up.

Finally, Dan seemed to stir, and his eyes drifted open, seemingly surprised to see that Phil was still staring at him, before he sat up slowly, informing Phil that they needed to get going.

Without a word, somewhat distracted by his own thoughts, Phil stood and began packing things back up again, shouldering the two heavier packs, and taking Dan's hand in his for comfort before they began walking again.

Relaxing in Phil's lap wasn't something Dan was going to forget in a hurry. Although he hadn't allowed himself to sleep, not when they were mostly exposed in the middle of the desert, he had enjoyed the idea that someone else was looking out for him. Dan had been blissfully happy. Phil took care of him, gave him the best bits of the food, and held him close in all the ways Dan wanted him to. It was so unusual for Dan that he never wanted to leave, wanted Phil to take care of him that way forever.

It couldn't last, though.

Dan eventually roused himself once he felt the air starting to cool, and sure enough, a glance at the sky told him the sun was beginning to make its way down towards evening. Reluctantly, he forced himself out of Phil's lap, watching Phil's eyes, and surprised to find a slight shadow in them. Phil's expression was thoughtful, and Dan couldn't quite read the reasoning behind it.

Time to figure it out later. Phil was like a puzzle to Dan, someone to work out, to crack open to reveal all the secrets he kept. If he did. Phil was completely honest, but Dan had a feeling he preferred to hide parts of himself he thought Dan wouldn't like.

Dan smiled when Phil took his hand again, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. The travelling was easier now it was later in the day, the cooler air starting to become refreshing rather than baking. Dan was a little worried that Phil's pale skin would burn, so he leaned over and tugged Phil's hood down over his face, standing over Phil to try and cover him as much as possible. It was easy to get heatstroke out here.

As such, when dusk started to cloud the air, Dan pulled them to a stop again. He showed Phil how to find the best place to camp for the night, by checking the direction of the wind and ensuring they weren't too close to any dunes. There wasn't much shelter, but Dan led them over to a small outcrop of rock, and showed Phil how to build a temporary shelter. He was pleased when Phil already knew the best way to build a campfire, no doubt from his time in the Royal Guard, so while Phil did that, Dan dug through their packs to find some meat and herbs to make up a broth.

When the fire was going, Dan set a flat stone over it and placed a bowl with the broth in to cook, the familiar smell soon wafting up in steam. The desert nights grew cold quickly, so Dan allowed himself a small smirk. He edged up behind Phil and snuck his arms around Phil's waist, leaning in to murmur in his ear, "We have around an hour until full dark. It's easy to freeze out here, so no stealing all of the blankets from me this time. Got it?"

Dan pressed a kiss to Phil's cheek before stepping back. He fetched the water skin and nestled himself up next to Phil again, wrapping an arm around Phil's shoulders to bring him close. "Drink," Dan told him, "The last thing we need is you drying out on me."

The walk through the desert as dusk approached was easier, and Phil's mind cleared of his heavy thoughts as he and Dan murmured lowly together, conserving energy but still talking about the desert around them and the small things Phil might want to know. There came a point where Dan quite literally lifted Phil's hood up to press it over the top of his head, though, and when Phil glanced behind him, he realized his thief was doing his best to protect Phil from the hot desert sun. Amused but also deeply pleased by this, Phil merely turned back around and grinned.

Later, he did a little showing off of his own by proving to Dan that Phil wasn't entirely useless and started them both a fire once they'd found the right place to camp for the night. He was quick to settle down in front of it, finding as night fell that the air grew colder, and he was suddenly missing the heat of the sun. Down in Dan's cavern, the change in temperature hadn't seemed so obvious, and now Phil was missing it more than ever.

Shivering as warm arms came around him, Phil relaxed against Dan and let out a small chuckle, promising himself he'd do his best not to completely leave Dan out to die without his own furs. Perhaps they'd have to give up the cuddling a bit, so that Phil had no covers to steal, but he didn't bring it up just yet, not when the smell of broth and meat was swirling in the air around him, distracting him from his need for Dan with his need for food.

"Drying out on you?" Phil teased getting comfortable in the way Dan put a protective arm around his shoulder, taking the water skin easily enough regardless and pulling a few gulps down. "Would you still want me even if I was a dried out piece of skin?" he teased as he handed the skin back to Dan.

Dan gave a small chuckle at that mental image, giving his head a shake. He placed the water skin securely behind them and then focused all his attention on Phil, wrapping both arms around him and drawing him against Dan's chest. Dan nuzzled into his hair. "I'm fairly sure I'll always want you, but let's try and stick with the human form, shall we?"

He snickered, laying his head on top of Phil's, idly watching the way the flames moved. Darkness was growing around them, and Dan could hear the distant howling of desert wolves, but with their fire going they should be safe. Dan was used to spending nights like this alone, and it was immensely comforting to have the warmth of another body pressed against him.

Unable to help himself, Phil merely began to laugh again, allowing Dan to pull him into a warm, sturdy chest all over again. Phil had rarely laughed this much in all of his life, and it was strange, now, that he could do so so much. His cheeks hurt with the sensation of near constant happiness. Of all the times to feel this way, when his family was in danger, and yet Phil couldn't bring himself to regret any of it.

Once the broth was done, Dan reluctantly removed his hold on Phil and instead reached for the food. He spooned half into a bowl and gave it to Phil, making sure he had a decent amount of meat, seeing as he'd skimped on lunch by giving Dan all the best bits.

Phil nuzzled his face into Dan's neck as Dan's chin rested on top of his head, glad for the way they could give each other comfort, and sighed as he began to feel the exhaustion of the day hit him. He drowsed against Dan a bit despite the sound of howling desert wolves that Phil was all too familiar with from the few times he'd been out here with the royal guard, and only stirred as Dan served him a fresh hot bowl of broth.

He was too tired to eat it properly himself let alone feed it to Dan, and rested against Dan as he slurped it up, glad to have his presence and companionship. Literally nothing could be better to Phil.

Dan was unable to help himself from leaning back against Phil as they ate. He could lie and say it was to conserve warmth, but truthfully, Dan was enjoying the presence of another person, of Phil, too much. He wanted to know more, to hear Phil talk, to drown in his company until Dan forgot the world.

"So," Dan began around his mouthful, "What did you think of your first day in the desert? Beats hanging around in your Castle, I bet."

"Definitely beats hanging around the Castle, Dan, you don't understand. I've been cooped up far too long this last week what with the wedding coming along. For the first time, I feel free,” Phil explained, laughing despite his exhaustion.

Dan's eyes were bright as he watched the way Phil laughed, enraptured by the way he looked so free and happy. When he laughed, his tongue did this adorable thing where it poked out of the side of his mouth.

Dan set his empty bowl aside and turned Phil to face him, poking the side of Phil's mouth with a grin. "I'm going to have to make you laugh more often. That's the most charming thing I think I've ever seen."

He leaned into Phil's touch, more than happy to have Phil resting against his chest. Dan absentmindedly ran his fingers across Phil's skin, exploring up his arm, down his back, around his hip and stomach, anywhere he could reach without disturbing his peace. Everything in Dan burned to make Phil happy - to give him freedom and safety and warmth. For this short time, out on their journey, Dan could do that.

Flushing darkly, not for the first time, Phil tried to bite back his grin, but it was difficult to do when Dan's words were sending so much affection swelling through his heart. Despite his embarrassment, he kind of just let himself go, finishing off his broth in a long slurp and four quick swallows, before placing his bowl aside and allowing Dan to pull him in.

It felt good to bed held, to have his body caressed the way Dan's wandering arms caressed Phil, clearly just wishing to touch and explore sweetly the same way he'd passionately touched Phil just yesterday. Still warm with the knowledge of what they'd done, Phil was tempted to turn and kiss Dan, to let their touches dissolve into something different, into something more, but he held himself back, more than just that little bit aware that they couldn't do that out here.

It wasn't safe. Besides, it was something Phil wanted to keep private.

"You won't find me complaining." Dan nipped playfully at Phil's ear. "That wedding was taking up far too much of your time, I couldn't even entice you out when I was stealing right in your city. Had to get up to the fucking rafters just to see you at all." Dan sighed heavily, curling his fingers around Phil's hip. "I'm sure your brother's lovely, but he's going to have to learn that your attention is... elsewhere, now."

Shivering a bit at Dan's playful nip to his ear, Phil turned to watch the emotion flit across his face. It was clear that Dan wasn't faking his annoyance, and Phil couldn't help wondering just how long that had been there.

"I think he'll survive," Phil teased back playfully, turning in Dan's arms and shifting his body so he could be pressed to Dan but also able to look at him. "He hardly knew of you before this whole mess, did he?" Phil wondered if Dan would understand about his duties in the future, but they could talk about that later. Maybe Dan would even be willing to stick around and help Phil out with them from time to time, in order to be together more often.

"Your brother seemed to know who I was when he tried to catch me in the library," Dan huffed, keeping up his gentle touches to Phil's body, wherever he could reach. The tug of desire to run his hands against bare skin instead was there, but Dan ignored it, however reluctantly, knowing they had to keep their wits about them. He'd had his Prince the night before, and would have him again in the future. Dan would have to learn patience.

Rolling his eyes, Phil batted at Dan's arms a bit. "Yes, well, he knew you as the King of Thieves, the plague on our Kingdom that his brother, Captain of the Royal Guard, was determined to catch. I think he and father knew before I did that it was more than that, though. Before the confirmation after the failed wedding, how could they possibly know who was courting me? The refusal to give them a name meant I had no chance of running off with you during wedding planning, although I must say how grateful I was to have your gift around my wrist. Easier to get rid of suitors when you have a sign that you're already taken," Phil explained, fond expression on his face as he stared up at his thief.

Silly man. Did he truly think that Phil was going to let anyone get in the way of his happiness with Dan? Did he truly believe there was anyway that someone would steal Phil's attention away from him? All Phil wanted was to shower Dan with gifts and affection, and no one was taking that away from him.

Dan grinned wickedly as his eyes trailed down to the bracelet still on Phil's wrist, the one he'd gifted Phil in their spot in the Palace gardens. He was proud to see it sitting there, a sign that Phil was his. "Yes, well, you shouldn't have any potential suitors anymore. If the bracelet wasn't clue enough, I think my thrown dagger worked quite well on the last one."

Phil hummed at that. He couldn’t claim Dan was wrong about that, after all, and it still sent a thrill through him that someone would defend him like that. Dan had perhaps meant it in a possessive way, but the man he’d thrown a dagger at had clearly stated his intention as a threat, and Phil could not be more grateful for Dan’s need to stake his claim on Phil.

That did get him thinking though.

“I do have a question for you though, my thief. When did things change for you?" Phil whispered, blue eyes intent on Dan's brown. "With me, I mean."

As Phil turned, Dan looked down into his eyes, instantly tensing a little at the question. He didn't want to analyse his feelings too much, to figure out when they'd first arisen, or how he'd known he was falling for his Prince. That was a dangerous path, because Dan was still struggling to imagine a future for them. A thief and a Prince - it could never work without one of them drastically changing their lifestyle, and that thought terrified Dan. He didn't want to get in too deep, no matter how fruitless that may be now.

Phil was looking at him with such honesty, though, and Dan had never known someone to be able to disarm him with a look alone before. As it was, he could feel himself crumbling under Phil's gaze, his defences down, made vulnerable once again.

"I suppose," Dan began quietly, glancing down, "things changed the more I got to know you." Dan took one of Phil's hands in his, starting to idly play with his fingers. "I had this image of the Captain of the Royal Guard as a hard, cruel man who'd put away all of my comrades, and who would be after me next. That's why I was so cheeky, so determined to prove you wrong, to show I was better than you. Only..." Dan shook his head, smiling a little. "Then I actually met you, and you were nothing like I expected. Persistent, annoying, determined to catch me, yes, but - but you treated me like an equal."

Dan sighed a little. "I played you at the start, I admit. Watching your reactions was too entertaining, but, remember when I summoned you outside the city walls, and asked you to help me steal a diamond, and you refused?" Dan looked back into Phil's eyes then, expression unreadable. "I was furious. But then you said you were always on my side, right before you left, and I was kind of shocked. A Royal, on my side? It made me think, made me realise just how badly I'd misjudged you. And that's when I started to let you in."

Phils heart lodged in his throat at the reminder of Dan requesting that Captain Philip help him steal a diamond, and glanced down at his own hands as well. That had not been a good moment for them, had in fact been so heartbreaking for Phil that he'd tried to put thoughts of Dan away entirely from his head. That hadn't worked either, though, and now they were here.

Phil caught Dan's gaze again.

"Why did you ask that of me?" he wondered. "You were playing me, sure, but... I went home thinking you were like everyone else, only wanting to know me so that you could use me. I never understood that request. What indication had I given that I..." Phil felt choked up again, just at the thought, but he was afraid that Dan would misunderstand his questions as Phil not wanting him anymore, and so he reached down and laced their fingers together once more, holding tight, tighter than ever before. "I think I had fallen for you long before then. You'd nearly kissed me in the -" Phil's heart clenched. "I know you said maybe in the beginning you had been trying to use me. When you almost kissed me, was that to get what you wanted as well?" Phil asked, voice small.

Knowing was something he needed, but he knew he could get over it either way. It hardly mattered now. Phil had won his thief's heart. But he didn't want to treasure that memory if it was a falsehood full of pain, rather than Dan's true self.

Dan's expression dropped the more Phil spoke, his eyes dimming. He was grateful when Phil gripped his hand tight, grounding him, reminding him that whatever had happened before, Phil was here with him now. Dan didn't want to risk that, but Phil was asking him for truths Dan wasn't sure he should tell.

Would lying be better, though? Dan didn't want to lie to Phil, not anymore, not now he knew how honest Phil always was. He deserved that honesty back, even if Dan was terrified to give it. He just didn't want to risk what they had found, now Dan was learning to give his heart to someone else. It was still difficult, when he was used to closing himself off, guarding himself. Phil wanted to get inside his head, and that scared Dan.

He let out a deep sigh and pressed his face into Phil's hair, keeping Phil close. It would be easier if he couldn't see Phil's eyes for this. "I... I'm going to be completely honest with you, Phil. I was playing you, at first. But - it maybe isn't as bad as it sounds." Dan grimaced, shifting a bit. "I wouldn't blame you for hating me for this, but I am not a stranger to charming people into getting what I want. I thought I could do the same for you - but then it got more personal than that. When I - when I almost kissed you, in the library, I'd already slipped up. Did you know I love to read? No one knows that - it's something I keep to myself. But I let it slip to you, and more, when I asked you for the fairy tales - I wanted them because my father used to read them to me."

Dan drew in a shaky breath, knowing he wasn't making much sense, but wanting to continue. "I already wanted you to know me, the actual me, not just the King of Thieves. And when I almost kissed you, it was because I wanted to. But when I got back to my camp, and when I had time to think, I realised how bad a mistake that was. I had to get back to my plan - which was to use you. That's why I asked you to help me steal a diamond." Dan was staring down at the sand by now, avoiding Phil's gaze. "I thought I could make myself keep my distance that way, stay to what I knew - which was using you. Only it didn't work, because you kept surprising me. You said no. And then you said you were on my side." Dan shook his head, smiling just a little. "Kept surprising me, my Prince. I could never second guess you, but that night was when I realised you were actually a good person. And you didn't hate me. Though you probably should."

Dan pressing his face into Phil's hair told him a lot; one, that Dan regretted what he had to say, and two, that perhaps it was time to give up that memory and the chills it still sent down Phil's spine, because it clearly wasn't a good one.

As always, however, Dan took Phil by surprise. Numb and a bit hurt as he was, Phil stared calmly at where Dan's collarbones poked out from his tunic, and listened as he spoke, expecting the pain it would bring to discover that it had taken Dan much longer than Phil to start falling for him. Therefore, it was a surprise when Dan crushed that thought almost right away, telling Phil that even before they'd properly began to court each other, Dan had opened up to Phil.

Phil remembered that day, how annoyed and panicked he'd been to find his thief hiding in the archives, so deep in the library that Phil couldn't properly breathe. He remembered being confused why Dan would want fairy tales of all things, and how he wasn't annoyed when Phil couldn't offer him a first edition, the original copy. It hadn't added up until Dan had later told Phil what the fairy tales meant to him, until Phil had seen the way Dan looked at the palace library when they'd gone to meet his family.

Now, Phil understood how that moment between them had meant even more than Phil had originally thought, and though Dan was still hiding his face in Phil's hair, a slow smiling was creeping up Phil's face.

He'd always known Dan was a charmer. It had scared him for a little bit, and now it just made jealously boil in a pit in his stomach at the thought of Dan flirting with someone to get what they needed, but knowing that somehow Phil had charmed Dan even before either of them had been willing to admit there was something more going on, soothed him.

Reaching up, Phil pulled away and cupped Dan's cheeks with his hands. He felt like Dan needed constant reassurance that every truth he shared with Phil would be met with nothing more than love and acceptance. "Well. I must say I'm glad I was able to prove myself to you. And I have to admit I'm glad I get to keep that little memory as something special," he added, chuckling against Dan's lips. "Thank you for telling me the truth," he added, the sound becoming more of a soft rumble as he tried to keep both of them calm. "Now, my thief, I hope you plan to use me in very different ways," he added just because he could, and then he was kissing Dan, slow and deep, something sweet just to reassure them both.

Dan was completely blown away by his Prince.

The last thing he expected upon revealing his history was more teasing and to be brought in for a sweet kiss. And yet, Phil seemed to completely take everything in his stride. He held Dan as if he wanted to comfort, every word a reminder that Phil forgave him, that it didn't matter to Phil what Dan's past might hold.

Dan had no idea how he'd got so lucky.

He returned Phil's kiss, after a moment, gathering himself out of the past and back to the present. He'd fought for so long against his feelings for Phil, desperate to prove that he was something more, that he didn't need to fall for something as ridiculous as want for another person. Dan wanted to be above it, but Phil had completely disarmed him. Now, having Phil in his arms, Dan couldn't bring himself to be mad.

He was curious, though. After drawing back from Phil, Dan met his eyes with a low chuckle. "Don't worry, I have plenty of ways to use you now. I do wonder, though..." Dan trailed off, his eyes softening as he met Phil's gaze. "You say you fell for me much earlier - when did you know? And how on earth did you decide to accept the courting of a man who could have killed you, someone you were supposed to be capturing?"

Embarrassed by his own admittance, but nonetheless determined to keep himself open and honest with his thief, Phil thought for a second, one hand pressed to Dan's cheek, gaze cast towards the top of their makeshift shelter for the night as he tried to think.

Phil knew that by the time he'd met up with Dan in the archives, he'd already began to come to terms with his feelings, but when had it really started?

"I've never had someone like you in my life before," Phil started, tone musing. "From the very beginning, you flirted with me. But the worst was when you took my family's crown. I followed you into the crawl space, and you taunted me, and there was so much panic in my chest that the flirting threw me overboard. It hurt to have someone talking to me like that when they couldn't mean it, when I couldn't have that, and that's what made me lash out at you," Phil explained thoughtfully, finally looking back at Dan and drawing away a bit to avoid the distraction of having Dan's face so damn close to his own.

"But that was also the moment I think I started to fall for you, as ridiculous as that sounds. It wasn't for the flirting, no. It was because I'd grown up my entire life meeting new people constantly, and every new face brought with it another person who just wanted to suck up to me, get into my pants, marry me for the fame and the money that came with being a Prince's partner. I'd never once had a true relationship with anyone but my brother - not even a friendship. I told you before, it made me hate my kingdom, but especially the lower classes, as they were the main perpetrators of my misfortune - at least in my mind."

Talking about it again now hurt a little, but Phil was nothing if he couldn't admit his wrong-doings.

"No, I still hated you, but when you blamed me, reminded me that it was my fault, the crown's fault, that so many people were destitute and desperate enough to turn to a life of crime, it finally hit me that… well, I couldn't go on forever blaming the poor for my lot in life. I couldn't have love, fine, but I had finally met my match, someone who wouldn't tip toe around me and give me anything I wanted. The flirting still hurt because I knew it couldn't mean anything, but when I went home that night, after you walked me back to the surface and made sure I was okay, a thief who kept his word, I realized I was screwed, because I'd never had that kind of attention in my life. I was used to flirting that meant nothing to the person on the other end, but I wasn't used to… you."

It probably sounded horrible when Phil put it like that, possibly even made Dan upset to think that Phil had only liked him because Dan was giving Phil something he'd never had before, but he continued on anyway, watching Dan's face, and trying to read into those still closed off eyes.

"It was just a crush, at first, something I knew I couldn't have, and I still chased you around the kingdom, but then I looked forward to the witty banter you would offer me, the fact that you wouldn't let me get away with anything, and the more fun I had being around you...the more I realized that I really was screwed. I couldn't have you, maybe, shouldn't want you, possibly, but I could promise to help you. I could promise to be someone who tried their best to care for you. I wanted to make it up to you, all that I'd done, and I had a passionate need to prove myself to you. Nearly kissing you in that library was just.. the icing on the cake. I'll admit, though, that my heart was absolutely broken when... when you asked me to help you steal that diamond. But I couldn't get over you, and when you sent me the raven, I knew I would always give you a second chance."

Dan's heart stuttered a little to hear Phil's open, honest reply. It was fascinating to get to hear Phil's perspective of the last few weeks, to figure out the puzzle of his behaviour.

Dan couldn't help but feel a small tug of pride at knowing how soon he'd captured Phil's heart, but it was with a tiny tinge of regret. Regret that it had taken so much longer for Dan to admit his feelings, to allow them to reach their new blissful state.

At least, Dan was blissful. He hoped Phil was happy too, thought he saw it in the way Phil laughed and smiled with Dan. He looked so happy and free out here; Dan wanted to keep him that way forever.

Dan looked straight into Phil's eyes and smiled - his true, honest smile that made his eyes crinkle up. He took Phil's hands and held them tight, thumbing gently across his wrists, playing with the feeling of his fingers against Phil's skin.

"It's funny you say I'm the first person who treated you differently," Dan murmured, his tone low but sincere. "Because you're the first person who ever treated me with anything like honesty. I have been surrounded by liars my whole life, and then you showed up all honourable and kind-hearted. When I heard you were setting up orphanages and feeding the poor..." Dan shook his head, still smiling. "Well. It was new, certainly, to have someone who actually cared about us low-lifes."

"But, Phil--" Dan bit his lip, struggling to say the next words, but knowing he had to get them out. He drew Phil closer, burying his head in Phil's hair to hide his face again. He was trembling, terrified of what might come, but Dan needed to say this. He needed to know that Phil was fully aware what he was getting himself into, before he allowed himself to fall any deeper.

So Dan drew in another shuddering breath and said quietly, "You don't know everything about me, Phil. I've done some terrible things in my time, things even I am ashamed of. And I've done other things that I have no doubt you disapprove of, but I delight in. I take pride in." Dan's voice was shaking, thoughts of Phil’s uncle heavy on his mind, but he continued as best he could. "I'm not expecting you to be ok with that. With me. But you have to know - you have to see what you're getting yourself into, here. I am a dangerous man, and I lead a dangerous life. And I want you, Phil Lester."

Dan drew back just enough to meet Phil's eyes, more open and honest than he'd ever been. "I want you, but I care about you. If my life isn't right for you, then you deserve to know before I lead you on too much. I don't expect you to forgive me or approve of me, and I can promise that I would never, ever hurt you. But I don't want you thinking better of me than what I actually am."

It made Phil's heart flutter to watch the way Dan's eyes crinkled up when he looked at Phil, that full, bright smile he so rarely gave out taking over his features telling Phil that Dan wasn't offended in anyway by Phil's confession, and that made him feel light and happy as well.

The last thing Phil wanted was for Dan to feel in anyway as though he weren't everything Phil could have ever wanted.

So his heart sank when Dan revealed exactly that. For one moment Phil thought they were going to be okay, that he could tease and prod at Dan about how much they'd changed everything for each other, found the right partner through someone who treated them differently than the rest of the world, but then Dan was dragging Phil near once again and burying his face in Phil's hair.

This time it was the trembling that gave everything away, the hesitance and fear in Dan's voice breaking Phil's heart. He hated to see his thief so scared and insecure, but he couldn't blame him. Phil's heart still raced with the thought of the things Dan had done that Phil didn't know about, his mind still chased itself in circles over how he was going to be able to stay with someone who possibly did things that Phil couldn't condone.

Hearing Dan say he wanted Phil though, that he would never hurt Phil, that he would even let him go if it meant giving Phil the life he deserved, well. That made Phil's heart break even more for his thief, because if his thief was willing to give that to Phil, then Phil had to be willing to try.

Moving his hands to Dan's shoulders, Phil very quickly and very easily shoved them both over so he could hover over Dan, pinning him to the ground in that way he'd learned delighted him. His fingers laced through Dan's, and he crowded into his space, stared him down.

"I won't lie to you, my thief," he whispered, eyes growing moist. "The thought of what you do, of the things you take pride in, what you've done and will continue to do, terrifies me. You're right, I don't fully know you. But I meant it when I said I never wanted you to change," he declared, words passionate and strong despite all his emotions.

He closed them for a brief moment, but was quick to catch Dan's gaze again. He could see the fear there as much as he could still feel it under his fingertips, and that's what gave him the strength to continue.

"I want you, Dan. I don't want anyone else. And that terrifies me almost as much as the thought of what I don't know about you. Because I don't want to let you go. I'm just afraid, afraid that we're going to hurt each other whether we want to or not. The only thing that keeps me going in this is knowing that you're a better person than either of us realize. You, Dan Howell, are a better person than you realize. You think you do terrible things, but you don't know what happens behind the scenes with the Royals, with the Guard. You don't know the things I've been exposed to. I pride myself as a morally righteous man, but we've both seen that that is not always true. And I don't know what you've done, but I do know that ultimately, your aim isn't to hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it, and it's that thought that keeps me going, because your heart is far kinder than I think you even realize."

Dan was taken by surprise when Phil knocked him backward, leaning over him until Dan could see nothing but the intense blue-green of Phil's eyes. Phil's expression was open and vulnerable, but it was also warm in a way Dan didn't expect. He'd thought he'd see hatred, maybe disgust, or worse, even pity, but Phil was still looking at him with as much affection as Dan had ever seen.

And his words. His words made Dan flush, the spot on his right cheek growing warm, and he loved the warm weight of Phil above him, grounding him, making this all feel so real. The more Phil spoke, the more Dan thought he could believe him. If Phil thought Dan could be a good man, maybe Dan could - because Phil never lied.

Dan drew in another breath, his chest heavy and full. He'd never thought he'd find someone who could look at him with such affection. He was used to fear or awe, and awe from the wrong people. Dan had always run with a rough crowd, forced to prove himself, to make himself tough. It was a matter of survival.

"You're something else, Phil Lester," Dan murmured. A small thrill still rang through him when Phil used his full name, surname and all. Phil was getting to know Dan, and Dan loved it. He loved knowing Phil, growing closer to Phil.

Gently, Dan freed one hand and leaned up to cup Phil's cheek, pressing a careful kiss to his forehead, and then both his cheeks. "I never thought I'd find you. Even when I started to realise I was falling for you, I never thought I could actually have you. I was sure you'd be disgusted by me."

Dan was still trembling, though he calmed under Phil's touch. "If you say I can be a good person - I want to believe you, Phil. I want to be that person you deserve. More than anything, though I want you to have your freedom. To be safe and happy." Dan smiled at him again, his chest bursting with warmth and care for this man, this precious person he got to call his. "If I can give you that - for however long you'll let me - that's all I want."

They stared at each other in total silence for a moment, both men trying to take in what Phil had just said, and then Dan was reaching up and pressing his hand to Phil's cheek. Flushing a bit at the way it felt to be kissed everywhere but his lips, Phil felt a small smile start to form again, because somehow, he'd managed to soothe his Dan, and that had been all he'd wanted.

"I could never be disgusted by you," Phil murmured in reply, knowing that even in the beginning, there had been no room for disgust for Dan other than the fleeting moment of absolute hatred when Phil had been trapped in that underground cavern, unable to breathe, and being taunted in that teasing way Phil had grown up with for far too long. Now, though, it didn't matter what Dan told Phil, he knew he could never be disgusted by him.

"Maybe I'll be disappointed, upset at first, even, to hear something... but I will never be disgusted with you," Phil reassured him, fingers tightening around the one hand he still had in his grasp.

Dan was still trembling. There was so much emotion pulling between then, so much on Dan's face that told Phil how much this man cared for him, and his words only lit a fire inside of Phil.

"So believe me. I don't care how long it takes, I will make you believe me. I want you, I think I always will, and all I want is to be happy with you. I want you to set me free, and maybe I can set you free, too," he murmured, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Dan's neck, right over a mark he'd made there to claim his thief. "You're mine, thief. You wear my gifts, my heart. You belong with me."

Dan's trembling calmed even more at Phil's soft reassurances, his soothing touch. He was promising Dan never to be disgusted. Disappointed and upset Dan could deal with - maybe - as long as he knew Phil didn't hate him. He still didn't want to hurt Phil, though. Dan knew he'd do anything to avoid that - even if it would be difficult, if it would hurt Dan himself. He just wanted Phil safe and happy.

"I like the idea of us setting each other free," Dan agreed with a small nod. His lips turned up, his hand gently moving up to stroke through Phil's hair. "I think I can work with that."

He shuddered again as Phil kissed over a mark on his neck. Dan wasn't having that for long, though. He used his hand in Phil's hair to angle his face up, enough that Dan could kiss him on the lips again, deep and sweet, losing himself in Phil's touch and saying through actions what he couldn't quite put into words.

Dan leaned into the touch, but then he forcefully rolled them until he had Phil on his back and was hovering over him. Dan grinned down at Phil, faces close together. "I might be yours, my Prince, but you are also mine. I caught you, and you belong to me, and you will always be mine." Dan punctuated his last words with kisses, hovering teasingly over Phil's mouth.

Dan's hold on Phil's hair gave him a lot of advantages, one of them being that he could control where Phil's head was and drag him into a passionate kiss. Phil wasn't complaining though, and even thought he might finally understand why Dan liked to have his hair pulled so much. He let out a small noise of appreciation into the kiss, feeling taken and perfect when it came to being with Dan like this, and pouted a bit when Dan pulled away. He couldn't complain long, however, as Dan was quite suddenly flipping them over so it was Phil on his back underneath Dan.

Phil, ultimately, thought he might prefer this. Having a dominant Dan over top of him felt right, made Phil's heart race and flutter with both nerves and excitement. It felt good to have someone protecting him, loving him, and he accepted Dan's next few kisses easily enough, enjoying the fact that they so fully had decided that they belonged to each other. It didn't feel like there was any need or reason to ever take that back, and Phil gave himself to Dan completely, moaning a bit at the feel of Dan's passionate lips on his.

The kisses trailed into something more teasing, with their lips hardly touching as Dan mouthed against him, and Phil reached up to tangle his fingers into Dan's hair to try to force more onto him. Dan didn't move however, grinning and laughing as Phil fought against him until finally, he gave it up, collapsing in a frustrated heap to the floor.

"Fine! You win. There's no point in getting worked up out here anyway, I guess," Phil complained, though really, he'd spend everyday of his entire life kissing Dan if he could, and... doing other things with him.

Dan gave a delighted laugh when Phil gave into him, and he snickered, eyes warm and soft and fond. He rather enjoyed the sight of Phil below him, allowed himself to enjoy it more now some of his conscience was clear. At least Phil was going into this with his eyes wide open about exactly what Dan was. Dan would forget it for now, then, and let himself enjoy this time with Phil.

"I think you'll find I'll always win," Dan responded lightly, pressing one last warm kiss to Phil's lips before collapsing down against his chest. Dan rubbed his cheek against Phil's soft tunic, closing his eyes and breathing him in. He relaxed even further when Phil wrapped his arms around him to hold him firmly in place. Dan might be taller, but Phil was strong and warm and gave the best hugs Dan had ever felt. Not that he'd had many hugs in his life, but being wrapped in Phil's arms was a privilege Dan would never tire of.

Sighing, Phil let out a small "ooph," when Dan suddenly collapsed on top of him, eradicating any last dredges of cold from the freezing desert air, and wrapped his arms around his thief.

"Daniel Howell," Phil murmured into the shell of his ear, grinning when he felt Dan shiver. "I am completely, utterly yours."

Dan gave a shiver when Phil used his full name again, sighing gently. It was nice to have someone else who knew his identity - who knew that Dan Howell wouldn't be forgotten. Dan Howell meant something beyond the King of Thieves, which was something Dan often forgot.

Maybe Dan Howell could be the kind of person Phil deserved.

"I feel I should apologise," Dan mumbled sleepily, "While we're getting all sentimental about the past. I shouldn't have made you follow me down into the underground passages, and I certainly shouldn't have tried to make you steal for me. Kinda regret that, now." Dan nosed gently at Phil, still refusing to open his eyes.

"Also, we should probably get some furs and sleep clothes out, but I totally can't be bothered to move, and as my pillow you can't move either. So. There's that."

Phil tilted his head a bit as Dan spoke, not agreeing in the least that Dan should feel he had to apologize. They'd both done a lot of things in the past, even to each other, but it was gone now. They clearly had gotten past it in the first place to get this far, and Phil didn't think it was worth dwelling on.

"It's alright, Dan. I already forgave you. How could I blame you for using my weakness against me when I was trying to arrest you? How could I blame you for doing any of the things you've done to protect yourself?" He murmured lightly in reply.

"But thank you for caring enough to want apologize," he added, realizing it was likely quite hard for Dan to do that at all.

He sighed as Dan seemed to get comfortable on top of him, far happier than he could ever explain to have each other wrapped up like this, and chuckled at the fact that Dan didn't want to move.

"Come on. We have to figure out who's on look out first and how we're going to keep the fire going to keep the wolves away. Besides, I can't have you freezing to death on me. I want human Dan, not icicle Dan," Phil teased, but Dan didn't move.

Laughing again, Phil shoved at him a little, but Dan was still ignoring him until Phil decided to dig his fingers into Dan's sides and began tickling, not above fighting dirty to get what he wanted.

"Come oooon, Dan, get up!" He groaned as Dan started to wiggle about on top of him, hiding chuckles in Phil's neck. Baring his teeth, Phil fought harder against him, leaning up and nipping Dan on the ear with a bright laugh of his own.

Dan squirmed against Phil, grumbling as he kept trying to get him to move. The tickling was a low blow, as Dan ended up gasping for breath between laughter, but he still refused to move, stubbornly pushing his face into Phil's neck.

"Whyyyyyy," Dan whined, wriggling on Phil's chest to try and keep his comfort. "See, I was starting to think I liked you, Lester, and then you went and did that. Lie still and let me rest, if you're not a good pillow then what use are you?"

As Dan stubbornly tried to keep his place, Phil eventually leaned in and nipped Dan's ear, constantly bothering and fighting him until Dan was all but pushed off Phil's chest.

"I hate you," Dan announced determinedly as he forced himself up to his feet. He brushed himself down, and then bent down to grab Phil and tug him upright as well, constantly prodding him. "If I have to move, then you're moving, too."

Dan knew Phil was right, though, and was pleasantly surprised that Phil had picked up his lessons in life in the desert so well. He wandered over to the bags and dug around until he found his long stick to stoke the fire with, which doubled as a cane for when he tired of walking, or in case of injury. Dan chucked it over to the fireside and then ruffled through until he found the blankets he'd brought to sleep under, protection from the freezing desert night.

"There," Dan threw the blankets unceremoniously at Phil's head. "You can sleep first. I'll keep the fire going. Get some good rest, OK? We've got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow."

With that said, Dan went to settle himself by the flames, already missing the presence of Phil at his side. If he could, Dan would stay wrapped up in Phil's arms always, but, perhaps foolishly, he didn't want to appear clingy or stop Phil getting the rest he would need.

Once Phil had finally managed to dislodge Dan from his chest, pushing him away, he found himself immediately being dragged up off the ground and into Dan's hold. The prodding returned full force but on Dan's end this time, and Phil began giggling uncontrollably, squirming in Dan's arms and fighting against his hold until he was breathless and Dan was finally letting him go.

Bending over in exhaustion but still giggling, Phil watched Dan move to start shuffling through a bag, pulling out first a long stick and then some blankets that he threw at Phil's head. Grumbling a bit, Phil pulled the furs away but moved to get settled. He knew Dan was right. He needed to get a good rest so he could watch over Dan and make the long journey tomorrow once he woke up. He was a bit disgruntled when Dan picked the far end of the fire to sit at, though, and ended up getting up and moving to his side, abandoning his furs to get dan.

"Come," he insisted quietly. "You can keep me just as safe over here," he insisted, making his voice soft and sweet and calming so Dan would do as he said.

Dan didn't argue. He was quiet as he did as Phil had asked and moved with him to the other side of the fire. Once Dan was settled, Phil crawled back into his piles of furs, rolled over, and pressed his back up against Dan's side. "Goodnight, Dan," Phil whispered. The words, 'I love you,' rested on his tongue, but he didn't speak them. Instead, he closed his eyes and did his best to sleep.

Dan was quietly pleased when Phil came to fetch him to bring him over to the other side of the fire. It proved that maybe Phil wanted to be physically close just as much as Dan did, and only reaffirmed everything Dan was learning about Phil's desire for him.

"Goodnight, Phil," Dan murmured back. He leaned into Phil's warmth, though he stayed sitting up. The temptation to crawl under the furs and wind his way into Phil's arms was immense, but Dan knew he had to stay awake and keep watch. Phil was right that the exposed desert wasn't a safe place for them both to sleep, or get up to any other shenanigans. The wolves and hawks and scorpions and mice roamed free, and the desert was a wild and freezing place at night.

As Dan watched the glowing embers of the fire, occasionally stoking the flames to stop them dying out, he couldn't help his mind from wandering. He wondered whether Phil had truly meant what he said - that he would always forgive Dan for what he'd done. It was almost too good to believe. Even if it was true, Phil had hinted that there were elements to Dan's lifestyle that he wouldn't approve of. That worried Dan. He knew Phil would never ask him to change, but Dan was coming to realise that he didn't want to disappoint his golden hearted prince. If Phil thought Dan could be a better person, then maybe... just maybe he could.

Dan had mixed feelings about that.

With a sigh, Dan tangled his fingers in Phil's hair, trying to distract himself from his dark thoughts by touching Phil. Phil was here with him - that was the most important thing. They had to focus on surviving this trip and returning to the castle in enough time to save Cornelia and the rest of Phil's family. That should be the priority, and he and Phil would sort out - whatever this was between them - when they got back and both had time and freedom.

Or would Phil be called back to the duties of the palace?

Dan shook the thoughts away, instead studying Phil's sleeping form. He was wrapped up completely in the furs, his eyes closed, his face smooth in sleep. He looked content and free, all worry lines disappeared in his relaxed state. He looked younger. His hair had pushed up into a quiff which Dan gently ran his fingers through, wondering how on earth he'd managed to get himself so tangled up with a prince.

It was Phil, though. Dan was fairly sure he'd do anything for Phil.

Dan sat and watched Phil contemplatively for most of the night, his eyes dark with the weight of his thoughts.

Phil slept surprisingly like a log. He was more exhausted than he'd realized, and knowing that Dan was watching out for him was far more of a comfort than even having Phil's Guards looking out for him had ever been. Perhaps it was that Dan had proven he knew more about this desert than anyone else, or perhaps it was just the fact that Phil knew Dan could hold his own, almost on par or even better than Phil, but Phil felt safe enough to truly sleep until Dan woke him up for his shift.

The night air was surprisingly easy to wake to, as was the way Dan kissed him, urging him up in the best way possible. Phil had never thought he'd wake up to something like that, and he smiled slowly as he kissed Dan back, sighing when Dan pulled away and sitting up immediately.

Tired as he was, Dan swapped places with Phil quickly and without much resistance or fighting over time to cuddle. Phil couldn't deny being a little disappointed, but he ran his fingers through Dan's hair as he settled down to sleep, and enjoyed the heat of Dan's body pressed up against his side.

Come morning, Phil was shaking Dan awake, and they were off across the desert once more.

#phanfiction #snowbunnylester #iwritephanthings #phan fluff #thief!Dan #prince!Phil #steal my heart

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