#m;pts

[ultracocobabe-blog]

goblin’s head inn – xx49

@tiintenherz

then she walks through the door and everyone turns and is astonished –

is how entrances by beautiful women usually go. tales told around pubs, stories about women too gorgeous to even touch, let alone look at, are the ones that always have men in armour aching to protect something that isn’t yet theirs. taesoo has been chosen not to be that kind of man, not anymore, and there’s not a day that goes by that he wishes he can go back to being so ignorant and boisterous and ambitious. instead he’s beside the kind of woman who’d turn heads if they recognised who she was in a way that would be less astonished and more hateful. vengeful, even, or bloodthirsty. 

protecting the dragon kingdom’s princess-heir was exactly the thing they were warned to avoid doing in the first place. as knights, they were for better, more demure princesses, staying by their sides while they picked dresses and princes and happily-ever-afters. knights were to be loyal, gentlemanly, and alert. they were trained to anticipate danger, even if there wasn’t any; paranoia was part of the job. at this point, everything that he was taught might as well be the death of him with this job. his paranoia would have his heart stopped before this princess got what she wanted out of a quest. a quest! princesses never went on quests! knights did that, and at the behest of their charges, but never like...this. granted, it was partly his own fault: he shouldn’t have shown off so much, shouldn’t have impressed her so much. but she didn’t have to pick him, either!

knights didn’t really have to keep their heads down in public places, but he was feeling less and less of a knight lately and more like a mere soldier, a paid hand, a shield that might be thrown away if he wasn’t useful enough. 

dragon people were always like that. it was dangerous to think that she was any different, no matter how astonished he was whenever she smiled – 

besides, it was that some rambunctious non-gentlemen were yelling and touching the barmaid inappropriately that made him really hate having to keep his head down. he had a blade to cut their wrists clean through, and still he had to stay his hand for the sake of the princess. 

“don’t say anything,” he had to remind her, keeping his grip on his mug steady. by now the ale wouldn’t do much to help him ignore it. they were getting louder, and so was that poor maid. “we can’t draw attention to ourselves. there’s still a while to go before you get your treasure.”

[ultracocobabe-blog]

cwtch

cwtch

home is farther away than it seems now.

there’s blood in the corner of his lips and he kisses her knuckles with it and wonders where he went wrong.

the thing is, he had never been a dog. he stopped being someone’s dog years ago. it’s probably been his way of deflecting blame. it’s a way of keeping sane other than doing what needs to be done for a vision that now seems blurrier than ever. there’s no denying that he has lives hanging on the strings tied around his fingers. they weigh his hands down and they land even heavier on someone else’s ribs, their cheek, their jaw; they get heavier, every single time, and now he supposes it’s only right that some of it he receives in return. karma has a way of biting people in the ass, and for the longest time, he’s been on the darker end of it.

no, he hasn’t been a dog in a long time. he’s been the approaching demon at the death knell. he’s been dragging the blade against the ground without caring for the noise. 

he should’ve listened.

the thing is, carrying around that much weight on his hands only means that putting them on anyone will only ever hurt. no matter how gentle or light he wishes himself to be, there will always be destroyed hearts scratching at their next victim. there will always be the horror, the pressure. 

the thing is, he wishes it could have been different. 

maybe he should’ve just been a boy from a small town going to a big-city club that night. maybe that’s where he went wrong. he would’ve protected her anyway. he would’ve seen her home, tucked her in, made sure that she had her fill of water to lessen the blow of the hangover the morning after. he would walk her home a million times more, though under sober circumstances. he would make sure she’s safe a million times over.

maybe that’s where he went wrong. people who carry greed and fury in the spaces of their fingers don’t deserve to taint life with it. people like him can’t pretend to be good. people like him can’t pretend to know how to protect. 

taesoo has never been good enough for her anyway. ah – of course. another mistake. 

it’s not a matter of worth. taesoo is capable of paying for her every need, and going above and beyond for it if it means she’ll smile more. it’s more a matter of goodness, at its core. see, hana can smile and taesoo wouldn’t notice the world burning. he’d have left this life if the weight of all those lives would let him, if she truly asked him for it, if she wanted his life if he could have hers not to take but to protect. hana could ask anything of him and everyone he knew knew that taesoo would move heaven and hell and the sun and all the stars if it meant that that thing would make hana happy. he would obtain it even if it meant prying it out of dead hands. he would keep her safe if it meant beating the world into submission so that no one would lay a treacherous hand on her.

and here she is, constantly denying that that hand belongs to the one holding onto her heart, too.

(no, it really isn’t right, is it?)

here she is, again, holding onto him, keeping his head still in her arms like she can carry the weight of his shoulders, too. 

“i’m sorry,” comes more like a gurgled apology. 

“don’t – don’t speak –,”

god, even now she sheds tears for him! when he opens his mouth to breathe through the blood, her tears fall on his tongue.

“sorry,” he manages, holding onto her hand. sirens wail even closer. before long he won’t be able to hold on. “sorry.”

and when he can’t anymore, she holds onto him tighter. she holds him and his hand and there’s nothing but warmth here. she’s stronger than he’s ever felt; maybe he should’ve paid attention to that, too. 

the thing is, you don’t really know someplace is home until you’ve left it. taesoo’s stupid. he should’ve remained a dog, he should’ve stayed in the doghouse, far from it – but hana let him inside this home, allowed him this warmth, gave him strength even when he had no need for it. (the sirens rage even closer; they ring in his ears, now.) she let him run around there tracking his dirt with him. and she held him, and held him, and held him – and held the door open for him, all this time, and all he had to do was –

“thank you.” rather than sorry, rather than guilt, this time – next time – every time – it would have to be gratitude. all he had to do was walk through the door. all he had to do was hold on to her, too.

[ultracocobabe-blog]

15. bouquet

15. — bouquet

nothing arises from empty gestures. affection, for example, is something that trickles down from those that can afford it. 

luckily, taesoo has been able to afford it. there hasn’t been a reason to fight, to serve, aside from his own ambition. there had to be something more to the world than inheriting the pride of a nothing. but now he walks with something that might be shyness, all boyish hesitation upon holding this tuft of flowers. 

besides, it’s overpriced. his men have snickered and teased him for it when he made a stop for it, and even more so on the way here. they’ve never seen him as a romantic, not really, not when he’s beating someone else to a pulp, but now he’s sure they’ll never let him hear the end of it, and maybe news of his weakness will reach the boss, the grand father of the business, and taesoo might even get a teasing from the master himself. but that’s an embarrassment to handle for another time. the echo of their guffaws aren’t the only things that make the tips of his ears burn with redness.

he stands at the doorway anyway.

this is where the delivery man would stand by now, he thinks. he had told her that she would get another delivery, courtesy of yours, truly – and her roommate, over the phone, had scoffed quite audibly. taesoo didn’t blame her, either. it could be too much. maybe. but this is definitely less extravagant than the others.

he raises his fist to knock. the door opens to an excited hana – god, if she smiles like that to every flower delivery guy, he might even make a habit of delivering the damn things himself, embarrassment or not. and, lord help him, she smiles even more, and it’s fucking infectious. how in the hell does everyone not fall in love with her?

“delivery for the prettiest girl i’ve ever known?” he offers, holding the bouquet close to his chest. she laughs at that, and he prides himself on being funny. sometimes. maybe.

“are you going to give it to me?” she asks when he steps forward.

“i was told by the guy – specific instructions – to kiss you first.” he grins, and holds the bouquet over her head, and kisses her cheek, then the corners of her lips. “that, maybe?”

“that’s two kisses,” she points out with a pout, and just because –

just because, goddamnit, because what other reason is there? – he kisses her properly, and for the longest time, as if they didn’t just see each other two nights ago. only when his lungs hold a revolution in his chest (his heart in tow, screaming, pounding), he pulls away, and holds the bouquet between them properly. for the briefest moment her fingers ghost over his own when she takes it from him.

“that’s a proper one,” he points out, kissing her laugh again.