#he grew on me for no rhyme or reason
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Sanemi is the most feared Hashira amongst his peers and it is not difficult to see why.
With his lack of patience and the anger coupled with the brute strength which could rival a demon it really isn't so shocking to see why so many people run away from him. Just who in their right mind would ever approach him willingly? What, got a death wish or something? He is notorious for his mean taunts and insults so harsh that being bitten by a demon almost feels like a merciful act.
Therefore, imagine just how flabbergasted every single person is once they see how... decent Sanemi is around you.
Gone is the angry and bitter attitude nor is he reaching for his sword to cut you down. He was acting like a normal human being, something that honestly terrified the people around him a lot more than it should have. Perhaps he did have a heart? An actual real, bleeding, beating heart?
Who would have thought!
Sanemi almost treats you like glass sometimes. Sure, he yells, complains and grunts but he never has the nerve to fully go against you either. No matter what you did he could ever resent you for anything you did, ever.
What mostly made him mad were the people who took up so much of your and his time.
What, can't a guy drink tea in peace?! So what if he's with you?! Leave him be!
If it were not for Gyomei, countless slayers would have lost their lives because of Sanemi.
When he's with you his hard and tough attitude melts, like an iceberg that just barely got touched by the sun but it was still touched none the less. He loved being with you but he would rather die than say that out loud. God knows what would become of him if people were to find out about his weakness and he just was not willing to share you like that. You were his to treasure, his to protect and his to love.
And there was no one else who could fulfill that role.
He would not allow it.
#he grew on me for no rhyme or reason#although i fell in love with him the moment i read the manga so there's that#yandere#yandere x reader#yancore#yanderecore#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yandere aesthetic#sanemi shinazugawa#sanemi x y/n#yandere sanemi x reader#yandere sanemi headcanons#yandere sanemi#sanemi x you#sanemi imagines#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer x y/n#yandere demon slayer#demon slayer#yandere kimetsu no yaiba#kimetsu no yaiba x reader#kimetsu no yaiba#yandere kny x reader#kny x reader#yandere kny#kny x you#kny sanemi
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THINKING about adam and kate again and how all the background information we're given about adam was that he was fundamentally a Good Son. good enough grades to graduate with honors, loves his mom, raised himself when she couldn't, etc. and it's so LONELY growing up an only child much less one that would have to be alone all the time because kate was either working at night or sleeping in the day!!! and it makes me wonder why someone as close to his mom as adam would go to a whole other state for college instead of just staying in minnesota. i wonder if kate kind of pushed him to go away. like granted he only went one state over to wisconsin but still! i wonder if adam kind of grew up with the same mindset a lot of kids who watch the parent(s) that they love struggle which is yknow that they'll postpone college and stick around and work and help. genuinely kind of wonder if kate shooed him out of the house because she has that same sort of "i want you to be better than this" love that a lot of parents have because they don't want their kids to end up in the same situation as them. and of course adam wouldn't argue about it of course he'd pack his things and move a whole state over to a public university in a country where out-of-state tuition is sky high and he'd aim for a career that pays more than kate's. because kate wants him to be better. because he's a good son.
#there's no rhyme or reason to this it's just me spitting my thoughts out. but still!#adam with his clearly and genuinely loving relationship with kate already has a different parental dynamic set up for him than others on#this show. like it wouldn't be like dean's good son-ing with loyalty to an absent father and it wouldn't be like sam's rebelliousness#where john told him to never come back if he went to college#adam is the good son in a very straightforward and loving relationship with his kind-of absent MOTHER. which already alters things enough#it's not because he fears her. he would keep his head down and his nose clean and do what little she asks of him#because he knows she loves him and that she wants what's best for him#and because he led a fundamentally lonely childhood and that's just how he grew up so he'd hang on to her every word. just a little#i mean!!!! he was literally willing to sacrifice half the planet for a chance to see her again!!!! that's insane!!!!#gah. i don't know i'm just musing#kate rambles#adam milligan#kate milligan
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cariño
warnings ↠ dubcon-ish?, enemies with benefits, handjob, edging, implied intercouse towards the end
a/n ↠ i know this is very out of the blue but i watched atsv and i cant get miguel out of my head
wc. 1.1k
“untie me,” hissed miguel, fangs jutting as his blood-thirsty eyes followed you.
you let out a hollow laugh the second those words escaped his mouth and met his penetrating stare. to say you and and miguel were enemies would be an understatement. there was something about this guy that irked you in the worst way, but could also turn you on like no other.
the feeling was mutual. you’d never admit a word of this if it wasn’t - not even to yourself. you and miguel had a weird thing going on, the sort of thing where the line between hate and lust grew thinner with each dark, loathing stare he shot you.
maybe you’d had his cock in you a couple of times. twelve, to be exact, though not that you were counting (because you totally weren’t). not your proudest moments, but the sight of him on his knees, tangled in a weaving of webs made you forget it. his muscles bulged with every endeavor to free himself from your little trick. which was hilarious, because if they were any tighter, they’d burst right through his spandex.
not that you were complaining.
“hm, let me think about it,” you hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. “no.”
“i said - untie me. now,” miguel roared, as if it would make any difference.
you crouched before him, pouting. “what’s the matter, spider-man? can’t handle other people telling you no? you don’t get to be the boss of everyone, cariño.”
you waved your finger in his face, to which miguel responded to with a lean forward as if he were going to bite your wrist off, but you were too quick.
“woah there, bitey,” you taunted. “get it? that rhymes with spidey. hilarious, don’t you think?”
miguel spat, “you annoy me.”
“it’s a pleasure,” you said, merely grinning. then, you pointed to the extended talon behind his back where his hands were tied, asking, “can i borrow that? thanks.”
you used his talons to poke a hole in the lower half of his suit, promptly tearing at the spandex until the hole expanded. miguel wasn’t exactly pleased, not yet anyways, barking, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“more than you deserve,” you whispered, widening the gap until his half-hard cock was freed. that you inevitably already saw. for obvious reasons, it was difficult for spider-men to conceal their hard-ons. “you guys freeball under these suits? that’s crazy. i mean, not that you’re gonna catch a hard-on fighting the spot, but you never know. i mean, what if some really sexy villain just hits… the spot. get it? the-”
“the spot. yes, i get the joke. shut the hell up,” miguel grumbled, irritated.
you giggled. his annoyed face was too hot. of course, you were riling him up on purpose.
licking a line down your palm, you gently grabbed his cock, stroking him in your hands while looking him in his angry eyes. you saw his features tense, the part that didn’t want to be angry surfacing. the part that wanted to be relieved.
that was all that was wrong with this cranky guy. he just needed some relief in his life, and who better to provide it to him than you, the spider-person he never wanted on this team in the first place but took in because jess had insisted you could be useful. and you were, in more ways than one. not that miguel would ever admit that, though.
“fuck,” miguel grunted, writhing again, though not in an attempt to escape. you knew how to pleasure him and that was your saving grace, but you also knew how to tease. “could you be any slower with that?”
“i could, actually. watch this,” you retorted, now pumping him in no particular hurry. you had time to waste.
your leisure movements were killing miguel slowly. literally. he groaned, “well, could you go any faster?”
“i could,” you repeated with a lilt. “but you’d have to say the magic word.”
“go faster!”
you gave him a mocking frown. “i don’t think that’s it, o’hara.”
“do i have to?”
“do you want to cum?”
miguel winced his eyes closed, heaved a huge sigh, and huffed, “please, go faster.”
“wow, you hit the lottery,” you said, quickening your pace. you loved watching his brows furrow with pleasure, sweat beading at his face.
miguel bit his lip, wanting to be mad at how you satisfied him. it reminded you of when he was buried balls deep inside of you, his weight resting on top of your chest while his teeth clamped into your shoulder, not for the purpose of extracting blood but to smother the sounds of pleasure that escaped him when your cunt was squeezing his dick. almost like he would rather die than let you know you were good for something.
it didn’t matter, though. the telltale signs of arousal manifested themselves in plentiful ways from his body, like the taut ache in his pants when you turned him on a little too much. he got so hard for you, it was ridiculous.
and you were having a ball (you were tempted to make a joke, but resisted for his mental sake). there was something about having an insanely large, strong man who could potentially crush you to smithereens squirming at your mercy. it made warmth spread through your chest and the slyest grin curl onto your lips.
miguel’s hips were thrusting into your palm, an obvious sign that he was on the brink of climax. you’d come to know it by now - he started to lost control, the reins slipping out his hands. and you loved it. you loved how he was a slave to his urges and not the other way around.
“you almost there?” you asked, in spite of being fully aware.
miguel offered you no words, but the look on his face and his unstill, restless body said enough.
that was when you got the bold idea to withdraw your hand at the very last second, depriving him of what could have been. his wrath was instant. you saw his hips flail in a desperation you’d never seen of him before, his fluttering eyes snapping open to cut at you.
“oopsies,” you sang, smiling innocently.
that was the very last straw for miguel and he broke out of your restraints, having enough of playing weak. you gasped, caught off-guard when he switched on a dime, throwing you against the ground and hovering over you. you parted your lips to speak, but he was quick to shoot a web over your mouth.
“you talk too much,” miguel growled, cutting your own spandex with his talons, and was pleased to find you were very wet. he fixed himself between your thighs, leaning into your ear to whisper, “and for the record, nobody decides if i cum, cariño.”
#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel ohara smut#miguel o’hara imagines#spiderman 2099#across the spiderverse
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Panacea
(masterlist)
🌊pairing: poet!seonghwa x doctor!gn!reader
🌊genre: fluff, slice of life, slow burn, healing, strangers to lovers, comfort
🌊summary: what do a poet who lost his inspiration and a cosmetic surgeon who lost their empathy have in common? when you make an escape from the city to a memory-filled cottage on the edge of the world, you meet park seonghwa, a poet who, after growing fatigued of shallow critique and unwanted attention, is on a search for true beauty. you, a surgeon who cannot bear to hear nor assess another patient , abhor its twisted definitions. as the seasons change, storms abate and your paths entangle, you discover a new, unparalleled kind of beauty.
🌊wordcount: 32.8k
🌊warnings/tags: semi-edited, attempts at sijo (forgive me), discussion of beauty standards, mention of surgery/clinics, weather imagery, nightmares, discussion of life and death (jokes relating to death), talk of oc death, urban/rural comparisons, isolation, burnout, philosophy, judgement of media, seaside, cliffs, dialogue + inner thoughts, perspective switching, falling in love, loving another's mind, talk of what is 'real' beauty, food (incl. meat), eating, cooking, implied anxiety, implied impulsive thoughts, sneak into home, lmk if anything else
🌊author's note: happy birthday, seonghwa, wishing for you and for atiny alike to have a cherished panacea and a love brighter than the stars <3 hope you enjoy, all reblogs and notes appreciated~
🌊playlist: 'unreal unearth' and 'unheard' by hozier, 'dark corners and alchemy' + reason to live by mehro, love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey, okinawa by 92914, yeti + village song by paris paloma, exhale inhale by aurora, butterflies by tom odell, house song by searows, cornflower blue by flower face, icarus and apollo by ripto, the view between villages by noah kahan, my love mine all mine + i'm your man by mitski, when i c u by pomme
⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆
Art. Expression, embodiment, eternity. The world was art. From how the leaves trembled in the wind to how the water rippled, from a heartwarming smile to an earth-shattering glare, everything could be immortalised with an inspired, skilled transition. A perception of the eyes or the heart or the mind could be turned into anything from what might have been virtually nothing. Internal palaces, interpretation, innovation all were crafted and translated through art, onto canvases - trillions of brushstrokes, onto countless pages - trillions of priceless words, onto generations - wisdom and creation passed from one to another, all throughout history, leaving no stone unturned. To study and perceive art was to learn of the beauties of the universe, with beauty being a reflection of both aesthetics and terror. Such was life, and it breathed through the arts. From the beginning of time all the way to the modern era, art was a human’s true loyal companion. And even after the human would pass, art remained, loyal, vigilant, forever telling the tale that was cast onto a medium. One does not create art, one breathes it.
This is exactly why when an artist cannot create, it feels as though air has been knocked out of the lungs, a boulder weighed down on the chest, and the priceless essence of inspiration’s air could not be further away - a lost soul sinking into the hopeless abyss. The world grew darker and darker, until it fell silent. The artist, the art - a relationship of worship and boundless adoration, but also that of treachery and misery. Such was the fate of the one who stepped onto the thorned path of creation. One such humble human who, unlike a myriad of others, stumbled into the realm by accidental interest and longstanding innate passion, and due to the spontaneity and retained connection with the self had achieved relatively impressive success, was none other than Park Seonghwa. The poet. The visionary. The artist. Blessed with the spoken and written word, craftsmanship in rhythm and rhyme, grace in prose, he was a promising rising star in a progressively shallow world. As the consciousness melted into brevity and emotionlessness, he fearlessly dived into what made the soul, picking it apart, analysing it, and pouring the golden threads onto paper. An observer, he loved the colours of nature with all his heart. Every season, every day retained a magnificence for him which he tried to depict and incorporate in his work. Both experimental and traditionally sound, his “studies of daily life miniature wonders”, as he called his poetry, resonated.
But, as known far and wide, resonance brings expectation, and Seonghwa could not escape it either. Invitation after invitation, interviews and talk shows, signings if he was lucky to find a group of those truly interested in his craft; events all came clawing at him, tearing at his energy and soundness of mind until there was barely anything left, and even then, the droplets remaining were only thanks to his suddenly rediscovered harshness, followed by a series of declinations and digital disappearances. He made people feel, and in turn, the people felt like he owed them. The so-called success, or, in other words a nightmarish scrutiny that he could never foresee in the midst of his art, did not come without unrelated commentary either. From his attire to his physique to his facial expressions during public events - and on the occasion someone would recognise him on the street: his neutral, perfectly relaxed face, were all now considered to be public property. He could not breathe. Seonghwa’s hand shuddered whenever he would lift it in an attempt to write, aching, a nervous tremor turning into an earthquake the more he strained himself.
It was an impossible venture. Everywhere Seonghwa looked, everywhere he went, there were eyes and opinions, louder than his mind could ever be. The wind was no longer whistling a melody, returning to an indecipherable cacophony. The strawberries that the poet had purchased in the super store on the way to the edge of nothingness, where he was staying, were no longer sweet, crimson warnings left to rot in a bowl on the windowsill as he scurried from room to room out of fear of being spotted from the outside. There should be no one where he escaped to - an ancient cottage that belonged to a relative whom he had never known, but had spontaneously gotten close to out of necessity - was it a cousin?… leading to a spot where nothing ran, life was but a stillness, obedient to the sun and rain, lifting sorrows with the fog, falling into a slumber with the blanket of the pitch black night. In an effort to avoid the crowds and the rashness of his own potential future actions, Seonghwa had made an escape to what he would call ‘the void’. Forest, barely a hamlet to house civilization in the distance, sea. Infinite expanse of grassland, cliffsides, seagulls ceaselessly patrolling the skies. Within the first few days he had already forgotten where he was, and where he had come from. Such was existence without inspiration and purpose.
Rise and pretend to follow rhythm. One word on a page, floating towards abandonment. Ink drying. Lukewarm tea descending into the mouth of the sink. Swaying tulle, the only reminder that there was movement. Seonghwa collapsed onto the cream-coloured sofa, his dark tresses which had gotten considerably longer over his period of hiding after the astonishing battles with too many opinionated ignoramuses spilling over a throw pillow. He shut his eyes, a dull pressure behind them and of his temples becoming more pronounced. When was the last time he had a truly restful handful of hours of sleep? It would be bold to assume that he could answer that question. He could hear the creaking of the fence gate outside - the construction had a mind of its own, having sagged under its age and the salty air. Now, one of its corners sometimes dragged along the gravel path leading from the cottage out, and to the vistas of a tumultuous seaside. No one in sight except himself, and even then, Seonghwa avoided mirrors, terrified that he, too, would begin to repeat the utterings voiced to him again, and again. Black tar that stuck itself to his brain. He rubbed his temples, pinched the bridge of his nose, massaged his forehead, knowing full well that whatever he was planning to do was futile. There was no cure to this kind of sorrow. Only time. Fatigued from deliberation and heavy dread that plagued him, reducing function to nil, Seonghwa drifted, only the echoes of a suppressed catharsis haunting him.
It was a lulling ripple. Susurration of the shimmering waves, languidly guiding the timid moonlight. As the wind picked up, so did the infinite blanket of deep midnight blue, decorated with threads of pure silver. The whispers soon transformed into a harmony of echoes, filling the air with a chilling premonition. The quietude – the chosen one, to be sacrificed to the orchestration of natural disorder, a cyclical necessity. There was no rule, no need. Only the endless expanse of the living, breathing, turbulent waters. A storm. A roar engulfed the atmosphere, and all that dared oppose the metamorphosis. Imminent destruction of aquatic grace, devolving into a nightmarish, ghoulish madness. Reminiscent of a clamour, the waves crashed against your consciousness, persistently, repeatedly, threatening to tear away at your cranium and pour over into your lungs, taking ownership of your paralysed form.
Seonghwa struggled to catch a single breath, heaving, and yet running on empty, a shallow, superficial hint of oxygen lumped in his oesophagus. An unforgettable burning – his eyes, his nose, his lips, all enslaved by the agonising salt that penetrated their protective membranes and made him shriek as it buried itself in his cooling bloodstream. Seonghwa was losing to the elements, succumbing to the fatigue that was seeping into his aching, overstrained limbs. On the verge of giving up and letting go of the spirit that had driven him to struggle in the first place, he tried to shut his eyes just as he had done to his art, praying he would be let down slowly.
In futility and a sudden moment of clarity, the world went silent once more, only with a soft bubbling to accompany as he descended further and further down into the dark abyss, bidding farewell to the omniscient, looming and cruel sky. He was unsure whether what he was experiencing was a hallucination or a reality, however he distinctly felt gentle arms wrap around him, and pull him close to the body of another being, cradling his drowning form. The young poet allowed himself to relish in the sensation, lest it be the last, ignoring the light that was approaching once more. It was impossible to assume for it to be anything except the path to divinity, and for the trusted guide of the currents to be a guardian angel, carrying him through the sea to his final judgement.
The foreign warmth unwound Seonghwa, and he was in a blissful state of somnolence. Nothing existed except him and the sea that embraced him, sheltered him from the squall above the surface. The state was reminiscent of an embryo, yet to experience the harsh realities, beatific and unaware of what was to come. A mysterious stranger, a figure of grace made of sea foam, erasing his terrors and returning him to the terrestrial realm where he belonged. The sea, bewildered and endeared with his feeble mortality had bestowed mercy upon him - a foreign act, and yet it turned into a saving grace from the treacherous domain. He was not a being of the prejudiced, ravenous ocean. As his back felt the wet sand beneath, and a pressure on his chest, expelling water that was ravaging his lungs grew stronger, he was more confident in his livelihood, despite having lost his breath, his sight, his hearing. Nothing existed except a storm somewhere far from him, and a brutal stinging of salt that consumed the arteries. The liquid trickled from his frozen lips and down his cheeks, absorbed by the grains that were already sneaking into his hair. The pressure was getting more intense, bordering on unbearable. His ribs, subdued by agony, were begging for relief. His mouth opened in a silent scream, a hand shot out into the darkness. A snap. A crashing of a wave.
Seonghwa jolted awake, feeling his chest and looking around. The window, which had previously been left open only a crack, had swung open fully, and the tulle had flown out with what had to be an oncoming gale. A drumming resonated from the inner walls of the house, one which he decisively ignored and let it be consumed by the chaos outside. Leaning over to take a cautious peek, the young man rapidly discovered a downpour that was soaking the thin, white material - a flag begging for forgiveness from nature. He hurried from the sofa, almost stumbling over his feet and the carpet, careful to not slip on the puddle that started to form below the sill, on the aged floorboards. Cursing under his breath, he fought against the creaking wood that was ruthless in wishing to hold the window in place, until, in a final fit of frustration, Seonghwa pulled wildly, nearly tumbling back as the frame slid into its rightful location with a stubborn shake. He hit the curved iron handle back into position, noting how even more of the white paint on the frame had chipped off, and the wood beneath was starting to show signs of potential rot. Since he was merely a guest, though it was nearly approaching half a year that he had been residing in the cottage, he would have to call someone in his family about this, wouldn’t he? A stray finger glided over the damage, and he pondered how long it had been since the wear and tear had started. Who was it that left this cottage to abandon, for people who were virtually strangers to occupy for a temporary retreat?
He placed a hand to his chest, feeling the beating of his erratic heart, not yet calm from the nightmare. Curious, how the sea had crept into his mind so strongly. The guardian and the destroyer of the surrounding grounds. A mirror of the skies with a presentation and strength of its own. Undoubtedly scornful of his hollow presence - an artist who ceased to create. What could be more tragic and distasteful? He pulled at the loosely woven white sweater that hung loosely on his body, pinching the white sleeveless tee underneath when he spotted a speck of dust, or was it a grain of sand? He raised an eyebrow, trying to contain the particle between his fingers but failing to do so as it rolled down until it disappeared against the floor. Right, he had cleaning to do. He shook his head and led himself to the kitchen, where he grabbed rags, a bucket, some supplies to aid him in fixing up the attacked corner of the living room.
With an anxious swiftness, Seonghwa took down the translucent curtain and wiped the floorboards, the wall, the window sill, sighing at the scenery outside. Steely grey skies and thunderous clouds the colour of smoke and ash, diagonal rain rendering it almost impossible to see the rocky cliffs and hills that otherwise highlighted his vista. Waves took on a hue that was reminiscent of a mixture of emerald and onyx, with thick streaks of foam the colour of melancholy. Rocks, eroded and reshaped by the waters, were splotches of black in the landscape, and the tall grass - golden and green from the tedium of perpetual beatdowns by the sun and the storms, brushstrokes that blended with the speeding droplets. He paused. How marvellous it was, to become one with the sky. A connection to the heavens as it weeped, mourning the mortal motion of the earth. He squeezed the rag feeling the clouds’ tears well up between the digits. Surely, if he had been saved in his dream, there was hope? Seonghwa tilted his head, still, ensnared by the scenery outside, not too dissimilar from what had been his unconscious battle. The sea saved him. His beloved nature, void of humanity, of quotidien illness innate to every being. Those graceful hands, sending him in a spinning dance through the grand depths, a soothing drowning. Blind to the temporary, he had the pleasure of consuming eternal presence. Perhaps this was a sign, and not a horror that he had lived through.
After wiping the last of the moisture and taking the items back to the kitchen, he ambled back to the room. There was nothing stopping the waves. Untouched - not by the fishermen who he would see from time to time, not by the adventurers tourists who wanted to take in the views of the rising sun, not by those who, at least on paper, owned the neighbouring lands. Everyone was subordinate to the sea. Including himself. The dream was a call. It had to have been. He put a palm over the centre of his ribcage, the bone whispering what had unfolded a mere few minutes ago. The intensity of what reminded Seonghwa of an exorcism was nothing short of a twisted blessing. A shy smile crept onto his lips as the cottage took the brunt of another gust of wind and spears of rain and a ghost of a plank somewhere in the house groaned. Or perhaps it was the cottage itself, mumbling a greeting to its waking occupant. Swaying of the history contained within the building, time in every chip of paint, in every brick.
There was not much to fear in the sea’s cradle. In the middle of nowhere, with only himself and the coming autumn to keep him company, Seonghwa sensed the ebbs and flows of his soul start up again. He raised his hand to eye level, stretching it out until the fingers were splayed apart and the palm was flat and facing the floor. Much to his unexpected delight, it remained steady, obedient, attuned to his present musings. His legs led the way, guiding him to a door that was located almost under the stairs. With a click of the handle, the room he had made his office and study was revealed. An antique lacquered mahogany table, much too large for the space available, had been a formidable foe for the last few months, and now, was shining a different colour. Seonghwa ran a hand over the intricate detailing of its edges as he pushed the matching chair back. Glanced up, took in the scenery on the other side of the window - much smaller than the one he had fought against, but allowing him to behold the memorable landscape nonetheless.
Gingerly, he pulled at the iron hook of the top drawer, revealing a black, leather bound notebook and a pen - his favourite, from the little shop down the street where he lived in the city. Glossy chrome silver, ergonomic, and made to be a medium for the arts. Seonghwa noted the dryness in his throat, and adjusted the collar of his sweater absent-mindedly. It was easy, right? Just pick up the pen, take out the book and open it, sit down and- and what next? He paused, hand hovering over his tools. What was next, indeed? Flutters of ideas like fragile butterflies suspended in the mind palace, wishing for transition into the world of the living. Could he do it? Upon asking himself the question, he swore he heard the sea roar louder, and the cottage creak in response. With a shake of the head, he decided. Enough was enough. He had to try - it was now or never. He fell into the seat, holding his breath as he clenched the pen, letting it dig into his skin - a lethal blade. A blank page scrutinised him. On instinct, he decorated it with ink, flowing into the barren landscape, introducing himself.
천둥과 회색 바다, 갈매기 울음소리 (the thunder and the grey sea, the crying of seagulls)
폭풍은 심장의 리듬을 만든다 (the storm makes the rhythm of the heart)
입술과 볼에 소금이 행복한 추억이다 (the salt on the lips and cheeks is a happy memory)
The rain was still pouring when Seonghwa woke up again, having resorted to resting his fatigued body on the same sofa rather than carrying it upstairs. It was quieter that way, without the tears pouring directly on the roof above. Having dipped his fingertips back into writing, and dabbling in a more liberal interpretation of sijo, he was spent, as though he had gone through a war, crawled under barbed wire to find his own reflection on the other side. The poet ran a hand through his locks, still messy from the tossing and turning that he had undoubtedly done while asleep - at least this time he had no dreams, even if it was exactly through such a manifestation that he had discovered the urge to try and revive his calling and skill. He checked the time, the antique clock on the other side of the room idly ticking away regardless of what happened around it. Early dawn, and yet the surroundings remained immersed in grey. He stretched, not caring for the wool throw that he had used as his blanket sliding down to pool on his lap. A strain in his neck - he tilted his head to stretch the sleepy, insubordinate muscle, wincing as he seemed to have struck a painful point of tension. It was time to rise with the rainclouds. Seonghwa shuffled into his slippers, the chill creeping across the floor discouraging him from forgoing the action, and grabbed the throw, folding it on reflex.
One foot in front of the other, eyes still half-shut, the walls served as guides towards the staircase, and the wooden handrail was a direct lead that let him doze as he felt for each new elevation. The rain pelted the skylight that shed some light on the stairs, the thrum an intense melody. And to think that it was sunny and warm - the epitome of summer, only a mere few days ago. Well, he said few days, but that was more a liberal interpretation than anything. Stuck on the edge of early spring, the seasons had passed by him at a menacing pace, summer, autumn, winter all blending into one monstrous creature. When he reached the second floor, something prompted him to pause. Seonghwa squinted, focusing on the door at the far end of the corridor, more specifically, the decorative woven carpet that was hanging off a neatly hammered nail right into its centre - ornate, depicting a lighthouse scene that had instantly made the young poet wonder if there was one in the vicinity of the cottage. But it was not the carpet itself that momentarily disturbed him, but rather the angle at which it was hanging. Over the time of Seonghwa being in this property so far, he had already done his fair share of cleaning and adjustments, as one would expect, but not a single time did he see the item move off the centre of the thread that was hooked onto the nail - perhaps only when the door itself was used. Since Seonghwa had selected a room that had windows that looked in the direction of the fence gate and main entrance, rather than to the side and towards the cliffs, he had no need to enter the darkness, only for general upkeep. What had made the item move? Raising an eyebrow, he approached the door, creaking of the floorboards accompanying him. No sound from behind the door. Only the heaving of the house that saw many storms in its day. A chuckle involuntarily escaped him as he adjusted the carpet - he must still be under the impression from the dream, that must be it. Everything was suspicious; but that was how he usually got when he was in the depths of ideation. Sensitive, responsive, one with the world. Patting the rough fabric, he turned, making his way to his quarters.
The decor was simple, minimalist, with echoes of nautical and rustic themes. A tiny model of a sailboat in a bottle, displayed on a slab of wood that must have been cut and taken from the forest nearby. A laundry basket made out of a rope so thick that Seonghwa assumed that it used to be on a ship before settling in the cottage for retirement. White sheets, with a line of pale baby blue chequered fabric running through the very top, marking its direction. Matching chequered pillows - large, soft clouds stuffed to the brim with feathers, perfectly made. The bed had been left untouched by him that night, and remained in suspense. He ran a hand over its edge, feeling the soft fabric. Carefully, he placed the throw at the end of the bed, and turned towards the double wardrobe - well, he was being rather kind to call it that. Not quite a single, not quite a double, the piece which looked to have been made by whoever had been the owner of the land a while back stood proud, without any particular definition. It served its purpose, and was happy to do so. From the carved patterns around the handles to how the doors easily swung open, this piece of furniture was nothing like what he would see in the city. It contained love, care. Was one of a kind. Perhaps that was another issue he would have to take care of, should he return to the metropolis soon - change his interior. There was enough standard decor for him to turn into an automaton. An apartment like everybody else’s. Enough space, but no room to breathe - existing only to live up to or fulfill expectations.
He changed into a pleasant neutrality - in fact, most of the clothing that Seonghwa had brought with him retained a quality of muted bliss. Beige and cream, black, white, shades of grey, a few patterned pieces containing navy, diluted pinks here and there, he wanted to blend into the scenery. Shake with the tall grass. Stretch his arms out and embrace the sky, floating towards it. But for now, a white shirt would have to do. He made a couple of small adjustments while looking at the mirror that hung above the cabinet directly at the end of the bed, flush against the wall, flicking the dangling silver earring that he had left in since yesterday, used to napping with the accessory. A couple of brushes with the comb he kept on said cabinet, and finally, the look was manageable. Knowing he would be careful, Seonghwa decided to wash up before continuing on with his day; more adventuring around the house, down the stairs and off to the side past the kitchen. He stared at his reflection, dismissing the hints of stubble that were beginning to show themselves - as if anyone would care if he scrapped shaving altogether. No one except himself. The rest of the steps he could not skip over, diligence and habit taking back the reins. Routine, but in the house so far removed from places where routine was king, it was reassuring.
Soon enough, there were scrambled eggs on a plate, fork lying to the side, and a steaming cup of black tea in his hand as he flicked through his midnight musings. Not too bad. Certainly not the best. At least not to him. His hand was rash, his thoughts unclear, his rhythm lacking. It had to be better than this; the voice of judgement returned to him and struck him like lightning, only this time, the current of the bubbling waves dampened the effect. Why was it that he began to sound like those he grew up and returned to listening to? So much running, and to return to the same vocalisations? Enough. He set the notebook down, and took a sip of the still hot tea. Clarity, that was what he had to practise. Since he was alone, he had no other opinion to fear, and could work on his reconnection with art to his heart’s content. Seonghwa was lucky enough to not be tied to anything nor anyone in particular, and the continuously rising popularity of the songs he had worked on as a poet and lyricist a little while ago ensured that if need be, he had financial cover.
A stray thought about the outside world passed him. Did he still matter, or was he gradually being forgotten? One wave after another, one artist was bound to surpass another. Such was the harsh reality. His breakfast was cooling as he stared at the pristine table cloth, mulling the notion over. Time ran differently here, that much was certain. Could that mean that out there in the city, centuries had already passed? What was he missing? A mild panic started to rise in his throat, and on instinct he stood up, foregoing the rest of his meal in favour of a stroll within the confines of the walls but not before grabbing the tiny black notebook.
One step, another, and soon he fell into a rhythm, traversing the territories of the kitchen, dining and living room area, ambling into the miniature office space, back out again until he was retracing the same patterns, writing characters on the floor with each footfall. He was ink, combatting resistance to absorption into the primordial canvas, towards artistic immortality. Seonghwa wanted to push himself at first opportunity. He had to write, had to provide the listening curtains and chairs with fresh prose or poetry, whatever came to mind and was reasonable first. He was Park Seonghwa, for goodness sake. It should come easy. The months were just a pause like that when one holds their breath. Each day a microsecond. The shake, starting from deep in his upper arm and trickling lethal poison down to his wrist and fingers, started to give signs of its awakening. No, it could not be! The poet stopped, not dissimilar to how a car would stop at the edge of a cliff. What was happening to him? The book found recluse from his spiritual agony above a fireplace, one of the elements of the house Seonghwa had had no reason to experiment with, not being bothered by the howling cold drafts. Toying with the edge of his sleeve, he succumbed to pensive disorder, eyes locked on the unassuming object.
"Not today then…" the utterance melted into the ambience, "fiendish creature."
Determined creaking of wood and its crash jolted him off the spot, and Seonghwa was almost pulling himself up the stairs. The house was old enough to need repairs, but this could be major, and all the more disastrous if the rain bled in. Heart jumping out of his chest he skipped steps, alarm bells ringing in his ears. He had been submerged in his philosophies for so long that he could have easily missed some more complex deteriorating hazard of the cottage, particularly since he never had to even consider such a thing back in the capital. Maintenance, checks, security… all automatic and managed by someone he would never see, while here, he was the one responsible. He, the pseudo-owner for the coming season, had to see the outcomes, and admonish himself in the mirror should anything go wrong, which was probably one of the reasons why he preferred to not use the object more than necessary. He turned his head side to side, to the skylight, behind him, all for nothing. Only the drizzle, and the decorative carpet, tilted. Like it had been pushed on purpose. He inched towards the door, looking for any shadows that may fall through the crack at the bottom and stretch outwards. Stopping right in front, he put an ear to it, while pretending to adjust the piece of fabric. Nothing, or the house was keeping secrets from him, too. Fed up with the mystery, he yanked the handle, and then gave it a violent twist and push, all to no avail, meeting a secure lock. Did he accidentally lock it the last time he had been in? Seonghwa could not remember, but the curious appearance of this issue was more than inspiring. The storm was playing tricks on the poet again, whispering devious tales in his ears. A late night fog, he descended to the ground floor in search of his weapons to carve the enigma, not hearing the sigh that carelessly escaped through the keyhole.
차가운 강철 바다가 겨울을 삼킨다 (the winter is swallowed by the cold steel sea)
모래는 신성한 행위의 비밀을 간직한다 (the sands hold the secret of the sacred act)
장난꾸러기 봄은 또 무엇을 가져올까 (what else will the mischievous spring bring?)
⋆✧. you .✧⋆
It wasn't that you were tired per se, it was just that if you were to spend another day doing what you had been doing, you would make it a personal goal to destroy the world. But you were smarter than acting on the manic rage that lapped at the shoreline of your consciousness, and so you did what any good citizen would do and removed yourself as cleanly as quietly as possible. On paper, there was nothing wrong, and a sabbatical did not seem to be out of order, especially considering the hours you had been putting in for the last few years. Some of your longer-term patients did have to be reshuffled of course, but you did not mind that one bit - they would not be haunting you anymore, at least not for the time period of professionally approved evaporation. There was no greater joy than shoving your identification badge into a drawer and ridding yourself of your scrubs for longer than a few hours.
Bare essentials in a rucksack and a train ticket was all you needed, and once you arrived at your safe haven, it would be piece of cake to hitch a ride from one of the farmers you had befriended - who knows, maybe this time around you could get on one of the fancy new tractors. When the prospect of returning to your favourite place was feeling more real, you could not help yourself but turn back to your tendencies of being a dreamer. It was always more delightful to live in the clouds to the rhythm of the sun’s rays rather than to a beeping of the heart monitor. You could almost imagine the journey, the beauty of it all.
But that turned out to be the farthest from the washed out reality that was possible. Somewhere around two thirds of the way to your sacred destination, right around the time when a toddler - evidently born and raised in the urbanscape, had finally stopped whining about going to some place where "there was nothing", and dozed off, huge storm clouds started to roll in from the direction of the coast. Just peachy, especially when your destination was a cottage that might as well have its address quoted as 'the sea'. But you were not made of sugar and could stand a couple of angry raindrops on your waterproof jacket, and besides these problems were ones you much preferred to deal with, unlike the constant barrage of everything at once back in the concrete cage. Less yammering, and the words that were exchanged in the country were compact, concise, meaningful. No beating around the bush or claiming ownership of other people's business, so long as you didn't interact too closely. But that was what the distance between the beloved cottage and any more major settlements was for - the most secure barrier of them all was time and energy, and very few would want to waste that on an extra trip that would be entirely fruitless.
A couple of droplets was an understatement as your soaked clothes were quick to tell you. Thanks to the unusually strong storm for this time of year there was no way for you to get to your asylum easily either. No one was out, and no good person would let even their work dogs out in such weather. You, however… you could not care less about it, or about anything except getting to the cottage for that matter.. Some sacrifices were worth it. And so after getting to the tiny village thanks to the same family with the toddler since it was on the way - the last remotely reliable collection of society before natural and non-human wilderness, through sludge and torrential downpour you tread, practically having to feel your way forward since the downpour painfully obscured your vision. Your feet knew the right path at least, and after you had donated the last of your social supplies to those metropolitan holidaymakers for your own benefit, with every metre you conquered you ended up striding faster and faster. Until you saw the lights. They could only mean two things. Either Old Man Yang came back to life and was perusing his grounds like Old Hamlet, or there was a guest. As much as you wanted the answer to be the former, it was obvious enough that the occupant was somebody else. Not that you were too bothered. You knew this house like the back of your hand, and were aware of how to get in and out pretty much unnoticed. Plus, it would not be the first time you would be doing so. Most people limited themselves to a couple of rooms, fearing that they would be overstepping should they actually ‘make themselves at home’ - a huge advantage for you when it came to climbing in. Little did they know that they would make Old Man cuss them out for their timidness if he were still around.
The first step was to avoid the front gate - a flimsy construction that had been installed without much skill nor effort, and so performed what you would generously call the bare minimum, only just holding itself together. Slanted and chipped, the fencing was in an abysmal state, off-putting, marking anyone who needed to stay at the cottage as truthfully desperate. You smiled bitterly - what a realisation. You continued on your way to the other side of the plot, barely guarded by a bush fence and the occasional appearance of proper stone fence pieces. This was mainly for show, to mark that the owner, or well, previous owner of the house was aware of what was ‘standard practice’ around these parts. Outward aesthetics was something that you had grown to despise over the years, hence why the tongue in cheek mockery of it in this construction spoke to your soul, and made the haven that much more homely. It was good to be back.
You navigated to the back of the house and ducked to squeeze through the hole on the wall. Much to your fortune, the room that was the speediest to access from a stealthy climb onto the shed located to the side of the building and a couple of shuffles of boxes was empty, though shockingly clean. It was obvious to the naked eye that the bedroom was visited quite regularly, at least to keep things neat and dustless. You nodded to yourself as you took off your shoes and clothes, shoving them in an oversized plastic bag that you had packed, originally for future laundry, now as a way to keep the items from bringing the rain indoors. The cold air hit you in one swoop, sending a series of shivers over your bare body. Hopping to the chest of drawers, you haphazardly went over the contents of each one until you found the towels, wrapping yourself in the largest one and throwing another onto the floorboards, roughly shoving it over to the puddle that still had formed under the bag. Once satisfied with the half-hearted drying, you changed into a fresh and remotely warmer set of clothes and hopped under the covers, drowsy and worn out from the impromptu hike and battering from the violent skies.
Just as your eyes started getting heavier and heavier, and you were losing yourself in the sound of the rain against the roof - a favourite of yours when it came to forgetting the nonsense you had to work towards back in the capital, the creaking of the footsteps jolted you from the somnolent fall and back to high alert. Was the guest brave enough to venture onto the second floor? Really? You concluded that they were comfortable using one of the other bedrooms, and that they were alone - the latter was a commonality among the guests of Old Man’s home, however, so that conclusion did not take much work. The steps ceased to resound across the corridor right behind the door, leaving shadows through the creak below. You froze and inadvertently held your breath, waiting for the guest’s next move. It was not that you were particularly scared of the potential interaction, but you did not want to deal with the terror that they might experience of having a random stranger appear in a house that was in the middle of nowhere. To a person ‘not in the know’, your presence would be more than horrifying. And so to do the other party, and your sleepiness, a favour, you stayed put.
More shuffling, a tug on the decor on the other side of the door - so sensitive that it probably shifted because of your jumping about, and in what must have been a quarter of an hour, maybe even less, the guest disappeared downstairs. The rain had gotten lighter since the time when you had just arrived. Rustling. Pots and pans clinking against one another. Opening of the fridge - so the stranger was making breakfast. You grinned into the bedsheets and snuggled into the warmth. How you missed this place. Its sounds, its welcoming nature, its beauty that defeated all definitions of the word. There were no standards that you needed to abide by while safely by the sea. No roadblocks, no arguments, no regrets or shame on people’s faces. Perhaps this was another reason why you did not want to interact with the guest - that would mean you having to stare at them, and goodness forbid you would be unable to turn off your work brain and end up micro analysing them. No, you needed to sleep that off. At some point while you were drifting in semi-consciousness the pacing that the stranger had commenced had stopped, and a concerning silence washed over the property. Eyebrows furrowed, you lifted your upper body. When no other sound came, you slid out of the bed, too curious to try falling asleep now. One step, another and you were already turning the door knob, cautious to push the door discreetly. You listened. Creak, sigh, so they were still-
That deep and smooth voice? So the guest was likely male, okay stay calm. You tried to reason, but the phrase kept replaying in your head, and you found yourself being ashamed to admit that, at least from this distance, the tone was more than pleasant. Perhaps you should try introducing yourself - at least to have a conversation. What were you thinking? This was someone who you did not know, someone who could be dangerous, who could attack you - no, not today, not ever. At least not until you were to run out of crackers, apples and water in your bag. Rapidly, you reversed into the living room and without a second thought, shut the door like you normally would. Clearly, you could not think straight after lateral human interaction as almost instantly you heard chaotic shuffling from downstairs. In one last strive to protect yourself you remembered the key to the door that was located on a tiny table set right by the wall to the right. One swipe, one twist, and you launched yourself into the bed in an effort to hide and minimise any movement for when the man arrived. And just in time, because just under quarter of a minute later, the stranger was back, and was attempting to enter the room while you were damning your curiosity. It was comical how the only thought that crossed your mind was the hope that if you were to cross paths with him eventually, that you would not have to cut your getaway short and go back to the heartbreaking world of expectations, regrets and erasure. Perhaps it was selfish to say, but here, in the cottage, you could live for yourself and think for yourself for once and not feel as though you were overstepping.
At some point between then and the moment you realised that the rain had stopped, you had fallen asleep, missing the entirety of the morning. You were gazing at the walls, the light from the window, the silhouette that your items strewn about on the floor, with different eyes. A revival. You were finally home. And that was when your own behaviour hit you; indeed, you were home! No matter who that other person was, you knew the ins and outs of this house better than anyone else, and just listening to the man walk around was enough to make the conclusion that he was definitely a newcomer. Probably was here for some weeks, maybe a month at most, but that was not enough to be aware of the creaks in the stairs or where all of the emergency supplies were located - the shed had been left untouched all this time, as you had spotted out of the corner of your eye. He was being cautious. Not quite living. Well, at least he was being respectful.
You patted the bed and slid out from under the covers with a stretch. The hints of sunshine were protruding through the clouds, transforming the views from your window into an infinite stretch of dewy, silvery green and a glistening and bashful blue, protected by the rolling behemoths of cloud up above. For once, you were looking forward to the coming day. You pushed yourself off the bed and stepped closer, now having the fence that you had recently infiltrated the cottage through in your sight and beyond it - the same gorgeous grassland that broke into a shallow, albeit fragile dockside. Technically, it was still part of a long series of cliffs, revealing limestone and chalk and iron from all ages, but that was a two or three hour walk down the coastline. Here, those titans were friendly pets that you could easily scale and hop down from. Nonetheless, they did a brilliant job in separating the marine from the earthly, reminiscent of the mythical division of the mortal and heavenly realms. Upon closer inspection, you noticed a certain someone treading that legendary midpoint, dressed in a simple shirt and wide, skirt-like trousers. You leaned onto the window sill, well aware that it was not going to do much in helping you discern the details that made up the enigmatic figure, but you were going to pretend like you were confident in your assumptions about the aesthetic appeal.
Dark hair, falling to somewhere close to the shoulders, tall in stature, of a thinner build, or at least that was what you guessed when the figure turned to step closer to the edge. They were holding something in either hand, and whatever it was appeared important, but the distance concealed such tiny details from you. You couldn't quite form a complete picture, but it was easy enough to put two and two together from the silence that currently reigned over the house and the stranger out for a stroll, that this was probably your impromptu housemate. Not too bad, a nice blob in the distance that you could appreciate through the horizon's blur. More importantly, this person with dark hair and a deep voice was giving you control over the ground floor for a short while, and you desperately needed to make use of the resources located there. You laid out a high speed itinerary for yourself and made a dash for the door, counting the seconds that each task took you. This behaviour was something you were unlikely to ever get rid of - your studies, and then your job both permitted you too little time to have the luxury of wasting it. How long could an inhale and exhale take?
It was astonishing just how neat the cottage was - you dared to say that it was the neatest that you had ever seen it - major refurbishment and repair requirements aside. So this guy was detail oriented, clean and homely, huh? You ran a hand over the kitchen counter while passing it to rush to the shower raising your eyebrows at the lack of dust. Damn, you might have underestimated what kind of guest this individual was. Your surprise was not limited to the main living area - the bathroom almost reminded you of the scrub room and theatre with how spotless it was. Not a single timescale stain on the glass or mirror, perfectly arranged decorations, laundry basket and towels. Even the bar of soap was turned to the smaller side so that it would be easier to use and not linger in moisture. Inadvertently, you shivered, almost slamming the bar down and moving to ruffle the towels just the slightest bit so there would be a breath of life in them. You kicked the bath mat slightly off centre, disturbed by its impeccable alignment with the tiles. Oh, this man might become your enemy. This was about to become a crisis.
One purposefully careless shower later, you had drawn a smiley face on the mirror and were now unceremoniously raiding the kitchen, claiming that you were famished and urgently needed to make the most chaos-inducing meal of all time, which given the available ingredients just so happened to be a monstrous apple pie. You were not sure what exactly provoked you and caused you to ignite the oven with a fire of rage, and channel a palette of negativity into beating butter and sugar, but this was most certainly the most ‘vigorously’ that you had ever made a pie. Whizzing through the stages of making the pastry and sending it away to cool, you took to making the filling, whispering each one of your actions out loud, narrating as though you were back in the operating room. You needed the knife, you needed the cinnamon, you-
Slamming the utensils onto the cutting board, nearly sending a small ceramic bowl flying in the process as your sleeve slipped over its rim, you groaned in disapproval. This was exactly what you were trying to escape from, and yet anything you did was simply returning you to your daily life. Why did your hands, your mind have to live in just one place, erasing the moments when your body as a whole experienced joy? Why was it so easy to retrace the steps back into personal nightmares? Damn your steady hands, your unbreakable focus. To hell with it all. On the verge of throwing the knife at the neighbouring wall, you toyed with the handle. You were tired. So unbelievably tired of the nonsense that had accumulated over your time back in the city. While anyone else would say that you had been lucky to receive what you had - an education in a prestigious university, renowned across the nation, residency in high ranking hospitals, settlement in a private clinic in an expensive district, a career in the medical field that was deemed ‘not too intense nor too gory’... you could not help but wish to burn it all in favour of the paradise that you ran to.
Your childhood. Carefree, in a small town by the sea. In fact, on a clear day you could see the outlines of it from here - on many occasions you had stood by the fence gate with Old Man, who had taught you how to read the clouds, the forests, spot things no one else could. How he, with his wrinkled, dry hand pointed in the direction of what were your roots. But not your home. You had hugged him tight that day, muttering that it was in the cottage that you were happy. Old Man never forced you to leave. In fact, the room that you were staying in had always been left ready for a guest - you. But of course, in the eyes of everybody else, this was not what was considered successful. Study, take exams, study, do extracurricular activities, fix your pronunciation, change your look, change yourself to be like someone else, for what? To appease others, as you had realised in the middle of your time at medical school. You were a talking piece, a conversation starter. Nothing more. And so, with every opportunity, you stepped farther away from those who had taken your clarity and safe haven.
Old Man died when you were about to graduate university. You found out only two months later. Since then, you were on your own. You clenched your hand into a fist until the knuckles turned white, while tears inadvertently pooled in your eyes before you dabbed at them with the corner of your sweater. Your childhood home did not exist anymore - you checked two summers ago. Deemed too rundown since no one had moved in after your parents made a mad dash for the metropolis, it was now just a bitter memory. At least in the act of honouring the past you were victorious. Your body began to move on its own accord, floating through the instructions, from one step to another, at ease since your thoughts were preoccupied by reminiscence. For a person whose livelihood majorly relied on their hands, you were terrifically remiss about what you subjected them to; some of your colleagues were known to wear gloves almost all hours of the day, others refrained from doing anything physical unless it was lifting a scalpel. To put it simply, this drove you mad. Every single one of them: self-important, unaware, isolated. Let this pie be baked in hellfire for all you-
Mid-spin, just as you were finished with making the filling and were in the process of lining a baking tin with some of the pastry, the front door creaked open, revealing the figure that you had spotted outside of your window, walking alongside the beginnings of what would be a cliff’s edge. You stood still, holding the pie tin, feeling the grooves of its edges, balancing the dough that was still wrapped in clingfilm right in the middle, as though if you were to not move this man would not see you. Heart quickening to a nauseating pace, the intense scrutiny that you were receiving made you want to collapse behind the counter. Before this moment, you had convinced yourself that you had fully adopted a devil may care attitude, and that you were ready for whoever you would encounter, having prepared the humble abode for a you-style reception and to assert who truly was deserving of ownership of this property. But something about this enigmatic persona who, just like you, remained unmoving, echoed the seastorms. A roaring of the waves was contained in his orbs, so dark due to the light being behind the man’s back that you could barely detect the transition from pupil to iris. A nose worthy of being depicted in renaissance paintings, in fact, if you had to pinpoint one way to describe the stranger, is that he reminded you of subjects that graced the walls of art galleries, selected by masters to be immortalised in the artists’ name. Nameless, much like he was to you in this present moment. His lips, ever so slightly parted as if he had been on the verge of saying something to you, only for the aim to fall short of execution, voice drowning in doubt or disgust. The corners of the man’s mouth were gently downturned - not unpleasantly so, but rather giving him an aura of intimidation that intrigued you. Shadows on his face suggested to you that he was unshaven, though, you had to admit that it was not too bad of a look. In fact, an interesting edge of ruggedness that balanced with his longer locks gave the man a new form of allure, and in turn, forced you to keep your eyes on him despite feeling inklings of terror. The scene reminded you of a faceoff between two territorial wolves - whose domain was this? Only time and a match of resolve would tell.
He was the first to break eye contact, sighing and moving to take off his shoes and trench coat. You remained still - a hostile animal that was expecting aggression at any moment. The man was silent, unphased by your ‘out of the blue’ appearance at least outwardly, and you were not certain whether his lack of reaction was something to be taken with gratitude or suspicion. As you inspected his motions, how he stretched out his arm to hang the trench coat on the rack that was hammered to the wall, with the right nail ever so slightly lower than the left, how he ran a hand through his hair, casting shadows over what hinted at months of fatigue. Not quite pallid, but definitely tired skin, holding times of discomfort, sleeplessness. Dark circles under those deep, pensive orbs, cheeks that were somewhere between sunken and youthful. The man stood before you in a white shirt, the colour a last cry to some form of purity and hope. You could guess why he was at the cottage, since it was not too challenging to see your own reflection in the corners of his soul, much like you could sense that he was reading you. He reminded you of an angel who was tired of praying, barely capable of carrying his body. Pressed down by the story that had been written for him, he was likely here for an escape, to drown out the sounds of whatever he was running from. Perhaps you should be friendly, and welcome this lost soul. After all, he could be unaware of where he is nor of what unspoken rules exist around here. The least you could do is make him feel at home-
“You made a mess,” and just like that, all desire to be amiable flew out of the window and into the sea. His curt comment was like a burning cold scalpel, words too familiar to be neutral and well-received.
Before you could respond, the man was well on his way to the bathroom, and judging by the slam of the door, he was not very pleased to see the rearrangements you had made. No comments followed, however, and instead, the pause was filled by the sound of running water, followed by a muffled mumbling when following a couple of rattles, the pressure inevitably dropped and there was barely a trickle. You shook your head, amused by how this man had been living in this property without the basic knowhow. Clearly, he was one of the many cityfolk who wanted to try his luck while on holiday. Exotic stay to talk about with his glamorous friends, you bet. For him to explain how ‘the bucolic was not even as appealing as literature made it out to be’. Standard. Faceless. You would forget him in no time, especially since he would probably leave before it got less fun and more mundane to stay out in the wilderness. That pretty face should not know harshness. With a huff, you set the tin down onto the counter and set the oven to preheat. With swift, irritated movements, you took to lining the metal with the dough, and in no time shifted to ladling the filling inside, halting to watch the last of the fruity cinnamon remnants dribble from the bowl down to join the rest of the sweet and sour promise.
The man returned when you were in the process of lacing strings of dough together to structure a coherent design. With an embarrassing surgical precision, you focused on the patterns - culinary sutures, almost horrified by the technique that you could not prevent from channelling itself through your body, to your very fingertips especially now that there was an audience. If he wanted to give you a stern talking to, it had quickly dissipated and mid-stride, the stranger was observing you as though you were carrying out a sacred ritual. The spotlight was on you as you demonstrated how to put the flesh back together. Piecing the skin bit by bit so as to ensure minimal scarring, careful now, people come to you to make themselves feel beautiful after all. String by string, the pie was looking more like itself, a recipe book photograph, something worthy of immortalising as the model step before baking. A beeping confirmed that the patient was relaxed, steady, with a perfect heart rate - good, all the readings were steady, now all you needed was to make the final - you felt for the tray finding empty space. Did someone misplace the tools? Panic shot into your nervous system and with a jolt you pushed yourself away from the table, only to find yourself gazing, startled, at someone who you had begun to assume was an intern. The guest, or cohabitant? An eyebrow raised, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he took in your state. You clicked your tongue, finally putting two and two together and grabbing the timer behind you, purposefully taking your time so that you would not have to look at your newfound personification of madness for longer than necessary. So much for an introduction; the figure who was still a mystery to you slinked back into the shadows, with only the click of the office door serving as a confirmation that he was real. You rubbed your temples, the distant thrumming of a headache resembling a thunder that crawled over the horizon. Demonstratively, you sprinkled some flour onto a previously clean spot on the wooden countertop, only to automatically reach for the towel and drop the action again. No, it was time to bake. You needed to bake. You needed to make this place feel like home for the next couple of months, even if this peculiar character was going to be sharing it.
When you finally slid the pie into the oven and shut the door, giving it one last look before setting the timer for forty-five minutes, a curiosity crawled from the crevices of your mind and poked at you. Were you really going to avoid that man for your entire stay, assuming he was leaving soon? You had already admitted to yourself that he was objectively… and subjectively attractive. That much you had to give to him. Attitude - you were not quite ready to make judgments about, considering that if it were you in his place, you would have been chasing yourself around the house with a frying pan. It was comical, really; a stranger in a house, baking like they own the place. In spirit you might, to a person not in the know you were the official owner, but to the family who inherited the place you likely were nothing but a pest or an echo of the past that they were trying to forget. At least they did not demolish the cottage yet.
With a side step, you headed in the direction of the couch, but moved on when you noticed more damage than you had been used to on the window off to its side. Running a hand over the edges, it was clear that a certain someone had not shut it properly when nature had played up outside. So you had your tasks being planned out for you; with a grin, you nodded at the prospect. Nothing like good old maintenance of a castle in the sky to do the trick of dissociating you from your own life and responsibilities. All you needed was the right tools, perhaps some wood, and some paint. And then the fence gate could do with some tender love and care… you listed off parts of the house that you wanted to renovate or check on, imagining something greater and better than yourself. You noted the gentle breeze outside, and even though a greyness prevailed, it was far more promising for a brighter day than the performance the clouds had put on yesternight; maybe this autumn would not be too rough, and would show you its beautiful colours.
You did not see the mysterious guest until it was approximately dinner time. The pie was being kept safe and warm in the oven, and you were idly leafing through an ancient magazine - the remnants of days that you had spent at the cottage back when Old Man was still around. Another thing frozen in time, to be forever beautiful until you were to forget it. The shadowy presence commanded your attention almost immediately, and you lifted your head only to peer into a solemn darkness in the shape of a scowl, etched out on exhausted elegance. The man sighed before crossing his arms, and leaned against one of the few segments of the wall that was not bowing under the weight of framed memories, pins and nails.
Just what was this person thinking? As the clock marked your shared awkwardness with every tick, you grew more self-conscious. Was there something so repulsive about your presence, that the guest, or rather… the present resident, could not bear to function without hostility? Letting the pages fall onto one another, forming a yellowed stack, you rose from your position, having been hunched over the combined kitchen and dinner table.
“Some pie?”
The words landed somewhere between your two forms, unusually shy, a request so timid and tentative that it might as well have been the wind outside. One tick of the clock, another, and another. It was easy to wonder if you appeared untrustworthy. It must be the way in which your brows were positioned, or how the corners of your mouth naturally curled ever so slightly downwards if you were not paying attention. Or maybe-
“Sure. Thanks.”
That same tone. Words, curt, unforgiving, but a step towards proper introduction. Who knew such coldness could evoke a wave of joy in anyone? As though on command, you hurried to the kitchen, a childish excitement overtaking you as you imagined the reaction he might have to your baking. It was one of the few things that was your safe haven - although you did not indulge in the activity too often, you had experienced the euphoria that came with it enough times to elevate it above the usual hobby. He had to enjoy the apple pie, surely.
As you grabbed the towel to use as makeshift heat protection, and prepared a mat onto which to set down the perfectly warm pie, you noticed the dark haired man match your movements. Narrowly missing your elbow, he navigated the space with calculated reach, and produced cutlery, plates, and a couple of mugs. Without any consultation, his selection of items was soon on the table, and next, the kettle was obediently bubbling up with excitement for another steaming cup of tea. You raised your eyebrows and huffed, balancing the pie in your hands as you walked around the counters and gently set it down. With a nod you confirmed your own satisfaction and gestured to your partner in table-setting to take a seat. He refused, instead remaining standing stock still by the lonely piece of furniture, pupils gliding along wherever you went.
Those deep eyes, a blended mahogany and sienna, depending on how downcast the lashes appeared to be, remained trained either on you, or were burning holes in the tablecloth as you picked at your respective slices. The wisps of flavour and freshness escaped the filling, an unfathomably lush aroma clinging desperately to the air in the search of a satiated appreciator. But to no avail. No lips uttered a single word of praise, nor did you dare ask for it. It was a habit that you had been forced to break away from come adulthood, not that it had ever given you much satisfaction before the fact. You tried to convince yourself that the culinary feat was as delicious as Old Man had told you it had been, but in the gloom of your company and circumstance, it tasted bland, colourless, miserable. As though you were eating your own forlornness. You rested your fork on the edge of the plate, no longer having the courage to take another bite.
Just when you were about to give into your impulses and storm out, only pausing to consider if you should permanently borrow the rain coat that was hanging by the front door, the man quietly raised a piece of the dessert to his mouth, not minding your not quite discreet gawking. Savouring every bit of texture, the harmony of ingredients that collaborated to produce the bucolic ideal in gastronomic form, he revelled in the taste of home. You noted the subtle changes in his appearance as he roughly sliced away another bitesize piece with his fork, then another, features relaxing into the experience as though finally after many days if not weeks he saw the sun. You melted into a close-mouthed smile, turning away to let your gaze aimlessly wander across the living room.
“It’s good.”
“Thank you.”
There it was. Your first exchange. The beginning of something. Or the end. Perhaps both. When you turned back, no longer did his face appear as dangerous, instead sustaining an almost amiable curiosity.
“Why aren’t you eating?” his question held genuine concern as he paused, darting down to your hands and back upwards.
“I- oh, sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” settling in what you assumed to be the safest option, your trained clinical professionalism you responded and started to hack away at the pie before you. Your choice of words provoked a chuckle - an unexpected sound that echoed in your ears for a little longer than you would have liked.
“Not at all… I think the two of us are even,” ever so enigmatic, your interlocutor responded. You let a slice of apple melt on your tongue, fructose and syrup clouding your nerves over choosing the right way to respond.
“...In?”
“Two people caught adrift in the middle of a storm, unsure of whether to keep holding on, or to let go. Are we not alike?”
Peculiar expression, unsettling, piercing through you and laying you bear until the pie left a bitter aftertaste. But of course, you could not do anything except pass it off as nothing. It was only natural for your self-acknowledged and accepted self-denial. Moreover, how could you two be similar? Obviously from different places, with different visions, the only thing that brought you together was this little cottage by the sea. At the same time, the words planted a seed of curiosity in your mind. Old Man liked to say there existed no coincidences, only well-hidden strings of fate and twists of certainty. You peered at the man again, gaze inadvertently settling on the freckle that was positioned almost perfectly in the middle of his collarbone - even what some of your clients considered to be an imperfection contained balance and elegance. Like hell would anyone ever be able to replicate that. Out of habit, you measured angles, sized up the man sitting opposite- at least you were not giving him the doctor smile yet - staying at the cottage was already doing you some good.
“So…” you began, but the words died away faster than flowers in early spring before you could deliver them, joining the disappearing wisps of heat from the pie.
“What brings me here? I assume that is the question,” so the delivery was successful. You nodded, attempting to ignore the hint of smugness tugging at the stranger’s lips, “I needed a break. So… I looked for a place. Remembered some relatives, then… ended up here. Yourself?”
“Oh,” you revealed your surprise, the phrases playing back in your head. ‘Relatives’... so Old Man did have someone inherit the property after all?
“Oh?”
“Sorry. You just said, ‘relatives’?”
“Well, yes,” he set his cutlery aside, gracefully picking up the cup of tea to take a sip before continuing, “this cottage is under the name of one of my cousins, however, as you can see… they have no use for it. Hence why I was told I can stay here for as long as I like.”
“Luxurious.”
“Hardly.”
“Limitless time off? A rarity in this day and age,” you sighed, giving a bittersweet smile.
“Everything is measured by time, be it days or bills. Runs out eventually.”
“That-” you paused, “is true,” it was difficult to admit that the smile you received from your fellow dessert buddy was charming, but there was simply no other way to describe it. Except perhaps ‘dazzling’ would do, but you did not wish to get ahead of yourself and swoon over a man whose name you did not even know.
“So, dare I ask the same elaboration? What brings you to the edge of the world?”
The clock ticked loudly in your ears, and you swore you could sense the draft creeping across the floorboards and over your feet. The moment was surreal, and not in a million years you would think you would find yourself in a situation such as this. At least not when considering the gruelling cycle you had subscribed to since you were young enough to give up your dreams in favour of others’. You were here because you were re-tracing your steps back to a time when you still had air in your lungs and a fighting spirit that had not been charred by a bleak reality and troubling conventions that society hammered down on everyone without exception. In some sense, for a little while, you did not wish to be yourself, but a version that you kept hidden away.
“I suppose I needed a break too, so I came back to the one place that I know as a paradise.”
“Intriguing. Did you know great uncle Yang?” he followed, tilting his head just a little.
“Yeah. Quite well, actually,” you were curt. Unwilling to share too much, but the man pressed on.
“How?”
“Came ‘round quite often,” you poked at the remnants of your pie slice.
“I wish I could have,” caught off-guard, you lifted your head, perplexed, “I have only heard about how amazing of a man he was. Distance proved to be unconquerable for me, and excuses far too strong to rebuke. Am I correct in assuming that you were closer?”
“Closer… I guess. I… well. I’m from this area. Grandpa, he- him and Old Man Yang were friends so…”
“Is your grandfather from the village-”
“He was… he had resided in a neighbouring house before it got torn down.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry for bringing the mood down.”
“The mood is how it is - like the weather, sometimes you need a little rain to appreciate the sunshine.”
“A poet, aren’t you?” you half-joked, trying to turn the situation around. The memories were flooding back at a fast pace, and you were struggling to keep up with them. The guest, however, was instead taken aback, as though your jesting was an accidental truth. You raised an eyebrow.
“How did you… do you know me?”
“I feel like we have been apologising back and forth but, really sorry am I supposed to-”
“Oh no! Not at all! It is just that you are right, I am a poet. Job-wise, I mean,” taking notice of the way in which he started to attack the edge of his shirt sleeve.
“It’s cool.”
“Hm?”
“Your job.”
“Ah, it’s just throwing words on a page and hoping they make sense-”
“If that’s what it is then you’re gifted. Hoping is already an art. Hardly anyone does that anymore,” yourself included. Finally, you were more at ease; whether it was with yourself or with the situation at hand, you could not be bothered to decide.
“Thank you… are you in the arts?”
“Maybe some people would consider what I do a sort of art, but at the end of the day it’s far, far from it. Surgeon. Cosmetic.”
“So the science side of beauty?”
“Science and human opinion collided. Thankfully, there’s plenty of nature here for me to rest my eyes,” you gestured around you, suggesting the quietude of the cottage, and absence of any community in the immediate vicinity. The man nodded in understanding, choosing not to comment further.
“I… I do not think I have introduced myself yet. Park Seonghwa. Though, Seonghwa is absolutely fine seeing as we are friends by circumstance.
“Well, fantastic to meet you, Seonghwa. L/N Y/N. I hope we have great times ahead of us.”
“This time is all ours.”
⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆
As Seonghwa watched you redo the fence gate, he could not help but wonder if you really were a surgeon or not. Perhaps he was being a little prejudiced, but the image he had held in his mind of doctors and nurses was vastly different to how you carried yourself. Starting from how lacking in enthusiasm your descriptions of what you did were - without an ounce of pride, you simply listed off a couple of facts about your workplace like address, services and your responsibilities, and then returned to pondering housework and searching for tools. Seonghwa had assumed that any cosmetic surgeon working in a private clinic that was located in one of the most coveted and famous neighbourhoods of the capital would have a lot more of a well-meaning snootiness, or at the very least an eagerness to share their experiences. After all, the years of study and training had to be a mark of lifelong dedication, no?
You were anything but delicate with your hands as they aligned wood against wood. However, these same hands were steady, each movement calculated, deliberate, precise. There was not a single bit of power wasted in how you realigned the gate to not sink at the hinges. Tools arranged on a miniature mat did remind Seonghwa of what he had seen in medical dramas - neat operating chambers, every piece of equipment counted and arranged in a very specific order. So far, your actions and habits had been the most telling, making him choose to believe you. It was highly probable that you were exactly like him, hiding from yourself, from your immediate responsibilities - the weight on your shoulders having gotten increasingly overwhelming. It was not as if he had been fully open, heart on sleeve, with you and you were not returning the honesty; both of you had chosen to remain observers, walking in a circle as though there was an unspoken showdown, suspense in which both of you were waiting for something to go wrong. He did not wish to reveal his weaknesses, and neither did you.
In no time at all, you were done with the gate, marking the success by standing up straight and wiping your hands with a towel you nicked from one of the closets that Seonghwa had never yet dared to open. Catching his eye, you smiled and gave a cheerful thumbs up, one which he instinctively returned from his viewing spot by the front door. You picked up the equipment, roughly shoved it into a bag, and upon a quick adjustment of your jeans swiftly made your way back into the house. As you were kicking off your shoes, using your feet to position them in a reasonable spot that was out of the direct way into the house, Seonghwa spotted a little stain on your sweater. It could have been easily avoided with a rolling of the sleeves, however given your determination, it felt intentional. He bit his lower lip, musing the meaning behind your numerous deliberate actions over the last few days.
It was easy enough to notice that out of the two of you, Seonghwa was far more neat and pedantic about maintaining said ‘clean’ environment, while you were all for a freer living situation, not bothering to readjust the bathroom towels, or straighten the chair after pushing it back. Without a shadow of a doubt, you were very much in control of what you were doing - it was obvious. Sometimes, the young poet was sure that you were reminding yourself to not be organised, and only at critical times, such as the maintenance works on the gate, did training and composure characteristic of a highly skilled medical professional shine through. Without any explicit mission or goal, you appeared to be running from order, an act previously unimaginable to Seonghwa, but one he could understand, having been doing what was essentially the opposite. He resisted further moving your shoes when you walked into the living room, and bit back a comment about how you set the tools off to the side on the floor, instead continuing to watch you float to the kitchen to wash your hands. You were refreshed, a little sun in the departure of the cold season, your pink cheeks and grin that was threatening to take over all of your features returning a bashful youthfulness to you - something that he could not spot in the slightest upon first meeting. He did not know you yet, but he could sense that this was much more like the real you than the exhausted shell of a human who was suspicious of everything and everyone.
Seonghwa ran a hand through his hair before crossing his arms and leaning against the arc that separated the kitchen and living room, studying your approach to the window that he had combatted some days ago. You were in your element, fluid, determined. As much as you probably would have hated to hear him say, you were very much a surgeon before an operation, plan in the eyes and stable hands raised in front of you as you assessed your metaphorical patient. Was this a cosmetic procedure? Or a lot more invasive? Terminology he had picked up from perusals of the news and media plagued Seonghwa’s mind as he watched you carefully unlock the window, click your tongue and get to picking at the rotten frame, a replacement sitting patiently under your feet. How and where from - you were not too inclined to reveal all secrets of the cottage, but he could gather that there was some underlying rhythm or internal network of miscellaneous tools and ‘thingamajigs’ that all harmonised to create the cosy domestic paradise he had come to enjoy in his undetermined stay.
It was enthralling how, out of the two of you, you seemed to be more in harmony with the place. Well, perhaps not so strange, considering you were the one who had practically grown up in these walls. And much like Seonghwa could only guess about the inner workings of the house, the same came to you. Without any particular desire to be welcoming or amiable, you were focused on tending to any impending ruin rather than entertaining a stranger. This, however, made the poet all the more intrigued. You had to be running from something, maybe something similar to his own demons. Maybe something much darker. The nature of your work was a double-edged sword, after all. What were you seeing, or decisively ignoring by making this grand escape to the end of the world?
“Right, this should last a while. Seems the winter was pretty harsh this year, so I’ll have to check the rest of the windows too. You know what, maybe the attic as well,” you explained as you stood up straight, wiping your hands with the cloth you had retrieved from the toolkit.
“There is an attic?”
“Uh, yeah. You can get to it from my room.”
“You mean the guest room that you raided?”
“Hardly a guest room when there are no guests here, don’t you think?” you raised an eyebrow, sauntering past him, clearly searching for a way to set your words in stone with a pointed physical gesture.
“Mm, you’re right,” the last thing Seonghwa wanted was trouble on an already stormy horizon.
“Ah… Seonghwa?” you tentatively uttered his name, as if still testing how it sounded.
“That’s right.”
“What were you planning on doing?”
“Huh?”
“Right now.”
“...Probably returning to the office-”
“-ah, so you are going to hole yourself up. Got you,” without giving as much as a second to process or retaliate, you continued, “could you figure out food? If you don’t mind, that is. When I was getting the kit I saw something I wanted to check out. Shouldn’t be long, though.”
“I’ll see what I can put together.”
For what had to be the first time, Seonghwa noted the hint of a genuine smile ghosting over your lips. As you responded with a quick ‘thank you’ and left the cottage once more, already on another mission, he could not help but pause and tilt his head in confusion.
“Well wasn’t that awfully domestic…” The terrifying part was that he was not entirely opposed to the gesture.
Newfound vigour spread over his body and ignited a gentle flame in his heart. With purpose, he moved across from the living room back to the kitchen, beginning his search and preparations. This could also be a chance to get to know you better - your likes and dislikes, any quirks and habits. In turn, he had an opportunity to tell you wordlessly about himself. Brushing loose hair out of his face as he leaned over to grab a cutting board, he exhaled, amused. Care. Expression of care. Soothing waves of comfort and affection in the form of acting to provide some form of relief for another. This was something he had entirely forgotten in the blur of his day to day, and abandoned the possibility of returning to the notion by making an unplanned escape, only to find the lost memory right here, in this cottage. Doing, without wanting something in return except harmless conversation.
Time went by swiftly when it passed with purpose. Mind left unoccupied by hauntings of rhyme and rhythm thanks to a pleasant sense of urgency, Seonghwa could concentrate on making something out of whatever he had found in the cupboards and fridge. Back in the city, particularly towards the last few months before his sudden departure, he rarely cooked, be it due to lack of time or of energy. Instead he relied on restaurants where he had to survive loud company, or takeaway orders which, eventually, had all come to taste the same. Solitude had woken him up, and your appearance was another jolt to the system. Curious, how the mind worked.
The afternoon crawled towards the evening with certainty, and as the horizon turned to a murky grey with the hints of sunset, you returned, tired, but triumphant. Quietly, as though you were old friends who had exhausted all conversation, you made final preparations and dined. The occasional compliment escaped you, much to Seonghwa’s joy, but other than that, he was left to spin stories about you and leave it all up to overly elaborate guesswork. Asking about the shed did not do much, either. Brushing everything off as though the fixes had been but a mere ‘walk in the park’ was your well-measured defence. They could be, compared to whatever you did back in the city. Eventually, Seonghwa mustered the courage to attempt to satiate his curiosity, and left a question hanging in the air.
“Could you… tell me more about yourself?”
“That’s quite broad. What do you want to know?”
“Mm… cutting straight to the chase, huh.”
“I’m not one to enjoy wasting time,” you emphasised, setting down your fork on a cleared plate and leaning back in your chair, clearly in anticipation of an unpleasant interrogation. Seonghwa had to tread with care, but could not help the stirring of his inquisitive nature.
“Right, I figured. Barely arrived and the cottage is already pristine,”
“Hardly. Much work still left to do.”
“Well, give yourself at least some credit-”
“-So, the question?” you interrupted, putting your elbows on the table and tilting your head. No optimism or kindness in your eyes as you regarded Seonghwa. Just what were you thinking he was going to say?
“Ah, yes. Uh… how do I say this… considering we are both in, hm-”
“In the middle of nowhere, you can say that. I won’t take it personally,” you nodded urging him to get to the point.
“Thanks. So, since we are here, I have been thinking if our reasons for being here are in any way similar. Or, if not, just how different,” when you did not respond, or even acknowledge his thoughts, he persisted, “that’s about it… I mean, if you want to talk about it, that is.”
“Not really-”
“Oh! Okay, I- sorry,”
“No, you’re fine. Just because I don’t really want to doesn’t mean I won’t. It’s all part of getting to know a person, isn’t it?” turning to the side, you stared at the freshly redone window. It was holding up well. Beautifully, even. Seonghwa hated to keep making the comparisons, but he could not rid himself of the image of how you could be like professionally. Perhaps this was because this was the only concrete thing he had found out about you, but you were, in his eyes, every bit a representation of the medical field. Just as he assumed you were going to bestow upon him more discoveries, you shot him a side glance, “besides, it’s not like you are an open book either. For all I know you might be on the run from the police.”
“What?” he exclaimed a little too loudly to consider calm.
“I’m just kidding. Or am I?” you quickly raised your eyebrows, clearly finding amusement in Seonghwa’s discomfort, “Anyways… what brings me here… well, I am on a break. I’d like to think it is a well-deserved one.”
“Annual leave?”
“I guess, though, in medicine… is there ever such a thing? We’re not exactly corporate are we.”
Seonghwa finished the last of his meal and took a quick sip of his tea. While you were not looking directly at him, he could feel your scrutiny nonetheless. Suddenly, he felt the need to redo his hair, check his face in the mirror, adjust his clothes - anything to feel more presentable, even though it would not make much of a difference. Cold, but not hostile. Thinking back to how he had greeted you, he cringed. Was this the impression he had inadvertently given? Maybe. Very likely, actually, considering that for the first while he wanted nothing to do with another individual in the house. And now what was he expecting, an immediate shift into being best friends or at least allies? Biting the inside of his cheek, he mumbled:
“Might be foolish on my part, but I suppose I thought clinics would work differently.”
“Oh they do, that’s correct. But since money has to be made, we have to do a bit more negotiation to have a nice, unbroken holiday.”
“Two weeks?”
“See, that’s what employers want. More like four to six. Paid. I did my time in that place and I would say me being away would benefit all of society.”
“You’re making it sound like torture,” with a bitter laugh, you accepted his joke.
“How much would you like me to tell you about what I do? Until you agree?” your tone was flat, unnerving.
The wind was, once again, picking up outside, and whatever patchy thin wisps of cloud had been hovering around the area already disappeared, to be replaced by thick storm bringers, looming, menacing. An all-consuming darkness was rolling across the horizon and right towards the cottage, and Seonghwa could only hope that you really did know what you were doing when it came to mending. Out of habit, he adjusted the shorter strands that fell over his face, and took another sneaky glance at your features. Drumming out some unknown rhythm on the table, your fingers danced across the tablecloth. You were daring him to agree. And who would he be if he did not accept the challenge? Most certainly not an artist.
“I… I suppose you can tell me anything.”
“Heart to heart with a stranger?”
“Sure. If you are okay with that.”
“Then tell me this, Seonghwa,” you turned towards him again, only this time, you did look angered, “are you here because you are an eccentric, or because celebrity life got too much?”
“So you do know me,”
“While I was outside I remembered seeing your face on top searches or something. You sure know how to build up a following.”
“I call that a fluke.”
“Collaborating with a famous singer to write songs for their album is a fluke?”
“We have a mutual friend. Mutual friend reached out to me, said ‘hey you write poetry, how about you help out’ and so I did- hey, wait, why am I defending something normal-”
“I don’t know, but something is making you antsy, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, it’s probably the fact that you are attacking me out of the blue.”
“I am just asking a question.”
“Sounds like you are judging me,”
“Aren’t you judging me?”
“Aren’t we both judging each other?”
“True.”
With a huff, you crossed your arms and looked at your empty plate. Seonghwa followed suit, agitated. Neither of you had particularly good points, but nonetheless managed to bring to light issues that you and him were denying. Without a single word, both Seonghwa and yourself were going through the skeletons that were in the closets of your minds. He cleared his throat.
“It’s the latter. You hit the nail on the head.”
“I see.”
“People might pretend to know one thing or another about lyrics, but no one ever cares to read past that. I’ve had maybe one, two people ask me about my poetry, and none about my post graduate work.”
“Post graduate?”
“Yes.”
“Linguistics? Literature?”
“Something like that.”
A pause. The first few rain droplets hit the roof of the cottage and splattered against the windows facing the shore. It had to be another downpour coming. The clock continued its dedicated beat, and you were an immovable statue, as if you were storing away all he had told you about himself. Though he had not offered a resume to you, of course he wouldn’t, it was probably easy enough for you to put one experience with another, and paint his whole life.
“A scholar,” Seonghwa sharply exhaled, wondering how you had come to this conclusion.
“Trying to be. Probably more accurate to say that I am a poetry nerd who wants to become an academically accredited poetry nerd.”
“Hey, you’re passionate. That’s commendable,” your eyes softened, reminding Seonghwa of how people regarded something fragile. All because of hope? The same hope and inspiration which he had lost and was trying to discover again?
“I should be saying that to you. I mean medical school, and then launching into active practice right after is no easy feat.”
“That… is true.”
“But something’s off?”
“Bingo.”
“And you are running from it.”
“Hm… probably. Actually, you know what let’s call things like they are. That’s right.”
“And this thing is…?” he trailed off, encouraging you. You stared at the view outside the window, shapes now barely distinguishable as the droplets turned into bucketfuls and the streaks across the glass transformed into an unbroken blur. As your gaze settled back on the man sitting across from you, he saw a resemblance between the weather and your expression, and could not look away out of fear that he could miss the ever-changing emotions, musings, revelations that etched themselves on your face, only to disappear in a split second.
“You know…answer me this. I think you are the perfect person to ask.”
“Ask away.”
“What is ‘beauty’?”
“Beauty.”
“Yes. Beauty. What is it?”
“To me, or-”
“Whatever way you want to answer. What is it?”
“A feeling.”
You tilted your head and squinted in response to him. Truth be told, Seonghwa surprised even himself by the speed of his outburst. Feeling. He could not define beauty, and he did not believe that he was in a position to ever do so, but based on the callings of his heart, based on the changes of nature, of how words flowed from pen to paper or how they felt on the tongue and on the lips, he could sense beauty, and he was sure of it.
“Interesting. An artistic answer, I’ll give you that.”
“Were you looking for something else?”
“Something more clinical, potentially. But I like how you put it better. It’s more alive.”
“Are you running from beauty?”
“More like, I don’t know what it is anymore. And so my feet led me to the place where I think it existed. Or as you say, the feeling existed.”
“But… beauty is everywhere, no?” He knew he was being hypocritical, having cursed his own environment - both animate and inanimate, time and time again, but the mantra of any dreamer was the only thing that crossed his mind in this moment.
“Not in a cosmetic surgeon’s office, it’s not. Everyone either walks in there thinking it doesn’t exist, or walks out thinking that way. Aesthetic beauty, visual beauty is such a lie that I sometimes wonder if I see at all. Don’t get me wrong, I love nothing more than to make someone feel like they really are in their own skin, and countless times I have seen people gaining their happiness and their whole lives back after a visit to our clinic... but... beauty. Beauty itself is so, so strange.”
Your voice wavered. Any previously existing hard exterior was but an illusion, and Seonghwa could see the faint glow of a young spirit who wanted to do better for the world, but was beaten down, deciding that it had enough for a long time. In the effort to save it, you came here. To find your so-called muse, your safe space.
“I want to hear more… about this. If you don’t mind.”
“About people putting themselves down?” you sighed, ready to stand up and take your leave.
“No, no! Goodness, no. More about beauty. And what you think of it. And why do you think you ‘lost’ it, in a sense?”
“I’m starting to think we really are on the same boat in the same storm…” you mumbled, glancing at the time, and then rocking in the chair to finally lift yourself up, “... then I say we need more tea.”
“Consider it done.”
Some shuffling, dishwashing, and side glances later, both of you were settled on the edges of the sofa, preferring to find a reason to not stare at one another rather than adopt a position akin to that at a therapist’s office. Neither of you wanted to pretend you held answers to the mind’s mysteries, and neither of you wanted to come off as some complex character. Instead, you slowly but surely began to lay all your cards down on the table as the barley tea cooled in your cups. Seonghwa silently nodded as you elaborated on your frustration with the perfectly in line plates, the crisp and straightened towels, and the spotless counters. Unsettling, inexplicable, but the sensations you experienced when you stared at the lack of chaos were more than real.
“It’s the uniformity that puts me off.”
“So… things being in order, organised, in their places… annoys you?”
“Well… I cannot say it annoys me, because it doesn’t… this goes away after a while. But for the first little bit of time I will probably freak out whenever I see things that look a little too clean.”
“Got it. I shouldn’t clean up messes. See? You have something you find beautiful,” Seonghwa pointed out, a soft smile gracing his lips. As the conversation took on a more abstract, philosophical tone and your dispositions ceased to be so formal, he felt himself relaxing more and more by the second, and decisively taking the lead in conversation.
“Hm. A little chaos couldn’t hurt anyone. But I am sorry though, it must have been unnerving, considering that you are doing the opposite,” you responded, a genuinely apologetic look on your face. So you did notice. You were quick. Or simply very observant. Seonghwa shook his head to try and dismiss the little positive attention, but to no avail, “no really, it is nice to see you feeling at home here. I mean this.”
“This really is your place, isn’t it?” he narrowed his eyes, appearing rather feline as he tilted his head, hair flattening on the back of the sofa.
“It holds a lot of memories.”
“Tell me, did you come here to look for memories, or to change your present?”
“A bit of both. So, like I mentioned. Beauty. It’s sort of been a sore topic for me since I was a kid. Be it to fit a standard visually, or academically, or whatever else. Success was beauty, beauty was success. But there comes a time where, when you hear about beauty a few too many times, it starts to lose meaning,” you stopped for a moment to gather your thoughts and listen to the howling of the wind outside. With a click of the tongue, you continued, “You know how when you repeat a word again and again, it starts to sound and feel weird?”
“Yes.”
“Same with anything. If there is no variation, if there is no real value behind a given repetition, beauty is just some random ‘thing’ that cannot be achieved.”
“Value behind repetition?”
“Yeah. We breathe right?”
“Right.”
“Heart beats, right?”
“Right…” Seonghwa momentarily shut his eyes, focusing on the sensations you were describing, feeling a little more alive.
“Those are all valuable repetitions. And even then, we feel them so differently. But… what is something ‘beautiful’? It could be like you said, a sense. But saying ‘beauty’ this, or ‘beauty’ that… the concept ends up being void of meaning to me.”
“Hm… could it be that… in that context - the context of your job, the context of your day to day, how beauty is presented to you... is something you disagree with?”
“Ah! That, yes, exactly-” setting your cup down on the coffee table, you clapped your hands, happy with the encapsulation.
It felt easier than it should have been to establish something artists chase after and die for. A diagnosis uttered by a ruthless analyst marking the withering of beauty in another’s life. With the presence of a dulled, uninspired eye came the ability to see past mere feeling, and evaluate the essence of what had been plaguing you, and apparently, Seonghwa as well. He was in muted shock, both delighted and horrified by the conclusion. Loss of beauty because of the world in which he lived - how could a poet survive, if not by translating their works to terror? In the blink of an eye, the discourse was abandoned, and Seonghwa found himself floating in his own mind, the dark ocean waves crawling through his ear canals - a deafening roar marking the coming of his nightmares. Ever since he had become interested in poetry, he was fond of what he could experience with his five senses, and then added a sprinkle of inferences with a mystical sixth. Flowing from line to line he felt, and admired what surrounded him in syllables until the world began to darken, and his wrist and brain transformed to lead. In the absence of what he thought was beautiful, was he truly surrounded by something utterly vile? If extrapolating from your conclusions, it could very well be the case.
“...-hwa, Seonghwa-” startled, his eyes darted side to side and then settled on you. He did not realise he was clenching his cup with a white-fisted rage and, embarrassed, set it down beside yours on the table, “what had you so pensive?”
Your worry was charming, the young poet could not deny. How your lips, slightly parted, were waiting on what to say. How even though you were clearly fighting your own battles, you immediately pushed them away. No wonder you were tired. And no wonder Seonghwa felt a resemblance to you. Feeling. And feeling too much. Even when you were clearly burned out from doing so, you were ready to do it again, and again, until you were nothing but a trembling stalk of grass on the cliffside, swaying with current affairs and mundane happenings everyone had to abide by. Going with the flow was something neither of you could settle for, and that was what ended up bringing you together.
“When we think beauty is gone, does it mean there is not even a likeness to it, or does it mean we are not looking hard enough?”
“Mm… good question,” you traced abstract shapes on the pillow you took into your lap, maybe for comfort, maybe to have at least an illusion of a barrier between you and him. Seonghwa kept quiet, picking up the tea and masking his concern, “Since we both ran as soon as we’ve had enough, I think the former. An optimist would probably say the latter but based on what I have seen… I find it damn hard to believe in a happily ever after.”
“Did something happen?”
“Hm… did it?” you echoed, gaze fixed on the floorboards.
“Cleary. I am all ears.”
“You are doing too much.”
“This is the least I can do,” judging by the way you regarded him, being heard was a rare occasion for you, and sent a strange ache into Seonghwa’s heart. How many of your stories were left untold?
“Where do I even start… let’s just say this holiday was not fully on my own volition.”
“That rebellious, huh?”
“That’s what happens when you convince someone to leave the clinic, I fear.”
“You told someone to leave?” perplexed and fascinated, Seonghwa turned to fully face you.
“I mean… when you have a sixteen year old girl sitting there in front of you telling you she has one thing after another to fix and got a giftcard for eyelid surgery from her family… that’s the best option, in my opinion.”
“W-what?!”
“Happens more often than you’d think,” you dismissed his shock with a melancholic coldness, “we try our best to find compromises, best plans, bring happiness into a patient’s life, but when you can clearly see they are being pressured or are at risk of a plethora of other things both physical and mental… I draw the line.”
“You just have your morals set, and want what you feel is best.”
“And that is bad for business. Maybe I’m missing the plot. Maybe I should actually let people carve themselves up however they wish.”
Resigned, you stood up and walked towards the window, each step heavier than the previous one. Seonghwa observed your motions, seeing in you a tired sun that could barely lug itself across the heavens. Wrapped up in smoky grey, your shine slumbered, and you regarded the dull landscape with a matching passivity. For all you cared, at least in this moment in time, the stormy weather could last an eternity. An angered muse on the verge of giving up; an ancient legend on the verge of extinction; a sacrifice in the midst of the bloodbath that was the strive for perfection. A lost voice. You were not the first, and most certainly not the last to suffer this cruel fate and its many variations. In fact, if Seonghwa were to look in the mirror, he knew he would discover in his inky pupils the same resolution. If he were to look into a million faces, they too, would bear the traces of antithesis to childhood dreams. Disillusionment - the bane of existence, and the band to unite it.
He wished he could memorise this scene with every intricate detail remaining intact. The way the light flickered across your face as raindrops strengthened their barrage was downright haunting, and reminiscent of a television’s unsettling static that could make a room glow white. You delicately hugged yourself, lost in thought. Voice barely above a whisper escaped you, a string of apologies as you appeared to allow yourself to feel regret over being your true self around someone who was barely an acquaintance.
“I’m sorry… I… I talked a lot didn’t I? Complete nonsense too. I mean, what the hell is the point of taking something untouchable apart, as if we could ever understand it?” you bit your lower lip. Seonghwa imagined the sea foam decorating the shore, the ebb and flow of the erratic waves while he studied the patterns in your hair. The odd wave, the styling of stubborn locks all amounting to acceptance of its unruliness. Was that not beautiful?
A tender blossom in the earliest spring, wavering and inching its way upwards, filled with hope. A budding, pale green leaf, only just unfurling, tentatively feeling the first breeze, trembling with anxious delight. Seonghwa remained still as he let the progression of scenes dash past him while he gazed at you. Shyly smiling to himself, he greeted his own sleepy heart. It stirred, intrigued by the unpredictable series of events and serendipitous meeting, recalling words that had turned foreign to him not too long ago. While there were millions of characters, thousands of lines and an infinite number of ideas, the root remained a timid secret, one Seonghwa did not wish to explore quite yet. In the absence of beauty, or the stalling of its perception, remembering beauty was more than enough.
“You’re doing well.”
“Hm? You mean, uh, the window?” confused, you pointed at the frame, earning a chuckle from the wistful poet.
“That too, of course, but I meant in general. You are doing well,” before you could speak, he interrupted your doubt, “you are not failing, you are planning ahead. There is only so much we can do, and sometimes, pausing is the only right decision.”
Seonghwa hoped that by saying this out loud, to you, he could take his own advice. But it was never easy to listen to oneself, when he knew of all the noise that stuck to his brain, knew of the taunts and the mazes. It was more simple to wish that the verbal sword could cut through someone else’s worries, and in turn, shine a light on his own and let them evaporate. You grinned; you could have guessed that this was one of his mantras that he tried to learn how to believe in, or there was a sliver of a chance that you agreed. It was beautiful to wait.
구름을 은빛으로 물들이는 눈물 처럼 (like tears that colour the clouds silver)
바다와 하늘을 잇는 수많은 실이 있다 (there are many threads connecting the sea and the sky)
태양이 보이고 당신의 눈에 반사된다 (the sun is visible and reflects in your eyes)
⋆✧. you .✧⋆
An oversharer, a wildfire, taken and enchanted by a glimpse of the silver mystical lining. In every storm there was a fair share of this metaphorical metal - hints of hope that anyone stranded could hold onto. To your dismay and horror, you found solace in a stranger… or could you even call Seonghwa by that title anymore? Having poured more from your life’s cup than you had done at catch ups with your city friends, you were terrified of the amiability you possessed, and the open-armed rush of confidence you had experienced when engaged in deep conversation was quickly replaced by fear. What if you were digging your grave? What if you had signed yourself up for demise? It was so unlike you to share so much… and yet it felt so comfortable. You were alive for once, and the cottage was beginning to warm up to you again, voices of more than one echoing off its walls. But how could you know that Seonghwa had good intentions? You could not remember much of what you had seen online, except some tiny excerpts about the title track on which he had worked, but other than that - nothing. You had over-exaggerated your knowledge of his ways and his work as a silly flex of superiority, but… the more you thought about it, the more guilty you felt. You were a liar. A fiend. Seeking company, but writhing like a snake.
Ever since that first heart to heart, you remained distant, despite Seonghwa’s consistent efforts to get to know you better and better. He was not pushy, kept his jokes lighthearted, but you saw every attempt to learn more about you and your stories as a threat. You were in the same house, but it was as though the walls were closing in just on you. With a violent tug, you forced the towel off the hanger and let it pool on the floor, fleece resembling the perfect sands on faraway islands that you had seen advertised an astonishing number of times, but chose to believe in it being some business-crafted utopia. You could not bear picking the towel up from the ground. No matter how many times you would try to hang it, it would not look conventionally pretty. You tried, you really tried to arrange things how Seonghwa arranged them, be it out of respect or to conform, but your hands would produce something akin to a tremble, and at the last moment, the final product - destruction, was before your eyes. Slowly, you sank to the floor, feeling cold tile. Struggling slightly, you crammed yourself against the wall, and pushed the door a little to leave nothing more than a tiny creak. One last razor cut of light to be a guiding thread back to hollow function.
Leaning against the wall, you found yourself trying to escape your own thoughts, but the more you stared into the darkness, the more futile this race was. Inevitably, you were your own limit. At times, it was a good thing - you could go as far as you could. But other times… it meant falling and falling deep down until you were in the state you were currently in. Hands shaking just enough to send a wave of panic crashing into you, eyelids heavy from questionable and ever-changing sleep. It felt strange, having someone new know of your concerns and information somewhat beyond your day to day. Unlike regular ‘hello’ and ‘how are you’, you had inadvertently let Seonghwa see the root of your worries, and it was astonishingly hard to bear. In the dark looming corners of the bathroom, you could see your reflection. The crumpled towel taunted you, and in a spur of rage, you kicked it, immediately curling back up, arms hugging your legs. What was so hard about sharing your mind? Was it because he looked like he understood? Or was it because you were afraid that he actually did understand, and now you were at his mercy?
Vulnerability - a muse for artists, a disease for those favouring logic and wishing to move through life as an invincible figure. You were in a position where people trusted you, or rather, had to trust you if they wanted a job well done. True, you were not quite senior enough in your career to carry out the more complex procedures, but you had done your fair share of scalpel holding to curse the anxious tremor of your hands at this present moment. The fear was becoming unbearable, and it was all because of some silly conversation about what made things beautiful, and what beauty was. Ridiculous. The words blended with the heavy rainfall outside, and continued to return like the tide, higher and higher each time. It had been quite a number of days since the seemingly simple and friendly talk, and yet it gnawed at you. You wanted out, no, you needed out of this mess. Out of your own head. Old Man would have undoubtedly laughed at you, called you a feral wild and untamed beast, incapable of letting a little sunshine in your life - something of a nickname that you had acquired in the last years of his life, when you were already deep in the river of souls in the capital. But he was not here to reassure you, not here to crack a joke at the right time or to offer you protection. If there was any way you were going to survive your sabbatical, you had to hold tight and keep to yourself for the remainder of the weeks. You were going to pretend you knew his motives, and at any opportunity would tell yourself that you were staring at evil’s beautiful eyes-
Beautiful. No. You shook your head in disapproval. Eyes. Just. Regular. Eyes. In the dim evening lamplight, when you two would silently share the living room, both of you preoccupied with your own version of dawdling, they held little fireflies. Reflections of warm gold and a stunning white on a near onyx sky. Just eyes that you could not read, windows through which you did not want to look in search of a soul. Some part of you hoped that this entrancing vision would remain with you, and you would never have to see him under nauseating fluorescent lights; the scene was a professional instinct, but if there was something which you approached with more aggression than even your own paranoid self-preservation, it was to detach your present, and your continuous. Seonghwa was Seonghwa, and did not need some nobody like you to pretend to know how he should look. You exhaled, a shiver running over your form as the chill from the floor became more noticeable. A poem popped up in your mind, or rather, the few lines that Seonghwa had quoted to you the other night. Something or other about flowers, how they bloomed and wilted. While you could not grasp the exact words, your heart kept the poem safe and whole, with such diligence that it hurt. It was another one of his tries to get you to inch out of your shell. You shut your tired eyes, only to see how the shadows fell across his face as he had turned to you, lips remaining parted when he trailed off, glimmering orbs regarding you so sincerely and gently that you wanted to howl in agony. With a rub of your palm, stopping at your mouth, you wished to wipe the memory physically - your mind was too unwilling to do so. No, Seonghwa had to be some tragic, cruel joke the universe was playing on you. He simultaneously was indescribable and yet so, so simple, but if you were to be tasked to put him into words, you would sooner learn how to fly than to be capable of achieving such a feat. On the tip of your tongue were so many phrases and solutions to mysteries but none clear enough to be whispered into the early dawn. Seonghwa was who he was, and that was what scared you. You could not let him get to you like this.
Reluctantly, only due to the cold starting to become unbearable, you pushed yourself off the floor, and were once again faced with the task of picking up the pitiful puddle of fabric. With an apparent scowl, you bent forward, lifting the item and throwing it over the hook, determining that this just had to do. No one was going to throw a fit over this - and if Seonghwa was, well, you would just be happy enough to have decided to try and maintain distance. The more evidence or actions to support your desires the better. Cautiously you slid out of the bathroom and made your way down the corridor, avoiding creaky floorboards. Seonghwa was probably still asleep, and you were supposed to be. The early dawn was creeping through the lazily drawn curtains, and painting the floor in a hazy blue and grey. Hints of sunshine, tentative, shy, could be spotted on the very edge of the horizon. Maybe, just maybe, the weather would start looking a little more like spring. One step, another, and you were nearly at the dining table, front door ahead of you. Technically, if you so wished, you could spend the day in solitude; a visit to the nearby village was long overdue and it would almost guarantee an entire day outside of the cottage and away from the man who had taken residence in your brain as if out of spite. In addition, you could run some errands, and that definitely needed an early start. Your mind began to craft an itinerary, happy to abandon worries one by one. The market, the bakery, an obligatory visit to the post office to greet Old Man's and grandpa's friend… much to do. So much to do, in fact, that you only narrowly missed a ghostly figure appearing and stopping right in front of you, and had to rely on its sleepy reflexes to prevent you from colliding head on. You yelped as hands grasped your upper arms, and in an effort to escape you stumbled back.
“Hey, careful-”
That honey-sweet, deep voice forced you to glance at the so-called ghost. Perplexed, you saw none other than Seonghwa, who had been on his way out of the cottage office, stopped by the crossing of your somnolent paths. Dressed in a black turtleneck and black slacks, it was evident that he had been awake for at least as long as you, if not more. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you could only stare.
“You… you alright? Sorry if I scared you… it’s just… you know…”
“Oh no, I’m fine just… didn’t think you were awake, is all…” you mumbled, eyes starting to dart in all directions.
“Yeah, I get that. I didn’t sleep too well so I decided to get an early start to the day… same for you?”
“Sort of,” you were anxious under his burning observation. The shapeless, oversized hoodie that hung over your figure was your only salvation. Subconsciously, one of your hands reached for the opposing upper arm, forming something akin to a barrier between you and Seonghwa. Your legs protested, and you remained rooted to the same spot, only capable of a barely audible mutter: “I was thinking of heading out today. To the village. Will be out for a while.”
“Village? I have not been there yet. May I come with you?” eager, Seonghwa asked, smiling softly.
“Then how did you keep everything stocked up?”
“I’m organised. And visited that one super store that is on the way.”
“That’s even farther than the village?”
“Like I said. On the way.”
“Resourceful,” you knew you were stalling giving an answer to his request, but Seonghwa persisted.
“So… may I come with you?”
With no rain or violent dancing of the ocean waves to save the awkward quietude, you were in a situation no different to the one you were in a mere few minutes ago. Bathed in darkness, wisps of thoughts about the young poet permeating through restless meditation. He styled his hair differently today, you noted - most of it was brushed back, with a few elegant strands remaining over his face, approximately reaching the length of his nose. No wonder the media had clinged onto him; Seonghwa had undeniable appeal, and that on top of what was a unique form of artistry in the world of popular and quick entertainment, he was a dream for any agent, should he have found the limelight exciting. But clearly, he did not wish to risk going blind, and here he was, the muse and the poet in one form, trying to find peace.
“If I will be a nuisance, then it is okay I can-”
“Why not?” your swift interjection pushed Seonghwa into a long pause.
“Yeah. Why not, indeed. Thank you. Then, hm… may I quickly grab a couple of things? You were planning on leaving now, right?” You nodded, and watched him rush upstairs, revived.
The response, a little boyish, rough and carefree, brought a hint of a grin to your face. Simple pleasures in life were hard to find, and you had persuaded yourself to not acknowledge them, but you could not deny just how endearing it was to see Seonghwa glowing from the inside because of a couple of words and a trip to do some chores as if it was to be an adventure. You spun on your heels and ambled towards the front door. After throwing the hood over your head, you tugged on a puffer coat which you had rediscovered in one of the wardrobes - it had been a hand-me-down from Old Man when you had none of your clothes which were more suitable for rural life left after a strong push from your parents to forget your days on the shoreline. The coat had been one of the many secrets you shared with Old Man, and had been a small but certain happiness. Smelling like rain storms and sea salt, it was comforting, and still much too big for you. But it felt like home.
“Right, so, what exactly are we doing?” Seonghwa’s voice rang out across the room as he approached, having added a wool trench coat and pale scarf of an indistinguishable colour to his ensemble. You chuckled, stepping into your boots and gesturing for him to do the same.
“I was thinking we could hit the shops. Get some fresh produce if it’s been brought in already. That’s essentially the main goal. Oh, if you have anything digital to do, I know a place.”
“Really?”
“You have your phone in your pocket, right?” you pointed at his right hand which was stuffed into the mass of his coat. Seonghwa nodded.
“A standard representative of our generation, aren’t I?”
“I’d do the same if I had something urgent going on,” a flash of pained regret did not go unnoticed by you. Biting his lower lip, he suppressed whatever association he had made.
“Thank you.”
“Shall we?”
Seonghwa shifted his footing to reach around you, and turned the door handle. The early morning yawned out a pleasant chill. Pale green leaves of the shrubbery surrounding the house trembled with excitement, and the gate stood proud, awaiting its next command. Your hand hovered above the wood for a couple of seconds. You turned your head towards the poet.
“It might take us an hour or more to get there, are you fine with that?”
“More than fine. I guessed it wouldn’t be a five minute convenience store trip.”
“Alright then.”
As you embarked on your trek to the village, you decided that the landscape had finally started to take on more springlike hues. Previously barren trees which were bent by years of gales and hurricanes were now dotted with adorable buds of white, pink and green, while the grass that survived the winter was giving way to thriving youth. The Earth was turning, waking up and stretching in its celestial bed, starting to peek out from under its star-patterned blanket. You tugged on the hood and stuffed your hands into the pockets of Old Man’s coat, content with your split-second plan-making. While it was not ideal to have Seonghwa as your quest buddy, you could not exactly see him with the hoodie blocking out your peripherals. Only the crunching of gravel under a second pair of shoes marked his presence.
The scene was faintly nostalgic, but you could not put a finger on the reason why. As you wordlessly followed the winding road and veered off onto a trail that cut to the village, you simply accepted the comfort. The cherry blossom season must be coming here soon, and then the sun would surely roll out of its bed and the seas would be tranquil. You made a mental note to try to walk past the more residential outskirts to see if the gardens of the brave few still had the fragile flowers - the only marking of this representation of spring in the near vicinity. Gravel gave way to a sparser smattering of pebbles, and soon enough only rocks pressed deep into dirt from years of steps and bicycles were left for you to scrutinise. Occasionally, you caught a glimpse of Seonghwa’s shoes when he took a slightly longer stride - expensive, without a doubt. But even in a landscape that served as the antithesis to cosmopolitan luxury, you had to admit that Seonghwa wore them well. Gingerly, you peeked out from the side of your hood, eyes darting to a random point up ahead as soon as your walking partner’s head began to turn. Your assumption was right - he was every bit the character of a dark and dramatic novel; dressed in all black, halo of pale light gracing his locks. You hated how easy it was to question your morals in his favour, or rather in favour of your wanting to be more carefree and open around him. What other stories would he tell? What soft prose would dance on his lips and tantalise you?
You gasped, hands clenched into fists, pockets tightening as you pressed against the fabric. A surprisingly cold gust of wind hit your face, and you were too slow to react. The hood flew back, allowing your hair to be tousled by the elements. You should stop getting so lost in your thoughts - you reprimanded yourself, and began to reach upwards. Seonghwa slowed down to match your pace, waited, and voicelessly pinched the edge of your hoodie, halting any further movement until you understood his intentions. Too confused by the sudden affection to care, you brushed your fingers through your hair and held it in place, allowing the hood to slide back on without further resistance.
“Thanks,” you huffed, stuck in an automatic bow.
“Don’t worry about it,” Seonghwa continued to walk, unperturbed, “it seems the wind is picking up again.”
“At least it’s not as cold anymore.”
“Good point. Refreshing. Let’s call it that.”
“Mm. Oh, Seonghwa-”
“Yes?” you paused to breathe, much too affected by the response speed Seonghwa had to his name. After telling yourself that this was his usual self rather than particular attention, you resumed.
“I have a beanie. If you want it.”
“Pardon?” you met the young man’s perplexed look, and patted the many pockets of the coat until you found the right one. After unclasping the metal button, you revealed the tip of a wool hat. His grin made the pang of embarrassment worthwhile - dazzling, sunny, so very Seonghwa that your heart hurt a little.
“Wind. Hair. All that. You know. Ahem. You get me,” you stumbled over your words, much to what appeared to be Seonghwa’s delight.
“I do. Thank you. I am okay for now,” he stopped you before you could close the pocket again, “but, if you don’t mind I’ll take the beanie. I have pockets too.”
“It’s supposed to stay in this coat.”
“Why?”
“Tradition.”
“Ah. Understood.”
You regretted your awkward gesture of friendliness, but you had to cancel out his approaches somehow. It would be strange to owe him. Was there such a thing when it came to emotion? Not wanting to dwell on the thought, you made yourself speed up, steps growing heavier against the uneven ground. Seonghwa followed suit, but you could only imagine his face at this moment, probably holding back a laugh, withholding some snarky comment out of sheer pity. That was normally how it was, so when what had to have been at least a couple of minutes passed, you were frustrated. Where was his voice? Could you simply not hear it over the wind? Was he intentionally being quiet?
“Seonghwa?”
“You are speeding along, Y/N, wow-”
“Sorry-”
“I’m just curious,” you slowed back down, allowing Seonghwa to catch up and join you on your side, “why that specific pocket?”
“That’s just how it has been all this time. This coat was passed down to me, and with it came a set of safekeeping and storage rules.”
“Rules?”
“Yep. From what pocket to keep what in, to where to hang it in what season. Couldn’t really do the latter properly but I think the coat held up well enough,” you inspected whatever part of the coat that you could spot from the safety of your hood, and peered to your right when you heard an approving hum.
“Looks like it could survive anything.”
“It probably could, if I’m honest. In my memory alone it survived being thrashed about on a clothing line in what had to have been some crazy strong cyclone and survived being abandoned on the cliffs.”
“How does this even happen?”
“Sometimes I do think Old Man did some things just for laughs, but he always had a fun story to tell and if he had to make some sacrifices for it… maybe it was worth it in the end,” you sighed and finished your philosophising.
“We all set our worths and prices, don’t we?” gradually, your stride turned into an amble, making Seonghwa get ahead. To your surprise, he halted almost immediately, and turned. When he spotted your unease, he furrowed his brows and stepped closer. He was searching for something in your stance, or in your expression - be it a change or a revelation, but clearly whatever you were doing was not enough. In the blink of an eye, he was a lot closer than arm’s reach. Inadvertently, you held your breath.
“What?” the question slipped from you as Seonghwa stretched out his hand, palm upright.
“I think I’ll have the beanie, if you don’t mind.”
“Sounds like you are doing me a favour.”
“I am just appreciating an act of kindness,” he gingerly picked the item from your grasp, “and besides, if you are going to be racing how you are now all the way to the village, my ears might freeze.”
You wanted to wipe the dorky smirk from his face, but even then you appreciated his undeniable charm. The ever-changing palette of expressions on his stunning face fascinated you, reminiscent of the metamorphosis of a flame or silver waters. You would hate to use the exact word which you were running from, so you settled to mutely acknowledge Seonghwa as ‘interesting’. Interesting, and all-consuming. You looked at the horizon, his silhouette still dancing in your vision. It was just because he did not question yet another of the many quirks of Old Man that you still honoured. Had to be. You were simply under the influence of a tiny sliver of positive emotion; nothing to worry about.
Soon enough, you were met with the main road - or what could be called a road in a rural no-name settlement, and the ghost-like buildings that marked remnants of local life. As more and more people left the place in the hopes of a better life in a bigger, more modern city, only memories and the past remained, sentenced to erode into the earth with every new season. You could recognise the buildings, of course. The colours faded, and the structures grew weary with time, but they were still standing, just like you. Waving with a tired, invisible hand. You trudged along, cursing under your breath when you saw Old Man’s friend’s house up for sale. In other words, eventually up for demolition. This village was surviving and existing until the countdown to its erasure would be completed, rather than hoping that one day, something or someone would breathe new life into it. Boarded up windows and dull grey fences; withering gardens and exhausted roofs that damned every new rainfall. There was no spring here, nor was there a winter.
“Pretty quiet…” Seonghwa commented, taking in the sorrowful and glum surroundings. You could not offer any counter-argument.
“Indeed it is… Maybe because it is an off season…” you caught your own words and exhaled, bemused, “but when is there ‘a season’ in this place?”
“May? October?”
“Could be the case. But then people prefer to go to the tourist town further south, don’t they?”
“More space for us,” with a shrug, Seonghwa responded. It looked almost as if he was reading the village’s history through the cracks and crumbling stone. Eyes travelling from side to side and sometimes stopping to scrutinise something of interest that you could never spot, he looked like he was trying to find and remember every detail, akin to a pre-op examination.
“The market is down the street.”
“Got it.”
“And then we can stop by the cafe.”
“Can do.”
“You don’t need to?”
“I could, but I don’t have to.”
“Whatever works for you. But I need a nice hot chocolate and the awareness that the world has not exploded yet.”
“Or maybe it did,” Seonghwa added, making you chuckle.
“Or maybe it did. This place certainly has a surreal other-worldly barrenness to it.”
“How appealing.”
“Home sweet home.”
A home you could barely recognise. The deterioration was abhorrent, and truth be told, when you had been on your way to the cottage and managed to catch a ride with a family, you were surprised they had any business in the village. They must have left already. No one in their right mind could survive more than a few days in a place like this, unless this was the lesser of a wide selection of evils.
Seonghwa remained quiet as you stepped into a tiny two-story building that was called ‘the market’, but was just a reminder of what had been in its place before. The stock was good enough, from fresh produce off by the windows to the refrigerated and frozen goods lined up by the walls, and the cashier who was hunched over a crossword puzzle finally showed that there was some life remaining in the village. You picked up a basket which still possessed the logo of the superstore nearby - a permanent souvenir, and with Seonghwa in toe, browsed the shelves. Occasionally Seonghwa would stop you to point at an item, or you would exchange a couple of words to debate the necessity of one thing or other, but progressed through the maze fast enough and ended up at the ancient table converted into a register.
With a vexed huff, the man behind the desk put down his pencil, and began to hammer out the prices on the old cash machine. The buttons creaked in protest, so worn that you could barely see the numbers on their faces. In one swift motion, you produced a canvas bag from another pocket, and signalled to Seonghwa to start packing while you held it open. You tried to avoid brushing your hands against his, and he politely ignored the awkwardness of your movements. Before you could ask for the total, he was already setting a couple of bills down on the counter, shaking his head at you to not argue. You narrowed your eyes, but continued to watch as the cashier counted the money, slammed another few buttons to unlock the register, and produced some change. The door of the shop shook from the wind outside, but he paid it no mind, only caring for the next word that he had to guess for his puzzle. The two of you swiftly departed, Seonghwa striding ahead to stop in front of you and try taking the bag out of your grasp.
“I could have paid, Seonghwa.”
“I could have, too. And I did. What of it?”
“How much do I owe you?”
“We are living together, aren’t we? Consider this to be my household contribution, and this-” using your moment of disorientation he yanked the handles and tightly grabbed the canvas bag, “is just me being nice.”
“You’re making it sound strange.”
“How?” he was jittery, you could tell. The reason was a mystery, but he was awfully chipper compared to even fifteen minutes ago.
“Tell me, are you nervous?” he licked his lips - a habit you had noticed within the first couple of days, and knitted his brows.
“What… what makes you think so?”
“I think I have seen enough of you to catch the gist of how you’re feeling,” you deadpanned, and turned to continue walking towards the cafe, “this village isn’t haunted if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s been ages and as you can see, I’m still alive and kicking.” The joke was not received too well judging by the forlorn tinge to Seonghwa’s disposition, but he did not put up a front or argue. Out of the blue, you heard him grumbling:
“I’m not scared of ghosts…”
“Sure.”
“Hey!”
“What? I believe you!”
“Okay! Fine! Not ghosts but… something like it,” weighing the phrase, Seonghwa wondered how to continue. When you reached the entrance to the cafe you halted, and stood fully facing your partner in existential misery.
“Which is?”
“...Emails.”
“Can’t blame you. Scary buggers. Right, shall we?” you pointed at the door and tried the handle. It gave in easily and, announced by the sound of wind chimes strung up above the door right by the frame, you entered.
If only there was someone to greet you. You tapped the counter a couple of times and reread the message left on a sheet of paper that had been roughly ripped out of a notebook.
“Stepped out, be back later, for internet leave fee in box. We are not getting any warm drinks today, unfortunately. Owner won’t be back in a while.”
“Didn’t they say they will be back later?”
“The definition of later is warped here. It means they’ll be back later to close up shop.”
“Odd.”
“Not when there are no customers for days on end. I mean, there probably are some, but they are more than likely after the internet and not the coffee.”
You dropped the paper and passed by the dozing barista machine towards the table pressed right against a barren, rusted orange or brown coloured wall - unappealing, but it had been this shade for a s long as your memory would allow you to think back, so at least it had the brand of continuity. The table itself was a little more experimental: instead of a traditional approach with legs, the piece of furniture was a thick converted shelf, positioned high enough to be like a bar. On the far end and somewhat masked by the lack of lighting stood a rickety old monitor from a bygone era, with equally ancient wires protruding out of it and escaping into amateurishly drilled holes in the wall. The keyboard: a black-coloured classic with keys thicker than a finger, was tucked under the monitor, along with a matching mouse. After pulling out the bar stool in front of the makeshift computer station but not sitting down, you lifted a foot to rest on one of the many horizontal metal bars that linked the legs together, and scanned the fees which were written with a shaking hand on a piece of paper, stuck on the wall probably while you were still a kid.
“Huh, the prices are higher than I remember.”
“Inflation,” Seonghwa offered. He had set down the groceries on the shelf-table, and stood beside you to watch the screen come to life after a couple of attempts to click the power button.
“Seems the economy reaches these parts of the country too. Is fifteen minutes going to be okay?”
“More than-” Seonghwa began to reach into his coat again, only to be stopped by you.
“Let me take this at least,” you stuffed a couple of bills into the small box that was right next to the computer and detracted your attention back to the almost-complete loading screen.
Finally, the machine went out of its slumber. You looked for a browser engine, chuckling when you saw an outdated logo marking no change from what had to be the last decade, and proceeded to search for the news. After a couple of minutes of navigating from page to page, you concluded that society had not done anything particularly remarkable, nor atrocious. A reassuring kind of ‘boring’, which was more than you could hope for. You stepped away from the stool, gesturing for Seonghwa to take a seat. He hesitated, unwilling to spare as much as a glance to the email login screen.
“Didn’t you say you-”
“Is it strange to say that I am scared?”
“Of?”
“I’m not even sure, to be honest,” he took off the beanie and ran a hand through his hair. Seonghwa was restless, and while he did defeat himself and sit in the chair, a daze took control of him before he could as much as click.
“Are there some things that you hope not to see?”
“Maybe… or… how do I even explain this?”
“How it is. Saying anything is already a start.”
“So you know how- well, of course you know- I appeared on television, and did some other interviews?”
“Uh-huh, and congratulations, by the way,” your earnest commendation was met with a nervous twitch of the lips - not quite reaching joy, but Seonghwa was nonetheless touched.
“Thank you. So, hah- just, after that there have been numerous emails, phone calls, even physical mail, asking the same things and trying to shove the same answers in my mouth. My agent was thrilled initially since it is publicity, and kept on forwarding one opportunity after another but… at some point it hit me that the press do not need me,” he finished typing in his details, but could not bear to click ‘log in’.
“Do not need you?”
“No. What they need is an image that they crafted based on their perception of me. It is true that a person forms their first impression in half a second or something like that, but when representatives of prestigious outlets do not know a single thing about my poetry which, mind you, is my main job, one does begin losing hope.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want to see the empty flattery and shallowness, right?”
“Sounds about right.”
You pondered his concern. Everyone deserved sincerity, especially when it came to things that quite literally formed a large part of one’s life. It would not be an overstepping of personal rules to empathise, would it? If there was a person in need, it was another’s duty to help them through difficulties. It was the least you could do. At the same time, you felt like you were falling, and fast, into the grasp of confusing emotions, and the more you studied Seonghwa and thought about his beau- -interesting mind, you wanted to delve into it more. You wished to understand his curves and edges, read the miraculous flame which even in times of difficulty was never extinguished in his dark irises. You stared, and Seonghwa did not mind it. In fact, if anything, he was enjoying your nearly overwhelming concentration on him. Compared to the last few days when you would actively isolate yourself, this was the most time you had spent in such proximity, and toeing the line of a heart to heart. You despised the fact that you understood Seonghwa a little too well, and that, beyond the surface, you two were much the same. For some strange reason, it hurt you to see him distraught or inconvenienced. In this place which bore the traces of both your stories, be it personal or through relatives, you wanted to maintain a safe haven, if not for yourself then for him. There were always bound to be disappointments, and when both of you would inevitably have to return to your humdrum routines and unfounded chaos, they would only amplify. So why not try to cultivate a little happiness here, in the middle of nowhere? You bit the inside of your cheek as a disturbing, but astonishingly serene resolution bloomed in your musings. To hell with your rules and boundaries. Either way your heart was going to ache, but at least like this you could make the cause of it be a little more… poetic.
“Let’s sort through your inbox together, and then we can have a nice and quiet rest of the day,” you leaned over, and clicked the mouse. The screen illuminated both your faces. You tried to ignore just how close yours was to Seonghwa’s.
He let you take the lead on scanning through the items, only sometimes providing whatever guidance he could offer. As the number decreased, so did his worry, and soon enough, you were exchanging jokes as you deleted or archived more and more emails. Neither of you commented on how your hand which you had set down on the table for a little more balance was pressed against his own, nor how you were practically shoulder to shoulder. Beyond an initial awareness both of you wanted to remain quiet in an effort to preserve this safe space. No rumination, no questions, nothing. Only what felt right. And it just so happened that in the moment when Seonghwa turned to gaze into your eyes, relieved and cheerful, it felt natural to put his hand over yours. And who were you to go against the universe?
“Thank you, Y/N. This was so silly, I really should be able to handle this but… I dare say you are my saviour.”
“Not at all. I just want to help as best as I can,” you felt him softly squeeze your hand. You couldn’t look away.
“It’s the little things. I am very grateful,” you wished you could say something grand or quote something in response, but you were afraid that a medical encyclopaedia would not fit the mood.
“No phone checking today, I think we’ve done enough.”
“Sure, Hwa.”
It was the little things. How his eyes caught the rays of light that slipped into the cafe. How he expressed himself so wholeheartedly and openly. How he wanted to be himself even when so many people were against him. In him you saw an inspiring strength; the spring after a freezing winter. Just like you had helped him with emails, he was unknowingly helping you clean up your struggles and doubts, prodding at neurons and metaphorical cobwebs until problems did not seem quite as monstrous as before. For the first time in a while, you wanted to be okay.
“Home?” The only word that fit the cottage, for you and for him. Seonghwa gleamed in response.
“Home.”
⋆✧. seonghwa .✧⋆
“Let’s go to the cliffs.”
“Sounds suspicious, what are you scheming?” you raised an eyebrow, but, nonetheless, closed the book that was neatly positioned on your lap - the aftermath of you two having grown more relaxed around one another, and you venturing into the office and asking for recommendations from Old Man’s library. Seonghwa was more than happy to offer a couple of titles which he could spot hidden on the shelves, and now could discreetly enjoy the sight of you being fully immersed in one of them.
“I just think we could use a good break,” he crossed his arms and nodded to himself. He did not want to reveal all his plans just yet, but it was hard to remain cryptic when anything to do with a location could raise questions.
“Again, suspicious. What are you on about?” Seonghwa watched you look for the old postcard which you had been using as a bookmark, smiling when you finally discovered it had fallen beside you on the sofa.
With each day, Seonghwa was getting a chance to see more and more sides of you, and he would not stop it for the world. He found himself grinning like a fool when you would be even the tiniest bit clumsy, endeared by vulnerability that you did not dare show him before. He lost himself in the sound of your voice as you formulated analogies between art and medicine, explaining concepts in such a way that it felt like poetry. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings when, after a day of chores, the two of you would settle down to simply be in each other’s company. As such, with the newfound lightness in his soul, Seonghwa wanted to help you feel at least a fraction similar.
“Mm… I do want to keep this a surprise, but I get how this sounds like a different type of pact, doesn't it?”
“You can say that again.”
“Okay… hm… if I say, with one hundred percent guarantee we will be getting home safe, in one piece and hopefully feel a lot better, will you agree to satisfy my spontaneous caprice?” You pretended to mull over his request, your pointer finger resting on your chin.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes. Fine.”
His megawatt grin nearly blinded you as he approached you in a couple of steps and reached out his hands towards you. You glanced up and down, amused by his excitement. Seonghwa swore that all his organs flipped in his body as you clasped his hands, palm pressed to palm, and let him lift you off the sofa. When you nearly collided with his chest, he steadied you, shaking his head when a thank you fluttered from your lips. It was a shame that he had to let go. Patiently, he waited by the door as you changed into an outfit more appropriate for the weather; while the days have seen a pleasant rise in temperature to balmy spring, the occasional seaside gust was quick to remind of the earliness of the season. The cherry blossoms must have already bloomed further south, Seonghwa mused. But for once, he did not feel rushed to see them or take obligatory photographs, content with the beauty he was living on the coast of nowhere. He adjusted his cream coloured hat and matching sweater, reaching to flatten the under shirt that started to peek from under the knit collar.
Whether it was on purpose or not, he noticed how you had matched him with your outfit - flared jeans matching his jeans-skirt combination, and a determined selection of beige boots. Seonghwa was, by nature, something of a hopeless romantic, but it was moments such as this that made him both flustered and proud of his nature. As you stepped out of the cottage, bathed in a rejuvenating sunlight, he squinted and made a visor out of his hand to look more closely and try his best to remember the scene. Your head was held higher, your steps were more confident, and when you looked back to check if Seonghwa was following you, you had a mischievous glint in your eyes. He sped up, softly tapped your arm and beamed.
“Right, mystery boy, lead the way. Something tells me that you have a very particular location in mind.”
“That, I do. Spotted it some time ago. You probably know it, but I want to share it with you nonetheless.”
“Well, it would be my first time seeing it with you, wouldn't it?” Your mouth pressed into a fine line before you burst into a giggle after having considered your words for a fraction longer, “Goodness, sorry-”
“I like that,” Seonghwa smirked, enjoying the subtle flirtation.
“Pardon?”
“First time for everything. Quite the celebration, is it not?” When you did not answer, par a joking eye roll, he pointed to the right, elaborating his planned route, in the direction opposite to the village and right by the sea. After a couple of beats of silence, you turned to him.
“Celebration? Seems like you are thinking of something specific.”
“Mm… maybe.”
“Oh… is it your birthday? Oh no I have nothing to-” your face fell.
“No! No, I'm touched that you care this much though, darling,” half in jest, half testing the waters, Seonghwa let the pet name slip. Though it appeared to have been wasted nerves worrying about your reaction, as you did not bat an eye. He looked ahead, “it's in two days.”
“So you aren't much of a birthday enjoyer? Judging by how you are here… and not in the city.”
“There are different ways to celebrate. And, if you don't mind. This is how I would love to celebrate mine.”
You looked magical in the golden rays. With half the sky a hazy white, the other promising a gloomy grey storm, you were his good and evil, his battle.You came to him like nightfall, and made him learn of shimmering sunrises. The speckles of bright light in your irises were downright enchanting, and only grew more captivating as you tilted your head, inadvertently capturing more sunlight. His April wishes, muted prayers for one moment to turn to another, and another after that. He did not dare voice his true perception of you, knowing that the one word to come to his mind was one you did not favour, and as such, stuck to walking onwards, to the cliffs, in anticipation of what he had been hoping to do with you for a considerable amount of time. You did not answer him, instead choosing to study your shoes and continue to follow his footsteps closely. The wind caressed your hair like a loving relative greeting and doting on their favourite child. You hid your hands in your sleeves, fists closing over their edges, in an effort to protect them from getting cold. No attempts have been made to guess what Seonghwa wanted to do, much to his surprise; considering how hostile you two had acted towards each other in the very beginning, this level of trust was akin to the greatest of honours, and reminded him of the unfurling of a flower that had initially been guarded by thick grey leaves, only to reveal a tender yellow white and reddish heart along with a gorgeous adornment of pastel pink petals. Fragile, vulnerable, far from eternal, but because of how temporary their natural perfection was, they were all the more beautiful. Seonghwa looked in the opposite direction from you and scowled, scolding himself. He should not think of the future, at least not just yet. It was all too soon, all too fast, anything could happen and he should not get his hopes up even when his entire being was burning into an enamoured cloud of ash.
The sea glistened, waves showing off magnificent adornments of regal silver and gold, dolled up with white lush fur-like foam. Playfully, they lapped at the shore and urged the two of you to keep going. Rolling hills soon gave way to the cliffs which with every few minutes of your journey grew taller and taller, revealing stunning white chalk faces and decorations of limestone. A number of weeks ago Seonghwa had made it his mission to explore the expanse, thereby finding what had to be the real end of the world. A terrific, breathtaking drop together with violently shaking grassland and treacherous edges, by far the tallest point on the cliffside was nothing short of freeing. With everything he had lived through being forced to stare at his back, and only the sea in front of him, he need not be concerned, at least for a few breaths, with what battles he was yet to face. After a couple of ventures to the cliffs, he found a new perspective, one that had been solidified when he had destiny bring him to you, or you to him. Had there ever been a muse, or was it simply an excuse for him to not try even when he was certain he could not achieve anything? Now, he knew he could fly freely on the wings of his own inspiration and wanted nothing more than for you to feel the same.
As the two of you approached the peak, Seonghwa became a little agitated, concerned with how you were going to react to his proposition which he had planned to utter only once you had arrived. You were quiet, occasionally looking left and right to study the brightening landscape. The steely horizon engulfed the sea, infinite, invincible, and met two pairs of eyes. Two people, who, with time, came to be undefeated. You had not voiced your concerns often, but he had seen them weighing you down, serpents tightening around your throat until you had nothing left to do but to rush out of the cottage under the pretence of ‘needing to check something’, when in fact all you wanted was air. Time and time again he could see how this, and only this place was home to you and was the soothing balm that could heal all wounds. Now as you stood to his right, occupied by your own ponderings, he saw you combine with your surroundings, making one gorgeous painting. You belonged here. Thanks to you, he felt like he did, too. The beginnings of another plan started to take root in his mind as he recalled familial logistics and the cottage, but pushed the matter for a later time; this needed the city and iron resolve. Seonghwa rubbed his hands together and rocked back and forth a couple of times.
“So,” you began, still observing the waves.
“So,” he mirrored.
“What’s this grand scheme of yours for which we needed to hike up here?”
“Not liking the views?”
“Of course I do. I’m just trying to understand.”
“Okay. Then… how about this,” he took a deep breath, stifling a nervous laugh, and with all he had, yelled at the sea, trying to drown out the sound of the Earth. He screamed with his heart, expelling all its ache and giving it room to mend itself with golden thread. He stretched out his arms and shut his eyes, embracing a better tomorrow.
Taken aback but thrilled, you spontaneously began to laugh. Wholly, without any barriers; your genuine full-body laughter overtook you, and you were half-bent, ecstatic from Seonghwa’s sudden chaos. You cackled until tears started to well up in your eyes and you needed to remind yourself to breathe, and only laughed harder once Seonghwa joined you, him just barely retaining balance and not collapsing on the ground. His shout was still ringing in your ears as you lifted your head and through airy chuckling called out to him.
“Is- is this what- you were- thinking of all- all along?”
“Go on, show me what you’ve got-” he challenged, squeezing the words out between wheezing.
“W-what? Like… right now?”
“No better time than now! Go!” He encouraged you, prayed for you to let your darkness go.
There it was. As the wind picked up and the sea roared, you joined them with your own warrior cry, stretching your arms out much the same as Seonghwa had done. You stared at the sky, squinting only to stop your eyes watering from the laughter and the gusts. He gazed at you with adoration and pride. As soon as he heard your scream start to die down, he recovered and made a beeline towards you, repositioning to face the sea, and poked you.
“On the count of three. One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
Together you let joy into your lives, cursing all that had harmed you before, and bravely took on the challenge to exist. There was always going to be trouble, there were always going to be disagreements and so-called ugliness in the world around you, but in your vision, even if just for a flash, there was guaranteed to be beauty, if not in the representations of small but certain happiness, then in the self. As Seonghwa and you shouted again and again at the skies, you knew your next inhale would be the freshest.
Lightheaded, you searched for his arm, apologising when your own crashed into it. Rapidly, his hand found yours, and Seonghwa, in a moment of what could possibly be foolish courage, intertwined your fingers together. Your eyes widened, and initially he thought he had made a mistake. But doubt evaporated faster than rain on a scalding hot day; you held on tight, lowered your arms, and swung them back and forth, before launching into another cheerful scream. Your hand in his, the perfect match. He had hesitated the last time, back in the cafe, but now he was sure that it was worth the wait. This was his home. His healing.
돌풍과 절벽에 부딪히는 파도 소리 (Gusts of wind and the sound of waves crashing against cliffs)
새로운 시작을 의미하는 수많은 소리 (The many sounds of a new beginning)
당신의 웃음소리가 가장 크게 들린다 (Your laughter is the loudest)
⋆✧. you .✧⋆
You had shooed Seonghwa out of the kitchen as soon as you heard his sleepy, post afternoon nap descent down the stairs. Despite his protests after you had waited until midnight and wished him a happy birthday, which mainly consisted of him worrying over your potential lack of rest and whether anything was necessary, you wanted to try your best. It would have been most certainly easier to follow his advice and treat this day and evening like any other, but that would not have been a representation of you, nor of how you felt towards your friend. Countless times he had given you strength and support that prior to meeting him you could have only imagined. More than that, he never asked for anything in return except your company, and for you to allow yourself to feel happy; such behaviour and way of thinking was rare, so on many occasions you second-guessed or doubted him, but each time you had been proven wrong. Seonghwa was a warm person who left a deep impression on everyone, and most certainly left an everlasting one on you.
As you let meat and seaweed simmer in sesame oil, you laughed at yourself. Had you from a month ago been here with present you, present you would have definitely gotten an earful. Who were you, showing so much kindness to someone who you had not known for a long time? But then again, there were enough people who you had known for a long time who were far from deserving of kindness, and yet you forced yourself to tolerate them anyway. At least in this case, your affection was coming from the heart and not from obligation or some twisted version of filial piety based not on love and respect but on fear and manipulation. Caring for someone was simple when it was the natural thing to do. You twisted your head when you heard more shuffling, and noticed Seonghwa, dressed in loungewear as opposed to the more formal outfit he had chosen to wear on his venture out to the village earlier, speed-sliding across the living room and to his office. You chuckled when he raised his hands in the air and mouthed that ‘he is innocent and does not see anything’. It was easy enough to guess what you were making. Seonghwa could probably guess from the smell alone, but nevertheless he played along and remained patient.
Soon enough, the soup base was in and bubbling away, filling the cottage with mouthwatering fragrance. The home that only you and Seonghwa knew felt complete and was blooming like the gorgeous flora in early April. Threats of a storm had been false alarms and instead a warm sun settled on the magnificent light blue and ultramarine. The occasional white ball of cotton would race across like a tiny woodland rabbit away to wonderland, but nothing could dispel the euphoria that enveloped you. It was simple to imagine the cottage disappearing, but that made every second more precious. For all you knew, in a couple of months the real owners of the property could decide to demolish the priceless history and sell off the land to some magnate for the building of a resort or a private mansion; such an outcome was far too plausible, and you could only clench your teeth and pretend to not be affected. Old Man would have locked himself in this cottage if anyone were to try and destroy it. Now, more than ever, you understood why. The walls had seen decades of history, both of the planet and of the humans who had visited or inhabited the cottage. Tears of sadness and of laughter, bitter love and sweet loss, paradise and purgatory. The cottage, apart from bricks and mortar, was built with memories and the souls of everyone and everything. Wherever you looked, you could recollect something associated with the items in your vision, be it a clock or a creaky floorboard. This, if destroyed, would never be recovered, and would be sacrificed to fading memory. Of course, the human mind was the most powerful when it came to reflecting on the past, but there was only so much it could do when society was as fast paced and as demanding as it was. You did not want to forget, and so wanted to desperately cling to what little you had left of a precious safe haven that had now been fully revived. Wasn't the past always more beautiful when it blended with the present and gained deeper and more vibrant colours?
“Seonghwa! It's ready!”
“Hello I am here-” almost immediately, he rushed out of the office and strode into the kitchen, “did you make seaweed soup? For me?”
“As if you did not guess.”
“Hey, hey, I saw, heard, and said nothing. My goodness, Y/N, I am touched beyond words…”
“It's not too big of a deal, really. I just wanted to make a little something for you and again, wish you a happy birthday,” you attempted to wave him off and stirred the soup once more before turning off the gas and setting the spoon down.
“I hope you don't mind this very forward expression of affection, but may I… hug you?” arms ever so slightly lifted from his sides, Seonghwa waited.
“Woah Seonghwa, so daring,” you teased, “ah come here, birthday boy,” you invited him, heart beating just that little bit faster when he gave you a boxy wide grin and stepped forward to close the space.
Your arms wrapped around his torso, sliding down into a more relaxed position on his waist while his had snaked around you, condoning you from the world. You were careful to not tarnish the impeccable white fabric, but inevitably gave in when you sensed Seonghwa's hand hovering behind your head, as if saying that you could relax into him fully, without any worries. A dazing softness consumed you as your cheek met his shoulder - one last effort to maintain at least a bit of distance between your faces and to hide your quickly blooming blush. He was what you imagined a daydream would be as a person: sweet and comforting, with subtle floral notes and a deep lasting undertone with an indescribable complexity. Honey and the most decadent coffee were the two things that came to mind, but they lacked the original heaviness of the taste and aroma. So heavenly, so surreal, so Seonghwa. Like the setting sun when it hit the waves.
“Thank you,” he whispered into your hair. You suppressed a shiver. Rocking side to side, you stood in the kitchen, neither of you wanting to disturb this bliss.
“Mm, it’s fine.”
“More than fine.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
“Shall we eat?”
“Yes please,” he uttered, but showed no signs of moving. His arms remained where they were; if anything, they were holding onto you with even more determination, as though you were so fragile you had to be protected from even a speck of dust.
“Are we… uhm, we kind of… need to move to get everything set up.”
“Ah, right,” flustered, Seonhwa detangled himself from you, and rushed to open a cupboard, producing a pair of bowls. A hint of red was visible on his cheeks and the tips of his ears; you were not alone in being a tiny bit shy from the obvious reciprocation.
You had learned each other’s patterns, who tended to move in what order, who reached where, who minded what. The two of you moved in perfect synchrony without trying, following newly acquired instinct. How could you ever not adore the cottage and all the events that led up to now? Not all had been sweet, but without the sour and the atrocious, you would not have been able to experience what you were experiencing as you settled down across from Seonghwa. Or rather, in close proximity to him, since almost instantly, he stood up from his seat and gestured for you to rise again only to take your chair and bring it closer to his side. Accepting your adorable fate, you took your bowl and cutlery and repositioned them.
“There. Now I approve.”
“Wait a second!” you searched in your pockets for an item you had discovered in the midst of your cooking frenzy. Seonghwa was patient, albeit confused, and waited until you produced a box of matches and balanced it on your palm, “not a candle, but you can make a wish!”
“My word, this is, hah- I love it.”
“Perfect. Then, here we go!”
You took out a match, and struck it against the side of the box, gasping as it burst into flames - luckily not too intensely or you would be short for time. You started to sing while Seonghwa joined you by mouthing the lyrics and accompanying with rhythmic claps. The fire started to move down the match, the tip of it having already burned out. Saved by the final notes you saw Seonghwa briefly closing his eyes. He reached out his hand and softly rested it on your wrist as he blew out the flame right before it reached your fingers. As suddenly as he had touched you, he let go, not too dissimilar from the dancing red and orange flickers which had just been illuminating the birthday table. For good measure you shook the match and excused yourself to dispose of it after running it under some water. After drying your hands, you straightened out the towel without a second thought. The rest of the meal was quiet aside from a phrase here and there. No longer was there a need to fill the pauses. Companionship was enough. Only when you were almost done did Seonghwa address you, gingerly as though he was scared of breaking the calm.
“Again, thank you so much, this is the best birthday I ever had. I even got to make a wish!” he chuckled.
“I highly doubt it, but I’ll accept your kind words.”
“Humble, so humble,” he paused. When you lowered your spoon to give him your undivided attention, you noticed his miniscule pout.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Ah, nothing. Nothing much.”
“About all the birthday wishes you read, right?” you nudged him.
“Hm, there were some…” he recollected.
“And?” you tried, sensing that he was purposefully leaving some things unsaid.
The question hung in the air, a time bomb. Seonghwa bided the seconds he had to himself before he inevitably had to respond by tasting more of the seaweed soup and nodding in approval. You gave him a brief nod and were about to let the matter go for the sake of a celebratory evening, however it seemed that Seonghwa had other plans. He never could lie, you realised. Or speak in half-truths. He was sincere to a fault, but it was one of the many things you had come to like about him.
“So there is something.”
“Yes.”
‘Say it.”
“I... I don’t know. It might be a little... sad?” he was careful with his words, evidently not wanting to make a big deal out of whatever was plaguing his mind.
“Go on. Say it. It’s okay,’ something told you that you knew what it was going to be anyways. You pursed your lips, ignoring the sinking feeling in your chest.
“I’ll... I’ll have to leave. In a couple of days? Yeah... Hm... I- yeah. in a couple of days,” he fumbled his words and could not face you, instead staring at his own reflection in the soup.
It was bound to happen someday. Your time was not eternal, either. If not today, then you would have had to have this conversation at some point either tomorrow, or the day after that... or could you have pushed it until much later? Would have Seonghwa forgiven you if, on the day of your departure, you would have dropped the news that your sabbatical had run out? If not him, then it would have most certainly been you starting the conversation.
“Oh. Okay,” you mumbled, heart and mind in conflict. This was your fault - had he remained a stranger, you would have had an easier time now. How he had suddenly appeared in your life, he would have disappeared, but now? The inevitable parting was like a high risk, invasive operation which no matter what was going to have aftershocks and side effects.
Seonghwa did not look any better. Misty-eyed and regretful, he inadvertently slumped his shoulders and curled into himself, appearing smaller and more feeble. You wished he did not care, so that it would be easier to learn how to hate him, but you could not ignore how the knuckles of the hand with which he was holding the spoon were turning white. Tentatively, you reached out to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, an action that took him somewhat by surprise judging by how quickly his head turned towards you. His dark eyes bore into yours, shimmering with intense emotion, threatening to overspill.
You realised: this was it. The crossroads. You were faced with a choice, and it was up to you to decide what was to be the absolute right. You could hold a pause and then resort to exhibiting an astonishingly unperturbed stance; he had his life and his path to follow, you had yours, so what if you had poured your souls out to each other and he had rekindled something which you thought you had lost forever? Or you could take a risk and potentially condemn yourself to hurting, if not for the rest of your life than at least for a long, long time, after which all you had seen and lived through in these few weeks at the cottage would have been the one memory to stick with you no matter what you were to do. You knew that wherever, be it under fluorescent lights, or while planning a correction surgery or attempting to discourage a patient from following a fad, you would see him. You bit the bullet, and, for what had to be the first time, followed your heart. Because tragedy, too, could be beautiful.
“Let’s make the most of what we have left. And then see what the future holds. We are two people who are very alike. Caught adrift in a storm. That is what you told me when we first started getting to know each other, right?”
Seonghwa's eyes conveyed a delicate balance of tenderness and nervousness. His gaze, though wrestling with melancholy, flickered with a charming intensity that spoke volumes. His free hand that rested on his leg that he had begun to shake out of unchangeable habit betrayed a subtle tremor, a silent testament to the whirlwind in his mind. Fingers danced nervously, tracing invisible patterns or perhaps echoing poetry that floated in his heart. You could only guess what he was grappling with, but, in the end, when you put your hand over his to abate some of his tension, a reciprocation of your determined decision was undeniable. As he stilled, you observed a serene reassurance. A quiet confidence that spoke of an undeniable care for you, of what could happen to the two of you, and of how worth it the risk was in the end. His heart beat in harmony with yours, mutual melodies rang out in time to the day rushing past the cottage. You shared a longing that was born out of the fear of what could be lost if words failed. But were words even necessary, when this bouquet of delicate emotions was so unbelievably easy to read? The truth was unwavering, and it, too, was beautiful.
“How does the storm look like to you?” he whispered, turning his hand palm up to clasp yours. You knew what was on his mind, and he was aware of what you wanted, no, needed to say to defeat a part of yourself that was scared to ever feel.
‘Beautiful. So, so beautiful.”
“Could you tell me more about it?”
“Hmm...” you thought for a moment, before pointing to Seonghwa’s shoulder. He nodded, and in no time, your head was resting on him while your fingers tightly intertwined, “...where should I start?”
“Anywhere.“
“You’re a poet and an academic, for goodness’ sake, I’d like some expert advice,” you retorted, your voice remaining light, bright and playful.
“Hardly the latter.”
“That’s what the future is holding for you, isn’t it?” you felt his cheek brush your crown, and smiled to yourself when you heard a low chuckle.
“I sure hope so. Much better than whatever was happening before.”
“It’s all part of the journey.”
“I see someone’s very optimistic!” Seonghwa’s exclamation was void of any malice. Genuinely cheerful and proud of your metamorphosis from a sardonic and grim misanthrope to a hopeful doctor proud of who they and those they loved were, he considered it to be the greatest gift. Laden with meaning and stemming from unfathomable effort, you allowed yourself to flourish and find reasons to live, rather than reasons to not die.
“Maybe because, while there are certain things we cannot change, I have come to realise that there is something sweet about it. Take leaving the cottage for example. Technically, we could stay. But in the long term, it is only going to result in a far from happy ending. So what does that mean for both you and me? We cannot change the fact that we have to leave. However in this we confirm to ourselves and each other that this is not a dream and that our time here... yeah. Yeah,” you cut yourself off, embarrassed by your own words, earning yourself a tiny shoulder nudge and a squeeze of the hand.
“Yeah, what?” Seonghwa’s curiosity was piqued. Too late. No going back for you. You bit your lower lip and inhaled deeply in an effort to stop yourself from cringing.
“Please forgive me for the insane cheesiness, but-”
“Only the highest quality cheese could come from you, don’t you fret.”
“Seonghwa!”
“What? Accept it. Now, as the people say, ‘spill the tea’.”
“A modern poet, truly.”
“Of course, of course, I try my best.”
“Anyways,” you interjected, returning to your train of thought, “ I just wanted to say that I am happy...”
“With what?” you could catch a note of teasing in his tone, but chose to let it go.
“With... this,” you gestured to him, to yourself and then to the surrounding rooms, “this is by far... the best I have felt. In a long, long time.”
“Oh? Someone made you feel this way before?”
“Shush, you get what I mean,” you glared upwards and twisted to lightly slap Seonghwa on his chest, which turned out to be a mistake in the making since he did not miss the chance to capture you fully. And so you were stuck, semi-suspended and essentially at Seonghwa’s mercy with how he was supporting your balance, blinking in surprise at his coy smirk.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. What are you ready to say?”
“Considering how we keep switching topics, I don’t think I can answer anything.”
“Okay, okay, the storm then. What does it mean?”
“What storm?” you furrowed your brows.
“Y/N we just discussed it-”
“Ah, right. Actually, you know what, everything might be linked,” you tried to shuffle to get a better angle and not feel like you were about to topple at any moment, but Seonghwa was not so eager to stop practically cradling you.
“Hm?”
“I mean, the books you recommended, the things you write, hell, even the cottage and you and I... isn't this all like the weather?”
“Curious observation, but yes, I can see where you are coming from. Do go on,”
“If you let me sit down properly, and maybe... finish your soup?” you pointed your chin at the cooling dish.
“Right, sorry, but hey! You too! I see the-”
“Eat, Hwa, then I promise you I will give you a full rundown of my chaotic analogies.”
You were shocked from how speedily he inhaled the soup and then, with a proud look on his face, flung his arm over the back of your chair and announced that his mission was accomplished. As you chewed on the last of the seaweed and ladled the last spoonful of broth, a tiny voice in your head made you want to return to the cliffs and yell louder than before: this conversation, everything that was happening now was because you had accepted that something was beautiful to you. Or rather, instead of connecting beauty to something concrete, you now were comfortable with beauty being an ever-changing continuum. Thanks to what?
“Okay, I’m done now. So, the storm. We were running from them, weren’t we?”
“Mhm.”
“But now... I don’t know if you think the same but I dare say those storms are not so spooky anymore,” if only you could have taken a picture then and there to keep in your wallet. The precious glimmering joy visible across every feature was contagious, and your doubt was forgotten.
“Not spooky at all,” you could hear the gears moving in his head as he regarded you.
“What?”
“Hm?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason,” he sighed and hid his gaze, “...shall we clear the table?”
“Let’s do it.”
He did not miss the chances to brush past you, or to steady himself after reaching across for something by tapping your arm or your waist. Not that you minded, but his amplified affections were dizzying. It was as though he was doing everything in his power to ensure that he would be missed so strongly by you that you would end up snapping and attempting to find him in the big city. That was when it hit you - you did not know where he lived, nor where location-wise he worked, nor his contact details. It had never come up in conversation - neither of you were terribly fond of delving too deep into how life was in the metropolis and had shared what was necessary for the present, and considering that in the weeks you had been here you two were always in close proximity, things like phone numbers or social media details were obsolete. When you finished washing up, dried your hands, and waited for Seonghwa to complete his task of putting the dishes away, you were astonished by your own lack of foresight. You had always been a planner but following your time at the cottage you wanted time to stop.
“Hey may I ask something? Or rather for something?”
“Go on ahead- wow, the sun sure is doing its magic,” you followed Seonghwa’s gaze and stepped after him into the living room.
The window. A little old thing. The frame was holding up impressively well, and the paint had remained pristine even after you had opened the window a couple of times to let the fresh air in. Beyond it, between the shrubs and above the stone wall was a never ending golden steppe, rippling and rolling in heavenly rays. It was rare to have a day as good as this on this part of the coastline. Leaves shimmered like coins, and the clouds took on yellow, orange and lilac hues, waving from up above.
“Truly.”
“Anyways, as you were saying?” he turned, catching some of the sunlight on his regal form.
“Let me borrow the horrendous phrase for a second... ahem, may I get your number?” Much to your delight and amusement, Seonghwa did not bat an eye, and instead dug in his pocket.
“Ahead of you, but thank you for reminding me. Here. I put down my number, my home address, the publisher’s office... and my private social media if you want to connect on there.”
“How-”
“I want to... hm... I didn’t think that, when I come to actually saying what I want to say, that it would be kind of hard,” cryptic, as ever when he was about to shake you to your core with something profound. You took the piece of paper from him, carefully refolding it after checking the written contents and sliding it into the pocket of your cardigan.
“Time for me to inquire. Whatever do you mean?”
“I want to keep this going.”
“Oh?”
“Interesting thing to wish for after we literally lived together, but... I want to see you. Officially see you. What do you say?”
“Ever the gentleman,” his lopsided grin made you wish you could squeeze his cheeks. Perhaps down the line you could have that privilege, “I accept.”
“You do?”
“I too, really want to see you. Often, I hope,” Seonghwa’s vigorous nodding, paired with his undivided attention was like a thousand suns, brilliant and beyond anything you could put into a sentence. He approached you and peered into what had to be your very soul.
“May I spoil a potential gift? And, sort of, the reason why I need to depart?”
“Go on, I am all ears.”
“You know how,” his pointer fingers hooked around yours, and you were subconsciously pulled to him, “my relatives own this cottage, right?”
“Right,” you were aware, and had accepted it. Such was life.
“Well... I may or may not have gotten in contact with them, and am starting a legal process to put the property up for sale.”
“For sale? Excuse me? Are you mad? It will be- no, I cannot let this, no, they will bulldoze this place into the dirt I-” you began to panic, voice rising higher and blood beginning to boil.
“I did not say to whom the property will be sold.”
“Some mogul or billionaire who does real estate for fun.”
“Are you either of the two?”
“Pardon?”
“Are you a mogul or real estate fiend?”
“I? No?”
“The sale is a formality anyways. The cost will be put down as one won, which I’ll just pass to my cousin with a handshake. Your job, should you wish to be the owner of the cottage, is to sign some papers, and attend some meetings.”
“Am I dreaming?”
“This place does sometimes give the surreal sensation of floating in space, but I promise you, you are not. In fact, tomorrow we can go to the cafe again and I can show-”
“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you thank you thank you-”
“Glad I can help in some way. This is your cottage, after all-”
“I am on cloud nine... how is this- how did you?” you swung your arms, with Seonghwa’s following.
“Easy. I just mentioned you. That was enough to seal the deal. Old Man talked about you, you know.”
“Oh, I- may I hug you?”
“You do not need to ask me for permission to do that,” you did not need to be told twice.
Your thoughts were racing. This could not be. You shut your eyes until you saw phosphenes. Opened them again. You were still in Seonghwa’s arms, in that sweet-scented paradise, caressed by a tender flame. All emotions that had been slumbering over the years have fully awoken, and were threatening to come to the surface to rejoice in what could only be called the reclaiming of the self. Your history, your identity that was stored in these four walls was now promised to be yours. Was that not to celebrate?
“Seonghwa… it is your birthday and you are giving me the gift of an infinite number of lifetimes...”
“My gift is seeing you so happy,” you inhaled sharply, and peered at his dark chocolate irises.
“Come on, you cannot be serious.”
“I am more serious than you could imagine. And I hope to keep proving it to you. Day by day. Again, if you let me.”
“I don’t know what to say or do right now. I am a tiny bit overwhelmed... this... this is as if I walked into a magical house, met a magician, and he tapped me on the head with a little wand and here we are, wish granted,”
“I knew I was missing something.”
“What?“
“A wand,” you beamed and floated into bliss, focusing on Seonghwa’s heartbeat, endearingly close to your own both physically, and rhythmically. Right here was beautiful, right this moment was beautiful. The promise and plan was beautiful. But one note of misery remained, one that you were determined to vanquish.
“Seonghwa?”
“Yes?”
“I am a little anxious about something...” he hugged you closer, but instead of it being soothing, it made you want to cry despite the euphoria you were experiencing.
“What is it?”
“What if it goes away?”
“What goes?”
“What if beauty disappears when I go back?”
You knew it was a silly question, you knew that it was all in your head and that you sounded like an absolute desperate fool while asking this, but it was sickening, a lump in your throat that you could not swallow. The first light of love and of freedom, so pure and so unconditional, was addictive and sweet. You did not want to consider its falsities or ponder potential disillusionment. You threw away even the inklings of paranoid suspicion that Seonghwa, too, could join the ranks of those who laced their kind words with malice or with judgement, and might have wanted to play with your feelings, both romantic and historic. At least right here, right now, you wanted to believe in there being someone who could love in both the presence and absence of beauty, whatever any given individual desired to define it to be. You wanted to know that he was on your team, and that this place really was a key to real life wish-fulfilment. Seonghwa’s hand slowly glided down your back, disappeared, and slid down again. In this perpetual motion he silently offered some stability.
“You know it won’t.”
“How?”
“Because you are you. Your soul is beautiful. And if you ever think that the world around you is starting to strike you like the cold winter months, remember that, now, I am just one call away. Always.”
“But it- goodness, sorry,” you were choked up and had to pause. Seonghwa did not make you hurry, instead, he brushed away the strand of hair that was about to get in your eye, and looked at you as though you were his future.
“Don’t apologise for feeling, my angel.”
‘Stop, Hwa, you’re going to make me bawl in a moment,” you exclaimed with a groan, trying to laugh your concerns away. Seonghwa chuckled, but kept holding onto you, rocking on his legs, swaying side to side like the eternal, unstoppable clock that governed your entangled lives.
“Oh no, we don’t want that, do we?” his voice vibrated across his chest, and in turn, struck your heart like a dozen healing melodies. ‘We’, it was now ‘we’, rather than everyone being left to scramble for salvation, against everybody else who surrounded them. You repeated the word in your mind once, and again, and again, until it turned into wind chimes twirling in a waltz with a serene breeze.
“I’d like to smile more with you.”
“I’d like that too. I never get tired of smiling with you,” you pushed your upper body away by a fraction to admire Seonghwa more.
“I am afraid, Seonghwa. You make me so happy. I- I am so happy. But so, so afraid that all of this will vanish.”
“Y/N,” his hands clasped around you, relaxing - a gentle salvation from all dark secrets the coming months undoubtedly contained, “Beauty shall never vanish. Because love is beautiful. There were times when I have been shaken even by the weakest of winds, and times when my breathing was unbearably heavy. One single comment or event... anything at all could turn a bright summer day into a biting winter. Storms shall always remain, even if we try to bid them farewell...”
He waited for you to steady your breaths before continuing, and upon your brief nod, pressed his forehead against yours. His hair tickled your skin the tiniest bit, but it only made you more aware of him, more connected to him. More loved and seen.
“Our pasts and our steps through our years brought us towards each other. And... I am... so, so honoured and so happy that a person like me can bring happiness to your life, and can only hope that I can give you as much love. I am stunned by how we do the little things together, how you ask about me, how you, you wonderful angel, give me love for no reason as if it was only natural,” tears welled up in your eyes, only to be caught by Seonghwa’s thumbs and erased before they could form a river, “Maybe my greatest gift is you, and all the little things that make you, you. Because you are here, in my life, and are part of my world, I am learning the feeling of love again. Now,” he noticed your urgency as you were about to interrupt him, and tapped your nose with his own, “Thanks to you, thanks to us, I am finding beauty. I cherish our past, our spectacular present, and pray for our future to exceed eternity.”
“Seonghwa...”
“Spring comes and goes, but I will always ensure that your heart stays warm. If you will let me.”
“If you will let me do the same,” the gap between you grew smaller and smaller, until was a mere memory and you tasted the coffee and honey, the many sunrises and sunsets to come, the sound of the waves and the rustling of the grass on the cliffs.
The cottage, while it was a real place with its many wonders, was more than that. It was a panacea, a safe haven in one’s mind or a world for those whom one loved. The cottage could be anything, could be anyone, could be anywhere.
And that was truly beautiful.
⋆✧.✧⋆
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my dear, don’t unfold me
A/N: slowly starting to put my stuff on different platforms- mostly on ao3 tho.
Summary: Rain didn’t exactly know where his habit came from.
He normally fiddles with something, his anxious, long fingers always drumming off surfaces or picking at his bass. It calms him.
Eventually, he started picking at others.
And then he ends up using poor Phantom as, basically, a living fidget toy, overwhelming the poor quintessence ghoul in the process.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
Rain didn’t exactly know where his habit came from.
He normally fiddles with something, his anxious, long fingers always drumming off surfaces or picking at his bass. It calms him.
Eventually, he started picking at others. Swiss nearly fell to his knees anytime Rain started absentmindedly toying with his hair, horns, or tail; often leading to Rain having to bolt from the room before the multighoul got too turned on.
Dew wasn’t particularly fond of it, as most of the time, Rain would pick at his long hair. And with the height difference, Dew was always too accessible for Rain and he would touch the fire ghoul's long hair, yanking through the knots without thinking. “Fuckin’ ow! Stop that!” Dew would snap as his head was yanked back.
When they were cuddling, Dew made sure to have his hair in a bun, out of the water ghouls reach and long fingers.
Mountain let him do whatever he wanted, not reacting to it at all, but also not moving. Cirrus picked him back, Aurora and Aether were too ticklish.
Phantom, always eager to please and wanting to be psychically affectionate, immediately loves to be in Rain’s grasp.
Phantom became like his own personal little fidget toy. Rain’s hands are always on Phantom, kneading and squeezing his lavender skin, kissing him without thinking. Phantom didn’t mind- in the slightest- he was a good ghoul who loved to make people feel good— and Rain loved touching him, his thighs, his waist, his butt, wherever he could get his hands, so it worked out.
Rain just lets his hands wander, not ever paying attention too much, letting the physical act of fidgeting calm him down.
Rain’s eyes are fixated on the TV playing some random show Aether had put on, before walking away to the kitchen. Phantom couldn't pay attention, not when one of Rain’s big hands, with long fingers, was shoved up his shirt groping his chest and the other was haphazardly stuffed into his grey sweatpants, and under his boxers.
Rain is toying with Phantom so silently, lithe fingers sliding over his dick and even dipping into his hole, which has grown increasingly slick with how wet Phantom's become. Occasionally, he dips down to prod at his slick entrance multiple times.
Rain’s movements have no rhyme or reason, he's not moving quickly or with the intent to make Phantom cum, because he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. His mind is a million miles away, thinking about whatever it is that’s plaguing him, while Phantom just pants and starts stretching in his grasp, eyes glassy.
Rain’s sloppy flicks, and occasional taps of his fingers, against Phantom’s hole, which grew so sensitive from his mindless playing. Sometimes, when something pulls his attention away, Rain will stop touching the quintessence ghoul completely until - until the mindless desire the fidget and touch something returns to him.
Phantom's sitting with his back against the ghoul's chest, situated between Rain’s long legs. The water ghoul looks pretty, with his dark hair tied out of his face and his blue eyes fixated on the human-made screen.
Rain can't see the panting, dazed look on Phantom’s pretty, freckled face from the fleeting pleasure he is giving Phantom, without even realizing it. He’s edging the poor ghoul in his arms- without even cluing in.
Rain isn’t even hard or turned on.
Phantom is little else than a plaything to calm his nerves. For how observant Rain can be, he can also be oblivious from time to time. If he was listening, he could hear the wet noises following his fingers, or even hear Phantom panting, even though the sweet bug is trying hard not to distract Rain in his downtime.
As Rain’s long, and slick, fingers glide over Phantom’s hardened cock, absentmindedly squeezing and stroking, before once again stopping his movements. Phantom’s eyes roll back in his head and he arches, but has his lip bitten raw, to keep quiet.
As a commercial break rolls, Phantom finally breaks his quiet demeanour as a low whine comes out of his neck. Phantom is so hard and wet from being touched and edged, but no release; he’s almost in physical pain.
The noise finally stirs Rain, who jolts a bit and looks down at the ghoul in his arms. His pretty eyes take in the ghoul; hot, flustered, teary-eyed. He also finally releases how wet his fingers are.
“Oh, shit, bug- I’m sorry,” Rain says and goes to move away; but that makes Phantom snuffle and his hips buck, begging for a release.
“No… please… hurt’s now… need-” Phantom mumbles, overwhelmed and precious faces.
Rain is only more than happy to oblige, pressing kisses to the ghoul’s jaw and neck, as his long fingers go back to Phantom’s aching hole, dipping in and out before stroking the hardened cock too.
Phantom is crying pretty purple tears, just nodding as his legs fall loose in between Rain’s. The water ghoul kisses him, his face pressed into the crook of Phantom’s neck.
Rain’s skilled fingers are quick, albeit messily, stroking Phantom’s cock as the delicious mewls and cries come from Phantom's mouth, his jaw slack and he cries as his hips match Rain’s movements.
In only a matter of moments, Phantom is fisting Rain’s grey hoodie and his body stiffens, as he swallows and chases his orgasm.
“That’s it, baby, good boy,” Rain whispers into his ear, as he draws him closer to the release. Phantom twitches and comes into Rain’s hand, making the water ghoul smirk and praise him.
The moans dripping out of Phantom’s mouth are a thing of beauty, and Rain grunts as he drinks in the noises, his own eyes getting hazy.
Phantom goes slack against Rain’s body, aftershocks of his orgasm making him twitch periodically as he pants to catch his breath.
Rain smirks. “Got a little worked up there, bug,” he teases.
Phantom pouts and drops against him. “Your fault!”
Aether comes back from the kitchen, Dew in tow. The fire ghoul’s eyes widen as he smells Phantom’s scent and takes in the delicious sight before him of the quintessence ghoul, breathless and hot, strewn over Rain, who has gone back to fidgeting with his over-sensitive body, causing more moans and cries to come out of poor, overwhelmed Phantom.
“I was only gone for five minutes!?” Aether nearly squeaks, his tea spewing out of his nose as he chokes, when he sees what Rain has done.
#ghost#the band ghost#nameless ghouls#phantom#phantom ghoul#rain#rain ghoul#rain x phantom#phantom x rain#rain is a distracted angel#spicy
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My 2023 in Mandopop/Chinese music (update & recs)
It’s been too long since I last shared some music recommendations/updates on what I’m listening to! Admittedly, I haven’t been discovering as many new artists because I’m busy listening to 薛之谦 on repeat. But we'll focus on the new.
You can check out my Spotify playlist featuring these songs (plus bonus ones). In addition, I’ve included YouTube links below.
五月天 / Mayday
五月天 is a legendary band, so of course I knew of them and had heard a few of their songs over the years. But I never proactively sought out their music until recently. I still haven’t had time to dive into their back catalog, but I’ve already found some songs I really love.
《我又初恋了》
I actually really didn’t like this song the first time I heard it, but it wormed its way into my brain. It’s just a lot of fun! Non-serious songs can be good too.
《转眼》
My favorite 五月天 song <3. I’m probably too young to fully appreciate the lyrics, but they make me feel so nostalgic and bittersweet, like transitioning to a new chapter of life and leaving the old behind.
《因为你 所以我》
This song didn’t stand out to me at first, but it grew on me! I caught myself humming it a lot. It‘s kind of corny, but it sounds so full of hope.
陈奕迅 / Eason Chan
I first started listening to 陈奕迅 a couple years ago after my Album a Day August challenge, but I’ve found that his music has grown on me over time. I believe I’ve only mentioned him once before, so I thought now was a good time to highlight my favorite of his songs.
《之外》
This is probably my favorite 陈奕迅 song. The lyrics convey a sense of hopelessness, but the overall song has a smooth, light sound.
《娱乐天空》
You know a song is good when it’s over 6 minutes long but feels like it flies by! It makes me want to get up, get moving, and be productive.
《烟味》
This song is dramatic, and I love it for that. Also has a hint of orchestral flavor.
《淘汰》
One of 陈奕迅’s most well-known songs—for a good reason. It has big Cpop ballad vibes but is definitely livelier.
白举纲 / Bai Jugang
You’re going to notice several mentions of 披荆斩棘 in this post. That’s where I “met” 白举纲. I instantly liked his voice and loved seeing him with his “brother” 高瀚宇 and “dad” 张晋! You may also see his music under his English name, Pax Congo.
《被动失控》
This is the only song on the list you could headbang to.
《Shy Boy》
I love this song because it’s cute and includes a children’s rhyme that I learned as a kid: 找啊找啊找朋友 找到一个好朋友.
苏诗丁 / Su Shiding
At some point last year I did a one-month free trial of Apple Music. It was an interesting experience because the recommendations were very different from what Spotify tends to show me. I’m glad Apple Music led me to 苏诗丁!
《LUCIFER（傲慢宗罪）》
All I can say is that this song exudes coolness and confidence. It also has a fair bit of English, but honestly I had to look up the lyrics to tell what some of it was.
《梦幻病》
This song is from the same album. It’s dreamlike but gets more frantic as it builds. Overall, it’s just a bit…unsettling.
队长 / Young Captain
I learned about 队长 from a random post on Instagram about his concert in Malaysia. I think these songs might have gone viral on 抖音 or something. I was surprised I liked them so much because they both have some rap (I’m not a rap fan), but it was love at first listen.
《11》
I love how this song builds towards the end. I spend the whole song waiting for the crescendo, and it’s great payoff.
《楼顶上的小斑鸠》
This song is like the slightly mellower sibling of the one above. But I ended up liking this one even more.
金志文 / Jin Zhiwen
金志文 was another artist who Apple Music recommended to me. I definitely need to explore his discography more but haven’t had the chance to do so yet. But he has some good stuff so far!
《自娱自乐》
Smooth and relaxing but in a fun way. Simple and no-frills but will put a smile on your face!
《远走高飞》
This one feels like enjoying the breeze on a beautiful sunny day. I also enjoy the duet with 徐佳莹 version.
163braces
163braces started out as a YouTuber posting song covers. I have watched a couple of her covers, but they didn’t leave much of an impression on me. I was pleasantly surprised by her foray into original music. I look forward to hearing what she does next!
《控制》
The song I would want as my “soundtrack” if I were a video game character. It’s energetic and loud.
《murmur》
Honestly this song is pretty similar to the first one. Sometimes I have trouble distinguishing them. But hey, if ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
小鬼 / Lil Ghost
小鬼 did what I can best describe as “pulling an MGK” by going from more rap to kinda pop-punk? That MGK album was my guilty pleasure when in came out, so I’m all for 小鬼’s new direction.
《Last Day》
This song really gave me MGK vibes. It’s about half in English, but I often don't even notice when he switches between languages.
《不良少年》
I just know I would have loved this song so much in high school. It’s an angsty teen anthem.
《为明天写封信》
I can totally imagine this song playing at the end of a 2000s teen movie! Maybe while showing a montage of the main characters graduating.
《无所求必满载而归》 by 陈粒 / Chen Li
This is technically cheating because I have recommended 陈粒 songs before, but it was at least a couple years ago. I heard this song covered on 披荆斩棘的哥哥 and immediately looked up the original. Honestly I should have known it was a 陈粒 song because you can totally tell it’s her style.
《轻红》 by 曹杨 / Young
I keep coming back to this song! It’s from a drama soundtrack. I was super surprised the first time I listened to it because I thought it was going to be a typical ballad based on the first ~45 seconds or so—it wasn’t. There is also another version by 陈雪燃 (the king of cdrama OSTs). But I actually prefer the 曹杨 version.
《时光机》 by 吴克群 / Kenji Wu
I was introduced to 吴克群 via 披荆斩棘2. He was instantly one of my favorite contestants after his team’s amazing 《新地球》 performance (check it out). This song is bouncy and a little dreamy. I kinda want to hear a remix with Harry Styles’ As It Was. I just wish it were longer than 3 minutes!
My Spotify Wrapped
I have a tradition of sharing my Spotify Wrapped, and I wanted to continue the streak in some form. So here's a quick rundown.
Top genre: 华语流行音乐
Representative city: Taipei
Minutes: 21,750
Top artists
薛之谦 / Xue Zhiqian
林宥嘉 / Yoga Lin
五月天 / Mayday
李荣浩 / Li Ronghao
陈奕迅 / Eason Chan
Top songs
《木偶人》 - 薛之谦
《狐狸》 - 薛之谦
《骆驼》 - 薛之谦
《转眼》 - 五月天
《后来的我们》 - 五月天
Also, fellow Mandopop fans should check out the Mando Gap newsletter. I stumbled upon it this year, and I know it’s going to be a great resource for discovering new artists in 2024!
#chinese music recs#cpop#c-pop#c pop#mandopop#chinese music#chinese#mandarin#mandarin chinese#chinese language#studyblr#langblr#learning languages#language learning#chinese langblr#mandarin langblr#languageblr
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Deathly silent
ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʀʟᴏ'ꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏᴍᴇᴏ'ꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋꜱᴛᴏʀʏꜱ. ᴅᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡᴀʀɴᴇᴅ!
Carlo x Puppet!reader
⚠️ Trigger warning's⚠️
Descriptions of a plague sickness, death, sad sad times and blood.
Part 1/2
─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────
The ticking clockwork echoes in the stillness of Gepettos workshop. Automated gears singing a ticking tune, keeping its pace, never faltering.
Little Carlo plays with a small ball jointed doll, black hair almost covering his face while resuming on posing the doll how he wanted.
A small smile painted his lips, cobalt blue iris keeping its figure as he sets the doll standing.
Taking a note pad, he gently lines every detail of it, soon, it takes shape.
Hair, eyes, clothes, everything in his imagination, coming to life in a single sketch of how he wanted to shape this plain doll.
Showing his father his sketchpad, the puppet maker quickly got to work.
Moulding the exact proportions his son drew, Carlo watching every second of his father's work.
Once the puppet was finished, it was the same size as the boy, Ergo rushed through its wiring, newly obtained and springing to life.
Carlo talked with it, watching as it clung to every word he spoke.
Geppetto's son now has a friend.
And Geppetto can peacefully get back to work.
_____________
He never expected this to happen.
The puppet that kept Carlo company, listened and stayed by his side...
Started to grow.
Not just physically, but mentally. It's mind shaped ideas, concepts, and jokes. Carlo laughed at every single one of them.
At first, he had only made the doll-like puppet to just be a toy for his son to keep him busy while he worked...
It was an interesting sight indeed.
Its hair grew longer... And it even explained that it could... Quite possibly a dream.
It was no longer an IT anymore.
But it was doing no harm... So the Puppet maker paid no mind.
___________
As both of them grew, Carlo grew more distant towards his father. You stayed by his side, talking with the boy from day in, to day out.
It was never a boring day for the two, even as Carlo started going to school... You would wait for him.
Till one day, he brought over another boy. Around the same age, blond hair cut into a short bob. From what you could tell, he was from the same boarding school as Carlo, from the matching uniform.
Carlo introduced you first, calling your name.
"This is Romeo, Romeo, this is my friend,"
"A puppet?"
"Yeah- please don't call me that... My name is fine."
You corrected quickly, a smile gentle on your face as you reach out a hand, the wiring of gears still being heard with every move.
Romeo carefully, and hesitantly took your hand.
Eyes widening only a tad, looking at Carlo, then snapped back to you dumbly.
"Your hands are soft. And warm."
That caught something in your gears, laughing a bit when the boy blushed in embarrassment as Carlo too started to laugh at the absurdity.
"They've always been warm and soft!" Carlo laughed.
"I didn't know! Automations are usually cold and hard! Like metal!"
Romeo clapped back, straightening up and grossing his arms, grumbling in his defense.
This started the friendship between the three of you. The hardships that would happen between Carlo and his father would slip into silence, a somber sad silence whenever Carlo would ask for a bit of his father's time... Only to be told later.
Lies that the boy hated.
And you could only watch, the sinking feeling only growing worse as the years went by.
_____________
"Go to school? With you?"
You asked, as if the very idea was a grueling puzzle. How could a puppet like yourself need school?
"Why not? Have you ever wondered what you could learn?"
Carlo asked, insistent on the idea. His graduation was next year... And he wanted to share that with you.
And he had hope his own father would be there, he'd have to! It's his own son's graduation for God's sake!
You thought for a moment, you've always stayed in the vicinity of the workshop, not a rhyme or reason other than to be close to the only person who could fix a couple of loose bolts if something were amiss.
But it was only Krat city, surely it's safe enough for any Puppet, right?
What could hurt?
____________
You were given odd looks down Krat city hall, you looked nothing like the usual puppets that Geppetto has created, fresh gears turning and auto generated voice lines from newer puppets, little to no life in their eyes.
The spare uniform that you had borrowed from Carlo fit nicely on you, considering that your proportions almost matched the smiling boy beside you, none the wiser with the questioning looks of others.
Making it, the both of you entered, you immediately saw a familiar head of blond hair, sitting next to two empty seats.
Carlo takes your hand and takes you towards the boy.
Romeo, was suffice to say, shocked to see you, in school, in a uniform no less.
"Is this even allowed?"
He whispered, glancing at the raven haired boy, who gave a cheeky smirk.
"I may have pulled a ...few strings." Carlo smiled, sitting down and looking uncharacteristically poised.
"What does THAT mean??" Romeo asked, accusatory suspicion heavy in his voice.
Watching you sit down next to Carlo, fidgeting, like you were nervous.
And he couldn't blame you, the eyes that trailed your figure were more curious and confused.
Some had to do a double take when they entered class.
You could hear the talk, surrounding your table, the clicking of your fingers stopped when a teacher had finally entered the room.
A broad smile graced his face as he took a seat when everyone went quiet.
Class would start with you questioning why you're here.
And it would end with you wanting to learn more.
________
When you were "asleep", your body
was usually stiff as a board.
Standing in your designated area while your body shuts down. But lately, you haven't been able to get comfortable.
Why would a puppet like yourself need to get comfortable?
It caused you to shift, to the point of settling on sitting down on a chair.
It was acceptable. For now.
But you kept on waking up with clear pictures in your mind, horrid pictures of burning buildings... An unfinished film hidden in your wiring that had made no sense... You had thought initially that these were human dreams.
But they just kept coming back, more excruciatingly detailed than the last...
It didn't help that they only had gotten worse when Carlo had to stay at the school due to his father not being able to take care of the poor boy...
Yet, he still held hope that he would be there for his son, on his special day.
Even when news about a suspicious murder that happened just weeks ago.. something in your gears telling you to do... The most absurd things.
Like grabbing something... Blunt, and hitting someone over the head.
Morbid thoughts that wanted to break your working wires and rework them into something less...
Human.
You then felt a gentle shake, your eyes slotting open to find the Geppetto boy, clad in his uniform, but what was amiss
Was the usual framed smile that he wore every time he was with you.
Your brows knitted, he looked tired, eyes puffy, red from either crying or lack of sleep.
Or both.
He had come home in the early morning to see you.
"Why are you back this early? You'll get in trouble for leaving your dorm room."
You saw his face sour, not expecting to be scolded.
But felt his frame lax when you pulled him into a hug.
"It's good to see you, Carlo."
"Me too,"
Your name passed his lips lightly, letting go of the hug after a while, warming your body in a way that caused you to melt.
But getting a better look at him, you saw scrapes and cuts littering his cheeks and arms. Suddenly alarmed, you rest your fingers against a gash against the top of his head.
"Carlo, What on earth happened?"
The boy quickly took your fingers in his palm and held it to his chest.
"I'm okay, me and Romeo were just training. Romeo got me good... But I knocked him down too!"
The boys obsession to be a Stalker nearly made you question if they were insane, few bolts loose perhaps?
But it was unfruitful when they hadn't changed their minds on their 18th birthdays. So much has happened, and so little time has gone by.
Carlo had become a young man so quickly that you almost felt left out.
You too, should be in the same age range as the two boys, but something blocked you from truly being grown.
And you knew.
And it hurt so much.
__________
Today was the day, you wore something quiet fitting for a day like this.
A year had passed by extremely quickly, it shocked you.
Walking down to the workshop, you knocked.
A muffled "yes?" Answered. Promptly causing you to enter.
"Mr. Geppetto? It's me. Do you know what today is?"
The man had paused, bringing his glasses up to check the calendar next to the many boxes of puppet parts that were left to be used later.
"Ah. I don't think I do? Please, enlighten me."
"It's your son's graduation from the academy."
The puppet maker winced at the tone you held.
Turning to the clock that hung from the ceiling.
"I... I simply do not have time..."
He finally answered. Lowering his eyes from your burning ones.
"Carlo... Carlo has been looking forward to this...! You can't just NOT go!"
"I need to get this done.. perhaps if I finish quickly, I'll be able to go..."
You stepped forward, fists locking hard against your sides.
"You've said that all your life! Carlo needs this!"
"Watch your tone..."
"HE'S YOUR SON!-"
"QUIET, THAT'S AN ORDER PUPPET."
You felt your jaw automatically lock.
Body stiffening against the restraints... He's... Never given an order to you before.
It felt uncomfortable, unnatural.
But your body stayed planted to the ground, as Geppetto walked towards you, gripped your shoulders and looked you at eye level.
And gave you orders.
"You will go in my place. Be there for him, congratulate him, and tell him that I love him, and that I am proud."
Orders that you must follow.
__________
You sat in the rows of seats, waiting for Carlo's name to be said, congratulating him for his hard work.
Romeo's name was called, looking over, he sees you waving, excitedly waving with a big smile.
You waved as well, yelling congratulations to the blond boy.
Looking behind him, was the familiar fluff of black hair, and icy blues that peaked at the crowd.
He looked around expectantly, smiling first when he locked eyes with you, and feeling his face flush when you screamed a congratulations to him.
But, felt his face fall when seeing the empty seat next to you.
Reserved for the only man he wanted to be there.
You instantly saw how his face formed a small frown, eyes cast down into sadness.
It grinded your gears, almost painfully so. Right where your stomach and heart should've been.
It should've been his father here.
Not you.
__________
After the ceremony, you, Carlo and Romeo stayed past leaving hours.
Sitting down in front of the school, both boys still in their ceremony gowns, caps thrown somewhere in the hall.
Both were in conversation while you just stared point blank at the busy street.
It wasn't until you felt a hand that had been placed on your back
Turning slightly, to see both boys staring at your brooding.
It felt... Consoling.
"I'm sorry that your father didn't come... I tried to convince him, but... It didn't work out."
You sighed, if only you had tried hard enough, broken free from those commands... Maybe, possibly, he could have been here.
Carlo's fingers twitched against your back.
"Don't."
You looked up quickly, seeing Carlo's face shift with anger. Bubbling in his gut was something you've never seen before.
"I wouldn't care if he'd died right here and now. So don't think it was your fault for his damn actions."
Looking back at Romeo, he dug into his shirt, feeling around till he held out a necklace.
Pulling it from his neck, he handed it to the boy next to him.
"Here, Romeo. To break my bonds to him, and to solidify our friendship and my admiration to you, till the very end."
Romeo gently took the relic in his hands, gripping it to his chest and nodding, a look of finality showing past his face.
Carlo finally looked at you, pulling out something from his pocket, it was a ring. Imbued with Ergo, the blue material shaped to look like a cut diamond.
A look of shock graced your face, holding the precious item in your palm.
"I made this... To show how much I care for you. You've been by my side when my father hasn't. And I want you by my side forever more. You were never just a puppet to me,"
He had slipped on the ring for you, watching as the band glided against your ring finger.
Having him hold your hand tightly against his, warm and secure.
"You are my everything."
That made you shortcircuit-
Unable to completely say the words, Romeo just laughed hysterically at the look of your face.
Causing you to leap up and bonk the blond on the head with a closed fist.
"Ow!!! That hurt! You're made of metal!"
Yeah.. you could get used to this.
_________
"I want to see them..!"
Carlo cried, throat dry and burning.
His fingers were completely solid against the hard shell that had encased half of his body already.
His skin turned almost deathly pale from loss of blood circulation and blue blood.
He couldn't move, but that didn't stop him from using his strength on the last bit of voice he still had left.
He called out to both you and Romeo, daily.
Geppetto couldn't see his son like this... In pain both physically and mentally.
When the puppet frenzy had started, you had disappeared.
Out in the dead of night, possibly killing humans, or already dead by the many makes shift weapons that the people of Krat had made themselves.
Carlo, having contracted the petrification disease.
"You can't see them right now son..."
"Why can't I?! They're my.. my.."
Carlo felt something bubble from his lips, spitting out a slurry of blue blood.
Coughing harshly against the tightness against his chest.
The crystals forming around his face surely didn't help either.
Cold, cold was another horrid feeling he felt.
Is this what you felt on a daily basis without the warmth of his hands?
It was unbearable.
"Carlo... Please get some rest."
His father pleated, using a rag to wipe his son's mouth from the putred stuff.
Carlo became deathly quiet, aside from his rugged breathing, he had kept his eyes up and buggy.
Hoping, pleading that you'd come back.
Just like you've always had.
__________
Blood dripped from the crevice of your hands, even getting between the grooves of your ring.
You had only one thing in your mind.
Kill
Kill
KILL
Anything that moves, breaths, or twitches, kill it.
But you never remembered finding yourself scaling an entire mansion and breaking open a window that felt so familiar to you.
Your body janked to one side of the room to the next, stumbling blindly, trying to search for anything that you could grasp on.
Your body stopped completely when you heard a groan.
A very tired groan coming from the other side of the room.
Slowly but steady, you reached your hands out, ready to break whatever neck you could feel...
You suddenly felt warm.
"You... You came back.."
You heard your name, come from the weak lips of someone you were close with.
His frighteningly cold hands reached to hold your broken face.
"You... Came back..."
He repeated.
"C̴̀͐ͅǎ̴̯̀͠r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅ?"
Your voice wasn't the same anymore, voice box crackled with broken wires and flood of oil and Ergo. But he still smiled against his cracked and bloody lips. Reminisce of the Puppet language hard in your voice.
Your fingers were still itching, getting closer to his neck, really wanting to put him out of this painful reality, you fought instead to scoop him up against your arms.
Holding the dying boy you had grown to love.
He felt so heavy against you.. and he only grew heavier when he laid his head against your hard shoulder.
Feeling a long your hand with his, crystal-like fingers staining with the blood against your caked ones.
Feeling the band against your finger.
"You.. are my... everything."
He went deathly silent.
••••••••••••°°°°••••••••••••
This is my first time sharing my writings with Tumbler, hope ya like it ✨
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He Chose You (Pt. 12)
Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for Explicit.
(LISTEN… this story has gotten out of control and I need help.)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12
“It’s alright, child.” Sera’s moods swung round like a revolving door. She could change and bend from someone motherly to a raging Force to an uninvolved observer in a millisecond. “You don’t know any better.”
She reach out and placed a hand on your cheek, perfectly warm and loving in her caress while her eyes remained like flint against the loveliest of features. “Everything has come to pass as it should. You’ll understand in time.”
It made you sick. Your skin grew clammy as an acidic substance shot up your esophagus and your whole body pitched backward to escape.
You would’ve taken hours locked away with that asshole Adam before you stood another minute being condescended to by the Seraphim.
You were sulking, and you knew it, but you couldn’t stop.
The building that you had been taken into to meet Sera in the first place served as some sort of Capital. It was grandiose and reached so high up that you couldn’t see where the damn ceiling ended. Perhaps it didn’t.
You had to take great pains to escape it, navigating among high-ranking angels of all kinds filtering from both the ground and air above you in orderly chaos. It quickened your step to notice that a number of them did a double-take at seeing you.
They resembled different things, just as the angels outside did, although most of them appeared human-like. You wondered briefly if there was a rhyme or reason to it, or if God chose to make the woman you barely avoided running into resemble a moose because it made Him laugh.
Once you’d escaped the war room, you had immediately breathed a little easier. Still, you continued on until you physically felt the tiny shocks and electric currents of warning ebb from your skin. It was as if Sera’s essence had stuck to you, her presence clinging to your frame to make a longer impression.
It had your skin tightening, muscles clenching as a chaotic flood of anxiety and fear prevented you from walking solidly. Too many ‘what if’s’ took you in and out of awareness, making you stumble over nothing.
It had crossed your mind that Emily did not appear before you’d made yourself scarce. A part of you had wondered at that, feeling as though she’d have waited for you out of some concern for your wellbeing.
Perhaps that was all for show, however. Sera was clearly excellent at appearing benevolent, and Emily had looked toward the Seraphim for guidance in front of you. It stood to reason that Emily could also be two-faced.
The logic was sound and yet it made you wince, whether from shame at your incorrect judge or character —
‘Or how much she reminds me of Lucifer.’
You imagined Emily looking at you while stripped of any warmth and compassion. She quickly changed, morphing into Lucifer with hollow, unfeeling red eyes.
It hurt.
—
Panic had you frozen in place a time or two before you’d gained a wide enough berth to stop.
Beforehand you’d walked clouds so polished and flat you’d swear they were glass, amidst the more general population of Heaven with your arms wrapped around yourself. It felt needed when even those outside the Capital looked at you with interest, as if they knew.
Maybe they did. Was it against the rules to keep secrets in Heaven?
“We are literally judges, juries and executioners in Hell.”
“Executioners?”
“What’re you talking about?”
The recollection of a seemingly insignificant moment drew you to a halt. You stared at the pristine ground, fists knocking at your sides. The confusion on your face doubled when you looked up.
Your ‘wide berth’ had led you far away from the crowds of perfectly content angels and their sleek, futuristic buildings. Farther than you’d anticipated, as ahead of you lay a line of trees that thickened into a dense forest.
Like Earth, Heaven had a variety of terrains — or so it would seem. Child-like curiosity had you crossing the line between airy openness and into the thicket of pines. All varieties of fir, pine, and larch coexisted with one another, bowing and swaying in the wind. There was nothing to be afraid of, but a sense of oddity hung in the air as you walked a perfectly sculpted path.
The smell of damp earth and lilies rose from the ground at your feet. A warm breeze rustled the hair that hung limply around your face. Birds sung merrily above you, flitting from branch to branch.
It occurred to you that no matter how deep you traveled into the woods, the sunlight never waned.
And yet faintly you heard roaring. It was distant but growing louder with every step you took.
It was not an animal nor man calling out to you from far away. You felt the change as the smell of sap intermingled with that of salt on the wind, and the floor turned from nettles and moss to pale sand.
You rubbed your eyes as the trees parted and seemed to disappear as they revealed a beautiful, sparkling sea.
Sun cast off the surface of the ocean, bouncing against a kaleidoscope of multicolored clouds surrounding it. And you had Dejá vu before blinking away the flash of purple and honey in your eyes.
You watched tiny waves as they fell against the shoreline, seafoam disappearing within moments. It continued, mesmerizing you, as you ambled toward it. When the water finally rushed over your feet, it carried tiny seashells that scuttled around you. And unlike the ocean you were familiar with, this one was a perfect temperature, no acclimation required.
For the first time since arriving in Heaven, you felt yourself smiling genuinely.
You gave into the urge to squish the wet sand between your toes and waded into the water up to your ankles. Your worries began to wash away with each pull of the tide, slow and steady.
Eventually, you meandered away from that singular spot and began to trek parallel to the shore. The sun never got in your eyes nor did the sand get whipped up and blow into your mouth. Everything from the waves to the breeze was gentle.
As were the eyes that were upon you.
As soon as you felt that stare, you stopped in your tracks. Just the thought of turning to them was daunting.
You don’t have to look, but you do.
There’s a woman with you now, with hair so long and blonde it’s almost white. Her chin, lips, nose, and eyes are delicate and soft.
—
Eve had lingered upon your every step once you’d arrived in her neck of the woods.
She was glad to see that the effects of the beach it hid were enough to soothe you, even if it was more of a distraction than a cure. You deserved something good, even if it was relatively meager compared to everything you’d endured up to this point.
Your figure grew smaller as you crossed the sand, away from the first woman’s hiding spot. You were none the wiser, engrossed in the soothing give and take of the water. It made it easier for Eve to creep up the beach only a few paces away, free to follow your path without ruining your tranquility.
It reminded Eve of a simpler time when she was the one being eyed curiously from afar.
***
Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin, @rebecca-hvnstn, @velvette3, @kermitdafroggy, @wpdarlingpan, @apatcheworkofproblems, @cherry-cola-100, @pink-apples001, @al-of-the-stars, @backinthefkingbuildingagain, @martinys-world, @alastorssimp, @wobblesthewaffle, @shikiribee, @undertale-anomaly20, @asakura-fangirl-stuff, @ringsofpersonti, @angelicwillows, @wingoodlilboymyway, @cimadreamer, @museofzealoushope, @oneiric-rotaerc, @call-me-nyxx, @darling-angel222, @elementwind91, @bloody-delusion-expert, @martinys-world, @devilslittlebabyxx
Forgive me if I forgot to tag you or the tags don’t work, I don’t know what that keeps happening.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer morningstar#lucifer x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader
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Day off with Deac
@dizzybee03 - enjoy love! <3
“Good morning, trouble,” David said to you once you made it downstairs after you woke up from your post-shift nap. “How was your shift last night?”
You glared at him and looked at your watch. “Considering it’s 2 p.m.?”
He laughed and handed you a bowl of cereal.
“Rough shift?”
“It was a blast – shootings, stabbings, and STEMIs, oh my!” Your roommate laughed at you and shook his head.
“Lay person language – please.”
“Heart attacks, Deac. We had two shootings, an unrelated stabbing, and then a woman having a heart attack.”
He held his hands up in surrender. “I just asked!” He took a sip of his coffee, “You and your shit ass calls.”
“You know I trained my ass off to take care of the sickest of the sick. I love getting the ability to do that when it comes around. The same as you cops and your adrenaline rushes. What are you doing home anyways?”
“I’m off today, decided to take it and be lazy.”
You looked suspiciously at your roommate. It was unlike him to just take a lazy day. He didn’t do that. But, you dismissed it. You met Deacon in school. He was in his BLET program while you were in paramedic school. Your classes trained together several times and you two simply became close. There was never a specific rhyme or reason other than your spirits meshed well together. You two began hanging out while in school grew extremely close. You started working in the same county which meant you ran a lot of calls together. You were broken hearted when Deacon left to go to a SWAT academy and advance his career with special training, but when he returned, the two of you picked up right where you left off as if there had been no hiatus. After several failed relationships on both of your parts, the two of you decided to move in together. The relationship between the two of you had been platonic, however, you couldn’t help but notice that things had recently become rather flirtatious between you two.
“What are your plans for today?” Deacon asked you, looking over the rim of his coffee cup.
“I hadn’t necessarily made any.”
“Hang out with me?”
“And what makes you so special that I would spend my empty day with you?” You teased.
You took a bite of your cereal and Deacon feigned a hurt look.
“You know you’ve missed me these past few weeks that we’ve barely seen each other.”
You paused and thought about it. He wasn’t wrong. Your time together lacked in quantity, but it had made up in quality. You would catch Deacon eyeing you in passing and even more noticeable was when you ran calls together. He was always more than willing to help you out with your patients and you always found him close to you in the back of the ambulance. Granted, some calls didn’t allow for personal space for anyone involved – personnel or patient, but the vibe with your roommate was… different.
He began walking around your house together in a towel after showers as opposed to the shorts and shirt he used to put on. He would playfully tickle you or grace his fingers across your arms or waist. He would snapchat you pictures of him in his uniform while on duty and you couldn’t deny that he looked delectable. He knew it. You knew it. He knew that you knew it. So you began returning the favors in returned pictures in your own uniform – occasionally in your undershirt with the best angle of your cleavage.
You couldn’t remember when you two began spiraling into the friends with benefits status that was inevitable. The only thing? You hadn’t gotten the benefits yet. It didn’t take long to convince yourself that spending your day off with Deacon may not be a bad idea after all.
“Fine, but only if I get to pick the movie we watch.”
Deacon winked and pointed a finger at you, “Promise it will be a scary movie so you’ll snuggle up to me, bury your face in my neck, and pretend you’re scared?”
You raised both eyebrows at Deacon. He was being rather forward today. Not that you minded.
As you snuggled up onto the couch with him, you caught a hint of bourbon on his breath.
“What’s got you so suddenly brave today?” You asked him, poking his bottom lip with your finger, hinting that you smelled the alcohol on his breath.
“Man can’t enjoy a drink on his day off?”
You felt him snake his fingers up underneath the hem of your t-shirt. He squeezed your hip.
You mimicked his behavior and teased his lower abdominal muscles with your fingertips underneath of his shirt. His moan at your touch was not lost on you.
“Mmm,” you hummed, “Have I struck a nerve?”
“Not yet,” he teased, “Gotta keep going to find it.”
His voice was nearly an octave deeper as he watched you watch your hand disappear underneath of his shirt.
You didn’t stop until you reached his pec. You teased his nipple with your fingertips and giggled when you noticed his breath hitch.
“What’s so funny?” He asked sensually.
“Such a big… strong… man, so easily unraveled with just…” you softly trailed your hand from one side of his chest to the other, “one… simple… touch.”
He inhaled sharply. “Not just any touch.”
“Yeah?” you asked, genuinely curious.
“Yeah…”
He suddenly wrapped his hand around your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure, pushing you back on the couch as he climbed on top of you. He lowered his face to yours and you were slightly disappointed when he didn’t immediately kiss you.
He spoke as he exhaled, his lips meeting yours as soon as the last word left his mouth –
“Only by your touch.”
#christina alonso#dominic luca#david kay#hondo harrelson#david deacon kay#jay harrington#imagine#jim street#swat#swat cbs#hondo#tan#victor#victor tan#deac#chris#facfiction#writing#deacon x reader
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Me: And you see, here’s the thing, right? Here’s the thing. While it’s fairly reasonable to assume that Ignitor—who is canonically stated to distrust and despise all witches—would dislike Hex for no other reason than her simply being a witch, I think what’s missing from this take on their hypothetical dynamic are all the things that they have in common. Now, I don’t doubt that Ignitor would be wary of Hex at first. But I also think that over time, he’d be able to shake off his bias and grow to really cherish Hex as both a teammate and a close friend, especially because they share so many of the same traumas. See, becoming Undead was not Hex’s choice. She had her life taken from her by Malefor, the Dragon King. Once she was cursed, people began to fear her. People began to hate her for reasons completely out of her control. She began to hate herself. She began to mourn the life she’d lost. She doubted she could ever be happy with herself again. And then you have Ignitor. Ignitor didn’t start out as a flame spirit. He also got cursed, just like Hex. And coincidentally, he lost his body during a battle with a dragon as well. He too grew to loathe what he had become. He didn’t feel like himself anymore. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to accept his fate. But slowly, these two characters not only learned to love themselves, but they also began to realize the amount of love people still have and will continue to have for them. For so long they had believed that their curses made them unloveable and monstrous, but over time, they came to realize that they’ve always been worthy of love and always will be worthy of love. Hex and Ignitor’s journeys are so similar. Their experiences are so similar. I lose my mind thinking about it. Did the author of their character bios even notice the parallels? Did they realize the fact that—
The burglar who has broken into my house: They’re mirror images. They’re the coalescence of sword and sorcery. They’re two lines of poetry that end in rhyme.
Me: They’re two lines of poetry that end in rhyme!
#whissu rambles#skylanders#ignitor#ignitor skylanders#hex skylanders#what’s this?? whissu going crazy over the Actual Skylanders for once and not just the NPCs???? yeah i can’t believe it either#look. look. this is a special case because hex & ignitor give me brainworms#one time as a kid i thought way too hard about them and since then they’ve just kinda occupied a spot in my heart#not sure if they warrant a brotp tag (…yet) but who knows. it all depends on whether or not i have more to say about them#to further clarify: this is all PLATONIC btw!!!#*glances around* m. maybe even. a QPR#who said that#anyways yeah i’m an ‘Ignitor Wouldn’t Despise Hex (in fact they’d be very close)’ Truther and you can pry them from my cold dead hands
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Arrowheads | Nya Smith x reader
I believe that there are things out there that want to hurt me. Will hurt me. That’s a thought I can’t get to ever leave my head. But she calms them. Only her.
Next part
I had never been to Ninjago city. Cole said it was too unsafe. I was a musician. Well a songwriter. A ghostwriter to be specific. I get paid to not leave my room and write lyrics for some big artist or little artist to take credit for. I wanted to be a singer. I wanted to perform but stages weren’t a place for me to be. The world scared me. People scared me. It requires so much effort to live in the world. Especially as a girl. I needed to look perfect, act perfect, be perfect. And I wasn’t. I had too many flaws to count. My wardrobe doesn’t have a new outfit for everyday. I own more pyjamas than clothes. I talk better in rhyming words on paper than I do to people.
I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t scared. I’m not now. But too many ghosts walk around outside for me to be comfortable. Not literally. That was years ago. And in stixx. And that was the last time I saw my brother. Granted, he was older. But after mom died and Dad drank himself into sobbing onto his music sheets, I thought we were closer. I understand he raised me. Not a job for a grieving 14 year old boy. Not a job for any teenager to be raising a horribly paranoid 8 year old. I was almost 9. Nether less, Children shouldn’t be raising children. I never got over that paranoia. It grew. It grows inside me even now. After the second round of snakes. Not the serpentine. The one who had fire powers. I covered my apartment windows in newspaper and bought 3 locks for my door. I called Cole in tears for over 4 hours. He didn’t pick up once. After all that, I got a message 4 days later, asking me if everything was okay. We called for 10 minutes before he had to go. He sounded tired and exhausted the whole time. Maybe I was too much. I had grown use to the thought he might resent me. That he wasted the rest of his youth raising me and comforting me through everything before Dad sent me to a programme in Jamankai for young music protégés after he had mailed in my notebook of lyrics and video recording of me playing various instruments and singing. All lessons he made me take. I was 11, almost 12. Cole was 18 and never came home after I left. The programme led to me getting in to a songwriting degree at 16. And last year I graduated. On the day of that snake attack. The fire one. Cole promised to be at my graduation just outside ninjago city. He lived there. He was the only reason I went. He promised to come on the stage with me if I needed him to. He didn’t turn up. Answered none of my calls. Until 4 days later with his infamous everything okay message. Later I got an ‘I’m sorry’. So a year later, I decided I’m tired. I would go to ninjago city. Talk to him myself. That’s what I was doing right now. I decided writing songs about reuniting and rebuilding relationships was not the therapeutic release I needed. It was to see my brother, now 28, as an adult, 21. I deserved to know why he treated me this way, I deserved to not be caged in my room. To see the world I feared so much. Even if the thought of the train ceiling collapsing in on me was the only thought I had right now. Luckily, the train wasn’t too busy but barely anyone lived in Jamankai these days. I might even see a ninja in ninjago. Or a dragon. I hope at least. As long as I am far away from wherever they are headed. I had his address, and I would be there, tonight! Maybe this afternoon if I sped walk.
I hate myself. This was an awful idea. He can hate me. I don’t care. I see a dragon and a ninja. And robots trying to kill me. Why did I do this? They may be on TV but that was close? Right? Ninjago city isn’t that big.
“Don’t look too worried darling, that was yesterday’s highlights. And about 50 minutes away from here.”
“Oh.” I said and walked away. I am utterly embarrassed. Why did I leave my room? Was he trying to be funny?
“Miss do you need a ride anywhere?” I looked back at him and continued walking. “No! It’s not like that! I’m Chen! I own a cab company- here’s my card-! There’s my company car-! I was just trying to do my job! I’m gay!”
“Oh, me too king.” I said and he nodded, with a smile.
“Actually?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Okay, well, front or back?” He asked and I looked at him weirdly before I realised he was talking about the car and not a weird way of asking me if I was a top or bottom.
“Front. I don’t like the back.” I said and he went to take my bag and I didn’t let him. The ratty bunny teddy I had since I was 2 was in clear view if I moved my jacket off the top and I couldn’t handle anyone seeing it. He nodded and just opened the passenger door for me.
“Where are you going?” Chen asked and I paused before telling him.
“Here.” I said and showed the address in my notes, he frowned before nodding.
“That’ll only cost a 20.” He said with a smile but I didn’t share it. Any money out was money I wouldn’t see again for a month. And I hadn’t paid my water yet.
We sat in silence whilst he played a long playlist of purely Azealia banks. I recognised some songs. And some lyrics. Although I’m sure I hadn’t wrote for her.
“Not much of a talker?” He said and I looked up at him.
“This is the first time I’ve left the house in 3 months.” I said and he nodded, surprisingly understanding.
“My mom had agoraphobia. I get it. I’m proud of you for even getting out at all. She hasn’t left the house in 4 years. The great devourer swallowed her coworkers in front of her and then when the time twins happened she got jumped by all those mini snakes and almost strangled to death so… I should not be telling you this!” I stared at him wide eyed.
“I think I might have agoraphobia…” I said and he nodded.
“Well… uhm. Just stay away from the main part of the city. It’s still pretty levelled from the sons of Garmadon but it’s every new villains favourite part. I’m taking you well out to the outskirts so… actually I’m surprised you even got a train into the city. It’s basically just forests and one blocked off area where a boarding school used to be but crumbled after the stone warriors.” Chen said and I nodded.
“So nothing that can kill me?” I said and he nodded.
“Nothing ever happens there. People don’t even call it part of ninjago city with how barren it is.” My nerves slowly calmed. Emphasis on slowly.
We parked in an empty car park with 3 beat, old cars and one truck that lucked equally beat. We both got out and Chen looked around calmly. Like he hadn’t been here in ages. I immediately called Cole. 1 ring. 2 rings. 3 rings. 4 rings. 5 rings. Voicemail. I sighed. Chen looked at me worriedly. Why would Cole give me a fake address? I sighed before debating to myself. I scrolled down. Well I didn’t have to. I only had 5 contacts. And two were my landlord and the building maintenance man. I tapped on the ‘Pearl (Cole’s girlfriend)’ contact. Were they even still together? I rung anyway. 1 ring, 2 rings, 3 wings…
“Hello?” She didn’t sound too happy.
“Uhm- hi… I’m uh-“ how the hell did I speak.
“Who is this?” She asked and I stuttered before getting my words out.
“I’m Y/n Brookstone. I’m Cole’s sister, he said he lives here but, I’m staring at an empty parking lot-“
“-Wait- Cole’s sister?!” She asked and I nodded.
“Yes, Y/n Brookstone, is this Pearl?” I asked and she took a moment before responding.
“Yes. What- sorry I didn’t catch your name, what was that?” She asked and I repeated myself again.
“Y/n Brookstone.” I said and I heard her sigh.
“That’s not Cole’s sister’s name.” She said and I froze. Yes it was?
“No, that’s my name- I have ID! I can prove it-!” I immediately defended.
“I don’t know what sick prank call this is- I get that his family are upset we didn’t invite them to the our wedding but this is- this is weird.” Pearl said and I froze.
“Cole’s married?” I asked and she sounded even more annoyed.
“Yes! To me! And if you were his sister you’d know my actual name and not just ‘Pearl’- anyone can know that!” She exclaimed and my insides tensed up. I didn’t want to argue with my brother’s apparent wife!
“That’s what he called you- he gave me your number! I have 5 contacts- I’ve tried calling him but he’s not answering-! Please! Is he there?!” I pleaded and she ignored me.
“5 contacts? That just gives burner phone! I don’t know you are- Cole’s sister’s name isn’t Y/n. And I’m not giving it to you! I’m going to block you.” She said and I let out an actual sob.
“No, please! I will send you my location! I am his sister! I don’t know what he said my name was but I wouldn’t have this address if it wasn’t me! He’s really big on privacy and security- you’d know that- but- please just let me talk to him. Is he there?!” I begged and I heard her scoff.
“No. I’m coming outside, and if you’re in that fucking parking lot-“ there was some commotion on the other line, “no it’s just some girl with a fake name, claiming to be Cole’s sister! She’s literally in the parking lot-!”
“End the call then.” It was another girl’s voice. She sounded very unbothered.
“No, please-! I’ve tried calling Cole- I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t have to.” I said and she ignored me again.
“I’ll tell him you called.” She said.
“Just come outside- I can prove it-“ the line went dead. I stared at my phone in shock. Pearl already hated me and I hadn’t even met her yet. She made Cole so happy. And the one thing that makes him happy, hates me.
“Hey… do you have anywhere to stay?” Chen asked and I turned around quickly, I didn’t know he was still here. “I didn’t want to leave until I knew you were safe.” He said and I sobbed. He quickly hugged me and I held onto him. I had just met him and he was already comforting me.
“No…” i practically whispered.
“Are… are you- what happened? If you don’t mind me asking.” He asked and I had to look up to try and stop the tears.
“She hates me.” I said and he frowned.
“Who hates you?” He asked.
“My brother’s wife! And she makes him so happy- and I-“ he cut me off and separated from the hug.
“Well she sounds like an asshole then. C’mon, it’s starting to rain.” Chen said and we got back in the car.
Volume: ■■■■■□□□
The monastery was unusually quiet. With the monks doing outdoors training, Wu’s barking orders couldn’t be heard. The monastery was, for once, all girls. And it was quiet. Misako was sat turning pages of her ancient scripture, Peach was nursing a headache that came from teaching over excited 6 year olds how to stay still for an hour, Cherry was busying herself trying to perfect her own nails. She had to give up getting her nails done after going into ninja-witness protections. Snowdrops was lingering somewhere in her own world of systems. Pixal was sentinel, probably with Snow in their world of digital beings. Pearl was stress-cooking, she had been thinking of the phone call since it had happened. And how she had been so rude and how the girl was so distressed.
“Try meditating, watching you stress like this is not helping my head.” Peach said, mug of some kind of tea pressed to her head.
“I’m sorry…” Pearl said but only stilled for a moment before pacing again. The curry she was making didn’t even get to bubble before it was being stirred again.
It went back to how it was, Peach had took to laying on the counter in this time. She still found it hard to sleep without Lloyd. Her dragon crooned lowly outside and she looked to the window where the eye of the dragon was visible. She smiled and the dragon raised its head again. Peace was nice. Quiet was nice. It was what everyone needed. But it never lasts long. Not in this home. To be a ninja was to be quieter than silence herself but to be a part of this family, was to be on the same volume level as a foghorn:
The bangs and clatter of ninjas coming home was undoubtedly recognisable. It was the same everytime. Groaning, complaining, whining, that all came from the men as they made their way to the living area. Pixal sprung to life again. Making Cherry jump and curse as she smudged her nails. Peach whined as she turned on her side. Pearl sighed as the familiar arms wrapped around her. She could almost ignore the grime and oder that came from the ninja when they had been on a three-week stake out. A kiss was placed on her temple and she smiled before the smell became too much and she pushed the large man off her.
“Smells good.” Cole said and she frowned.
“You don’t.” Pearl said which was backed up by Peach who made a noise of agreement.
“I’m talking about the food, you too.” He said and she smiled.
“It’s not done yet.” She said and smacked his hand that was reaching for the ladle. He laughed and put his hands up. Jay and Nya were next to come in. The recently separated fiancés were better than ever. Both relishing in not having to suffer their deteriorating relationship anymore and Nya’s confession. She wasn’t into men. Not anymore at least. She was ashamed it took her this long to realise that men were not it for her at all. Jay didn’t hold it against her. He took it better than anyone could. He loved Nya but even he could admit that their love for each other had changed. They were friends and they cared for each other. But not in the way they once had. It was refreshing to see both of them so free and happy even after a 3-week stake out.
“Who wants patrol tonight?” Cole asked to which the ninjas in the room groaned. “No one takes it, Lloyd will decide.” He added to which another groan followed.
“I’ll take it. I wasn’t really involved in that last fight.” Nya said to which they both thanked her.
“Did I just hear I don’t have to do patrol?” Kai asked, Zane in tow. Snowdrops physical form appeared to hug Zane in a way that no one was sure was possible with her form. Somehow physical but not?
“I don’t care as long as I’m not moving tonight.” Peach said.
“Well, you’re in luck! Lloyd stayed behind to check everything was still running smoothly! Won’t be back till tomorrow!” Cole said and Peach sighed.
“Perfect.” She said, unamused.
“Anything happen whilst we were gone?” Jay asked.
“Pearl’s been getting prank calls.” Peach said to which Pearl stiffened.
“What?” Cole laughed. Cherry swerved a kiss from Kai in his grimy state to which Kai reacted in outrage.
“You haven’t seen me in three weeks-“
“It was one, and some girl claiming to be your sister- she was outside and all. Used a fake name too-“ Pearl ranted and Cole froze.
“What-?” He said and Pearl nodded.
“I know-! But her name wasn’t Papita! It was some Y- thing, I can’t remember exactly-“ She said and Cole grabbed her, gently, by the shoulder.
“When was this?!” He questioned, alarm in his eyes.
“A couple hours ago- Cole!” He rushed out the room and the monastery. Pearl turned in shock.
“What just happened?!” Jay asked and Peach sighed.
“I think Pearl may have just left Cole’s sister out in the rain in a city she doesn’t live in.” Peach said, still unmoving.
“What?! Why would you do that?!” Jay asked.
“I didn’t know-! It wasn’t the name I was told-! Her name wasn’t Papita!” Pearl tried to defend herself.
“Oh my god- Papita is a nickname!” Jay said to which Pearl became speechless. “Her actual name is- uhm… Kai?!” Jay asked and Kai sighed.
“I met her a few years ago, it’s Y/n.” Kai said and Pearl’s hand found its way to her mouth, fast.
“Who’s Y/n?” Cherry asked.
“Cole’s sister.” Kai told her and she nodded.
“Where could she have gone?!” Pearl asked and turned immediately to Snowdrop and Zane.
“Her in-phone tracker says that she is in ninjago city.” Zane said and Pearl nodded, trying to process everything. How could she leave her sister-in-law out in the cold? What a great first impression.
“We have to find her!” Pearl said to which Peach finally sat up.
“This is bad.” Peach said and slid off the counter. “Let me know what happens.” She said, walking off and turning to the side to let Cole rush past on her out.
“My phone! Where’s my phone?!” Cole questioned.
“Bedside table!” Pearl said and followed him.
“I’m so sorry-! I didn’t know-“ Pearl apologised, frantically. Cole cursed at the dead phone and immediately put it on charge.
“She’s out there, all alone, in a city she doesn’t know-! This is all my fault! I should have been here.” Cole said, more to himself.
“You were on a mission-!” Pearl tried to justify but Cole ignored her.
“We were planning on coming home early- if I just hadn’t agreed to check out the east side-!” He cursed himself as he waited for the phone to have enough charge to turn back on.
“It’s my fault- I should’ve gone out there! I should’ve heard her out-!” Pearl said and Cole turned to her.
“Why didn’t you?” He asked.
“I don’t know- I just- with everything I thought it was what to do! I didn’t want to risk anything!” She said and Cole shook his head.
“How do you not know your sister-in-law’s name!” Cole asked and Pearl stumbled for an answer.
“You always call her Papita, I thought it was her name! I haven’t heard your call her anything else.” Pearl said and Cole sighed.
“It’s a nickname! It means little potato!” Cole said and Pearl shook her head.
“I’m sorry, I thought I was doing what’s right. Clearly, I wasn’t.” Pearl said and Cole sighed again. The phone lit up and he immediately unlocked it and scrolled to his contacts. Hitting one specific contact.
Volume: ■■■■■□□□
Chen took me to some diner. It was near here and we were the only two there. He had ordered us some water and had been speaking with the man behind the bar for a very long time. I couldn’t believe what had happened. Giving me a fake address? His wife yelling at me? He’s clearly been hiding a lot from me. I wondered if Dad knew. Pearl said that his family knew but I didn’t? I was part of that family. I might have to call Dad.
I tried not to jump when the drinks got sat down in front of me. Chen smiles and I had only just noticed the man had followed.
“This is my boyfriend, Reece!” Chen said and I smiled.
“I’m Y/n.” I said and the man smiled.
“Nice to meet you.” He said, politely. I nodded.
“Anyway, we were just wondering if you had any plans tonight, anywhere to go?” Chen asked and I shook my head.
“I don’t have a ticket back to Jamankai for another couple days.” I said and they nodded.
“Want to stay at ours? Until then, hotels around here are quite expensive.” Reece asked and I looked at both of them before nodding.
“Please…” I said and they smiled.
“Our apartment is above the diner so, you can put your stuff up there if you want?” Chen asked and I took a moment to consider how dangerous this is. They were strangers. Gay. But still strangers. They could kill me. We’ve been here for 20 minutes and no one has come in the diner since we sat down.
“Okay…” I said and Reece smiled before leading me to a door around the side of the kitchen which just led to a case of stairs. Reece unlocked the door and let me go through first.
“It’s not much but we don’t have much.” Reece said and I nodded. “The guest bedroom is this way!” He said, cheerily. He held the door open again for me and I looked around the room. There was a bed and a discarded vinyl player with some vinyls.
“There’s so many…” I said, not touching them, scared to get fingerprints on them.
“Oh yeah, Chen had a phase of being really into Jazz. Can you tell he was a theatre kid? Anyway-! We keep them in here because we don’t really use it anymore.” Reece explained and I nodded before the Vinyl next to the player caught my attention.
‘Lou Brookstone’s classics’
I smiled. I hadn’t seen any of my Dad’s albums in a long time. I used to love them. When Cole left and I came home for a few years, my Dad and I bonded over music and his stories of his band and his few classical hits. That life had since been forgotten and now he was a vocalist trainer and a piano teacher. I’d never seen my Dad look so proud and happy as I did when I told him what I had chosen to do my degree in. Those years were still rough. Especially without Cole. Dad had finally started sobering more and had joined Alcoholics Anonymous. I went with him sometimes. He said I reminded him of my mother. One night he slipped and got drunk again, he called me Lilly. That was my mother’s name. I was gone the next day. I went to stay in the college dorms. I should call him. He wasn’t a bad father. At least, he never had bad intent and he tries now. He sends me random musician’s biographies with notes and tags all over it for me to read and maybe gain inspiration.
“I’m going to call my Dad.” I said and Reece nodded.
“Was he a big fan of Jazz too?” He asked and I smiled.
“He’s Lou Brookstone.” I said and he gasped before nodding and walking away.
1 ring- line connected.
“Hello mon chou, it’s lovely to hear from you. Is everything alright?” His words were sincere.
“Hey… I’m in ninjago city.” I said and he made a noise of concern.
“Oh, that’s rather spontaneous.” He said and I nodded, even though I knew he couldn’t see it.
“I know… I came to see Cole.” I said.
“Ah, I see. How is he? I haven’t heard from him since he told me he married that girlfriend of his. Pearl. Very fierce woman, have you met her?” Dad asked and I paused for a moment. “Mon chou?”
“Uhm, not officially. He wasn’t home and I only spoke to Pearl over the phone… I’m at a friend’s house.” I said and he made a teasing noise.
“A girl friend’s house?” He asked and I felt my cheeks heat up.
“No… they’re guys. And gay.” I added quickly before he freaked.
“Okay… is everything alright? You don’t usually call me like this.” Dad pointed out and I sighed.
“I didn’t know Cole was married… and Pearl didn’t know who I was.” I said and he went silent.
“Your brother didn’t tell you? He- he said you and Pearl were going to meet a long time ago. At your graduation?” He pointed out and I tried not to cry.
“Cole didn’t come to my graduation. Neither did Pearl… you had food poisoning from that salmon place.” I said and he sighed.
“I’m sure your brother didn’t leave you for no reason… his job requires him to be on call at all times, you know that.” Dad told me and I shook my head.
“I don’t even know what Cole does other than security.” I said and he sighed.
“I see… well, I’m sure your brother will contact you soon. He’s not one to leave you worrying.” Dad said and I nodded.
“Okay, love you.” I said and I heard Dad chuckle.
“I love you too, mon chou.” The phone line disconnected and I sighed. I stared out the window for a while until a blue, massive dragon flew past it and made me scream. On the back of it, sat the water ninja. 4 more dragons followed and I couldn’t help the way my breathing sped up. I thought the ninja would be more in the main part of the city? I pulled out my headphones quickly and shut the door that had no lock. I wedged my bag between the door and the wardrobe so no one would be able to get in. I put my headphones in quickly before laying back down.
Volume: ■■■■■□□□
My phone buzzing made me open my eyes and freeze. I slowly raised my phone to look at the contact. Cole. I debated answering it. I really did. But then I remembered why I had came here in the first place.
“Hello?” I said and I heard a sigh of relief.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m- I was at work! I didn’t have my phone on me- are you okay?!” He asked and I paused.
“Yes.” I said, simply.
“Okay that’s good, where are you?! Ninjago city really isn’t the safest place, Papita.” Cole said and I took a deep breath in. Clearly.
“I’m at a friend’s.” I said and he went silent.
“Friend, what friend?” Cole asked and I paused.
“Chen and Reece.” I said and he didn’t sound happy.
“I’ve never heard of them- you’ve never told me anything about them.” Cole said and I looked out the window.
“I met them today.” I said and he made a noise of distress.
“Today?! And you’re staying there?!” He asked and I hummed in agreement. “Y/n, this is… that’s not safe. I’ll pick you up, see if we can find a hotel or I can see if I can clean up a room here- just-“
“I’m okay here. They’re nice.” I said and he started to sound annoyed.
“It doesn’t matter if they’re nice, you don’t know them!” He exclaimed and I laid back down. “They could be hiding anything from you!”
“Why didn’t you tell me you got married?” I asked and he went silent. “I’m not a kid anymore, Cole. You don’t have to protect me anymore. You don’t have to hide anything from me.” I said and he sighed.
“It’s not like that… I honestly forgot. It wasn’t like a ceremony or anything, we exchanged rings, we haven’t signed any papers yet! Just in traditional terms, we are married.” He said and I sighed.
“This is the first time I’ve left the house in 3 months.” I admitted and I heard his breath hitch.
“You don’t call, you don’t message and if I get a reply sometimes it’s not for months.” I said and he sounded even more stressed.
“It’s my job-! Sometimes I’m gone for months! I don’t mean to-! I’d love to see you again! See you more even!” He said and I looked to the street outside. That noodle stand looked really good.
“I haven’t seen you for 4 years. You’re like a ghost, Cole.” I said and Cole sighed.
“Can I please come and pick you up?” He asked but I ignored him.
“Why would you give me a fake address?” I asked.
“It wasn’t fake-! You have to go into the forest-!”
“Why didn’t Pearl know my actual name? Why don’t I know hers?” I questioned.
“I don’t know- I thought you both knew! I was wrong, okay! I want you both to meet. I want to see you. I want to know you’re safe. Let me pick you up.” He pleaded.
“I’ll message you my address tomorrow. If you’re not there, I’m going home and not my house! I’m moving back in with Dad.” I said and I heard the way Cole took a sharp breath in.
“Okay, fair enough. Send me it tonight and I’ll be there by 9am latest.” He said and I nodded.
“Fine…” it went awkwardly silent.
“Love you, Flump.”
“Bye.” I hated that nickname. I hung up the phone and rubbed my temples. I could smell that noodle stand. I’m getting it. With the last of my confidence, I will get it.
The noodle stand was actually further than it looked. And I chose a horrible time to go. It was getting dark, really dark, and the line was going down very slowly. Finally it was my turn.
“You’ll have to wait 10 minute, the next batch of noodles isn’t ready yet.” I nodded and sat on a bench. Directly under a street lamp. It was really dark now. And slowly getting colder. I looked up to see the man still stirring noodles and sighed. I looked up again to see him making a container for me and I shot up and watched as he put the sauce on top.
“4.65” He told me and I nodded.
“I’ll have what she’s having, it smells really good Pablo. I bet you can rival Chen’s noodles now.” That was a woman. I handed him the money and stepped to the side for her to move in. He put her noodles together quicker than I’d seen him server anyone. It wasn’t until I looked up did I notice that the woman was actually a ninja. She reached into one of the pouches on her gi.
“No! No! You know you don’t pay.” Pablo said and she shook her head.
“C’mon, I’ve been away for 3 weeks and I’m missing out on Pink’s curry which it really good. Let me pay.” She said and the guy shook his head.
“No. Payment comes in saving all our lives and the city.” He said and I didn’t want to interrupt them to tell them I had no chopsticks. So I decided to turn away and walk back home. Except I was more or less walking to the bench again. I wasn’t expecting her to sit next to me a couple moments later. I looked up in shock. This was a real life ninja. I met her eyes before she handed me a pair of chopsticks. I smiled in thanks.
“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing wandering the streets at night like this? Fella done you wrong? Or just hunger?” She asked, enthusiastically and I took a moment to respond. Perplexed that one- a woman was talking to me, two- a ninja was talking to me.
“Hunger… Fellas aren’t really my thing.” I said and she nodded.
“Me either. Well, not anymore.” She said and held her noddles up to cheers mine and I did it, awkwardly, but we did it. She chuckled. Before pulling her mask up and over mouth, I looked away quickly. She laughed. “Don’t worry, you won’t know who I am just from my mouth.”
“Okay… feels weird.” I said and she smiled. “Did you really call me pretty?” I asked, not sure what she had said as I was more in shock.
“Yes, or no- did it weird you out?” She asked and I smiled, shaking my head.
“No, it was nice.” I said the water ninja smiled.
“Then yes. And I’m serious.” She whispered the last part and I smiled harder.
“You’ve got pretty lips…” I said, hoping it didn’t sound weird or suggestive.
“Really? You from around here?” Fuck. It did sound suggestive.
“I’ve never been to ninjago before, I saw your dragon earlier… it was cool. Really scary- but cool.” I said and she smiled.
“Her name is Tidal. I can introduce you two if you want?” She asked and I shook my head.
“No, I don’t think I can handle meeting a dragon right now. Sorry” I said and she chuckled.
“No hard feelings. Dragons are intimidating, especially Peach’s dragon. Her dragon is massive! And powerful. Took down half an army of onis on her own with him.” She said and I nodded.
“I forgot about the Onis.” I said and the water ninja nodded.
“That was a tough fight.” She admitted. “Were you affected by them?” She asked and I shook my head.
“No, I live in Jamankai but I do have 3 locks on my door.” I said and she nodded.
“Not a bad idea.” She told me and I looked up at her. “I’m not going to lie to you, you should head home. Tonight’s quiet but this city is so unpredictable and I don’t think I’d be able to console myself if I heard that your pretty face got hurt.” She said and I flushed, warmth spread across my face and I just hoped she couldn’t tell how flustered I was as she pulled the bottom of her mask back down.
“I’m nearly done.” I said and she frowned.
“Wow, I should call you nibbles. You almost ate that quicker than me.” She joked and I smiled.
“I don’t think nibbles suits me then.” I said she tilted her head in thought.
“No, but dustbin isn’t as cute.” She said and I laughed, actually laughed.
“Okay, what can I call you then?” There was something so easy about talking to someone in a mask.
“Anything but squirt. My brother still calls me that and he’s almost 30.” She told me and I laughed.
“My brother calls me little potato and little cabbage.” I said and she laughed.
“What?!” She asked, amused.
“I refused to eat cabbage when I was younger so he started calling me that to spite me.” I said and she laughed again.
“My brother- fire- just calls every kid that. He still calls Green it.” She told me and I nodded.
“I’m done.” I announced and put my box in the bin.
“Hey, can I walk you home? It’d just make me feel more comfortable knowing you got home safe.” She said and I nodded.
“I’m staying right there!” I told her to which she frowned.
“The diner?” She asked.
“My friends own it, they live above it.” I said and she nodded.
We mainly walked in comfortable silence until we stopped outside the diner. The walk seemed longer, like we were both trying to stretch the moment.
“I guess I’ll see you around then, Nibbles.” The water ninja said to me and I smiled.
“See you later, squirter.” I said and she laughed.
“Squirter?!” She asked, dumbfounded.
“Because of the whole water thing…” I tried to explain before it hit me what is sounded like. “Oh no- not like that…” I tried to defend myself but she waved me off. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. Just took me by surprise. Anyway, thank you for turning a boring patrol into a good night. I’ll be thinking of you and your cute face tonight.” She said and I smiled.
“Not that I could see your face, but you have a pretty mouth and eyes.” I said and she met my eyes. She looked smug. She winked and my face fell. This was real.
“Thank you, no one has ever said that before.” She said before disappearing into the dark alleys. Was that flirting? Did we flirt? Were we in love now? Why do I have the urge to ask her what we are?
“Did you just pull the water ninja?!” I heard a voice yell and I looked up to the see Reece and Chen, leaning out the window.
“Oh my god…” I said and rushed inside.
Volume: ■■■■■□□□
It wasn’t unusual for Nya not to talk to anyone after patrol. It wasn’t unusual for most the ninja to be catching up on sleep at this time. However, it wasn’t usual for her to bump into Jay around the monastery. He was sat on the counter, bowl of cheerios in his hands. The box itself had a cartoon ninja on. She smiled as she went in pouring a bowl for herself.
“Long patrol?” He asked and she shook her head.
“No, quiet actually. Almost boring.” She said and he laughed.
“Almost?” Jay asked, hinting something in his voice.
“Do you think it’s too soon? I mean… we were together for so long. Do you think it’s too early to even think about moving on?” Nya asked and Jay shook his head.
“No, I think it’s good.” He admitted, to her surprise. “I loved you, I really did Nya and not to say that I don’t still love you but it’s different. When we were good, we were great but… you were never as into me as I was to you, and now we know why. I don’t hold it against you. You shouldn’t hold it against yourself. You shouldn’t hold it against me.” He told her and she sighed.
“I don’t know why I feel so guilty, I was never taught what I am is wrong.” Nya told him and he nodded.
“Buts it’s not what you expect, think of for yourself. You’ve never looked at me the way you look at a girl and thats okay. We can still love each other without having a romantic aspect of our relationship. We’re family here, let’s just be family.” Jay said and Nya smiled.
“You’d be alright if started seeing someone?” Nya asked and Jay smiled.
“What if I’m already seeing someone? Would you be okay?” He asked and she laughed.
“Really?” Jay shrugged.
“I might be.” He said and she smiled.
“What’s her name?” Nya asked and Jay shook his head.
“No! No I’m not doing this! Because once you know, Kai knows and then Cherry knows and if Cherry knows, everyone knows!” Jay exclaimed and Nya nodded.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I won’t ask again.” She said and Jay smiled.
“I think these cheerios are expired.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Volume: ■■■■■□□□
“Okay I have to pick Y/n up in like 20 minutes, Papita, in case you don’t know her actual name.” Cole announced to the team and Pearl rolled her eyes. “When she gets here, we’ve gotta act normal.” He announced and everyone protested.
“She doesn’t know you’re a ninja?!” Peach’s voice came out on top.
“No, and I don’t plan on telling her today.” Cole said.
“Not telling someone you love you’re a ninja? That always ends well.” Cherry commented to which Kai frowned.
“Even if we all act normal, how’d you suppose we hide the prophecies engraved in the walls? The frames of all of us in our gi? The senseis? The monks? The weapons? My dragon?!” Peach asked to which the dragon himself growled from outside.
“Lloyd was right about not keeping a dragon that can’t disappear by the way.” Kai said.
“Apologise, he saved your life.” Peach said.
“I’m not apologising to a dragon!” Kai argued.
“Apologise!” Peach demanded.
“No!” Kai protested.
“Apologise or I’m not talking to you.” Peach said and Kai shrugged.
“Don’t then!” Peach crossed her arms and faced away. “You’re not serious.” He said but she ignored him.
“I’ll be back in half an hour.” Cole said and kissed Pearl’s cheek before leaving.
Volume: ■■■■■□□□
“Thank you for letting me stay.” I said, turning go to both men as a battered truck, the one from the car park, parked itself outside.
“Anytime.” Chen said with a smile.
“Let us know if you need anything.” Reece said and I nodded before heading outside. I hadn’t seen him in years. Would he be mad? Upset? Annoyed that I even came here? I didn’t tell him, is that a problem?
Cole rushed out the truck and before I could even get a word out he pulled me into a tight hug, I returned it awkwardly before he looked me up and down.
“Have you grown or is it just me?” He asked to which I shrugged.
“I don’t think so.” He took my bag and smiled. I didn’t return it and just got in the car with him.
“I’ve uh- Pearl told me everything- Dad also rang me. She’s really sorry and he’s- he sounds good.” Cole said and I nodded.
“Are you?” I asked, he nodded.
“I was going to ask you that, are you serious about moving back in with Dad?” Cole asked and I shrugged.
“I can’t live alone anymore.” I admitted. “It’s getting worse.” I told him and he sighed.
“I’m sorry I can’t be closer.” He said and I nodded. But were you?
“Why… why can’t you?” I had to think about whether I wanted to know the answer.
“It’s… complicated. If that word even sums it up. My job is unconventional and- I’ll explain everything! -but it’s just hard to find the time to come back.” He said and I nodded.
“What is your job?” I asked as we stopped at a traffic light. He turned to look at me.
“To protect those who can’t protect themselves.” He told me and I paused. What the hell did that mean?
“What?” I asked and he laughed. “Are you a police officer?” I asked.
“No!” He laughed. “I’ll explain everything when we’re inside. The others have made it extremely clear that they won’t cover for me.” Cole said and I frowned.
“Cover what?” I asked.
“You’ll see.” He pulled into the abandoned parking lot where I had been the day before. When we got out he gestured for me to follow him into the forest.
A monastery. There was a monastery inside the forest. There were bald people outside doing chores. Monks. This place was massive. I followed Cole inside as the monks called him ‘master Cole’. It was an upgrade from McCole. Which was his nickname during his teenage years due to the fact he ordered McDonald’s almost everyday. He opened the door for me and let me walk beside him as we went down the long hallway. There were paintings on the wall and ceiling, massive paintings and it took seeing the painting of a gold figure fighting a black dragon with smoke coming off it to realise that they were paintings of the ninja and famous battles. They were murals not paintings. I looked down, not wanting to admit what might be happening here. We stopped at an archway. I looked up to see a small kitchen and then to the side and the bottom of the room was a massive living area with couches, a TV, a gaming console and many people. There was a couple on the couch, a brunette with very well styled hair and a very pretty girl whose own hair looked like it is being taken better care of than a newborn baby. There was another boy and girl on the couch although they were sat well apart with the ginger playing with a controller whilst the other girl, hair tied up high on her head as her bangs fell in front of her face, framing it perfectly. She wore a loose vest, showing off her sculpted arms and scattered tattoos. Mainly in the ancient language. That was hot. Reluctantly, I looked away from her to the two girls in the kitchen. One was eating a bowl of cereal whilst the other pulled out a tray of cookies from the other. The first girl had few scars lingering her bare arms and what looked to be a burn on her forearm and a scar on her exposed neck that looked like a bite mark. She might be a ninja. Somehow, her face remained untouched. The other girl slammed the tray down, making me jump and focus on her again. She was more dressed up than the others, well I think the girl with very nice hair was actually wearing a juicy tracksuit but she made it look like loungewear rather than an expensive tracksuit.
“How do you not burn them?!” The cookie girl complained.
“It’s only burnt on the corners.” The scarred girl said.
“You’d know all about being burnt.” The cookie girl insulted, the scarred girl hit her on the head lightly with her spoon. “Did you just get milk in my hair?!”
“I raised a dragon, what’s your excuse?” Scarred girl clapped back and Cole cleared his throat. Gaining everyone’s attention. Did she just say she raised a dragon?!
“This is Y/n, or Papita, as you may know her as.” I noticed how Cookie girl’s eyes hardened at Cole. The room went silent.
“Hi.” I said, awkwardly.
“Hey.” Scar girl said. Putting her bowl down and coming near me. “Nice to meet you.” She said.
“You too, what’s your name?” I asked. Was this Pearl? What would she do if she knew I called her scar girl in my head?!
“Everyone calls me Peach, nice to meet you Papita.” She said and I nodded.
“Y/n’s fine.” I said and she smiled.
“That’s Cherry, thats Pearl ,who you may know, and Snowdrops is around somewhere. She’s always around. You’ll catch on soon enough.” Peach winked but I didn’t catch on. Not yet at least. Was that not their actual names?
“So what’s your actual name?” I asked and she smiled, I heard Cole stifle his laugh.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She said and walked away. The man with very good hair spoke up and I turned to them. Cherry was the one with really good hair. I knew good hair guy. I had met him before.
“Kai, if you don’t remember. Blabber mouth here is Jay and that’s Nya, my sister. Zane is around somewhere and Pixal is out right now. Lloyd should be home soon.” Kai filled me in and I nodded.
“Hi.” I said again, trying to avoid Nya’s eyes. She was staring hard at me. I turned to face Cole again who smiled.
“As you can tell, we all live together and work together. Lloyd’s the leader, Peach is his wife-“ I looked to Peach and watched as she disappeared in a pink, purple and peach haze that I had only seen on the news before and with the peach ninja. She appeared on the counter again, no bowl in hand this time. “-she’s special.” Cole said and glared, my own mouth hung in shock.
“Don’t be mad because I showed my party trick.” She said and Pearl smiled in amusement. It started to click. It shouldn’t have took a blonde man practically shoving past us clad in green to be my final push to realise everything. He stunk and had dried blood and mud on him and in his hair, the green clothing had been torn in places. He had a dual katana holster strapped to his back with actual katanas sheathed in. The walls looked like they were coming closer. He needed that many weapons for a reason? Was there a threat?
He apologised as he slid past, not noticing my impending panic. He dapped up Cole and leaned in to kiss Peach who didn’t look pleased after. She actually frowned in disgust.
“I’ve missed you too.” He said at her face.
“When was the last time you brushed your teeth?” She asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it- who’s this?!” He asked, pointing to me. Oh my god. This isn’t happening.
“Lloyd, meet Papita, my sister.” Cole said and Lloyd nodded.
“Nice to meet you, sorry I’m all dirty and everything. 3 week stake out.” Lloyd said like I was supposed to know what that meant. “Being a ninja is a lot less cleaner than you’d think.” He tried to joke but I’m pretty sure I had the thousand yard stare right now. Suddenly the green costume with katanas made sense. It wasn’t a costume. It was gi. A green gi.
“I can smell you from over here.” Cherry commented.
“You’re the green ninja?” I asked, well more stated.
“Who would’ve thought? Lloyd Garmadon.” Peach said and Lloyd rolled his eyes.
“You’re all ninja?!” I exclaimed. I looked back at Cole in alarm who looked away from me. Then I looked back at the others and Cherry looked at them all before breaking the silence.
“I’m not! But they all are.” She confirmed, she then hit Kai’s chest.
“Fire.” Kai raised his hand like it was an ice breaker game.
“Lightning.” Jay raised his hand next.
“I don’t need to say, do I?” Lloyd said, eating some multicoloured cereal with his bare hands out the box.
“Peach.” Peach and shrugged. Like it was obvious. I looked back to Cole.
“Earth.” He admitted, my eyes watered. What the hell was going on. Everyone looked towards Pearl.
“Pink. Who else would I be?” Pearl asked.
“Y/n, are you okay?” Cole asked. I felt ill. And my heart was racing. What the fuck was happening?
“Nya! You haven’t-“ Kai’s words distorted in my head as another person walked into the room. Well, what I thought was a person.
“Can someone please check my internal hatch, I believe there is something stuck in there I cannot see.” A tall, metal man said as he walked in the room and proceeded to open his stomach open like it was nothing. Only to reveal a bunch of wires and a few boxes that wires were coming in and out of. Safe to say, I passed out.
I am never leaving my house again.
#nya smith x reader#ninjago nya#nya smith#water ninja#ninjago#ninjago cole#ninjago zane#cole brookstone#earth ninja#jay walker#kai smith#lloyd garmadon#ninjago lloyd#ninjago kai#ninjago jay#ninjago wu#ninjago misako#ninjago garmadon#ninjago pixal#pixal borg
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He woke up.
Every morning he woke up and kept his eyes closed for a while.
He would move his fingers ever so slightly, feeling his sheets, feeling the bedwarmth, feeling where it grew cooler at the edge. He would move his foot to feel the weight of the blankets, to feel the weight of his cat curled up down there. He would listen to the apartment he lived in alone. Sometimes his upstairs neighbor would be awake if they had to open at the diner. Sometimes the next door neighbor would be saying something to their kid. He would smell the coffee already being made by the coffee maker, and he would smell the last traces of last night’s dinner, if he actually cooked it and didn’t microwave it.
He would lie there taking it all in, wanting something he couldn’t have. He tried to be grateful for what he did have. Usually he could be. Some days the only thing that got him out of bed was spite and the inertia of routine.
In short, he was no-one special, and that was fine. But he did want to be special. He wanted to be held, completely. Totally held. Held in such a way that he was erased from everything but the hand he was held in. He wanted to be small, very small, so small that he could disappear under someone’s curled fingers. And he wanted so to be something he could not be, he would lie there taking it all in: the voices of neighbors, the dimensions of his life and how they were too much.
Every morning he woke up and kept his eyes closed for a while and this morning he woke up and kept his eyes closed. For a while.
He moved his fingers, and the sheets were not his sheets.
They were coarser, and they tented oddly. Normally the weight of them spilling over the side of the bed kept them flat, but now they were somewhat stiff. The pillow felt scratchy on his ears, and his head was sunken into it.
The cat was not there, but that wasn’t unusual.
Last night he had cooked, braised cod with garlic, lots of garlic. The scent was a comfort to him, something his grandmother had cooked in her years living with his family. It was a smell that pervaded everything. He would have found it a bit unpleasant if he hadn’t done the cooking himself. But the smell wasn’t there this morning. Nor was the smell of coffee.
In its place: a clean smell, totally foreign to his home. Not that he let his place grow filthy by any means, but deep cleaning was a thing that only happened once a year at most. People didn’t tend to visit, so he didn’t see the point. And anyone who did, he reasoned, knows me and would understand. His house smelled human.
This morning, the room he was in smelled lived in, but clean. Cleaned. An effort had been made.
He couldn’t hear anything much at all. Not a neighbor, nor the shudder and weary sigh of the air conditioning, nor a semi on the interstate a few blocks over. He heard humming, light humming. A song he thought he might know. It sounded wrong. It sounded like it was coming over a stadium loudspeaker a mile away. Not tinny, just the size of the sound. A whisper that could fill a concert hall.
He recognized the song at last, after lying with his eyes closed for what seemed like forever. Lefty Frizell. “Saginaw, Michigan”. It made him smile as he remembered all the crazy rhymes in it.
He opened his eyes.
It wasn’t his room but he knew it wouldn’t be. The sheets were as coarse, no, coarser than he had felt them to be. He could almost poke a finger through the weave of them. The walls were covered with a riot of printed words and huge pictures. A string of lights, the size of watermelons and dark, around the top of the wall at the ceiling. A chintzy plastic chair, all molded as one piece, sat in the corner looking as if it would buckle under the weight of nothing.
My dad was a poor, hard-working Saginaw fisherman
Too many times he came home with too little pay.
He swung his legs out. The floor, too, was plastic, and instead of the slight chill of his floor at home this one seemed to be perfectly room temperature.
He heard a rising noise that became a whine, then a cry, then a shriek as a tea kettle came to a boil. But again, it was from so far away, but sounded so close.
He stood up and looked around. One door. The window, as it turned out, was a sticker. It showed a nice scene of a grassy hillside. It occurred to him that he ought to be terrified, but he wasn’t. He felt that he was on the edge of something. He reached up distractedly and felt his pulse in his throat.
The doorknob was the color of the trim around the door, and did not turn.
And you can tell your dad I'm coming back a richer man
I hit the biggest strike in Klondike history
He smiled. Saginaw, Michigan. Young ambitious man. Saginaw fisherman. All those rhymes that Lefty Frizell knew were a reach. He thought of him laughing as he wrote them down.
His hand was on the doorknob. The humming had stopped, he realized. It had grown quiet. His hand was on the doorknob. He tried to be grateful for what he did have. He tried not to want what he didn’t have. He couldn’t. He wanted it.
And now a thumping, not heavy but large, as if the weight of several thousand pounds were being gently placed on the ground. Over and over, in a regular rhythm, and louder and louder. His hand was on the doorknob. He thought to turn around to look at the bed but what if he turned back and his hand was on his own door?
He opened the door. She was sitting cross-legged in front of it, maybe a hundred feet away. The rest of the house had been swung away, he could see the stairs with no railings going up to a second floor. He looked back at her, looming sweetly, holding a mug the size of a cistern with both hands. She wore a fuzzy housecoat and was two hundred feet tall if she was anything. A room larger than anything he could describe stretched out behind her, filled with everyday life, of a size that dwarfed him. In front of him, on the ground, was a dimpled metal can full of something brown and clear and steaming. Tea. A life he could disappear into but not disappear. A star in a night sky that loved him.
“I didn’t know if you would ever wake up,” she said softly, but the size of her voice filled him. “But I didn’t expect to be asleep so long myself.”
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Today Was A Fairytale | joonyoung
pairing: Jacob x fem!reader
genre: slice-of-life, non-idol!AU, and fluff // warnings: mentions of food and usage of cuss words
summary: Jacob finally decides this summer, he’ll finally confess to you. Little does he know, he ends up turning one of your fairytales into a dream. // word count: ~2.6k
note: I hope you enjoy this and this is my submission for deoboyznet’s summer on you event! aND @sungbeam this is lowkey for you 🤭 // AND THANK YOU TO DUCKIE FOR THE GRAPHIC 🥹💗
For as long as you could remember, you’d been in love with stargazing and had wanted to sleep under the stars, at least once in your life. Something about seeing all the stars paint the night sky with their twinkling made you feel so calm and content.
It was especially magical because you could only see them once a year because of your family’s yearly summer trip to your beach house. Spending a good majority of your life stuck in the city made it practically impossible to see the stars due to the light pollution. Besides the beautiful scenery at the beach house, there was one more thing you also looked forward to.
Okay, it’s not really a thing per say, it was more like someone. Someone who you grew up with. Someone who you have grown to form a crush over for years now. Someone who you thought was the brightest star in your life. Someone who you couldn’t imagine life without. And someone who you thought wouldn’t like you back so you never took a chance of telling him.
This someone was the one and only Jacob Bae. His and your family became good friends after finding out that their children were the same age. Both of you were quite shy and so that meant it took awhile for you to warm up to each other.
All it took was him to start singing a nursery rhyme and for you to sing along. Since then, your friendship blossomed. Over the years, you spent your summers together doing activities such as campfire nights, beach days, exploring the city, and more. Campfire nights were one of your favorites because that meant you got to hear Jacob singing.
“Cobie, I’m telling you. Your voice is angelic and any label would be dumb to reject you. If they do, I’ll personally tell them off and then we’ll walk to get ice cream or something. Whatever you want to feel better, but I will not let you get into your head and think that your talent is not good enough.” Staring into your eyes, he can tell that you’re serious. You place one hand in his and the other over your heart.
“Besides, even if you think that it’s not enough. You’ll always be more than enough to me. Don’t you forget it.”
All he could do in response was send a shy smile your way accompanied with a thanks. If only you knew how he truly felt hearing that from you. His heart felt so full of love and appreciation.
It meant a lot and managed to help him get through more auditions. Eventually, he got offered contracts to sign at various labels. After much consideration and looking through them from the help of lawyers, he settled on the one that seemed the most promising.
Jacob was elated to share the news but he wanted to do something special to tell you. Not only that, but for some reason a heartstring was being tugged at. It was telling him to confess. It worried him that you wouldn’t like him back and that confessing would ruin the friendship you had.
Talking to his friends, they were not about to let him back down from confessing. Let’s just say, they’ve gotten tired of him talking about you as if you hung the stars and moon in the sky.
Sangyeon says to him, “Jacob. Listen to me, right now. There’s a chance that she likes you back! How will you ever know if you never tell her? You have to take a leap of faith and just go for it. We’ll emotionally support you from afar. Now, go and get the girl of your dreams!!”
Jacob knows that those words of encouragement should ease his doubts, but he can’t help them from spilling from his mouth. While talking, he’s found pacing the room back and forth.
“Thanks but I don’t know. Can I really pull this off? What if she hates me for the rest of her life for telling her? I really cannot imagine life without her. She’s one of the best people I know and who else would I write my songs about? I-“
Eric cuts him off, “JACOB, I'M PRETTY SURE SHE LIKES YOU BACK AND DON’T WORRY IF SHE DOESN’T LIKE YOU BACK. THERE WILL BE SOMEONE WHO DOES. STOP BEING SO DOWN BAD FOR HER AND GET WITH HER. WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, WE’RE TIRED OF HEARING YOU TALK ABOUT HER.”
As soon as Jacob heard Eric’s voice, he quickly pulled his ear away from the phone. Sighs follow and he ends the phone call with another thanks.
Sitting at his desk, his shoulders slump forward as he tries to figure out what to do. Slowly hyping himself, his shoulders and back start to straighten up. Then he starts to plan things out. He remembers hearing that you really liked to go stargazing when it was summer vacation. Funnily enough, even after all these years together. Not once gone have y’all gone stargazing together.
As the hours passed by, he came up with the idea to take you to a place where the stars looked the best, a picnic, tell you the good news of him getting accepted into a label, sing a song he wrote for you and of course telling you that he liked you. One more thing, sleeping under the stars.
Unbeknownst to him, one of your dreams was to always sleep under the stars. Either it be done by yourself or with someone you really liked. You had wanted to do it but your parents always rejected the idea because it was dangerous if you did it by yourself. Understanding their perspective, you never did it.
He even told your mom about the plan and she was very excited to help. It was quite hard for her to not spoil the surprise to you and also tell him that you liked him a whole lot back. She thought it was a super sweet and cute idea.
time skip to the first day of the beach house
The first thing you did when you arrived was run to the beach. Smelling the saltiness in the air and feeling the sand in your feet. What a wonderful feeling it was to always return to. You got a little lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear someone calling your name.
“Y/n? You there??” Jacob waving his hands in front of your eyes. With a shake of your head, you saw him. Then and there, you pulled him into a hug. He was a bit taken back by the gesture but he wasn’t complaining. “It’s so good to finally see you again, Cobie! I feel like it’s been forever but it’s all good because now we’ve got three months together!”
“It’s good to see you too! Here’s to summer vacation together and making the best of the three months we’ve got. Come on, let’s get your stuff unpacked. I have a surprise for you when you’re done.” Your eyebrows furrow and head tilts to the side. A surprise?
“Come find me at our spot. I’ll be waiting for you!”. His cute smiles graces his face and he leaves you standing there like an idiot. What the fuck is the surprise? You’re about to shout for him but you’re trying to figure out what it’s for. No time for thinking though. An adrenaline rush hits you as you hurriedly unpack.
Once you’re done, you want to just do nothing but lay in bed. The rush of energy left your body when you put the last outfit in your closet. But then it peaks again as you wonder what you should wear. Looking through your closet, you pick up a new fit you’ve been meaning to wear since you got it. Snapping a couple of fits before walking to the spot to meet him.
Upon arrival, you see him and walk over. He looks you up and down before meeting your eyes. “I love your new outfit. It suits you.”
“I could say the same about you. This shirt compliments you quite well, if I do say so myself.”
His shirt is a loose shirt leaving his chest slightly open. Not his typical style but he thought to try something new today. Then he holds out his hand for you to place your hand in. “Follow my lead.” Making your way to the place, you try to pry it out of him of what the surprise is for. “Listen, my lips are sealed. However, you’re free to ask me anything else.”
“Ughhhh but Cobieeee. I already know everything about you. Why can’t you just tell me? At least a clue??”. A shake of the head follows and random topics of conversations are conversed. When you finally arrive at the destination, you can’t help but marvel at the scene. A perfect view of the beach and where the sun meets the sky appears in front of you. Not only that but a picnic blanket is there too.
Taking your seats, you stare at him with stars in your eyes. Jacob holds eye contact with you before facing somewhere else. Lord knows that his face is turning red right now. You’re wearing an absolutely stunning dress and the way you just looked at him. Someone please call 911, he’s a goner. Along with the way your face keeps on shining as he watches you pull out your favorite foods from the basket.
This is why he asked for your mom’s help; to help prepare the food. Jacob is great at many things but unfortunately cooking is not one of them. “You even got our childhood favorite snacks! I thought they didn’t sell this anymore. Oh my god Cobie, you’re going to make me cry.” Midway through his snacking, his head tilts up so fast when he hears that. His hands waving frantically as he says, “No, no! Please don’t cry!! If you cry, you’ll make me cry too.” His words are laced with nervousness. One look at him and you let out a laugh.
“This is the sweetest thing someone has ever done for me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this from you but I appreciate it a lot! Thank you, I mean it.” Grabbing another piece of the food to eat, Jacob grabs your hands and puts them in his.
“Of course, you know I’d do anything for you but that’s not all for tonight.” Turning on the portable lamp, he scoots closer to you and gently turns your head to the sky.
An audible gasp is heard before placing your hand over your mouth. “They’re so beautiful. I can’t believe this is our first time stargazing together. They must have forgotten about a star tonight because you’re here next to me.”
Turning your head, you face each other. Smiles break out on your faces and you both think about each other. Not long after a moment of silence, he helps you sit up. “Actually y/n. I brought you here for two reasons. The first being that I got offered a spot at a label and I start soon! I really couldn’t have done it without your help and support. I can’t believe that my dream is coming true. Thank you for always encouraging me and being a day one.” Hearing that made your heart so happy for him.
“AH I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU! Oh Cobie, you never have to thank me for being your supporter. I always knew you had it in you, you just needed a push. I can’t wait to hear all your songs and attend your concerts!! The world’s gonna know all about my Cobie. I’m so proud of you and this is really only the beginning.” Bringing him into another long hug. He can hear the happiness dripping from your sweet words.
“Ah ah, don’t say I don’t have to thank you. I really do. You and my family. The literal backbone of me even deciding to do this in the first place. Now if you’ll let me, I have a song for you.”
He whips out his guitar and starts strumming a melody. In this moment, he closes his eyes and lets the lyrics tell you the words that he’s been dying to tell you. His fears of rejection also leave his body as he sings. Somewhere in his mind, he knows that you’ll accept it.
Jacob’s eyes flutter open when he’s done and for the millionth time tonight. You guys hold eye contact and before he can even stop himself, he whispers “Y/n, I like you a lot and it would mean the world to me and more if you would be my girlfriend. But like you know, you can say no too. No pressure or anything. You’re just so precious to me and I wanted to let you know how I felt before I backed out of this-”.
Placing your finger to stop him from rambling more. “I like you too and humbly accept your offer to be your girlfriend. Thank you for this wonderful night. It’s like something out of a fairytale. From the stars out to the confession. Actually you’re like someone out of a fairytale. The way you’re always kind and loving to those around you. The passion you have for music that now gets to be shared with the world. I get to be the girlfriend to an amazing man!”
His heart warms at our words as usual. But holy shit, he did it!!
Grabbing your hands, he places it over his chest for you to feel how fast his heart is beating. “I can’t believe I got a girlfriend. I can’t put into words how happy I am. I won’t let you down and will be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. AH I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU’RE MY GIRLFRIEND! THIS IS SO AWESOME!!”
Laughter fills the air and you try to quiet down since it’s nighttime. Lying down on the blanket and holding each other, he lands a kiss onto your forehead before drifting off to sleeping. You look up at the sky filled with so many stars and then look to your side. There, of course, you see Jacob. Speaking to no-one but the stars, “Look guys, here’s the guy I told you all about. Thank you for aligning so we could get together.”
“Sweetheart, you can still say no to meeting my friends, you know?”. He sets up his computer, getting ready to voice call them.
“No, no. I have to meet the guys behind making sure you confessed to me. They sound like a fun group to be around.” A couple of rings go through before a screen of 10 other men show up. They’re silent for a few minutes before all screaming at Jacob for not telling them that you were there. Leave it to Sangyeon to mute them all and tell them to behave.
One by one they introduce themselves and get back to being their rowdy selves. Of course, they mention how much Jacob fawned over you and it made you laugh, but your man wanted to bury himself into a hole. It was crazy to think that he was a part of this friend group because who would have thought a quiet guy like him is friends with very loud people?
Before the call ends, Eric quickly shouts “I told you Jacob. She did like you back!”. And also they all wanted you guys to kiss, not without them all expressing their disgust. “Okay, okay. Thanks guys but we really gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, bye now!” With that, the call ended.
“Oh Cobie, I can’t wait to meet them again. They seem like a very fun bunch! And I also 100% need to hear more of these stories of you being a simp for me.”
apologies in advance for how bad the dialogue is but 😭 I wanted to get this out b/c something about cobie and this song just makes so much sense to me. Writing for Cobie is actually so comforting and easy, I love him 🥹
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this! If you did, please reblog it with your thoughts in the tags, leave a note, or even send an ask/dm to me! I appreciate them a lot.
signing off with love,
- ash
#kflixnet#deoboyznet#dbn: summer on you#the boyz x reader#the boyz fluff#tbz x reader#jacob bae x reader#joonyoung x reader#tbz jacob#tbz imagines#tbz scenarios#tbz x you#the boyz fanfic#the boyz imagines#ash and queue
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Reader being turned on by Stephen being good with kids or just being a dad and baby making kink and whatever else? Bc man who is good with kids makes me FERAL
Thank you💕
‘Messy’
Dr Strange x fem!reader
- never in a million years would i have imagined myself writing about breeding but here we are. i genuinely think this is my filthiest one yet, i had to just stop and think about what i was doing a few times and how my life got to this specific moment. i love possessive Stephen so much, gah damn. anyways, enjoy this filth xo
Stephen had been looking at you funny all day, not badly but just...strangely.
He was wearing himself differently than usual, head tilted back and eyes gleaming in a wicked dimmed sparkle, his conscience was heavy with something and you were keening to find out what his beautiful mind held. You let it sit with you throughout the day, letting him come to you for once.
He was sat in his big, antique chair that was nooked in the corner of his room, the night bleary with frost whisped air as his window showed him the New York lights like a cinematic experience made just for him; but the neon lights weren't enough to shred light to his thoughts. When Stephen saved America from the eternal torment of the Scarlet Witch, he grew a weird sort of attatchement to the idea of having someone he needed to protect. Of course he had you he needed to keep safe, if anyone laid a finger on you or looked at you the wrong way he'd enjoy torturing them for weeks on end before sending them to burn in a dimension of fire and darkness but he wanted more with you. Stephen couldn't imagine letting anyone else in let alone imagining a life with them, a life with kids and then you walked into his life and turned everything upside down and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't rid himself of you, an itch that couldn't be scratched. Now he was so in love he was sure he was replaced by a lovesick fool, not the hard and arrogant neurosurgeon he was eons ago.
Stephen needed you to have his kids. He wanted you dripping with how much he needed you.
You on the other hand noticed the way he was with children. Fucking hell, he was just a natural with them and it was surprising to you. The man that was once so egotistical it blinded his whole worldview is now a man that held children as if they were his own, able to calm them down in just a few seconds. It was easy enough to fall in love with Strange, seeing through all the hubris and insecurity he never let himself be free of, you haven't really been the same since then. You hated being treated like a damsel in distress, you could take care of yourself perfectly fine but Stephen was overprotective of what was his. He didn't have time to rationalise, no rhyme or reason to why he did the things he did. Stephen didn't like sharing. Not now. Not ever. It was so damned attractive, so mature in a way you'd never seen him.
You walked into Stephen's room, darkened and gloomy but only the light of the street outside serving as an ambient lamp. He was staring outside intently, fingers grazing over his lips completely lost in his own thoughts, clouding him grey like the night outside. He wanted to breed you, make you have his kid but he knew you well enough that you wouldn't even think twice about it. Stephen let out a shaky breath when he heard you padding slowly in the room.
‘’What you thinkin' about?'’ Your voice was honeyed, slow; a means to tease him out of the walls he was building up, he's been quiet all day, moving in silence in a way you hadn't experienced since you first met him. It took you a while to get him to open up to you.
‘’Nothing.’’ He finally said impassive in tone.
‘’Then why do you look like you're about to kill someone?’’ You smiled slightly and he let out an almost unreadable scoff.
Stephen's face was blank when you caught up to his chair, he was holding a stiff drink in his hand trying to absolve himself of something that you couldn't quite place your finger on. His brows were furrowed and his lips contorted into a hard line and his mouth fell dry, his free fingers were tapping away at the arm rest of the chair. He was restless. Impatient. Stephen's eyes finally looked up at yours and they were darkening with every moment he looked at you- wearing one of his button downs that hugged all the right places, legs bare, no panties. Fuck if he could just have you right now, stuff you full of him, have you leak for him.... heaven would rest on his shoulders and prick the tips of his ears.
‘’You just gonna sit there all lonely? You haven't been all doom and gloom in a while.’’ You breathed with your head cocked, looking down at his stern face. "You gonna tell me why?’’
He was still radio silent, his mouth not loosening at your voice alone so you opted for another way to get him to talk. You slowly climb onto his lap, eyes still unwavering from iced blue when you nestled between those massive thighs.
You shivered a little when your bare pussy met with the roughness of his jeans. God it felt good. Stephen’s chest caved a little as he huffed at you impatiently, trying so hard to not give into you, he was actually a little nervous telling you he wanted to knock you up, fuck you so hard you were reeling from how full you felt.
‘’Come on, baby. You know you can tell me anything.’' You muttered as you slung your arms around him, playing with little tufts of his hair. You weren't even teasing at this point, you were tired with him and his mopiness. Stephen was stifling a moan when you clambered onto him, he felt himself harden against you. You had grown tired of his shit, to your dismay you let go of him and stood yourself up. Letting out a little annoyed "fine' you started to walk away.
Stephen twiddled his thumbs for a moment, very certain of the next move he was going to make but it was like he lost control. Before you could leave the room he followed behind you and pulled you by your hair. You let out a yelp and struggled against him before he grabbed you by the back of the neck to face him, other hand wrapped around your waist, pinching so hard on the skin through the fabric it made you let out a breathless whine.
‘’Stephen! My hair.’’ You both stilled against each other. He was so close his breath was fanning against your face but it felt like you weren't even breathing.
‘’I want to put a baby in you.’’ Stephen muttered so casualy as he tugged onto your hair even harder so your chin jutted up towards him. His hold on you was ironlike, his grip industrial.
‘’You do?’’ Your eyes were wide in surprise. Fuck. You thought that this was a lucid dream, him telling you all the things you wanted.
‘’I want to fuck you dumb. I want to fuck you so stupid you're just aching for me to fill you up, make you leak down those bare legs you flash around so carelessly. You know I love you sweetheart, but I need to fuck you like a slut, my slut, a mindless whore until I put my kid in you.’’ He gritted out breathlessly but so certain on every single word he uttered. Your mouth was agape in his filthy words and you drank it all up. He had never been this rough with you, ever, and dear God you were begging for more.
You can't remember the last time he creampied and it made a small smirk appear on your face.
‘’Do it then.’’ You whispered against his lips, eyes heavy as you gawked into his.
The air was dense with need, so humid that if you made a fist in the air water would fall onto your lap. The extent of his need was stretching so thin it was wrapping his brain up and suffocating him.
Stephen smashed his lips against yours, practically devouring the taste of you off your tongue, your mouth so sweet and potent like a street drug- begging for hit after hit. Your tongues banded together to create a symphony of erotic sounds and when Stephen pulled on your hair even harder than before, you moaned into his mouth and he swallowed the noise in its entirety. His free hand travelled to your ass and squeezed mercilessly, he spanked it as his mouth melded to yours. He wanted to spank you until your ass was a bruising shade of red. He slowly unbuttoned every single button on your shirt at an atagonsingly slow pace, a major contrast to his heavy and fast paced words from before. Your tits fell free and you shivered at your bare skin against his.
‘’You're mine.’’ He grumbled possessively and it made your head spiral.
‘’I'm yours.’’ You hummed against his lips.
With those words alone, he pushed you on the bed facefirst by your hair and it made a broken moan fall from your raw throat. You could feel Stephen reach behind his back and he pulled off his shirt, then you could hear the clank of his belt. Your ears pricked up at the sound, eyes covered in a glassy wicked sparkle as your tongue licked at your teeth. You heart was thundering with excitement, giddy off of the high he was going to give you, the anticipation in the air driving you crazy. You grunted when he grabbed your arms and pinned them behind the small of your back, using his belt he looped around your wrists multiple times and the leather pinched your skin delectably. He tugged to tighten them up and you whined at the sensation.
‘’Gonna have you drooling for me.’’ Stephen promised as he spanked your ass again, the sound cracking through the air. It was a lazy hit but still hard, he revelled in the fact that he was leaving his handprint on your ass, his mark on your skin indenting him as a claim on you. His finger prints dug into your skin and you felt your body squirm under him.
Stephen flipped you over so he could look in your eyes while fucking you, arms still tied behind your back as you recoiled. Your eyes were alight with a demanding fire, a heady cyclone swirling in desire and whatever twisted thing he had in mind next. You knew he had an aggressive nature, his bouts of arrogance showed that but this was the best extention of that. God, it was like you were his own fuckdoll. He wanted to fuck your hole sloppy and wet, your arousal was insurmountable. His mouth was on yours, saliva and spit covering all over your lips and down your chin, his teeth bit at your jaw and neck, he provided you with those bites you loved so much, it was like the man was made for you.
‘’You wanna put your cum in me? Make me have your baby? Do it, Stephen.’’ You practically whimpered. stephen groaned when he wrapped his lips around your nipples and bit hard.
‘’Wanted to fuck you like this for weeks.’’ He sounded exasperated and needy, a mess just like you were. Stephen discarded of any remaining clothes and he was as hard as a rock, aching and desperate for you; so willing to dump his cum into you and use his cock like a plug.
You were a mewling mess. A bitch in heat. Face etched in that pathetic pampered pain as tears pricked in your eyes. It was like sin. All of it.
‘’So wet. And it’s all for me?’’ He stared you down as the tips of your noses touched, he bit down on vour plump lower lip glazed in spit and tugged it back. You nodded but it was difficult to differentiate if he was mocking you or not.
‘’You’re so generous.’’
He dragged his leaking cock through your folds before ultimately sliding into you, you made it so easy for him. Stephen didn't give you any spare moment to adjust as he rutted in and out of you as your chest heaved and your cheeks were blush bitten. Your brows tensed with every stroke, knot after knot so close to being undone. You were going to make all of his wildest dreams come true.
‘’You're a bad influence on me Strange.’’ You flirted with a smirk and all your peripheral could view was his shit eating grin threatening to slice his face in half.
‘’You love it you slut.’’ Stephen slapped you ass again. It felt divine.
‘’I'm offended. You dirty dog.’’ You giggled and tutted at him, scolding him like an irresponsible child and he was loving it.
‘’My slut.’’ He tried to acquiesce and it worked when your lips met his again to make him shut the fuck up. Sweat was falling out in dewdrops down his forehead and across his brow, the growls he let out with every stroke inside of your warm wet pussy was only fought with your sweet lust sprinkled moans. He was serioulsy tearing up and destroying your cunt like it was all his to live in, he made his mark and now he wanted to stay there.
‘’Cum inside of me. Show me you want me.’’
You breathed so sensually and Stephen had to do a double take, his patience was wearing thin and he needed to fill you to the brim. You felt the bulge of him nudge you so deep, he placed his large palm on it when he was appearing and disappearing out of you.
‘’You feel that? That's how deep I am inside of you.’’ He grinned and kissed you sweetly this time, you were sure you were blushing like an idiot. ‘’Dear God, you're so perfect it drives me insane. It's like you were made for me.’’
A moan erupted out of you, your high just visible and you were a few more footsteps to the top, that final rut into you made you see specks of euphoria in your eyesight, the look of primal desire on stephen's face made you finish that much harder, you bit your lip to stifle the louder screams about to raw your already sore throat. You were sure Stephen's dick was made of magic, you wanted him inside you forever and knowing how fucking hard he was, he did too.
Stephen let the waves crash to the shore, he let the ecstacy wash over him and he had never came like that in his entire life. Filling up your sloppy pussy to the brim and he got what he wanted, you were leaking all down your legs, eyes wide and panting with the air that barely satiated your lungs. He was giddy. Glee was all he could feel. He just loved you so much. sex was alwavs such a dream with you and this was the most memorable moment of it yet. He stilled inside you for a while before he sadly had to let you go, it pained him because you always gripped onto him so tight.
‘’Stephen…?’’
‘’Mhm?’’ He mumbled out when he flipped you over and undid the harsh knots of the belt, you sighed in relief at the freeing sensation. He threw his belt across the room.
‘’Why are you always right, goddamnit. I-I'm leaking. It's gonna take forever to clean up.’’ You blurted out, mildly annoyed at the mess he made of you.
‘’You're so messy for me, I can’t control that.’’
#dr stephen strange#dr strange angst#dr strange fluff#dr strange x fem!reader#dr strange x y/n#stephen strange smut#dr strange smut#stephen strange
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Conversations with a vampire - part 5/10
Story summary: A story told through a series of conversations between Astarion and child Tav, tracing the slow and steady progress of trust and friendship.
Chapter summary: Having spent time in the kennels, Astarion is back to hunting for victims when he gets threatened by his two siblings. Tav sticks her nose where it does not belong and finds out that Astarion is a vampire. Seeing that Astarion is visibly shaken and upset, Tav tries to make him feel better by telling 'un-fang-atable' jokes.
Humor/Friendship/Angst
Chapter warnings: some mentions of abuse and torture.
Rating: Teen. Mild language, mentions of abuse, some violence.
Setting: Set before the events of the game.
Word count: 2.7k
A/N If you want to be on the tag list for this story or any others, feel free to send me a message or leave a comment.
All comments, questions, constructive criticism are welcome. :)
He did not see Tav for a while after that. Astarion could not tell exactly for how long. Cazador’s beating have become especially vicious lately, punishments commonplace. Not one of them was safe, not one spawn could please him enough, not even Leon, no matter how many victims they brought back. Astarion spent weeks or perhaps months in the kennels, tortured then healing, then being tortured again. It seemed inane and unnecessary, but there was never any rhyme or reason for Cazador’s cruelty, so the spawn just took it. And hoped. They didn’t know what they hoped for, but for now being let out would be enough.
When he was finally allowed to leave the palace again, Astarion could hardly recognise the city. It seemed that nothing and everything changed. Or perhaps it was just him.
“There you are! I was worried about you!”
Tav bounded up to him and it was her appearance that made him realise that at least a year passed. Her face looked less child-like, she grew several inches taller, her voice became a little deeper. She was wearing a navy velvet coat with a high collar, her shirt had beautiful mother-pearl-buttons, with navy trousers tucked into soft, iridescent-looking boots. Her blonde hair was curled and swept up, held together with intricate bejeweled butterfly clips.
“How long has it been?” he asked, not really feeling like making small talk, but wanting to have a sense of how much time actually passed.
“Well, I saw you last when I was 12. So, a little over two years.”
Her smile turned into a frown as she took in his appearance. “Are you okay? That’s a stupid question. Of course you are not. You don’t look okay. Here, take a potion.”
When Tav lifted her hand, he flinched away. It was just reflex; Astarion knew that she wouldn’t strike him. Tav frowned, her arm falling to rest at her side.
“I don’t need it. I can’t talk,” he swallowed and straightened, not looking in her direction. “Not tonight.”
“Oh,” she paused, nodding her head, and slipping the potion back into her bag. “I mean sure, you must be busy. Don’t have time to listen to me go on and on. I will leave you be.”
Astarion walked off, feeling Tav’s eyes on his back until he rounded the corner.
Astarion pressed his back against the stone wall. He balled his hands into fists, not minding that his sharp nails dug into his skin. He took a breath, not that he needed it, but somehow concentrating on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest helped. It didn’t let his mind wander to dark, dangerous places. Turning his attention to some form of action helped well enough for now.
The vampire heard swearing and drunken laughter to his right and this brought him back to task at hand. Perhaps if he did well, brought enough people back to Cazador, he would be able to sleep in the dormitory with the other spawn tonight. No chance of doing well enough to be the favourite, of course, but at least it meant that his next tete-a-tete with Godey wouldn’t be too soon.
And so Astarion prowled the night, a deadly predator, a merciless hunter. Or so he kept telling himself. Because repeating it like a mantra in his mind might just make it true. Not quite himself, but good enough. Good enough, all things considered.
Astarion tensed and turned around. He felt them before he saw them. Two of his siblings approached, Leon and Violet. Leon he could tolerate, he hated Violet.
“So, little Astarion, how is Cazador’s golden boy fairing?” Violet mocked, coming up to stand too close to him for his comfort.
“You must be joking, sister dearest” he took a step back involuntarily, wanting to put more distance between them. “We all know Leon is the favourite.”
“Yes,” she clicked her tongue mockingly, “but if I recall correctly, Cazador prefers your sweet screams to anyone else’s. Such an honor, such a privilege to please your master at least in this way,” she said slowly, savoring the look on his face as Leon too approached him and they had him cornered.
Astarion scowled. Fights among spawn were not exactly common, as their primary goal was to bring back as many victims as they could without getting into each other’s way, but they did happen. Cazador would even chastise them, as if they were errant senseless children, but Astarion could see the sadistic glint in his eyes. The vampire did not want his spawn uniting against him, he wanted them hungry, cornered and competing with one another. And having recently gone through months of humiliation, being degraded and beaten, the hatred the spawn felt towards their master fueled their aggression towards each other. It seemed that this fight was happening no matter what Astarion said to them.
“Hey, you two!” Tav’s voice pierced the night.
Shit.
“What do you think you are doing?”
Tav was a little out of breath, but otherwise trying to stand tall and look somewhat intimidating. Violet sized up the lanky teen staring fearlessly at her with a smile that could not lead to anything but blood.
“Oh, look Leon. A little snack. How nice of her to come to us so we don’t have to chase her down.”
“You two better stay away, or else,” Tav’s eyes narrowed, her lips set in a thin line.
“Ooh, the creature dares to threaten us, how amusing,” Violet laughed prettily. “Tell me, brother dearest, is this to be one of your besotted victims? Wouldn’t want to tread on your toes and steal your target,” she mocked, walking closer to Tav, Leon circling the girl from the other side.
Leon appraised the child looking at them in defiance. As hard as he worked for their master, bringing the most victims to the palace, he always hated bringing in children.
“Leave her, Violet. Can’t you see from the way she is dressed that she must be from Upper City? Watch yourself. Unless you want to be thrown in the kennels for disobeying Cazador.”
“That was a mistake. I didn’t realise that that human was a noble. And it was a long time ago and you know it,” Violet growled menacingly, not looking away from her potential target. “Besides, a child disappearing because she snuck out from home in the middle of the night is a tragedy, yes, but it’s quite plausible.”
“I am not afraid of you! Leave!” Tav tried to sound commanding, but Astarion could hear her heart beating wildly, as could his siblings.
“You should be,” Violet grinned a little too wide.
Something clicked in Tav’s mind. Fangs, out only during the night, blood-red eyes.
“You-you are-” she swallowed forcibly, stopping herself from stating the obvious.
“We are what?” Violet mocked, taking a deliberate step towards the child. Oh, how delicious it was to inspire fear in others and to be in control or the situation so completely, what an intoxicating rush to see someone cower before her.
“Standing right where I want you to. Te occludo oculos!”
Colour sparks shot out of her hands, making Violet and Leon withdraw with a hiss.
“Let’s go!” Tav grabbed Astarion’s hand, pushing past her would-be assailants.
Astarion could hear the temporarily blinded spawn curse as they tried to swat at them, but Tav was quick on her feet and dodged the blinded vampires with relative ease, delivering a quick kick under Violet’s knees before darting down the street with Astarion following close after.
*****
“Well, that was fun,” Tav managed to say, still trying to catch her breath. She noticed that Astarion was shaking slightly and frowned.
Surely he wasn’t scared of those two idiots? No, Astarion seemed to be miles away and thinking about something else entirely. Perhaps of his master – Cazador. She remembered the name from when they spoke last. Astarion probably thought that she didn’t notice when he let the name slip, but she catalogued it in her mind. Not having much to do apart from her lessons came with its perks. Such as finding out that Cazador Szarr had a palace down in the Lower City. She still could not go there, but one day, perhaps. One day she would know exactly where to look for Astarion.
He was still quiet, just looking ahead, as if he wasn’t really standing here with her.
“So… you are a vampire,” she began cautiously. “Well, I guess it makes sense why you always stay in during the day.”
They were quiet for a while, Tav looking at him for any signs that he heard her. With the moonlight reflecting off alabaster skin, his chest not rising and falling, Astarion looked like a beautiful marble statue. Exquisite, but quite lifeless.
“That’s it? No shouting for help? No fear?” Astarion finally said wearily, not looking at Tav but at least seeming to acknowledge her.
“I always knew something was off with you, just didn’t know what it could be,” Tav admitted without missing a beat. “Besides, being a vampire sounds awesome. I’ve read that you can do all sorts! Climbing up walls, having super strength, all the other cool things!”
He snorted. If only he was capable of half of the feats that were supposed to come easy to him.
“I’m a spawn, silly girl. Hardly the same as being a full vampire. And you shouldn’t believe all the rubbish that you read in trashy, second-rate novels.”
Besides he was a very underfed spawn. So even if he was capable of ‘all sorts’ he wouldn’t know it.
“Earlier. That was a very idiotic, stupid thing to do,” he licked his lips, forcing himself to stay in the moment and not to spiral, “Thank you.”
“Course,” she cocked her head to the side and smiled warmly. “That’s what friends are for. They protect each other.”
Astarion scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t recall this arrangement being upgraded to friendship and do not think that I want that.”
Her smile slipped a little. “Sorry. For assuming, I mean. But I am not sorry for protecting you. You would do the same for me,” she said softly yet firmly, set in her belief.
He really wouldn’t. If it was her in trouble, he would have left her in a heartbeat. The unsettling thought made him grimace. But how could this slip of a girl, this- this foolish creature even begin to comprehend what horrors would befall him if he showed any sign of disobedience?
“Hey, want to hear a joke?” Tav interrupted his internal monologue suddenly with her ridiculous suggestion.
“Not particularly.”
“I will take that as a yes,” she grinned. “What do vampires wish others? Have a fang-tastic day!” she chortled but stopped when she saw the flat look Astarion was giving her.
“As far as jokes go, this was bad,” he said with a deadpan expression.
Apparently, this was not enough to discourage her. “Aww, was it really so bad? I think it was simply un-fang-gettable!”
Astarion scoffed. “That was even worse. I’m leaving.”
“Why? Am I becoming a pain in the neck? FYI, I have a bloody good sense of humor!”
Astarion turned and walked away, Tav having trouble to keep up with his long strides as she followed close behind.
“Wait up! I’m sorry, I was just trying to get you to lighten up a bit.”
“With terrible jokes?” he stopped and quirked an eyebrow.
“Well, it worked! Kind of? At least you don’t look so shaken up anymore.”
That was true. Her woefully inadequate attempts at humor distracted him well enough.
Astarion felt slender fingers ghost over his hand as Tav lifted it gently, running her fingers over his knuckles. He was not sure why, but he let her.
“Where is your ring?”
Ah, that was taken away. He couldn’t remember when exactly. He wasn’t allowed to own anything, none of them were. Just the clothes on their backs and the bare minimum that was required to make themselves presentable.
“Astarion, how bad is this Cazador?” she looked at him with a soft, worried expression. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. Does he make you stay? You aren’t leaving because you can’t?”
Astarion was not sure that anyone ever treated him with such care. Part of him wanted to lash out at her. Because he was not used to this, to have someone be nice to him just for the sake of it. He did not want to have friends, had no need for them, but perhaps the idea wasn’t that distasteful.
He supposed there was no harm in telling her. He did not have any pride left to preserve at this point. And so he told her the child-friendly(ish) version of how he was turned. Of what he could remember of being a magistrate, his hubris, his downfall, his never-ending nightmare. He left out the part about what actually happened to his victims. He could not bring himself to think about it and did not want Tav to be privy to that knowledge either. He wasn’t really talking to Tav, but rather at her. It felt… He wasn’t sure how it felt, but it soothed his frazzled nerves somehow.
She was uncharacteristically silent when he finished speaking. He shifted in his place as Tav regarded him with an unreadable expression. He did not necessarily care what she thought of him, but he loathed the thought that someone would see him the way he saw himself. A monster incapable of redemption. Unworthy of it.
“I never told you this, but the reason I saw you in the street when we first met was because I almost never sleep at night.” Tav spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “I- I don’t sleep much anyway, but when I do, I always try to rest when it is light. And it is not because I’m afraid of the dark.”
“I get these dreams,” she paused, hugging herself, her fingers leaving marks on the delicate velvet of her sleeves. “It is pitch black, so dark you wouldn’t be able to see your hand if you held it up, but it feels soothing. Right, almost.”.
Tav shivered involuntarily, but soldiered on, although it seemed difficult for her to put what she wanted to say into words.
“I hear a voice, calling me, beckoning me to come, to become the darkness. To answer its call. Accept my heritage, whatever that heritage is. And then I get this vile feeling, like it’s going to change me so much, so horribly that I will never be myself again.”
She took a couple of steadying breaths before continuing.
“So, what I am saying is this. They do not decide who we are, their will does not make us monsters or whatever else they want us to be. So, we have to stay strong and wait till the right moment to give them the most glorious, dramatic ‘fuck you’ ever by ruining whatever plans they have,” she said with a determined look in her eyes.
Astarion rolled his eyes at the girl’s words. “Only a child would actually believe this. ‘Stay strong, it’s going to be all right.’ It is what healers tell those who they know are dying. What is the use of blind faith?”
“You just wait and see. I know I’m right. And I promise I will help you. I will.”
He gave a shallow laugh. “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”
“I mean it,” she lifted her chin and levelled him with a look that indicated that she was set in her resolve to help him. “Sooner or later, one way or another, I will keep my promise. You will be free.”
She had such conviction in her eyes, such faith in her abilities, in him. It was almost painful to see such resolve, knowing that she could never make good on her promise. Still, this slither of hope was more than he got over the years. Perhaps if he held onto that, he would be able to carry on a little longer.
Tag list: @ninty900 @ayselluna @dajeong
#astarion#baldurs gate 3#bg3#astarion tav fanfiction#bg3 tav#astarion fanfiction#fanfic#bg3 astarion#baldur's gate fanfiction#fanfiction#astarion ancunin#neil newbon#ao3 fanfic
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So, Canto 5. Spoilers.
Peak fiction, utterly incredible. My following thoughts will be jumbled but forgive me.
I've sadly not finished the source material, so I won't analyze it from that POV, but just to discuss the continued building of the world of the City, the Great Lake is so well conceived as a setting. The individual Lakes and their Waves, and the Whales that cause them, the variable coordinates and U Corp's monopoly on written data of Laws. You could make a whole damn RPG on the back of this stuff alone, I know TTRPG heads are looking at this and coming up with some homebrews.
I wonder if the Lakes are actually the result of the Whales changing the waters around them? Ishmael theorizes that the Whales parasitize humans out of loneliness, to make others like them (which of course reflects on Ahab as a Whale) and I wonder if the waters of the lake are similarly changed to reflect the Whale? And then I think about how Ahab turned the inside of the Pallid Whale into Pequod Town gah the subtext.
I'm also thinking more about the Sinners as a found family. While they've gotten on well enough since Verg put his foot down it's becoming clearer as time goes on that real bonds are forming. Ishmael was certainly straining those bonds but its a testament to them that they grew stronger after she found peace. I was pleasantly surprised she and Outis found a dynamic as fellow seawomen leading to mutual respect, not to mention what's going on between Heath and Ish (I have never shipped anything harder in my life). And then there's the individual relationships to Dante. Dante and Ish have gotten over the hump, and while she says that if they ever go in the wrong direction "she'll drop a skiff and depart" I feel like Ish is invested in Dante as a friend and will be there for them no matter what, including steering them back on the right course.
We saw it in S.E.A., but it's dawning on me that we get to experience characters post arc and that there are consequences to that. It didn't feel that way as strongly with Canto 1 - 3 because Gregor and Rodya are thoroughly still cooking on their issues and Sinclair feels like he's started his arc to becoming more confident and capable (the part where he actually threatens that guy is just chef's kiss). But we saw a Yi Sang who's actively trying to preserve his new friend group and find the bright side of things. Now we'll have a collected Ishmael who can keep it together and is firmly on Dante's side, which will be amazing come the Heartbreaking if the Heathmael dream is real.
Rapid fire thoughts in no particular order:
Ahab VA is perfect casting, her character is phenomenal, and I can't wait to see how she'll do on Hermann's team. PM is carrying the torch of insane old ladies.
I'm increasingly certain that the plot of Limbus will be ultimately about the multiverse (IN A GOOD WAY) and the goals of the villains and other groups deals with mirror worlds in some way.
I'm thinking about the other 3 Calamities of the Lake, Whales that attack without rhyme or reason. I have to imagine them as other great beasts of literature, so one surely is the Crocodile from Peter Pan. Possibly another is the Dogfish from Pinocchio (adapted as Monstro in the Disney version). Then I don't know, the Giant Squid from 20'000 Leagues Under the Sea (or maybe the "Narwhal" itself)? There's many possibilities.
I enjoy the Middle as a faction, they fit in with the deeply absurdist nature of the City and feel distinct from the other Fingers we know about. Makes me wonder what the actual fuck the Pinky's deal is if they're the worst Finger (iirc).
Love the feeling of Faust and Verg as outsiders Red Fraud Alert there's no way it doesn't come to a head at some point where Vergilius and the group are fundamentally at odds but the group is strong enough that threats won't cut it.
Compass is fire. Love that we're seeing different fan remixes combining the vocal and instrumentals in interesting ways, though I worry for the official version. Fly, Broken Wings doesn't work as well when it just goes through the whole thing without repeating the Broken Wings part, I much prefer an edit that matches the in game version more. I hope Mili sees what people are doing and gives us the heartbeat.
Praying to god we get a Stubb or Pip Outis ID with Pequod Captain Ishmael, but that will likely be end of season. I predict Ish ID to be a powerful SP support ID and will likely be as meta as Nclair (which is cool but also kinda unfortunate narratively, there are some downsides to the Gacha format).
Sentences like "Ishmael totally tops Heathcliff, that guy would turn into a puppy dog at the slightest hint of affection" are insane things I believe wholeheartedly and I love every time a literature person stumbles upon it and has to wrestle with this surprisingly valid crackship not knowing its origin.
All for now but I'm sure I'll think of something else later, can't wait for the Christmas Event (which will likely drop after Christmas but c'est la vie).
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