#while he himself remains solitary and all alone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

songbirdseung · 1 month

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young love 2 / nishimura riki

read part one here 🤍

synopsis: she fell first but he fell harder type of scenario. ANGTSY

warnings: jealously, one sexual innuendo and suggestive part with hoon (but no smut) btw this takes place in college time

wc: 6.6k

"hey, you've been avoiding me all day. Is everything alright, babe?" Mina settled down beside Riki, who sat lost in thought, facing the beach. Unaware of her presence, he was entirely focused on the crashing waves, the chilly breeze, and the swirling thoughts in his mind. "Riki?" She called out again, giving him a gentle nudge. Finally snapping out of his trance, he turned to his girlfriend, apologizing and asking her to repeat what she had said. "Are we okay? Or more importantly, are you okay?" She remained oblivious to Riki's growing feelings for YN, unable to connect the dots. However, Riki knew he couldn't break her heart with such information, especially during what was supposed to be a joyful trip. So, he concocted a white lie, reassuring her that he would be fine.

mina studied riki's expression, a hint of concern lingering in her eyes as she waited for his response. riki forced a smile, masking the turmoil churning within him as he reassured her with a nod.

"yeah, babe, everything's fine," he replied, his voice steady despite the tumult of emotions raging beneath the surface. "just got lost in my thoughts for a moment there, but i'm okay now."

mina's features softened with relief, a smile gracing her lips as she reached out to squeeze his hand gently. "okay, just making sure," she said, her voice warm with affection. "you know i'm here for you if you ever need to talk, right?"

riki's heart swelled with gratitude for mina's unwavering support, but a pang of guilt tugged at his conscience as he realized the depth of the lie he had just told her. he knew he couldn't burden her with the truth, not when it threatened to unravel the delicate balance of their relationship.

"yeah, i know," riki replied, forcing himself to meet mina's gaze with a reassuring smile. "thanks, babe. i really appreciate it."

with a sense of unease lingering in the back of his mind, riki pushed aside his inner turmoil, determined to make the most of their time at the beach and protect mina's heart at all costs. but beneath the facade of calm, the storm of conflicting emotions continued to rage, leaving riki adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

unbeknownst to them, you sat a few feet away, nestled in one of the beach chairs, solitary. Your sole desire was to relish the view while immersing yourself in music until Mina settled beside Riki. You couldn't deny the effect they had on you anymore, though a small part of her still pondered the possibilities of what could have been. But now you had Sunghoon—shouldn't that be enough to make you happy?

"jeez, yn, you're such a dunce," you muttered to yourself, your voice barely audible. you removed your earphones and shut your eyes tightly, attempting to divert your thoughts from what might have been. "well, maybe not entirely stupid… okay, sometimes," sunoo's voice interrupted from behind, causing you to jump slightly. he chuckled at your startled reaction before settling down next to you, inquiring about the whereabouts of your significant other. you gestured in the direction where sunghoon, jake, and a few strangers were engaged in a game of beach volleyball. "so, why are you sitting here alone? and conveniently positioned just a few feet away from riki and mina?" sunoo probed further.

you shrugged, offering a weak smile to sunoo. "just needed some time alone, i guess," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "and as for the seating arrangement, pure coincidence, i assure you."

sunoo raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical yet understanding. "right, coincidence," he echoed, a playful glint in his eyes.

sunoo's smile gradually faded into a serious expression as he fixed his gaze on you. "don't tell me you still have feelings for him, yn. i thought we were past that," he remarked, his tone tinged with concern.

you shook your head and let out a sigh, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on you. "it's not like i have feelings for him, i don't," you clarified, but then added, "but you can't blame me for occasionally wondering about the alternative possibilities or outcomes that could have been, sunoo."

deep down, all you truly desired now was sunghoon. you loved him dearly, but riki, your first young love, remained a lingering presence in your thoughts, a part of your past that refused to fade away.

"i get that, but instead of being so dramatic—" sunoo began, but you cut him off with a playful jab. "as if you're not dramatic as fuck, you're the drama queen in this friend group," you teased, earning a chuckle from sunoo as he playfully slapped your arm.

"shut up and listen," sunoo continued, his tone more serious now. "stop dwelling on the past. stop thinking about those things and start focusing on the future. a future where you find peace of mind, whether you're in a relationship or not."

he flicked your forehead lightly, a playful gesture before offering you the chance to join jake and sunghoon in a game. with a nod, you accepted his invitation, grateful for his words of wisdom and the distraction of spending time with your friends.

that's precisely what you ended up doing, making your way over to sunghoon's team with a gentle nudge from sunoo, who seemed determined to reunite you with your beau. as you joined their side, sunghoon greeted you with a sweet kiss on the forehead, causing a blush to rise to your cheeks.

"why's your forehead all red, baby?" sunghoon inquired with a playful grin, prompting you to sheepishly recount sunoo's teasing antics. your boyfriend chuckled at the anecdote, releasing you to join the game.

"get a room, damn!" jake's voice rang out from the opposite side of the net, his playful jab accompanied by a smirk. "ready to lose, yn?" he taunted, a competitive glint in his eye as he prepared for the match.

you chuckled at jake's playful taunt, feeling the familiar rush of competitiveness coursing through you. "lose? not a chance, jake!" you retorted, matching his competitive energy with a grin of your own.

with the game about to begin, you took your position on the court, feeling the warm sand beneath your feet and the anticipation building in the air. sunghoon flashed you an encouraging smile before the match started, his unwavering support giving you an extra boost of confidence.

as the game progressed, laughter and friendly banter filled the air, each point won or lost accompanied by cheers and groans from both teams. despite jake's confident taunts, your team managed to hold your own, each player contributing their skills and teamwork to keep the game tight.

in the end, it was a close match, with both teams giving it their all until the very last point. but as the final point was scored, your team emerged victorious, erupting into cheers and high-fives as you celebrated your hard-fought win.

"another round? maybe with riki this time?" sunghoon suggests, glancing behind at the couple. everyone nods and calls riki over, along with mina.

"oh, come on, riki! join us, it'll be fun," jake calls out, waving riki over with a grin.

riki hesitates for a moment, exchanging a glance with mina before standing up and making his way to the group. mina follows closely behind, a slight frown creasing her brow.

as riki joins the circle, the atmosphere shifts slightly, a subtle tension hanging in the air. you can't help but notice the awkwardness between riki and mina, wondering if anyone else has picked up on it.

as the game begins, you can't help but feel the weight of the unresolved tension lingering in the air. every interaction between riki and mina seems strained, their once easy rapport now marred by unspoken words and lingering doubts.

despite your efforts to focus on the game, your mind keeps drifting back to the uncomfortable situation unfolding before you. it's clear that something is amiss, but no one seems willing to address the elephant in the room.

as the game progresses, you can't shake the feeling that this outing, meant to be a fun-filled day at the beach, has taken an unexpected turn. and with each passing moment, the tension threatens to unravel the fragile bonds that hold your friend group together.

in the midst of the game, your attention scattered, you fail to notice the volleyball hurtling towards you. suddenly, both sunghoon and riki spring into action, moving at lightning speed to shield you from the incoming ball. sunghoon reaches you first, his arms wrapping around your waist protectively as he checks if you're alright.

"are you okay, yn?" he asks, concern etched into his features as he holds you close.

you nod, reassured by sunghoon's presence, but your gaze flickers to riki, who stands nearby with a nonchalant expression. despite sunghoon's awareness of riki's proximity, he brushes it off, focusing solely on ensuring your safety.

"thanks, sunghoon," you murmur gratefully, offering him a small smile.

meanwhile, riki rolls his eyes at the scene, a hint of annoyance flashing across his face before he turns away, seemingly unbothered.

as the game comes to an abrupt end, jake takes the initiative to diffuse the tension, suggesting that it's time for dinner despite the sun still hanging high in the sky. his words break the awkward atmosphere, prompting everyone to agree with a collective sigh of relief.

"yeah, let's call it a day," sunghoon chimes in, shooting a reassuring glance at you.

as the group begins to disperse, mina's gaze lingers on riki, her brow furrowing with realization. it dawns on her that riki's peculiar behavior may be more than just casual indifference — perhaps, deep down, he harbors feelings for you.

"you like her, don't you?" mina's voice cuts through the tension, her words hanging heavy in the air as everyone turns to look at riki.

riki freezes, caught off guard by mina's direct question. his cheeks flush slightly as he meets her gaze, unable to form a coherent response in front of everyone.

the atmosphere grows uncomfortably silent as the weight of mina's words sinks in, casting a shadow over the group. you exchange a glance with sunghoon, both of you unsure of how to navigate the sudden awkwardness that has enveloped the once cheerful gathering.

in yuna's room, the tension from the beach outing still lingered in the air like a heavy fog. yuna paced back and forth, her frustration evident in every movement.

"she's so dumb, why would she say that with everyone there?! she could've just talked to him in private, gosh, i knew i never liked her," yuna exclaimed, her voice laced with anger and disbelief.

you reached out to your best friend, trying to soothe her frayed nerves. "hey, maybe she was just in shock, in realization, yun. calm down," you urged gently, hoping to diffuse the situation before it escalated further.

yuna huffed, her agitation not yet subsiding. "but still, it's such a personal thing to bring up in front of everyone. poor riki must feel so embarrassed," she lamented, sinking onto her bed with a frustrated sigh.

you nodded in understanding, sitting down beside her. "i get it, it wasn't the most tactful move on mina's part. maybe she just didn't think before speaking," you suggested, trying to offer a different perspective.

yuna sighed, running a hand through her hair. "i just hate seeing riki like this. it's obvious he's struggling with his feelings, and mina's comment probably didn't help," she said, her voice softer now, filled with concern for her friend.

"i know, but maybe this will be a wake-up call for him to confront his feelings," you offered, trying to find a silver lining in the situation.

yuna nodded, her expression thoughtful. "you might be right. i just hope things don't get even more awkward between them," she said, casting a worried glance towards the door as if expecting riki or mina to walk in at any moment.

yuna suggests that you talk to riki, to make him realize that it's too late now and he needs to get over these feelings he developed for you.

you consider her suggestion carefully, knowing that it might not be an easy conversation to have. but you also understand the importance of addressing the situation before it becomes even more complicated.

"yeah, maybe you're right. i'll talk to him," you agree, steeling yourself for the inevitable awkwardness that lies ahead.

yuna gives you a supportive smile, grateful for your willingness to help. "i know it won't be easy, but i think it's for the best. riki needs to understand that life moves on, and dwelling on what could have been will only hold him back," she says, her tone hopeful yet firm.

with yuna's encouragement, you resolve to have the difficult conversation with riki, hoping that it will help him find closure and move forward.

after discussing, you decide that it might be best to give riki some time to process everything before broaching the subject with him.

"i think you're right, yuna. i'll give riki some space for now," you say, nodding in agreement with your friend.

yuna nods in understanding, appreciating your decision. "that sounds like a good plan. let him come to terms with everything on his own terms," she says, her tone thoughtful.

with a shared understanding, you and yuna leave the conversation at that, knowing that confronting riki about his feelings is a delicate matter that requires careful consideration and timing. for now, all you can do is wait and hope that he finds the clarity he needs to move forward.

after a while, yuna decides it's time for you to head back to your shared room with sunghoon. as she closes the door behind you, she can't resist making a few suggestive jokes.

"alright, lovebirds, time for some alone time," yuna teases, winking mischievously as she sends you off.

you chuckle at her playful banter, shaking your head as you walk towards your room where sunghoon is waiting for you, already out the door. just before you reach him, yuna calls out one last joke.

"remember to keep it pg-13, we don't want to hear any wild noises," she adds with a laugh, causing you to blush and sunghoon to raise an eyebrow in amusement.

you enter the room, trying to stifle your laughter from yuna's playful remarks. sunghoon looks at you with a bemused expression, clearly curious about what transpired outside.

"what was that all about?" sunghoon asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he approaches you.

you shake your head, still grinning at yuna's antics. "oh, just yuna being her usual cheeky self," you reply, trying to downplay the situation.

sunghoon chuckles, wrapping his arms around you. "well, now that we have some privacy, what do you say we make the most of it?" he suggests, his voice low and suggestive as he leans in closer.

you feel a rush of excitement at his words, your cheeks flushing with anticipation. as you lean in to kiss him, you can't help but be grateful for the playful banter that brought you both closer together.

the next morning, you feel a gentle nudge as sunghoon wakes you up, his warm smile greeting you as you open your eyes. hovering over you on the bed, he leans in, and you plant a soft kiss on his nose before stretching lazily.

"good morning, sleepyhead," sunghoon says affectionately, his eyes sparkling with fondness.

you return his smile and sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. sunghoon gives you a quick peck on the cheek before getting up to let you get ready.

downstairs in the kitchen, you find riki sitting with sunoo and jungwon, engaged in a lively conversation. you offer them a warm greeting as you join them, feeling the pleasant buzz of morning chatter fill the room.

"good morning, everyone," you say cheerfully, exchanging smiles with the group.

while you're carefully arranging sunghoon's cereal with fruits, jake shuffles into the kitchen, his eyes still heavy with sleep. spotting you, he does a double-take and then lets out a surprised gasp.

"whoa, what's that on your neck?" jake asks, his voice laced with sleepy confusion.

you freeze in your tracks, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you realize what he's referring to. jungwon stifles a laugh at jake's sleepy shock, while sunoo and sunghoon exchange surprised glances.

riki, sitting nearby, seems to pretend not to notice, focusing intently on his breakfast.

you meet riki's gaze briefly, a pang of guilt washing over you as you remember your plan to talk to him soon.

sunghoon, catching on to the situation, jokingly scolds jake. "hey, jake, mind your own business!" he says with a playful grin, trying to lighten the mood.

amidst the light-hearted banter, sunghoon shoots you a knowing look, silently asking if you're okay. you offer him a reassuring smile, silently thanking him for his understanding.

jake, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, seems to realize the awkwardness of his comment. "oops, sorry, didn't mean to pry," he mumbles sheepishly, retreating slightly.

you nod, grateful for his apology, and continue with your breakfast preparations, trying to shake off the embarrassment. sunghoon steps in to help, smoothly diverting the conversation to a more neutral topic.

as the atmosphere in the kitchen lightens, you exchange a glance with riki once more, silently acknowledging the impending conversation that hangs between you.

with breakfast finally ready, everyone gathers around the table, the earlier awkwardness dissipating into the background as laughter and chatter fill the air.

after breakfast, you and sunghoon take on the role of "parents" of the group, tackling the dishes together as the others relax or continue with their morning routines. the warm water and soapy suds provide a soothing backdrop as you work side by side, the clinking of dishes filling the air.

as you scrub away at a stubborn stain, sunghoon glances at you, a serious expression crossing his face. "hey, yn, now might be a good time to talk to riki," he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper over the sound of running water.

you pause, considering his words, knowing that sunghoon is right. it's better to address the situation sooner rather than later, especially before any more awkwardness arises.

nodding in agreement, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead, grateful for sunghoon's support and understanding. with a shared determination, you and sunghoon finish up the dishes and then make your way to find riki, ready to finally have the difficult but necessary conversation.

riki was alone, engrossed in a video game when you approached him, quietly taking a seat beside him. his fingers paused on the controller, and you could sense the tension radiating from him as you spoke up.

"hey, riki… can we talk?" you ask softly, your voice carrying a mixture of concern and determination.

riki's eyes flicker with uncertainty as he turns to look at you, his expression guarded. he hesitates for a moment, clearly apprehensive about what the conversation might entail.

"yeah, sure," he replies, his voice slightly shaky as he sets the controller down and turns his full attention to you.

as you and riki sit together, the weight of the impending conversation hangs heavily in the air. you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the difficult words you know you need to say.

"riki, i… i need to talk to you about something," you begin, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. "i'm sorry… i know you have feelings for me, but… i don't feel the same way anymore."

riki's expression falls, his shoulders slumping as your words sink in. "i… i understand," he replies softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "i'm sorry, yn. i should've realized my feelings for you sooner… i regret rejecting you before."

you shake your head, feeling a pang of sadness at the pain in riki's eyes. "it's not your fault, riki," you say gently, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "we were just meant to be friends… childhood friends who grew apart romantically."

riki nods, his gaze dropping to his lap as he struggles to find the right words. "i should've tried harder… i should've fought for us," he murmurs, his voice thick with regret.

you offer him a sympathetic smile, squeezing his shoulder gently. "it's okay, riki," you assure him. "we both made mistakes… but we can't change the past. we need to focus on the relationships we have now, separately."

riki nods again, a sense of acceptance settling over him as he looks up to meet your gaze. "yeah… you're right," he says quietly. "i'm sorry for everything, yn."

you nod in return, a weight lifting off your shoulders as you both come to terms with the situation. despite the sadness of the moment, there's a sense of closure in knowing that you can move forward as friends, each on your own path towards happiness.

as they finish talking and discussing the future of their friendship, they share a heartfelt hug, a silent understanding passing between them. just as they begin to pull away, mina walks into the room, her expression apologetic.

"hey, sorry to interrupt," mina says softly, her eyes filled with sincerity. "i just wanted to say that i didn't mean to cause any awkwardness yesterday. my intentions were genuine, i promise."

riki and you exchange a glance, a flicker of relief passing between you at mina's words. "it's okay, mina," you say with a warm smile, genuinely touched by her sincerity. "we understand."

riki nods in agreement, his expression softening as he looks at mina. "yeah, we know you didn't mean any harm," he says, his voice filled with reassurance.

mina lets out a relieved sigh, a weight lifting off her shoulders as she smiles gratefully at her friends. "thank you for understanding," she says, her voice tinged with relief. "i'm really glad we can move past this."

with a sense of resolution in the air, the three friends share a brief but meaningful moment of understanding, each grateful for the bond of friendship that binds them together.

as they wandered through the bustling streets, the group took in the sights and sounds of the city, their laughter echoing off the walls as they recounted funny stories and shared inside jokes.

"hey, jungwon, are you sure we're going the right way?" sunghoon teased, earning a playful shove from jungwon.

"of course i am! i've got a great sense of direction," jungwon retorted with a grin.

sunoo jumped in with his signature humor, "yeah, if by 'great sense of direction' you mean getting lost every five minutes!"

the group erupted into laughter, with yuna adding, "well, at least we'll have an adventure!"

riki, who had been quiet earlier, chuckled softly, finally joining in on the fun. "yeah, who needs a map when you've got jungwon?"

jake, always quick with a witty remark, quipped, "yeah, he's our own personal compass, leading us in circles!"

the banter continued as they strolled through the colorful streets, each joke and comment bringing them closer together. despite the occasional wrong turn and detour, they knew that as long as they were together, every moment would be an adventure.

reaching a park with various attractions and things to do, you spotted something that reminded you of your childhood. with a grin, you grabbed riki's arm and pulled him over to take a look.

"hey, remember this?" you said, pointing excitedly at the familiar sight.

riki's eyes lit up with recognition, and he chuckled as memories of your childhood flooded back. "yeah, i remember. you were terrible at this game," he teased, nudging you playfully.

you rolled your eyes, laughing along with him. "hey, i wasn't that bad! besides, i bet i can beat you now," you challenged, a competitive glint in your eye.

riki smirked, accepting the challenge. "oh, it's on," he declared, leading the way to the game booth with a playful grin. as you both stepped up to the challenge, the friendly rivalry between you reignited, sparking laughter and camaraderie as you competed against each other just like old times.

next, the group dispersed into two teams, with you and riki finding yourselves on opposing sides. as the game began, the competitive spirit ignited once again, with each team determined to come out on top.

with laughter and friendly banter filling the air, the group watched eagerly, cheering on their respective teammates and teasing each other mercilessly at every missed shot or fumbled move. sunghoon's infectious laughter echoed through the park as he cheered you on, while jake couldn't resist poking fun at riki whenever he made a mistake.

later, the group found themselves deciding what to eat, so they headed to the mall, hoping to satisfy their hunger with a variety of options. However, their plans hit a snag as they found themselves once again getting lost, courtesy of Jungwon's questionable sense of direction.

"Jungwon, are you sure we're going the right way?" Sunghoon asked with a chuckle, glancing around at the unfamiliar surroundings.

Jungwon scratched his head sheepishly. "Uh, well, I thought so, but maybe not," he admitted, his expression sheepish.

Sunoo couldn't resist chiming in with a grin, "Looks like we're taking the scenic route again!"

Yuna laughed, shaking her head. "Maybe we should invest in a GPS for Jungwon," she joked.

next, they reached the mall, and as they waited for everyone to order at the diner, sunghoon and riki found themselves drawn to the claw machines and booths in the retro-designed diner. amidst the flashing lights and nostalgic ambiance, they shared a quiet, one-on-one conversation.

sunghoon leaned against the claw machine, his gaze thoughtful as he spoke. "hey, riki, i just wanted to say that there's no bad blood between us, you know?"

riki glanced up, surprised by sunghoon's sincerity. "yeah, i know. i appreciate that," he replied, a hint of gratitude in his voice.

sunghoon continued, his tone gentle. "i know things might be a bit awkward because of… well, you know," he gestured vaguely, referring to riki's feelings for yn.

riki nodded, understanding. "yeah, i get it. but i want you to know that i'm really happy for you and yn. you guys deserve each other."

sunghoon smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. "thanks, riki. that means a lot," he said, grateful for riki's understanding.

as they continued to chat, the tension between them eased, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and mutual respect.

"hey, riki, i get it. it's not easy to just switch off those feelings," sunghoon said sympathetically, placing a reassuring hand on riki's shoulder. "but you've got to try to move forward. you know, there's this saying: 'the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.'"

riki chuckled weakly, appreciating sunghoon's attempt at lightening the mood. "yeah, i guess you're right. but what if i just can't seem to shake these feelings?"

sunghoon nodded understandingly. "it's tough, i know. but you've got to focus on what's in front of you. mina is a great girl, and she really cares about you. don't waste the chance to get to know her better and appreciate what you have with her."

riki sighed, knowing that sunghoon was right. "yeah, you're right. thanks, sunghoon. i needed to hear that," he admitted gratefully.

sunghoon gave him a supportive smile. "anytime, buddy. just remember, you're not alone in this. we're all here for you." with that, they shared a brief, understanding nod, knowing that even though the road ahead might be tough, they would face it together as friends.

as riki and sunghoon triumphantly emerge from the claw machine area, each clutching a plush toy in their hands, their faces light up with excitement. with a shared grin, they make their way back to the rest of the group, eager to show off their prizes.

"check it out, guys! look what we won!" sunghoon announces proudly, holding up his prize—a penguin with a big, friendly smile.

riki joins in, brandishing his own victory—a cute fluffy baby chick. "and look at this beauty! who's the claw machine champion now?"

jake chuckles, giving them both a playful pat on the back. "yeah, seriously, well done! maybe you should start your own claw machine championship league."

sunghoon beams with pride as he presents you with a cute penguin plush, his eyes sparkling with affection as he watches your delighted reaction.

"here you go, babe," he says softly, placing the plush in your hands. "a little something to remember this day by."

you can't help but smile back at him, touched by his thoughtfulness. "thank you, sunghoon," you reply, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. "i love it."

meanwhile, riki playfully teases mina, pretending to keep a tight grip on the chick plush he won, much to her amusement. "hey, hands off, riki!" she laughs, attempting to wrestle the toy from his grasp.

riki grins mischievously, holding the plush just out of mina's reach. "sorry, babe, but this little guy is mine," he teases, feigning innocence as mina gives him an exaggerated pout.

with a playful roll of her eyes, mina gives riki a gentle shove. "fine, keep it then," she says, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "but you owe me one."

riki chuckles, relenting as he hands over the plush to mina. "of course, anything for you," he replies, leaning in to press a sweet kiss on her forehead.

as the group shares in the lighthearted moment, laughter filling the air, sunghoon wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. you lean into his embrace, feeling grateful for the love and laughter that surrounds you.

as they enjoy their meal, riki leans over to mina with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "hey, mina, what do you say we pretend to propose to each other so we can get free dessert?" he suggests, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

mina stifles a laugh, shaking her head at his antics. "as tempting as that sounds, i don't think i want to get proposed to at a random retro diner," she replies, a hint of amusement in her voice.

sunoo chimes in from across the table, his tone teasing. "yeah, i don't think that's quite the romantic setting you're looking for, mina," he quips, earning a chuckle from the rest of the group.

riki shrugs, still wearing a playful grin. "hey, it was worth a shot, right?" he says with a wink, before digging back into his meal. the group shares a laugh at his antics, enjoying the light-hearted moment as they continue to savor their time together.

sunghoon chuckles at riki's failed attempt, then a mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes as an idea forms. "hey, why don't we pretend it's yn's birthday? they'll definitely give us free dessert for that!"

yuna raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "but what if they ask for id? i doubt they'll believe you're turning twenty-one again," she teases, glancing at sunghoon with a playful glimmer in her eyes.

sunghoon laughs, waving off yuna's concern. "don't worry, we'll just tell them we left yn's id back at the beach house," he replies, confidence lacing his voice.

you furrow your brows in confusion as the conversation steers toward the topic of dessert. "what's with you guys and dessert?" you inquire, looking around at the group with a bemused expression.

jungwon grins, leaning back in his chair as he explains, "well, you see, dessert is the best part of any meal. and when it's free, well, it's even sweeter."

mina shrugs, letting out a laugh at your confused expression. "yeah, i mean, who doesn't love free dessert?" she chimes in, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

you can't help but chuckle at their enthusiasm, shaking your head in amusement. "fair enough," you concede, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "i guess i can't argue with that logic."

with everyone on board for the plan, you settle back in your seat, eagerly anticipating the sweet treat that awaits you at the end of the meal. after all, who could say no to free dessert?

as the waiter approaches their table, sunghoon leans in with a mischievous glint in his eye, flashing his most charming smile. "hey, is there any chance we could get some free dessert? it's my girlfriend's birthday today," he says, gesturing towards you with a playful wink.

the waiter's eyes light up with enthusiasm as he nods eagerly. "of course! happy birthday!" he exclaims, offering you a warm smile before dashing off to fetch the dessert.

as the waiter scurries away, the anticipation among the group grows palpable. sunghoon grins at you, excitement dancing in his eyes. "get ready for a sweet surprise, birthday girl," he whispers, his voice laced with excitement.

you can't help but laugh, feeling a mixture of amusement and nervous anticipation. "i can't believe you talked them into this," you reply, shaking your head in disbelief. "this is going to be hilarious."

across the table, yuna and mina exchange knowing glances, stifling giggles behind their hands. "i can't wait to see their faces when the entire diner starts singing," yuna whispers, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

as the minutes tick by, the anticipation mounts, and the group exchanges playful banter and speculation about what kind of dessert the waiter will bring out. finally, the waiter returns, carrying a decadent-looking dessert adorned with a flickering candle.

with a flourish, he sets the dessert down in front of you, offering another cheerful round of "happy birthday" as the entire diner erupts into applause.

on the way home, the group is abuzz with excitement, unable to contain their chatter about the day's silly antics. sunghoon leads the conversation, recounting each hilarious moment with animated gestures and infectious laughter.

"i still can't believe we convinced them it was your birthday," sunghoon chuckles, glancing at you with a playful grin. "that dessert was worth every bit of embarrassment."

yuna nods enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "and the look on everyone's faces when the whole diner started singing! priceless," she adds, shaking her head in fond remembrance.

mina joins in, her laughter echoing through the car. "i never knew free dessert could be so entertaining," she quips, casting a teasing glance at riki, who chuckles in agreement.

as the memories of the day's escapades continue to flow, the car fills with laughter and joy, each member of the group reliving their favorite moments and sharing in the camaraderie of the day. it's moments like these, filled with laughter and friendship, that make even the simplest of outings unforgettable.

a year later, the group gathers once again, this time to celebrate jake and sunghoon's college graduation. amidst the sea of graduation caps and gowns, the friends stand shoulder to shoulder, a testament to the bonds forged through years of shared laughter and unforgettable moments.

as they gather for a group photo, sunghoon pulls you close, his arm wrapped around your waist in a gesture of love and pride. "let's make sure to get a picture with the graduates," he whispers, his voice filled with excitement.

after a while you glance over at jake and sunghoon, who are beaming with pride as they pose for pictures with their families. "they look so happy," you murmur, your heart swelling with pride for your friends' achievements.

sunghoon's gaze softens as he looks at you and walks back to you, his eyes filled with love and admiration. "you'll be up there next year," he says, his voice brimming with confidence. "i can't wait to see you walk across that stage and receive your diploma."

you feel a rush of warmth at his words, grateful for his unwavering support and encouragement. "thank you," you whisper, leaning into his embrace.

as the celebrations continue, the group surrounds jake and sunghoon, showering them with congratulations and well-wishes. amidst the laughter and chatter, sunghoon's voice cuts through the noise, his words filled with hope and anticipation. "and when it's your turn next year, yn," he says, his voice ringing with pride, "i'll be right here, cheering you on every step of the way."

you meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love for the man by your side. with sunghoon's unwavering support and the love of your friends, you know that no challenge is too great, and that together, you can conquer anything that comes your way.

as the camera flashes, capturing the joyous moment with jake and sunghoon, riki sidles up beside you, a playful grin on his face. "can you believe we're next in line for this graduation gig?" he quips, nudging you gently.

you chuckle, enjoying the light-hearted banter with your friend. "i can't wait to see you in that cap and gown," you reply, a teasing glint in your eyes. "just don't trip on stage, okay?"

riki laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "hey, i make no promises," he retorts, playfully nudging you back. "but seriously, it's going to be our turn soon. let's make the most of our last year, yeah?"

you nod in agreement, a sense of excitement bubbling in your chest at the thought of the year ahead. "absolutely," you agree, a smile tugging at your lips. "but no wild parties the night before graduation, okay? we don't want any hungover mishaps on stage."

riki raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "no promises," he says with a smirk, earning a playful shove from you.

as the day draws to a close and the sun begins to dip below the horizon, you find yourself reflecting on the bond you share with riki. through the twists and turns of college life, you've stood by each other's side, weathering storms and celebrating victories together.

sure, there may have been moments of uncertainty and confusion, but at the end of the day, your friendship with riki remains steadfast and true. he's more than just a friend; he's your confidant, your partner in crime, and your platonic soulmate.

as you look ahead to the future, you know that no matter where life takes you, riki will always be there, ready to lend a listening ear, share a laugh, or offer a shoulder to lean on. and as you embrace the warmth of his friendship, you can't help but feel grateful for the countless memories you've shared and the ones yet to come.

with riki by your side, the journey ahead may be filled with twists and turns, but one thing is for certain: as long as you have each other, you'll always find your way.

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saintsenara · 4 months

Note

What is your rationale for disagreeing with the fanon that the horcruxes affected Voldemort's sanity?

that it's literally canon that they don't!

i obviously don't have an actual problem with people using the idea that the horcruxes affect voldemort's sanity as a trope, if that's what works for their story, but what irks me is that this idea is often repeated by voldemort enjoyers as canon fact, when the impact of horcruxes on cognitive function is spelled out clearly in half-blood prince:

Harry sat in thought for a moment, then asked, “So if all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort could be killed?” “Yes, I think so,” said Dumbledore. “Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Never forget, though, that while his soul may be damaged beyond repair, his brain and his magical powers remain intact. It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort even without his Horcruxes.”

in half-blood prince - as in every book prior to deathly hallows - dumbledore functions as the "word of god" character, which is to say that the information he provides us - as long as it relates neither to harry nor himself - isn't up for interpretation, it's understood within the narrative as correct. we can also be sure that he's done his research on horcruxes, knows exactly how they work, and is speaking as an expert when it comes to their impact on the mind - and we can also note that slughorn [who also seems to know what he's talking about when it comes to horcruxes and their function] doesn't mention them causing any cognitive damage when discussing them with the teenage tom riddle.

but nobody has ever made as many horcruxes as voldemort! maybe one doesn't affect the mind, but seven certainly could.

except this doesn't align at all with how the series understands the relationship between the soul and the will.

one of the central themes of the harry potter series is the value of choice. all of its main characters have narrative arcs which hinge - in some way or other - on them making a choice, very often the choice between what is right and what is easy. ron chooses to leave and then chooses to come back; hermione chooses to stay. sirius chooses to take a stand against the life his family expect of him. snape chooses to repent of his sins and work forever to atone for them. harry chooses to walk into the forest and die. lily chooses to ignore voldemort's request for her to stand aside.

all of these choices are made of the character in question's own free will - and the same applies to everything voldemort does in the series. he chooses to kill and to keep killing of his own free will, with the full capacity to understand his actions, and he refuses, right until the very end, to show the slightest bit of remorse for what he's done - and it is this, in the narrative's view, which makes his behaviour so heinous and which causes his behaviour to have such an impact on the state of his soul.

if we assume that voldemort's grasp on rationality declines with the number of horcruxes he makes, we are also assuming that his capacity to understand the full wickedness of his actions also declines - but his motivation for killing myrtle to make a horcrux and his motivation for killing frank bryce to make a horcrux are exactly the same: he wants to, and he doesn't give a solitary fuck about the life he's just taken.

and this stands in contrast to something else we see in canon - the idea that killing does not automatically have an impact on the soul:

“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?” “You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore.

this - the set-up to snape's mercy-killing of dumbledore - suggests that your soul is not harmed if you know without question that the death you cause is justified.

snape kills dumbledore of his own free will, but this suggestion also implies that it would be perfectly possible for the soul to remain unharmed if a killer was understood to be non compos mentis. that is, if someone lacked the capacity to understand their actions were not justified, then their soul would see them as "not guilty by reason of insanity" and not splinter.

voldemort's ability to make so many horcruxes in the first place, then, must depend on his capacity to understand exactly what he's doing - to know he could choose not to kill and then still do it anyway.

and we do actually see in canon that - while he's shown to be someone who kills with the slightest provocation in the films - the voldemort of the books is clinical and methodical in his violence:

“Nice costume, mister!” He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face: Then the child turned and ran away... Beneath the robe he fingered the handle of his wand... One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother... but unnecessary, quite unnecessary...

the canonical voldemort's known kill count is actually surprisingly low, and each of his victims is clearly selected with a rational [in the "does he have a disorder of thought?" sense, not in the "is this morally justifiable?" sense] motivation driving his decision to attack them - even if his actions are also affected by an emotional trigger [he does not, for example, kill his father or massacre the goblins who tell him that the cup was stolen for reasons which are irrational or delusional - incandescent fury or fear that your secret is out are not insanity].

voldemort kills and makes his horcruxes out of choice, and the series is clear that his capacity to understand that choice does not degrade across the course of his life.

ok, but you have to admit that he's definitely not... all there, personality wise...

sure. but i don't think this has anything to do with the horcruxes...

the idea that voldemort runs around shrieking and cackling to himself is an invention of the films. the canonical voldemort is shown to be lucid and thoughtful even in deathly hallows, he remains a formidable strategist right up until the end - and i think it's also worth noting that the films really gloss over just how successful his takeover of the government is - and his prodigious intellect and magical talent are acknowledged by the order throughout the series.

his more volatile personality traits - his fondness for monologuing, his rapid switching between being superficially charming and feral, his tendency to get lost in his own obsessions, his emotional brittleness - are all ones the eleven-year-old riddle is shown to possess, and i think it's much more interesting to explore the idea that they remain aspects of the person he once was which the adult voldemort cannot hide behind the mask he has constructed.

but - yes - its certainly true that the resurrected voldemort of order of the phoenix onwards is more paranoid, harder to soothe, crueller to his death eaters, more inflexible in his thinking and so on than he is implied to have been in the 1970s, and so i understand why many readers interpret this as evidence that his last two horcruxes [harry and nagini] - plus the arcane horror of his resurrection ritual - might have sent him round the bend.

but i think that the implication of canon is that this behaviour has much more mundane causes.

in october 1981, all the evidence we have is that voldemort is about to win. he is an unassailable terrorist kingpin with an army of highly-trained, highly loyal minions and - we can assume - widespread popular support.

and then only four of these supporters try to find him.

it's clear - as we can tell from the fact that barty crouch jr. is so shocked to discover that he didn't massacre the reassembled death eaters where they stood - that voldemort is livid that none of his "loyal" servants came to rescue him from the tree in albania his soul piece was hiding in, choosing instead to pretend they were under the imperius curse and that they'd never have been seen dead supporting him had they been in their right minds. it's also clear that he has no choice but to welcome these death eaters back to the fold once he's resurrected because he'd have no core supporters otherwise.

but it's also clear that he doesn't trust any of them one single bit once their commitment is proven to be so fragile - and that it is this, this evidence that he's just a human being with human feelings, rather than a creature of pure magic whose mind has been warped by that magic, which provides a much, much more interesting explanation for his increasing volatility as the war draws to its conclusion.

voldemort is at his most interesting - in my opinion - when his humanity [and his failure to outrun it] is foregrounded. this isn't incompatible with his creation of the horcruxes at all. but it is, i think, incompatible with the idea that they warp his mind.

#asks answered #asenora meta #tom riddle #lord voldemort

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verstappensrealwife · 2 months

Note

would you be able to write about lance stroll? possibly a story where she is his childhood best friend and they end up together. Smut if possible!!

Beyond Friendship's Boundaries - Lance Stroll x Reader

smut.

approx. 1960 words.

warnings: oral (fem!recieving), awkwardness in the start, sex (p in v). --- Also my horrid smut writing (I am yet to write a smut fic that i think i wrote well!) Hope you enjoy anyways <3

lance stroll masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

You and Lance had been inseparable since childhood, ever since that fateful day in kindergarten when his boundless energy collided with your unsuspecting form. As he barreled into you with the force of a tiny tornado, you found yourself sprawled on the ground, tears welling in your eyes. But even in that moment of chaos, Lance's instinctive kindness shone through as he scrambled to lift you up with all the might his pint-sized arms could muster.

"Sorry," he blurted out, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

With a sniffle and a shaky nod, you forgave him, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. His infectious grin, inherited from his mother's insistence that it could brighten anyone's day, worked its magic once again as you found yourself mirroring his smile. From that day forward, a bond was forged between you two that would withstand the tests of time and tide.

In the present moment, he found himself thousands of miles away in Australia, while you remained in Canada. Alone in the confines of his hotel room, he sat on the edge of the bed, consumed by thoughts of you that strayed far from the innocent memories of childhood. With a conflicted mind and a restless urge, he grasped his cock in his hand, indulging in fantasies that danced on the edge of forbidden desire.

If only you knew the depths of his depraved thoughts, he reasoned, you might recoil in horror or sever ties altogether. But in that solitary moment, consumed by the need for release before the impending race, such considerations faded into insignificance. He whispered your name like a forbidden prayer, his imagination weaving a tapestry of carnal delights where your bodies entwined in passion, where your desires ignited a flame that threatened to consume them both.

As he surrendered to the waves of pleasure crashing over him, he couldn't help but yearn for your presence, for the touch of your skin against his, for the possibility that you might reciprocate the intensity of his longing. In the darkness of his solitude, he dared to dream of a world where your desires aligned, where the boundaries between friendship and something more blurred into obscurity. But for now, all he could do was chase the fleeting ecstasy of release, his fantasies a bittersweet reminder of the distance between them and the unspoken truths that lingered in the silence.

Unbeknownst to him, the object of his affection stood mere inches from his hotel door, her heart thrumming with anticipation as she prepared to surprise her closest friend.

"Lance~" Your cheerful voice called through the door, sending Lance into a whirlwind of panic. Why were you here? When had you arrived? And most importantly, where on earth were his pants!? With a frantic scramble, he attempted to cover himself, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

As you swiped the card and entered the room, Lance's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe you were here, standing before him in the flesh. But before he could gather his wits or even properly greet you, your exclamation filled the room, cutting through the air like a knife.

You couldn't help but yelp in surprise as you laid eyes on him. There he stood, with his messy hair tousled in disarray, a rosy flush painting his cheeks, and no shirt to conceal the sculpted contours of his chest. Beneath the sheets that draped over his lower half, there was an air of tantalising mystery, hinting at the forbidden pleasures that lay hidden from view. Thankfully he had found his boxers before you had walked in.

Caught off guard by the unexpected sight, you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as your heart raced with a mixture of shock and embarrassment. It was a moment frozen in time, etched into your memory with vivid clarity, leaving you breathless and at a loss for words.

You stuttered out a few words, your voice wavering with uncertainty as you struggled to make sense of the unexpected scene before you. "Is this a bad time... I can leave," you managed to murmur, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"No!" His response was swift, almost desperate, as if the mere thought of you leaving sent a jolt of panic coursing through him. He hesitated for a moment, the realisation of his own desperation dawning on him, before quickly composing himself. But deep down, he couldn't deny the truth: he was desperate for you, in more ways than one.

You stared at him, your eyes wide with surprise and uncertainty, unsure of how to proceed in this newfound tension. "N- Not a bad time... uhm..." he stammered, his words trailing off into an awkward silence as he searched for the right thing to say.

As the tension hung heavy in the air, a palpable electricity crackling between you, Lance's heart pounded with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. In that charged moment, he couldn't deny the raw attraction that pulsed between them, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

With a hesitant step forward, he closed the distance between you, his gaze locking with yours in a silent plea for understanding. "I... I want you here," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with desire and longing.

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission, your own desires laid bare in the vulnerable space between you. In a bold move, you closed the remaining gap between you, your fingers trembling as they reached out to touch his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

With a shared moment of unspoken consent, the floodgates of desire burst open, consuming them both in a whirlwind of passion and need. Lips met in a searing kiss, hungry and desperate, as years of unspoken longing erupted into a frenzy of desire.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Lance's hands roamed eagerly over your body, tracing every curve and contour as if committing them to memory. With each touch, each caress, the world fell away until there was only the two of you, lost in the throes of passion.

As the intensity of their desire reached its peak, they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their bodies, consumed by a hunger that could only be sated by each other. In that moment of blissful surrender, they knew that they had found something truly special, something worth fighting for amidst the chaos of their tangled emotions.

His movements were urgent, fueled by a hunger that threatened to consume them both as he pushed you gently onto the bed, his lips trailing a path of fire down your trembling body. Each kiss left a trail of tingling heat in its wake, igniting a blaze of desire that pulsed between you.

Reaching your legs, he knelt between your thighs, his breath catching in his throat at the sight beneath the dress you had worn just for him. His eyes drank in the sight of your exposed skin, the tantalising curve of your hips, and the promise of what lay hidden beneath.

"Fuck..." he mumbled, his voice husky with desire as he took in the sight before him. The realisation that you wore no underwear beneath the dress sent a surge of heat coursing through him, his heart pounding with anticipation.

His fingers trembled with longing as he reached for the hem of your dress, his touch gentle yet urgent as he pulled the fabric slowly upwards, revealing more of your intoxicating form with each passing moment. As the dress pooled around your waist, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him, he felt a primal need stir within him, urging him onward.

You could only moan in response, lost in a haze of pleasure and desire as his lips continued their journey, leaving a trail of kisses along your inner thighs. Your words dissolved into incoherent babbling, your mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations that pulsed through your body with each touch, each caress.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine this moment would come to fruition, yet it consumed your every waking thought, an unrelenting desire that pulsed through your veins with a fierce intensity.

As he pushed his fingers into you, the sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity you had never known. With each skilled movement, he found the perfect spot, sending sparks of ecstasy dancing along your nerve endings.

His mouth followed, hot and hungry against your skin, eliciting a guttural moan of pleasure from deep within your throat. The sound echoed off the walls of the room, mingling with curses and cries of ecstasy as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

He pulled two earth-shattering orgasms from you with his skilled touch before finally entering you, the culmination of desire and passion reaching its peak. Position after position, they explored the depths of pleasure together, lost in a whirlwind of sensation and ecstasy that seemed to stretch into eternity.

For almost an hour, they moved as one, bodies entwined in a dance of primal desire. With each thrust, his dick found its mark, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you with every movement. It was a symphony of sensation, a crescendo of pleasure that built with each passing moment.

Despite his best efforts to prolong the inevitable, he could only resist for so long before the overwhelming tide of pleasure threatened to consume him. With a primal groan of ecstasy, he pulled out at the last moment, spilling his release over you in a cascade of pure bliss.

In the aftermath of their passionate encounter, they lay entwined in a tangle of limbs, their bodies still humming with the echoes of pleasure. With gentle caresses and soft whispers, they reassured each other of their mutual affection, basking in the warmth of their shared intimacy.

As they lay together in the quiet aftermath of their lovemaking, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, unspoken words lingering on the tip of their tongues. Lance shifted slightly, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your arm as he mustered the courage to broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind.

"Hey," he began softly, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty, "can we talk about... us?"

You turned to him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and warmth. "Of course," you replied, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

"I... I know we've always been friends," Lance started, his words hesitant as he struggled to articulate his feelings. "But after tonight, I can't help but wonder if there's something more between us."

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession, the air crackling with tension as you searched for the right words to respond. "I've thought about it too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "What we have... it feels different now, doesn't it?"

Lance nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, it does," he agreed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "And I don't want to risk losing what we have, but... I can't shake the feeling that there's something special between us."

You reached out, intertwining your fingers with his in a silent gesture of solidarity. "I feel it too," you confessed, your heart swelling with emotion. "And maybe... maybe we owe it to ourselves to see where this could go."

Lance's smile widened, a flicker of hope dancing in his eyes. "I'd like that," he replied, his voice filled with conviction. "To us, whatever that may be."

"To us," you echoed, a surge of excitement coursing through you as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips. In that moment, you both knew that whatever the future held, you were in it together, bound by the unbreakable bond of friendship and the tantalising promise of something more.

el fin.

Hope the smut was good. I tried not to use cringe words, key word tried. anyway. probably gonna have 2-3 fics out today :)

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dimigo-cromwell · 1 month

Text

First time holding hands

Writing type: Prompt

Pairing: Neuvillette x GN!Reader

Tags: A little blood because of a small cut caused by the criminals evil tomato-chan and dull Knife-san

"Will we ever hold hands?"

In the bustling city of Fontaine, Neuvillette's stature as a figure of authority loomed large, casting a shadow over the possibility of any intimate gestures, let alone the simple act of holding hands. His position dictated a certain decorum, where such displays were often misconstrued: holding hands in public? A gesture ripe with implications. In court? A subtle yet potentially damning manoeuvrer. The eyes of the people remained ever watchful, scrutinizing his every move.

Despite the familiarity with the concept of hand-holding, Neuvillette found himself seldom experiencing it first-hand. His hands, nimble and skilled, were in constant motion, tirelessly attending to the demands of his role. They navigated through stacks of papers with precision, deftly wielded pens to inscribe legal documents, and executed myriad tasks with efficiency. But the touch of another's hand, the warmth of human connection? Such moments were a rarity in his meticulously structured existence.

Perhaps the only beings in Teyvat to have felt his touch repeatedly are the Melusines, but with humans, such occasions are scarce. He observes others intertwining hands in displays of affection, solidarity, and camaraderie, while his own hands remain largely untouched by such connections.

And amidst the chaos of his responsibilities, amidst the relentless rhythm of his duties, his thoughts often wandered to you, his hands subconsciously yearning for a touch they had yet to fully experience.

On a particularly arduous day, weary from the weight of his obligations, Neuvillette found himself drawn to your presence. Shedding the trappings of his status - coat, shoes, and finally, gloves - he entered your shared space, a silent apology lingering on his lips for his absence.

Approaching you from behind, his hands instinctively reached for the glasses you struggled to retrieve. Yet, before he could fulfil the simple task, your hands intercepted his, a gentle interruption to his solitary rhythm.

"No need," you insisted softly, acknowledging the burdens he bore. "Let me help."

As your hands briefly connected, an unexpected warmth suffused through him. The texture of your skin, the delicate pressure of your touch - sensations alien yet strangely comforting.

Embarrassment tinged his cheeks as he cleared his throat, the unexpected intimacy momentarily unsettling. Yet, your reassurance dissolved his unease, your understanding a balm to his weary soul.

With practised grace, he set about arranging the table, a silent testament to his gratitude for your unwavering support.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. A small mishap befell you, a minor injury disrupting the tranquillity of the moment. Concern etched his features as he hastened to your side, his hands reaching out instinctively.

"Are you hurt?" he inquired softly, his gaze fixed on the tiny wound.

A nod was all the confirmation he needed, prompting him to retrieve a band-aid from a nearby drawer.

"May I?" he asked, extending his hand for yours, a silent request for permission.

With gentle precision, he tended to your injury, his hands deftly manoeuvring to apply the makeshift remedy.

As your fingers intertwined, a fleeting sense of connection blossomed between you, an unspoken acknowledgment of the bond shared in that brief moment.

"It's nothing," he murmured, his touch lingering a fraction longer than necessary.

A smile graced your lips, a silent expression of gratitude for his care. In that simple gesture, amidst the quiet intimacy of the moment, a flicker of something indefinable passed between you.

The mundane clamour of the kitchen interrupted the fragile equilibrium, drawing you both back to reality. With a reluctant release, you attended to the errant stove, while Neuvillette lingered, his thoughts still tethered to the warmth of your touch.

As you resumed your tasks, a newfound awareness lingered in the air, a subtle shift in the dynamics of your relationship. It was not the grandiose romance of epic tales, but rather a quiet acknowledgment of the significance found in the simplest of gestures.

And as the evening unfolded, amidst the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversation, the memory of that fleeting touch remained etched in both your minds, a poignant reminder of the unspoken bond that bound you together.

Maybe this is not the perfect definition of holding hands, but it is worth more then words can describe

#neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #gn reader #writing prompt #headcanon #please someone get me a man like him

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c0smoshit · 8 months

Note

Hun, I just saw your post about my request being posted earlier! Don't worry about it! Take all the time you need and I want you to enjoy it as much as you can! I know you'll do amazing, and it'll be worth the wait! I am so sorry Tymblr has been a bitch

Blue eyes ミ★

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Cloud Strife/Reader

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕝𝕠𝕥 ≫ Cloud's been having some horrific dreams lately

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ angst!, fluff too, traumas, nightmares, slight harrasment from a drunk guy, visions, voices, not proofread!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ Sorry for the inactivity and tumblr being a bitch :(( But anyways, enjoy this mess 🫶😭

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 4.462

« Red »

The colour his mind pictured when he started hearing things, seeing them. His head spinned and hurt, closing his eyes tightly while strange voices filled his mind.

He didn't know where they came from or why they did it, but he was so tired of them.

At first it didn't happen really often, it all started when he stepped on that polluted city. It caused him such a weird and sad feeling, Midgar, the city that was supposed to be such an advance in technology, bringing fresh and huge mako reactors to create those little colorful pearls everyone seemed to want.

But it was all bullshit, they were destroying the planet, milking every mako drop out of it. It got to a point were people couldn't even see the daylight from the slums, greeted by hours and hours of darkness and emptiness.

His mind often circled around how lifeless the faces of the people were, matched with the depressing sight of the metallic buildings and playgrounds. The only natural light that beamed through the endless sandy paths were the children, bringing honest giggles and big jovial grins to the world.

How would it feel to be a kid again?

Nostalgia rested deep inside him, he mourned those years, when it all felt right and real.

Long walks along the little village with his mother, longer ones in the mountains by the back of his house.

Breathe clean air, sleeping with the sound of the air hitting the slope of the mountains with persistence.

His mother caressing his hair as he told her not to ruffle it up

"Learning" how to be a SOLDIER by himself.

He reminisces about his loneliness too, he constantly looked foward to what Tifa's friends were up to.

Although he didn't really fit with anyone on Nibelheim besides Tifa, he was happy and he had dreams. Dreams that were soon sliced by a huge Masamune.

No matter how hard his subconciousness, driven by the silhouette of SOLDIERS and Sephiroth, tried to tell him that those kids were inferior to him, they seemed to be so joyful and honestly happy.

And he just... was there.

Those were the happiest years he had ever looked back on, and now they just remained as memories.

But time appeared to exacerbate those imminent dark nights.

People would frequently put him as a companionless guy, one of many who enjoyed the silent strides of their own feet. And he was, he loved being alone, not with his mind.

He had become accustomed to being alone, he always had been a solitary person and that's all he knew.

His mind roved around his past, his memories, and he often found himself trying to decipher if they were real or just some images that this new voice had placed deeply inside his psyche.

Maybe that was the reason he actually likes spending time with the group, not really the fact that he got to be with them but the comfort of the voices being subdued by them. Even if it just lasted some hours.

Midgar had a dark aura around it that he only seemed to discern. And it got worse and worse, scarlet painted memories of the ones he couldn't protect.

He was tired, tired of it all.

Tired of fighting only to be compensated with grief and regret.

Tired of taking care of everyone, as cruel as it sounded.

Tired of seeing him everywhere, even on the safety of your arms.

The man, if he even deserved that name, who took his life away savagely, his dreams and his trust for him. The day he remembers the most, yet so vaguely, a chaos of blurred ( burnt ) out images inside his messed up brain.

The years had taken away decades of sanity that should still remain inside him.

And hundreds of hours of sleep too.

His body sometimes walked itself out of his makeshift appartment Tifa had lent him, governed by the need of "fresh" air. Nonetheless they were just mere excuses for the fear he felt, knowing that he had to sleep that night with his own thoughts.

He saw you once, streets painted with the caliginosity of the moon, you looked calm as you feet dragged you through the solid metal walls.

He pondered about going and talk to you, but he opted to just watch you fade away into the dead of night. Kind of creepy, he thought, but he didn't want to disturb your peace.

But the metal clank of his comically large sword, resting heavily on his back almost exposed him. Two confused glowing orbs looked around, trying to decipher what they just heard. However they eventually calmed themselves down and continued their enigmatic pace.

He let out a sigh of relief he wasn't aware was holding, lowering the rapid gloved hand that tried to stop the movement of his sword from the handle.

Before he decided that he should leave you alone, something sparkled inside him, something was wrong.

He resumed his steps and before he even had a chance to think, some strange man approached you. Maybe you had a boyfriend he didn't know about?

That option was quickly discarded as your face scrunched up in disgust for a brief moment before you smiled at the man, telling him something. Something he didn't seem really excited about as he slurred some words out of his mouth while closing the distance between the both of you.

His forbearance soon emptied itself, he couldn't bear seeing you like this for another minute. He was aware you knew how to manage yourself in fights and this wouldn't be the first time your shin ended on some guy's crotch.

But everytime something like this occurs, you try to be as polite as you posibly can, not wanting the situation to escalate to a higher problem. Muttering some

"I'm fine thank you"

Your hands crossed in front of your chest, tugging tightly your own shirt as you tried to walk away. But the weird guy got even closer to you, smiling as if he was proud of winning a medal, trying to cage you into the wall.

"Aww cmon, I just wanna have some fun tonight"

His disgusting drunken reek filled your poor nostrils, god why couldn't he just walk away or something?

"You don't want to have some fun?"

You were forced to stop dead on your tracks as his hand launched itself, hitting the wall besides you, ending up at your eye level.

"Hey-"

Your eyes widened in horror as he came closer to your face, whispering something into your ear that your mind couldn't process, as the only thing that popped up instead was the image of your fist fitting so good into his cheekbone.

The hand that grabbed your waist was your last straw, but before you could land a decent blow into the man's face something stopped you. Well, rather someone.

Some signature light blonde locks followed by a stoic and quite angry expression appeared behind the guy, his thin lips parted, words fell out of them full of irritation.

"Mind your own bussiness, freak"

A scoff was heard but it was soon replaced by a leather sound, the yank of someone's jacket followed by the loud sound of a body hitting the ground.

The man quickly got himself up, dusting off his clothes and when he was ready to make some comments about the appearance of the one who had taken him down, he decided to shut his mouth as his eyes travelled to the weapon he was wearing.

That and his intimidating appearance, the moon casting it's light into his back so his face was dark enough not to reveal his features, but not his piercing mako eyes.

Eyes that stared down at him with the most disgusting look he had ever seen on anyone's face before.

And in spite of the fact that Cloud wasn't that intimidating like Barret could be, his actions made his whole facade darker. He wasn't a tall and beefy guy, but he was strong.

Just by one movement of his sword he could slice a motorbike in half, his dexterity with blades was what made him feared.

And yet he was also good in close battles, clear agility as he moved through both the battlefield and the hits that were thrown at him. That and his quick thinking and last minute dodges he offered too.

The man had already vanished into the rumbling engines that worked overnight, fused with the quiet chatter of the souls who worked late. You sighed out in harmony with his grip softening on the handle of his sword once again.

You had so many questions that needed to be answered right now, the louder one asking how come he was here tonight?

The night ended with him taking you back home, telling you that you should be more careful, gaining a frow of your brows and you saying something about how you could protect yourself.

And he knew that, he had seen you fight with him, taking down enemies that he was too slow to see. But he still wanted to take a look after you, make sure nobody harmed you in any ways.

He wanted to be there the way you were there for him.

« Blue »

The way his visions were tinted like, navy blue mixed with some undertones of green.

They were the worst part of all this madness he was enduring.

They caused him headaches and the feeling of disorientation, and he absolutely despised being lost. He didn't even know who he was or why he was here, his mind was the worst puzzle he had to ever go through.

However, that wasn't the darkest thing about it.

The visions felt so real, vivid images flashing through his mind like a high speed train, travelling through all his senses and flooding them.

He could see everything and no matter how hard he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, his own brain forced them open.

He could hear the cries and wailings for mercy, sometimes for help, his help.

He could touch, but everything was so far away yet so close to him.

He could taste the bitter-sweet savour of guilt.

The rancid smell of sadness.

The only sound that brought comfort to him, as it being a signal that he was still alive, ceased it's rythmic pumping. A looming mist spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body, fueling his nerves.

He could sense that they either were years appart from his timeline or mere minutes away.

But the conclusions all ended up in the same alleyway, they were going to happen.

Something deep inside whispered into his pierced ear that he couldn't do anything about them, that they weren't just some visions inside his head.

And they frightened him, watching from an imaginary seat how his friends died, how the planet was destroyed, his face.

As a result from this, his head became a cage that no matter how hard he tried to break the iron bars with his naked hands, he was too weak to do so. He just wanted liberty.

That cage multiplied at least ten times the feeling of claustrophobia the aura of the city gave him.

"No!"

A heartrending cry ringed painfully through his ears, loud enough to make them feel as if they were about to bleed.

His eyes were closed but he didn't want them open either way, the ground felt cold even with his boots on.

"Please don't"

The agonizing voice didn't die down like he was waiting for, instead it increased it's volume, almost as if it wanted for him to look up and see what was going on.

And eventually, he did.

His eyes searched for the voice ( for you ), eyes falling on the hand that was clutching for dear life a metal structure.

He recognized the place right away, the lukewarm temperature envolving the gears and his body, the mustiness that filled up his nose. He was inside a reactor.

Faint lights gloomed upon his clothes as his feet dragged him through the grilles, his back felt empty. He didn't have the soothing weight of his weapon, feeling vulnerable to whoever wanted to fight him.

"Please, Cloud"

That did it for him, it was unmistakably you.

Your sweet and sometimes monotone tone was gone, blatantly swapped with a much more startled and uneasy one. Your hands were the only thing visible for him to see right now, the image of your body suspended in the air already present inside his brain.

He didn't know why but a memory of your hand touching his flooded his mind, he liked the softness of them, he wished he didn't had gloves on.

The more intense your cries became, the more he wanted to scream back at you, tell you that he was there, that you were going to be fine.

But nothing came out of his mouth

He kneeled down in front of you, finally able to see your face. But he didn't like the way you were sweating, how your eyes widened in horror as you looked back at him. He wanted to see your features soften, to hear your laugh, your voice telling him not to overwork himself.

The abyss consumed him, what seemed like miles and miles of hollowness and darkness bellow you.

Your left hand slipped off the edge with a yelp, you were slowly sinking down and he wasn't going to let you do so. His hand grabbed the one that was still gripping the platform, clutching it tightly.

He wouldn't let you slip off that easily.

Your quivering voice was the only sound that could deafen the roar of the engines around the both of you. Although you were visibly sweating, your hand felt cold under the thin layer of his black gloves.

An invisible rock attached to your feet by a thick rope made you feel heavier than before, gradually dragging you lower and lower from his grasp.

He couldn't even let out grunts or sighs out of his mouth, he wanted to tell you to hold on, just a bit more and you were going to be safe with him once again.

He tried to lift you up, but you didn't budge. His body tensed up and he was becoming more and more impatient.

By the time your hand finally gave up on him, he was laying face down on the ground, his feet stopping him from falling down with you.

"I'm sorry"

A tear slipped from your tired eyes, your body dissapearing into the void with the saddest smile he had ever seen on your face. He didn't want to ever see that expression again, he wanted you to smile brightly, not fade out lights with it.

And why were you apologizing? He should be the one to do so, he was unable to save you. You should be here with him now, enveloping your loving arms around him while you thanked him.

He felt his heart being crushed down, he wouldn't be able to feel you pat his shoulder in a reassuring way whenever he had to fight someone again, your hands dusting off his clothes after a long mission.

He wanted to cry, to scream, to kill someone.

But his mouth was sealed shut, his hands trembled but no tears seemed to stain his cheeks. His heart pumped harshly inside his chest and as if someone were tugging his hair, his head hurt.

And when he closed his eyes, they were opened again.

But he wasn't met with cramped, massive iron walls around him, he was met with his unfurnished blank wall.

Thank god, he thought.

His sheet was between his legs and the floor, a cotton waterfall on the side rail of the bed. His shirt was ridden up above his belly button, the moon was still up in the sky staring at him with a motionless facade. And he could've sworn it was mocking him.

He had sat up abruptly, letting out a screech he wanted to let out for a while now, reverberating from his chest and into the small room. He tried to calm his breathing, his hands clutched the matress bellow him.

His hair was messier than it usually was, he stared at the closed window and into the incessant lightless sky.

For the first time in his life he was pleased to see those streets again.

That took place about week ago and of course he didn't tell anyone. He didn't want to pile more stress and worry on the shoulders of the group.

On the outside, his demeanour didn't change a bit. Well, not for the ones who didn't know him.

His subtle tiredness and grumpiness was cristal clear for you to notice. His patience died down sooner than before and his irascibility when he was fighting someone was what exposed him.

And if his answers were dry and short they basically were nonexistent now.

But he had a thick skull and no matter how many times you asked him—

"Is everything alright?"

His head turned around to see you, a confused frown rested on his face. Had he done anything weird?

—he didn't seem to answer you.

He then shook his head and his hand, silently telling you that he was fine. But you stopped yourself before asking him a second time, you didn't want to be a nuisance either way.

You were walking next to him a few meters away from the group in front of you. They walked back to Seventh heaven, but you purposedly abandoned your talk to walk with Cloud instead.

And he didn't seem bothered by it, he appreciated the way you cared about him, but he couldn't tell you what was happening, not now.

He didn't dare to look at you, he knew if he did so, flashes of his prior dreams would engulf his mind.

Sooner or later he did, throbbing guilt crossed painfully his mind when he did so. He saw blue in your eyes.

An ocean emerged in front of his eyes, submerging your face and then your clothes, coalesced with a big meadow of beatiful grown grass that enveloped your features.

He could've found this view incredibly magestic if it wasn't for the fact that he knew what was about to happen.

He didn't- He couldn't take it anymore.

His skull appeared to be thicker inside his skin, crushing down his brain. His hands swiftly made contact with his forehead, eyes closed shut and avoiding to see anything.

Whispers and sometimes yells echoed through the dim alleyway, his knees bucking as he supported himself on the wall.

His eyes achingly opened up again, his hands grasped something that was too soft to be a stone wall, he saw your face.

"Please don't- Please don't go"

"to the reactor..."

Your soft voice with some hints of sleepiness reached his eardrums, was he dreaming?

A question he found himself asking a lot lately, not knowing how to discern between reality and a vision or a dream.

He hesitated to open his eyes once again, his headache had dissapeared but his eyelids felt heavier than before.

When was before?

He saw your face, but you weren't staring at him back. Subsequently your hands stroked his hair tenderly, a touch he would love to die for.

You were humming softly, his mother did that a lot when she was cleaning him up and tucking him before sleep.

He wanted to admire your beauty for just a little while, the moon stared at him once again, but this time he was the one who laughed at it.

Your soft skin, your hair released from the confines of your hair tie, your lips, your eyelashes that batted so cutely whenever you saw an animal, your nose.

You were from another dimension.

And he melted right away after you noticed that he was awake, your smile being the first thing that came into his vision. The loss of warmth on his blonde locks made him a bit mad.

That was when he noticed where he was laying on, your legs. Blood rushed to his cheeks, creating a slight blush on his pale skin. But he shrugged his thoughts fast enough for you not to notice his weakness.

He wished that whenever he had a nightmare or a crude vision your thighs would be there to craddle his head.

He didn't know why he was here but he didn't want to hear the answer too, he was more than happy to be there either way.

He knew he could speak right now, but he didn't have anything to say. Your hand falling down into his cheek followed with a kind look on your lips was what kept him silent.

And the words that fell from them were the only reason he was still fighting Shinra, fighting with you, for you, to hear them again and again.

He didn't demand poetic phrases for him to melt on spot, just by hearing the most simple reassuring worss fall from your lips was more than enough for him.

"I'm here for you "

He spent the rest of the night curled up like a ball on top of your legs, hearing your honeyed words deliciously filling his ears repeatedly.

He wouldn't tell you why he had passed out on top of you, why had he pushed you to the wall in front of the group as he anxiously warned you.

And he ceirtantly wouldn't tell you about how his dream of you walking alone in an alleyway was the reason his body walked itself out of his appartment.

The softness of your skin wasn't there anymore it was replaced by your cozy pillow, but it wasn't enough for him.

Dawn's first light entered through your closed window, hitting his face. He had slept without any worries for the first time in weeks, drowned in your touch.

He wanted to thank you, he only had spent a night with you and you had managed to clear his mind from any racing thoughts. His head craved for your touch, his arms and his hands too.

He looked down and he saw his usual clothes, but now they smelled like you.

But you weren't there, he looked around and he took advatange of the quiet dawn to see your room. It was the same size as his own one, but it was definitely prettier than his.

Clean sheets deliciously wrapped around his body that fell down onto his legs when he sat up on the bed, your bed. Cute posters and images about some cats, family and friends laying around on your desk or hanging on the wall.

He rubbed his somnolent eyes before getting off the bed with a swift move, laying on his feet. He noticed that they were lighter than before and when he looked down, he wasn't wearing his boots anymore. You had taken the time to take them off before getting him inside your bed, a small smile formed on his lips at the thought.

His head pekeed through your door as he opened it as quietly as he could, it was still pretty early so he didn't want to wake you up if you were still around.

Without the huge piece of metal behind his back he was pretty quiet, so he used that on his advantage.

His feet guided him until he reached what seemed to be like your living room, it was the same like your bedroom. It was a copy of his own one but much cozier.

But he didn't have time to look around like he did with your room, you were a much more pleasant sight to see. He walked silently until he was right next to your sleeping form.

The first thing that crossed his mind was how gorgerous you were like this, comfy and relaxed under the spell of sleepiness. Your rythmic slow-paced breaths, they reminded him of the sea.

However, he immediately felt bad for stealing your bed, he noticed the way you were curled up on the small couch, your back was probably going to kill you when you woke up.

So without any second thought, his left hand wrapped itself bellow your knees while his right one simultaneously enveloped your back. He gently lifted you up in his arms, your head lolling to the side until it met his shoulder, your temple resting next to his chest.

He wasn't going to lie to himself, he sometimes daydreamed about carrying you like this, how would it feel. Your sweet "thank you"'s echoed inside his head when he lifted your harmed form after a cruel battle, your arms hugging his neck.

A few minutes passed and he thanked his hard training for being able to hold you like this for a long while.

Your body shivered, right, you didn't seem to have a spare blanket other than the one in your bed. So he pressed his body closer to yours, trying to warm you up.

He knows he's already called you pretty and gorgerous over ten times now, but god, he needed to remark it. And right now you looked as cute as those cats you seemed to love, unconciously hiding your face on his chest with a long sigh.

He marched back into your room and he noticed that his buster sword was resting on the right wall of the living room, next to his boots.

The more he noticed those little details, the more he wanted to hold you close to him.

But when he finally reached your room after an agonizing ( purposely ) slow pace, it was time for you to properly rest.

So he placed you on top of your mattress, heart fluttering when he saw your little stretch on the bed. He enveloped your body with your blanket, mimicking your pleasured smile when he did so.

If only time could stop right now

He closed the curtains so the light didn't disturb your well deserved sleep like it did to him and then he sat down next to your bed.

Thankful for having a cure for his illnesses.

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redahlia-writes · 2 years

Text

watching the world from the sidelines. | din djarin x f!reader

Abstract: An almost Jedi and a no longer Mandalorian - two people whose life had been dedicated to fighting, suddenly finding solace in the tranquility they brought to each other’s life. Quite the pair you made.

Words: 5.7K

Warnings: MINORS DNI, reader was a jedi, possible lore inaccuracies, vague mention of wounds, a disgusting amount of softness, helmet? what helmet, inappropriate use of the force/misuse of the force, smut (body worship, oral, unprotected sex, cockwarming), unedited - heavy descriptions

A/N: this was not what i had planned when i thought of this fic. it was supposed to be way quicker and overall just an improper use of the force - then i got into my feels a lil bit and this is what happened. i have a weakness for soft!din. vaguely inspired by sidelines by phoebe bridgers

also on AO3 - masterlist

What you were doing was, according to the Jedi Code, dangerous. Irresponsible.

Good thing, you thought, the Jedis were no longer.

You could almost hear the voice of your former master, telling you the risks you were taking were too many, too big. He would scold you for your behavior, for your daring.

But you were a good teacher.

And the Mandalorian had come to you. He’d asked for your help. He’d offered to pay handsomely for his child to learn how to properly harness his power without forgoing himself.

And, truly, you’d grown fond of the little one. He’d brought a new vitality to your home, to your life, the sound of his laughter and the humming of his power growing familiar as days, weeks, months went by.

The agreement was that Grogu would stay with you while his father went where the next job took him, only to come back with his credits and the burning desire to be with the kid. In the beginning, he spent his spare time with him, either taking him away for a few hours, a few days, vanishing on his Starfighter with a polite nod - you never knew if he stayed on Lah’mu or brought the child somewhere else. Oftentimes he would be back before night came, and you’d have a room ready for each of them.

It was an odd arrangement, a co-parenting of sorts, though you never referred to Grogu as anything more than a pupil out loud - no matter the affection you had for him, the knickknacks you’d add to his room while he was away only to relish in the delight on his face, the time you learned to spend preparing meals for him and his father.

Leaving your former life behind, the Jedi way, meant that you’d found yourself losing what you craved the most: attachments. Communion. People. Your refusal of leading a truly solitary life, free of connections, free of ties, was the reason why you’d never become a Jedi in name, why the Council had turned its back on you.

It would’ve been so easy to fall into the darkness then, when you’d lost everything your life had been for, when you’d even left your home - but somehow, you’d remained balanced, in spite of the times you’d been called a hothead, a troublemaker, a waste of your talents.

For a while, you’d nonetheless been alone, unable to trust, unable to come out of the fortress built around you on fertile land and a mountain giving you shade.

Then the Mandalorian had arrived. You remembered the day so clearly.

—

He’d landed a field away from your house - he couldn’t see it from up above, hidden away for your own protection. With Grogu’s pram following behind, the child tired from the trip, Din made his way ahead, wary of his surroundings.

Still, he didn’t see you coming, didn’t hear you until you had a weapon pointed right at him, forcing him to stillness.

“Don’t take another step,” he lifted his hands in surrender as the blue blade grazed the bottom of his helmet, heat rising up underneath his visor. “Who are you, and how did you find me?”

He didn’t know then that you were scared, both of what remained of the Jedis and of the Empire. He didn’t know all you wanted was to be at peace, and were ready to do anything to maintain it. It was, after all, the reason you’d ended up isolating yourself.

“I didn’t find you - he did,” your gaze followed his hand towards the floating sphere behind him. You eyed it with a little frown, eyes moving from him to the off-white surface of the pram. “My name is Din Djarin,” you returned your gaze to him. “Are you a Jedi?” the words seemed to ricochet like a slap across your cheek, eyes flashing dangerously as you backed away, lightsaber still lifted.

“There are no Jedis here, Mandalorian, you’re wasting your time,” you started stepping away from him furthermore, grip tightening around the hilt of the lightsaber. “Go away.”

“Wait,” he called, taking a step in your direction - only to be met with a solid, invisible wall. He lifted his hands, resting them against the obstacle as he tilted his head just a little. “Please, he brought us here. I can’t help him with what he needs.” “What makes you think I can?” he straightened his head, tapping gently against the barrier. “Okay - what makes you think I will?”

As if on cue, the dome of the pram opened, revealing the big, sleepy eyes of the child - he yawned, ears twitched as he picked in the foreign surroundings and then you, your weapon still up towards the Mandalorian, your curious gaze on him.

Din looked at the two of you, the way Grogu’s head tilted and he cooed softly, a greeting all of his own. Ever so slowly, the barrier gave way under his hands, and the lightsaber retreated.

“Alright,” you said at last, hanging the weapon to your belt. “But the saber you have with you - that won’t come into my house.”

Underneath the helmet, Mando frowned. “I have other weapons,” he pointed out, and you gave him a pointed look. “I know,” you retorted, turning on your heels and marching on. Grogu hopped off his pram and scurried along you, darting in between Din’s legs. “That doesn’t mean you’d be able to use them against me.”

—

That had been six months prior.

You’d fallen into an easy routine with Grogu’s teachings (he could be easily bribed into learning with treats and trinkets), and you’d grown used to Din’s presence more and more. It seemed to you the more time passed, the more prolonged his stays became.

You welcomed him each time - it was easy for him to slip into a sort of familiarity, of ease.

“He’s asleep?” you wondered as he reached your side by the fire - it was such a lovely night outside, it had felt like a pity to have dinner behind closed doors.

The child had ran after fireflies until he was spent, toddling towards his father’s legs, arms lifted to be picked up. Din had obliged with a benign smile - he looked pretty in the firelight, his helmet aside, the shine of his armor still covering the rest of his body reflecting the flames across the planes of his skin. You knew better than to entertain the thought for too long.

“Didn’t even make it to the living room before he was snoring,” he replied, chuckling lightly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re working him too hard.”

You liked it more when he was relaxed enough to tease, make a joke, the soft smile bending his lips appearing warmer each time you looked at him. Perhaps it was just you who grew warm at his side, a welcomed burning in the pit of your stomach whenever you met his dark, gentle eyes.

“I could never,” you gasped in mock offense, resting a hand on your chest. In response, Din laughed, eyes crinkling. You softened a little by his side, chin tipped up towards him to take in the brightness of his expression. “He’s doing really well - he would’ve been top of his class back at the Temple.”

“They convinced you to work with cookies there, too?” it was your turn to laugh, shaking your head. Din adored when you laughed like that, your teeth showing and your head slightly tilted back, eyes closed. He had the suspicion you hadn’t done that in a while, too worried guarding yourself. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Have I made the right decision?” you frowned lightly, turning cross-legged to look up at him with an unasked question in your gaze. Din sighed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Wanting him with me rather than following Skywalker’s teachings. And then looking for you.”

“I can’t answer that for you, Din,” you told him softly, reaching up to rest your hand on his knee. His gaze fell to where your bodies touched and, self-consciously, you curled back your fingers with a sigh. “But Grogu was willing to renounce his abilities to be with you - he loves you very much.”

His eyes were still on your hand as he tugged onto his gloves a little, the movement going almost undetected by you. He shifted in his seat then, clearing his throat and returning his gaze to your face.

“What about you?” for just a moment, the breath caught in your throat. “Why aren’t you a Jedi?” “It’s…” you hesitated. “It’s a solitary life, no matter how you look at it. A life dedicated to fighting, nothing - no one else,” you shrugged lightly, looking down at your reflection in his armor for a moment, then away. “Something I wasn’t really ready to commit to.”

“But you’ve lived alone for - what, years?” he asked, perplexed.

“Yes - the irony, am I right?” you chuckled almost humorlessly, then chewed on your lip for an instant. “I don’t think I realized how truly alone I was until the two of you came along. It reminded me why I left.” “Why’s that?” he was genuinely curious. For all the time spent thinking about it, you’d never imagined someone else would want to know.

“Family,” you admitted, voice low. “Someone to take care of, and who’d take care of me - the way you do for each other,” you looked back up at him, only to find him already looking at you, that curiosity in his eyes you knew he’d never learned to conceal underneath his helmet.

“Do you see yourself having one of your own?”

Yes. No. I don’t know, I never dared to think about it out here on my own.

“Maybe,” you shrugged again, chewing on the soft flesh of your cheek. “I don’t know. But at least I didn’t renounce the idea,” he shifted in his seat again. “Din -” you started.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, and by the way your eyebrows arched he knew he hadn’t convinced you. It baffled him how easily you’d learned to read him, even long before he took off his helmet in front of you.

He wondered if it had anything to do with the Force.

“Did you injure yourself again?” you sighed, shifting closer. “I’m fine, it’s just -” he hesitated, not wanting to meet your gaze. “I can’t always control the Darksaber.”

“Show me,” he went to protest, but your hand rested on his knee again, stopping the words in his throat. “Show me,” you repeated, a little firmer.

Din sighed - he knew how stubborn you could get, had seen it in the way you held your ground during Grogu’s training. So he undid the fastening of the armor, taking off the piece that covered his left arm and the injury he sported on his forearm, covered by the shirt. You took off his glove before he could, carefully rolling his sleeve up.

“It’s not even that bad, I’ve had worse - I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he admitted. You reached out with your hand, not touching him, but the wound started mending itself together - he’d seen you do it other times, on yourself or on him, even on Grogu once. Still, it never ceased to amaze him.

“This is what you’re doing wrong,” you said softly, offering him a smile. “It can feel your doubts, it knows not to respond because you feel like it doesn’t belong to you,” he scoffed lightly. “If you trust your blade, it’ll trust you. It’s how these things work.”

“Even the Force?” he wondered, leaning unconsciously in your direction. “Especially the Force,” you nodded, gaze wandering across his face once more. He felt the curls on his forehead shift lightly, like a gust of wind ruffling it in spite of the stillness of the air. “The Darksaber - you can see it. You feel its weight, its shape. The Force - you can feel it, but you can’t hold it. It’s not tangible, you just have to trust it.”

“Don’t you ever doubt it?” the air moved across his cheek, and he felt himself leaning towards it. Your smile grew, wide enough it brightened your whole face, and Din took a shuddering breath in - Maker, when had he started wanting to kiss you so badly it physically ached him to restrain himself?

“How could I?” you shook your head lightly, rubbing the palm of your left hand with your right thumb, a self-soothing of sorts. “I can feel it everywhere, in everything and everyone - it’s the one thing I never doubted.”

“Can you -” he hesitated, his eyes moving towards the fire, towards the house, anywhere to avoid the weight of your own. “I mean I’ve seen you use it, and Grogu, but I’ve never -” “Close your eyes,” he turned his head to look at you as you shifted towards him, kneeling on the ground right in front of him, your back to the fire, neck craned back to look at him. He wanted to reach out, feel the warmth of your skin underneath his raring palms. “Trust me, Din.”

He wondered if you knew how deeply he trusted you already.

How he hadn’t felt the slightest sense of dread at the thought of leaving Grogu with you. While he was away, he missed his child - but he knew he was safe. Protected. When night came and he was alone, he wanted nothing more than to feel like that, too.

Going away had started becoming increasingly harder the more he thought about it.

He closed his eyes, shifting a little on his seat.

“Keep them closed,” you warned, a rustling of robes as you sat back on your heels. “I will, I will,” he said with a quiet, nervous laughter - then held his breath.

The feeling of your hand resting on his cheek had him tense slightly, warmth spreading across his face in the wake of your touch. It was a tingling sensation that moved to his other cheek as well, holding him as you brushed your thumbs over his cheekbones, ticklish and delicate.

Slowly, one hand reached behind his head, fingers buried between his curls - he leaned into your touch, lips parting involuntarily with a content sigh. The other hand moved down, across his throat, stopping right on the edge of his armor with a light pressure.

He wondered - if he reached out now, would he be able to hold you? You felt so close, he only ought to move his hand upwards, searching blindly for you.

“Open your eyes,” the whisper was distant, like it had been carried by the wind from the top of the mountain.

Din obliged, unable to remain still as he leaned forward and reached out to you - and grasped nothing but air. You were still kneeling in front of him, head slightly tilted as you looked at him, hands folded on your lap. The same hands he still felt gently brushing his hair, or above his chest.

Clenching his fists once, he brought one hand up to where it felt like his heart would leap out of his chest, trying to reach for something that wasn’t there - for you.

“It feels so real,” he murmured, and a little smile appeared on your face. Just like that, the pressure on his chest vanished, though it still felt like you were cupping the nape of his neck. “It is,” you moved, lifting from your half seated position to get closer to him. “It’s just a little bit different,” you shrugged, reaching then to touch his face.

His stubble scratched your palm gently as he nuzzled against it, turning his head just enough so that the corner of his lips was brushing your hand, eyes never leaving your face.

He had a peculiar look in his eyes, somehow both relaxed and watchful. He cupped his hand over yours, palm warm and hardened by the years of work, gently prying your hand away to expose your wrist.

He bowed his head, looking at you through his eyelashes as he kissed the tender flesh right above your pulse. There was reverence in his touch that had your stomach turning at the gentle pressure of his thumb in the center of your palm. His other hand, still gloved, wrapped around your waist.

Slowly, you rose to your feet, only to cross the small distance between the two of you, your other hand coming to rest on the side of his neck, thumb stroking his jaw and gently pushing his chin up so that you could still look at him. He gave a tentative smile that quickly vanished as you swept your thumb across his bottom lip, mouth parting with a stifled gasp.

The silence was broken only by the sound of your breaths, of the fire behind you, of the night creatures that wandered the distant fields and mountains. Wrapped in your small bubble, the rest of the Galaxy faded into nothingness.

Din said your name then, so hushed you could’ve missed it had you not been focused on him only - had you not been looking at the way his lips moved, felt it right under your touch.

“Can we go inside?” No one ever passed by, especially not so late at night - but the Mandalorian didn’t want anybody as witness. Not even the stars. He wanted it to be just the two of you.

So you took his hands in yours and led him inside the house, the fire smothered behind you without a second glance - any other time, he would’ve remained to watch it, but in that moment he just could turn his gaze from you. He let you guide him in the dark, careful steps to not trip nor risk waking the kid who slept on the other side of the house.

He’d never been in your room, and lingered for a moment at the door - it felt like stepping into a sanctum, your presence so utterly clear in every corner of the four walls. The whole house had a sense of being lived in - he’d noticed it the first time he’d stepped inside, with its books and mismatched pillows and no curtains to let the light in - but your room was familiar, the warmth he experienced by your side made into a space.

He brought one hand to your cheek as you turned to him, slowly tracing a half-moon across your cheek with his gloved knuckle. Your eyes fluttered shut, the touch so delicate it weakened your knees.

“Din,” a single sound, uttered breathlessly as you stepped closer - enough to make his resolve fail.

Your chin held between his index and thumb, he leaned in to press a kiss against your already parted lips. He kept it slow, each shuddering breath making his head spin as he felt himself melting into you, the sweet aftertaste of sunberry wine lingering in your mouth. It made you tremble against him, hands grasping at bits and pieces of his armor.

“Can I take this off?” your voice sounded distant from above the rushing of your heart, pulling your head just slightly back to meet his gaze. Pupils dilated and lips reddened, Din looked back at you. “I want to feel you,” you added, a mere whisper he responded to with a sharp inhale.

He nodded, a quick yes falling from his mouth. He could still see your hands resting on his chest as the fastenings of the armor started loosening around him, beskar sliding down his body. Unable to stop himself, he smiled.

When you kissed him again, armor cast aside, it was a little more urgent, ghost hands tracing the line of his spine up to the nape of his neck where your hands rested, drawing him closer. It caused him to moan softly into your mouth, squeezing your waist gently while backing you towards the bed.

Fingers buried in his hair, you slowly reached down his torso, stomach, past the waistband of his trousers. A surprised groan muffled against your lips when he felt you stroke him, causing his steps to falter.

“Maker,” he tensed a little, stopping himself from bucking his hips into you. “Sorry,” you mused, a wide smile spreading across your lips. “Couldn’t help myself,” you tilted your head a little, hand cupping his cheek as you left quick pecks across his jaw.

“Again,” he reached for the knot of your robe, tugging on it lightly. “Do it again, please.”

You did, still kissing his face and neck, stroking his half-hardened length once, twice, causing his eyes to flutter shut, soft mumbled praises leaving his mouth as he arched towards your touch.

“We can stop whenever you want, Din,” the reassurance had him lean into you almost fully, stepping further backwards until the back of your legs hit the bed. “I don’t want to stop,” his voice had lowered, a rasp in it as he regained his breath. “I want you.”

Agonizingly slow, he started undoing the knot of your robe, pausing only to tug off his glove. Your eyes remained on his face as he casted his gaze down towards your body - his lips slightly parted, long breaths in and out as, inch by inch of uncovered skin, he pushed the fabric down, taking you in.

Past your shoulder and down your arms, Din took his time brushing his fingertips across your skin, over old scars, then up across your collarbones, sternum, following the shape of your breasts from above your bra, your breath itching in response to his warm palms cupping you, only to keep on sliding downwards, over your stomach, abdomen, hips, your own hands holding firmly his shoulders to keep yourself upright.

“Cyarir,” he called, voice hoarse, rolling his hips at the ghost hands quickening strokes. “I really can’t focus with you doing that,” he bowed his head, brushing his lips across yours as you chuckled lightly, chest heaving as he toyed with the hem of your own trousers. You lifted your hands from his shoulders as if in surrender, only to let them fall at each side of his head, brushing his curls back. “Jat’ad.”

With one last kiss against your mouth, he dipped his head, nudging your chin up with his nose to kiss the column of your throat and, from there, make his way down across your chest. You almost succumbed underneath the warm trail of his kisses, but couldn’t find it in yourself to look away as Din sank to his knees in front of you, resting his forehead against your belly while helping you out of your trousers fully, hands wandering across the back of your thighs.

“Din,” his name chanted like a prayer as he opened your legs a little, leaning in to kiss your clothed core. The quiet hum of his response had your hand flying to his hair, holding yourself upright as he looked up at you.

Pulling just slightly back, he hooked his fingers to the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down your legs without moving his gaze from your face, caressing your slightly trembling legs on his way down. He cupped his hand around your ankle, gently lifting one of your legs up - it exposed you to him and the air, a shiver running down your spine.

You weren’t entirely sure how you were still standing, Din’s hand possibly the only thing keeping you from crumbling.

He leaned in again, leaving quick, gentle bites across your thigh draped over his shoulder, before placing a kiss against your folds. Your reaction was immediate, hips bucking to gain some friction as a strangled noise left your sealed lips.

“We can stop whenever you want, cyarir,” he repeated your words teasingly, kneading your thigh as he shifted closer. He wondered how far he could take it, just for a moment. “No,” it came out as a weak whine, fingers curling through his hair as he wet his lips. “I want to feel you,” you repeated - just like that, Din’s will crumbled.

Still holding you, he swept his tongue between your folds, slick gathering on his lips as you grinded against him, mouth falling open with a gasp. Tugging a little on his hair, you weren’t sure whether to pull him closer or push him away. He dug his fingers into your thighs, keeping your legs apart as he drew small circles around the bundle of your clit.

Your mind went blank, crying out as you swayed while he picked up a slow, steady rhythm - you could feel his gaze on you, but were unable to open your own eyes.

He felt you reach down for him. With one hand still in his hair following the slight bobbing of his head, and the other resting on your thigh, fingers interlocked with his, it took him a moment to register the pressure against his growing erection, his hips shifting and rutting into the air with a groan.

“Don’t,” he breathed out, and the vibration of his voice made you tremble, legs kept still only by his hands. “Just let me take care of you.”

It was nearly enough to send you over the edge, squeezing his hand while he returned his mouth on you, a quicker pace you seconded by rolling your hips. It felt like he could read your mind, shifting rhythm, alternating between licking and sucking gently, holding you tighter whenever you felt like the floor was giving out underneath you.

Your orgasm built up quickly, thighs shaking around him as your breath grew shallower.

“Din,” you called, involuntarily tugging onto his hair a little harsher. He groaned in response, and you clenched around him, the tip of his nose nudging your clit. “Din, I’m not gonna last, I’m -” a choked sob left you, head thrown back.

“I’ve got you,” you almost didn’t hear him, the ringing in your ears growing as you climaxed, all but folding over him as he coaxed it all out of you. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, and helped you sit back on the bed behind you, your leg still on his shoulder, climbing after you.

He remained with his face buried in you a few more instants. When he moved his head up, his face glistened with your release. An unconscious groan left your throat at the sight, reaching for him - you weren’t sure whether with your actual hands or through the Force, grasping at the front of his shirt to pull him on top of you.

You kissed him, still out of breath - there was something decadent in tasting yourself on his mouth, your whole body responding to it by arching towards his touch. His hand, making its way slowly up from your thigh, your hip, your waist, gliding across the ribcage until he was cupping your still clothed breast.

“You’re overdressed,” you mumbled, tilting your head to hide in the crook of his neck, gasping softly at his touches. His shirt riding up his back, he could feel the delicate scratching of your nails across his skin. “So are you,” he retorted, and you snorted, pulling your head back to look at him.

“No, I’m not,” the hand not busy rolling up his shirt reached up for his face, cupping his cheek and running your thumb across his flushed skin. Lifting your torso a little, you helped him undo your bra, leaning back to bare yourself fully to him. His gaze wandered down across you once more, tongue darting between his swollen lips. “You’re pretty, Din.”

It caught him by surprise, words softly caressing his face as his eyes widened and he returned to look up at your face, an abrupt, bashful smile on his mouth. A smile he’d chosen to show you, over and over again during the previous months. You leaned in, a quick peck at the corner of his mouth before flipping the two of you over, straddling his lap.

Din’s hands flew to your hips, a strangled moan captured between sealed lips as he bucked underneath you. Head slightly tilted, you helped him out of his shirt, then slowly trailing your hands across his chest as you leaned in - mimicking him, you left a trail of burning kisses along his skin, agonizingly making your way down his stomach, your hands following short.

All the while, ghost hands palmed him, his trousers getting achingly tight the shorter his breaths got. He groaned when he felt the fabric sliding down his legs, kicking them off along with his underwear.

“Cyarir, please,” he looked down at you, your lips still latched to the skin of his torso, light lovebites following in your wake. He reached for you, hands wrapped around your wrists and tugging you back up over him. “Just need you,” he bit out, guiding you on him again.

Locked between your thighs, Din arched upwards to grind against you - his hardened length sliding between your folds, coating himself with your slick, causing you to close your eyes with a shudder. One hand left you to align himself, the tip of his cock pushing into you slowly.

He guided you down, stretching you out while his hands gently kneaded your sides, hushed whispers of encouragement lost through the bliss that had you hold your breath, muscles twitching.

When Din’s arm wrapped around you, holding you against him to ease you on your back, the shifting made you cry out his name once more, a supplication as you buried your head in the crook of his neck. He cursed under his breath as your legs locked around him, heels digging in the back of his thighs, spurring him on gently.

His first thrusts were slow, almost hesitant, hands pushed into the mattress to keep himself from weighing on you. Threading one hand through his hair, you tugged back on it slightly, turning your head to meet his eyes - a frown knitted his brow, and you reached up to smooth it down.

“I’m not going to break, Din,” you reassured him, lifting yourself a little to meet him halfway - the snap of your hips connecting had him moan audibly, mouth hanging open. He picked up his pace a little, steady and rhythmic as he moved almost all the way out of you and then back in. “That’s it,” you breathed out, head falling backwards and eyes fluttering shut. “Maker - that’s it, like that.”

The combination of your words and keening at each of his thrusts spurred him further - a little deeper, a little harder, your walls fluttering around him making his eyes roll to the back of his head.

You started trembling again underneath him, and he let his head fall forward, searching for a rough kiss. He faltered, stuttering thrusts as he let out a low whine, feeling you clench around him.

“So close, cyar’ika,” he breathed out, arms shaking a little under his weight. He called your name, reaching down to hold your hip as you arched against him once more. “So close.”

“I’ve got you,” his own words repeated as you brought your arms around his shoulders, one hand still buried in his hair to guide him down towards the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing the skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You wrapped yourself around him, legs locking behind him and arms holding him to your chest as he collapsed with a final sough, hips pushed flush against yours. He twitched inside you, gripping your side a little harder - there’d be marks the following day, but you found yourself not minding it one bit, too lost in the second wave of pleasure that hit you.

Din’s warm breath hit your damp skin as he exhaled, brushing his lips to your sternum at the culmination of his release, one last, lazy shift as he attempted to move from above and inside you. In response, you tightened your hold on him.

“Stay,” you hummed, stroking his curls back from his forehead. “Just a moment.” “I’ll crush you,” he retorted, idly caressing your side. “Stay,” you repeated, all but melting under him, into the bed, bringing his weight with you.

An almost Jedi and a no longer Mandalorian - two people whose life had been dedicated to fighting, suddenly finding solace in the tranquility they brought to each other’s life. Quite the pair you made.

“I was thinking about what you said,” he mumbled tiredly, the corner of his mouth caressing your skin. You hummed in acknowledgment, struggling to keep your eyes fully open while running your hand through Din’s hair. “You’ve been taking care of us for a while already, cyarir - let us take care of you. Let me do that,” he moved his head so that he could look at you as you forced your eyes open, a flush spreading across your face. He reached to cup your cheek, thumb stroking your bitten bottom lip swiftly, gently. “Let us be your family.”

You drew him closer, hand resting under his chin to tip his head back and kiss him, softly. He sighed into the kiss, lips parting as he shifted a little, the movement causing you both to whine as he slipped out of you.

“Ner kar’ta,” he murmured, moving until he was hovering over you again, arms braced at each side of your head - the mattress shifted with him. “Let me take care of you.”

“You already are,” your hands cupping his face, his stubble scratching your palms already all too familiar. “You don’t know how lonely I was before you arrived here - you have no idea how much your presence has helped me,” the softness in your gaze had him kneel down between your legs for extra support as you caressed along his cheek, the side of his neck, his shoulder, lifting your head to nuzzle the tip of your nose against his. “My wonderful, sweet boys.”

He felt it everywhere. Felt you. Hands and gentle kisses and soft words wrapped around him like a whole new armor, one he’d want to take with him everywhere he went, while never leaving your side.

Neither of you had ever had the possibility to express the feelings lingering in your heart out loud - neither of you had ever learned how. So when he kissed you again, you welcomed him in, over and over and over.

For the first time in years, it was easy to fall asleep and not feel regret about a life left behind - not when it had brought you in the arms of the man who held you like you were holy.

Like he was finally home.

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emanation-aura · 7 months

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joker palace fic. im in love with your writing. please share some with us

Oh my god anon I'm so happy you asked!! I made some fantastic progress recently so I'm definitely going to talk about it now

So actually I have. um. two Joker Palace fics. One of them is based in the third semester and is basically what I talked about in this post: in short, due to some Wild Card Bullshit™️, instead of living in Maruki's altered reality in third semester, Joker actually forms a Palace as a cognitive defence and basically it becomes Goro and Sumi's job to get him out (like Maruki, he physically resides in it).

The other one is a post-game Palace au, where Joker forms a Palace out of the stress and debilitating isolation of prison. This one is the one I've been working the most on and it's at 11k words and counting— when I'm not even close to finishing it!! I'm having so much fun with it so I guess I'll talk about this one.

He thinks about the past year a lot. About the Metaverse, discovering it with Ryuji by accident, that terrifyingly free moment when he ripped Arsene from his face and felt as if he could challenge the world itself, and proceeded to do exactly that. About Personas and the Velvet Room (he tries dreaming for Lavenza, but if she exists and can hear him, she makes no reply,) and the final chains breaking under his command, all the anger and hatred burning off Arsene in waves of blue flame morphed into physical form: the cold, immovable steel of Satanael. He thinks about how the unyielding heart of Satanael, a strength unto its own, had slowly melted in the face of a perfect reality. How Maruki’s lies had snared everyone but him, and that unique, awful loneliness melting the devil’s limitless island of strength into Raoul, the trickster just as capable as Arsene but acting under no name but his own. How the truth and free will, his own real self, triumphed over the benevolent lies of yet another false god.

This Palace AU revolves heavily around the theming of first, second, and third-tier Personas (mostly Joker and Goro's). Like, we all know the pattern to the Persona awakenings in P5R, right— trickster-god-true self. Raoul is the original name of Arsene Lupin in Maurice Leblanc's series (btw did you know I actually bought The Adventures of Arsene Lupin, Gentleman Thief kinda for this fic), Hereward is the historical figures whose exploits inspired the tales of Robin Hood, etc. And like.

The Palace Joker has in this fic is a prison. But unlike the Velvet Room, it's not a prison where Joker is trapped; in fact, Cognitive Joker is the ruler of the Palace, and instead the stuff being locked away is memories. It takes the kinda passive/wallflower nature Joker has in the Confidant interactions to something more extreme: because Joker has literally nothing to do in prison but be trapped in his own head thinking, he starts categorising and compartmentalising his memories of the past year, wounds and traumas that are still fresh and raw.

And the crux is that he doesn't want to face his trauma. He locks away all his memories of the interrogation, of police brutality and being arrested and being deleted by Yaldabaoth out of existence... and most importantly, Akechi.

He had once said that Akira never allowed himself to be enslaved by things like human relations or past selves, leaving his heart forever free, but now Akira’s locked in juvie with nothing but his own misery for company, he thinks that’s wrong. The Velvet Room, taking after the shape of his heart was a prison, after all, and after that he’s simply traded one prison for another. (One might say that only the flesh remains imprisoned while the mind and heart remain forever free, but solitary confinement is a unique hell precisely because its containment reaches far beyond the flesh alone.)

So to tie these two tangents together, Cognitive Joker is the ruler of the prison Palace where he locks away his most painful memories, serving as a guardian/warden. The thing is, Cognitive Joker's true form is actually just Raoul.

Raoul is Joker's 'true self', but Joker's 'true self' has morphed in solitary confinement.

(Tighten the perimeter! It roars, golden mechanical wings spouting from its back, vivid red and gold trim dotting its jacket. Lock everything up. I will deal with him. There is no mask over its face, nor does there need to be. This is his true self: the lord of a fortress, the guardkeeper of a prison— the real occupation of gentleman thief, hoarding his hard-earned treasures.)

Instead of being a heart of a phantom thief willing to stand up to reality, Raoul has come to represent the worst side of a gentleman thief: hoarding his treasures (memories) and never letting them show. Hiding his trauma, even, from himself, just to try and convince himself that he's ok.

This has most been me rambling about the workings of this fic from behind the scenes, so anon, I'll treat you to two nice long passages now: the first one is the delivery of the calling card, and the second one is when Goro confronts Cognitive Joker— because this is also a shuake fic, by the way, although no actual romance happens yet beyond homoerotically beating the manifestation of your rival's heart to death and saving his soul from despair. Goro is the one to infiltrate the Palace (thanks to some intervention by Lavenza) and learn about all of the absolutely horrifying shit happening in Joker's mind.

(Continues on from right after the snippet in this post.)

Finally, Maruki speaks, jolting Akira out of his stupor. “Kurusu-kun… to tell you the truth, I didn’t plan on visiting you at all. I thought it would be better if I kept away from all of you, after causing you guys a great deal of hurt. I still intend to stay away, but—” Maruki pushes his glasses up, the reflective sheen hiding the strange, intense quality in his eyes. He reaches for his jacket pocket, pulling out an envelope. “Someone asked me to come today— I can’t tell you who, but they asked me to deliver something.” Akira’s breath catches, and his eyes dart to the invisible looking-glass that the security guards must be looking through. He’s not been allowed any communication from outside (either that, or he hasn’t received any, but he tries not to think about that). But Maruki catches his glance and shakes his head, in that soft, disappointed way he had shaken his head back when he carried Sumire in his arms and drove her Persona berserk. “It’s been cleared,” he says, still ever so soft. His fingers fumble, but he slides it under the glass partition like an immigration officer returning his passport. “And, before you read it… I understand you may be angry with me, which is fine. The important thing is that you read it and understand what it means.” He picks up the envelope with a curious hum, eyes hovering uncertainly around Maruki’s tense figure, a nervousness that is visible to him the same way bloodhounds pick up scent. Whatever it is, the therapist expects him to be angry, and will allow him. Short of a letter from— Akira wrenches the door shut, but the fading impression of brown hair and a thrown glove lingers anyway— short of him, nothing else could possibly faze him. Akira opens the envelope. Slips the small, black-and-red card out in one move. Flips it over— wrong, he seems. Flinches, at the words written there. I have not ever written one of these, and as such, find myself at a loss. I have no theatrics to demonstrate, no declaration of war, no enmity, even. Thus, I will simply state what happens next. Akira Kurusu, you have lost yourself in a fortress of loneliness, even going so far as to suppress yourself for the sake of others. You may call it protection and name it your guard, but that doesn’t change its essential nature: a prison of your own creation. Twice, now, has your heart been a prison. No more. I will steal your distorted desires without fail. No signature. Akira drops the card. Stands up suddenly, not even registering the sharp, panicked breaths he’s taking. Distantly, the blob of maroon in front of him stands up as well, saying something he can’t hear. No. Not possible. He cannot— he is (was?) a Persona user. He simply cannot have a Palace. Raoul screeches, long and loud, in his head. It used to be a deep, bellowing comfort, drowning out the silence in his head with a hearty laugh that wrapped around him like stage curtains, enveloping him in its warmth. Now it just sounds unhinged— the scream of a bat or the lone howl of a wolf, pounding through his skull with the force of a gunshot. No! It screams, pitched lower and deeper yet strangely similar to his own voice. When he closes his eyes, it’s not Raoul there but himself, with glowing, yellow eyes. The one person we allowed in— to betray us like this, not again! Throw him out, throw them all out! “...Kurusu-kun! Please, say something! I know it’s a great shock, so please try to calm down—” Akira’s eyes snap open. The world slots back into focus, colours swimming back to their original places. Maruki stares, eyes wide with stress. He can’t think. He can’t even feel. All he was and will ever be shrinks down into this point in time, crushing him under its immense weight. “I’ve heard the calling,” he says quietly. Any louder, and his voice will break. “And I understand what it means. Please leave now, Maruki.”

And for when Goro confronts Cognitive Akira/Raoul:

“You’re not Akira,” Goro states dumbly. He’d known, of course, that Cognitive Akira was not the real one— but it had the real one’s face and mannerisms, however foreign it had been. This, though… “You’re his Persona, Raoul.” “I am thou, and thou art I,” Raoul recites, punching a hole through Goro’s tattered heart. Goro had only seen Raoul once: in the final battle against Maruki, merciless curse damage and powerful sleep magic forming a potent combination against Azathoth. He’d assumed that Raoul was a new Persona Akira had fused, a powerful addition to Yoshitsune and Attis and the likes he’d brought to the battle. Yet… If this is the form Akira’s Palace Ruler takes, it can’t be just any old Shadow he picked up from the sea of collective unconsciousness. “Are you surprised, General of the Wake?” Raoul smirks, leaning back a little. He’s floating off the ground now, lounging on the air. “A phantom thief needs a place to hoard his treasures, for the hearts he steals cannot be treated like regular old trinkets.” Hereward rears his head, sensing his name. Goro thinks back to Hereward’s namesake— an ancient nobleman and leader of a resistance movement, nicknamed “Hereward the Wake”, whose exploits may have inspired the tale of Robin Hood. Raoul recognises not Loki, who he used for the longest, nor Robin, whom he had first, but Hereward— fancifully, neither a masked hero of justice nor a god, but just a man. The name comes to him easily. Goro read Sherlock Holmes in the run-up to his public deceit as Detective Prince, and thus, he also knows of its rival. “Arsene,” he says. It makes a terrible, hilarious amount of sense: who better to lead the Phantom Thieves than the quintessential phantom thief himself? “Arsene Raoul Lupin.” “Bravo,” Raoul claps, crimson eyes twinkling with blue flame. “Praise be to my rival, who has never failed to see through me. Yes, I am the gentleman thief of old, the one who took up the mantle of Arsene Lupin, master of a thousand faces, whose actions constitute my identity sufficiently*: Monsieur Raoul.” Goro pictures the original awakening, the blood pouring from Akira’s eyes. That blue-flamed trickster behind him, bursting with energy. Arsene Lupin. “I did not wish it to come to this,” Raoul says, his hands gesturing to the red flashing alarms at the complex. “Truly, mon corbeau. The gentleman thief keeps many secrets, but conversely, it is the detective on his heels who sees them all, not any of his closest acquaintances. That is why me and I have let you in, time and time again. Yet you end up betraying our trust to the very end. Let it be said that these precautions—” Raoul waves at the prison at large, demonic eyes wide with a sad kind of triumph— “have come to fruition at last.”

Goro flinches. He thinks about putting a bullet through Akira’s brain. The splatter, even though it had never been real. About reporting to Shido with glee that the Phantom Thieves were well on their way to falling into his trap, then going to Leblanc and playing chess with Akira, talking about Hegel and antithesis over rapidly-cooling cups of coffee. The deceit of Robin Hood and the truth of Loki. He has betrayed Akira. And while he’s been valiantly avoiding thinking about the boy ever since he woke up, the Palace— it has forced him to grapple with it. He cannot say he regrets his betrayal, nor can he say he enjoyed it, or felt it was necessary. Those things mattered to the Goro of the past, but not to him now, because— because— Because he lives with his sins every day. Wears them on his sleeve, because everyone else must know the true him before deciding whether to engage or not. He will not bend to their standards of social grace— you will live as yourself, sins and all, forever, Hereward says. It is not atonement nor punishment. It is your path to walk. This is still a realm of distorted desires, Goro reminds himself. He cannot start believing in the distorted rhetoric of the Palace Ruler. “It is still a prison,” Goro says calmly, perhaps the calmest he’s ever been since waking up in the god-forsaken place. “You think you are protecting yourself from the horrors of the world, from betrayal, from pain. But you are only locking it away so that you do not have to deal with it. You are not primarily protecting yourself from others— though I should think some part of that is true. No, you are trying to protect you from yourself.” Thinks of Maruki’s text. Done. Akira was defensive and cynical. Shocked by the calling card. Speaking as someone who’s been in contact with many traumatised teens over the past years… trying very hard to compartmentalise his pain, too. Raoul recoils, eye-like slits narrowing into a sliver of crimson. But Goro has already found the truth, written in video tapes of the “interrogation” and the partition falling on the engine room. This Persona might be Akira’s true self, not the invincible anonymity of Arsene Lupin, phantom thief, but it has distorted itself into a man chained to the prison of his heart, locking away pain and tragedy to fool himself into strength. Simply another mask, but not one aimed outwards. A mask placed over his soul in the hopes of fooling himself. “I know how this goes,” Goro says cockily, refusing to draw out the philosophical tangent, drawing his sabre. Raoul raises an eyebrow, or what passes for one on his face, and magic curls under his metallic talons. “You won’t go down without a fight.” “Indeed, detective.” Raoul sighs, languid and calm— like Akira, right before an ambush. “A thief cannot avoid confrontation forever. It is time, then, to use martial prowess to settle what trickery cannot.” Goro grins. This�� this is familiar ground. This is adrenaline running through his veins, Loki’s enthusiastic bloodlust rippling into existence; the mask materialising over his features, the desire to rip, tear, kill. This is the same feeling their duel had evoked all that time ago, turned up to eleven. Truly, a no-holds-barred fight against the distorted ruler of Akira’s heart? The part of him that misses combat revels in this. (The part of him that played chess with Akira in Leblanc mourns it— not the battle, exactly, but the loss of what made him Akira.) Novel battles call for new tactics. Pressing a hand against his mask, Goro’s first command is not Loki, but— “Hereward! REBELLION BLADE!”

*whose actions constitute my identity sufficiently is specifically taken from Maurice Leblanc's tales on Arsene Lupin, where Lupin says:

"Why should I have a definite, fixed appearance? Why not avoid the dangers attendant upon a personality that is always the same? My actions constitute my identity sufficiently. [...] It is all the better if people are never able to say with certainty, 'There goes Arsene Lupin.' The great thing is that they should say, without fear of being mistaken, 'That action was performed by Arsene Lupin.' "

By the way, to any other writers of Joker Palace AUs out there using themes of masquerade/masks/theatre, with Joker represented as a person who has lost his identity by being a social butterfly and putting on 'masks' for other people: rock on!!!! That's literally exactly what the theme around Arsene Lupin is!!! He literally says "I myself have forgotten what I am really like; I no longer recognise myself in a glass" in the tales!!

Anyway. Yeah.

Here's your food, anon! Hope you enjoy. I plan on publishing this fic for Whumptober (if I finish it in time, haha), so keep an eye out for it then!

PS. if you want to read about the Third Sem Palace AU you'll have to give me some inspo, cause I'm a lil stuck >.>

#persona 5 #persona 5 royal #persona 5 joker #goro akechi #akira kurusu #shuake #fic writing

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wyverns-blog · 4 months

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You know, I'm still suffering from the fact that they didn't give Obito a legitimate summoning jutsu. I mean, he had the Gedo and the Kyubi, but they were due to a time limit and what I'm going for is a more "normal" summon, like the one with Kakashi's dogs.

I usually think he would have a fun mole summon, at least like Tobi. It would be very fun to see him place bombs underground while the moles help him or distract the enemy.

Going for something more serious, I would say that it would have a summoning of wolves.

Wolves are considered by many people to be solitary and solitary creatures, which is false because wolves depend on their teamwork to survive and obtain sustenance, forming packs and having souls etc etc. Although I remember that at some point in their lives, when the wolves stopped being puppies, they began a 'journey' as adults until they found a pack to which they belonged.

Without a doubt, teamwork and camaraderie was something that marked Obito's life, with his legendary phrase that we all know through Kakashi's mouth. That was how his shinobi path began, regardless of what happened next. And even after that "later", camaraderie remained fundamental for this Uchiha, in a darker or twisted way, but still there at the core. The moments that stand out from this were his trust in Kisame, how he protected him from an attack even though Kisame was completely capable of defending himself.

Or when he was angry at Konan for betraying him. Obito credits the Akatsuki as tools for Infinite Tsukuyomi, but when they die he ends up thanking them for their efforts, even when most of them only participated in the hunt for their own interests.

In short, Obito never stopped appreciating his companions, it was just that hatred destroyed his own philosophy of not abandoning them.

On the other hand, as a child, Obito was considered far inferior to Kakashi, despite his Uchiha genes. Although we don't know the Hatake clan very well, it is clear that the Uchiha has more dominance. Watching Obito lose to Kakashi is like watching a wolf lose to a dog. And I really don't know if you've heard that saying about "a dog raised in a family of felines", but I think it completely complements Obito and how he couldn't adapt to those who would become his family.

When Obito loses his team (post kannabi accident), it is the same as a wolf losing its pack and being vulnerable to more ferocious creatures and famine. Having to coexist with others like Akatsuki to move forward, being truly alone and just keeping watch. Lonely until he manages to redeem himself through the combined words of Naruto, Kakashi and Minato.

Obito has this appearance of being lonely and dangerous, and he is, but deep down, he wanted to return to what he could consider was his family. Very similar to the wolf, huh...

Wolves have their strength in their pack, where the group hunting strategy is a pillar for their survival. Obito was alone and away from his clan as an outcast, weak because he didn't have someone who would take the time to really motivate or teach him (Minato is not a good sensei, sorry), and wolf cubs need training to learn to hunt and be strong.

In short, Obito is the idea of a wolf who lost his pack and had to survive by adapting to loneliness alone.

#uchiha obito #obito uchiha #naruto shippuden #obito #naruto #tobi #invocation jutsu #wolve

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the7thcrow · 2 years

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Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 06

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Six: a rest-stop, illusions, and a begrudging truce.

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

chapter wc: 12.7k

extra chapter warnings: nothing new, but maybe heed the blood warning.

chapter summary:

And yet, something about the way San’s hand sits on his shoulder, remaining an entire arm-length away, makes him feel…small.

It’s what drives him to say his next few words, to finally let a fraction of what’s been building inside of him slip. To be selfish for once.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, San?”

Seonghwa cannot remember how long it’s been since he was last alone with San.

Not within the last week, as far as he can remember, as most of his time on this trip has been spent with you, and if not solemnly, then with both Woo and San as company as well. It seems strange, that amidst days of journeying he hasn’t had the opportunity to really converse alone with the swordsman. However, upon consideration, he’s realized that he and San don’t spend much time with only each other under normal circumstances, either.

It’s not due to any sort of dislike surrounding the swordsman. Frankly, he believes it would be difficult to feel anything but adoration for him. San is just so… steadfast. Solid. Always reliable, always in control. Seonghwa would trust him with his life, or with anything for that matter.

Yet, as he sits beside the swordsman at the fire, both you and Woo having turned in early for the night, he can’t help but rack his brain for the last time he and San really talked.

Despite living with the swordsman, eating meals with him, sharing a tent on plenty of nights, and fighting alongside him, he can’t recall the last meaningful conversation between just them.

To be fair, San has never been the vulnerable type. Always playing his hand close to his chest, Seonghwa can admire the swordsman’s inner strength and discipline. Where Seonghwa thinks too much with his heart, and Woo seems to have a general lack of thinking at all at times, San uses his head. He always seems to know what to do.

But in moments like these, Seonghwa wishes that San talked to him more.

He used to, Seonghwa thinks. He can recall a time where he and San were alone together plenty, especially during his earlier years with the elemental and the swordsman. But as time has passed by, these solitary moments between them seem to have become few and far between.

The swordsman currently sits with his back against the log in front of him, one leg extended outwards while his knee is drawn upwards on the other, arm resting atop of it. His face is buried into the crook of his arm, the flames flickering in the reflection of his good eye as he watches the fire.

Seonghwa wishes he knew what he was thinking. He wishes the swordsman would tell him. That he’d let his walls fall, even if only for a moment.

He would never admit it out loud, but sometimes he envies Woo for the way San opens up to him. He knows how close they are, he has from the moment he met them, and that bond isn’t something he’d ever wish to strip from them. He knows his place.

But sometimes it feels like San purposefully keeps himself at a distance, and Seonghwa just wishes he knew why.

The swordsman notices that he is staring, and casts Seonghwa a side glance. He sighs, and when he speaks, his tone is definite, as well as embarrassed.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” San says quietly, words muffled as he speaks them into his sleeve.

Seonghwa figured.

By “it” he means what happened back at The Desert Lotus, when both you and Seonghwa had found San with Minnie.

Seonghwa wasn’t sure what exactly was happening at the time, but after escaping the tavern and setting up camp, you’d given them the details about your meeting with the eccentric owner, and how the strange tavern actually managed to function so prosperously in the middle of nowhere.

Seonghwa had never been compelled before, but he’d always been curious as to what it may feel like. In hindsight, however, it felt like nothing.

He just felt happy, or better, ecstatic. It didn’t feel like some supernatural force was guiding his every move, or a dark sinister voice was whispering commands into his ear. It just felt like he was doing what he wanted to do, nothing more or nothing less. Even now, it’s difficult to wrap his head around.

He imagines it’s equally as difficult for San to understand, which is why it’s no surprise that the swordsman wouldn’t want to discuss it.

San likes things to make sense. He likes when they have an explanation and are orderly. Things that work in a logical fashion.

“Well, except Woo,” Seonghwa thinks to himself.

He doesn’t say any of this, obviously. Instead he grants the swordsman a kind and reassuring smile.

“That’s alright, we don’t have to,” Seonghwa answers, even though he doesn’t quite mean it. He does want to talk about it, in fact, it’s been eating away at him since you told them the truth, about how they were actually acting upon their greatest desires.

Seeing San with Minnie and being so openly affectionate, it was just… strange. With all the years they’ve known each other, he’s never been that way with Woo. Ever.

And if that’s what San wants, if he desires it more than anything, then why don’t they just… do it?

Seonghwa wishes he understood them better. He wishes they would just talk to him.

He doesn’t know what is going on with them, never really has. They say they aren’t together, but they sure seem together. They share a bed on multiple nights, both at the cottage and in the tent, but not every night. They’ll be affectionate one day, and then barely speak the next. Woo will console him for hours just a few nights ago, but then San will barely even look at him for the days following. He just doesn’t get it.

But it’s not his business, so it’s not like he can ask. They wouldn’t want to talk about it, anyway.

It’s difficult to constantly feel like the deadwood, attached to the trunk but also not really being a part of the tree. Just hanging there, like an extra limb, serving no real function. He knows they care about him, as he does in return, but sometimes he just feels… excluded.

It’s embarrassing, but the empath can’t deny that he’s growing tired of it, although he doesn’t want to spend too much time obsessing over that fact. If not out of courtesy for his sanity, then what may happen to the three of them and their life if he decides he’s had enough.

That uncertainty, that growing instability… It scares him.

“How did you do it?”

San’s voice is sudden as it cuts into the night’s quiet, and Seonghwa refrains from displaying the surprise he feels.

“What?” He asks, and San sighs, finally bringing his face up from his arm in order to look at the empath.

“Back in the desert, when Woo collapsed. How did you…” San trails off, hand grasping out in front of him as if physically reaching for the right words. “How did you just…handle it?”

Seonghwa thinks back to this morning. Woo had fallen rather suddenly, and he remembers his heart seizing in panic when the elemental hadn’t risen back to his feet. How he’d rushed to Woo’s side, brain immediately sifting through all possible case scenarios, trying to decide what exactly was happening to the elemental.

Like flipping through a journal, his mind assessed the symptoms. Loss of Consciousness, muscle contractions, sense of confusion. A seizure.

“It was just a medical thing,” Seonghwa says, brushing it off. It really wasn’t a big deal. “You know that I know a thing or two.”

While Seonghwa was never a doctor, or even an apprentice for that matter, his half-brother was. Mentored by Maralya’s town medic, he liked to practice things on Seonghwa. Nothing serious of course, just little procedures like wrapping bandages or diagnosing a concussion when Seonghwa hit his head falling off the fishing dock. He liked having Seonghwa quiz him on notes he’d taken, even though Yunho already knew everything forwards and back.

Even though he had no official training, Seonghwa learned a lot from his brother, a valuable asset to have considering the trouble he, San, and Woo have gotten into over the years.

But San already knows that, which is why the question confuses Seonghwa. Fortunately, the swordsman elaborates.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” San sighs. His expression is pained, as if it’s a struggle for him to get the words out. “I mean, how did you not panic? How did you not…freeze?”

It’s with that word in particular that Seonghwa finally understands what San’s getting at. The question isn’t about him, not really. It’s about San.

Seonghwa remembers the swordsman’s face when Woo was unconscious. The way his jaw dropped, good eye widening as he stared down at the thrashing elemental. While the situation caused Seonghwa to spring into action, body moving faster than his worry, it had caused San to become a statue. Unable to move, to do anything but simply stare.

San hadn’t mentioned it afterward, but Seonghwa remembers how once the elemental came to, San set himself into motion. Not towards Woo, but in the opposite direction. Up the sand dune and as far away as possible.

Seonghwa gives him a small smile. He knows the feeling. He isn’t sure how to truly answer San’s question, but he wants to reassure him, make him feel understood.

“When I was younger, my brother fell from our house’s roof,” Seonghwa starts, and San’s eyebrows furrow together, confused by the change in topic, although he doesn’t stop the empath. “It was in the middle of the day, he was 10 and I was 12. I came rushing outside, and he was just lying there, staring up at the sky, mouth parted open.”

“He was in shock. I know that now, but at the time I didn’t. I thought he was dying. I was scared, terrified actually, and I wanted nothing more than to help him. But I didn’t know how.”

San’s lips pull into a thin line, as he understands Seonghwa’s message. The empath continues. “It’s horrifying when someone you love is in danger and you have no idea how to save them. I happened to know what was happening to Woo today and how to fix it, so I did. If you knew, you would have too. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

San seems to consider this for a moment, before he eventually smiles. It’s not much of one, just the corners of his lips curling upwards, but it is something. It makes Seonghwa smile too.

“I guess,” the swordsman sighs, before sucking in a tight breath. “It’s just… he’s been so… and then there he was just… and I couldn’t…”

San seems to be having trouble finishing a thought, so Seonghwa tries to help. “Does this have anything to do with what’s going on with you guys lately?”

“Maybe,” San begins, before pausing. When he opens his mouth again, it’s preceded by a deep sigh.

“But I don’t want to talk about it-

“But you don’t want to talk about it.”

Both of them speaking over each-other, San seems surprised by the unison of their words. Turning towards Seonghwa, he appears almost caught, mouth parted open as if to ask: “How did you know?”

“Because I know you,” Seonghwa wants to say. “And I know that you never want to talk about it.”

Instead, Seonghwa decides to bite the bullet. He won’t press any further, because it’s likely to make San even more evasive than he already is, but he can’t help but add: “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, the two of you always do.”

San smiles, but it quickly falters, as if he doesn’t quite believe him.

A moment of silence passes, and Seonghwa feels a bit useless. He’s meant to comfort them - or at least that’s the role he’s assigned to himself - and San doesn’t seem any less troubled than when the night began. Seonghwa doesn’t like seeing him like this.

So he extends out his hand. “Come here,” he says gently.

San stares at his hand for a moment, confused as his gaze flickers up to meet the empath’s own, eyebrows furrowed. When he realizes what Seonghwa is implying, the expression shifts into a scowl, and the swordsman physically recoils.

“No,” San states firmly, shaking his head.

“Come on,” Seonghwa says, extending his hand out with a little more fervour this time. “It’ll help.”

“I don’t want help,” San replies, tone perhaps a little too fierce. After a moment, he seems to realize this, and it softens. “You know I don’t like it when you do that,” he mumbles.

“I know,” Seonghwa starts, before giving him a small smile. “But it would make me feel better if you’d let me.”

Seonghwa knows that it will make the swordsman change his mind, because this way it is not him helping San, but San helping him. And San is the most selfless man he knows.

“Please,” he whispers, sliding down from his place on the log and onto the ground, inching towards the swordsman.

After a moment, San concedes. Twisting to the side, he sighs as he turns to face the empath, hesitantly extending his arm out towards him.

The way his hand shakes slightly as he does so casts a wave of familiarity through Seonghwa. Maybe the last time they were alone together was like this one, a quiet moment after Woo had gone to bed, and San was hurting more than Seonghwa could dare to let the swordsman bare himself.

It’s happened more than once. Not frequently, but enough that Seonghwa has noticed a pattern. With San, it’s the little things that run deep. A fight between him and Woo that Seonghwa didn’t know the details about, or following a nightmare surrounding Jay. Once there was a particularly close battle with a basilisk that left the swordsman on edge. San likes to bury his pain, Seonghwa wishes to dig it up and carry it himself.

Each time the swordsman contests it, but he eventually gives in. Seonghwa believes that on a subconscious level San knows that he needs it, even if consciously it isn’t something he lets himself want.

When San’s hand finally lands itself on his own, Seonghwa cradles it gently. Placing his other on top of it, he settles himself to face the swordsman, kneeling in front of him. Taking in a deep breath, he begins.

That’s the only word he can think of to describe using his gift: “beginning”. It’s not exactly something he has to do, like flipping a switch on and off. It just… starts. Like a tickle settling in his chest, it’s more a basic instinct, a calling from within rising to the surface.

This is what he’s meant to do. He craves it, revels in it, even if in the moment the sensation is… anything but pleasant.

San’s eyes flutter shut, lips parting open slightly as he drifts into subconsciousness. His head falls to the side, body tilting, and Seonghwa quickly extends one of his hands out to catch him, pulling San’s head to rest on his shoulder. The swordsman seems to relax even more as he does so, sucking in a deep breath, and Seonghwa can feel San’s smile through the fabric of his shirt.

For a moment, he is happy. San is at peace, surely flooded with some sort of pleasant memory that carries him gently through a dream-like state. Maybe the taste of his mother’s cooking on his tongue, or the smell of Woo’s clothing flooding his nose. Seonghwa is just happy that he’s happy.

Then it starts.

“Why aren’t they sending anyone?” Seonghwa asks. He is pacing back and forth, bare feet sticking to the cracking kitchen tiles. It is dark out. Yunho has already gone to sleep, which leaves only him and his mother beneath the dim light of the flickering candle that sits on the table.

“They won’t, Seonghwa.” His mother says. Her tone is exhausted.

“Surely Zaria could afford to send a few of their own medics, the kingdom has more wealth than they know what to do with! Or even just some decent medical supplies!”

“They won’t, Seonghwa.”

“Are they deaf to the news? The illness has spread to three different families, The Kim’s have sent what, a thousand letters to the royal family? Surely they must have received them, and should feel some sort of basic human decency and send-”

“Seonghwa!” His mother’s tone is sharp as she cuts him off, loud. She rarely raises her voice, but when she does he knows it’s time to listen. He stops pacing. “They won’t!”

He stares at her, incredulous. He doesn’t get it. “Why not? How can they know what is happening to us, and not care? How can they show such little empathy?”

His mother purses her lips. She stares at him, as if deciding something. Eventually, she speaks. “Why do you think the buildings were never repaired after the flood?”

He scowls, agitated by the change in topic. “What does that have to do with-”

“Why do you think we have to ration all of our crops every winter, and it is still not enough? Why did The Kim’s have to spend their son’s education fund to afford new bandages and Burberry salv? Why does Mayor Choi quietly sob everytime the tax collector arrives for the monthly quota?”

Seonghwa doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how.

“Because nobody cares about Maralya, Seonghwa,” she whispers, and tears well in her eyes. He hasn’t seen her cry since his step-father died, and that was years ago. “This sickness could kill us all, and Zaria would not bat an eye. Maybe they’d miss our tax fee, but certainly not us. Nobody spares a prayer for Maralya, except for us Maralyan’s.”

“No,” Seonghwa whispers, shaking his head. “They must… they must not understand-”

“You’re right, they don’t understand,” she continues, shaking her head, defeated. “But that is because they don’t want to.”

“But we’re a branch of their kingdom…” Seonghwa trails off. He’s sixteen now, practically a man by the town’s standards, but he feels like a child. “How can they care so little?”

“We are a branch of their kingdom, and yet we are not on any map,” she replies, and her words drop like a stone within his gut. “We are nothing. We are non-existent to everyone except ourselves.”

With this she leans forward and blows out the candle. The kitchen is shrouded in darkness. She casts him a glance, strands of untamed blonde hair cascaded messily over her face, dark eyes glistening in the moonlight. She heads up the stairs without another word.

Seonghwa doesn’t move.

He stands in the kitchen, staring at the burnt out candle, trails of smoke curling in the air. Eventually they disappear, twisting and turning until they transform into nothing at all.

Nothing. That’s what she’d said. To Zaria, to the world, they are nothing.

His fists clench at his side. In the distance, a bell rings, pounding into the night, a distant echo.

It’s from the medical centre, a signal that someone has died.

They are the first.

Seonghwa sobs, but his tears are not sad ones. They are furious. He sinks to his knees, the tiles cool enough to sting through his pants. Winter is coming, it will be cold. They will not have enough firewood for heat most nights.

He screams, loud enough to wake Yunho. Maybe even the town, if the bell hasn’t already done so.

All he feels is fury.

Anger.

“I’m sick, Hwa,” Yunho mumbles, looking up at him from his place on the bed, covered in a myriad of patch-work quilts and pillows. He coughs a few times, and blood paints the kerchief he holds to his mouth, like bright red rain drops. He’s only fourteen, too young to be like this.

“I’m going to die, whether you stay here or not,” his brother continues. Tears paint his cheeks, glistening against his sickly pale skin. “You have to go.”

“No,” Seonghwa says stubbornly. Clinging to the blanket at the foot of the bed. His mother won’t let him touch Yunho, she’s too afraid he’ll catch his illness. “I can’t leave you like this.”

Seonghwa stares at him, and tears sting from within his eyes. He does not let them fall. “I can fix this.”

“No,” Yunho says, and Seonghwa can tell he’s fading into unconsciousness. He’s been in and out for the last few days, every time Seonghwa fears that he won’t wake back up. “You can’t.”

“I can,” Seonghwa answers, frustrated. Yunho does not respond, he is already asleep.

“I can.”

Seonghwa knows that he cannot.

Desperation.

“Please, don’t make me go,” Seonghwa begs, fist pounding on the door. His knuckles are bruised from trying to break it down. It won’t budge. He can barely speak as he weeps, chest rattling, eyes blurry. “I can’t leave you both, not like this.”

“You have to,” his mother responds on the other end. Her voice is weak, a testament to how the sickness has infected her lungs. Her sobs are interspersed with violent coughs, and Seonghwa’s heart shatters with each and every one of them. “I am already going to lose one son, I cannot lose both.”

“Please!” Seonghwa blubbers. He presses his cheek to the door, feeling the wood scratch against his skin. He doesn’t care. “Please Mom, I can’t go. Please don’t make me go. This is all I have, I can’t leave you. Please, please don’t make me go.”

It’s after this she stops answering. Seonghwa knows that she is still there, he can still feel her presence behind the door. He knows that she listens, silently taking in the last words her son will ever say to her.

Still, Seonghwa doesn’t stop for hours, until his knuckles are not only bruised but bleeding, tiny splinters digging into the flesh of his skin. They paint the light brown wood red. And yet, he continues.

Even as the neighbours walk by, staring through their own tired and hollow eyes as they keep to themselves, muttering a prayer to the god’s in his name. Even as he hears Yunho crying from upstairs, begging under his breath for his older brother to not be an idiot and save himself. Even as the sun sets, and the night watches him through her single pale eye.

It is only once the chill sets in that he accepts that this is it.

He is alone, he is shaking, and if he doesn’t find shelter fast the cold will eat through his bones.

He thinks Zaria may be right, he is nothing.

He has no home, no family to turn to.

He is a ghost.

Picking up the things that his mother forced out with him, mostly just the bare necessities he’d be able to carry, he wraps them in Yunho’s old baby blanket. It’s a final departing gift, one that his brother had forced their mother to let him throw out the window, even if she worried it would be plagued with the sickness. Even as his younger brother grew into a teen, he’s never stopped sleeping with it. “So he won’t get cold,” Seonghwa had heard Yunho tell their mother through the door, delirious through his sickness. Seonghwa took it anyway. It is all of Yunho he will have left.

He turns towards the forest, towards the one half-beaten trail he’s never taken before, that will lead him deeper into Burovia. Towards the cities he’s only heard about it passing, the complicated world that exists beyond Maralya’s ocean banks and gentle breeze.

He trembles, and beneath his skin something stirs. An awful dreaded feeling, that scratches his lungs and suffocates his throat. That pounds within his head and beats minacially against the lining of his heart.

Terror.

He is afraid.

He is alone. He is a ghost. But more than either, he is afraid.

Fear.

Seonghwa’s eyes fly open, his hands trembling as the clutch onto San’s own. The swordsman’s head still rests on his shoulder, the smile of his lips still pressed against Seonghwa’s tunic.

Seonghwa attempts to steady himself. His mind swirls with those three entities: anger, desperation, and fear. Like dark figures surrounding him, they weigh upon his shoulders as if they are bricks stacked upon them. They crush his chest as if their hands are placed there, pushing and shoving him down. They pour their sick and twisted poison down his throat, choking him.

That’s how he’s learned to view these emotions, as beings. They plague the body, manipulate it. Like a sickness, they invade and multiply, and then they harvest.

He knows there are more, whirling around in San’s mind, beckoning him to take them as well. But if he absorbs anymore, he will break, and San will feel responsible for making him do so.

He has to stop now, before this goes too far.

“San,” he whispers, releasing his hand from the swordsman’s own and placing it on the man’s shoulder, shaking him softly. It takes a moment for San to stir, but when he does, it’s with a sleepy sort of groan.

He sighs, then after a moment, stiffens. Awkwardly removing himself from Seonghwa’s shoulder, he clears his throat.

“Thank you,” San whispers, and he looks embarrassed. Even so, he seems much better. His eye holds less of a darkness, his posture no longer so sunken and defeated. Seonghwa forces a smile, even though his throat bubbles with a rising sob, eyes stinging with tears that wish to fall.

He doesn’t let them, it’ll only make San feel responsible.

“Of course,” he replies, tone gentle. “Any time.”

And he means it. He will do this for him again at the drop of a hat, no matter how many times he is asked. His heart knows that it is worth it, even if his body and mind scream for him to stop.

He’s an empath, it’s who he is. It’s who the god’s wanted him to be.

Despite himself, he sniffles, his eyes still watering and nose stuffing itself in that annoying and pathetic fashion that always serves as a dead give away for how much this affects him.

It’s funny, Seonghwa never see’s tears as pitiful on anyone else, but he can’t see them as anything but that on himself.

San takes note of the sniffling, and his eyebrows furrow. He looks closer at the empath. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa replies, a little too quick, too obvious of a lie. He needs to work on that. “I’m good, really.”

San frowns, then sighs. “No. You’re not.”

“I am,” Seonghwa assures him, although a tear that manages to slip through after a series of frantic blinks speaks for him instead.

San reaches out a hand. He hovers it in front of Seonghwa’s face for a moment, as if considering whether he should wipe the tear away, before deciding better and settling on the empath’s shoulder. The safer option.

Seonghwa tries to not look too dejected.

San is always so hesitant to touch him. Whether it be a hug after a successful hunt or a moment where the other is down, San is always evasive. Seonghwa knows it shouldn’t, but it hurts. Only a little bit, but enough to make his chest tighten. Obviously he’s not Woo, but is he really that repulsive that the swordsman can’t even touch him?

He knows it’s his gift talking. His emotions are always heightened after he uses it, the little things enough to cut him deeper than they should.

But still… It hurts.

Seonghwa is only making this worse for himself, letting the absorbed emotions fester and infect him rather than expel them out. He’s gotten rather good at the latter, having had more than enough practice over the years.

And yet, something about the way San’s hand sits on his shoulder, remaining an entire arm-length away, makes him feel…small.

It’s what drives him to say his next few words, to finally let a fraction of what’s been building inside of him slip. To be selfish for once.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, San?”

He can physically feel the way San freezes, the way his hand seems to transform to marble atop his shoulder, providing an answer before the swordsman can offer a lie.

San’s eye shifts to meet his own, and his expression surprises Seonghwa. The empath had assumed that he would be wide-eyed, fearful as if he’d been caught. Instead he looks… dismayed.

He opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates. His eyebrows furrow, and for a moment Seonghwa can not tell what he’s thinking. His good eye swims with a strange sort of disappointment, an awfully sad expression.

“No, Hwa,” he says, and his voice is softer than the empath’s heard it in a long time. “Of course not.”

Seonghwa chews on the corner of his cheek, dissatisfied.

“Then I don’t get it,” he starts, and he hates the way his voice shakes. He shouldn’t bring this up now, while his gift has him too emotional, heart on his sleeve. But then again, perhaps that’s the reason why now is the only time he can speak about it.

“I feel like you’ve been so skittish around me lately. On guard. I know you’re a reclusive person San but just, you’ve been different. Over the last year you’ve started keeping me at an arm's length, and I just don’t understand what I did wrong to make you feel like you can’t-”

Seonghwa is cut off by the hand that rests on his shoulder pulling him forward. It’s only a split second, but suddenly his chest is pressed up against San’s own, the swordsman reaching around him with his other arm.

Seonghwa blinks. San is hugging him.

“I’m so sorry, Hwa,” San says, chin resting on the top of Seonghwa’s shoulder. “It’s nothing you did, I promise. I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way.”

Seonghwa doesn’t know what to say, as his brain is having difficulty stringing one thought to another. San is hugging him. Like, a real hug. Not a hesitant, half-embrace that leaves him feeling more awkward than anything else. An actual, both arms around him, hug.

“Okay,” he says dumbly, raising his own hands to hover behind the swordsman, before hesitantly placing them on his back. San doesn’t move.

“I’ll work on it,” San says, voice quiet. “It’s just…a me thing. It’s not you.”

Seonghwa considers this for a moment, then nods. Apparently this distance is something San is conscious about, whether that is a good thing or not Seonghwa can’t decide. He’ll have to wait and see.

“Okay,” he says again, this time with a little more sincerity.

San gives him a final tight squeeze, but as he goes to pull away, Seonghwa holds onto him a little tighter. The swordsman seems to understand, and stills.

Seonghwa smiles. For a second, it feels like he has his friend back. He has San back, and in this sacred moment, he does not dare let go.

“Okay seriously, what is up with you today?” Wooyoung asks, raising an eyebrow at the empath.

Seonghwa has been in an awfully good mood all morning. Far too cheery considering that they’d almost died of dehydration in the desert yesterday, or how they’d been way too close to being mind-controlled into throwing away all of their life savings at some wacky-ass tavern.

Yet, the empath walks with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. He even whistled a few moments ago, as the two of them made their way through the sand village. Whistled.

It pisses Wooyoung off.

If Seonghwa got laid last night, he doesn’t need to be so damn obvious about it.

Besides, Wooyoung doesn’t want to think about what Seonghwa’s like after sex. He doesn’t want to think about Seonghwa and sex at all, actually.

The thought repulses him, what the empath might be like. What he’d say or do. If he’d be more dominant. If he’d be loud, or bratty, or servicing, or-

Wooyoung is quick to put a lid on that jar before any more unwilling thoughts can spill out of it.

“We aren't going to die today,” Seonghwa answers him, gesturing to the sand village around them. To the people bustling about, and the buildings that contrast the barron landscape they’ve all grown used to. “Surely that would put anyone in a good mood.”

“I'll hire the party planners,” Wooyoung grumbles, and Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“Well, maybe not everyone,” he says, wrinkling his nose. Wooyoung huffs.

The two of them are currently in search of somewhere to spend the night, although Wooyoung believes he may never want to spend another night at a tavern as long as he lives. Fortunately, the village they’ve stumbled upon seems far too small to have anything remotely resembling a tavern anyway.

It’s nothing more than a group of houses, structured by a strange sort of clay material that Wooyoung doesn’t think he’s seen in any of the past villages he’s visited. It’s a nice tight-knit community and the people are kind, but as a result it’s also not much use for them. Nowhere to really stay, no real stores to buy supplies from. When asking where the local watering-hole may be, a sweet elderly woman quite literally brought them to a hole full of water, serving as the town’s well.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung have been going door to door, asking if anyone has some extra space for their group to spend the night. So far they’ve had no such luck, the houses are too small for the amount of children running around them, anyway.

However, third time’s the charm, and the size of the stable they approach shows promise.

“Are you okay, by the way?”

Wooyoung turns to face Seonghwa, caught off guard by the question. The elemental regards the empath warily. “Yeah, why?”

“We never really got the chance to talk since after the tavern,” Seonghwa explains. His tone is nonchalant, but Wooyoung can tell it's a facade. He’s concerned. “You were quiet.”

“Yeah, well,” Wooyoung laughs, brushing it off. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” Seonghwa admits. “But it was a lot, for all of us. If you want, you know that you can talk to me about it.”

“Sure,” Wooyoung snorts, rolling his eyes. “Maybe then we can hold hands and skip afterwards.”

Seonghwa lets out a groan, rubbing his face in exasperation as he pinches his nose-bridge. Wooyoung’s just glad he’s annoyed rather than concerned. When Seonghwa is annoyed it’s entertaining, when he's concerned it’s unfathomably difficult to get him off his ass.

“The gods forbid anyone try and help you,” he mutters. Frankly, Wooyoung agrees with the sentiment, and doesn’t bother with a response.

However, Seonghwa doesn’t quite seem to be done with the pity party.

“But physically, you’re alright? A seizure can mess with some things. Does your head hurt?”

Wooyoung considers this. “Actually, yeah.”

“Really?”

“No. Now would you relax? I’m fine,” Wooyoung pushes, twisting his head to face Seonghwa.

The empath is already looking at him, and his heart sinks. He’s wearing what Wooyoung likes to call the look. The look is dangerous. The look is a pair of puppy-dog eyes bearing into his soul that make him feel bad for giving the empath such a hard time. It screams: I want to help you. I want to help you and you won't let me.

The look says that the empath wants to use his gift on him, and that is something Wooyoung will never let him do. Never.

Wooyoung smiles, wide. Makes sure his teeth are even showing. “I’m good, Hwa. Okay? Don’t get yourself worked up over it.”

And he is fine. The tavern was… messy, yes. Complicated, definitely. But he just wants to move past it, forget it ever happened. He was being compelled, it’s not like he would have gone into the sauna otherwise.

It’s not like he wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t found him. He would have snapped out of it eventually. Find San and Seonghwa, get them out of there himself, surely.

He would have figured it out. He’s fine now, and he would have been fine then. No doubt about it.

His head does hurt a little bit though.

Seonghwa steps forward to knock on the stable door they approach. After being greeted with silence, he knocks again, only to receive no response.

“I don’t think anyone’s here,” Seonghwa mutters, before letting out a sigh. He’s prepared to turn around, but Wooyoung reaches out for the door’s handle, twisting it. It’s open.

“Come on,” he says, swinging open the door and walking inside. Seonghwa grabs hold of his arm, tugging him backwards.

“Woo!” He exclaims, incredulous. His voice is lowered into an angry whisper. “We can’t just break in.”

“It’s not breaking in if they leave the door open,” he shrugs, before letting out a laugh as he tugs his arm free. “We’re literally thieves, Hwa.”

Seonghwa blushes, embarrassed.

“Okay but this isn’t a castle,” he mumbles, still hesitant as he refuses to move through the door frame. “It’s a kind little town. The owner is probably just at the next building over, and likely wouldn’t appreciate us crashing in their stable without asking.”

“We’re not crashing in it yet,” Wooyoung replies, taking another step further inside. “We’re just taking a look around to see if we can.”

Seonghwa doesn’t seem convinced. Wooyoung grins. “Fine. Just wait for me and stand in the doorway. Hopefully one of the kids playing down the path doesn’t notice you. The girl with the pigtails was pretty intimidating, I wouldn’t want you to be scared.”

Wooyoung turns around, but he knows the exact face Seonghwa is making. A sort of half-pout, half-glare, that makes it no surprise when he hears footsteps follow after him.

“You’re such a dick,” Seonghwa mutters as he closes the door behind them.

The stable is bigger than Wooyoung had expected. Much larger than their one at home, more-so on par with Libaiya’s kingdom stable, where they’d once stolen a horse after a particularly risky expedition. They’d given it back, sending it out into the courtyard one night because they didn’t have the room nor resources to take care of it, but Wooyoung almost wishes they could have kept it.

He’s never wanted to give anything back to that disgusting, low-life of a king. Not after what he did to him.

This stable is a little smaller than Libaiya’s, but it has a similar number of horses. Well, not horses exactly, as these appear to be some sort of strange variation of mule, all with light grey hair and long pointy ears. They’re more miniature than horses, and there appears to be enough for each person of the village to have their own, likely for supplies runs over to more populated areas.

The air smells rancid, rotten. Like horse shit but somehow worse. Wooyoung does his best to not breathe in too deeply.

The elemental reaches out to pet one of the mules, smiling as it whinnies under his touch. “We should look around and see if there’s an open place to sleep. You want to go check one side, I’ll do the other?” He asks.

Seonghwa nods, looking a bit anxious as he walks to the other end of the stable, arms wrapped around himself. It makes him look smaller, even if he’s a good few inches taller than the elemental. An endearing sort of nervous innocence, almost shy.

Wooyoung ignores the way it makes his chest warm.

Fortunately, the empath turns around the corner and out of sight, and Wooyoung can bring his focus back to the task at hand. Walking down the hall of stalls, he doesn’t see much open space. The building is too small for the amount of mule’s alone, let alone the four of them.

He sighs at yet another disappointment. At this point, they’ll be spending another night with their tents dug in the sand. Wooyoung doesn’t want to. It’s miserable, the tarp falling down in the middle of the night as the wind picks up, mixed with San’s cold silence and the sand. So much fucking sand. The moment they step out of this godsforsaken desert, he never wants to even look at another grain of sand so long as he-

“What are you doing in here?”

The sudden voice causes Wooyoung to nearly jump out of his skin, fire automatically igniting in his hand as he whirls around to face the speaker.

“Woah, woah, woah,” the speaker says, placing both of their hands up to shield themself and rushing backwards. Now that he’s facing them, he can see that she is a woman. She’s tall, with long dark hair and piercing violet eyes. She’s also coated in mule shit, which stains her beige tunic and long red velvet skirt. “No need to kill me, I’m just asking.”

Wooyoung lets out a sigh of relief, clenching his fist to extinguish the flame. “Sorry, you startled me.”

“My mistake,” she quips, finally bringing her hands down as her scared expression settles into a scowl. “I should be more considerate when addressing strange outsiders who break into my stable.”

Wooyoung internally winces. “To be fair, I knocked and the door was unlocked.”

She snorts, motioning down at her ruined clothing. “Clearly I was busy.”

Wooyoung doesn’t respond, and following a moment of tense silence, she sighs. “Fine. What do you want?”

Wooyoung straightens his posture, trying to exude a bit more confidence in his proposal. “My group and I were looking for a place to stay the night.”

The girl raises an eyebrow. “And you decided a pile of hay would be a better option than a bed?”

“We aren’t picky.” Wooyoung reasons. “Besides, your village doesn’t seem to have many beds to spare for four people.”

She hums, considering this. After a moment, she rolls her eyes, letting out a defeated sigh. “Alright. I can offer you a place to stay, but it can’t be here. Rat issue.”

“Rat issue?”

“Place is full of them,” she explains. “Wouldn’t want them to bite one of your friends and give them some deadly rat-disease.”

“Well, maybe one of them,” Wooyoung thinks to himself, internally smirking. However, upon second-thought it causes a weird feeling to settle in his chest. Almost like guilt, which makes him feel even more uneasy. He brushes it off.

“My family is currently on a trip to Gloria for some supplies, so I have a few extra beds to spare. Of course, I’ll have to meet your group first, make sure you aren’t a pack of murderers.”

“At least upon first glance,” Wooyoung jokes, although it doesn’t quite land as she casts him a skeptical glare. He sighs. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t even know us.”

She shrugs. “I can’t lend you my stable, it’s the least I could do.”

Wooyoung isn’t sure if he agrees with that, as he would by no means ever willingly offer a stranger a bed in his house, even if for only one night. However, as it now works in his favour, he appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. He extends his hand. “Woo,” he says.

She wipes off some mule-shit on her skirt before accepting it. “Aisha.”

He nods in acknowledgement, before lifting his hand and pointing towards the wall Seonghwa had disappeared behind. “One of my party is over there, if you’d like to meet him?”

Aisha nods and the two walk to the other end of the stable. Upon turning the corner, they find Seonghwa. However, unexpectedly, he is on the floor rather than standing. Bent down on one knee, his gaze is trained on the low-hanging window to his left, clearly watching something as his eyes dart back and forth.

“Uh, Hwa?” Wooyoung says, casting him a confused glance. “What are you doing?”

Seonghwa’s eyes drift from the window to face Wooyoung, expression blank. After a moment, he blinks, as if coming back to himself. “Sorry,” he breathes, rising to his feet a little too quickly, brushing the dirt off the knee of his pants. “I tripped.”

“Alright…” Wooyoung responds, still watching the empath warily, although Seonghwa won’t meet his eye. Did he hit his head or something? “Well, this is Aisha. She’s offering a place to stay for the night.”

Seonghwa nods in her direction, granting a meek smile. “I’m Seonghwa,” he says, voice a little raspy, as if choked up. Woo tries to get a look at what he was staring at out the window, but he can’t crane his neck enough without appearing suspicious.

“Will we be staying in the stable?” Seonghwa asks.

“I’m afraid not,” Aisha replies. As if on cue, a loud scratching noise echoes throughout the stable, seemingly coming from beneath the floorboards. Seonghwa jumps, startled. “Rats,” she elaborates, and the empath wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“You’re welcome to have dinner at my place, there’s not much food to buy here other than ingredients. It’s just next door, if you’d like to grab the rest of your party?” Aisha offers.

Wooyoung nods. She turns towards the stable’s door, Seonghwa following after her. The elemental stops him, reaching out to grab the empath’s arm.

He makes sure to keep his voice low. “Are you alright?” Wooyoung asks.

Seonghwa doesn’t answer immediately. Instead his gaze drifts from Wooyoung’s eyes to his hand that clutches the empath’s tunic.

Then he laughs. A sharp exhale through his nose, almost like a scoff.

“I’m fine,” he says bluntly, pulling his arm free.

“Hwa, what’s up with-”

The empath pushes past him, before casting a glance over his shoulder that Wooyoung can only think to describe as…mean. A single eyebrow raised, lip drawn upwards into a smug smirk.

“I told you I’m fine. Get over yourself, yeah?”

With that Seonghwa follows Aisha out the door, and Wooyoung is left to stand there, dumbfounded. Twisting towards the window, he watches as outside Seonghwa approaches you and San, who appear to be deep in conversation by the watering hole.

When he greets you it’s with a firm kiss, to which you appear to be just as surprised as Wooyoung feels. Seonghwa is not typically so brazen.

“What the fuck?” He thinks to himself. He stands in the window, chest riddled with both confusion and an undeniable amount of hurt. What did Seonghwa see to make him snap like that?

Swallowing his doubt, as well as his pride, Wooyoung awkwardly exits the stable after him.

“How was your walk around the village?” Seonghwa asks you. Seated to your right at the dinner table, the empath regards you with a warm smile, mindlessly shuffling a deck of cards in his hands.

He’s been in a really good mood all day, surprising considering the circumstances of the previous night. You’d retired to bed early, following just after Woo in the opposite tent. You aren’t sure what San must have said to him, but it’s clearly lifted his spirits. After all, you and Seonghwa hadn’t so much as kissed since before the trials of the desert, and yet to greet you with such excitement? Perhaps Woo said something to brighten his mood as well.

“It was alright. People were nice, but there really isn’t much for us here beyond that,” you reply, and Seonghwa nods.

Behind the empath, you notice Woo standing in the corner of the room. He’s leaned up against the wall, eyebrows drawn together and mouth settled into a frown as he watches the two of you.

You lower your voice so that only Seonghwa may hear you. “Did something happen to Woo? He seems even more sour than this morning.”

Seonghwa laughs at this, shaking his head. “Are you really surprised? He always looks like someone took a piss in his drinking water.”

You frown. That was… harsh. You’ve never heard Seonghwa say something like that, even if warranted. Sure, he and Woo have the occasional shots back and forth, but something about the statement rubs you the wrong way.

“I mean sure, but I don’t know,” you start hesitantly. “Maybe something happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Seonghwa snaps, before sighing at the taken aback expression on your face. “He’s just getting on my nerves, that’s all. Nothing new.”

“Alright…” You trail off, before glancing back at Woo. You find that his eyes meet yours almost immediately. He doesn’t look away, but his expression is difficult to read. He seems mad, yes, but not at you, which is surprising.

“I’m going to help San with the stew,” Seonghwa says, rising to his feet. He plants a soft kiss on your cheek before heading over to the kitchen counter, placing himself next to San.

You waste no time making your way over to Woo. Leaning in close to him so that nobody else can hear, you cast him a glare. “What did you say to Seonghwa?”

Woo’s frown deepens at this and he scoffs beneath his breath. “What makes you think I said something?”

“Because you always say something,” You shoot back, and he rolls his eyes.

“Hey, don’t pin this on me,” he cuts back, raising his hands up in defence. “He was watching you and San at the watering-hole doing whatever it is you were doing, and then randomly decided he was in an piss-awful mood.”

“What we were doing?” You repeat, casting the elemental and incredulous stare. “We were just talking and waiting for you.”

Woo raises an eyebrow. “Just talking?”

“Yes,” you repeat, and when he doesn’t respond, your chest tightens with annoyance. “What is wrong with you?”

He’s no longer focused on your eyes, but directly behind you. Twisting around, you follow his gaze to land on Seonghwa and San at the kitchen counter.

While you want to snap at Woo for not listening to what you’re saying, you find that you can’t. Because you understand what the elemental is looking at, and you don’t blame him for staring.

Seonghwa and San are awfully close.

This meaning that Seonghwa has his elbow resting on San’s shoulder, and San seems to be uncomfortably enduring it as the empath whispers something into his ear. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but whatever it may be, it causes San to nearly cut himself with the knife he’s using to peel the potatoes.

Seonghwa doesn’t seem to notice you watching, but he does notice Woo, whose glowering is a little more obvious. However, to your surprise, this only causes the empath to smirk, as his hand snakes further around San’s shoulder. The swordsman tenses.

Your gaze shoots back to meet Woo’s, almost alarmed. “What the fuck?” You whisper.

Woo seems to contemplate something, watching you but not responding. After a moment, he sighs. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he pulls you after him around the doorway, out of sight of the kitchen. The two of you are pressed close together, the house’s entrance narrow and dark with the setting sun, so that when he speaks you can barely see him, just the outline of his lips as they move.

“Something is up with Hwa,” he mutters, and you snort.

“Yeah no shi- '' You say, a little too loudly for the secrecy of the conversation. You’re cut off as Woo cups his palm over your mouth, silencing you. You can see the outline of his eyebrows furrow together, annoyed.

“Just shut up for a second and let me talk,” he interjects, voice an angry whisper. When you don’t respond, he slowly removes his palm from your lips, before continuing. “I think I know what it is.”

“Alright, then what is it?” You ask, voice low.

“We’ve dealt with one of them before.”

“Them?” You ask, and Woo nods. His head tilts towards the light of the kitchen, and he sighs, a more worried than defeated sound. You can feel the exhale against your face, prickling against your skin and it dawns on you how close the two of you are. Strange, how the circumstances have brought you near something you would never otherwise permit. You’re certain Woo feels the same.

“If I’m right, which I usually am,” Woo begins, twisting his neck back to face you. Sight slowly adjusting to the dim lighting, you can see the outline of his expression. His eyes are dark, troubled. “We’re going to need a plan.”

For what might be the first time, you whole-heartedly listen to him.

Woo watches you from over the table, gaze darting over briefly to look at Seonghwa. The empath - if you can even call him that - sits with his head down, focus entirely placed on the bowl of stew in front of him. Well, perhaps not entirely focused, as his foot gently moves up and down against your leg.

Under normal circumstances, the gesture would have comforted you, maybe even excited you. Now all you feel is disgust.

Woo looks back at you, before subtly nodding. Aisha has left briefly, something to do with the mule’s, which means now is the ideal moment to act.

You take the cue, turning towards the blonde. “Seonghwa,” you murmur quietly, feigning a level of sullenness. “I’m not feeling well.”

His eyebrows furrow together, and he lifts his gaze from the stew to your face. It’s a gentle expression, kind, and it scares you that if it hadn’t been for his hostility towards Woo, you may never have realized that something was wrong.

“Really?” Seonghwa asks, covering his mouth as he talks through a bite. His hand drifts to rest on your own against the table, and you force yourself not to flinch. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m just anxious about last night, with the tavern and everything,” you reply.

Subtly casting another glance at Woo, he gives you a nod of approval, before slightly tilting his head in Seonghwa’s direction as if to say: “Keep going”

You swallow hard, before gently squeezing the empath’s hand on the table. “I know I shouldn’t ask you this, but would you mind taking some? I could really use the help.”

Seonghwa stops chewing. “Right now?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Yeji, I don’t think now is the time oof-'' San starts, but is interrupted by his own stifled groan, which you can only assume is a result of Woo kicking him from under the table. The two of you hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to San about your suspicions. You imagine he won’t be too surprised, considering he’s likely felt that something is off with Seonghwa as well. Well, you hope he won't be too surprised. Otherwise, what’s about to happen may be a little too shocking.

“I don’t know about right now, Yeji,” Seonghwa says, and although his voice is gentle, he retracts his hand from yours, settling it down at your side. “I’m not really feeling up to it.”

“But you’ve never said no before?” You ask, feigning innocence.

Seonghwa shuffles in his seat, but offers no response. Woo leans in, smirking at the empath.

“She’s right, you haven’t,” he says, tone a mocking sort of sympathetic. “Is there a reason you're suddenly so hesitant, Seonghwa?” Woo places emphasis on his name, dragging out each syllable in an almost sing-song fashion.

Seonghwa stiffins, his hand’s grip around the spoon clenching tighter. His gaze stares at the bowl in front of him, not daring to meet either of yours.

“Do you remember when I lit your old blanket on fire?” Woo asks him, and Seonghwa frowns, scowling at the bowl in front of him.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“We hadn’t known each other that long, and I was pissed at you over something I don’t even remember. I didn’t know why it mattered so much to you, how it used to belong to your brother, I just knew it would hurt you to burn it. So I did.”

“I don’t know what bullshit you’re trying to pull-”

“It was the shittiest thing I ever did to you. You should have yelled at me, cussed me out, beat the shit out of me. But you didn’t. You went to your room, shut the door, and didn’t talk to me for a week.”

Seonghwa doesn’t respond.

“Seonghwa and I have never really fought, not beyond bickering. Even when I deserved it, he chose to freeze me out. He’s never said words just to hurt me - let alone out of nowhere - and he’s certainly never tried to use San against me.”

Woo pauses on this, leaning in a little closer to the empath. The smugness in his grin only shines brighter.

“But you’re not really Seonghwa, are you?”

There’s a moment of tense silence, the only sound in the room that of a ticking clock. San’s eyebrows draw together, although he doesn’t say anything, gaze hesitantly drifting to face Seonghwa as he settles back in his seat, reluctant as he observes what may happen next. Meanwhile, Woo rests his chin in palm, expression smug. He’s won, as Seonghwa doesn’t move, simply holds the elemental’s gaze, eyes full of a strange sort of vacantness.

Then Seonghwa flips the table.

Launching upwards and out of your chair, you narrowly avoid the hunk of wood as it comes tumbling down next to you, chunks of stew flying through the air as the ceramic bowls hit the floor with a deafening “crash”. Woo reaches a hand out to stop Seonghwa, but the empath swerves out of the way with a shocking sense of agility, an almost inhuman sense. Fire igniting in his palm, the entire kitchen alights as Woo throws a ball of flame towards the empath, to which he avoids once more, this time with a little less ease.

“What the fuck is going on?” San hollers, good eye darting between you, Woo and his wrath, and the image of Seonghwa avoiding yet another ball of flame.

“He’s a mimic!” Woo shouts at him, and San’s expression lights up with an immediate sense of understanding.

You don’t know much about mimics, only what you’ve learned from one of the many books in your father’s library. They’re tricksters, skin-walkers that take the form of the people they choose to mimic, but you certainly don’t know enough to have divulged that Seonghwa - or rather, fake-Seonghwa - was anything more than a severely pissed-off version of the real thing. You have Woo in the corridor to thank for that.

“And what do you think is wrong with him?” You ask, anxious.

Woo chuckles, each short breath tickling your face in individual puffs of air. “I don’t think it is him.”

“What?”

“I think he’s a mimic. Loathsome creatures. Like to cause trouble wherever they go, and take energy from the chaos they create. We dealt with one at a watering-hole in Stockholm a couple months back, and one further down South before that.”

“What makes you so sure?” You ask, skeptical. Woo is far too prideful, maybe it’s causing him to overlook something, or jump to conclusions far too quickly. “Maybe Seonghwa is just mad at you or-”

“No,” he says firmly, like what he says is fact rather than theory. He shakes his head. “I know Seonghwa. I know what he’s like when he’s pissed, and it’s not like that.”

As if sensing your disbelief, he groans, frustrated. “I also recognize the face, alright? That twisted grin? Every mimic wears that same expression, I’d recognize it anywhere.”

Woo’s jaw locks, gaze hardening. “He heard us bickering when we entered the stable, Seonghwa was probably annoyed with me at the moment, he overplayed those emotions. I know I’m right about this.”

“Alright, let’s assume for a second that you’re right,” you begin, still hesitant to jump to such a bizarre conclusion. “How can we know for sure? Just in case it is actually Seonghwa, we can’t just suddenly jump him.”

Woo considers this for a moment, chewing on his lower lip as he mulls over the question, before his eyes light up. “We get him to use his gift.”

You frown. “That takes a toll on him, doesn’t it? He’s done it too much lately as is.”

“Yes, but if he’s a mimic, he won’t be able to,” Woo replies, smirking at his own genius. “And I’m sure that he is, so we don’t have to worry about it affecting Hwa.”

When you don’t respond, Woo sighs. When he speaks, his tone is more serious than you’ve ever heard it. “Look. I know you don’t trust me - and don’t worry, the feelings are mutual - but begrudgingly I need your help here. You care about Seonghwa, right? So can we call a truce, just this once?”

You look up at him at this, and find that his eyes immediately lock with yours, visible even through the room’s darkness. The two of you are close, closer than you’ve ever been, as his hand rests on the wall just above your shoulder, his chest nearly pressed against your own. You can see a mole beneath his eyes, as well as one on his lip that you’ve never noticed otherwise. You’re sharing a breath, and you're certain that your own exhales tickle his nose just as he does to you.

If such an impossibility as a truce were to happen, you suppose that an impossible moment like this is the appropriate setting.

“Alright, fine.”You give him a nod, and the corner of his lips turns upwards ever so slightly. “Truce.”

San lunges forward at the fleeing mimic, shoving him backwards and towards the kitchen counter. The swordsman advances, attempting to grab the man’s shoulder and pin him against the counter-top, but he doesn’t get the chance. Instead, the mimic reaches to his side, grabbing the knife San had used to peel the potatoes and plunging it forward.

The knife is not large enough to deliver any sort of fatal blow, but it is certainly enough to wound. Embedding itself within San’s shoulder, the swordsman lets out a shocked gasp of pain, followed by a groan as the mimic delivers a swift punch between his eyes. The sickening “crack” that follows the break is enough to make your stomach twist in disgust.

San brings up a hand to cup the blood, and his next few words are garbled as he speaks them through his hand. “He’s going for the door!”

Woo throws another ball of fire towards the mimic, but it’s clear that the monster must have some sort of sixth sense regarding Woo’s gift, as he quickly bounds to the right to avoid the flame. Fortunately, the leap throws him off balance, granting you the opportunity to act.

Your seat had been the closest to the entrance into the kitchen, meaning the mimic remains only a few feet away from you. You aren’t sure what possesses you - perhaps the scheer instinct of wanting to both protect and find Seonghwa, as well as the desire of punishing the mimic for whatever he may have done to the real empath - but you throw yourself forward.

You immediately make contact with the mimic, who lets out a shocked gasp as the air is forced from his lungs. The two of you tumble backwards, and you’re once again sickened by the sound that emits from his head clashing against the first step of the staircase leading to the upper floor.

The mimic lets out a groan, eyes blinking dazedly, and you capitalize on the momentary delirium. Raising yourself up from your place next to him, you flip yourself over top of him, so that you’re kneeling over the mimic’s chest.

“Pass me a knife!” You shout at Woo, casting him a hurried glance over your shoulder. For a moment, the elemental stands there, jaw dropped as he stares at you pinning the mimic to the floor. He makes no motion to move.

“Woo!” You shout, and he seems to snap out of it, moving to the counter and sifting through cupboard after cupboard in search of where Aisha may keep the cutlery. After having no luck, San yanks the knife from its place in his shoulder, sliding it over to you on the floor before cupping his free hand over the blood that now springs from the open wound.

You grab the knife as it slides next you, clenching it in your fist as you bring it to the mimic’s throat, the cool metal pushing against his skin. Red blossoms around the area as it cuts him, not deep enough to kill, but enough to sting.

He winces, and the pain appears to return his mind to him. The dazidness leaves his eyes, and his focus settles on your face.

It’s not until now, with a weapon pressed to the monster’s throat, that you realize the extra difficulties surrounding the fact that he looks like Seonghwa. Exactly like him. The way those big brown eyes look up at you in fear is horrifying, the blonde’s lip practically quivering as his breathing escalates. It causes you to freeze, unable to press the knife any deeper.

“Please,” he begs, voice shaky. It’s so clearly Seonghwa’s voice, accent and all. It’s gentle and kind, but more than both, terrified. “Please Yeji, don’t do this. I-I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

An obvious lie. Pathetic, considering his escape attempt is blatant evidence of the opposite. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to finish this.

You can’t kill him. You just can’t. You’ve never killed anything, let alone a creature with the face of someone you’ve grown to deeply care about.

“Woo, he-he’s crazy! I thought he might kill me, I was scared so I just ran-”

“Shut up,” you spit through gritted teeth, pressing the knife a little deeper. The mimic groans, squeezing his eyes shut from the pain. “I know you’re not Seonghwa, don’t waste your breath.”

He doesn’t say anything, chest heaving as he attempts to steady his breathing. He manages to peek an eye open, watching you carefully. For a moment, he appears to still, as if contemplating something.

“Then why don’t you do it? Kill me.”

When you don’t respond, his face shifts. Teeth glinting as his lips curve upward, his quivering, terrified expression transforms into a twisted smirk. You suddenly understand how Woo was able to tell it wasn’t Seonghwa from this look in particular. The mischievous, evil nature emitting from this smile… he knows that you can’t do it.

“Awe,” he coo’s, and despite you being the one with the knife pressed to his throat, your control feels completely relinquished. “You can’t do it, can you?”

“Shut up,” you repeat again, but this time it is not nearly as threatening.

“What, is it this pretty boy face?” He says, followed by a chuckle. It’s surreal, the way you’ve heard that exact chuckle, following a joke you’d told the empath a few evening’s back. It was such a carefree, boyish sound at the time. Now it is nothing but sinister.

“Or have you always been this weak, Princess?”

Your heart jumps into your throat. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out, as if the mimic somehow managed to steal your voice. His smile only grows wider.

“I recognized you the moment I saw you,” he says, dropping his voice into a low whisper, out of reach of both Woo and San. “You’ve met me before, at a grand ball. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. I was wearing a different face.”

Your hand begins to shake around the knife, the simple act of breathing becoming difficult. “You’re lying,” you reply, because he has to be. He’s a mimic, he’s just toying with you. But then again, how else would he know that?

“You were prettier then,” he says softly, tilting his head as he looks your face up and down. “That awful scarring hadn’t ruined your complexion.”

You don’t miss the way the wound on his neck beneath the knife begins to repair itself. An impossibility, although you remember what Woo said about mimic’s gaining strength from the chaos and disorder they create.

This is his plan, to gain enough strength from your terror to relinquish himself from your grasp. Heal his head, heal his neck, then act. You’re running out of time.

And yet, you can’t make yourself move. The knife remains motionless in your hand.

“What’s he saying to you, Kuroken?” Woo calls out from behind you, his voice more worried than accusatory. You can feel the heat from the flame that ignites in his hand all the way from across the room.

“If you can’t do it, it’s okay,” San pipes up after him, tone reassuring. Caring. “We will.”

San, who has been nothing but kind to you, who has shown empathy while battling his own many demons, dealing with a past that would harden anyone. It would kill him to know the truth this monster speaks of.

“I could tell them, you know,” the mimic continues, eyes flickering back to Woo and San. His tongue snakes its way over his teeth, an almost animal-like gesture. “Make them stop calling you ‘Yeji’. What a joke.”

“You wouldn’t,” you bite back, and he chuckles.

“I will,” he says, voice cheery as he leans upwards and closer to your face, even if the knife presses a little further into his neck. He doesn’t seem to care. “You know that I will.”

And you do know that he will.

Minho told you that he would. The clairvoyant had said that the truth would come out, soon at that. He said that they would know, they being the two men standing behind you, and that it would change everything.

You know that this is it. This is the prophecy he spoke of, coming to fruition. The words are on the mimic’s tongue, prepared to feed off the chaos created by his admission.

Which is why you burrow the knife into the man’s neck, and sharply pull it sideways.

You think you should close your eyes, but you don’t. You can’t. You watch as the mimic’s own eyes widen, Seonghwa’s eyes. He lets out a sound, like a gurgle, but much worse. Thicker. The noise is soon accompanied by blood - not from the geiser that sprays from his neck, which drenches your hands and tunic in a warm, thick paste - but from his mouth. It pours from his chin, and he coughs, more blood spraying out and sprinkling across your face.

And yet, despite his state, you feel his hand grab at your waist. It’s weak, a useless attempt at trying to get you off of him, even though it’s far too late for that, but something about the gesture sends a jolt of terror through you. Of blind panic.

He’s not dead yet. You killed him, but he’s not dead. He should be dead.

You pull the knife from his neck and bring it down into his chest.

Then you do it again. And again. And again until you aren’t even registering what you’re doing anymore, absorbed in the motion of bringing the blade up and down. Your own eyes eventually scrunch shut, the ringing in your ears deafens you to the squelching noise of it exiting and re-entering the man’s bloody chest. With your eyes sealed shut, all senses nullified regarding your actions other than the feeling of the warm liquid coating your hands, and the metallic stench flooding your nose.

You don’t stop until someone grabs your hand on yet another ascent, fingers wrapping around your wrist tightly, not permitting any more plunges.

“That’s enough,” Woo says, and it’s hard for you to make out his tone. His voice is quiet, but not gentle. Neither hostile or sympathetic. He simply wishes you to stop. “He’s dead.”

Finally forcing yourself to pry your eyes open, the mess before you makes you want nothing more than to close them again.

The body is destroyed. His shirt torn to shreds, the skin beneath mutilated. Blood runs in pools through the cavities you’ve created, running down from his throat to the rest of his body, before dripping onto the floor. His eyes are wide, but entirely lifeless, staring up at the ceiling. Except that he is not staring, because there is no mind behind those eyes. They simply sit there, blank, eyelids stuck open.

He still looks like Seonghwa.

Staring at the body, you are unable to move. Unable to think. You feel San sit down next to you, hand settling gently on your shoulder as he pulls the knife from your grasp. You make no protest.

You stare down at your hands, they are painted red. Your shirt and trousers, they are painted red. The floor and stairs, they are painted red.

There is just so much blood.

You’ve never seen this much blood. When you watched your father die, there wasn’t this much blood. When escaping the castle, there wasn’t this much blood. When you were bitten by the scorpion, there wasn’t this much blood.

And yet somehow, you did this. You are responsible for this horrific scene.

You let out a sob, which quickly transforms into a wail. A scream of agony, that will surely cause the neighbors to rush over, thinking that you are in danger. When in reality, you are the danger.

While it may have been a mimic that you killed, it feels like you are truly the one who is the monster.

San’s hands wrap around your figure, and you try to push him away. There is blood all over your clothes, and you don’t want it to get on him. You don’t want to taint him with this. He holds you anyway, murmuring that it will be alright. You don’t believe him.

What feels like miles away, you hear Aisha’s voice, followed by a thud of Woo shoving her against the wall next to him. You hadn’t even realized she’d arrived home. You hear her call out in protest, but is quickly silenced by Woo’s growling voice.

“Rats, huh?” He spits, and when there is no response, he slams her against the wall once more. She whimpers. “Show me where he is. Under the floorboards, I imagine?”

The two of them make their exit, Aisha dragged behind Woo as the elemental storms toward the stable. You want to follow after them, find out exactly where Seonghwa is and help him, to perhaps pay retribution by rescuing him.

Yet, you can’t force yourself to move. Your legs are stuck, glued to their space on both sides of the mimic’s corpse, as if you are tethered to your crime.

“You need to go help Seonghwa,” you manage to choke out, the words garbled throughout yet another sob. San merely shakes his head in response.

“Woo can handle it,” San whispers in a gentle voice, his hand gently stroking the top of your head. It’s a foreign sense of comfort, something you hadn’t expected from him. Yet, as he holds you closely, shying away from neither the blood nor your trembling form, it feels right. Safe. You pull him closer. “Seonghwa will be okay. A mimic can only take another’s form so long as that person is alive. He’ll be alright, I promise. Woo will find him.”

You nod, but the tears do not stop. You continue to wail, no longer for Seonghwa, but for yourself. For what you’ve done. For what you’ve lost.

In this moment, a part of yourself is destroyed. An innocence of sorts, but of the highest value. In the eyes of the gods, your very soul is tarnished.

You have killed someone.

From your lies, to your repeated deceit, and now the mutilated body beneath you, it finally strikes you that through all of this, you may be the monster after all.

~~~~~~~~

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