#MY FAVOURITE HORRIBLE DYNAMIC IS BACK BABY

[lousolversons]

Barry Season 4 | Official Teaser | HBO

[impactedfates]

hihi!! platonic jing yuan and yanqing with yanqing’s younger twin?

★ A/N: We love this found family dynamic adnifnogrn

☆ Genre/Trope: Platonic + Familial (Found Family)

★ Format: HeadCannons + Mini Scenarios

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: Not proof read, wanted to ramble in a way. I love the found family trope wkdnfrg // Reader is taller then Yanqing but younger // Single father JY // Reader is part of the alchemy commission (not stated much as I don't know much about it/can't remember) // I wrote this on my phone at like 3am

General Family HCs - Platonic! Jing Yuan + Yanqing + GN! Reader

Despite you and Yanqing being twins. Both him and Jing Yuan are still protective over you despite you only being younger by like a couple of seconds. You DO have freedman. They’re not that over protective. But do expect at least one of them to visit when you’re at work.

The difference in how you all treat your room honestly…Jing Yuans room is messy, sure his bed is made but documents and such are all over the place. Being a general means he can’t really have the time to care. Yanqing room (at least his side of the room - you two share) is also messy. Not as messy as Jing Yuans. Actually probably messier. There’s swords laying on the ground (safely) and clothes. Your side of the room is more cleaner. I feel like if you work at the alchemy commission you probably know it’s important to keep tidy.

Jing Yuan goes all out for your birthday with Yanqing. He’ll throw a party and get anything the two of you want. Even if they contrast horribly with each other. He will be making the two of you happy. Even if it means confusing anyone walking by if you decide to have it in a more public area.

You probably have been taught how to wield a sword. Both Jing Yuan and Yanqing know they’ll have to stop constantly checking in on you. So to ensure you’ll be able to protect yourself. You know how to wield a sword (or any weapon of your choosing)

I have a weird feeling you’re the best cook out of the trio. The other two do help though!…With like mixing and cutting. Jing Yuan at least knows how to cook simple, but if you want to feel fully fed and energised for the day. Perhaps you should take over?

Yanqing used to be taller. But then you grew taller. Honestly it’s funny to see how pouty he was when you first grew a few inches above his own height. He’s fine now though…just don’t assume he’s the younger twin.

Jing Yuan has a habit of patting your head. Yours and Yanqing. It’s his subtle way of saying “I’m proud of you” and he always is. He’s proud of the two of you and how far you’ve come. He’s proud to consider the two of you his children. And he’ll be proud of the two of you until he dies.

When you first joined the alchemy commission. I feel as though Yanqing wanted as many updates as he could about you. Jing Yuan trusted whoever was your mentor there but Yanqing was a bit worried. He will always protect his younger twin! Once he knows you’re doing well, he’ll start actually paying attention to HIS job.

If you say anyone bullied you for anything? Yanqing there to give them a piece of his mind (and if things got physical - maybe do some pay back) and Jing Yuans there to help and reassure you.

100% you all cuddled when you and Yanqing were much younger. Jing Yuan could not let his little babies alone. (He had to eventually, wasn’t happy)

Once you and Yanqing tried styling Jing Yuans hair and a family of birds flew out.

I feel like I said this before but just encase I haven’t - If you ever get a partner, they’re gonna have to get the approval of both of them. Jing Yuan may be easier to impress but Yanqing might be a bit harder

You honestly probably got to boast that your dad was the general at school. Whether or not you did is up to you.

Imagine a small you and a Yanqing struggling to hold up Jing Yuans weapon. You’re lifting up one side and Yanqings lifting up the other.

You also have a lion that you can snuggle up with :D Mini loves you, maybe you’re her favourite 👁👁

I absolutely hate working on my phone. But I didn’t have my laptop with me to do this sob. I’ll fix anything once I have it again if I find any mistakes

Last request will be started as soon as I come home from school! I’m hoping to have it posted by Sunday or Monday :))

[kneelingshadowsalome]

i love your works and your toxic könig so much 😭 for some reason in my head könig was always like a puppy in love even outside of aus but i like to imagine him like this sometimes.

basically if he feels abandoned bc you were busy with something else (literally taking a shower for like 10 minutes or not looking at him while he was talking) he will start crying and needs you to kiss him a bunch of times and tell him he's your favourite boy baby husband man boyfriend sweetheart for like an hour lol. he literally can't stand it if he can't touch you or talk to you for long periods of time (let's say the reader is a civilian and könig often has missions he has to leave for). he literally goes insane and keeps rereading those screenshots of loving messages from you he has an entire folder on his phone for, literally he convinced himself that you've already left him for someone else and is now going to be crying himself to sleep.

when he does return he's literally scared, so it feels like you attached him to yourself physically and that's why he never leaves your side. always holding hands, könig always being there even if your have to move around the house a lot or do the most mundane tasks even if he himself has chores or things he needs to do. kind of creepy bc he's just silent but feels like he'll die if you disappear from his line of sight for more than two seconds.

even aside from that listening to you talk fondly of someone, anyone really: a friend (if he lets you have them), a random cashier (if he wasn't there with you to talk to them instead of you), a relative (if he even allows you to talk to your family) he's so!!! like hurt and upset and goes quiet for long periods of time.

like eyes red from crying, nose stuffed and he's like "i'm fine nothing is wrong" then goes back to crying somewhere more private.

and this kind of behaviour makes sex kind of uncomfortable Sometimes. he often needs you to repeat that you're his, only his, you can't look away from him, you HAVE to be holding his hand when he fucks you but somehow it's a 50/50 when it comes to power dynamics.

either he manhandles you and shows you that he's the only man, the only person you could ever need or love and that he won't ever let you leave him; or he's completely subby, like "please hold my face and kiss me while you're riding me for as long as you want, i'm only yours and i wanna show that" kind of way.

i am insane basically thank you for coming to my ted talk.

This was one of the best Ted talks I've ever been to! I loved every word, every second of it!! 🥳🥹 My god, I want more... I need me some encore now.

I love subby König, holy Christ. And tbh... what's beneath the toxic, crazy killing machine König is someone who is horribly, and I mean HORRIBLY love-deprived and touch-starved and super duper insecure. Which means there's bound to be some subby behavior leaking through toxic König too!

König would so need to have you on his sights at all times. And when he's working, it's annoying because... he loves his work but now he's just thinking about you. What are you doing at this very moment..? Have you talked to someone today? A friend, a colleague, a family member? A stranger??

Do you sleep ok without him (because he doesn't, he just tosses and turns in his bunk/cot/the ground all night when you're not there), and why haven't you sent a text today? He's gonna call you as soon as he gets somewhere more private.

The longer the mission lasts, the more sullen and broody he gets. After a few days, he kills his enemies with a thousand yard stare only because they're basically what's between him and his squeeze.

And yes he has to touch you like a thousand times a day or just watch your every move when he finally gets home. If you're in the bathroom too long he comes to knock on the door and ask if everything's alright (you ran there to have a moment's peace from this big cuddly behemoth who looks at you with that creepy batless obsessive stare... frankly it's disturbing)

And oh my god stop – holding hands during sex? Oh my god. Imagine him bordering on being rough (because he's *missed* you goddammit 👿) while wanting to entwine your fingers together✨️. Toxic König is a huge romantic, even if the "romantic" things he does are a bit... questionable. And he wouldn't shut up during the first round after he got home!

"Say that you missed me,"

"Tell me you're mine... Say it. Now,"

"You're always teasing me,"

would be some of the things he'd say during pounding you to his heart's content. (And you wouldn't even know how you've "teased" him this time... Like... He's the one who left for a week long mission...? 🤨)

After sex he would be so much gentler, but no less demanding and whiny. He needs so much validation and gets odd and grumpy if you don't give him some. If you'd try to domme him though, he would become even more unbearable (being a sub is this man's secret fantasy but he doesn't even know it himself).

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

ok wait there is so much you mentioned there that im so interested in i hope you dont mind me doing a little ramble

1. fire poker drama with roman and dot. SO interesting actually, weve seen baby logan and dot talk about the scar but no one elses reactions to it i dont think so thats super cool, im also very interested in roman specifically reacting as opposed to virgil or patton who id imagine would be equally upset about logan being hurt (my first thought was roman having more baggage around someone you think loves you intentionally hurting you but also ill let you keep it secret too pslsjs) and also like. considering the roman/dot dynamic. very interesting good concept

2. logan and the terrible horrible no good very bad week - ALSO very cool this was one of my favourite lines in the original laoft story, i love logan immortality angst so much, especially when the people he loves are still alive (another thing i can imagine slightly fucking with you a little, watching your friend/brother/boyfriend/etc mourning you when you still have your full life ahead but knowing regardless that hes not really being unreasonable)

3. dot + larry realising logan cant lie. i just find all the raising a fae stuff really interesting, kind of like growing up disabled where like. as a parent you have to accept that you fundamentally have to treat your children differently because they have different needs whilst still maintaining the balance of raising them fairly. also the realisation of like "oh yeah one of our kids is a literal whole different species there is absolutely zero guidance on what were meant to do here"

4. virgil asking shelley to marry patton - first of all just very very cute second i think itd be so funny of shelley to know for ages that LMP are about to get proposed to and having to stay quiet about it (im also now wondering about whether you think like logan and roman would tell their own families theyre thinking of proposing thats interesting too)

5. patton and logan discussing roman the day after meeting him. also just a very cute and interesting idea and also i love any LMP as kids content pslsks

ok sorry theres me being autistic about laoft in your inbox ill leave you be now

you are so chill and valid i love this

i was thinking the poker drama would come about earlier in their friendship, before Romans really had time to warm back up to her, so he's especially irate

[oneatlatime]

The Tales of Ba Sing Se PART 2

The Tale of Zuko

Maybe I should make a Zuko's Stupid Faces post.

Zuko and Iroh's whole dynamic in one frame.

This girl is cute. Total girl next door type. She does have fairly horrible taste in men, but she's also very cute.

I just want to take a minute to point out a VERY important distinction. Zuko is not going out on a date. Zuko is not taking a girl out on a date. A girl is taking Zuko out on a date. She's got that arm in a death grip. Not only is that a clever reversal of the usual hetero dynamic, but I'm convinced it's the only way Zuko would ever get any action, so it's also in character.

I know Zuko's social skills are non-existent, but apart from the blow up at the waiter he is actually trying. He's failing, but I have to give him points for trying.

The way this girl's voice actress says "You juggled" made my ears very happy. And the beleaguered "yes. I juggled." is equally good.

Zuko! Tell her you did sword stuff! That's something you can actually do!

It gives me hope that someone so steeped in the most toxic parts of the Fire Nation, for so long, can STILL be so bad at lying, but it would certainly be a handy skill right about now.

I take it back. This girl does have good taste in men. Zuko's such a softie when it counts. He still sucks at being normal, but he just risked his identity because the girl he didn't even plan to go out with was a little bit sad.

This girl is the best.

Ha! He kissed her back! He Did! I saw that!

I take back what I took back. Zuko's evil again. He made my new favourite girl droop.

I love that Iroh's waiting up for him while making it look like he isn't waiting up for him. How many times on their ship, when Zuko was out Blue Spiriting, do you think Iroh found a reason to be randomly sat on the deck at 3 am?

Character development baby! Can you really call yourself loyal to the fire nation if you admit to having a good time on a date with an Earth Kingdom girl?

The Tale of Momo

Pretty.

That was a FILTHY bait and switch. For one shining moment, I had Appa back.

They should take that to June.

Not Appa.

Also not Appa.

I did not have 'Momo gets gaslit' on my Avatar Bingo card. Nor did I have 'interspecies animal friendship angst.'

Are these cat things the raccoons of the Avatar universe? Or the squirrels? Urban scroungers?

I love the idea that this guy just grabs the closest squirrel, sticks a hat on it, and expects it to dance. He got lucky with Momo.

I thought they were taking the animals to the pound, but this is very much a butcher. Which means that in Ba Sing Se, they eat varmint. Stay away from the hot dog carts.

That's very effective Simglish.

Thank god for thumbs.

Aw they're friends! This has Aristocats vibes, when O'Malley and the girl cat are getting together near the end.

And one final Fuck You, because god forbid Momo's tale ends on a happy note.

I'm guessing that's an Appa print, but couldn't it also be a platypus bear?

Something about the cats standing vigil over Momo's grief gets to me.

Final thoughts

I'll go through each of these stories individually, but first some general comments.

Last episode was kind of intense, and definitely ended on a downer (not that this one didn't), so it was a good call to at least start this episode off on something a bit gentler.

I was really impressed with the soundtrack throughout. Apart from the Tale of Momo where it's the animal noises that are front and centre, the music is doing a lot of work in every story, the strings especially. The strings are doing emotional work, plot stuff, and even humour. Seriously, next time you rewatch this episode, pay attention to the strings. These shorts are actually very light on dialogue (apart from Sokka's), but they don't feel that way because the music is doing the talking.

I'm assuming that this all took place over three days at least, since Iroh, Zuko, and Momo's tales seem to end on different evenings. So I don't think calling this episode 'day in the life' is accurate. My bad. It also occurs to me that this kind of episode format would be a great way of showing time has passed. If they had had an episode like this in the Northern Water Tribe - after Katara beat the crap out of Poophead but before the Fire Nation attacked - I would have liked the pacing of the whole finale arc better.

On to the stories!

The Tale of Toph and Katara

It might be because I didn't understand what this episode was doing yet, but this one didn't do much for me. It was good to see Toph have a moment of self-doubt, but I never would have assumed, based on her previous behaviour, that her appearance was her proverbial weak spot. Katara did a really good job at building her back up, and she was delightfully (and appropriately) understated for once. When she's reassuring Aang of something (especially in Season 1) Katara tends to got from 0 to 60 very quickly, so it was nice to see her be reassuring in a quiet, non-steamrolling way. Is this Katara character development? Apart from the fact that Toph quite literally got her eyeballs sanded, nothing much in this episode stuck out to me. Except those bitchy voices. Those were like knives in my brain.

The Tale of Iroh

So many questions! Is Lu Ten buried in Ba Sing Se? How is that grave not defaced yet? How did Iroh get a copy of his son's picture? They lost everything at the North Pole, right? Did he ask the people who got him their passports for a picture of his son too? Does Zuko know/remember that it's his cousin's birthday? If so, why isn't he there offering Iroh the world's most awkward hug? Given the fact that Iroh spent the whole day helping people, including a very misguided youth, and given that Iroh says something along the lines of "if only I could have helped you [his son]" does this imply that Lu Ten was going through a crisis at the time of his death? Was he misguided like the wannabe mugger? Is Zuko not the first Fire Nation Prince that Iroh has had to guide through an identity/existential crisis? Is Zuko going to be the first time Iroh succeeds at guiding a Fire Nation prince through an identity/existential crisis? Does Iroh live in perpetual fear of failing Zuko the way he seems to believe he failed his son? Am I reading too much into this?

To be quite honest, this story would have hit me harder if I had remembered going into it that Iroh had a son. Lu Ten takes being a textual ghost to a whole new level. Also the 'In honor of Mako' text confused me. And worried me a little.

The Tale of Aang

I liked this one! Aang can't help Appa at the moment, but he can help all the Appa stand ins who aren't fortunate enough to have an Aang to help them. Aang is a nice little boy! Of course he'd free a bunch of animals without thinking about the consequences and the epic pile of platypus bear dung he's just landed the zookeeper in with the Dai Li. I liked the animal designs. I liked the earthbending. I liked the Siamese cat representation. I loved cabbage man. I think that, if Appa could have known, he would have approved. I also think that I'm once again reading too much into this. it was nominally a fun fluff piece elaborating on a established emotional conflict (Appa missing), which gave it just enough weight to be slightly more than a fluff piece.

The Tale of Sokka

I am entirely serious when I say that 'poetry bouncer' is my favourite joke so far in the WHOLE show. I love absurdity played entirely earnestly. It's fridge funny too. The longer I contemplate the implications, the funnier it gets. What past event required a poetry bouncer be introduced? He's not there to protect the students or the teacher; he's here to reinforce the structure of the Haiku by force. Was he hired by the concept of Haiku? Is Haiku taken so seriously in Ba Sing Se that he's needed to break up cat fights between students? There is a rich well of haiku-related hijinks just hinted at by his presence, and I want to know more.

Sokka is so often his own worst enemy that it makes sense that he's taken out by his own hubris. That fortune teller lady was absolutely a crook, but she did one hell of an accurate cold read on Sokka.

The Tale of Zuko

Credits tell me that the girl's name is Jin. I would like to congratulate the creators of Avatar for managing to illustrate romantic interest so palpably without resorting to heart eyes and steam whistle noises. Nothing wrong with those; I'm just impressed by how much of Jin's interest in Zuko you can feel. Also, she'd better be more than a single episode character, because I need more of this sweetheart. She's a real contender for displacing Toph as my favourite girl in the cast.

To be fair to Zuko, he did make Jin droop (UNFORGIVABLE), but it was also the right call. He can't date her honestly. It IS complicated. And I don't think any Earth Kingdom girl (worth dating) would knowingly go out with Fire Nation royalty. Jin wanted Lee the Tea Boy. Try as he might, Zuko can't stop being Zuko. I would argue that he shouldn't stop being Zuko. His flashback mom told him not to forget who he was, so I'd also argue that the narrative doesn't want Zuko to stop being Zuko either. I guess it's a case of right girl, wrong time. It looks like she's cool with him being a firebender, but firebending and being the Fire Lord's son are not the same magnitude of hurdle to dating. Maybe when the war's over they can hook up again.

The Tale of Momo

I think this qualifies as cruelty to the audience. I got the impression that this story was crafted borderline maliciously, to make the viewers suffer angst dump after angst dump.

I liked seeing things from Momo's perspective. I loved the animal noises, which really got across a shocking amount of emotion. Those, combined with body language, were as effective as any spoken script. These cartoon people really know how to use their medium.

It absolutely kills me that Momo is missing Appa, and since he doesn't understand human speech, he can't even be comforted by knowing that his humans are actively looking for him. If you've ever seen one of your pets missing another of your pets in real life, you know there's nothing worse than the helplessness that comes with not being able to explain or magically summon their friend back from the kennel, or the vet, or the dead. All you can do is give them hugs. I'm glad that Momo got a street cat support group at the end of the episode, but the animal grief at the beginning was hard to get through. It's sweet to have confirmation that Momo sees Appa as family, but surely they could have showed that to us in a way that doesn't make me need to hug the stuffing out of my own pets?

Final Final Thoughts for real this time

This episode wrings you out a little. Fully a third of the stories are about Appa, despite him not being there. At least half are about missing someone who isn't there. At least half are bittersweet.

I liked this episode format. I hope they use it again next season. Only Toph and Katara's tale felt too short to me. The rest did such a good job at drawing me in, that when I went back to check timestamps I was surprised by how short these stories are.

I'm going to go eat too much chocolate.

[hello-nichya-here]

What's your favourite godly parent/demigods child relationship? Except Percy and Poseidon cause that's too easy. What dynamic do you find the most interesting?

I love Percy and Poseidon's dynamic (especially because it led to Sally's brain going blue screen when her ex randomly showed up at her house one day to eat a birthday cake with their baby boy), but it is actually my second favorite.

Hades and Nico is my number 1 pick because it is MESSY. Like, Hades was totally in love with Nico and Bianca's mom and wanted to protect her and their babies. Then after her death, and him assuring they're hidden and safe he just... never sees his kids again, even though no one else knows they exist and thus at least checking on them wouldn't be too dangerous.

Then they're found and taken to camp half-blood, Bianca goes on a mission and dies - and Nico moves in with his dad. His dad that gives lots of cool things and awesome powers (and leading to bizarre chapter name/plot that was "Nico Buys Happy Meals For The Dead")... yet that casually says something as horrible as "I wish your sister had been the one to survive, by the way."

Yet despite this, Nico is the one who manages to talk Hades into helping the other gods win the war. BUT Hades is annoyed his son is interested in a descendent of Poseidon who just also happens to be the hero that made his life mission to annoy as many greek (and roman) gods as possible. And Nico literally admits to himself that he is constantly fighting the urge to just kick his dad in the balls and run.

And, finally, there's the scene in the catacombs. It's my favorite scene in the book, in that particular saga, and one of my favorites in everything Riordan ever wrote.

Hades just drops the act and cuts through the bullshit to give his son non-cryptic advice/answers and finally opens up a bit, full on saying that most of his kids don't have happy lives and that he wants Nico to be an exception because he cares, and Nico finds comfort in the thought that one day he'll die and be fully under his father's rule...

...And there's also the silly part of them talking about Hades's decoration choices, and both thinking "Is this dude serious or is he fucking with me?" and it ends with Hades seemingly happy about the things his son has in common with him.

Hades just goes from "Dad of the year" to "Neglectful/absent father" to "Completely awful parent that deserves to be bitch-slapped" and then back to awesome so fucking fast, is crazy, and I love every second of it. Plus, they're two of my favorite characters in the story, and Hades is my favorite god (and I mean it both in the books and in the actual myths) so I'm extremelly biased,

[thenugking]

🌤️🌪️🪐 please!

🌤️How do you interpret the game mechanics in your fic?

I try to avoid going into a lot of detail about game mechanics, because they can make things really clunky and unnatural. I can’t use the phrase “spell slots”, it sounds far too gamified to me, so I stick with a more general “using magic takes energy”. From First Rest we have:

Wyll’s able to convince Shadowheart to use the last of tonight’s spellpower on summoning up a bucket of clean water,

Because I’m not going to fucking say “Wyll gets Shadowheart to use her last available Level One Spell Slot on casting Create Water, and then she needs to have a Long Rest to get some more back.”

Some things that are clearly just there for game balance I ignore. Like, sure, it’s useful in game to be able to pay Withers 200 gold to bring back your party members whenever they drop dead, but in fic, it really cheapens the emotional weight of death to have Withers be doing that all the time. That said, as much as I hate when fics feel beholden to the “only four party members” rule, I do kind of want Gortash telling Lee that nope, sorry, Orin can’t come on this mission, we already have four people, it’s just not possible to bring any more because of Reasons, sorry, I’d love to bring your freak of a sister along but everyone knows adventurers can’t hang out in groups of five.

(Lee: Well that’s all right, Orin’s basically just an extension of me so she’s a Summon actually--)

🌪️Is there a nugget of game lore that fascinates you, but you haven’t written about yet?

Hmm. If something fascinates me enough, I usually have to write something, just to get it out of my head. Although I would at some point like to write pre-game fic about Astarion’s siblings. Astarion too ofc, but there’s six other people here being horrifically abused and developing their own relationships and issues with each other and having their own terrible trauma responses. I want to dig into that and make things horrible for everyone.

🪐Who’s your favourite non-companion character, and why?

Orin Orin Orin my beloved baby girl who has done nothing wrong in her life, except for all the horrifying atrocities.

I will hold up my hands and admit that the reason I started liking her was aghsj Hot Evil Lady. But then I started really getting into exploring Durge, and Lee specifically, and goddd this girl is tragic. She’s my poor little meow meow who’s been groomed and abused by every family member she has, and honestly what fucking chance did she ever have to be a good person, or even a normal person? She’s tragic, and sympathetic, but has also, yknow, hurt so many people, and done shit that’s way too fucking evil to just be excused with, “well she’s an abuse victim.” Which ofc is a big theme of BG3 generally, but the game never fucking explored that fully with Orin, so now I get to do that. 

I’m loving writing her in No Highly Esteemed Deed, having her be very clearly Lee’s victim and, I hope, entirely sympathetic for her eventual decision to stab them right in the brain, but, well. She’s still clearly utterly fucked, she was obviously intending to rape Lee before they raped her, and it’s not exactly a spoiler to say that getting rid of her abuser isn’t going to suddenly fix her. Like, I’m currently writing Ketheric seeing an Innocent Victim and looking out for her, and you might notice that this is very much not the dynamic we see with them at the end of Act 2!! I love writing Orin destroying any positive relationship she has because she doesn’t know how to have a healthy friendship and is too disdainful and afraid of the whole idea to try.

I love putting her in Situations and have her fucking maim her way out of them and then voluntarily go back in them because she maimed everything outside her Situation too and now there’s nothing else left <3

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today. 

Here today to talk all things whumpy is the fabulous @flowersarefreetherapy!

It’s an honor to have you here! Do you want to start us off with a fact or two about yourself?

Hi! I’m Marz, I’m a baby adult, and newer here to the whump scene! My favorite color is blue and I enjoy a huge variety of music. I have a Golden Retriever named Guinevere who is five years old and loves swimming, chasing tennis balls, and running through corn fields. Yeah, that’s about it! 

Let’s get straight to the point. What does whump mean to you?

As much as I love the hurt part of it, whump to me is about healing. It’s about picking yourself up even after life has beaten you into the ground. It’s finding your people who will help you and stand by your side on good and bad days. It’s taking those little steps towards healing, then looking back one day and realizing just how far you’ve come and how much you’ve accomplished. The pain and whumping of characters is horribly fun, but it’s the recovery and knowledge that there is something to lose that makes whump for me. 

How did you find the whump community and what made you want to join? 

So, I found the whump community purely by accident by jumping through writing blogs on Tumblr about three years ago, I think?? It was around 2019-2020 and I was looking for writing prompts when I stumbled onto @ashintheairlikesnow’s blog and learned there was a whole community dedicated to the hurt/comfort plotlines I had been reading all my life. Really what made me want to join was seeing there was an audience for the whump I was writing and the acceptance of OCs I was struggling to find in other writing circles. So I lurked for a while and then made the decision to join!

Do you think that your view of whump has shifted since you discovered it?

My view on whump has stayed the same, but what I write about has expanded. I’ve been exploring the BBU sandbox with different characters and different perspectives. It’s been a good challenge and one I look forward to continuing! 

Everyone’s favourite question: what are your favourite whump tropes?

Dehumanization and noncon are two of my favorites. What makes them so appealing to me is the loss of autonomy and the way it can fully break a character. Not only that, but it allows for some very fun power dynamics that I really enjoy in whump. Alongside that, those two tropes lead to the characters learning how to rebuild their world, their trust of other people, and what kind of life they want to make as part of their future. The healing that’s involved in both these tropes is messy and hard and something that is fought for, always with the support of those around them.

Would you mind sharing a favourite piece you've written? Hype yourself up, we want to hear it!

This is one of my favorite pieces! I love Thad’s breakdown here and while writing it, having that insight into how his past training impacts how he sees himself and sees the kids they’ve taken in. Another really fun piece I love is this one, mainly for the emotion and heartbreak of it all. 

Aww Thad! So much emotion in “You Are My Sunshine” ! Do you have a standard writing routine?

Chaos!! *evil laughter here* Just kidding (mostly). I tend to write when the inspiration strikes and knock out large chunks of writing at a time. Sometimes I’ll write bit by bit, especially when life is crazy, but I prefer to have the uninterrupted chunks of time. Usually I have caffeine with me as well to help the writing process speed along, in which my poison of choice there is Dr. Pepper!

And do you find some things are easier to write than others?

Dialogue! I love writing every bit of it! Using the words to both reveal and hide characters’ motives, changing what they want to say into what they can’t, playing around with hidden meaning in the phrases chosen: all of it is so good and makes it so fun to write! If I could write scenes that are all dialogue I would 

Is there anything you're working on at the moment?

Something I’ve been working on for a while is the next part of my Hold On series. It’s about to get sticky and complicated, so I'm working on how to get all the characters going the way I want them to. Of course, that’s not going to happen, but I’m trying to at least plot a path for the characters to run down.

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

. . . . . . . wish I could be hilarious on command, but sadly I am cursed to not be.

That’s fine! Do you have any writing advice you’d like to share?

Love your writing, even the bits that seem weird or you think no one will like them. There are people who will love it and read it and scream about parts you didn’t even think were that good. You will find your writing groove and you’ll find your audience. Also, don’t delete anything! That is really important! You can always go back and edit a choppy scene or reuse a bit of dialogue, but deleting something means starting from a blank slate. Scenes can always be reworked, so keep them!

Shout out your favourite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you! 

Oh man, oh man, there are so many people I could highlight! Seriously, this community is fantastic and wonderful and so welcoming! I had heard that about the whump community, but experiencing it for myself has been an honor. Okay, so people to shout out: 

@for-the-love-of-angst (you know why. For everything, thank you <3) @eatyourdamnpears (chaos friend!) @whumpcereal (your writing! ah!), @winedark-whump (your responses to every one of my ramblings on discord always make my day), @ashintheairlikesnow (still in awe of your writing/characters) @pigeonwhumps (*waves*) @quietly-by-myself (your characters!!) @soheavyaburden (characters! Writing! plotline!), @blood-is-compulsory (screaming in the tags is always welcome!) and so many more I have probably forgotten (in which case you can yell at me in the comments)

Seriously, go check out each and every one of these people! They are amazing and so so so cool and you won’t regret it at all!

Finally, is there anything you'd like to add?

Thank you for this opportunity and to everyone for making this community so welcoming!

Thank you for joining us today, @flowersarefreetherapy !

And to all you lovely folk at home, have a whump-derful day!

[mjulianwrites]

wip inspiration tag — next day after dawn

thank you max @goose-books for the tag!! the rules for this one are list as many inspirations/influences as you would like for your current work in progress, and explain how they’ve shaped your project!

next day after dawn (or, the project formerly known as historieswip) is a second word political fiction novel that's basically a mishmash shakespeare's histories with 90% less battle scenes and 90% more insane family dynamics. after everyone's favourite boyboss war criminal king gets deposed, his inner circle gets locked up by the new regime, and we follow them as they try to figure out what to do next and slowly drive each other insane.

tagging: @wren-is-writing @athenapollo @avi-why and anyone else who wants to do this!

henry vi part 3 (aka the whole wars of the roses tetralogy): there's a reason this project is just nicknamed historieswip. ohhhhh babygirl we got histories and i am not preserving shakespeare's timelines at ALL, i am just throwing those babies in a blender until i get 1. vaguely medieval english political structures 2. war with not-france 3. huge royal family with so much wrong with them. but from the henry vi plays specifically! this is where like half of the characters come from. the prince cyrus/cassandane/darcy dynamic is just the henry vi/margaret/suffolk love triangle, the house of lunares is the house of york: girlboss edition, and everything about the prince cyrus and mona dynamic comes from me Thinking about henry vi and richard iii foils moments. i could say more but we'd be here all day.

henry iv part 1 (and kind of 2): so. king cyrus is hal but that's also so mean to hal because king cyrus is SO much worse. however. he does have the hal backstory, by which i mean he was a rakish little alcoholic prince with a gay little boytoy until his dad died and then he had to get Serious and banish all his besties. and renan is his poins except if poins didn't get banished and stuck as the world's most depressed advisor faking respectability instead. ALSO kane my best friend kane is basically my hotspur <33

henry v: again, king cyrus is basically just henry v with the war crimes dialed up to 11. this one is the main inspiration for his conquering hero era and also the conflict with not-france and the not-french wife. it's also where i stole the title from!

king john: most of the histories i'm stealing from are at least like. connected to each other. king john is not but i love philip the bastard so fucking much so he's here (with extra transmasc aroace swag). that's helios — the war hero king's bastard who shows up to rise above his station and annoy everyone around him. and maybe be terminally loyal to a king who really doesn't deserve it

succession: the elevator pitch for this project is basically shakespeare's histories meets succession. specifically, season 1 episode 2 of succession, where the all-powerful patriarch is suddenly out of commission and maybe never coming back and the rest of the family is left losing their minds and wondering what the fuck they do now.

the hunger games: here's where i put on my clown shoes and admit that. um. you know how i said kane is hotspur. well he is but he's ALSO cato from the hunger games, as characterized in the criminally long fanfiction i wrote in middle school. and drea is um. clove. ANYWAY. thg is also an inspiration in terms of worldbuilding because i'm going for something kind of post-post-apocalyptic where there are vast disparities in technology in different parts of the country after decades of war and inequality. so we get modern tech plus medieval weapons, thank god.

darkling: this is partly a hatecrime against max my best friend max @goose-books because once upon a time i started jokingly shipping the two horrible old men in this book and then got so attached to the dynamic that i fully imported it into this project and made it canon gay. sorry bestie. but GENUINELY darkling is one of the best fucking books i've ever read and such a huge inspiration for how i do shakespeare retellings and also fucked up family dynamics.

gideon the ninth: this book is really nothing like gtn but i have to give it a shoutout because reading gtn was what inspired me to create this project! basically because i remembered how much i love ensemble casts and decided i wanted to write one. there are some similarities in terms of the vibe of everyone being locked in a big fucked up house together and everyone having super on the nose themed names but really just shoutout to tamsyn muir for being such a good writer that she made me want what she had (so many blorbos)

thank you for coming to my ted talk <3

[lacesomnia]

ᡣ𐭩 adult, they/she/ask, unlabeled

ᡣ𐭩 sweet prince. horrible and hysterical.

ᡣ𐭩 switch, info below cut

ᡣ𐭩 this is 18+ blog. minors please god dni

ᡣ𐭩 likes/follows comes from @m*************ity

ᡣ𐭩 dni if cishet, minors, sh/ed blogs

ᡣ𐭩 i don't owe you anything: voice, photos, face, responses. i'd post it if i even wanted to.

ᡣ𐭩 you can send me pics, threats, pleas, etc in my inbox or my dms if you're bold, but don't expect anything back.

ᡣ𐭩 my posts are genderless.

ᡣ𐭩 nicknames i like: bunny, prince/princess, my liege, my lady/lord, baby, master, father/mother

ᡣ𐭩 favourites: primal (predator/prey, i really dig wolf/bunny dynamics), cnc of all kinds, master/servant (especially prince/knight), blood, cannibalism, i'm also just a tad weird about dolls... and pets.

ᡣ𐭩 into (won't post about as much): feminising (i have princess bits if it matters to you), ageplay (i'm real normal about being called father/mother, promise), voyeurism

ᡣ𐭩 hard limits: scat, vomit, free use (on me) depends, probably more— but i forget.

ᡣ𐭩 personal: #𝜗𝜚 pillow talk

ᡣ𐭩 sfw/misc: #𝜗𝜚 midnight sonata

ᡣ𐭩 asks: #𝜗𝜚 moonlit birds

ᡣ𐭩 reblogs: #𝜗𝜚 reblogs

ᡣ𐭩 anons: none yet </3

[catboytwelve]

Ok, rambling about S14 let's gooooo

At the end of the day i really had fun with this season of Doctor Who and think that they got the most important thing (the doctor) right and that's what matters But.

Overall, I think the season is kinda undercooked, specifically in regards to what I hold as my primary focus for the show, which is the Doctor-Companion dynamic

15 is a delight, but his dynamic with Ruby is way too straightforward and without conflict; if you think back to ten and donna, yeah they would bicker like friends but she would also push back against him if he was doing something she thought was wrong, what propells them to an iconic Doctor-Companion duo is not their lovely friendship but them challenging each other to be better. The Donna and the Tenth Doctor that we see at the beginning of S4 are not the same Donna and Doctor that we see at the end of S4 and that. Just doesn't happen to Ruby and Fifteen. And you could argue that not every dynamic has to be like that, if not for the fact that they said it was like that.

They outright say that the Doctor was changed bc of Ruby in... how he talks about family? Which happened when? He literally witnessed a family coming together and be happy and he locks himself in the tardis and doesn't even say hi to Ruby's biological mother,,,, How is that him being changed? Was he lying?

Even Ruby herself I think is just kinda there sadly, Millie Gibson is a pleasure on screen and she clearly gave her 200% in her performance plus her chemistry with Gatwa is really good but who is Ruby beyond her mysterious normal mother? A really caring and lovely girl and that's it? No flaws no dreams or objectives in life outside her mother's identity? I feel like the best we got was when she played the piano in the devil's chord but outside of that I don't see much more (which is so strange bc we have a whole episode with her alone and... we don't get to know her more?)

Also, I love the hugs (and 15's tears!!!), it's refreshing to see the Doctor being so open towards acts of affection again but while that's lovely to see, there's not much more to it than a really healthy friendship.

I realise this could very well be a Me problem, given I am a conflict enjoyer, but I keep thinking that if 15ruby went through moments where they doubted each other or fought over doing or not doing something, their acts of affection would make me care for them so much more, which is a shame. :c

As for the episodes alone, it really does feel like RTD1 again lol

The opening ep is kinda meh but not horrible, the finale is uninspired but with nice scenes here and there, the highlight of the season are the eps not written by him (which this time around are way too few...) and the others are ok but nothing incredible. This is a huge improvement over flux, which is my least favourite chibnall season, but it's not a stellar season of dw, which is fine (again, I still had fun with it) and maybe my opinion on it will change with time!!!

if I had to rank the eps I'd go:

Boom

Rogue

73 yards

The devil's chord

Dot and Bubble

Empire of the dead

Space babies

The legend of Ruby Sunday

On a closing note this season also proved that we really, really need someone new to run the show. I know finding someone to take on a show this huge is really difficult (even chibnall had to be persuaded to take the job, and he had written tons of eps and even run torchwood for a while....) but I do feel like it's that or the show will stagnate, and that's the worst case scenario for dw.

Sorry if I was a little bit too negative here sjcjsjxj I may be influenced by the finale, which I didn't like lmao, but this Is what I wanted to get out of my system. Just to say something positive, my thoughts on gatwa and 15 haven't changed in the slightest I LOVE HIM AND I THINK HE'S FANTASTIC <33333

[mauveberries]

I'm so sorry you are going through all these shit. I just wanted to ask you a genuine question because I saw your post on my feed how you find ARTHUR annoying in a Lucius ship. I found that so weird. Then I see your account is just talking badly about Harry being weak and etc etc hey, JKR technically says Voldemort can't feel love in the books idc what she says irl but you see, if you go with the canon, then we can't have a lot of things? Bellamort as much as I like the concept, canon made me hate their dynamic. I don't care about tomarrymort. I like Voldemort as a character. I like the idea of him but I don't like the execution in the book (that's why I called him one dimensional), that is why I read about him in fics. As for Harry, I feel you are very mean to him most of the times. He has a LOT of potential and that is what people like to play with, and that what JKR didn't play with and that is what made me ask you Harry who is shown to actually fight and be equal to actual death eaters (not talking about Voldemort) and won many times without any help: it's canon, just read deathly hollows : you somehow call him weak? I feel like he will wipe the floor with baby death eaters. So that was my problem with your account anyway but when I come back here to check if you have replied to me. All I see is hate comments which is horrible and horrifying. I didn't want to be mean to you anyways. And I hate that you are going through this. YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS. No one does and everyone should fuck off. It's your blog, your fucking wish. If they can't be not horrible, then they shouldn't speak. I'm so sorry, hope you have a great day and please ignore them.

it's alright, i think the sudden influx of hate was because i answered an ask about why i dislike tomarry and they reblogged it onto their account, but it doesn't bother me much.

i don't know how you found my lucius/arthur post? 😭😭 i didnt even maintag it whattt thats so funny lol. but yeah, personally, i find arthur annoying. he's so embarrassing... i just get the ick from him, it's nothing serious.

i LOVE lucius he's so cunty frr. not saying he was morally superior to arthur or anything but.. luci's my third favourite war criminal 🥰🥰

i never said harry was weak, i just said that he's not like, super powerful or anything. i don't understand why you zoomed in on me 'hating' harry, when so many other people love and cherish him. i can have a different opinion. i can find him annoying and distasteful at times, it's not a crime. yeah, sure harry could beat baby death eaters but i don't think he could beat some of the pureblood families simply because they are not afraid to use dark magic. they are ancient families. they have their roots and their traditions harry has probably never heard of. just because we see him overpowering DEs in deathly hallows doesn't mean he is super skilled in duelling. the DEs were instructed not to kill him. he is literally just fighting to survive. yes, he can be creative, yes he is smart, doesn't mean he will win every single duel.

if voldemort had allowed it, bellatrix would have slit his throat twice in deathly hallows and boom, series over, close the gates.

i'm not sure which ask you sent me and i don't remember if i thought you were being mean to me, but it's alright, it doesn't matter.

hope you have a great day <3

[neewtmas]

aaaalright let's do this

they set up their agency together??? this is off to a great start

the biscuits!! (can't help but think about cam holding the giant one lmao)

the way you describe their dynamic is beautiful, makes me wana start an agency with him

���True, but it's a lot of wasted time if we don't. Why don't we split up and take a floor each?”

no no noooo bad idea bad idea BAD IDEA

“Promise.” You leant forward and placed your lips delicately on his.

don't let this be their last words to each other🥹

It was one he'd bought for you, a small pink gemstone in a heart shape on a simple silver chain. His promise to always love and protect you. Not a day had gone by since that you didn't wear it.

if Anthony Lockwood does one thing, it's gifting precious necklaces to the women he loves (it's very adorable tho)

His only condition was that if the Source was more likely to be upstairs, that would be where he'd look.

🫠🫠🫠

You lunged towards your rapier. The Visitor lunged towards you.

shit shit shit shit

Through the fog of pain that had suddenly engulfed your brain you heard Anthony, close by now, yelling your name. You had to go to him. He'd know what to do. Everything would be okay.

He always knows what to do😭😭

The blue had spread across your chest, and the little pink heart stood out starkly against it. “I'm so sorry, my darling,” Lockwood said softly. He choked back a sob as he leant down, placing a kiss into your hair. You wanted to do the same, to speak to him, to do anything.

not the necklace 😭😭😭and he'll never get to kiss you again🥲🥲

There was something in his hand, balanced carefully on the tips of his fingers: a necklace, with a little pink heart. A spark of recognition bloomed in the back of your mind. That was your necklace.

the way you describe what's it like to be a ghost??? perfection

just that slight familiarity but you don't really know and ahhh

also the necklace being the source🥹

What if you didn't recognise him and turned violent like so many Visitors?

oh that would be devastating oh god imagine having to fight the love of your life

I love how you show his grief here

What if you didn't because you didn't recognise anything, just hung there as a shadow of your former self? What if you did, and he had to live with putting you back in the case and removing you from his life all over again?

I'm gonna cry this is horrible

also think about how at some point he would lose his talent and then there wouldn't be any chance at communication😭😭😭🥲

The decision was made for him when a soft golden glow appeared in the corner of his bedroom. There you were. Tears welled in his eyes as the image of you sent him spiralling back to that day: your edges were a little fuzzy but everything else was the same, from your outfit to the scared look in your eye to the dark patch spreading from your shoulder.

the fact that the glow is soft and golden when it's always described as white/silver and cold might be my favourite part of this whole thing🥺🥹🥹

The sound reminded you of home, wherever that was. Things were still hazy, but part of you had a feeling this was it. Here, with this boy.

fucking hell😭😭

Nothing felt real because you weren't. You were just a Visitor.

merryyyyyyyy😭😭😭

him telling her about George arghhhh

Not only because you couldn't touch, but because deep down you knew that as much as you treasured being able to keep him in your life (or rather, afterlife), you had to let him go sooner or later and he needed to do the same with you.

the fact that you have to let go eventually and you know it's gonna have to be soon, that's so painful😭😭

It was a photo album, labelled in handwriting you recognised as your own. Page by page, he took you through your memories, giving you time to linger on each one: you as a baby, then a toothy toddler with your first pet; your family and childhood friends; Polaroids of your first team in training to become agents.

😩😩😭😭

He looked at you so lovingly. “We did it, darling.” You would have reached for his hand if you could.

I'M GONNA JUMP OFF A CLIFF WHAT IN THE FRESH FUCKING HELL

“Did it touch you?” he asked in a panic as she clung to him. “Course not, I'd be dead.”

ohhh the pain🫠🫠🫠

“He loves me. You love me, don't you?” Her hand stroked delicately across his cheek, and he fought the urge to lean into the touch. For that brief moment, he could pretend it was you, still with him, saying those words.

pain au chocolat

There was a girl sitting beside him on the bed, holding a little pink heart on a chain. Your necklace. You grew defensive, preparing to strike.

having to watch your love fall in love with someone else is the worst thing ever omfg

The boy reached out and gripped Lucy's free hand, never taking his eyes off you. The gesture was supportive for her, but meant for you too. A tear rolled down his cheek. Lucy's breathing was shallow.

this is heartbreaking in so many different ways😩🥹

George was absolutely fascinated by you, and took every opportunity to quiz the others on your awareness of various things and how you reacted to his experiments.

he's just the cutest

Lucy often got you out on her own to have another girl to talk to. In return, of course, she'd fill you in on any gossip they came across or funny things that happened on cases that the boys were too embarrassed to tell you about.

friendship from beyond the grave oh god I'm gonna cry again

Through it all, you watched the three of them grow into a little family.

watching your friends grow closer while you're just kinda there is a different kind of painful😭

“It's okay.” It's not your fault.

a masterpiece, merry

Little Pink Heart

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader, implied Locklyle

Summary: following a fatal Ghost-Touch, Lockwood and reader must figure out how to manage love and life after death

Content: reader's death, ghost!reader, grief, angst, bittersweet, not a happy ending, established relationship

A/N: Please please be aware that this fic has some very heavy content, don't feel obliged to read if you could find it upsetting! That being said, this is as much about exploring the concept of Visitors' sentience that Jonathan Stroud introduced and building on what we saw with Annabel Ward as it is about the angst and the grief. This is dedicated to @bella-rose29 for mentioning the idea of ghost!reader and giving me inspiration (bonus angst: listen to Someone New by Freya Ridings while you read)

Word count: 4.9k (my longest fic yet!)

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea (let me know if you want adding or removing!)

The click of the key echoed through the house as you opened the door. Dusk was falling, the fine mist that had settled tinted a soft blue. As much as you didn't want to go inside, you fancied staying out here less.

“Don't linger, darling,” your boyfriend, Anthony, murmured as he passed over the threshold. His hand slipped into yours and he led you in. The house was cold and dim in the fading light, and from the fine layer of dust and lack of personal effects it was clear that it hadn't been inhabited for some time. It was a shame that the owner, who had seemed like a nice enough young woman, had had to move out of her family home, but you couldn't help but be grateful. You and Anthony had only just got your licences, and with no links to any agencies nor desires to join them you'd decided to try and set up your own. That took time, though, and money, and though Anthony had a little equity in his house you'd agreed to take a couple of small, private cases to make up as much as you could. That was how you found yourself here, ready to earn a reasonable sum in exchange for eliminating a lone Type Two. A few jobs like this would help set you up nicely.

The kitchen was slightly warmer than the rest of the house, the west-facing windows having allowed in the last of the sun before it dipped behind the trees in the distance. Together you set up your kit bags on the table - you didn't have much: a few handmade salt bombs, filings and chains, a few flares only in case of emergency (they'd cost far too much to waste) and of course your rapiers. Lockwood pulled something extra from his bag, a small plastic-wrapped packet. Bourbon biscuits.

“You're the best,” you smiled as he opened the packet and offered one to you, which you bit into quickly.

“I know,” he grinned back, brushing a stray crumb from your lip. You blushed.

The owner of the house had provided a floor plan, but her account of the Visitor had been so inconsistent and vague that it was difficult to pinpoint a possible location for the Source. Anthony spread the roll of paper across the table, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, peering over his shoulder at the diagram. There were two floors and a basement, but the latter had been gutted a month ago ready for renovation so there was nothing in there at present.

“Let's start upstairs and work our way back down,” Anthony suggested. “More likely to find something in one of the bedrooms.”

“True, but it's a lot of wasted time if we don't. Why don't we split up and take a floor each?”

His expression soured, and he moved closer, taking your hand again and rubbing small anxious circles above your thumb. “That's smart, but I hate the idea of leaving you on your own.” Even when he didn't agree with your ideas, he always found a way to compliment them. Just one of the things that made you love him all the more.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It won't be for long, and I'll call for you the moment I find anything suspicious.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You leant forward and placed your lips delicately on his. He held you close, your hands on his chest, one of his on your waist and the other fidgeting with your necklace. It was one he'd bought for you, a small pink gemstone in a heart shape on a simple silver chain. His promise to always love and protect you. Not a day had gone by since that you didn't wear it. He nodded at last; he knew he would, he'd do anything you asked of him in a heartbeat. It still worried him not to be by your side, but he trusted that you were a good agent who could handle yourself and that you meant it when you said you'd call for him. His only condition was that if the Source was more likely to be upstairs, that would be where he'd look.

So it was that you found yourself, torch in one hand and the other on your rapier, exploring the ground floor. The silence was oppressive, seeping the confidence from you with every step. Not a ticking clock, not the creaking of the old building settling, not even the residual hum of electricity or plumbing, just the occasional thud from your boyfriend upstairs. Working quickly, you ruled out the dining room and bathroom. That left the lounge. The air smelled musty, and a shiver ran through you as you entered. That was never a good sign. You pulled out your thermometer and watched the temperature drop the further in you went.

“Anthony?” Your voice felt deafening against the quiet of the room, but you knew it hadn't been anywhere near loud enough to travel upstairs. No, this was silly, you could handle this. There were no signs of a spirit yet, for all you knew the change in temperature could be from the wind blowing down the chimney into the empty fireplace. You flicked the torch off, using your now free hand to hold your necklace, grounding yourself as you tuned in and listened. There was nothing at first. You wondered whether Anthony was having more luck upstairs; so far down here had been thoroughly useless. Maybe you should go and check on him. But then you heard it. A tragic, gut-wrenching wail, getting closer.

“Anthony?” you called again, louder this time but as steady as you could. There was movement above. He'd heard. So had the spirit, the wailing definitely nearby now. You pulled out your rapier.

The temperature plummeted.

A screech, so close you would have felt the breath on your neck had it come from a living being, made you whirl round. Your rapier clattered to the floor. Shit. Stay calm.

“Anthony!” you yelled, not caring how scared you sounded. His footsteps rattled down the stairs. He was so close.

You lunged towards your rapier.

The Visitor lunged towards you.

Lockwood was in the back bedroom when he heard his name. All his senses were immediately on high alert - you were the only person he allowed to call him Anthony, so he always reacted differently to his first name anyway, and under the circumstances hearing it immediately made him fear the worst.

“Y/n?” He crept out onto the landing, slowly pulling out his rapier and listening intently for any more noise. It was moments like these he was grateful not to be a Listener, he could focus on you and not the sounds of the house's history. He was only two steps onto the staircase when his name came again, louder and more panicked. Without a second thought he ran down the stairs, only holding back enough to make sure he didn't fall. His blood ran cold when he heard you scream.

You tried to both duck and spin as your hand came into contact with the hilt of your rapier. The blade sliced upwards, connecting with the Visitor, but it was too late. Its clawing grey hand clutched onto your shoulder moments before it disappeared. You screamed as tendrils of ice shot through you, radiating outwards from the spot. Through the fog of pain that had suddenly engulfed your brain you heard Anthony, close by now, yelling your name. You had to go to him. He'd know what to do. Everything would be okay.

You took one step, then another. Your torso was going numb, your entire arm having already fallen victim to the plasm which was turning your shoulder a violent shade of blue. One more step, and your legs gave out. You just about made out the silhouette of your boyfriend in the doorway, rushing towards you as you slumped to the ground.

“No, no, no, y/n!” Anthony's face swam into view, trying to mask his utter horror for your sake. “It's going to be okay, darling, I'll go and get help.”

The fingers of your good hand twitched towards his and he took it immediately, despite how cold it was. You struggled to focus on him through your tears, and noticed the same in his eyes. “Ant-” Your voice was failing fast.

“Shh, I've got you.” He cradled your head, his own tears mingling with yours on your cheek, but you could barely feel them. Almost everything was numb. The blue had spread across your chest, and the little pink heart stood out starkly against it. “I'm so sorry, my darling,” Lockwood said softly. He choked back a sob as he leant down, placing a kiss into your hair. You wanted to do the same, to speak to him, to do anything.

His face was the last thing you saw before everything went black.

—

You had no idea how much time had passed when your vision returned, a room slowly materialising in front of your eyes. It was a bedroom, filled with knick-knacks and bathed in a warm golden light. It looked familiar, but you hadn't been here when it went dark, you'd been… somewhere else. It was so hard to remember, but you knew there had been a dark, dusty room and a feeling of agonising cold. And a person. There'd been someone there, someone you needed to say something to. Now here you were, everything feeling so normal yet so bizarre; you were still you, still able to move and see and hear, but there was a disconnect between those sensations and reality. Nothing felt real. You looked around again, desperate for answers.

There.

Perched on the edge of the bed was a boy. His crisp white shirt was a stark contrast to his dishevelled dark hair, doleful brown eyes and the deep eyebags beneath. He looked exhausted, like he'd barely slept or eaten. There was something in his hand, balanced carefully on the tips of his fingers: a necklace, with a little pink heart. A spark of recognition bloomed in the back of your mind. That was your necklace. It was important. He had no right to be holding it. You drifted forward. The boy looked so familiar. Oh. The icy feeling rippled through your chest again, and you remembered. He'd been there when that feeling had taken over your body until you couldn't feel anything else. Rage boiled in your veins, and a snarl crept onto your face. But then, as quickly as it started, the anger subsided. He'd not caused it. He'd held you so gently, cried as everything faded. You knew him. You opened your mouth, finally ready to speak.

Lockwood stared at the tiny gemstone in his hand, unsure whether he wanted anything to happen this time. He'd secretly slipped it from you before DEPRAC had arrived, and spent the past few weeks periodically taking it out of the little silver-glass box in his bedside table. Part of him desperately wanted you to come back, to let him see you once more, but the other part knew it would hurt so much. What if you didn't recognise him and turned violent like so many Visitors? What if you didn't because you didn't recognise anything, just hung there as a shadow of your former self? What if you did, and he had to live with putting you back in the case and removing you from his life all over again?

The decision was made for him when a soft golden glow appeared in the corner of his bedroom. There you were. Tears welled in his eyes as the image of you sent him spiralling back to that day: your edges were a little fuzzy but everything else was the same, from your outfit to the scared look in your eye to the dark patch spreading from your shoulder. You looked at him now and he was relieved to watch you processing your surroundings. The person he knew was still in there, you weren't just a hollow shell. Suddenly you snarled and he flinched, fingers twitching towards the silver-glass case.

You moved closer.

You stopped.

Your face fell.

He watched the glimmer of recognition in your eyes, and the tears he'd been holding back spilled out along with all the things he'd wanted to say for months.

“Oh my darling, I'm so sorry. I should never have let this happen, I should have been there for you, and-”

He paused. You were mouthing something. Over and over. Your death loop, he presumed. God, just putting death in the same sentence as you stung.

“I'd give anything to be able to hear you right now,” he said, voice wavering. You stopped, giving him a sad look. The realisation that at the very least you could understand him, even if you couldn't communicate fully, hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Lockwood!” a boy's voice called from outside. You both looked at the door and your anger flared again. The boy on the bed shook his head.

“He's a friend,” he told you reassuringly, before calling back, “One minute, George!” You waited in the corner, puzzled. The boy, Lockwood (you knew that name, didn't you?), gave you an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, y/n, I've got to go. I'll explain soon, I promise.” He dropped the necklace into its little case and clicked it shut, and you watched the world dissolve.

—

You still weren't sure how much time had passed when you found yourself back in that bedroom, but it didn't feel like very long. The last rays of the sunset poked through the gaps around the drawn curtains, the room lit instead by a lamp on the bedside table. The boy, Lockwood, was sitting on the bed again holding your necklace, but this time he looked at you almost immediately. His hair was a little neater, his eyebags more pronounced.

“Hi,” he said quietly. “Sorry if I disturbed you, I don't… really know how this works.”

You knew he couldn't hear you, but you gave your message again anyway.

“Maybe I should see if George knows how to lip-read,” he chuckled wryly. The sound reminded you of home, wherever that was. Things were still hazy, but part of you had a feeling this was it. Here, with this boy. “Which reminds me,” he continued, “I did promise to tell you about him.”

You settled into the space in the corner, allowing Lockwood's low, gentle voice to wash over you. It was incredibly calming. George was his new housemate, he told you, who'd been living here for about a month. It was all very confusing - it had felt like both minutes and years had passed since you were last here and the same before that, but he explained that the other boy had moved into the house in mid-September, and the last time you'd been here was a week ago in late October. Where was all the time going?

“I have no idea whether you experience time when your Source is contained, whether you're aware of what's going on in between or remember things from last time,” he admitted. Source. You knew about those. They were what you'd been looking for that night in that dark old house. A spirit had been tied to it, and you had to seal the Source to get rid of it. But you'd failed and it had found you, and now… your chest tightened at both the memory and the realisation. Nothing felt real because you weren't. You were just a Visitor. You continued to listen numbly as Lockwood kept talking. Not much wonder he'd recoiled when you first appeared, he'd seen what the touch of a ghost had done to you and without knowing you'd almost inflicted the same fate. You vowed in that moment that no matter what, you'd never let that happen.

The next few months saw Lockwood getting you out every chance he got. Bit by bit, he helped restore your memories and did his best to accommodate you even though the two of you couldn't properly communicate. He set up a little daily tear-off calendar on his dresser so you could keep track of how long it had been between visits, and stored his kit bag in the bottom of his wardrobe so you could move more freely around the room. Eventually, you'd come to remember him more. Not just the events from the night you died, but him. Your boyfriend, Anthony. You wanted nothing more than to be close to him, to be a comforting presence, but you knew you couldn't. Not only because you couldn't touch, but because deep down you knew that as much as you treasured being able to keep him in your life (or rather, afterlife), you had to let him go sooner or later and he needed to do the same with you. He'd been followed around by grief since long before you met him, and you hated that you were adding to it. You were just glad to see him slowly improving week by week - his face was a little brighter, and it seemed George was making sure he stayed fed. You'd have to thank the other boy if you ever got chance. Anthony said the two of you would have got along if you'd met in life, and even now George's obsession with the Problem would have made him your biggest fan, but their friendship was too new and besides he wasn't a Listener either so you'd not be able to tell him anything.

“I've got something to show you,” Anthony announced as you materialised one sunny day in late spring. He sat down with a large pink folder and patted the space next to him on the bed. You tilted your head in confusion.

“Come on,” he sighed fondly, “you never had any sense of personal space before, don't start now. Just no hugging.”

You glowed a little brighter and drifted over, your legs disappearing into the mattress until your torso was level with his. Being careful where he positioned his arms, he angled the folder towards you. It was a photo album, labelled in handwriting you recognised as your own. Page by page, he took you through your memories, giving you time to linger on each one: you as a baby, then a toothy toddler with your first pet; your family and childhood friends; Polaroids of your first team in training to become agents. His hands trembled a little as he reached the next section. On the left were four photos: the team you'd transferred to, the one he'd been training with; a slightly blurry action shot of the two of you sparring for the first time; a goofy photo he'd taken of you cartwheeling down a grassy hill after a case; your team all proudly holding their Grade Four licences. On the other side, surrounded by two styles of hand-drawn hearts, was the two of you hugging on the steps of 35 Portland Row, Anthony's lips pressed in a smile against the top of your head. You remembered that sensation well, a frequent occurrence right up until the moment you died. The rest of the album was full of photos of the two of you, ones taken by others and candids you'd snapped of each other. You felt a pang of regret that you'd never get to take any more.

Anthony turned another page. Hold on. You knew for certain there were no more photos. You looked sideways at your boyfriend, and he gave you a bashful smile. Pasted across a double spread was a copy of a certificate from DEPRAC, confirming A.J. Lockwood & Co Investigators as a registered agency. Inspector Barnes, who you vaguely recalled meeting once or twice, had signed as the licensing authority. Anthony and George had put their names down as the founding members. But then underneath that, in Anthony's familiar hand, he had added an extra section. Honorary Member: y/n y/l/n.

He looked at you so lovingly. “We did it, darling.”

You would have reached for his hand if you could.

—

Weeks began to pass before Lockwood got you to visit again. He'd have spent every day with you, but business was good and he owed it to you to make a proper go of it. In the meantime, George talked incessantly about Visitors which gave Lockwood a chance to think about you. Each time he finally got to see you again he'd apologise profusely, and you'd repeat your death loop back to him. He tried so hard to figure out what you were saying - his Sight was good, you were as clear as day and he knew your every quirk and mannerism, but he just couldn't put the movements of your lips to the right sounds.

Everything changed the day he met Lucy Carlyle. From the moment she set foot in his living room, he felt like he was supposed to have met her. The feeling only grew when he gave her the interview tests - plenty of people had passed through, some with better Talents than others, but none had come even close to the Listening abilities of the girl before him. When she spoke of the gentleness she found in his uncle's pen-knife, he knew he had to hire her.

Lucy managed to defy even his high expectations on the Annabel Ward case. He kept his focus on the young woman's spirit hovering at the end of the corridor, rapier levelled in case the details of her aggressive nature were true, but he couldn't help but think of the first day he brought you back and how quickly you'd retreated and shown a level of sentience he'd never expected from a Visitor. Was this poor woman the same? Lucy's eyes were closed, listening intently.

“She's in pain,” she said softly.

“Of course she is, she's dead.”

“No, something's different.”

He was intrigued instantly. “What's different?”

She shushed him. “I can almost…”

Annabel launched forward, sending Lucy crashing through the wooden railing in her attempt to dodge the grasping hand. Déjà vu overwhelmed Lockwood, your pained eyes flashing across his mind as he staggered backwards.

No.

He'd already lived through this once and regretted the outcome every day since. Now was his chance to redeem himself. He sprang towards the ghost, fending her off with his rapier, pulling Lucy from her desperate grip on the picture frame as soon as the coast was clear.

“Did it touch you?” he asked in a panic as she clung to him.

“Course not, I'd be dead.” Didn't he know it. The more she explained how she'd connected with the spirit, the more sure he became. Later, when they experimented with Annabel's necklace and he listened to Lucy describe the scene in such detail, he knew for certain.

“He loves me. You love me, don't you?” Her hand stroked delicately across his cheek, and he fought the urge to lean into the touch. For that brief moment, he could pretend it was you, still with him, saying those words. Perhaps with Lucy's help, it could be.

—

It had been a while. The trees outside Anthony's window were tinted a beautiful copper. You couldn't wait to hear his updates this time.

“There's a sadness, but so much love too. She feels very kind.” That wasn't Anthony's voice. Something was wrong. There was a girl sitting beside him on the bed, holding a little pink heart on a chain. Your necklace. You grew defensive, preparing to strike.

The boy looked up and saw you glaring. “It's okay, darling.” The girl followed his gaze. “Lucy, this is y/n, my late girlfriend. Y/n, this is our new associate, Lucy. She's a Listener.” Ah. Finally. You settled back down and took in the girl properly. She was pretty, with a warm brunette bob and a blue jumper which made her eyes pop. She smiled up at you, a genuine friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you,” she said sweetly. Anthony gave her an encouraging nod. You noticed that he seemed a little nervous, but there was also a calmness to him that had been missing for the past year. If that was Lucy's influence, then she was alright in your eyes.

Anthony spoke to you again. “She's brilliant, connected with a Visitor on our last case and I thought maybe she could finally help us figure out what you've been trying to say.” You nodded in agreement, and the girl closed her hand around the necklace.

You weren't sure whether you were in Lucy's head or whether she was in yours. The two of you blended into one as she ventured into your memories. Anthony's room melted away around you, sending you back to that cold dark room. You bristled.

“It's a bit different having her in the room with us,” Lucy murmured, eyes closed. “Let me know if either of you need me to stop.”

Anthony glanced at you, flickering slightly but still present and unagitated. “We're okay, go on.”

Meticulously, she described what you were both experiencing, or in your case reliving. It was hard knowing you were getting closer to the agony all over again, but it was important for your boyfriend to finally have a chance for answers and closure, so you kept the inevitable moving along.

“Anthony?” Lucy said softly, the same way you had. By the look on his face, it seemed he was realising now what you had at the time - that you'd tried to call him and hadn't been loud enough, that if only you'd tried again straight away, maybe you'd still be alive. “Anthony?” she called again. “Anthony!” You heard your own scream echo in your mind, felt the cold grasping your shoulder. The boy reached out and gripped Lucy's free hand, never taking his eyes off you. The gesture was supportive for her, but meant for you too. A tear rolled down his cheek. Lucy's breathing was shallow.

“It hurts,” she gasped, “and she's scared.”

“I should have been there quicker.” His voice was shaking with emotion, barely able to get the words out.

“No, there's no anger. She knew you were coming, and having you there through the end was a comfort.”

Anthony swallowed thickly. “Her death loop. Can you hear it?”

She opened her eyes and watched you as you spoke, the words spilling from her lips a second after.

“It's okay. It's not your fault.”

The boy broke down, his sobs rattling through the small room. Lucy held out her arms and he folded into them. She threw you an apologetic glance, and you said it again to her. “It's okay. It's not your fault.”

They were still hugging when, with his and your permission, Lucy gently slipped your necklace back into its case.

—

Now that the secret was out, you really did become an honorary member of the agency. Sure, you couldn't exactly contribute to the cases, but other than that the whole team treated you as one of their own. Anthony always waited for your opinion on big decisions, which you could make quite apparent with how happy or angry your energy was. George was absolutely fascinated by you, and took every opportunity to quiz the others on your awareness of various things and how you reacted to his experiments. Lucy often got you out on her own to have another girl to talk to. In return, of course, she'd fill you in on any gossip they came across or funny things that happened on cases that the boys were too embarrassed to tell you about. Through it all, you watched the three of them grow into a little family. Anthony and Lucy especially had clicked with each other; they reminded you of how you and he had been. That realisation filled you with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You loved Anthony so much, all you wanted was for him to be happy, but you'd be lying if you didn't wish it was you putting the light back in his eyes.

He sat you down shortly after New Year. His face was sombre but hopeful, and he fidgeted with his ring. Part of you could already tell what was coming.

“I don't really know how to say this,” he began hesitantly, “but after everything we've been through, you deserve to hear it.” You waited patiently for him to find the words he needed. Really, you had all the time in the world.

After a few moments, he spoke again. “I promised to always love you, and I will still keep that promise until the day I die…” But. There had to be a but. “...but I really care about Lucy too, and I just-” He didn't need to finish the sentence. And technically he was single. And he stood a chance of having a life with her. And she wasn't going to keep him tied to his past and his grief.

“It's okay.” Now he knew what your death loop was, he could tell what you'd said, and the way you'd limited it to just those words was a reminder of how remarkably well you understood everything that was happening. How you were as close to being a person as you could be, how it wasn't close enough.

“Promise?”

You touched the hollow of your neck, where the outline of a little sparkling heart sat against the darkness.

He nodded in understanding and reached for the silver-glass case. “Thank you, darling.”

“It's okay.”

It's not your fault.

[bonky-n-steeb]

in your arms i'm born again

— sub! bucky barnes x reader

summary || you want to find out exactly how many times is too many times for the super soldier.

warnings || sub!bucky. dom/sub dynamics. unprotected sex. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. orgasm control. bondage. edging. sex toys. blowjobs. handjobs. subspace. spit kink. choking. dacryphilia. corruption kink. praise kink. marking kink. pain kink. insecurities. reassurance. possessive reader. aftercare. petnames (baby boy). fluff. this is actually pretty sweet. PWP — MINORS DNI 🔞 if any of this makes you uncomfortable then please do not read!

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

bucky sees the gates of heaven

“What’s your colour?” You asked in a sultry voice. You licked your lips at the magnificent sight in front of you — Bucky Barnes, the most feared assassin in the world, was tied up beautifully on your bed. “Green. So fucking green.”

“Good boy.” You patted his thigh and he smiled sweetly at the compliment. “Are the ropes too tight?” You inquired again. “No. Just fine.” came back his short reply. His hands were tied to the headboard with a rope that he could easily break through. But he wasn’t supposed to — and that was where the real fun was.

The ropes were pulling his arms taut above his head and you couldn’t take your eyes off of his muscles flexing underneath his skin. This man was the prime example of an alpha male and yet he was beneath you, and that fact itself was sending you on a power trip.

You could see the excitement radiating out of Bucky’s body and you weren’t any less thrilled. You had discussed what you were going to do today for a long time and you were both happy that you were finally able to do this.

You bent down and pressed a sweet kiss to his pliant lips. The soft kiss soon turned into a passionate one and you rubbed your hands down the stretched planes of his body. You were straddling him and were only wearing Bucky’s favourite set of lingerie.

You could feel the soft pants coming from his open mouth as you began kissing down his neck. He was already getting sweet for you and he let out a little moan when you sucked on his sensitive spot. He smelled like his aftershave and something distinctly Bucky from this close.

Your lips slowly descended from his neck to his clavicle leaving behind small spots as the mark of your possession. You sat back up to see at the little link of bruises and something bloomed inside your chest and you smiled wickedly before pressing your fingers into those marks.

Bucky gave a choked off groan and you knew that little pressure was nothing as compared to what Bucky could take, but still it affected him and it made you smirk. You ran your fingers down his pecs and his breath hitched when you scratched your nails down his sensitive nipples.

“Do you like this?” You asked condescendingly. You knew he loved the pain very much as his cock was hard enough to pound nails. But him agreeing to the humiliation was more arousing for both of you. His reply was breathy, “Yes. Please please.”

He thrusted his hips up and you clicked your tongue. His legs were free for the very reason that you loved to see him writhe. You pressed your hands on his hips and pushed him down. “I know you’re excited baby. But you get some relief only when I want you to.”

“I’m sorry. I just…” he sounded worried as if you were going to punish him. “Awww, don’t worry baby boy. I’m going to forgive you this time, but I need you to pay attention after this. Okay?” He nodded eagerly and you blew him a kiss. You loved Bucky, and you loved dominating him, but at the same time, you couldn’t stand to see him sad.

There was this protective instinct within you that screamed to take care of him. He had gone through horrible things he absolutely didn’t deserve, and you just wanted to create a place where he would feel safe and most importantly loved.

Even when you did punish him, it was usually for his own good and you made sure that he enjoyed it too. Earlier in your relationship, Bucky had been hesitant to use the safe words. He didn’t want to disappoint you. But after a long talk, you had made it plenty clear that you wouldn’t be disappointed if he ever used his safe word.

You began pressing kisses down his abs and trailed low towards his thighs. He whined when he realised that you weren’t paying attention to his throbbing organ, and rather everywhere else. You cooed at his pitiful whines, the sounds going straight to your core.

“What do you need baby?” You asked innocently. “I.. I need you to touch me.” His raspy voice was like music to your ears. “That’s all? I am touching you, ain’t I?” It was nice to see him flustered. Bucky didn’t have any qualms about cursing, and yet he became so shy sometimes that it was endearing to watch.

“Please. Please touch my cock.” His cock looked as if he was hurting and you nodded in understanding. “All you had to do was ask baby.” He visibly calmed down as you took his hard length in your hand and started pumping.

Bucky looked on with rapture as you bent low and kissed the head of his cock. You maintained eye contact with him as kitten licked over his head and he groaned when he saw your tongue licking up his precum. His hands twisted in their binds when you finally took his tip in your hot mouth.

You laved your tongue over his drooling slit as you sucked on his head. Your lips stretched on his thick cock as you took him deeper. Your saliva had started collecting in the corner of your mouth and you shamelessly drooled as you sucked him off.

You panted as pulled back and licked your lips in a deliberated show. “You know you can cum anytime you want, right?” This was what today was going to be about. You knew Bucky had nearly no refractory period and at the same time he was very sensitive, so you wanted to see exactly how many times he could cum back to back before it was too much.

This time, you took him deeper until his length hit the back of your throat. Your tongue was pressing against his delicate underside and you were loving the little whimpering noises he was making. You couldn’t help but get excited for the surprise you were going to give him.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head when you took him right up to his base. You hadn’t ever deepthroated him before, and the intensity of the sudden warmth scrambled Bucky’s head. He couldn’t hold it in anymore when you gagged around him and he came with a loud shout.

You tried swallowing it all, but some of it dripped down from your mouth to your chin and mixed with the spit. When you pulled away, you smirked when you saw a circle of your lipstick at the base of his still hard dick.

You wiped off the cum from your chin in an elaborate gesture and popped the thumb into your mouth and suckled. By now, your clit was throbbing and it felt as if you were going to burst if you didn’t get some much needed relief.

You placed yourself over his cock and tucked your panties to the side and began rubbing your wet pussy over his cock. Both, yours and Bucky’s eyes were drawn at the sight as your slick mixed with your spit and his cum. It was a debauched sight, and the filthiness of it was turning you on even more.

You clit was rubbing deliciously on his hard cock as you humped him. His head was leaking cum like a broken faucet and you scooped it up and once again tasted it. You could see the effect it was having on him as he kept on twitching underneath you.

You knew he was aching to enter you, but you weren’t going to give him that relief, not yet. You could see the way his fists were curling with the need to touch you. “Be patient baby, and you’ll get all you want.” You murmured in his ear before biting down on his ear lobe.

“Oh fuck!” He cursed as he came again. His cock was trapped between his body and your pussy and he came all over his own stomach. His cum puddled on his hard abs and you felt power surge in you when you saw how you’d ruined him.

“Do you want me to stop baby? You’re sweating a lot.” You asked in a patronising tone as you wiped off sweat from his forehead. “No. Please don’t stop. I’m green. Very green.” His eyes were wide at the thought of you stopping mid way. “Okay then. This is what you asked for.”

You could see his Adam’s apple bobbling when you retrieved the item you had placed on the bedside table. But his face scrunched up in confusion and you stopped your movements. “What happened?” You asked. “You haven’t cum.”

“You’re such a good boy for noticing. But I’m keeping it for the grand finale.” While you were overstimulating Bucky, you were edging yourself. You wanted to feel the euphoric high of finally letting yourself go. Bucky smiled back at you when the realisation dawned upon him.

But that smile soon twisted into an ‘o’ face when you pressed the vibrator to the tip of cock. You knew he was very sensitive by now and aware of even the slightest movements. And you couldn’t even imagine what those vibrations travelling up his spine must be doing to him.

“Tell me how it feels.” You knew Bucky was in no stage of forming proper words and yet you loved pressing him. “It feels so good.” He babbled. You clicked your tongue and his eyes flew open to see what you were going to do. “Just good? Then I’m not doing it right.”

You spit on his cock and a little string connect it to your mouth before you wiped that off. Bucky closed his eyes and laid back into the bed as he feared he’d cum right on spot. His cock was already dribbling with juices and the lubrication added to the pleasure as you pressed the vibrator his cock.

His entire body was pulled taut right before the moment he came and it was the most mesmerising sight ever. His muscles stretched and relaxed when he came, like a string pulled tight before release. You kept on your ministrations until he began twitching. “What’s your colour?”

“Green!” You chuckled to yourself thinking how excited he still was. You once again started pumping his cock with your hand as you pressed the vibrator along his throbbing length. You twisted your hand over his head and he muttered out curses and groans.

His hair was sticking to his forehead as he thrashed around on the bed. His crystal blue eyes were hazy and his cheeks were tear streaked. He was a literally super soldier and yet he absolutely wrecked and you were the reason behind it.

His legs thrashed a little when you suddenly stopped. You lovingly rubbed your hands down his thighs in a soothing motion to calm him down. “Please! I need… I… fuck!..” he had become a babbling incoherent mess and you were living for it.

“I know baby. I know. You’ve been such a good boy for me. Now you get to decide where you cum next.” You already knew his answer, but it was fun to pretend as if he had a choice. “I wanna cum in you. Please!” He was so needy that you wanted to hold him close and kiss his pretty cheeks.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, but he was so out of it that he just kept his mouth open for you to fuck in. You slid out of your panties and he whimpered when you lined his cock with your weeping hole. You both moaned together as you slowly sank down on his thick length.

You relished the tight stretch for a moment before beginning to move your hips. You placed your hand on his chest as you fucked yourself over his cock. Your nails were leaving behind little curved indentations on his skin.

You bent down to press little kisses over his scarred shoulder and the little gesture of love brought more tears to Bucky’s eyes. You loved Bucky more than you could put into words and this was your way of telling him how much you cared for him.

The room was filled with Bucky’s grunts and the wet squelch of your pussy. You unclasped your bra and Bucky’s eyes zeroed in on your tits. You rolled your hard nipples as kept moving your hips. You were driven by the intense need to finally find your released and everything else dimmed in comparison.

“You wanna touch me baby?” You noticed Bucky was squirming and twisting his hands in the rope. “Yes please.” His voice was more of a pathetic whine and you pouted as if to reconsider your choice. “Hmm. Give me one more, and then I’ll let you.” Bucky bit his lip in frustration as he nodded in defeat.

You began drawing tight circles on your swollen clit as you grinded down on him. He made a guttural sound and came with a thrust of his hips when you clenched around him. You didn’t stop even when you felt his hot cum fill you up. You had your goal set in front of your eyes, and you were going to achieve it no matter what.

But true to your words, you began untying the ropes. The knots weren’t really complicated and came off easily. The moment his hands were free, he placed them over your body and kneaded your curves. He pulled your hand away, and began stroking your nub, sending electric sensations up your spine.

His cum began leaking out of your cunt and dripped around his length, adding to the mess. Your eyes fell on the marks you had left before which had already started fading. You couldn’t stop the instinct that roared within you when you placed your hand on his neck.

When Bucky didn’t object, but rather seemed aroused by it, you curled your fingers a bit tighter on his neck as you kept riding him. You felt yourself on the edge of pleasure and you knew that all you needed was a little more push. “Who do you belong to?” You asked in a throaty voice.

“You. I’m yours.” Immense pleasure coursed through your veins when these words spilled out of his lips. You got lost in the storm of torrential sensations as your body shook with tremors. You fell upon the soft embrace of Bucky’s body when you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore as you came harder than you ever had.

Bucky couldn’t hold back either as your walls spasmed around his oversensitive cock. He dug his fingers into your soft hips as he came deep within you. You both panted and tried catching your breath as you rode the aftershocks together.

You wiped the strands of hair from Bucky’s forehead and pressed a sweet kiss before getting up. Bucky made a protesting sound and you were quick to reassure him. “You were so good for me sweet boy. So good. But I think this is enough for the day. Let me clean you up first and then we can cuddle. Okay?”

Bucky had a silly smile on his face and you knew he was deep in his headspace. You didn’t waste much time in cleaning yourself and Bucky. Once you were done, you started up a bath for two of you and retrieved a cold bottle of water and some freshly cut fruits which you had kept specially for this occasion.

Bucky eagerly gulped down the cool water and you gently held him close as you walked towards the bath. You checked the temperature of the water and once you were satisfied, you both entered and settled into the warm water.

You had kept the fruits nearby and you picked one strawberry and held it to his lips. He bit into it and closed his eyes as he relished the taste. You popped one into your mouth and sank back into the calming waters. “You didn’t have to do all this.” Bucky’s voice was small as he said it.

“Of course I had to! I’m so lucky to have you in my life Bucky, I need to tell that to you too. You deserve all this Bucky.” Bucky’s eyes welled up with tears and he shook his head. “No. I don’t. I’ve… I’ve done bad things and I…” you shushed him before he went deeper into his thoughts.

“Bucky, look at me.” You cupped his face in your hands as you continued. “It wasn’t your fault. And I’ll say it again and again till you finally believe me. I love you, and I’ll keep on loving you, and for the good or the bad, there’s nothing you can do to stop me from putting my love on you.”

Bucky cracked a smile at your loving threat and he hugged you back tightly. This man may be intimidating with his appearance, but he was truly a gentle and sweet man at his heart. No matter what the world threw at him, he still hadn’t lost his loving heart.

The world and its noise didn’t matter when you were tightly wrapped up in each other’s arms. Bucky was your entire world, and you hadn’t lied when you’d said that you would love him until the end of time. And you knew he felt the same about you when he happily whispered back, “I love you too.”

[raggaraddy]

Mouthy

Prompt: You say to Yandere BTS "Oh my god! Just shut up!"

A/N: Couldn't sleep, so I wrote this laying in bed. I hope it's not some sleep-deprived nonsense ^-^

Trigger warning: Yandere themes, violence, emotional manipulation, choking, non-con, D/s themes, examples of a bad D/s dynamic.

Alpha! Namjoon

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You scream it through your bedroom doorway. Storming to the railing of the stairs, you lean over and scream again. "Shut up!"

The sea of people on the ground floor go quiet. Only the music dares to keep making a sound in the background. You skulk back to your room, slamming the door loudly behind you. You had had a long, disappointing day. You were tired and grumpy, and moody and sad. But the dozens of uninvited pack members couldn't care less as their party raged on into the night.

Not allowing you enough time to even climb back into bed, Namjoon storms after you to address your outburst.

"Y/n, go downstairs right now and apologize." He orders.

"No." you mope. Feeling it's a wildly unfair request. All these people are in your house making so much noise when you're trying to sleep. How is it you that's in the wrong?

"Do you think I am asking you? I'm telling you. Get downstairs now." He says sternly. His strict tone making you even more emotional. You just wanted him to be on your side for this.

"But- But I," you sniffle, with tears in your eyes.

"No," Namjoon cuts you off. "I've asked you all afternoon what's wrong. And you wouldn't tell me. So right at this moment, I don't want to hear it. You have been disrespectful to me and my people. So you are going to put some more clothes on and cover-up, and you will go out there and apologize to every single person." He growls, leaving no room to argue. "And you will do it sincerely, or I will give you something to cry about."

King! Seokjin

You didn't say it to his face. You would never be that stupid. But still, you clearly weren't smart enough. While gossiping to a friend, someone you thought was a confidant, you're complaining about a seemingly endless, boring meeting you had to serve today.

"And I just wanted to tell all of them; Oh my god! Just shut up!" You laugh. 

But hours later it's no longer a laughing matter.

"How did you enjoy serving me today, Princess?" Jin asks his tone giving nothing away of what he already knows.

"I enjoyed it. Thank you, your Majesty" You politely smile, thinking his question to be a kindness.

"I often find these meetings so dull. Many of the Lords do like to ramble on. Sometimes I would enjoy telling all of them to just shut up." He speaks the words so purposefully that you know at once you've been exposed.

"My Lord, I-"

"If you are smart you will not say another word." He speaks softly, with a grin on his face. "I want to thank you, Y/n.  I have an endless supply of other people I can hurt. Each one of them is freely at my disposal, but you are my favourite toy." He fills the space in front of you. "However, I am a man of my word. I swore to you that you will be unharmed if you are obedient, and I would not dare to break this vow. Of course, I have sorely missed playing with my beloved little dol, though."

Towering over you he sets off your instinct to get to your knees and grovel, begging his forgiveness for your carelessness. But that would only be a wasted effort.

"So thank you, Princess, for giving me the possibility to hear your pretty cries of pain again. I will make sure to use this opportunity to its fullest."

Assassin! Yoongi

He had been in a hyper mood for 2 days straight. His energy and enthusiastic interaction was something you always craved, but you had never dealt with it this long before and you were losing your sanity and your composure.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You shout at him as your last nerve snaps.

"Okay, Y/n." He gives little to no reaction. "Remember you said this in a month from now when you're begging me to speak to you."

But it didn't take a month. In two weeks you were in tears apologizing. He left you free to roam the house, but he revoked all communication from you. The only times he gave you any attention, was when he forcibly made you stop doing something he didn't like. Or when he wanted you for sex. But still, he wouldn't utter a single word, only bending you over to take what he wanted.

After 5 weeks, just as you thought you'd never hear his voice again, he finally broke his silence. Only to break your heart.

"Listening to you these past few weeks, I realise how much you talk. It's time you take your own advice and shut up. Y/n, I don't want to hear a sound out of you until I say. 5 weeks was easy enough for me. So let's start with that, and then I'll see if I want to hear from you yet."

Vampire! Hoseok

Hoseok was always so animated. Normally it didn't bother you, but he was talking and reacting through yet another movie and you were sick of it. It might have been because you were PMSing or maybe because Hoseok had forgotten to feed you all day, but when he yelled at the TV, you yelled at him.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" And right away you were teeming with regret.

"I'm sorry baby. Am I being too loud?" He laughs with an unexpectedly harmless reply. Playfully but roughly slapping his hand on your thigh. "I'll keep it down."

You're not dumb enough to think that your eruption would go unanswered. So you sit tensely, anxiously waiting to see how he will repay you.

"Baby," he whispers in your ear, after sitting in silence for 20 minutes. "You know I have very strong hearing right?" You nod nervously. Chewing your lip. "Well, your breathing is too loud and very distracting. I can hardly hear the movie. Can you please fix that?"

You know this is going to lead to something horrible, but you have no choice but to do as he says. For the next 10 minutes, you're completely distracted trying to inhale and exhale as softly and shallowly as possible.

"Hmm baby, it's really too much. I can't concentrate on the film." He stands, pulling his belt off. "Here let me help you."

He wraps his belt around your neck, pulling and setting it so tight that it's biting into your skin. Your throat constricting, barely letting you breathe.

As you wheeze and splutter and cough, he holds the end like a leash. Sitting back on the couch, he turns his focus back to the movie without letting you loosen the strap or get away. Your whole body is shaking, your eyes starting to roll back as you struggle to inhale. The belt is cruelly not tight enough to have you pass out though. Only allowing you to sit in your suffering. The sound of your gasping filling the room.

"Ahh, there you go baby. That's much better. Don't worry, it's just while we're watching movies. And there's only two more left in the trilogy."

Playboy! Jimin

He was telling you over and over how sorry he was. How he didn't mean to kiss that girl. That he was drinking. And that she kissed him. It was every excuse and lie he had spouted 100 times before.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You yelled at him. And for a moment it worked. He sat in stunned silence. But as you got off the bed to leave, taking your car keys with you, he chased after you.

"Where are you going?"

"Out Jimin. I need some time alone to think." You scowl.

But he refuses, blocking the door. Holding his arms to either side to barricade you in.

"No, you can't leave! I said I'm sorry."

"Fuck off Jimin, your apologies mean nothing." You say shoving him.

He doesn't accept that. With a roar, he grabs your shoulders throwing you down onto the bed. Quickly straddling you, using far too much force to keep you pinned beneath him. Tearing off the pillowcases, he makes some shoddy but effective restraints. Tying you to the bars on the headboard.

Ignoring your screams and how you struggle he starts to kiss down your neck, pulling at your clothes, rubbing his hands down your body.

"I'm gonna make you feel good Y/n. I'll show you that I only want you, then you'll have to forgive me." He says sounding desperate and unhinged.

You cry and yell for him to stop, trying to buck him off you, but his hand covers your mouth, his other successfully tearing down your panties from under your dress.

"Don't fight me, Angel. Just let me in. And I'll prove I love you the most."

Dom! Taehyung

Finally, Taehyung had agreed to spend some time with you in a social environment. He and you went out to a movie and dinner with some of your friends. They were vanilla friends though, so as an exception, for the day he loosened a lot of the restrictions and formalities you normally had in place.

You, however, you were getting a little too relaxed. While you joked with you're friends, you started to speak to him the same manner. As you and he were playfully arguing about trivia facts you realized you were losing the debate.

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" You joke. But in the company of your friends or not, Taehyung was not about to let you disrespect him. Even in jest.

"Is that how you should talk to me girl?" He asks loudly and in front of everyone, bringing the group conversation to a grinding halt.

His change in tone and his use of the possessive pet name, right away have you back in your place.

"No," you whisper. The sting of embarrassment hot upon your cheeks.

"No, what?" He pushes it.

You can't stand to look up. All of the attention is on the two of you. And even in your peripheral, you can see your friends looking at you judgementally, wide-eyed and in shock.

And he was making it worse by having you use his title around them.

"No, Sir." you surrender, your head hung low.

"Shouldn't you also apologise to the other people at the table? For interrupting our night with your rudeness." He keeps piling on one shame after the other. Stretching out the ordeal.

"No, it's fine." One of your friends tries to laugh off the awkwardness and speed the discussion away from this point. "She doesn't have to."

"Y/n," He prompts you, disregarding what your friend had said.

Thoroughly humiliated, you can't imagine how you are going to repair these relationships or explain this treatment away.

"I'm sorry for interrupting the night with my rudeness." you swallow heavily, hands shaking.

"Good girl. Now mind your mouth. Before you make me embarrass you further."

Mafia! Jungkook

"Oh my god! Just shut up!" you say in a hushed voice. More of a prayer said to yourself than an actual demand you expected Jungkook to hear.

"What did you just say to me?" he lowers the phone, gawking at you.

You really didn't mean to, it just slipped out. He was talking on the phone, going into too graphic detail about how he and his men dealt with a threat recently. You couldn't handle the gruesome details he was recanting anymore and the words just fell out.

"What did you just say? Did you just tell me to shut up?" He repeats again through your nonreply. His tongue running through the inside of his cheek, his jaw and muscles tensing. His voice jumping rapidly from stunned to aggressive.

You're at home alone with him, so you weren't paying much mind to what you were saying. But this afternoon he's been dealing with work. And right now he isn't Kookie, no the person in front of you is Jeon Jungkook. The temperamental Mafia head, who would as likely hit you as he would speak to you.

"I'm sorry," you squeak.

"You're sorry?" He scoffs, slamming the phone down. "If you had said it and meant it, that would be one thing. I could respect that. But you really just can't control your stupid little mouth can you."

"I-" you start a defence, or more a plea for mercy.

"Shut the fuck up!" He growls leaning forward in his seat making you flinch back. Darting his hand out he grabs you by the hair, pulling you back to where you were. "Don't flinch. I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm gonna help you." He smiles.

You wriggle in his clutches, mewling the same trifle apologies under your breath.

"Shhh, my brainless little Kitten. I'm gonna give you a gift." He smirks. "For your own safety, you don't need to talk for the rest of the day. I just need you to come when I call. Sit on my lap when I tell you. And purr for me like a good little pussy." Grabbing your arm harshly, he yanks you off your chair and onto the ground. "There you go, where you belong." He laughs. "You think you can remember to do all that? I know you can. Otherwise, I'll buy you a kat collar to remind you how my Kitten should behave."

[sorikkung]

just had a horrible day time for a pick me up 🤩 or to fall deeper down the hole, you never know with natgig, but yk what, that can be cathartic <3

the way i immediately knew it was gonna be yeonjun... it was either gonna be his past self or yeonjun but either way his past is coming back to haunt him oh boy im ready for this to HURT

flashbacks to that one chapter w dream mingi bc That Is Not Yeonjun!! oh my fucking god. every time i think youve come up with a way to emotionally torture wooyoung in the most psychologically damaging way possible for him specifically you outdo yourself and make it worse. what the fuck. my BABY. FREE MY BOY HE DID NOTHING WRONG!!!!

"He deserves this." NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“Or maybe you really are as useless as he claims.” you really said "lets aim for every single trauma wound we can fit in one character then stab 85 different needles into each one <3" w him didntcha

oh no. oh no. that isn't seonghwa either isnt it. theres no way there'd be such a sudden jump to him being saved already. oh no. oh nonononono. oh noonoonononononooooononon. ohno

yeah look if wooyo been thinking abt seonghwa choking him out while he kisses him then like me the fuck too, but also, ouch. SDJKFSDKFHS

“That if anyone were able to love something as fucked up as you, maybe it would be me.” OH OUCH WHAT THE FUCK DUDE THAT SHIT HURTED 😭😭😭😭😭

its gonna be san then mc isnt it. ohhh man. oh man. oop. its san. fuckfuckfuck

OH. OH. OHHH MY GOD. BC THEY DIDNT NEED TO COME UP WITH THE MOST EMOTIONALLY DAMAGING THING SAN COULD SAY TO HIM - HE ALREADY SAID IT ALL. SO THE NEXT WORST THING IS JUST. LOSING HIM COMPLETELY. HIM BEING DEAD. OHHHH THAT WAS SO EVIL CORYNN I AM GRABBING YOU BY THE SHOULDERS AND SHAKING YOU LIKE A FUCKING FISHHHH

im still sussy of winter bc shes the only one we've seen Actually hold this kind of resentment towards him like the dream/nightmare state or whatever dont even needa twist Her behaviour LMFAOoo

there she is. man, with the very knife he took from her, how symbolic... also i never thought the words "I do too." could be SO FUCKING DEVASTATING and Y E T. AND YET!!!

yk i just realised we still dont know who the dark army are or why they want mc yet do we??? well presumably to finish what they started but like. i was gonna say or their beef w libaiya but. we know enough to guess why anyone could have beef w libaiya HSDKFJGKSJD but like man why are they willing to go to such lengths who the fuck are these people this whole time!! im so curious!! what are they fighting for!!

San wants his sword back. San also knows that he isn’t thinking about weapons anymore.

UGH I LOVE A GOOD COMPARISON LIKE THAT!!!!

hwa asking him to talk abt how they met just to pass the time n feel a bit better oh my god what is it about that thats so cute and precious ahh 🥺🥺🥺 also very clever way in getting the readers to the exposition on this without adding another entire triggering event for it hehe

“But then Woo showed up,” Seonghwa says softly. “Yeah,” San breathes, unable to help the smile that curves across his lips. “But then Woo showed up.”

ugh that pacing hit like a TRUCK 😩😩😩😩😩

THATS KIND OF PATHETIC DONT YOU THINK SHKJAJKDKJFG OH MY GODDD THOSE ARE SUCH GOOD FIRST WORDS. I LOVE AN ICONIC INTRO I LOVE THAT SM

He simply needs Woo there. Even when it’s wrong, even when he knows it’s an awful, gut-wrenching codependence at times. He needs him. 

nothing i love more in fiction than awful, gut-wrenching codependence like yaaaas kings make each other WORSE do it in the name of LOVE thats just as destructive as it is restorative WOOOO

Yes, San knew that Woo had feelings for Seonghwa. San just didn’t know that Woo knew that Woo had feelings for Seonghwa.

one of my favourite relationship dynamics honestly

"If there is any scenario San could imagine Woo confronting his feelings, it’s in a fit of rage." YEAH THATS WOOYOCORE ALRIGHT SHJKDFGHKFAKGHSKDHGKSJDFGJ LOVE THAT

oh damn hwa aint even had his gay awakening yet huh. you in for a real storm with this one brother! KDJFJKSHKJSKDFHK- [SPITS OUT DRINK] HE COULD WHAT. OH MY GOD. OH MY GODDDDDD ITS HAPPENINGGGG ITS FUCKING HAPPENINGGGGG!!!!!!! HOLY SHIIIIIT!!!!!

"Seonghwa is not upset that Woo confessed to loving him, he’s upset that he didn’t do so tenderly." THATS SO FUCKING RAW OH MY GODDDD san real observant for that one BUT ALSO MY HEART SPLIT IN HALF!!!!

"More than anything, San makes sure that the kiss is tender. " WHAT IF I PISSED MY PANTS SO HARD I DIED!!!! WHAT THEN, CORYNN!!!! WHAT FUCKING THEN!!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHH FUCK THERE IT FUCKING IIIIIIIIIIIS OH BOY HE DID ITTTT FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUKCFUCK

“And why do you think that is, Hwa?” "Oh." HKSFDGKLJSDJKFGJKSDFGKJ FUCKING, GOTTEM

okay that was so tender and gentle and soft and

IM FINE.

there Is something freeing about confessing to your crush, even if they dont reciprocate, i feel that. getting real relevant in this chilis HSJKDKFGJKDJK OH MY GOD MC NOOO.

oh fuck i completely forgot abt minho's elixir. i also forgot what it does. hol up do i needa go back... ok i went back. cool so we dont know what it does! but i assume its going to be what gets us and the crew outta here alive.

KEEP MINGIS NAME OUT OF YOUR WHORE MOUTH COMMANDER!!!!! also i wonder if that ravine will come into play later. just a random hunch. surely it was mentioned for a reason?

cool so the dark army are just working under orders. i mean expectedly enough but theres no patriotism involved huh just some hidden big bad paying em to do it. hmmm :/

whew i knew sanhwa would show up in the nick of time fuck yeah side by side fight scene i love this shit!! pretty fitting that seonghwa first ever takes a life in a moment as dire as this. hes being so strong rn 🥺🥺 they all are 🥺🥺🥺 can you tell im extra emotional today.

A man swings at you, and you push backwards against San to avoid the swipe. You worry it will cause San to tumble, but instead he sinks lower on knees, flattening his back. Using it for support, you fall back and into the air, giving the man in front of you a firm kick to the chest that sends him backwards, crashing into a few of the men behind him.

this part is so cool and vivid youre back at it again w the sick action scenes 😩😩

a mere MONTH??? i thought it had been a couple months on the road at least damn this shit went by quickly hsjkdkjgskg

"You open your eyes and know that you will never be her again. " ooh bitch CHILLING!!!

ok there is something so fucking cool about wooyoung being the commanders last resort. not some other dark magic shit to make Him more powerful, but to use wooyoung as a weapon because he knows wooyoung is the most powerful one here. so this basically means they were smart in capturing wooyoung first - or maybe just lucky - cause theoretically he could've taken down this entire battalion himself, just like it was the wardens army. hes an absolute fucking wildfire and thats kinda sexy of him tbh

omg is that the first theyve heard wooyoungs name thats so AAAAAAAAAAAA PULLING ALL MY HAIR OUT THIS IS SO PAIN BUT SO GOOD

“Because, Wooyoung,” you say. “He deserves it.”

BANGER! BANGER! ABSOLUTE FUCKING BANGER, ATE AND LEFT NO CRUMBS, PERFECT BUILD UP, WORDING, DELIVERY, STANDING OVATION, SOMEONE GIVE THIS BITCH A GODDAMN GRAMMY OR SOMETHING THE CROWD GOES WIIIIIIIIIIIILD

i knew the ravine would be relevant and wow that visual is so picturesque, even if i dont think he deserved the swiftness to his demise </3

"Fuck." WHAT A PERFECT CLOSING TO THE CHAPTER SHJDFGAJDKJGSKJFGKSKDGKJSDFGK wow. what a climax. i mean was that even a climax we still dont know who the employer is or what will happen when they reach kuroku but that was sure a climax if not The climax... sheesh im outta breath just reading that. or that might be from coughing up a lung but imma give you the credit bc fuck this cold and this chapter was fucking awesome. angst fluff action all in one you really giving the bitches Everything. its me im bitches. dunno if my reaction is shorter than usual this time ive been so out of it but i really really enjoyed that one you know i always enjoy the wooyoung centric chapters that shits like crack to me <33 knocked it out of the park once again, cant wait to see where it goes from here!

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 11

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

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Eleven: a broken conscience, tenderness, and a final confrontation.

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 ->

wc: 16.2k

extra chapter warnings: themes of self-hatred, brief mention of suicide. heed the violence warning for this one.

chapter summary:

“I don’t know what happened at the lake,” Seonghwa starts, tentative and unsure. Clearly cautious to continue forward. “But do you think you guys will be able to work things out?”

“I don’t know,” San breathes, and it’s true. “I really don’t know, Hwa.”

Seonghwa nods, taking this in. He begins to chew on the corner of his cheek, nervous. “I need to tell you something.”

a/n: me apologizing for taking eons to write is getting a bit old, so imma stop LMAO. life is just busy but what’s new. anyway, to be frank i adore this chapter. it's a wild ride. i hope you all enjoy. mwah.

“Wooyoung!”

Wooyoung hears someone call out to him, but he isn’t sure from where. Their voice appears close, yet far off all at once. As if they are speaking from beside him, and at the same time miles away.

His senses feel muddled. Eye-sight a bit faded, it’s as if he’s looking through a window in the winter season. Fogged and clammy with precipitation, almost translucent. His hearing is muffled, his footsteps creating a dull-echo through him, as if they’re coming from within his mind rather than heard through his ears.

Wooyoung ignores this, instead choosing to follow the voice, although really, he’s walking aimlessly more than he is following. He can’t tell where the voice is coming from, and the darkness that surrounds him is disorientating. When he looks down, he can see his own eyes staring back at him, the ground polished and reflective. However, when he looks forward it all meshes into a thick blackness, like a mirror facing the night sky. 

“Wooyoung!”

He hears the voice again, and it sounds like it’s coming from behind him, but when he turns there is nobody there. Just more of the same darkness.

Wooyoung scowls. Something is wrong, although he can’t place what. An inkling of worry rests on his shoulders nagging at him to listen, but everytime he tries to grasp it, it slips between his fingers. Sliding like water over rock.

His frown deepens. Yes, something is very wrong. He should know what it is, and yet he doesn’t.

Wooyoung turns back around, walking back in the same direction from which he came, this time with more fervour, his cluelessness leaving him agitated. 

However, as he turns it is not only blackness ahead of him, but a boy.

He faces away from Wooyoung so that the elemental cannot see his face, although based on his narrow stature and height, he’s no older than his early teens. Wooyoung, struck by a sense of familiarity, heads towards him. 

Upon reaching him, Wooyoung reaches out to grab the boy's shoulder, turning him around to face him. However, just as the boy’s face is almost visible, he vanishes. Wooyoung blinks. Darkness sits before him, empty, his hand outstretched into the blackness.

“Wooyoung.”

He whirls around, finding himself face to face with the boy.

Wooyoung gasps.

The boy’s light eyes meet his, a rich grey colour that has always reminded him of a coming storm. His black hair has grown longer, shaggy as it curls around the boy’s ears. Although Wooyoung has grown quite a bit since he last saw him, the boy is still taller, even if only by an inch or so.

“Yeonjun,” he whispers, and then his arms are wrapped around him, pulling the boy close. Wooyoung presses one of his hands along Yeonjun's back, feeling his skin and the muscles along his shoulders, trying to make sure that he’s real as he remembers each of his skin’s crevices. Ensuring that he is not a trick of the mind, an illusion within the warped darkness. 

But he is real. Completely solid, his skin as warm and soft as so many years ago. Wooyoung places a hand onto the back of his head, cradling it as he pulls Yeonjun close. 

Yeonjun does not move to hug him back. He stands still, stiff. Arms planted at his sides.

“You’re dead,” Wooyoung whispers, because he doesn’t understand how this is possible. He tucks his chin over the boy’s shoulder, overwhelmed by the familiarity of it, even after all these years. There’s a rightness to it, like his shoulder was meant for Wooyoung’s chin to rest there.

Yeonjun doesn’t reply right away, and Wooyoung finally pulls away from him. Yeonjun’s deep grey eyes meet his, although there is a certain absence to them. Not of life, but compassion. His lips are pulled into a thin line, his jaw clenched tight. 

It’s not until now Wooyoung realizes that Yeonjun is not happy to see him. 

“You don’t have to remind me that I’m dead, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun says, and his voice is not how Wooyoung remembers it. Not in its actual sound, but in its tone. Wooyoung remembers Yeonjun’s voice within night’s spent up in the watchtower, huddled close together. He remembers it in whispers around the lunch table, jovial and bright amidst the darkness. 

He does not remember Yeonjun’s voice being so cold, nor so pointed. So hateful. 

“It’s not the kind of thing I would forget,” Yeonjun spits, releasing himself from Wooyoung’s grip. Wooyoung flinches, caught off guard by this ferocity of his words. 

“I didn’t mean-” Wooyoung starts, reaching out to place a comforting hand atop the boy’s shoulder. Yeonjun slaps it away. Hard. 

“Don’t touch me,” Yeonjun scowls. He takes a step forward, and Wooyoung finds himself stepping back. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me!”

“I-I’m sorry,”  Wooyoung says, and his voice is small as he takes another step back, pulling his hand away completely. 

“Don’t tell me that you’re sorry,” Yeonjun says, and then Wooyoung is flying backwards. Blown by a sharp gust of wind, he hits his back against the ground. It sends a sharp spark of pain along his spine, and he winces as he continues to roll, using his elbows to protect his face as he tumbles backwards. 

When he finally comes to a stop, he looks up, watching as Yeonjun storms towards him. “You think that you being sorry is going to change anything? That it’s going to fix what you did?”

“No,” Wooyoung whispers, because it’s true. He has hated himself for what he did to Yeonjun. Dragging him into his plan to escape, the plan that ultimately got the boy killed. However, even with all of his guilt, regret, and self-hatred, he never once thought that he’d have to face Yeonjun again. That he would have to own up to his failure. His unforgivable mistake.

He deserves this.

“You’re right, I am dead,” Yeonjun says, no longer shouting, but the ice within his voice is just as powerful. “I’m dead and it’s because of you.”

A ball of fire ignites in Yeonjun’s hand that the younger boy pulls it back, before letting it fly towards Wooyoung. The fire hurtles towards him, its orange and yellow flames twisting and turning, growing in size with each passing second.

Wooyoung would never hurt Yeonjun. Not intentionally, not with his own hand or flame. So instead of firing back with his own, Wooyoung redirects the flame away from him, sending it sideways.

Except that he doesn’t, because the redirection doesn’t work. 

Yeonjun’s aim lands true as the flames engulf him.

Wooyoung thinks that he is screaming, but he can’t tell, his ears having gone deaf amongst the pain that radiates throughout his entire body. The burning sensation starts at his skin, thousands of little needles stabbing him everywhere from his face down to his feet. He can’t think beyond the burning, the heat intolerable as it consumes him. He begins to roll around on the ground, wailing in agony as he desperately tries to put the fire out. 

When the flames subside, Wooyoung can’t rise to his feet. He drags his hand along the ground, weak and shaking as he pulls it to his side, and he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirrored floor beneath him.

His skin bubbles and blisters, it’s once deep bronze having shifted to an angry and repulsive bright red. His hand twitches, shaking as he attempts to move it. He lets out a low whine of pain, tears glistening in his eyes.

He hears Yeonjun’s footsteps approach him. When the boy crouches down in front of Wooyoung, his eyes are full of malice. He does not smile, even as Wooyoung looks up at him through bleary eyes, weak and pathetic.

Yeonjun’s hand fills with fire, and instead of throwing it at him, he simply places it onto Wooyoung’s arm. Wooyoung watches in horror as his skin catches light, the needles returning as sharp pain cascades over his flesh. He lets out a broken cry, trying to move his other hand to put it out, but he’s too weak. His other hand merely shakes, awkwardly patting at the fire in a way that does nothing to put it out, but rather makes his other hand hurt even more.

“Use your gift, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun chides, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Or maybe you really are as useless as he claims.”

“He” meaning Warden. The only man Wooyoung has ever been genuinely afraid of. The only man who convinced Wooyoung that he was nothing. Has always been nothing. 

Is nothing, even now.

Yeonjun leans in closer, and when he speaks, his voice is a low whisper. “You deserve all that’s coming to you, Wooyoung. Remember that.”

The fire spreads up his arm and onto his shoulder, and Wooyoung closes his eyes, losing himself in the pain. It continues through him, the fire eating away at his flesh and burning its way into his mind. He can smell the smoke around him, and it's reminiscent of his skin. Rotten and vile, he breathes it again, mouth agape as he wails in agony. 

The fire consumes him until there is nothing left. His body gone, mind lost to the flames.

“Woo, get off of the floor,” a voice says from above him. 

Wooyoung blinks. His cheek is cool against the ground beneath him, as is the rest of his body that is sprawled out above it. He glances forward at his hand that sits out in front of him.

It looks normal, the burns completely vanished.

He narrows his eyes, glancing at his reflection in the mirror below him. All he sees is himself staring back, disbelieving. Wooyoung’s skin has returned to its normal, deep bronze rather than bright red, the blisters having disappeared entirely. His reflection blinks back at him. It’s as if nothing happened.

“Did you hit your head or something?” The voice says again, and Wooyoung glances up. Seonghwa stands above him,  looking down with a puzzled look on his face. 

Wooyoung frowns, a burst of both excitement and shame igniting within him, although he doesn’t know where it comes from. Did something happen between him and Seonghwa lately? He can’t seem to remember. 

“No, sorry,” Wooyoung replies, and Seonghwa extends a hand out. Wooyoung takes it, letting the blonde lift him back up to his feet. 

Wooyoung glances down at himself, at his once burnt clothing now perfectly in-tact. His frown deepens. “Do you know-” He begins, but whatever he was going to say dies on his lips, as when he glances up Seonghwa’s eyes are already staring into his own. 

Seonghwa is close, a little too close. His hand continues to hold Wooyoung’s, resting against Seonghwa’s own chest. His face is closer than Wooyoung thinks it’s ever been, mere inches apart, and Wooyoung can feel the heat that rises to his cheeks.

“I… I, um,” Wooyoung says stupidly.

“Hm?” Seonghwa hums, and a small smile grazes his lips. It’s coy, almost knowing, and if Wooyoung could feel the heat in his cheeks before then they’re practically burning now. “Were you saying something?”

Wooyoung swallows hard, and when he speaks again his voice is a whisper. “No.”

Seonghwa’s smile grows a little wider. “Good.”

Then Seonghwa kisses him.

It’s familiar in a way he can’t understand, almost as if he’s been here before, but also nowhere close. Seonghwa’s lips are soft, tender as they meet Wooyoung’s own. The empath’s hand is gentle as it reaches up to rest on the back of Wooyoung’s neck, whose mind melts. 

Seonghwa clearly feels the elemental stiffen in surprise, smiling against Wooyoung’s lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle that is oh-so-familiar, and Wooyoung lets the sound flow through his ears and fill the rest of him. His mind, his heart, his body. He lets himself become wrapped in the comfortability that is one of his closest friends, his mind’s long-harboured desire.

Seonghwa’s hand drifts from the back of the elemental’s neck to the front, fingers dancing along his Adam’s apple, which bobs as Wooyoung swallows in anticipation.

Then Seonghwa begins to squeeze.

His grip is not gentle, nor is it suggestive. Instead it is tight, increasingly uncomfortable, and Wooyoung tries to pull his lips away. “Hwa,” he murmurs, although it’s difficult to get out through the way Seonghwa’s hand squeezes around his airway. “Hwa, you’re hurting me.”

“Am I?” Seonghwa speaks against his lips, his tone shifting from fond to something that resembles seductive, but not quite. Mischievous, or even dangerous. “Awe.”

Seonghwa's grip shifts from uncomfortable to painful as he deepens the kiss, nails digging into Wooyoung’s skin as he presses harder on his airway. Wooyoung tried to pull away, to protest, but Seonghwa forcefully keeps his lips on Wooyoung’s own. 

Wooyoung places his hands on Seonghwa’s wrist, trying to pull his grip away. However, it’s as if Seonghwa has gained impenetrable strength, as his arm will not budge no matter how hard Wooyoung tries. Seonghwa finally pulls his lips away, looking down at Wooyoung, eyes full of a mocking pity.

“What’s wrong, Woo? Isn’t this what you’ve been imagining?” Seonghwa asks, and while Wooyoung opens his mouth to deny him, his squeezed airway prevents him from speaking. Seonghwa grins, squeezing tighter as he moves his face closer, his breath hot on Wooyoung’s skin. “Isn’t this what you’ve been dreaming about in that sick head of yours?”

Wooyoung tries to cry out but all that comes out is a choked, pathetic sound that makes Seonghwa snicker. Blackness creeping into the corners of his vision, Wooyoung’s head begins to become foggy, everything fuzzy but the pain and image of Seonghwa before him.

He can feel his eyelids drooping, his effort to pull Seonghwa’s hand away diminishing with each passing second. Seonghwa notices it too, as he coos in disapproval. 

“You really thought I could love you, didn’t you?” Seonghwa says softly, grip tightening to keep Wooyoung awake. Tears begin to fill the elemental’s eyes as his chest aches, desperate for air. For release, one way or another. “That if anyone were able to love something as fucked up as you, maybe it would be me.”

Seonghwa leans in, and Wooyoung feels his eyes roll into the back of his head, nothingness beginning to replace the space his thoughts once resided.

“I could never love you, Woo. Nobody could. It’s time that you stop pretending otherwise.”

Wooyoung awakens to his cheek pressed against the cold mirrored floor. Again. 

Taking a deep, gasping breath, he feels his lungs fill with air. Hand drifting to his neck, he searches for the pain of bruising, only to find that there is nothing there. His neck feels fine, his breathing having returned to normal, and he curses beneath his breath.

“What the fuck is happening to me?” He thinks, staring up at the never-ending darkness above him. He searches his mind for the memory of where he is, how he got to this strange place, but can’t seem to find anything. The answer sits on the tip of his tongue, but he cannot speak it, the words just out of his reach.

Anxiety pulses within his head, hands shaky as he pulls them down to his side. He feels as if he’s going crazy. Maybe he is. Maybe he already has. 

Wooyoung rolls over, prepared to rise to his feet, only to be stopped by the sight of a man lying next to him. He faces away from Wooyoung, but from the outline of the muscles of his back that poke through his shirt and the strap of the eye-patch that wraps around the back of his head, Wooyoung knows that it’s San.

Wooyoung lets out a sigh of relief, comforted by the fact that San is with him. San always knows what’s going on, what to do when nothing seems to make sense. San will be able to put together what Wooyoung cannot.

He extends out a hand, letting it fall onto San’s shoulder, giving the swordsman a gentle shake. San’s skin is cool to his touch, smooth, and Wooyoung smiles at the comfortable familiarity of it.

“San,” he says, giving the swordsman a gentle shake. When San does not reply, Wooyoung shakes him a little harder. “San.”

When San still does not move, Wooyoung assumes that he is sleeping. It’s not surprising, as even for a man so keen and alert at all waking hours, he sleeps like the dead. Sitting up on his elbow, Wooyoung tugs on San’s shoulder, rolling him over.

Except that when Wooyoung’s gaze meets man’s face, San’s eye is not closed in peaceful slumber. It is wide-open, glazed, and worst of all, vacant.

Wooyoung knows that he is dead.

Time appears to stop for a moment, although it feels more like an eternity. Wooyoung stares down into San’s blank stare, the coolness of his skin suddenly making far too much sense. 

San is dead. 

San is dead.

“No,” Wooyoung murmurs, hand drifting from San’s shoulder to his chest, feeling for a heart-beat and finding nothing. Wooyoung pulls himself up onto his knees, leaning down to press his ear to San’s parted lips, listening for a breath. There is none to be found.

“No,” Wooyoung whispers, turning his head to press a kiss to the swordsman’s lips, one that goes unreciprocated. “No, no, no,” he protests, hands shaking as he grabs San’s jaw, pulling his mouth to his own.

San’s lips are cold, unmoving, and when Wooyoung pulls away from him his eyes are stained with tears. His throat swells, chest aching, and he lets out an open sob. It echoes throughout the empty darkness around them, over and over again, like a lament of agony.

“This is your fault.”

Wooyoung’s gaze shoots up. In front of him sits a young girl, no older than thirteen, her long black hair tangled and pale face stained with tears. 

“Winter,” Wooyoung whispers.

“You couldn’t just let him leave,” she says, voice shaking as her hands clutch onto San’s tunic. They tremble around the light fabric, in desperation, in anger, in devastation. “He knew what you would do to him, but you couldn’t let him go, could you?”

“I…” Wooyoung starts, tongue feeling too big for his mouth, mind fuzzy. “I did this?”

He looks down at his hands. They’re coated in blood, as is San’s shirt. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before.

“He loved you,” Winter says, eyes finally looking up to meet Wooyoung’s. The redness of her crying face and the gloss of her tears bring out the blue in them. “We both did. And this is what we get for it?”

“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung says, his voice barely above a whisper. Winter says nothing, her sobs merely grow louder, and Wooyoung looks down at San. The man he ruined. The man he destroyed. “I’m so sorry.”

When San makes no reply, as he no longer can, Wooyoung’s tears transform into loud, broken sobs. His own hand grabs onto San’s bloodied tunic, needing to hold a part of him but not daring to let himself touch the man’s skin. Tarnish him any more than he already has.

“I hate you,” Winter whispers, and it takes Wooyoung a minute to realize that although he’s heard her say those words before, it isn’t Winter speaking.

Wooyoung looks up to meet your gaze.

Your jaw is tightly clenched, your lip quivering. Although, what affects him the most is your eyes and the deep emotion they hold. A fiery blaze of distaste, of fury, wrath, and pure and unadulterated hatred.

“I hate you,” you say again, face contorting inward on itself as you look at him. “For everything you’ve done to me. For everything you’ve done to them. For everything you are.”

“I know,” he answers, and when he speaks his voice is barely above a whisper, as he lets out an admission. “I do too.”

He doesn’t notice the knife in your hand until it is buried in his chest.

Wooyoung stares down at the knife protruding out from him, your hand wrapped around its delicately engraved handle. It’s the one they gave to you, the one he took from you that first night.

He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t attempt to pull it out or shove you away. He deserves it.

Blood pools around the wound in his chest, leaking down. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead coughs, blood splattering from his mouth onto your face. You don’t seem to care.

You lean forward over San’s body, pressing your lips against his ear. However, when you speak, your voice is not your own. It’s deeper, more masculine. Familiar, although from where Wooyoung cannot place.

“Tell me where she is, Wooyoung. Tell me where she is and I’ll make it stop.”

“The refuge,” the answer comes immediately to his mind, dancing on his tongue, although he doesn’t know where it comes from or what it means. “She’s with the refugees. Sharing a tent with a young red-haired girl. It’s just three turns from the entrance.”

But he doesn’t say these words, even as the pain within his chest deepens, even as he wants everything to disappear. Even as he craves for the darkness to consume him, to rid him of this terrible mess. The horrors of everything he’s done. 

He doesn’t say these words because something in his mind screams that he can’t, something deep within him that pounds at the walls of his subconscious, that something is deeply, horrifically wrong. 

“Fine,” you say in that same voice that is not your own, leaning back from his ear to face him, the anger in your eyes having faded to a cold disinterest. “Have it your way.”

You twist the knife deeper and Wooyoung dies, this time in even more agony than the last.

This sword is nicer than San’s old one.

His old sword had been gifted to him from Gloria's blacksmith when he was thirteen. A kind old-man who knew the trouble that had entangled San, and wished to give the young boy a chance in a life where his fortune had run dry.

The sword was nothing special, hilt not quite heavy enough and wrapped in a cheap leather that had become worn over the years. It was not as flexible as to be expected of a good sword, and even with the trips he’d taken to sharpen the blade, the metal was becoming dull and had lost much of its durability. San was also thirteen upon receiving it, so of course, the blade was not long. Even for a short-sword, it had become too small with San’s growing height.

This sword doesn’t have those problems, with its thick hilt coated in fine leather. It clearly holds a stronger durability than the last, almost nimble with its flexibility. It’s even a little longer, allowing him to reach an opponent from a few inches further back, granting him better protection. 

The new sword is objectively better than his last in just about every way possible.

San hates it.

He hates the way the new sword glides through the air effortlessly, how the sharpness of the blade cuts deep against the wooden pole he strikes with a terrifying ease. He hates how it fits his hand so well, how the length suits him perfectly. It was made for him, fashioned for his grip..

There is no life to this sword. Not yet. It wasn’t given to him in a time of desperate need like his last, something to hold onto when everything else was falling apart. He has this sword because he simply needed a new one.

San misses his old sword. It’s heavy hilt and the roughness of the cheap leather against his palm. He misses how it wasn’t long enough, how he’d have to dance closer to danger within every battle. He misses the wrongness of it, and how right that wrongness felt. He misses the imperfection. The faults. The years spent getting used to those faults, of learning to navigate them. 

San wants his sword back.

San also knows that he isn’t thinking about weapons anymore.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, San takes a breath before attacking the pole before him once more. In a flurry of motion, he hacks at the pole’s cheap wood, landing blow after blow. There is no grace, no tactical finesse, just violence. The excuse of training having faded a long time ago, San simply seeks to cause damage.

Then he growls, a low noise of annoyance in the back of his throat, before throwing the sword to the ground. It clatters against a couple rocks, before settling itself in the grass, almost invisible within the night's shadow. Good, he doesn’t want to look at it anymore.

San leans against the pole, feeling the many indents he’s created against the bare skin of his back. His tunic sits discarded on the ground next to him, having been soaked through with sweat. He’s been at this for hours.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks from over his shoulder. San turns to see Seonghwa standing by their tent, a sad expression on his face. He asks more out of courtesy than anything else. San knows that the answer is obvious.

“No,” San says softly, and the honesty surprises him, but after a moment it doesn’t. San is tired of hiding how he feels about things. Of pretending things are fine when they so obviously aren’t. If he still had the energy for it after the last couple weeks — although more like years, really — then it left alongside Woo.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Seonghwa asks.

“Not really,” San answers honestly. He’s been thinking about it for hours, the last thing he wants is to continue doing so. 

“Alright, we don’t have to, ” Seonghwa says gently. San peers back over at him. Seonghwa’s arms sit folded over his chest, eyes big and full of concern. His hair is tousled, patches of blonde sticking out in opposite directions, as if he were trying to sleep but couldn’t. He likely has been. San wonders how late it is, how long he’s been out here for. 

“Do you want to just come inside then?” Seonghwa offers instead, tilting his head towards the tent entrance. San considers this for a moment before deciding he would rather be anywhere other than beside this pole, and nods in affirmation.

Following Seonghwa inside the tent, San takes note of Seonghwa’s crumpled sheets, evidence of San’s assumption that the man has spent the last few hours tossing and turning rather than in rest. 

“Do you want some tea?” Seonghwa asks. 

“I’m alright.”

“Good. Whiskey then?”

San can’t help the chuckle he lets out at that. “Please.”

Seonghwa reaches into the basket Yeji had gifted them, filled to the brim with different delectables. San knew that it was nice of her to do, a kind gesture, but the cynical part of him saw the silliness of it. Here, your friend just got kidnapped for ransom, but maybe these scones will make you feel better about it.

However, maybe she also saw the futility of it, having added a rather hefty bottle of whiskey to the mix of sweets.

Seonghwa pours the whiskey into two ceramic cups before handing one over to San, who sits down on his own bed of blankets across from Seonghwa’s own. Woo’s remains between them, untouched. 

Seonghwa extends his cup forward to meet San’s own in a form of cheers, although to what exactly San doesn’t think Seonghwa knows the answer either. They both take a sip, and the liquid burns slightly as it trickles down San’s throat. He makes sure to drink a bit more than he normally would.

Swallowing his own whiskey before San does, Seonghwa looks down at Woo’s bed between them, gaze contemplative.

“Have you ever told me how you and Woo met?” Seonghwa asks.

San quirks a brow at this, a bit amused but at the same time confused. “Many times, Hwa.”

Seonghwa nods at this, cheeks dusted with a faint shade of pink, as if he’s well aware of this fact and embarrassed to have been caught.

However, when the empath says nothing, San sighs. He knows that Seonghwa simply wants to talk about Woo, even if not about the situation at hand. The dire, horrible situation that plagues both of their minds with worry. The situation that San cannot bare to talk about, so lest he tear up this tent with his sword before heading up the mountain to kill the entire Dark Army himself

But how they met… he supposes he can talk about that. If it will bring Seonghwa some peace of mind, of course.

“We were both fourteen,” San begins, watching as an appreciative smile spreads over Seonghwa’s lips. “I’d been working a job for Jay, spying on an investor he suspected of embezzling The Cradle’s Funds. But I was still new to working for him, and hadn’t quite found my knack for stealth yet.”

Seonghwa closes his eyes as San speaks, as if what he’s saying is some sort of lullaby, a piece of comfort.

“He caught me hiding in the shrub garden of his courtyard and dragged me out by my hair onto the city street. He started screaming at me, before pulling out a knife from his back pocket," San says, and he can still remember that moment as clear as day. The terror that consumed him, that kept him frozen in place as the man advanced towards him.

San does not tell Seonghwa this, but what he remembers most is how in that moment he thought about how nobody would care if the man killed him. His father had left him, his mother and sister were both dead, and his expendability in Jay’s eyes was made blatantly clear by the fact that he sent San to deal with this man in the first place.

If the man killed San right then and there, nobody would have batted an eye. He would just become another one of the many nameless, faceless victims of Gloria’s streets.

“The man came towards me, and I remember closing my eye as he lifted the blade in the air. I didn’t want to see it enter me, I knew I couldn’t handle that.”

“But then Woo showed up,” Seonghwa says softly.

“Yeah,” San breathes, unable to help the smile that curves across his lips. “But then Woo showed up.”

San takes a deep breath, before letting his own eye close, reliving it. “Across the darkness I saw a bright flash of light, and could feel a sudden rush of heat across my face. I opened my eye in a panic. I thought that maybe I’d died, that he stabbed and killed me instantaneously, that the light had meant I’d ascended or that the heat was the fires of Hell.”

“But when I opened my eyes I saw the man standing before me, except that now his arm that was holding the knife was completely engulfed in flame. The look on his face when he saw it was priceless, completely in shock as he ran back into his house screaming for help, the poor boy in front of him that he was about to murder completely forgotten.”

“Then Woo walked up to me, standing up with his arms crossed. The light of the sun shone out behind him, and I remember at the time thinking he must have been the god of fire himself. Or maybe an angel that came to save me. It’s ridiculous knowing him now, but at the time I really believed it.”

“What was the first thing Woo said to you again?” Seonghwa asks, and San chuckles.

“He asked me ‘Were you really just going to sit there and let him kill you?’ I shakily replied yes, and then he said ‘That’s kind of pathetic, don’t you think?’”

Seonghwa laughs at this, shaking his head to himself. San gets it. Even now, so many years later, it’s a very Woo sort of thing to say.

“I thought about it, and then agreed that yeah, it was pretty pathetic. He laughed, and then somehow I found myself laughing too. He helped me up, and then that was it.”

“That was it?” Seonghwa asks, inquiring what he means by that.

“That was it. He never left my side after that. I joined him in his camp outside of the town. He helped me train with my sword even if his own knowledge on the subject was next to none. He never wanted to see me so helpless again. He joined me on countless missions that Jay sent me on, even the nasty ones, the ones that still keep me up some nights.”

San takes in a deep breath. “He was just… there. When I had no-one, he was there. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

San looks down at Woo’s sleeping mat between them. Pristine. Untouched. A testament to his absence.

Things between him and Woo have been horrible lately. It’s been years of build up, of the little issues growing larger, of San’s discontentment boiling beneath the surface. He knows that things with Woo will never change. He knows the elemental will never give San all of himself. 

But it’s in these little moments, when he thinks about their past and everything that has happened between them, that he wants nothing more than to have Woo with him. In any form. In a blistering argument, in the cold quiet following, in his bed even when he knows the elemental will be gone come morning.

He simply needs Woo there. Even when it’s wrong, even when he knows it’s an awful, gut-wrenching codependence at times. He needs him. 

And with Woo gone, taken from him, it’s now that he knows this more than ever.

But then he remembers the jealous spats over the last few weeks. The many morning’s waking up alone. The way that Woo jumped after him over that cliff…

“I don’t know what happened at the lake,” Seonghwa starts, tentative and unsure. Clearly cautious to continue forward. “But do you think you guys will be able to work things out?”

“I don’t know,” San breathes, and it’s true. “I really don’t know, Hwa.”

Seonghwa nods, taking this in. He begins to chew on the corner of his cheek, nervous. “I need to tell you something.”

“Go ahead,” San says, taking a sip of his drink as Seonghwa takes a deep breath.

“Woo kissed me.”

San chokes on his whiskey.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says as San sputters and uses a fist to pound at his chest, forcing himself to cough. “I should have waited until you swallowed first, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” San says through coughs, and while he tries to keep the blatant shock out of his tone, he fails miserably. “Woo kissed you?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa answers, voice breathy and small.

“When?” San asks, bewildered.

“Before they captured him.”

“Before they captured him,” San repeats, more to himself than Seonghwa. He runs the idea of it through his head, although it doesn’t make much more sense to him. 

Woo kissed Seonghwa. He actually did it. Recently. Just the night before.

“Are you mad?” Seonghwa asks.

“No,” San says absently, before really registering the question. He looks over at Seonghwa, who looks at him, knees drawn up to his chest. His fingers tap against the cup in his hands as he chews on the corner of his cheek, both nervous habits of his.

San realizes that Seonghwa is genuinely scared that he’ll be upset with him, and even amidst the shock, San’s heart softens.

“No. I’m not mad, Hwa,” he says gently, running a hand through his hair to pull it out of his face as he takes another small sip of his drink. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

San knew Woo had feelings for Seonghwa, he has for years. He could tell by the way Woo looked at the empath in absent moments, when he thought nobody was looking. That undeniable fondness in his gaze that told San everything he needed to know. He noticed as Woo stiffened at Seonghwa’s touch, the way his breath would catch in his throat, just as San’s own did. 

Yes, San knew that Woo had feelings for Seonghwa. San just didn’t know that Woo knew that Woo had feelings for Seonghwa.

“I know, it was a lot for me to take in too,” Seonghwa says, before letting out a small laugh that doesn’t hold much humour. “Still is.”

“How did it happen?” San asks.

“We were arguing…about her, amongst other things,” Seonghwa says with a shrug. “And it quickly escalated to fighting. I asked— well, I yelled at him asking why he cared so much about what I do, and then he grabbed me and kissed me.”

It makes sense. If there is any scenario San could imagine Woo confronting his feelings, it’s in a fit of rage. 

“After he kissed you, then what did he do?” San asks.

Seonghwa sighs, and when he speaks his tone is bashful, cheeks flushed as if he’s embarrassed to say it aloud. “He ran away.”

“For fuck’s sake, Woo,” San thinks, giving him a mental slap that he hopes the elemental can feel from miles away. 

But San isn’t going to complain about Woo right now, because that’s not why Seonghwa brought this up, it’s not what the empath really needs. He just needs someone to listen.

“Do you know how you feel about it?” San asks, tone gentle.

“No,” Seonghwa says quietly. San catches a glimpse of annoyance in his eyes, as Seonghwa’s expression shifts from bashful to frustrated, lips drawing themselves into a tight line.

“No, I don’t. How am I supposed to know how I felt about it? If I liked it?” Seonghwa says, standing up from his sleeping mat and beginning to pace around the tent. However, given its small size he doesn’t have much room to actually pace, instead walking a mere few steps forward and back.

“There was no tenderness to it. It was nothing like a real kiss should be. He just grabbed my face and shoved it into his and then said ‘Sorry Seonghwa, you’re going to have to figure that one out on your own, I'm off to get kidnapped!’” Seonghwa says the last part in a high pitched sing-song sort of way, one that doesn’t really sound like Woo, but at the same time a lot like him in spirit.

Seonghwa sighs, taking a sip of his drink before pinching the bridge of his nose, as if he has a headache. When he speaks again, his voice becomes quiet. “That's not fair. I know it’s not fair. But neither is what he did.”

San looks up at the empath, contemplative. “Any ideas as to what it means to you yet?” 

“No,” Seonghwa answers immediately, before appearing to think better of it. “That's a lie. So many. Too many. I don't know, it’s just…”

He trails off, giving San a nervous glance that tells the swordsman that Seonghwa is worried of making him uncomfortable. San gives him a gentle smile, a signal to keep going despite it.

Seonghwa takes a deep breath. “It’s always been you and him. Always, from the moment I met you both. There was never another option, so I never considered another option. It would have been unfair. To you, to him, to myself… So I don't know. I honestly don’t know if I think of him that way. I don’t know if I think of guys that way. But now he’s gone and that’s like, the least of our problems to be worried about right now, but I just…”

“I know. I get it,” San says, because he does. He’s been there. San hadn’t loved a man until he met Woo, and falling for the elemental certainly wasn’t easy. Figuring out Woo had always been like deciphering a puzzle, or even navigating a ship out on a foggy day at sea. Disorientating, frustrating, and requiring a strong will and patient temper. 

Seonghwa sighs. “I don't know what to do.”

San see’s Seonghwa standing there, dejected and confused and what he’d dare to call a little heartsick, and the words come out of his mouth before he even registers that he’s thought of them.

“You could kiss me.”

Seonghwa’s gaze shoots back at him, and when he speaks his tone is hesitant, maybe even a little pointed as his lips hover above the rim of his glass. “That's not funny.”

San looks up at him, expecting to feel caught, or to begin back-tracking. Play it off as a joke and cover up his feelings as he’s so often done in the past, let them exist to him and nobody else.

Instead he says:  “I wasn't joking.”

And he isn’t.

He isn’t because San realizes that Seonghwa is not repulsed by the idea of Woo kissing him, or of even Woo loving him. He’s upset that Woo didn’t do it more cautiously, that he didn’t let Seonghwa give any input on his own thoughts or feelings. He’s upset that Woo did all of this in a moment of anger and aggression, without asking, and without apparent thought or care.

Seonghwa is not upset that Woo confessed to loving him, he’s upset that he didn’t do so tenderly.

“San,” Seonghwa says, and his tone is difficult to read. He says it like a warning, telling San to think about what he’s saying, what he’s really offering here. But San is thinking about, a small part of him always has been.

“I’m serious, Hwa. Think about it,” San starts, and he tries to keep his demeanour nonchalant, even as his heart begins to rapidly pick up pace in his chest. “You said you aren’t sure if you’re into guys. Well, I’m a guy. I’m not horrible to look at. You’re comfortable around me. It might help you sort some things out.”

“But…” Seonghwa trails off, and his complexion has gone a bit pale, clearly taken aback by the proposition. “But it’s you. It’s us.”

“Look, if you don’t feel anything or don’t like it I’m not going to take it personally,” San says, and maybe that’s not completely true, but what he says next is. “I’m not going to let it ruin our friendship. I promise.”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, large brown eyes scanning the swordsman’s face, as if searching for something. Eventually he speaks, and his voice is barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Really?” San asks despite himself, unable to contain his surprise.

“Yeah, whatever, okay,” Seonghwa says, his voice breathy, small, and all-around nervous. He walks over to sit down in front of San, this time on Woo’s unused sleeping mat rather than his own. Seonghwa does so with such a quickness that San is pretty sure the empath is trying to commit to this before he can talk himself out of it. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Seonghwa asks, gaze meeting San’s own. When he speaks his tone is embarrassed, maybe even a little self-conscious. “I mean, it’s me.”

Seonghwa says “me” as if that’s something that would deter him. As if there’s no possible way that San would want to kiss him, of all people. As if that were something San should be repulsed by.

San decides that with this kiss, he’ll prove to Seonghwa just how wrong he is about that.

Reaching forward to take hold of the empath’s jaw, San’s grip is gentle as his fingers dust along Seonghwa’s cheek. Seonghwa’s skin is warm, a beautiful kind of soft, and San takes a moment to run his thumb along Seonghwa’s cheekbone, his own heart fluttering at the way the empath’s skin floods with a light shade of pink.

Seonghwa’s eyes flutter shut, lips parted open slightly, waiting for San to accept them. San waits for a moment, taking in the sight before him, registering that this is actually happening. That Seonghwa - the man he’s only let himself love in seclusion, in weakness, in devastating secret - waits for San’s lips to meet his own.

Closing his good eye, San takes Seonghwa’s face in his hand, fingers grazing the conjunction between his neck and jaw. The empath’s skin is warm and San wonders if he’s blushing.

Seonghwa’s lips are soft. Softer than San imagined them to be, admittedly watching the empath’s mouth at times rather than his eyes. Embarrassing. Foolish. Pitiful. 

But perhaps not anymore. Not right now. Right now is anything but such cruel negativity.

San makes sure that the kiss is good. That it holds a sense of passion, by no means chaste or hesitant, but also is not aggressive or to the point of formidability. He grips Seonghwa’s jaw a little tighter, pulling him in deeper.

More than anything, San makes sure that the kiss is tender. 

Seonghwa sucks in a tight breath, and for a moment San fears that he’s uncomfortable, repulsed by it. That this was a mistake. That the rejection he’s been terrified of for so long is just a moment away. Maybe Seonghwa won’t even be able to look at him after, he’ll be too disgusted. 

But then Seonghwa’s hand finds itself on San’s arm. It rests there, Seonghwa’s fingers gently gripping San’s tunic. In that moment, the swordsman can almost feel as the fear and anxiety leaves his mind, draining from his body like a fruit squeezed of its juice. 

Not rejection. Maybe not acceptance, maybe not a confession or admission on Seonghwa’s behalf. But not rejection.

And with no rejection to be found, San knows what he must do.

He pulls away from Seonghwa’s lips, albeit not far, as he rests his forehead against the empath’s own. He can’t look Seonghwa in the eye for this, he knows it will make him too much of a coward to get the words out.

“I need to tell you something now,” San says.

Seonghwa’s voice is shaky as he speaks, quiet as his breath grazes San’s lips. “Okay.”

San holds his breath, as if he is about to dive underwater.

“I love you.”

There is a pause, and while San knows that realistically it is no more than a few seconds, it feels far more like an eternity as they pass by. He imagines all of the things Seonghwa could say. All the many variations of rejection or denial he could utter, ranging from a simple “no” to an entire memoir on why Seonghwa would never feel the same.

Seonghwa says none of these things. Instead he asks: “As in how?”

It takes San a moment to register what Seonghwa is asking. “As in I’m in love with you,” San clarifies.

“But…” Seonghwa starts, and in the moment’s pause he finally draws away from San’s face. When he looks at San, his face gives nothing away, a surprise given the empath’s often animated nature. Perhaps it is because he also does not know how he feels, how to respond to such a confession. Seonghwa does not smile, nor does he frown. His eyes do not light up with joy, nor do they swim with despair. 

In fact, the only emotion San can read is the wariness within Seonghwa’s gaze. A deep sense of caution. “What about Woo?” Seonghwa asks.

“I also love Woo.” San says, because it is true. Even after everything. Even after what happened at the beach the other night. Even with the line dug in the sand between them, a line that San himself has drawn, he knows that he will always love Woo. Always. 

Seonghwa frowns, eyebrows furrowing together into a puzzled look, as if the possibility of loving two people in such a way had never occurred to him before. As if the possibility of San loving two people in such a way were impossible. 

“I love him differently,” San admits, before thinking about it for a moment. “But at the same time, maybe not so differently either.”

“I don’t get it,” Seonghwa says, and for a moment San believes that he is talking about how San could love them both, but then Seonghwa clarifies: “How can you love me? For the last year you’ve kept me at such a distance. You’ve barely been able to touch me, let alone anything more than that.”

The words settle like a stone in San’s gut, and he thinks of their conversation at the fire after their run-in at The Desert Lotus. How Seonghwa had believed that he made San uncomfortable.

It was true. Touching Seonghwa did make San uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with how with each touch filled him with the desire to touch him more.

San’s voice is quiet as he speaks. “And why do you think that is, Hwa?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa answers, an immediate response, dejected as his gaze drifts away from San to look downwards. To Woo’s bed beneath them.

A flash of realization dawns on Seonghwa’s features, lighting up within the empath’s eyes. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” San says, unable to hide the amused smile that grazes his lips. “Oh.”

Seonghwa seems to consider this for a moment, before looking back up at San. “You know I love you too, right?

San’s eyebrows shoot up at this, and Seonghwa rushes to clarify. “Maybe not in the same way. Or maybe I do. I honestly don’t know. This is all new. I need some time to think about it.”

San nods. That’s fair. He hadn’t expected Seonghwa to immediately reciprocate his feelings. Although, maybe a little part of him deep down had foolishly hoped that he would.

Seonghwa seems to take note of the slight solemnity to San’s smile, and places his hand over the swordsman’s own. “But either way, I love you. And I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”                                             

“You won’t” San replies, and it is instant. It is instinct. It is the truth. “Take all of the time you need.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa says, giving San’s hand a soft squeeze.

A moment of silence passes between them, and despite its slight awkwardness, San finds it the least tense he’s felt around Seonghwa in a very long time. It’s as if a weight has been taken off of his shoulders, finally free of the deep sense of guilt in the quiet moment’s between them. When San’s mind would wander, and he’d hate himself for thinking such things about his closest friend, and then hate himself even more for being too much of a coward to tell his closest friend what he was thinking.

But now Seonghwa knows. He knows. And no matter the outcome, no matter what he feels towards San in return, San no longer has to hide or wallow in his own guilt.

It is freeing.

Seonghwa takes a sip of his drink. “That was a good kiss though,” he mumbles over the rim of his glass, and San laughs. A real laugh, bubbling up from his chest. It’s been too long since he laughed like that.

Then, as if a reminder of how not all good things can last, Yeji bursts in through the tent flap.

“She’s gone,” Yeji says, voice cracking with shock and worry. She’s wrapped in her blanket to cover her nightgown, her hair falling in tangled red curtains over her shoulders, clearly having just woken up. “She’s gone and a horse is missing.”

San’s heart drops down into his stomach.

He doesn’t need to ask who the “she” is that Yeji refers to, nor does he need to question where you went.

You’ve gone to find Woo. Alone.

You've gone to find Woo, alone, amongst men who are willing to pay a fortune to see you dead.

“Fuck,” Seonghwa breathes, voicing San’s own thoughts.

“Do you know when she left?” San asks, as it couldn't have been long ago. It had to be some time after San came inside the tent, otherwise he would have noticed you sneak out.

“Her bed is still warm. So recently,” Yeji answers, confirming San’s suspicions. 

“Alright,” San breathes, before turning to Seonghwa. “Let’s go.”

Seonghwa nods in agreement, and without another word, they’re on their feet and heading out through the tent flap. Annoyance bubbles within San’s gut. He told you not to go. He told you to wait until he came up with a plan. A plan that meant getting both you and Woo to safety, not forcing you all to pick between one or the other. He is not one of the gods and has no interest in playing one.

You seem to have made the decision yourself, and while San resents you for not telling him or Seonghwa what you were planning, he understands why you did it.

Because San was never going to come up with a better plan. Time has been ticking since the moment he found the message scrawled in the alley, and his ideas have run dry. There is no better way, it was always going to end in you heading up the mountain to Woo’s aid. You wouldn’t have had it any other way, and deep down San knows he would have had it the same.

He just wishes that they were there with you. There to help you. To protect you. To kill these men with far too much power, who took everything from you.

Who took everything from him when they kidnapped Woo.

The sun has begun to set over the horizon as you ride along the Concorsus Mountain Pass.

An entire day having come and gone, your pace relentless as you rode in a restless pursuit, your body now aches in protest. Your thighs burn from their friction against the horse’s back, the muscles in your arms throbbing from maintaining your grip on the reins. Your stomach rumbles and groans, gnawing at your insides in hunger, head-pounding in demand of water.

But there is no time to eat or drink, not when only the god’s know what the black-clad men are doing to Woo.

You’ve had an awful lot of time spent in silence to consider the many possibilities of how they could be torturing him, all too gut-wrenching and grotesque to even think about. You try to push away the images of Woo bathed in blood, his face swollen with bruises and infected wounds. You hope that they have him in a room somewhere, untouched, awaiting your inevitable arrival.

You also recognize this as wishful thinking.

Pushing the thoughts from your mind, you focus on the trail ahead of you. The Concorsus Mountain Pass is not an easy ride, the ground full of jagged rocks and rolling hills that have put your elementary equestrian skills to the test. Looming cliffs rest on each side of you, the black-colour of the rock like two blankets of darkness threatening to crush you between them.

The black-clad men did not specify where along the pass you were to meet them, but as you continue to ascend higher and higher, the increase in altitude making you feel both dizzy and nauseous, you imagine that they are stationed at the mountain’s summit.

As far away from Bebbanburg and any chance at aid you could possibly be.

You swallow hard, riding onwards. You have no help here, no protection. Having abandoned the safety net that San and Seonghwa created, you are truly alone in this. Your only protection is the sword attached to your waist, as well as Minho’s elixir residing in your pocket— if you could even consider that protection. It’s old magic, not even the god’s know what it will do. You aren’t particularly keen on ingesting it.

But if it comes down to a choice between life and death, a matter of saving Woo, you will.

With this in mind, you approach a rock wall. It’s not particularly large, five-feet tall at most, but your horse whinnies in protest as it comes to a stop before it. You try to give it a bit of encouragement, but the animal does not budge, clomping its hooves in irritation.

You sigh. This is not a horse from the kingdom stables, bred to ride and trained to jump, you have to leave it behind. Letting yourself down from its back, you grab the cliff’s edge, pulling yourself up and over the wall. Crawling up off your knees, you cast the animal a glance backwards, to which it meets with its black marble eyes.

The horse continues to huff, neighing in frustration. You frown as the animal grows louder, squealing as it lifts up onto its back legs, crying out.

“What the…” you mutter to yourself.

“It’s trying to warn you,” a voice says from behind.

You twist around, hand reaching for the sword at your waist, but you are not fast enough. The stranger grabs your wrist as you turn around, his other hand digging into your scalp. He pulls your hair back, forcing you to look up at him.

He’s young, maybe only a couple years older than yourself, with dark eyes and pale skin. His light hair is made brighter through its contrast with the black armour he wears.

“Hey, Princess,” the man says, grinning. You spit in his face, but he simply laughs, giving your hair a sharp tug backward. His laughter is quickly accompanied by others, as more black-clad men appear from behind different dark rocks along the mountain walls. You count what appears to be a half-dozen of them, all different ages and sizes, appearances united only through the black armour they wear. 

Giving your body a sharp twist, you catch the man off guard, before giving him a swift knee to the groin. He lets out a groan, his grasp on your hair relinquishing itself as he stumbles backward.

You’re prepared to run, to jump down from the cliff and back to your horse in hopes of finding more allusive passage, when you feel the coolness of metal along your throat.

“You’ve gained some spunk since we last saw you,” the man holding the knife whispers, seizing your wrist as he tugs your arm behind your back. You wonder if he was one of the men that chased you down the corridors following the besiegement, that hunted you in your father’s library. That killed Mingi in the stable.

“Good,” another adds, although which of the men is speaking you cannot tell. “It’ll make this all the more enjoyable.”

You were correct about their base being set at the mountain’s summit.

The men have been dragging you with them for what you assume has been roughly an hour, the setting sun having finally fallen victim to the night’s darkness. Stars glitter in the sky above you, and they are the only light present besides the singular torch one of the men carries, alighting the mountain pass in an ominous, orange hue.

They’ve remained silent since your capture, although the glances and cunning grins they’ve exchanged between one another have spoken loud enough. You don’t know what exactly is waiting for you at the summit, but you know it isn’t pretty.

The cave you approach at the top of the mountain seems fitting, as it's possibly the most unwelcoming entry-way you’ve ever seen. Sharp rocks align its entrance, each of them bleached white from sun exposure, creating the illusion of a monster’s gaping mouth.

You swallow hard, fear curdling within your stomach. It’s fitting, as entering a beast's mouth seems an awful lot like what you are doing. 

Upon entering the cave, the initial darkness does not last long, as you spot light further up ahead of the winding tunnel. As you draw closer, you recognize the light to be lanterns, strown up and around the cave. The bustle of people fills your ears, their chatter growing louder with each passing step. When you finally leave the tunnel and enter the cave’s main area, you blink in surprise.

You aren’t sure what you were expecting. Solemnity, perhaps. A dark cave with minimal light, nobody talking. A monster’s domain.

Instead, it reminds you an awful lot of the refuge, albeit smaller. There are plenty of tents set up, people sharing in conversation between them. Others spend their time chopping firewood, or brushing dirt and gravel away from their own tent’s entrance. To the left of the camp-site is a massive ravine, haphazardly blocked off by wooden pegs stringed together with rope. You are not close enough to the edge to tell, but you imagine the fall to be  hundreds of feet down. Deadly.

You glance around, watching the many men bustling about, as if this were merely a war-camp and not the station of murderess assailants.

Then you see him.

Woo resides on a makeshift parapet in the center of the camp, chains clamped around his wrists that are attached to large stone pillars on both sides of him. He sits on his knees, head hanging out in front of him, his hair falling in a dark mop that hides face. It appears that if it weren’t for the chains holding his arms up, he’d have already crumpled over.

Your blood runs cold.

The talking comes to a quiet as you enter, the dozens of black-clad soldiers all turning away from their conversations or menial tasks to face you. “Look who we found wandering,” the man holding you says, bringing his knife up from your throat to your cheek. He presses the blade against your jaw, forcing you to look up, displaying your face to the many men watching you.

Some of the men begin to snicker, a few even cheer as the man pushes the blade a little harder, piercing your skin. You can feel the blood trickle down your neck, although the sensation feels more like a dream than reality, as you catch sight of a man walking towards you.

Not just any man, but the one that chased you through the library. The one that cornered you in the stables.

The man responsible for Mingi’s death.

He walks slowly, almost a saunter as he appears to be in no rush. His posture holds a sense of confident ease, of power, and you’re certain that he is the commander of this army. His narrow, wrinkled face adorns a thick black beard. His eyes are dark, sharp as they scan you up and down, a satisfied smile plastered across his lips.

“Well,” the commander says, his voice not particularly deep, but intimidating nonetheless. “We were beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

You say nothing, merely stare back at him, venom in your gaze.

“I’m assuming you’re here to save your friend then,” he says, continuing despite your silence. “How very noble.”

You do not give him the satisfaction of a retort.

“You’ve become rather stoic since I last saw you,” the commander says, eyes flashing with something awful. Something cruel. “Before you wouldn’t stop screaming. Begging your other friend not to sacrifice himself— the tall silver-haired boy, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you whisper, tears stinging in the backs of your eyes. They are born of rage, not sadness. You do not let them fall.

“I suppose this is some sort of retribution for that, isn’t it?” The man continues, tone calm, almost light. “He gave his life for you, so now you’ll give yours for another.”

“Shut up,” you repeat, this time louder and with far more bite.

“You should have heard him scream. You should have heard the sound it made when my sword entered him again and again-”

You’ve had enough of this. Tears sting your eyes, fists trembling at your sides. You don’t have to listen to this man, give in to his taunts. He simply wants to have some enjoyment before he kills you, some sick sort of pleasure. Your father always said it was impolite to play with your food, and for once you’d have to agree with him.

“Woo!” You shout, turning your attention away from the man in front of you, from his barbed provocation. When Woo does not look at you, nor move his head from its slumped position, you try again. “Woo, can you hear me?”

“Unfortunately, Wooyoung isn’t quite with us anymore,” the commander answers with a sigh, tone sympathetic, although the smile he wears is anything but. “Not mentally, anyway.”

You frown at the use of Woo’s full name. How does he know that? Did Woo tell him?

“What are you talking about?” You ask, your voice low as fury rises hot in your throat, pulsing within your mind.

The man grins. A mischievous, dangerous, evil grin. “Would you like to come and see?”

The commander nods towards the man holding you, giving a look that says— no, orders: “Let her go.” The man’s knife falls away from your throat as he reliquishes his grip on your arm. You can still feel the spot where his fingers were, aching where bruises will surely soon appear.

Nobody moves to grab you, and it strikes you that in this moment, you could try to flee. Bolt back down the tunnel, dozens of men sure to take after you and grab you once more. You’re certain they would be far less liberal on your second capture.

You could try and fight. Relinquish your sword from its sheath and take out as many as possible. It would likely be only one or two, considering they’d all be on you and you don’t have San here to coach you through it. By the god’s you wish that San were here.

But he is not, and thus instead of fleeing or fighting you follow the man, obeying as his hand beckons you forward. “Good girl,” he says, and your gut clenches in disgust, face twisting with repulsion.

If the commander is offended by the expression, he doesn’t show it. Instead he continues walking, the two of you winding past different groups of the black-clad men, each of their gazes falling over you. You feel like a gazelle in a den of lions, their stares hungry for your blood.

When you reach Woo, you take a step forward, unsure of what exactly you plan to do. Perhaps move the thick mess of tangled hair from his face, or give the chains some slack to loosen the pull on his wrists. You just need to do something.

The commander places an arm out, stopping you. “I wouldn’t get too close if I were you.”

“Well, good thing you’re not me,” you cut back through gritted teeth, moving towards Woo. You crouch down, reaching for the chain on his right wrist.

“Woo, I’m here,” you say, trying to keep your voice level, even as it shakes. The commander had suggested that Woo wasn’t mentally here, and while you aren’t sure exactly what that may mean, you know you should navigate this with caution. 

When your hand touches the chain around his wrist, Woo lets out an awful, blood-curdling noise. You’d describe it as a scream, but that would make it too human. It is nothing less than animalistic.

Flames emerge from the elemental’s palms, scorching your arm. You yank your hand away, wincing as pain bubbles within your fingers. Despite yourself, you step back, clutching your burnt hand.

Woo looks at you, except that he doesn’t really. Instead his eyes almost look through you, unfocused and distant, although that’s the least of what worries you about his appearance. 

Apart from the unsettling and distant look to his eyes, the whites of them have shifted to a strange and unnatural purple colour, like blooming lilacs during the spring season. It contrasts greatly against the many thick red veins expanding out from his pupils, which have spread across his iris’ in a way that reminds you of black marbles.

His wrists are laced with wounds, the metal of his bonds having heated up due to the fire he unleashed from his palms. The burns are clearly infected as they beam a revolting yellow, puss forming within their deep gashes. Those will scar, you have no doubt.

Sweat beads along Woo’s temple, trailing down his face and onto his neck. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his entire body is drenched, all of his clothes soaked through. He trembles, tremors seizing his body as he breathes heavily, chest heaving as he appears to not be able to get enough air.

“What did you do to him?” You whisper. The man chuckles.

“We gave him an elixir of sorts,” he answers, and your stomach twists at the thought. Old magic. The weight of your own potion grows heavy in your pocket.

Woo continues to shake, arms trembling as he continues to look through you. Tears form in his eyes as he begins to murmur beneath his breath, although what exactly you cannot make out. You didn’t know what the men would do to him, what state he would be in, but you never could have imagined this. Fury twists in your gut like a cheap ale, making you feel sick with ferocity.

“Why would you do this?” You ask, and it’s the question that has been pressing down on your shoulders ever since you watched the dagger enter your father's stomach. You twist towards the commander, and despite how he stands taller than you, you do not let yourself appear weak. Chin held up high, you meet his gaze.

“Why would you destroy my kingdom? Why would you spend so much time and effort hunting me across Burovia? Why would you place such an utter fortune of a bounty on my head?” You look him up and down. “Who are you?”

The man grins. “Me? I am nobody.”

“Enough games-” You snarl, but he merely shakes his head, giving you a dismissive wave.

“You think I care about a pampered royal brat bred by a kingdom of snakes?” The commander asks, his dark eyes glimmering in the many lantern’s light. “I couldn't care less about your disaster of a court, although I must say I enjoyed burning it to the ground.”

You frown. “Then why would you-”

“Because my employer cares,” he cuts you off, tone final. He folds his arms behind his back, a clicking noise filling the air as he taps his fingers along his black armor. 

“Who is your employer?” You press further, ignoring how the noise matches the beat of your racing heart, that’s pace only increases with each passing second.

“I am not to say,” he answers with a shrug.

You grit your teeth, frustration building in your chest. “If you plan to kill me then what does it matter?”

The man hums, grin growing wider with satisfaction. “Does it scare you, the possibility of never knowing?” He takes a step forward. “Does it terrify you to never know why your kingdom burned to ash, to never know why your father was murdered?”

The man is close now, peering down at you, the crow’s feet along the edges of his ageing eyes more prominent as he stands before you. He reaches forward, running two of his fingers along your bare cheek.

“Does it frighten you that you’ll never know why you died?” He asks.

You do not flinch, even as he touches you, even as your body demands it. “You do not scare me,” you lie.

He chuckles at this, his hand still placed on your cheek, his calloused fingertips rough against your skin. “Your eyes say otherwise.”

The commander reaches to his side, pulling out a knife. Its long blade is serrated, details of stars carved into its wooden hilt. It reminds you a bit of the one Seonghwa gave you, the one Woo took on that first night you met them.

He extends the blade out towards you, hilt settled neatly in his open palm. “Would you like to do the honours? Or should I?”

You stare at the knife out before you, its blade a cool white, almost glowing within the cave’s dim lighting. He’s offering you a choice. Not of whether or not you will die, but how. Or better, by whom.

To do the deed yourself, or have it done by his own hand. 

Your hand hovers out in front of you, fingertips a mere inch away from the hilt. You stare at the knife, at its cool iron, at its spotless white blade. Soon to be tainted. Your hand shakes despite your attempt to steady it.

It’s a horrible, horrible decision to make.

Fortunately, the arrow that embeds itself in the commander’s arm liberates you from making it.

Sticking out from the crook of his elbow, nestled within a small gap in armor that was designed for amplified movement, the man lets out a shocked groan of pain. The knife clatters on the cave’s rocky floor as he brings his hand to the wound, the blood emerging from the black fabric not noticeable until it coats his pale fingers.

In unison, both you and the commander twist in the direction from which the arrow flew.

Seonghwa stands atop a rock in the far corner of the cavern, bow drawn up, still in the position from which he let the arrow fly. You nearly let out a cry of relief. Joyous, unadulterated relief.

A scream cuts through the air, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

There’s another noise, a gargled and choked sort of cry, and you hear the sharp sound of the many black-clad men unsheathing their swords before you actually see them do it.

This is because your focus is not on them. It’s on San, as he holds a body out before him. It’s one of the men that captured you on the mountain pass, the young blonde. San’s sword sticks out through the man’s chest, blood pooling out from his mouth as his eyes grow dim.

It’s immediate, how the cavern erupts into chaos.

“Seize them!” The commander orders his battalion, before ripping the arrow from his arm. Despite the blood leaking from the now open wound, his movements are agile as he removes the sword from his own sheath. The blade is as black as night, matching its shadowy hilt.

You stare him down, relinquishing your own sword, your mother’s sapphire glittering.

You prepare to take a step forward, however, something presses up behind your back. You prepare to twist around, strike the oncoming threat. However, San’s voice fills your ear, quiet as he speaks over his shoulder. “We move together.”

“Alright,” you breathe, lifting your long-sword out before you as San’s back presses into your own. “Together.”

The black-clad men attack.

They move at you from all directions. San places his free-hand along your waist, guiding you with him. The two of you move with the grace of one being, fending off the dark wave of men that surround you like a swarm of hornets defending their hive.

You swing at one of the men, catching his shoulder as San pushes on your left hip. You move with it, narrowly dodging the strike of a different enemy blade, the breeze of his swing cool against your cheek. The failed strike catches the owner of the blade off-balance, allowing you to seize the opportunity to stab your sword into the soft spot of his breastplate, straight through the opening just below the pit of his arm. The man cries out, face knotting together in agony as he falls to the ground.

You do not allow yourself the time to dwell on how you’ve likely just taken that man’s life, how there are even more to come, as you slice your sword along another soldier’s neck. Save yourself, save Woo, save your kingdom. You can mourn the horrors of your deeds later, for now that is all that matters.

You catch a glimpse of a man in the corner of your vision, hair the colour of flame as he sneaks in behind the soldier whose chest you currently run-through with your blade. You won’t reach him in time, his sword is raised high in the air, another second and he’ll bring it down on your neck-

An arrow shoots right through his skull, entering near his ear as the point sticks out the other side of his head. Blood sprays out from the wound, splattering onto your tunic. The man crumples to the ground, falling in the direction of the arrow’s path. Dead.

Your gaze shoots to Seonghwa. He stands atop the rock, eyes wide as his gaze falls to the man on the ground. The man he killed. Horror is plastered across his own expression, as if realizing what he has done. Woo had once told you that Seonghwa has only ever wounded with his arrows. He’s never killed, not even beasts.

You worry he will crumble, just as you did after the mimic, just as you had the first time you’d taken the life of something. Instead Seonghwa swallows hard, a glazed look to his eyes as he gives you a nod, before removing another arrow from his quiver. You have a sense he’s also saving his pain for later.

San tugs you to the left, and your gaze is pulled away from Seonghwa and back to the battle before you. A man swings at you, and you push backwards against San to avoid the swipe. You worry it will cause San to tumble, but instead he sinks lower on knees, flattening his back. Using it for support, you fall back and into the air, giving the man in front of you a firm kick to the chest that sends him backwards, crashing into a few of the men behind him.

You grin. It’s satisfying, watching the men who took everything from you struggle.

And struggle they do indeed. You and San work as a tight-knit unit as Seonghwa picks off the stranglers with his arrows, as well as those attempting to crawl atop his residing stone. 

“By the gods,” you think. “We’re winning.”

However, if you are aware of this, so is the man leading the operation. 

You search for the commander amidst the swarm of black armour surrounding you, trying to pin-point his dark beard and aging face. He doesn’t appear to be a part of the mob. 

“Do you know where he went? The commander?” You ask San, yelling over the sound of battle cries and the screams of the wounded. San does not respond immediately, likely searching for him amidst the crowd. 

San lets out a sudden growl of annoyance. “He’s with Woo.”

You glance over your shoulder, seeing the commander next to the elemental. He stands behind Woo, lips drawn close to his ear, hand placed on the elemental’s shoulder. You cannot hear what the commander is saying to him, but you know that it is nothing good. 

Woo’s eyes are wide, the purple where the white’s of his eyes should be growing darker. Tears stream down his face and they are a matching colour, like drops of ink. You can see Woo whispering something, and while you cannot make out the words, the desperation on his face makes you believe that he is begging. Although what he is pleading for you do not know.

Fire surrounds them, leaking from Woo’s fingertips and onto the cavern floor. The flames run thick, the consistency of molten lava. You’ve never seen that from an elemental before, didn’t even know it was possible..

“We need to make our way over there,” you say while stabbing your sword into the arm of a black-clad soldier. You can feel San nod his head in affirmation.

Wrapping his free hand tighter around your waist, San pulls you with him, the two of you spinning through an opening within the mob. You nearly trip over something, and upon looking down you see that it is a body. His dead eyes look up at you. They are a light hazel.

You would vomit if there was anything solid in your stomach.

San pulls you past the man before you can stare at him for too long, before you can memorize the features of his face, before you can wonder if it was he or you who killed him.

So much death. So much needless death. You close your eyes, only for the briefest of moments, for the split of a second. You imagine you are the person you had been a mere month ago. The girl who let her baths be drawn from her, her clothes picked out and placed on her body by others. The girl who sulked when Mingi left for battle training, who’d never held a sword in her hands, let alone ran someone through with it.

You open your eyes and know that you will never be her again. 

San continues to pull you with him through the opening within the dark swarm, letting go of your waist as the two of you break through and sprint towards Woo.

The commander continues to whisper into the elemental’s ear, more molten lava dripping from Woo’s hands. It forms in pools on the cavern floor, slowly trailing down the parapet in a way that reminds you of the baby basilisks, like long thin glowing snakes.

It’s not until now that you realize what the commander is doing, as Woo grows more and more affected by his words, blood-vessel’s bursting in his eyes as red mixes itself into the purple. A mosaic of burning hues.

The commander knows that he is losing, which means he’s pulling out a last resort, willing to play his wild-card. He plans to use Woo as a weapon. He’ll do whatever it takes to take you out, even if that means his battalion goes down with you. Bastard.

The commander steps back from Woo, walking over to the top of the chain tied to one of the stone pillars. He will set Woo free, grant him full range of motion with his gift. After all, an elemental can only summon flame with movement, with the dancing of their fingers or full swing of their arms.

Only Woo is not your average elemental.

Before the commander can finish untying the first chain, Woo screams. It’s not as animalistic as his last, but far, far more broken. Fire flares out from around him, a massive wave of curling flames that tumbles in all directions, standing over ten feet tall.

You grab San’s wrist, yanking him with you as you dive behind the nearest rock. Face pressed to the ground, you do not see the fire as it stretches over top of you, but you can feel its heat along your back even through your tunic. Screams echo from all around, bouncing off of the cavern's walls, and you know that not everyone was so lucky.

Once the heat disappears, both you and San are quick to settle onto your knees, peering up over the rock. Woo’s head has fallen back down, shrouded in tangled black hair, chest heaving as he catches his breath. The commander, who had fallen to the ground behind him, rises to his feet.

You gasp.

While it appears he managed to find shelter before the flames completely engulfed him, he also did not make it out unscathed. The left half of his face burns a bright red colour, the skin bubbling with boils in a way resembles lumps of flour in unkneaded dough. His dark hair is gone on the affected side, both on his face and the top of his head, smoke billowing out from his disintegrated scalp.

With so much of his skin burned off, his eye nearly pops from his head, stark against his bright red skin. He looks undead, like a walking skeleton, the teeth on the left side of his mouth permanently visible due to his upper lip having been incinerated. His gums bleed, the red almost glowing against the whiteness of his teeth.

Your gut twists at the sight of him, and you have to look away.

Black-clad soldiers sit slumped around the cavern, broken moans leaving their lips as the fire was not enough to kill them all. The agony of their cries fills your ears, and although you fight against it tears sting your eyes. You know that these are bad men, men who killed your father and countless innocents in the castle, who ruined your life and want nothing more than to see your end.

But right now they are just men. They are just human, each one with their own life and story, and they are dying a slow and horrible death.

The blow to the back of your head stops you from becoming too absorbed in remorse.

It comes sharp and quick, carrying the heaviness of what you assume is a rock, and your vision momentarily sways. It doesn’t knock you out, but it does throw you off balance, giving the attacker enough time to seize your wrist. They give it a sharp twist, causing you to let out a whine of pain as your sword clatters to the ground.

The culprit drags you from behind, and you fight to remain on your feet. You shout to San, and while he twists to face you he is moment too late, as the person from behind shoves you away from them.

And into the arms of the commander.

The commander grins, his smile even more unsettling with his missing lip as he casts an appreciative nod to the young, brunette soldier who had grabbed you. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, uncomfortably tight as he turns you to face away from him, chest pressed against your back.

With his spare hand he holds a knife to your throat.

“Enough of this,” the commander says. “Put your weapons down.”

The world around you stills as San comes to a halt, gaze sharp as his good eye flickers between you and the commander, analyzing the situation. He appears to come to no solution as he slowly retracts his sword back into its sheath.

However, not everyone follows his orders.

“Let her go.”

Seonghwa no longer resides atop the rock, likely having dived behind it to avoid the flames. Now on the ground, he stands roughly twenty feet ahead of you, his bow up and arrow drawn.

“What an awful accent,” the man laughs, and his voice sounds more manic now that he is on the verge of defeat. Of death. His cheek presses to yours, and you can feel his spittle against your skin, smell the rotten tang of his breath. “Like a Mainlander that swallowed his tongue.”

Seonghwa’s frown deepens, eyebrows furrowing together as he pulls the bow taught.

“You let that arrow fly and we both go down with it, boy,” the commander warns, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Such an awful smile. “Choose wisely.”

For a moment you don’t understand what he means, but realization sinks like a stone in your gut. The ravine resides behind you, hundreds of feet deep, the belly of a monster whose darkness would swallow you whole. 

“Take your mutt and leave,” the man says to San, nodding towards Woo, who has returned to his slumped position, skin glistening with sweat as his arms tremble.

“So you can kill her as soon as we’re gone?” San bites back, tone venomous. “I don’t think so.”

“I promise to make it quick and painless,” the man says softly, before pressing the knife into your neck. Not deep, but enough to make you gasp in pain. “Otherwise I can make it very, very slow.”

Seonghwa’s hands grip tighter around the bow, San’s expression settling into a snarl of fury. However, neither of them move. If San moves to attack him, he’ll simply slice your throat. If Seonghwa fires the arrow, you’ll plummet with him. You try to reach Minho’s elixir in your pocket, but cannot manage it. Besides, even if you did manage to grasp it, there’s no way the commander would let you go long enough to down the liquid.

He has you cornered, and you all know it. 

Well, that is except for one of you. You turn to Woo.

The elemental does not look at you as you speak. “Woo,” you call, the knife sharp against your throat as it bobs. “Can you hear me?”

“No, he can’t hear you.” The commander whispers into your ear, and you can feel the hollowness of his cheek as he speaks, the rough and ruined texture of his skin.  “Or maybe he can, but who knows how much of him is even left in there.”

“Woo,” you call again, ignoring him, even as his words send a shiver down your spine. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s me. It’s us, we’re all here. San, Seonghwa and I. We’re all here.”

Woo twitches at this, although he still does not lift his head. You hear him murmuring something beneath his breath, and it’s a moment until you can register what he is saying.

“You’re not real,” he whispers, voice shaky and blubbered. “You’re not real.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what he did to you, and I don’t know what you’re seeing or hearing or what’s going on, but I need you to lift your head.”

He doesn’t respond and you try again. “Please, Woo. Please, just lift your head for me.”

It takes a moment, but shakily, he does. His hair falls in dark matted clumps over his blood-shot, purple-stained eyes. His pupils still do not focus on you, a distant vacantness to the broken expression across his tear-stained face.

“Leave me alone,” he says, and it is a hoarse, beaten plea. “Please, please just stop. Let me die. Don’t bring me back. Please. I deserve it.”

Your heart twists at hearing Woo - confident, self-assured, unbreakable Woo - say something so self-demoralizing.

However, it’s with these words, these broken claims that he deserves it, that you have an idea of what horrors he may be seeing before him.

“Wooyoung,” you say, and you notice as Seonghwa’s brows furrow in confusion at the name, San raising an eyebrow. Perhaps it's the first time they’ve heard it. “Wooyoung do you remember our conversation by the fire?”

“Please just stop,” he whispers, shaking his head as more of the molten lava begins to leak from his hands.You don’t even know if he’s still listening, but this is your last shot, so you push on.

“You told me that you knew you should regret what you did to the wardens, that it should eat you up inside. But it didn’t, because they deserved it.”

Tears continue to stream down Woo’s face, which is contorted in a pained, agonizing expression. However, as he does not deny your words or continue his broken mumbling, you take his silence as a sign to continue.

“I haven’t been able to forgive myself for what I’ve done, and I don’t think I ever will,” you continue, and you know both San and Seonghwa are watching you as you can feel the heaviness of their gazes. The confused curiosity mixed with desperation that swirls within them, staring intently. Yet, you ignore them. You ignore the commander and the knife at your throat, the wails of agony in the air and the thick stench of burnt flesh.

Right now it is just you and the broken elemental before you. You and Woo.

“But that’s the difference between us,” you say, swallowing hard. “I chose to harm people that never deserved it.”

“Enough of this,” the commander says through gritted teeth, pressing the knife harder against your neck. Choking down the increasing pain, you ignore him.

“And you never deserved it Woo, any of it. Any of what Warden did to you, any of my father’s cruelty, any of my lies. None of it was ever deserved.”

Woo’s breathing begins to escalate, but this time it is not as if he’s having trouble taking in air, it’s as if he has realized that he finally can.

“Enough,” the commander says again, with more anger in his voice as he appears to come to the same realization about Woo as you do.

“You’re there,” Woo whispers. His gaze is still lost and distant, his limbs still trembling and words blubbered with misery and fear. But there is also something more. Something powerful.

“We’re here,” you say back, relief blossoming in your chest. Even as the commander twists the back of your wrist and you let out a cry of pain, you’re filled with an undeniable, unbridled sense of hope.

“We need your help, Wooyoung,” you say, and the elemental swallows hard in response.

“I can’t,” he says, voice a quiet breath as he shakes his head in denial.

“You can,” you say, tone firm. You have him, even if only for a moment, and you will not let yourself lose him again. “You’ve done it before.”

Wooyoung stops shaking his head as he realizes what you are suggesting.

“Stop this!” the commander says, and now he’s shouting. He means it as a demand, as a threat, but it sounds instead an awful lot like a plea.

“You can do it, Wooyoung,” you say, the softness leaving your voice and replacing itself with a hardened encouragement. You will not yield.

“How do you know?” He asks, and even though his voice shakes, its weakness has fallen away.

A grin spreads across your lips. Even with the knife to your throat, the burnt bodies around, and the commander rotting breath hot against your skin, you smile.

You smile because you know you’ve won.

“Because, Wooyoung,” you say. “He deserves it.”

You can feel the commander’s grip around the knife clench, his elbow brought higher as he prepares himself to slice it clean across your throat.

“I said enough-” 

A blast of heat ignites from behind you, burning hot along your back, and you instinctively push forward. The commander's grip loosens without protest, the knife within his hand falling to the ground, clattering against the cavern’s rocky floor. A strong stench floods your senses, the same horrid and sickening scent that had previously hung around the cavern, only now increased ten-fold.

You twist around, putting yourself face-to-face with the commander, who’s entire body is engulfed in flame.

His screams leave him like waves crashing along the shoreline, powerful and ominous amidst their build-up but shattered and broken upon their downfall. The fire spreads across his body in a way that is almost unnatural, hugging close to his flesh as it eats away at his skin, a vicious parasite devouring him whole. He stumbles, and you cannot make out his expression, his face covered in the burning orange glow. Perhaps it is better that way.

He reaches forward blindly, his flame-covered hands extended outwards as he searches for your body. Even in death, he seeks to take you with him. Find his glory, his vengeance, even if it’s accompanied by his final breath.

And yet, even with all he has done to you, Woo, and your family, you grant the commander one final mercy. 

A quick death.

Reaching forward, you place your palms flat against his chest, giving him a firm push. It burns your hands, although only for a moment, as he stumbles backwards. His foot catches on one of the pegs tied together with rope before the cliff, sending him tumbling backwards. Time appears to stand still for a moment, an eternity slipping by as he hangs in the air, a ball of glowing flame suspended above the ravine’s gaping mouth.

He falls, the glow like a spark slowly diminishing, until it disappears entirely. You do not hear him crash against what lays beyond the darkness.

There’s a moment of silence that follows as you stare over the ravine’s edge. You half-expect the commander to fly back upwards, to catch you in a moment of weakness, suddenly equipped with new fire abilities of his own.

He does not. There is only darkness.

You turn back around. Both San and Seonghwa stare at you, both of their expressions difficult to place. Mouths parted slightly and eyes wide, they appear to be in disbelief. Awe, even. You imagine your face looks the same.

Woo sits with head hung over, eyes closed. For a moment you fear he is dead, but from the shaky rise and fall of his chest, you know that he is merely unconscious. 

There is the sound of footsteps as the few black-clad men left unscathed flee down the cave’s passage-way, leaving you behind. 

“Well,” San whispers, his good eye drifting from you, to Seonghwa, to the scattered bodies around you, before finally settling on Woo. He laughs, shaky and unsure, but at the same time so, so sincere. “Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next chapter coming soon.

thank you for reading! feel free to come chat with me about any thoughts you may have, feedback is the one thing that keeps me going tbh. also, if you’re bored in the meantime, here are both my ateez and skz masterlists for your convenience. i hope to see you around :3