#avoiding kingdom come like the plague don’t mind me

[digitaldoz3]

Family tree lokin’ a bit round today

Anyways imagine being married to your (kinda) niece that would be wild RIGHT DC???

[the7thcrow]

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 10

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

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Ten: a relic from the past, confession, and dark magic.

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: 15.3k

extra chapter warnings: panic attack, a non-consensual kiss, non-consensual drug use (but magical? idk?).

chapter summary:

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

a/n: guess who’s back :3 sorry this took me a million years to write, hopefully i can be a bit more consistent in the next coming months. hope you enjoy, and don’t be shy to let me know what you think! love y’all, thanks to everyone who has not abandoned this story after this massive hiatus LMAO <3

Seonghwa has never believed anger to suit him.

While Woo wears his anger like a loaded cannon, and San - like most other things - buries it until it inevitably rises to the surface, Seonghwa has tried to avoid fury when he can.

After all, anger is often the replacement of a different emotion. It comes easier than understanding, quicker than resolution. It’s the nasty, winding short-cut off the high road, and Seonghwa has learned that the high road is almost always the safer path in the long term.

Anger is ugly. It’s nonsensical and he doesn’t like how it looks on him. It’s why he prefers the cold shoulder to blind rage, sorting out his feelings on his own rather than lashing out on others. It’s the kind thing to do. The empathetic thing to do.

It’s never been overly difficult for him to settle this rage until now.

It festers in his mind every morning, as well as in the night before he falls asleep. Everytime he accidentally catches your eye over breakfast, letting his gaze drift away in hopes that you will think that his eyes were trailing by rather than staring.

He is so unbelievably angry with you, and he hates it.

From the moment the truth was revealed in the forest, it’s as if someone wrapped a hand around his lungs and began to squeeze, then never let go. A hot, burning fire in his chest that’s smoke rises up his throat, choking him with rage. It stings his eyes, fogs his senses. It feels unbeatable, indestructible. Blinding.

He knows that anger is just an emotion. A bad one, one that he’s had to expel from others countless times before. From San, after The Desert Lotus. It’s just another entity, another plague on the body. Settle down, feel it, think better of it, then let it be gone.

And yet now that feels an impossible task. Seonghwa doesn’t know the last time he was so angry. Perhaps it was the night in the kitchen with his mother, learning of the heights of human greed, the one he relives every time he uses his gift to expel the anger from someone else.

He supposes this memory may replace that one.

When he found out the truth about you it was like the last few weeks came crashing down around him. The closeness, the trust and understanding, the mutual respect and admiration.

All lies. All of it. And he feels like such a fucking idiot.

There was no trust, and by the gods, there was certainly no respect. He was a mere pawn in your game, a part of the plan, and all he can do is beat himself up about being too naive to not see it earlier. Woo has always harped on him for being too nice to people, or as the elemental would put it, “not behaving like an actual person, but more like a rock on a walkway that people like to kick around”. Seonghwa thought that Woo was just being grouchy, the pessimist he always is. But hell, maybe he was right.

After all, Seonghwa should have seen it coming. There was so much he could have done. If he had questioned why a beautiful stranger would have so much immediate interest in him in the first place, or why you constantly asked him questions while dismissing any deeper ones about yourself. If he wasn’t so passive about the parasitic emotions practically radiating off of you. If he looked past the ideal he so desperately wanted and dared to dig up the reality of what was underneath.

He’s not an idiot. The reality is that for you, it was never about him. It was about getting to Kuroku. For him it was about the journey, but for you it was always in the name of the destination.

And well, he certainly did his part in getting you there. He shared his gift with you as a token of trust, he took your pain away and made it his own, he vouched for you against Woo’s constant doubt.

All for a girl who’s name he didn’t even know.

The thought makes more anger - ugly, volatile, and oh-so-unflattering - surge within his chest, and he throws a rock into the lake before him. It doesn’t skip as he intended, and instead sinks with a loud plunk.

Seonghwa frowns. He grabs another rock to throw.

After being met with an even louder plunk, he groans, before creeping further up onto the shoreline to grab a flatter rock. His toes dip in the water, which feels colder than yesterday now that he’s no longer fueled by sheer terror and adrenaline.

The coolness brings him back to Maralya, when he and Yunho would sit on the fishing dock. Feet in the water, even though Seonghwa was older, Yunho was the one who had taught him to skip rocks. His half-brother always had a knack for things like that, or well, for everything it seemed. From medical skills, to scaling buildings, to setting a fishing line; Yunho could master whatever he picked up. He must have inherited it from his father, a man Seonghwa doesn’t really remember, as he died when they were young.

Seonghwa doesn’t remember his own father either, as he disappeared on an escapade to The Mainland directly after he was born. His mother told him that his ship was lost at sea, but Seonghwa is pretty sure he just left and never came back.

It doesn’t really matter, he’s never had much of a desire to know the man. After all, the only thing Seonghwa inherited from him was his foolishness. And maybe his nose.

Seonghwa sighs. Picking up another rock, this one flat and polished, he recalls the steps in his mind. Yunho's voice runs through his head as he goes through the form, before bringing his hand back and letting it fly.

Plunk.

He stares at the ripples surrounding the sinking stone for a moment, before sitting down. He must have forgotten a step. It was a long time ago.

He lays back so that his head presses into the sand, the little grains cold and damp against his scalp. It’s familiar. It’s a little like the shore at home, although the sand isn’t as white, and the water’s colder, nor as blue. There’s no sound of hustle and bustle from back in the village, or his mother yelling at him to take a dip in the ocean before coming back inside because he’s covered in sand and he can’t track that into the house.

So maybe it’s not so similar, but he will pretend.

Seonghwa sighs, grabbing a handful of sand, letting it fall between his fingers. It’s times like these, ones where he’s dejected, broken-down, and lonely, that he wants nothing more than to go home. Only then does he remember that there’s no home for him to return to.

He sighs, his anger drifting to sadness, and yet he doesn’t mind. He believes that at the very least, it suits him better.

Footsteps approach from far off behind him, and he knows that it’s you. Woo walks faster, heavier footed, and he likely wouldn’t have heard San until he was closer. Besides, you’ve been walking with a slight limp since the fall, and he can hear it in the thump of every second step.

A part of him wants to ask what happened, what hurts. If you’re okay.

The angry part of him won’t let the other speak.

He hears your steps stutter, coming to a sudden halt from what he assumes is about a dozen feet off. Silence follows, and he wonders what you’re thinking. If you’re nervous to approach him, taking the time to contemplate your words before you say them.

Eventually, you do come closer. “San and Woo want to head towards Bebbanburg,” you call out from behind him. “I said that I’d come get you.”

“Thanks,” Seonghwa says flatly, making no motion to move. He will, of course, but not until you head back to camp. He’d like to avoid the awkwardness of walking in a strained silence, pretending not to notice as you try to meet his eye.

Although when he doesn’t hear you leave, it seems as if he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Sighing, he pushes himself up into a seated position. Glancing back at you, he has to place a hand over his forehead to block out the rising sun blinding his vision.

You stand with your arms wrapped around yourself, watching him with a dampened expression. Your tunic billows in the wind, torn around the waist and covered in dirt and dust. Chewing on your bottom lip as your fingers tap along your arm, you appear on edge. As if you wish to say something.

Seonghwa hates the way he wishes to know what it is. He hates how he wants to smooth your hair that is violently blown by the wind and wipe away the smudge of mud that has hardened against your cheek.

He hates how even now, after everything, he yearns for you.

Perhaps this is how it always would have ended, anyway. Having grown more attached then he ever should, not ready to lose what he knew was never his.

“Seonghwa,” you say finally, although it’s a little strained. Rigid. “About yesterday, by the fire.”

Ah yes, that. You and San hadn’t noticed him at the time, but when neither he or Woo came back to the fire, the two of you went out looking for them. It only took a moment, finding them sitting against the caves outer wall. Quiet and avoidant. Woo had fallen asleep, but Seonghwa had met your gaze. He held it for only a moment, watching your own eyes widen as you realized he’d seen the whole thing. He looked away when your lips parted to speak.

“With San. I hadn’t expected it to happen,” you say, calling loudly over the wind, and yet somehow your voice still seems quiet. Trapped and tight. “I… I don’t regret it. But after everything, it feels unfair to you-”

“I don’t care about you and San,” Seonghwa butts in. Not aggressively, or overly angry, merely factual. After all, that’s not what he’s angry about. He doesn’t care about you and San. That’s your business.

He wants San to be happy. Whatever it takes, the swordsman deserves a bit of peace.

Besides, now that he will not, perhaps San will wipe the mud from your cheek.

“Oh,” you say, followed by a pause. “You just seem upset.”

“I’m not angry about that,” Seonghwa replies, lips pursing together. He swallows hard. “Just about everything you did before it.”

Your expression falls. Mouth dropping open into a small part, your eyes fill with a sudden sense of shame and hurt. Your hands grip your elbows, hugging yourself tighter, even if only slightly.

Your expression settles like stone in his gut, and he knows that what he said has made you hurt. He has made you feel that same pain that tightens in his chest and floods up his throat.

Seonghwa wishes he hadn’t said that.

No matter his anger, no matter the pain, Seonghwa has never wished to pass an entity on to another.

“I’ll meet you back at the cave in a moment,” he says, because he doesn’t want to say anything else that he’ll regret. He doesn’t want to force his gaze from yours while at the same time feeling a pull towards you like a beacon, begging him to take it away. Take it all away. All the horrible entities that radiate from you like a plague, a blackened sickness.

Turning back towards the lake, he waits. When he hears the sound of your footsteps - fading away, not growing louder - he lets out a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t like what this has made him into. The anger that has filled him, strangles him, stops him from drifting towards you like a moth to a flame. Sure to be burned, but the glow will be glorious.

No, anger doesn’t suit him. And yet he wears it, draping over him, akin to a stranger’s jacket.

If there is any luck to be found following your fall from the cliff, it’s in that at least you’ve found yourselves closer to Bebbanburg.

The journey to the small kingdom only took a few hours, the fact that you had nothing to carry but the clothes on your back having sped up the trek. It was spent in silence.

You know there’s certain to be some of the black-clad men poking around in such a populous city, so upon reaching the kingdom, the first order of business was to purchase you a cloak, as Mingi’s own had remained within a satchel on the horse’s back.

It weighs down on your shoulders, knowing that it’s gone, the final piece of him you had left. You’ve tried to view it as for the better, as the cloak of a Libaiyan Royal Guard could have attracted the attention of the wrong pair of eyes.

Even so, it hurts.

The cloak you wear now isn’t nearly as nice, a tattered brown fabric that’s itchy in the spots where it touches your bare skin, but it only cost a few bronze pieces. Considering that all the group of you have to your name is the pouch of coins attached to San’s waste, you have to know where to ration your spendings.

This is only on the necessities. San is trying to locate a cheap blacksmith to fashion him a new sword. Meanwhile, Woo and Seonghwa are searching if there’s anywhere for your group to stay that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. Bebbanburg is an expensive kingdom, and so long as you find a place with a roof and walls that doesn’t blow through all of your savings, you’ll consider yourselves lucky.

With all the men on their own errands and a new cloak purchased, you’ve had about an hour to kill before now, as you currently make your way to meet them back at the city center. You’ve spent it wandering, peering into shop windows but never making your way inside. You don’t have the money to spend, nor do you want the undivided attention of a shop-keeper when you’re trying to lay low.

You’ve passed a few of your wanted posters strown up about the town, plastered to bulletin boards, poles, and shop windows alike. On top of being newly adorned with a far more accurate portrait of yourself, they’ve also added the detail of your recent scars. Printed along the bottom is the following: “Last spotted travelling with three young men. Potentially dangerous. Approach with caution.”

As an incentive due to what you assume is the elevated danger risk, they’ve increased the reward for your capture or demise to 300,000 gold pieces.

Apparently, someone at the tavern ratted the group of you out. Likely Yeosang and his band of not-so-merry men, or perhaps the poor shop-keeper desperate for a bribe.

Either way, someone is on your tail. Considering the new addition to the posters, that someone is in this city.

You haven’t seen them yet, but you know that it’s the black-clad men. They have to be lurking around here somewhere, they’re just being quiet about it.

You swallow hard, pulling the hood of your cloak further down.

Fortunately, the street’s are bustling with people. Bebbanburg, while not quite as big as the four major kingdoms, is still a hub for tourism. With money to spend, the streets are clean, the buildings well-kept. Despite being a narrow path in the merchant’s district in town, the air smells fresh.

It doesn’t feel quite right, in your opinion. Between the few towns you’ve visited these past few weeks, there was a certain scent to the air that felt more…natural. A strange concoction of smells as different taverns and homes didn’t agree on a pre-set menu for the night, dirt and pebbles aligning the trails as hunters dragged home their latest catch, or the muddy hoof-prints left by horses that stick to the bottoms of your shoes.

Bebbanburg feels too polished. The sort of polished that takes an effort, that works extra hard to rid itself of anything it deems unclean.

Trying not to obsess too much over the fact, you do your best to retrace your steps in order to return to the city center, taking a turn down another street. A slight limp to your step, ankle still not having fully recovered from your fall off the cliff, you count the shop doors that you pass along the alley’s stone wall. You kept count on your way here in order to know which alley to take back.

Counting down the doors, you pass by a butcher’s shop, cafe, and Zarian boutique for rare gems, all of which you’d passed along the way here. Gaze fluttering passively over the alley next to the boutique, you nearly miss the pair of eyes that lock on your own. Cat-like gaze fixated on yours, the bottom half of the figure's face is covered by a black cloth, their head shrouded in a dark cloak.

You pause. Hesitant, you retrace your last few steps, peering back down the alley.

The figure’s cloak follows behind them as they disappear behind a winding turn.

Swallowing down the bile that arises in your throat as an unsettled chill creeps down your spine, you keep moving along your original route. It was just a stranger. You’re paranoid, on edge, searching to find shadows and enemies in places in which they are not there.

Nevermind how something about the stranger's gaze felt oddly…familiar. Although you cannot place from where.

You continue along your original path, turning down the alley that will take you back to the city center. Glancing over your shoulder, you see nobody behind you, just the bustle of people continuing their way down the mainstreet. You mentally scold yourself. You’re being ridiculous, and casting lingering glances as you loiter in one place for too long is only going to attract attention.

When you turn forward, you catch a glimpse of movement, as something disappears behind a wall up ahead of you. “Shit,” you think to yourself, rushing forward as you place your back against the stone wall, peeking an eye out to see if you can spot them.

All you can manage is the tail end of the dark cloak disappearing down another alleyway. You wait a moment, as if contemplating how daring - or foolish - you’re willing to be, before heading after them.

“This is a bad idea,” you whisper to yourself, hand drifting to the hilt of the sword at your waist as you follow after the mysterious figure. However, even if unwise, you’d rather know your enemy and have them right in front of you compared to being stalked like prey. You’ll get slain in a fair fight any day before getting your throat slit from behind.

It’s a morbid thought, something San would likely say during combat practice, and you wonder if you’ve been spending too much time with these men.

Following the stranger, you keep quiet on your feet. Pulling the sword out from its sheath, you tread carefully, slowing your pace as you near the corner that the cloak had disappeared behind. Holding the sword firm in your grasp, you take a deep and shaky breath, before jumping to face your attacker.

Only to find there is nobody there, just another barren alleyway. Another alleyway that leads to nothing but a dead end, a stone wall looming tall before you.

You frown, confused at how this is possible. Your gaze darts around the narrow alleyway, searching for a cloaked figure, but it remains entirely empty.

Letting out a troubled sigh, you resheath your sword and turn back around.

Only to be met face first with the masked stranger.

Your breath dies in your throat, and you instinctively pull an arm back, aiming to strike them. However, as you swing forward, they narrowly dodge your strike, managing to grab your wrist instead. They twist it, not so hard as to dislodge anything, but enough that it disarms you. Then, using their free hand to push you backwards, they press you up against the stone wall. Elbow against your chest and hand gripping your upper arm, their spare hand grips tightly around your other wrist, rending you immobile.

Your chest heaves, not from tiredness but scheer panic. They’ve got you. Your gaze flickers up, to scan the face of your assailant. The person that will turn you in to the black-clad men, or is perhaps one themself.

The strangers' dark eyes meet yours from beneath their thick cloak, black orbs dancing as they move to scan over your face. Cat-like in their shape, with thick eye-lashes and brows.

Then the stranger laughs.

It’s not a menacing laugh, nor one you would expect from someone who is about to kill you. Instead it’s joyous, almost disbelieving.

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

The stranger’s eyebrows furrow together into a look of confusion, before lighting up in realization. “Oh!” They say, before doing the last thing you would have ever expected of removing their hands from you entirely. “Of course!”

The stranger pulls off the hood of their cloak, revealing a head of long, thick red hair. They follow the removal of their hood by doing the same with their mask, and with it, you are hit with a wave of not only relief, but scheer and unadulterated joy.

“Yeji!” You nearly shout, pulling your back from the wall and wrapping your arms around your old laundress.

She chuckles, and then you are both laughing. In happiness, in relief, in sheer and utter disbelief. You pull away, placing both of your hands along her jaw to cup her face. You scan every detail, to ensure that she is real and actually standing before you, not some sort of trick or illusion.

But is her, just as you had seen her last at the castle. Maybe not exactly the same, wearing far different clothes than the modest beige dress she had adorned as your laundress, hair worn loosely, and eyes holding more of an edge than they ever had before.

Still, it is Yeji.

Yeji with the shimmering grin and freckle on her nose. Yeji who you know, and knows you in return. Yeji from your castle. Your home.

Yeji, a relic from the past that has not been destroyed.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, following me around like that,” you laugh, taking one of your hands and giving her a slap on the shoulder, playful and not hard enough to actually hurt.

“Sorry,” she grins. “I didn’t want to attract any attention on the street. Figured it would be safer to lure you somewhere quiet, and you know, I also wanted to make sure it was actually you first.”

She then scoffs, returning the slap onto your own shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to pull out a sword on me! Where did you even get one of those?”

You consider answering, but a heavy cloud of unanswered questions hangs over the two of you, its presence loud and rattling like thunder. The jovial nature to your reunion cannot last long, not when there’s so much at stake, not when your world has crumbled to ash since you last spoke.

“What are you doing in Bebbanburg?” You ask, before realizing there’s a far more pressing question at hand. “How did you get out of the castle?”

Yeji smiles, placing her hand over one of your own along her cheek. “After what happened with the king in the ball-room, it was chaos,” she explains. “The Dark Army were rounding up and capturing all those who worked in the castle and may have been close to you.”

Your heart seizes at the statement, and your voice is quiet as you speak again. “Did they hurt them?”

“I don’t know,” Yeji replies, tone equally as somber. “A group of us laundresses escaped together using the underground tunnel system. I didn’t see what happened to those they had rounded up, but…”

She swallows hard, eyes pitiful as they meet your own. “But with how The Dark Army were talking, and the screams that followed behind us…I don’t think it would have ended well for them, Princess.”

Your throat swells at her admission, and it becomes more difficult to breathe as your eyes fill with the remnants of tears. Your mind is flooded with the unwelcome image of all of your old servants - your friends, as they had far surpassed their job description - tortured to try and probe them for information regarding you.

You wipe at your eyes with your hands, stuffing down the rising guilt and pain, placing a lid on these horrible thoughts. You will mourn later, when you have the time to properly grieve and honour all that they have lost because of you. For now, you must keep moving, deal with what is right in front of you.

“You keep calling them The Dark Army,” you begin, changing the subject. “Is that a made up title, or something they’ve defined themselves as? Do we know who they are?”

Yeji shakes her head. “Nobody knows who they are, it’s just what we’ve been calling them because of their armour. Not to mention the fact that they are about the sourest men I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve spoken to them?” You ask, scolding yourself for the fear that seizes in your chest at the thought of it. Of them being anywhere near her, or anyone you care about, for that matter.

She nods. “They’re poking around the city. Trying to keep a low profile, because Bebbanburg doesn’t like any semblance of war or conflict contaminating their streets, but they’re here. We try to keep to ourselves by not causing any trouble or disturbances and they mostly leave us alone.”

Your head buzzes at the confirmation that they are here, within the walls and perhaps a mere alley-way over, which is far, far too close.

“You keep saying we,” you note. “There’s more of you?”

Yeji nods, a soft smile grazing her lips. “Lot’s of us. We’ve set up a refugee camp on the outskirts of the city. Bebbanburg doesn’t want us here, because of course they don’t, but at least it’s safe. Not much crime or Anti-Libaiyan extremists in the city, so even if it’s not much, it’s all that we can really ask for.”

If she had told you this a couple weeks ago, you’d have been startled to know that there were Anti-Libaiyan extremists at all. However, having been given insight into the monstrosities your father was capable of, this no longer comes as a surprise, but rather expected.

“Can you take me to them?” You ask, and Yeji nods.

“Of course,” she says, grabbing your hand as she begins to walk back up the alley-way. “Although, I’d recommend keeping a low-profile, seeing that you're alive might cause a little too much excitement. Draw attention.”

You nod in agreement, following behind her through the winding alley-ways. It’s not until you’re almost back on the main city street that you remember why exactly you were trekking through the alleyways in the first place.

“Wait,” you say, stopping. Yeji turns to face you, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “There’s some people I need you to meet first.”

“Where have you been?” Woo asks as you approach. The three men have gathered around the fountain within the center of the city square, water spouting from the tall and golden statue into a small pond embedded with various coloured jewels along its rim. The falling water casts a veil of mist around them, as well as the various other groups gathered beside it. Many of them are tourists from different kingdoms, which you can recognize by the various types of clothing they wear, such as the vibrant coloured patchwork of the group next to you that is distinctly Zarian. It seems a prime spot to talk, the definition of hiding in plain sight.

“You were supposed to meet us here a half-hour ago,” Woo says with a scowl, before he notices Yeji beside you. His gaze flickers up and down, as if assessing her potential danger. “Who is this?”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself, before motioning to her. “You guys, this is Yeji.”

She gives them a smile to which none of the men return, and for a moment you stand in silence.

“We’ve heard that one before,” Woo says.

Your face warms with embarrassment, and you clear your throat before beginning to explain. “This is the real Yeji, the girl whose name I used. She was one of my laundresses back at the castle, as well as a close friend.”

Another moment of silence follows, as none of the men appear to know what to say, or how to approach the appearance of a stranger.

Eventually, Seonghwa speaks, tone polite. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, to which Yeji returns the sentiment. Although he isn’t looking at you to see it, you cast Seonghwa a grateful smile all the same.

“This is Seonghwa, San, and Woo,” you say, pointing to each of them in turn. “They have been helping me get to Kuroku.”

“Thank you for aiding Her Highness,” Yeji says, placing a hand on her chest while delivering a curtsy. A sign of respect. Although…exceedingly formal respect.

San’s lips pull together into a stifled smile, and Woo raises an eyebrow.

“You, um, don’t have to do that,” you say, placing a hand on Yeji’s shoulder and gently tugging her upwards. “It’s not really like that.”

“Oh,” she says, straightening herself as her eyebrows raise in surprise. There’s a silence that follows, as well as a sense of discomfort that hangs in the air, as Yeji chews nervously on her lower lip.

And for all the love that you have for her, you know exactly what she’s thinking, as it’s been drilled into her since the moment she began to work at the castle: The demands of Libaiyan proprietary.

She ponders that if the relationship with this group of men escorting you is not formal, then what is it, and how far have you stretched the rules of etiquette that bind you?

You wouldn’t even know how to answer that question even if she asked.

Instead of dwelling on the subject and the lingering discomfort, you turn to Woo and Seonghwa. “Did the two of you find a place for us to stay the night?”

Woo scoffs in annoyance while Seonghwa shakes his head, defeated.

“Not anywhere reasonable,” Seonghwa says. “There’s a few places we can go if nightfall comes, but we honestly might be better off sleeping in the woods. It should be a clear night, and at least it won’t cost us an arm and a leg.”

You frown, not fond of the idea of spending yet another night on the ground, especially without a tarp or blanket to shield you from the elements.

Fortunately, Yeji pipes up from beside you. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, we’ve formed a refuge on the outskirts of the city. I believe we have an extra tent to spare.”

Now this finally causes the men’s expression to shift, the discomfort and wariness on each of their faces replaced with a glimpse of relief.

“Alright,” San says, gaze shifting over to you even as he speaks to Yeji, and his expression is difficult to read. He appears almost bemused. “Lead the way.”

The refuge, while about as bleak as you expected it to be, fills you with an undeniable sense of glee. Mostly due to how big it is, meaning that even if the mass size of the refuge indicates that there have been hundreds driven from the Libaiyan kingdom, there are also far more people who survived and escaped the castle than you’d originally thought.

Gathered just outside of Bebbanburg’s walls, dozens of the beige and tattered fabric tents are clumped together, creating a sort of maze as people make their way between the narrow passages. Head shrouded beneath your hood, the five of you pass through the different camps, ducking beneath laundry lines hanging between tent poles and maneuvering through the small groups gathered around make-shift fire pits as they roast small rodents and birds for dinner.

You watch their faces, searching amidst them for anger, for loss and resentment. While some are quiet, dark circles of tiredness hanging beneath their eyes, others are not so beaten down. There is the sound of laughter in the air, and a group of children nearly bump into you as they recklessly chase each other through the labyrinth of tents.

You smile. All is not lost.

You’d been so focused on your own survival, of getting to Kuroku alive and fighting to give your kingdom a chance, that you hadn’t realized the fear you had of there being no kingdom to fight for. Of not only the castle being besieged, but the entire kingdom being left in ashes.

Yet, even if this is so, there are still Libaiyans left. There is still a nation, full of life, that will not let themselves be stripped of their pride so easily.

“This way,” Yeji says softly, trying not to draw too much attention to your party. A group of girls wave to her as you pass by, and you recognize some of them as your kitchen maids, although you were never close enough to have learned their names.

The women are seated around a small fire. With the setting sun, they gather closed together, a blanket stretched over them. Or, upon closer look, a Libaiyan flag, its golden sun bright against its stark white background.

There is a man playing the lute sitting beside them. He has light eyes and a soft voice, fingers dancing as he strums the small wooden instrument in tune with his voice.

The man sings a Libaiyan folk song, one about a man arriving home to a small Libaiyan village after fighting many long years at war. The song doesn’t make clear which war exactly, centuries old and deriving from a time of high conflict, but it doesn’t really matter.

After all, the song is less about the war, and more about coming home. The ghosts of his fallen comrades following him, cane in hand to support his leg that will never heal, and his love having left the village to marry another man from the kingdom city.

The song is normally sung in a minor chord. It’s sad and melancholic, painting a tale of loss and grief.

However, the man currently singing has changed its tune to a major chord.

A message of triumph. Of defiance. Of the man’s survival, even after all else is lost and destroyed.

A song of hope.

You want to join them. To listen to this man sing your nation's song, to let his tune of triumph fill not only the air, but your entire body. Your heart, even your soul. Reignite the reason you started this journey, why you couldn’t give up.

These people need you. Your people need you.

Yeji wraps her arm around your wrist, giving you a gentle tug forward as you linger near the fire for a little too long.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “You’ll be able to hear his voice late into the night, even from your tent.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, how to depict your gratitude for all of this. For her taking you in and letting you hear these songs that you weren’t so sure you’d ever hear again, for being alive and granting you hope.

All you can do is reach to give her hand a soft squeeze, and hope she understands.

Yeji stops before a small tent, one that doesn’t seem big enough for two men, let alone three. “I know it isn’t much, but I hope it will do.”

“It’ll do,” Seonghwa answers with a smile.

“Especially considering we have no luggage,” Woo grumbles.

If Yeji hears the dissatisfaction in his voice, she doesn’t show it. “My own tent is just over there,” she says, pointing to what is only a few tents over. It’s a bit larger than the one before you, although not by much. She turns to you. “You can stay with me.”

You’re grateful for the sentiment, considering none of the men - except maybe San - would enjoy being forced to share such close quarters with you.

“There’s a table inside, if you’d all like to sit and regroup. I can catch you up on all that has happened since the siege,” Yeji says.

Her gaze flickers over to the three men, and it is hesitant. Curious, as it returns to you. “And you can do the same.”

“Scorpion beasts, a mimic, and a dragon-basilisk hybrid all in just a few weeks?” Yeji gapes, hands clutching tight around her mug of hot tea, as if she needs something to hold onto. “And you’re alive?”

“I take it your journey here wasn’t so exciting?” San asks, sipping his own mug. He seems in good spirits today, as he willingly engages in conversation with Yeji. Especially compared to Seonghwa - who is more hesitant, likely less willing to jump the gun on trusting a new stranger - and Woo, who sits with his eyes bearing down into the table, not touching his mug even as the tea inside grows cold.

“No, we took the main path down the Arila River, so far less rural,” Yeji explains. “Although it was a good thing you didn’t do the same. There were Dark Army ports all along its bank. We were stopped and searched at every one of them.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt from Yeji’s recollection of the besiegement and the time that followed, it’s that the black-clad men are relentless in their pursuit. They want you, at any cost. You only wish you knew who they were, so at least then you’d know why.

“I really am glad you’re alive, Princess,” Yeji says suddenly, hand drifting to rest on your own atop the table. “Libaiya has a chance to be strong again, so long as your blood sits on the throne. You’ll make the perfect Queen.”

You open your mouth to thank her, albeit bashfully, but are cut off as Woo pushes himself from the table. It rattles in protest, although the elemental does not seem to care, as he stomps towards the tent-flap. He does not meet any of your eyes as he disappears beneath it.

“I’m sorry,” Yeji says, tone worried. “Did I say something to-”

“It’s not you,” San reassures her. “He’s just been dealing with a lot lately.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” you say, because you have a feeling about what may be bothering him. Your blood, as Yeji had said. Although to him, it’s more like poison.

“No,” Seonghwa cuts you off, already rising to his feet. “You shouldn’t, I don’t think he’d take it well. I’ll go.”

You want to protest, as Seonghwa does not know about Woo’s past, about the orphanage. The Libaiyan orphanage, and all the horrors that happened there. But the empath is already heading towards the tent flap, and the words die on your lips.

Even so, maybe he is right. Woo is upset, upset about you and your nation, perhaps you are not the one who should attempt to console him. Besides, Seonghwa has always been far better at that.

Yet, as you watch Seonghwa disappear after Woo, you have the sinking feeling it may not go as the empath plans.

Wooyoung cannot breathe.

Making his way blindly through the darkness of the refuge, the sun having set over the horizon, he pushes past Libaiyan’s as he heads for the exit. They turn and look at him as he shoves past, and he wonders if they know. If they can smell it on him.

“You were his,” they whisper as he walks by, or is that just in his head? “One of his dogs. Our dogs. A machine for use. Worthless.”

The last word is in Warden’s voice, and Wooyoung places a hand over his ears to try and tune it out. The other clutching his chest.

He can’t breathe. By the god’s, he really can’t breathe.

Each short pant is as unsatisfying as the next. He feels dizzy, wanting to summon a ball of flame to guide him, but he can’t seem to move his hands in front of him. He pushes forward, searching for an exit through the mazes of tents.

Then he’s covered in something. It’s thin, engulfing him, and panic rises hot in his chest. They’ve gotten him. Again. It’s happening again. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

It’s only after nobody attempts to drag him away and he gets a whiff of soap that he realizes that what covers him is not a bag, but someone's laundry. With shaky hands, he untangles himself from the fabric, before glancing down at his captor.

It’s a Libaiyan flag.

The bright, golden, and horrible sun stares back at him. The same one hung in the cafeteria, the one he pledged allegiance to three times a day. The one plastered atop the ceiling of his bedroom, watching him every night. The one deckled on Warden’s shoulder, as he tortured them relentlessly, as he murdered Yeonjun.

Wooyoung throws it to the ground, hands still shaking as he walks over it, the dirt on the bottom of his shoe stark against the flag’s white background.

“Woo!” A voice calls from behind him, but it sounds far away. Maybe it’s also just in his head. He keeps walking.

He can hear the sound of the same man singing as when you’d all entered the camp. He has a nice voice as he sings Libaiyan songs. Songs he’s never heard. Songs that were reserved for Libaiyan citizens, not slaves.

Wooyoung’s throat burns with the taste of Libaiyan tea. Only one sip, and it will not leave his tongue.

It tasted like the infirmary tent after Assessment Day in the orphanage. Before Warden got there, but not before Wooyoung got beaten within the sparring ring. They’d given him the tea to calm him down, try and make him forget the burns lacing up and down his arms.

With the taste on his tongue it’s as if he can feel them again, the searing pain starting in his mind and seeping into his skin.

“Woo, hold on!” The voice calls again, closer than the last. This time Wooyoung knows it’s not in his head, as he recognizes it to be Seonghwa. The sound of foot-steps follows behind him, as the empath chases after him.

He does not turn around. He needs to get out of this place.

Wooyoung begins to run.

Tearing through the refuge, he sees Bebbenburg’s outer walls appear ahead of him, the light emitted from the lanterns hung on the outside fortress drawing him in like a beacon.

When he reaches the wall, he makes sure to take a few steps inside and past the gates, to ensure that he is no longer within Libaiyan territory. Here, he is within the Kuroken realm. Safe.

He pauses to catch his breath, less from the running and more from the panic that has seized him. Hands placed on his knees, Wooyoung lets the foggy haze fade from his mind, although it does not relinquish control so easily. His heart continues to race, ears ringing with a constant buzz.

Wooyoung doesn’t know why this is affecting him so horribly. He’s been to the Libaiyan castle since entering the orphanage, having stolen plenty of Libaiyan treasures and heirlooms on their heists within the castle.

Then again, that was in the dark of the night, when there were no songs to be sung or tea to be drunk. When the flags were shrouded in pure shadow, not wrapped around him like bonds of rope.

That was when he was in control. That was when he was taking from them. That was revenge.

That was before he entangled himself with their princess.

“Woo, what the hell?” Seonghwa asks as he approaches, slightly out of breath from chasing down the elemental. “Where are you going?”

“Away,” Wooyoung says, because it is all he can manage. He doesn’t look up at Seonghwa, instead staring at the cobblestone beneath his shoes, blinking blearily as he tries to direct his focus to its stone patch-work.

“Why did you just storm out of there?” Seonghwa asks. He’s not mad. Not yet. He genuinely wishes to know.

“Because of what that woman said,'' Wooyoung answers in his mind. “Because it’s true, she is the Libaiyan throne. Because it is her blood that’s done all of this. That did this to me.”

Wooyoung, of course, does not actually say any of this out loud. Seonghwa won’t understand. He doesn’t know, not only about Wooyoung’s past, but the orphanages in general. He’s from a small town within Zaria’s realm, far away from any news about Libaiyan political treachery.

He won’t get it, and Wooyoung isn’t going to even bother to try and explain it to him, especially when his tongue feels three sizes too large and his heart beats at a million times per minute.

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” he mutters, turning away from Seonghwa and heading deeper into Bebbanburg, hoping the empath will take the hint and piss off.

But he doesn’t, because after all, it’s Seonghwa. The blonde follows after him. “Where are you going to go, Woo? You saw the poster, it’s better to stay together, keep a low profile.”

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” Wooyoung repeats, beginning to walk faster, tone a little more pointed.

“Is this about her?” Seonghwa asks, and now his own tone is rising, annoyed as has to jog to catch up to the elemental. “Look I know you’re mad, I am too. But can’t you just push that aside? We’re almost to Kuroku, then we’ll be past it. We can move on.”

“Right. We’ll get to Kuroku. She’ll leave. San will leave. And then inevitably, you will too.”

After being met with silence, Seonghwa lets out a groan of annoyance, continuing to chase after him.

“Woo, stop!” He calls, reaching out to grab Wooyoung’s arm. Wooyoung slaps his hand away, perhaps a little harder than he should have. “Can’t we just talk about this? Can’t we have an actual conversation for once instead of you shoving me away?”

Wooyoung keeps moving, because no, they can’t. Not right now. Not like this. Not when he can’t think straight.

“I don’t get what you have to be so mad about anyway!”

Wooyoung stops at this, finally turning around to face Seonghwa. “What?”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, eyes wide and mouth parted with surprise that Wooyoung actually stopped. Then he frowns, eyebrows furrowing together, as if remembering his annoyance.

“Yes, she lied to you,” Seonghwa starts. “And I know it sucks. But it’s San’s money on the line, and clearly he’s been able to forgive her.”

Seonghwa swallows hard. “And even if I haven’t been able to do the same, even after all she’s done to me I’m willing to swallow my own feelings to get this journey done. For them.”

Them. By that Seonghwa means San and you. You, after all that you have done - to Seonghwa, to San, to Wooyoung himself - he’s still choosing you.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t, Hwa!” Wooyoung says, and now he’s shouting. It’s good. The anger provides him comfort, something familiar to latch onto. “She used you! She used all of us! I know you have this deep-seeded issue of thinking everyone and everything has good in them, but open your eyes! Not all that glitters is fucking gold! A pair of pretty eyes doesn’t repair what she’s done, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t rotten inside!”

“Just as you are too,” a voice reminds him within his mind, but he ignores it.

Seonghwa opens his mouth to cut back, but Wooyoung is not finished. “She lied through her teeth, and you’re really just going to let it slide?  Keep quiet because it’ll make things easier for her? For the sake of the gods, grow a spine!”

“Why do you care so much about what I do?” Seonghwa yells back, taking a step towards Wooyoung. Seonghwa’s fist is clenched at his side, and for a moment Wooyoung thinks that Seonghwa might actually hit him. He almost wishes he would.

“Why do you care if I forgive her? Why do you care so much about whether I let people walk all over me? Why do you care?”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he does it.

Maybe it’s the way his mind still buzzes from moments prior, hazy and foggy and unable to think of anything beyond his anger. Anything beyond the way his heart pounds rapidly and vision blurs with an anxious haze.

Maybe it’s the way Seonghwa’s words sting, more than Wooyoung wants to admit, and he wishes to prove the man wrong. Show him that it’s not so simple. Win, in a strange and possibly fucked up way, but win nonetheless.

Or maybe, more than anything, it’s the way Seonghwa is looking at him. Big brown eyes scanning his face, full of anger, but also passion. Desperately searching for an answer, as if there will be a solution to the enigma that is Wooyoung hidden somewhere on the elemental’s face.

Wooyoung knows what the answer is that Seonghwa seeks.

It’s the part of himself that Wooyoung has never admitted exists. The part that he has shoved down, smothered, pretended wasn’t there. The part that flutters at the sound of Seonghwa whining at his teasing. The part that stalls when Seonghwa lets his hand fall onto Wooyoung’s shoulder, thinking nothing of it, simply trying to get the elemental's attention or leaning in to point out something in the distance.  

The part that broke the first night you and Seonghwa spent together. Defeated, angry, and beaten down, crawling into his bed that night in a drunken stooper, aching at the thought of the elemental being intimate with someone. Well, someone else.

The part that he once again shoved away the next morning, and had every day before and has every day since.

It’s that part of himself that he’s dejected and ignored that now comes crawling to the surface, invited by Seonghwa’s searching eyes, that unleashes its presence in a way that will make itself known. That will ensure it will no longer be forgotten, that it cannot be ignored or subdued again.

That part of Wooyoung unleashes itself in the form of a kiss.

It’s a horrible one, teeth smashing into teeth as Wooyoung grabs onto the collar of Seonghwa’s tunic and roughly pulls the man into him. In fact, it’s less of a kiss compared to two faces smashing together, Seonghwa clearly not prepared for it, but the message is sent all the same.

Wooyoung holds him there for three seconds, which feel far more like an eternity as they pass by.

Then Wooyoung pushes Seonghwa off of him, letting go of the man’s collar as the blonde stumbles back.

For a moment they stand in silence, and it’s a deafening one. Seonghwa’s hand drifts up to his lips, grazing them, eyes wide as he stares at Wooyoung. He’s clearly in a state of shock, as he says nothing, just stares with his mouth parted open in disbelief.

“There,” Wooyoung breathes. “Do you get it?”

Seonghwa continues to stare at him. Then his eyebrows furrow together, and when he begins to speak, Seonghwa’s tone is incredulous. “Woo, what are you-”

“Forget it,” Wooyoung cuts him off, because he doesn’t want to know what Seonghwa is going to say. He doesn’t want to hear the empath call him crazy, ask him what the hell he’s thinking.

Because Wooyoung doesn’t know the answer to that either. The mind-numbing fog has returned to his head, his heart racing even faster than it had before.

He needs to get out of here.

“Just go back to the tent, Hwa,” Wooyoung says, and then his feet are set in motion. He heads deeper into Bebbanburg, away from the Libaiyan tent. Away from you and San. Away from what he’s done, the irreversible mistake he just made.

He runs away, and this time Seonghwa doesn’t follow him.

“What were you thinking, what were you thinking, what were you thinking?” Wooyoung repeats the question to himself over and over again in his head, trying to make sense of what he’s done.

The look of bewilderment on Seonghwa’s face, followed by incredulity. Shock, then disbelief. Almost angry, and why shouldn’t he be? How could Wooyoung do something like this? Something so blatantly stupid and thoughtless?

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Wooyoung still cannot come up with an answer, because frankly, he wasn’t thinking. And he still can’t.

He turns down one of the many alley’s surrounding him, head buzzing, not a clue of where he’s going. All he knows is that it’s away, and for now, that is enough for him.

Wooyoung closes his eyes, hand trailing along the wall beside him as he runs. He feels silly, running with his eyes closed, but he cannot bring himself to keep them open. This way, the world around him fades. He can simply be moving, feel the air rush past him, and pretend that nothing happened.

There are no Libaiyan refugees a few alleyways over. He does not care for the Liabiyan princess, nor did he lose San a mere night ago. He did not reveal his feelings to a man he loves and ruin their entire friendship in one fell swoop.

He is merely running in the darkness, chest heaving for air, fingers scraping along the cobblestone wall.

Maybe, if he keeps running like this, he’ll actually have escaped it all.

Or maybe, running like this is not such an acceptable option, as it stops him from noticing the figure that has been following after him.

Wooyoung does not notice he is being followed until it is too late. Until he’s already been shoved sideways, face smacking into the stone wall beside him.

At the very least, the blows knock him from his stupor, and his eyes fly open as he stumbles. Whirling to face his attacker, fire ignites immediately within his hand, dancing in between his fingers.

However, the second he turns, he’s met with a swift punch to the jaw that catches him off guard. Mostly because it does not come from where he can feel the man beside him - who now pins Wooyoung’s wrist to the alley-wall - but from the other side.

It’s not one attacker, but many.

“Shit,” Wooyoung thinks to himself, spitting out the blood that fills his mouth, the metallic taste thick on his tongue and gritty between his teeth. Eyes searching the darkness around him, his attackers are nothing more than blurs within the night, and he gives the one in front of him a swift kick to the groin. The man lets out a long string of curses, and Wooyoung uses the opportunity to try and rush forward.

It’s of no use, as another man (or two, maybe even three?) pins his wrists to the wall.

It’s not the most efficient way to capture a person, as it leaves their legs functional to kick and mouth free to spit, bite, or scream for help.

Unless, of course, you’re capturing an elemental.

Wooyoung tries to summon fire into his hands, and while it manages to dance around his fingers, the inability to move his arms stops him from managing anything greater. He tries to summon the flame with only his mind, staring at his hand with sheer determination. He knows it’s possible, he’s done it before. Once. The night Yeonjun died.

Of course, he didn’t exactly mean to, and apparently it isn’t the sort of thing he can do by will, as his hands remain barren of flame.

Instead, he’s left helpless, pulling against the grips of the men that bind him. His eyes dart amongst the shadows that surround them, and he tally’s roughly ten of them, although he’s certain that there’s more as he hears shouts from down the alley-way.

One of the men’s hands digs into Wooyoung’s hair, pulling his head forward before slamming it back into the stone-wall. Hard.

Stars dance before Wooyoung, and a darkness creeps into the corners of his vision. He continues to kick out in front of him, although each swing is far weaker than the last, as the pain leaves him sluggish.

The man yanks on his hair again, before slamming his head back into the wall once more, and suddenly Wooyoung is on the ground.

He doesn’t remember crumpling, but the stone pathway is cold against his back, so he must have passed out for a moment. He opens his eyes, vision swaying as he tries to make out the men surrounding him.

He can vaguely spot the face of the man above him. Middle-aged, with a dark beard and intense eyes. He speaks to someone beside him, although Wooyoung’s mind is too muddled to make out the actual words.

Likely not thugs then, as they aren’t even bothering to hide their identities. Besides, there’s too many of them to be a regular mugging. Too conspicuous, so it must be targeted.

But if it’s targeted, then who are they?

“W-who?” He asks, because the full sentence is far too much effort. His words are slurred and he sounds drunk. Which to be fair is an awful lot like how he feels.

The man above him doesn’t answer, but instead places a hand on Wooyoung’s throat, silencing him. With his other two hands, the man pins Wooyoung’s wrists to the ground.

No, no, that doesn’t make any sense. He can't have three hands. Which means it must be somebody else pinning his wrists to the ground, as well as another that slips the cloth bag over his head. How many were there again?

By the god’s Wooyoung really can’t think right now.

“Knock him out,” one of the men speaks from above him. Now that Wooyoung can make out.

Then the world goes black.

“And he seriously didn’t tell you where he was going?” San asks, arms crossed as he leans against the training post outside of the men’s tent. It’s covered in grooves, clearly crafted by a sword, and one in the hands of someone not too pleased. A testament to San’s opinion on Woo not returning to the refuge last night.

“I already told you,” Seonghwa replies. His tone is also frustrated as he sits at an outside table, fingers tapping anxiously in rhythm with his jittering leg. “No. He didn’t.”

“He just took off?” San repeats, and you can understand why Seonghwa is becoming a bit annoyed. It’s also the third time you’ve heard San ask, although you have a feeling the swordsman isn’t actually expecting the answer to change. He simply wants to hear it again, to let him fuel the flame of his annoyance. “Without a word? Without a reason? Out into a city we’re currently being hunted in?”

Seonghwa’s eyes shift to the ground. “Yes.”

“And you let him?”

Seonghwa scowls at this. “What did you want me to do? You know Woo, he’s going to do what he wants no matter what anyone says or thinks.”

Seonghwa has been in a sour mood all morning, and something tells you there may be a little more to Woo leaving than he may be letting on. However, now is not the time to ponder what it might be, nor is it the time to start a fight. You simply need to find him.

“Let’s not start bickering with one another just because Woo’s not around to start it,” you say, attempting to remedy the argument before it can start. Fortunately, neither of the men are overly confrontational, at least not with each other.

“You’re right,” San sighs, turning to Seonghwa. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed, I know it’s not your fault.”

Seonghwa gives San a sort of half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before staring back down at his shoes. He appears to immediately lose himself in thought, knee bouncing anxiously.

Yeah, something definitely happened last night.

“This isn’t like him,” San says, pulling his sword out from his sheath and spinning it around in his hand. A nervous habit. “Staying out for the night, sure. But he’s always back by the next day. Always.”

With morning long past, the sun high in the sky with the arrival of late noon, San’s statement of “always” is replaced with “until today”, and a sense of uneasiness passes through you.

Something is wrong. You can feel it.

And with both San’s sword spinning in his hand and the sound of Seonghwa’s fingers tapping the table, you know that they can feel it too.

“I think we should go looking for him,” you say, expecting immediate approval. Instead both men look at you, and San shoots Seonghwa a side glance, to which the empath returns.

“What?” You ask, uncomfortable at the fact that it appears they’re both in on something you’re not.

San sighs. “You shouldn’t come.”

“What?” You say, this time with far more anger than confusion. “If Woo’s in danger then of course I’m going to come-”

“If Woo’s in danger then it’s likely because of the men who are looking for you,” San cuts you off, and while his tone is not accusatory, it is pointed.

You prepare a rebuttal, but it dies on your lips. San is right.

If the black-clad men have done something to Woo, then you going looking for him is likely exactly what they would want for you to do. While the stubborn part of you wants to go anyway, put Woo’s safety before your own. Be daring, bold, and perhaps a little stupid, just as Woo is in the face of danger, you know that this is not an option.

You need to get to Kuroku, and if you aren’t yet certain of the danger Woo may be in, you cannot afford to take such blatant risks.

“Alright,” you say, tone defeated as Seonghwa rises to his feet, San making his way towards the path leading outside of the refuge.

You don’t manage the next words until they’ve already left. Leaving you alone, face shrouded by your hood, suddenly aware of the wind’s chill nipping at your skin. The seasons are turning.

“Good luck.”

They are back sooner than you expected.

You sit at a table with Yeji, playing a game of Skirmish. A traditional Libaiyan game meant for children, due to the fact it has few rules and never really ends, so it can keep them occupied for hours. You didn’t particularly want to play, but Yeji said it might help to keep your mind distracted. You figured it was worth a shot.

It didn’t work.

However, it doesn’t matter, as when both San and Seonghwa approach from down the refuge’s path, the cards are forgotten. Tossing your deck to the side, you give San a look, one that asks: “Any luck?”. Although, you’re fairly certain of the answer, as there is no Woo in tow behind them.

San does not give you a look of his own. In fact, he does nothing. He simply stares back at you, a dead look to his eye.

It’s that look, the emptiness of it, that tells you something has gone wrong.

“What happened?” You ask as he approaches, although San does not reply. Instead he gives Seonghwa a fleeting glance, and the blonde meets it. His own expression is not as empty as San’s. In fact, it is the opposite. Brimming with emotion, Seonghwa’s eyes hold worry, mouth drawn tight, jaw clenched. A look of nothing less than pure fear.

“Seonghwa?” You ask, your own worry settling deep in your chest. Something has gone wrong, but what, and how badly?

The blonde doesn’t answer you with words, instead he moves towards the table. You hadn’t noticed before, but he holds something in his hands. The paper is a light tan colour, the size also familiar, and you recognize it to be one of your wanted posters. Immediately you're confused, as why would Seonghwa show you one of these? You’ve already seen dozens of them plastered all over Bebbanburg.

However, as he lays it down onto the table, the answer is blatantly obvious.

The paper is smeared with blood. The red stark against its light colouring, it doesn’t coat the poster fully, but is rather smothered haphazardly, the semblance of fingerprints notable. It’s testament to a job done quickly, as whoever did this did so with one purpose: to get a message across.

The message is made even more clear by the thick, dark lock of hair tied to the corner of the page.

Woo’s.

Beneath the lock of hair is writing, scrawled in black ink.

The Concursos Mountain Pass.

Three Days.

Wooyoung awakens to the back of his head pounding in a violent, aching fashion. The world sways in front of him, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is exactly.

However, at the sight of tarps on all sides of him, the tent coated in darkness as only the light of the setting evening sun is able to get through, he remembers.

Right, the Libaiyan refuge.

Wooyoung groans, blinking as he tries to get his eyes to focus, his pounding head making his thoughts difficult to string together.

He moves his hand, attempting to wipe the sweat beading along his forehead, only to realize that he can’t.

His hands are tied.

Eyebrows furrowing together, he looks over his shoulder. The chains that tie his wrists to the chair that he sits in are thick and made of iron. If he tried to melt his bonds with the fire between his fingers, rather than catching fire like rope, they’d heat up and burn his wrists.

“What the…” He croaks out, throat raspy. Who would have tied him to a chair? Surely not Seonghwa or San. Not very likely you, as he couldn't see what good that would do you. Maybe your friend, the Libaiyan patriot? But why?

Wait.

Wooyoung’s brain pauses, mind doing a double-take as he stares at his bonds, noting bruising along his wrist. The massive purple marks are dark against his bronzed skin, and are almost line-shaped, as if someone had been holding him.

No, he’s not in the Libaiyan refuge, he’s somewhere else.

The memories of last night come rushing back to him. Running from the tent. The fight with Seonghwa. The subsequent kiss with Seonghwa.

His capture.

The shock of it is enough to cause Wooyoung to jolt awake, mind finally clearing even if the pain at the back of his head does not subside.

As if sensing Wooyoung’s realization, a man appears from under the tent-flap. He’s older, his face like a worn-glove, leathery and wrinkled in its places most used. His dark hair is cropped short, although his beard remains long, as well as scruffy.

Most notably, he’s dressed entirely in black armour. One of your predators.

“Ah, good. You’re awake,” the man says, and his voice is not as deep as Wooyoung expected.

“Who are you and-”

“Don’t speak. Not everyone has arrived yet,” the man cuts him off dismissively. “Besides, we’ll be the ones asking the questions.”

“Oh, my mistake, I thought-”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he is surprised by the slap, but he is. Maybe because he hadn’t even had the chance to say the insult he was planning yet. Usually the hit would at least come afterwards.

These men, they aren’t playing around, that is clear.

His cheek stings, and he can imagine the bright red mark appearing along his skin as more men in dark armour appear from under the tent-flap. Wooyoung is surprised by the amount of them that manage to crowd into the space, almost a dozen.Then again, it is a big tent. Mostly empty, other than a small table in the corner, scattered with a variety of knick-knacks and spices that seem non-sensensical. Lunadore pollen, silver beads, Alagor Root, and a bunch of other rare ingredients the Wooyoung does not have time to make sense of, although set him on edge nonetheless.

If they plan to torture him, the table should be full of knives. Hammers. Maybe a few pliers to pull off his fingernails. Not plants.

The man who slapped him - their leader, it seems - clears his throat, and the group of men fall silent. Each of them turn to face Wooyoung, eyes glinting with something dark, something that says that they know more than he does.

Wooyoung makes sure to give each of them in turn a glare.

“I’m sure you know who we are by now,” the man says.

Wooyoung considers playing dumb, maybe earning himself a matching slap on the other cheek. However, he needs information, which means at least for now he must play along.

“You attacked the Libaiyan castle. Killed their king,” Wooyoung answers, meeting the man’s gaze. His eyes are sharp, intimidating, and Wooyoung makes sure not to look away. Not to show any fragility. Even if he has been made into the weakest in the room, he need not show it.

“People have been calling you The Dark Army,” Wooyoung says, and then because he can’t help himself, adds: “Cute name. Very scary. Did you come up with it yourselves?”

The man doesn’t answer his question, but instead smirks. “If you know who we are, I’m sure you also know what we’re looking for.”

You. That’s the answer the man wants. But Wooyoung won’t give that to him. “Power?” He ventures instead. “Glory? Access to the king’s many bejeweled robes?”

The man steps forward, grabbing Wooyoung's face in his hand. His fingers squeeze Wooyoung’s jaw, so much so that it not only hurts, but prevents him from speaking.

“Enough playing coy,” the man says. He still does not seem angry, face blank and tone almost bored as he grips Wooyoung’s face between his fingers. “Tell me where she is.”

He eases his grip just enough to let Wooyoung speak. “Where who is?”

The man’s grip tightens once again, fingernails digging into the elemental’s skin, and Wooyoung forces himself not to wince. “The girl you’ve been running all over Burovia with. The princess turned convict. Ring any bells?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wooyoung manages. At this the man lets go of his jaw, but it’s only to deliver another slap that burns along his cheek. The man grips his jaw again, and Wooyoung struggles to focus on the man’s face, blinking away the stars that dance across his vision.

“Yes, you do,” the man says, and this time his tone is almost soft, gentle as he attempts to coax out an answer. Somehow it’s far more unsettling than the blankness. “Is she with the refugees? At one of the hostels, or even a tavern?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Wooyoung says through gritted teeth. This time the man does not slap him, but instead grips his hair as he brings Wooyoung face down into his knee. Pain radiates from his nose through the rest of his face, and when the man lifts him back up, it takes Wooyoung a moment to register the man’s face before him through the blurriness.

It’s not until now that Wooyoung realizes the severity of the danger that he is in.

They want him to hand you over to them, and Wooyoung can’t do that.

But why can’t he do that? It would be the easiest thing to do. Nobody would blame him, after everything that you’ve done, especially if it came down to choosing between his own life or yours. San and Seonghwa would understand.

You are the Libaiyan Princess. Your family sent him to the orphanage. Turning you in would rid himself of the volatile confusion that has plagued him, it would fulfill the dream that his younger self wished for every night and morning. So why can’t he do it?

He knows the answer. How he feels towards you has grown beyond hatred. It’s grown beyond mere toleration for San and Seonghwa’s sake. It’s grown beyond the excuses he’s been telling himself for weeks.

He’s not going to hand you over to them to die, no matter what that may mean for himself. Unfortunately, what that may mean for himself is not looking good.

“You’re going to tell us,” the man states, not to persuade, but to simply state as fact. “It’s just a matter of how much you’re willing to put yourself through before you do.”

“Well I have nothing but time,” Wooyoung answers, grinning, and he knows his teeth are bloody. Can feel the grittiness on his teeth, or maybe that’s still from the night before.

The man smiles back. “You have three days.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “Because I’m just such lovely company?”

“Because that’s how long we’ve given her to come find you.”

Wooyoung pauses at this, and he knows he’s shown a glimpse of weakness. How did they get a message to you? Is he bluffing?

Would you really be stupid enough to come after him?

“Nobody will come,” Wooyoung says, and even he can hear the uncertainty in his voice. Surely you wouldn’t come after him. Not when you’re so close to Kuroku, to San’s freedom. You have to keep going, there’s no way you, San, and Seonghwa could take on a dozen armed and highly trained men, especially considering there’s more of them out there somewhere. It would be pointless, a suicide mission.

But Wooyoung also knows that none of you would leave him behind to die.

“That’s fine,” the man says with a shrug. “Either she comes to us, or we go to her with the information you’ll give us. It doesn’t matter.”

“You aren’t going to be able to torture anything out of me,” Wooyoung says with a scoff, tilting his chin up, defiant. “Pain? Yeah, I’ve been through my share.”

The corner of the man’s lip curves upward, eyes gleaming. ���I know. That’s what they told me.”

Wooyoung frowns. They?

The man chuckles at Wooyoung’s weary expression, finally letting go of his hold on the elemental’s jaw. The group of soldiers step back, creating a pathway for him as the man heads over to the table covered with rare ingredients and spices.

The man begins to fiddle around with them, although what exactly he’s doing Wooyoung can’t make out, his vision obscured by the other men standing before him.

“Do you know what they say about those whose body cannot be broken?” The man calls over his shoulder, and Wooyoung catches a glimpse of what is in his hand: a small bowl and mallet, which he uses to grind down the Alagor Root.

“No,” Wooyoung answers, wary.

“Break their mind instead,” the man states, holding up a small vial of purple liquid that Wooyoung cannot identify, before pouring into the bowl. A strange, dark and odorous smoke wafts up from the concoction. It smells like something burning, although what exactly Wooyoung cannot place. That is, until he can. It’s burnt flesh. It reminds him of the infirmary tent, of his scorched arms.

An inkling of fear settles into Wooyoung’s chest as he becomes increasingly aware of the bonds on his wrist. He can’t move, run, fight back, or do anything, really.

For a man with so much power, he’s grown accustomed to never feeling powerless. For a moment, it’s like he’s thirteen again. At Warden’s disposal and no fire to call his own.

The man places the empty vile back down on the table, before grabbing something else Wooyoung cannot see, although he can hear the sizzling noise it makes as he adds it to the bowl.

Wooyoung cannot take the silence any longer, his curiosity - or better, fear - overtaking him. “What are you doing?” He asks.

Instead of answering him, the man begins to mutter something beneath his breath, making a strange circular motion with his hand above the bowl, which he has set back down on the table. Wooyoung cannot make out what he is saying, but the way the words leave his lips is almost rhythmic, like a priest delivering a chant.

Wooyoung scowls, opening his mouth to interrogate the other men around him as to what the hell is going on, but the words die on his tongue. He knows what the man is doing.

It’s part of the Old Faith. Old Magic.

Dark magic.

Wooyoung has never been a devoted servant to the gods. In fact, for all of his life he’s hated them. He hated them as a child for giving him a gift he could not use. He hated them as a teenager for cursing him with the power to destroy everything he held dear. He hates them as an adult for idly standing by as all of the horrible events of his childhood tumbled down one after the other.

However, even with his hatred towards the gods, he’s always considered worshiping them to be far more understandable than the Old Faith. More particularly, the Old Magic aspect.

It’s a breach of order. If the gods blessed the gifted with their powers, then Old Magic defies that. It’s taking from the earth what was not given to you. It’s blasphemous. Immoral and unnatural. At its very core wrong.

Wooyoung tugs at the chains around his wrists, which clatter in protest. Panic begins to rise in his chest, as one thought fills his head: “What the fuck are they going to do to me?”

The man finishes his chant, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a miniature knife. He uses it to create a small cut along the tip of his finger, holding it above the bowl as a drop of blood collects around the wound, before dropping into the potion.

Smiling to himself in satisfaction, the man takes the bowl with him as he heads back towards Wooyoung. Stopping before him, the man takes a moment to meet the elemental’s eyes, that glimmer of darkness potent within his gaze.

Wooyoung does not look away, but by the gods, he wants to.

“Well,” the man says. “Open up.”

Wooyoung keeps his mouth shut, lips pursing together. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, feeling its thump throughout his entire body. He can’t drink that. He isn’t sure what it will do, but he knows that its something horrible.

It will break his mind. That is what the man had said.

And while Wooyoung has always had confidence in his abilities, perhaps even relied on himself more than he should, for the first time that confidence falters.

“So this is what it takes for you to be quiet,” the man jests, earning a few chuckles from the others around him. “Good to know.”

When Wooyoung doesn’t reply, the man nods to a couple of the soldiers beside him. “Open his mouth.”

Four of the men approach him, and Wooyoung fights against the bonds of his chair, even if he knows it’ll be pointless. The chains against his wrists and ankles hold him still, and as two of the men grab his shoulders to stop the chair from rattling, he’s left with nothing but twisting his face away from the men who grab at him.

Hands blur across his vision as he feels one of the men press an arm to his throat. Another digs into his scalp, pulling his hair in order to bring his head back and face upwards. Fingers claw at the crevices of his face, digging beneath his cheekbones, into his ears, scratching along his lips.

It’s overwhelming, but Wooyoung stays focused, repeating over and over again in his mind, “Don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth.”

It’s not until the elbow pressing into his throat has been there for a little too long that Wooyoung registers that he needs to breathe. Black lines creeping into the corners of his vision, head beginning to feel foggy, he does his best to ignore it.

Until he can’t any longer. Against his mind’s will, when the man removes his elbow from the elemental’s throat, Wooyoung gasps for air.

The men do not waste the opportunity.

Fingers dig themselves into his mouth, and while he attempts to bite down on them, their force is too strong as the many hands pull back his cheeks. Limbs bound, hair pinned, and face pulled back, he’s left helpless as the man with the bowl approaches him.

As the man lifts the bowl above the elemental’s face, a smile grazes over his lips, and Wooyoung knows that he is enjoying this.

The liquid burns as it pours down his throat, rubbing like sand-paper along his tongue. It tastes familiar. Like stale bread, but worse. Rotten with mold. Wooyoung gags but the man does not stop, not until the final drops fall from the bowl and into his open mouth.

The men do not release him until he swallows the concoction, and he feels it as it settles down into his gut, twisting and turning like cheap whiskey.

Wooyoung attempts to catch his breath, chest heaving and sweat beading along his forehead as he looks at the man before him. He continues to smile that awful, wretched grin, empty bowl in hand.

“See? Now that wasn’t so hard,” the man says, for no other reason but to rub salt in the wound.

Wooyoung spits on his shoes.

The man does nothing, merely takes a few steps back as he continues to watch Wooyoung with an analytical gaze, as if observing whatever the hell is supposed to happen. For a few moments, Wooyoung feels nothing but the tension that hangs in the room as all of the men stare at him. He feels like a monster in a cage, like one of those griffin’s from a traveling circus he saw passing through Gloria many years ago. Undeniably dangerous, but stripped down to a mere display for people to gawk at.

Then he notices it. It doesn’t start as much, more of a feeling in the back of his mind than anything else. An uncomfortable tingling sensation creeping through him, like an itch beneath his skin, little prickles of worry like ants tunneling through his veins.

He blinks, and his vision goes blurry.

The men in front of him transform into foggy statues and he blinks again, but instead of focusing it only gets worse. He swallows hard, only to find his throat has gone dry, the saliva refusing to go down.

Heat settles itself in his gut, rising into his chest as an aching sensation washes through him. Wooyoung lets out a low whine, one that under any other circumstances would humiliate him, but he can’t bring himself to worry about that right now. Not when his body feels as if it’s rejecting him.

“What did you do to me?” Wooyoung asks, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper. The man hums softly, reaching forward to hold Wooyoung’s chin. This time his grip is gentle, and Wooyoung wants to slap it away, but he doesn’t have the strength. In fact, if it weren’t for the man holding his head up, he’s certain his chin would have fallen down to his chest. Maybe it already had, Wooyoung doesn’t remember.

“This is the easy part, Jung Wooyoung,” the man says, and Wooyoung swears that that is the first time the man has said his name. Although the worry is replaced by agony as another ripple of pain rattles through him.

“Remember. You tell me what I want to know, I’ll make it stop,” the man says. “You’d be wise to accept that offer.”

Wooyoung blinks up at him, and he thinks thaf tears stain his eyes, although his vision is too foggy to notice a difference. “And if I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” the man says, giving a soft, condescending thumb-stroke along his cheek. “They always tend to comply.”

You cannot sleep.

The tent feels crammed, even though you’re well aware that there’s more than enough space. Yeji sleeps soundly, a few feet away and face turned from you as the peaceful sighs of deep slumber escape her lips. It is dark, only the faintest hint of moonlight seeping through the tent’s thin fabric, and yet it feels too bright.

You do not wish to sleep. There are things to be done. This is no time for rest.

They have Woo.

The men you’ve been fearing this entire journey. The ones that ambushed your father, that killed Mingi, that besieged your castle and robbed your life right out from under your feet. The men that have made you paranoid, always keeping one eye over your shoulder, creating wariness with each new city and step you have taken.

The men you have feared would kill you, they have taken him instead.

And somehow that is so much worse.

It’s not something you’d anticipated, always having assumed that if the black-clad men were to find you, you would be the one to face the consequences. The idea that travelling with the three men was putting them in the crossfire of the mysterious army hadn’t occurred to you. After all, it’s your wanted posters on every city street, not theirs.

How stupid you had been, and now Woo is gone. Captured by your family’s assassins, and only the god’s know what sort of danger he is in.

It’s your fault. It’s you they really want, he is just a pawn in their greater game. You’ve been outplayed, and Woo is the one forced to pay the price of your failure.

They could be torturing him for information. You know the sorts of things powerful men do to prisoners, having heard whispers about it in your halls, the dungeons located deep beneath the castle. Using a whip to lash the back until there's more blood left than flesh, spending hours drowning them within a bucket of water, pouring vials of liquid metal along the skin. Maybe one of them is a sadist, and Woo’s face is blistered and burnt beyond repair.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You roll over, eyes accustomed enough to the darkness that you can make out the ceiling of the tent above you. Although really, what you see is Woo, pleading for mercy as one of the black-clad men delivers the final blow. Woo goes silent, his eyes still open, and you know that it is over. He is gone.

Another person you care for, dead.

You cannot just sit here like this and let that happen. However, while you were prepared to head to the Concursos Mountain Pass the moment Seonghwa placed the message down in front of you, both he and San urged caution.

“This is clearly a trap,” San had said, wrapping a hand around your wrist to stop you from heading down the path towards the refuge’s exit. “They’re going to be prepared, which means we need to be. We need to come up with a plan before we do anything.”

“We have three days,” you snapped back, frustrated. “Yeji said the journey is at the very least a full day’s ride. We don’t have the time to sit here and twiddle our thumbs.”

“Then we have a day and a half to come up with something,” San replied, tone calm but also curt. He was not entertaining the possibility of going now, no matter how much anger you added to your glare. “Maybe we can form a group of some of the other refugees and leave together.”

“There’s only two horse’s between the entire refuge,” you cut back. “We cannot make it in time by foot. There’s no chance of us building our own army, if that’s what you're implying.”

“We’ll figure it out,” San said, still not budging. However, beneath his steady gaze, you could see the faintest hint of worry. Of doubt. Of knowing that there may have been no other option but to go alone, although he was not ready to admit it. Not ready to acknowledge the truth that weighed down on each of your shoulders.

The fact that it may come down to Woo’s life, or your own.

Thus, a second truth sat just as heavy. He would choose Woo. They both would.

It’s not until this moment, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, that you realize you would choose Woo too.

You will not have him die for you. You will not have the black-clad men take anything else from you. Not him. Not like this.

If they are to kill you, let it be your own doing. Not ambushed for the money they have placed on your head, or killed silently in an alley-way along the streets of Bebbanburg. You will not be your father, stabbed at his own celebration, unaware of what was coming. If you are to die, let you come to them with your sword in hand, fighting for a man who - even when you haven’t deserved it - fought for you.

Rising to your feet, you pull the blanket off of you, heading towards the tent flap. Stopping in place, you turn back, watching Yeji’s sleeping silhouette, chest rising and falling peacefully.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it is not only to her, but to all of them. All of the Libaiyan’s uprooted from their homes, left to wander Burovia with no kingdom to call home. They had finally been reunited with their princess, only for you to leave them once more. It is selfish. It is what your father would consider an abandonment of responsibility.

Maybe you are abandoning your royal duty, or perhaps you are fulfilling your duty to another.

Either way, it must be done.

Slipping out from under the tent flap, you can hear San and Seonghwa talking within their own tent, though you cannot make out what they are saying. Good, they're busy. They will likely not notice you’re gone until morning.

Scanning the field, the man continues to sing by the fire, and it is the same song as before. Lute in hand, he serenades the men and women surrounding him, although the number has depleted under the blanket of the night.

As you approach the horse tied to a nearby tent-pole, you sing along quietly beneath your breath, to the words you have known your entire life.

“My love for whom I do come home,”

“I’ve been bathed in scars, both body and soul,”

“And while I’ve returned beneath darkened gloam,”

“Without you this place may never be whole.”

Although, while you may sing his words, unlike the man within the song you will not be so passive.

You will find Woo, and you will bring him home. Even if you do not come back with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next chapter.

[writethrough]

hi ! can I request a morpheus x reader, where reader has always trouble with sleeping ‘cause she's haunted by nightmares, so she decides not to sleep anymore, morpheus obviously is worried about her and tries to help, comforting her, maybe with a little date in fiddler's green or just sleeping with her, it's your choice of course :) thank u!

What A Luxury It Is to Have You

(Morpheus x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1008

A/N: Thank you so much for this request! And thank you for being so patient with me. I'm trying to get through my inbox as fast as I can while still appeasing that part of my brain that wants to write everything that's not in my inbox.

I hope you enjoy it!

The non-stop tapping on your window pane would have woken you had you been asleep. However, you haven’t had any restful nights for quite some time now. Not since you had learned about Morpheus and his world. The one of magic and cursed artifacts and danger.

No, sleep evaded you like the wind in your grasp.

Your name was called.

“Open up, will ya?” Matthew squawked, tapping again.

You flung the covers back, moving to let him in.

“Everything okay? You usually don’t visit this early,” you said, glancing at the clock. Eight-thirty. An acceptable or excruciating time to rise depending on the person asked.

“The boss wanted you to know he’s stopping by soon. He’s been kinda off lately,” he said.

You swallowed, hoping this wasn’t about you. Before Morpheus confided in you, you had visited the Dreaming most nights. Since then, you have been avoiding it.

For the few weeks after he told you, nightmares plagued your dreams. And knowing they were actually real? It scared you.

There was a place out there that housed all the terrible creatures haunting your mind, and your boyfriend ruled over them all.

With your heart in your stomach, you wrestled with what you knew was to come.

Morpheus took things head-on. He would demand to know why you weren’t coming to see him. And if you did tell him, you knew he’d go to the worst-case scenario. He’d believe you didn’t feel safe in his kingdom, under his protection.

That killed you.

He was the one you trusted the most.

You sighed. It was better to get this over with now than spend however much time dwelling on it.

“Is he watching us?” you asked.

Matthew’s eyes shifted as he toggled between his feet.

“Yes,” he said meekly. As if he was embarrassed to be caught doing something he shouldn’t. Like he had a choice in the matter.

“Morpheus, can we talk?” You peered into the raven’s eyes, and immediately the swishing of sand entered your room.

“You may return to the Dreaming, Matthew,” Morpheus said.

With a nod in your direction, he flew away.

Morpheus called your name, and you faced him.

“Hey,” you said, looking at your feet.

How were you going to approach this?

Fingers tilted your chin up, and his thumb brushed under your eye.

“Tell me, my love, what is causing you such unrest,” he whispered, gazing down at you in only the way he could—serious, yet gentle.

You sighed, pulling his hand down to hold against your chest, something else to focus on.

You bit your lip and let it slip free.

“Everything is…Everything is real,” you said. You ran the pad of your thumb over Morpheus' nails, short and blunt.

“Can you explain what you mean?”

You hesitated. “My nightmares are real.”

Maybe it had something to do with him existing for near eternity or that he had known you for so long, but he seemed to understand what you were getting at.

“And you are afraid,” he said.

You nodded, pulling your mouth to the side.

“They can hurt me.”

“I would never allow that,” he whispered. “Nightmares are not meant to cause harm.”

Your head shot up. “What?”

His lips tilted up. “They are meant to teach you. To help you find solutions.”

Your brow furrowed. “So, they can’t hurt me?”

“No, my love, they cannot.” 

Some tension left your shoulders at that realization. And you slowly nodded, internalizing what Morpheus told you.

“Will you sleep well now?” he asked.

You unconsciously gripped his hand tighter—remnants of fear still resided in your mind.

He glanced between your hand and eyes.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

You hoped he could see the love in your eyes. “Of course.”

“Then, come with me.” He held out his other hand, and when you nodded, he placed it on your hip.

Sand swirled around you both. In moments, you were transported, but you’d never seen this place before.

It was home to possibly the greenest field with the tallest trees and most vibrant flowers.

It dawned on you a second later, recalling when Morpheus explained different environments in his realm.

“Is this Fiddler’s Green?” you asked in awe.

When you finally faced him after not receiving an answer, you saw his faint smile as he watched you.

“It was time I brought you here,” he said, stepping toward you.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, unable to rid your smile as you took in every feature of his in this new light.

It was like you could see all of him.

He held out his hand, indicating for you to continue ahead of him to a grove of cherry blossoms.

You had only taken a few steps before you could sit below the pink blooms. It should’ve taken much longer, but given where you were, things didn’t have to follow ordinary rules.

Morpheus lowered himself, shoulder brushing yours, and let you absorb every facet of the Dreaming.

This is luxury.

Some people would argue with you, but those people had never seen this place. They didn’t know the absolute peace a world made of dreams could bring. They couldn’t thread its grass through their fingers or smell cinnamon. They couldn't look into the bluest eyes and have boundless affection staring back at them.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “None of that.”

He lightly patted his thigh, the gentle breeze making his hair float.

You slowly lay down, head resting in his lap.

Between your surroundings and Morpheus’ presence, you never felt safer.

His fingers traced your hairline, down your cheek, around your chin, then began on the other side until he completed his path along your nose and rubbed his thumb across your lower lip.

You hadn’t even noticed your eyes had closed until he spoke.

“Rest, my love. Nothing shall harm you,” he whispered, starting his dance again.

The tension left your body with each pass of his skin, and soon enough, you fell asleep.

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat

If you’d like to be added to any tag lists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on.

[talenlee]

Story Pile: My Next Life As A Villainess: All Routes Lead To Doom!

Story Pile: My Next Life As A Villainess: All Routes Lead To Doom!

This year has reminded me of something I truly, truly love about anime as a genre: You get a self-contained story idea, usually something with a bunch of familiar anchors, and then says ‘okay, now here’s the idea we’re working with in this space.’ You get useful, familiar tools for telling a story (so you don’t need to reinvent the wheel to communicate ideas), and then that lets the story highlight what parts of it stand apart from the standard patterns.

Here’s your standard template: an anime that tells the story that plays out in your typical otome game dating sim, where the characters are divided easily into ‘the ones you want to have sexy stories with’ and ‘the ones who are rivals or hindrances to your sexy stories,’ set in a magical mid-fantasy kingdom where you get fancy outfits, princesses and magical colleges, but also there’s no conspicuous mention of plague or weird pooping habits. Then, there’s the also-standard form of it being a story focusing on a single individual who is from our world, an isekai story, or if you’re familiar with the Christian media space, Narnia-likes.

Here’s your twist: The world she’s in now is the world of a videogame she played when she was in our world, she knows how this type of game works, like the things that signal you’re on the wrong track, but she’s not in the role of the hero of the story like when she played it.

She’s the villainess.

And the villainess, in all the routes of the games, is screwed.

Our heroine villainess in this story is one Catarina Claes, a haughty, superior mean girl archetype, usually popular in this kind of game because the players want her to step on them of how her awful behaviour enables dramatic scenes. After all, if your hunky boy dream rescues you from a mean bully, that bully had better be actually mean to raise the stakes. Catarina is at the centre of a whole web of relationships in the magical academy, as she is a good student, rich, and has a lot of social importance, being the daughter of a duke, and being engaged to an Important Hunk as this genre represents them.

She is also, now, in this version of the story, a Japanese schoolgirl who played this game and absolutely does not want to be killed to death because of a stupid misunderstanding about dating boys. Beginning at age eight (when she first discovers her past life, thanks to an absolute cracker of a head injury) Catarina dedicates her life to the task of Not Dying by doing everything in her power, strategically, to prepare for all the possible outcomes that could befall her. This includes swordfighting lessons, magical study, learning how to farm and make her own food, searching for weaknesses from people she knows will be a danger to her later, and then, most importantly, not being a massive asshole to everyone around her.

Now, if you’ve played this genre of game, you might have wondered about how terribly the dialogue options forced you into being some varity of dickhead, and have the followup thought of: Man, imagine if someone who was just basically nice showed up here? Yeah, that’s what Catarina does, and the result twists the whole story around her new role, despite her prior positioning, all preparing for the moment the ‘hero’ of the game comes along.

That’s your basics, whatever, that’s kind of all covered in the pitch. Why did I like this, specifically, why did I find this series on a whole so engaging and why do I like Catarina so much? Sure, it’s an anime that tells a story through the medium of games, but that’s common enough, the only thing this does that separates it from those other anime is this one’s not awful about it. Seriously, there’s no appearance of characters pulling up RPG menus and god damn if that didn’t thrill me when I realised it. Nonetheless, that’s more avoiding negative marks, let’s talk about positives. There are, in my mind, three basic things that to recommend Very Long Title I’m Not Going To Copy-Paste Right Now.

First of all, it’s funny. One of the most damning things for me when it comes to romantic comedies — an exhausting genre that’s been the spine of whole time slots for my entire life — is that it’s not actually very funny. A lot of the time, comedy in that genre relies on delivery from characters, and not actually anything that happens in the type of story it is that generates humour. It’s about characters being embarrassed or humiliated or it’s about a character having witty dialogue, and those things can be removed from romantic narratives. I dunno, it feels like this is a genre that doesn’t tend to work with itself; it’s more ‘thing A, while being thing B.’

Second of all, and this is a big part of how it’s funny, Catarina is an idiot. Oh, she’s not stupid: she’s focused on her task, hard-working, charming, sweet, and emotionally sensitive. When presented with a social strata of aloof nobility, she differentiates herself by being, well, a normal gamer gremlin girl trying to solve for a game’s outputs, and that means a lot of astute planning and note-taking, but also, eating food with her hands off the ground and not noticing when she’s demolished an entire basket of muffins. These planning experiences, rather than having her internally monologue extensively, are done by showing five chibi versions of her in a little mind palace display negotiating what they think is the best course of action, and one of them is a self-important type with a fake mustache and I find that very funny, of its own.

Hang on, you may say, if Catarina is smart and inclined to plan, and kind, how is she an idiot? Because,

Third of all, god damnit, Catarina is a bisexual casanova who hasn’t noticed the sheer scope of her kingdom. Every single major character in the game and a few minor ones all wind up caught in her orbit. Sure, one of them was going to be engaged to her anyway, but in the game, he maintained that relationship to avoid any other inconvenient engagements and he didn’t actually like Catarina. In this case, Catarina’s swerve into being the best little gremlin meant he grew up finding himself attracted to her, and so to for all the other characters that the heroine is meant to be picking from.

The thing is, she doesn’t stop there, because each of those boys has a love interest who’s designed to be a barrier for the heroine of the game, as well, and Catarina manages to seduce each of them by sharing common interests and being the coolest girl they know growing up and showing them care and attention and sharing books with them that are definitely gay porn, and then when the heroine of the game shows up, Catarina’s plan to Not Die to her makes this otome-game leading marshmallow girl into another one of the Claes Of Sixty Nine.

Everyone wants Catarina, and Catarina is so focused on not dying she doesn’t realise it.

This is an anime focusing on a kind of game that I normally find dreadfully difficult to play, because they often rely on arch character types and uh, way too much handsiness from dudes who are garbage. The otome genre is populated by a lot of games that rely on pleasant aesthetics and sometimes untranslatable complications, which means that the behaviour of characters can seem incomprehensible to me, a person who’s not already heavily invested in their space.

I find it very funny to appreciate the way that, yes, actually, if you wrote characters that behaved like characters and weren’t fixated on a limited number of possible solutions (that meant the writers aren’t under a huge burden), and if you can recognise that bisexuality and polygamy exist, actually, a lot of these dumb games about silly narratives are very easy to resolve in an uncomplicated way.

I thought this series was an absolute corker. Season 1 is a lot stronger, where it focuses on the actual challenge of getting away from the narrative inevitability of dying, but Season 2 has a lot of great moments of Catarina being an absolutely perfect goblin. Season 2 does also focus a lot more on resolving some of these things, and introducing more of that otome game fanservice, which I found less interesting.

This is the series that introduced me to the term bakadere, and I love it.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Media #StoryPile

[baekhvuns]

the duke and his general.

synopsis : in which seonghwa is the duke you’re arranged to, while you’re the general of the royal army.

pairing : seonghwa x reader

themes : angst, comedy & smut. ( tw : blood / war )

word count : 22k ( part two )

you expected everything to go like this, ever since the two of you shared that night together, you’ve never wanted to see him after. the sheer embarrassment and hurt appalled over you, and you were in a complicated state of mind. 

and that’s when you started to avoid him like a plague, no, literally. 

you’ve been waking up before he can, getting ready and successfully leaving before he could wake up. coming back to your room before he comes, showering and sleeping before you could see him. 

you’ve pretended he doesn’t exist for the past four weeks; never once did you look at him in the eye. head down and a small bow or greeting, you walked right pass him whenever you saw him.

simply because, you can’t do it. 

you busied yourself with the duties and the separate military ones, despite the tension between you and seonghwa, none of your comrades questioned anything if they even noticed. 

it’s not like there hasn’t been more than one instance where you walk in the rooming thinking you were early, only to see seonghwa sitting on his bed, a book in his hands and legs crossed.

you would quickly walk away from his sight and you’re sure a deep sigh rings the room, it’s not as if you would keep avoiding him. it’s just that, what you did was awkward and embarrassing for you. you two have no feelings for each other and thus there is no point in making the marriage work.

plus, as written, it is only a contract that lasts for a few months before ultimately you two break off and he marries someone who actually suits him. 

so, when you walk out the bathroom, you’re immediately pushed to the wall and trapped by none other than seonghwa himself. 

his body emits heat and your jaw ticks, he doesn’t say anything for the first few minutes, and you choose to look away. “will you keep avoiding me?” he finally cracks.

there’s a deafening silence between you two, a warm lump that you swallowed quickly almost makes you cough. when you don’t speak or glance at him, he lifts his hand to your chin and forces you to face him. 

his grip isn’t tight or bruising, just enough to guide your face up so he can look the other in the eye.

“will you not even look at me now?” he whispers, “look at me in the eye when i’m speaking to you.” 

“your highness, it’s almost midnight,” you pause, “we should sleep.” 

“we are not falling asleep till i finish my talk,” he grits out and you finally look him in the eye and sigh. 

he grabs your hand and pulls you to sit on his bed, you bite your lower lip at the memories you had on this bed just a few weeks prior.

your eyes are stuck on the pretty carpet on the floor, the only noise being his steady breathing and your heartbeat beating in your ears. 

he hesitates for a moment, leaving a few beats of silence that makes you swallow multiple times. his own self nervous to speak, seeing how quiet it is.

“do you,” he starts, “like someone else— or are you involved with someone outside our marriage.” he plays with his fingers until you answer, mind whirling up the most ridiculous answers you could potentially reply with.

“no, your highness.” you respond quickly, shaking your head.

“stop calling me that.”

“yes, your highness.”

he exhales loudly and then turns into a more serious stance, “have you ever thought about working this marriage out?”

you bite the insides of your cheek; this was exactly the question you were trying to stray away from.

“i-“ you start, turning your head away from him, to glance outside the window. “we are binded together through a piece of contract, your highness. i don’t think i’ve had a single thought on trying to figure out the marriage to potentially make it work.”

“not even once?” he asks, voice now on a lower pitch.

“. . not even once.” 

you avoid looking his way, eyes tiredly focusing outside the window where rays of sun poured through.  

“but i have,” he cracks, “i’ve thought about making our marriage work, i don’t think we both could survive in a loveless marriage, it’ll only hurt us emotionally.”

“but all you did was start fights, bother me just because you wanted a reaction out of me.” you mutter, and he chuckles a little.

“you were the one who started this thing, i told you, you should marry someone not me!” you tell him, voice not raising from your regular calmer tone. 

“yes, i was the one who created this entire contract thing.” he pauses, “i’ll rip it apart.” 

you swallow thickly at his words and the atmosphere made around you, the way he talks so smoothly has you curling your toes. you’ve always been the authoritative one but hearing his lowered voice has shut your mouth up.

“yes, we’ve had our immature arguments on baseless topics.” he lists, “had differences in tastes, opinions, and the way we think.”

“mostly just you,” you add, “you made me almost loose my mind.” 

he bites his lip to stop him from breaking out in a laugh, the expression on your face not helping him. “okay yes i did, but i want to forget that ever happened, instead we should try and sit down to talk.”

you stare at him with narrowed eyes, pressing your lips together.

“i know this is probably a little shocking to you, but i want to make this marriage work.” he eyes you, “it won’t be easy, but i’d like to take the step further.”

you furrows your eyebrows at him, “what do you mean?”

he abruptly stands up, “let’s start from the beginning, forget the contract.” and extends his hand out to you. “it’ll seize to exist.”

“i’m park seonghwa.” you blink repeatedly at him, who stared at you, waiting.

“-duke of eden, firs-“

“park seonghwa, only.” he corrects you with a smile. 

you stare at his hand and then back to his face, he watches you with a smile and slightly tilts his head. with a small smile, you lift your hand to meet his.

“i.. i’m y/n.” he smiles at that and holds onto your hand.

“then miss y/n, let’s start as friends.” 

“ew.”

“ew?” 

seonghwa stares at you wide eyed, your gaze stuck on the red wine placed on the table. ever since the two of you started being ‘friends’, which you were fairly very awkward at, you’ve actually had a decent chat with him.

he officially showed you around the palace, from his library nooks to the secret passageways connecting to different rooms to his personal office. taking you two the hidden rooms, the ones that showcase the stunning beauty of the sea through the windows.

it had only been two days and you’re actually kind of enjoying this, it is still awkward but nonetheless it’s a step further to making this marriage work.

“you don’t drink?”

“you do?” you ask him, lifting your eyes to glance at the apricot hued horizon. 

the two of you were sitting in the balcony that connected to your room, it was almost nightfall, and the entire kingdom was lit up. you could see everything from the secluded space you two had, the small markets, houses, and parliamentary buildings all had their lights turned on.

“should we play a game?” he suggests, resting his arms on the armrest.

“let’s get to know each other through questions,” you hum once again and this time you feel his eyes on you. 

“go on, your highness.” 

he chuckles, “okay then general, how long have you been in the army?” 

you press your lips in a firm line, remembering. “hm, for as long as i can remember, maybe when i was twelve? dad used to teach me a lot, unofficially at twelve and then officially at eighteen.” 

he nods, impressed and sips on is wine. “that’s quite interesting, you’ve spent almost your entire childhood serving here huh?”

you smile, “i have,”

“do you regret it?”

“not one bit.” 

he smiles, “i remember seeing you as a teen,” he pauses to remember. “with a hard stare and a small badge you had on your chest.”

you tick your eyebrow up in surprise, “i do too, just occasional glances at you, wherever you were, i was too.”

“how about you, your highness.” you ask this time, and he turns to look at you. “how many proposals have you rejected before accepting this one?”

he raises an eyebrow at your question, no in malice but in amusement. “if you count every kingdom including empire, and a few from outside then around, uh, seventeen?”

your eyes grow wide at his answer, “seventeen? that’s quite a lot.” 

he nods, “how about you, i’ve heard that your mother tried to set you up with a few nobles.”

you snort, grabbing the wine from the table to your surprise and seonghwa’s. “I didn’t want to get married, and all the ones she choose were just not my type.” you cringe, “all i remember is their mothers wanting me to quit working here.”

he smirks, eyes falling from your eyes to the nose bridge and then to your lightly tinted lips. “can’t imagine you with one of those flimsy guys,” he lets out and you squint your eyes at him.

“what? you almost punched me!” he retorts, “and made me kneel to you!” you shake your head at his whining.

“you asked for both of them.” 

he shakes his head and then continues, “how many wars or even battles have you fought?”

you bring your knees to your chest as your eyes peer out the horizon, “i think three wars? one for ecuador and the other two with elias-“

“ah, that useless one.” he lets out a quiet gasp as he drinks the wine.

“yeah,” you continue, “and then the battles eden has had, some smaller stuff.” you pause.

“i’ve honestly forgotten how many i have fought,” you say as the wind sifts through your hair and seonghwa finds purchase in staring at you.

“do you have any scars?” he asks, feeling a smile curl up on his lips. 

“plenty,” you laugh, remembering the one on your thigh, back, neck and right under your lip. you’re proud of them, because you’ve earned every bit of them by fighting for your kingdom’s protection. 

“what do you even do?” you break in and ask, “aside from cornering girls that is.” 

he laughs at your question and your heart rate quickens, “well, i handle all my father’s work, he’s going to step down soon so i have to follow his footsteps.” 

“accompanying him at travels, visit the town once in a while, make sure everything’s been done correctly with no errors.”  

“and then sign a bunch of documents for eden, then repeat.”

you nod, reaching forward to grab the wine glass he had just lifted and bring it your lips to gulp it down. 

his wide eyes watch you, “why did you want to make this marriage work, you know, considering how adamant you were about that contract?”

he seems to glance of at the scenery, thinking about the question. “i don’t think i’d wanted get married again,” he looks at you. “after the months that are over, that is.”

“i didn’t want marriage because i was, let’s say, scared.” he pauses, “which made me reject everyone.” 

you nod slowly, “i’ve seen how some weddings have ended and, the ones i’ve heard growing up. it was scary but to think about it, y’know?”

he lets out a loud exhale, “i didn’t want to take the risk for it.” 

you nod slowly, “did you eventually wanted to get married? seeing, you’ll be taking the crown in a matter of months.”

he hums, “at one point i did, i wanted a marriage, just not a bad one.” you snort. 

“yet you were trying to make it a bad one,” you say, and he laughs, nodding.

“did you want this?” he asks, and you pause. 

“not like this,” you sip the wine, remembering how this all started. “i wanted simple love, where the two of us live by the seashore and grow old together.”

“have kids at some point and live a simple life, but this, is totally opposite that.” 

he smiles, “i mean to let you know, i have a palace near the seashor-“

“no thanks.” you interrupt him, closing your eyes.

“ah there’s a question i want to ask,” you hum, asking him to continue. “what impresses you?”

“a lot of things actually,” you pique, licking your lips. 

he grins, stretching his arms forward before slyly putting it behind the frame of the couch, behind you. “i’m not the one who usually shows off but i own the country if that impresses you?”

you stare at him blankly, “i’m good.” he nods, bringing his arms back to him. 

you two then stare off into the horizon, enjoying the comfortable silence. the wind blowing onto your faces, warm yet cool. a series of relaxed sighs would leave you too from time to time and you spared him some glances.  

you could see the way his face had no flaws, perfect skin and face. your eyes then stare at his plumpy lips, quickly looking away before he could catch you.

“do you want kids?” he suddenly asks, and you chuckle, he grinned, it felt good hearing you laugh. 

“at some point, of course.” you cradle your face on your palm, “do you?”

you see his face break out in a bright smile, “of course! i’ve always loved kids, they’re so cute and little and just happy all the time!”

you hum, “you know they cry loudly, poo everywhere and won’t let you sleep at night?”

he turns to face you, “still cute.”

you shake your head and then tie your hair up, then you stand up after a few beats of silence. with a small wave at seonghwa you walked inside, leaving the man alone. 

“i’ll see you tomorrow, seonghwa.”

he nods and then stops dramatically. “did you just call me by my name!?”

“it’s your first visit home after our marriage, isn’t it?” you nod, a smile gracing your lips while your eyes glance around your town.

“uh huh,” you say as one of the doors to your house opens, revealing all your aunts and uncles with arms wide open.

you laugh nervously and lean over to seonghwa who’s already waving his hand at them beautifully, “okay, just behave and act like my nice husband for ten seconds and they’ll be gone.” 

he smiles as you walk past him, and he follows with his hands folded behind his back. 

once you two enter your house, all your relatives seemed to be lined up with big smiles on their faces. “how lovely.” you tightly smiled, and he snorts beside you.

and then your eyes meet your aunts who stare between you and the man standing beside you, clearing your throat you introduce him.

“everyone,” you phase to give seonghwa a look, “this is seonghwa, my husband.”

seonghwa feels his heart swell, a never-ending cheeky smile on his face and the though of you calling him ‘my husband’ for the first time thrills him.

he goes forward to greet them while his eyes meet yours from time to time, and that’s when you notice he’s mouthing the seconds to you.

“ten,” he greets your uncles, “nine.” aunts.

“eight and seven,” when near your cousins.

“six, five and four-“ when he stops beside your father and gives him a salute, to which your dad chuckles at, very surprisingly.

you find yourself snorting at seonghwa, however your eyes follow every movement of his. the smile that reveals his pearly whites, he turns his head to whisper “three and two.” and you nod.

the shiny eyes of his when he talks to your brother and laugh at something he said, which makes you think it was your brother exposing you.

once he’s done greeting everyone, they all start to slowly leave and seonghwa finds his arms around your waist, shooting butterflies in your stomach as he jerks you closer to him. 

“you can let go now,” you say, eyes on that one aunt who isn’t leaving. “they’re all gone.”

the next few hours were perhaps the most weirdest ones, seonghwa had seemed to befriend your mother in a jiffy while your brother wiggles his eyebrows at you for anything seonghwa does that impresses you family even more. 

“stop it, sehun.” you stick your tongue out at him while walking to help your mother with the dinner.

“ahh, did you see all your relatives gush over him?” the minute you enter, your mother corners you.

you scoff, “i did,” and pause, your relatives sure did seem too interested in him more than you.   

“they’re probably going to ask him to divorce me for their dau-“ you didn’t even get the chance to finish your sentence because your very own mother hit you with a green onion.

“why would seonghwa ever do that?” she glares, and you almost laugh out loud, spilling the beans of the contract you two had. 

“both of you look great together,” you turn to your mom, leaning your back on the counter so that the kitchen entrance is in your viewpoint. “the way he looks at you, it’s all visible!”

you’re about to retort back that you see seonghwa standing at the door, you urge him to come in, but he places a finger on his lips, as if to not talk. you squint your eyes at him but agree anyways.

your mother who seems absolutely oblivious to the situation opens her big mouth, “just give me the baby news already! i want to be a grandma before i die.” 

your wide eyes immediately land on seonghwa’s, his eyebrows shoot up to his forehead while your mother rants about wanting to see more grandkids.

“your oldest child has two, mom, twins at that.” you refer to your older sister, and her two devil of kids.

you see how his lips form a smirk, his head nodding to everything your mom talks about. he then uses his two fingers to poke his cheeks, eyes shiny and wide as he bobs his head.

“i don’t think you’ll hear that news soon,” you say, eyes still on him. 

he tilts his head and mouths a, “why not?”

“why not?” your mother asks, “you both would be lovely parents.” and seonghwa nods.

“seonghwa wouldn’t want them.” you narrow your eyes at him, “we haven’t discussed anything yet.”

he leans on the door frame and lifts his hands up, “how many do you think you want?” your mother asks, and you just want to leave the room already.

seonghwa jumps in his spot to get your attention, hands waving at you frantically, your eyes travel from your mother to his. 

he lifts one, two, three, four and five of his fingers, your eyes widen in shock.

“five?!” you yell out loud, making your mother flinch. 

“you want five kids?” your mother questions you with shock and seonghwa nods with a teasing smile before leaving the room, leaving you to deal with her.

“i- no!” with that you glared out the door, sparing your mother a glance before walking out to find him.

the rest of the night was everyone having fun, seonghwa making everyone laugh while your brother and mother spade you amused glances whenever they’d him talk. 

when the visit was over, you wave to your family with big smiles, your hands carried random gifts your mother prepared for you and seonghwa. 

the two of you walk back to the car prepared for you, arms and shoulders brushing each other’s, all on purpose, as you walk back in silence.  

“today was fun,” he says, cheeks heating up at the memory of few moments prior. “i like your family.”

you find yourself smiling too, “it was, they loved you.”

he snorts, “who wouldn’t.” 

you roll your eyes and walk faster, leaving a whining seonghwa behind. he runs after you as you keep walking with a smile, and a totally different reason to why your heart was beating so rapidly.

once the two of you sat down in the cars, you lean back in the seat and close your eyes. a sigh escapes your lips, and you get comfortable in your seat, the ride back to the palace was a long one and getting a nap was what you wanted.

seonghwa does the same, but before he shuts his eyes, he leans down to press his lips against your cheeks, your eyes shoot open at that and he smiles against your skin. 

he then brushes his lips against your ear, “one and zero.”

your eyes blinked at the flash, so bright and blinding. eyes focusing on the room containing a man standing behind the big camera, a big smile on his face as he jumped around. 

“just tilt your head to the side,” he instructs, and you feel seonghwa tilt his head towards you, his gaze roaming your side profile.

“was this necessary,” you ask, pressing your lips in a tight smile as you lifted your hand to neatly place on his chest. 

head facing the front with a smile that could only be called fake, “traditions, y/n, traditions.” he hums bringing you closer by your waist.

family portraits were one of the things every family had to do, to ensure that the future generations knew who the heirs, couples, kids and kings and queens were.

this is what you two were doing, dressed in matching clothes as the man in front of you snapped pictures with his vintage camera.

you find yourself fully paying attention to the camera man that, you almost don’t feel a hand creeping up your back. “what?” you whisper-yelled, looking over your shoulder.

“nothing,” he responds with a grin, “focus on the camera.” fingers drawing circles on your back, going up with each one.

you’re now sat beside him, shoulders touching intentionally and the heat of his body radiating to you. instinctively you lean towards him, both your heads tilt and a smile forms over your lips. 

and then you feel his fingers start to dwindle with your zipper, you stiffen. side eyeing his face that’s bright and happily smiling, one hand neatly placed on your thigh while the other is flat in your back.

“seonghwa,” you warn the man, who only responds with a hum in a singing tone that made your heartbeat fasten.

“yes, sweetheart.” he lowers his chin to place on your shoulder, and you swallow staring at the man ahead who only showed a thumbs up with both of his hands.

“this isn’t the right place to-“ you bite on your tongue when you feel him unzip your dress from the back, slowly, while he nuzzles his cheeks into yours and you break out into a smile.

“everything is a right place if you make it,” he hushes you. slowly unzipping your dress and you shiver when the cold air hits your back, his long and slim fingers caress your skin softly.

his fingertips are hot against your skin and you fight the urge to not stare at him, because you feel that stare, he does. the one where his eyes grow darker, and a glint of playfulness covers him. 

you feel his breathe hit your neck and you turn your head to him, “we can’t, the man’s right the-“

he interrupts you by placing his feverish lips on your cheek, your eyes wide in surprise while the camera man squeals something about the right pose. 

seonghwa’s lips form into a boyish grin, his dark hair cover his eyes and it makes him more enticing. you swallow once again, looking ahead as your cheeks start to get warmer.

one thing he loved to do was, to see your reaction to his touch. he loved the way you twitch out of embarrassment when he touches you or avoid his holds when you’re surrounded by people and he’s sure that it effects you as much as it does to him.

he then wraps a hand around your shoulder, a hand reaching out to gently run through your hair. he hears you inhale shakily and turns his gaze to the front.

eyeing the man in front of him, he cocks up an eyebrow at the man who timidly, yet hastily bows and leaves the room. not before tripping over a few wires on his way out. 

the second the doors shut; it doesn’t take seonghwa a second to pin you on the red couch. you let out a small noise of surprise when he brings your arms above your head.

you can’t control the breathy exhale your lips leave, he dips his face closer to yours and his eyes, filled with every emotion that could possibly decipher lust, desire and playfulness. 

“seonghwa,” you mutter, shakily. eyes frantically searching the room because anyone could walk in, at any given time.

“y/n...” he whispers, lips quirking up into a smirk and he lowers his head down to just inches away from your lips. 

“that’s the thrill baby,” he doesn’t let you speak more as he smashes his lips against yours, a moan leaves your lips seconds later and he presses his lips against yours even more.

his hands run down your curves, up and down as one of them makes its way to your back. 

both your eyes are shut close, lips moulding into each other’s such such finesse that it has him letting out a groan. lips parting for air, tongues crashing as you two moan breathily in unison.

you rake a hand to cup his cheek and his hand that rests on your back, brings the straps of your dress down your shoulders. leaving it up just enough so he can see your cleavage and the goosebumps that come with.

he grabs onto your waist firmly, arching your back to him and he slows down the kiss, turning it more sensual and rhythmic before parting away completely all sloppy and wet and soft.

his lips then hover over the shell of your ear, “won’t you make those pretty noises for me?” he mumbles between kisses he places down your neck, nuzzling his nose into your hair while doing so.

“hm?” he quirks, “i want to hear every single one of those noises, i want everyone to hear them.” 

his tongue flees out his mouth and he licks a circle over the small skin, you let out a tiny mewl and grip his white shirt.

“be louder, baby,” you moan louder when he bites down on your skin. “i want everyone to know how good i make you feel.”

you squirm under him when you feel him suck harshly, mouth hung open in silent cry. his other hand trails down to bunch up your dress over your waist, fingers gingerly lingering over your inner thighs. 

“h-hwa,” you let out a broken whine and he stops all together and then looks into your eyes and it has you gushing with arousal, you’re sure he can feel the heat as his hand rests closer to your underwear.

“what did you say?” he whispers, and you can only stare back in response before he pecks your lips again. “say that again, baby.”

you part your lips when he grinds on you, “hwa,” when he hears you repeat it, he swears he’s never liked that name so much in life.

and you assume he likes it when you call him that, of course he does, it makes him swallow and he feels his cock harden in his pants.

when he looks into your eyes, hooded and full of lust it as him forgetting just who you are and what you could do to him.

his eyes go down to your lips that you’re biting while staring at him with curiosity, his fingers toy with the band on your underwear as he stares at you poking your tongue out.

you see how his swollen lips form into a smile, his eyes this time not only showing desire but something... else you can quite comprehend.

you mirror his smile, but it falters into a loud moan when he slips his fingers under your band and brushes against your pussy, your mouth falls open and he closes it with his lips.

you feel them feverishly trail down your neck and then to your collarbones, while his fingers slip in and out of you. “god, you’re so wet.” he groans against your lips.

your legs spread wide open when he lazily drops your underwear lower, he watches you shiver but only responds by sucking on your skin, marking you with his creation.

you let out moans that can only be described as high pitched, and almost borderline pornographic. he hums and groans against you, letting out moans of his own. 

you exhale his name out loudly and he brings his lips to connect with yours once again, you grind yourself to his fingers while he bites down on your lower lip.

“are you close?” he asks, speeding his fingers down your clit, curling around your g-spot so perfectly that it has you rolling your eyes and head back. 

you can only moan in response, wailing your head to the side as he fastens his speed. bunching up your dress higher and you feel the cold hit your skin, he nuzzles into your neck while shamelessly numbing “good girl” “that’s my baby” “hm, who’s are you?” to which you’d respond with his. 

once you let out a loud cry of his name it hushes you with his lips, mumbling for you to “come on my fingers,” and you do as he says, wrapping your arm around his shoulder.

he then tilts his head, bringing the same fingers that he had in you seconds ago to his mouth. he swirls his tongue around them, and you moan just at the look of that, he then brings those fingers to your lips.

and you wrap your mouth around them, sucking on them as your spit mixes with his. he holds back a growl when he sees how your eyes meet when you swirl your tongue around his fingers, he feels his cock twitch when your eyes roll back.

he ignores the faint noise of the door clicking and lowers his lips to your clothed chest. he feels your boobs all hard and perky and lulls his head back to hold himself in. 

he moves his lips to the strap of your dress; his teeth graze the fabric of the top and bites onto it lightly. your hand takes through his hair and he hums in delight.

his intense eyes stare into yours while he brings down the top of your dress, slowly unraveling your naked chest and he growls looking into your eyes. 

the corner of his lips rises, and he licks his lower lip, pointing his tongue out at your nipple. he’s just about to touch it but a loud cracking nose interrupts you two, your wide eyes stare into his, in panic.

completely forgetting your surroundings, seonghwa lifts his eyes to see where the crash came from and cocks his eyebrow up.

“god damnit, san, that was ancestral.” 

your fingers tighten against his shirt when you hear the familiar name, hiding your face into his neck in sheer embarrassment as your cheeks heat up.

“sorry,” you hear his response, almost strained.

“what’re you doing here?” seonghwa asks, he feels you tighten your grasp against his shirt, and he softly caresses your skin.

“i-,” the said man chokes up, eyes wandering everywhere except the two. 

but he’s already seen it, him on top of you, your moans being pathetically loud and pretty. 

he’s also equally shocked and turned on at the same time, he watches you just seconds prior arching your body up to the duke as your lips parted in ecstasy. 

you feel seonghwa hum against you and he turns to look at you, “trust me,” he places his lips onto your again and you smile slightly.

“how much did you watch?” seonghwa asks the man once again, this time sitting up and you cover yourself, but he stops you. 

his fingers graze your hardened nipples, and you hiss lowly, swallowing as your gaze is stuck on his side. 

“just a little,” san lets out, suddenly finding the floor extremely interesting. 

seonghwa caresses your waist and you lift yourself on your elbows, finally sparing san a glance. 

he stands in a corner, hands folded in front of him making the tent he’s hiding very obvious. 

you eye seonghwa and he smirks, “well then, what’re you waiting for? join us.” 

“w-what,” you and san blink at the man, making swallow and look at san, who had two toned hair.

san’s eyes meet yours briefly before they flicker back to seonghwa who shrugs his shoulders, “i’m sure you had a reason to stay and watch,” he mutters, standing up.

san’s eyes finally fall over yours for a few minutes longer, he sees your red dress bunched up to your waist, your hair tousling over one another and how your boobs peeked out the dress. 

he’d never think he’d see his general like this, and he thinks he quite likes it. 

he swallows when seonghwa lifts two of his fingers for him to come further, and he hesitantly takes step forward not before giving you a glance.

you nod and slowly perch yourself up, legs spread open to a distance, revealing everything to the man’s vision.

you weren’t oblivious to the stares the man would give you, sometimes those that linger longer than before. 

you have confronted him about it on a drunk nigh when he revealed his crush on you, you laughed it off and told him “there will be a much better person for you to be with.”

but it seems as if his fantasies had caved him in, when he heard you and seonghwa going at it just as he walked the hallways. he thinks it really was god’s wish when he decided to peek in.

seonghwa gives you a glance, as if asking you if that was okay. you nod slowly, and he goes to lean on the wall opposite you.

“san,” you call out and he lifts his head up, eyes wide like a deer. “come here.” 

he does what you say and stops when he’s standing between your legs, seonghwa clears his throat from the back.

“no kiss on the lips.”

you tilt your head to the side, meeting your hair fall over your shoulders prettily and it makes san bite his lips.

“only once san,” you say, “i know you want it, so here i am.”

“go on,” you and seonghwa say together.

he watches you with wide eyes, “are you sure?” you nod, tucking your leg to the side and it’s the way something in him awakens and he places his knee in-between your legs. 

he cups your jaw and lowers his lips to chastely kiss your cheek, “then i will follow every order my general gives me.” 

you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at that, and the way seonghwa taps his feet.

you smile when he hides his face in your hair, lips grazing your neck and you shiver when his lips touch the sweet spot right under your ear.

he places his lips softly over your skin, humming as he inhaled your scent. he already knows the marks done on your neck are by seonghwa, but it doesn’t stop him from sucking on your skin, to create his own mark on you.

you breath shakily when his knee moves closer to your center, his hand cupping your jaw while the other travels down to hold onto your boobs. 

he stifles back a moan of his down when your lips touch his cheek, his hands knead and squish the soft skin of your breasts. 

your lips let out broken whines that has him riling, he harshly sucks on your neck and you don’t stop the airy “san,” that leaves your lips, and he stops all together, when he feels your leg wrapping around his knee.

his eyes glance at your lips and you raise your eyebrow at him, lulling your head back, puckering your lips as if taunting him to touch him with his own.

he smirks but only dips his head lower to your breast and you whine when he moulds his mouth over your bud, circling his tongue all over and coating it with his saliva.

he sucks and hums against your sensitive nipple while you let out strangled moans that has his cock hardening in his pants. 

it’s only then when he finally looks up, the distance between you two barely any. he stares at your lips and his lips let out a mewl, he wants to taste you but the man standing behind with daggers in his eyes make him think otherwise.

“san,” your voice fills his ears, and he looks up, “kiss me.” 

you jut your chin to his, eyes challenging him to kiss you. his hand tightens around your jaw, “y/n...” 

as much as he wants to fulfil your wish, and his. he knows seonghwa would get mad, but the way you’re looking at him, puckering your lips to his.

he thinks, it’s a once in life chance.

san looks over his shoulders and sees seonghwa leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

san then looks over at you, and then back at seonghwa and mutters a. “sorry, seonghwa.” although not really sorry.

before crashing his lips onto yours, you gasp when he does so but it turns into a muffled moan. his tongue barely touches yours that he’s yanked off from you, your chest heaves up and down while seonghwa straightens the man.

asking him to leave, and so he does.

you feel seonghwa stare at you fixing your dress up, when you do stand up he grabs the back of your neck and slams his lips to yours.

“i told him not too,” he says between the kisses, using his tongue to swipe across your lips softly and you smile.  “mine, you understand that?” 

he pulls away and looks at you, “i’ll be right back.” 

“where?” you ask.

“i’ve to deal with san.” 

“when did that happen?” 

“i don’t know, all i know is we have to hurry because everyone is already there!” you stand there looking at seonghwa run around the room, flinging his tuxedo and tie on the bed while running gel through his hair.

when he dramatically pauses to look at you, “what, go get ready.” he walks to you, dressed in his silk pyjamas that fit him loosely.

“unless you want me to dress you?” he quirks up an eyebrow, bringing you to him by the use of his arm. “hm?” 

you smack his arm away, walking to where your clothes were as he panics in the background while you take your sweet time to pick out your stuff.

when you find yourself all dressed, seonghwa leans on the canopy bed frame watching you struggle to put a piece of earring in your ear.

he watches you lean over the vanity, curves on display in the black and white dress, your red lips mumbling some cursing which he finds unusually hot. 

a small frown on your face as you struggle with the earrings he brought, he pushes himself off and comes to stand right behind you. your back flush against his towering self, he holds onto your wrist, gently refraining you.

he grabs onto the earring and places it on the vanity, you watch him do so through the mirror. the strangely intimate atmosphere quickened the speed of your heart, his fingers fondle with your hair, eventually covering the ear without the accessory.

he then holds onto your forearms and squishes his cheek into yours, “you’re hot.” shifting his hands to your waist, which he squeezes slightly. 

your lips break out into a smile and grab his hands, turning around you wrap your arms around his neck. 

with a giggle you don’t know what comes over you, that you place a peck on his lips. “thank you mr. park, you’re not bad yourself.”

“thank you mrs. park, now, shall we?” he suddenly lowers his voice to a british accent and you pretend to fake a gasp, “of course.”

you two leave in laughter and return back tired, or more so you leaning on seonghwa’s shoulder while he supports you. giggling at some joke he said that has the two of you laughing loudly in the otherwise quiet palace. 

he asks if you’re tired and you nod against his shoulder, he smiles because in the end of the day, he knows you have a tiring job. how you’re so uptight and working with your entire body and brain, he loves that you’re like this with him.

comfortable, he likes the sound of that, a lot. 

it’s the only time he’s dared to run a hand through your hair, poke your cheek, make you laugh, tickle you, and then pick you up.

he knows you’re too tired to protest, and you give in. head laid on his chest and arms wrapped around his neck, he mumbles a few jokes softly in a attempt for you to keep awake.

every giggle or chuckle you let out has his heart beating and cheeks warming up, he looks down at you, nuzzling into his chest with a smile on your face. 

“stay awake for me y/n,” he hums, and you somehow nod through a sleepy phase.

when he enters the room, he walks straight to the bathroom. placing you onto the toilet seat while he goes to grab your pyjamas, when he returns, he sees you perching your head on the counter.

hair covering half your face and your eyes shut, he works quickly and comes to kneel by you. 

timidly he reaches out to brush your hair to the side, smiling at your cheek squishing against the counter he holds onto your face and taps your cheeks.

“wake up y/n,” he mutters, “baby?” 

you let out a whine when stands up, one hand interlinked with yours while the other uses a cotton swab with a remover on it to bring it to your face.

“close your eyes for me,” he settles himself between your legs, holding your chin as he wipes off all the makeup in one go. 

he then asks you to stand up and wash your face, you do as he says with closed eyes and he watches you with a worried glance when you stumble to the sink, washing your face successfully.

with a gasp from your lips, he plops you on the counter. smiling widely when you wrap your arms around his waist and it has butterflies erupting in his stomach, he likes this a lot. 

he likes the feeling of this solace, just you two alone in a warm atmosphere on a dark night, where it’s quiet, and the lightings comforting. when he slips out some puns and you whine in response, when he’s about to grab a little lotion, you ask him to wash his face too.

confused he does it nonetheless and you grab two out some lotion on your hands, “thank you for doing this hwa,” you mumble lazily, tapping the lotion in dots over his face before rubbing them across.

“it’s nothing,” he responds, puckering his lips when your fingers brush his lips. 

he repeats the same thing as you and then shoves you your set of pyjamas he bought recently, but instead of grabbing them you raise your arms, eyes closed and a smile on your face.

“what?” you say, “didn’t think i’d be like this?” 

he shakes his head with a smile before coming in closer to tie your hair up, he smirks at the proximity and it’s as if you can feel him smirking you slap his chest, and he feigns a pained groan.

he presses his lips gently on the apples of your cheek before backing away, “do you want me to change you?” you nod.

“what’s there to hide anyways,” you mumble lowly, “you’ve seen it all.” 

he hums in acknowledgment, grabbing the top and then draping it over you but not buttoning it fully. then, he reaches underneath the shirt to lift down your straps, making sure it’s comfortable enough when it’s all the way down.

you button the rest of your shirt up and wear your pants, not realizing the matching pyjamas you walk out the room and head for the couch.

“where are you going?” he interrupts, fixing the blanket right as he walks out.

“bed,” you point to the couch, making your way towards it but you’re pulled by the back of your collar to meet with seonghwa’s towering front. 

he dips his head to your ear, “but that’s your bed.” he nods towards the one he sleeps at and you swallow. 

“come,” he ushers you onto the soft bed and he walks to the other side. 

“will you be sleeping on the couch then?” you ask he and stops, “no? why would i, this is our bed.”

he stops, “we sleep here, together.” 

“-flip it like that— yeah, that’s it!” you yell, holding onto jongho’s arm with force. 

the man whines beside you and you stifle out a laugh, “why do you always pick on me,” he says, pouting.

“i’m not picking on you ho, you learn things quicker than others.” you explain, moving his arm to the right, “so you can help others understand better, when i’m not there.”

“so what you’re saying is, i take your position after you retire and whatever?” you smack the back of his head lightly and he once again whines.

“oh, where’s san?” you ask, motioning jongho to copy what you were doing.

“he’s-“ he pauses to take a breathe, “he’s gone back to eros, something came up about some people missing into thin air.”

you frown, “that’s weird,” telling jongho to take a break.

“you know what’s weirder? seeing your husband stand there looking at me as if he’ll kill me.” jongho points his finger at the man leaning on the column.

when you turn your head to him, he immediately straightens himself and you realize he’s in his pyjamas, hair all fluffy, eyes shinning and his cheeks puffy.

“he really woke up early to watch you practice?” hongjoong teases from the side and you smirk, shrugging your shoulders.

“mayhaps,” tossing your weapons to the side you bid them all a bye and an good morning before running to seonghwa.

a smile graces your lips when his eyes brighten, his arms are widespread, and you link yours with his. “let’s get you back to bed,” you mutter, dragging his sleepy yet clingy self back to your chambers.

you realize that this wasn’t the first time he’s woken up early to come and watch you practice, and whenever you’d ask him why his response only made your insides flip.

“why do you come to watch us practice every day?”

he’d grin and wrap his arms around you like a bear, “because the bed isn’t warm without you,” you’d laugh at his attempts to keep you by him whenever you had to leave.

sometimes during the dark hours of night, when the field is only illuminated by torches. seonghwa waits for you to finish the last off, two drinks in his hands, fresh and cold. 

when you’re done, the two of you walk to the roof of the castle. a balcony only the two of you use that showcases the entirety of the kingdom, with drinks in your hands, sitting on the wall with your feet hanging off in air.

chatting away about really anything, sharing glances that were not so awkward anymore. the breeze up high would be so fast, that the two of you have almost fell. 

poking each other where you’re ticklish the most, seonghwa sitting with his back faced in between your legs while you played with his hair. or when he’d grab those same hands and bring them to his lips, mumbling something that’d make you laugh.

in the matter of months, the relationship between you two had completely flipped. 

it’s as if you two know almost anything about each other, what makes you smack him, what makes you laugh, the jokes, the massages, and the spontaneous trips you two take in the middle of the night on your horses.

this one time when he had marched into your office, hands full of chips and other food. 

you lift your head up from the amount of paper works scattered on your desk, “oh? seonghwa, do you need anything?” you ask the man standing at your doorstep, a pout formed on his lips.

he’s standing there wearing his pyjamas that only he looks good in, you throw your pen away and lean back on your chair, crossing your arms.

he walks in with his hands placed by his waist, cheeks puffed. “why do you not pay attention to me?” he asks, and you have to stop yourself from cooing at him.

“i told you, there’s a few problems at the borders,” you pause to look at his face. “i need to finish a few paper works.”

“but you’ve been busy all week,” he lifts his hand up, “one, you’re always on the fields outside.” he brings down a finger.

“and then you loudly yell the marching chants that make me flinch!” he whines, and you laugh at his words.

“really? am i that loud?” you ask him, and he nods.

he suddenly stands up and does a aggressive salut, “soldiers!” he imitates your tone, “in line now, if you don’t get in the line, thirteen laps around the palace!” 

you laugh at the way he’s marching back and forth, imitating the scared looks of your soldiers whenever they have to run or when you yell at them.

or when you would walk in during evening to see him sitting on his bed, deep in thought. you pause, “are you alright?” you question, and he finally lifts his head up.

“no,” he responds.

you frown, “no?” 

he hums with a pout, and you walk near him and kneel down to his level, wondering what exactly had happened for him to be sitting all alone. 

“no,” he pauses, “but a kiss can help.”

you smack his knee and get up but he grabs your wrist and turns you to him, your body falls on him and he holds onto your waist as you two fall back slowly.

“please,” he pouts, puckering his lips and you laugh. shaking your head and then placing a small peck but he takes the chance to deepen it.

and considering how close you two have gotten, and the level of comfort thats between you two. 

seeing that, you and him have done it almost everywhere in the palace.

it usually ends up with you two being borderline caught by some older advisors who roam the halls often.

the ball party was where it all first started. 

“where- seonghwa the guests, they’re waiting!” 

“baby, i couldn’t care less about those guests,” he backs you up against the door, “i want to hear you, right now.” 

he’d growl and bunches up your dress, asking you to hold it while he traces his fingers over the lacy panties you had worn. 

you’d shiver when he would part the fabric to the side, feel his hot breath over your pussy before he’d dive his tongue in you. 

lapping, swirling and circling all over your clit, gathering all the juices you’d spill out, and using his tongue at different speeds. he’d hold onto your thighs, one leg over his shoulder and his mouth doing wonders. 

while your head was thrown back and your mouth was letting out breathy and airy moans of his names that you’re sure someone would hear. 

but that won’t stop him from using his slim and long fingers to curl up inside you, his face hidden in your neck while he fingered your already sensitive clit.

he’d place soft kisses over your neck while moaning your name out, you’d shut your eyes tightly when he would start to nibble on your earlobe and quickening his pace on your pussy. 

“that’s my good girl,” he groans against you, slowing down the speed of his fingers that’d only have you crying his name out in pleasure.

the hallways.

“i hate you so much,” you say between your laughs and he cages you between his arms, grabbing your hands to put them above your head.

“do you now?” he closes the distance between you two, “that’s not what you say when you’re screaming my name, hm?” 

your lips break out into a smile when he placed his softer ones on yours, he himself enjoying the bond you two had.

“you know if we keep doing this,” you gasp, “you’ll be a father in no time.”

he smirks, nuzzling into your neck. “you finally understood my intentions?”

his free hand moves down to grip your waist, and you whine when he does so, nibbling on your lower lip, swiping his tongue over your lips. 

the sound of lips smacking against one another rings the empty hallway, teeth clashing and muffled moans the two of you cry out in unison.

you move your hands to wrap around his neck, and his places his hands on the curve of your ass. pushing you to the wall while he weighs onto you, you would be daring enough to bite his lip which would have him tighten the grip on your ass.

your fingers play with with his hair, tugging on them which would have him humming against your lips. you two would only part away when the sound of footsteps start to come closer.

hurriedly pushing each other away and fixing your clothes and making a run for it to the other side of the palace, laughing and giggling over the thrill of being caught.

then there was the time when you would push him against the mirror, cupping his cheek and smashing your lips onto his. or when he would fiddle with your dress straps only to start placing feathery kisses up your neck, grabbing your chest and squeezing them through the fabric.

or when you’d take off his shirt and climb over him, hands grazing his stunning built yet large and lean body. straddling his waist while sucking on his skin, leaving your own mark on him.

where he would throw his head back, hands gripping your ass as you slowly grind over him. his lips would part, and low and deep moans would leave his mouth, you would bite your lips and start to move faster.

his eyebrows would touch, and he would bite his lips, you’d him against his skin, using your tongue and curling, twirling and swirling over his neck.

it would lead him to trail his hands under your shirt, glancing at you and then letting out a mewl when you hadn’t worn your bra, his larger hands coming to cup them. 

his fingers graze your hardened nipples, tweaking and rolling it while squeezing and kneading your perky doubles. and then trailing his hands down your stomach and under your pants, then he would flip you over and overtake you.

“you’re so wet,” he would coo in your ear and you’d nod, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. your own moan would follow when he’d curl his fingers around a particular bundle of nerves. 

your head would fall back on the bed, “all for me, hm? y/n, all for me?”

“f-for you,” you’d let out when the heat in you became unbearable and you came.

and that’s when you heard something you’ve never thought you would, “god, i love you so much y/n.” 

your head would fall back, chest heaving up and down heavily and your heart beating for an entirely different reason.

the next time you two are together was when he had to go away for a few days, you were extensively busy coming up with problems to fix the conflict that’s been looming over you. 

it was during nighttime when you had finally walked to your room, plopping onto your bed like a star fish. just as you try to close your eyes, a particular voice made a smile creep up your lips.

“hey,” seonghwa jumps onto the bed, making your body jump slightly. you lift open your eyes and see his face right above yours, a cheeky smile on his pink lips. 

“you’re back,” you mutter lowly, lifting your hands to cup his face. “how was the trip?”

he puckers his lips in a pout, “you’re not going to ask how i am?” he grabs your hand and brings it to his hair, and you start to play with them, he hums happily.

“okay, seonghwa,” you chuckle, “how are you?”

“i missed you,” he mumbles, “a lot.” 

he lowers his face, puckering his lips like a fish. “your smile, your lips, your laugh and you, i missed you baby.”

“i did too,” you shut your eyes, remembering how he would call you whenever he would get the time.  

how he would whine in your ear about wanting to see you already, and you’d ask him to focus on his work saying, “i’m right here hwa, go now, focus on your work.”

he snorts when you get up, ready to change out of your clothes and he spins on his back, leaning on his elbows. 

“you’re.. i get why you don’t express your undying love for me,” he starts, and you hum out a why.

“because you’re tsundere,” he pauses when he watches you unbutton your shirt through the reflection of the mirror, “or at least that’s what the teens there said.”

he watches you chuckle, “you talked about me to the kids there?” nodding he positions himself with his head on the bed frame. 

“they said you were like that, you don’t show your love for me.” you take off your shirt, leaving you in a tank top that makes him lick his lips. 

“oh yeah?” you ask him, quietly turning around. 

“...do you love me?” he asks, and you told your head to the side, a small smile on your face.

his wide eyes bore into yours as you come to sit on the bed, or more so on him, straddling his waist which he welcomed happily. already having his arms around your hips. 

you hold onto his hands, fiddling with his fingers, the one where his band sat. you lift your head to meet his eyes, “i’m not hesitant to show my affection to you, i-i just haven’t felt that way for someone, so this is new to me.”

you caress his hands quietly and he watches you in anticipation, lifting his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

you let out a sigh, and hesitatingly ask. “do you...love me?” 

he smiles slightly, “i do,” he breathes in. 

“a lot,” he continues in his deep voice, “you make me happy.”

he wants to say so much more, that you make him feel giddy, have butterflies erupt in his stomach whenever he’s by you. the stares you give him, the ones full of tease and playfulness that makes him laugh in the most inappropriate places.

how you tap your thighs and spread them, and he’d press his lips into a thin line, trying not to break out into a smirk. or when you back him up to a wall, teach him how to fight by holding his hands or how to work a sword.

but by seeing the look on your face, he knows you know everything he’s thinking. you’ve always been observant, so he knows for a fact that you’re probably reading his mind right now. 

“then you should know my answer,” you say, giving him a smile that makes his heart swell. 

both of you can’t believe that this is where you two ended up, from a loveless marriage to one that’s full of love and affection to the point no one has to stay it verbally. 

“let me hear it then,” he mutters, moving his hands from your hips to intertwine with yours. “say it once in for all.” 

you look down quietly, finding it hard to form the words together. you know you want to say something, but you can’t seem to form them together, instead all you do is stare into his eyes.

he smiles, and in seconds he has you flipped onto the bed. both of you rolling on it with a grunt, you stare into each other’s eyes contently. 

ignoring the surrounding and communicating through your expressions, you look down at his lips and make the move to peck them, moving away slowly and placing your leg over his torso.

he grins at your actions and brings you closer so that your heads resting on his chest, “i didn’t know you were shy too,” he mumbles, and you bite the insides of your cheek. 

hiding your face in his chest, you fist his shirt with your hands. you maybe be all dominant with your personality, but you’re yourself with him. 

he wraps his arm around your shoulders and sighs, tucking your head under his chin. he then remembers something, leaving your hold for a second and searching something in his drawer.

“what’re you looking for?” you ask out of curiosity and all he responds with is a “surprise.”

“actually, meet me tomorrow night at the gazebo you cornered me at.” he says and you nod. 

“if you try to kill m-“

“y/n, no, baby, sleep.” 

you stare at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a white ensemble that was requested by seonghwa for whatever he’s going to do tonight, and you hope it isn’t him killing you. 

you know he’s standing by the gazebo waiting patiently for you, but you can’t help but try and look a bit presentable before walking out towards the gardens. 

hands sweaty, and heart pounding as each and every step you take roots nervousness in your gut.

when you see him standing there with his back faces to you, in an all-black fit, you can’t help but look at him in amuse. the way his larger and built body is shown off by the clothes sticking to him.

shaking your thoughts away, you call out for him. “seonghwa,”

he turns around with a smile, you swallow before walking to him, hands neatly folded behind your back. 

“you came,” he says, snaking an arm around your waist. 

“of course,” you mumble back, letting him hold you. he then points at the corner; your eyes follow his and they immediately widen.

“seonghwa, t-that’s stunning.” your lips part in surprise and he smiles, ushering you forward by the small of your back.

your eyes fall upon the fluffy blanket he has laid on the ground, a small basket near the corner, pillows scattered around the blanket and two bottles of wine. 

“you’re insane,” you mumble quietly, tightening your hold onto his shirt. you hear him chuckle, pulling you to sit by him on the blanket.

your eyes shine when they fall over the water, the atmosphere was weirdly intimate. you two sat by the running water under the moonlight, sitting right by one another in silence.

the air sifted through your hair, playing with it slightly. “do you like it?” he asks, nervousness washing over him.

you nod twice, “i do, oh my god,” you pause. “i do, i love it.” he breaks out into a smile, rubbing a hand over your back.

he grabs you by the waist and settles you in between his legs, your insides flip when your back hits his broad front.  

you lean back and he wraps his arms around you, placing a peck on your temple. you smile and place your hands over his, intertwining them together.

“do you know why i brought you here?” he asks, rocking you side to side.

you shake your head and feel your heart swell at his low voice humming, “there’s something i’ve been wanting to give you,” 

his fingers fiddle yours when you feel him slide the black ring out, you watch him quietly slide it over to your right hand. 

he then reaches behind his back and pulls a velvet box, your smile falters and he uses both his hands to open it in front of you. 

“remember when i went out to ecuador?” he says, “i bought this for you.”

he opens the box fully and your eyes widen, “seonghwa, why?”

your eyes fall upon the stunning ring he shows off to you, it’s a light emerald diamond sitting nearly on a thin silver band. 

he takes your fingers in his and slides it on your ring finger, “i know when we first got married, we didn’t care about one another.”

“in fact, we both didn’t even want the wedding.” he pauses to recollect, “it looked like a fairytale but there were no sincere emotions from us.”

“i wanted to restart it,” he says, squishing his cheek against yours. “so i brought a new one, the one i chose.” 

your eyes fall upon the ring in your hands, “will you marry me, again, this time with all the happiness?” 

you hear his voice falter, and you smile, turning your body around fully. “do i have any choice?” you ask with a sheepish smile when his eyes meet yours.

he chuckles, “well not really because you’re already mine,” and you grin. “but for formality sakes, will you, the y/n, marry me, solidifying our marriage once again?”

you shake your head at his silliness, “of course, you idiot.” you say between giggles.

he then pulls you to his chest and you both fall back unexpectedly, letting out a yelp when falling but he grabs you before you could hit the ground. 

you lay on top of him, his hands firmly resting on your hips. he looks down at you and smirks, brushing your hair back from your face.  

“did you have a good flight?” he teases, and you sit up right on his waist, hands resting on his stomach. 

he raises his eyebrows, poking his tongue against the wall of his cheek. tapping his hands on your hips before bringing them behind his head. 

you then lean front and place a peck on his lips, surprising him. “thank you,” he smiles at that but that smile quickly turns into a groan when you shift on him.

he grips your hips at that, making you swallow when the colour of his eyes darken. “what’re you doing?” he asks, voice airy and strained. 

you look at him in confusion, “nothing?” and he bites his lower lip, sitting up right so now he’s directly in front of you. 

“oh yeah?” he quips, a smirk growing on his lips as he inches closer.

you shift once again and it lets out a low growl, and that’s when you realize what he means because you feel something poke at you.

you suck in a breath and try to get up, but he’s got his hands over you, holding your thighs. you feel his stare searching your face and then landing on your lips, and then a little lower.

he finds himself staring at the strap of your dress that’s fallen down, he swallows he sees that you aren’t wearing a bra and that he can see the trace of your boob and the hardened nipples poking through the material.  

“i-it’s cold,” you whisper, feeling his stare. he lifts his hand up to play with the strap, fiddling with it before he tugs it down.

he does the same to the other strap, fiddling with it and the tugging it down. enough so that he can see the top your breasts and he looks at you, your eyes already onto his.

his fingers graze them through the dress, and he lowers his mouth to place a soft kiss, you hiss at the way he licks at the skin right after.

his large hands come to grab your breasts, softly squeezing them and your thighs twitch. making the man grit his jaw, when you move your dress rides up and it leaves him to little to no imagination.

he brushes his lips over your neck, and you shiver, he bunches your hair to the side and attaches his lips right under your ear.

you whine when he pokes his tongue out, the mood changing from all nice and fluffy one to a one that’s full of desire.

“seonghwa,” you let out shakily, he hums.

“let me take care of you too,” you wrap and arm around his shoulder, lowering him to the ground and bringing your hand to his crotch.

he says something incoherent and then proceeds to unbuckle his pants, you help him lower them before quirking an eyebrow at him.

“now who’s in a hurry?” you say, tracing his waistband that makes him twitch.

you chuckle and bring his briefs down, running a hand down his cock. he twitches when you do so, eyes shutting and eyebrows meeting.

you then take your own panties off and take a hold of his wet cock in your hands; he groans and grunts at the pressure and rolls his eyes back when he feels you sink down him slowly. 

you hang open your mouth at the silent cry of pleasure, hands landing beside his face to support your body and his hands landed in your ass, moving slowly around him. 

your lips brushed against his neck and you sat straight, hands on his toned stomach as you moved up and down, your breasts bouncing with the impact and seonghwa gets a hold on your breasts, tweaking and rolling them. 

you moan breathily as your legs shuddered at the immense amount of pleasure coming over you in a short time. hearing his cry for you name has you going faster, “y/n- fuck.” 

you hum before leaning over to place your lips over his, muffling his own moans. his hands bring down your dress to your waist as you kept on getting him to a new high.

“i-i’m close,” he responds, voice strained, and you moaned at the sensation and it only makes you go faster, and he eventually comes inside you. 

you pull yourself out of him and plop your sweat lined body next to his, chests heaving up and down as the two of you breathed out loudly. 

“let me help you now baby,” he turns to hover over you, bunching your dress to your waist and you let out a whine of his name.

he brings his cock and lines it down your wet folds, he enters in slowly and you hear the wetness at the friction.

he holds your arms beside your head and rolls his hips into yours, “h-hwa, what if someone c-comes!”

he smirks, “let them baby, let ‘em see us.” he groans, thrusting into you as you moaned out his name as quietly as you could.

“louder y/n,” he demands, “let them hear.”

and as if on time, he does a particular thrust that made you cry his name out loud. his hair falls over his eyes, ticking over your forehead slightly. 

he watches your face contorting to the pleasure, and it riles him to go faster, grunting and grinding to you. loving the way, you say his name and the way it rolls of your tongue with a hint of airiness at the end.

you eyes roll back and your back arches to his, grinding at his own pace before falling back and letting him take control. 

“who’s are you?” he growls, and you wail your head to the side, responding with yours to which he says, “that’s my good girl.” 

before he stops, breathing heavily and pulling it out of you. slumping on you and then braking you to his chest, “i love you.” he says and you nod against his chest.

“me too,” he snorts and then smacks your ass at the answer you gave.

“general, what’s the deal at the border?” you hear yunho ask, mingi standing by him.

“i, i think someone’s scheming something against us.” you look up from the number of files, “check at the soldiers who patrol the border, see anything suspicious and immediately report that to me.”

“why?” jongho buts in, and you rub your temples.

“because,” you pause, and they all stare at you in anticipation.

“we might be going at war.” 

“shit.” wooyoung speaks from the back, “san isn’t back eros yet, the situation there is worse but if we had him, and even if there’s a war, if san was here, we would win no matter what.”

“well yeah, he is a literal demon reincarnated.” hongjoong snorts and you laugh, “but, me and yunho will go look over at the border.” 

“i’ll look over at the hidden entrances of eden,” mingi exclaims, “might find something there.”

“wooyoung, help me by finding out just who the enemy could be with you connections.” your remark and he offers a salute from the couch.  

“and please,” you stop wooyoung, “don’t go seducing someone.”

jongho snorts at you, “says that one who does it everywhere.”

you throw a paper weight at the man, picking your tongue out. “ew please, i hear it sometimes too.”

“go away!” you yell, cheeks warming up. “you’re dismissed!” 

“sheesh,” mingi says and you glare at him, watching all of them hurry out. 

just as they leave, you hear them whistle in the hallways and then the door opens. revealing a smiling seonghwa, eyed wide and cheeks puffed.

you clear your throat and stand up, “h-hey,” 

he walks to you with a smile and wraps his arm around you, “hey baby, look!” his wide eyes bore into yours, showing the bouquet of red flowers. “for you milady.”

you laugh at him, squishing his cheeks before walking behind your desk. 

“ah,” he starts, “i might have to leave for a trip soon, something with a few kingdoms needing help.”

you nod, “alone?”

he nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. “dad might want me to take the guys, jongho would be staying if that what you’re asking.”

he comes to lean on your desk, “when will you be leaving?”

“tomorrow morning,”

“for how long?”

he sighs, “i don’t know.” 

you pause, watching his face turn into a frown. you reach forward to take his hands into yours, rubbing your thumbs over his skin.

“i’ll wait, go do your duties.” you say, “our future king.” 

he snorts and you smile, “i’ll be back super quick, i promise.” he extends his pinky at you, shaking your head you joined them anyways.

he grins and his eyes turn into crescents, he decides to spend the entire day with you. eating your favourite dishes, then playing nonsensical jokes, him helping you with half your work also the only time you two were serious.

he’d constantly keep having his hands somewhere on you, to which you at first would shove it away, but now you’re more lenient. 

and so when the day ended, you were left with the sentence he kept repeating over and over again. 

“i’ll be back soon, wait for me.” 

when seonghwa left for a trip, you expected it to be short and sweet. it was supposed to be short, but then it quickly escalated to one week, to two weeks and now to five extra weeks. 

you hadn’t seen the man in almost one and a half month, except only hearing his voice through the telephone in your office and the bedroom. 

it’s as if he went back to the navy again, but in reality, he was off to visit the kingdom’s outside empire. 

the ones who had fallen because of the low economic growth and high unemployment rates, to take care of that, the heirs of each kingdom had been sent off for aid.

leaving only, you and jongho in the palace, teaching the new trainees the basic skills. which was mostly resulting in jongho bossing them over until you came in and told jongho to stop bossing them around.

you had taken over the responsibility to fill in for seonghwa’s position as an heir in eden as well. doing his work while conversing with him over the phone as he instructs you on what to do and what not too.

along with that, you were barely leaving your office. sometimes even spending the nights in there, sleeping on the couch because your room felt too lonely. 

the warm interior of your office gave you the warmth that was similar to seonghwa’s, the work had been piling up for you to sign and read every time you would wake up. 

and it had been like this for an entire month, you working, waking up early for your training sessions, eating, getting into the palace work, reading documents sent in by the king, switching to go watch over the soldiers outside, then eat, look over a few files before eventually passing out on your chair.

resulting in you waking up with a neck cramp, but hey, at least you got majority of the work done.  

when you finally sit down on the couch for the first time today, it doesn’t last long as jongho enters the room with a tray of tea and food. 

“for you,” he says, placing the test on the table beside you before walking out to his own room.

“thanks, ho.” you tell him, a hand reaching to grab the tea to which you gasped quietly after tasting. 

you lean back on your chair, eyeing the room until your eyes land on the telephone and immediately a smile creeps up your lips and you reach out for it. 

your fingers trace the phone softly until punching in the numbers, the number that he calls you from. 

you bring it your ear and wait for the bell to go, to hear seonghwa’s deep voice that made you curl your toes. hear him greet you happily even though you know he’s dead tired, but when you got no response from the other side you placed the phone down and got up. 

grabbing a few papers before leaning you front on the table, reading them through while munching on the treats jongho brought.

but that doesn’t last long, because only five minutes later you hear the door crack open and a pair of arms snaking your waist. 

you fall back because you immediately who it is, the expensive scent all too familiar to your nose. 

“hey baby,” 

you hear his low voice rumble in your ear, “hi, seonghwa.” 

he wraps around your waist tightens and he buries his face in your neck, sending a tingly feeling all over your body that you’ve missed. 

“how are you? tired?” he nods against your neck and you reach back to ruffle his hair a little. 

“never tired for you,” he places a peck on your neck and spins you around by your waist. 

when your eyes meet his, the speed of your heart doubles. he’s standing there with a shit eating grin on his face that you’ve come to love, black hair carefully pushed back and a smile that has your insides flipping.

he takes the papers from your hand and chucks them away, your wide eyes flickering to them as you try and grab them, but he beats you to it.

instead, he grabs your arms and places then around his neck, jerking you closer. “you must be tired, let’s go to bed.” you whisper out, but he shakes his head, eyes falling down in your lips.

he towers over you completely, he looks down at you with softness and yet playfulness that shoots you warm ness to your face, feeling a thick tension building in the air as you stare at each other.

“i missed you,” you nod shakily, inhaling sharply when he brings his hand to tuck your hair behind.

“i-i did too,” you stutter out when he pushes his weight on you, and you let out the smallest of whines that as him clenching his jaw. 

his minty breath tickles over your lips, “hm?” he asks, tilting his head tauntingly. 

you don’t hold back the breathy exhale when he swiped his thumb over your lower lip, you stare at him while his eyes are over your lips.

“did you know how much i missed you?” his other hand lowering the band of your pants, “can i show you how much i missed you, hm? what i would think about doing when you weren’t by me? when i couldn’t fall asleep and missed you?”

your breathing wavers and you unbuttons your pants, “did you know how many times i had to get off at the thought of my pretty little baby?” 

“seonghwa,” you say, voice coming out airy and strained when he brings his other hand down to push down your pants slowly, revealing you to the cold. 

he hums, dipping his head to your neck and you suck in a breath. “you know much i wanted to touch you but i couldn’t?” 

the atmosphere darkens with every bit of list and desire, his eyes are dark and intense as he stares at you biting your lip.

he places a soft peck under your ear, and you hold onto his forearm, “how much i wanted to hear your pretty voices crying my name?” 

you could only let out a moan at his words, desperate and whiney that has him smirking. “tell me you thought of me,” he grips on your waist, slowly running a hand down your leg.

“i did,” you inhale sharply when he wraps your leg around his torso. “i missed you so much, you had no idea.” 

there’s a strong feeling of arousal pooling in between your kegs and you can’t help but stare at him. 

he holds back a groan of his own and it takes him a second to push your arms back and slam his lips over yours. a moan escapes you when you finally feel his lips after days of nothing.

the way your lips mould together like puzzles, so desperate and so whiny. it’s the way your lips smash against one another, battling not for dominance but for the feeling you two have missed.

the sound of teeth clashing, lips smacking and small mewls and moans echo the room. seonghwa grips onto your hips firmly, planting you on your desk. you let out a noise of surprise and he grins against your lips.

softly yet rhythmically moving together, never letting the other part away even a moment. your arms reaching up behind his neck and deepening the kiss, lips moving in sync with each other, groaning softly when he bites on your lip and you tug on his dark locks. 

you have to push him away to breathe out loud, chest heaving up and down and he rests his forehead on yours.

“god, i missed you so much,” he whines, pressing his lips on your neck. trailing down to your collarbone while placing open mouthed kisses all long.

he grabs onto your shirt, and slowly starts to unbutton it, while you find yourself staring at his lips. pecking them every now and then until you hear him moan when his eyes land on your breasts.

you bite your lips, probably hard enough to draw blood when he licks his lips and cups your breasts. growling at the softness and the fact that you were braless, his large hands squish your skin and you through your head back.

he swallows and kneads and pinches with both his hands and you let out his name like a mantra, “you’re stunning,” he whispers before lowering his lips to mould on your breast.

while he sucks and circles his tongue relentlessly on your boob, his other hand tweaks and rolls your hardened and sensitive nipples. 

eliciting cries for his name, “h-hwa-“ you moan out when he delivers a harsh suck on your skin, pulling away with a pop. 

a wave of heat forms in your panties that has you grinding on table, his lips are onto your boobs, placing soft feathery yet ticklish kisses all over. he growls out how much of a pretty baby you’ve been as he continues his sweet torture.

when he feels you grind against him, he throws his head back. watching your face through his hooded eyes, how your mouth hung open and how quickly you bit down on your lip.

your eyebrows crossing as your eyes shut tight, his hands then trail down to your stomach, massaging it softly before caressing his fingers over your clothed clit.

“seonghwa,” you whine, feeling wetness starting to firm in your pants. 

you shake when he growls, hands reaching for his shirt and throwing it away, your fingers grazing down his toned body while he plays with the band of your black panties.

he lets out a noise from the back of his throat when you lick a stripe down his neck, slowly and feverishly. 

“i need you,” he grits, “right now baby, right now.” 

it takes him a second to push you back on the desk, bribing your pants down leaving you only in your panties as you leaned up on your elbows.

he traces his fingers slowly over your panties and when he feels the wetness, he lets out a groan of your name. “y/n...” 

and you nod at that, letting him slowly drag your underwear down to your ankles.

“fuck, baby.” he lets out a whine when he wyes your wetness, “i wanna fuck you so bad,” you fail to not let out a pathetic whine.

he trails a finger down your folds, and you shake, “i want to feel you, make you cry and moan my name out again and again and then fill you up with me, all of me.”

you let out a broken whimper when he kneels down, his hot breath fanning your inner thighs before it reaches you wet folds.  

he places soft kisses and long licks where he twirls his tongue on your inner thighs before he slips in his finger and presses his mouth onto your clit.

his hot mouth breathing against already wet and aching cunt, “seonghwa...” you whimpered pathetically, clutching the table as he licked a strip down your folds making you shudder underneath him. 

you let out a loud cry of his name when he does so, feeling him pump his finger in and out so slowly at your legs start to weaken.

it feels like it’s been forever since you’ve felt him, and he feels the same because he eats you out like he’s been starving. his long tongue circles and sucks on the bundle of nerves while you let out strangled moans that has his cock hardening in his pants. 

“so pretty,” he says before diving his tongue in making you let out a moan for his name as he moved in and out of you skillfully. alternating from long slow licks to small circles with his fingers to his tongue lapping sinfully against your clit until he's had his fingers easily sliding in and out of you.

you arch your back to his fingers and you feel the immense coil of heat starting to become unbearable, you lips moan out a “seonghwa,” which he hums in response against your pussy, and you feel the vibrations.

“i-“ 

“come, come on me.” he says and almost immediately you find yourself coming off the high, he’s quick with his tongue and licks out every juice that comes out you.

you fall back on the desk, breathing out heavily and shutting your eyes. seonghwa stands up and you hear the unbuckling of his pants and you can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“you’re so needy,” you mock him, rising up to grab the back of his neck and bringing your lips to his.

he gets rid of his pants and briefs; you wrap your legs around his waist and he groans at his own sensitivity. you smile against his soft and now swollen lips, tasting yourself faintly on his tongue. 

he holds onto your waist, squeezing it slightly. “desk or couch,” he asks in-between the kiss, and you whisper out a couch.

and he immediately picks you up, your naked bodies grazing again one another, emitting warmth that contrasted with the otherwise chilly room.

you giggle once he lays you on the couch and finds himself chuckling, “why are you like this,” asking about how you’re laughing at him being serious.

“because,” you reach to cup his cheeks, “it’s you.” 

he smiles, the one with dimples. and moves his lips to your neck, you close your eyes and let him roam around. 

his lips brush against the shell of your ear and you shiver when his deep and gruff voice fills them. “let me fill you up y/n,” he pleads, and your heart rate accelerates.

“fill you up,” he brushes his lips against your cheeks, “fill you up so good, all of me, hm?”

he lowers his voice, “let me fuck you so bad, so you’re crying my name out. i want everyone to know how good i make you feel,” 

you nod and reach for his cock, that’s not already dripping with pearls of pre cum over his pink tip. you whine at the vision and pushes you back, pumping a hand down his length he settles between your thighs.

“fuck me seonghwa,” you say and his eyes darken, “fill me up, with you, only y-“

your next sentences are muffled into cries when he lines his cock against your clit, teasing the tip up and down before entering you inch by inch. 

feeling yourself stretch out at his thick length, he pounds into you at a fast speed as if he’s never done before, your body moving against the bed as he grunts and groans and grinds himself into you.

your head falls back, mouth hung open as he starts to roll his hips into yours and you let out a cry that could only be described as borderline pornographic. 

“seonghwa- you feel so- so good.” you let out as he continues to go at different speeds, the room filling with his own loud moans.

“f-fuck,” your eyes roll back when he hits that certain spot in you, again and again, you let out a cry, throwing your head back on the pillow while releasing moans and whimpers of his name in pleasure. 

he drops his head down to your shoulder, burying his face into your neck. “i’m so close baby, hold on for me hm?” you wrap and arm around his shoulder, throwing your own head back at the pleasure.

he whines and groans into you when he feels you clench around him and he pounds into you again, fast and hard and deep and you let a tiny, pleasurable moan as the heat in you becomes unbearable and you came once again. 

“i-i’m close,” he responds only seconds later, voice strained, and you moaned at the sensation and it only makes him go faster and he eventually comes inside you.

he pulls out you carefully, watching you wince at the sensitivity. sweat lines both your bodies and he slumps down on you, wrapping his arms around you. 

he pecks your forehead, nose and then he’s about to place on your lips that the two of you roll off the couch and right onto the floor. 

you both fall into fits of laughter and he pulls you close to him, sighing happily when he turns to you. pointer finger poking your cheek and you open your eyes, staring at him with a playful glint.

you two pause and then burst out laughing, the room echoing with your happiness. he bites at your ear and you squeal, slapping his chest.

when he rolls off of you and slides to your side, both of you lay in the middle of the room, naked. hair spread on the carpet below, sighing and humming happily.

“are we planning to-“

“i love you.”

you bite the insides of your cheek, looking the opposite way when you feel his stare on you. he leans up hurriedly and hovers his face over yours, you shyly avoid his face until he holds into your jaw softly.

“w-what did you say?” he asks, eyes wide and sparkly, “say it again.” 

when you stare at him intently and don’t say anything, he taps your cheek. “say it again y/n, you have no idea how much i’ve been dying to hear those words.”

you smile playful, bringing your hands to his cheeks. “i said i love you, silly.”

he tries to smile, “say it again,” 

“i love you,” you tilt your head, and the glint in his eyes switch.

“again,” he lowers himself.

“i love you.”

“one more time,” 

“i love you.”

“jus-“

“i take it ba-“ 

he doesn’t let you finish your sentence, his lips slam onto yours. “don’t, don’t ever take it back.” 

“understand?” he asks, and you nod.

“understood sir.” you grin, and he laughs.

“i’ll make you happy, i swear.” he mumbles as he hides his face in your hair, you smile and shut your eyes. 

“and i’ll protect you, i swear.”

you run down to your room, leaving the meeting about the war. the war that at this point was confirmed, yunho and hongjoong had found a loophole when they visited the border. 

only confirming every suspicion, you had, the enemy wasn’t in any of the eight kingdoms. but instead, outside from those kingdoms who seonghwa had gone to help at his last trip a few months ago. 

from wooyoung’s special sources, he’s found out exactly when they will attack. exactly two days from now.

it felt like a betrayal, but you knew something else was up but that’s not what you were thinking about right now. 

instead, a bigger thing was on your mind. 

you walk out the bathroom, one hand on your stomach and the other running through your hair. 

“yeosang,” you squeak, “are you a hundred percent sure?” 

both you and yeosang decided to talk in private, him joining you as you ran out the meeting. which only confirmed his suspicions over your habits these days, he’s leaning on the wall opposite of yours. 

hands crossed over his chest while a small smile plays on his lips, he nods slowly, and you shut your eyes.

“you’re feeling it aren’t you?” he muses, he runs a hand through his blond locks and a smile creeps up his lips. 

your mouth drops and you could feel you heart hammering against your rib cage, swallowing you look up to him walking towards you.

“yeosang, we’re at a war,” you realize, “t-this can’t be happening right now, i have to go fight in the war in two days and i can’t do it like this!” 

your outburst is understandable, yeosang not only sympathizes with you but also is excited about how a new change will affect both you and seonghwa.

“y/n, i know-“ he pauses, “you should tell seonghwa.” 

you sit down on your bed and yeosang exits the room, a sigh slips down your lips and you fall back onto the bed. your hair falling prettily around you, slowly you trail your hand over your stomach and bite your lip.

you smile but it fades away quickly, the threat of enemies attacking the kingdom any time in the coming two days scares you. but this time it scares you for a different reason and you’re angry, frustrated and irritated even because the timing of everything wasn’t right. 

you shot up from your bed and started to march down the hallway, ignoring the guards who immediately shoot a salute as you ran down the hall.

once you reached seonghwa’s office, you burst open the door and the man inside flinches, dropping his files. 

his wide eyes soften when they land on you. “oh, bab-“

“you!” your finger points at him and he raises his eyebrows as you walk towards him, backing him up to the wall behind, his hands coming up by his head. 

you grab his collars, “you, you! you finally got what you’ve been trying to do.” 

he tilts his head, eyes confused. “and that is?”

“i’m pregnant and y-“

“you what,”

you pause, your shoulders dropping. his face drops and you swallow, “are yo-“

“i knew it!” he interrupts, yelling and then he cups your face, he’s got the biggest smile, his pearly whites show, and he smiles so big it almost eyes are hidden.

he presses his lips against yours, again and again. wrapping his arms around you he lifts you and twirls you around, “p-put me down!” 

“oh my god, oh my god, we’ll be parents oh god.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours. “i love you so much, you have no idea.” 

he keeps pressing his lips onto yours repeatedly, you can feel him smile against them as he whispers i love you’s in between. 

you cup his face and force him to look at you, the pad of your thumb rubs near his eyes, wiping away the tears pooling around his eyes. 

“how long?” he asks.

“one and a half months.” 

he’s got a pout on his face and his eyebrows are almost touching, something you’ve noticed he does whenever he’s about to cry.

“why are you crying?” you ask, and he cups your hands with his, pecking your hands. 

“you just gave me the biggest gift of my entire life, how can i not cry?” he mumbles against your hands, eyes pouring out fat tears and he sniffles. you laugh at his words and pull him into a hug.

he immediately wraps his around your waist, burying his face in your neck deeper, he places soft kisses over your shoulder. you giggle and wrap your hands around him tighter, you could feel his rapid heartbeat syncing with yours.

he kneels down and taps your stomach with wide eyes, once you pull back though, your face falls and he notices right away. “seonghwa, what about the war?” 

he visibly stiffens and grips on your waist, “no, no, no!” he whispers, “you’re not going out there to fight.” 

“seonghwa,” you grasp his hands, “i have to fulfil my duty, i-i’ll put extra shields around myself so no-“

“your duty is our kid growing in your stomach,” he interrupts, moving his hand to your stomach.

you sigh, “i have to follow through my orders with the soldiers! after all, we’re fighting for your land.”

“my title or my status or land doesn’t mean a god damn thing if the only thing i’ve ever wanted would be taken away from me.” this time he holds onto your shoulders and shakes you slightly.

you shake your head, “seonghwa, i know, but my job is to protect you and everyone who lives under eden.”

he leans closer, “i’ve vowed to protect you y/n, twice, and now with our kids,” he spared a glance at your stomach. “we’ll go to war, i’ll run it.”

“seonghwa you can’t, you have no experience in what i’m in.” you pause, “granted you were in the navy, but this, this is different hwa.” 

his eyes soften at the use of his name that you only ever called in more intimate moments, “i don’t care baby, if it means you two would be safe, i’ll go.” his intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“besides,” he dramatically flips his hair, “at least i can win sword fights.” 

“hwa,”

“trust me.” 

you stare at him in worry, considering what you had found out just last night. but when he pouts, you chuckle at him and he pulls you into his embrace, “fine,” you sigh, “you can go, but only on one condition.” 

he smiles and caresses your hair, “and that is?”

“i need the father of our baby to be alive,” you bury further in his chest, “if you die, i will go find you and then kill you myself.”

he laughs and you feel his chest vibrate, “only the father of our child? what about your husband?” he teases, and you lightly smack his back. 

“i want both of them back.” 

seonghwa had been going around, yelling and screaming loudly to everyone in the palace that you were pregnant. you had to hide your face behind him as he told away with a big smile on his face, his parents were all ecstatic and immediately showered you with presents and blessings.

“you’re really excited, huh?” you grin, fixing the blanket of your bed. glancing swiftly at seonghwa sitting on the couch in his night wear, supporting a book in his hand.

“you have no idea,” you stop and lean on the bed frame, your eyes go over his face and smile. 

he sees you staring and puts his book to the table beside him, he spreads his thighs wide, tilts his head and then pats his thighs at you. 

wiggling his eyebrows at you, “your throne, my queen.” and then pats his thighs again, you snort out loud and walk to your side of the bed.

he joins with a pout quickly and sits beside you, a hand around your shoulder, he presses his lips against your temple. 

you sigh and lean onto him more, eyes closing slowly. his hand caresses your shoulder while his lips maintain near your face. 

“do you think we would have a boy or a girl,” you mumble against him, and he brings his hand over to your hair. 

“it doesn’t matter,” he says, and you nod with a smile, “but, i do hope whoever is in there is a boy.” 

you open your eyes at that and tilt your chin up, “and what if it’s a girl?”

he smiles, “if it’s a girl, i don’t think i would have the heart to marry her away.” your heart swells at his words, he pulls you into a hug and stays like that until your eyes start to fall heavy.

“i love you,” 

he whispers and when you don’t respond, he assumes you’ve fallen asleep. smiling he gets himself comfortable around you and closes his eyes. 

“i know.” 

the next two days were intense, even the word intense was an understatement. everyone in the palace had been moving around every day, from the workers in the palace and those in the kingdom. all and every soldier available and those who had retired were in the field practicing.

you could hear the swords clashing against one another, grunts and groans of soldiers as they battled each other. every field was packed with men, the archery field, the open grounds and even the main property of the palace. 

you’re walking around and guarding the rest, helping them here and there while teaching them how to do the right thing. 

seonghwa and you had been monitoring everything, last two nights and days were spent in your office. planning out everything that would lead to eden winning, rearranging soldiers at different points around the battlefield, cannons, bombs and even artillery were numbered.

both of you wanted the least damage and had even sent a letter to the rivalry group for a better understanding to mend things out, but once they denied and initiated war by killing a few of your men. 

both of you had no choice but to run the war, everything had to be perfect, for the kingdom and for you three. 

and now, all of you stand together in lines. seonghwa stands left of you while yunho stands to the right, both his parents are standing at the balcony a level above.

“i know this is hard everyone,” seonghwa starts, “your general won’t be able to join you in this, so i’ll be taking the position.” 

you step forward, collectively gathering their attention. “i want every single one of you back,” you say, eye glancing to every corner. 

“if one of you is missing,” you pause, “i’ll come to the field myself and find you, and then i’ll kill you.” 

a roar of laugh echoes the grounds, and it lessens the weight on you, as the rest get busy you turn to your battalion. 

“you all better come back, be careful and use your mind.” you tell them, and they respond with a smile, “and you,” you turn to seonghwa who raises his eyebrows.

“don’t go overboard! don’t do useless things-“

“i won’t!” he whines.

“i know you will,” you sigh and he chuckled before coming to place his hands around your neck, “remember how at south there will be people there, list-“

“i know, mom.” he says and leans down to press his lips onto yours, you hear the low ‘ooh’s’ of the crowd and pull back. 

“i’ll be right back, wait for me okay?” he says with a grin and you manage to smile back, he then nods at everyone else who start to make their way out the palace grounds. 

you watch them leave the grounds and you swallow thickly, instinctively placing a hand on your stomach. a sickening feeling starting to loom over you, and you turn around to yeosang standing there.

he nods at you and the two of you walk to his quarters, “are you sure?” he asks, handing you your armour that you wear on top of your clothes. “i don’t want you to go there and potentially hurt yourself knowing you’re pregnant.” 

“we have no choice yeo, you know what your patient said yesterday.”

last night, yeosang burst through your office doors, yanking your arm and dragging you to his office without even getting the chance to say hi.

“yeosang, w-what’s going on?” you ask the man holding your wrist, stepping in his room only to see a patient bandaged over his legs, arms and head.

you glance at yeosang in confusion, asking him to explain why exactly he brought you here especially when there’s someone he’s tending to.

before yeosang gets the chance respond, the man in front immediately stands up, hissing and then bowing. 

“gener- your highness,” his low and gritty voice goes onto introduce himself, “i can’t reveal my name, but i have to tell you something.”

you exchange glances with yeosang who nods, ushering you to a chair, and he comes to stand behind you. 

“what happened to you?” you ask out of worry, eyeing the white bandages over him.

“dorado,” the man says, “dorado is after you.”

you place the chained veil around your waist, securing it by placing your armour on top. “i am sure, and as for that, it’ll be alright.”

“he’ll be mad,” he mutters while tightening the chain around your forearms. “very mad.”

you pause to look at him, “i know how to protect myself yeo... and as for seonghwa, it’ll be okay, he won’t even know i’m there.” 

he gives you a look that you respond with a grin, he breaks into a chuckle and pats your shoulders. 

“then i’m coming with,” he says, grabbing his own artillery from under his desk. surprising you, you would’ve never thought the doctor would have weapons with him too.

“i knew you were a sadist.” you laugh before the two of you walk out, hiding away from the guards and your parents.

“mingi i swear to god! stop screaming every two seconds!” san yells through the thick air, slashing his sword the through the wind. 

“i can’t help it, he fucking stabbed me! twice!” mingi yells back, riding his horse as he cuts through the enemies with ease.

the rest are fighting with their own group of people who seem to be attacking the face, “god, why do you all go after the faces!” wooyoung yells, kicking the other in the stomach before twisting his arm. 

“where’s seonghwa?” hongjoong cries out, clutching his bleeding arm while fighting. 

“ayo, park seongh- oh my god he’s got a whole army on him, no wonder, they all hate him!” 

seonghwa stands between the men crowding him in a circle, he grips on his sword tightly and smirks. raising his hand to motion them to come forward, as if taunting them with his fingers. 

the men groan out loudly and launch themselves at him, seonghwa successfully dodges all the punches thrown at him except the one that landed on his chest, making him stumble back. 

the barbaric man grabs seonghwa’s collars and yanks him to the floor, seonghwa grabs his sword and shoves it down the man’s chest all the way through. the man freezes and sees the duke smirk at him before throwing his now dead body off him.

men throw himself at seonghwa one by one and he fights his best, getting a few splotches of blood on his face while his arms bleed through his running wounds. 

a man from behind comes over to attack seonghwa, his breathing so loud and raspy yet still faded into the chaos of the war. he grips his sword and raises it above his head ready to cut through seonghwa’s body.

“hey,” a voice yells and the man freezes, seonghwa keeps on putting his attention on those who attack him. 

“that’s my husband you’re trying to kill.” before the man can even turn around, a sword slides through his entire neck and his blood splatters through air to the ground.

“general!” 

san’s voice cries at you, you’re surprised he’s back. you hadn’t seen him ever since he went back, but you notice he looks much better and throw him a smirk.

he notices you sitting on your horse dressed in your armour and a sword in hand, looking all majestic and a smirk forms over his lips and suddenly the rage to fight increases. you shake your head at him, mouthing to not mention you, and as if you were his fuel to his fire, he lunges at the attackers. 

with a snort, you pull on the two ropes coming from the horses’ head and rode through the battlefield with your sword in hand.

the wind streamed by you, whipping your hair back to show the eyes, dark and brooding and raging. those you sped past widen their eyes in fear as they start to run, your sword plays with the air, as the cloth decorating your horse flies. 

it’s almost a haunting image, you on the white horse while blood drips down the sword you’re holding. your eyes are turned into slits, jaw clenched, and your rank insignia shines intimidatingly under the gloomy day. 

you spot yunho and hongjoong from a far and wave at him. they stop to look at you for a quick second before making their way towards you, their jaws clenched and face bloodied. the three of you were known as a trio that worked together on the battlefield and made sure the kingdom won, you nod at them and they immediately know what to do.

“general, be safe.” you nod and begin to ride down the grounds. 

yunho goes out in the south, calling for the cannons to be released. hongjoong goes to the frontline with his men as they handle the ones there, you stay in the middle, eliminating any enemy who dare attack you. 

at some point in the battle, you go off your horse. dangerous for the condition you were in, but you managed to wipe off any men who attacked you, swinging your leg in their faces. 

those who attacked you from behind, you grabbed their forearms and and yank them forward with the strength you had. 

the wind blew in your face, a thin layer of sweat coating your face and your body under all the armour. your hair stuck to your forehead as you walked the grounds, dragging your sword behind you. 

the noise it created, tickled the ears of those passing by who immediately ran off. every step you took on the now bloody sand, dripped with the blood of those you fought with. 

your armour dripped blood; your sword poured the red liquid as you dragged it across the field. your face on the other hand, had a big splashes of blood, maybe even yours along with your rival enemies. 

it feels like it’s been hours since the battle started, hongjoong had managed to bring down the front lines while yunho had successfully attacked with cannons. the rest had been taking care of the ones in the middle, including you. 

now all you had to do was escape, so that seonghwa wouldn’t see you. 

which would be impossible considering he’s standing just meters away from you, if you had to escape, you had to do it quick. 

luckily, yeosang sees you and the two of you make your way back hurriedly. both of you laugh as you run away from them successfully before finally reaching the palace grounds. 

“i’ll meet you at your quarters, clean up good.” yeosang says and you immediately speed off to your room, hurriedly grabbing your towel, incense and fresh clothes to change into.

picking up anything suspicious, the two of you take showers in a record time. which was impossibly fast considering the blood on you two, and the time it took for you to drain it all out to finally being able to walk out all dressed like before. 

once you’re done, yeosang walks in and both your eyes widen. “fuck! the floor!” you two yell and instantly look for something to get the blood off the floor. 

yeosang brings in a bucket of water which spills halfway through and so he has to go for a round two, and you grabbed a random shirt to wipe the floor. the two of you used water and literally anything to get it off as you two panicked. 

not only were you two shaking but laughing at the misery you were in, but once the panic slowly calmed down. you both sighed in relief, sitting on the ground as you piled up the cloths for laundry. 

“take rest,” he exhaled, “i’m sure you’re devastatingly tired.” 

“thank you yeosang, really.” you reach over to pat his shoulders.

“now just, get ready for our very own duke.” he laughs, and you join him, shaking your head at the consequences you’re about to experience.

you heard the horns go off in distance not a few hours later, “they’re here, we’ve won.” you grin widely and walk out the room, yeosang following suit.

the second you walk out, it’s quite literally a mess. more than a few of your soldiers are injured, some getting carried to hospital beds. yeosang spares you a quick look and you nod, he runs down the hall, no longer was he yeosang but a doctor on duty.

you step down to help a few of the men yourself, you applaud and thank them for staying alive. when you’re helping a particular one though, he stops you and looks at you in confusion.

“general, aren’t you going to go to his highness?” you furrow your eyebrows, “he’s injured.” 

your eyes immediately widen, “h-he’s what?” you whip your head to the entrance as a group of men stride in on horses. 

you run, eyes searching for the one man you’re looking for. “mingi, where’s seonghwa?” you ask, your voice desperate, scared and panicky.

“he’s coming,” he smiles through the blood on his face, “don’t worry y/n, he put up a great fight.”

the worry on your face shows, your heartbeat hammering against your rib cage as your eyes wandered everywhere to meet seonghwa’s. 

and when they do, you slump down in relief. eyebrows almost meeting each other while your eyes water slightly, his face is cleaned off, but you could still see the smears of blood. 

his black hair is a mess, sticking to his forehead. he was head to toe sprinkled with blood as he rode on his horse, when his eyes meet yours, he immediately smiles. 

“i told you i’d come back.” 

you walk towards him slowly and he jumps down to take your hands in his, “where are you injured?” your eyes go over all his body, turning him around back and forth and he laughs.

you smack his shoulder, and he immediately hisses, his hands clench his shoulders, and you mumble out a sorry. he groans dramatically and you this time, slap his chest. 

“stop scaring me,” you hold his hand tighter, “let’s go, i’ll clean you up.” 

“hmm,” he grins, “you’ll clean me up?” and wiggles his eyebrows, your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

you’re so used to his nature and yet it still brings butterflies to your stomach, wrapping your arm around his waist you guide him towards yeosang’s private office. 

while you’re walking there, seonghwa talks about what he did on the field, and as if you weren’t there to see it all, you nod and praise him at what he tells you. 

“now don’t move,” you sit him down, “and let me clean your wounds, grab my hand if it hurts, okay?” you tell him gently and he nods.

you reach down to take strip his upper half down, which wasn’t easy considering he would mutter sexual innuendos and how he’d hiss in pain.

you grab a big cotton swab and drench it the antiseptic, bringing it up to his shoulder. you frowned at the large cut on his skin, his eyes staring at you intently as you catered his wound. 

ignoring him making kissing faces, weird faces and him blowing air to your face. or how is fingers play with your shirt, how his hand wraps around you, how he hides his pain by burying his face in your stomach. sometimes mumbling something to the baby inside. 

you chant sweet nothings to him while he bites down on his lips, once you’re done stitching his wound you wrap a white bandage around his shoulder. 

he finds playing with your hair as you patch him up, “y/n.” he mumbles. 

you hum in response, hands still fixing the bandage. “why’s there blood on your neck,” 

you freeze visibly, “o-oh it must be yours, must’ve been from when we walked here.” 

he stays quiet and raises his fingers to bring over your neck, you feel them hover a bit before he lowers them down to your neck. you shut your eyes and breath shakily when the blood coming from an unknown wound touches his fingers. 

“what is this,” he whispers, “why are you bleeding, y/n.” 

when you don’t respond, you feel his eyes on your face. “look at me.” your shiver at his tone, so low and deep that it cut through the tension. 

when you do look at him, you’re sure your eyes look guilty, sad and even worse. “where were you?” 

you shake your head, “nowhere hwa, i’m telling you it’s your bl-“

he suddenly raises your hair up in a bunch and yanks down your shirt, eyes stuck on the cut right behind your neck. “this isn’t mine,” he clenches his jaw and you feel his breathing fan your skin.

he turns his head to look into your eyes, eyebrow raising as his face turns bitter. “where were you y/n,” when you try and interrupt him, “answer me right now, and don’t you dare lie.” 

“me and yeosang were practicing,” oh, only if you didn’t stutter, he would’ve believed you, his eyes bore into your side and your eyes drop to the floor. 

when the room goes silent, you could hear the ringing noises in your ear. the faded groans of others getting their wounds tended at, seonghwa’s hand around your waist tightens and he forces you to look at him. 

“you went to the war,” he breathes. 

“without telling me,” he pauses, “with our child.” 

dread pools over you so quick that you almost forget to breathe, your eyes are glued shut and you hear his breathing get harsh. 

“answer me y/n, did you, or did you not go to the war.” 

you stay quiet for a few moments, knowing you’re in the wrong. there’s no need to hide it from him as it could possibly become a bigger deal.

“y/n.” 

“i did,” you nod and almost immediately he softly pushes you away from him, “hwa, i know i’m wrong i sh-“

“don’t ‘hwa’ me right now,” he warns, eyes fueling with anger. “how- who in the right mind would go to a war, pregnant!” 

he then steps towards you and you look at him in the eye, “y/n, are you fucking stupid? how, how- i don’t even have the fucking words!” he yells, and you shut your eyes.

“do you know how dangerous that is?” 

“hwa, i’m okay.” you interrupt him, “i’m alive.”

“and what if you weren’t?” he yells, “huh? what if you died? what if someone shot you or stabbed you? what if our child... died, y/n?” 

you suck in a deep breathe, “nothing happened seonghwa, i’m here! i’m standing in front of you, with our child!” 

“you willingly went to the war,” he points a finger at you, “you put yourself and the kid in such danger, y/n are you out of your god damn mind?!”

“just listen to me pl-“

“what if something happened to our child? you’re already injured, god forbid something might’ve happened!” he cries out loud and you notice him choking up. “did you even think of that or did you just think it’ll be okay?!” 

the room is so quiet, so quiet that you hear no footsteps from outside. because you know they’re hearing everything, the silence pains you and you know you’re wrong. you know that, but you did it anyway. 

“seonghwa, please i’m sorry, i know i’m wrong but please listen to m-“

“why should i listen to you?” he angrily asks, “so that you can preach about you saving the kingdom?” he grabs the nearest object and throws it on the floor, yeosang’s favourite glass now sits shattered into hundreds of pieces. 

“that’s not the point, seonghwa!” you yell this time, “just please let me explain to you why i did it!”

his face screams pain, his eyes are dropping tears while he breathes harshly, hands curled up into fists and eyes glaring daggers at you. 

“i just wanted to protect you hwa,” your voice cuts through the silence, “i’m experienced en-“

he suddenly grabs your shoulders, and your wide eyes look at his, “i’d rather get killed than see you die with our child.” 

“what you did was dumb, reckless and horrible.” he spits, “you’re horrible, i can’t believe that you would do this.” 

you don’t even realize that you’re shaking, that your eyes are pooling with tears and yet they don’t drop. the heat in your throat is getting unbearable and your eyes are staring into his. 

but the only difference is, yours are filled with love and his are with hate. 

“you’re so selfish y/n,” he glares, “so damn selfish.” he whispers, and you swear you heard your heart crack. 

“please, please hear me out hwa, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry- i, know i’m wrong for doing this but at least look at me.” 

he reaches beside you and grabs his shirt, you stand still, not knowing what to do. he won’t even spare you a glance, his hands wipe the tears that keep falling of his face while yours are shaking by your side.

when he’s about to walk past you, you hastily hold onto his arm. “hwa-” 

he turns around with such anger that you let go of his arm, “it’s your highness for you.” and without looking back, he walks out.

next part 

taglist : @idiomaticpunk : @ofcjongho : @ateezappreciation : @sparklychangbin : @annasbananas : @happycandynoelle : @seonghwas-shinystar-x : @treasure-hwa : @etherealbyeol : @rawrrainn : @sktbzc0re : @utopiakys​ : @deobichoice : @hanflix​ : @skmoonchild​ : @uzumakioden​ : @thiccseokmin​​

unable to tag : @multi–trash

[doyelikehaggis]

Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Mal Bertha x Anthony Tremaine (Descendants)

Requested by anonymous

“You’ve settled in well here,” Mal taunts. She drags her fingers down rolls of fabric, feeling the strange textures, some familiar from the Isle and some that she immediately recognizes as being imported from various kingdoms of Auradon.

Evie would probably chastise her for touching them if she knew she was here. It’s a good thing she’s away with Dizzy on a trip to Cinderella’s kingdom for a double reason of making a business arrangement with their seamstresses, aka the mice, and so that Dizzy can get a chance to meet her other aunt and uncle.

While not quite Evie-level stern, Anthony does swat her hand away from some of the finer fabrics sith a glare and a warning about skin oil or something else she’s already heard about a million times.

“It’s better suited to my tastes,” Anthony replies curtly. He follows her closely around the room to make sure she doesn’t actually touch anything. Or maybe to make sure she doesn’t pocket any of it.

“Yeah, but still.” She turns, raising her eyebrows at him as she slowly walks backwards. “Evie’s been telling me how you’re almost nice to clients.”

“Being nice is kind of a requirement to stay in Auradon, remember?” Anthony plucks the thread she just picked up out of her her hand, placing it back in its rightful place. “Even for those of us who actually deserve to be here.”

“Bitter that you weren’t welcomed into old Cindy’s kingdom with open arms?” Mal pouts mockingly, folding her arms. “Especially since sweet little Dizzy is there right now. I bet she’ll have her own room in the main castle by the end of the week.”

“Good,” Anthony snaps. “Then she’d be out from under my feet all the time.”

Mal tilts her head and stares at him, scrutinising. “Does she know your mom’s trial is this week?”

Anthony scoffs. He adjusts the disrupted shelf of thread as he says, “Like she’d care. It’s not as if she advocating for my mother not to be sent to the Isle in the first place. Why would she change her mind now?”

Ah, Mal thinks. Her desire to taunt him until he cracks now that she can without much of a fear fades as she understands why he’s been acting so odd. When Evie was telling her, she thought it didn’t sound too out of the ordinary, but now she’s seeing it for what it really is: Resentment. Bitterness. Fear.

Resentment for Cinderella. For Auradon. For allowing his mother to be sent to the Isle, and allowing him to suffer in that place when bridges had been mended when the barrier went over the Isle.

Bitterness that they’re now just all suddenly being brought into Auradon with false smiles while the Royals pat themselves on the backs for doing a good deed, while the former residents of the Isle are still waiting for the other shoe to drop, never trusting a good thing. Because they’re not used to good things. Because of them.

Fear that the other show really will drop, and Anthony will be right back on the Isle even though he’s already started settling in here. Just like his mother.

No wonder he hasn’t reached out to Cinderella. No wonder he avoids Chad like he’s a plague (well, most people do that anyway). Anthony’s smart. Realistically, this is all too good to be true. Mal had initially thought the same and has only just allowed herself to see that maybe a good thing can be good without something rotten lurking beneath the surface.

“Did you want something?“ Anthony asks with just the right combination of smooth charm and hostility to leave her uncertain of if he wants her to leave or is just genereally curious about her presence.

Not one to be shaken easily (at least, not anymoee, not by him), she smiles. “Actually, yes. I do. You’re coming with me. Now.”

He raises a dark red eyebrow. “Why?” he asks dryly. “So that you can get your revenge on me by pushing me into the nearest river? No thanks, I don’t feel like drowning today.”

“No,” she says. “I’m over that. Revenge is so boring now. Well, most of the time. Point is, I’m not going to try and kill you.”

“Then where are you trying to take me?”

Mal’s smile widens. It seems to unnerve him slightly.

“That’s a secret. Come on.” She grabs his sleeve and, for good measure, a handful of thread, waving it tauntingly so that he has to follow her lest his precious organizaton system be forever messed up. “We’re going to pay someone a visit.”

[alice-angel12x]

💔Bunny!Shouto x Bunny!Reader

Beastar/hybrid/ Fantasy AU

[In this story everyone is a hybrid with animal instincts, and major height difference depending on the animals like in beastars. And magic exists. And sorry if Shouto seems out of character for you.]

"Shouto where are you?!" Y/n called for her friend.

Sadly Shouto's mind was elsewhere, for he had fallen in love with the wolf princess Momo. Every day he would sit at the edge of cottonwood village and gaze upon The princess from afar.

"Shouto, there you are," Y/n said with a smile.

But that quickly turned into a sad frown as she saw Shouto eyeing the crescent castle. Kingdom of the wolves. Know most would wonder, why is there a rabbit village a hop skip, and a jump away from a wolf kingdom. Well, every time the village tries to move away rogue wolves would attack. Yet once they got close to the castle they would quickly run away. The king of the wolves claimed that as long as they stayed within the boundaries of the kingdom, they would protect them. Y/n never bought that. She noticed that once every year one rabbit from the village would disappear. Many believed it was from the rogue wolves, sneaking in and past the guards. So Y/n was worried about her friend falling in love with a wolf, a rabbit falling in love with a wolf.

"Oh Hi, Y/n," was all he said not even turning to look at her.

"How are you feeling, you know since spring is coming up?" Y/n asked him slowly.

"I'm fine," was all he said. "How about you,"

"I'm good still looking for my prince charming you know," Y/n said wistfully.

"You so childish," Shouto said as he finally turned to her.

"I'm 16 what's so childish about that?" Y/n asked as she turned to head back to the village.

Cottonwood Village is a quaint little town of Rabbits. In the middle of the village was a large cottage where the leader/mayor lived with his family, Shouto's family. The leader was endeavor Shouto's father, he was a part of the group of rabbits that believed the wolves were hiding something.

"Does your father know about your umm, dream girl?" Y/n asked.

"My father already has enough control of my life, I'm not about to let him control my love life," Shouto said coldly.

"You shouldn't get too close to the castle, it's dangerous," Y/n said in a worried tone.

"I know your thoughts on Wolves Y/n. But the wolves have shown use that they have other alternative foods. Like soy and bean-made meat," Shouto explained.

"It's easy to say that when it's not someone you care about goes missing," Y/n muttered bitterly, but Shouto sadly heard her.

"Y/n, it was the rogues that got your brother. And the Kingdom felt with them remember," Shouto sighed in annoyance.

"Shouto are you sure you love this wolf girl or is this just one of your I just wanna piss off my dad things?" Y/n asked bitterly.

"If You don't like it then you could always find someone else to hang out with, Y/n!" Shouto said as his left side lit up in flames.

Y/n quickly ran off, startled by Shouto's flame magic. Shouto sighed in frustration as he realized he used his father's Flames. After that Shouto avoided Y/n like the plague, and it didn't help that his father eventually found out Shouto was in love with a wolf. Endeavor did not like that, so he started setting updates for Shouto to try to take his mind off Momo.

Y/n tried to apologize and rekindle with him, but he would only give her the cold shoulder.

Y/n could see the sorrow and anger Shouto was in, so she barrier her feelings for him and braved the dark forest. She heard rumors that a powerful owl named All For One could perform miracles, even change species. She eventually found him a creepy old owl.

"E-excuse me, sir," Y/n stuttered as the owl turned his head 180° to look at her.

"I wanted to know if you had the power to change a person's species?"

"Yes indeed child, and what species would you like to be, but it will cost you," All for One chuckled.

"How much would it cost?" She asked.

"Half of your soul. Your life Will be cut in half. You'll live to about 25 for you," he answered as he towered over Y/n.

"I would like to pay for someone. If a red and white male rabbit comes and asks to change him, please take my soul," Y/n said in confidence.

"You young people always ready to throw your life away," he muttered as ripped out half of Y/n's soul.

And with that, she quickly ran back to the village, with Half of her soul in toe. She managed to track down Shouto and told him about All for One but left out the part of selling half of her soul.

Shouto did not waste time to find the owl and demand him to turn him into a wolf.

____________ [4 years later]

It has been 4 years since I changed into a wolf. When I changed, I found myself waking up in a large bed. I was found by Princess Momo herself. She helped was so sweet and kind, and was more than happy to explain wolf society. When I told her I was raised by Herbavoir animals. I was an Omega, while She was an Alpha.

Yet I enjoyed the times we spent together, I had never felt so free. She would help my heats or anything that confused me. It took a while to get used to eating soy meat, but I didn't mind all that much. All for One said he could change me and give me Wolf-like instincts, but he couldn't remove my Rabbit instincts. So it took a long time to suppress those instincts.

°° Today Momo had important meetings, so I was left to my own devices. So I decided to take a stroll through the forest. As I wandered through the forest I could hear humming coming from a nearby river. I peaked out from behind the tree, too see a rabbit bathing in the river. I recognized that rabbit, with her lovely H/c hair and beautiful snow-white rabbit ears and Tail.

"Y/n?" I called out to her.

Y/n quickly turned around to face me as she covered her chest with her arms. As my eyes took in all of her details I could feel the rest of the world fading away. It was just me and Y/n. In my new wolf body, Y/n looked so small compared to me now.

She matured a lot over these past 4 years. For some reason I couldn't see her as the childish dreamer 4 years ago, I couldn't figure out why.

"Umm hello Shouto, your taller," Y/n said as she started backing away.

"I-it's good to see you again Y/n," stuttered as I felt the heat rush to my face.

She smiled sweetly at me as she grabbed her robes as he made her way over to you. Seeing her standing In front of me was odd. I remember when I was still a rabbit I was just a few inches taller than her. But now she just barely reached my mid waist.

We sat under a tree and talked for hours about what had happened to me. And she sat there and listened very closely. Her robes v neck was very revealing and I started to feel hot.

She seemed to notice as she got and started to walk with a slight sway in her hips. A dormant instinct awakens within me as the rabbit inside me begged to go after her.

"It seems you're a bit too excited to see me. If I remember correctly I was too childish for you~," She said with a smooth seductive voice.

I had to hold back the Rabbit instincts as I watched cross to the other side of the river.

"I'm afraid I have to leave now, spring is just around the corner after all~," She cooed as she disappeared behind the trees.

I felt hot in a certain place as I felt my tail wag uncontrollably on the ground. That wasn't the last time I went out to see Y/n. Anytime Momo was busy I would meet Y/n by the river and we would talk.

One day it was a particularly hot day as I made my way to Y/n's meet site. Today she was wearing a large floppy sun hat and a cute spring dress.

"So what us Momo like?" Y/n asked curiously.

"She's wonderful, she's kind, smart, and gentle," I said to her as I started to talk about my fiance.

"Hey Shouto are you okay, you seem sluggish today and in pain?" Y/n asked worriedly.

"Oh don't worry, I'm going into heat soon. So I'll be sore for a while, the downsides to being an Omega wolf," I explained.

"That sucks, is there any way I can help you?" Y/n asked as she hugged my neck. She smelled like a field of wildflowers, I couldn't help but return her hug.  ---

As The two old friends were talking they failed to notice two figures creeping behind them. Before Y/n could react, a large hand grabbed her by the ears and lifted her off the ground. She screamed and thrashed against her captors. Shouto quickly got up and tackled the man as he pulled Y/n into his arms and ran.

"It's the rogues, we need to head back to the castle," Shouto struggled to say as he ran.

But as he ran his body began to ache and became heavy. His vision started to blur and his steps became uncertain. Shouto tripped and tumbled down the hill with Y/n in toe. As he collapsed on the ground his eyes slowly closed as his body gave out.

"SHOUTO, PLEASE WAKE UP!!'' was the last thing he heard.

------

As my eyes opened up, I found myself in my room or my nest. suddenly Momo came in with her usual sweet smile.

" Good your fully awake, it's good to see you took well to the stew," she smiled as she picked up the empty bowl next to me.

"W-what happened to me," Shouto asked as he tried to sit up.

" You're in your heat, but it is taking a larger toll on you because your body lacks certain nutrients that soy meat can't provide. So our hunters found a rabbit near you and gave her to our chiefs and made you rabbit stew," Momo explained.

Shouto felt his whole world shatter as his stomach noted and squeezed.

"Oh, my maid is coming with more stew. Today's rabbit such a delicious flavor," Momo said as she rubbed her finger in the empty bowl and licked off the stew on her finger.

Shouto began to tremble as the truth sank into him. His stomach lurched in disgust as he sat up and leaned onto a nearby wall. Soon a maid came in with a fresh bowl of ... Rabbit... Soup. Shouto tried to back away only for his back to meet another wall. The maid scooped a spoon full of Stew with a generous amount of cooked meat chunks.

"Open your mouth," the maid said using her Alpha order.

Shouto's omega body slowly opened its mouth, despite Shouto's wishes. As the maid feeds him a spoonful of rabbit stew. The maid ordered him to chew and swallow, and he did. Heavy tears ran down Shouto's face as his body betrayed him. It felt like an eternity to finish the entire bowl of Stew.

____

Soon as the maid left Shouto pushed himself onto his feet and made his way down to the kitchen.

'It couldn't be Y/n right? She must have run away to safety,' he thought to himself.

As he entered he saw the chief with a cloth sack ready to be thrown out. Shouto quickly offered to take it out for them as a thank you for the meal. And the chief happily gave the sac to Shouto.

Once he was out he ran deep into the forest and opened the bag to see a fresh skeleton of a small rabbit. But inside he pulled out a familiar sun hat and spring dress. His stomach lurched and forced up the stew into a nearby bush.

"I... I ate her!! I ate Y/n', His mind screamed in shame, disgust, and sorrow as he began to sob.

Flashes of Y/n's beautiful smile and lively eyes appeared in his mind.

He held up Y/n's dress, it looked so small. The perfect size for a Pup maybe, but he knew this dress was the size for a fully grown rabbit, a young woman. He held the dress close to his chest like he was Hugging Y/n again.

Shouto with his head low he snuck back to his nest. Laying down he slowly pushed away most of the fabric Momo scented as he held Y/n's dress close to him. He could still smell the field of wildflowers on her dress.

"I can still smell you Y/n," He whimpered to himself.

[manyfictionsmusings]

Pull Me Like A Ripcord

Summary:

This story takes place immediately after the events of X-Men Apocalypse, where Peter decides against going back to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, despite seeking his father’s attention prior. This fic will just be growing and “mutating” as I write but promising lots of Dad/son angst, hurt/comfort etc.

Chapter 1: AfterEffects

As naïve as it was, Peter had hoped Erik would somehow realize he was his son, now that idea seemed cold and stupid. Why would Erik magically know who he was? He wasn’t Charles, a mind reader, and this wasn’t a fantasy kingdom where the orphan got his father in the end of the story.

Peter pulled his legs up to his chest, or at least he would have if he could have moved his shattered knee, the pain, coupled with the emotional turmoil of the long day sent him easily to tears. He wasn’t used to losing, he wasn’t used to being physically injured. The finale of the Egyptian battle had seen the x-men triumph, but Peter himself had lost…lost another chance to connect with Erik, if only he’d been able to get the better of the Immortal it might have impressed his father enough to take note of him, but instead if it hadn’t been for Raven’s distractions, the Beast’s strength and his own father’s shift in loyalties, he would have been just another victim in the note book of Apocalypse.

Peter drew a shaky breath, trying to force the events to wash over him, normally things didn’t bother him, but the last few months he’d changed, the others here at the school, or what was left of the school…he didn’t want to call them family but that’s what they felt like to him. It scared him and it was too much to hope for, he’d been disappointed to many times to open up like that. Which was why he’d told Beast to take him to a regular hospital in Cairo and he’d make his own way home once he was healed.

Beast had had his reservations about it, leaving the scrawny, pale kid who’d been with them since he’d saved literally everyone at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters seemed a shitty way to repay him, but he’d finally consented to it, only after Peter had gotten angry and started yelling.

He felt lonely now, in the hospital bed, with an oxygen tube in his nose and his injured leg casted and hoisted by a sling, a thousand miles from anyone he knew, but the pain was reminding him of his failures as one of the x-men and the isolation served to remind him why he didn’t bother with people, especially his father.

They always left. Or were never there to begin with.

He deserved this.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Peter.”

Peter jolted, startled for only a second by the gentle voice, there was only one person it could be, to know what precisely he was thinking. He hurriedly wiped tears off his face before Charles came any closer.

“I told Beast I was fine. I don’t want anyone wasting any more time on me.”

“Beast didn’t tell your secret, but I was worried about you, Peter. You think I was going to just leave Egypt without you? I wouldn’t leave here without any of you.” Charles stepped closer, softly he took his hand and squeezed gently.  “You all mean so much to me. I owe you my life, Peter.”

He removed his hand and crossed his arms. “I didn’t do anything, if…if Erik hadn’t stepped in, we all would have been killed-including you.”

Charles glanced towards the monitors attached to the young man, before his eyes roamed across the physical state of Peter, in contemplation. “It was a group effort; it took all of us.” He finally spoke after a moment of hesitation. “I know you seek his attention and yet you’re afraid of it…Lehnsherr is coming back with us to New York, he’s going to help me rebuild the institution.”

Peter glanced up, his eyes reflecting a youthful hope the professor hadn’t seen for some time. “I thought he left.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s a way to…perhaps earn his attention, little by little anyway. What do you think? Will you return with me?”

Peter grimaced. “I’m not in great shape professor, encase you haven’t noticed. I might swing in when I’m up and around.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I know all your pains, I’m sorry. I put your life in such horrific danger-”

“I came along on the mission of my own free will, no one forced me,” Peter interrupted.

Charles gripped his shoulder suddenly with an assertive intention. “Let me oversee your recovery, Maximoff, please, it’s the least I can do. I won’t leave here until you agree to be transferred to a hospital in New York, preferably close to Salem Center. You don’t have to be bothered by anyone from the school. But knowing you aren’t in Egypt would put my mind at ease.”

Peter sighed, he was feeling it again, the warm sensation that made him relaxed and somehow extremely uncomfortable at the same time. Family was something he would never be able to hold on to. He was going to mess it up, he knew that. He could already feel the threads slipping between pale, desperate, grasping fingers. But in the meantime, Charles cared about him enough to hunt him down in one of many Cairo hospitals, and he’d checked in under an alias. The professor cared enough to come back, or had he never left in the first place? His caring nature was beyond consolation to Peter’s broken, cold body, so comforting in fact he felt tears welling up again!

He sniffled and hurriedly wiped his brow before their return, nodding. “I’ll come with you.”

Professor Xavier had kept his word, medically and financially he’d arranged for everything to be taken care of, transporting Peter from Cairo to New York. He’d also arranged for him to have his own private room in Sheeran Hospital—a private hospital in upstate New York, forty-five miles from the current disaster of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters.

Over the next two weeks physically Peter’s injuries slowly healed but mentally he felt wrecked beyond compare. He started having reoccurring nightmares that he couldn’t run; his ability had been fractured when the monstrosity had snapped his leg like a twig under his boot. In the dream he was trying to run away from someone, his first thought was that it was Apocalypse but a couple nights later he realized it was just a shadowy figure, one he could never outrun. Each time he fell, immobilized as pain shot through his leg, the sound of his own bones crunching reverberated in his ears, just as it had that day.

The nurses had unfortunately taken note of his mood, though Peter hadn’t put much effort into hiding his grim attitude, he’d slipped in a snarky remark about getting some extra drugs for an overdose. The nurse didn’t find his dark humor amusing and Charles suspiciously showed up the very next day.

He didn’t say much at first, just sat near Peter’s bed, looking out the enormous rectangle window that looked west, on a glowing sunset. “You have a good view though,” he finally spoke.

Peter pursed his lips. “I do appreciate your hospitality Professor, but I’m fine, you don’t have to check in on me. Just... really bored here you know, I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place this long…it’s wearing on me, I feel weird being at this speed.”

Charles turned his chair to face him, hands in his pockets, yet concern on his features. “Must be very uncomfortable to be forced to slow down. How’s physical therapy going?”

Peter avoided the older man’s gaze for some reason and snorted. “I mean it’s slow, I’m not the patience type or a patient for that matter…”

Charles nodded. “But the sooner you’re hobbling around, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

“And take me where?” Maximoff snipped with his signature deep-set frown.

Charles chuckled, “You’d be surprised what several telekinetic mutants can accomplish when it comes to construction. The east wing is already rebuilt, for now we’re using it for sleeping quarters. It’s a little crowded but…”

“…Anything is better than the smell of hospital?” Peter finished, trying to keep his mind in constant motion—moving from thought to thought. He didn’t know how much the professor knew about what he was thinking but Xavier had already noted his inward conception about seeking Erik’s attention in Egypt, so his guess was he was an open book, but Peter’s thoughts could be about as fast as his movement when we wanted them to be. “Well sounds like I need to hit therapy harder, if you’re actually going to get me out of here.”

As much as Peter didn’t intend to be shambling around a cramped wing in the school, Charles’ visit served to kick him in the butt about getting out of Sheeran soon, regardless of where he went afterward. And if he was being honest, he had never planned to go back to the school, though he also wasn’t ready to face his reasoning for not returning there.

No one was going to miss him, well not the one person that mattered, because he couldn’t even see Peter for who he was. A new plan had quickly formulated—get his leg in good enough shape to slip off before Charles came back for him and circumvent the entire situation altogether.

The nightmares continued to plague him, as day after day he added a little weight to the tender broken leg, between tears and a lump that had formed on his lip from how many times he had bit it to deal with the pain, he started making it all the way through the routes the therapist had set up for him. Once he realized he could make it to the end of the routine he had to mentally stop himself from trying out his true speed. He continually checked himself, forced himself to be normal, move slowly. He embraced the pain wholly, promising himself a whole box of Lemonheads when he got out of here.

A week and two days after Charles’ visit, Peter decided he was going. He’d woke up from his worst nightmare by far, clutching his throat, covered in sweat, his heart was beating hard enough his chest ached. His leg was throbbing with shadow pain from Apocalypse breaking it, only in this dream he hadn’t been saved before the giant mutant had slit his throat and tossed him aside like trash. His father hadn’t even noticed or cared.

Peter swallowed painfully, still tracing his fingers across the smooth, blanched flesh of his neck as he slipped out of bed. His x-men costume had been lost somewhere in the shuffle, or maybe the professor had taken it, either way Charles had been kind enough to replace it with his current pajamas and a change of clothing. Not the usual silver tinted clothing but considering he still wasn’t up to his Quicksilver speed, it seemed fitting to pull on the dark blue jeans and faded orange hoodie. Peter sighed in comfort at the velvety worn state of both items as they contacted his skin, though he tried to ignore how billowy the clothes were on him, he’d lost a significant amount of weight since Egypt—which the nurses had been lecturing him over—but what could you expect when there was only hospital food and no snacks to be seen.

Next Peter attempted to calm his silvery hair, by brushing his fingers through it repeatedly, which only seemed to make it worse. Between the wild shock of hair and the dark rimmed eyes, his reflection looked ghostly, coupled with the dim hospital lighting.

Peter exhaled calmly before grabbing the only items that had made it back with him from Egypt, his googles and his earphones, he stuck one of the foreign crutches under each armpit and silently slipped out of Sheeran Hospital…

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Love, fear, peace.

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “I wanted to request an imagine where the reader and Ivar have a 4-5 year old daughter. And while Ivar is usually very cruel, he'll do anything for his little princess. And she asks to paint his nails and have him join her for a tea party, so he does, as long as it's a secret between them but the reader ends up seeing them and her thoughts on it? I'm in a big mood to read Ivar fluff”

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: A lil bit of angst, my best attempt at fluff, just soft stuff all around, probably ooc

A/N: My friends, may I interest you in an AU where all five sons of Ragnar are alive and happy? We call it ‘denial’ where I’m from, but yeah, in this universe they’re all alive, Sigurd married off to some Saxon Princess, Ubbe in Dublin, Ivar King of Kattegat and Hvitserk with him with a family of his own goddamit, Björn fuck-knows-where avoiding commitment like he was born to do, and that’s it. Ta-da.

Ástríðr is a name derived from the Old Norse elements áss "god" and fríðr "beautiful, beloved"

Taglist: (If you wanna be added or removed lemme know!) @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​   @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​   @chibisgotovalhalla​ @receptionistfromhell​​ 

Hvitserk greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and you thank the gesture with a smile, though your eyes are scanning the main hall.

“Where’s Ivar?” You ask as he walks at your side, greeting a few people with false smiles and courteous nods.

Hvitserk only shrugs, “I thought he was with you.”

“No, we were supposed to talk with one of the earls about the effect of a high tide, but he wasn’t there.”

“And how was it?”

“Dull,” You reply sincerely, “But I have an idea of where my husband is.”

The other man betrays a smile, “Can you blame him? It is hard to say no to her.”

Oh, you know that. She has him -and you- powerless to deny her anything since she first came to this world.

Try as he might to deny it, to keep the idea of the ruthless king that loves nothing alive, to mantain the façade of how nothing makes Ivar the Boneless falter; your daughter is an adorable force to be reckoned with, capable of making even the King of Kattegat surrender.

It is no secret, for you or any soul that encounters your husband, that Ivar loves his family, his wife and daughter, like nothing else.

The world will never forget the battles he’s won and lost, the wars he started, the kingdoms he reduced to ash, the lands he conquered. The world will never forget of all he did in the name of his ambition, in the name of his fame.

But the world will never forget what he did in the name of love either. Countless deals made, countless fights, countless plans devised and even more sacrifices made so that he could grant his daughter the safeties she deserved; so that he can give her the world and, when time comes, have her step sure, knowing the very earth and the very skies are hers.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you blink past the sleep that weighs on your lids. You find yourself as you were, resting comfortably on a seat that has progressively become just a pile of pillows and furs since the start of winter.

You still feel the comfortable weight of Ivar’s head on your lap, and you can make out his voice speaking quietly. Looking down you find him talking to the small bump on your stomach, the evidence of your child growing inside of you.

At the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, Ivar looks up and offers you a smile, before scooting even closer to your stomach.

“Tell your mother to go back to sleep. You and I aren’t done talking, Princess.”

A part of you is tempted to taunt him about how the might Ivar the Boneless is so smitten by a child not even born yet, but you choose instead to bask in the softness in his expression, in the happiness that curves his mouth.

Still, after a few moments, you offer, “They could be a Prince. Ivarsson.”

Your husband hums, presses a kiss against your stomach and settles again on his back with his head on your lap.

“We will have sons, I know,” He tells you, smile faint as he closes his eyes, “But first, we will have a daughter.

He speaks with such certainty that you cannot help but huff a laugh. Still, it is a nice thought, to have a Princess to call your own, a little girl, blessed by the Gods.

“She will be just like her mother, and she will be ours to spoil and take care of.”

“You speak as if you wouldn’t spoil our sons, Ivar. Someone else might believe that lie, but not me.” You tease, eyebrows lifted.

“Mhm, but a father grows jealous of his sons, and their fame, their triumphs.”

“No daughter of mine, or of yours, will be content without her own triumphs and conquests.”

“I know,” He replies without hesitation, proud smile widening and eyes opening to gaze up at you, “Like I said, she’ll be just like her mother.”

It was never a secret, a surprise, for you to witness Ivar love your child before she was even born; to feel his joy and his anticipation and his love in the way he spoke of that daughter you’d have, and all the sons and daughters that would come after.

You learned to love him years ago, and found beneath the cruelty and venom and bloodthirst a man that loves intensely, that willingly gave his heart to you to keep safe the day he made you his wife. So his love doesn’t surprise you, his devotion to his family doesn’t make you falter.

There were still many things that made you falter, that made you see everything with new eyes, during those months while you carried Ástríðr and in the years you’ve been fortunate enough to have her.

One of them was how the sons of Aslaug, much to your surprise and despite all their other failings, had been raised to be utterly devoted to their families. Hvitserk was almost giddy at the possibility of a niece or nephew that he could keep close to him, unlike Ubbe’s children all the way in Dublin. Ubbe, always the father figure, visited more than once and kept watchful eyes not only on you and his brother, but on everything, as if from Dublin he could look over all of you like he did while growing up. To your surprise, even Sigurd, past the animosity between him and Ivar -and all the disagreements he has had with you over the years, of course- sent word from Northumbria wishing you three the protection of the Gods.

Another of those discoveries, sadly not as heartwarming, was to witness the burden your husband carried and not being able to do anything about it. The more easily-soothed fears, like what your daughter would think of him, or whether she would be born healthy, were quietened by your voice promising him over and over that any child of yours would love him like no other, or by the soft kicks of your daughter against where his palm rested on your stomach, making tears shine in Ivar’s eyes every time.

There were deeper fears, and fears that plagued you too, that you couldn’t so easily soothe. The whisper in the back of his mind that happiness is nothing, that everything you love eventually you lose, that all his cruel ways and his mistakes would one day cost him what he holds dear. The blue eyes of the man you love, so used to seeing what others cannot, so used to planning ahead and seeing the world like his enemy does, seeing a world where at any time his fame and his conquests could cost him your life or your daughter’s.

For a man as cruel and vicious as Ivar, it is easy to forget he is not something otherworldly, some demon like the Christians say, some beast like your own countrymen claim. Sometimes, in all his rage and all his chaos, it is easy to forget he is a husband, a father, a man.

And like any man with a beating heart, especially a heart so wholly owned by his wife and daughter; Ivar fears.

Ástríðr blinks big and strikingly blue eyes, and you smile widely, unable to keep yourself from bringing your daughter closer and pressing a kiss on her head, delighting yourself in the familiar and comforting smell of your baby.

“Good morning, little one.” You whisper, and she coos in response, as if she understands.

“Is she…is she alright?” Ivar asks, moving closer to you and looking at her over your shoulder.

“Of course she is,” You smile down at your daughter, your finger tapping the tip of her tiny nose. “Our beautiful girl, she’s more than alright. She’s perfect.”

“She was…coughing.”

“That’s something babies do, Ivar, she’s fine.” You reassure him, only slightly bothered by the fact that he woke you up because your daughter coughed. You adjust your grip on Ástríðr, let her nuzzle against the column of your throat and find her sleep again.

Ivar drops his head to your shoulder, sighing against your skin and laying quite a bit of his weight on you. You sit there, your daughter against you and your husband letting you hold him up as he releases a tension you didn’t realize was there, and feel a pang of something in your heart.

After a few moments, you hold back a sigh, you try biting back your worry, and whisper, “You should sleep, love.”

“Mhm,” Ivar mumbles, but it is an argument, even if he doesn’t find the words to voice it yet. “Later.”

He has taken the awful habit of not sleeping at night. Each night when you settle in bed with Ástríðr nestled close to you, and Ivar holds you both close in his embrace; he remains awake, vigilant and expectant, watching the shadows for ghosts and enemies. You’ve noticed him faltering during the day, worsening his pain by not letting himself rest like should.

And it has only been worse since Hvitserk has been gone.

You know there are few people Ivar trusts fully, even fewer he entrusts the safety of his wife and daughter to. With just being here, Hvitserk granted his brother a peace nothing else can, a certainty that there was someone’s back to lean his own against, a promise that he could lower his guard and rest assured he wasn’t alone.

It is just a matter of days before Hvitserk returns, but you refuse to let Ivar run himself ragged.

So, you use your and not holding Ástrídr to wrap around his waist, and slowly move the three of you, as well as you can manage, back to lay on the bed.

With a slightly startled breath Ivar opens his eyes, focuses almost frantically on you and Ástríðr. You sigh again, but make use of the loss of his weight against you to settle against the pillows, holding your daughter better against your chest, your hand covering her back and holding her gently.

When you’re certain she’s comfortable, you lift your free arm and run your fingers through Ivar’s hair.

“You’ll rest.” You order, your eyes on your husband’s. He wants to argue, you know he does, a war between exhaustion and stubbornness, but it seems the pull is strong enough to even make him cave.

Ivar settles on your opposite shoulder from your daughter, his hand warm and rough as it settles over yours on her back. You chase tension off his back by running your hand up and down his back, and as both he and your daughter sleep safe and warm against you, you allow yourself a whisper of gratitude to the Gods.

You never knew what the Seer had meant when he told you so many years ago that ‘he can only use one hand and chooses to hold the sword, and for that you’ll need to hold the shield’, but now, as you hold your world close against you, you dare think that you understand the Ancient One’s words.

Eventually, the fear of something stealing her in the middle of the night passes. It always returns, that irrational fear he has that he will lose it all, that frantic paranoia that if he doesn’t plan, if he doesn’t prepare, they will take you both from him.

But as Ástríðr grows healthy and lively, the fears dwindle, or maybe they just change. And for a man that scorned the very uttering of the word, Ivar finds peace.

Through the halls, you follow the familiar sound of Ivar’s war cry, though quieter, and the adorable giggles of your daughter. Walking into your rooms, you make sure to remain hidden as you watch Ivar on the floor, holding himself up on his arms, mocking a taunt towards your daughter, daring the little shieldmaiden to attack.

A part of you is glad that this is a secret, a side of your husband, of your family, that the world will never know of. The world needn’t know of how easily Ástríðr makes her mother and father cave to her every wish, the world needn’t know of how fiercely and uncondicionally she is loved; only she needs to know of it, andn you and Ivar have made sure she lives a life knowing how loved she is.

You lean your shoulder on a pillar near the door, arms crossed over your chest but still betraying a smile.

Ástríðr brandishes a wooden sword at her father, big eyes strikingly alike Ivar’s when she focuses and finds her determination.

“I will defeat you!” She exclaims, the seriousness in her expression making your chest warm.

“You’re just a shieldmaiden, you can’t defeat me!” Ivar replies without missing a beat, faking a monster’s swipe with a hand that tries grabbing at her small foot.

Your daughter jumps out of the way with a squeal, but quickly furrows her brow adorably and lifts her chin, stubborn and arrogant.

Gods, Ivar is right, she looks so much like you.

“I am Ástríðr Ivarsdottir, I’ll always win!”

“Ah, you will, won’t you?” Ivar teases, letting go of the role of whatever beast he was supposed to be, grabbing onto your daughter and falling on his back with her in his arms, lifting the girl up and making her giggle. “Mighty shieldmaiden you’ll be, my sweet.”

“I know.” She replies without hesitation, startling a laugh out of you.

Two pairs of blue eyes turn to you, and Ástríðr wastes no time in calling out for you, squirming her way out of her father’s grasp and skipping towards you.

You kneel on the ground and welcome your daughter’s enthusiastic embrace, even if it was only this morning you last saw her.

“Did you defeat him, little one?” You ask her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course I did, mama.” She replies, almost offended. Of course, look whose daughter you’re asking about a victory in battle, imaginary or not.

You catch Ivar’s eyes and whatever intent you had on chastising him for leaving you to deal with the earl alone vanishes at the softness in his gaze at he looks at you both.

Not many know of Ivar the Boneless’ love. Even fewer know of his fear.

But there’s only a few lucky ones that have seen his happiness, his peace.

You two share a look, a look that speaks not only of gratefulness for one another, but of gratefulness for this perfect blend of the two of you, of your stubbornness and his drive, of his eyes and your hair.

Ivar betrays a small smile and his eyes go to the discarded wooden sword at his side.

“Oi, shieldmaiden!” He calls out, and Ástríðr turns to him without hesitation. “You never leave your weapon behind. It is the one thing, besides your mother and me, that you can trust blindly in this world.”

Ivar motions for the sword, and your daughter dutifully goes to pick it up, only to be ambushed on the way, Ivar’s eyes trapping her to his chest.

She is startled, and lets out a loud and adorable laugh as her father once again drops to the furs at his back, his smile blinding.

“You see? If you’d had your sword, no monster would have gotten you.”

Ástríðr grumbles an argument, but Ivar only snorts a laugh. His eyes lift to yours, and he lifts his hand, calling for the touch of yours, calling for you to join them.

You sigh, but still walk to them and stretch on the furs near the fire, accepting the embrace Ivar offers you when he lifts his free arm.

You nuzzle your nose against his throat, reaching with your hand and taming Ástríðr’s wild hair.

“Do you think one day I could defeat a dragon, like the warriors you tell me about?”

“Mhm, of course. You’ll be the most famous shieldmaiden who has ever lived.” He promises her, pressing a kiss against her hair, his arm tightening and trying to bring you closer even if it is impossible.

___

I struggled a lot writing this, I don’t really know why bc it was a lovely request. I tried my best :)

I hope you liked this, lovely anon! And I’m sorry it took me so long to get it done! I love you!!

[savethelastdan]

Sesskagu

Mouths smell wine, The feast is going wild

Victorious and glorious, The men exalt their king

As in a fevered dream Kagura is entering

And she provokes him to do a special deed

"You have conquered the capital of orient

Display your power and make your enemies weep.

Destroy their pride, The jewel of the middle kingdom

As they once destroyed our temples for their king"

this ended up being a weird little AU so enjoy that I guess

-

The trees of this forest stretch high to cup the black sky within their branches. Though their crowning leaf-tops disappear into the dark night, each's base is aglow with clusters of lanterns. Around the light, demons of every breed laugh and shout in a ear-splitting din. Sesshomaru's bored sigh becomes lost in the clamor, as it has for the past three days of ancestral celebration.

A forgotten goblet rolls through the dirt to stop just at his foot; he sidesteps to avoid the blood-like wine spilling from its mouth, nearly shoulder-checking a cheerful demon from his mother's army who is attempting to start a group song in honor of Sesshomaru's great-great grandfather. With a grimace, the young warlord hurries past.

His mother, the only opportunity for a decent conversation, has disappeared into the crowd. No doubt to collect all manner of praises for raising such a son - he who has conquered the four lands with tooth and claw, who has met every challenge with nary a twinge of self-doubt. The Lady of the Sky Castle sees no purpose in modesty, nor in sharing the credit with her ex-husband; every compliment is polished and stashed in her robe for another day.

He is halfway through his slow circle around the party when he spots an anomaly. A guest he hasn't seen before.

She's slight, dark hair piled atop her head; lantern-light bounces off the green glass threaded through her ears to speckle the backs of nearby demons. From the breeze flicking at the edge of her sleeves, it's obvious she is a wind demon. But there is something else in her scent, carried to him beneath those of the crowd and the wine -bitterness, dark and sharp and wrong - that puts Sesshomaru on edge.

Him alone, apparently - no one around seems to pay her any mind, even as she turns to fix her eyes on him.

And smirks.

-

When he reaches her side, she inhales and holds something across her chest - a fan, folded tight. Sesshomaru ticks an eyebrow, and her lips stretch wide again.

"Don't worry, I didn't come to fight."

He doesn't bother to point out how stupid she'd have to be, if that had been her intention. To challenge him in the middle of a festival containing tens of his drunken allies, some of the fiercest demons in this time, including the Lady of the Sky Castle - a sure death sentence.

She twists her head to inspect a nearby tableful of goblets, and suddenly he recalls where else he has smelled the particular rot in her scent before - a demon that plagues the villages in the west, where his bastard brother has made his home. One whose name sends the older demon lords of the land in a temper, whenever his name is spoken aloud -

"Naraku." It comes out quietly, but the woman's head snaps back towards him all the same. "You are born of Naraku."

Despite the flare that she must feel in his energy, the slight movement of his claws towards the sword at his side, his father's sword that despite everything Sesshomaru refuses to discard - the woman stares back at him calmly. Her eyes burn violet; in the daylight, he thinks strangely, they must be red as blood.

"If it matters, I don't serve him willingly. In fact - " She grins, head tilting in such a way that anyone watching may assume is flirtatious in its intention - "I'm pretty much as unwilling as you can get."

He wonders what she means by that. Which, in and of itself, is not a good sign, when you consider who Sesshomaru is.

"Right now, Naraku is still weak enough to be defeated." Kagura stretches her arms out to pull back an imaginary arrow; slapping her closed fan against her forearm, she pops her tongue in a poor imitation of a bowstring's snap. A flash of anger heats Sesshomaru's neck, as the understanding comes; his brother's strange human bride.

"However." Kagura's arms fall to her sides. "Soon, he'll be too powerful to even be purified."

At first, Sesshomaru scoffs. Purification - such a mortal response. But the woman frowns, as though she is annoyed with him. Which in turn, makes him annoyed with her.

"It doesn't matter how much power he thinks he has. He is still weak, compared to any full-blooded demon here tonight." Compared to me.

The woman's fan lands flat on his shoulder. Sesshomaru is too stunned by her audacity to think to pull away, as she leans up to put her lips by his ear.

"Even with the Shikon Jewel?"

When she settles back on the flat of her feet - bare feet, which he notices for no reason like he's noticed everything about her since the moment she arrived - a strange flicker crosses her face at his expression.

"Ah, good. You should take such a thing seriously."

Unwilling, indeed. Heat pulses through the poison in his veins. "The Shikon Jewel is in - "

"Pieces." She flicks her head sharply. "He finds them too quickly. His enemies can't catch up."

Can't - he growls aloud in frustration. She grins again, a faint flush settling across her cheeks, but it seems unintentional; because just as quickly, the fan unfolds across the lower half of her face. He studies the way her eyebrows knit together and feels strangely pleased.

"Anyway, I'm tired of waiting for someone to give that bastard what's coming to him. I want him to lose it all - his power, his pride, everything he's built with our blood." Slowly, the fan lowers; both the blush and smile are gone. "You cut your teeth on victory, Lord Sesshomaru. I assume you don't care about what happens to your family in the West, but rest assured that Naraku won't stop there. He won't rest until he has everything."

She nods her head towards the festival, still roaring around them. Sesshomaru stands in the glow of lanterns, and feels his ancestor's hands pushing at his back.

"By the time I am done with him," he says, dipping his head to mirror her earlier whisper, "Naraku will have nothing."

She shudders. Sesshomaru hears a strange stutter in her pulse, and from the anger that bleeds into her gaze, it is not for romantic reasons.

Not that he has any inclination towards such things, himself.

"Tell me," he says, still leaning low into her ear, "whose name may Naraku beg for mercy in his final moments, along with my own?"

She blinks up at him, stunned. Is it so surprising, that he is not like his mother in terms of hogging credit? But then, his name is that which will be passed down for the rest of time, after his inevitable victory; in the end, he may be the only one who remembers hers.

After a long inhale of time, she smirks. A breeze curls around his shoulders, moving him the slightest bit closer - something he ordinarily would not forgive, if the anticipation of battle was not already simmering through him.

"Kagura."

[sage-nebula]

Game Review — Blue Fire

One of my all-time favorite game series is The Legend of Zelda. My favorite game of all time is The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. And my second favorite game of all time is Hollow Knight. So it would make sense, then, to think that a combination of the two would be the most amazing thing the world had to offer me.

Overall Score: 7/10

Well . . . it could have been better. It also could have been worse, absolutely, but it also could have been better. For more detailed thoughts, jump below the cut (and view on blog due to formatting).

The Pros:

The graphics and animation are beautiful. The specific Zelda game the graphics brought to mine (despite the color palette, which was clearly more Hollow Knight inspired) was The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker. Whatever reason the developers had for going the cel shaded route (maybe they had an artistic vision in mind, or maybe it was easier somehow) it was a good one to make. In particular, all of the glowing and flame effects were lovely, the shadows all fell in the right places, the characters were charming to look at, et cetera. Everything worked well with the acrobatics as well. Visually, the game is beautiful.

For the most part, the platforming is fair and even platforming challenges are doable with enough practice. This is particularly true for the overworld / main dungeons, rather than the Voids, which are more extra dungeons that you don’t have to complete to beat the game (although doing so certainly makes the game easier given that each completed Void gives you another life heart). While there were some areas where the game lagged for whatever reason and threw off crucial timing, as well as some Voids that were definitely more Platform Hell than simply platforming, the platforming puzzles were very well put together for the most part and were enjoyable to play.

The fast travel system, when unlocked, is incredibly convenient and takes a lot of the headache out of traveling around the world, particularly given that you use the shrines for a number of things (fast travel, saving, char—spirit equips) and there aren’t any maps present in this game whatsoever. It does take some time to unlock fast travel and you’re not exactly pointed in the direction to get it (in fact I had to look up to figure out where I was supposed to go to get it), but once you have it it’s a well-developed system that took a lot of pain out of playing that would have otherwise been there.

A minor thing that I liked, but (just like in Hollow Knight) when you die, your spirit or soul is left behind. Also like in Hollow Knight, it keeps all of the money you had on you when you died. Essentially, it is the exact same thing as the Shade from Hollow Knight, but white instead of black. Anyway, the minor thing I liked about this is that if you die in a boss fight, your spirit waits for you directly outside the boss arena, meaning that you don’t have to try to reclaim it while the boss is trying to kill you. It was a nice bone the developers threw the player.

While no tracks in particular standout, and while the OST doesn’t live up to the OSTs of the inspirations behind this game, there were times when the music was very nice, which is always a plus.

While the main quest is very short, there are numerous sidequests you can do even apart from the Voids that give you things to do in each area, making them feel a little less small and giving you a bit more time with the game, as well as unlockables as rewards (mainly in the form of new costumes, but still). There are lots of little secrets hidden around in each area too, which is nice to discover if you’re someone like me who loves exploring in games. 

The Neutrals:

The story. The story is . . . how do I put this . . . okay. So, it’s clear the developers wanted to write a story with the aesthetic of Hollow Knight (ruined kingdom, lots of shadow / light dichotomy, fallen kingdom, et cetera), but with an overt storytelling style like The Legend of Zelda. So you get a lot of exposition about what happened in the past, and what you as the main character are supposed to do now . . . but the thing about the exposition is that not only is the same thing repeated about fifteen different times (such as the constant harping on about how the main character contains both light and shadow within them), but also there are huge chunks of seemingly important detail that are just left unexplained. Like for instance: we know that the Fire Guardians from the Fire Keep were one of the last strongholds against the Shadow (who was also the sixth god and has also corrupted the queen yadda yadda). And we can extrapolate that the Fire Guardians were specifically trying to create a warrior that was both light and shadow based on the fact that the game starts with the main character breaking out of a test tube with a bunch of corpses that look just like the player scattered around, seeming to be failed experiments (i.e. just like how the Pale King created the Hollow Knight in Hollow Knight). But the only Fire Guard that we see around is Von. I think he mentions briefly once that the Fire Guards were trying to make the warrior, or had made the warrior, or something like that, but we’re never told why, exactly. We don’t know what processes led to that. We don’t know who was in charge. We don’t know why this specific type of warrior was needed except “since you have both you may be the answer.” And the fact that there were apparently a bunch of failed experiments is never really touched upon either. Furthermore, we’re told that the five gods had lifted Penumbra (the world) into the sky to protect it from the Shadow (a la Hylia raising Skyloft to protect the people from Demise), but that it didn’t work and the Shadow ultimately got to them anyway. So allegedly this is a post-apocalyptic land. But the only thing to really be ravaged is the Temple of Gods, where apparently the corrupted queen sleeps. Everyone else seems mostly fine as long as they avoid the monsters? It’s like they were going for what Hollow Knight did, but didn’t quite want to go the full route of having corpses literally everywhere on-screen at all times. Although weirdly enough, there is also a distinct lack of NPCs which makes the world feel more empty than Hallownest despite the circumstances . . . What I’m getting at here is that there definitely is a story, but it was told in a way that was pretty sloppy. It’s not so sloppy that it detracts from the overall experience, but it’s like too much was piled on in some areas and not enough was explained in other areas. Or like they took some things they liked from other games (e.g. making the creation of the “warrior of light and shadow” reminiscent of the creation of the Hollow Knight) without following through on what made those things work. Like it wasn’t just that there were a lot of failed Knights and that their corpses were tossed into the abyss and that The Knight had to try to claw his way out (as did Broken Vessel and others) while the “successful” Hollow Knight was raised by the Pale King. It was also that we know that the entire reason why the Hollow Knight was created in the first place was to contain the Radiance / the Plague. It was also that these hundreds or thousands of corpses were the Pale King’s children. It was also that the Pale King has a monologue over that segment saying, “no mind to think, no will to break, no voice to cry suffering” as requirements for the Hollow Knight to be considered successful. The horror didn’t come just from the corpses being tossed down the pit around you as you had to climb up in an attempt to get out, but also at all of the surrounding context, which was left entirely out of Blue Fire’s version with the warrior of light and shadow. Not that they should have copied it (although if they had it really wouldn’t have been surprising), but it’s clear what they were trying to do and where they failed because they didn’t have the follow through to go with it. I feel like the above paragraph is so critical I should move it to The Cons, but I do want to say that I don’t think the story itself was terrible. It borrows so much from both Zelda and Hollow Knight that it really isn’t original and it doesn’t follow through on things that made those stories work, but overall it doesn’t ruin the experience, even if all of the repetition gets old pretty quickly. Although as a final note, I’ll also add another thing that bugged me, which is that we never learn what the people of Penumbra are. Like we know the Shadow is bad, but they all look like Shadow people. We know there are creatures called “onops” but we don’t know what they are, or if everyone is an onop. Whereas in Hollow Knight we know that all the characters are bugs. It’s just another little thing that wasn’t explained but probably should have been.

On a less long note, the combat is also pretty mediocre. Again, it’s not bad. There is a parry system that, if you learn to time it right to actually pull off the parry, is pretty cool. But although you are given magic, which is useful for killing long-distance enemies, the magic can’t do a single thing for you in boss battles no matter how many times you upgrade your mana. Additionally, it is very much a “mash Y to win” type of game, where Y is the button you use to attack and you just mash that while jumping around. There’s no complexity to the combat at all or any strategy that is really required. It’s not bad, per se, but it’s nothing to write home about either.

The charms in this game are called spirits, and while you can buy a majority of them from shopkeepers, you can also “capture” your own by coming across the spirit of a dead person and trapping it to use its power for yourself. This is made apparent when you go back to a young child who is dead the second time you go to see them, and capture their spirit for use. Also when you literally murder an NPC for a sidequest and then later capture their spirit to use for your own use. And aside from the sidequest giver being horrified you killed the NPC and telling you to keep it hush-hush (without even knowing that you can and will capture the spirit of that murder victim for your own use) this . . . is never really remarked upon. Ever. And the thing is, it creates a sort of dissonance, because your character is treated as a hero in this game. No one seems horrified by you, there’s never any question of whether your existence is moral or not, nor any reason to think that your character would be amoral. In Hollow Knight, the Knights were created to be soulless husks who were there to be vessels for the Radiance / infection. Hornet in particular calls out your cursed existence and how she does not like you because of it. But although you can learn “emotes” from statues (which is teaching your character either actions or emotions, it’s unclear), no such deal is made here. So this aspect of the game is strange, even if I can at least appreciate that they tried to make their spirits a tiny bit different from Hollow Knight’s charms. Though with that said . . .

The Cons:

It’s one thing to be inspired by other games, but the sheer amount that this game cops from The Legend of Zelda and Hollow Knight is, at least to me, incredibly distracting. Just a handful of examples off the top of my head: — In Hollow Knight, you have a Shade that lingers where you last died and keeps all of your money from when you died. In Blue Fire, you have a spirit / soul (again, it’s unnamed) that lingers where you died and keeps all of your money from when you died. You have to retrieve them before you die again to get your money back. — In Hollow Knight, you have different circular charms that each have a different design, name, and grant you different abilities. You can only have a certain amount equipped at a time (though you can increase how many you can equip at once) and you can only equip them at save points. In Blue Fire you have different spirits that are contained in circles that each have a different design, name, and grant you different abilities. You can only have a certain amount equipped at a time (though you can increase how many you can equip at once) and you can only equip them at save points. — Everything I explained above about how the main character breaking out of a test tube at the beginning, surrounded by corpses just like them, felt like an echo of the Knight’s creation in Hollow Knight (but again, not as effective for reasons outlined above).  — The default tunic has a hat that is exactly like Link’s from The Legend of Zelda. This is made even more obvious with the dyed green tunics. — The story segment detailing how the five gods created Penumbra was copped from how the golden goddesses created Hyrule from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. To compare the dialogue: Ocarina of Time: “Din. With her flaming arms, cultivated the land and created the red earth.” Blue Fire: “Dina, God of Land. With her mighty body of stone, Dina carved mountains, deserts, and landforms in the earth.” It’s in the exact same cadence, to the point where I half expected the artifact they created at the end of the story to be the Triforce (instead it was called the Oath of Sarana).  — In Hollow Knight, the titular Hollow Knight is housed inside the Temple of the Black Egg, and is in fact locked inside that Black Egg to seal the Radiance / infection. There are three locks on the egg, and each one will only be broken when one of the three Dreamers dies. You have to break all three locks to face him, a corrupted “final” boss. In Blue Fire, the corrupted queen is housed inside the Temple of the Gods. There are three locks on her door, and each one will only be broken when one of the three Shadow Lords dies. You have to break all three locks to face her, the corrupted final boss. — It’s implied that, especially in places like the Temple Gardens, that the humanoid enemies that attack you are not monsters, but are people who were once completely normal and even forces of good who were corrupted by the Shadow. This is exactly like how all of the enemies you face in Hollow Knight (with the exception of, say, Hornet) were also once normal bugs before they were turned into zombies by the infection. I could go on. The point is, it’s perfectly fine to be inspired by something. Hell, it would be hard to find an action/adventure game that wasn’t inspired by The Legend of Zelda at this point. But it’s one thing to be inspired by something, and another thing to completely rip-off your inspiration to the point where the similarities are distracting to your audience. And it’s not just me; when I was looking up the exact dialogue for the story of the gods from Blue Fire, I found others who were pointing out just how similar everything was to Hollow Knight in particular, including someone who, like me, realized that the Temple of the Gods was essentially the Temple of the Black Egg. When things are this blatant, it feels a whole lot less like inspiration and a whole lot more like plagiarism.

The Voids all have a star rating to indicate how difficult they are. These star ratings are completely meaningless. Granted, partly it’s because everyone is going to have different abilities and so it will be hard to create an overall difficulty scoring that will be accurate for every player, but it’s also telling when a four-star course is miles easier than a two-star course, which I found to be the case on more than one occasion due to level design that was, at times, kind of bullshit. 

Although there are NPCs, there are none who are memorable or standout, despite the fact that most of Penumbra’s populace is (maybe?) still alive. Unlike in Hollow Knight, where there were characters like Elderbug, the Last Stag, Hornet, Quirrel, and so forth that were memorable and lovable, all of the NPCs in Blue Fire feel rather the same and are pretty easily forgettable.

The world itself is incredibly small. While the fact there are no maps makes this kind of a good thing, on the other hand it’s a bit disappointing that there are a total of two towns and then a few small connecting areas. It doesn’t really make it feel like the kingdom that it’s supposed to be. 

On that note, why aren’t there maps? The fact that there is fast travel is really more of a necessity than mere convenience because there are no maps to help lead you around. If you put down the game for a while and then go back to it, you might not remember how to get to different areas in the game, and if you haven’t unlocked fast travel yet (since it is something you have to unlock) you’re going to be pretty much boned due to the lack of a feature that is in basically every other game. 

Overall, while this is not a game I think I would ever go back to, it also isn’t one that I regretted purchasing and playing. It could definitely have been better, but it also could have been worse. My only hope is that the next game this studio makes is more original, rather than copying so much from other, more successful titles. (Or at the very least, that they study why certain things worked in more successful titles, instead of just copying at the surface level and calling it a day.)

[versegm]

Hhhhhh I know it wasn’t even remotedly the point of this fic but I Am Once Again thinking of Artoria in Chaldea, or rather specifically or Artoria not being in Chaldea.

Imagine. The King of Knights answers your call. She’s clad in dark iron and her armor is as cold as her face. She tried to kill you once, and the memory is still fresh in your mind. She assures you she will try again, should she find you lacking in strength. Alright, you think. That is King Arthur’s true face. That is who she used to be.

But then you speak Emiya, and it doesn’t match up. He mentions a kind woman. He mentions a woman who cared too much. That’s not Artoria. You know Artoria. She’s right there... right?

You kind of forget about it until London rolls up. Mordred’s description of Artoria does match up, at least. Yet it’s... still a little weird. Mordred speak of their father with anger, but also affection. Admiration. Like it’s a good thing. Artoria isn’t as bad as your chaotic evil servants, that’s true, (hello Carmilla) but she’s still... a tyrant? Like... not very good? Yet Mordred, the person who literally destroyed her kingdom, think of it as a good thing.

You summon Artoria Lancer. She’s dressed in the same curse, and you’ve first met her fighting, so you expect them to be similar.

They’re not. Lalter avoids Salter like the plague. She’s... not here is the best way you can describe her. She’s in Chaldea physically, for sure, but... she doesn’t seem to realize she’s awake at all. Still, in her rare moments of clarity, she’s surprisingly... soft? She’s kind to Mordred, to Mordred’s own confusing. 

It’s weird. It’s weird. Who is Artoria Pendragon?

Camelot. Camelot. Camelot and its zealous knights. Camelot and it’s divine king.

Why are they following her? You don’t understand. It can’t be out of ideals. It’s out of guilt, you can tell, you can tell, (way too many of your owns are plagued by guilt.) But why? What is so admirable about Artoria Pendragon to warrant such loyalty?

You meet the Lion King. That goddess in a human coat. She means well. That’s what hits you about her. She means well. She means well but she is so, so far removed from human thinking, that the only way you can oppose her is with fists and blades.

Who is Artoria Pendragon? The one who feels nothing or the one who loved too much? Who is Artoria Pendragon?

There has to be a middle ground. There has to be something, a link, between all these Artorias. The truth has to be in that liminal space you can’t see.

Artoria Lancer comes to Chaldea. The one one step removed from godhood. She’s dignified and prideful, though in a less burning way than Salter. It’s hard getting close to her, but while Lalter is just plain not here and Salter makes a point to keep a hierarchy between the two of you, Lartoria just... doesn’t seem to get human relationships very much. You keep your eyes off her face and she asks why. You don’t answer. Your side still hurts where her lance pierced you.

With Artoria Lancer comes Bedivere, Lancelot, Gawain, Tristan. They all have their own stories, too. She fought until the end. She never blamed me. I didn’t do enough. I didn’t understand her. They all have their stories and their guilts, and all, save Bedivere, maybe, all, you can feel their yearning. They want their king. They want to make amends. They want to talk.

Who is Artoria Pendragon? Who is it who ruled over them?

And then one day Saber Lily comes to Chaldea, and, ah. You get it now.

Lily is kind. Lily is easily excited. Lily is full of hope and energy. Lily is, somehow, the same person as all these others you have summoned.

Who is Artoria Pendragon? Who is Artoria Pendragon? Someone between Lily and Lartoria. Someone between Lartoria and Lalter. Someone parallel to Salter. Who is Artoria Pendragon? Who is Artoria Pendragon?

You stand before the summoning circle. Her knights are yearning. They can’t mourn. Ghosts can’t just mourn. If they’re alive, why isn’t she? Why isn’t she in Chaldea too?

You see her face everywhere. Nero, who wished to be loved as much as her. Okita, who wished to fight until the end like Bedivere told you she did. Jeanne, who was adored just as strongly as she was.

Who is Artoria Pendragon? Who is the King of the Britons? 

The summoning circle stays silent. There is no one here.

[blossom-hwa]

To Find Solace in Your Arms - JANGJUN

Well uh. Here it is. Guard jangjun written in five days :D I’ll accept some blame but refer to casey @thepixelelf​ if you want someone to beat up for introducing the assassin thing because she suggested it not me I swear! Anyway, this universe is still dedicated to casey because without her it wouldn’t have happened <3

(Reading To Bloom in the Night/Weaver (linked below) is not necessarily required to understand this story; however, it may offer explanations for certain events!)

Pairing: Jangjun x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, guard!au, assassin!au

Triggers: cursing, implications of death, semi-graphic depictions of blood (reader is an assassin)

Word Count: 16.5k

Broken and lost, you find your last chance at redemption in a cursed prince’s loyal guard.

To Spin a Yarn | Golden Child Masterlist

Once upon a time, in a kingdom of song and music, there lived a prince who ran away. Cursed with death, he had found the only person whose life could prevail under his voice, a gardener with the sweetest song, and there was nothing he would not do to keep them close – even giving up his crown. When the gardener was arrested for accidentally learning the secret they willingly pledged to keep, the prince and his guard broke them away and fled into the night, whispering goodbyes to the loved ones they left behind.

The king and queen labeled it a kidnapping, led a manhunt for months, espoused heartbreak and sorrow for their son lost to his disloyal guard and a scheming gardener. Few believed the words of two cold-hearted monarchs, but enough did not care – bounty hunters and assassins pledged their services to the crown’s gold, resolved to kill the alleged kidnappers and return the prince alive (or dead, apparently – the palace, for all its shiny words of heartbreak, was not keen to have him back). However, one by one, they failed, either bled to death in the woods or forced to give up when all leads vanished.

One contractor was left, the most ruthless of all. Few had the coin to pay for the service of any one of his employees, but those who did were never left disappointed. With all else failed and their son still eluding capture, the palace paid for one assassin, asked for the best their money could buy. The contractor gave his due and tasked the job with his favorite employee who had recently fallen out of favor with a mission gone awry – they would have one last chance to redeem themselves.

When the guard sensed a follower, he only sighed and readied himself. The prince and his gardener had gone on further as he had forced them to – after all, he was the odd one out, the one who wasn’t truly needed. His purpose was always to protect even at the cost of his own life. He could keep an assassin off their trail for at least enough time to get away, and all of the others whom the palace had sent had failed eventually. He was the one who was still alive.

But desperation turns claws stronger, knives sharper, pain deeper.

And the guard never expected to come face to face with a ghost.

Neither guard nor assassin left the fight uninjured, both in body and in mind. Memories of ages gone, long pushed away but never forgotten, would plague them as the months passed with fight after bloody fight, knives clanging and words bantering and eyes flashing with emotions suppressed but finally brought to light –

Yet they did not stop. They had their loyalties and they had their duties, and even if they somehow felt at home with their snipping words and clanging blades, none of it mattered. None of it mattered. None of it mattered, not when the assassin learned the truth of the guard’s role in his prince’s kidnapping, not even when the guard looked deep into bladed eyes and saw into the human inside.

Until a secret came to light, and for the first time, a loyalty deeper than that of duty forced the assassin to drop their knife and lead the guard to a home he had despaired as lost forever.

And yet home was not home, even in the warm arms of a second ghost come to life, not when the curved knife of a teasing smile had disappeared in the forest, glittering eyes lost to the night. He prayed to the moon, to the watching stars, that the assassin would someday find their way home to arms that would welcome them as warmly as the ghost’s who had welcomed him.

His arms.

This is the story of a guard charged to protect and an assassin bound to kill, paths fated to intertwine once more after they first diverged, who found solace in knife-bladed smiles and laughing eyes the night they first met under the moon.

. . . . .

“Y/N.”

You turn around from the clothing stall, eyebrows furrowed. What’s Minho doing here, interrupting probably your last moments with your only friend before your employer decides to cut you off? “What are you doing here?”

His eyes remain impassive. “He wants to see you.”

So it’s time. 

You sigh, turning back to your friend and her piles of clothing. “Sorry, work calls.” An easy smile falls onto your lips, masking the anxiety that races your heart. She doesn’t know that you might be six feet under within a day, and you don’t intend to tell her. “Anyway, I left a little something at your house. Make sure to take it in.”

“Oh my – Y/N, seriously?”

But you’ve already turned away, fluttering your fingers in the air as you throw a last smile in her direction. It’s the least you could do – your little gifts will probably end after today, and with her business, she needs any bit of money she can get.

Quickly, you match your steps to Minho’s, ignoring her fondly exasperated shouts as you follow him through the crowded market. “Did he say anything?”

“No.” Minho shrugs, though a glint remains in his eyes. You mentally take stock of every knife concealed on your person. “But you can imagine.”

It takes a lot of restraint to not plunge the blade you’re twirling in your hand into his side. He’s probably expecting it, anyway – you’ve been at each other’s throats ever since you first punched him in the nose, all those years ago. “Yeah, I can.” You keep your eyes perfectly blank, even though fear of death pounds your heart as the two of you pass into the richer community, where your employer lives when he’s in the country. “Bet it’s something fun for you to think about.”

You don’t need to look to see the smile curving Minho’s lips. He’d like you dead, wouldn’t he? Of course he doesn’t say anything, but there’s a reason you remain aware of the knives hidden in your sleeve. Plus the one in your hand.

Finally, you reach the door. A servant pokes his head out. “Name?”

He knows your name. You hate having to say it anyway. “Y/N,” you reply curtly.

The door opens fully. You take a deep breath and sheathe the knife.

“Good luck,” Minho says cheerfully. Your neck crawls where his breath puffs against your skin.

The servant closes the door, leaving you alone with him in a large, open room full of light. The sun’s warmth streams through the windows, burning your skin. But even with that burn, the sunlight turning your skin to ash, you’d rather stay there than follow the servant to the back of the home, the darker rooms where your employer likes to conduct business.

But you follow, step by step, even as your fingers begin to shake and you have to clench the handle of one of your knives to keep them from trembling. You’ll fight. You’ll fight, if he orders your death – it’s all you know, fighting, and you’ll go down the way you lived – it doesn’t matter if he’s your employer, it doesn’t matter if he’ll have someone in there to take care of you when you inevitably fight back – if you’re going to die and have lived as a fighter no one can expect you to just give up –

The servant stops suddenly. You just manage to avoid bumping into him. He knocks on the door, oblivious to you. “They’re here, sir.”

“Enter.”

His voice turns your blood not to ice, but to sludge – slow, barely-moving, clogging your veins until you begin to choke, silently, barely able to move your legs to walk inside the now-open door –

Only one person is inside. You fight to keep the surprise off your face. Why is there no one here? Does he actually think you’ll go down without a fight? Or that he can take care of you himself?

“Sir.” You dip your head sharply.

“Look up.”

You do.

He sits in an upholstered chair, eyes piercing. The chair and the eyes have stayed the same, even as skin has sagged, hair has grayed, and some decorations have been moved out while others have come in. His gaze pins you down and like you’re a teen again, seeing him for the first time after all the horror stories you were told, you shrink under his attention, even with all the knives hidden in your clothes.

(Those horror stories were all true. More than once, when you were still new and hadn’t made your mark just yet, you were one of those called in to clean blood off the floor.)

Your blood is going to be wrung out of the carpets, soon. And it’ll be a lot of blood if you have anything to do with it.

He stays silent, still pinning you with his eyes. You clench your fists beneath the table. Breathe in, out.

“You disappointed me last time.”

Your stomach curdles. You only bow your head in response.

“You know what happens to those who disappoint.”

Blood seeping into carpets, staining the wood floor beneath. Small, shaking hands scrubbing dry red and black with buckets of soap and water. 

Maybe you won’t try to leave behind so much blood, after all. You have a little sympathy left after so many years of fingers and backs aching from rubbing rough cloths against the ground. Spite is powerful, but sometimes sympathy weighs more.

“If you were any of the others, you would be dead by now.”

True. Your last few days of freedom, you assumed, were just because you happened to be a favorite. A sort of last meal served before a prisoner’s execution.

Silence stretches. You keep your head low, shoulders tensed, nails biting into your palms, ready to lunge. You’ll fight. You’ll fight. You can picture it now – a blade aiming for your heart. You’ll dodge, knock the knife away, slide the weapons from your sleeves and throw, hoping they pierce dark eyes before someone rushes in and throws you to the floor, carves open your body until your blood soaks into the ornate carpet –

One hand appears in your line of lowered vision, a piece of thick, creamy paper sliding onto the table. “This is your next mission.”

Your head snaps up. Next mission?

“The prince has disappeared, and the palace now pays a large sum for the capture of his kidnappers within one year.” The paper slides closer. “A gardener and a royal guard. And the prince does not have to be brought back alive – if he was maimed by his kidnappers or caught in the crossfire…”

Somewhere deep in your mind, you understand the subtext. The royal family doesn’t care so much for the prince as it does about maintaining its reputation. But the forefront of your brain is still trying to comprehend the fact that the crown paid your employer to carry out this murder, and despite your last failure, he still chose you.

“You have one year to complete this mission. Shouldn’t be too difficult, no?” your employer says, finally forcing you to look up. He looks faintly amused, almost sadistically so – he has to have known how you expected to be dead already. “The royal guard may give you some trouble, but not more than you can handle.”

You almost question him – why are you receiving this mission and not some other assassin who may not be as efficient as you but still has a cleaner record, zero percent failure versus whatever percent that last mission cost you? But your employer hates being questioned, and more likely than not, he’d take the contract away with a cheerful, “Perhaps I did choose wrongly,” and then where would you be?

“No, sir.” You swallow hard, finally letting go of your fists. Crescents burn in your palms where nails bit into the skin.

“I suppose you are wondering why I chose you for this mission rather than one of those who have not disappointed me yet.”

You don’t dare to nod.

He leans forward. “I considered others. But you have always been the best assassin.” A smile splits his face, like a slit throat. “You remember what I have told you from the start. The best killers are not the bloodiest. They are the most efficient. You do not have to enjoy blood to become a killer.”

That’s true. You’ve always hated the feeling of sticky red liquid soaking your skin. Yet here you are, an assassin.

“Others forget. You have not.” He leans back again. “So I am giving you a second chance.” The smile disappears. “Do not disappoint me this time.”

You’re not going to die. You’re not going to die. You’re going to live to see another day, you won’t have to fight for your existence, you’ll be able to keep your friend safe and support her longer – you even have a mission. A second chance.

Tears of relief prick at your eyes and you bow, fighting the lump in your throat. “Thank you, sir.”

He’s smiling when you rise again, eyes narrowed to slits. “Do not disappoint me,” he repeats.

You swear you won’t.

. . . . .

Jangjun is once again being followed.

Internally, he groans. Seriously, after all those assassins and bounty hunters he and Joochan left dead or in the dust, he would’ve thought the palace had given up by now. Can’t they just let them all live in peace after making their lives hell for so long?

But the king and queen don’t care about any of that, and Bomin probably has only a little influence, if he even knows about the assassins in the first place. Jangjun sighs. At least he sent the other two up ahead first – Jangjun’s just the guard, the odd man out of the trio. His duty is to protect, and he’ll do that to the last. The others are more important. They need time to be happy.

He keeps walking, even as the sky grows darker and the moon begins to rise. The follower stays on his path, but by all the gods, they’re good. Jangjun can’t tell where they are, can only feel something stalking him.

Then there’s a shift in the air. Jangjun stops.

And ducks just in time for a knife to whiz past where his head was less than a second ago.

Before he even hears the blade thunk into a nearby tree trunk, a figure leaps from the foliage – almost on top of Jangjun if he hadn’t whirled away at the last second. Metal rings against the sheath of his sword and he swings it just in time to catch the long knife slashing towards his face.

You’re good. Too good. Way better than any of the others sent to kill him or the gardener, to bring Joochan back to the palace. Metal crashes and leaves fall as you dance away from his single blade, twin knives glinting like lethal stars from the sky – there’s a natural grace to your movements that almost remind him of Donghyun’s sister and the way she moved so fluidly through the air, only your grace slices deadly and sharp while hers flowed supple and soft.

But that isn’t the only familiar thing he sees.

Sharp eyes meet his, glinting dangerously in the rising moonlight. It almost distracts him into thinking – where has he seen that sort of glint before? He knows he’s seen it before, but on who, where, and when – but then a second blade slices towards his side and he remembers he can’t think, he can’t think, thinking is what gets you killed in the middle of a fight –

Animals burst out of hiding as you and Jangjun trample the forest floor. He nicks your arm and you hiss, retaliating with a two-bladed strike against his single sword that makes his teeth chatter with the reverb – and all the while he’s fighting, there’s that nagging thought in the back of his mind that he refuses to entertain, the thought that screams he’s seen those eyes or at least that glint on someone he says he’s forgotten but hasn’t really, has only pushed the memories back after so many years because they never mattered. He would never see them again, not the sharp-eyed pickpocket he fell in love with –

Them –

Oh, gods, them –

Jangjun trips over a tree root. He regains his balance quickly, but it’s more than enough time for you to duck under one flailing arm and slam him against the trunk, wrenching his sword out of his hands and knocking the air of his lungs. One knife rests against his side while the other lodges under his chin, blade pressing into his throat.

He closes his eyes. If this is how he dies, then so be it. Joochan and his partner have gone up ahead and he told them not to come back, to wait until morning and if he didn’t meet with them by then, to continue on their own. If he dies now at the hands of an assassin, he’s performed his duty as a loyal guard to one of the few good people left in this world.

“Where are they?” a voice rasps, raw with panting exertion and pain.

Jangjun opens his eyes. Racks his mind for something witty to say, something that’ll anger you and maybe throw that glint into your eye again, that glint he thought he’d never see until he died. It would be a nice sight to take with him even as he goes, even if it isn’t on the same person who’d disappeared from the orphanage so many years back –

His eyes widen. Your mask fell off at some point during the fight and now your face is bare, visible under the moonlight.

You –

You are the same person –

Jangjun tries to reconcile the images, one of a smirking teenager pickpocketing some rich man on the streets, another of the sharp-eyed assassin holding a knife to his throat. There’s no way – you have to be different – but with your mask torn away, revealing the rest of your face, all Jangjun can see are the growing similarities between the teenaged orphan who disappeared and left him alone at the orphanage all those years ago.

“Where are they?” you hiss again, pressing the knife further into his neck.

Breathing shallowly – he can feel tiny drops of blood beginning to trickle down his skin – he stretches his lips into a trembling smirk. “You don’t remember me anymore, Y/N?”

Your eyes remain blank for a second longer. Then they widen and your grip goes slack with realization –

Jangjun has barely left your hold when you shove him back against the trunk with even more force than the first time. His head hits the bark and he sighs, trying to ignore the aching pain. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You know how I feel about tree bits in my hair.”

“By all the gods –” You groan. “Of course the prince’s guard would turn out to be the most insufferable asshole in the orphanage.”

“And of course the assassin would turn out to be the slickest pickpocket with the worst mouth in the same orphanage,” Jangjun replies. The smile comes easier, now that you’re not actively pressing the knife into his skin. He missed your eyes. “I’m offended you didn’t recognize me at first.”

You snort. “You seriously expect me to remember your face after all these years?”

“I remembered yours.” Jangjun blinks innocently. Of course he did – he couldn’t forget it, no matter how much he tried to tell himself you were probably dead in the weeks after you disappeared –

“You’ve changed,” you snap, though he can see the beginnings of a smile lifting your lips. Curved, knife-like, but familiar in its snark.

Beautiful.

He smirks. “Did I become more handsome?”

“How did you become a royal guard with a mouth as stupid as this?”

“My pretty face and sparkling personality.” Jangjun grins. “Mind taking the knife off my neck? It’s a little hard to breathe.”

In response, you press it in harder, eyes growing dark. Oops, wrong thing to say. “Tell me where they are,” you reply conversationally, “and maybe, in the spirit of old friendship, I’ll kill you quickly.”

Jangjun fights for breath as more blood drips down his neck. The blade in his side is digging deeper, too. Damn, you’re good. “How about in the spirit of old friendship – ow, that hurts – how about you just let me go?”

All traces of a smile leave your lips. The glint in your eye disappears fully, leaving behind only a wild, desperate darkness that Jangjun hasn’t seen before. 

That’s different. 

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid,” you say. “Now, if you don’t tell me right now –”

“Behind you,” Jangjun warns.

You scoff. Damn it. “You seem to think I’m the same idiot from when we were back in the orphanage. That’s almost offensive.”

“Well, it was worth a try.” He shrugs as best he can with your blades in his skin and back pressed against the trunk. “And I’m sure you aren’t all that offended. Are you going to get on with it, now?”

Your eyes narrow. You shift your stance. The knife tightens against his side, but in that one second of shifting, the other lifts just slightly off his throat –

Jangjun hooks his leg around your knee and you buckle, blade dropping from his neck just long enough for him to escape your hold and dart away, scooping up his fallen sword. You snarl, already following, but Jangjun isn’t interested in fighting. He’s only running away.

And, just as he hoped, he’s a little faster.

“See you soon, Y/N!” he yells, sprinting into the darkened forest. Moonlight barely shines through the dark foliage – somehow, he’s certain, you won’t take the risk of following. You’ll hang back, wait until day, track him, and strike when he seems most vulnerable.

He almost misses your words in reply.

“Count on it.”

They send shivers up his spine.

. . . . .

By the time of your next encounter with Jangjun, you have allowed several things to settle in your mind that you didn’t have the time to process during your last fight. You mull them over, one by one, as you walk around the marketplace, picking up the things you need.

First, and most importantly, Jangjun’s good. Too good. Not to say you couldn’t take him – if it weren’t night, you feel reasonably confident that you could’ve followed and taken him down – but you did not realize royal guards were trained to this caliber.

Not your fault. Missions rarely force you to tangle with royalty or their guards – this is a special case. But even then, to have a guard at the same level as some weaker assassins, possibly even on par with you…

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, no?” Your employer’s words echo through your mind. “The royal guard may give you some trouble, but not more than you can handle.”

Your fingers tighten around the handle of your bag. You underestimated him last time. You thought he was still the same boy you left back at the orphanage. You won’t make the same mistake again.

Second, bar his fighting skills, Jangjun is still the same snarky asshole from the orphanage when you two were teens. His brand of humor is unique – it stuck with you through your early days working up through the ranks, even when you went through your grueling training – and it proves that the guard you fought with is the boy you were forced to leave, even more than the smiling eyes that still mark his “pretty face.”

Well, he does have a pretty face. You won’t deny that. That face has been pretty since you met him at the orphanage, pretty enough for your teenage heart to fall a little in love with, and it makes sense that it’s stayed pretty since then. But that same face will be six feet under by the time you’re finished with him, pretty or no, so you don’t dwell on it. You’ve been given a second chance to live, courtesy of your notoriously ruthless employer. No, in the face of such an opportunity, nothing matters, not old friends or even something more.

Your heart twists. Seriously, didn’t you lock those feelings away all those years ago? When you were certain you’d never see Jangjun again after too many failed escapes? It’s just a twist, though, not much more – hopefully the feelings have faded, even if they still exist.

You swallow. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Nothing matters anymore but you and your best friend – she’s all you have and you’re all she has. If she dies because you weren’t there to support her, because you let some old feelings get in the way, you… You don’t even know. All you do know is that you can’t waste this opportunity, not when two livelihoods depend on it, not just one.

The back of your neck prickles. You go back to examining threads, pushing thoughts of assassination away. This isn’t the time for murder, so which of these colors would your weaving friend enjoy?

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Speak of the devil.

Calmly, you pore through a few spools of thread in varying shades of blue, trying not to tense visibly. Of course you would meet Jangjun when you’re not actively following him at the moment – yes, you technically followed him here, tracking his traces along with two others to the town, but you didn’t come here with the expectation of completing your job immediately. It’s a respectable place, not the slums where anyone will look the other way should a murder come to pass, and besides, you’d like the trio to lower their guard a little before you strike next. You’re here to watch and observe, maybe catch a glimpse of the prince and see if you can haul him out before taking care of the other two. However indifferent the palace might be, you don’t enjoy killing more than necessary. Two murders is always better than three, unless in exceptional circumstances.

If Minho was the life in limbo, for example, you might choose to make that third murder after all.

The presence doesn’t leave, even as you pick out a few spools of thread in varying shades of blue. You remember your friend saying she was running out of the color, so this should suffice for another few months. Thanking the shopkeeper, you turn around, ignoring the boy who has now begun following you through the crowd.

He catches up quickly. “You know, it’s rude to ignore people when they speak to you.”

With a sigh, you turn around. “You know, it’s weird to come up and talk to an assassin who’s been hired to kill you. Usually, people stay away.”

“You won’t kill me here.” Jangjun’s eyes glitter with a certainty that almost unnerves you – how can he be so sure of what you will or won’t do after so many years apart? “Too crowded. Too many people. Too respectable. And besides, I have information.” His lips curl. “I’m valuable.”

“Oh really?” Your free hand slips up one of your sleeves just barely, letting a small knife slip between your fingers. Jangjun’s eyes widen a fraction when you press the tip to his side. “Keep walking. Keep smiling.”

He does.

“If I pushed this knife into you right now, you’d bleed out within seconds,” you whisper, nodding your head to a few people who pass. You place a hand on his shoulder in a fashion that might look intimate to passersby, but when your thumb reaches around to press a point on his neck, Jangjun stiffens. “If I pressed here just a little harder, you’d be dizzy enough that I’d have to carry you somewhere else, maybe, oh, because of heatstroke or a migraine, and what would happen to you then?”

Jangjun doesn’t say a word.

“Let’s not mention all the other pressure points I know that you might not, all the perfect places to stab someone so that they die with minimal blood flow, all the ways I could slam you down and knock you out if I was that pressed.” You remove the knife, twirling it once between your fingers in a flash of bright metal before tucking it back into your sleeve. “Don’t get too cocky, Jangjun. You seem to have forgotten I’ve been trained in ways to kill for years.” Your eyes narrow, the genial smile sliding off your face. “I’m not exactly the same teenager from the orphanage all those years ago.”

He looks at you. Scrutinizes your face, stares into your eyes. For some reason, even though you were the one holding a knife against him just seconds ago, it now feels like he has the upper hand.

“Eh,” he finally says, a pinch of color returned to his cheeks. “Maybe in that, you’re different, but don’t worry.” He winks. “Tragically, I think you’re still affected by this pretty face. Careful – it might just distract you into letting me go one day.”

You open your mouth to say something, then only scoff. It’s getting harder and harder not to let a smile spread your lips. You might not agree with Jangjun that you haven’t changed, but he definitely hasn’t. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with this keen a death wish. Why are you even talking to me?”

“I think that if you really wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it by now.” He looks at you out of the corner of his eye – less certain, now, but still decently sure. You’ll take it. “Why waste all this time talking?” His eyelids flutter obnoxiously. “Unless you really enjoy listening to the sound of my voice.”

“As if.” You snort. “But you’re right, this time.” A glint of metal purposely flashes from the inside of your sleeve. “I’m not planning to kill you just yet, not when it’s such a nice day, there are so many people, and most importantly, I just want to get some shopping done. So.” You look at him. “Why are you talking to me while I’m running errands?”

He looks at the bag in your other hand. “What are the threads for?”

“Threads?” You look down. “Oh, you noticed?”

Jangjun scoffs. “I was standing right behind you, it would’ve been a little difficult not to notice.”

“I have a friend who likes needlework,” you say. “She doesn’t always have the money to experiment, though, so I take her things when I can.” You smirk. “Even assassins have a little bit of a life, you know.”

Something unreadable – longing, wistful, more emotions than you have the time to decipher – flashes through Jangjun’s eyes. It’s gone almost as quickly as it comes, though, and you chalk it up to some old memory he never shared with you. “Well, it can’t just be murder all the time.”

“You’re right. Maybe you should’ve become an assassin instead of a royal guard,” you say. “Gotten snatched off the street and all instead of me.”

Jangjun’s face crumples. It’s fast, so fast you barely see it – even faster than that wistful longing present just seconds ago – but even though he’s mostly back to normal by the time you blink, there’s enough of a haunted look in his eyes for you to frown. “Jangjun?”

“What?” He looks at you, easy as ever.

Both of you have stopped in a sea of moving market-goers, you narrowing your gaze at him, Jangjun narrowing his eyes right back. The stare-down lasts several seconds, but when he doesn’t let up, you mentally shake your head. There’s no point in asking if he wants to hide it. Besides, you shouldn’t even care – he’s nothing but a target that you can’t kill just yet because he has information. The banter is fun, but in the end, one of you will be alive and the other dead.

You don’t plan to be the latter.

“Nothing,” you finally say. “Now go away. Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, yes?” A smirk curls your lips. “I’ve got things to do, so watch that pretty face of yours before I decide to put it into the ground.” With that, you begin moving through the crowd.

“You think I’m pretty?” Jangjun calls.

You roll your eyes.

. . . . .

Freedom doesn’t last more than a few days.

Jangjun really had hoped for longer – hell, he spent a whole morning talking to you, making sure you weren’t out stalking his friends while they went on to the next town. The conversation stretched even longer than he thought it would – carried away by you threatening to publicly kill him, a thought that still makes his blood run a little cold, even if it warms with the reminder of your smile.

Your smile. Jangjun needs to stop thinking of it. Even when your lips are curved in a smirk and not a genuine grin, it brings back so many old memories he thought he’d successfully suppressed – bladed, dangerous, mischievous, like a crescent moon glinting in the sky –

(The last time Jangjun caught himself thinking that way, Joochan asked why he suddenly looked so constipated. His partner had to remind them they were on the run for them to finally shut up.)

But you’re good. Too good. And even though that knife-like smile brings back good memories, it conjures more fear than Jangjun is used to. He should expect the worst from you – it’s all you’ve shown, after all.

Still, he doesn’t expect to wake up to a shadow standing in the corner of the room in which they’re staying, blade poised over a sleeping gardener’s chest.

Jangjun leaps off the futon, silent save for the rustling of blankets. You turn around – at some point you’d gotten yourself a new face mask – but he’s already tackling you to the floor before he can register it, trying to wrench the knife from your fingers –

It whistles past his ear with a flick of your hand before thudding into the wooden wall. Jangjun freezes for the briefest second, by the gods, that came way too close to taking him out –

You flip him around, slamming his head against the floor so hard Jangjun can see stars. He struggles against your hold but you’re clearly not interested in him as a target, more focused on the gardener who’s now sitting up on the floor, eyes wide in the moonlight.

Jangjun catches your foot and pulls just as you lunge toward them, another knife flashing. “RUN!” he yells as you crash to the floor with a sharp yell, blade stuck in the wooden floorboards. 

The gardener looks at Joochan, whose eyes have just blinked open as you kick back, releasing Jangjun’s hold around your ankle – he groans as your foot connects with his face but he still locks eyes with the gardener and snaps, “I SAID RUN!”

“GO!” Joochan yells, now fully awake as he takes in the mess of the room – a knife in the wall, Jangjun on the floor, an assassin beginning to sit up, sharp metal already flashing between their fingers – where do you keep your infinite supply of blades because Jangjun seriously wants to know – and finally the gardener slams the door open and footsteps begin pounding down the hall.

A hiss sounds in the darkness. Jangjun turns back to the dark mass rising from the floor, eyes glittering dangerously in the moonlight. “Interesting. Why is the prince so intent on keeping his kidnappers safe?” A knife twirls between your fingers. “Is it because you’re dead either way, with your captors or at the palace?”

Jangjun blinks. Dead either way?

“I was never kidnapped,” Joochan snarls, sword drawn even though the long blade won’t be of much use in such a small room. “Trust me, my life is better on the run than it ever was back in the palace.”

For the first time since Jangjun revealed his identity in that first fight, you look confused. The fire in your eyes fades, replaced with narrowed curiosity. “You ran away,” you state, eyebrows raised. “Well, that’s something I wasn’t told.”

Hope burns in Jangjun’s chest. Maybe you’ll stop following them now that you know the truth, that whatever the palace told you wasn’t true – maybe you’ll have sympathy, knowing that Joochan is running away from something worse –

The fire returns. “Then would you rather be dead, Prince, instead of my returning you to the palace alive?”

“Let him go,” Jangjun snaps before Joochan can respond. Betrayal buries itself deep in his heart – betrayal at what, he doesn’t know, you never promised to keep him alive or anything once you heard the true story (if you had, he would’ve told you everything within a heartbeat), but the cold detachment in your voice rubs him the wrong way – and he stands, placing himself directly in front of the prince. “Y/N, can’t you just have sympathy –”

Jangjun barely blocks your twirling knife. Metal clangs and your eyes bore into his as you bear down on his too-long sword. “Assassins aren’t trained to have sympathy,” you say, cold, unrelenting. The blade presses harder, screeching against his. “And even if I was different, my life isn’t the only one resting on this mission.”

Somewhere in the background, Joochan scoffs. Jangjun shoots him a warning look, but the prince has already opened his mouth. “What kind of cold-blooded killer protects anyone but themselves?”

All of the weight leaves Jangjun’s blade and suddenly he’s pressing against nothing but air. He falls to the floor, arms trembling, as you whirl around to face Joochan.

Jangjun should feel relief. You’re not holding the knife in a dangerous position. He’s also free from your overwhelming strength. But your voice…

Your voice drips with pure ice.

“Don’t presume to know anything about me, Your Highness,” you snarl. Jangjun rises – he needs to get Joochan away, needs to get him out of your line of vision, why did he have to say anything at all – but a blade thunks into the wood next to his hand and he freezes. You barely even looked at him. “Don’t presume that all cold-blooded killers have absolutely zero capacity for any warmth.” You take a step closer. Jangjun can only get up slowly, silently, pray that you don’t do anything to Joochan before he’s fully risen. “After all, knowing you have someone to protect makes it so much easier to kill, doesn’t it?”

Jangjun stands up, just as shouts and footsteps begin to pound at the end of the hall. “Y/N –”

“Oh, we have company,” you cut him off, eyes glittering like ice shards in wintertime. You step back from Joochan, thankfully, and hoist yourself onto the open window – shit, that’s where you must have come from. “Sadly, even I can’t fight an army alone. Mull on my words, Your Highness. It seems you have some people you’d like to protect – maybe we’ll understand each other better next time.”

“Doubtful,” Joochan snarls. Jangjun flinches at the animosity in his tone. “I don’t kill. Not if I can help it.” His words, full of anguished certainty, grate at Jangjun’s ears – he knows his prince is speaking of the curse.

It doesn’t seem to affect you in the same way. “But you would’ve killed me just now, wouldn’t you?” You turn away, letting a small shower of coins fall from your hand to the floor. “Pay the innkeeper for the damage, yeah? I’ll take responsibility – if you’d like to mention I was an assassin, of course.” Your eyes glint in the moonlight, nothing like anything Jangjun remembers. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

. . .

In hindsight, Joochan was a little too quiet while his partner was off sorting out the mess with the innkeeper, but Jangjun still doesn’t expect him to drag him away at the first opportunity and immediately snap.

“You knew them,” he hisses. “You knew them, Jangjun – you said their name. How?”

His hackles rise. All Jangjun has done this entire time is try to protect him, and now he wants to make a fuss over a name? “I wasn’t always a royal guard,” he snaps. “I had a life before I joined, and it wasn’t a savory life, either.”

“So how did you know them?” Joochan demands again. “An assassin?”

“They weren’t an assassin when I knew them at the orphanage!” Jangjun crosses his arms. Might as well give the full truth. “They just disappeared one day and I thought they were dead, but then they turned back up as… this.”

“Gods above,” Joochan mutters, putting his head in his hands. “And after all the times you’d fought them, you just conveniently forgot to tell me?”

“What – it wasn’t relevant!” Jangjun snaps. “What was I supposed to say to you? Oh, hey, I know the assassin who was sent after you because it totally matters –”

“You might’ve said something about their skill –”

“I did! Didn’t I come back injured that one time –”

“– can’t believe you know an assassin – they almost killed –”

“They’re not completely inhuman, Joochan –”

The prince snaps his head up, eyes blazing. “Really? So you bought all that bullshit about ‘protecting’?”

Jangjun feels his lips curl in anger. You may be an assassin now, but the protective streak hasn’t gone away – the look in your eyes was the same when you talked about your needlework friend as when you spoke to him, all those years ago. “No, I didn’t buy that bullshit about ‘protecting’,” he snarls, leaning forward. “Because there was nothing to buy. You never knew them – I did, once.”

Joochan scoffs. “It’s almost like you know them too well.”

Too well.

Too well.

Jangjun’s fists clench at his sides. He can’t hurt a prince, can’t punch him, can’t slap him – he’s sworn to protect –

“I’ve spent all these months fighting off assassins for you,” he says lowly. “I killed people because you wouldn’t use your voice and I respected that. I made you two go up ahead as much as I could so that I would be more likely to die than both of you. I even talked to this same assassin for a whole morning and stalled them so you could get away – and now you’re going to insinuate that I have been working against you this entire time?”

Joochan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. Jangjun itches to punch him, to knock him over and yell –

“Are things fine over here?”

The voice of Joochan’s partner brings both of them back to the present. They look between them unflinchingly, arms crossed. Jangjun almost feels chastised. “We need to move before the assassin comes back.”

Bit by bit, Jangjun forces himself to untense. They’re right. The moon is still high, the stars still bright, and they don’t have anywhere to stay anymore – they need to start moving. “Fine.,” he says roughly, spinning towards the forest. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t speak to Joochan before morning comes.

. . . . .

Meeting Jangjun the next time feels different.

He’s alone, this time. Prince and gardener have probably gone up alone like they usually do. You grind your teeth – Jangjun may not quite be your equal in fighting, but he has a knack for staying one step ahead that you really hate – but you spring out anyway, knocking him to the ground.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jangjun gasps, barely dodging your slash. He rolls over and kick – you avoid his leg, leaping out of the way as he lashes out with his own sword. “Now?”

“Would you have preferred next week?” you snap. A knife tip slides between your fingers and you hold it up, watching him closely. “This has been dragging on long enough – wouldn’t you like to get out of this limbo sooner rather than later?”

“I’d say yes if I didn’t want to stay alive, but I do.” Jangjun’s lips curve, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It makes you blink – did something happen to him? “So, sadly, I’ll take limbo a little longer over death.”

“Of course,” you mutter. “That would make my job too easy.”

He lunges towards you in reply. You dance out of the way only just in time, frozen for a second because –

Jangjun doesn’t do offense. He hasn’t been on the offense, hasn’t made the first move in all the times you’ve fought.

Which means he’s now trying to kill you just as much as you’re trying to kill him.

Ah. So that’s what was different.

You bare your teeth, dodging another strike as you swipe under his arm. He hisses as your blade rips through flesh, blood dripping from his side onto the ground. “You know, you’d have an easier time staying alive if you gave up your royal duties and just left the prince to his own devices,” you say, nimbly whirling around as his sword flashes.

Jangjun’s eyes darken. You barely avoid his next hit. “He’s one of only a few I trust to help make life better for people like me.”

Blades clash. Sparks fly. You spin away, eyebrows furrowed. “People like you?”

He doesn’t mean orphans. That’s too generic. He would’ve said “people like us,” then – you fall under that category too, and Jangjun hasn’t forgotten. People like me…

Another person flashes through your mind, a seamstress forced to put her skill into peasant shirts and clothes when her fingers should be flying through colorful threads and shimmering silks, weaving stories into cloth and tapestries.

“I wish you didn’t have to hide,” you say. “Your art is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”

A bitter smile, fingers deftly embroidering a small piece of silk even as she looks at you. “People like me will always have to hide.”

People like me…

A memory returns of Jangjun, looking at the threads in your bag like they were something precious.

Your eyes widen. Gods, how did you not put it together before? “You’re a weaver.”

Jangjun freezes halfway across the clearing you two have torn up in your fight, fingers clenched so hard around his sword that you can see his knuckles turn white. “What, just another reason to kill me?” He laughs, cold, desperate – it chills your spine even more than your employer’s deadly gaze. Jangjun never laughs – laughed – that way. “Collect an additional reward for the murder of a weaver?”

You school your features. “All are equal in the eyes of death,” you quote, readying your knives. “And what makes you think that prince of yours will do shit to help you? His own family killed yours.”

He doesn’t move, though his jaw tightens, the rest of his body tensed to spring. “I don’t,” he finally says, voice sharp but with the slightest wobble at the edge.

The old urge to hold him close itches in your fingers. You clench your knives harder. The urge doesn’t leave.

“I don’t,” he repeats, “but he’s the closest thing I’ve got to hope. And…” His eyes meet yours, cold, betrayed. Any trace of a smile on his face has gone. “He’s one of the few who never left me.”

One of the few who never left me.

Who never left me.

Never left me.

You almost take a step back as the words pierce your chest. “You – you think I meant to leave? You think it was my fucking fault I disappeared?”

Jangjun doesn’t flinch. “Do you know how much it fucking hurt when you left?” he snarls. “It might not have been your fault, but you still left – and you know that my sister disappeared too, how do you think I felt when I’d just convinced myself you were dead and then you came back like – like this?”

“You think it was all sunshine and rainbows for me?” you spit. “Seriously? You think I didn’t nearly get myself killed all four times I tried to escape? You think I didn’t try to convince myself that you were dead too just so I’d give up that stupid hope that you were still alive – and then I come back to see you as one of my targets, someone I’m supposed to kill – you think that was fine for me, too?”

He holds your gaze. “You honestly never seemed to have a problem with it.”

Shit. Gods, why did you say anything at all? Why didn’t you close your mouth – now he knows, now he fucking knows how much it initially hurt to realize just who you had to kill in order to keep someone else alive –

Too late. The words are already out of your mouth, Jangjun has interpreted them, and you don’t know what to say in response. “I do have a problem with it,” you finally say. “But I have a new life now.” You stare into eyes that once used to keep you alive. “And I’m not going to give it up for anything.”

Not for anything.

Not even for you.

Jangjun laughs, short, brief. “You’d die for this friend you have, wouldn’t you?”

This time, it’s your turn to hold his gaze. “In a heartbeat.”

Wind whistles through the trees. Then Jangjun breaks the silence, his voice low, fractured, almost broken. “There was a time when you would’ve died for me, I think.”

Your heart twists. Yes, there was a time, a time when you were younger and more naïve, just another orphan of many at the overcrowded orphanage, when you would’ve died for Jangjun. But such a time never came, not until now.

When it’s already too late.

“We’ve both changed, Jangjun.” You raise your knives. “We both have different people we want to protect.”

His gaze shatters for a moment before it turns flinty, cold. “For the record,” he says softly, “there was a time when I would’ve died for you, too.”

Blades meet in a crash of metal and sparks.

. . . . .

The gardener’s song isn’t as strong on wounds as it is with plants, but Jangjun welcomes any last bit of respite from the pain that he can get. At least the blood has stopped flowing, even if the cuts still sting.

His head hurts more than the wounds do, anyway.

Jangjun sits awake in the alley, staring at the sky of stars. He only barely got away from you, leading you out of the forest and into the town before ducking into the first open place he could find, some old tavern full of seedy people. No one gave him a second glance – people walk into bars injured and bloody all the time, apparently – and he’d waited with his heart in his throat, praying his instincts were right, that you wouldn’t be waiting for him outside and that you wouldn’t follow him to where Joochan has promised to meet him, an alley they’d found when the prince had had to come here to visit one time.

You didn’t follow, as far as Jangjun knows. You never popped out of the shadows to ram a blade through his chest, never dropped down from a roof to slit his throat. For all your bravado, you always seem to take the hard way of killing him – was it that foolish of him to believe you didn’t want to kill him?

But if you weren’t lying, knowing that you have him as a target hurts you, too. You just have other people you care about more.

Jangjun doesn’t think you were lying. That’s not the type of thing someone says as a lie in the middle of a fight. But now, as he’s beginning to realize just how different you are from the teenager he remembered at the orphanage, how can he trust what he thinks?

Gods. Jangjun buries his head in his stinging hands. One of the cuts has probably opened up again.

Why is it so hard to accept that you’ve changed?

Something shifts. Jangjun’s head whips up, ready to dodge a flash of silver in the dark –

It’s only Joochan, startling awake from some nightmare or another. His eyes blink open with a gasp, glittering in the moonlight, and then he winces, rubbing his neck. Jangjun hears a hiss of pain and meets Joochan’s eyes out of habit.

Discomfort crawls up his spine. They haven’t spoken much since that last night at the inn where his gardener nearly died (they would’ve died, definitely, if Jangjun hadn’t woken up at the sound of light footsteps), and neither of them has apologized. But Jangjun doesn’t look away and Joochan doesn’t either.

The prince speaks first. “I’m sorry, Jangjun.”

Jangjun blinks. “Come again?”

“I’m sorry,” he says louder.

A mocking grin curves Jangjun’s lips. “I know, I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

“You –” Joochan scoffs, exasperated, but Jangjun detects a little bit of fondness that lightens his heart. “Gods, you’re a nightmare.”

“And yet you keep me around.”

“For some reason, yes.” Joochan smiles slightly. “But really. I am sorry.” He swallows visibly, eyes still meeting Jangjun’s even if he can tell how hard it is. “It was out of line for me to say that you were anything but loyal. I was angry that they’d almost died, but… that doesn’t excuse it.”

“It doesn’t,” Jangjun agrees. “But I get it. And I’m sorry, too.” The grin falls off his lips as memories of a bladed smile, sharp eyes glinting in the moonlight flash through his mind. “It obviously doesn’t look good that I know an assassin, of all types of people, especially the one who’s after us.”

“You don’t need to apologize for knowing someone.”

Maybe I do, because I cared about them.

Cared.

Jangjun swallows the bitter taste in his throat. He still cares about you. It’s just…

What would he do if it was a choice between you dead, or Joochan?

The answer comes immediately. Joochan. For all the reasons he told you and more – Joochan is good, a truly good person. Even though he technically holds no royal status anymore, he has hope that the prince will be able to bring about some change for weavers, or at least provide a safe haven for him and any others he might find. He deserves Jangjun’s loyalty and more. Jangjun knows he would die for him.

His heart thumps, painfully. There was a time when he would’ve died for you. But…

“You’d die for this friend you have, wouldn’t you?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Maybe he’s changed more than he thought, too.

“Even then, they’re still out to kill us.” He looks up at the cold crescent moon, previously a comfort, now a reminder of your smile. “And you have to know that my loyalty is to you, not to them.”

Regardless of how much I care for them.

Joochan looks like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. His eyes rove over Jangjun’s face, leaving him feeling too open, too vulnerable – what if Joochan sees his struggle? What if he sees that even though Jangjun speaks the truth, his heart screams that it’s a lie?

But nothing comes of it. The prince just dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

On any other day, Jangjun would just flippantly say no problem. He doesn’t like to deal with sensitivity and emotions the way Joochan does, after all. But there is a problem. A lot of them, actually. So he just half-smiles and says, “You’re welcome.”

There will come a time when you two will fight again. Jangjun has never wanted to kill you before. He still doesn’t now.

But if he has to, he will. He will.

Because he has other people he needs to protect, too.

. . . . .

You’re back home.

Or almost. You weren’t born here, if the orphanage owners were telling the truth (they had no reason to lie, you’re pretty sure). But since the day you were snatched off the street, this has been where you spent the majority of your time. You don’t know why the prince and his little posse have come out here to hide, but at least it gives you a chance to see your friend before you have to move on again.

“What happened to you?” is the first thing she says when you swing by her stall. Her nose wrinkles in mock disgust, but you can see the concern in her face when you drop your bag of things on her counter, wincing when the strap digs slightly into one of your cut fingers.

“Nice to see you too,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Is that the kind of greeting you give a friend who’s brought you all this nice stuff?”

“Y/N, honestly,” she says, eyeing the bag. “You don’t need to spend all this on me, it’s really fine –”

“Just take it,” you say, half-smiling. “You know I’m not going to stop giving you stuff no matter what you say.”

Because it’s an apology. An apology for keeping so many truths from her – what you do, who you really are – and for putting her indirectly in danger. Most assassins know to stay far, far away from here or you’ll rip them limb from limb (literally – Minho once tried to mess around with you and that was the only time you’ve ever seen him scared of you), but there’s always a chance that someone whom you’ve wronged will come back for revenge. And what then?

But you haven’t told her. You can’t – all the breath disappears from your throat the second you even think about it. Because what if you lose her, too, the only constant you’ve had since Jangjun, all those years ago?

Your lips twist. Don’t think about him.

“Y/N?”

Too late, you realize you’ve been staring into the distance for a while. “Sorry.” A smile plasters itself back onto your face, only slightly forced. “Zoned out. Thinking about work.”

The concern comes back in full force. Even if she doesn’t know exactly what you do, she knows it isn’t exactly legal – the stuff you buy her, the money you leave at her doorstep doesn’t speak of perfectly lawful causes, after all. She knows it’s dangerous, knows it’s not easy work, but you can handle her concern as long as you don’t have to explain the truth.

“Hey, it’s not bad.” You smile wider, crinkling your eyes to make it genuine. “Just a little rough, recently.” That’s putting it lightly. “How have you been?”

“I mean, I’m not bankrupt yet.” Her lips curl sardonically. “Thanks to you, really. But I’m staying afloat.” She looks around cautiously, then down at the several spools of thread and lengths of cloth sitting at the bottom of the bag. “Weaving… it keeps me sane.”

The gratitude shining in her eyes makes everything worth it, the lies, the pain. She deserves to be this happy and so much more. “Always glad to be of service,” you say, breathing a sigh of relief when your voice doesn’t crack at the end. “Do you have time to take a short walk?”

She looks up and down the small marketplace, whose activity has begun to wind down with the approaching end of the day. “Probably? Give me a moment, let me pack up a little.”

You weave through the thinning crowds together, talking as the sun sets further. Words come and go in waves, natural, and for the first time in days, you feel yourself relaxing as you finally put your mind to things other than murder and boys you knew at orphanages in years past.

But then her eyes fix on a spot in the distance and she stops talking mid-sentence. You furrow your eyebrows, following her gaze – she never stops talking about her latest miniature tapestries or clothing designs –

Your eyes comes to rest on a familiar head of black hair as it rushes through the throng.

All of a sudden, the thoughts of murder and boys come back, pounding every corner of your skull. But that’s normal, and you can deal with it – you can’t not expect to see the people that you’re stalking in the same town, after all. 

What isn’t normal is how your best friend looks like she’s seen a ghost. 

You call her name once, twice, three times before she finally shakes her head and responds. “Sorry,” she says, voice thin. “I saw… I thought I saw someone I knew.”

You look back, pretending like you didn’t see the exact same person. “Who?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” She shakes her head again, like she’s trying to convince herself. “I just…” A short laugh falls from her lips, bitter, broken. “I thought I saw my brother. Well, a grown-up version of him.”

Brother. She has a brother – you already knew that – but she never described him, never told you his name. All you know is that he was a weaver too and that they weren’t blood-related, her family took him in when his was killed and after her parents were executed, they somehow got separated and she never saw him again. Your heart broke for her the first and only time she ever told you the story – it breaks again, even now, to know that she thought she saw her brother in Jangjun’s face.

Unless –

Your eyes widen.

Jangjun had a sister. He had a sister who disappeared when he was young, after his parents were killed – he never saw her again –

No. You try to breathe. No, it’s not possible, it can’t fucking be possible – there is no way Jangjun is your best friend’s long lost brother, the brother she thought was dead all of these years –

He’s a weaver. He’s a weaver. It’s half the reason he’s stuck by the prince for so long even when he decided he’d had enough to do with royal life – Jangjun is a weaver and your best friend’s long lost brother was a weaver too.

“What – what was your brother’s name?” you ask softly, trying to keep the shake out of your tone. You pray for a name that isn’t the one pounding through your head, the name that gave you the courage to attempt four escapes before you convinced yourself the owner was dead, the name that’s haunted you for the past few months as you try to kill its owner and the two others he’s trying so hard to protect –

“Jangjun,” she says softly, eyes sparkling in the last glow of afternoon sunlight. “His name was Jangjun.”

Your heart drops like a stone.

. . .

You’re not exactly sure when you start breathing again, but luckily, it’s before your friend has the chance to see that there’s something wrong with you, too. She’s preoccupied with her own thoughts, which gives you a bit of time to compose yourself. “Hey, are you all right?” you ask, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble. “Maybe we should go back.”

“I – yeah. Sorry.” She looks down, shoulders sagging. “I was just rattled. Sorry that this got cut short.”

“Hey, shut up.” You nudge her slightly, curving the corners of your lips slightly even as your heart drags down, down, down. “If you’re not feeling well, it’s completely fine. I’ll hopefully be back in a couple of months, anyway – we can talk more then.”

You help her pack up the stall, walk everything back to her small house. At the door you bid her goodbye, and after tossing a pouch of coins inside, you run off into the forest, laughing as she yells fond obscenities behind you.

The laughter dies away the second you know you’re far enough away that she can’t hear you.

Jangjun is your best friend’s brother. Your best friend is Jangjun’s sister. They’re long lost siblings, siblings who loved each other, who miss each other like the earth misses the sky, who both believe the other is dead…

Your back hits a tree and you slide down against the bark. You don’t know. You don’t fucking know. You could be wrong. All of this is speculation, none of it might be true, she could have spoken of a different Jangjun with black hair, someone who isn’t your Jangjun, loyal guard to the prince, one of the targets you’ve been assigned to kill because you kill to keep yourself and your best friend alive –

Your head snaps up. She needs to stay alive. She has to. She’s all you have, no one else – there’s no one else you have, no one since they took you away from Jangjun and made you into this –

You have to kill him. You have to, or else you’ll be dead and there’ll be no one to support or protect your friend. Her business will fail and she’ll be forced to go into the dirty lines of work you dabble in, or worse, people who hated you might go after her. This is your fault – you cared about her so much that you couldn’t leave and now people know she’s precious to you, so you have to stay alive just to protect her from dangers she doesn’t even know, like assassins –

The thought of Minho getting anywhere near her makes you shudder. 

You have to kill Lee Jangjun, her brother, in order to keep her alive.

A dry, strangled sob escapes your lips. Who’s more important? Sister or brother? Both mean things to you, one a lifeline when you were a teenager, the other a lifeline now, one whom you loved as in a romance, the other whom you love as a dearest friend – who do you choose? How can you choose?

Your fists clench, nails digging into your palms. You’ve come so far, fought Jangjun so many times – even though you slipped up once, you’ve made it clear you will kill him for this best friend whom he doesn’t know is his sister. He’s tried to kill you, too – his loyalty to the former prince outweighs whatever he might or might not have felt for you.

You’re on even ground. Even ground, you tell yourself, even as the crescents in your skin begin to burn with blood. One of you will kill the other, no matter what – so all you need to do is keep this secret to yourself.

Another secret. It burns on your tongue. Another secret you’ll have to keep from your best friend, besides your job and how much danger it puts her in.

You swallow, staring up at the sky. It doesn’t matter. Once Jangjun is dead, it’ll only make true the false certainty she has in her mind. Jangjun doesn’t even have a clue his sister is alive – he’ll never know. Only you will know, and even if the secret eats you alive, you’ll keep it until the day you die. That way, it only hurts you. No one else.

The crescent moon hears your silent vow.

I’ll kill him. I swear I will, or I’ll die trying.

I have to.

. . . . .

Everything hurts. Everything either aches with a sore muscle or stings and burns with a bloody slice but instinct drives Jangjun to block your two knives as they arc down towards his chest, glinting coldly in the moonlight –

His teeth rattle in his jaw at the impact, the sound of metal against metal screeching in his ears. It takes all of his strength to keep his stance, to push back against you bearing your blades down even harder. Your eyes glint as they stare into his, wild, feral – he’s never seen you look like this before, not even when Joochan insulted you so many months ago at the inn.

Has it only been months? To Jangjun, it feels like you’ve been back for years, chasing him with your two twin knives, smaller blades flying from your fingers and ripping apart his skin –

You whip your blades away and Jangjun collapses from the sudden lack of weight. One stabs down, down and he rolls away, barely avoiding it as it plunges into the ground. Dirt stings one of his open wounds but Jangjun grits his teeth, rises on one knee to stand up again – he can do it, he has to do it, he has to because Joochan barely got a head start and if Jangjun doesn’t keep you occupied, you’re going to catch up and kill him –

His head slams against a tree trunk so hard he sees stars. Pain blooms from the back of his skull and he groans involuntarily, eyes closing as his sword slips out of limp fingers, falling to the ground.

Cold, sharp metal rests under his chin. Panting breaths puff against his face. “Tell me where they are,” you hiss, “and I’ll make it quick.”

Jangjun almost laughs. This is like déjà vu from the first time you fought, the first time he saw you since they took you away from the streets all those years ago. Only this time, there’s no banter. 

He could change that. 

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he whispers, the corners of his lips rising briefly in a smirk. “Don’t you know how much I hate tree bits in my hair?”

Your eyes look shiny. Jangjun would almost believe they were teary if he didn’t know for certain you would kill him in a heartbeat, even if it hurt. You might cry later, but not now. Not now.

But does he know even that? Both of you have changed – all of his intuition could be wrong.

He’s right, this time. If those are tears in your eyes, they don’t fall. “Don’t worry.” Your voice doesn’t even shake – if you hadn’t said it yourself, Jangjun would have no problem believing you truly didn’t care that you had to kill him, your childhood best friend. “I’ll pick them out of your scalp when you’re dead, just so you look nice at the funeral.”

“Would you cry then?” Jangjun asks, voice barely a whisper. The knife is too close. “Would you?”

Your gaze shutters. Maybe you’re about to cry. Maybe you’re holding back tears. But you don’t cry, don’t sob, don’t even say anything, so Jangjun doesn’t know, and he’ll never know, anyway, because that knife is going to be stained all over with his blood in seconds. “Tell me where they are,” you repeat. “I’ll find them, anyway – you might as well give yourself a quick and easy death.”

The pain in Jangjun’s head is making it increasingly hard to think. “No.”

That wild, feral look comes back into your eyes, splintering your pupils in the pale moonlight. The blade presses in deeper and your lips thin, no longer stretched in the knife-like curve Jangjun fell in love with – is still in love with –

Deeper. Deeper. Jangjun fights for breath. “Why won’t you just get it over with? Is this your idea of making me suffer?”

Deeper. Deeper. “Seriously –” he gasps – “come on, Y/N.”

Deeper. Deeper. He’s surprised you haven’t broken skin. “I’m not going to say shit –”

With a sound that’s more animal than human, a sob mixed with a guttural cry, the knife begins to drag and Jangjun gasps, ready for the searing pain of skin ripping beneath metal –

The blade drops to the ground and Jangjun follows its path, sinking down without your weight to hold him up anymore. You stumble away, not even flinching when the knife falls dangerously close to your foot, eyes squeezed tightly shut as you take another step back, and then another. Your eyes glitter in the moonlight, the wild, feral look replaced by something even scarier.

Broken, bloody glass. Shards of something completely beyond repair.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asks, words wheezing, half air.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “You’re too valuable. You have information.”

Both reasons he gave so many months ago in a crowded marketplace under the sun, just before you pressed your knife into his side to show him just how much you’d changed. He didn’t want to believe it then – didn’t allow himself to believe it then – but now he does. You’ve changed.

But you bought thread – blue thread, he remembers – for your needlework friend. Spoke of her with a familiar smile. Something’s stayed the same, that protective streak. That giving streak.

His lips curve into the trembling semblance of a smirk. “You sure those are the only reasons?”

You snatch up your knife with a grace that belies your broken gaze, positioning the blade between your fingers. But you don’t throw.

“Go.”

Jangjun blinks. “What –”

“Go.” The word rips itself from your throat, grates in Jangjun’s ears – it roars and shrieks all at once, some unimaginable pain flaying his bloody skin. “Before I change my fucking mind.”

He scrambles up, pressing a hand to the wound in his side. You don’t move as he picks up his sword, sheathes it – not a muscle twitches even as he stumbles away between the trees, fleeing the unknown pain in your voice.

Your shattered eyes follow him into the dark.

. . . . .

There are only two knives up your sleeves today, another two sheathed in plain sight at your waist. You lean against the trunk of a tree, fingers clenching a folded, crumpled sheet of paper. Your tired eyes slip shut as the sun begins its descent into the sky.

You couldn’t kill him. You thought you could. Swore you would.

But three months ago, in the forest bordering this very town, you proved yourself wrong.

Your eyes squeeze even more tightly closed. Even though only paper rests in your hand, you can feel the handle of a blade against your palm, pressing it into his neck as blood began to bead on the skin. Moonlight glinted off the metal, off the red streaks painted on his skin – wounds that you had wrought with your own hands. You’d already caused so much pain. Why couldn’t you just end it right there?

“You’re too valuable. You have information.”

Bullshit, even to your own ears. But you didn’t want to say the truth, didn’t want to reveal anything more than you already had by admitting that one time that it hurt you to know he was your target.

“You sure those are the only reasons?”

You take a long, shuddering breath. It’s been three months and those words still haunt you.

How differently could that conversation have gone?

No, maybe you’d say. No, they’re not. There are too many more.

And then, bloodied and exhausted, Jangjun might still give you that tongue-in-the-cheek smirk as best he could and say, like my pretty face?

Or maybe not. You swallow. Maybe you’d have hurt him too much for him to joke like that.

But if he did, you’d shake your head and say no. Not his pretty face – or at least, not just his pretty face. The person who lies beneath that pretty face means more to you than the eyes, the nose, the lips all by themselves.

Then why?

Because…

Because you hurt him. You hurt her. In the process of trying not to hurt one, you hurt them both and even yourself, because all you know how to do is cause pain. All you know how to do is hurt. You slice skin and plunge knives into throats and watch blood drip from cold bodies because that’s all you know, even if you hate it. That’s how you live. It’s all you know.

No, it isn’t, some little part of you tries to argue. Maybe that’s the part that wants you to be the same as that teenager at the orphanage, the teenager Jangjun wanted you to be. You know how to care.

Your first instinct is to deny it. No, you don’t know how to care – if you did, you wouldn’t hurt people so much, would you? But you do. You even told the prince you did. You do know how to care – it’s just that the way you care brings pain to those you love. Always. Without fail.

You care. You fucking care. You cared about your friend so much that you couldn’t stay away even if it would keep her safe. You cared about her so much that you tried to make up for your inabilities with gifts of thread and silk and money. You cared about her to the point that you resolved to kill her brother so you would stay alive to keep protecting her from the danger you keep putting her in.

But you cared about her brother, too. You cared about Jangjun enough that you couldn’t kill him even for her, couldn’t kill him to keep you alive, couldn’t kill him to keep her safe. Somehow, you still cared for that stupid royal guard even years after you first separated, enough that you couldn’t do what you’d been trained to do at all costs. Murder.

You bury your head in your hands. Gods, life would be so much easier if you didn’t fucking care.

But you do. You care. Deeply. Just in all the wrong ways.

And the only way to distance yourself from that is to remove yourself entirely from the equation. No matter whether you live or die – and it’s more likely that you’ll die – you need to be gone.

Or you’ll only hurt them more.

You open your eyes, glancing up through the trees. The orange of the afternoon has finally dipped below the horizon, the first stars begun to twinkle in the sky. Hm. Maybe he isn’t coming. Not that you can blame him, thought – after all you put him through, no wonder he doesn’t trust you.

Then leaves rustle under soft footsteps, and Jangjun appears in a halo of hazy orange-gold.

You stare at him, eyebrows furrowed, lips drawn, shoulders tense. Even if he’s here, he definitely doesn’t trust you. It hurts, a little bit, but you suppose it’s what you had coming. After all, you were the one who was trying to convince him this whole time that you were dangerous. That you could kill him.

“I got your note,” he says flatly. His eyes glance over your figure, take in the two knives belted at your sides. “Almost thought you’d given up, honestly.”

The dryness in your throat makes it hard to swallow. You almost want to say something like I’m not here to commit murder, but even in your head, the words fall flat. After all you’ve done, you wouldn’t even trust yourself.

But if he thought you were going to do that anyway, why show up in the first place?

Doesn’t matter. You open your mouth to ask the rehearsed question. What was your sister’s name? The words sit on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill into the evening air –

“Do you think you could have killed me?”

Jangjun blinks. His eyebrows wrinkle further, though not with mistrust – just confusion. Then something else. But he doesn’t say anything.

You curse internally. “Never mind,” you mutter, turning away. “That’s not what I wanted to ask.” Even if I wanted to know the answer. You swallow. “What was your sister’s name?”

“Why?”

“Humor me.” You dare to glance back. “Just the first name.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then a familiar name falls from his lips, edged with pain.

You close your eyes. Confirmed. “She’s alive.”

A sharp intake of breath. More silence. “You’re lying.” Two words composed of disbelief, anger, betrayal…

Hope.

The corners of your lips lift, just barely. Jangjun deserves a bit of hope. “No, I’m not.”

“Is this your idea of a game?” he snaps. “Because, Y/N, this hurts more than anything you’ve ever done to me already.”

Ouch. But deserved.

You open your eyes. “I’m not lying,” you repeat. “And I didn’t know she was your sister until several months ago.” Before I broke down and tried to kill you for the last time.

“Fine. Let’s say you aren’t lying.” Jangjun crosses his arms. The betrayal in his face cuts deeper than any knife you’ve ever handled. “Why are you telling me? What kind of leverage do you want?”

“I’ll take you to her.” You pause, watching his eyes widen. “On one condition.”

His gaze immediately narrows. “I’m not saying shit.”

“You don’t have to.” You lift up the folded piece of paper that’s been slowly crumpling itself under your sweaty fingers this whole time, tearstained, messy, but truthful. You’ve only written the truth in its lines. No lies.

Your fingers shake the longer you look at the letter. She’ll hate you after reading it. She’ll hate you for everything you’ve done, even if it was for her, and the thought of your best friend hating you so much makes you want to rip the paper to pieces –

No. It doesn’t matter if she hates you. You’ll be gone by the time she’s thought of anything to say to you – if she wants to say anything at all.

You hold out the letter. “Give this to her. Don’t read it unless she allows you.” You force yourself to hold Jangjun’s gaze. “And when she’s done, take her somewhere far from here. As far away as possible.”

His eyes narrow. “You didn’t hurt –”

“Never.” At least, not in the way you think.

Jangjun takes the folded paper between two pinched fingers and slides it into a pocket. “Where is she?”

“Are you going to do what I said?” you ask.

A moment passes. Then he nods. “Yes.”

You turn around and step out of the trees, into the town. “Follow me.”

Evening dims to night as you walk through empty alleys and streets, Jangjun several paces behind. Not once do you turn around to make sure he’s following – you can hear his footsteps, and somehow, instinctively, you’re sure he won’t lose this tentative, temporary trust in you, not now.

Or so you hope.

You weave through the final buildings, emerging on a dusty street lined with dry, wild grass. The street ends not far ahead, but you push through the overgrown grass until you stand in front of a small house, windows boarded shut in a way that makes it look abandoned, but the faintest glow of warm light peeks through cracks in the wooden slats.  

You stop. “She lives here.”

Jangjun pauses beside you. Enough moonlight shines from the sky that you can see the painful hope in his eyes. “How do you know?”

What will he think if you tell him the truth?

You clench your fists, hard. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t fucking matter what he thinks. He’s not going to see you again after this. “She was my friend.”

He’s looking at you. You know he is. His gaze bores into you like one of your knives digging into skin – he wants you to look back at him.

You don’t. “Go.”

One foot steps forward. Then another. Slowly, step by step, he walks up to the front of the house, as though in a trance, until he stands in front of the door.

And doesn’t do anything.

By all the gods. “Maybe you should knock,” you hiss in a carrying whisper. “You know, the thing where you hit the door with your hand.”

He looks back. It’s too dark to see his full expression, but it doesn’t look hateful, like you expected. Instead, he just lifts his hand and knocks.

Warm light spills onto the ground, darkened only by a figure in the doorway. She freezes – so does Jangjun –

Then she pulls him into one of her tight hugs that you’ve been on the receiving end of several times. You watch as Jangjun’s arms wrap around her too, slowly but with no less strength, and two figures twist into one with a love and care that you know you can only dream of.

Bittersweet coats your tongue. Yes, you can only dream of giving such care, much less receiving it. But at least you’ve done a little to alleviate all the pain you’ve caused, whether it be intentional or not, and there’s nothing more for you to do. Except stay out of their bubble of happiness.

You pull your hood over your head, turning away. This isn’t your happiness to partake in. Neither of them will notice you leaving, anyway, not even Jangjun – they’re still in their own world.

A little smile spreads your lips as you walk forward into the night.

By the time either of them looks back, you plan to have disappeared.

. . . . .

For the first few weeks, Jangjun tries to find you. You can’t have gone far, at least not in several days – he scours the town for you, then when they move, he searches the next town again and again until his sister sits down and makes him see reason, that if you don’t want to be found, you won’t be found. Besides, if you were still hiding out here, he would’ve at least glimpsed you already.

So he gives up his search. His sister is right – whatever happens, until you want someone to find you, no one will. Instead, he spends the days, weeks, months learning and relearning his sister, watching and accommodating and teaching himself how to be an older brother once more. Jangjun tries not to make the same mistakes he did with you – they’ve both changed, of course, even more so than you considering his sister was a child when they were separated, not even a teenager – but he still messes up, inevitably. So does she. Still, though, they learn. Together.

It’s more than anything Jangjun ever could have wanted.

But there’s still an emptiness in his chest, an emptiness he tries to fill with teasing his sister and laughing as she snaps back at him, learning new weaving patterns at the loom by her side. Joochan tells him he looks happier several months later, and Jangjun feels happier, too. There’s no denying that. But something eats at him as time passes. He knows what it is. He just doesn’t want to say it.

He’s waiting for you.

Jangjun doesn’t get it, not at first. He doesn’t understand what drives him out into the town to search for you from dawn to dusk, until someone finds him and drags him back. You tried to kill him – got close several times, too close – and you knew about his sister for three months before saying anything. You’re not the same teenager Jangjun fell for back at the orphanage, you’re someone different. More dangerous.

Yet he still wakes up from dreams of your curved, knife-like smile, and is disappointed when only a cold crescent moon meets his eyes instead.

When his sister finally lets him read your last letter, though, he understands. Through the tearstains and blurred words that mark the paper, he understands your motives, your actions, your apologies. He understands why you did what you did, he understands why you hurt people for the sake of helping others, he understands your overwhelming urge to protect those who’ve shown you kindness because that’s what he does, too, just in a less destructive way – a way that you could learn, if you ever came back.

“They meant a lot to you,” his sister says when his eyes finally lift from the letter. “Didn’t they?”

Jangjun can barely choke out the words to say you still mean a lot to him. Because even now, with all the parts that have changed, Jangjun still loves you, every part of you.

He doesn’t look for you, though, only waits. You don’t want to be found – your last apologies make that clear. You don’t even say goodbye in the end. It’s obvious you don’t expect any of them to want you back. 

Jangjun does. He wants to take your scarred hands between his, lace his fingers with your own, tell you that he forgave you a long time ago and that he loved you, still loves you, with everything he has. So he waits, hoping you’ll return – because if the gods forced your paths to meet once after they diverged, there has to be a chance they’ll let it happen once more.

Then, one day, you return.

He almost misses it. It’s the middle of the night, only a waxing moon spilling pale light through the window, and if Jangjun hadn’t woken up to get some water, he wouldn’t have heard the soft thump of something hitting the ground just outside the house.

Frowning, he pokes his head outside. No one else is awake, so it couldn’t be any of them –

A familiar figure freezes in front of a small package placed by the door.

Jangjun’s eyes widen. It’s you but it can’t be you, you didn’t have that scar under your eye and you weren’t as thin as this –

“Y/N?”

You spin around and sprint away.

Jangjun stays still for a moment, blinking – you came back, you came back –

And now you’re running away.

He sprints into the trees, crashing through fallen leaves and branches that seem to materialize out of nowhere. You’re up ahead – he can hear your footsteps thudding over the fallen grass, see your faint outline in the moonlight – and he’s calling your name but you don’t reply with anything but panting gasps and – are you crying?

It’s almost comical how easily he catches up. Just months ago, you probably could’ve beaten him in a sprint, but now he grabs your arm before you’re even that deep into the trees, spinning you around so he can look at you, just look at you, look at a face he’s been waiting to see for almost a year –

You fight. You struggle in his grip, sobbing now, hitting him with your free hand until he takes that one too, wraps his fingers around yours to stop your fight. “Y/N, please,” he begs, trying to calm you. “I’m not going to hurt you, just –”

“I know that!” you yell, twisting in his grip. “I’m the one –”

A knife slips out of your sleeve, probably loose from your struggle. Its tip digs into Jangjun’s wrist before it drops to the ground.

Beads of blood well up on his skin, glistening in the moonlight. Jangjun stares at the tiny cut, at the thin river of red beginning to trickle down his skin.

You wrench yourself away from his slackened grip, tears blooming in your eyes. Jangjun reaches out again, tries to take your hand – “Y/N, it doesn’t even hurt, it’s fine –”

“It doesn’t matter!” you yell. “It doesn’t fucking matter! All I ever do – you were never going to hurt me.” Your breath gasps, heavy and uneven. “I’m the one who’s only ever going to hurt you.”

Jangjun’s heart cracks at your broken voice. “Y/N, stop.” He takes a step closer and tries not to feel hurt when you take a step back. “Please, just – are you okay?”

“Why do you care?” you snap. “I tried to kill you for over six months!”

“But you didn’t kill me,” he says, holding your gaze even as you try to look away. “You didn’t.”

“So what? I still tried –”

“I did too,” Jangjun interrupts. “I tried to kill you too.”

“But I’m worse,” you snap, words almost a sob. “I’m worse – I’ve killed so many people and some of them I don’t even regret, I try to care but when I do I only hurt the people I’m trying to care for –”

“That last time, you asked me if I would’ve killed you.” Jangjun reaches out. You flinch, but you don’t fight him this time when he takes your hands. “At one point, I swore I would’ve. But now I know I couldn’t.”

Something like a laugh rips itself from your throat, but it sounds more like a wheeze and a gasp and grates at Jangjun’s ears. “Are you stupid? Why wouldn’t you?”

“The same reason you couldn’t kill me.” He squeezes your limp, scarred hands. “Am I stupid for being in love with you?”

“Yes!” You try to tear yourself away again, but he keeps his grip. “Yes, you are, Lee Jangjun – I’m a murderer, a killer for hire, gods, I shouldn’t even have come back, this was such a fucking mistake –”

“Why did you come back?”

You bite your lip hard, as though debating whether or not to say something. Then steel flashes across your expression as you stare into his eyes. “I tried to find you,” you reply, voice tight, “because of that package I left by your door. Thread. Money. Gods, I don’t even remember what I put in there – I didn’t want any of it.”

Jangjun blinks. “Then what were you going to do?”

“I was going to just… leave. I’m a loose cannon.” You laugh, a cutting, brief sound. “I had a year to kill you. Then I didn’t. I’d failed my last assignment – it was either succeed with this one or die.”

His blood freezes. No wonder you were so set on your mission. “Y/N –”

“They’re dead.” Your voice is bleak. “I killed my employer. And several other assassins. Or they would’ve gone after you. And me. Again.”

Jangjun just stares. By all the gods, just how much did you go through in this past year?

“Now you know.” You try to tug your hands away again. “Why aren’t you letting go of me?”

That brings Jangjun back to the present. “Why would I?”

“You really are stupid,” you mutter. “Why do you want someone with all this blood on their hands to be anywhere near you?”

“You seem to think, that just because you’ve killed people and hurt others while trying to protect them, you’re evil,” Jangjun says slowly.

You snort. “Bingo!”

“You hurt yourself more.”

That takes you aback. “So what? I still hurt other people – I hurt you –”

“You’re not evil.” Jangjun forces you to look at him. “You’re just lost.”

“Broken,” you correct.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But not unfixable.”

You fall silent.

“You’re not evil,” he repeats. “Not even unforgivable. I forgave you a long time ago. So did my sister. She misses you, you know.”

“Why –”

“You were there for her when no one else was,” Jangjun interrupts. “Not even me. You only ever tried to protect her, even if you didn’t always tell the whole truth.”

“Your prince probably doesn’t want to see me ever again,” you retort. “Doesn’t he mean something to you, too? He was there for you when I wasn’t.”

“He read the letter.” Jangjun runs a thumb over a thin line of scar tissue on your hand. The movement seems to soothe you. “And he said something that made me realize how lucky I really was.”

“Lucky?”

“I had people to care for and who cared for me,” he says. “Joochan, the second prince, several servants and other guards around the palace. You didn’t have anyone, did you? Except my sister, and even that was sporadic.”

A beat passes. You shake your head.

“He’s trying to understand,” Jangjun continues. “You know your struggle better than me, so you know better, but I think he’s at least on the way. His partner, the gardener – they already forgave you, too. Joochan’s just harder to crack, sometimes.”

Both of you fall silent, then, you probably trying to work through your thoughts, Jangjun trying to figure out what you’re thinking. Finally, you open your mouth. “What if I hurt you again?”

Jangjun���s heart crumbles at the waver in your voice. “You might,” he says. “But I might hurt you, too. We’re both learning, you know.” The corners of his mouth lift, slightly. “I’m still trying to transition from being a royal guard.”

“What are you now?” you ask.

He purses his lips, thinking. “A wood chopper. Gardener, occasionally. Cook. Weaver.”

“Your food is edible?”

Jangjun feels his heart lift at the slight teasing bite in your tone. “Probably more than yours,” he snipes back before continuing. “A brother, too. And…” Tentatively, he tangles your fingers with his. You don’t flinch this time. “Someone who loves you. If you’ll let me.”

The tiny smile that was growing slips off your face, but the broken glass look in your eyes fades slightly, less shattered than before. “What could I be?”

“I could teach you to weave or sew.” He looks at your tangled fingers, at the scars that cover your skin. They’re deft and you’re smart, you could pick it up quickly. “Even if you can’t tell stories the same way we do, there are other arts you could learn. Joochan’s partner might teach you to garden – you’ve never heard their song, it’s beautiful.” It might help you heal. “No cooking, though.” Jangjun smirks. “You’d probably burn down the kitchen.”

Your lips curve slightly. He soaks in the sight, the knife-like smile he loves so much, sharp and bladed but protective and somehow sweet. “Would you let me love you, too?”

Jangjun folds your hands in his. Your eyes sparkle – broken glass, yes, but shards on their way to mending, to becoming whole.

He smiles. “My heart is already yours.”

. . . . .

The palace was in fury. There was no trace left of the last assassin who had been sent, and upon investigation, little left of the original company at all. Money had been spent and havoc wrought, and nothing of it. Few cared enough anymore to find a lost prince rumored to be dead, much less the kidnappers who had taken him, and though the king and queen gritted their teeth in anger, there was nothing they could do.

The last assassin found a home in the guard’s arms, a steadiness in the heartbeat of his chest. Though they were hesitant to love at first, knowing how much they had hurt not just him but those who around them too, but the guard was gentle in his voice, patient in his care. Slowly, as the days, months, then years went by, the assassin allowed themselves to live again, to love, to care in the fiercely deep way they had learnt over years past, enough to give their heart to the guard.

Few would have noticed anything strange about the group of five that lived peacefully at the edge of the woods in a small town far from the capital. Certainly no one would have guessed there were two weavers among them, as well as a former prince, palace gardener, and trained assassin. This is where their story should end, with a motley family and their chaotic beginnings.

But someone knew of at least four of the five, and in time, he would ask them to risk their safety once more to bring about change. To topple a regime. For as those around him left to walk their own paths, he sought to find his way too – though in a world of peace and prosperity, not the iron rule of two monarchs whose voices pained more than they claimed to heal.

The words of this story now come to a close, with a furious palace and a tentative love. But the world is not over, not all ends reached. The lives told within still have years left to live.

After all, where one story ends, another only begins.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for whoever’s story comes next <3)

[princeolivier]

( timothee chalamet, genderfluid, they/he/she, 23 ) ** ♔ announcing OLIVIER BOURBON, the PRINCE OF FRANCE ! in a recent portrait they seem to resemble TIMOTHEE CHALAMET. it is a miracle that THEY survived the last five years and for that reason, they are FOR the kingdoms working together. reflecting on them now, they remind me of SILK SHIRTS THAT HANG A LITTLE TOO LOOSE, SAD SMILES AND SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, THE LAUGHTER OF GHOSTS, EATING FRESH FRUIT OUT OF AN ORNATE BOWL.**

hi besties ! i’m el, i play olivier, they’re.... a disaster, but they’re my child whom i love, here’s their intro !!

trigger warnings: illness, death in the family

NAME : prince olivier yves étienne of the house of bourbon NICKNAMES : oli (siblings and close friends) / most people just call them olivier OCCUPATION  / TITLE : youngest surviving prince of the house of bourbon GENDER : genderfluid, doesn’t define it more than that, any pronouns ROMANTIC & SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual biromantic polyamorous (an open not-so-secret, they’ll sleep with anyone who wants to share his bed)

born fourth of six, since birth, olivier didn’t really have responsibilities on his shoulders. they weren’t being groomed to the throne, nor arranged for marriage since birth, so he really had the freedom to do whatever he wanted - within reason, of course.

he had always been a free thinker, his mind open to new ideas, new people, new ways of living life that weren’t as by-the-books as everyone around them. listening to philosophy, to the greatest thinkers in france, to anyone who wanted to be heard. while olivier didn’t have the ability to pull strings politically the way their older siblings did, they could hear people out, and sometimes that’s all someone wanted.

they were incredibly close with their younger siblings, especially claude. claude was a little dreamer just like olivier, and despite their age difference, they got along like twins, always on the same wavelength, spending much of their free time together.

olivier also worships their older siblings - they have always been a source of strength and inspiration for them (they’re secretly also glad that they have three siblings between themself and the throne, though). 

when the plague hit, along with france’s regular wet weather, olivier fell ill at the same time that claude and constance did. he never thought he’d survive, but the truth was worse than death. he survived, claude did not.

still in a deep phase of mourning, olivier truly understands that life is a gift now. every second cannot be passed by, every moment worth a lifetime, not to waste.

when they healed, olivier picked up the habit of sneaking out of the palace at night. they’d roam the streets of paris, mingling with whomever caught their eye. they made friends this way, but, unknowingly, they also brought in enemies. some of these commoners were provided jobs in the palace thanks to olivier - though now, they don’t know friend from foe.

olivier has never been a politician; they’ll admit to their trusted inner circle that they didn’t pay enough attention in lessons leading up to this summit, so they’re truly just hoping for the best when it comes to addressing everyone properly.

they refuse to waste a second, but they don’t want to see their kingdom fall apart, either. he’ll do what it takes to secure alliances with other countries - whatever it takes. while he may not be first in line for the throne - nor second nor third - olivier knows what the name bourbon means. they will not be pitied, they will do what they need to do. after all, they’d always been a people-pleaser.

lately, sleep has been avoiding them. she’s been kept up at night by the thoughts of the fantômes hurting their family, their loved ones. they love france with all of their heart, but they wish there was more that could be done. they trust their father and brother to be able to figure things out, but they fear for their lives, and fear that olivier themself is the one who put everyone in this situation. 

they just want safety and happiness for themself and their loved ones that’s all

[calif0rnia-lovers]

old ways, new crown.

Request: Arthur and his round table + “I’ve missed you” kiss

Summary: With his new responsibilities, Arthur wants nothing more than a few moments alone with his perspective queen -- he’s still working on the perspective queen bit -- so he makes a point to get her alone when she arrives at the castle. He’ll figure out how to tell his best friend that he loves his sister at a different time.   

a/n: all of these Hunnam requests will surely be the death of me. but, seriously, keep them coming because I’m shameless.

words: 2,267

The sun is shining down on Camelot. Many claim it is due to the kingdom’s rightful heir sitting on his throne. The darkness of Vortigern has left the land inspiring newfound hope. A hope which promises a prosperous and fair future. A hope that has quickly spread beyond the walls of Camelot, and to kingdoms of many afar.

With rumors of the Boy King rising, from the slummy streets of Londinium, nobility from far and wide needed to confirm for themselves. Arthur is never one to shy away from a challenge, so he had Sir Bedivere draw up invitations for his prospective allies.

For the first time, in a long time, Camelot is hosting outsiders. The castle has transformed before Arthur’s eyes in a matter of a few short weeks.

The only moments he had to himself were in the early morning when he arose earlier than his friends.

It is on one of those early mornings that Arthur finds Elaine.

He passes the great hall, the cracked door causing him to slowly backtrack.

As he steps closer, he can hear the soft click of her shoes across the freshly washed floors. He gently guides the door open, wide enough for him to slip through, and joins her.

She doesn't initially sense his presence. Her focus is on the high ceiling above her. Her eyes following the sunlight as it pours into the room.

Taking a further step inside, Arthur looks over the room. The hall has been transformed overnight. Flowers adorn the pillars that rise to the high ceiling. Long polished tables have been neatly lined along both sides of the hall. An adequate amount of space has been left to form a walkway that leads directly to his throne. He knows that in a few hours, the hall will be filled with strangers.

Arthur allows his gaze to return to Elaine who is across the room, her back to him.

Dressed in her white sleeping gown, she silently studies the wooden round table before her.

“You haven’t been avoiding me, have you, sweetheart?”

The sound of his voice causes Elaine’s heart to leap in her chest. Her fingers pull back from the table, instinctively moving to hide behind her back. The smirk on Arthur’s lips morphs into a grin at the action. She turns to face him, her bright eyes briefly meeting his.

The initial guilty expression on her face quickly fades as a soft smile widens across her lips. Growing up with Arthur, she has learned the art of keeping her composure.

“In a place like this? That’s impossible. I’ve gotten lost four times this morning alone. I couldn’t run from you even if I knew where you were.”

Despite the innocence of her voice, Arthur finds his brow furrowing as he advances further into the room. His gaze lingers on her, their days apart seeming to leave his mind on withdrawal of her features. He studies her face for a moment. Passing over her dark brown eyes, along the curve of her nose, the softness of her lips and cheeks. His gaze follows her fingers as they instinctively reach up to brush against the natural curls of her dark hair. A soft smile finds his lips as Arthur's gaze returns to her mouth. The one thought he knew he was supposed to push away came creeping back in.

He knew he was supposed to have that "talk" he'd promised Wet Stick they would have regarding his sister. Only, before he could do so Arthur found himself tossed on the boat and forced to retrieve his brand. And their lives had changed forever.

The last time he'd seen Elaine, Arthur was half asleep. His eyes fighting his brain's pleas for sleep. His fingers were tangled in the softness of her hair, his lips brushing against the curve of her nose. She was slipping into slumber. He only managed to stay up a few seconds after her. When she'd awaken he was gone.

He watches her teeth tug at her bottom lip as Elaine suppresses whatever she had intended to say. Her brow furrows, her gaze passing over his clothes before his face. He found himself wondering what changes she saw in him.

“You wouldn’t be lost if you accepted my invitation for a personal tour guide.”

Heat spreads across Elaine’s cheeks as Arthur’s words dangle in the air. She can't pretend that she hasn’t received Arthur’s invitations. Numerous handmaidens have been sent for her. Each carried the request for Elaine to join the king, and each request was sent back with the same answer.

“I figured you wouldn’t have time for me anymore." She speaks softly, her gaze leaving his as she turns back to the roundtable. A smile finds her lips as she glimpses over her shoulder at him. "With you inheriting an entire kingdom...a new fancy crown…”

"I’ll always have time for you, darling."

Denying the warmth that flows across her cheeks at the teasing nature of his words, Elaine listens to Arthur's footsteps cross the room. She glances over at him once he comes to a stop by her side. The warmth that once had resonated in her cheeks spreads across every inch of her body as he steals a glance at her.

His shoulder grazes against hers, his fingers naturally reaching to find hers. Turning to face him, Elaine smiles as Arthur's gaze drift down to her lips.  

“So, this is where you’ve been spending all of your time?”  Elaine takes a step back detangling her fingers from his. Motioning to the large table, she moves around it placing a distance between them. "Building a...round table?”

“It’s not just any table,” Arthur answers the smile on his lips arching her brow.

A soft gasp escapes her mouth. A playful gleam passing through Elaine’s eyes as they widen.

“Wait, don’t tell me. It has magical powers just like that fancy sword of yours?”

Grinning, Arthur watches her fingers outline the intricate designs carved into the surface of the table.

"We could test it out?” Arthur teases, the soft roll of her eyes not deterring his words. “Isn’t the best way to learn the truth to seek it out yourself?"

Rumors had swirled about the castle in regards to Arthur’s Round Table. The servants whispered about it in the halls, speculated about its purpose. Of course, stories had spilled into the streets of the kingdom.

“Don’t I have to be a knight to sit here?" Elaine giggles as her brother's new title drifts into her mind. Her gaze raises to meet Arthur's. Her hand lifts to playfully rest against her chest. "Are you going to knight me, sire?"

Arthur's shoulders nonchalantly rise and fall as he slowly makes his way around the table, closer to her.

"I can give you whatever you want, Ellie."

"Whatever I want?" She challenges.

"I am a king after all."

Elaine's gaze playfully narrows in doubt as a very familiar smile spreads across Arthur's lips.

“What’s the catch?”

"Catch?"

"There’s always a catch with you,” she giggles.

"Nothing...I believe in being fair. I do something for you, you do something for me."

"Oh, I see," she sighs. Her hands finding his shoulders as Arthur's arm skillfully secures around her waist. She slips out of his touch as his lips gently graze the warmth of her neck. But, even as she moves away, Arthur has already seen the smile his actions have brought about. “See. I knew it. You may be the king, and that’s still up in the air, but you’re still Arthur.”

“I’ve had trouble getting this particular thought out of my head,” Arthur shares, his words causing her to shoot him an inquisitive look. “What you would look like sprawled across my masterpiece."

Despite the heat his words set across her skin, Elaine manages to scrunch her nose.

"You consider this a masterpiece?" Her fingers trace the smooth surface. Her playful gaze reaching his as she pauses. She pauses where she is as he moves to meet her. "It looks like an...incomplete table if you ask me."

"Maybe you're right," Arthur chuckles as his hands find her waist. His fingers gently dig into her skin as she instinctively melts into him. "It might not be a masterpiece, at least not when compared to you."

The warmth of his lips upon her neck causes Elaine's eyes to flutter shut. He focuses on kissing her pulse, as her fingers drift into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I've been trying to get the thoughts out of my head," he murmurs, his touch drifting along the curve of her spine. "How you’d sound in this grand room...How’d your voice would echo off the high ceilings...If it would travel throughout the palace..."

The rising and falling of her chest seem pale compared to the racing of her heart. Arthur's smile caresses against the curve of her jaw, his mouth moving to the spot on her neck that tightens her fingers against his shoulders.

"You’ve always had a great imagination," she teases. Her voice is breathless, the drifting of her touch to his chest urging him to remove any remaining distance between their bodies. "Use that."

"Where’s the fun in that? I prefer reality far better than dreams.”

And had he’d had dreams. Hundreds of them since her arrival at the castle. The mage was right, the dreams -- nightmares -- that had haunted him most of his life, no longer plagued Arthur. Upon the acceptance of his destiny, and melding of his soul to Excalibar, Arthur had been dreamless for a few days. Then word from Tristan came that Elaine was to arrive at the castle. From that moment on, Arthur spent his nights dreaming of her. Waking, without fail, every morning covered in sweat and the need for a new set of undergarments.

From the moment of her arrival, he was finding it more difficult to get her alone. It was hard to look at her without his fantasies plaguing his thoughts. It didn't help that she had chosen to be inseparable from her brother, and his best friend.

“Besides, do you think I’d let you kiss me after how you left things?”

Elaine takes a step back, her palms pressing against the table. Pushing herself up, she takes a seat atop of the table. Scooting back, she watches Arthur's brow raise.

“I was trying to protect you.” He speaks, the movement of her hands gathering the fabric of her gown distracting him. He knew he owed her an explanation. He had left her to meet Vortigern after she'd begged him not to.

“I've never needed protection. Haven't you figured that out?"

"I never listen," Arthur challenges. His tongue wets his lips as Elaine's guides the fabric of her gown up to her thighs.  

“Now that you’re king,” she asks, her voice pulling Arthur's gaze from her recently exposed skin. “I’d thought you'd be busy courting a princess from some exotic land."

Shaking his head, Arthur allows his touch to drift along the warmth of her thighs. His eyes drift shut as he pulls her body closer to his.

"You're still the only one," he breathes, his words faltering against her lips as she leans forward to kiss him.

Her body shivers beneath his touch as it ghosts over her thighs, shoving the fabric towards her waist. He guides her legs around his waist, his teeth tugging against the softness of her lips once her touch drifts to his waistband.

It wasn’t the first kiss they shared, and surely not the last.

Their first had come on her fifteenth birthday. It was rushed and had taken place behind the door of her bedroom. It ended quickly when Wet-slick's call for Arthur drifted up the steps. Arthur had taken her by surprise. The kiss had come and gone so quickly, Elaine spent the entire night wondering if it had ever happened. But then found she never allowed another boy to kiss her again.

Ever since that first kiss, their kisses always seemed to come naturally. Which is why it doesn't take long for Arthur to find himself inside of her. All of his cocky and snark marks lost upon him as he admires how she opens herself to him. His lips burn her neck and lips as he pulls a gasp from her once he tugs at the base of her spine pulling her closer. The shifts in their bodies cause him to move deeper their weight tipping back until she tugs him down on top of her.

Their bodies move in perfect unison. Everything they had wished to say to one another before they parted weeks earlier spilling out. The connection they'd spent a lifetime trying to suppress and deny rising to the surface as his lips whispered the words he'd always struggled to get out.

Even once they've both come down from their highs, Arthur finds himself incapable of removing his lips from the warmth of her skin.

Elaine's fingers lightly trace through his hair, a smile finding her lips.

"You should let me get up," she speaks softly as his lips press against her neck. "Wouldn't want someone to walk in and find their beloved king in such a compromising position."

"Let them," Arthur mumbles against her lips. Stealing a second kiss, he lifts his head. The grin on his lips causes her eyes to narrow. "Does this mean you’ll sit with me tonight?”

The soft giggle Elaine releases are muffled by the soft kiss Arthur places against her lips.

[feralphoenix]

BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE NOT PREPARED TO TRY

if you’re following my blog or if you read my fanfiction, you may have seen me talking in tags or comments about how the radiance hollowknight was a pacifist. “feral, wtf?” you may have thought. “she’s the freaking final boss and tries really, really hard to kill you and all her attacks do 2 entire masks damage. where on earth do you get pacifism out of that???”

to you specifically i say, that’s an understandable reaction! the short version of how i got here was that i started thinking about the story implications of radi not inflicting contact damage and took a deep dive into game mechanics and lore. when i came up for air i had made myself Very Sad.

if this intrigues you and you would like to know more, come along with me, i am happy to point out the things i noticed and share the Big Sad around.

this essay is also available on dreamwidth for accessibility purposes, since my layout’s text may be too small for folks on pc with high-res screens.

CONTENT WARNING: This essay discusses pseudo-zombie plagues and associated body horror, colonialism and genocide, horrible things that happened in real life Australian history... you know, the usual topics that come up when I’m talking about Hollow Knight.

ADDITIONAL NOTICE: TPK fans of the “TPK meant well/was working for the greater good”/“TPK and Radi are equally bad”/“TPK is bad but Radi is worse” variety please give this one a pass, it ain’t for you.

finally if youre from a christian cultural upbringing (whether currently practicing, agnostic/secular, or atheist now), understand that some of what i’m discussing here may challenge you. if thinking thru the implications of this particular part of hollow knight worldbuilding/lore is distressing for you, PLEASE only approach this essay when youre in a safe mindset & open to listening, and ask the help of a therapist or anti-racism teacher/mentor to help you process your thoughts & feelings. just like keep in mind that youre listening to an ethnoreligiously marginalized person and please be respectful here or wherever else youre discussing this dang essay

BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE NOT PREPARED TO TRY: The Radiance Doesn’t Deal Contact Damage And That’s Kind Of Fucked Up And Sad

The vast majority of hostile creatures in Hollow Knight deal contact damage: This is to say, if the Wandering Knight (who I’ll probably spend most of this essay calling by their affectionate fan name Ghost) touches a hostile creature, this harms them.

There are exceptions to this rule. The most notable and most oft-memed example is the game’s literal actual true final boss, the Radiance. Not only will Ghost not be harmed by running into any part of her body, but during her stagger animation, where she drops to the boss arena floor on her front with her whole body splayed out, Ghost still isn’t harmed if she lands on top of them! What’s more, this holds true for her full-power form Absolute Radiance, the secret final boss of the Godmaster quest/endings.

A lot of people find this amusing, because it’s a little absurd that a game’s final boss is an exception to such a consistent element of gameplay! Hence all the “haha moth too soft and fluffy for contact damage” jokes. It is objective facts that Radi is very soft and very fluffy, so it’s very easy to understand why people don’t overthink this too much.

Thinking about things I like in gross detail is unfortunately my hobby. When it comes to Hollow Knight this usually leads to me making myself really sad. I’d like to share the fruits of my theorizing with the class, so other people can be sad with me.

Now, from a game design perspective I can think of a lot of reasons why Team Cherry chose for Radiance not to inflict contact damage. Her hitbox only covers the central part of her body. Her limbs are large, so because of the way she floats, if she did contact damage she would be protected from nail strikes from below and to either side. This would give a player who prefers nail combat a punishingly small margin through which they could inflict damage without also taking a hit, potentially forcing them to adapt to a new and unfamiliar play style at the very end of the game. That’s not fun for anybody and tends to make players feel very frustrated.

In addition to this, Radiance’s attacks are all bullet hell-style spells. All of them except the floor hazards inflict two masks of damage, meaning if you want to stay alive and identify points where it’s possible to heal, you need to learn the spell patterns and dodge a lot. Radi is a large boss. If running into her hurt you this would make the bullet hell elements of her fight extra punishing.

So, I think the purely game mechanics reason for Moth Too Soft And Fluffy is in interest of keeping her boss fight fair, and helping players feel like they have a chance of actually defeating her.

Part of why we all love Hollow Knight, though, is that there’s not much in the game that only exists for purely mechanical reasons. There’s always some form of story or lore integration.

So what on earth is the story reason behind why Radiance doesn’t deal contact damage?

OTHER ENEMIES THAT DON’T DEAL CONTACT DAMAGE

Radi isn’t the only enemy (here defined as fightable/killable creature) in Hollow Knight who doesn't inflict contact damage, so let’s take a look at her fellow exceptions to the rule to see what we can learn.

Broadly speaking there are two categories of Enemies That Don’t Deal Contact Damage. The first is enemies or bosses who used to be hostile, but have become friendly to the player. For instance, when characters like Ogrim and Hornet are not being fought in boss battles, touching them won’t cause damage to Ghost. These story characters who Ghost has more or less reconciled with can’t be damaged by the player out of combat either.

In terms of generic enemies who used to be hostile but have become friendly to the player, we have the mantises of the Fungal Wastes and the Siblings/Ghost’s Shade. We learn from the game’s lore that the mantises Did Not Like The Pale King and were hostile to Hallownest, but that they established a ceasefire conditional on their keeping the people of Deepnest (who were also hostile to Hallownest) from leaving through the area’s main entrance/exit in the Fungal Wastes - essentially the two native kingdoms were pitted against one another by the Pale King.

Now, just because there was a ceasefire, that doesn’t mean the mantises take kindly to Hallownest bugs brazenly trespassing into their dang house; they will get in your face and try to kill you unless you have permission to be there. But once you’ve defeated the Mantis Lords in combat and proven yourself worthy of the mantises’ respect, they’ll let you pass through their turf unmolested. They are no longer actively hostile and don't deal contact damage.

(You're still able to attack them, though - maybe because you’d be locked out of receiving the Hunter’s Mark if you complete the Respect quest/achievement before you’ve successfully killed enough mantises? - and if you attack them, or if your pet charm familiars attack them, any mantises you aggroed will fight back and deal contact damage again.)

The Siblings, as well as Ghost’s Shade, are initially indiscriminately hostile. Our window into Shade psychology is limited, but we know that the Shade died violently and the Siblings probably did too; they may be lashing out. They’re also Void creatures, and Ghost looks a lot like the Pale King, whom we can guess from context clues pissed the Void off significantly by using it as his personal play-doh to make tools and toys with and also using its house as his personal garbage dump for baby corpses.

However, once Ghost recalls their past and breaks the mask of the Kingsoul charm to reveal the Void Heart at its core, the Void recognizes them as a part of it, and Ghost becomes able to direct/lead the Void to some extent. As an extension of this, the Siblings and Ghost’s shade become docile and can now be killed by any weapon in one hit instead of just the Dream Nail (which is made of Radiance’s Light and is the Void’s natural weakness). They don’t deal contact damage anymore either.

That’s it for “enemies that inflict contact damage at one point, but stop inflicting it after becoming friendly or neutral to Ghost”.

The generic enemies which don't inflict contact damage include shrumelings, maggots, maskflies, and lightseeds/lifeseeds. These enemies are incapable of inflicting any damage on Ghost whatsoever, because by themselves they are completely helpless entities with no natural defenses.

Shrumelings are infant members of the mushroom clan who are usually protected by adult fungi like shrumal warriors and ogres. Lightseeds and lifeseeds are harmless single-celled organisms. Maskflies are similarly harmless. Maggots, we glean from the Hunter’s Journal and dialogue from False Knight/Failed Champion, are the bottom rung of Hallownest’s society because they are weak and helpless, and are forced into menial and slave labor by other Hallownest bugs because they cannot defend themselves. The maggots’ plight is the whole reason why False Knight/Failed Champion stole Hegemol's armor in the first place, as he wanted to protect his people.

All of these enemies flee when Ghost approaches them. (Some maskfly groups’ flight triggers are set to specific areas on a map and won’t flee if you can avoid stepping on/passing through those areas, but this is clearly due to a programming oversight because their whole Thing is running away.)

But, there’s something interesting to be observed in the case of lightseeds and maggots: They can fight back against and harm Ghost if they use tools. The little flock of lightseeds you chase around the Ancient Basin eventually get sick of Ghost’s shit and take over Broken Vessel/Lost Kin’s corpse, which they puppet around to try to murder you. By doing so they gain access to Broken Vessel/Lost Kin’s considerable combat prowess and become very dangerous, contact damage included in the bargain. (The lightseeds’ doing this seems to evoke the vessel’s spirit, since they reach for Ghost when defeated. That’s not a gesture the lightseeds have any reason to make. The Lost Kin fight, by which the spirit seems to gain some form of closure, becomes available here too.)

False Knight/Failed Champion’s fights work on the same general principle. Now that he has a weapon he can attack Ghost, and his armor deals contact damage. The maggot inside the armor does not inflict contact damage; essentially both his boss fights consist of your whacking the armor until he’s stunned and pops out of the armor for a moment so you can hit his vulnerable real body, which is the only part of him that yields Soul when you smack him. In fact, his boss fights will last forever if you let him recover from being stunned on his own.

Between these two groups, Radiance very obviously doesn’t fit in the first, as she’s the final boss and is very vigorously trying to kill Ghost with various magic spells. You can tell from her Dream Nail dialogue that she’s furious about what the Pale King did to her and her people, and is afraid for her life. She is willing to use everything at her disposal to try to destroy Ghost so she can survive, go free, and get revenge for the Pale King’s crimes. If she could do contact damage to Ghost she would.

So, the only logical conclusion to make is that Radi falls into the second group of enemies that don’t inflict contact damage. She is physically incapable of causing any harm to anyone with only her body. Her magic is deadly as all get out and the 2 masks damage explosion noise probably haunts the nightmares of anyone who’s struggled fighting her, but without it she is helpless.

WHY CAN’T RADIANCE DO CONTACT DAMAGE?

It might be pretty hard to reconcile the fact that a character with Audre Lorde energy as potent as Radi Hollowknight’s is has a whopping 0 ATK. The biggest clues we get in terms of story context for her inability to inflict physical harm of any kind can be found within the culture of the moth tribe, who were her people.

Thistlewind, the backer-designed moth ghost who can be found in the Resting Grounds, tells you that the majority of moths were pacifists, and that individuals like them and like Markoth who learned to wield a nail were in the minority. Thistlewind appears to have learned to fight as a means of self-defense while they explored the crater area, and describes Markoth as having done so in order to “[brave] the edges of this world, hoping to uncover a truth long forgotten”. It sounds to me like Markoth was trying to recover parts of moth culture that were lost when their tribe was assimilated into Hallownest, or maybe even searching for Radiance or trying to learn what happened to her. (Judging that his corpse is hidden behind one of the Pale King’s shade gates it seems this didn’t go well. Thanks TPK.)

As far as fighting moths go there’s Marmu too, but she seems to be a special case, possibly raised in Hallownest's culture instead of with her tribe. We don’t actually get any sort of canon explanation for how a baby moth wound up as a child soldier who died defending the Queen’s Gardens, but given the overall tone of Hollow Knight as a game and all the colonization/Australian history parallel subtext, some horrifying possibilities come to mind.

So, if Thistlewind, Markoth, and Marmu are Outliers Lepidoptera and should not be counted, how did the majority of moths spend their time? According to Seer, who knows more about the tribe’s history than most (and to Quirrel, who points you to her if you defeat Uumuu before picking up the Dream Nail), the moths’ main prerogative was cultivating and developing dream magic. From the way the Seer describes dreams as a living history as you collect Essence, dream magic seems to be a parallel to the Dreaming (or Dreamtime), a spiritual concept in Indigenous Australian religion related to both history and myth.

To translate this into simple terms, the moths were by and large pacifists whose culture celebrated art, history, and spirituality.

Team Cherry tends to adapt at least some aspects of real-life bug behavior and biology into their sad cartoon bugs, so moths-as-pacifists tracks: Real moths do not really have any way to fight. They defend themselves from predators via their mobility and their markings, which tend towards either camouflage that helps them hide or bright markings intended to scare predators off by indicating they’re poisonous (therefore not good to eat) or look like the face of something much bigger and more dangerous than they are.

There's not that much we can glean about the moths in pre-Hallownest society aside from Seer’s dialogue, because Hallownest destroyed their civilization so thoroughly: Except in the Dream Realm (which is filled with Essence spirographs and the wisteria charms that decorate Seer’s room), their architecture can only be found anymore in hidden parts of the Resting Grounds and at the very top of the Crystal Peak where Radi’s statue and a fuckton of lore tablets Ghost doesn’t know how to read are located.

But, we know that the crater pre-Hallownest was home to a ton of diverse bug nations - the mosskin, the mushroom tribe, the mantises, Deepnest, the Hive, the flukes - and every SINGLE one of those had some kind of warrior tradition, as well as their own unique cultures. In the midst of all that it was only the moths who were pacifists, so from there we can tentatively assume that they were on good enough terms with their neighbors for there not to be any fighting. The mosskin in particular also had and still have a Higher Being on their side, though in the modern day Unn seems to be rather conflict avoidant to say the least.

And we know from Hallownest’s past dealings with the mantises and Deepnest that even having Two (2) Higher Beings isn’t enough to keep rival civilizations off your nuts if they hate you, so it’s improbable that Radiance just did all the moths’ fighting for them.

The only hint that the moths ever had beef with anyone at all is one of Radiance’s Dream Nail lines, “ancient enemy” - this is popularly theorized to refer to the Void and might be corroborated by the Void’s willingness to follow Ghost into Radi’s boss fights and fight alongside them. As the Void seems to be some sort of Higher Being/god of darkness and nothingness, and the Dream Nail’s only offensive ability is to kill Void creatures, the Void and creatures of Light appear to be in a position of mutual vulnerability. Some of the Pale King’s writings in his workshop, which identify the Void as a power in direct opposition to his, support this too.

It’s unclear whether the Void civilization and Radiance ever directly came to blows or whether they were just giving each other the stink eye over being natural enemies - personally I think the latter is more likely because the two civilizations existed on opposite sides of the crater*, and again, the moths were pacifists; plus when Ghost brings the Void along to Radi’s boss fight she is quickly and gruesomely overwhelmed by it.

What I am saying here is that if pacifism was such an integral aspect of moth culture, and Radiance epitomized her people’s culture, and she is 100% incapable of inflicting physical harm, she was probably a pacifist too.

DEEP DOWN YOU KNOW YOU WEREN'T BUILT FOR FIGHTING

Hallownest flourished for a long, long time between the Pale King and White Lady first establishing it and the initial outbreak of the Infection.

There’s no conclusive information in-game as to why this is. We can only guess: Maybe Radiance was so badly hurt or weakened by the moths’ assimilation that it simply took her That Long to become capable of the mass dream broadcast to Literally Everyone In Hallownest that would eventually become the Infection when Hallownest’s people tried to suppress it. Or, maybe it just took a long time for her to come up with a way to fight back. It’s possible that it took her a while to find the resolve to actually fight back, too, with her principles of pacifism in conflict with the necessity of defending herself and taking her people back. Maybe there was a change in the moths’ situation in Hallownest somewhere down the line that compelled her to step in - all the moths are super extremely dead at the time Hollow Knight starts, after all. Even Seer is eventually revealed to be a revenant like Ze’mer the Grey Mourner, only lingering in the world to pass on the Dream Nail and tell Radiance’s story. Maybe it was a combination of all those factors. Barring Team Cherry dropping in to explain this bit of Sekret Deep Lore, we are never going to know.

All we DO know for sure is that when we mosey into Hollow’s brain (and/or Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny our way to the top of Hallownest’s Pantheon) and challenge the literal actual sun to a fight, Radi takes the challenge with extreme prejudice and comes in swinging.

Something interesting I noticed while comparing the Radiance boss fights with the Pure Vessel fight is that some of their attacks are vaguely similar. Where warrior-mage characters like Xero and Markoth have physical weapons that they summon and manipulate with magic, Radiance and Pure Vessel both create nails and daggers out of Essence and Soul respectively. Both characters’ magical weapon attacks are similar in nature too: Some are used to create hazards that must be dodged or avoided, and some are fired directly at Ghost in radial patterns.

This begs a very sad chicken-and-egg question. Did Radi and Hollow develop these battle techniques independently of each other, has Hollow in their prime form somehow absorbed similar techniques to Radi through osmosis since they’re currently chained together by the brain... or is Radi mimicking and innovating on these attacks she knows Hollow can do?

All her other attacks seem very obvious for a light-themed character, after all: Beam attacks and blobs of light. A flash of bright light is also how she shakes off the Void the first time it tries to grab her, too, making for a strong argument that that’s the original natural defense she possessed, and that’s what she based most of her attack magic off of.

Making sword’s and knive’s from Essence when most of her people didn’t even handle these sorts of tools even at the height of her power and influence, though... that seems less like something that would come naturally to her. i don’t really know i don’t have a definitive answer or theory for this one it just Seems Possible and it’s fucking me up guys

Even the Infection - which began life as Radiance’s attempt to communicate, let’s remember, before it progressed to “The End Of Eva Disease Will Continue Until Someone Actually Listens To Me” and then finally Radi screaming “FUCK U LET ME OUT, GET THAT NEW SUNNY D BOTTLE THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, HALLOWNEST EAT SHIT” during canon - does not appear to be fatal to living bugs until the tumorous growths grow so large they impede bodily functions, like real cancer. We can observe this phenomenon via a number of NPCs and enemies that are rediscovered as tumorous corpses after the whole Crossroads area becomes infected.

At least to me, all of this points to Radiance being a character to whom violence and causing harm doesn't come naturally, and who has resorted to these methods in desperation.

It actually reminds me a lot of False Knight/Failed Champion. It’s a very common theory among fans that when he stole Hegemol’s armor he killed Hegemol - this is a reasonable thing to believe, since Hegemol is the only one of the Five Great Knights of Hallownest who never appears at all in-game, not even as a corpse like Dryya and Isma. Like Radi, False Knight/Failed Champion is a character who rose up and turned to violence in order to protect his people, despite the maggots not being a belligerent species.

False Knight is one of the game’s first major bosses, sometimes the first boss that players encounter at all. And so Hollow Knight’s story bookends with two separate victims of a predatory system, one who lived within and was cannibalized by it, one outside of it who was deliberately targeted by the Pale King. Neither of them started out as a fighter, but both of them still adopted violence as a tool to protect themselves and their people. Radiance is as doomed as False Knight by the Pale King’s genocide, but just like False Knight, she has no intention of going quietly, and will rage against the dying of the light as only the literal actual sun can.

Cue Deedee Magno Hall voice clip. You all know the one.

*A footnote: There’s no conclusive evidence to tell us whether the Void civilization was contemporaneous with the other pre-Hallownest indigenous bug nations or whether it predated them. Mask Maker has a line suggesting that the Void civilization tried to expand throughout the crater in its heyday and that maybe this was linked to its collapse, but in general the Void lore is just too darn thin to draw firm conclusions - it’s like trying to speculate on the ancient stone age cultures of the Americas that came before pre-settler Indigenous countries when the only sources you can easily access are elementary school level US history textbooks. (To non-Americans: We mostly teach kids propaganda until they hit college-level courses and it sucks so much ass.) This is very realistic worldbuilding, but also please Team Cherry I want to know more about these ancient bugs who apparently got lost in the sauce