#did the writers even watch their own show??

[heartsriki]

CUPID'S CHAOS ⌇화살

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇Lee Heeseung | next

pairing ᝰ heeseung x fem!reader

— featuring.. n/a | word count: 4k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ college au, fluff, bickering, misunderstandings, obliviousness, 2000’s rom com vibe, kisses, pet name use (?), reader is a writer!

synopsis — You accidentally become the campus’s cupid, delivering love letters to everyone— no exception to the one meant for Heeseung even though you had the biggest crush on him. When he asks for help finding his secret admirer, You scramble to keep your own feelings hidden… until you realize that love letter was your own.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊I’m not sure if I like this but… I hope you guys do… guys fair warning these oneshots will be extremely corny and fluffy but its valentines month so i cant control it fr! MY FIRST HEESEUNG FIC WHO CHEERED, also happy birthday jw my baby :(

Seriously just what did you get yourself into?

The first incident or “love letter” arrived onto your doorstep on a random Wednesday. It was just a soft pink envelope sealed with a heart-shaped sticker. At first, you thought it was for you until you saw the name of the girl in your english class. Maybe someone had the wrong dorm number. But when another letter shows up the next day, and then another, you start to realize two things:

1. Someone on campus has a serious crush problem.

2. You have somehow become their personal delivery service.

By Friday, you had a whole collection of letters meant for people you barely know. With no better plan, you start slipping them into the correct mailbox, dropping them onto desks, and handing them off with a whispered, “This is for you.”

Before you know it, people started calling you the ‘Campus Cupid’.

It’s kind of fun—watching couples get together, seeing people’s eyes light up when they read something sweet. That is, until you find his letter.

Lee Heeseungs letter. The guy with the lazy smile and unfairly good hair. The guy who always seems to be exactly where you don’t need him to be. The guy you have been crushing on way more than you meant to.

It was no surprise that he would get sent a letter. He was the darling of the campus, he was a charmer, talented in sports and without a doubt extremely handsome.

You examined the letter. It was morally right to give it to him… right?

Frowning, you place the letter in his usual seat. Just because you liked him didn’t mean you can take his right of knowing that someone else does.

The day passes without you thinking too much about the letter you placed on Heeseung’s desk. Or at least, you try not to think about it. It’s not like it matters, right? Someone else likes him. No big deal.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

But then, right after your afternoon lecture, Heeseung finds you outside the lecture hall, love letter in hand.

“Hey, Cupid.” His voice is casual, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He holds up the letter between two fingers. “Any idea who wrote this?”

Your heart stops.

You stare at the letter, forcing yourself to keep calm. You knew this would happen. Of course, Heeseung would be curious. You should just tell him you don’t know. That’s what you should do.

But something about the way he’s looking at you makes you hesitate.

Frowning, you take the letter from his hands, pretending to examine it like if you hadn’t stared at it for hours before handing it to him. But when you open it and your eyes scan the page, confusion settles in.

There’s no name. No initials. Nothing.

That’s strange. Most of the letters you’ve delivered always had at least a tiny clue. An initial, a signature, sometimes even a number with a name.

“What’s with that look? You must’ve seen who gave it to you, no?” Heeseung asks, raising a brow.

You look back at the letter, skimming over the heart felt words. It was weird intruding someone’s feelings like this but with Heeseungs intense stare you couldn’t say no. The letter said:

I don’t know when it started, but you’ve always been there. In the background, in the crowd, just close enough to notice, but never close enough to reach. It’s frustrating, liking someone like this. Sometimes I wish I never met you in that cafe because now you’re all I ever think about, I hope I can confront you someday.

Your stomach twists.

The handwriting. The way certain letters are slanted. The way some words are scratched out and rewritten.

It’s… familiar.

Too familiar.

Your breath catches.

Oh.

Oh no.

It was yours.

See, the first time you met Heeseung, it wasn’t in a lecture hall or at some college party—it was at a small cafe just off campus, the kind of place students flocked to for overpriced lattes and last-minute study sessions.

You had been there first, tucked into a corner seat with your laptop open and a half-empty cup of coffee beside you. The cafe was packed, the usual rush of students scrambling for caffeine before their next class, and you were too focused on your work to notice him walk in.

That is, until you heard a voice—smooth, slightly out of breath—directed at you.

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

You looked up, and that was the first time you saw Lee Heeseung up close.

Messy brown hair, a hoodie thrown over a plain t-shirt, dark eyes filled with something playful yet sleepy at the same time. You recognized him vaguely—he was in one of your general electives, though he always sat near the back, half-hidden behind his laptop. He was the kind of guy people noticed without him even trying, whether it was because of his reputation on the basketball team or just the effortless way he carried himself.

And now, he was standing in front of you, waiting for an answer.

You blinked. “Oh, um—no, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, sliding into the chair across from you. He set down his coffee cup, then pulled out a notebook, flipping through the pages lazily. “You’re in my media studies class, right?”

You hadn’t expected him to recognize you, much less strike up a conversation.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I sit near the front.”

“Right, that’s why I never see you,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I usually get there late.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

For some reason, that seemed to amuse him. Heeseung leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against his notebook. “So, what’s got you looking so serious? Studying for something?”

You glanced at your laptop screen. “Not exactly. Just… trying to finish an article for the campus paper.”

That caught his interest. “You write for the paper?”

“Kind of. It’s just an opinion column. Nothing major.”

Heeseung tilted his head, considering. “I’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe I’ll learn something.”

You rolled your eyes, but you could feel your face growing warm. Heeseung had this way of making everything sound lighthearted, but there was something about the way he was looking at you—like he actually meant it—that made your stomach flip.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment—him sitting across from you in a crowded cafe, lazily flipping through his notes while keeping light conversations, smiling at you like you were the only person worth paying attention to—that was the moment it started.

The quiet, unshakable feeling of a new beginning forming.

You blink rapidly, snapping back to reality, only to find Heeseung staring at you with a curious tilt of his head.

“You good?” He waves a hand in front of your face, and you realize you’ve been gripping the letter like it personally offended you.

“Yeah!” You blurt out, a little too quickly. “Fine. Super fine.”

Heeseung narrows his eyes, but instead of questioning your suspicious expressions, he leans against the wall next to you, arms crossed, the picture of casual confidence. “So? Any idea who my secret admirer is?”

Your stomach does a full gymnastics routine.

Yeah, actually, it’s me. Surprise!

Obviously, you can’t say that.

You force a laugh, shoving the letter back into his hands like it’s a ticking time bomb. “No clue! There are so many love letters I deal with around campus, you know? Could be anyone.”

Heeseung mockingly pouted. “Come on, Cupid. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”

You freeze. Oh no.

Heeseung grins, nudging your arm playfully. “Please? be my lead detective I need to know who has this much of a crush on me.”

You stare at him, trying not to look as horrified as you feel. He’s practically pleading, eyes shining with excitement. He wants to know. He’s curious.

And you?

You want the earth to swallow you whole.

But instead, you swallow down your panic and give him your most confident, totally-not-dying-inside smile. “Yeah, sure! I’ll, uh… I’ll let you know if I figure it out.”

Great. Now you’re investigating your own love letter.

Romcoms make this look so much easier.

In your defense, the love letter was never supposed to see the light of day.

It had been one of those late-night, caffeine-fueled brain dumps—the kind where your emotions got the best of you, and instead of focusing on your essay due at midnight, you had decided, hey, why not write a dramatic love confession you’ll never actually send?

It started off as a joke. A harmless what if?

What if you had the guts to tell Heeseung how you felt?

What if you weren’t just the campus Cupid, but actually someone worth writing about?

What if, for once, you weren’t just the messenger in everyone else’s love stories?

So, you had poured your heart onto the page. You wrote about how frustrating it was, liking someone from a distance—watching him laugh in the campus café, seeing him glide effortlessly through every class, always just out of reach. You let yourself be honest, because no one was ever supposed to read it.

And then? You stuffed it into your notebook, forgot about it, and went about your life like it never happened.

Until now.

Now, it was in Heeseung’s hands just because you thought it was written by someone else, and now you were stuck in the worst romcom of all time—investigating your own love letter while trying desperately to keep your crush a secret.

Honestly?

You were so, so doomed.

“So, what do you think?”

You try to keep your face neutral as Heeseung waves the letter in front of you, looking more confused than anything.

“About… what?” You ask cautiously.

“This.” He gestures to the paper. “The letter. My so-called ‘secret admirer.’”

Your spoke before you could stop yourself. “So…you figure out who it is. What happens then?”

He thinks, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, i’ll turn them down, it’s really flattering but it’s also kind of a hassle.”

A hassle?

You force out a laugh, even as your stomach twists into knots. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. Someone clearly put a lot of thought into this.”

“That’s the problem.” Heeseung exhales sharply. “I wasn’t expecting this. Im interested in someone else, and now I have to figure out how to let this person down without making things awkward.”

Your face heats up. You want to disappear.

“So, you’re not interested in them…? You like someone already?” You ask hesitantly, barely able to get the words out.

Heeseung shakes his head. “I don’t even know who they are. But I hope they don’t take it the wrong way, Y’know?”

You stare at him, pulse pounding in your ears.

He has no idea.

And now? You definitely can’t confess.

Not when you already know his answer.

And if there was one thing worse than knowing Heeseung didn’t want a relationship, it was actively helping him investigate your own confession.

Every day, he’d bring up new theories about who could’ve written the letter, and every day, you’d have to nod along, pretending to be just as clueless.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Heeseung didn’t seem to be taking it too seriously, mostly brushing it off whenever it came up. But as the days passed, something shifted… just slightly.

“Okay, so hear me out,” Heeseung said, leaning against the bookshelf beside you. The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and muffled whispers. “What if it’s someone from one of my classes?”

You kept your eyes on your laptop screen, pretending to focus on your assignment. “You already went through that theory. Twice.”

“Yeah, but I was thinking—what if they’re too nervous to say anything in person? What if it’s, like… someone who sits far away from me?”

You bit your lip. “And yet, you’re still expecting me to figure it out?”

“Well, you’re good at reading people.” Heeseung grinned, nudging your arm. “You always seem to know what’s going on with everyone.”

Your heart stuttered. If only he knew just how right he was.

Heeseung sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t get it. They wrote all this deep, meaningful stuff, but they didn’t sign their name. What’s the point of confessing if you don’t want the person to know?”

You swallowed hard. “Maybe they were scared.”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, looking at you in that way that always made you feel like he could see through you. “Scared of what?”

You hesitated. “Of ruining what they already have.”

His expression shifted. “You think they know me?”

You forced a shrug. “Probably. Why else would they write all that?”

Something flickered in his gaze, something unreadable. He held your gaze for a second too long before clearing his throat. “Huh. I never really thought about it like that.”

You turned back to your screen, desperate to focus on anything else. But then Heeseung moved closer, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned in to look at your laptop.

“What are you even working on?” he asked, voice quieter now, like the space between you had shrunk to something more intimate.

You could barely think straight. “Just… an essay.”

“Hm.” He didn’t sound convinced.

His voice was too close. His scent—clean, with a hint of something warm—was too distracting. It was stupid, so stupid, how easily he got under your skin without even trying.

The next few days started to get a little weird.

Heeseung had always been playful, always teasing and leaning in too close, but now it felt… different.

It was in the way he started remembering the little things—how you liked your coffee, how you tapped your fingers when you were thinking, how you always fixed your hair when you were nervous.

It was in the way he kept looking at you, his gaze lingering a little too long before he caught himself.

It was in the way his teasing changed—less casual, more intentional. Like he wanted to see how you’d react.

And then, one night, things got dangerous.

You were in his dorm, flipping through the list of names you had pretended to compile for the investigation. Heeseung sat on the floor beside you, his laptop balanced on his knees, absentmindedly chewing on a pen cap as he read through the letter again.

“You know…” he said, tilting his head, “whoever wrote this is actually really good with words.”

Your blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s, like… weirdly personal.” He frowned slightly, scanning the page. “I feel how much they mean it.”

You held your breath.

He let out a soft laugh. “Honestly, it kinda sounds like your writing.”

Your heart stopped.

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “What?”

Heeseung blinked at you, startled. “I mean—you’re good at writing, right? I read your papers, You’ve always been good with words.”

He reads your papers?

You forced out a laugh, hoping he couldn’t hear the way your voice shook. “Right— Well, I didn’t write it, obviously.”

Heeseung studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your horror, he smirked.

“Why do you look so guilty?”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I’m literally just existing, Heeseung. Shut up.”

He laughed, but there was something behind his eyes that made your stomach flip—something like curiosity. “Stop freaking out im just kidding.”

The investigation had led you and Heeseung all over campus, following false leads, and ultimately getting nowhere. You had been walking back toward the dorms when the sky, clear just moments ago, suddenly turned gray.

And then—of course—it started to rain.

Hard.

“Are you serious?” you groaned, pulling your jacket over your head as you and Heeseung ran toward the nearest cover—a small wooden gazebo near the campus library.

You both skidded to a stop under the roof, breathless and drenched. Heeseung shook his head like a wet dog, flinging water everywhere.

“Really?” You scowled, wiping raindrops off your face.

He laughed, ruffling his already-messy hair. “My bad.”

The sound of rain drumming against the roof filled the space between you, the cool breeze making you shiver.

“Here,” Heeseung said, shrugging off his hoodie.

You blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re cold, Cupid” he pointed out, holding the hoodie out to you. “Take it.”

“I’m fine,” you said, crossing your arms.

He scoffed. “Just take it before you get sick.”

You hesitated, but he rolled his eyes and stepped closer, draping the hoodie over your shoulders himself. The warmth of it, of him, surrounded you immediately, and your breath hitched.

You looked up at him, ready to protest, but he was already watching you—his expression unreadable, the usual teasing glint in his eyes nowhere to be found.

“Why do I feel like you’re hiding something from me?” he murmured suddenly.

Your pulse spiked. “What?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, studying you in a way that made your stomach twist. “I don’t know. You just…” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

You swallowed hard, clutching the hoodie tighter around you.

The rain kept falling around you, blurring the world outside the gazebo, making this moment feel like it existed outside of everything else—outside of reality, outside of whatever mess you had gotten yourself into.

For a split second, it felt like you weren’t just Heeseung’s reluctant investigation partner. Like you weren’t the person holding onto a secret that could ruin everything.

Like, maybe, he could actually like you back.

But then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should probably wait this out before heading back.”

Just like that, the moment passed and you were left standing there in his hoodie, drowning in warmth, drowning in him, pretending you weren’t completely, helplessly falling apart.

After the rain, the campus felt quieter, the usual chatter dampened by the lingering water in the air. You walked alongside Heeseung, both of you with your hoods up, trying to shield yourselves from the leftover drizzle. It was awkward but comfortable — the kind of silence where you weren’t sure if you were supposed to talk or if it was okay just to exist in the same space.

Heeseung was the first to break it. “You know, you really don’t have to walk me all the way back to my dorm. It should be the other way around—.”

You glanced at him, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. You were worried about your own feelings, and now, Heeseung had a way of making your heart flutter with the smallest of gestures.

“I don’t mind,” you replied quickly, too quickly. “I just figured I should, you know… make sure you’re okay.”

Heeseung chuckled, a low sound that made you feel warm despite the cool rain. “You’re acting kind of weird. Usually, you’re so naggy. I thought I’d never see you get flustered.”

You looked away, trying to hide your face. “I’m not flustered.”

There was a brief pause as Heeseung watched you. His eyes softened, the usual teasing light in them dimming a little. “You’re not fooling me, you know.”

You slowed your pace, nervous now, your heart pounding as you tried to look calm. “I’m not trying to fool anyone.”

“I think you are,” he replied, stepping a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours as the two of you continued walking side by side.

You swallowed hard. The proximity felt different now, more charged. Your voice faltered. “What do you mean?”

Heeseung didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted his gaze to the ground, the rain creating ripples on the wet pavement. “It’s just… you’re always so careful with what you say. Always so in control. But sometimes… I wonder if you’re hiding something.”

Your stomach dropped at his words. You glanced over at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. The air between you felt heavier, and the tension seemed to stretch out longer than usual.

“I’m not hiding anything,” you murmured, even though part of you wished he could know the truth — or maybe, just maybe, that he could feel the same way.

Heeseung’s voice was quieter now, his tone almost teasing, but there was something else in it, something deeper. “Then why do you always look at me like that? Like you’re holding back?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

He finally met your eyes, his gaze intense. There was a flicker of something — was it vulnerability? — in his look. “Like you’re scared to let me in. What are you afraid of?”

Your breath hitched. For a split second, you were paralyzed, unsure of how to answer. Was it possible he was starting to see through your walls?

Heeseung’s gaze softened as he noticed the look on your face, sensing something unspoken. He took a step back, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Forget it.”

But you couldn’t forget it. Not now. You could feel the space between the two of you shifting, the weight of his words lingering. Something was different, something had shifted, and you weren’t sure if it was just your heart racing or something more.

For the rest of the walk, neither of you spoke much. But every time your eyes met, it felt like there was a new understanding between you two — a shared secret that neither of you was ready to fully admit, but both were beginning to feel.

It had been a long day, but when you stepped out of your last class, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different. It wasn’t just the cold air or the approaching dusk; something was off, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. That was until you spotted Heeseung standing by the bench outside the library, his gaze fixed on you as if he’d been waiting for a while.

Your heart skipped a beat.

He looked at you for a moment before he spoke. “Cupid, we need to talk.”

A nervous flutter danced in your stomach, and you forced a smile. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

He took a deep breath, stepping toward you, and you noticed the letter in his hand — the same one you’d written to him, the one that had been slipped anonymously into his mailbox just a few days ago. Your heart pounded in your chest, the realization of what was happening dawning on you.

Heeseung didn’t say anything for a moment, just held the letter between his fingers, glancing down at it. “I know this is from you,” he said quietly, his voice gentle but filled with a soft surprise. “I figured it out after I read it again.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You had hoped, prayed, that he wouldn’t find out this way. But here it was, and you couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“How… How did you know?” you asked, trying to hide the nerves creeping up your voice.

He smiled slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “A few things gave it away. The way you worded everything… It just felt like it came from you.”

“Also I found some of your notebooks while we were at your dorm and I matched the handwriting…” He blurted out.

Your heart sank. You had spent so long hoping he wouldn’t realize it was you, but now it seemed impossible to hide the truth.

“I… I’m sorry,” you said, almost embarrassed. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I just… didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Heeseung’s expression softened. “Why would it be awkward?”

“Because I’ve liked you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it,” you admitted, looking down at your shoes. “So I thought if I wrote the letter, I could control it. But then I accidentally gave it to you and everything is just— I don’t know It was never meant to reach you.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, and something about the way he looked at you made your stomach flip. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I kind of wish you’d just told me sooner.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. “What?”

“I mean it,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I wasn’t expecting it to be you but now that I know… It’s kind of a relief. I’ve been wondering why you’ve been acting so weird around me.”

You blinked, taken aback. “I’ve been acting weird?”

Heeseung laughed softly, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, you’ve been avoiding me like the plague. Always a little too nervous when we talk.”

You felt a wave of warmth rise to your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to… I just…”

He took another step forward, the distance between the two of you shrinking. “You don’t need to explain. I get it.” He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with an almost teasing glint in them. “Honestly, I’ve kind of had a feeling you liked me. You just never said it.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Wait… you knew?”

He grinned. “Not for sure, but I wasn’t completely blind. I just didn’t want to make assumptions.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you felt your nerves ease a little. The tension that had been building between the two of you melted away, replaced by something lighter, something more familiar.

“So… this doesn’t make things weird?” you asked cautiously, unsure if you were reading him right. The last thing you wanted was to make things uncomfortable.

Heeseung shook his head, his smile softening. “No. Actually, I’m kind of glad. Now I don’t have to turn anyone down because I like someone else.”

Your heart raced as he closed the gap between the two of you, standing only a few inches away. He looked down at the letter in his hand, then back at you, his expression serious but warm. “I don’t think I ever really realized how much I liked you until now. I think I’ve been too caught up in my own head to notice, but hearing this from you? Yeah, I think I feel the same.”

For a moment, everything seemed to pause — the sound of people passing by, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze, even the thumping of your own heartbeat — until Heeseung’s words sank in fully. The shock of it left you speechless, and the only thing you could manage was a soft, almost breathless, “Really?”

He chuckled, the sound light and comforting. “Really. I like you too, Cupid— I mean, Y/N.”

A smile spread across your face, and you couldn’t stop it. Your heart felt lighter than it had in days, as if a weight had been lifted off your chest. You had been so afraid of how things might turn out, but now, with Heeseung standing here in front of you, it felt like everything was falling into place.

Heeseung held the letter out to you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “You know, you could’ve just told me. But I guess this works too.”

You took the letter from him, glancing down at the words you’d written once more, a smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe it was a bit dramatic. But… I was too scared to just say it. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

He reached for your hand, gently taking it in his. “You didn’t mess anything up, Cupid. You just… made everything clearer.”

And just like that, all the tension and uncertainty you’d been feeling seemed to dissolve. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. You were standing here, with Heeseung, both of you finally understanding the feelings that had been simmering for so long.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice playful again, “How about we skip the letters next time and just go for a dinner date?”

You laughed, your heart full as you squeezed his hand. “That sounds perfect.”

Heeseung smiled, his gaze soft and filled with something genuine. “Good. Let’s not wait any longer, I really want some ramen.”

And with that, the two of you walked off together, the air between you light, and the promise of something more ahead.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Dating Heeseung felt like stepping into something familiar but entirely new at the same time. The comfort of your friendship was still there—the teasing, the ease, the way you could talk about anything and everything—but now there was something softer, sweeter, laced between every interaction.

Like right now.

It was late, the two of you curled up on your dorm room floor with a half-finished pizza between you, an old playlist humming softly from your phone. The world outside felt quiet, like this moment only belonged to the two of you. Heeseung was leaning against the bed, his legs stretched out, while you were sitting cross-legged beside him, picking at the crust of your pizza slice.

His hand, which had been resting casually near yours, suddenly slid closer, his fingers tracing the tips of yours absentmindedly. It was such a simple thing, but it sent a shiver up your spine nonetheless.

“So,” Heeseung started, voice slow and teasing. “How’s it feel? Finally dating the guy of your dreams?”

You rolled your eyes, already knowing where this was going. “You’re impossible.”

Heeseung grinned, leaning his head back against the bed. “No, but really. You had a crush on me for so long, and now look at us.” His fingers fully laced with yours now, his touch warm and effortless.

“I wouldn’t say I had a crush that long,” you mumbled, taking a sip of your drink to avoid looking at him.

“Are you kidding? You literally wrote me a love letter.”

Your face burned. “Okay, one letter—”

“One?” Heeseung gasped dramatically, sitting up and turning toward you. “So you’re telling me there aren’t, like, ten versions of that letter somewhere in your notes app?”

You choked. “There absolutely are not.”

“Oh my god.” He laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “There are. You rewrote it a bunch of times, didn’t you?”

You covered your face with your hands, groaning. “I am not having this conversation.”

Heeseung was grinning now, having way too much fun at your expense. He reached over, gently prying your hands from your face. “No, no, let’s talk about it. Tell me, how long did it take you to get the perfect wording? Did you, like, pace around your room dramatically?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “For your information, I wasn’t that dramatic.”

Heeseung smirked. “Mhm. So you didn’t dramatically sigh and go, ‘No, this isn’t right, I need to capture his essence’?”

You picked up a stray piece of crust and chucked it at him. He dodged it easily, laughing as he caught your wrist, pulling you toward him slightly.

“You’re the worst,” you mumbled, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Heeseung was still grinning, his fingers now playing with yours absentmindedly. “You love it.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I really don’t.”

“You do,” he countered, tugging you even closer until you were practically pressed against his side. His voice dropped, softer now, almost teasing in a different way. “Did you mean everything you said in that letter?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. “What if I did?”

Heeseung tilted his head, his gaze locked onto yours, and suddenly, the playful atmosphere melted into something else—something quieter, more intense.

“Then,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles, “I’d tell you that I think about it a lot.”

You blinked. “You do?”

Heeseung nodded, his expression unusually serious now. “I mean, do you even realize how… nice it is to know someone felt that way about me? And not just anyone—you.” He exhaled, his lips curling into something softer, more affectionate. “I don’t think I ever told you, but when I first read it, before I even knew it was from you, I remember thinking… whoever wrote this really cares about me.”

Your heart was thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“And then,” he continued, “when I found out it was you? It just… it all made sense.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “It did?”

Heeseung hummed in response.

“You’ve always been there,” he said softly. “I just didn’t realize how much I wanted you to be closer.”

You felt your throat tighten, emotion bubbling up in your chest, but before you could even think of a response, Heeseung leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

His eyes flickered to your lips for just a moment before meeting your gaze again, as if silently asking permission.

You didn’t need to think twice.

Closing the small distance between you, you kissed him.

It was soft, slow—like both of you were still memorizing the feeling. Heeseung sighed against your lips, his hand sliding to your jaw, tilting your face toward him just slightly.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and heart pounding, Heeseung smiled, his forehead still pressed to yours.

“So,” he murmured, eyes twinkling, “if I ask you nicely, do I get to read those other drafts of the letter?”

You groaned, shoving him away playfully. “Absolutely not.”

Heeseung only laughed, pulling you back into his arms with ease. “Fine, fine. But at least let me know—was I always this irresistible in them?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Shut up, Heeseung.”

He grinned, pressing another soft kiss to your temple. “Love you too.”

Series Taglist — next

@saphiranishimurashan @m1kkso @taesanoreohair @elairah @baribaaari @letwiiparkjay @jellyluv4eva @mbsnow @moontyun @manuosorioh

- if you weren’t tagged you need to fix your visibility!

[dollywoo]

J.WY | A Poet’s New Muse.

hi!! this is my first x reader fic! some slow(ish) burn fluff just in time for Valentine’s Day! i hope you enjoy! ♡

pairings: wooyoung!waiter x poet!reader ♡

synopsis: you are a troubled poet who has a poem due on love, though you are experiencing writer’s block. that is, until your favorite waiter gives you new found muse and more!~

word count: 3.2k ♡

Wooyoung would hum a gentle tune as he wiped away the mess left behind by the patrons that had just exited one of his last booths of the night. though his tune seemed happy, his mind was troubled. it was nearing closing time, and the raven haired waiter was left questioning himself, ‘why hadn’t they showed up?’

then, almost like clockwork, the abrupt sound of ringing took his attention to the fromt door, his gentle gaze setting on you. your appearance was put together and exuded pure beauty — though your mind told a different story; the raging war and suffocating feeling of being a poet with the worst case of writer’s block ever seen.

Wooyoung hadn’t looked away, even when you made eye contact it took him a bit too long to break the silence. once he did, his curtain bangs fell into his brunette orbs as he stuttered back to life. “Welcome in!” he would speak in a winded, yet cheey tone. You would try and hold back a smile at the endearing sight before you — Wooyoung all disheveled and shy just at the sight of you made you blush a bit, though you quickly recovered once your right hand gripped at your poetry book slightly. then, the waiter would bring you back from your thoughts, “I’ll show you to your table, followed me.” it seemed that Wooyoung had recovered from his previous flustered state, turning to guide you to a booth in the corner, away from the bustle of other customers.

Wooyoung brought you to this table on purpose of course, he wanted you to be able to write as much as your heart desires — no distractions. he knew exactly how you liked it because he would watch you for months, ever since you first entered the restaurant on that dreary rainy night. You were the only thing that made that night shine bright for him, despite the pouring rain and his new Chrome Hearts beanie getting ruined.

once you were seated, his arm would extend to you, handing you a menu for the restaurant with a soft smile. Your gaze would betray you, taking in the ink that adorned the lower forearm of the gorgeous man before you — thankful that those sleeves belonging to his white button up were rolled to the elbow to display this. You would be brought out of your trance at your brain screaming at you once again, ‘y/n! focus on this writing! the publishers need something to work with in the morning!’ You would tear your gaze away, giving the alluring male a gentle, “Thank you.” before peering at the menu.

tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, and you needed a love poem to hit the papers bright and early tomorrow morning, your boss was going to wring your neck if you didnt have it ready. truth be told, you were too focused on this damn poetry to even think of having your own Valentine. the irony of having to write a poem about love but not having your own is a sick prank from the world.

Wooyoung walked off to give you some time, his own face red from the encounter, he saw the way you looked at him — his rose tattoo. it has his heart beating at a rapid pace, the blush on his cheeks made his dot all too evident than before. as soon as he made it to the safety of the kitchen he approached the sink, washing his face off promptly before hearing a scoff in his direction. he didnt even have to look before the owner of the laugh started to speak, “Woo…just ask them out, you always get so flustered every night when they come in!” his coworker, Mingi would speak as he prepared an entree for one of the tables belonging to another section. “It’s like I’m watching another kdrama! I see the way they look at you too! It’s Valentine’s Day! Just go for it, Wooyoungie!” the tall male would practically whine, “The worst they can say is no~”

Wooyoung’s cheeks would heat up once more, drying away the water droplets with a paper towl from the dispenser above the sink. “Shh.. you do this EVERYTIME” the waiter would groan out in a teasing tone, throwing Mingi a mischievous glare — he was teasing the older. “Maybe one day I will! Plus, they are focusing on their poetry! I would hate to be a distraction!” Woo whined out, moving over towards Mingi who had since finished preparing the dish and was now setting it to the counter to serve. “Can’t blame me for trying!” Mingi would giggle out, hitting the bell for service. “Actually, I think Jongho went to the bathroom, can you take this entree to table 9?” the taller would ask, shooting the younger a gummy smile. Wooyoung rolled his eyes, “fiiinee” he would whine out in a playful tone, grabbing the entree and heading to it’s destination.

as he walked out onto the floor, his gaze would find purchase on you, watching as you began to jot down some starting lines, before ripping the paper out of the book and setting it to the side with frustration. ‘See, they are busy’ He told himself, finally giving the plate to the hungry customer and then making his way back to you.

You were mumbling to yourself, trying to rack your brain of how to write of a romance that you have never had. that was until your thoughts were pulled elsewhere, the waiter was speaking again. “I am so sorry to bother you again, but are you ready to order?” those eyes, they were so gentle — so kind. Wooyoung’s eyes were the kind of brown you could fall into, swim and get lost in. it was if every constellation was held in that magnificent gaze of his. You couldn’t look away — and neither could he. the look in both your eyes gave each other the sense of yearning — of longing.

the way the waiter’s raven hair parted down the middle, framing his face with pure elegance despite his redden cheeks caused your heart to blossom with want — the want of kissing on that cute little mole of his. his hands were holding a notepad and a pen, the way each vein in his nicely sized hands showed caused your beain to wander somewhere far more sinful. your own hand would reach to the other for a moment, placing onto Wooyoung’s and gently rubbing the vein with your thumb.

“my usual, please.” you would finally speak as Wooyoung took a moment, as if your voice hadnt even registered to him just yet. but as soon as it did, his pen began to move along the notepad. afterwards, the hand that was in yours would interlock your fingers with his, his head tilting to the side as he spoke. “will be out shortly for you, my love.” he would speak with such confidence, before lifting your hand and kissing the top. he then began to walk towards the kitchen, putting your order in with Mingi.

so this was love?

your pen began to move along the page as you found some sort of muse — a love to write about. You were finished before Wooyoung would return with your food, placing your poetry book off to the side so the plate could be set before you. the waiter was silent this time, before sliding into the seat across from you. you were shocked for a moment, but absolutely thrilled to be joined by such an attractive male, one that you had been daydreaming about for what seemed like centuries.

the silence was broken much quicker this time, like Wooyoung had found some confidence after their previous interaction. “so, do you have a Valentine this year?” he would question, sipping from a glass of water that he had brought with him. his gaze wouldnt move from you — now you were the one blushing.

“no..” you would speak softly, “my publisher needed this poem by morning, so I have been way too distracted to even think of having one.”

Wooyoung would fall silent, chewing on his bottom lip that was home to another dot of his. this man was truly a work of art. “well..” his voice would trail, that confidence wavered just for a moment before the dark haired waiter regained himself. “Would you like to be my Valentine?” his voice was as smooth as silk, the words rolling off his tongue with ease — your presence gave him confidence and calmed his nerves. “I can get tomorrow night off and take you to a different restaurant, or the movies. anything you want, y/n!” he added, another blush forming on your cheeks at the sound of him saying your name.

“Yes, Wooyoung, I would love to be your Valentine!” you practically exclaimed, your meal was now long forgotten as butterflies swarmed in your stomach. was this really happening? you had never had a Valentine before.

little did you know, neither did Wooyoung, between working at the restaurant and dancing at the studio he didnt have time for love — though you were an exception.

Wooyoung’s eyes light up with pure joy, you could see sparks flying with the way he was looking at you. “Can I have your phone number, darling?” he spoke with a bright smile on his lips, handing his unlocked phone over to you. with haste, your thumbs would tap across the screen, putting your phone number in and saving your contact in his phone. once you handed his phone back, he would text your number quickly. you felt your phone buzz, looking down at it for a moment.

“text me your address, I can pick you up at 6pm!” Wooyoung spoke with a smile on his lips, attempting to contain his excitement as he slide out of the booth, placing his hand on yours and giving it a squeeze before walking off. “See you tomorrow, love.”

────୨ৎ────

it felt like forever had passed by since you had seen Wooyoung, you had turned in your poetry early that morning at the office, and you were now heading back to your apartment to get ready for your date with the man of your dreams. the two of you had been texting all day, making the solid plan to go to a restaurant that Wooyoung said was to die for — then back to your place to show Wooyoung your prized writing collection. you were so excited that as soon as you entered the door to your apartment, you locked it behind you and ran to shower. your outfit had been picked out since last night after you had came home from the restaurant. everything was gping to be perfect.

after completing your shower, it was a bit after 5pm, so you began to get dressed and do your makeup and style your hair to make sure you looked your absolute best — even though Wooyoung would think you would be beautiful even in a cardboard box.

6pm came sooner than expected, you finally finished working on your appearance and sat down on your phone, scrolling through tiktok before a knock at your door brought your attention from the screen, you quickly grabbed your bag and made your way to the door. you were dressed in a pair of your nicest white dress pants that showed off every curve in your hips and legs. this was paired with a wine red flowy blouse that showed off your star necklace that you had adorned yourself with, and then a pair of black heeled shoes.

once you opened the front door of your apartment, your own breath was taken away by the raven haired beauty infront of you. Wooyoung was adorned in a white blouse that showed off his collarbones and upperchest nicely, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow; dress pants were a wine red, the color matched the blouse of yours which was an unplanned surprise that made your smile brighten, and then paired with a pair of black shoes. despite your heeled shoes, he was still taller than you, which made your heart swoon a bit. his orbs filled with admiration gazed down upon you, his hair framing his honeykissed face perfectly, some strands were tucked behind his ears. his silver earrings shone brightly in the light that illuminated your living room, he smiled softly, reaching out to grab your hips and pull you close.

“hello there, gorgeous.” he spoke gently, his tone way more flirty than the night before. he then placed a kiss on your cheek before sliding his hands down to his sides. “our reservation is at 6:30pm, are you ready to go?” he smiled softly as you nodded, he took your hand in his and lead you out of your apartment. you stopped momentarily to lock your door before you allowed him to drag you off into the parking lot.

the drive was amazing, Wooyoung drove the whole time and asked for you to put your favorite songs on to listen to. turns out, he likes your taste; his fingers would tap along on the steering wheel to the tune of your favorite melody as he finally made the last turn and parked. “this is the place!” he spoke with a smile on his lips, turning off the engine and getting out the car, rushing over to your side to open the door for you. you both then headed to the entrance of the restaurant, hand in hand. Wooyoung was a very touchy person, he couldnt seem to keep his hands off of you.

it didnt take long for the both of you to be seated, Wooyoung had made sure to request a seat with a magnificent view of the scenery of the restaurants garden which was adorned with tomatos, potatos, assorted vegetables and a few flowers. you had seen your favorite one and pointed at it happily, his attention was on you immediately. “ooo lily of the valleys! i havent seen those in so long!” you exclaimed with excitement, covering your mouth for a moment after in embarrassment. Woo would reach over and bring your hands from your mouth, wanting you to keep talking. “my favorites are sunflowers, i dont see much of them though!” he giggled softly, giving you a reassuring smile.

moments would pass before the waiter would make his way to your table, Wooyoung’s eyes were on you once he arrived. “Hello, beautiful. are you ready to order?” the waiter of the restaurant spoke to you, Wooyoung’s jaw clenched immediately before snapping back. “they are beautiful aren’t they? MY Valentine is the most gorgeous being to ever grace this planet.” he spoke, eye contact to the waiter now as he made sure to pronounce the word ‘my’ harshly. he was already protective over you and the first date wasnt even over yet, how cute.

You giggled softly, squeezing Wooyoung’s hand before ordering a pappardelle pasta with alfredo sauce. then Wooyoung would place his order as well, which was a tortellini pasta with tomato sauce. the male handed your menus back to the waiter who left promptly without another word, he seemed to be a bit intimidated by Wooyoung.

“sorry about that, i’m not usually protective like that.” Wooyoung would speak to you, caressing your hand with his thumb as he gazed longingly into your magnificent orbs. “don’t apologize, its very attractive.” you would respond. this caused a smirk to appear on Wooyoung’s lips, “ah, then i’ll do it more often for you, sweetheart.” he ended his sentence with a wink.

dinner went on perfectly after this, his hand always somehow found a way to meet yours, or brush your hair behind your ear; he was the moth, you were the flame. he wouldnt keep his hands off of you.

after you both finished eating, you stayed for another hour or two just talking about every interest you both have. it wasnt until the hostess came by and told you both they were closing did you realize how much time had passed. Wooyoung would giggle softly, thanking the hostess before standing and approaching your side. once you stood, he snaked his arm around your waist and you both walked to his car.

the drive home made you a bit upset, not because of Wooyoung — but because the date was coming to an end and you didn’t want him to go. before you could think, you blurted out, “do you want to stay the night?” you then looked over at him, who immediately met yours gaze as well as he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment. “of course.” he answered with a smile on his face.

once you both made it to the entrance of your apartment, Wooyoung’s hand gripped your hip softly, rubbing the bone in a loving manner. you unlocked your door before you both walked into your apartment. “make yourself at home!” you spoke sweetly, “the bedroom is down the hall to the right, the bathroom is across from it!”

though Wooyoung didnt leave your side even after you spoke that, he was glued to you. “hmm, how about we watch a movie?” he spoke excitedly, a yawn following the question as he gazed into your eyes lovingly. “we can cuddleee” he spoke that last word in a whiney tone, like he was already needy for your touch in every way.

you nodded, “yes we can! you choose a movie while i change okay?” you placed a kiss on Wooyoung’s cheek before making your way to your bedroom. in the meantime, Woo had brought in his dance bag that always contained an extra pair of clothes. he changed in the bathroom, now wearing a black t shirt and gray sweatpants when you returned.

you changed into a pair of shorts and an oversized top before making your way back out to meet him. you plopped yourself down beside Wooyoung on the couch, who immediately wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest. “i chose Howl’s Moving Castle, have you watched it?” he spoke softly, rubbing his head against you affectionately— like a cat.

“i love that movie! you so remind me of Howl!” you immediately blurted out, planting more kisses along his jawline as he let out a chuckle. “stopp i was gonna say i loved him!!!” he spoke in excitement, he then laid down on his back and without a second thought you climbed ontop of him. your head rested on his chest, listening to the gentle thumping of his beating heart.

“hey y/n?” Wooyoung spoke softly, running his fingers through your hair.

“yes, Woo?” you responded, fighting off the sleepiness that plagued your body now, and his warmth wasnt helping — though you didnt mind that too much.

“will you be my partner?” he questioned softly, kissing the top of your head. you then smiled the biggest you had all night, your cheeks burning from this.

“of course, baby!” you exclaimed, leaning up to pepper his neck and jaw with kisses. “my perfect boyfriend!” you whispered to him.

Wooyoung hummed softly, “my perfect baby.” he responded before you both succumbed to the peaceful lull of sleep.

—🧸taglist!: @vampzity @sanshairfollicles @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @rvereri @joonezra @jjongibears @h4untedgrl

comment to be added to my taglist! ♡

thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed my first x reader fic!! ♡

[arcane-ish]

I love Silco, but can we talk about how he's totally a snitch?

I find that very interesting since season 2 drew attention again to Vander's "we don't hand over our own" line.

versus

I'm personally still convinced that when Silco had his meeting with Marcus in episode 2 he told him that Vander's kid were to blame for the Topside job. Which leads directly to the raid on the Last Drop.

Evidence? Silco's meeting scene with Marcus ends like this.

We go directly into the raid and Marcus even references the conversation that he imo had with Silco.

IMO he wanted Vander to get raided and be put in a pickle. Maybe see how Vander would react.

Of course I think Silco thought there was some fight in Vander left and that Vander would find some way to keep his kids from being taken. But if Vander really was as much of a lapdog as Silco claims it would have led to 4 actually rebellious childern being taken to Stilwater just so Silco can have his little test or just so Silco can enjoy making Vander suffer. (again I like to think Silco at this point was already dreaming of things escalating in some way and Vander being forced to do something radical)

It happens again in Act 2. In Act 1 when Vander's daughter was the cause for a Topside bombing he said the line about not handing over one of their own. When Silco's daughter is at fault for a Topside crime, he has zero problems fingering fellow Zaunites, including planting fake evidence. Worked with enforcers to pin the blame on other Zaunites he does not like.

Remember that line from Ekko to Caitlyn about how the enforcers hunt them (presumably the Firelights) like animals?

It just sometimes feels like people forget that Silco talks about doing everything that absolutely includes throwing his own people to the wolves if it makes strategic sense for him. And I think that's why some people think that there's a hypocrisy there, since his big accusation against Vander was that Vander worked with enforcers. When Silco never was above working with enforcers. So his rule is not "never work with enforcers" but "work with enforcers just secretly don't mean it" or you can do acts that are bad for Zaunites and good for the enforcers as long as you look down on the enforcers while doing it"?

(sidenote: there was this one older writer interview where they discussed Sevika on the council versus Ekko. And Christian said a line about Sevika not liking Silco's methods and I remember turning the video off at this point with a big "do you even watch your own show" feeling? Or a "Is this another writers versus animators thing?" Like you have Sevika the person who clearly viscerally enjoys fighting and violence and you really expect me to believe that she had moral qualms about Silco's methods?

But now I wonder if there's a chance he meants something like that (ie shifting the blame for Jinx's crimes on other Zaunites). Sevika is not present for that meeting between Silco and Marcus about the Firelights, so we don't know her opinion on it I think.

For the record, I don't think it would be that weird characterizationwise if there were things Sevika did under Silco that she began to wonder about/didn't like as much in retrospect and that's why in season 2 we see her sort of experimenting with some elements of Vander's approach)

[burning2know]

I agree wholeheartedly with OP and these tags from prev. prefacing that I will be ignoring the game that shall not be named and probably repeating some points.

There's nothing quite like the interactive medium of a video game that makes you examine your own choices and beliefs. And when it comes to politics, there's often a disconnect between ideology and lived experience. My favorite thing about DA was always the fact the it tried to bridge the two. Whether it's showing that various individuals in similar circumstances can have completely different ideologies, or it can be to explore what happens to individuals and their experiences after reshaping the world according to the player's ideology. That bridge, albeit implicit, has been formative in the way I think about my own world. When it comes to the lore and world building, it demands the player to use critical thinking, much like a historian might, to make sense of it. And I did end up feeling like I needed to make sense of the world to make my choices.

Even though DA has argued both sides, it does it incredibly well. The arguments it presents come from character perspectives that makes sense in the universe, and it makes it all feel real. I think a lot of credit should go to origin's writers for providing those arguments. It feels like the writers talking amongst themselves trying to hash out what each action means for the world and to eachother using the NPCs, and in the spaces of these discussions, I get to reflect on where I agree and disagree and what that means for me as a player. The experience reminds me of me watching Contrapoints videos in which she has a conversation with various parts of her own beliefs about her gender identity, and engaging with her inner-discourse lead me to a deeper understanding of my own identity.

That's the true value of arguing both sides. It lets the audience decide for themselves without being prescriptive. And while it does demand the audience construct their own reasons and values to explain their choices, it also provides a window into possible viewpoints that the audience might or might not agree with. And not in a judgmental way. That process shows how one character may arrive there, not through insanity or stupidity, but through various circumstances and experiences.

DA's goal was always to challenge the player. That isn't to say that there's no bias, or a particular perspective that the writers are coming from. But the point is that it opens a space for exploration. It takes a certain kind of person to be able to do that without falling into the hole of appearing contrarian or troll-ish. And to some extent the writers themselves had to treat each argument with equal respect and legitimacy to display its outcomes in the game according to the rules of the world rather than their own ideals. And that itself is not easy. It doesn't surprise me that that world view and capacity disappears when the series changed hands.

And underlying all of that is a philosophy about how individuals operate, and how they operate when they come together into groups of individuals (many different words to say power and hierarchy). And that underlying philosophy is what resonated with me so much with over time. It's very compassionate to be able to hold space for these other perspectives. Not only rare to see due to the complexity required to show it, but easy to lose and difficult to gain back once you've lost it. And at this moment in the history of DA, we have lost it.

In some ways, I think the timing of this happening Makes Sense. We live in a tumultuous time where reality is uncertain and volatile due to the nature of new modes of information exchange. We see all kinds of people sharing things on social media that could easily be interpreted as lived experience or disinformation. And more than ever, our shared reality is being shattered into a million pieces by personalized content. (I too have felt the "we live in parallel universes" thought creeping up on me). In this chaotic environment, we Need the psychological comfort of certainty, of knowing what the world is like. The easiest and most familiar way is to find an authoritative voice and trust that single voice as the guiding star. That voice is only strengthened by others' agreement, and we contribute to this strengthening with our own psychological needs for certainty and stability. And we become resistant to dissent and critical analysis, because the amount of information to sort through gets very overwhelming very quickly.

What DA does has always been the opposite of that, it demands the player to confront multiple perspectives (albeit in a much more curated and coherent way). And it is logical to me that the game goes against such a primary psychological need in these trying times, perhaps now more than ever. But this theme has always gone against the grain, and media that goes against the grain in this way is so rare and So Badly Needed. We Need people to be able to think through and cobsider multiple perspectives, because there are so many perspectives accessible to us. At the same time I understand the draw of never ever having to do that. And I also understand that a lot of people just don't think that deeply ever. And that's why losing DA hits extra hard for me. Because it is another piece of resistance swept away with the torrent of greater trends that push us away from shared understanding with the people around us.

i feel like all of my pondering and analyzing and criticizing veilguard over the past few months has actually truly given me a better understanding of what dragon age meant to me, what about it specifically was so meaningful, and why, as a result, veilguard felt so wrong. it took a while for me to figure it out. about three full months of relentless essay writing, actually. but i think if you had asked me a few years ago what the core of my love for dragon age was, whatever answer i gave would not have truly gotten to the root of it, because i think i had to experience the disappointment of veilguard to fully understand why i love dragon age. and ive realized that core is that i loved how the previous dragon age entries demand so much of the player, and deliberately prompt introspection and critical, often political, thought.

dragon age games have historically forced the player to be self-reflective and introspective about their worldview and beliefs. solas is obviously a fantastic example, as he was deliberately written to be a reflection of the player in order to prompt them to reflect on how they treat people, how our expectations of people influence their behavior, and how people are pushed to extremes and turned into monsters or saved by love and kindness. how do people become monsters? what drives them to blow up buildings or start rebellions or destroy the world as you know it? are they right or wrong? does it even matter? how did you contribute to this? are you innocent? it puts these insane, politically and morally charged situations in your face and forces you to confront them. slavery, a refugee crisis, poverty, class disparities, racism, foreign occupation, the list goes on, and you are not given the option to look away or be a bystander. you have to ACT. you have to choose, you have to make judgements, you have to take responsibility and explore your role in this world as someone with the capacity to act upon it, to make your will a reality, to fail, to make mistakes. i honestly can't think of any other video game that does this to the same extent? nor any media at all because the act of being IN the world as one of it's people through the act of role-playing is essential to how it provokes this experience in the player. its ballsy. they deliberately try to make you uncomfortable. these games are full of liars, deceivers, betrayers. the games themselves lie to you. its character try to deceive you. did you catch it? or were you fooled? what else might you be fooled by? who else might be lying to you? in the game? in real life? and then you get to play it again knowing the end, and what the game prompts changes with your new knowledge. now it asks, do you forgive them? what makes someone worthy of forgiveness? where do you draw the line? what do you think?

i dont think i realized until recently how impactful this was for me considering how i first got into dragon age at 16 years old. i dont think i had experienced anything up to that point that would put a situation like judging a war criminal who ordered the deaths of children or another war criminal who just left me to die and orchestrated a near-coup or a traumatized terrorist who just blew up a church right in my face, and said MAKE A DECISION. and i didnt know it at the time, but looking back i can see how valuable it was for me at that age to have what was effectively an avenue of exploration and self-expression of all of these moral and political issues that i was grappling with as a young adult. i played inquisition for the first time just months before i voted in my first presidential primary. i already had a political consciousness at this point, but it was nonetheless new and vulnerable and still blossoming into something more concrete. inquisition, then, almost provided a sort of political, moral and personal sandbox for me from ages 16-20 to better help me understand myself in relation to the world. the RPG-ness allowed me to put myself into these situations - like the mage-templar war and its metaphor for mass incarceration and police brutality - while i was also simultaneously grappling with and trying to understand these issues in real life. having dragon age to help me further unpack my own beliefs and conception of these issues was undeniably impactful. it provided a space, through a narrative i enjoyed and cared about, to make choices and judgement calls and better understand who i was, and what felt right to me. it asked, "what do you think?"

veilguard lacks this. completely. and lets be clear that the previous games did not always do a perfect job. many of these depictions are messy and harmful and problematic, but they at least, by extension of their own existence in a narrative that forces you to THINK and JUDGE and DECIDE, give me the space and opportunity to judge them as messy, as problematic, as harmful. i can confidently say that i think da2 is too sympathetic to the templars as an organization because the fact that da2 presents me with so many narrative conflicts regarding the templar organization allows me to not just make in-game decisions and play as a staunch advocate for mage freedom and circle abolition, but to form opinions on the game itself by extension. i can confidently say that i believe the qunari's portrayal is islamophobic because the game has prompted me so many times; what do i think about the qunari? what do i think about the oppression of the elves? what do i think about dorian being a seemingly good person but defending the practice of slavery? who should rule orzammar; the progressive asshole or the conservative traditionalist? do i forgive loghain? do i forgive anders? do i forgive solas? this in-world critical thinking about issues in thedas leads to meta critical thinking. further questions naturally follow -> what message did the writers intend to send through anders? how can i notice the echoes of how this story came into fruition in the shadow of 9/11? what do solas's endings tell me about the writers view of retributive punishment? how is bioware's portrayal of the dalish, as inspired by indigenous north americans, reflective of deep-seated anti-indigenous canadian sentiment? why did the writers stop prompting these hard questions at all in veilguard? did they only like it when it was about characters, not when it led to critical thinking about them and the company as a whole? through these processes of in-world interrogation, i am inevitably invited to analyze the effectiveness of their narrative portrayals and the writing itself. perhaps this is why dragon age is so famous for its discourse lol.

ive said before that im not sure that veilguard could ever have been as impactful for me as the previous games, partly because when you are 16 everything is more impactful because your brain is an eager sponge, unless it did something that really resonated with me as an adult. but what it should have been, at the very least, is something that could have been as impactful and formative on a current 16 year old that sees a gif on tumblr and decides to check out the game, as inquisition was to me 10 years ago. and im sure there are teenagers and younger adults out there playing this game and loving it and loving the characters and the world and thinking its great, good fun. thats great. however it fundamentally cannot have the same profound, developmentally catalytic experience it had on me because it simply does not challenge the player. it does not prompt them to question their own beliefs and the power structures within their lives. it does not prompt them to reflect on the political narratives they may have been fed all their lives. it does not confront them with the sorts of topics that get books on banned lists in florida and force them to bear witness, to think deeper, to feel guilt or horror at the outcome of your own poorly-made decision, to make moral judgements, to make mistakes, and to live with the consequences.

i think i now understand why veilguard was so disappointing to me and ultimately would be a failure in my eyes no matter if i enjoyed the combat or the exploration or whatever other shiny coat of paint sits atop it. veilguard does not ask much of you. it does not prompt any sort of introspection or interrogation of your presently held beliefs. it does not demand anything from the player except to dodge at the right moment. this is a fundamental, core departure from what made me fall in love with dragon age in the first place. if you love dragon age because you want "fantasy escapism" and fun characters to smooch, then i am happy for you. but i would remind you that can find fantasy escapism all over the steam library - farming sims, cozy games, a witch looking for her cat in the alps, etc. what you cannot find are games that are willing and brave enough to challenge and provoke the player into a better, more thorough understanding of themselves in relation to our world and it's many, complex and daunting political and moral issues. to have lost such a thing, when media like this has become so few and far between, and during a time when we need it more than ever, is a devastating loss.

[on-wine-dark-seas]

The Invitation

Dedicated to the little Black girl who wanted to be all things when the world told her she was nothing. You are everything. 🍯

🪧 Summary: 1050 AD, Heian Era. One full moon, Sukuna meets a dancing storyteller at the Hida Harvest Festival. But after a tragically violent evening robs her of everything, she winds up in a strange alliance with the King of Curses as his guest. 📚 Series: Sonder 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️️ Warning[s]: Rape/Non-Con [not from Sukuna don't worry], blood, gore, description of wounds and dead bodies, cannibalism, recreational drug use [ganja, psilocybin, opium], slow-ish burn, hurt/comfort, PTSD, revenge, catharsis, eventual romance, eventual smut, Ryōmen Sukuna is his own warning. 💋 Pairing[s]: Sukuna x The Writer [⛩️🍯] 🎧 Playlist: [ the invitation ]

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs ⛩️

🍯 IV. 地図 Maps

     Winter descends quickly, as does the reality of her situation.

     She is alone.

     Šetû realizes this when she is eating, and her hand trembles at the thought that her family is dead. Sukuna says nothing, watching her with those unnervingly bright crimson eyes. She finishes her food quickly, setting her chopsticks down and dulling the unraveling fray of her nerves with sake. It keeps her warm, though there are parts of her she knows cannot be touched by warmth. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

     “Lord Sukuna,” she says, and he seems to come to life where he was previously as still as living statuary. It takes everything in her not to startle when he blinks.

     “What is it you want from me?” She asks him. “Why bring me here?”

     Sukuna says nothing for a while, almost as if he is searching for an answer to that question in the moment. His eyes rove over her face, lingering on the bruising shadows beneath her eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping, and if she has, not well.

     “I hired you to entertain me,” he says in a bored tone. “And that is what you will do.”

     Šetû stares at him incredulously.

     “My lord, how do you expect me to do that when my entire family has been slain? I have nothing to my name, now.”

     Sukuna smirks. “You and I both know that’s a lie, Asiri. You could command a stage on your own with or without your family. It was not they who held sway at the festival that evening.”

     At that, her cheeks flush with heat and she looks away quickly. Sukuna catches a fleeting anguish in her gaze before she lowers it, hiding it beneath her lashes. The bruise on her cheek has faded, though he longs to run his knuckle over it to soothe the hurt she thinks she’s hiding so well.

     “I don’t know if I can, my lord,” she whispers. “I…”

     “You will,” Sukuna says. “In time. For now, you will regain your strength. Winters here are long, and this one is going to be particularly bitter. When you are well again, you will show me this ability of yours.”

     Šetû shakes her head, letting out a bitter and despairing laugh.

     “My lord, again you bring up this supposed ability I have but I still have no idea what you mean.”

     “Stop lying to me!”

     His voice barks so suddenly and so loudly that she visibly jumps, and Sukuna can see her pulse beating in her throat, trapped like some sort of prey animal. She grabs the edge of the low table to steady herself, and he watches her breathe deeply, trying to get a handle on her fear. Sukuna hesitates as he watches her and realizes that perhaps she is telling the truth. He has noticed a decrease in her cursed energy levels since she woke up. But there’s something else he sees in her, something she’s desperately trying to hide. He sees it when he observes her wandering his halls like some dark eidolon, when she stands before the desecrated shrine and balls her hands into fists.

     When she weeps at night when she thinks he can’t hear her.

     “I’m not lying to you,” she whispers, her voice strained with fear and frustration. “I don’t know what I did that night. I danced and sang as I always have. Whatever abilities you think I have clearly weren’t enough to save my family.”

     Sukuna thinks about the carnage he found that night, and the one brother still unaccounted for.

     “No,” he agrees. “But that is not your fault. You are ignorant of your own potential. Do they not have sorcerers in your homeland?”

     Šetû shrugs. “I do not know if that is what they are called. There are people born with…abilities that we attribute to be gifts from the gods, but that word…sorcerers are people to be feared or highly respected.”

     Sukuna bares his fangs, and she tenses. Of course, it would be the same in her homeland as it is seemingly everywhere else. Sorcerers feared for their power, yet when war comes calling it is the sorcerers who find themselves on the front lines. Sukuna has never accepted anyone’s yoke, and he does as he wills. He has no enemies that have not declared themselves such, and the Fujiwara and their allies have decided he is their enemy.

     “If you will not be useful,” Sukuna says, “then you may go. You’ll be provided with a mount and provisions. Come winter’s end, what you do is up to you, but you will not sit under my roof like some spoiled princess.”

     Šetû frowns.

     “Lord Sukuna,” she says, and there’s an edge to her voice that manages a pinprick at his usually unassailable mien. “When we first met, I invited you to sit by our fire because I thought it an honor that you would come to see us. I found you to be nothing like the fearsome rumors say, and…I was looking forward to entertaining you. But now, tragedy has befallen me and my family and you’re treating me like some vagabond who has wandered into your home. You brought me here!”

     It’s her turn to be angry, then.

     “You could have left me to die that night…”

     Why didn’t you?

     “And we would not be here now, debating you throwing me out like refuse! Why did you bring me here if you were only going to turn me out because I…because I am not useful to you?”

     Sukuna is silent in the wake of her tirade, and he can see that her anger is already spent. She’s exhausted, she hasn’t been sleeping well, and she leaps like a cat in a spray of water at every noise louder than a murmur.

     “You’re not entirely useless,” Sukuna says, sighing as if he’s annoyed more with himself than with her. “You have your gifts of song and dance. And I can tell you’re a somewhat decent hunter.”

     Šetû startles at that.

     “How could you possibly know that?”

     Sukuna doesn’t tell her that in the first harrowing nights of him bringing her to the shrine that he tended to her remaining wounds himself. That he’d held her smaller hands in his own and found the calluses on her fingers from the bow. He doesn’t tell her that he watched her while she slept, her nightmares suffocated in a haze of opium-induced slumber. He memorized her face in sleep, the way her brow pinched, the sound of her teeth grinding.

     The murmur of her brother’s name as her voice broke in anguish and the nightmares began anew.

     He doesn’t tell her that her pain has angered him either. Not because of perceived weakness, but because that pain should not have been inflicted on her to begin with.

     She stares at him, angry and expectant, and Sukuna says none of these things to her.

     “The night you invited me to your fire, your brother said ‘we’ with regards to hunting. I can only assume you were included in that.”

     The tension drains from her body slightly, and she seems content with his answer.

     “Oh,” she says softly. “Yes, I suppose I am. My brother—” She hesitates, and a sickened look drifts across her gaze like a film of oil on the water. “My brother taught me to shoot for the pot, and to live off the land if need be. He was a soldier before he was a djali. If I have nothing else, I will at least not starve in the wilder places of the world.”

     She shuts her eyes, and Sukuna feels her cursed energy spike. It’s slight, but he knows anger when he feels it.

     Gods does he know anger.

     “Who did this to you?” He asks quietly and she freezes.

     Silence is his answer, because right now Šetû is not there. Her body is frozen, and her face is ashen with sickened fear. Sukuna has prodded a wound too fresh to be an ache. She wants to lie to him, but there’s no point.

     “Why do you want to know?” She asks. “Is this more of your idle curiosity, or do you intend to seek justice on my behalf?”

     Sukuna barks out a short laugh.

     “Why would I seek justice? For you? Why would I give credence to the lie that you’re mine?”

     She doesn’t want to know why her pulse leaps when he says mine. Instead, she holds fast to her fury, to her rage, to her grief. She clings to it like the sole solid rock in the vicious storm inside of her.

     “Then you do not need to know who did this to me,” she says in a low voice. “Because it is not justice I seek.”

     Sukuna’s smirk grows into a grin that seems almost manic, and his eyes flare brightly. Now she’s interesting. This is what he sought when he scratched the surface of her. He knew there was a monster under there, struggling to be born.

     Vengeance, he knows very well. Vengeance, he can do.

     “And do you expect to take on your assailants alone?” He asks, his voice almost mocking. “You, who do not even know your own abilities as a sorcerer, or how to control them?”

     “Teach me, then.”

     Sukuna pauses, his thoughts momentarily derailed at the words, and he stares at her hard. She stares back, her gaze unflinching. It is the first time since she’s woken up in the shrine that he sees the steel in her. And how can he not? She had brought herself from the brink of true death without his assistance, so she has the potential. What she’s asking for, though…he is not sure she can handle it. He’s not a teacher and his lessons are not imparted save for the purpose of dealing death to those who are not strong enough to survive him.

     “You are supposedly the strongest and most feared sorcerer in these lands,” Šetû says. “And I can…I can feel something around you, like a heavy storm cloud wherever you go. It’s all over this place. Something dark and sinister. Something powerful.” She raises her arm, showing him how the fine hairs stand on end. “Is this the cursed energy you spoke of? Is that why people shiver and clutch their forelocks in fear wherever you tread?”

     Sukuna leans over the table in a sudden lunge, watches with malicious pleasure as her pulse leaps in her tender throat again, but she does not pull back as he brings his face close to hers.

     “Look at me,” he says, and he can practically feel the heat in her cheeks at the words. She meets his gaze. For a moment, they are on equal footing in this contest of wills. She studies him up close: the beautiful but harsh black lines limned into his face, the bone-like plate where his other eyes are set. The unusual softness of his blush-hued hair. She wants to reach out and touch him, to trace her fingertips over the ink limned into his skin, to linger on his—

     “I am not a teacher,” he says, his words sharper than he intends. “And whatever lessons you seek will not be survivable unless you are strong. If you want to become a sorcerer, you must do it through skin and blood, for that is all jujutsu is.”

     His lower eyes flick to her lips, beautiful and lush and full as they soundlessly shape the word, he has given to the power she senses: jujutsu.

     “Then I will do whatever it takes,” she says to him. “Because I will not leave these shores until all of my enemies are dead.”

     Sukuna grins at her, fierce and monstrous.

     “Good,” he says he says through that fanged smile. “Very good.”

     With a purpose in mind, she can turn her mind away from the memories of that terrible night. She takes all of it: the poison of those memories, the fleeting images, all of it, and packs it away. The only thing she has now are two names: Zenin and Kamo. She does not tell Sukuna these names, and she does not know why. She feels like she must keep these names a secret under her heart, which feels like a stone in her chest every day.

     The nightmares still come for her, but Oboro and Okoi provide her with opium, which she uses to sleep. Only when the blue cloud of opium hazes her before sleep can she rest.

     The shadows under her eyes seem permanent, like bruises she will never be able to heal.

     Sukuna does not immediately take her up on the lessons she has demanded of him and instead puts her to work. She relishes the labor, however. It gives her mind focus and clarity, but most of all, it keeps her from opening that box and letting the shadows of her mind run wild again.

     Over the course of the next few weeks, she makes herself useful. She cleans, she helps muck out the stable, and she helps hunt. Sukuna had the right of it, of course, but she doesn’t believe for a second that such a minute detail had been his clue. Nonetheless, she arms herself with a bow and arrow and sets off into the surrounding forests to hunt.

     Sukuna watches her one day as she skins the rabbits she’s caught in the snares. She is making gloves from the fur and has lined her boots with the same. He frowns in thought when he sees this and then summons her to speak with him.

     Šetû is incredulous when she finds herself standing in his bedchamber, where he is standing by his desk, a map unrolled before him. She comes to stand beside him, trying not to be painfully aware of the heat of his body, of the cloying scent of sandalwood in his haori.

     “Show me,” Sukuna says curtly.

     “My lord?” She asks, wondering what he’s actually asking. Sukuna points to the map and she stares. It is a map of the world.

     “Show me where you are from, Asiri,” he says. “You said the night we met that you would need a map of the world to show me, and I have gone to great lengths to procure an accurate world map. So, show me.”

     She frowns at him but then stares at the map. It is well-rendered, though there are places that are blank where she knows there are limits to Sukuna’s reach and thus the reach of the cartographer.

     “Here,” she reaches out with her hand, fingertips brushing the delicate parchment.

     Kozo, her mind whispers, associating the word with the paper beneath her hand. Her fingertips brush over the elegantly inked land mass, where nothing but ocean spreads from its eastern shores.

     “Japan,” she says softly. “Where are we in Japan, right now?”

     Home, Sukuna thinks absently, as if the answer should be obvious to her. He backtracks when he realizes he considers her apart of his household. Shaking his head, he reaches out with his lower left hand, placing it over hers. It engulfs hers easily, and he feels her tense briefly, but then he gently guides her fingertips over the land, slow and easy, like one would lead a skittish horse at a leisurely pace, settling in a spot lush and secluded, not far from the elaborately illustrated capital marker. Before either of them can process the awkward silence, he takes his hand away, his fingertips brushing over her skin as he withdraws his touch to fold it beneath his haori once more, and she shivers, biting her lip before continuing, ignoring the heat in her cheeks that makes them feel like they’re on fire.

     For a moment, there is only their breath, the distant creak of wood, the crackle of the brazier warming the room. Sandalwood and cypress soak her senses, makes her dizzy in the best way. She becomes aware of the heat rolling from his body beside her, steady as if there is a furnace inside of him. She breathes deeply, steadying her pulse, which gallops in a fever cadence.

     Sukuna can still smell the blood on her from her hunt and his nostrils flare at the sticky, coppery fragrance. Familiar. He imagines licking blood from her fingers, watching her divide and unmake the flesh of her prey with the rapt fascination of a tiger starved for the succulent meats slain by her steady hand.

     “We came from here,” she continues, her fingertips tracing a path westward, across the sea, to the continent. Sukuna’s eyes watch her fingers move over the parchment and briefly imagines what that touch would feel like on his skin. Her fingertips linger in China, Mongolia, India, yet he imagines it lingering on his face, his lips, his throat. He marvels at the path her hand takes, imagines her fingers splayed on the broad expanse of his chest, his heart steady beneath it. The map is his flesh, her hand the brush.

Rûm, Greece, Egypt. His arms, his stomach, his hands.

So many places her dancing feet have carried her, and her fingers continue to travel. Onward, across another sea, until she touches another continent. Sukuna measures the distance as her hand moves over the world.

     “Africa,” she says. Sukuna shifts by her side, watching as she traces a path across a patch of desert, settling in a lush cradle of the continent’s western coast.

     “Mali Empire,” she says softly. “But I am Hausa by birth. As was my mother before me.” There is a steely pride in her voice, and Sukuna stirs at that. He likes it. Likes her prideful and confident. He thinks of the night he saw her dance, of the searing heat of her dark gaze, of the utter arrogance and haughtiness of her beautiful face. He wonders what it will take for her to get that back.

     “So far from home,” he muses quietly to himself. “What were you fleeing from, lost little flower?”

     She startles at the name, looking at up at him quickly before averting her gaze. He hadn’t realized she’d heard him. Fuck.

     “War,” she says, pretending she hadn’t heard. “Regimes change, and our family fell out of favor. We were stripped of our home and forced to leave. It was Amadou’s goal to one day go back and reclaim it.”

     Sukuna thinks of the carnage of that moonlit night, of her brother face down in a puddle of piss. He does not blame her for seeking vengeance, but those lives are snuffed out and she is alive.

     Still, he will not dissuade her from her bloodlust. He doubts she will fulfill her vengeance. He doesn’t think she has the nerve to truly see it through. This pain she feels is temporary. Time will tell if she has what it takes. For now, he will reserve judgement and see what she does.

     “And now that you are all that remains, what will you do?” Sukuna asks. Šetû narrows her eyes at the map, dragging her fingertips back east, settling on Japan.

     “I will kill the ones who did this to me, and if I’m alive after…then, we shall see.” She heaves a frustrated sigh. “But I do not expect to survive, nor do I really care if I do. So long as they are dead before I am, and so long as they know it is I who killed them.”

     Sukuna’s brows raise as thunder rumbles in the distance. There’s something in the air, licking at his cursed energy as her fury surfaces like a great leviathan. The thunder sounds ominous, and there’s something spreading around her eyes, like cracks in stone.

     Then, all at once, it fades; snuffed out like a candle. Šetû is taking deep, measured breaths. Her hands go to her temples, massaging them as her brow pinches in pain. Sukuna can see her technique forming, the chrysalis quivering on the precipice of eruption. She’ll be fully awakened soon; she just needs the right push.

     “Is this all you wanted to see me for, my lord?” She asks quietly. Sukuna looks down at her, the tone of her voice prickling at something inside of him he doesn’t want to address.

     “Yes,” he says. “You may go.” He watches her expression closely, but it is suddenly shuttered, her dark eyes seemingly darker as she retreats into her thoughts. She executes a polite bow and turns to leave. Sukuna resists the urge to reach for her. He wants—

     No.

     He has to wait for her to come to him of her own volition, otherwise she will become a creature he must turn loose rather than one he can keep. If his enemies think her to be his, he will not dissuade them. But if she is to be his, she cannot be a defenseless thing. None in his purview or charge can display naked weakness. They either survived, or he devoured them.

     Time will tell if she is more than her meat.

     Šetû’s feet cannot carry her away from Sukuna fast enough. This is not fear of the monster that all the stories tell her she should flee from without looking back. This is something else. Her cheeks are burning with inner heat, and there’s something that feels like a squeal lodged in her throat as she practically scurries out of his bedchamber, seeking anywhere to be but near him. She immediately regrets not lingering just a little longer.

     He’d smelled so good.

     She slaps her hands over her face and crumples into a corner to catch her breath.

     She needs to get a grip. Sukuna is not someone one develops an infatuation with, and she certainly has no interest in…in whatever that entails. She thinks of his four large hands, the way he gently guided her hand over the map, how warm and strong he felt. Solid. Safe.

     “Lady Asiri?” The voice is like cool water, but there is a tinge of confusion in the tone. She looks up to find Uraume standing before her. “Are you alright?”

     Šetû puts on her best approximation of a reassuring smile despite still sifting through the shattered glass inside of her without bleeding further. She takes in their appearance, as delicate as a snowdrop amidst the drifts, ephemeral as if death’s hand is poised just over their head to take their youth. Hair like starlight, eyes like lilacs. They are so young to look so cold and jaded. She supposes being around Sukuna long enough will do that to just about anyone.

     She wonders what kind of person she will become if she stays.

     “I’m fine, Uraume,” she says climbing to her feet. “Just…did you need something from me?”

     Uraume tilts their head. “I wanted to commend you on your hunting skills. You’ve been most helpful in keeping our meat stores full. I had no idea you were a skilled hunter.”

     Šetû smiles wryly. “Thought I was just a dancing and singing bard, eh? Well, sometimes I cannot always sing for my supper so I must needs collect the food myself. And…” She looks around. “It is only right that I pull my weight around here.”

     Uraume nods. A guest she may be, but both know Sukuna will tolerate no laziness in his shrine, save for himself, naturally. Aside, Šetû needs the distraction of hunting in the woods. She needs to not sit idle while her mind drips with poison from her own memories.

     She inwardly winces, as if a bruise has been touched. In a way, it has.

     “Lady Asiri,” Uraume says. “About your family…we have kept their bodies preserved because we were unsure how you wished to lay them to rest.”

     Šetû absorbs the words like a blow. All at once, she chokes down a lump that suddenly forms in her throat.

     “Preserved?” Her voice comes out garbled and hoarse from the effort as tears prick her vision. She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. “We bury our dead, but I know here you burn them.”

     Uraume nods. “It would be wiser to burn them, my lady. In these lands, the dead can give rise to cursed spirits. If you’d like, I can find a suitable urn for the ashes after the ritual is complete.”

     It all sounds so formal and business-like that Šetû almost wants to laugh. It has only been a month since the attack, but the memory of that night is as clear as day to her, as fresh as if it has just happened. The shadows under her eyes are testament to that. Her body shudders and she hugs her arms against a chill that has nothing to do with winter.

     “Yes, that would be best,” she says. “Thank you, Uraume. You and Lord Sukuna have been so kind to me.”

     Uraume looks somewhat surprised. It is not something they often hear attributed to their lord, but they remember how Šetû offered a seat by the fire of her camp, including them in the private revelry of her family and culture without judgement or spite toward them or their lord. Uraume will never forget such kindness and will endeavor to return it to someone who has proven themselves an ally, at least for now.

     Together, Šetû and Uraume make the trek to the icehouse. They pass the stables on the way, where she can see the shadows of horses moving in their stalls. She wonders if their Mongolian steed survived the attack or was stolen by their assailants. Her fist clenches in anger at the memory. Helpless anger and fury that she may never get justice.

     But she has a name, and that is good enough for a start.

     Takeshi Zenin.

     Bile rises to a gorge in her throat, and she focuses on the bitterly sharp cold stinging her nostrils to send it back down.

     Uraume opens the latch on the icehouse doors, pushing them open. A deeper chill than the one outside spills from within, and Uraume lights a torch, and Šetû hugs herself tighter beneath her woolen cloak, getting a good look at the place where the meat she and Sukuna hunt is kept.

     And it is here she sees the corpses.

     Not of her brothers, no, but of other humans. Butchered like cattle, choice meats left to hang on hooks, preserved in a preternatural frost that seems to crackle and whisper along the preserved flesh. Limbs, torsos split open and cleaned out of organs. Šetû’s ears ring with a horrifying sound as a memory thrashes to the surface of her mind.

     They say he eats people.

     “Uraume…” Her voice comes out small, sickened and weak with fear. Uraume leads her deeper into the massive structure.

     “Yes, my lady?” Uraume asks.

     “Was…was Lord Sukuna planning to eat me and my family when we arrived here?”

     Uraume stops walking, their back to her. She stops too, fear suddenly making her feel warm and weighed down. Uraume’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh.

     “It was not the plan at first, no,” they say calmly. “Circumstances have changed, and he bade me preserve your family’s bodies until you woke and decided how you wished to handle them.”

     Šetû still feels sick, but she supposes she should consider Sukuna was considerate enough to not simply eat the corpses of her slain family when he could have. He also could have eaten her and yet he chose to save her and bring her here. To what end? Whatever bargain was struck the night of the festival could not be fulfilled with her being the sole survivor of her troupe.

     “Please, Lady Asiri,” Uraume is still as calm and steady as ever. Nerves of steel, that one. “You must understand, my lord is…he has come to expect a certain kind of treatment and reaction from all who cross his path. When you welcomed us to your campfire that night—”

     “So,” Šetû says angrily. “I am alive only because I extended basic human decency to him. Is that it?”

     Uraume smiles thinly and grimly.

     “The world fears my lord as one fears a storm. And humans are predictable in their fear in that what they fear they will eventually attempt to destroy in order to alleviate that fear, in order to maintain the illusion of safety and control. Lord Sukuna has endured that fear and turned it to his own ends. Your kindness and generosity were unexpected but not unappreciated. For that, he has chosen to keep you as his guest.”

     Šetû shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

     “Then if I am a guest, I can leave at any time, correct?” She asks. Uraume gives a singular nod of their head, snowy hair falling forward like a graceful wing.

     “If that is your wish, Lord Sukuna shall be happy to provide you with a mount and provisions for your journey. However, I would not recommend traveling in the winter if you do not have to, and I doubt there will be many ships in port willing to travel while the winter storms ravage the coasts.”

     Šetû barks out an empty, derisive laugh. Bitter.

     “So, I am here for the remainder of the winter, or at least until the first thaw,” she knifes her fingers through her braids, tears of frustration pricking in her eyes. She blinks rapidly, and one falls onto the frozen, hard-packed earth.

     “Forgive me if I overstep,” Uraume says. “But is the thought of being here really so distressing? You are safer here than you would be anywhere else in these lands. Lord Sukuna would never let you come to harm.”

     “He was just considering eating me not even a month ago!”

     Uraume’s lips curve into a small smile. “Yes, and now he is not. Be thankful for my lord does not show his favor easily.”

     Šetû lowers her hands, seemingly calmer in the wake of Uraume’s odd but cool reassurance.

     “And why do I have his favor, Uraume? Surely it cannot be because of one invitation to share my cookfire? Has the world really been so cruel to him that the most basic human decency is a rarity?”

     Uraume says nothing, but there is a heavy weight in their eyes that makes Šetû feel ashamed for being so harsh. She has no idea what a man like Sukuna has had to endure. Judging by his appearance, she can hazard a guess. When she’d met his eyes during her performance that night, she had not seen the things that most would call deformed. She’d thought him a deity, and a beautiful one at that. He was crafted like someone from another world: strong, and tall and solid. Proud shoulders, and a beautiful face with eyes like drops of blood.

     And he smells so good she wants to bury her face in his haori and breathe deep until the smell soaks into her lungs.

     “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “That outburst was unbecoming of me. You and Lord Sukuna have been aught but gracious hosts and I have repaid that kindness by behaving like a frightened, beaten dog.”

     “Your ordeal was an unfair and horrifying one, my lady,” Uraume says, their voice stern and affirming. “No one here blames you for whatever steps you may take to find your way back.”

     Šetû is startled by their words. For the last few weeks, she has turned over the events of that night in her mind, trying to find where she had been at fault because of course she was at fault. She should have done more to try and save her family. Had she been stronger, had she not been asleep, had she not—

     “My lady,” Uraume’s voice is weighty with concern. “Come. My ice will hold but it’s not wise to keep the icehouse open too long.”

     Šetû nods. “Yes, of course. Lead the way, Uraume.”

     They come to two large wooden tables. On them are the bodies of the twins, preserved in that same preternatural rime, and her brother, Amadou. It happens so suddenly that Šetû can’t stop it. A broken sob breaks the algid silence of the icehouse, and she realizes it’s her.

     Uraume is quiet, their face a solemn, implacable mask.

     Šetû feels the fragile defenses she’s built up for the past month crumble as she looks upon the truth of that night in the cold, lifeless faces of her beloved family members. Her fingers curl into the soft woolen cloak she wears, she squeezes her eyes shut, but the grief will not be so easily dammed once the cracks in her heart turn to shattered glass.

     Grief disintegrates her quaking will within herself and she sinks to her knees, shivering and sobbing before the lifeless bodies of they who had been her only blood and her protectors. She is not sure how long she is on her knees, sobbing, wracked with a guilt too unfathomable to comprehend, and so her mind simply grieves. And grieves.

     And grieves.

     A gentle hand on her shoulder pulls her from the ocean threatening to drown her and she looks up to see Uraume, a trace of sympathy on their face.

     “For what was done to you and your family, my lady,” they say, compassion making their usually cool inflection warm. “I am sorry, truly. Your kindness to my lord should not have been repaid thusly. It is not much but putting them to rest is the first step to moving forward. You are not at fault for what happened that night.”

     “How can you know that?” She asks, sniffling. Uraume stares ahead as if remembering.

     “I have killed before, by accident and on purpose. You’ll waste time blaming yourself for things outside of your control. A grievous wrong was done to you and your family, and it is my understanding you have asked Lord Sukuna’s assistance in putting things to right.”

     Remembering her fierce declaration to Sukuna earlier, she nods.

     “It is. Though I half-expected him to try and talk me out of revenge.”

     Uraume smiles down at her, and there’s a tender cruelty in it that doesn’t match the bloom of youth in their face.

     “On the contrary, Lady Asiri: not only will we assist you in vengeance, but we will also ensure you do it properly.”

𓇢𓆸 Masterlist 𖤓 Last 𖤓 Next

@queenmimis @thehereticmoon @razrogue @amacabrefairytale @sandwitchstories

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© 2024-2025 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. This includes feeding any of my writing to an AI as well as copying my masterlist format, fanfic format, or stealing my graphics. I only upload on Tumblr and AO3. Header, footer, and dividers by me.

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[holychopshopgalaxy]

media analysis aside i do think a lot of the newer queer fans who claim the silver-shot-flint as their chosen ending are showing their youth a bit (or perhaps we're the ones showing our age??) and maybe didn't live through the inescapable bury your gays media trope of the 2000s & 2010s or even watch 4x10 live in 2017 bc any queer fan who was there real-time definitely did NOT choosing that ending as the more meaningful one, like never ever, if not from a media analysis standpoint then definitely from an emotional standpoint. and when steinberg/levine stated plantation reuinion was their intended ending as writers despite also maintaining the ambiguity thematically, everyone went bananas with vindication. ppl who were there remember.

all this to say the ending serves its intended purpose as a rorschach test because which one you choose to see as more meaningful is influenced by your own beliefs and perspectives and experiences and i think younger people just weren't around to understand how subversive the unbury your gay thing really was especially for a show of that genre. and ykw i'm actually glad there's enough progress in media representation at this point to where queer fans can be like "yeah the 2 gay dudes died in a cruel and miserable way after suffering from their tragic romance and that's what i think is the preferable interpretation actually" and say that without any qualms whatsoever. anyway. times a-changing

[randomfoggytiger]

The Truth Is Out There: the Lone Gunmen

Lastly, let's hear a word from the men, the myths, the legends: the Lone Gunmen.

Previous parts of Brian Lowry's Book 1 are here, here, here, here, and here. All transcribed quotes will be italicized, and all unimportant context will be omitted, of course (go read the book!)

BITS FROM THE BOOK

Though it [“E.B.E.”] features a memorable sequence where Deep Throat discusses his motivation in helping Mulder-- having killed an alien while working for the CIA-- this episode’s most lasting and durable legacy has clearly been the Lone Gunmen, the paranoid conspiracy theorists who periodically aid Mulder. The idea first arose when producer Glen Morgan and writer Marilyn Osborn (“Shapes”) went to a UFO convention in Los Angeles in June 1993, shortly before Morgan and James Wong began to write any material for the series. 

Morgan recalls a trio of guys-- dressed similar to Langly, Byers, and Frohike-- sitting at a table pushing what he describes as “a mixed bag of paranoia.” According to Morgan, “They started telling people about the magnetic strips in twenty-dollar bills, and in no time there were a half-dozen people tearing up ten- and twenty-dollar bills.” 

IN THEIR OWN WORDS

Tom Braidwood

As it turns out, a snide joke and fortuitously timed trip to the men’s room reactivated Tom Braidwood’s acting career, though he was and continues to be happily ensconced on the other side of the camera. 

Braidwood, a first assistant director on “The X-Files”, happened to be walking by while the producers considered actors to play Frohike. At that moment, director William Graham-- a long-time acquaintance-- noticed him and as legend has it observed, “We need somebody slimy… someone like Braidwood.” He emerged from the bathroom to be greeted with a chorus of “Ah, Frohike,” and a star was born. 

Braidwood concedes that he didn’t have much voice in the matter but has enjoyed his return to acting. “I always missed it,” he says, and in the last year he’s been mulling over doing stage work if time permits during the summer. 

Born during September 27, Braidwood acted in theater before finding steady employment behind the scenes on shows like “Danger Bay” and “21 Jump Street”-- the latter a credit he shares with “The X-Files” co-executive producers Glen Morgan and James Wong, who created the character and thus inadvertently launched his second career. 

Despite his duties as an A.D., Braidwood says his periodic appearances are fun for the crew (who have labeled a bicycle he rides around the studio the “Frohike Mobile”) and by no means an imposition….

Lone Gunmen scenes, he adds, “are usually done pretty quick and dirty. We say, ‘Did we get all our words out okay? Alright, move along.’”

…Based on Frohike’s lecherous nature in past episodes, in fact, Braidwood says he’s fond of telling people that it’s “pretty tough being the only romantic interest on a major TV hit.” 

Dean Haglund

…Well known on the Vancouver stand-up comedy and improvisation circuit, Haglund won the part of the Lone Gunmen’s most flamboyant member from more than 30 aspirants who auditioned. 

Born July 29, Haglund remains a member of the improvisational Theatersports team-- whose stage works include such spooks as “Star Trick: The Next Improvisation” and “Free Willy Shakespeare.”

…Haglund didn’t meet Harwood until he got the part of Langly, having initially read for it with a number of other actors. “Even the audition was weird, ‘cause I was on the phone for half the… audition,” he jokes. 

Since he usually spends Friday night on stage, Haglund was almost entirely unfamiliar with the show, though his role has lured some of the show’s die-hard fans, X-Philes, out to see him live. “They watch a bunch of shows, they get really partied up and come to see me. They start screaming, and I’ve got to perform with my friends saying, ‘Wow, who are these guys?’” Haglund says, while adding that there are also still folks on the comedy club circuit who’ve never heard of the show….

Bruce Harwood

“I don’t get funny lines,” says Bruce Harwood of his role as Byers, the most nattily attired of the Lone Gunmen. 

Not that he’s complaining, since he clearly relishes his part in the series….

Harwood, born April 29, sees the character of Byers-- known for his severe suits-- as a professional who moonlights as a conspiracy theorist. Like Haglund, he had zero familiarity with the show before being cast and had no idea the trio would ever appear again until being called back for a second episode, “When I came on set I started hearing weird stories about how popular we were,” he says.

Harwood actually attributes wardrobe to part of the Gunmen’s appeal, because they look so incongruous together, with Langly a long-haired rock ‘n’ roll type, Byers looking like a neatly trimmed professor, and Frohike a classic dirty old man…. “That’s why they work,” Harwood suggests. “That’s how it visually defines itself.”

The Gunmen play a clearly defined role, he adds, by moving the plot along in an interesting way, sharing their paranoid conspiracy theories with Mulder and thus providing necessary back story. Still, as a late convert to the show, Harwood notes wryly that once he started watching the series he couldn’t figure out at first “why if Mulder has all these people helping him he’s nowhere near the truth.” 

That said, Harwood is eager for the trio to provide Mulder with all the help he can handle, for as long as he needs it, to keep himself working. “At least four or five times a year,” he adds quickly. “We’re counting on that.” 

Philes

…Fans of “The X-Files” wasted no time in coining their own nickname: “X-Philes”, the “phile” derived from the Greek word ‘philos’, meaning “to love.” 

“The X-Files” launched its own World Wide Web site on June 12, 1995, but fans were becoming involved in the series well before that. Delphi, the on-line service, estimates that 25,000 people go in and out of sessions pertaining to the show on a monthly basis, more than all other Fox series available via the service combined. 

At least four regular on-line sessions are schedules, with a Sunday night David Duchovny Fan Club (one group of female fans held a “virtual birthday party” for the actor on his birthday, including gifts; another group call themselves the David Duchovny Estrogen Brigade), a Tuesday discussion of paranormal phenomena, a post-show party each Friday, and another hour discussing the series on Saturday. There’s also a less formal but not-to-be-outdone Gillian Anderson Testosterone Brigade, who by all accounts tend to be a bit more restrained than their feminine counterparts. 

The Internet has even prompted fans to forge in-person relationships….

On top of that, “The X-Files” conventions have proliferated since the first San Diego gathering was attended by roughly 2,500 people in June 1005. A total of 20 conventions have been scheduled through the end of calendar-year ‘95…. 

…Carter, too, makes it clear that he feels a special affinity for, and duty to, the show’s core audience. “I felt,” he says, referring to his early close encounters of the ‘net kind, “as if I was working for these people.”

TRIVIA

Tom Braidwood’s favorite episode is “Dod Kalm.” 

Dean Haglund’s favorite episode is “Tooms.”

Bruce Harwood’s favorite episode is “Humbug.”

“Colony”: In the old-fashioned know-how department, after a technician devoted hours to creating a sound effect for the alien stiletto, which the writers had told him they wanted to “sound like alien technology,” co-producer Paul Rabwin settled the matter by vocally making a “Phffft” sound into the microphone. 

“Fearful Symmetry”: Episode titles in the series are always obscure, and this one comes from William Blake’s poem “The Tyger”.... The construction site where the tiger is shot is also named Blake Towers after the poet. 

“Die Hand Die Verletzt”: The characters “Paul Vitaris” and “Deborah Brown” are named after prominent on-line X-Philes. “Crowley” High School evokes the memory of British ceremonialist Aleister Crowley, whose theories on “magick” shocked his contemporaries and heavily influenced the development of modern Wicca. Airiong on the eve of Super Bowl XXIX, the producers-- long-suffering San Diego Chargers fans-- also indulged themselves in a little personal gag in the opening credits, where they were listed as James “Chargers” Wong and Glen “Bolts, Baby” Morgan. 

“The Blessing Way”: Certain Navajo scholars had alerted the producers to some cultural inaccuracies depicted in “Anasazi,” so Chris Carter was invited to attend a Navajo night chant and the Native American Church Peyote Ritual in preparing “Blessing Way,” which is named for an actual chant. Carter considers attending the ritual a great honor but does admit jokingly that it was “excruciatingly painful to sit on the ground, Native American-style, for eight hours” during the ceremony. 

“The Blessing Way”: A tag at the end of the episode reads, “In Memoriam. Larry Wells. 1946-1995.” Wells was a costume designer on the series. 

“Paper Clip”: “Paper Clip” also carries a memoriam, this one to Mario Mark Kennedy, 1966-1995, a major fan of the show who had organized on-line sessions on the Internet. Kennedy died in a car accident. 

CONCLUSION

Welp: all parts are now locked and loaded!

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[landonkirbyappreciation]

2.03 | 3.01

[scattered-winter]

it's not even that I think rwby is perfect because I KNOW there are a lot of flaws in the writing and how some things were handled (particularly the faunus racism plotline) but I will also be defending that show to my last breath because the only people who ever try and "critique" it are angry dudebros who can't STAND that the story revolves almost exclusively around women. and most of them haven't even watched past season 3.

[bisexualocs]

i’m so deep in the trenches i logged in to ao3 for the first time in years and it really is a terrible place on there

[aq2003]

series 3 is so frustrating because there is like a shining core of pure diamond underneath the problems . like conceptually it rocks so incredibly hard. but the problems

[camellcat]

every day I wish I started moffat's run without looking online first and absorbing all the hate he gets bc I do not know what is my opinion that I would've came to on my own and what I've simply seen others say that stuck with me and clouded my perception going in

[forerussake]

@the-marron tagged me!! Thankssss <333

Currently watching:

Granting you a dreamlike life

L.O.R.D. Critical World

Tientsin Mystic

Extraordinary attorney Woo

And that is honestly too much plot for my brain to keep track of at the same time already xD Technically Mystic Nine should be on this list bc I still have to finish the last 5 episodes but it’s been so long by now that I can’t really count it as sth i’m actively watching anymore :(((

Currently rewatching:

The Uncanny Counter

I don’t usually do much structural rewatching from beginning to end. So this is currently the only thing on the list. But I occasionally like to rewatch an episode of Reboot or Guardian or the Rebel.

Looking forward to:

So many things! So just a few of the highest priority shows on the list:

Detective L

The long night

Nirvana in fire

Lost in the Kunlun mountains

My true friend

If movies are also allowed then of course I can’t wait to see Lost in the stars when it finally officially comes out. And marron already knows that i’m still looking for a good opportunity to watch 1921. Which has to be a moment i’m alone in the house and can commandeer the tv for 2 hours, bc my mom is annoying enough when I’m watching anything else in her presence. I don’t really feel like fielding questions about this one xD

Tagging: @pangzi @omaenanimonoda @programmedradly @lunarriviera @lucientelrunya @scaredysap @cuterocks @psychic-waffles @mjsakurea @stupid-lemon-eater @phantomhydeoftheopera @elenothar @baiyubai if you want to :D

[cathymee]

me when i have 4 hours to finish a project before submission

[writersblockiskillingme]

Russian Roulette | The Salesman

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!reader

Summary: After doing everything in your power to find the salesman who got you and Gi-hun into all this mess, he unexpectedly shows up in your motel room.

Warning/s: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2!!, angst, unspoken feelings (until now), guns, playing Russian Roulette, threatening, mocking, blood, character death, cursing (maybe, idk), tears, talk about the games, tension, reader gives off femme fatale energy, also reader has longer hair to fit into a braid but if you don't just ignore it please, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: I just watched the first few episodes, and for a little while, I got out of the writers block. NO SPOILERS, PLEASE!

Prequel to this fic here!

Rain was pouring down like crazy, wind blowing around as I drove my black car with full speed as I tried to get to the Pink Motel that Gi-hun and I co-owned as fast as I possibly could after today's events. Gun that was placed on the seat next to me was jumping slightly as I drow down the road every time I hit a bump or such. My left hand gripped the steering wheel til my knuckles turned pure white as my right hand gripped the phone to the same extent.

"I found bloodstains there!" I practically shouted into my phone as I came to a stop, the images of blood seeping down the trash bags and the knife thrown on the ground never really leaving my mind. "Gi-hun is still looking, I'm sure they didn't get far from that alley."

"What do we do, miss?"

"Check all the CCTV and dashcam footage you can collect from the area and keep asking around." I continued to practically shout for him to hear me over the rain on the street, my braid swinging over on my left shoulder as I got out of the car, running towards the entrance to the Pink Motel.

"I'll join you soon." And with that, I ended the call, quickly putting my phone in the left pocket of my jacket.

I roughly pulled loose threads of hair that fell on my eyes as I quickly took out the key. However, I came to a sudden stop. Something wasn't right. I found myself freezing as I slowly moved my head to look around. That's when I noticed. The sign of the Pink Motel was lit up.

Someone is here, and they want me to know that.

I stood there in the rain for a little while before I decided to take a deep breath before entering. I walked up all the way to the fourth floor before entering, the light going on as I did. I walked into my bedroom as quietly as I could. But even before I could prepare myself for what I was about to see, just as I walked to the end of the first corner, I saw him.

After three years of endlessly, tirelessly trying to find him, he was here. Right in front of me. He was standing in front of my wall, a shining black gun in his hand, looking at the calendar on which I crossed the dates with red marker every single day for three years. Next to in was a map of the underground, every single route mapped out, drawn on, and my handwriting shone on it to.

"It's been a long time, Miss."

For a while, I said nothing. I was just standing there, soaking wet, the rain that I took with me inside dripping on the floor. I was staking in his appearance for a moment. He was just as tall as I remember, standing there in his suit. For a moment, it seemed like he didn't change one bit, like nothing changed from the moment that I fist saw him on the train station three years ago.

But it did.

His hair was longer, I won the games alongside Gi-hun, we weren't on the train station, but in my Motel room, he wasn't holding a briefcase, he was holding a gun and I didn't.

But his voice was the same, he was still as tall as I remember, I suppose his smile was the same, too. And maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same feelings he did three years ago before I gained and lost it all.

I just sighed and moved towards the table I ate. There was a towel that I threw last night. I started to pat my hair, trying to dry it off as I looked around for some dry clothes.

"You should've gotten on that plane that day." He said, looking over at me as I paused.

"I changed my mind when I saw you there." I said before continuing to dry myself.

The moment of quiet continued as I put the towel away. He tapped the map with his gun before he started to speak again. I truly didn't know how to feel. After I wasted three years trying to find him, he just shows up at my motel room. Funny.

"It looks like you've been trying hard to find me, darling." I could just hear that ignorant smirk in his voice. Motherfucker.

"Don't let it get to your head." I told him slowly, my voice completely calm. "I just wanted to thank you." I said as I took off my wet jacket, throwing it in the corner.

"Thank me?" He asked as he sat down on one of the sofas by the table next to my bed. I turned to look at him slowly, a dry jacket in my hand. That's when I noticed blood on the collar of his suit and his face. Motherfucker.

"For inviting me to the game." I said as I approached him, his eyes on me as I sat down, opposite him. "I won and took a bloody fortune with me."

He kept quiet, listening to me, his dark eyes flickering all over my face as I spoke.

"So the decent thing of me to do would be to thank you for it."

"I'm just a messenger who delivers invitations." He smirked, but before he could say more, I continued, all off my anger resurfacing.

"And just who had you deliver those invitations, handsome?" I spoke, venom infecting my every word. "Let me meet him. I have something to say to him."

"Give me the message, and I'll pass it along." He continued, giving me a smile at the end. It appears that I was right. His smile is the same.

"Oh, dear." I mockingly pouted as I crossed my legs. "I'm afraid that it's not something I can discuss with an underling like you."

His smile quivered as he raised his eyebrow. Waiting on me to continue.

"You prey on people who are hanging by a thread and corner them at subway stations." I could feel myself slowly starting to shake from anger and despair. "Someone like you wouldn't be able to understand what I'm trying to say, of course."

For a while, there was silence yet again. We were just looking at each other. Our eyes never leaving each other's.

"You know what the funniest thing was?"

"What, miss?"

"For a moment, when I was hunting you down, I was just delusional enough to think that we could actually team up. You know? Take down the games and whoever was behind them. I liked you. And I liked to think that. But now I realize just how wrong I was." I whispered, turning away from him as I spoke. Yet I still felt his eyes on me. "And boy was I wrong. You will never change. You like the monstrous things that you are doing."

"How do you think I got to where I am now?"

"I don't fucking care." I spat at him as I turned to look at him again, his expression unreadable. "I don't care how you became their dog. I just want you to bring me your master."

He looked down, sighing as he cracked his neck, gun still in his hold. After a while he spoke again.

"I used to work in the games when I was younger. I removed and burned the bodies of countless people like you."

He was the pink guard once.

"'These things aren't human. They're just trash utterly useless in this world.' I kept telling myself that and worked hard for a few years." He spoke, suddenly smiling again. "Then they gave me a gun."

The triangle guard.

"It felt pretty good." He said as he lifted up his gun, examining it. "Like my existence was acknowledged for the first time in my life. I don't know which year it was, but one day, I was about to shoot a man who had lost a game. The guy seemed familiar. Guess who it was."

I kept quiet.

"My dad." He finally said. "My dad was suddenly standing in front of me. He was in tears, desperately begging me to spare his life."

He suddenly moved his hand, placing the gun in front of my forehead, but his suddenly, quick movement did not startle me one bit. I was used to it.

"I shot him right in the middle of his forehead, and realized, 'Ah. I'm cut out for this job.'"

He was looking straight at me, his dark eyes mad. I narrowed mine at him. Was I supposed to feel sorry for him? Maybe, but I didn't. Not only did he enjoy it, but he also has no idea how it was like for me. All the things Gi-hun and I went through. All of people we lost along the way... Ali... Sae-byeok... Sang-woo...

"Whether you shoot people in there or con them outside, it doesn't change anything." I said, slowly leaning over towards him. "You have always been nothing more than their dog."

He clicked his gun, putting his finger on the trigger, his expression darkening.

"Miss." He started, his hand shaking slightly as I kept completely still. "Do you think you're special because you won the game?"

I said nothing. My expectation still as I leaned forward just a bit more, pressing my forehead directly on his gun. His dark expression broke into one of shock.

"Someone like you could never know or understand how I made it out of there alive. And how it feels to play the games."

Suddenly, he pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. My expression barely changed, yet I could he on his face that my eyes old him every. Shock, disappointment and sadness.

He sighed before leaning over to me on the table that until now kept us at a distance. He was quiet for a while. I suppose he has always been that way.

"Let's play a game." He smiled at me.

I didn't say anything. He pulled out his phone and placed it on the table, letting a song play.

Time to say goodbye.

He leaned back against the seat as he lifted up his gun.

"I'm sure you've seen this in the movies." He started to explain, never breaking eye contact with me. "It's called Russian Roulette."

Motherfucker.

"Usually, you place one bullet in the gun, spin the cylinder, and pull the trigger." He said, clicking the gun in its place before pulling the trigger, explaining the game as he showed me what to do. "And before the next round, you spin the cylinder again. It rests the odds back to 1 in 6."

"I know." I mumbled and he smiled.

"But I'd like to make this game a little more serious." He smirked. "Because you're truly special, love."

"Cut to the chase." I glared at him and his stupid antics. He blinked at me and continued.

"We'll take turns pulling the trigger without spinning the cylinder again. The bullet will be fired within six attempts, and the game will be over." He paused. "What do you say?"

"Spin the gun." I frowned.

He smirked before gently placing the gun on the table. This could end badly on both sides, but for a moment, I found myself being selfish. Maybe, just maybe, if I lost this game after everything I went through, I could die and find peace with the people I lost. I could join them and leave with the feelings I have for him, that he possibly realized, unsaid. I could finally end it all. The night terrors, the time I spent searching for him, my cigarette addiction, mourning what I lost and what I couldn't have, yet at the same time not enjoying the money I got form the games. Who could enjoy that? Who could possibly enjoy living the life that I live.

He spinned the gun, and its tip pointed at me. Without a second thought, I took the gun and placed it by the side of my head. A few seconds later, not looking away from him, I pulled the trigger. Noting happened. That chamber was empty.

I put the gun on the table. I barely had time to move my hand before he took the gun, placed it by his head just like I did and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He sighed in content as he placed the gun back on the table, smiling at me almost lovingly. I knew.

I took the gun and placed it by my head again, but before I could just pull the trigger he spoke up.

"I've always wondered how you made it out of there alive." He smiled before he laughed a little. "For, one thing, you were even terrible at ddakji."

I said nothing, glaring at him. I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened once again.

He looked at me, impressed by my luck so far. I looked him straight in the eyes as I threw the gun on the table. It slid over on the other side, right in front of me.

He took the gun after he took a moment to just look at me. Not breaking eye contact, he took the gun. Leaned over to me until he was basically touching me, pointing the gun at me. Then he did something that I did not expect at all. He put the gun in his mouth.

Motherfucker.

He pulled the trigger. I winced a little. Nothing again. He laughed at my expression as I tried my hardest to keep myself composed. He slowly took the gun out of his mouth before sitting back, putting the gun back on the table.

I took the gun and as I was about to place it by my head he spoke up again.

"What's the matter?" He asked me, raising his eyebrows. "Is your mind starting to race?"

I scoffed slightly.

Motherfucker.

"Now your odds of death are 1 in 2." He nodded. "That's pretty high indeed. I'm sure you're afraid, darling. Lots going through your mind."

I said nothing.

"Let me guess what you're thinking right now." Motherfucker. "'The gun is in my hand. Screw the rules. Pull the trigger once or twice, and I can blow his face off.' Isn't that right?"

I kept looking at him, glaring as I did. All while he spoke. "If you and Gi-hun want to meet the person you mentioned earlier, the key is in my pocket." At that I allowed my eyes to travel all over him. "You can simply shoot me with that gun and take it. But I'll have you admit one thing."

He took a moment to pause, my hand still holding the gun by my head. He leaned over once again.

"That you're a piece of trash, just like Gi-hun, just like everyone else that was in the games." He leaned over more closely, our lips practically touching as he spoke. "A piece of trash who got lucky and made it out of the dumpster."

He laughed as I pressed the gun against my head, our lips barely an inch away from each other's. This was it, I thought to myself. This round will determine if I live or die. I tightened the grip on the gun, my knuckles turning white again. I pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He looked at me, then at the gun and then back at me. I started to chuckle lowly, like a maniac. Perhaps I was one. I watched his face closely as I pulled the gun away from my head. The grip on the gun still tight as I pointed it at his chin before slowly opening up my palm, waiting on him to take the final, real shot.

His hand touched mine. I felt him and myself freeze at the contact as he took the gun from my hand. I pulled my hand away as he looked at the gun.

"What's the matter?" I taunted him, my face mirroring the smirk that he always wears. "Is your mind starting to race?"

He said nothing as I spoke to him.

"That's right. Screw the rules. Now, with a single pull of the trigger, you could kill me." He looked pale at my words. "But... before you leave me forever this time. I'll have you admit two things."

He looked at me as I brought my hand at his cheek, wiping a little bit of blood on his face.

"You put a mask on your face and do whatever your master says. You run, bark, and wave your tail for them. You're nothing more than their dog." I told him before my voice became gentle.

He waited on me, his eyes soft.

"And regarding this." I said as I waved my hand slightly between the two of us. "You really are a dog. A dog that loves me. And... perhaps I am a fool, too. Because I love a dog that could've made it all work out for us but was too much of a coward to do so."

I leaned over to him, my hand landing under his chin, holding him.

"Admit it." I whispered as we looked each other in the eyes. "Admit that you love me, that you did ever since you gave me that fucking card."

For a moment, there was silence. His tortured eyes, looking at me. I knew. I always did. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, for a moment. This would be the last time that I spoke to him, that I could look into his eyes.

"I love you." He whispered.

All of a sudden, there was a loud sound followed by blood spraying my face as his body fell backward.

I stood up and walked over to him. I don't know how long I stood there, but after a while, I felt a tear sliding down my cheek. My hand touched my cheek as I whipped it away.

Motherfucker.

[neverendingford]

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