#ohno whatever would i do

[sappho-favourite-pupil]

Oh, it would be such a scary and terrible thing if my girlfriend was to wear her fake fangs for Halloween and start giving me orders!

this is about lesbians🪻

[beautifulfrog]

I'm alive, and it took me almost three months to do this. Just one drawing was really hard to finish, but I hope to be able to post more often. The truth is, I still love Monsters, Inc. and the purple lizard. I'm a little tired, for those who might be wondering. Honestly, I had to change psychiatrists after a really tough incident. But whatever, I think I'll keep drawing, even at my own pace.

Thank you so much for all your comments on my last post; I love you all. In context, I was SO inspired by the alternate story in @randall-simp-nadt88 about Randall going to prison. I think it was a really cool idea, and I couldn't help but think it was intriguing to see another path. That's why I wrote this short story alongside the drawing. Feel free to add and comment on anything. By the way, here in Mexico, mental health hospitals are very different from what one might imagine. Obviously, they can have unpleasant situations like anywhere else, but generally, they're not like in the movies. I'm not promoting any ideas or bad ideas about these types of places; I just wanted to adapt the "shady asylum" stereotype to ME. I just think it was necessary to clarify this.

I'm really sorry if the translation is wrong, I'm still learning English properly.

Ohno

Randall was arrested shortly after he had once again become involved in a conspiracy with another energy company (and again, for having fled two weeks before being found), this time leading to a possible terrorist act in the city. It wasn't long before Johnny Worthington managed to afford him a decent lawyer so he could face a fair trial. Even if the horned one was in prison, he managed to have some power.

The trial took place barely a month after he was captured. Clearly, he didn't have the money to even pay bail. He was completely broke, since after his exile, he had already been classified as a missing person and a fugitive. His apartment was evicted, his family (who didn't even call) took his belongings, and unfortunately for him, the only monster that kept him fed was still in prison. He was alone, with the entire city against him.

Due to protocol and background, he was ordered to remain locked in an isolated cell while in the custody of the authorities.

Cameras monitored his movements day and night, and he was never allowed to go out or socialize with others. He didn't really want that, but he hated every second in there. To add a layer to his obvious humiliation and defeat, he was fitted with an ankle tracker on his hind legs, as well as being required to wear a thick metal collar around his neck that connected to the cell wall. This was normally used for large, aggressive monsters like himself, as monsters were aware of their physical superiority over others. Randall showed discontent, occasionally causing mockery among the guards.

That was the beginning of something serious. Just a short time after being sent to the cell, Randall began to experience some episodes of paranoia. He began to have regular hallucinations about things from the past, voices making their presence felt behind him, small shadows or familiar figures passing by him. The nightmares also manifested during the night, centering on the horrible memory of being repeatedly hit in the face with the sharp shovel. Every time he woke up, he ran in search of a hiding place. But there wasn't one, and this stressed him out.

His aggressiveness toward the police also increased dramatically, as he no longer allowed them to speak to him or approach him. This led to multiple problems and a possible increase in his sentence. His lawyer clearly had no interest in Randall's freedom, but he was working to reduce his sentence, which, had it been a trial held forty years ago, would have undoubtedly condemned him to death. He spoke with the judge privately and agreed to perform a special examination to assess his mental state before the trial, since, in his words, "Randall will not survive prison." With permission, he was taken for X-rays, interviews, tests, and a few sessions with specialists.

The results were a traumatic brain injury, caused by the severe blow to the head he received in the human world (also accompanied by characteristics of post-traumatic stress disorder when he remembered it). His memory, behavior, and reactions suggested that he was unstable enough to appear in court, and that gave the lawyer the opportunity to finish his work cleanly.

On trial day, too many monsters were present to testify against him (as expected, Sullivan and Mike were there, getting on his nerves). They all said the same things...

"He's sick!"

"He's a psychopath!"

"He threatened me constantly..."

"He could have murdered my entire family!"

And when he least expected it, his sentence was final. They said he wouldn't go to prison, and that made him strangely happy for a few seconds before the punishment was announced, followed by a hammer blow.

"You'll go to the city mental hospital, the trial's over."

Randall was indignant and filled with rage after those words, having no idea what it would mean to be locked up in a place where supposedly all those who had no hope of being cured went. The lizard cursed, kicked, and growled at the guards who held his shoulders so they could drag him away. The humiliation and pain increased when he saw for the first time the pitying faces of a few coworkers he'd once had. He was finished.

The most painful part was leaving the courtroom, surrounded by some guards and nurses who would take him to the van of the mental hospital where he would be sent. The press photographed every moment and struggle, even though Randall tried to hide. For protocol and security reasons, Randall was restrained by heavy metal handcuffs fitted to his thin wrists, and a straitjacket that kept his lower arms still.

The muzzle soon covered his mouth, clamping his jaws to deny him the freedom to bite or threaten the journalists intrigued by his case. Randall no longer remembered much of the event and always refused to hear a word about it. It was a total humiliation.

The first few days at the mental hospital were filled with resistance and aggression. Again, because Randall was sent there for a fairly strong criminal record, they had to apply strict protocol to him. They isolated him in a padded room, where they forced him to wear a loose-fitting white shirt so he wouldn't try to take advantage of his unique camouflage.

They also gave him medication based on his diagnosis and the results of the therapy he received regularly (he remained very reserved when asked any questions). He was forbidden to drink coffee for a time, and the food there was relatively empty and boring. Most of the time it was soup, and he couldn't even go to the bathroom without someone having to watch him outside.

The hospital was incredibly large, but Randall didn't know even half of it. He was prohibited from entering and leaving many areas. He lost contact with the outside world; he knew practically nothing about what was going on outside because visits were strictly regulated and his contact with the other inmates was nonexistent. He didn't hang out with them, he thought it was a mistake to be there and that he would soon get out.

Clearly, that wasn't the case. The only privilege he had was that he was occasionally allowed to smoke outside for a while, but someone always had to be there to light his cigarette and make sure it didn't burn. He felt like a child, and that bothered him. Days, weeks, and months passed... Randall accepted his new reality, but it only led to the dreaded depression.

Realizing that he was only sent there because he was weak and because it was the quickest way to get rid of him was a hard blow. Everyone was living their lives out there while he was rotting away in a nursing home for other outcasts like him. No one was going to rescue him, and that filled him with immense despair.

He was the only one who would die alone.

[ohno-the-sun]

OoOooo opening up commissions! Exciting but also nerve wracking haha

All drawings will be fully rendered, color or black and white whatever you prefer. Feel free to specify what style you'd like, just try to make sure it is one I have done before in the past.

Down to do humans and robots but I'm so sorry I'm really bad at drawing furries 😭

Also no NSFW

If you are unsure about the background price feel free to DM me!

Please have a description or reference ready of the character you'd like. Price is per character minus background so if you want two torsos with a simple background it would be $30+$30+$5= $65

I accept payment via Kofi or Paypal

[ccrites]

about me

Hi, i'm CC (she/they), i'm twenty-[wilhelm scream] and i've decided to create this side-blog to post my writing, bc my Google docs is getting cluttered, and I want to make a step in feeling less self-conscious about my work. We'll see how long I last.

I've been writing since i was like 6, and have gotten into a bad habit of never finishing stuff unless I forced myself to post it somewhere, so I'm hoping this blog will help me go through with it. some stuff will be edited, some not, some ideas, some plots, some horny pwp, some dark stuff, whatever, I just want to get my stuff out there.

currently writing about: call of duty (i know, shocker)

MASTERLIST

MDNI. 18+ only, if you don't have your age in bio you will be blocked

You can find my old fics on AO3 here and any new stuff from this blog cross-posted on AO3 here or on my Tumblr writing tag here (if the link does not work, it's tagged under "cc writes").

(more info under the cut!)

this is a sideblog, so follows and asks from me don’t come from here. If you find my main, I don't care no you didn't.

i am not a native English speaker. If you ever think something sounds wrong please tell me

i am both a full time student and have an adulting job at 80% for my master's. if i ever disappear for a few days do not worry, if I post a lot out of a sudden, i might have a deadline coming up and that's me procrastinating (pls yell at me to go back to work)

might be presumptuous of me to assume my stuff would ever get plugged into AI but if it does I will haunt you and move all the stuff in your house one inch so you always stub your toes Update: privated my AO3 for this reason because I'm paranoid.

if you leave a nice comment I might just combust, I bookmark all of the AO3 emails relating to comments!! I love you!!!

I will always try to answer asks, but like, I have to get them first lol

things i don’t write: I am pretty vanilla but depending on the mood I might venture into dark-er stuff. but if anyone asks for piss stuff I will not judge and gently redirect them away from my ask box

greatly inspired by @391780, @soapskneebrace, @ceilidho, @charliemwrites, @ohbo-ohno, @peachesofteal, and so many others talented writers around here i am forgetting right now. I am a big fan and read almost all their stuff, and it has gotten some of my own brain worms wiggling around in here. let's just hope I don't embarrass myself

[thegayestcat]

I don't think I posted this doodle of my Lone Wanderer Cheyenne, so here ya go, plus a new doodle of her and Sarah (unfortunately clothing is still often one size fits all which it does not)

And yea colors are funky in the first, my old tablet wasn't very color calibrated, not that my new one is either but it's better

Anyways if you wanna know some info on her read below~

Full name: Cheyenne Amenaghawon (an Edo/West African name meaning "the water you shall drink")

Nickname: Chey (pronounced like 'shay')(yes I know it would be pronounced more like 'shy' but my brain said ✨no that's not how we're saying it✨)

Age: 19

Pronouns: She/her

Catherine was Nigerian and James is west Asian - they took on Catherine's last name after she died (plus it's just so fitting with aqua pura n stuff)

Lesbian, dated Amata until Trouble on the Homefront quest when Amata decides to stay in the Vault.

Struggles with being raised Christian (or whatever Christianity in a vault in the year 2277 is) for quite a few reasons (mainly sexuality wise)

Ohno she's quoting the Bible at someone again help (either confuses people or pisses them off, can def be mistaken as a follower of atom if she mentions Adam)

Wears a locket with 21:6 engraved on it and the verse inside it

Whether it's from lack of UV exposure or genetics, her hair photo-bleaches easily, but since her hair is black it turns brassy and with more orange undertones

A bit of a resting bitch face and if not a resting bitch face then a resting sad face

Sometimes too helpful/good natured for her own good

Not very agile, cue America's funniest home videos music to clips of her tripping and falling or dropping stuff

Did her best to learn about the pre-war world and it's history - expand her knowledge and stuff... whether or not it's helpful in the wasteland is 50/50 but the Brotherhood appreciates it.

Lockpick 100 - dad thought he could lock up the liquor lol too bad when you're in a vault you need something to do including snoop around

Very mad at James for leaving her behind, it's not a totally happy reunion - more like a 'wtf is wrong with you how could you do this' reunion.

After Trouble on the Homefront when Butch joins her, they sleep together for stress relief and Chey vows to never see a dick again and Butch comes out to her as bisexual (not that the sex was bad, just further confirmed her lesbianism)

When you're so gay for a woman you join the Brotherhood but it's fine because it's the Lyons Pride (eventually becomes a paladin)

Immediately insanely gay for Sarah Lyons when she sees her in that power armor and laser rifle (like 🥵)

Hates wearing power armor, finds it too restricting and tight. The struggle of being plus size did not end in the vault unfortunately.

Maxson doesn't like her especially when he starts to get a little older and realizes what's going on with Chey and Sarah, then he really fucking hates her and disagrees with everything she says just to spite her bc he still has a childish crush on Sarah

If they ever meet in the Commonwealth - she's fucking decking Maxson in her power armor that she refuses to wear

OKAY I THINK THATS ALL MY SILLY NOTES

[gwildfire]

i still wanted to draw bsd but i also just wanted to draw my ocs so i just ended up making silly comic with bsd vers my two boys

theyre like this in their own universe too lol

bonus comic

below is going to just be a bunch of oc rambling

also the rest of the upas squad though this is an old drawing

theyre a combat squad much like the black lizard within the port mafia lead by yuuto akagi however theyre a lot smaller and only consist of ability users

while they are a combat squad on paper they more so specialize in intel and information gathering [though taichi keeps forgetting that]

the squad consists of :

taichi iwamoto

oto ohno

eiji ohno

yuki ishida

toru ogawa [you'll see me in the next part referring to him as bas since that's his codename in tpk]

because they were aus of already existing ocs i decided to not give their abilities based on authors/books/poems but instead do the very me thing of naming them after computer virus' the name upas squad also came from that fact since their organization in tpk that they make up is also named after a computer virus [kronos specifically] so i ended up naming them after an earlier version of kronos [upas kit]

plus i just like how the name upas just implies they were poisoned by the mafia than being the titan vigilantes they are in their original universe

i want to redesign bas so bad now that ive tried more hairstyles with him i just couldnt think of any that would suit him at the time since a lot of his only hair styles at the time was:

now we have whatever the fuck these are

he made my first attempt at drawing mori easier though lol

im sorry for my rambling

[readingispower22]

A Run For Answers

The inspiration I had for this story, came from a very personal point of view. I experienced a lot of the topics being discussed in this 14 year old girls confusing life. Sandra, just turned 14 and experiences more out the random situations than most girls would expect in their early teen years. #OhNo #Thriller #Reallife

Wind Is Faster Than Sadness

I ran with the ground thumping beneath my feet. Would I ever be able to stop these self sabotaging cycles? Maybe not. That’s what the labels on my character said at least. I mean, could you imagine being 14, bullied in school, having a mom going through a divorce and spends more time crying and smoking in her room than she does spending time with her daughter. Was I ever going to be enough the way I was? "RING< RING<RING" Of course, Hailey was always calling at the wrong time. I pick-up, and her voice a more serious tone than usual. "Sandra, you need to come back home."

The Call Of Disaster

I swallowed my pride in a moment of fear. Her voice pierced through my chest like a knife. "Hailey, I can't. This may be my only chance I will ever have at being normal. You don't understand what it's like." There was a longer pause than I was hoping and before I could allow my emotions to possess me. All she was trying to do, was get me to fit into her little label of a perfect friend who isn't a "troublemaker." What did she know anyways, she doesn't know whats best for me. I hang up, and proceed running.

 The Finish Line of Purpose

The ground hitting my feet with retaliation of my bodies speed, was proof enough to me that I could do whatever I want. Of course that was until the police lights started to flash behind me. What did I have to lose? Dad walked out on both me and mom. Everyone in school absolutely hated me for reasons I couldn’t even tell you. None of it made sense. The only thing that made sense to me was the thoughts of me starting a new life without big bullies, neglectful dads. Even worse, memories from this town that left me wondering if life had anything other than disappointment and hopelessness to offer me. I was fighting to find purpose even if it meant allowing my feet to take the pressure of the ground to get there.

[re-ikrmso]

thinking about my characters again…i think i said it already but… a lot of them also have this idea of “forced evil”. the ones on my mind currently is c!ikari or my new Team Rocket oc guy.

le more under…warning…it is a ramble!!! ohNO

the idea of “choosing to be injury” is still prevalent, but is it a choice for them? Should they have been condemned for choosing the lesser of a bad situation? should they have been shunned for believing and being conditioned to think and act on such awful things?

injury is objective and subjective at the same time for them. it is happening, just unclear to who is on the receiving end.

c!mangie does kinda fall on this spectrum of this idea but i’m not too focused on them. Ikari and team rocket guy do because thier position as “inherently” bad people are vital to thier character. they probably lack basic empathy, they work for just objectively bad people/groups except it’s the only stable thing they have and know. they have thier own compasses of morality that is normal, except to deal with thier position, it’s appiled “conservatively”. sometimes think about it. but if they did, then the guilt would crush them. full understanding of what harm they have done or are capable of would crush thier spirits more than they already are. they are taught to lack something, based on a reward system respectively. whether through violence, malnipulation, or praise. They are still relatively loose cannons though, as they attempt to compensate for thier loss of ‘freedom’ (or its the opposite, as they are taight to be more dangerous and just kept on a far leash) by doing whatever they think will benefit whomever thier loyalty belongs to at the moment.

so, they chose to be injury? would you call them an inherent injury?

perhaps it does not completely apply to either of them. what good is a “choice” if neither options will not save everyone involved? when choosing one option would make you a “bad person” but would at least save you, and not hurt anyone else in the moment except yourself..?

between aimlessness and agony they chose the latter.

[bananapajama87]

.

[oobbbear]

Bearz wait bearz in your Frankensteinesque au is moon able to stop doing whatever's corrupting sun?

Also why would sun die and if he does wouldn't that kill moon too since they're the same?

Anyways my theory is that y/n will convince moon to somehow grow around the important bits of sun's inner mechanisms badda bing Bada boom happy ending love your au even though I can't find it ok bye *crawls back into your ceiling*

Yes it’s possible for Moon to stop whatever he’s doing by him changing host, but he has consumed too much of Sun’s body at the point that if Moon leaves, Sun dies immediately. Sun’s needs this parasite to survive, but Moon doesn’t necessary need him (Moon doesn’t know that yet and Sun definitely won’t tell him)

Sun’s death is when he’s brain dies, he’s body will still be alive in a weird way controlled by Moon

You can find the original post here for more info, i hide it because I wasn’t very satisfied with the story but @ohno-the-sun brought it back to life I’m very very intrigued and I’m as much curious about what’s going on in the story as you guys are ekhddkbeisbsjdg

[starsistertarot]

Rating KnB characters as romantic partners part 2, because I'm bored; My husbands edition. (Imayoshi, Kiyoshi, Kasamatsu and Takao)

* These are my personal opinions, you're allowed to disagree

** I have made one for GOM + Kagami and Kuroko if you're more interested in these dorks

Imayoshi: 8/10 (Shitty old man) (He's an 11/10 based on my personal bias but I tried being... somewhat fair and realistic)

THE TEASING ONLY GETS WORSE FROM HERE SO PROCEED WITH CAUTION

No one else gets to tease/mock/bully you from this day forward because that's a privilege only he's allowed to have. And let's not get into what happens if someone tried flirting with you-

Possessive AF- But one hell of a kisser though.

He's a simp. (Maybe I'll make a post about this at some point)

PDA monster because his favourite past time is to make you regret your life decisions- (he's borderline psychic so he knows what he can and cannot do so you won't break up with his ass lmao-)

Kiyoshi: 11/10 (My big ass Teddy bear)

I WANT HIM TO HUG ME AND I WANT IT NOW- best bear hugs on the planet, and he would not let you go

A lot of *closed eyes heavy sighs* moments with this one, but it's worth it because its Kiyoshi ♡ (ohno my inner simp is showing)

He'd always hold your hand wherever you're going, because he just likes being connected (what a dork, my dork)

He has no shame whatsoever when it comes to you. If someone tried teasing him about being in a relationship he'd probably gush about you for an hour straight and make *them* regret their life decisions-

He daydreams about you a lot and end up smiling like an idiot because of it (Hyuga is so done with his shit at this point-)

Kasamatsu: 10/10 (He's perfect OK)

He's a fuckings mess but he's MY mess- He might not be capable of forming proper sentences around you, but if ANYONE touched his s/o.. Bye bye

Imagine him trying to teach you basketball for like fun. He would be way more confident and way calmer than usual. And even if you suck, the fact that you're playing something he loves makes him so happy and honestly it's precious- (If you're already good at playing the game, he would be extremely impressed and wants to play one-on-one for fun. I genuinely belive he would let his guard down in terms of being a blushing stuttering mess?)

My heart melts from the thought of holding his hand. He'd be a blushing wreck- But he'd squeeze your hand so tight because he just really wants to connect with you (IDK why it always comes back to hand holding. But its too cute tho)

Honestly the best motivational speaker. If you're feeling down one day, he'd reassure you that everything is going to be fine and he's always there for you

Shopping dates because you can never own too many clothes

Takao: 10/10 (Confident King)

The amount of times he would throw his arm around you is insane and I love it. PDA king who respects boundaries, because he can read your comfort level really well. Even if you're not into PDA yourself he would be so respectful

FOREHEAD KISSES/PECKS ON THE CHEEK/HEAD KISSES/ANY KISSES.. SO MANY KISSES because goddammit you're too cute

Hit that karaoke bar and he'd sing for you for 3 hours straight because he owns 0 shame and I'm living for it

Outdoorsy dates like sleeping under the stars, road trips with him singing his lungs out, feeding the ducks at the park. Whatever you can think of that involves the outdoors

Would lowkey gush about you to his friends, but not as extreme as Kiyoshi. But his intentions are to make them slightly jealous though---

[sorikkung]

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

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

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

"He deserves this." NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

one of my favourite relationship dynamics honestly

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

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

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

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

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

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

okay that was so tender and gentle and soft and

IM FINE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 11

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

series masterlist | previous chapter

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

series rating: 16+

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

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

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

chapter details beneath the cut ->

wc: 16.2k

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

chapter summary:

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

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

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

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

“Wooyoung!”

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

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

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

“Wooyoung!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wooyoung.”

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

Wooyoung gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He deserves this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is nothing, even now.

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

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

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

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

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

It looks normal, the burns completely vanished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… I, um,” Wooyoung says stupidly.

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

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

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

Then Seonghwa kisses him.

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

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

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

Then Seonghwa begins to squeeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wooyoung knows that he is dead.

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

San is dead. 

San is dead.

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

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

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

“This is your fault.”

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

“Winter,” Wooyoung whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wooyoung looks up to meet your gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This sword is nicer than San’s old one.

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

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

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

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

San hates it.

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

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

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

San wants his sword back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want some tea?” Seonghwa asks. 

“I’m alright.”

“Good. Whiskey then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Woo kissed me.”

San chokes on his whiskey.

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

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

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

“When?” San asks, bewildered.

“Before they captured him.”

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

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

“Are you mad?” Seonghwa asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did it happen?” San asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could kiss me.”

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

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

Instead he says:  “I wasn't joking.”

And he isn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is freeing.

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

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

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

San’s heart drops down into his stomach.

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

You’ve gone to find Woo. Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who took everything from him when they kidnapped Woo.

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

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

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

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

You also recognize this as wishful thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the…” you mutter to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you see him.

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

Your blood runs cold.

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

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

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

The man responsible for Mingi’s death.

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

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

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

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

You do not give him the satisfaction of a retort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would you destroy my kingdom? Why would you spend so much time and effort hunting me across Burovia? Why would you place such an utter fortune of a bounty on my head?” You look him up and down. “Who are you?”

The man grins. “Me? I am nobody.”

“Enough games-” You snarl, but he merely shakes his head, giving you a dismissive wave.

“You think I care about a pampered royal brat bred by a kingdom of snakes?” The commander asks, his dark eyes glimmering in the many lantern’s light. “I couldn't care less about your disaster of a court, although I must say I enjoyed burning it to the ground.”

You frown. “Then why would you-”

“Because my employer cares,” he cuts you off, tone final. He folds his arms behind his back, a clicking noise filling the air as he taps his fingers along his black armor. 

“Who is your employer?” You press further, ignoring how the noise matches the beat of your racing heart, that’s pace only increases with each passing second.

“I am not to say,” he answers with a shrug.

You grit your teeth, frustration building in your chest. “If you plan to kill me then what does it matter?”

The man hums, grin growing wider with satisfaction. “Does it scare you, the possibility of never knowing?” He takes a step forward. “Does it terrify you to never know why your kingdom burned to ash, to never know why your father was murdered?”

The man is close now, peering down at you, the crow’s feet along the edges of his ageing eyes more prominent as he stands before you. He reaches forward, running two of his fingers along your bare cheek.

“Does it frighten you that you’ll never know why you died?” He asks.

You do not flinch, even as he touches you, even as your body demands it. “You do not scare me,” you lie.

He chuckles at this, his hand still placed on your cheek, his calloused fingertips rough against your skin. “Your eyes say otherwise.”

The commander reaches to his side, pulling out a knife. Its long blade is serrated, details of stars carved into its wooden hilt. It reminds you a bit of the one Seonghwa gave you, the one Woo took on that first night you met them.

He extends the blade out towards you, hilt settled neatly in his open palm. “Would you like to do the honours? Or should I?”

You stare at the knife out before you, its blade a cool white, almost glowing within the cave’s dim lighting. He’s offering you a choice. Not of whether or not you will die, but how. Or better, by whom.

To do the deed yourself, or have it done by his own hand. 

Your hand hovers out in front of you, fingertips a mere inch away from the hilt. You stare at the knife, at its cool iron, at its spotless white blade. Soon to be tainted. Your hand shakes despite your attempt to steady it.

It’s a horrible, horrible decision to make.

Fortunately, the arrow that embeds itself in the commander’s arm liberates you from making it.

Sticking out from the crook of his elbow, nestled within a small gap in armor that was designed for amplified movement, the man lets out a shocked groan of pain. The knife clatters on the cave’s rocky floor as he brings his hand to the wound, the blood emerging from the black fabric not noticeable until it coats his pale fingers.

In unison, both you and the commander twist in the direction from which the arrow flew.

Seonghwa stands atop a rock in the far corner of the cavern, bow drawn up, still in the position from which he let the arrow fly. You nearly let out a cry of relief. Joyous, unadulterated relief.

A scream cuts through the air, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

There’s another noise, a gargled and choked sort of cry, and you hear the sharp sound of the many black-clad men unsheathing their swords before you actually see them do it.

This is because your focus is not on them. It’s on San, as he holds a body out before him. It’s one of the men that captured you on the mountain pass, the young blonde. San’s sword sticks out through the man’s chest, blood pooling out from his mouth as his eyes grow dim.

It’s immediate, how the cavern erupts into chaos.

“Seize them!” The commander orders his battalion, before ripping the arrow from his arm. Despite the blood leaking from the now open wound, his movements are agile as he removes the sword from his own sheath. The blade is as black as night, matching its shadowy hilt.

You stare him down, relinquishing your own sword, your mother’s sapphire glittering.

You prepare to take a step forward, however, something presses up behind your back. You prepare to twist around, strike the oncoming threat. However, San’s voice fills your ear, quiet as he speaks over his shoulder. “We move together.”

“Alright,” you breathe, lifting your long-sword out before you as San’s back presses into your own. “Together.”

The black-clad men attack.

They move at you from all directions. San places his free-hand along your waist, guiding you with him. The two of you move with the grace of one being, fending off the dark wave of men that surround you like a swarm of hornets defending their hive.

You swing at one of the men, catching his shoulder as San pushes on your left hip. You move with it, narrowly dodging the strike of a different enemy blade, the breeze of his swing cool against your cheek. The failed strike catches the owner of the blade off-balance, allowing you to seize the opportunity to stab your sword into the soft spot of his breastplate, straight through the opening just below the pit of his arm. The man cries out, face knotting together in agony as he falls to the ground.

You do not allow yourself the time to dwell on how you’ve likely just taken that man’s life, how there are even more to come, as you slice your sword along another soldier’s neck. Save yourself, save Woo, save your kingdom. You can mourn the horrors of your deeds later, for now that is all that matters.

You catch a glimpse of a man in the corner of your vision, hair the colour of flame as he sneaks in behind the soldier whose chest you currently run-through with your blade. You won’t reach him in time, his sword is raised high in the air, another second and he’ll bring it down on your neck-

An arrow shoots right through his skull, entering near his ear as the point sticks out the other side of his head. Blood sprays out from the wound, splattering onto your tunic. The man crumples to the ground, falling in the direction of the arrow’s path. Dead.

Your gaze shoots to Seonghwa. He stands atop the rock, eyes wide as his gaze falls to the man on the ground. The man he killed. Horror is plastered across his own expression, as if realizing what he has done. Woo had once told you that Seonghwa has only ever wounded with his arrows. He’s never killed, not even beasts.

You worry he will crumble, just as you did after the mimic, just as you had the first time you’d taken the life of something. Instead Seonghwa swallows hard, a glazed look to his eyes as he gives you a nod, before removing another arrow from his quiver. You have a sense he’s also saving his pain for later.

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

You grin. It’s satisfying, watching the men who took everything from you struggle.

And struggle they do indeed. You and San work as a tight-knit unit as Seonghwa picks off the stranglers with his arrows, as well as those attempting to crawl atop his residing stone. 

“By the gods,” you think. “We’re winning.”

However, if you are aware of this, so is the man leading the operation. 

You search for the commander amidst the swarm of black armour surrounding you, trying to pin-point his dark beard and aging face. He doesn’t appear to be a part of the mob. 

“Do you know where he went? The commander?” You ask San, yelling over the sound of battle cries and the screams of the wounded. San does not respond immediately, likely searching for him amidst the crowd. 

San lets out a sudden growl of annoyance. “He’s with Woo.”

You glance over your shoulder, seeing the commander next to the elemental. He stands behind Woo, lips drawn close to his ear, hand placed on the elemental’s shoulder. You cannot hear what the commander is saying to him, but you know that it is nothing good. 

Woo’s eyes are wide, the purple where the white’s of his eyes should be growing darker. Tears stream down his face and they are a matching colour, like drops of ink. You can see Woo whispering something, and while you cannot make out the words, the desperation on his face makes you believe that he is begging. Although what he is pleading for you do not know.

Fire surrounds them, leaking from Woo’s fingertips and onto the cavern floor. The flames run thick, the consistency of molten lava. You’ve never seen that from an elemental before, didn’t even know it was possible..

“We need to make our way over there,” you say while stabbing your sword into the arm of a black-clad soldier. You can feel San nod his head in affirmation.

Wrapping his free hand tighter around your waist, San pulls you with him, the two of you spinning through an opening within the mob. You nearly trip over something, and upon looking down you see that it is a body. His dead eyes look up at you. They are a light hazel.

You would vomit if there was anything solid in your stomach.

San pulls you past the man before you can stare at him for too long, before you can memorize the features of his face, before you can wonder if it was he or you who killed him.

So much death. So much needless death. You close your eyes, only for the briefest of moments, for the split of a second. You imagine you are the person you had been a mere month ago. The girl who let her baths be drawn from her, her clothes picked out and placed on her body by others. The girl who sulked when Mingi left for battle training, who’d never held a sword in her hands, let alone ran someone through with it.

You open your eyes and know that you will never be her again. 

San continues to pull you with him through the opening within the dark swarm, letting go of your waist as the two of you break through and sprint towards Woo.

The commander continues to whisper into the elemental’s ear, more molten lava dripping from Woo’s hands. It forms in pools on the cavern floor, slowly trailing down the parapet in a way that reminds you of the baby basilisks, like long thin glowing snakes.

It’s not until now that you realize what the commander is doing, as Woo grows more and more affected by his words, blood-vessel’s bursting in his eyes as red mixes itself into the purple. A mosaic of burning hues.

The commander knows that he is losing, which means he’s pulling out a last resort, willing to play his wild-card. He plans to use Woo as a weapon. He’ll do whatever it takes to take you out, even if that means his battalion goes down with you. Bastard.

The commander steps back from Woo, walking over to the top of the chain tied to one of the stone pillars. He will set Woo free, grant him full range of motion with his gift. After all, an elemental can only summon flame with movement, with the dancing of their fingers or full swing of their arms.

Only Woo is not your average elemental.

Before the commander can finish untying the first chain, Woo screams. It’s not as animalistic as his last, but far, far more broken. Fire flares out from around him, a massive wave of curling flames that tumbles in all directions, standing over ten feet tall.

You grab San’s wrist, yanking him with you as you dive behind the nearest rock. Face pressed to the ground, you do not see the fire as it stretches over top of you, but you can feel its heat along your back even through your tunic. Screams echo from all around, bouncing off of the cavern's walls, and you know that not everyone was so lucky.

Once the heat disappears, both you and San are quick to settle onto your knees, peering up over the rock. Woo’s head has fallen back down, shrouded in tangled black hair, chest heaving as he catches his breath. The commander, who had fallen to the ground behind him, rises to his feet.

You gasp.

While it appears he managed to find shelter before the flames completely engulfed him, he also did not make it out unscathed. The left half of his face burns a bright red colour, the skin bubbling with boils in a way resembles lumps of flour in unkneaded dough. His dark hair is gone on the affected side, both on his face and the top of his head, smoke billowing out from his disintegrated scalp.

With so much of his skin burned off, his eye nearly pops from his head, stark against his bright red skin. He looks undead, like a walking skeleton, the teeth on the left side of his mouth permanently visible due to his upper lip having been incinerated. His gums bleed, the red almost glowing against the whiteness of his teeth.

Your gut twists at the sight of him, and you have to look away.

Black-clad soldiers sit slumped around the cavern, broken moans leaving their lips as the fire was not enough to kill them all. The agony of their cries fills your ears, and although you fight against it tears sting your eyes. You know that these are bad men, men who killed your father and countless innocents in the castle, who ruined your life and want nothing more than to see your end.

But right now they are just men. They are just human, each one with their own life and story, and they are dying a slow and horrible death.

The blow to the back of your head stops you from becoming too absorbed in remorse.

It comes sharp and quick, carrying the heaviness of what you assume is a rock, and your vision momentarily sways. It doesn’t knock you out, but it does throw you off balance, giving the attacker enough time to seize your wrist. They give it a sharp twist, causing you to let out a whine of pain as your sword clatters to the ground.

The culprit drags you from behind, and you fight to remain on your feet. You shout to San, and while he twists to face you he is moment too late, as the person from behind shoves you away from them.

And into the arms of the commander.

The commander grins, his smile even more unsettling with his missing lip as he casts an appreciative nod to the young, brunette soldier who had grabbed you. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, uncomfortably tight as he turns you to face away from him, chest pressed against your back.

With his spare hand he holds a knife to your throat.

“Enough of this,” the commander says. “Put your weapons down.”

The world around you stills as San comes to a halt, gaze sharp as his good eye flickers between you and the commander, analyzing the situation. He appears to come to no solution as he slowly retracts his sword back into its sheath.

However, not everyone follows his orders.

“Let her go.”

Seonghwa no longer resides atop the rock, likely having dived behind it to avoid the flames. Now on the ground, he stands roughly twenty feet ahead of you, his bow up and arrow drawn.

“What an awful accent,” the man laughs, and his voice sounds more manic now that he is on the verge of defeat. Of death. His cheek presses to yours, and you can feel his spittle against your skin, smell the rotten tang of his breath. “Like a Mainlander that swallowed his tongue.”

Seonghwa’s frown deepens, eyebrows furrowing together as he pulls the bow taught.

“You let that arrow fly and we both go down with it, boy,” the commander warns, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Such an awful smile. “Choose wisely.”

For a moment you don’t understand what he means, but realization sinks like a stone in your gut. The ravine resides behind you, hundreds of feet deep, the belly of a monster whose darkness would swallow you whole. 

“Take your mutt and leave,” the man says to San, nodding towards Woo, who has returned to his slumped position, skin glistening with sweat as his arms tremble.

“So you can kill her as soon as we’re gone?” San bites back, tone venomous. “I don’t think so.”

“I promise to make it quick and painless,” the man says softly, before pressing the knife into your neck. Not deep, but enough to make you gasp in pain. “Otherwise I can make it very, very slow.”

Seonghwa’s hands grip tighter around the bow, San’s expression settling into a snarl of fury. However, neither of them move. If San moves to attack him, he’ll simply slice your throat. If Seonghwa fires the arrow, you’ll plummet with him. You try to reach Minho’s elixir in your pocket, but cannot manage it. Besides, even if you did manage to grasp it, there’s no way the commander would let you go long enough to down the liquid.

He has you cornered, and you all know it. 

Well, that is except for one of you. You turn to Woo.

The elemental does not look at you as you speak. “Woo,” you call, the knife sharp against your throat as it bobs. “Can you hear me?”

“No, he can’t hear you.” The commander whispers into your ear, and you can feel the hollowness of his cheek as he speaks, the rough and ruined texture of his skin.  “Or maybe he can, but who knows how much of him is even left in there.”

“Woo,” you call again, ignoring him, even as his words send a shiver down your spine. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s me. It’s us, we’re all here. San, Seonghwa and I. We’re all here.”

Woo twitches at this, although he still does not lift his head. You hear him murmuring something beneath his breath, and it’s a moment until you can register what he is saying.

“You’re not real,” he whispers, voice shaky and blubbered. “You’re not real.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know what he did to you, and I don’t know what you’re seeing or hearing or what’s going on, but I need you to lift your head.”

He doesn’t respond and you try again. “Please, Woo. Please, just lift your head for me.”

It takes a moment, but shakily, he does. His hair falls in dark matted clumps over his blood-shot, purple-stained eyes. His pupils still do not focus on you, a distant vacantness to the broken expression across his tear-stained face.

“Leave me alone,” he says, and it is a hoarse, beaten plea. “Please, please just stop. Let me die. Don’t bring me back. Please. I deserve it.”

Your heart twists at hearing Woo - confident, self-assured, unbreakable Woo - say something so self-demoralizing.

However, it’s with these words, these broken claims that he deserves it, that you have an idea of what horrors he may be seeing before him.

“Wooyoung,” you say, and you notice as Seonghwa’s brows furrow in confusion at the name, San raising an eyebrow. Perhaps it's the first time they’ve heard it. “Wooyoung do you remember our conversation by the fire?”

“Please just stop,” he whispers, shaking his head as more of the molten lava begins to leak from his hands.You don’t even know if he’s still listening, but this is your last shot, so you push on.

“You told me that you knew you should regret what you did to the wardens, that it should eat you up inside. But it didn’t, because they deserved it.”

Tears continue to stream down Woo’s face, which is contorted in a pained, agonizing expression. However, as he does not deny your words or continue his broken mumbling, you take his silence as a sign to continue.

“I haven’t been able to forgive myself for what I’ve done, and I don’t think I ever will,” you continue, and you know both San and Seonghwa are watching you as you can feel the heaviness of their gazes. The confused curiosity mixed with desperation that swirls within them, staring intently. Yet, you ignore them. You ignore the commander and the knife at your throat, the wails of agony in the air and the thick stench of burnt flesh.

Right now it is just you and the broken elemental before you. You and Woo.

“But that’s the difference between us,” you say, swallowing hard. “I chose to harm people that never deserved it.”

“Enough of this,” the commander says through gritted teeth, pressing the knife harder against your neck. Choking down the increasing pain, you ignore him.

“And you never deserved it Woo, any of it. Any of what Warden did to you, any of my father’s cruelty, any of my lies. None of it was ever deserved.”

Woo’s breathing begins to escalate, but this time it is not as if he’s having trouble taking in air, it’s as if he has realized that he finally can.

“Enough,” the commander says again, with more anger in his voice as he appears to come to the same realization about Woo as you do.

“You’re there,” Woo whispers. His gaze is still lost and distant, his limbs still trembling and words blubbered with misery and fear. But there is also something more. Something powerful.

“We’re here,” you say back, relief blossoming in your chest. Even as the commander twists the back of your wrist and you let out a cry of pain, you’re filled with an undeniable, unbridled sense of hope.

“We need your help, Wooyoung,” you say, and the elemental swallows hard in response.

“I can’t,” he says, voice a quiet breath as he shakes his head in denial.

“You can,” you say, tone firm. You have him, even if only for a moment, and you will not let yourself lose him again. “You’ve done it before.”

Wooyoung stops shaking his head as he realizes what you are suggesting.

“Stop this!” the commander says, and now he’s shouting. He means it as a demand, as a threat, but it sounds instead an awful lot like a plea.

“You can do it, Wooyoung,” you say, the softness leaving your voice and replacing itself with a hardened encouragement. You will not yield.

“How do you know?” He asks, and even though his voice shakes, its weakness has fallen away.

A grin spreads across your lips. Even with the knife to your throat, the burnt bodies around, and the commander rotting breath hot against your skin, you smile.

You smile because you know you’ve won.

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

You can feel the commander’s grip around the knife clench, his elbow brought higher as he prepares himself to slice it clean across your throat.

“I said enough-” 

A blast of heat ignites from behind you, burning hot along your back, and you instinctively push forward. The commander's grip loosens without protest, the knife within his hand falling to the ground, clattering against the cavern’s rocky floor. A strong stench floods your senses, the same horrid and sickening scent that had previously hung around the cavern, only now increased ten-fold.

You twist around, putting yourself face-to-face with the commander, who’s entire body is engulfed in flame.

His screams leave him like waves crashing along the shoreline, powerful and ominous amidst their build-up but shattered and broken upon their downfall. The fire spreads across his body in a way that is almost unnatural, hugging close to his flesh as it eats away at his skin, a vicious parasite devouring him whole. He stumbles, and you cannot make out his expression, his face covered in the burning orange glow. Perhaps it is better that way.

He reaches forward blindly, his flame-covered hands extended outwards as he searches for your body. Even in death, he seeks to take you with him. Find his glory, his vengeance, even if it’s accompanied by his final breath.

And yet, even with all he has done to you, Woo, and your family, you grant the commander one final mercy. 

A quick death.

Reaching forward, you place your palms flat against his chest, giving him a firm push. It burns your hands, although only for a moment, as he stumbles backwards. His foot catches on one of the pegs tied together with rope before the cliff, sending him tumbling backwards. Time appears to stand still for a moment, an eternity slipping by as he hangs in the air, a ball of glowing flame suspended above the ravine’s gaping mouth.

He falls, the glow like a spark slowly diminishing, until it disappears entirely. You do not hear him crash against what lays beyond the darkness.

There’s a moment of silence that follows as you stare over the ravine’s edge. You half-expect the commander to fly back upwards, to catch you in a moment of weakness, suddenly equipped with new fire abilities of his own.

He does not. There is only darkness.

You turn back around. Both San and Seonghwa stare at you, both of their expressions difficult to place. Mouths parted slightly and eyes wide, they appear to be in disbelief. Awe, even. You imagine your face looks the same.

Woo sits with head hung over, eyes closed. For a moment you fear he is dead, but from the shaky rise and fall of his chest, you know that he is merely unconscious. 

There is the sound of footsteps as the few black-clad men left unscathed flee down the cave’s passage-way, leaving you behind. 

“Well,” San whispers, his good eye drifting from you, to Seonghwa, to the scattered bodies around you, before finally settling on Woo. He laughs, shaky and unsure, but at the same time so, so sincere. “Fuck.”

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

next chapter coming soon.

thank you for reading! feel free to come chat with me about any thoughts you may have, feedback is the one thing that keeps me going tbh. also, if you’re bored in the meantime, here are both my ateez and skz masterlists for your convenience. i hope to see you around :3

[waka-chan-out]

Hello, are you still taking requests for your follower milestone event? If not, feel free to ignore this. Can I request Tsukishima and prompt 11? I'd also like to ask that there's no brat reader kink. Ty! Congrats on 400!

300 Follower Event

Tsukishima Kei

Prompt 11: “Mind helping me?”

this fic was part of my 300 follower event. check out the rest of the submissions here.

post-timeskip, obviously.

word count: 1.1k

content warnings: *bangs fists on table* roommates to lovers roommates to lovers roommates to lovers, gn!reader, masturbation, hand job

thank you for specifying what you didn’t want because that makes me feel more comfortable writing. and thank you so much for the congratulations!! i’m sorry this took so long to get out.

There were unmistakable sounds coming from Tsukishima’s bedroom.

You didn’t want to pry, but it seemed like he almost wanted you to hear him. He was the type of guy that didn’t like making unnecessary noise in your shared living space, but you could hear the small sound of a hand hitting skin and low groans from down the hall.

Yes, he knew you liked him. Yes, he had said he liked you too. But you didn’t expect this.

You paused in the hall outside, body fighting to decide whether you wanted to ignore it or get even closer. One step in the direction of his door told you everything you needed to know about your self control.

You didn’t remember pressing your ear against the door, but there you were, eyes closed and lips parted in surprise. His low groans felt like they vibrated right down into the pit of your stomach and you began feeling a very pleasant kind of sick.

“You can come in. I can see your feet under the door.”

Oh shit. You didn’t remember his voice ever sounding so alluring. Usually it was spitting out playful insults or mindlessly reciting the grocery list when you were at the store together. Now, it was hot, soaked with pleasure and a simple, sarcastic dare to join him. You reached for the doorknob with a shaky hand and swung it open.

He was sitting with his back against the headboard, holding himself with a tight grip. There wasn’t much light in the room but you could see the shine of sweat on his face and shoulders. His unkempt hair stuck to his forehead in places.

“Hi,” he said. He shot you a smile, too wide to be a smirk but laced with the same sarcasm. He was far too composed for someone just caught in the act. He tipped his head to gesture between his legs. “Mind helping me?”

Your mouth went dry but your body was moving before you had even given it permission to. You crawled up onto the bed and settled between his knees, trying to ignore how focused he was on your frame.

“Come here,” he said, already reaching for your face. His long fingers grazed the back of your neck and pulled you forward. You thought he might kiss you, but instead his cheek pressed against yours and he was breathing in your ear.

“This is because of you, ya know. Give me your hand.” His words vibrated through you as you placed a shaky hand into his. He guided it between his legs. His hand curled around yours and you’d fist closed on his cock, hot and slick and begging for your attention. You inhaled sharply.

“There we go,” he whispered. He readjusted his grip so he was holding the back of your neck and pressing his face into your hair. “I’m gonna help you. Can you be good and follow me?” You swallowed hard and nodded. You felt him smile against your hair. “I knew you would.”

He held the back of your hand tightly and slid it down his cock. He tightening his grip on the upstroke, squeezing your hand over the head as he let out a light sigh.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Let’s go a little faster. You want to make me come, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Your voice was unsteady and you cringed as he chuckled into your ear.

“Nervous? What’s wrong? Don’t like making me feel good?” He dragged your hand up faster every time and seemed to be trying to keep his breathing even. As your hand moved upward again you slid your thumb over the head. His breath caught in his throat.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked. He let go of you and you sat back. He took his hand away, letting you control the pace. He let out a low groan and tipped his head back as you began twisting your wrist. “Jesus. I’ll take that as a yes.” You smiled and looked up at his face.

“It was.” He grinned and pulled you forward into a short kiss. Before you could pull back he took hold of your chin.

“Why don’t you make me come and I can take care of you?” The words tickled your face. When you met his eyes again, they were full of smoldering amusement, just waiting to see what your next move would be. You decided you really, really liked that look.

You pushed forward to meet his lips, licking into his mouth with as much heat as you felt coursing through you. He froze in surprise, then let out a pleased sound as you continued your long, steady strokes on his cock.

His breathing was unsteady against your face, shaky in a way that made you want to move faster, make him feel better, do whatever you could to keep those sounds going. You twisted your hand on every upward motion, lewd, wet noises barely reaching your ears as Tsukishima pulled you closer, kissed you harder. You took a moment and focused on the head of his cock, pumping it quickly before resuming your previously steady motion. He let out a loud hum and pulled away, chest heaving.

“Quit being a tease,” he mumbled, eyes still trained on your mouth. You smiled.

“I’m not.”

His lips quirked up into a slight smile. “Bullshit.”

“I’m really not,” you said, leaning close and lowering your voice to a whisper. “I just wanna make you come, Kei.” He shivered, which he quickly masked by returning his mouth to yours. You could feel him getting harder in your hand, and the kiss was growing sloppier as Tsukishima lips moved almost frantically. You could feel that he was close and relished the quick breaths against your face, the way his hands tangled in your hair and gripped your shirt, the slight shift of his legs as his body decided it could no longer stay still.

He broke the kiss, keeping his face pressed close to yours.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, face screwed up and fists clenching tighter. His body pressed closer to you as he let out a small groan, cock twitching in your hand as he spilled. He seemed to cease all movement for a moment as you slowed your hand to a stop, before letting out a sigh.

“You’re so good for me,” he whispered, taking your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your lips. He leaned forward, shifting a hand to your waist and easing you back onto the bed.

“Now let me take care of you.”

——————————————————————

——————————————————————

tag list: @ohno-otome @curapiikt @brittmg13-blog-blog @stationery-store @tanzaniiite

want to be added? send me an ask!

[sugas-sweetheart]

Okay I'm finally here 🥴 ( 1 / 3 )

Todoroki bae + late study date inside while it's raining outside 🥰:blush-1:

A/N: HANNAH LOVELY!! Ily and todo so this ones a little short but sweet to do, I hope you enjoy and I’m starting your other reqs soon hehe <3

Flash Sale M.list

Late night study dates with him would be so so sweet!!

He has a fairly calm and soft spoken voice most of the time so mixed with the sound of the rain it would be a very calm and soothing environment

So much so that it may even be hard to stay awake some nights

The temptation to just rest your head on your arms and watch him as he quietly sorted through his notes, reading key points aloud, was looking pretty good to you right now.

And while he adores to look at your cute and calm face, he will poke your cheek if he sees you falling asleep, he does it every time, and will proceed to do it every time for the years you have study dates together.

He just wants you to study there and sleep somewhere better than your desk because he knows it’s uncomfortable

He will make time for small breaks and make sure that you’re also partaking in those breaks with him and staying hydrated. 

During these breaks he will get drink top ups and bring any snacks you’d like!

He will try and steer you away from any distractions that may arise, he really tries, but sometimes its hard to when you’re smiling or laughing at some meme or something cute that you found on your phone in between looking for specific class notes. 

He will try to focus you again, once he’s let you discuss whatever distracted you, of course.  

He always makes a mental note to move your phone away from you when studying, but he usually forgets to move it until you’re using it for something that isn’t studying. 

His handwriting and notes are fairly neat and small, it was probably all done in black pen before you told him to start highlighting certain pieces of information to differentiate between the information actually needed and the random waffle placed around it.

Now he likes to use the different highlighters and coloured biros that he’s collected over the past few months.

He has definitely fallen asleep before if it was after a tough training day. 

But his face looks so calm and soft he’d look so cute. 

Although this is now the time for you to get revenge and poke him back, at least wake him up to get him to fall asleep on a bed instead of his desk.

tags: @mattsvn @justamultifandomfan16 @katsushimaa @meliorist-midoriya @goopyartiste @yee-harr @mystic-helena @spookykiri @ohno-grapes @silkylious @hannahalanib1 @boosyboo9206 @derpeedoo @katsulovee

[starlight-echos-0-sams-au]

O then you're In for more juicy lore and clarification. But something to get out of the way. Idk how people possessed by the spectors would actually look since its not explored enough. If It gets more explored into then I really wanna show said form. But in the meantime no official spector form for sasha

Sasha's height is at 5'6.

Magical girl Stella is just... a foot under sun and moon's magical gurl forms.

If I did the spector form I'd make her taller than them by a foot.

Anyways for the lore bits... I'll explain her 1st time appearance and the magical girl form first time appearance.

For first time sasha appearance she appears a bit earlier on where she is found in a public library on one of the computers playing a magical girl fighting game. It's called "magical blast up!" And she is seemingly decent yet determined to finish the game. But then eventually Is told to leave because the other computers are being used and someone wants to use them (aka sun and moon or y/n.). Obviously she kindly stop what she was doing and exited the game.. she then left the library and went to get lunch. She did get it but then was surprised by the disguised spector lying to her face saying it can have the power to turn one into a magical girl. She did believe it and the infection incubated for the time being. The next day Monday rolls around and she's made fun of for what she likes. She runs and hides in the bathroom after getting her art book back. And to really hurt her the people picking on her vandalized her art even after they said "we fixed and modified it". This got her upset enough because she was ridiculed and what she enjoyed doing now was ruined.. this probably caused the spector to eat up her raw emotions and turned her into the "artist magical girl" spector Victim after the fight she meets the sun and moon magical girls once the spector nolonger was infecting them. Before she could finish. All she said was "can i-" she was cut off and heads home for the day.

For when she becomes a magical girl I was thinking she would be constantly wishing and dreaming about becoming one.. I was thinking this happens late season. Her lil thingy (or whatever they're called) is themed around stars themself. Obviously since her last encounter with a creature who promised similar things to what It said. She was skeptical and needed to be proven that whatever it's saying is telling the truth. I was thinking in that episode she was invited to a birthday party and once she saw human sun she kinda got a bit spooked. Mostly because clowns kinda freak her out a bit.. she isn't deathly scared but she just doesn't like clowns that much. However what really scares her most is the dark and right on cue. The power in whatever building they're in gets cut out. However unlike what you'd expect the power was out for their building alone. And when they tried leaving they're locked in. This is where sasha pulls out something to light up the dark. Aka glowsticks and glow in the dark stickers. Obviously this situation kinda scares her since she is afraid of the dark. She runs away aimlessly in the dark to find the power box. As danger prone as she is. She bumps into the creature that caused it. Aka another spector. She would be wishing for some help. And ima leave the story off at a cliff hanger to see what you finish with it @ohno-the-sun . Have fun completing the story!

I made my OC Stella if she was in @ohno-the-sun 's magical girl AU. I will confirm sasha is an average student with an unusual interest in the hero genre. Especially magical girls. (Idk how she'd transform) but if sun and moon are the cure black and cure white of ohnothesun's AU... then maybe sasha/Stella would be the shiny luminous. For weapon it's not presented but I was thinking she'd be the nonleathal weapon/magic user. So yeah she would use a ribbon wand that can act like a whip..

Btw for how she'd be introduced first time is your usual victim of the week shicanary where she keeps getting her hopes and dreams murdered. She did get tricked once by one of the spectors thinking it would turn her into a magical girl.... oh boy was she misled. I feel like if she did met sun and moon while transformed for the first time she'd ask for an autograph or selfie or somethin but before she could have her sentence finished she walks home alone.

Idk the rules to draw those lil thingies so please tell me your secrets!

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly prompts, 20 seems like it'd make a good ot4 nsfw..

Here you go!

20: you’re the town’s super villain and you take me hostage because you saw the super hero talking to me but I’m new in town and was asking them for directions

“I do not see what is so difficult about this.” Indrid leans against the console in his hideout, “simply agree that you will not, under any circumstances, go after Ursa Major, and I will let you go.”

“For the last time” the villain (oh, excuse him, the ‘writer who is new in town’) strapped to his chair stares him down with convincing confusion in his blue eyes, “I just needed directions, and he was the nearest person. I’m not a super villain, I swear. I don’t even know where you’re getting this idea.”

Indrid taps his temple, though the answer is really his SmartGlasses, “When I scanned you, the information was minimal, the kind of life that suggests you appear as mundane as possible to avoid detection. More importantly” he leans into “Josephs” space, ice in his grin and menace on his tongue, “I saw instances of you and him in combat, both costumed.”

His captive raises an eyebrow, but Indrid gives him nothing; he’s not about to just tell some upstart the crux of his powers.

Joseph sighs, “Alright, I think I understand. I’m really not a super villain.” He flashes a movie star grin, “but I am a superhero.”

The chair tips backwards, smashing when it hits the ground. Indrid curses, lunges at him and narrowly avoids an elbow to the chest.

“That changes th--ohno” he braces as his feet leave the ground without his permission and he flies backwards, slamming into a wall. He’s up before his enemy can ready another attack, hurls a destabilizer at him as he makes for the door. It catches his neck and he shudders, stumbling as he turns the nod.

“I’ll see myself out, Emperor Moth. Ugh” he holds his head, rips the device from his neck, “nasty stuff.”

“Thank you.” Indrid grins, “and don’t bother putting that little monitor strip on my door. I’ll be vacating this hide-out immediately.”

Joseph frowns, still having trouble with balance as he steps outside.

“I did tell you not to underestimate me.” Indrid waves, slams the door, and initiates the scrubbing sequence.

----------------------------------------------------

“It is just humiliating. I was so concerned with keeping him away from Duck, I didn’t bother to check why he might be interested in him.” Indrid grumbles, then hisses when Barclay touches the back of his head.

“It doesn’t sound like he was. I mean, maybe they’ll team up eventually, but if he’s so new none of us knew there was another hero in town, he probably needed directions.” The other villain finishes checking the bruise Indrid got when Joseph launched him into the console, “and hey, thanks to you we got an even earlier warning about him than we might have otherwise.”

Indrid stares at the floor, still wrongfooted by errors being met with kindness instead of punishment, “I should never have let that bear become so valued a nemesis. It is making me weak.”

Barclay bends, kissing the top of his head, “It’s okay, baby, you’re not the first villain to get territorial.”

“You never do.”

“Guess I just haven’t met the right hero.”

------------------------------------------------

“Got a decent arm on you, blue eyes.” Barclay cracks his neck, standing from the crumple dumpster Joseph (AKA Roswell) punched him into when the trashcan he launched with telekinesis missed it’s mark.

“Same to you, but given your name I’m not surprised. Now hand over that remote and come quietly.”

“Not a chance.” He grabs Joseph when he swipes at the remote, Barclay strong enough to keep a hold on it even when Joseph tugs with his powers. Up close, he can see what Indrid meant when he said the hero had a face it would be a shame to damage.

Joseph flashes him a stunning smile as the remote begins getting hot. Fuck. Time for a new plan.

“You wanna know why they call me Bigfoot?”

“Wh--SHIT!” Joseph fights to free himself as Barclay shifts into his other form and hoists him over his head.

By the time Joseph pulls himself out of the dumpster, he’s no more than a disgruntled image in Barclay’s rearview mirror.

------------------------------------------------------

“Thanks for helpin me out, Joe.” Duck scans the Capitol Square for signs of trouble.

“Any time.” Joe studies the readouts on his communicator in case something elsewhere needs their attention.

Duck, like the rest of the Pine Guard, was skeptical when a new hero by the name of Roswell approached them and asked if they wanted his help protecting Kepopolis. Ned pointed out the distinct air of government about him, and Duck wondered why he’d chosen a city with a solid population of supers. But he’s helped them enough times in the last two months that Duck considers him an honorary member. Even more so since he started training with them.

Fuck, the guy’s got abs, looks so good doing his practice circuits that Duck has to face the other way to avoid whacking himself in the face with his whips. No one’s held his attention since…

No. No thinking of Emperor Moth that way. He promised himself that after the last jerk-off session about the villain. And the one before that. And the one before that one.

Even Joe’s backstory is hot; rule-following government man, stationed at a secret desert base, refuses to to help his fellow agents use confiscated, alien tech for weapons research. In the process of smuggling it out, it goes off. Everyone thinks he’s dead, but instead he receives heightened reflexes, increases intelligence, and telekinesis. How is Duck supposed to resist that?

“Um, Ursa? Is that who I think it is at your two? Right by the churro cart at the farmer’s market.”

“Holy fuck. Yep, that’s Indrid and Barclay all right. Huh. Guess even villains like local produce.”

“And Sunday dates. Look” Joe, now shoulder to shoulder with him, gently tugs his chin a little lower so he sees where the pair are holding hands.

“I’ll be damned.” Duck murmurs. Indrid is the same; same silvery hair, same wide smile, same face of enchanting angles and lithe, wiry limbs. He just looks lighter. Softer.

Happier.

Barclay holds out a doughnut and Indrid bites it, powdered sugar dusting his face. The bearded villain laughs, and kisses a spot of sweetness away. Duck’s confusion over why he’s glad Indrid has someone to do that for him is dwarfed only by his bafflement at why he wishes it were him.

Better to distract from those disastrous daydreams with doable ones.

“Hey, uh, Joe? You ever use your powers for more than restrainin’ villains?”

“Sometimes.” Joe turns so they’re chest to chest, smile downright mischievous, “are you hoping for a demonstration?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Then when we’re off the clock, I say we go back to my place for a drink and some, um, hands on illustrations of what I can do.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What are they playing at?” Indrid peers from the rooftop into the Fun Center.

“I think they’re literally just bowling.” His boyfriend’s voice comes through his earpiece from where he’s stationed at their shared base

“But we could be plotting, be about to wreck havoc, and they’d never know.”

“Are you dropping hints?” Barclay sounds perplexed.

“No. I just do not understand why my hero wishes to waste time with yours.”

“He’s not mine.” Barclay mumbles, but Indrid can hear his blush.

“Wait, they have finished their game.” He watches Duck and Joseph stroll to the latters car. Before he can open the door, Duck taps him so he’ll turn. When he does, the shorter hero shoves him against the black vehicle, kissing him ferociously. Indrid stabs the bubble of jealousy in his chest before it even inflates, finds it unhelpfully replaced by the wish to be in the car, close enough to hear whatever Duck is whispering against Joseph’s neck. Close enough that instead of driving off to finish their tryst in private, they crowd into the back seat with him and render him speechless.

“Shall I come home early?” He murmurs, knowing full Barclay is seeing through his glasses.

Barclay’s response is a promising growl, “yeah, little moth, think you’d better.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Give it up, moth, you know damn well I’m strongerOWow, fuck” Duck grits his teeth as Indrid claws his face. He could deploy the knife in the palm of the right glove, but most futures show him escaping without that.

“Yes, but you lack imagination, my ursine nemesis. Now get off of me so I can collect my prize and go home.”

“No can doFUCK.” Duck curses again as Indrid flips them, making it the heroes turn to slam his back into the concrete floor of the Reconcore Warehouse.

“Ta-taAH! Release me at once!” Indrid writhes as the SmarWhip tightens across his back, knowing his InstaPicks are trapped between their bodies. He’s not about to meet the humiliation of defeat while literally wrapped up with his enemy. There’s only one thing for it.

He means to headbutt the hero, he swears it, would do so even under the worst tortures of his past. But instead he brings their lips together with enough force to crack the teeth of a non-super. He pulls back a beat later, so surprised at himself he can’t track the futures.

Duck licks his lips, “About fuckin time.”

Indrid rolls to his side without a fight, the whips going slack and clattering on the concrete as Duck holds tight to the front of his suit, sucking his bottom lip as the villain flails his legs to wrap around sturdy thighs. He wiggles his hips in a plea he doesn’t trust his mouth to form, and Duck slots his knee between them.

“That’s it sugar, c’mon” Duck kisses him messily as he weaves his fingers into dark hair, “this why you’re always runnin around and makin me chase you? So needy you’ll give it up on the goddamn floor.”

“Yes, yesyes.” Indrid groans as kisses find his throat.

“Don’t bother me none. Think it’s kinda cute, and real fuckin flatterin.”

“Duck” he holds tighter; Barclay tends to take things slow, so he hasn’t cum this fast in months, “Duck please.”

“S’okay, sugar, you can cum.” The kiss is softer this time, “been wonderin’ what you look like when you do.”

Indrid gasps as pleasure spikes through his system. He doesn’t want to think of what comes next, what happens when he raises his head and sees Duck’s face return to its usual determined set.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go.” Duck hastily stands, then kneels and kisses him once on the forehead. He’s gone before Indrid can even offer to return the favor.

--------------------------------------------------

It’s supposed to be a minor mission, the two of them scrambling the city’s traffic grid from the office near Kepler Dam.

“Oh no.” Indrid bursts from the car he entered a moment before, sprinting back towards the device they planted at one of the power boxes, “ohnohnono.”

“What-”

“Someone remotely tampered with my device!” He rips off the back, “and they still are! If, if it goes how they have programmed it to, it will take out the dam, it, it will, so many people-”

“Can we break it manually?”

“You could switch each command wire to the color that precedes it on the spectrum, but that would still make an explosion large enough to kill anyone within fifty feet, with no time to run. All, all those people, all my fault, again, I cannot, not again, I have to-”

Barclay understands two things; he won’t let Indrid live with any more disasters on his conscience. He didn’t throw off his past for that. And he can’t bear the thought of Indrid dying.

He sets a hand on each narrow shoulder, “Fly home, little moth.”

“No, I, you cannot do this-”

“We always promised each other that if it came down to it, we’d save ourselves and not the other.”

“Yes, which you are expressly contradicting!”

Barclay kisses him one last time, “I love you, Indrid.”

Then he hits the emergency autopilot button on Indrid’s suit, his wings carrying him up and away before he has a chance to protest.

Re-ordering the wires is fast and easy; as the explosion hits the air, he hopes dying will be the same.

-------------------------------------------

“How is he?” Duck pokes his head into the med room; because Joseph lacked a formal base during his travels, he has a procedure for adapting wherever he lives to superhero needs. Thank the lord for that, because when they found Barclay, singed and barely alive at the sight of an explosion, he knew he wasn’t handing him off to anyone else.

It took them five hours to get him stable, and Joseph’s heart twists every time he looks at his battered face; Barclay is careful and Indrid’s engineering is impeccable. What went wrong? Was Indrid there in the smoke and rubble and they didn’t see him?

One of his windows--his triple reinforced, alarmed, bullet-proof windows--shatters in the other room. He and Duck hit the living room at the same instant to find Indrid in his full villain apparel, nightsticks drawn.

“Where is he?” The villain demands, unyielding ice in every word.

“He’s in my med room. You can’t see him yet, he’s still in very bad shape-”

“I am taking him back with me.”

“Nuh uh, you move him now he’s liable to die.” Duck steps forward and Indrid hisses.

“Liars. You will keep him here, hand him over to the police when he is well. I am not going to lose him.”

“Indrid, we’re not going to do that, I swear.” Joseph’s never seen Indrid look this way, hardened and dangerous. Like he could kill them.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

Indrid attacks him, is knocked off course mid-way there as Duck tackles him to the couch.

“‘Drid, for fuck’s” Duck holds the villain down, wincing as he slams his shoulders with his weapons, “we ain’t gonna hurt him or turn him in. You know I can’t lie, so calm the fuck down.”

“I, I will not, if I lose him I, I do not know what I will do with myself, he always takes care of me, I cannot fail him again, cannot leave him without care.”

“You ain’t” Duck’s voice is so gentle Joseph could melt. Indrid does, going limp as Duck eases them into a sitting position, “he’s bein cared for here, I give you my goddamn word.”

“If that’s not enough” Joseph steps behind the couch, setting his hands on the recently vacuumed cushions, “you can stay here while he recovers. To make sure we take care of him the right way.”

A strange, high noise fills the air. It’s only when Indrid hides his face in Duck’s shoulder that he understands it’s coming from the villain.

“Shhh, s’okay ‘Drid, he’s okay. We’ll look after you.”

“I, hic, I do , hic, not need-”

“We both know that ain’t true.” Duck hugs him. When Joseph strokes his hair, Indrid sobs harder. In the dark living room, he wonders when was the last time Indrid allowed himself such emotions. It must have been with Barclay; he might be a villain by name, but Joseph sees the gentleness within the giant.

“I’m going to go check on him; I need to monitor his vitals and make a few adjustments so he’s comfortable.”

Indrid simply nods. Duck lifts Joseph’s hand and kisses it, “I got this one.”

As he checks the villain over, cleans dirt from his cheeks and combs his hair, he understands how Indrid must feel. He confessed to his crush on his nemesis the night Duck came home, radiating guilty arousal, and told him what happened in the warehouse. Joseph never held it against him; for starters, Indrid is quite the catch himself. More importantly, his territorialism around Duck long ago crossed from keeping other villains from his target to simply saving Duck’s life.

By the time he returns to the living room, Indrid is asleep atop Duck on the couch. Joseph slips onto the far end, and guides Duck’s head into his lap, petting his hair until he too drops into dreaming.

-------------------------------------------------------------

“Thought the whole ‘writer’ thing was just cover.” Barclay says softly. He’s still bedridden, which is why Joseph moved his work station into the med room.

“No, I’ve always wanted to write about the paranormal.”

“Any favorite cryptids?”

“Bigfoot, of course.” Joseph winks just to watch Barclay blush. It’s a new sight, one he’ll never tire of. Truthfully, having Barclay in his house is something he never wants to end; his recovery gives them ample time to talk, rather than banter, and lord help him is Barclay his type. The two of them are locked in a game of romantic chicken. Which is very different from-

“Sugar, I gotta go to work.”

“Nonsense, call them at once and tell them you are needed here. For...spring cleaning?” Indrid hangs off Duck, glasses slipping down his nose as he nuzzles him.

“Nice try.” Duck kisses him, slips free and kisses Joseph too, “I gotta patrol after work, so I’ll be in kinda late.”

“Be safe.” Joseph kisses him one more time, squeezes his ass when he turns around. Is it his fault his boyfriend has the nicest ass in the state?

Indrid waves goodbye as Duck leaves the room, then begins making his usual nest in the beanbag chair he brought from his own home a week ago.

“Y’know, I’m glad he came to you guys. And that he and Duck are kinda working things out.” Barclay opens his mouth as Joseph feeds him the nicest pudding that he’s also able to keep down. When Barclay first woke up, Indrid alternated between being livid at him for sacrificing himself (“I am far worse than you, the world needs you more you horrible, brave man”) and cuddling him as much as his recovery allowed.

“Me too.”

“He uh, he pretty much never talks about his past, but it doesn’t take super smarts to work out it was fucked up. Showing weakness, accepting affection...it’s hard for him. Which made things rough for us early on, because all I wanna do is take care of him. Got no idea how he’s gonna react to having two more people who want to look after him.”

The answers include: sleep in Duck’s arms, read with his head in Joseph's lap, kiss Barclay whenever he can, and generally seek out any kind of touches the others will give him.

“You wanna order lunch later today?”

“Is this just an excuse to show off how good you are at picking food for each of us?”

Barclay blushes again, “Maybe.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

“I see your evil plot now, Emperor Moth; you suggested we do a movie night so you could steal all my body heat with your fuckin icicle fingers.”

“Nonsense, I am not just stealing your body heat. I am also stealing Joseph’s body heat.” Indrid preens.

“Hmm, how shall we deal with such a cunning villain?”

“I got a few ideas.” Duck drags Indrid into a kiss while Joseph loops his arms around his waist to tease his inner thighs.

“Got a few myself.” A soft voice rumbles from behind them. Indrid sits straight, all his attention on Barclay.

“On your knees, little moth.”

Indrid drops to the floor, blanket tangled around him. Joseph and Duck trade an intrigued look; Indrid leans towards the submissive, but this is a new form of it.

“Head in Duck’s lap.”

Indrid obeys. Duck strokes his cheek, “good boy.”

Barclay circles the couch as Duck pulls down his sweatpants. Indrid licks his lips, then looks up at the hero.

“You can touch, sugar. Suck too, if you want.”

“So very much. Oh” he sighs as Barclay cups the back of his head, “h-hello dearest.”

“Hey, baby. C’mon, show Duck just how good at this you are.” He nudges Indrid’s head forward, keeping his hold on it until Indrid hims and Duck makes a deeply undignified noise.

“Fuuuuck, thanks for sharin man.”

“Any time” Barclay strokes Indrid’s head, “my baby deserves to suck whoever’s dick he wants.”

Barclay steps back, Duck’s hand instantly sliding to replace it, holding Indrid tenderly in place while he blows him. Barclay eases himself onto Joseph’s right side as the hero contemplates whether he should start jerking off now or wait to see where this goes.

“Joseph?” Barclay suddenly sounds shy, “Can I, uh, can I kiss you?”

He climbs into his lap in reply, beard scratching his palms as Barclay moans down his throat.

“Took you two long enough.”

“Agreed” Indrid kisses Duck’s belly before returning to his task.

���Hey, we don’t all get lucky and get our wires crossed in a fight in a good way.” Barclay busies himself making beard-burn on Joseph’s neck.

“But you do get lucky enough to recover ahead of schedule.” Joseph nips the corner of his mouth.

“Uh, not sure I’m all the way there. But I felt good enough to get up and wander around. Glad I did.”

“Me too. Although, I’m not sure how much you should exert yourself.”

“I’m pretty tough, babe.”

“I know. Just to be safe…” Joseph kisses his nose, “is this position comfortable?”

“Very. Oh, oh fuck” brown eyes widen beautifully as he finds he can’t move, “fucking-A that’s so hot, Joseph, babe, shoulda asked you to use these one me like this the first time we met.”

“Would that have kept me out of the dumpster?”

“....Okay maybe not. Point is, please use your fucking powers on me whenever you want from now on.”

“You like being put in your place, big guy?” Joseph slowly grinds on him as he undoes Barclay’s bathrobe.

“By you? Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“Good. Stay there while I slip into something more comfortable.”

“Cornball” Duck chuckles fondly, then moans as Indrid slips a hand down to join his mouth.

Barclay’s eyes darken as Joseph strips down. By the time he’s naked, the other man is growling and his teeth and fingers are sharper than they were.

“No shifting tonight; I’m not sure how it will interact with your recovery.”

“The, the futures suggest it could reopen some wounds.” Indrid grins, “but you should try it at a later date; it is very fun to ride him in that form.”

“Someone better start riding me now or I’m gonna rip the couch in half--uh, wait. I, do we need-”

“The accident made me infertile and unable to catch all known illnesses.”

“Nice.” Barclay grabs his hips and yanks him down, the two of them moaning together as he sinks onto his cock. He rolls and rocks, Barclay grunting in time with his movements, mouth going slack after only a few bounces.

“Sensitive, big guy?”

“Uh huh, fuck, Joseph” his hold is terrifyingly strong and Joseph loves it, “babe, you feel so good.”

“Look it too.” Duck blows him a kiss. Indrid gives a little “mmhmm” and bobs his head.

“Fuck, I’m, fuck this is gonna be really embarassing, fuck, you’re so fucking good, feel so good.” He yips, pleased, when Joseph bears down harder. A sharp “fuck” bursts from beside them; he turns to watch Duck cumming on Indrid’s face. The villain doesn’t miss a beat, scrambling into his lap to kiss him before turning his red eyes on Barclay.

“The next time I pick things up from the hideout, I shall get your cockring.”

“A cockcage might be better for this, nnhff, beast.”

“Yes” Barclay growls, holding him down so hard he can’t get free. He gives him back the use of his hips and he bucks up violently, “yes, yes, put me in one, make me wear it all day, but you better put that one in one too, you, fuck, you’ve seen how he gets.”

“Nah.” Duck kisses Indrid slowly, “think I’ll tie him up and wring as many orgasms outta him as I can.”

Indrid gives a high, trilling moan and dives in for another kiss.

“Good plan.” Joseph can see it now; he even knows which rope Duck will likely use. Then he can’t see anything at all, his vision blurry as Barclay bounces him on his cock. There’s a howlgrowlpurr and then he’s cumming, growling even louder when Joseph clenches around him for fun.

“Fuck that was hot.” Barclay plants kisses down his brow, “how, how do you wanna get off, babe?”

“May I suggest sitting on my face?” Indrid says hopefully.

“Like mike cum so much you’ll lick it outta someone else, little moth?”

“No. Well, yes, but my offer comes from both a desire to know the feeling of blowing each of you, and because the position allows Duck to use his fingers on me while you, dearest, work my cock.”

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin smart sugar.” Duck hops up to retrieve the lube while the other two join Indrid on the floor. Joseph settles into position and immediately learns why Duck was being so loud.

“Lordalmighty, Indrid, you’re incredible.”

“‘Ank ‘ou.” Indrid closes his lips around his dick, humming until his toes curl. Barclay kisses him lazily, snickering when Indrid occasionally turns his head to lap at his softening cock.

“This is the best part.” Barclay murmurs as Duck pushes Indrid’s legs apart.

A muffled moan signals the other hero working his fingers in, Indrid twitching and whimpering as he fucks him. Joseph glances back to see Duck thoroughly entranced by the sight of his fingers opening that very cute ass up.

“You’re right, big guy, he sucks cock better when he’s screaming.”

“Learned that by putting a vibrating ring on his dick and making him cockwarm me.”

“Holy fuck.” Duck groans, “add that to the fuckin to-do list.”

Joseph lets himself be drawn into another kiss, stays there for a long, long time as Indrid’s cries coax his orgasm closer.

“Tell me when you’re close. Don’t want him cumming until you’re done.” Barclay whispers. Below them, Indrid whines. Barclay wipes cum from his boyfriend’s cheek, “you want to cum soon, better get Joseph off.”

“Shit” Joseph braces his hands on the floor, grinding his hips and dragging slick across Indrid’s chin, “shit, that’s it.”

“MMPPPHHHHH” Indrid thrashes as Barclay begins rapidly jerking him off. The villain even bends to lick the head once or twice, and Duck does his best to thrust harder whenever he does.

“Cannot fuckin wait to see you cum again, sugar. You looked so fuckin perfect last time.”

Cum splatters Joseph’s lower back, his own climax buzzing through his veins and bursting across his neurons, more intoxicating and invigorating than the neon green shock all those years ago.

He climbs off Indrid, flops back into what turn out to be Duck’s arms. Indrid shifts onto his side, curling his arms around Ducks leg and bumping Barclays knee with his thigh, “We are going to need a bigger house.”

Joseph believes in prudence and caution, in not rushing into relationships (especially with men who were once your enemies). But as he takes in the scene around him, the love flooding his chest, he knows Indrid is right.

He start researching listings in the morning.