#please excuse the editing skills i was in a hurry-

[saturfied]

jeffy collecting cats like they're pokémon-

[linksthoughtbrambles]

[Animals can think and echoes can be merciless.]

Part 8 of Adventure Log+ (Sequel to Link’s Thought Brambles. I highly recommend reading in order! Edited 9/30/23 to tighten language.)

[Note: A big thank-you to @embyrinitalics for very generous help on horse behavior and resources about it!! 😀]

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“Princess?”

“A moment, Sir Margil.”

.

Yeah.  I wouldn’t’ve let my sister come if I thought it would be like this.

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No, never before.

.

It is odd.

“It won’t do.”

“What won’t, Princess?”

Maybe they were hoping I’d be dead and the Princess vulnerable?  Still… they weren’t on our direct path…

“I agree with Link.  I cannot abandon people who may be in need of help.”

I mean, the one we usually take to the lab.  Nearby, yeah.

“…Yet… we have two sticking points.”

If it was about us, though, they’d have to have been talking to someone from the Yiga clan.

“What points?”

Yeah, I didn’t think they could talk, either.  Or understand us.

“One—Purah expects us.  If we fail to appear, we’ll cause a panic.”

True, no funeral.  Just a glad-you’re-not-dead party.

“Two—you, Chee.”

Maybe the bokos can’t tell the difference.

“I’ll listen to you.  I’ll run if I have to.”

I don’t know.  You’d think they wouldn’t want to draw too much attention to themselves.

“Indeed.  That is, in fact, exactly what I’ll ask you to do—immediately.”

Ahadis would’ve sent a team out to clear the plain-

“Now?!”

-within a day or two-

“Yes.”

-if they attacked the farmers.

“…And not alone.”

…Right?

“Sirs Margil and Beraya, please accompany Chee to the lab.”

“Wh-“ “Princess-“

“My mind is immutable in this.  Chee is many times more vulnerable than I am.”

Yeah, I- guess- I don’t know Ahadis that well.  Jeralt would.  The king would, too.

“…Link’s gonna be upset.” “You’ll have no backup, Princess.”

Yeaaaah, he is kind of, isn’t he?

“Indeed—but I have my bow.  The plain is wide, flat, and we know Link is on this side of the further ridge.”

Hah!  I kind of figured that’s why he joined the melee.

“I shall see anything coming, and likely eliminate it long before it reaches me.”

“…Link’s still gonna be upset.”

…Sorry, Daile.

“Indeed.  But if you ride hard to the lab, you can tell them what’s happened.”

No, I mean, you were just smiling and now you’re not, so… oh s@#$.

“They’ll send help.”

It’s Wenn, isn’t it?

“You’ll be safer, and so will we in the long run.”

You’re good friends, right?  And he joined.

“It seems to me as though if you encounter any riders in your direction, you ought to push forward—don’t engage unless you have no choice.”

Well, no, Jeralt said so.

“Yes, Princess.”

It’s one reason he recommended you.

“And Chee—you ride on no matter what.”

That and your skill, which he was obviously right about.

“Y-yeah.  Okay.”

No, it IS important.

“On, then.  Quickly!”

This… with what’s coming-

“Yes, Princess.”  “Yes, Princess!” “Please tell Link I listened?”

-we all need to be…

“I shall.  Now, go!”

(Whyyyy did I dig myself into this hole?)

“Hyah!”  “Hup, boy.” “Go, Snorts.”

Daile… allies are great, but allies might not be enough.

“Well, Tass.  Onward.  Hurry!”

We all need to look out for each other.  And I did NOT mean to be a dick and insult your friend.  I was joking.  Badly.  About Ahadis. Which… is no excuse.  I apologize.

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Nope, my fault.  Careless of me.

.

I wouldn’t’ve put him on the Princess’ guard if I was holding a grudge.  Same goes for Farniha.  Haha, and she kneed my fricking groin and backhanded my face.  It… hurt.  A lot.

.

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O-oh.  Yeah, I’m not surprised. I’m glad they’re following us for now.  If the Princess has us turn around to check up north, the horses might lead us right to where they came from.

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Aaaaand Daile’s gone silent.

Goddess dammit Link, you dumbass.  He and Wenn must be very good friends for him to have gotten that obviously pissed off or upset or whatever that not-good face on him was.

Do NOT criticize people’s friends.

Not that I did on purpose, but I should've realized about Wenn.

We worked really well together in the fight.  Hope I didn’t ruin it.

Link?  If you’re going to be a leader and not just a bodyguard, you need to step up your people-reading skills.  You can’t be in a meeting or something and rely on Zelda to turn to you and say, ‘Link, you’d better not say anything critical about so-and-so, because other so-and-so is other other so-and-so’s friend and you’ll tick them off,  my kind but socially-inept consort.’

…I don’t think she’d say that in public.  Especially the ‘consort’ part.

Having the slate read her mind would be so tempting, wouldn’t it?  I wonder what she DOES call me in her thoughts.  Does she think ‘Sir Knight’ and things like that a lot or is it more like, ‘hmm Link likes it when I call him Sir Knight so I shall do so at every opportunity’?

Next time we’re completely alone, I’m going to ask her.

If I remember.

Which I have not been so great at, lately.

Lots of notions.  Not much acting on those notions.

There are too many notions.

.

Slow your brain-babbling down, Link.  Somehow.  Maybe… picture slow-moving things.  Like snails!  Yes!  I can focus on an image of Nails ooooozing his… or… her… way along those nice long dandelion leaves in his little snail-house.  That’s slow.

.

.

.

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He’s cute.

How long do snails live?

Oh no.  I hope they’re not like flies and things.  I don’t want to find him dead in there when we get back to the castle.  Zelda probably knows what to expect.  She’d’ve warned me, right?  She would’ve said something if he could conk any second.

If he does die at some point I’m going to have to catch a new one and put it in there, because if Myrri sees an empty terrarium she’ll be upset, and most likely she’ll yell at me and/or kick me in the shins for killing him.

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Nah. Not after her mom.

.

.

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What… what happens if that field Fi saw at the castle really is the Calamity?

If… it’s already here, and just biding its time for some reason?

Is it waiting for some perfect time to strike?

Those copies of the old tapestry show it being in the middle Hyrule field, though, not at the castle.  Like, showing up at the dead center of Hyrule.  Right at its heart.

That was 10,000 years ago, though.  I guess… could it have moved?

It talked to me.  It did.

It… HE talked.  It sounded like a man.

.

No, not a man, exactly.  Male.  Monstrous.  Loud.  Like nothing else I’ve ever heard.  Like the deepest growl formed into words.

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It talks.

It… thinks.

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I thought, before, it was just like… some sort of… animal.  It LOOKS like an animal in the drawings.

Even animals think, though.  I bet that fox Mipha saved never went anywhere near that Hinox again, no matter how much it wanted to drink from that pool.

Rionee knows me and loves me and knows how to avoid snakes and thorns… and she knows when I have apples even when they’re hidden from existence in my Korok pouch, because she knows me, and I must have a tell.  She knows how to get me to give her chin scratches, and she knows how to get the stablehands to give her treats even if I already gave her some, hehehe.  Don’t you, girl?

She knew I needed her to be quiet before attacking those bokoblin riders.

So… even if the Calamity were just an animal, it could think.  It could learn.

And it’s NOT just an animal.

It’s smart.  HE’s smart.  He’s… vengeful.  He hates me.

Try to remember, Link.  What exactly did it- HE… say?

I am able to assist you in this if you wish, master.

Fi?  You can do that?

Yes.

…Yes.  Please.

It will be unpleasant.

Yeah… but it might also be important.

Ready yourself, master.

.

‘Settling for this psychic amplification… it’s…’

MmMM!

‘…paltry… compared to the suffering I’d like to inflict.’

HHGHH!

‘To see you bound… helpless…’

AAAH- HHH!

‘…while I trace you with my blade… like a lover’s caress… opening you from neck to groin… and removing your organs one at a time.’

NNN-GGHHGHHTTNGG-!

‘I long to see the horror in your eyes… I'd start with your intestines, I think.’

HKKTT- KKTT-

‘Just slice them free at the bottom -and pull them out an inch at a time.’

HHHHGG! HH!  HH!

‘…It’s my one regret.’

M-AAAH!

‘You’ll be dead before I emerge.’

PHH- PHHH-

‘I’ll never see your face contort as I rearrange your innards.’

KMPH-

‘I’ll just have to rearrange hers instead.’

MmnNNNNN-! DEAD, YOU’RE DEAD, ASSHOLE!  I DON’T CARE WHO YOU ARE YOU JUST F@#$ED YOURSELF HARD YOU THINK I’LL LET YOU TOUCH HER?!?  IF I DIE TODAY I’LL F@$&ING HAUNT YOU AND YOU’LL STILL LOSE!!!

‘Ah hahahaha.  There it is.  So predictable.’

WOAH!  Holy- holy S#@$-

Oh!  Daile- yeah.  Yeah, I’m fine.  It was Fi.  She showed me something.

.

It was when the Calamity went after me.  While I was hurt.

.

No, it actually attacked me.

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No, no, it’s not like it’s running around the castle, it went after my thoughts.  It was in my head.

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Yeah, it is… creepy.

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No, I couldn’t see it.  I heard its- sorry, his- voice, and it made me… hurt. 

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We think he was trying to make me strain and bleed faster, among other things.

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You can ask anything you like.

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Oh, no I hadn’t finished talking to her.

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It really is okay-

.

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Alright.  I can talk out loud to her.  I know you can’t hear her but at least you’ll know my half.

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No.  We’re all in this together.

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Okay.

Fi, that memory- it’s like I was there.

You were there, master.

Yeah, but, I mean it’s like I was there AGAIN just now, actually inside the memory.  Living it again.

As I said, I may assist in these endeavors.  I experience everything you do when we are connected.

So, do you remember everything perfectly?

Usually, but I may access any of your memories, master, even those which occurred before you reached me.

Wow.

You are correct in your assessment of the Calamity’s intelligence.  He is no mere animal.  He is extremely intelligent and cunning.

He also hates me.  And he hates the Princess even more, doesn’t he?  Oh- Daile- I mean the Calamity.

…He does hate you both.  He would like little more than to see you both utterly destroyed.  The creature you now call Calamity Ganon has had other names.  Ganon.  Ganondorf.  Demise.  They are all the same being, once driven by the pursuit of power.  Now… I no longer know what drives him.  Perhaps it’s the same, or perhaps he simply seeks the death of all who will not serve him.  It may even be that he wishes nothing else but the destruction of our world.

…Why?

I’m not certain anyone has ever known the answer to that question.  Even he may not.

That memory just before shows he doesn’t just want us dead.  He wants us to suffer first.  He wants to watch it happen.  He doesn’t want us to die right away.

…Yes, master.

But… if he were really HERE here, there’s no way he would’ve let me survive that injury.  The only thing he was able to do was scare the crap out of me and amplify the pain I was already feeling.  He’s not really here yet.  He can’t be, or I’d be dead.

That is logical.

So, it’s more like he has a window he can look at us through.  He can’t actually get in the house.

That isn’t a terrible analogy, master.

…Thaaanks.  It might not… actually be at the castle, then.  It could have nothing but that window to us.  Something he’s looking through.

It’s possible.

You don’t sound convinced.

There is not enough evidence to make a determination.

Okay… so… what makes a window?

Master?

If the Calamity has a window to look through, why does it have it?  Like, did he make it?  Did someone put it there?  You yourself said the field around the castle was probably not the Calamity itself, right?  That it’s a spell?

A magical field, correct.  The field itself is most likely not the Calamity.

Can I ask you how you figure that?

It’s based on my observations of the properties of his previous incarnations.  He never emerges identical to his previous form, but he is always recognizable as himself.  I did not ‘recognize’ this field.

So you said the field could be for communication.

You said that, master.

But you thought I was right.

I concur with your logic.

Great, so… what if the field is just the window?  The Calamity is… somewhere.  Maybe not even in Hyrule at all.  And the field is what’s letting him see?

And speak.

…Yeah.  Like yelling at someone through the window.  Not easy, but you can do it.

.

.

Fi?

I am processing.

Processing what?

Information.

…Yeah, I figured that, but-

Please allow me some time, Master.  I am sorting various information regarding the Calamity both 10,000 years ago and in this age, including words I have heard spoken in your vicinity.  Once that information has been sorted by priority, I will project various scenarios and present probabilities of their likelihood to you.

W- how long will that take?

Longer each time you interrupt, master.

…You’re such a snark.

Like master, like servant.

Y- you’re not my servant-

Interruptions, master.

…Sorry.

.

.

Yeah, she says she’s processing.

.

Not sure.  She usually doesn’t take long to spit numbers at me.  This must be a big lift.

.

I have so many questions, Daile, it’s not even funny.

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Oh!  Yeah, those sword-beams were pretty cool.  I had no idea she could just do that.

.

The thing at the melee was different.  I had to concentrate on those.

.

She says as long as I’m completely healthy, she can just do that.

.

I KNOW!!

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Nope.  Didn’t know until those bokos today.

.

.

.

.

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Guess I just have to wait.

.

.

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Hphhhhh.

.

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These poor horses were scared.  I can hear that blanket-blue roan grinding her teeth from here.

They look healthy, so the bokoblins didn’t have them long.  There’s no way they were wild.  They fell right in line with us.  I could probably ride one of them bareback since Rionee’s hurt, but it might confuse or spook the others.  Not worth it unless Rionee starts to feel tired.

.

.

Your head still feeling alright, Daile?

.

I’m glad.

.

No, it’s not bad.  Just a shallow gash.

.

I’ve gotten worse fighting them.  One time, a silver snuck up on me in the woods and threw a rock at my head.  It got me good.  Lucky I didn’t conk out.

.

The silver ones are smarter than the others.

.

Damn, you never fought a silver before?  I’m even more impressed.

.

You didn’t get killed.  When silvers are involved… most… most people do.

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Granted.

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Yeah.  Hateno.

.

.

My father did try to clear them out, but he was here a lot.

.

A few times a year.

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He never wanted us at the Castle.

.

Don’t know why.

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No, I usually just went after them myself.

.

Because they’re evil bastards.

.

Moblins show up there, too, but not as many of them. Usually further from the village.  They pop up to the west past Ginner and Midla woods.

.

As far as I know, no one’s figured it out yet.

.

A lynel?  No.  No, thank Hylia.  Not near Hateno.  I’ve never even seen one.

.

Lizalfos, yes.  You?

.

Good.

Wow, Link.  Daile’s dad’s seen some nasty s@#% you haven’t.

…Daile was a good choice.

I have to officially thank Jeralt for suggesting him.

----

There they… are?

“Link--ohhh.  Alright, Tass.  Ease up.”

Daile, do you-

.

No, I don’t.

Did they get attacked too?!  Zelda’s riding pretty quick.  She’s upright- Rionee, girl, I know you’re hurt but-

She wants to rush.  I shouldn’t be surprised.  The wound wasn’t so bad.

I think she’s grown attached to Tass.  Which… is awfully sweet.

Why is it only Zelda?

.

My Goddess.  Chee!

No, no.  It’s fine.  It has to be fine.  She’d be at a full gallop, wouldn’t she, if it wasn’t?

…Unless Tass is hurt.

That could be.

He’s too far away to tell for sure.  His gait looks normal.

.

Yeah, I don’t want to shout.  Just in case there’s anything listening.  Seems all-clear, but… just in case.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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Tass is so huffy.  I think if he was hurt he’d make sure everyone with an eyeline knew it.  I’d expect lots of tossing his head around and loud whinnying.

.

.

I agree.

.

.

.

Almost there.

.

She’s not shouting, either.

I feel like if she had bad news, she’d be yelling it at this point.

Fingers crossed.

.

“LINK!”

Ah.  In that case-  “PRINCESS!”

“EVERYONE IS WELL!”

Oh, praise Hylia.  Praise…

Maybe I do understand why father wouldn’t want us around.  Maybe we’d worry him too much.

Heh.  The horses.  Nickering.  Good.

.

…Tass is so rushing here to nuzzle-nose Rionee.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand there it is!

Awww, you guys are so cute with your attention-ears and nibbly-wiggly lips and I’d like to greet Zelda the same way, but I can’t pivot my ears like that-

“Hello, brave sirs.”

That tone! Wish I had the luxury to melt.  “Heh.  Hi, Princess.”  Melting right into her arms. That would be ideal. Can't right now. And... blushing.  Cut it out, face.  I said stop.

“I’m glad to see you both look only slightly worse for wear.”

“Thanks.” “Thank you, Princess.”

The way she’s looking at me.  She was worried.

She still did what I asked, though.  Strong, her.  I don’t know if I’d’ve had the willpower to stay put.

“I sent the others on to the lab.”

“That… does make sense.  That is, if- are we heading north, now?”

“Yes.  I do expect Margil or Beraya—perhaps both—to ride back at speed with reinforcements.”

“It’ll be a while.”

“Yes.  I’ve been watching the slate.”

Oh.  A… lot went through my mind since we split up.

“Will the other horses lead us to their homes?”

“If we turn around, yeah, probably.”

“Let’s do so.  I cannot turn my back if my people need help.”

That’s it then.  We turn around.  We wait.  See if they start moving.  “We… may not find anyone alive.”

“I know.”

They’re grazing.  Makes sense.

"Let's take the chance to rest the horses. They'll need it."

Zelda and Daile dismounting, too.  Good.

Everyone gets a breather for a few minutes, at least.

…If anyone bleeds out just minutes before we arrive, I’ll be pissed at myself.  But the horses need some time.  If they don’t stop soon, I’ll give one a quick whack on the behind and see if it keeps moving.  Not the blanket-blue.  She’s toothy.

-----

By the most holy light of Goddess Hylia.

“Wh- what happened here?”

So, Daile’s never seen this either.

Don’t be an ass, Link.  So you’re not the only confused one.  Who cares?!  If Daile knew, you’d have a leg up!

As it is…

As it IS…

What the f#$% is that?!

What’s that sound-

Zelda.  The slate.  The camera.  Of course.

She’s swallowing hard.

“L-Link.  Do you have any knowledge of this?”

“No.  Fi?”

I am processing.  Do you wish me to pause?

For this, yes.  Please.

Very well, master.  I will comply.

The substance in question is malice.

…Malice?

Yes.  I have encountered it in several ages.  Do not touch it.

“Fi says it’s called malice.  She says not to touch it.  What happens if we do?”

It will harm you.

“It’ll hurt us if we do.”

“A name helps little.  What IS it, Fi?”

I do not know all of its properties, Princess-

“Sir Daile- here- you may-“

“Thank you, Princess.”

…I can tell you this much—its presence does not necessarily require proximity to the Calamity.  I encountered it once with my first Hylian wielder before the First Seal had broken, and at an entirely different subterranean location.  The substance in that case had contaminated a once-pure water supply.  It may also solidify and become crystalline. Though I have no information on the mechanics, the substance does appear to be linked to reanimation.

“What do you mean reanimation?”

The restoration of a corpse’s ability to move about independently.

“What?”

Forgive me, master.  I recognize this information is disturbing.  Please approach with extreme caution.  Typically with reanimation, destruction of the head is necessary to put the construct down.

“Wh- construct?  What-“

Apologies.  I refer to the reanimated creature.  It no longer lives, master.  It is… a reconstructed shell.  Nothing more.

.

Reconstructed shell.

.

“Zelda.”

“Yes.”

“We have to dismount to check the farmhouse… and the barn.”

“Yes.”

“Draw.”

“Yes.”

Her arrow nocked already.

Daile’s went with the bow, too.

You’re on point, Link. Sword.

I… can hear it.  That malice stuff.  Bubbling, oozing…  Like hot mud.  The color! Not remotely natural, that.  Changing.  Purples, pinks… hot-bright, like fired-iron but the color’s all wrong.  No blade looks like that when heated.

And it’s moving. The surface just… just… flexing.  Like… living, liquid muscle.

Dear Goddess.  This reminds me of something.

It reminds me of something, and I don’t even know what it is.

It scares the ever-loving begoddess out of me.

…Grip your sword, Link.  Grit your teeth. This was a farm.  There could be people in that house.  People who need you-

?

Someone’s moving, the sound- walking, shuffling, dragging feet, they must be hurt!  Speed up, Link- they’re coming out close to that stuff-

HH!!!!!!SCREAMING-

“HH!” “UF-“

SCREAMINGSCREAMINGSCREAMINGSCREAMINGICAN’TMOVE WHYCAN’TIMOVE MYGODDESSWHATTHEF@#$ISTHAT WHATISIT MYGODDESS MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVELINK! MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE OHF@#$IT’SCOMINGCLOSER NONONONONONONONONONONO MOOOOOOOOVELINK!! MOVE MYGODDESSITSDEADITSDEAD WHATEVERITISITSDEADITSDEAD-

Cease, master!

FIFIFIMYGODDESSLOOKATIT

Do not concentrate on the fear!

ITWASAPERSONAPERSONAPERSON

It is amplified! Hear my voice instead!

FIPLEASETELLMEITWASNTAPERSON

Will yourself to move!  NOW, master!

M-MOVEMOVE MOVE  MOVEMOVE

Will your muscles to!

MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE

Persist!

MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE- FREE!

Attack, master!

“TELL ME IT WASN’T A PERSON!”

…

“FI, FOR F@#$’S SAKE, TELL ME IT WASN’T A PERSON!”

Master, do not delay!

“TELL ME!”

It will close and stun you!

It’s SLOW, Fi, I’m BACKING OFF, now “F@#%ING TELL ME!”

WH-?

An arrow in its eye- two.

It’s on its knees.

The merciful thing is to remove its head, master.

You can’t be-

Three arrows.

Four.

It’s down.

.

Not moving.

I don’t- I don’t think it was breathing even before.

Hard breathing.  Zelda and Daile.  Behind me.

My breath, too.

“Fi.  Fi, what-“

“LINK!” “ANOTHER!”

??!?!!!

No screaming this time- no screaming- what- what’s it doing?

.

Oh my Goddess.

Goddess.  “Zelda-“

“I see it.”

Fi.  Fi, in the name of Hylia, please.  Please, I’m begging you, tell me those aren’t people.

…

Smaller than the first.  Slighter.  Was the first one a man?  Is this a woman?

…A husband and wife?

Fi, why won’t you answer me?

I cannot tell you what you want to hear, master.

.

My Goddess.

My Goddess, it’s curling up.  Fetal position.  Like it’s crying.  Mourning.

Mourning the other.

It will not remain this way for long, master.

.

The merciful thing is to take its head.

“Link.”

“…Zelda, I- Fi, is there a way to save them?“

There is nothing left to save, master-

“Horses#$@!  If there was nothing left, it wouldn’t do that!”

It is an echo, only.  It is dead.  By slaying this form, you would free its body from imprisonment to another’s will.  It is rest.  It is mercy.

“I- I don’t know if I believe you.”

Then believe IT, master, for it rises.

Hylia help me, it's SCREAMINGSCREAMINGSCREAMING

DO NOT PANIC!

S@#$ITSTHEEYESORTHESOUND

KEEP PRESENCE OF MIND!

ITSASPELLORACURSE

Magic, yes! You are stronger-

MAYBEBOTH

-will yourself free!

MAYBETHEY’RETHESAMETHING

Move!

CLOSERCLOSERF@#$

Move, master!

F@#$!F@#$!

MOVE!

HOLYHYLIAMYNECKMYNECKPERSERVEUSLIFTUSFROMTHESESANDS

Yes, prayer!

KEEPUSWITHTHEDAWNINTHESELOFTYSKIESMAKEOFUSATEMPLEOFHOPE

Hope!

GODDESSGODDESSGODDESS

IGNORE fear—MOVE!

ISTILLCAN’TMOVEMYNECKMYNECKHYLIAPLEASEPLEASEPRESERVEUSLIFTUSFROMTHESESANDSKEEP

“AaaAAAAAAAAAH!”

Zelda! OFF“AahhH-HHNO NOT HER!" THROUGHITSNECK THROUGHITSNECK“NGH!”  S-sweet skies, what-

End it, master!

Blade- right THROUGH- my- my Goddess its eyes are on Zelda and she’s stuck. Stuck.  But it can’t move with my sword through its neck.

How is it still alive?

This is un-life, master.  End it.

.

.

I can.  I can.  Yank the sword back.  Through its spine.

I can.

Just… Do it, Link.

Come on.

Just do it.

“Mmmh.  Hh-hh-“

Slice.

Ribbons.

.

.

.

.

.

“Mmpgh-hh-Link.  Link!”

Zelda.

“Link—Link, answer me.”

Zelda.

“Link?”

That’s Zelda.

“Link, stop looking at it.”

Zelda.

“Stop, Link.”

She… she blocked it.

Good, that’s good.  I don’t want to look.  Not at its… head… hanging… off…. Like that….

Ribbons.

Sinew.  The inside. Of a. Windpipe.

A person’s.

The wound, she’s-

She-

Doesn’t she understand?

Doesn’t she know what I just did?

Doesn’t she-

Doesn’t-

m-

“Oh- Link-“

oh- oh, no- “mmMMbkhhhh-“

“Turn away-“

“Hhhhhhuah-“

“It’s- alright, just-“

“hhhhhHHHUAH-“

“Just don’t look-“

“HHH- HHH- HHH-“

“Th-there…”

“Hh-hh… hh-hh… hh… hh… hh…”

“A- alright?”

No.  No, not alright.

It’s a good thing I hadn’t eaten anything in a real long time.  There’d be a mess.  As it is, I just doubled over. Made noise.  Not dignified.  Not.  Not.

Aren’t I supposed to be some kind of hero or something?

She’s rubbing my back.

Daile heavy-breathing.

I’m not the only one massively freaked out.

“It’s okay.  It’s okay.  It’s dead.”

“I- it’s not that, Zelda.”

“…I know.”

“Fi wouldn’t answer me.”

“I… I assumed not.  You asked more than once.”

“It was a person.”

“…It seems so.”

“They were people.”

“…Yes.”

“I killed it.”

.

“I killed a person.”

“No, no, Link-  no-“

“Yes.  I did.”

The person was already dead, master.

“Shut up, Fi.”

…

“…Link…”

.

Link.  You’re an asshole.  “…Sorry, Fi.”

…

S$#%.

“Link, had you not stabbed it, it would have attacked me just as it had you.”

“Y-your wound needs tending, sir.  Do you have that alcohol?”

Alcohol.

Alcohol.  Right.  Right- “In the pouch.”  Here.  Here it is.

Zelda.  Unstopping it.  Going to really, really hurt, its teeth just ripped my neck open.  Lucky it didn’t hit my carotid.  Hylian teeth. Not so sharp.  It still… feels… like a mess, though… “AAaaAAAH!  MMM!  MMMGGGH.  GGGH-HH. …GH-!”

“I- I shall bind it.  A moment…”

The pouch- it lets her use it.  Bandages.

She shouldn't.  She is.  I don't deserve.

“Link, I …shall remind you, my extraordinary knight, that you said you’d have felt no regret killing Vayden in my defense.”

“Th-that- was different.”

“How so?”

“He meant to kill you.  His choice.  This- this person- these people- they were innocent.  Used.”

“…Perhaps.  We know little for certain.”

“Seems clear.”

“It seems so, but let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“Fi refused to say it wasn’t a person.”

“…I know.  I’m … sorry, Link.”

Bandage… done.  I thought Daile- Daile?

.

Oh.

I’m not the only one who feels sick, either.

He just had the presence of mind to go deal with it quietly in a bush.

.

We didn’t even check the barn yet.

No wonder the horses wouldn't approach.

.

What the hell did this?

-----

[Note: I decided after lots of thinking that there's more than one way to make a ReDead. I also decided the purple stuff in the bottom of the Ancient Cistern is malice, and that evil crystals are solidified malice. I also know why this is happening here even though it didn't (at least explicitly) happen in pre-calamity BotW, but I'm not telling. Spoilers!]

Read Next: A blanket of shifting shadows.

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[lokilickedme]

New banner!  Temporary because obviously I can do better than that, but I was in a hurry and the mood struck me.

As some of you know, I’ve been busy lately.  Like, fell off the edge of the world busy.  Something about packing up one’s entire life and hauling it (along with two children and two cats) 1200 miles away from where you started has a tendency to force everything into a holding pattern while you focus on keeping everyone alive.  Arriving in the middle of a blizzard doesn’t help.  Having your housing fall through also doesn’t help.  But our temporary accommodations are serving well both in terms of having a place to live for a while *and* providing inspiration that’s been sadly lacking since the stress of the relocation took over all my available headspace, so here’s to refraining from complaining and getting my ass back on the wagon.  (No I haven’t become an alcoholic but don’t delude yourself for one second assuming I haven’t thought real good and damn hard about it)

Long story short, we’re here, we’re once again headed toward closing on a new house, we landed slightly off center of where we’d intended but as it turns out the detour put us in a better place, and though I’m still without my computer (WHERE IS IT?!?!?!) I do have a tablet with a very stripped down edition of my writing files.  So away we go.

Rancho de La Luna

This is new, for those of you who haven’t been paying attention :P  Inspired directly by the place we’re staying temporarily and featuring my personal favorite faceclaims as a team of capable but quarrelsome cowboys at a tourist ranch beleaguered by problems, including a new arrival with a penchant for fibbing about her skills.  Just for funsies, because why not.  I hope to update it pretty often for a little while, until I run out of steam or start to get bored or *gasp!* actually finish it.  Watch for potential unscheduled updates.

The Empty Arms Hotel

Gonna pick back up on this one again soon before I forget what the big deal is with the tenants.  Whipplefilter finally got to bang somebody besides the desk clerk so he’s a happy camper, but the Traveler isn’t sure he wants to do that again...yeah no he’s totally gonna do that again because like the woman at the front desk said, once that tall slurp of poisoned Kool Aid goes down on you there’s not a single thing in your sad sorry excuse for a life that will EVER measure up again.  The third floor resident got it in gallons.  Weirdness is still afoot, though...that storm has gone off the bejeezus scale and doesn’t appear to have plans other than eventually wiping the entire planet off the solar system’s map.  So - more degenerate sex while we wait for that, anyone?  Yes please.

The Money Shot

Will get back to this one later - and since Momoa is divorced now, you can probably safely assume meat’s back on the menu.  Ohhhh yeah.  Don’t expect an update anytime soon though, there’s other stuff I’d much rather be working on than this silly little vanity piece.  Even with Momoa fresh on the market.

The House Next Door

My favorite - this one will update again soon.  I’m not as frantic to get it done as I was when I was living the actual nightmare that inspired it, but now that that’s over and I can look at it with a clear head, I feel like it’s going to become less of a revenge piece and more of a sweet romance...because Thomas Dowd only *thinks* he’s not crazy about kids, and Carly’s children (particularly Connor) are getting a good solid grip on his heartstrings.  Also there’s Duncan.  God, I love Duncan.  Somebody’s gotta have a redemption arc and since Dowd and Carly are both victims of their circumstances, it’s gonna have to be Dunk.  Things are about to get fun up in this suburban romcom.

The Variant

Again, one that I love but don’t have the headspace for right now.  Once we’re settled good and proper and I have time to watch some Loki-centric stuff and fire up the remotivation thrusters, I’ll finish this one.  I do so love Variant 77.  And Tech Sevensix.  Seven’s personal Loki-love is about to become an angst generator so be ready for that - and do NOT underestimate President Loki’s lust for all things problematic.  Original Loki embarrassed the crap out of him the last time they crossed paths and that’s not going to go unavenged.  Ha!  Loki finally gets to be an avenger!  Wrong Loki and wrong team, but we take what we can get, right?

Shrine Of Your Lies

Yep, gonna finish this one.  The dreamy tone means it hits me when it hits me, so the next time it hits me I’ll hit you with it.  Promise.

Aingeal Ard

KING!!  I’m going to finish this one this year, sooner rather than later, just to have it off the roster and to clear the way for book 4 of The McClary Chronicles.  It would have happened last year, but...well, you know what happened.  And we’re almost done, so once King has his final say, this one wraps up.

Tales From Quarantine

Not sure if I feel like doing any more vignettes for this one.  We’ll see.  I think pandemic fatigue is a thing and I’m not sure all that many of us want to read about other people going through it.  I’m double vaccinated and extremely careful yet I’ve had covid twice, so...kinda had enough.

Sunflower

Tommy and Chloe will have their happy ending, you have my word.  Will it happen this year?  Yeah, I think so.  Hang in there.

The King of All The Rest

I’m going to be honest here, I’d forgotten about this one.  I’d love to get on it because I love me a good fun snarky Loki tale, but it’ll have to wait a bit.

Stop The World (And Melt With You)

This was meant to be my next “big” project, but it got waylaid by The House Next Door and now Rancho de La Luna.  I do plan to start it this year though - fun romps through the backstage side of the music industry are right up my alley and my characters are ready to go.  Stay tuned for a start date on this one once RdLL gets rolling.

Happy Merry Thankschristmas, Chief

This one obviously was intended for a pre-holiday release, but since I was on the road navigating blizzards and staying in motels during that particular timeframe, it sat in drafts unfinished and now all the holidays referenced in the title have passed.  There are two options I’m willing to consider on this followup ficlet to The Department - an off-season release as soon as it’s finished, or I can hang onto it until the holidays roll around again.  Feel free to offer an opinion if you got one.

In fact, opinions are welcomed on everything on this list - sometimes having someone say “I’d love to see this one update first” or whatever can give me just the motivation kick I need to get on it.  Don’t be shy.  I can’t guarantee it’ll work out that way (inspiration and motivation are tricky arbitrary monsters) but I can sure give it a try.

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Under My Skin: Chapter 1

Series masterlist

Word count = 4,6 k

Chapter Warnings = swearing, canon-typical violence, bad writing

Summary = You hate Poe Dameron. Simple, right?

Edit = Cross posted to AO3

Part 1 of 4 (I think)

Poe Dameron didn’t like you and you didn’t like Poe Dameron.

“Because!” You grouse to Rose as you make your way to the cantina, “he thinks he’s so much better than everyone else, no one could ever come close to his skills, and he always gets the best missions, and he’s good, but he’s not that good, he acts like he’s god's gift to women - no scratch that - to the galaxy, and he’s so arrogant!” You’re growling in frustration as you round the corner, suddenly lowering your voice as much as you can because Dameron is right there at the end of the corridor, deep in discussion with General Organa and Finn.

Rose’s only response is to whack you over the head as she walks through the swinging doors in the centre of the corridor. You’ve never been so glad you don’t have to walk past Dameron in your life. “What was that about?” You hiss as you catch up with Rose, grabbing your own tray and helping yourself to dinner. “You didn’t have to hit me in front of General Organa.” Rose snorts. “Yeah the General was the one you were worried about.”

Trays full, the two of you spot an empty booth and hurry towards it, sitting opposite each other. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You won’t shut up about Poe.” She jabs her fork at you, causing bits of potato to fall to the table. You can only gape, words escaping you momentarily.

Momentarily.

“What! I won’t - Dameron - he - he and I - urgh! - never in my life - he’s annoying!” You settle on finally, fully aware that you’re now whining. “He frustrates me!”

Rose raises an eyebrow, “Well maybe you need to work out those frustrations.” You shake your head, deciding to ignore her for now as you concentrate on eating. “You do need to get laid.”

You yelp, coughing when you try to swallow too quickly in shock. And then- “I can help with that, sweetheart.” You whip round, eyes narrowing when Dameron’s behind you, his flight suit tied around his waist, exposing his dirty vest and irritatingly strong arms. The only person who can beat him in arm wrestling is Finn - you can no longer count the amount of times he’s beaten you.

You take another scoop of dinner before talking with a full mouth. “Ok, one, I’m not your sweetheart, and two, Rose is wrong, and even if she was right, I definitely don’t need your help with-” you pause, swallow, and gesture vaguely in his general direction. “That.”

This, annoyingly, only seems to make him grin more. “That? You’re not gonna call it what it is?” You lean back, pulling your most unimpressed look onto your face, as he continues, still smirking, even having the audacity to wink at you. “Hot, animal sex.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff, turning back to your dinner. “Whatever you say, Dameron.”

“Does it make you feel better, being mean to me?” Dameron asks as he squeezes onto the small piece of bench next to you. You huff, moving up so that you’re not touching. You don’t like him, but you’re not rude. 

Ignoring his question, you deflect. “Where’s Finn? Don’t you want to sit with him?” It takes more effort than it should to sound like you’re asking out of interest, and not because you want him to go away. Which you do.

“He’s still talking to Leia.” Your eyes flick to Rose, and she knows what you’re thinking. You twist your body to face Dameron, bringing a leg up under you. “Is this about the mission?” Her voice is low as she leans across the table, forgetting about the rest of her dinner.

The last few days have been hell. Rumours have been flying around base, centered around a box full of Jedi crystals. Kyber crystals, you’d told Rose the other day, not that the name cleared anything up. You’d poked around the base’s library on your datapad when you had the odd chance, but the Jedi were now the stuff of legend, just stories told to children about ‘the good old days’.  

The rumours made things worse - you’re not sure how much of it to believe - there were so few people who were even Force sensitive but as far as you were aware there were no Jedi left. Luke Skywalker was lost, and therefore probably dead. And even if Jedi did still exist, weren’t they supposed to be the good guys? Why hadn’t they come to help fight along with the Resistance?

But Dameron decides to play dumb. “What mission?” His eyes are too wide to be innocent and it annoys you. “Finn’s talking to Leia about…” he pauses, eyes desperately searching the cantina as he tries to think of a good excuse. “The quality of the food!” Turning to you, his eyes are intense. “I know you want more chocolate pudding.” You ignore how he knows that, instead focusing on glaring at him. “Dameron do you think I’m a good pilot?”

“Look,” he turns to face you, ignoring his own food even as you continue to eat, “it’s nothing to do with your skills as a pilot.” He pauses, but you interrupt before he can give you some empty platitude. “I think it is - otherwise why am I not being included?”

“Hey, will you listen,” he turns to you, poking his finger at you for emphasis. “This mission is top-secret and the risk of the First Order finding out is high so-” This time you properly interrupt, flicking his finger out of your personal space.

“So you just decide to talk about it in the corridor by the busy cantina, where everyone and their mother will see you?”

This shuts him up.

The two of you are looking into each other's faces, inches apart. And it’s annoying because Dameron is unfortunately handsome. Why? Why is he of all people so good looking? Rose coughs obnoxiously loud, causing the two of you to break eye contact and turn to look at her. You lean back from him, trying your best to look thoroughly unimpressed as he stands, picking up his tray and when he speaks, huffing, his voice is sharper than it was before.

“Look, I only came over to say that we’re going to have a mission briefing tomorrow at 6. Ok? So, just-” He leaves, mumbling the rest of the sentence under his breath as he walks across the cantina towards Rey, leaving you with your mouth hanging open, looking and feeling like an idiot.

“Well,” you say as you turn back to Rose. “That’s why I hate him.”

“You’ve got a mission, aren’t you pleased about that?” You can tell you’re annoying her now, but you roll your eyes. “Yeah, with Dameron. He’s just going to be hanging over my shoulder and passing judgement whenever he can. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Every time you came back from a mission Dameron was there. Always. Just waiting to tell you what you should have done, how you should have flown, how he would have done it. As though the only reason he hadn’t done it was because he was too important.

You knew you didn’t fly how most people did, it had cost you marks in your final exams at school, and it cost you a place in a higher squadron, but it was hard to find the will to change when the poster boy for the Resistance saw nothing but incompetence when he looked at you. Bastard, you couldn’t help but think as you stabbed the last of your greens, wishing it was his face.

***

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

The mission had been going so well. You’d dropped into the planet’s upper atmosphere, bypassing the planet’s security, got inside the compound, obtained the uber-secret box (your briefing hadn’t quite covered what was inside, annoyingly) and you’d been about to sneak out when you’d decided a bit more snooping was necessary.

The box had been in the centre of a library/museum set-up and even you could tell that these were rare books. So you’d told Dameron to inspect the objects while you scanned the books, pulling out a few that caught your eye.

The first warning you had been given was a blaster grazing your arm, causing you to yelp in pain, dropping the books and duck to the floor as another shot had ripped through the shelves - an inch or two above where your head had been. So a crap shot then.

Paper had fluttered down around you as you looked for Dameron. The shelves would provide good cover but unfortunately it also meant you couldn’t see your shooter. Pulling your blaster out from its holder, you aimed a couple of returning shots into the darkness at the edges of the room as you looked for Dameron.

You found him near the exit, standing over a number of droids. He’d been holding the box with one arm, the other bleeding heavily, but you’d managed to escape, tangling with another droid who’d punched you as you left the way you came, avoiding the crap shooter on your way out. You didn’t want the First Order to know who’d been there.

So now you and Dameron were walking back to the ship, cutting through undergrowth as you desperately tried to remember the way, face throbbing in pain. Dameron had fallen quiet very quickly, and you were alarmed to see how much blood he had lost so far. His face was pale and all you could think was that it was your fault. If you hadn’t’ve tried to poke around and look for other useful bits and pieces, you would have got out with no trouble.

Oh shit.

You were definitely lost now. You’d taken a gamble on the last turn and this was wrong. There should be a stream somewhere to your left which led back to the ship. Where was it? This was so wrong. And how were you going to admit this to Dameron? “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You swore under your breath.

“What’s wrong?” Dameron’s voice wasn’t right. He’d lost a lot of his power, and you turned to face him, watching as a small drop of blood fell to the floor. You don’t want to say it, you know he’s going to hold this over your head later, your first truly important mission and you’ve fucked up so bad. “I -” you hesitate, mouth open, so unwilling to say it, especially to Poe, you have to force it out. “We’re lost...I don’t know the way back.”

And...oh god, you’re not going to start crying are you? You can feel the familiar burn on the back of your eyes so you blink, looking away from him. But Dameron starts struggling, using his injured arm to try and reach down, looking for something. You move closer, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to stop moving, to stop aggravating his injury. “What are you doing?” And your voice is mean and you don’t know why but his skin is cool, cooler than it should be causing your heart to skitter out of control.

Dameron looks up into your face and his eyes are a little unfocused. Shit. “Looking for a tracker - the ship -” His voice doesn’t sound normal. But you have to be the calm one, you have to be the one in charge so you push the panic down, trying to speak normally. “Where is it? You shouldn’t be using that arm.”

“In my pocket, I -” But you’re one step ahead, unceremoniously dropping his wrist and reaching in, pulling the tracker out. A thin disc with a central button, which you press, and a red light spins around the edge before settling a direction to your left, forcing you to turn about 45 degrees.

You set off, pushing through the undergrowth and snapping branches from trees, kicking any debris out of Poe’s path as he stumbles behind you. Panic is still rising in you, you can’t be the reason the Resistance’s best pilot dies. Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuckin’ motherfucker, please, please, plea-

You pause for a second, trying to get your breathing back under control, even as it skitters away from you. You glance back at Poe, who nods at you.

BB-8 is waiting back at the ship, preliminary checks before take-off having been completed. You help Poe lift into the co-pilot’s chair you’d been occupying earlier and squeezing into the pilot’s chair. You don’t remember the flight back, don’t remember dodging the planet’s security as you took off, all you remember is how pale and quiet Poe is. He watches you the whole way which would normally annoy you, but you don’t think his eyes are fully focused.

You’ve done better landings when you get back to the base, but you don’t really care, Poe’s breathing is different, you can’t stop the panic rising in you, and the second you’ve opened the door you’re yelling, voice already hoarse. “Medic! Medic! I need - I need a medic!” People swirl around you, when did they get here? But you don’t want to let go of Poe, one arm around his back, his uninjured one around your neck while you keep a tight hold of the box.

You fight as someone tries to unfurl your fingers, Poe’s weight disappearing and you’re crying now, hardly able to open your eyes. You don’t feel the sharp sting of the tranquilizer, instead blindly fighting the rising darkness inside you, unable to recognise it for what it is. Voices are all around you, muffled like you’re underwater and lights are appearing in bright spots above your head. You’re floating, falling backwards, further and further, until everything turns black.

***

The debrief was not fun.

Barely out of the medbay, you’d relayed to General Organa what had happened, how it had been your idea to stay back, how you’d got lost in the forest after, how you made a mess.

Due to your injuries, it had been just you and her, and even now, safely in your bunk, you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than having to tell a whole command room. Sure, you’d been spared public humiliation, but at the cost of having General Organa’s full attention on your failure.

You’d pulled your curtain across your bunk, and you felt as though you might have to stay buried under your covers for at least a week to emotionally recover from the whole ordeal. The worst part of it was that General Organa hadn’t even seemed disappointed, or angry, just...like she expected it.

And Dameron was still in the medbay. It was coming up to 4 days later, but you’d maintained your distance, not sure your fragile heart could stand the pain of knowing his condition was your fault, no matter what anyone said.

You wanted to see him, to apologise, but at the same time the idea of facing him made you feel sick. It was your fault he was in the medbay, you should have prevented it. In fact, the only reason you even knew he was still in the medbay was because you assumed there would be some kind of announcement or celebration when he was better.

A knock on your door made you jump, and then frown, however the door began to open before you could respond which you supposed was kind of your fault, you should have locked it, now you were going to have to talk to someone-

And General Organa walks into the room.

You stand up so fast, you get a rush of blood to the head, your vision going black slightly at the edges. “General, I-” you start talking before you even know what you’re going to say, so shocked to see your hero in your room. Your eyes flick over to the mess of clothes you haven’t bothered to wash in the last week, tissues on the floor, half eaten snack bars and their wrappers littered around as you wished the room was a lot tidier.

“I wanted to check how you were getting on.” Her voice is soft, but still carries that familiar authority as she pulls out the chair from your desk and sits on it.

Your mind goes blank. General Organa...wanted to check...on you?

You manage to pull yourself together, sitting back down on your bed with a suddenly excellent posture. “Good, thank you General.” You can hardly look at her, it’s like she emits light, and it’s too bright, too much.

You’re hyper-aware of your every movement, this is the first time you’ve properly talked to her, you want her to like you, and oh my god she’s in your room? Her eyes never leave you, so you stare at your hands, fingers twisting in your lap. “Call me Leia.” She pauses, but it’s not enough time for the implications of that to sink in. “It’s understandable if you’re still feeling rough.” Oh stars you’re going to cry.

Your eyes are watery and you know looking down only increases the chances of them falling, but if you look up, she’ll see. “I wish I’d done things differently.” You say, and your voice sounds rough.

The room is swimming when you finally look up, but General Orga - Leia is smiling softly at you. “I think about every second of that mission and for every decision that I made, I wish, I wish I did the opposite thing.”

“Why?” The question is asked so simply, and there are so many answers, they crowd your mind. “You were successful, weren’t you?” Still you can only gape at her. Successful? Dameron is still in the medbay-

“I know what it’s like to blame yourself for a mission going sideways.” Leia continues, “But you retrieved the box, you’re both alive, Poe is healing well, the medics say the bleeding has stopped and his stomach is on the mend now.” His stomach? You frown, his stomach wasn’t injured, it was just his shoulder, but Leia mistakes your frown for further dissent.

“I know you think it was your fault because you said let’s stay behind, but what if you had found something important? And Poe agreed, didn’t he? It’s not just on you. You just have to learn when the risk is worth the reward.” With that, she stands, so you do too. “I’ll formally debrief the two of you together when Poe’s out of the medbay, but I thought you needed to know this.” You nod, unable to speak again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

It’s almost too late before you can speak again, Leia halfway out of the door, but she turns back when she hears your voice. “Thank you.” And you mean it. Leia didn’t say much, and nothing new, but she was right. The mission was technically a success. Things went wrong, but you were both alive.

Sitting back on your bed, you feel lighter, more like normal. And a part of that normality is annoyance towards a certain pilot. He was injured in his stomach? The more you think about it, the more a cold fury rises in you. Why wouldn’t he say? He was carrying that heavy box and - you let out a growl, surprisingly loud in the quiet room.

You make your way to the medbay, becoming angrier and angrier with each step. No wonder he had so much blood loss! How dare he not say anything! How could he not tell you? Did he not trust you?

You ignore the signs that tell you visiting hours are over, and maybe it’s the look in your eyes that stops any medics from reminding you as such when you march up to the front desk. “I need to see Poe Dameron, which room is he in?” You feel a tiny bit bad for being so demanding to an overworked medic, but you can’t think past how Poe Dameron lied to you.

You’re shaking as you walk to Dameron’s room, not bothering with pleasantries as you bang open the door. He’s lying in the bed, BB-8 charging in the corner and had you been calmer you would have noticed how Dameron jerked awake when you slammed his door shut. You ignore how he’s hooked up to various machines and drips, bandages covering his body.

“You were shot in the stomach?” Your voice is mean again.

Dameron just blinks groggily at you, a combination of drugs and tiredness, but you push down any pity, letting righteous anger flood your veins with fire. “What?” His voice is hoarse from misuse and sleep.

“You were shot in the stomach?” You repeat, keeping hold of that cold fury as you look down at his face. This extra minute is all Dameron needs to wake up properly and realise why you’re so upset. “No- just, just stabbed.”

“Just!” - and it’s like you’re watching yourself, no control over your actions and even to your own ears you sound hysterical, the volume of your voice rising.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You demand as he presses a button, lifting the top half of his bed up. Tears are once again pricking your eyes, but this time you will not be crying, so you wipe them away quickly, past caring.

“Because,” Dameron huffs, realising that's not a full sentence. “I don’t know - you...you had enough on your plate, I didn’t want to add to it.”

“You should have told me.” Your voice is dangerous now, your whole body thrumming with an unshakeable anger, even as you stand completely still. A strong undercurrent continues to carry you onwards in the conversation, and you know you’ll need to leave before it runs out. “You carried that box for fuck knows how long, and what? You were just hiding your injury? You just wanted to be a hero, or embarrass me?”

Dameron stays silent, glare heavy in his eyebrows. It’s too much, you want, you need answers.

“ANSWER ME!” You roar, lashing out in defence.

“I had to!” He’s shouting now too, pushing against the bed with his strong arm. “It was hard enough to snap you out of it when we were in the compound - I wasn’t going to add to it - I had to know you could fly us home!”

His words are like they punched you, a heavy exhalation, and it’s as though all the anger was tightly held in your lungs. “I flew us home.” Your voice sounds small as you take a step back. Dameron’s found the one chink in your armour again, just like he did when you first met, the one weak spot of your insecurity and smashed it to smithereens.

There’s silence in the medbay, pushing against your eardrums as though to emphasise just how the loud the two of you were. There’s a brief flicker of curiosity in the back of mind, wondering why the nurses haven’t intervened yet.

You can’t look at Dameron anymore, instead taking in the number of different machines he’s hooked up to, watching the drips, how his heart rate starts to lower as he forces himself to calm down. “So you didn’t trust me?” You don’t want the answer, but you can’t stop the words.

He takes his time answering again, but you still don’t look at him, hands playing behind your back with the hem of your jumper. “If you don’t trust me - you should have asked Leia to switch me out!” Shut up, shut up, shut up, why can’t you stop talking, you stupid-

“Maybe I should’ve!” His voice doesn’t change, there’s no difference in his heart beat, although it’s on the high side of normal, matching yours, but something changed. There’s a split in the room, a chasm separating the two of you that wasn’t there before.

“Well why didn’t you?”

“Because I felt sorry for you!” Your eyes snap up, looking at his face in terror. “I wanted to give you a chance! I didn’t think you’d fuck up like that.” If Dameron’s earlier words were a punch to your gut, these sent you sprawling. Short of an atomic blast inside you, any feeling left inside you was obliterated. Hot embarrassment crawls up your arms and you want Dameron to feel the same pain.

“Fuck you.”

The words hang there, each second an eon. Poe instantly regrets his words, knowing he’s gone too far. He opens his mouth to apologise, but the words don’t come.

Neither of you say anything, glares still spitting red-hot fire, when you suddenly want to leave. You don’t want to see Dameron’s face again, not for a long time. So you clench your jaw, throwing up your middle finger and slamming the door behind you.

***

Isolating yourself doesn’t seem quite so appealing once you’ve left the medbay, so instead you make your way to Rose’s room, grabbing a bottle of firewater from the cantina as you pass. You need a drink.

When you arrive, you’re not sure you want to talk about the recent shitstorm your life has recently become so the first words out of your mouth when Rose opens the door is- “Do you like Jannah?”

It’s a little mean of a conversation to spring on your friend, but you’re a lot of things, and blind is not one of them. You’ve seen how the two mechanics look at each other. Especially when they think the other won’t see. Holding up the bottle as a peace offering, Rose smirks at you before leaving her door open as an invitation.

Rose denies having a crush on Jannah as you work through the bottle, only conceding on the point that Jannah is very pretty. You’re probably a little too quick to agree, blaming it on the drink that’s currently making you feel like you’re floating a couple of inches above the ground.

Comfortable silence falls on the two of you as you sit there, the floor a little cold under you, leaning against Rose’s bed.

“I’ve been thinking-” Rose starts but you interrupt before she can get any further.

“Dangerous.”

Rose doesn’t dignify this with a response, instead waiting until you wave a hand at her to continue.

“We’ve got a coordinating day off next cycle, if you wanna go to Sanctuary III. They’ll have a festival then, I can’t remember which but it should be good fun.” You can tell she’s keen, so you’ll go with her, but you find it hard to inject any enthusiasm into your voice.

Rose picks up on this, sighing as she refills her glass. “Alright don’t seem too keen on the idea.”

Your shrug, not really wanting to talk about the real reason you can’t find any excitement. “Sorry. I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun.”

“What’s wrong?” Her voice is gentle, and her hand is on your arm, and it’s so reassuring, so warm, your skin sings under her palm.

You talk to your feet as you tell Rose what Dameron said. “-and he - it was horrible, Rose,” you sniffle, tears springing into your eyes again. “And I - we’ve never got on, he’s, y’know, annoying, we’re always bickering, but I just - I never thought that he actually - it’s my fault he’s injured, and maybe he does hate me and-”

You stop your tirade and for the first time, just let yourself cry and breathe for a second. Rose’s arm comes around your shoulder and you lean into it, slightly. “It’s fine - I mean I never liked him anyway, now I can just move straight into the dislike section, maybe even hate I dunno.”

“Ok you should know that that’s not healthy first of all.” Rose’s voice floats out from above your head. “Second, I’m sure he didn’t mean it, and anyway, who cares what he thinks? Leia thought you did well. And third, this is all the more reason to do something on our day off!”

You give a weak chuckle and nod. You spent the rest of the night, playing cards and chatting about lighter topics until both of your eyes start to burn and you make your way to bed.  

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

Chapter 2

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH61

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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-----

Chapter 61: Purgatory Reunion (XIII)

It was dawn.

There was no sun in the Underground Ant City, but Qi Leren still knew by intuition that it was dawn.

Looking at the time again, it was 7:20 in the morning. If he was training with Chen Baiqi, it would be too late. If he left for her place at this time, he would definitely receive the "loving care" of the three-headed hellhound. But for a person who was on a rare vacation, this hour was still too early.

Actually, he could sleep for a while, but... Qi Leren sat up from the bed. Now that he was awake, it was better to make some breakfast for Ning Zhou. The living room here was connected to the kitchen.

Thinking this, Qi Leren jumped out of bed, put on clothes in a hurry, and came to the bedroom door. After a pause, he rubbed his hands and gently turned the door handle, ready to tiptoe out.

As soon as the door opened, the smell of fried eggs filled Qi Leren's nose. He paused and looked straight into the kitchen.

Freshly brewed hot coffee sat on the table, as well as hot sausages and slices of bread. When Ning Zhou heard the sound of the door opening from where he was frying eggs, he looked back at him, smiled, and said, "Good morning."

"Morning." Qi Leren felt that he was still dreaming.

Dreaming... Speaking of which, he seemed to have had a dream last night, but when he thought about it now, he can't remember anything, except that it was a beautiful dream.

Ning Zhou skillfully put the fried eggs on the plate with a spatula, and Qi Leren quickly walked past and picked up the plate to give him a hand.

It wasn’t the first time that Qi Leren saw Ning Zhou cooking. Before the end of the undercover mission with the Slaughter Secret Society and the start of the Holy Nun’s task, he and Ning Zhou had briefly lived together for a while, as it was for the convenience of Ning Zhou training him. At that time, the two people who had had a crush on each other but sought only to endure it tacitly avoided many topics, and even deliberately avoided each other in many cases. The scene of eating together in silence at dusk was still filled with a different kind of warmth.

Restraint ran through this relationship. Even if they had confessed their feelings, they were still restrained.

When you like someone, you can be presumptuous, because the impulse comes so warmly that people get carried away and act rashly. You may even forget to think, and let your instincts dominate you to express your feelings freely, but you don't think whether it will hurt the person you like. Because at that time, you just want it.

However, when you fall in love with someone and want to spend your whole life with him, you lose your courage, become timid, and be swayed by considerations of gain and loss. You start to restrain yourself, learn to pull out the spikes one by one, express your love gently, and don't use the excuse of "love" to hurt your loved one. Because at this time, you want forever.

"I'll brush my teeth first!" Qi Leren put the plate on the table and rushed into the bathroom. He spent one third of the usual time brushing his teeth and didn't wash his face, because he didn't want Ning Zhou to wait too long, but he carefully observed himself in the mirror and combed his messy hair with a wet comb.

After several tens of seconds, Qi Leren sat upright at the dining table with a knife and a fork in hand, and ate breakfast happily.

Qi Leren was not used to this kind of western breakfast. When he was young, his mother often went out to film, and his father threw him a few dollars irresponsibly to buy breakfast for himself. He usually bought youtiao when he was sent away. When his mother was at home, his father would use 18 kinds of cooking skills, from Cantonese-style refreshments to northern noodles, never making the same thing in the same month. The only thing he never made was Western-style breakfast. Qi Leren, who depend on their mother to eat and drink, had no opinion on breakfast at all, and had been used to this for more than 20 years.

The western-style breakfast was a bit too greasy for him, which made his stomach accustomed to youtiao uncomfortable. However, this was made by Ning Zhou, and Qi Leren not only ate it all, but also praised it with a smile. Because of his outstanding acting skills, Ning Zhou didn't see that he was reluctant.

Looking at Ning Zhou's happy appearance, Qi Leren felt willing to act all his life.

After breakfast, they went to the Trial’s Ant City headquarters, which was disguised as a small auction house, where people were busy and didn’t pay much attention to others. Celia, the contact person in charge of the whole branch’s affairs, had stayed up all night. The smell of black coffee was all over the office. She added sugar to it and smiled bitterly: "I sent someone to interrogate Kathleen overnight. I dug up a lot of news."

"What news?" Qi Leren’s spirits rose as soon as he heard it, and he took Ning Zhou and sat down.

"After Kathleen escaped from the Village of Dusk, considering her demon identity, she chose the Underground Ant City where humans and demons live together as her foothold. As luck would have it, an old lover from her early years happened to run an industry for Witches of Greed in the Underground Ant City, so she settled down there. After the Illusionist disappeared, we investigated his whereabouts. He had been to this casino before going to the Dragon Ant Queen’s royal palace. A gambler saw him and was very impressed with him. Later, our informant reported this matter and went to the gambler to verify it, and then disappeared in the underground casino. Kathleen admitted that the informant was in her hands. After torturing the informant who was looking for the Illusionist, she put the underground casino on watch, and then met you while you were investigating while in disguise."

"So, there’s still no news on the Illusionist?" Qi Leren frowned.

"Yes, we still don't know why he went to that underground casino." Celia was also very troubled. "But it’s certain that he eventually disappeared in the Queen Dragon Ant’s palace."

"Last time, you said that entering the palace required the Prophet's decree?" Qi Leren asked.

Celia nodded. "I also wrote about you in the second request, and I will have an answer next week. Until then... I don't have the power to make such a big decision."

Although Celia was in charge of all the Village of Dusk’s affairs in the Underground Ant City, after all, she only acted on the orders of the Prophet. When it came to the Dragon Ant Queen, who was also a field-level master, she had no right to make decisions.

Qi Leren didn't know about the delicate relationship between field-level masters. He didn't even know how many field-level masters there were in the whole Nightmare World—he vaguely remembered that had Su He mentioned it in those days, but now he wouldn't even believe even Su He’s punctuation marks.

"The Dragon Ant Queen, what news is there?" Ning Zhou suddenly asked.

Celia hesitated and shook her head gently. "There is no news... I'm afraid this is the best news. She’s now in the stage of rebirth, and after this... "

It meant that the queen who had dominated the Underground Ant City for more than 20 years would die and give her authority to the new queen.

What kind of attitude would the new queen hold towards humans and demons? Was it closer to the side of humans or demons? Would she expand the Underground Ant City’s sphere of influence, or would she pay more attention to stability and peace in her own field? Which Devil King would she follow? All these were related to the existence of the Underground Ant City in the next ten or twenty years, and people living here were greatly concerned about this problem.

Among the successive Dragon Ant Queens, a few were friendly to human beings. During those times, human beings gained a high status, but most of the time, the Dragon Ant Queens were not friendly to human beings—she would tolerate human beings living in her sphere of influence, but that's all.

"What method is the Dragon Ant Queen’s field passed down through? Is there any idea?" Qi Leren asked curiously. He had learned some things from the intelligence materials, but the method of inheritance was a complete secret.

Celia shook her head. "Most fields decline with the death of their owners, and they will die out in a few decades. There’s a special inheritance method in the Holy See, where the Pope’s field has been perfectly passed down through the ages."

Was the Pope's field Neverland? Qi Leren secretly took a look at Ning Zhou and was caught red-handed.

"The method of condensation is different," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren seemed to understand. He knew that Ning Zhou once condensed more than a half-field with the Holy See’s method, but the half-field had been very fragile, and it was broken before it condensed into a field. But now...

He should have condensed the field again, as evidenced by what had happened in the underground casino yesterday.

He would look for an opportunity to talk about this problem in depth with Ning Zhou. He really cared too much about his own force. This evil force brewing destruction meant endless pain for him.

"Oh, as well, I’ve investigated the things that you asked me to, but there are some questions..." Celia took a sip of coffee and explained the matter.

Ashley, Mrs Kathleen's subordinate, had been missing for a month. She could still feel that her subordinate existed, but she couldn't feel where he was. A surprisingly evil force cut off her connection to him.

"She also said that she had once met someone who looked like Ashley. At that time, he was fighting fiercely with a man wielding a tangdao, but she couldn't see clearly because they were too far away. After they left, she took a look at the scene, and there were broken walls. Therefore, Kathleen thinks that she must have seen wrong. Although her subordinate is clever and considerate, his strength is average and it would be impossible for him to fight with such a powerful master," Celia said.

Qi Leren didn't quite agree: "Didn't she say that her subordinate was controlled by an evil force? Maybe it's something like a seed of slaughter?"

"This is also possible, but according to Kathleen's tone, the level of those two people was more than that of someone who’s been parasitized. Moreover, so many days have passed, and there probably aren’t many valuable clues left there, " said Celia.

"Is there anything we can do for you now?" Qi Leren asked.

"With the matters of the Illusionist, we can only wait for the Court’s reply. Other affairs are handled by special personnel. If you have time, you may wish to help us go to the place where Mrs. Kathleen mentioned that she thought she saw Ashley." Celia smiled and looked at them expectantly.

Qi Leren and Ning Zhou exchanged a look, silently reaching an agreement.

-----

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[sooibian]

Flambé - I

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ ! 

chapter two | moodboard by the lovely @pororodks​

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader ft. baekhyun, mark lee

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 9.7k

🍜 a/n: writing this makes me feel lonely and hungry and that, my friends, is a deadly concoction of emotions so while i wallow in my misery, i dearly hope you’ll enjoy this creation. i'd love to hear from you <3<br>

🍜 reference notes: yt channels: maangchi, one meal a day, bore.d; netflix shows: midnight diner, street food: asia, chef’s table

🍜 tag list: @changshapatrol​ @j-pping​ @kyungseokie​ @exosmuttytalk​ @his-mochi-cheeks​  @littleflowercrown13​ pls lmk if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list!

Water bobs in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rises from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lift the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lower it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodges its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation, seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberates through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with a heavy-handed flick of the bladed-spatula. 

All of a sudden, you’re swept over with a wave of unconsciousness, your skin tingles, and boiling water begins to fill up your lungs. 

You are alone at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you stagger up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, now untied and hovering over you, roars jubilantly at your defenseless form.

Maybe the spell didn’t land, you think. 

“Please, Chef!” you whimper as a last ditch attempt. 

In one swift motion, it swooshes down to your eye level. 

Bushy black brows sprout on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then comes the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarls at you.

zzzz… 

“Late again?” 

zzzz…

zzzz…

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinks.

In a sleep befuddled state, you reach out for the wailing device. ‘Late again?’ Chef’s cold, deep voice sounds in your consciousness as you wipe the droplets of sweat off of your forehead.

Chef. 

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you’d boldly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called Chef. You’d seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner. 

Your aunt.

“Aegiya, he has something that you don’t.”

“A dick?”

“YAH! A degree in culinary arts.”

“Imo, haven’t you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well land a job at Four Seasons like Hyunjin. Think, Imo. Think!” 

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

Finally, she said in her no-nonsense, stern voice. "Chef. You’re calling him Chef.”

Every time the egotistical madman opens that darned mouth of his, it makes you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him. 

But, counting to five, you always resist the temptation. 

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you flounder out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt…and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

.

.

.

“Ah 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he says to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin. 

The face of sourcing has drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, Imo had tie-ups with vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim…economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi: you were left to do the dirty work.

And required to tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he’d greet you with an accusatory ‘you killed my cat’ expression.

Groaning, you shift your weight from side to side. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases have long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urge him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glares at you like you’d asked him for a kidney. 

Kyungsoo has a tendency to overbuy but never does he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ is his excuse. Which is pretty ridiculous considering he spends over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan at the stall. 

But you know better than to argue. 

Because as much as you loathe every fibre of his existence, he terrifies you a little. The man possesses the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he is in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he’s quite the sweet talker. Incredibly charming. And you can bet your life on the fact that every ahjumma - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman coos at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.” 

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ends your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you say to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paces ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continue, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turns around to look you square in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!” You murmur under your breath.

“I heard that.”

.

.

.

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s Kalguksu stall was busier than usual. 

It went by in a daze amidst the cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and Imo’s relentless vocalization inviting guests to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you rely heavily on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its massive chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market. 

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well-being as well as your mother’s. 

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another rewarding day, you leave a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceed to tend to the dirty dishes yourself. 

“Yahh!” Imo calls out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cry out in response, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you wash your hands and wipe them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt, flattening unruly flyaways, you rush toward the table but she’s already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a word with both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts, wagging a finger in your direction, face scrunched up in mock concern, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!” 

An overtly saccharine smile spreads across your face and his jaw hardens in response.

“Aish….you two…I’m leaving now”, shaking her head, she sighs, “see you both in two hours.”

.

.

.

Kimchi jjigae, Pajeon, Tteokbokki, Jajangmyeon, some leftover Bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. Imo clearly has something important on her mind.

But the vibe at the dinner table just doesn’t sit right with you. 

The reason for that could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that’s seated besides you in all black clothing but there’s something off about Imo. 

She’s being a little too nice.

Fear gradually starts to settle in your bones. Is she finally closing down? Is this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts over five years ago and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. The elder one, Hyunwoo, is an investment banker and the younger one Hyunjin went to culinary school and is working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only makes sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she says coolly.

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aegiya”, she rests her chin on her hand, face clouded over with serenity, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of independence…a sense of pride. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons…but the Market gave me an identity. I continued to work even after my husband’s passing not because I needed the money but because this is something that I’ve created and I’m mighty proud of what’s become of it today. My name is a brand in itself. And a decade ago I couldn’t have imagined this even in the wildest of my dreams.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drown out Imo’s voice.

Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that would never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d never let you or even Kyungsoo for that matter whip up the hand-cut noodles. The two of you only ever helped with the ancillary tasks.

You soon come to the realization of not being the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s unwavering gaze is scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His miserable state gives you a fleeting sense of relief and it’s in that exact moment that he chooses to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine. 

Nearly all food stall owners in Gwangjang have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s with his phlegmatic personality. Whereas you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes Imo hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

“Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughs, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically. 

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighs, “put in the deposit…and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO”, you yell, “you didn’t have to scare me with that long winded speech! God, you’re so dramatic!”

“Well, it is a big move. I’m not sure either of you are ready to take the leap. It requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open. It’ll take the restaurant two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford scaling your salaries. On the other hand, what I can do is, help you secure a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo even stands a chance at managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane is the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved Imo believes that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager. 

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you say firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Eomma will gladly pitch in, if need be…”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he is but his expression is stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl, filling you with insane hope. 

He was going to jump ship…finally!

“Chef…”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us…I’m more than enough for Imo. You may…”

He shoots you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But wanting to rile him just a little more, you excuse yourself and bring out a bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it generously atop the stack of pajeon, you snicker maliciously. 

Ketchup. 

The tangy, unassuming condiment is the sole reason Kyungsoo abhors your very existence. But as this dinner marks the end of his torturous regime, you celebrate with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

.

.

.

Steam swirls in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickles your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a guest is clearly a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in life as a vendor. 

A proper send-off is essential lest Kyungsoo decides to stay, even if it means creating a huge dent in your pocket. You plan on giving him a final tour of the Market where you could both say your goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs. 

Lots of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, says Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in one hand.

Wanting to start with nothing less than the best in order to create a lasting impression, you shake your head in response. This was supposed to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grows stronger. You start your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which sets you back considerably but you’re far too elated to care, even refusing Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman sets the scallops ablaze with a blow torch.

“Do you know what this technique is called?” Kyungsoo gives a little nod in the direction of the flaming food.

A teachable moment. How does his own personality not wear him off?

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you reply, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé, minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma calls out for you and you nearly jump to collect the order, the slight upward curl of his lips coming into your peripheral vision.

***

The Market supposedly looks the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoy eating your way through it. The tour makes your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s vibe is akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year at Choi Yoonsun’s, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeeze you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others give you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you pay only with smiles and thank yous.

After a gastronomic fiesta entailing tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you end the day on a sweet note with hotteok. 

The ahjussi wishes you both luck, making you choke back tears. 

Your moist eyes don’t escape Kyungsoo’s attention.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not…erm”

The dam of your tears explodes. 

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of Choi Yoonsun’s crew. You were going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers that had you sweating through every layer of clothing. 

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffle, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile a little more, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” Eyes glinting, mouth agape, he chuckles.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He draws his words out in a question.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

.

.

.

A month from Grand Opening

It’s not just about food.

Food only makes for a fifth of a restaurant’s success equation. Management and promotional skills are essential because a restaurant is, first and foremost, a business. 

Mark Lee, the young consultant from PCY Associates had imparted this crucial business knowledge to your compact team of three aspiring restaurateurs in exchange for an egg sandwich and watermelon juice. The enthu-cutlet has been overseeing the legal set-up of your humble restaurant for a month now. 

However, according to Mark, the crème de la crème of the success equation is customer service. 

Customer service. 

Here’s where the crusty Chef was supposed to take a backseat and you - a real people person, a socially adept charmer - were to sashay in and shine. 

These ideas were a bit too much for that thick, globular skull of his so you tried to educate him with a practical example. 

He’d added a rule to the first draft of the menu - a shared document for brainstorming purposes. It read ‘No ketchup for you.’ This rule (or insolence as you called it) went against your belief system as the restaurant’s to-be-anointed Manager (a girl can always hope). ‘Never say no to a customer’ being the foundation of customer service, you slashed the rule with a strikethrough. 

But the next time you tried to log in, you found yourself locked out of the document. 

“Chef, why can’t I find the draft menu anymore?”

He’s aggressively julienning leeks, pretending to not have heard you. 

“CHEF!”

“What?” Finally, he looks up. The skin between his eyebrows pinched and his arm raised to level his brand new 1-piece chef’s knife (initials etched into the blade) with his profile.

“Why-why did you lock me out of the draft menu?”, you stammer, gaze trained on the cutting edge glistening with tears of The Leeks.

Kyungsoo’s been visibly getting jittery by the day as opening day approaches.

He deliberately places the knife to the side of the board and you take a gutsy step forward. He uses a cold, serial-killer voice to ask, “What makes you think that I locked you out?”

You lean over from the other side of the granite counter, face barely an inch from his, “Who else could’ve? Imo is technologically challenged.”

“Fine”, he sighs, “I locked you out.” His lips curl up in a menacing smirk, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Grinning, you stare right into his dark eyes and let out a shrill, high-pitched scream, “IMO!”

This throws him back a few steps and he’s rubbing and pulling at his right ear when Imo walks into the kitchen. 

“Yah! Am I your babysitter? Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear about it. I am asking you”, she looks at you before spinning her head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “and you, to sort this amongst yourselves. For once!”

“But-but Imo!”, you protest.

“Aegiya, I really don’t want to ship you back to Bucheon.” 

***

“Here’s your tax ID, liquor license… okay so this was a touch-and-go because the officer is transferring to another Department and the one that’s supposed to be coming in is a real piece of work….” 

Mark Lee is here with the final set of documents. 

Imo’s eyes are gleaming with excitement and sheer joy but she’s held a businesswoman-like composure. On the other hand, Kyungsoo looks very much like himself - like someone’s sucked the life out of him. 

You bring Mark his usual egg sandwich and watermelon juice because there’s only so much your restaurant can offer at this point in time, feeling brutally overwhelmed with the volume of pending tasks until opening.

After practically inhaling his mini-meal, Mark dabs his mouth clean and says, “My work here is done. If you need anything you know where to find me. And good luck. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

Imo looks worriedly at Kyungsoo and then at Mark and at Kyungsoo again which prompts him to ask rather uncomfortably, “What do you mean ‘you’ll need it’?”

Mark’s dramatically long sigh is an indication of a sermon to follow. As he leans back into his chair, Imo and Kyungsoo instinctively cower like an invisible weight has been plopped onto their shoulders. The sight is beyond pathetic: they are like peasants before a feudal lord. It makes you want to smash the know-it-all smirk off of Mark’s face.

What comes after, though, isn’t a sermon but a sentence and a half that leaves the three of you shaken.

“The dining business here in Gangnam is hyper-competitive and most restaurants fold in six months. And if that sandwich is any indication…”

Kyungsoo valiantly advances to rescue your team out of the dark bubble of Mark Lee’s words with, “What’s wrong with the sandwich? She makes a perfectly good sandwich!”

What was supposed to be a compliment somehow sounds very wrong in your head, but before you could give him the death stare he leaps to damage control, “What I mean is, we all ate the very same sandwich for breakfast. I don’t usually dissect food for novices but the egg was perfectly cooked, mayonnaise was just the right amount and the seasoning was balanced, too. So I’m not sure what you’re trying to say. We’re serving perfectly good food here.”

“The thing is, this is something even my mother could make and dude, believe me, she’s terri…her culinary abilities are highly questionable. Also, do you think your friend would’ve sold you this place if it were thriving, Mrs. Choi? She’d inherited it from her grandfather and she sold it to you at a dirt cheap price because she was neck deep in debt. I’m sure you know, real estate here is three and a half times the country’s average. So not only do you have significant funds locked into a possibly deadweight property but also your plan clearly lacks vision. Gwangjang’s Choi Yoonsun can keep you afloat for four…maybe six months but Gangnam’s Choi Yoonsun has to create an identity for herself. Look around you, everyone’s serving good food”, Mark tilts his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, “Here, people eat with their eyes first. Now, I’m not saying family-run restaurants serving traditional cuisines don’t do well. A lot of them have been passed down for generations. What I’m saying is…..find your USP.” 

Mark squints, looks into the distance, and pinches the air a lot during this damp squib speech of his.

So the menu isn’t very different from what Choi Yoonsun served in Gwangjang. Her USP has always been homestyle cooking with a twist. But that was the demand of a Market that upheld traditionalism and Gangnam, being precipitously everchanging, would be quite something to keep up with. 

The weight of Mark’s words manifests on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. He lets out a sharp exhale and starts to clear the table, giving him plenty non-verbal cues to leave. You rush to help him out and meet his defeated form (crouched over the sink) in the kitchen.

The shuffling sound of your footsteps reaches his ears and he pivots to face you.

“We’ll be okay”, your voice is but a calm whisper prompting his creased forehead to slowly smoothen.

“We’ll be okay”, he forcefully echoes.

.

.

.

Grand Opening Day

A frisson of fear laced with excitement descends your spine.

Choi Yoonsun’s is enveloped in a pin drop silence save for the sound of Kyungsoo’s pacing. It’s grating on your nerves but Kyungsoo pacing is far better than Kyungsoo “going over the plan” for the umpteenth time. 

The kitchen’s prepped for battle so you’re seated at the cash counter, cuddled close with Imo, placated by her soothing, motherly presence. The three of you are like ticking time bombs, ready to go off at any minute.

This, right here, is the perfect example of a pinch-me-it-doesn’t-feel-real moment. You allow yourself to feel the forces at play as your eyes take in every nook and cranny of the restaurant. The place is agreeably well lit and the ventilation hoods aren’t an eyesore either. The decor’s minimalistic with a sand and stone colour scheme and the floor’s been scrubbed spotless. Eight sturdy wooden tables, tactically placed, allow for movement and privacy yet the area has been optimally utilized. 

Fifteen minutes for the ‘Open’ sign to light up. 

Kyungsoo and you proceed to help each other out with crisp bright yellow aprons affixed with red name tags (handpicked by Imo, the aprons made you both look like dumpy chicks) and clear plastic masks and wish each other luck with curt nods.

***

Imo’s sons are the first to arrive with some friends in tow. They are served with Kyungsoo’s Yachae Twigim and Budae Jjigae, your Gyeran-mari and Kimchi Bokkeum-bap and of course, Imo’s famous Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu. Makes you wonder if they’ve had enough of it but they seem to be greatly enjoying themselves. Some of Hyunjin’s friends from Four Seasons are here too, their mighty presence driving Kyungsoo to the edge.

But a few compliments from them are enough to soothe his nerves.

Among the flurry of patrons through the day were vendors and stall owners from Gwangjang along with their family and friends, Kyungsoo’s acquaintances who you knew nothing about and neither did you care enough to ask, Mark Lee with his very handsome boss Park Chanyeol also dropped by sometime around noon. 

Your mother couldn’t make it to the opening. It stung a little but as usual, you sucked it up and went on with the highly stimulating day that anyway left you with very little time to mull over any unpleasantness.

***

By the end of it, you were pretty sure you’d wake up with blistered feet the next morning. 

It’d been a splendid opening with sales tallying up to KRW 2500,000: nearly two and a half times the estimate. Imo breaks into a dance at the figure, even Kyungsoo lips stretch into a reluctant grin.

You intensely wish Mark Lee were here to witness this euphoric win.

.

.

.

Six months later

Mark Lee had been right. 

Choi Yoonsun was miles from creating an identity in Gangnam. Regulars from Gwangjang could make it to the restaurant only twice or thrice a week, support from acquaintances had been gradually trickling, and some negative reviews floating around the internet about poor table turnover had also been driving potential guests away.

You tried to mitigate this by hiring part timers at minimum wage but for several reasons, none of them managed to stay: anti-social hours and Kyungsoo’s hostility being two of the key causes.

On your best days, the sales would total up to KRW 1500,000 and the weekday numbers had been dismal.

***

“Dooly-dooly!”

Your eyes light up at the familiarity of that voice. Mirroring its excitement, you run into the arms of its owner.

“Baekhyunnie!” 

Kyungsoo peers over his glasses while scrubbing the iron girdle, studying the floppy haired, cheerful man with a wide grin plastered across his face that’s pranced into the kitchen at closing time. 

Byun Baekhyun has been your best friend since time immemorial. Growing up in Bucheon, he’d been the only family you’d known besides your parents and Imo’s family. You weren’t even as close with Hyunwon and Hyunjin as you were with Baekhyun. Since work always kept your mother busy, his parents had practically been the ones to raise you and not once did they make you feel like an outsider.

“Yah! Quit calling me Dooly we’re not kids anymore! Have you eaten? Let me whip you up something real quick. Look at youuuu, when did you get this skinny! How long are -”

“Not to interrupt, but you’ve left the water running”, Kyungsoo drones, lazily pointing in the direction of the sink. 

You clearly remember turning it off before darting to greet Baekhyun.

‘Sonofa-’ exasperated, you mouth to Baekhyun, whose eyebrows have shot up to his hairline out of vicarious embarrassment, before turning around to face Kyungsoo who seems to be scrubbing the iron girdle to gold. “Chef, you’re closer to the sink.”

“Reiterating. You’ve left the water running. If you wanna go on tittle-tattling, by all means….this wastage is on you.”

“Make yourself comfortable”, too exhausted to pick a fight, you whisper to Baekhyun, gesturing towards the closest table, “I’ll be with you soon.”

***

“It’s bad”, Imo sighs, burying her face in her hands. 

11 P.M., two hours past closing time. 

The sparse lighting in the restaurant is causing you an eyestrain to look at the scribblings on the register. Your neck and shoulder muscles are tense from all the chopping, stirring, and scrubbing: a slow day does not translate to an easy day. You notice that Kyungsoo is growing weary, too. 

Or maybe discouraged.

You communicate with each other in evasive glances as if the restaurant not doing well is, somehow, on the two of you. 

“Imo”, Baekhyun speaks first so as to allay the looming dread, “I’ve been reading the online reviews and those who’ve visited here have been raving about the food - especially the Kalguksu. They say you’ve brought the flavours of Gwangjang to Gangnam. There’s this one thing, though - ”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupts a zealous Baekhyun’s pitch, “I don’t think this is any of his business. We’ve been keeping track of reviews and such - ”

“Let the boy speak. He’s family.” She says softly, pressing her fingers to her temples, clearly clutching at straws now.

Kyungsoo clenches his jaw and nods in Baekhyun’s direction, indicating him to continue.

“There-there”, Baekhyun stutters, eyes fixed on Kyungsoo who’s vaguely fascinated with his cuticles, “are some complaints about slow service. Particularly between starters and mains.”

After an uncomfortably rich pause, Imo gently rests her hand atop Baekhyun’s “Baekhyunah, how long are you here for?”

“For as long as you need”, the apples of his cheeks rise as his eyes crinkle into a gleeful smile.

***

“Somebody is early. Also, the cart looks different…it’s..?” 

Dressed in his usual black athleisure, round eyes framed with chunky glasses, Kyungsoo jogs lightly to match your out-of-character sprightly pace into the market. 

“Bigger. I bought a new one.” You chirp, shooting him an out-of-character smile.

Even the dreary weather isn’t a buzzkill because today is supposed to be Baekhyun’s first day at work.

“How did you get Sajangnim to agree? She can be -” 

“Miserly? Stingy? Close-fisted? Also, when will you stop calling her Sajangnim?”

“Just so that you can stop addressing me appropriately? Dream on. And I meant economical. Sajangnim is economical.”

“Chef, do you even listen? I bought it. With my own money. I figured since we’d need more ingredients now, we could use a bigger one.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion?” Impervious to his smug tone, you step away to pick up a one kg bulk pack of dried shiitake mushrooms while he’s examining a small batch of zucchini. 

“Because Baekhyun’s gonna be working with us now.”

“Temporarily. And we’re suddenly going to start doing better because of an inexperienced, unemployed -”

The wheels of the cart hit his ankle when you swivel it, making him wince in pain. 

“Oops! Sorry.”

“You did that on purpose!” He chides.

Half-shrugging, you say nonchalantly, “Serves you right. Baekhyun may be inexperienced but he isn’t unemployed. If anything, he’s doing us a favour. He’s whimsical like that.”

“I know”, he states, forcefully taking control of the cart, “I know he isn’t unemployed. He owns a Hapkido training academy for elementary school children and is on a break these days. I looked him up. I, personally, wouldn’t have hired him if it were my restaurant but I’m sure Sajangnim -”

“Chef?” You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You’re on…” you wanted to say ‘social media’ but the words sounded almost blasphemous to be used in front of a very uptight Doh Kyungsoo: a man with absolutely no online presence. 

“What is it?” His eyebrows knit together in annoyance.

“Nothing, let’s go.”

“You know what else is different today?” He says on your way out, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

“Hmm?”

“You. You’ve showered.” He chortles, thinking he’s being funny.

But with a hardened expression, you let him know that he’s crossed a line.

“Too far?”

“A tad.”

“Let’s get you some coffee.” 

“No.” You smile inwardly, relishing his apologetic tone.

“No?”

“We have to pick up Baekhyun’s apron and nametag.”

.

.

.

At first you thought you were imagining this. 

A group of high school girls frequenting Choi Yoonsun’s must obviously be because they want to get healthy, homely meals instead of the trash served at fast food chains or the uneconomical subsistence of instagrammable cafes. They’re obviously not here for the charming server with an athlete’s body and a boyish grin.

“He should wear respectable clothing”, says Kyungsoo, indicating at Baekhyun’s skinny jeans and fitted black tee, hiss sharper than the sizzle of minced garlic in butter.

“Why, I don’t think his cleavage is showing”, you retort, scooping out a serving of rice from the cooker.

“You have absolutely no shame”, he states matter-of-factly, stirring the soup pot.

“What? Is my cleavage showing, too?” You ask in mock-surprise, fixing your apron theatrically.

“Forget I said anything.” 

The aroma of Kimchi Jjigae had you salivating and you couldn’t wait to taste it for seasoning. Kyungsoo’s cooking amply made up for his drab, lacklustre personality. 

“Chef, lighten up. Any publicity is good publicity.”

“You sound like a tabloid journalist”, leaving the soup to simmer, he turns around to face you, “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“I got a haircut”, scrunching your face you respond suspiciously, the fact that he noticed it despite the hair cover makes your heart palpitate.

Taking the unwarranted attention away from your hair, you ask hastily, “You think they’re here for Baekhyun and not your food, right?” 

“Ye-yes”, he stutters, looking away.

“These people wouldn’t be here time and again if it weren’t for the food, Chef. You should know that.” 

Moving closer to him, you lightly dust flour off of his shoulders. 

“How did you get flour on your shoulders?”

His ears go scarlet. 

.

.

.

Imo comes into the kitchen while Kyungsoo and you are preparing for the day ahead. Baekhyun has gone down to Bucheon to oversee the affairs of his training academy. 

“There’s this new officer who’s reviewing all liquor permits issued this year. Be careful and make sure to check all IDs twice. I’m taking the day off. Will you two be okay by yourselves?” She swooshes out of the kitchen, not bothering with your incoherent replies.

“Can’t believe they’ve ditched us on a Friday.” You grumble, soaking clams in fresh water.

“We’ll be fine.” Kyungsoo reassures you.

***

It had been quite the day and nearing closing time, your feet were going sore. Baekhyun taking on the toughest role in the restaurant made you greatly appreciate his efforts. While most guests are civil, he’s experienced his fair share of rowdy ones firsthand and his ability to deal with them is unparalleled. He’s never, ever let any matter escalate to a point of embarrassment and has demonstrated the maturity to overcome every crisis situation with a smile on his face. 

The fact that he’s only temporarily here suddenly starts to wear you out. 

Kyungsoo sticks a handwritten note on the steel holder which reads - Yangnyeom - 2. It’s only been a little over eight months since the restaurant’s been fully functional yet the holder’s worn out more because of use and less because of time. 

“About time we advanced to kitchen order tickets, right? Saves Baekhyun…or either of us unnecessary excursions to the kitchen. Also, billing will be simpler that way.” You offer while straightening your apron and getting ingredients ready for Kyungsoo to prepare the sauce.

“Yeah, it does”, he seems really out of it as he’s getting chunks of juicy chicken ready for the fryer. He’s moving around the kitchen rather clumsily, nearly tipping over the bottle of corn syrup.

“Wah, Chef, are you alright? Would you like me to do this?” 

Resting his back against the wall, he slowly sinks to the floor, face buried in hands. “Yes, please.”

While you’re preparing a sauce the recipe for which you know like the back of your hand, his instructions don’t cease. The only thing you’ve ever liked about working with this man is that contrary to Imo, he does not believe in micromanaging. But right now it feels like you’re in the kitchen with her and not with Kyungsoo.

The tension causes you to lower the chicken into the fryer hastily resulting in specks of flaming oil to splatter onto your arm. 

He’s quick to rush to your aid with a cold towel.

“Yah, Chef, you’re making me nervous, what’s with all this nitpicking?” You almost yell at him as he’s gingerly dabbing the towel on the affected area.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry. It’s just”, he pauses briefly, worrying at his lower lip, questioning eyes peering into yours, before helping you with the chicken - slightly more confident in his movements now, “whatever you do, don’t get out of the kitchen. Table number four, those guys there, are weird.”

“Weird, how?”

“Rowdy, mannerless and drunk. Really, really drunk. Steamrolled by the ‘Friday happy’.”

“Ah, Baekhyun’s well-versed with their kind. Don’t worry, just be polite. Are you sure you don’t want me to intervene?”

“Positive and whatever happens?”

“Stay put. Chef?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s only thirty minutes to closing. We can get through this, okay? And don’t accept further orders!”

***

Twenty minutes after, you’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone to take your mind off the stabbing pain in your lower abdomen. Simultaneously playing a little game of inventing the kind of content Kyungsoo would upload if he were a user on these sites only to be jolted with the realization as to how little you know about the man.

As the restaurant’s occupied with boisterous conversations and raucous laughter, you’re counting seconds to closing. Multiplying three hundred with every bracket of five on the clock.

The din comes to an abrupt halt when you hear a middle aged man bellow, “Yah, punk, do you have a death wish?!”

Gradually moving closer to the door, you try to get a view of the scene outside.

You see a polite but firm Kyungsoo bow before the man, “We can’t serve you any more alcohol, sorry, we’ll be closing now.”

The other two men along with the nasty vermin have long passed out. You quickly call for a cab, subconsciously grabbing a hold of Kyungsoo’s knife in the process.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO RIGHT NOW?” He thunders.

Kyungsoo recoils as the man grows louder by the second. “We cannot serve you anymore alcohol, sir.”

It happens in a flash. 

So fast you almost feel like you’re astral projecting.

One moment, the man raises a hand to strike Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo swerves. You dash out of the kitchen with the knife in your hand. Face to face with the man, you scream until your lungs hurt, “GET OUT! I SAID GET OUT OF MY RESTAURANT!”

The vermin’s companions stir at the sound. 

With frightened eyes they take in the scene as their drowsy brain is still trying to assess the situation for action. They soon pull the man by his shoulders while Kyungsoo’s tugging at your knife bearing arm that’s still raised in combat mode, simultaneously apologising to the rowdy guest.

Wagging his sausage like finger at the both of you he warns menacingly, “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Slapping the tab on their table, you proceed to threaten him, “Settle this and get - the fuck - out of my restaurant before I call the cops.”

Throwing a couple of bills on the table, he staggers out, grumbling, “You just wait”, still wagging his finger and reeking of stale alcohol. 

It was only then that your grip on the knife eases as Kyungsoo carefully draws it out of your hand and you see, just like you, he’s shaking too.

“What just happened?” He’s the first to speak as you sit across the table from him, dark orbs glinting in the dim light, forehead beaded with sweat. His hands are tightly wound together as he places them on the table. One day without Baekhyun and Imo and Kyungsoo and you had messed up real bad. By the looks of it, neither of you were ready to accept this fact.

“We did exactly what we were supposed to do. Stop worrying!” You say more to yourself.

He’s not convinced.

“Chef, that man’s reaction wasn’t something that you could’ve preempted or….controlled in any way.” Finding yourself getting mildly annoyed, you try your best to lay the edge off of your voice. All you wanted was for him to be alright because, technically, none of this was his fault. 

“Would you have allowed him to take a swing at you?”

“He was far too drunk for that”, he exhales heavily and you notice his stance relax before clamping up again, “but you-you came out with a knife!”

His tone isn’t accusatory. He’s simply baffled.

“Fight or flight…”

“It’s my knife.”

“I’ll be sure to hide the murder weapon.”

He nods slowly.

“Do you need some water? Tea? A hug?”

You half expect him to scowl or groan or whatever it is that he usually does but he seems to be actually evaluating his options.

“A beer?”

“Down for Chimaek?”

Stood up to go into the kitchen, you awkwardly, and very, very slowly put an arm around his shoulders and give him a tight squeeze.

***

This was your first time having fried chicken and beer in complete silence - a few minutes felt like hours with the incident still hovering over both of you.

“Chef, you know we haven’t murdered anyone right?”

“The restaurant feels like a scene of crime to me. Also, what did he mean by ‘you just wait’?”

“Eh. Empty threats. Testosterone poisoning. Do you think they’ll throw me into prison for threatening him with a knife?”

“You should be sent in for pilfering stock”, he says gesturing at the tray between you, taking a chunky bite of the chicken, “you were going to take this home, weren’t you? It’s good, by the way.”

“Ah, this makes me happy”, you lean back into your chair, smiling discreetly at Kyungsoo’s messy fingers and mouth.

“A compliment from me makes you happy?” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a swig of beer.

“Testosterone poisoning”, you say pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I couldn’t care less what you think. I’m pretty confident in my skills.”

“As you should be. Then what ‘makes you happy’? The thought of going to prison?”

“Yes”, you lie, “you think I’ll have a prison bitch?”

“I think you’ll be the prison bitch.”

You open your mouth to protest but what escapes is a mortifying burp.

Uncomfortable silence.

Meeting his eyes, you purse your lips, feeling your face flame. He smiles at you and says, ‘wait for it’, before belching. Loudly. Sending you both into fits of laughter.

.

.

.

“What happened here last week?”

Kyungsoo and you are seated opposite Imo like criminals before a cop in an interrogation room. Baekhyun is holed up in the kitchen, cleaning. For the most part, he avoids conflicts like these where Imo’s red hot beam of anger could be misdirected at him. 

She’s glaring at the responsible child, Kyungsoo, to break first but since it was your idea to keep the incident from her you start to explain. By the time you’re done she seems angrier, but not at the two of you. Only after a tiny lecture on how you should learn to be more tactful in such situations does she spell out her real concern.

Turns out the man the both of you had a scuffle with last week is the new officer’s brother-in-law. Now, the restaurant’s received a notice from the liquor permit’s office for an “inspection” in the coming week. Although aware that this situation isn’t either of your fault, Imo is far from pleased with this development.

“Fix this”, she orders and disappears into the kitchen.

There’s only one person who can help you out of this mess, but neither Kyungsoo nor you possess the emotional capacity to deal with him. 

“He’s our only option”, you deadpan.

With a heavy sigh, Kyungsoo dials Mark Lee.

***

Mouth stuffed with egg sandwich, Mark Lee garbles, “What do you want from me? It’s an inspection so let them come and - inspect.”

Imo’s taken off for the day and it’s just you and Kyungsoo trying to sort out the mess you weren’t entirely responsible for. 

“You said we could call you if we needed help with anything”, Kyungsoo reasons with Mark who’s now ogling at him as if he just got spoken to in an alien language.

“Yes, but I don’t see how I can be of help here?”

“Tell us anything you know about this new officer. Don’t leave anything out.” You’re nearly begging at this point and Mark Lee, as always, is reveling in your misery.

He relaxes in his seat, swirling the glass of watermelon juice, “You know you can’t buy your way out of this right? He’s an uptight bugger and you screwed up! Big time! All you had to do was give his brother-in-law a bottle of beer.”

“Oh, we’re sorry we didn’t have his family tree handy”, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes, “Besides, were just trying to abide by the rules - ”

The helplessness in Kyungsoo’s voice causes you to lose your cool at Mark. “Yah! Quit being cocky and just tell us everything you know!”

“Oh-oh feisty”, his mouth spreads into an annoying grin, “okay so he loves his wife, obviously, it’s why he’s doing this. Has an eleven year old daughter who is the apple of his eye. Erm, let’s see, he’s spent his teenage years in Japan and the country is all he’ll ever talk about. Piss him off and this inspection turns into a review and if things continue to spiral you’ll have your permit revoked. So be careful.” His eyes lock with yours making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“What are you planning to do with this information, anyway?”

“We don’t know just yet”, Kyungsoo starts clearing up the table, as usual, and Mark knows that his time is up.

“Dude”, he leans towards you, whisper-chortling, as Kyungsoo retires into the kitchen, “did you drive him out with a knife?”

Nodding, you grin gleefully.

“Fiery! You’re totally my boss’ type.” 

***

“So what are we going to do?” Rubbing your eyes and stifling a yawn, you ask Kyungsoo.

While the world sleeps, the market is awake. Buzzing with a contagious energy. Although you hate having to wake up this early, the moment you step into this space, you’re completely taken by its vigour and gusto for life. 

It’s nothing short of a celebration.

Chefs, big and small, passionately scour every nook and corner for the perfect herbs, veggies, and meats. You may not know each other closely or even by name but you feel part of a community - part of a family. True to character, you won’t ever stop whining about this routine with friends and family and occasionally with Kyungsoo, Baekhyun, and Imo but you know it in your heart of hearts, you wouldn’t skip sourcing for the world.

“So he’s spent his teenage years in Japan right?” Kyungsoo muses, lowering a crate of mudfish in the cart for today’s special, Chueotang.

“Let’s recreate his teenage years for him. Japanese dorm meals?” 

Kyungsoo stops abruptly, “That’s a thought!”

“We can set the menu today after closing.”

“How about a coffee now?” He asks, averting your gaze as a slight smile forms on his lips.

.

.

.

On the morning of the inspection, Kyungsoo sneezed. Once. Twice. And on the third strike he was sent home by Imo because “this is not a good look”. Or forced out of the restaurant - depends on who you ask. He whined a little, even shed a few tears but Imo steeled herself and drew him out, anyway.

Although the menu is simple, the concept is layered and robust. The exercise is, after all, being undertaken merely to impress the officer in question. Well equipped for the inspection, the restaurant’s closed for the day. 

This is nothing Baekhyun and you can’t manage but, obviously, Kyungsoo feels otherwise. He’s been calling to check in in intervals of five but seems like the medication’s finally kicked in and put him in a state of deep slumber. Good for him. And for you. 

Two hours until showtime.

Under your close supervision, Baekhyun is labouring over the fairly straightforward stuff: tako sausages, potato and macaroni salad and egg sandwiches while you’ve kicked off the recipe for rolled omelettes.

Egg mixture aside, you start the rice cooker, leave green tea to boil for salmon ochazuke while the frying pan’s heating up for yaki udon.

***

Once you’d gotten all the dishes down, done exactly the way instructed by Kyungsoo: rolled omelettes, yaki udon, tako sausage, potato and macaroni salad, egg sandwiches and salmon ochazuke, it was time for you to take on the simplest but the most provoking dish on the menu.

Neko Manma. Or, cat rice. 

“Ah, Dooly, shall I bring out the jar of bonito flakes?” Baekhyun prompts.

“The one Chef brought us this morning?”

He hums in response.

“I think we should use the store bought one instead.”

“But he’s worked on this recipe all week. You sure you wanna do that?”

“Positive.”

“He’ll flip out.”

“I’ll deal with it. We’re altering the recipe for Neko Manma, this ones too pretentious. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“So, what do you want to do with it?” Baekhyun’s tone is wary and questioning. 

“Rice, soy sauce, store bought bonito flakes and just a faint drizzle of butter. Nice and clean.” You respond confidently. 

“Are you really sure?”

***

“Why are you here?” You hiss at Kyungsoo while Imo is outside, busy greeting the motley of high-headed officials, giving them a brief of the restaurant, herself, her team, and going over the licenses and documentation. 

Face flushed, Kyungsoo’s lips are swollen and his eyes are runny, puffy, and bloodshot. He’s clearly in the need for some rest.

“To see if everything’s in order.” His voice is hoarse.

He starts to closely examine the entrees laid out, a smile of approval gracing his lips until he stops short of cat rice.

“These bonito flakes -”

“I didn’t use the fresh ones. I thought -”

“There’s no miso soup?” 

“No, Chef, I reckoned -”

“No grilled fish? Are you being lazy?”

“Chef, no, I am not being lazy. The original recipe just didn’t feel right. So i changed it up a little -”

“Changed it up? That decision was not yours to make!”

“It’s just a side, it’s not going to matter so much!”

Absolutely livid, he runs a hand through his hair and laments. “If we weren’t this close to serving i would’ve dumped this into the bin because that’s where it belongs.”

“Chef, please”, your voice quivers, “let me explain! This was supposed to be the lightest dish on the menu. We ended up styling it with… overwhelming ingredients, so I -”

“I’m utterly confused! What on earth led you to believe you’re qualified enough to teach me? I’ve trained at a diner in Tokyo for two whole years. I know exactly what I’m doing here!”

Eyes brimming with tears, you glance over and Baekhyun who has ‘I told you so’ written all over his face. 

"Kyungsooyah? When did you come in? What’s going on here?”

Imo’s bewilderment cuts through the tension. 

“Sajangnim, I was feeling slightly better so I thought of dropping by to wish you luck." 

Courtesying, he quickly dashes out through the back door. 

***

The inspection has been revoked. Unofficially, atleast. The restaurant is to receive a written order in a week’s time. 

The officer was impressed to the extent of apologising for his brother-in-law’s behaviour. He even lauded Imo on teaching her staff to stick to the establishment’s principles which made you wonder if he was fully aware of the facts of the case: knife and all. 

He also mentioned how, as a student, he’d eat a bowl of Neko Manma before every exam because at the time, to him, anything else was unpalatable. 

And that, this was what he considered to be the perfect recipe. 

You go through the rest of the day as if sleepwalking. How stupid could you have been believe you were “on good terms” with Kyungsoo or that this was an equal and productive partnership. The fact remained that he still thought of you as someone frivolous: some air-headed moron who has no idea what she’s doing. 

Someone beneath him. 

You made an effort to appreciate this victory but the day had only left you with a bitter taste. Your mother had been right. You’ve always been too soft. Too trusting. Letting people in too easily and allowing them to walk all over you. 

Now, Kyungsoo’s always been like this: controlling, stubborn, absolutely thorough. He never deviates from his well laid out plans. But today was different. Today, you expected something out of him. You expected him to trust you. You expected him to understand your reasoning, to give you a chance. To comprehend the fact that you could have a mind of your own and that not everything has to be exactly by the book. 

You loathe yourself for expecting this out of him. 

Sailing rough seas together doesn’t bloom friendships. You were stupid to think of him as a friend while, in all these months, his opinion of you had remained the same. 

Contrary to the Gwangjang days, you’d long stopped wishing him gone. In some farthest corner of your heart you were even grateful that he chose to say. 

You’ve been so stupid.

.

.

.

Two months later

The kitchen has been fervent but hushed. 

After all this time, Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and you seem to have found a rhythm. You don’t need to verbally communicate to get through a workday. 

But, you used to. 

Sometimes unnecessarily even. Kyungsoo and you hardly saw eye to eye on most things but there would be some semblance of friendly workplace banter. He’d say a little something about a perfectly done piece of meat or a well seasoned soup. Baekhyun would take wickedly funny pot shots at some of the customers (to the utmost horror of Imo). Imo would sporadically push morsels of whatever was being prepared into your mouths. 

Baekhyun receiving feedback in the form of grunts has shut him up altogether. And the busyness of the restaurant has seemed to have blinkered Imo into not being able to perceive the tension between Kyungsoo and you.

It’s a dance to no music. 

Furtive glances. Measured smiles. Curt nods. Exceptional dishes. Decent earnings. 

That’s it.

Maybe that’s how it should’ve always been.

“Ready to go?” Baekhyun asks, dressed in a well fitted black shirt and slacks. 

You’re mopping the floor. Clearly not ready to go.

When you make this known with a sharp glare, Baekhyun giggles. 

Nothing good can come out of that impish smile of his. But before you can sink your claws into him and drag him back, he’s already chatting up Kyungsoo who’s fixing the chairs.

“Kyungsoo, you coming?” He says a little too loudly and you groan. But you know Kyungsoo all too well. He’s one to decline offers involving socialising with you (unless of course, the offer is put forth by his dearest Sajangnim). 

’You can do better than that’, you mouth to Baekhyun.

Incurious about Kyungsoo’s answer, you’re fully prepared to chomp Baekhyun’s ear off for inviting him.

“Sure”, Kyungsoo says plainly.

Sure?

Without taking the where-what-why route like normal people do? Just..sure?

“Great! We’re going out for drinks since it’s Dooly’s birthday today.”

“Oh. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. But, Chef, you can’t come. I don’t want you there. I’m sor-”

Swallowing the apology crackling at the tip of your tongue, you dash into the kitchen, your periphery catching his lowered gaze and tight smile. 

Regularising the erratic thrumming of your heart with deep breaths, you shove the mop into the storage area, take off your apron and throw it in the laundry bag (which you were to deal with the next morning), straighten your outfit, fix your hair, dab some rosy tint onto your lips, throw your tote bag over your shoulder, run back out, grab Baekhyun by purposefully lodging your nails into his arms, and take off.

[gucciwins]

Confessions ll

Harry messed up and Y/N doesn’t know how to move forward

A/N: The long awaited part two. Confessions was written over a year ago and I’d like to think my writing has grown since then. I honestly debated a part two for forever but here it is. I hope you love it as much as you loved part one. 

read part one of confessions here

* * * * *

“Tell me once again what you did for the past week?" 

"Sarah, I told you I watched all seven seasons of Gilmore Girls. Ate food I cooked, not reheated. Well, it was mainly soup and simple pasta. I did take showers and change clothes. Although I have not washed any." You share as you pick up your laundry basket and begin to fill it with a few lose clothes around your room. The room was always kept nice with a bed made and no scattered garments, but that couldn't be said now. You had clothes all over, pillows on the floor, and an unfolded comforter which Ginger was taking advantage of and sleeping on top of. Not mentioning how the living room looked, you started with the laundry. 

"You're telling me you spent roughly 154 hours in front of your television watching a show on Netflix." Sarah pauses. "That means you've either slept fourteen hours straight or slept two hours each night." 

"Your math skills are great still." You laugh, not answering her. “It wasn’t even a good show. But oh well now.”

"Y/N," Sarah pesters. 

"Fine. I slept roughly two hours after I finished a season." 

"What about work?" 

"I am working from home on this project. It's due in three weeks, and I'm ahead, need to edit a few things, then I'm all good." 

You put Sarah on speaker and place your phone on top of the basket as you walk to the washer. You know she's frustrated with you, but this is the best way to heal heartache. Well, your best approach. 

"Are you feeling better, hun" Sarah sighs. "I know it's hard, but I'm here for you. As is Mitch." 

You drop the basket in your basement and begin to load your clothing. "Look, Sarah, I know you both care. I just need to solve this on my own. Ha-" You cut yourself off before saying his name. "He's a great guy, but I don't need a jealous boyfriend in my life. He knows how I act, how cuddly I am, but if he saw me as someone unfaithful, then what's the point of trying. No trust. No love." 

"He's not a bad guy." Sarah starts.

"No, I know that. Trust me, the time we got to spend together, I saw how kind and generous Harry is. He's more than just another famous guy, but second chances. I'm not known for that." You know second chances are good, but it is also a way to lead to being hurt once again. "I know he's your friend, but he was mine as well."

"You're not going to give him the chance to apologize?" 

"Of course, I will. I forgive him, but what else is there to do, it's not li-like he was my boyfriend." 

"Y/N, you confessed your love to him." 

Sarah is trying her best to be neutral, but you know she was rooting for the two of you to make it. To defeat the odds thrown your way. No one expected it to end before it started.

"Yeah, well, come-what-may." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Well, if a bus is heading right at you, let it come." You say quoting Liz from the series you just watched. Not the brightest philosophy, but it's all you have right now. 

"That sounds like a disaster."

"Yeah, it does. You'd save me from the bus, right?" 

Sarah laughs. "Of course, I would. Who else cooks for me expecting nothing in return?" 

You laugh for the first time in what feels like months. Sarah is always able to break you out of your deep dark times. 

"Dinner at my place on Wednesday." You tell her, wanting to get together without having to leave your house. 

"We'll be there." 

You go to hang up, but remember an essential thing for dinner. "Mitch needs to make his brownies, always taste so heavenly." You let out a low moan just thinking about the melting chocolate. 

"I'll tell him, I will also leave out the part where you get wet for brownies." Sarah laughs, and you can't help but join her. Those brownies are just too sinful. 

She hangs up, leaving you in the quiet of your basement. It would be good to see Sarah and Mitch even if Harry blew up at you the last time you saw them. You shake your thoughts away and finish loading the wash. Picking up the previous item, it's a blue Mickey Mouse shirt. Except, it's not yours, it's his. He had come over for dinner and decided he wanted to do the cooking. He brought the spoon to his mouth to taste and ended up spilling. You were quick to strip it off him and rinse it, not wanting it to stain. But did not wash it in a load right away. He was in no hurry to put a shirt back on. To his displeasure, you handed him a Washington State sweater that belonged to your brother. He had looked good in it. That night you didn't sleep until four am not noticing the time and lost in pleasant conversations.

It's crazy how fast the night changes. 

* * * * *

"Mitch, I made chicken tinga with you in mind. I remember you saying how much you were dying to try some three weeks ago." You say as you set a plate of shredded lettuce on the table. "I have it in good authority that I make one of the best. My grandma said I mastered it, so if you don't like it take it up with her." 

Mitch laughs, remembering saying that when you all went out for drinks. "It smells amazing, I'm sure it's great." 

"Anything you touch tastes amazing." Sarah comments.

The conversation flowed calmly over dinner, not one mention of Harry. It feels off being without him, but you can't change what happened, only move on. Sarah and Mitch were your friends before you even knew Harry, but the same goes for Harry. One moment they were strangers and the next they were best friends, now you had no idea where you stood. 

Mitch got up and went for the brownies and set a plate of two in front of you and Sarah but only one for himself. You were about to bite into the delicious treat when there was a knock on your door. 

You all froze, not knowing who it could be. Not your brother, seeing as you drove him to the airport on Sunday. You briefly talked about Harry, but he knew it was your decision to make. Thomas was a good man, but all too forgiving something you never understood. You look at Sarah and shrug as if to say you don't know who's behind the door. You miss the nervous look Mitch gives Sarah as you stand up and make your way to the door. 

You live in a safe community, preceding checking the peephole. The door opens and in front of you is Harry. He looks nervous, cheeks red, and smile small. He takes a step back, and all you want to do is close the door. Not caring for a word that comes out of his mouth. 

Harry sees the look in your eyes and is quick to react. "I'm not here to stay, but I do want to talk.  

You narrow your eyes at him. "Not tonight." 

"It has to be tonight." He pleads. 

You refuse to do this on his terms, let alone without warning. "No."

"Please," Harry takes a step closer, and you catch his eyes glistening. 

"I need you to leave." It's hard telling him to go, but it's what you need.

"Will you hear me out, if I leave?" Harry's stubborn, you learned that the hard way during one of your first arguments where you needed to go home after a late night of drinking, but he wouldn't hear it practically pushing you to his guest room.

"Of course." 

Harry grins, and it almost makes you forget your anger. 

"But not tonight."

His smile falters. You've caught him off guard. 

"Then, when?" He whispers, all confidence gone. 

You think for a moment, "Friday, I'll meet you at Carol's Diner."

"Okay, 12," Harry says, knowing that was your usual time to have lunch there together. 

"Eight" You're embarrassed to correct. "If that's okay, I've got meetings all day." 

Harry nods. "No problem at all." 

He walks down the steps and to his car. You can't help but stand there as he walks away. He would always drag his feet playfully joking how he didn't like being kicked out. He didn't stay the night unless he had some alcohol. You told him one drop, and you'd have the couch ready for him. Which always ended with him in your bed because he said your living room was haunted. 

You miss him, but you don't know how to move forward. 

* * * * *

Late. You're late, and Harry knows he deserves it, hell you might not even show up. 

Harry ordered a black coffee, not knowing if they'd eat or not. The waiter had just served him his refill when you walked in the diner. You spot him right away, and he can't help but begin to sweat. 

"Harry, I'm sorry. My last meeting ran a little longer." You shrug your coat off before sliding into the booth across from him. "I hope you didn't think I was setting you up."

"'Course not. You hungry? Didn't know if you wanted to order." 

"Starving, I've been craving french toast and a milkshake." You laugh, looking at Harry. "That sounds like a lot of sugar. I'm sorry." 

"It's fine, lo-Y/n." He clears his throat. 

You both place your orders, and then the silence takes over. Harry sits there staring at you while you look out the window staring at the park entrance. You count three couples walking in and four families coming out. You also spotted two dogs, frowning when no more showed up.

You're surprised at how fast the food comes and dig right in. Harry and you eat in silence. The chatter of the diner is the only noise around you. Harry steals glances at you, but you never meet his gaze. Too nervous for that. You finish most of your food, but stop once you see Harry set his fork down. Your hands are quick to go in your lap, slowly tracing patterns up and down your palm to keep calm. 

"We've got to talk." 

You sit there patiently, allowing Harry to be the first one to speak. Harry wanted this so bad he has the floor.

Harry stares at you, and he's afraid he's going to lose you after this moment. 

"I'm sorry, let me start with that." He reaches his hand out but pulls back when he sees them in your lap. "There's no excuse for what I did. I was awful, and you deserve better. You deserve trust, and I didn't give it to you." He takes a deep breath. "Looking back, you let me in, really in, but I always kept you at arm's length, waiting for you to mess up. An excuse to hurt you instead of being the one who gets hurt, but in the end, that didn't work out."

"Harry," You try to cut in.

"No, let me finish." You give the nod, and he continues. 

"Those words I said were not true at all. You never used me for nothing. We always did things in private. I'd always force you to go to the bar with us. That dinner was the first time you initiated a public outing, and even then, the place was small and quiet."

"I don't like crowds, and you don't like paparazzi." You say because it's just that simple.

"See, Y/N. You look to put others before you, but I don't want you to do that now. I acknowledge what I did was awful. I told my mum about it because the guilt was eating at me, and she was so disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in me." 

Harry frowns, looking down at his bare hands. The rings at home, no comfort. He holds himself bare in front of you. 

"I want you to put yourself first even if that means not being in my life anymore." 

You focused your eyes on him. This is Harry, honest and nervous Harry. The guy who recites love actually as it plays. Who laughs out loud to all of Mitch's jokes. The one who always rushes to open your doors. 

"Thank you. This is still a lot." Your eyes begin to burn as you remember his confession. "You said-"Your voice cracks. "You said you were falling in love with me." 

Harry's green eyes begin to fill with tears. He nods in acknowledgment of your words.

"My brother is my best friend but Harry, so were you. Those two months felt like ten years, I felt like you've been in my life forever. That hurt Harry, all because what I was sleeping on was someone's arm like I didn't do it before you, and I won't do it after you." You pause to get your emotions under control. "My brother vouched for you. Said you apologized and cried. That you were quick to see your mistake. My brother approves of few people and to have his approval even after what happened means he sees the good in you." 

"Thomas was amazing. I'm glad you have each other." Harry inputs wanting you to know the feeling is mutual. 

"Harry," you take a drink of water. "We were never together. never went on a date, never asked to be boyfriend or girlfriend, we never kissed." 

"It felt like we were," Harry tells you.

"You're right," You set your hands on the table. "That's why it hurt so much when you said all that to me." 

He doesn't deserve you, he knows that, which is why your next words surprise him. 

"I forgive you."

"Thank you," Harry moves to hold your hand, but you don't let him. 

He doesn't hide his shock. 

"I just can't be with you, at least not now." He nods. "You have to understand, I think we'd burn together."

"You don't mean that." It comes out in a whisper. 

"I'm doing what's best for us now. I care too much about you to go into a relationship only for us to break each other's hearts." 

Harry's heart is breaking, and there's no one else to blame but himself. 

"We're bound to run into each other again, Sarah's my best friend and Mitch is her sidekick. I'm not asking you to wait for me, that'd be wrong. But if we ever find yourself in the same place and the feelings are there, and we both feel the timing is right, then I'll be open to asking you on a date or you asking me."

Harry smiles in understanding, no matter how much it hurts him.  

There's not much left to say. Harry knows this is goodbye. "You'll always be my friend, I hope you know I'll always be a phone call away."

You nod and stand up. "Thank you, Harry. I'm here for you as well." 

Harry stands and wraps his arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze. 

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I really am, but thank you for giving me the chance to grow and learn." He steps back. 

"You're a good man, Harry." 

"And you have the purest most beautiful soul." Harry's staring into your eyes, and you can't help but tear up. 

You reach forward and squeeze his hand three times. 

"Take care, H."

 Harry watches as you walk out of the diner. 

He's lost you once again, but he knows your paths will cross once more. 

* * * * *

I love you so much! Thank you for reading! 

Please let me know what you thought about Confession ll 

[myevilmouse]

Today for Trivia Tuesday @jedimordsith suggested I write about my drabble skills and give suggestions to anyone wanting to write drabbles.  I recently wrote 28 drabbles for the Multifandom Drabble Exchange just for fun muwahahah.  Also this is why, since I went outside the Star Wars fandom I love and live in, that I created a new pseud, Złymyszeczka, in case you were wondering what was up with that. Fandoms that I dabbled in included Supernatural, Resident Evil, Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, My So-Called Life, X-Men, Wellington Paranormal, Quantum Leap, Labyrinth, Hercules (Disney), Cobra Kai, Lord of the Rings, Loki, Chronicles of Narnia, X-Files, Sherlock, Star Trek TNG, and more!  

Obviously I had to separate all that multi-fandom madness from the purity of my Luke and Thrawn smut!

So please if you check me out on AO3 for Star Wars stuff (and I sincerely hope you do!), note that you want to keep the evilmouse name.  I don’t plan on writing outside Star Wars fandom often, but on the rare occasions I do, it will get posted under the other name.

Back to the point:

Evilmouse’s 5 Essential Tips on Writing Drabbles

for your Trivia Tuesday, jump below the cut!

 So drabbles are 100 words.  Double drabbles, 200, Triple, 300, etc.  A lot of people find the exactness of this word restriction daunting, so here is my first tip for writing drabbles:

1)   Don’t think about the word count.

This may seem counter-intuitive, but the best way to approach a drabble is “I have to write a very short scene.”  Knowing it will be short (very short!) is enough to get you to the word count, and maybe push you over 3, 10, or 20 words.  That’s fine.  We fix it in the editing.  But if you get hung up about counting words when you are writing your drabble, you won’t write the best drabble you can!

2)  Focus on a single moment.  

When I say very short scene, think VERY SHORT SCENE.  It may be as simple as a quick verbal exchange.  It may be something you want to accomplish, i.e. a kiss, a punch.  Here are a couple examples from my recent experience:

One person requested a Chronicles of Narnia/MCU crossover and listed Prince Caspian and Loki as two characters they were interested in shipping.  So my goal was to write 100 words with these two characters.  

What shall we focus on?  100 words isn’t enough to explain why Loki is in Narnia or why Caspian is in Asgard. You have to trust the reader to accept the premise if they click on your drabble. 

What is your goal?  Here, it was to get these two in a situation where a shipper will be happy with their interaction. In my case, I decided they would be trapped somewhere together and alone.  That was it, that was the starting point for the drabble, which you can read here.

Another example: one person requesting a Star Wars drabble said they liked when female characters meet and interact and listed old!Leia and Asajj Ventress as favorites.  

Same question: what do you want to accomplish? In this case, two characters who don’t meet in canon having that opportunity.  A meeting.  100 words is our limit.  Do we care why or where they are meeting?  Probably not.  That initial interaction is the goal.  So for this one, I set what I hoped was a mysterious atmosphere and just simply wrote their initial exchange here.  Trust your readers to fill in the blanks, which leads us to:

3)   Let the “end” be as ambiguous as you like.

Drabbles are brief moments, as already mentioned.  They don’t need a proper beginning or end, they can (and sometimes should) leave the reader asking questions or wanting more.  I like writing drabbles that imply something happened next, and leave it up to the reader to decide exactly what.  

In the case of the Loki/Caspian drabble, knowing that Loki can teleport, and chooses not to, implies he has some ulterior motive in lying about his powers.  

In the case of Asajj & Leia, we know Asajj sent a comm to initiate the meeting but we don’t know exactly what she means by saying they will be “friends.”  Is she sincere?  Have some trick up her sleeve?  I don’t have to know!  But the moment is achieved.

That doesn’t mean that you can’t “end” a drabble if you want to.  I wrote a treat for someone who wanted Sarah and Jareth to end up together when she was all grown up.  So obviously the request has already dictated my ending.  In that case, I had a couple goals:  to tell the reader she was all grown up, to demonstrate how much has/hasn’t changed, and to make her wind up with that sexy Goblin King.  Mmmm yesssss.

Each of those goals, which may have appeared difficult at first, took exactly one sentence:

Curtains fluttered, an unnatural gust summoning the ever-present metropolitan cacophony into her apartment.

We know now that Sarah has her own apartment, old enough to live alone.

“It didn’t!” she glared, injustice manifested in that indignant whine she’d retained, like most of her teenage dreams.

In the film Labyrinth, Sarah’s always saying things aren’t fair.  So here we see she hasn’t quite gotten rid of that tendency to whine about injustice, and is still a dreamer at heart.

“This time,” Sarah took a deep breath, certain, “I’ll stay.”

She’s not hesitating, she’s decided, and she’s going to live happily ever after with her mystical consort (we hope).

The point here is that your drabble can be as conclusive or inconclusive as you like, and isn’t limited by the word count.

4)   Edit without mercy

Yes I KNOW that is the perfect adjective for Luke’s sparkling blue eyes, but if your word count is 101, those eyes are either sparkling or blue but not both!

Once you achieve your “moment” in the drabble form, you have to check that word count and CHOP CHOP CHOP.  It’s a rare thing to be under word count, but if you are lucky to be under, just add a few well-chosen adjectives and you’re done.  However, if you, like most of us, have just written 123 words of perfection and want to scream because there is NO WAY you can do the same thing in 100 words, you have two options:  write 77 MORE words and surrender to the double drabble, OR like I try to do, throw away the things you love until you have accomplished the same thing in 100 words.

To demonstrate this exercise, I set myself a task (because I haven’t saved drafts of my drabbles, sadly) to show you what I mean.  So right now at this very instant I’m going to write a drabble about Luke Skywalker being in love with YOU.  A Luke/Reader drabble, for example.  Let’s go:

Everyone groaned as the briefing ended.  It had gone on two hours too long for your taste, and judging by the mad rush to the exit, you weren’t alone in your assessment.  As you left the conference room, you almost bumped into Luke Skywalker.  The Jedi Master looked as handsome as always, but rather more casual than usual, his robes nowhere in sight and dressed simply in black pants with a blue shirt.  

“Excuse me,” you said, about to move past, flustered beyond belief.  If only he wasn’t so kriffing good-looking… It was stupid to lust after a Jedi—any Jedi.

“Actually,” he smiled, “I was waiting here for you.”

A wave of shock, quickly followed by confusion, made you even more tongue-tied than usual.

“Me?”

He nodded.  “Yeah.  Have dinner with me tonight?”

 OK here is where I checked the wordcount.  134 words. Ouch.  Quickly we have to edit because I’m not happy with the ending either. And 134 means some serious slicing and dicing.  Here’s take two:

The briefing seemed to end two hours too late, and judging by the mad rush to the exit, your colleagues agreed.  Leaving the conference room, you almost bumped into Luke Skywalker.  The Jedi Master looked handsome as always, but more casual than usual, robes nowhere in sight, dressed in black pants and blue shirt.

“Excuse me,” you said, moving past, flustered.  If only he wasn’t so kriffing good-looking… It was stupid to lust after a Jedi, but that hadn’t stopped you.

He smiled.  “I was waiting for you.”

Shock, quickly followed by confusion, made you even more tongue-tied than usual.

“Me?”

He nodded.  “Yeah.  Have dinner with me tonight?”

 OK we’ve done some serious slicing and are down to 109 words.  But I’m still not happy, AND we gotta cut more.

The briefing ended two hours too late, and judging by the mad rush to the exit, everyone agreed.  Leaving the room, you ran into Luke Skywalker.  The Jedi Master looked handsome as always, but more casual than usual, no robes, just dressed in black pants and blue shirt.

“Excuse me,” you muttered, flustered.  If only he wasn’t so kriffing good-looking… It was stupid to lust after a Jedi, but that hadn’t stopped you.

He smiled.  “I was waiting for you.”

Shock, quickly followed by confusion, made you even more tongue-tied than usual.

“Me?”

He nodded, and held out a hand.  “Come with me?”

Down to 103 words now and I managed to change the ending I wasn’t crazy about at first…notice what has and hasn’t changed between these short drafts... not much in the way of story, just how it is told.

Still have to edit more…three pesky words…

Judging by the mad rush to the exit, everyone agreed that meeting had been too long.  Hurrying out, you ran into Luke Skywalker.  The Jedi Master looked handsome as always, but more casual than usual, no robes, just dressed in black pants and blue shirt.  

“Excuse me,” you muttered, flustered.  If only he wasn’t so kriffing good-looking… It was stupid to lust after a Jedi, but common sense wasn’t your forte.

He smiled.  “I was waiting for you.”

Shock, quickly followed by confusion, made you even more tongue-tied than usual.

“Me?”

He nodded, holding out an inviting hand.  “Come with me?”

Now I’ve got 101 words and I don’t want to cut it, but I have to…*waves goodbye to “kriffing”*

Judging by the mad rush to the exit, everyone agreed that meeting had been too long.  Hurrying out, you ran into Luke Skywalker.  The Jedi Master looked handsome as always, but more casual than usual, no robes, just dressed in black pants and blue shirt.  

“Excuse me,” you muttered, flustered.  If only he wasn’t so good-looking… It was stupid to lust after a Jedi, but common sense wasn’t your forte.

He smiled.  “I was waiting for you.”

Shock, quickly followed by confusion, made you even more tongue-tied than usual.

“Me?”

He nodded, holding out an inviting hand.  “Come with me?”

So we have 100 words exactly, that imply Luke is into you and you have a future with him.  From starting the drabble to finishing it, took me about 18 minutes.  If you don’t pressure yourself, it doesn’t have to be a nightmare.  Which brings me to tip #5

5) Don’t stress, and have fun!

Sometimes I have spent as much as two hours on a drabble, but usually no more than a half hour to get it where I want.  When I do the “drabble a day” for Fictober, I try to limit myself to 15 minutes.  The point is, drabbles should be fun and low stress.  Don’t agonize about them!  Sure, you can edit for hours to fix each word to be absolutely perfect and convey something the same but different, but you can also just achieve that glimpse into a scene, that moment, and enjoy your work!

I hope you enjoyed this and/or found it useful.  If you’d like to read some of my drabbles, you can click on this #drabble tag, check out these drabble collections here and here, my story told in drabbles here, or explore my new pseud złamyszeczka for those other fandoms I mentioned.  Thank you for reading!

[tempered-in-flame]

Part 0- Reflecting

Welcome to the very very first part/pilot for the story Tempered in Flame! I say this is the pilot because this explains one of the main character's backstory. Hopefully in a couple of weeks, Chapter 1, Of Humble beginnings will be fully edited, and you'll see it on this blog! (P.S. if you reblog this ill be infinitely happy this story as a concept has been rattling in my brain for years and i really want validation) Without further ado, here it is.

Words: 3331

Summary: Azarra Gabree, during a quiet night, finds herself reminiscing on her past, and the regrets surrounding the night she escaped her home town.

Azarra didn’t think about Goldcrest often. The town she was born in held little sentimental value for her. However, she was in a sentimental mood. She had settled in for the night and didn’t have anything better to think about. The most memorable night she could think of was the night she ran away from home.

———————-

I realized too late that I had stayed out with the barkeep’s daughter, Kit, too long. The sun was beginning to set and I was going to be late for dinner.

“Damn it.” I said

“Something wrong?” She asked.

“I gotta go, need me to take you home?” I asked. Usually I didn’t do this to dates, but I knew my parents wouldn’t be happy if I wasn’t home on time, and I was already late as it was.

“I’d get lost without you here, so lead the way.” I could tell she was disappointed, but I was trying to avoid ruining the relationship I had with my parents as it was, not like there was much to salvage.

I hurried out of the woods with Kit, dropped her off near her house, hopefully away from prying eyes, and got to my house. I slowly opened the door and saw I was later than I assumed. Everyone was at the table already. My sister and our parents were all staring at me. Rue quickly looked down as our parents sighed, and Rue became preoccupied with staring into her dinner.

“On the counter. Wash up first, please, Azarra.” Mother said. She sounded exasperated already. That was never a good sign.

“Thanks. Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time.” I said. I carefully washed my hands and took my dinner to the table. My excuse was true this time but I always used the same one no matter what happened.

It had been silent since I had walked in. Rue wasn’t eating, and our parents were staring at each other. I sighed quietly and started eating. Rue was watching me carefully while I avoided everyone’s gaze.

“Can I be excused? I need to use the restroom.” Rue asked. Our father nodded. She gingerly got up and walked out of the room. It was then I knew what was coming. They had talked about me before I came in, and Rue knew what was coming. I slowly looked up at our parents.

“Why can’t you think about something besides yourself, Azarra?” My mother sighed. She had her head in her hands. Rue was a few years younger than me but she was so much smarter, excusing herself every time we’d argue. The fights always upset her.

“I said I was sorry.” I had come home for dinner late. Which means, I was in trouble. I was out for the day exploring the woods, which I was not supposed to do, as a ‘lady’, and may have brought a girl out there to make out with, and we may have done other things. Those things I was especially not supposed to do considering my existence as a ‘lady’.

I told them time and time again that I was not a lady, woman, or girl, or that I did like women and men and that they or I couldn’t help either fact of my existence, but they never listened.

“It’s absolutely foolish! You can’t just go wherever you please. We have to have some semblance of order in this house.” He said. I was pretty sure I absolutely could. Goldcrest had no laws against taking a girl to the woods to make out with, maybe not to do other things with, but no one but us needed to know about that part. We went into the woods on purpose. No one could hear us out there anyway. Until a busybody saw us go out there and told both of our parents. As if we weren’t both old enough to make our own choices. But, as my wonderful parents would say, my house, my rules.

“Can’t I?” I asked. I added fuel to the fire. I was particularly fed up with them both today.

“Absolutely not Azarra. It’s unbecoming of anyone, especially a lady to refuse to follow the simple rules we lay out. Your sister can follow them just fine!” Mother said. She was exasperated. Neither of them knew how to deal with me. They hadn’t wanted to raise a boy, they weren’t raising one anyway, but they weren’t expecting to raise me, either. They really wanted a child like Rue. A quiet decoration to show the neighbors. I felt awful for her.

“Hardly a lady, mother. You know that. And don’t you dare bring up Rue!” I said. My temper rose. “You know this isn’t about her.” I growled. My younger sister was their favorite and I knew it, it wasn’t fair of them to drag her into this fight or compare me to her.

“Your mother is right. You can’t keep staying out so late. And that forest is dangerous. You don’t know what could be out there.” He said. “And besides, your sister is perfectly happy without wandering outside at all hours. Especially with a girl. The barkeep’s daughter no less. You know better.” He continued. I did know better, that much he was right about, I just chose to continue doing what little things brought me any joy in the miserable city of Goldcrest.

“Not you too.” They can’t gang up on me, especially not using Rue as ammunition. “You can’t compare me to Rue like that, it’s unfair.” I said. Any other night I’d lay down and take it. Tonight was different somehow. Tonight I felt bold. “Not like I kidnapped Kit anyways, she went willingly with me. Apparently she had nothing better to do than be with me.” I shrugged, they both sighed. Rue was still hiding. She always excused herself when she saw a fight coming on. She was too good at noticing when we were about to argue.

“It’s not our fault she’s a far better daughter than you are.” Mother spat.

“I’m not your daughter and you know it. Rue understands that at least!” That was the last straw. I told them at least a hundred times that I wasn’t a girl and they still wouldn’t understand that I was nonbinary and wouldn’t be their daughter. They never got it into their heads. At least Rue could mold herself to their expectations.

“Just- just go to your room. We will discuss this more in the morning.” Mother sighed. “I just wish I knew what to do with you.”

I chose to ignore her final remark. “Already going.” I said. I had a plan already to avoid the discussion she wanted to have tomorrow. I was already tired of them trying to run my life for me, and I had better plans for myself. I bit back the retort I had while her last few words hung in my mind.

I walked into the room Rue and I shared. I rifled through my drawers. I tried to not act out loudly and show the argument had gotten to me. They don’t deserve my attention, not with how they decided to treat me. I had been biding my time for a day like this. I had a plan laid out. I’d find the local militia of a nearby town, stowing away onto a ship if I had to. I had some sword fighting skills, and if they don’t know that I look like a girl, they’ll let me fight. After that I wasn’t sure, but eventually I’d get it all sorted out.

After a while, I heard our parents go into their bedroom after washing the dishes. Then I heard the bedroom door creak open.

“Azzy? Is everything alright?” Rue gingerly opened the door. She looked tiny standing there. Her hair was neatly braided back out of her face. If everyone told me I looked like our mother, she was the spitting image of our father. Long dark hair, similar to mine, but her eyes were lighter than mine, and significantly more expressive. Right now I could tell she was nervous after the fight. But, she was their favorite of the two of us. She didn’t steal our fathers clothing and not give it back, even if it didn’t really fit properly. Or kiss girls in the woods. Sometimes kiss boys in the woods if I felt like it. She’d probably end up kissing boys when she got older, hopefully our parents wouldn’t give her hell for it like they did to me. I knew the boys weren’t their problem with me, but they had high standards for Rue.

“Everything’s fine. No one got hurt. You heard the fight?” I asked. Of course I knew she had heard. We were shouting loud enough the neighbors could probably hear us. I hoped I hadn’t caused Kit or her parents much grief by keeping her out late too.

“Worst one in a while, huh?” I nodded. Probably the pettiest fight there’s been in a while. Worst one we had was when I came out to them when they’d pissed me off. That was a fight. That was the first one that made Rue cry. I told her beforehand years before I told them. I was fed up that day, like tonight. Tonight, I was ending it for good and removing myself from the situation.

“Not like them shouting will make me stop going into the woods. I’ve wandered out there for years.” I go out there to blow off steam. Typically that means slashing away at stumps with old swords I found out there, finding new places to stash things, and occasionally woodcarving with knives I stole from the kitchen. Sometimes it means taking someone I was dating out for some privacy. Goldcrest spreads gossip quickly. Only takes a couple of the loneliest older women here to notice one thing, then it’s all over town. Nothing like your parents finding out who you’re dating from the neighbors hearing that someone’s been seeing you out with their kids.

Now, those were the big fights. Like tonight. I could admit that tonight I was at my limit and lost my temper worse than usual, not like they didn’t help in the matter. I’d been planning to leave for months, I was grown up enough to survive on my own, I figured, if someone would take me in somewhere or I could find steady enough work. Anywhere would be better than Goldcrest.

“You are stubborn.” She said. Smiling a little. “So, how are you going to fix this one?” She asked. Usually I ‘fixed’ it by ignoring them just slightly less so they’d think I was improving and they’d lay off until I got bold again, then the cycle continued from there.

We’d only escalated to physical fighting once. Even then I just got a split lip from when our father slapped me across the face. The wound wasn’t his fault but it was barely healed over from when I fell the day before. Since then, he never raised a hand against me. He probably felt guilty injuring me like he did, even accidentally. Rue cried all night after patching me back up. I hated worrying her. She was too young to worry so much about me and our parents. Even with her help, it scarred and was still there now, although it had healed better than I expected it would.

“You won’t like it.” I said. I had planned to leave after an argument like that. “I plan to remove myself from the issue entirely.” I shut the drawer. I was haphazardly putting things into my backpack. Then, I had an idea. I went quietly downstairs and took the scissors from the drawer they rested in when no one was getting a haircut. I went back into our room.

“Azzy?” She looked at me quizzically. “That doesn’t sound good.” I felt guilty with her staring at me.

“Can’t we discuss it later? Anyways, I always knew I needed to do something and I want you to do the honors.” I handed my sister the scissors our mother used on our hair occasionally. “Get it as short as you can muster.” I certainly needed some catharsis after the shit our parents pulled all these years. Now was as good a time as any.

“You know they’ll be furious, Azzy, I can’t do that.” She looked worried for me. “Won’t that just make it all worse?”

“They’ll never need to know. Just do it, Rue. I trust you.” I said, pressing the scissors into her hand. She nodded, understanding some of what I meant. I didn’t want to say outright I was leaving her. I knew I couldn’t take her with me. I’d get her hurt- or worse- taking her with me tonight, wherever I was going.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, and she knelt behind me.

“You can’t screw it up, I promise. I just want you to cut it all off the first time.” I said. I felt her taking my hair gingerly off from my shoulders, coming it back with her fingers, and finally, cutting the first chunk off. I smiled. I knew she was focusing on trying to cut my hair so I didn’t touch it to gauge length.

“I think I understand what you’re planning, Azarra.” She said. I knew then that she fully understood I was leaving. She only called me my full name if she was upset with me.

“Can’t we talk about that later?” I asked.

“Not if you’re going to leave me.” She said. Her voice was tight.

“After you finish cutting it all off we can talk about it. I promise it’ll all turn out okay.” I assured her. I also was attempting to assure myself that I would be okay doing this. I had planned this for months, I was ready. But I hated leaving rue with our parents. They’d go harder on her with me gone.

“Sure, Azzy.” She said. I heard the scissors opening and closing. She was quiet and we both knew why.

I saw my hair, dark and long, littering the floor of our bedroom. I had waited for this to happen for years. It was the first step on a long road to feeling like myself for once.

“I’m glad you’re doing this and not me.” I said. I tried to lighten the mood. I didn’t think it would work, but I tried regardless.

“Sure you are.” She almost laughed. “Do you want to see how much I’ve cut off?” I nodded, and touched the back of my neck. I already felt like a weight had been lifted.

“I feel a lot better already, Rue.”

“Glad someone’s happy.”

“I have a plan. I promise.”

“Do you want to do the front? I think this is a good length for the back and sides.” She said. I took the scissors from her and found the closest mirror. I slowly cut my hair into almost bangs that matched the choppy, chin length hair Rue cut for me.

“Thanks, Rue.”

“You already look happier.” She said, smiling. I felt like a little kid next to her sometimes. Her smile quickly faded as she remembered why she cut my hair. “What’s your plan?” She asked.

I sighed deeply. “For the militia, and across the water if I can. As far as I can get from this place. Don’t think this isn’t hard for me, Rue. It is. If I had a better plan, I wouldn’t leave you here with them. Remember that.” I said. “And they shouldn’t take it out on you, and if they do, give em hell for me, okay?”

“I know Azzy. And I will.” She mustered a smile. “You got everything?”

“I think so. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She said.

“No promises.” I shook my head before giving her a hug. I heard her sniffle into my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t bear looking at her crying like that. Especially not knowing she was crying because of me.

Eventually we both let go and I turned away. Then I walked out of our room, put the scissors back in their drawer, walked through the rest of our house, and left out the front door. I didn’t leave a note, Rue could clue them in if they didn’t get the message after the fight. They didn’t deserve a note anyways. Rue didn’t deserve to have to lose me. They were fucking terrible to me, and I hope Rue wouldn’t put up with that when I was gone.

I was finally outside and I looked up. The sky looked huge from the ground and it was dark and clear enough to see all the stars and the moon. I stood there for a moment, looking up at it all and taking a deep breath, feeling like I could finally really breathe for the first time.

————-

Azarra sat alone in the woods with her companion, Vil, at her side. A lot had changed since that night. She wondered if Rue was doing okay, she thought about that a lot, then she touched the back of her neck, feeling the short hair she maintained since she left Goldcrest.

She thought about how much she’s changed, the walls she built up after running away, the scars on her face and body from mistakes she made years ago. The body she built for herself with the help of a particularly willing wizard. They didn’t ask questions. She didn’t give anything away.

She thought about the wolf she befriended so long ago, Vil, she called him, and how much he’d grown since then, she’d grown too but not nearly as much as he had, and that he’d been with her since she left the militia before they kicked her out. He was asleep by her feet as she sat with her legs up by the fire.She thought about her sister, too. Rue was the only person Azarra had missed from her old home in Goldcrest.

But Goldcrest wasn’t home now, and she couldn’t go back, she didn’t want to anyway. The only things she had left from there now were the bitter memories of what happened that night and thoughts about the wellbeing of her sister. She hoped she had left them too, Goldcrest wasn’t good enough for Rue. Azarra wasn’t sure even she was good enough for her sister. She kept staring into the flames. Her mind ran in circles while the flames died down. It had been at least 3 years since she left. Rue would nearly be Azarra’s age when she left their home by now. Tears welled up in her throat at that thought. She swallowed it down. It wouldn’t do her any good to reminisce on the past any further than she had right now. She scratched the back of Vil’s neck. He was still asleep.

Eventually she laid down and looked up at the sky. The same stars and moon she saw that night were shining tonight. It was a cloudless night again, and she wondered still if her sister was seeing them this time, and thinking about her, as foolish as it felt to think about. She forced those thoughts down, she had other concerns, like her next job. She was a mercenary now, and mercenaries don’t have concerns like their old families, just their next destination, if they had any destination planned. She’d probably never see Rue again anyway, unless she went back to Goldcrest, and that wasn’t likely to happen.

Slowly she became tired and her eyes slid shut as she was laying on the ground, and finally, she slipped into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

[sleepymarmot]

There were a couple of posts discussing how JGY could have genuinely thought killing NMJ would be only doing a favor for NHS -- but re-reading the flashback in the book, I find myself feeling the same way! Mental illness is no excuse for being abusive towards your family -- and NMJ is, both in words and in action! Let me quote at length:

One day, the moment he returned to the main hall of the Unclean Realm, he saw about a dozen folding fans, all lined in gold, flattened out one next to the other in front of Nie HuaiSang, who was touching them tenderly, mumbling as he compared the inscriptions written on each one. Immediately, veins protruded from Nie MingJue’s forehead, “Nie HuaiSang!”

Nie HuaiSang fell at once.

He really did fall to his knees from the terror. He only staggered up after he finished kneeling, “B-b-b-brother.”

Nie MingJue, “Where is your saber?”

Nie HuaiSang cowered, “In… in my room. No, in the school grounds. No, let me… think…”

Wei WuXian could feel that Nie MingJue almost wanted to hack him dead right there, “You bring a dozen fans with you wherever you go, yet you don’t even know where your own saber is?!”

Nie HuaiSang hurried, “I’ll go find it right now!”

Nie MingJue, “There’s no need! Even if you find it you won’t get anything out of it. Go burn all of these!”

All of the color drained out of Nie HuaiSang’s face. He rushed to pull all of the fans into his arms, pleading, “No, Brother! All of these were given to me!”

Nie MingJue slammed his palm onto a table, causing it to crack, “Who did? Tell them to scurry out here right now!”

Someone spoke, “I did.”

Jin GuangYao walked in from outside the hall. Nie HuaiSang looked as though he saw a knight in shining armor, beaming, “Brother, you’re here!”

In reality, it wasn’t that Jin GuangYao could calm Nie MingJue’s anger, but that since Jin GuangYao came, all of Nie MingJue’s anger would be directed at him alone, having no time to scold others. Thus, there was nothing wrong with saying that he was Nie HuaiSang’s knight in shining armor. Nie HuaiSang was absolutely delighted. He greeted Jin GuangYao again and again as he grabbed the fans in haste. Seeing how his younger brother reacted, Nie MingJue was so outraged that he almost found it amusing. He turned to Jin GuangYao, “Don’t send him those useless things!”

In a hurry, Nie HuaiSang dropped a few fans on the ground. Jin GuangYao picked them up for him and put them into his arms, “HuaiSang’s hobbies are quite elegant. He’s dedicated to art and calligraphy, and has no propensity for mischief. How can you say that they’re useless?”

Nie HuaiSang nodded as fast as he could, “Yes, Brother is right!”

Nie MingJue, “But sect leaders have no need for such things.”

Nie HuaiSang, “I’m not going to be a sect leader, though. You can be it, Brother. I’m not doing it!”

As his brother’s glance swept over, he shut his mouth at once. Nie MingJue turned to Jin GuangYao, “What did you come here for?”

Jin GuangYao, “Our second brother said that he gave you a guqin.”

The guqin was given when Lan XiChen was here to play Sound of Lucidity for Nie MingJue, in order to help him calm his temper. Jin GuangYao continued, “Brother, in the past few days, the GusuLan Sect is at a critical point in its reestablishment of the Cloud Recesses and you refuse to let him come, which was why he taught me Sound of Lucidity. I assume that even though I’m not as skilled as our second brother, I’d still be able to help calm you to a certain extent, Brother.”

Nie MingJue, “Just take care your own things.”

Nie HuaiSang, however, was rather interested, “Brother, what song? Can I listen? Let me tell you, the limited edition that you gave me last time…”

Nie MingJue shouted, “Go back to your room!”

Nie HuaiSang fled at once, not to his room, however, but to the living room for the presents that Jin GuangYao had brought him. With a few interruptions, Nie MingJue’s fury had mostly died. He turned around to look at Jin GuangYao, whose face seemed quite tired, robes of Sparks Amidst Snow covered in dust. He probably came here directly from Carp Tower. After a pause, Nie MingJue spoke, “Sit.”

Jin GuangYao nodded lightly and sat as he had been told, “Brother, if you’re concerned for HuaiSang, softer words would do no harm. Why this?”

Nie MingJue, “Even when a blade’s at his neck he’s still like this. Looks like he’ll always be a good-for-nothing.”

Jin GuangYao, “It isn’t that HuaiSang is a good-for-nothing, but that his heart lies somewhere else.”

Nie MingJue, “Well you’ve really discerned where his heart lies, haven’t you?”

Jin GuangYao smiled, “Of course. Isn’t that what I’m the best at? The only person whom I can’t discern is you, Brother.”

He knew of people’s likes and dislikes so that he could find suitable solutions; he loved running errands and could do twice the work with half the effort. Thus, Jin GuangYao could be said to be quite a talent at analyzing others’ interests. Nie MingJue was the only person whom Jin GuangYao couldn’t probe out any useful information about. Wei WuXian saw this already, back then when Meng Yao was working under Nie MingJue. Women, liquor, riches—he touched none; art, calligraphy, antiques—a pile of ink and mud; the finest green tea leaves and dregs from a roadside booth—there was no difference. Meng Yao tried everything he could think of yet still couldn’t find if he was interested in anything beside training his saberwork and killing Wen-dogs. He really was a wall made of iron, impenetrable by even the sharpest blades. Hearing that his tone was one of self-mock, Nie MingJue wasn’t as disgusted as he would’ve been, “Don’t help him build such a conduct.”

(Chapter 49)

To sum up: NHS, an adult man by then, is absolutely terrified of NMJ. NMJ yells at him, frightens him by hitting furniture, threatens to destroy his belongings, disparages him both to his face and behind his back, and is tempted to use physical violence against him. NMJ’s personal interests align with his duties, and so he pushes them on NHS, while hypocritically refusing to respect NHS’s own interests.

Next scene. Note that by this time, JGY has started to play Clarity for NMJ, and according to WWX, it was working as intended, calming him. This scene follows the confrontation where NMJ kicks JGY down the stairs and insults him, sealing his fate.

Remember the scene in Fatal Journey where NMJ breaks NHS’s brush? Well, they toned it down in adaptation. A lot.

Nie MingJue was on the school ground, teaching and supervising Nie HuaiSang’s saberwork in person. He didn’t acknowledge Jin GuangYao, so he stood at the edge of the field, waiting with respect. Since Nie HuaiSang was quite uninterested and the sun was bright, he was rather half-hearted, complaining that he was tired after just a few moves. He beamed as he got ready to go to Jin GuangYao and see what presents he brought this time. In the past, Nie MingJue would only frown at such things, but today he was angered, “Nie HuaiSang, do you want this strike to land on your head?! Get back here!”

If only Nie HuaiSang were like Wei WuXian and could feel how great Nie MingJue’s rage was, he wouldn’t grin in such a bold way. He protested, “Brother, the time is up. It’s time to rest!”

Nie MingJue, “You rested just thirty minutes ago. Keep on going, until you learn it.”

Nie HuaiSang was still giddy, “I won’t be able to learn it anyways. I’m done for the day!”

He often said this, but today Nie MingJue’s reaction was entirely different from his past reaction. He shouted, “A pig would’ve learnt this by now, so why haven’t you?!”

Never expecting Nie MingJue to burst out so suddenly, Nie HuaiSang’s face was blank with shock as he shrunk toward Jin GuangYao. Seeing the two together, Nie MingJue was even more provoked, “It’s been one year already and you still haven’t learnt this one set of saber techniques. You stand on the field for just thirty minutes and you’re complaining that you’re tired. You don’t have to excel, but you can’t even protect yourself! How did the QingheNie Sect produce such a good-for-nothing! The both of you should be tied up and beaten once every day. Carry out all those things in his room!”

The last sentence was spoken to the disciples standing by the side of the field. Seeing that they had gone, Nie HuaiSang felt as though he was on pins and needles. A moment later, the row of disciples really did bring out all the fans, paintings, porcelain from his room. Nie MingJue had always threatened to burn his room, but he had never actually burned them. This time, though, he was serious. Nie HuaiSang panicked. He threw himself over, “Brother! You can’t burn them!”

Noticing that the situation wasn’t good, Jin GuangYao also spoke, “Brother, don’t act on impulse.”

Yet, Nie MingJue’s saber had already striked. All of the delicate objects piled at the center of the field erupted in roaring flames. Nie HuaiSang wailed and plunged into the fire to save them. Jin GuangYao hurried to pull him back, “HuaiSang, be careful!”

With a sweep of Nie MingJue’s hand, the two blanc de chine antiques shattered into pieces in his palms. The scrolls and paintings had already turned into dust in a split second. Nie HuaiSang could only watch blankly as the much loved items that he had gathered throughout the years vanish into ashes. Jin GuangYao grabbed his hands to examine them, “Are they burnt?”

He turned to a few disciples, “Please prepare some medicine first.”

The disciples answered and left. Nie HuaiSang stood at the same place, his entire body trembling as he looked over at Nie MingJue, pupil encircled by veins. Seeing that his expression wasn’t right, Jin GuangYao put his arm around his shoulders and whispered, “HuaiSang, how are you feeling? Stop watching. Go back to your room and have some rest.”

Nie HuaiSang’s eyes brimmed red. He didn’t even make a sound. Jin GuangYao added, “It’s alright even if the things are gone. Next time I can find you more…”

Nie MingJue interrupted, his words like ice, “I’ll burn them each time he brings them back into this sect.”

Anger and hatred suddenly flashed across Nie HuaiSang’s face. He threw his saber onto the ground and yelled, “Then burn them!!!”

Jin GuangYao quickly stopped him, “HuaiSang! Your brother is still angry. Don’t…”

Nie HuaiSang roared at Nie MingJue, “Saber, saber, saber! Who the fuck wants to practice the damn thing?! So what if I want to be a good-for-nothing?! Whoever that wants to can be the sect leader! I can’t learn it means I can’t learn it and I don’t like it means I don’t like it! What’s the use of forcing me?!”

(Chapter 49)

He kicked his saber off to the side and ran out of the field. Jin GuangYao shouted from behind him, “HuaiSang! HuaiSang!”

Just as he was about to chase over, Nie MingJue ordered in a cold voice, “Stop!”

Jin GuangYao stopped in his tracks and turned around. Holding in his anger, Nie MingJue glared at him, “You still dare come?”

Jin GuangYao answered in a low voice, “I came to acknowledge my mistake.”

Wei WuXian, What a face—it’s even thicker than mine.

Nie MingJue, “Have you ever acknowledged your mistakes?”

Just as Jin GuangYao was about to speak, the disciples who had gone to bring medicine came back, “Sect Leader, LianFang-Zun, Young Master has locked the door and won’t let anyone inside.”

Nie MingJue, “Let me see how long he can lock himself up for. How dare he defy me?!”

Jin GuangYao spoke to the disciple with a kind countenance, “Thank you. Give me the medicine. I’ll take it to him afterwards.”

He took the bottle of medicine. After everyone had left, Nie MingJue turned to him, “Just what are you here for?”

Jin GuangYao, “Brother, have you forgotten? Today is when I play the guqin for you.”

Nie MingJue gave him a straightforward answer, “There’s no room for discussion as to Xue Yang’s matter. You don’t need to flatter me. It’s not working at all.”

Jin GuangYao, “First, I’m not flattering you. Second, if it’s not working, Brother, then why would you care if I’m flattering you or not?”

Nie MingJue was silent.

Jin GuangYao, “Brother, these days you’ve been stricter and stricter towards HuaiSang. Is it the saber spirit…?”

After a pause, he continued, “Does HuaiSang still not know about the saber spirit?”

Nie MingJue, “Why would I tell him so soon?”

Jin GuangYao sighed, “HuaiSang is used to being spoiled, but he can’t be Qinghe’s idle Second Young Master for his whole life. One day he’ll realize that you’re doing this for him, Brother, just like how I realized that you’re doing this for me.”

(Chapter 50)

You know what? After seeing this scene, I’d be inclined to do something drastic to NMJ, even without extenuating circumstances such as “he threatens my life and political standing”, “he kicked me down the stairs”, or “he called me a slur”. If NMJ couldn’t control himself even under the effects of the real Song of Clarity, maybe it’s a good thing JGY killed him before he could completely black out and raise his saber against NHS himself instead of his treasured personal belongings.

(Edit: Upon rereading this post I feel the need to clarify that I don't condone violence against mentally ill people, or think this justifies JGY's actions. But from a consequentialist point of view, maybe the canon version of events where NMJ is murdered by the man he already mistrusts and hates is less painful than the hypothetical timeline where he strikes down his beloved brother in anger and has to live the rest of his (short -- regardless of JGY's involvement) life with it.)

[viogsquad]

jealous - david dobrik

authors note; tried to upload this just and tumblr wouldn’t let me so lets try again! feedback is appreciated so please send it in. also had to use some smut that i wrote for another fandom cause wow my mind went blank for this one. word count; 2.4k. warnings; dom!david, hint of sub!david, oral.

You knew that you should have been focused on the video that David was playing for you but your concentration was focused on something else, David completely aware of what you were thinking after being together for so long. It was something so straightforward, just the way his hands clicked on the keys as he wrote out his title, the skilled hands that edited the video with such ease after doing YouTube for so long. You were completely gone and it was all because of something so simple.

“Are you even watching the video or are you just going to keep staring at my hands?” David asked, eyes shifting to look over at you. Your heart raced at the thought of being noticed, your dirty thoughts clearer than you had expected. “Tell me what happened in the video,” David teased, knowing full well that you wouldn’t be able to give him a clear answer.

You shrugged your shoulders and looked to the side in an attempt to avoid his gaze. “Jason pretended to be Natalie - “

“That was the last vlog but nice try,” David interrupted, smirk spread across his face as he returned his attention to the laptop. “And just remember that you are still being punished, twenty-four hours to go.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at David before grabbing hold of your phone, twitter seemingly more entertaining than the silence that filled the room as David double checked for any editing mistakes that might be there unnoticed. You couldn’t focus on anything else though, just sinful thoughts about your boyfriend and how he turned you into a mess whenever the two of you were alone together.

It had been nearly a week on pure teasing, coquettish text messages sent whenever he was out filming, playful hands under the table during dinners and he was driving you crazy. You regretted flirting with Jeff jokingly for Jason’s vlogs, your punishment put into place as soon as the video had been uploaded and David had seen the clip, twitter going wild as they made up false rumours that did nothing but anger David.

Your mind went back to the last time you were together - his hands pressed against the skin of your neck, teasing you and making you think of all the times you had been against the wall in the same position, all of them full of sin and impurity. The feeling of his hard cock pressed into your thighs as he whispered filth in your ear, going over every punishment you would receive when the two of you were alone and the podcast was finished. You could remember every touch of that night, the bruises left on your skin a friendly reminder every time you sat down.

You were desperate for his fingers and to feel his cold rings pressed against your skin. Work had been taking over his life, his popularity increasing by the day and interviews with big companies coming out of nowhere. By the time he got home after a long day of filming, his first thought was getting some sleep and cuddling up with the woman that he loved so he could be fully refreshed for the next day where another day of filming would happen.

All you had thought about during a dinner with your friends were David’s fingers pounding in and out of you as he made conversation with his friends over the table, so calm and collected yet completely aware of the thoughts that you were having. Your hand was in his as you attempted to drag it to your thigh, David giving you a quick smirk before removing himself from your grip - he knew exactly what he was doing. All you had got over dinner was some teasing, his hand only returning to your thigh when you were making conversation with Corinna. People took note of your silence and the look in your eyes, glazed over and sexually frustrated which somehow you managed to get out of, the excuse that you didn’t feel good coming in handy.

David felt like a teenage all over again when he received those texts from you, mentally thanking Jason and Natalie for leaving him alone in the car while they nipped into target. You were alone in your shared bedroom, the words written out in the text almost convincing David to leave his friends stranded so he could drive back home and have you pinned to the mattress like you wanted. Photos of your dressed in his favourite lingerie came through afterwards, different poses that showed off your delicate curves mixed in with most explicit photos of your naked body that was on show for him.

Then there were the times when you would be alone in bed and you would picture how pretty David’s hands would look when they tied to the headboard, the marks that would be along his wrists from the rope and his attempt at escaping. He looked most beautiful when he was laid on the bed and begging to cum, tears in his eyes as he watched you use his thigh to get yourself off.

“I need you,” you whispered once you had come back to reality, your phone thrown to the side of your body as you faced David.

“Busy and remember - “

“I’m still being punished,” you cut off, your words mocking and face twisted into a frown. “Doesn’t change the fact that it’s been nearly a week since you fucked me.”

Your eyes widened at David’s sudden movements, his hand wrapped around your throat with no pressure as he looked you dead in the eyes, showing you that he didn’t care for the bratty behaviour that you were performing. “Don’t wind me up,” he muttered, voice low and his tone portraying how tired he was. “Suck my cock and I might just give you something in return.”

“Yeah?” You smiled, tongue flicking out to lick your lips as you leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of David’s mouth.

Nothing else needed to be said, your body sinking to the floor and in between David’s legs as you looked up at him. The laptop he was working on placed to the side of his body as he moved his body to lower his joggers and boxers. The nerves that were in your stomach was soon replaced with lust as David signalled for you to do the rest, his desire for your mouth stronger than he was willing to give on. He had missed you completely - your mouth, your touch, just everything.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, hands wrapping around your hair where he tugged gently and signalled for you to hurry up, fully aware that he would soon be bombarded with tweets about where the vlog was.

David was warm in your mouth and heavy against your tongue as you struggled to take all of his girth. His moans were sinfully sweet as he helped you move up and down his cock by the grip in your now messed up hair, curls slowly tangling together and his grip was so tight that you worried for the headache that would come with his release. You knew that you were in for an immoral night, a week without each other’s touch being poured into one session but you were soaked at the thought of it and all you could picture was being pressed into the bed sheets as you sang David’s name until the sun rose in Los Angeles.

The whimpers and whines coming from David’s pretty mouth should have caused concern that you would get caught in the act, Natalie only down the hallway and even though you weren't going to stop, you didn’t want to traumatise the poor girl even more than she already was from living with the two of you. With David’s mind and body weakening with every passing moment though, all you could think about was bringing him to the place that he desired the most so you could get your own release.

David’s dominance changed form completely as he neared his ends, too rough to keep his grip on your hair and his hands instead flattened against the white sofa as he slightly thrusted his hips upwards, your throat constricting as he forced the tip of his cock to meet your gag reflex. David gave you permission to do your own thing for a while as you struggled to recover from the fucking you had received, your breathing uneven and all over the place as you moved your hand along his cock. His words were like heaven in your ear as he praised you wholly, words boosting your confidence with every passing second.

With darkened lips and saliva dripping down your chin, you flicked your tongue out and licking along your bottom lip as you attempted to tease David. His face was emotionless though when you looked up at him, entirely unimpressed with your sudden attempt at teasing him and failed attempt at switching the rules. David would let you have your fun in the bedroom, the ropes already planted under the bed where you would continue to relieve him of his stress.

The emotionless expression that weirdly suited his face was soon replaced with pleasure though when you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, continuing a few times until he was whimpering above you all over again, desperate to feel your warm and wet mouth around his length. Cheeks were hallowed as you bobbed up and down without stopping, keen to get David to his peak so you could remember the taste of him and the way he looked down as he came down from his high for the next time, he punished you.

“Come up here and give us a kiss,” David moaned, leaning down to grab you by the shoulders when your hands continued to move up and down his length, not willing to give up. “I said get up here, you’ll get a taste later.”

Looking up at David was fake innocence, small hand still wrapped around his cock as you made him promise. His mouth was slightly open and eyes half-closed as he nodded once before gulping, pulling you up so you were stood in front of him.

He looked so beautiful as you glanced down at him, a sheet of sweat glistening on his forehead, cheeks a rosy red and chest heaving up and down as his hands wandered up your thighs and under the oversized t-shirt you had thrown on after you had been in the shower.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss your thighs. “Need you so bad.”

“Have me then.”

With one quick movement that had you gasping out loud, David had picked you up and was dragging you down so you were laid across the sofa. Your underwear was pulled down your legs and thrown onto the floor before David’s hands were gripping your thighs and pulling them apart so you were fully exposed for him. The slight pain from his fingers digging in subsided as you grabbed David by the shirt he was still wearing and finally felt his mouth on yours, his breath warm as it mingled with yours and stole all your breath away all over again. You tugged on his brown locks and pulled him closer, one hand moving up to settle on your cheek as put a week's worth of missing kisses into one.

His hands gripped your thighs once again as he dragged you back against the cosy sofa, your legs wrapping around his waist. Touches up your thigh had you mewling and begging for more, words you kept for him spoken as you begged and pleaded with David to either give you his mouth or his cock.

“Going to fuck you with my cock before anything else, girl,” he said, silencing your desperate pleads with a few simple words and turning your body into a wanting mess.

David had twisted you around so you were on your hands and knees, his hands burning your skin with every touch as he brought you into the correct position that he knew would have you screaming out and waking up the neighbours, along with poor Natalie.

David’s hips snapping against your ass had you screaming out, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned over your body and whispered filth in your ear, reminding you of what was to come once he had managed to upload the vlog. The words he spoke would be repeated in your head when you were alone with nothing but your fingers and the thought of David.

“Always take my cock so well, don’t you?” David praised, his head buried into your neck where left kisses and marks that you would struggle to cover up the next day - it would make decent vlog footage for everybody else. “My girl, yeah? Mine.”

David wrapped one hand around your throat as he dragged you up, your back pressed against his chest. His thrusts are not soft or passionate, that would be in the morning when he praised you for being such a good girl the night before, instead they were rough and full of desperation. His thrusts relentless, words broken up as whimpers slip from his mouth and the noise contrasts perfectly to the filth that spills out of him when he speaks.

The anger from your flirting with Jeff finally came out to play as David bent you back over, his fingers sure to leave bruises on your skin from where he was holding you still to stop you flying forward with every thrust of his hips. You moaned David’s name like a prayer with every thrust, your lines blurred as you looked down at the sofa and allowed pleasure to take over your body.

David’s thrusts got harsher as he brought himself and you closer to the brink, the two of you finally getting what you had been craving. Stopping for a quick moment, David pulled out and twisted your body around so you were laid on your back, your skin glistening under the living room light and your hair a mess as it spread out across the sofa

David’s head moved to your neck as he thrusts resumed, his teeth sinking into your skin whenever it felt particularly good. “I love you,” David whispered, his mouth against yours. “I love you so much.”

You breathed out heavily as you placed both of your hands-on David’s face, moving his head so he was looking at you directly. His thrusts didn’t stop but he was sure his heart did when he looked at you properly, an absolute angel in David’s eyes.

“And I love you.”

[worldcakecakecake]

On Deutschland and Italia by Lovino Valenti

Lovino writes a series of blog entries on the relationship between Germany and Italy as he deals with a move to Hamburg, his brother’s wedding, and his budding romance (which he denies) to the infuriating Gilbert Beilschmidt.

The holidays and last few months had been insanely crazy, which barely gave me any time to write or edit. I hope a chapter of this story will suffice for now.

                                                     Chapter 5

On Deutschland and Italia.

Marketplace.

 Germany and Italy have easily adapted to changes, financially and politically, as well as resulted with remarkable trade relations.

 In several products and sectors, it is important to both their economies and it aids to keep their marketplaces strong. I tend to find the products I normally use in Italy here in Germany without an issue and in Italy, Germany machinery is present in every household and praised. There are always several business partnerships growing and contact is well established to keep this exchange thriving. But they do not know each other as this would suggest.

 Sometimes the relationship between them has to be top priority, to learn, to understand, and that trade can become more plentiful and fruitful to both parties.

  The video that played was of Kiku’s latest fascination, mystic messenger. It went along to the music of One Direction’s ‘Night Changes’, the colors, transitions, movements and words conveying well a heartwarming message that had Feliciano emotional…and he wasn’t entirely sure what this was about, even after Kiku tried explaining.

 “I love it! I love the textures and the feel, and it’s just so well made, Kiku.”

 The man saw the true meaning in his eyes and smiled, taking back the phone and closing the account where he saved it. “It’s a silly edit I made one weekend, but I’m glad you like it. I hope it showed well enough my skill.”

 “Oh, Kiku! I would still choose you even if you didn’t have any of these things. I know you have a good eye for pictures.” Feliciano gazed about the studio to all the pictures hanged, perfectly placed, making rhythm of colors and movement that was lively yet professional and adequate. He had taken them through the extent of his career, with a variety of weddings, birthday parties, cosplays, even landscapes and buildings from his travels.

 “Thank you, Feliciano. It would be an honor to be the photographer for your wedding,” he showed it well with a smile and even a bow.

 “Wait, you’re taking him just like that?” Lovino, skeptical as ever.

 “Of course! Kiku is the first and only person to come to mind. There’s no one else better in Hamburg or perhaps even the world,” Feliciano exaggerated with such colors.

 Kiku blushed while Lovino huffed. He kept thinking and how it meant that Kiku wouldn’t give them a large fee, out of consideration since he was such a close friend.

 “It’s still necessary I make that test session.”

 “Of course! I’m looking forward to it! João and Pedro told me how much fun they had for theirs.” Feliciano already dreamed of what it could be for him and Ludwig.

 “I try to get what I need as well as something my customers can have fun with. It makes the doubtful ones surer of hiring me.”

 “How exactly do you test it?” Lovino wasn’t given a chance to get his question answered as it was in that very moment that Ludwig made his entrance into the studio…dragging alongside him that Gilbert booger. Lovino pretended an angry grimace…but his eyes would escape from the side to admire how his simple black shirt and jeans hugged and made his own muscles define, shining with the light that came with them. He didn’t notice he had been staring for long until his eyes were pulled to his, and so he broke it, pretending like he was just but a breeze Ludwig brought with him. Gilbert noticed it though, wondering, holding himself from looking down at him, as elegantly dressed and poised, surely just having come from his office. Luckily both have settled in whatever have transpired between them to notice the high greeting Feliciano took Ludwig in, with the usual strong embrace and kiss.

 “Are you ready to start this instant?” Kiku asked, preparing the cameras he was thinking of using.

 “Yes, please!” Feliciano jumped, the first to follow Kiku to the other room.

 The rest did not expect to find a dance studio, complete with a large mirrored wall, empty, clean to a shine and space enough for…whatever Kiku had in mind.

 “As everyone dances, moves and acts to their surroundings differently, different cameras react different ways to it. This test is to find which equipment would be the best, as to also show you how I work, to see pictures of yourselves doing different things so you can get an idea of what can come out and so I know how to work that day.” As he explained, he finished the needed settings, all standing ready. “I’ll be making you do different actions expected of a wedding celebration, from being in the church, the reception. I would say that you should pretend it to be the day, but I think that’s taking out excitement for when the actual celebration comes. Try to act your normal way or just have fun. I’ll put on some music and you have all this space to use.” He used his phone to begin a playlist of instrumental music, covers of different pop songs set to come and already Feliciano was jumping to it. That was the first picture Kiku took.

 “All right, we’ll start with sitting positions.” There was only but a single chair there, and of course, Gilbert and Lovino jumped on the chance to fight for who went first. Kiku captured as they took it both in their hands, fury in their faces over such a silly item that made them laugh. Ludwig and Feliciano settled with just using the floor, Kiku taking some adorable ones, even one of both leaning so sweetly against each other despite having no such comforts. Gilbert had ended up winning whatever contest to take position of the chair and so Kiku took some of him looking powerful, like a king. When Lovino’s turn arrived, he was surprised at the comparison he thought…looking like the queen to his king, with order, vengefulness, but beauty that would make anyone bow.

 “Now I need you to pretend like you’re getting in a car.” Kiku successfully caught as Feliciano went quickly to the chair as it was set free, the rest behind him surely ready to fight for the item. It was an incredible picture despite its simplicity. What made for it was their exceeded movements and large expressions.

 “Entrance! Give me an entrance!” And this was hilarious, as they all exaggerated different ways they could come in, none of them appropriate for a weeding, but it was fun. Feliciano slipped in like it was a musical number, Ludwig just entered with a shrug, Gilbert got glasses and began posing like he was in a modeling agency and then Lovino just stumped in with demand. Gilbert tried hard not to let his eyes glue on the stride of his legs and how his figure stood so straight and presenting.

 “Ludwig, Feliciano, I need you arm in arm.” Like a magnet they went to each other, their lock so well placed that it was surely meant. Kiku adored it, while Gilbert and Lovino rolled their eyes.

 “Gilbert! Lovino! You too!” Kiku grinned.

 “What?”

 “No way!”

 “We’re not the ones getting married!”

 “You really don’t need that!”

 “I need an idea for other couples.”

 “Isn’t with Ludwig and Feliciano enough?”

 “I need other builds.”

 They were left without any excuses. Gilbert and Lovino groaned, rolled their eyes again, but presented their arms, looking away as if to pretend they weren’t holding to each other as such. They locked, they felt, an incredible hardship to keep their blush, to keep themselves from smiling and admitting…it felt nice.

 “Got it.”

 They freed themselves quickly, turning away, far, each taking a distant corner from the other.

 “I need you to be as you were in church.” Expressions of holiness and serenity, gazing to heavens with angels and gold, perfect and beautiful. The other pictures that continued were those for only Ludwig and Feliciano, both obeying and finishing with countless of pictures that made Kiku more than sure enough.

 “This light, with this setting and filter will be perfect, I’m sure,” Kiku said as he went through the pictures with Ludwig and Feliciano, both in awe at their professional glow.

 “So, are we done?” Lovino asked, ready as Gilbert to leave.

 “Actually no, I do need to film something.”

 Lovino groaned and Gilbert just crossed his hands, preparing himself for yet another round.

 “All I’ll ask is for one though. A dance.”

 “That’s it?”

 “Well, get to it, bro,” Gilbert waved.

 “Actually,” Feliciano interrupted, “can Gilbert and Lovino do it for us?”

 They turned pale, as if they had noticed several ghost in their vicinity.

 “Why?”

 “I’m really tired,” Feliciano feigned, throwing in a limp and falling dramatically into Ludwig’s arms. “I simply can’t any longer.”

 It was obvious to all his trick, but Kiku decided to entertain the idea. “I don’t mind. Anyone dancing will be enough.” He went ahead and started preparing the video settings, as if Gilbert and Lovino would be positioned the moment he’d raise the camera. They were instead denying, shaking their heads and trying to beg in their simple movements for Feliciano to stop this. He only smiled and cuddled more on Ludwig’s arms, getting himself comfortable as if he was to watch some show. Lovino felt like pummeling him, and Gilbert for once decided that Feliciano was really not as cute as he had thought.

 “No, no, no, no, no…” they kept murmuring, but Kiku had placed a ballad to start. They thought of running, escaping, but the doors were closed, the others kept a vigilant watch and Kiku was prepared with his camera. If they just left, it would paint them as cowards they refused to be.

 They groaned together rather harmoniously, turning without daring to look, moving towards each other like dealing with a bomb, both too careful as to where to place their hands, afraid it would poison. Kiku coughed as a sign to hurry and so with that force Gilbert placed one hand gently on Lovino’s hips, Lovino with one on his shoulder, the free hand falling perfectly together like it was meant to be clicked as such. For a while they just stood there, not sure how their feet should start, how to work between their fires.

 “…go on…” Kiku pushed a little more.

 “I doubt you even now how to dance,” Lovino challenged under his breath and Gilbert’s hold became tighter, heating, one that had Lovino shivering…in delight.

 “I was raised in the Beilschmidt household. You honestly believe I wasn’t forced into learning some kind of fancy ass dance to impress people in important parties? You’re mistaken!” And to Lovino’s deep surprise, he started their movement, of grace, practice and knowledge that he could move along with well, like every next step was seen clear for them to step on. They spun, they moved like magic was shining in every bit of their movements. Feliciano swore they were flying as they moved across the room, taking every space, every corner for their elegance.

 Lovino was…taken, left wide eyed and letting himself engulf in this newly painted sky Gilbert created with their balancing steps. His smile now was enchanting, his tall figure reminding Lovino of princes and heroes that he admired in old stories. Gilbert found himself admiring Lovino’s figure, what he felt in his hand, how it moved perfectly to whatever command he asked with the music, as royally as he wanted himself to be, trying to get chances to keep him closer to himself. They kept an ever-present connection with their eyes, both admitting the colors to be beautiful, more lovely than any other, wanting to always be lost in them, forever in this sudden dance.

 “Wow…it’s coming along beautifully,” Kiku commented, silent for only Ludwig and Feliciano to hear, who smiled, happily agreeing.

 The three could have left them in that scene, could have continued to play music to just watch them, but it was late and so it had stopped, the dream falling like glass until the two figures stopped along with this breaking of a world they created around them.

 “I also want to mention that I was acclaimed as the best student in my class,” Gilbert finished with a smirk and Lovino was still too wondered to really speak, to even react or break apart from the hold Gilbert still kept him in.

 What got him to push, was the sudden claps and excited jumps from Feliciano. “That was beautiful!”

 “I have to agree,” Ludwig smiled.

 “This has to be one of the loveliest things I have ever recorded,” Kiku said with utter calm as he went through it.

 “Well…” Lovino was hesitant to leave, slightly dazed, nervous, unsure, but he just had to move away, practically running to join his brother’s side, keeping his entire figure away from the albino. “I’m glad you taped it, because I am definitely not doing that again!” There was hurt in both of them, Gilbert for once faltering from his prideful position.

 “I’ll upload it to my computer and send everything to Feliciano during the night.” Feliciano nodded, the three going into conversation, Gilbert and Lovino refusing to participate, oddly silent and shaken.

 Night had fallen, Ludwig and Feliciano called to leave, deciding for the night to have dinner at their sibling’s place. Ludwig headed with Gilbert, Feliciano with Lovino, the lovers of course saying goodbye with their embrace and kiss, while Gilbert and Lovino simply turned, only but a deepening gaze to spare before they left for the night.

 Ludwig and Feliciano spoke on in their respective cars about god knows what, it was ignored in their sibling’s ears, eyes and minds far, locked still in what was a dance they secretly wanted to decorate again.

  “Feliciano, you don’t have to ask. It was decided the moment you announced it,” Augusto assured his grandson.

 “It’s still nice to be sure. I’m so happy! Ludwig and I know that you will only provide the best.” Feliciano grabbed his grandfather’s hand over the counter, the other happily taking their warmth and youth.

 “We do need to work on what kind of menu you want.”

 “Oh yes! I already have some ideas! Like, courgetti carbonara, Sicilian onion salad, oven baked chicken with tomato sauce, almond biscotti, tiramisu with amaretto-” and he went on and on, Augusto taking it all in list, with his own suggestions that would surely make this a banquet of emperors. It was the kind of thing that Lovino would have happily joined to, instead he remained silent, gazing away into the night, lost, words and surroundings disappearing him.

 “-I don’t know. Lovino, do you think we should add a caprese salad?” Augusto asked, noticing, Lovino still in his own thoughts to have heard his grandfather. “Lovino…Lovino…” nothing, it only meant that he would have to go harder. He raised the notebook he was writing on high, until it landed harshly on the counter, a shooting sound that shook and startled Lovino out of his dream.

 “What the hell!” He shouted.

 “Glad you can join us. Now, what has gotten into you? You haven’t spoken a word since you arrived and you are clearly not listening to anything Feliciano and I are talking about,” Augusto smirked and leaned close.

 Feliciano had to cover his large smile with his mouth, but his body still showed it, enough for Augusto to suspect.

 “What happened?” He leaned even closer.

 “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

 “Oh, something definitely happened.” Feliciano dared nod, but still refused to open his mouth.

 “So…tell me, what has gotten you all worked up,” Augusto expected to hear it, ready and the teasing now shown in his eyes.

 “I don’t have to tell you anything, nonno.”

 “But I’m so curious!”

 Feliciano now had to keep one hand gripping the counter, the other tighter on his mouth, the situation becoming more difficult to keep quiet.

 “It’s not important. It’s stupid, I’ll forget about it in the morning and Gilbert and I will continue to hate each other,” Lovino formulated.

 “Gilbert…? What happened with Gilbert?” Augusto hadn’t expected his mentioning.

 Lovino realized his mistake and by now Feliciano was wheezing.

 “Please, please, please, please, please, let me tell him!” Feliciano begged.

 “No! Get over it! It wasn’t a big deal!” Lovino stood insisting, ready to defend his denial.

 “If it’s getting you like this, it is definitely a big deal,” Augusto knew.

 “You are both exaggerating…we were talking about music for the wedding, right?” He tried to turn the conversation, but it only made the other two laugh.

 “Feliciano, just tell me.”

 His younger brother had spoken too quick for Lovino to stop on time. “You should have seen it, nonno. Gilbert and Lovino, dancing together like it was a fairy tale ball. It was so romantic and beautiful. I just have to send you the video!” Feliciano dazed like it had happened to him.

 “Dance…with Gilbert?” It was incredibly unbelievable.

 “He forced me into it,” he excused.

 “It was for the good of wedding planning!” Feliciano defended.

 “Is that why you’re like this?”

 “No! I was just…disgusted by it all.”

 Augusto and Feliciano smirked at each other with a silent understanding.

 “It’s just that! Disgust!” He tried to interrupt whatever they were thinking.

 “It didn’t look like it.”

 “It didn’t even look like you were in the studio!”

 “It’s absolutely nothing! Let it die! Let’s just…fucking do whatever it is were doing right now.” He infuriated in the expected, taking the list Augusto had forcibly, reading it over and understanding finally what it was they were doing. “Add some damn fish!” And he wrote on, angry, Augusto and Feliciano thinking he would break the page in the harsh pace he wrote on.

 They shrugged, sharing a teasing smirk here and there, making sure Lovino didn’t see as they finished.

 Whatever was to happen will charge its own course and show Lovino clear what he’s slowly starting to feel.

  “We are the same build. I’m sure it would look divine.”

 “Opa, that suit was last worn during the sixties.”

 “It’s in perfect condition still!”

 “It’s too old fashioned. I want something new.” He pushed yet another suit jacket away, not agreeing with the grey color.

 “But you haven’t liked any of these!” They had already gone through one side of the suits this tailor offered.

 “I don’t think giving me your own will solve the problem.” He headed to the other side, hoping he would be luckier. Both easily passed by Gilbert, sitting on a couch right in the shop’s very center, distant, bored and…still…which for Gilbert was exceptionally odd.

 “Hmm…I believe a classic black would be perfect.” Ludwig took one that had just the perfect color, unsure still with the cut though.

 “It’s overused,” Aldrich commented.

 “I like it,” Ludwig punctuated with a glare, one Aldrich knew there was nothing he could do about. He still huffed and crossed his arms in disagreement.

 “Gilbert, what do you think?” That’s when their eyes landed on him again, far off, not just because of actual distance, but they knew his eyes weren’t truly on the rack of belts, that his mind was not on any of the surrounding fabrics. Did he even know where he was?

 “Gilbert?” Ludwig tried calling again, but Gilbert still remained in whatever world he caught himself in.

 Ludwig sighed and decided to take sitting next to him. “Gilbert…-”

 “Agh! What! I’m listening! You don’t have to shout!”

 “I’m not…shouting.”

 “…Oh.” He went back to kneeling his figure on the hold of his hand under his chin. Ludwig hoped he was thinking about how weirdly he was reacting, but after the silence continued, he knew he had to address it again.

 “Are you…all right?” He threaded carefully.

 “I’m fine,” Gilbert shrugged, with such misery that only made it more obvious that something was wrong.

 “You know we can…talk. I’m here for you and will be willing to listen.”

 “But I’m all right.”

 “No…you’re not.”

 “Something is very obviously troubling you,” Aldrich saw.

 “Well, you guys are mistaken. I’m completely fine. There’s nothing, just go back to…choosing your stupid suit, I don’t care.”

 Both grandfather and grandson sighed, remaining still in their near to him, gazing and waiting for the moment that Gilbert might succumb. It didn’t take long, Gilbert wasn’t really that good at keeping things locked for long when it came to his close family.

 “It was just a dance! A damn dance!” He suddenly stood, beginning a pace in the spot.

 “What dance?”

 “Are you talking about the one you had with Lovino?”

 “What?” Aldrich was perplexed that such a thing could happen.

 “It was just for a video test, Opa. It just came out great… really great.” Ludwig admitted.

 “It was great!” Gilbert shouted, still finding it hard to believe his own words. “Opa, you forced me on those waltz practices, and I learned to hate it. Nobody was worthy of matching with me, nobody made me really enjoy it or make me proud that I knew something so useless. But with Lovino…” and he was lost in a dream again, lost and gone, and Ludwig had to snap to get him back to the conversation. “I felt all that…sappy shit you used to say when you talked about how you did it with Oma.” Aldrich widened his eyes in impression, knowing well the implications. “I mean, I don’t know if he ever truly learned or he just knows because he’s…Italian or something, but god, he knew where to place his feet, how to move his body with me, he knew what I planned to do or what to do next without saying a word…and then there was this…look in his eyes and god had I never seen more beautiful hazel eyes and his face…his face…it was gorgeous!” He shouted without a worry into the room, leaving the other blondes perplexed and startled in their place.

 “This is…are you…are you sure this is Lovino were still talking about?” Aldrich questioned, all his words not something he could expect one day to be real. Ludwig couldn’t even find words, impressed greatly.

 “Exactly! I am still talking about Lovino! Lovino! I had a beautiful moment that can only come out from crappy romance novels…and with Lovino!” His pace became harsher, his tone angry, insulted at such a chance.

 “Well…this is quite wonderful,” the old German admitted, “you are getting along and finally did something great together.”

 “No! It’s not!”

 “I don’t really see what could be wrong, Gilbert. You had a nice dance with Lovino and you really enjoyed it.”

 “He’s my enemy!” He called out as if it was a devotion to kill.

 “You are not an old mercenary, Gilbert. You are both just young men discovering new feelings,” Aldrich scolded, trying to explain.

 “I don’t want these new feelings! I just want to hate him!” Both the others groaned.

 “Then you’ll just continue to be really immature about it.”

 “If it’s any consolation, perhaps this will be the only time something like that will happen. I pretty much doubt Lovino wants a dance again and will continue to hate you as much as you wish.” There was hurt in Gilbert’s expression this time, but Ludwig just said what he surely wanted to hear with his last remarks. “Everything will soon go back to normal, but as I have been asking from you the last few days, try to get along at least for the wedding planning.” Ludwig stood, thinking he was finished. “So, now, are you going to help me with choosing a suit? Or are you going to keep wallowing?” Ludwig hoped he could determine him enough.

 Gilbert at least smiled, took a sigh, settled his shoulder, looking high and trying to keep whatever shine of dreams and Lovino out of his head. “All right. Now let me just say…if you’re going to choose black, then Lud, we have to try and find the deepest black we can get. It’ll make you look like a sexy beast, I’m sure. Feliciano would be ripping it off your body by the end of the night,” he declared, now setting to find such a color in the racks.

< previous chapter                                                                                                  next chapter >

[kaffeinic]

Dropping | Bang Chan

1 | 2

Pairing: Reader x Skater!Bang Chan

Genre: Neutral // Fluff // Romance

Warnings: None

Preamble: Christopher Bang, better known as Chan by his friends, was the walking definition of a skater boy. With a charming smile, adventurous personality, and unapologetically flirty attitude, you were determined to keep your distance from him.

“So, what do we want?” Matt asked. Your party took a moment to think over the options.

“We can’t just have sandwiches. We need something fun. It’s a fun day.” Meg said. You chuckled at her momentary childishness.

“We can’t just have sandwiches. We need something fun. It’s a fun day.” Meg said. You chuckled at her momentary childishness.

“I could pick up some ice cream.” Chan offered. He ran a hand through his wet hair, looking at everyone’s collective reactions. Matt and Harry nearly jumped, Meg’s mouth seemed to water at the thought, Sarah hummed in approval, and Kat couldn’t care less. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. I’ll need someone to help me bring it all.” He said.

“You and Y/n can go get the ice cream. We’ll get the stuff for the sandwiches.” Megan said, smirking at you. You didn’t want to be put in a situation where you were alone with Chan’s flirty pick-up lines and lazy grins. She definitely knew what she was doing, and earned herself a glare.

“Sounds good.” Chan said, turning in the other direction. “Come on, it’s this way.” He gestured for you to follow, and you did so begrudgingly.

“Are we getting tubs of ice cream, or the single serve thing-a-majigs?” You asked, tripping over your own words. Chan laughed at you, looking down.

“I was thinking single serve. Kat will lose it if she has to share a bowl.” He replied. You imagined the scene that would unfold, and agreed.

“True.” You said. “I don’t know where any of the shops are, so you’re going to have to lead the way.” You said. He nodded, briskly walking down the pier. There were shops dotting one side, mostly selling various food items. There was one souvenir shop, which you promised yourself you’d come back to.

“How long have you and Meg been friends?” Chan asked you, cocking his head in curiosity.

“Four years, give or take.” You said. “We met in school.”

“Ah, I see.”

The both of you walked into a large archway that led to another street lined with shops and other activities. “Have you been here before?”

“Just the beach. I seem to be directionally challenged, as my family says, so I avoid exploring.” You explained. Chan chuckled at you, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve never understood that. Why don’t you just learn where to go?” He asked. You shrugged your shoulder.

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t click for a long time.” You replied. Chan stopped you in front of what looked to be a charming ice cream shack. He huffed in annoyance when he spotted the ‘closed’ sign.

“They don’t usually close this early...” He muttered. “I guess we’ll just have to go someplace else.” He threw on his shirt and jean jacket that you didn’t notice he had brought. It had intricate designs on the back that made your mouth open in awe. The colours and skyline were beautiful.

“Where to?” You asked. He shrugged.

“Let’s explore.” He looked around, walking aimlessly until he came to large store that was a ten minute walk from where your party split.

“Famous last words.” You muttered. He looked at you and grinned.

“Don’t you ever have fun?”

“Yes, I do, for your information.” You said, crossing your arms. He laughed.

“You’re cute.” Your jaw dropped, but you weren’t surprised at all that he was a flirt.

You both walked into the building, taking a look. It was basically Costco, but not Costco. The place was absolutely humongous, lined with shelves upon shelves of items. Chan walked towards the back where a large ‘DAIRY’ sign hung, and you trailed behind. Once you made it across the store, you both began to search the ice cream section, looking for something you’d like.

“Should we just get a bunch of vanillas?” You asked.

“I’ll get vanilla for them, but I want something fun.” He put emphasis on the last word, glancing at you.

“Vanilla can be fun.” You said. “Any ice cream is fun.”

“This is true,” Chan said, “but the other flavours are even more fun. Pick something out. I’ll pay.” He told you.

“I’ll pay for my own.” You said. Chan looked at you with furrowed brows.

“I can get it. It’s not a problem.” He said.

“I don’t want to be a leech. It bothers me that our friends always ask for things and never pay anyone back. I’m sure they’ve done it to you, and I don’t want to do the same.” You explained. Chan’s gaze softened.

“Are you sure?” He asked. You nodded and hummed in response. He grinned. “Beautiful and independent.”

“You’ve done better.” You commented on his flirting skills. He feigned offense.

“Excuse me?”

You both chose your ice cream and grabbed enough vanillas for your friends, attempting to make your way to the register. The problem was trying to find the register. You both wandered around for ten minutes.

“Are we lost?” You asked.

“I think so, but it’s alright. Look at all this cool stuff.” Chan let his fingers touch a souvenir in the shape of a sea shell.

“We’re lost, and you just said that it’s alright?” You questioned.

“Loosen up and look at the bright side; It’s like a more interesting version of IKEA.” He grinned at your astonished expression.

“You are such a dork.” You said. He chuckled at your lame insult, taking the ice creams you were holding to place them in a small basket. He held onto the handles and began walking again. It was then that your phone rang. Kat’s name was displayed on the screen, and you accepted the call, placing your phone to your ear. Chan slowed to match your pace.

“Hurry up!” Was the first thing she said.

“Chill, we got lost in the store. We’ll be there soon.” You said.

“You-” She stuttered. “I- You- How?”

“I see you English well when you’re stressed.” You commented. You heard a dim chorus of giggles from the other end. You must have been on speaker phone. “We’ll see you guys soon.” You said, later saying goodbye.

“I take it that was Kat?” Chan asked, smiling. You nodded. “Oh, cookies.” He was so easily side tracked when he saw the delicious treats.

“Are you kidding? Kat’s going to kill us if we don’t get there soon.” You said.

“Ah. A five o’clock cookie is truly a thing to behold.” Chan said, picking one up. He examined it closely. “Want one?”

“Chan!” You whined. “Let’s go!”

~

Hey, guys! Thanks for reading chapter two! I hope you enjoyed this one. As always, if you did, please leave a like and reblog for your Tumblr mutuals and fellow k-poppers to read. Let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist! Have a nice day~!

~

* DISCLAIMER: I do not own any gifs/photos used in this post. I do own the written content. Do NOT repost/edit. *

~

🏷 @punk-pan-bih-yeets-thru-life • @hoshithehamster • @woo-for-woojin • @deceased-pumpkin-babe • @ethereal-chanracha • @midnatwlp • @royalhvangs

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH10

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 10: Resurrection Overture (X)

{cw: transmisogyny, heavy misgendering, sexual harassment. E/N: This chapter is entirely a long “joke” and can be skipped if you wish.}

The bathroom door opened and the fancifully dressed Illusionist smiled at him: "What did you see?"　　

"I didn't see anything!" Qi Leren shouted a sentence that innocent witnesses would shout.　　

He was telling the truth. At that time, Qi Leren’s inner panic had quickly and completely covered the picture in front of him. What's more, the Illusionist's skirt was really thick and heavy, and it was impossible to see how "she" pulled out the organ that the woman should not have from under the skirt for such a "drainage operation".　　

The illusionist cocked his head and looked at him with a smile, with a dangerous light shining in his deep black pupils.　　

Suddenly, he held out his hand and hooked it on Qi Leren's chin. Qi Leren was so stiff that he couldn't move. The Illusionist raised his chin, leaned in toward his cheek, and whispered in his ear with a husky and charming voice, "It doesn't matter if you didn't see it. I don't mind letting you take a closer look. Right here?"　　

# I was molested by a beautiful woman in the men's room and she insisted on taking off her skirt so that I could see it. Urgent, waiting online! #　　

Qi Leren still couldn't move, only able to open his mouth. Smelling the refreshing perfume of the great beauty in front of him, Qi Leren blurted out a word that hurt the scenery: "Did you wash your hands just now?"　　

The Illusionist paused, and the look of surprise on his beautiful face was somewhat funny.　　

Qi Leren was awake, but his body still couldn't move. Just now when he’d looked into the Illusionist’s eyes, his mind had been shaken and his body had been bound by an invisible power. This was obviously some ability the Illusionist had used on him. But he believed that the Illusionist had no malice. After all, "she" is a member of the Court.　　

The Illusionist took his hand away in disgust and glanced at Qi Leren: "You’re not shocked to see a beautiful woman like me and can even still think about washing hands. You really are gay."　　

Qi Leren argued: "I have never seen a beautiful woman using a urinal in the men's room, but I have seen a crossdresser dressed as a woman, thank you."　　

The Illusionist showed a charming smile that could turn any living being: "I’ll threaten you again."　　

Qi Leren, shut up for a second.　　

The Illusionist walked past him, turned on the copper faucet, washed his hands, dried them with a clean handkerchief, and walked with flowing steps towards the door.　　

Qi Leren, who was still bound as if by nothing and couldn’t move, shouted, "Hey, let me go! It's perverted for me to stand in front of the men's room like this!"　　

He didn't want to be a perverse living sculpture standing in front of the men's room as he thought about life!　　

The Illusionist stopped, touched his chin, and thought for a moment. When his eyes lit up, he turned back and lifted Qi Leren bodily, and planted him in front of the women’s room as if he was a big tree.　　

Damn, this was even more perverted!　　

After the prank, the Illusionist happily looked at him from all angles. He raised his women's cane and poked Qi Leren's pale face: "Stand guard for the ladies, this is a punishment for your unkind behavior just now. Bye-bye!"　　

With that said, the Illusionist walked away, leaving Qi Leren standing in front of the women's room like a pervert who was thinking about how to peep.　　

Qi Leren was convinced in his heart that he was in trouble with the Illusionist!　　

Soon, a young girl who was passing by walked toward the public toilet and saw Qi Leren standing at the entrance of the women's room. She obviously showed a hint of hesitation.　　

Something must be done! Otherwise, your reputation will be ruined today! Qi Leren put 200% of himself into his acting under this great pressure. He took the lead in stopping the girl: "Sorry, excuse me. Can you help me go in and see my girlfriend? She hasn't come out for fifteen minutes. We... just had a fight and I’m a little worried about her."　　

When he reached this last sentence, Qi Leren lowered his eyes and showed the loneliness and sadness of a person who was about to have his heart broken.　　

The kind-hearted girl agreed without saying anything: "Wait here."　　

With that, she walked into the women's toilet and came out after a short time. When she saw the hopeful eyes on Qi Leren’s face, she suddenly couldn't say it. After a long time, she sympathized: "There’s no one in the toilet, but the window is open..."　　

Qi Leren's eyes darkened and he lost his mind as he said, "Really, thank you."　　

"She should be gone, so you should leave," the girl kindly advised.　　

—I also want to go, Qi Leren thought on the verge of tears, but he can't move right now! Even if it was just for the sake of not being labelled as having a “perverse condition”, he had to act!　

"She’s always like this. When she gets angry, she runs away and then comes back... I’ll wait for her again, or else when she comes back and sees that I’m not here she’ll lose her temper at me again." Qi Leren showed a sad but helpless smile, perfectly playing a good man who was tolerant of his wayward girlfriend.　　

The girl couldn't help but envy the wayward girlfriend who didn't exist. It was just like a heroine to have such a gentle and handsome boyfriend yet show him such treatment.　　

The door of the women's toilet suddenly opened and the returning Illusionist raised his chin coldly. He saw Qi Leren standing outside the door and sneered: "Why haven't you left yet?"　　

Isn't it because of you?! Qi Leren spit on him in his heart, but he still had a gentle smile on his face: "Waiting for you."　　

"That’s just like you." The illusionist rolled his eyes and stepped forward to take Qi Leren's hand. "Let's go, I want to eat at that expensive western restaurant."　　

At the moment he was grabbed, Qi Leren's body recovered its ability to move. He immediately held the Illusionist in cooperation and smiled at the kind girl: "Thank you, goodbye."　　

The girl was still being shocked by the Illusionist, and she finally knew why this man would move heaven and earth for his girlfriend—because she was beautiful! But there had been no one in the bathroom just now. She was wearing the sort of clothing that made mobility difficult, yet she had climbed through such a small window rather than going through the front door. How did that work? The girl looked at the couple’s backs and fell into confusion again.　　

As soon as the "loving couple" holding hands walked out of the passerby’s sight, they quickly separated their hands. The Illusionist laughed and said, "Your acting skills are good, I even let you get away with it."　　

"I’m flattered, and your level of dressing as a woman is admirable," Qi Leren couldn't resist laughing at him.　　

"You dare? I heard that you were very coquettish and moving when cosplaying as a succubus, but that you couldn’t even tell that you were more like an inexperienced virgin when you had to act sexual. No wonder you’re interested." The Illusionist never gave up on teaching him a lesson.　　

After all, Qi Leren's skills were inferior to that of the Illusionist’s, and he became depressed and shut up after being poked in a sore spot.　　

He doesn't look pleasing to the eye to the Illusionist, and the illusionist didn't look pleasing to the eye to him, so it's better not get along.　　

"I really do have you use the toilet," Qi Leren said, and turned and walked back.　　

"I’ll wait for you at the door." The Illusionist pretended not to recognize that he meant for them to leave separately.　　

"...No need."　　

"Why not? Aren’t you going to treat me to that expensive western restaurant?" The Illusionist smiled, "You can't run away, I won't give you this chance to escape my orders."　　

Qi Leren had never seen such a brazen man, and it took him a long time to be sure that he wasn’t joking.　　

I won’t run? I'm kidding. Of course I have to run! And run skillfully! Qi Leren went into the bathroom and closed the door. After a little preparation, it went without saying that he activated the [Secretly Observing] skill card. With his five senses enhanced, he heard the Illusionist outside the men's room knocking on the ground with his cane: "There’s still 30 seconds, I’ll go in if you don't come out again, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..."　　

Thirty seconds passed quickly and the Illusionist kicked the door open, looking solemnly at the empty men's room. He didn't even have to open the cubicle doors one by one to know that Qi Leren was no longer here.　　

Had he actually run away? He clearly hadn't heard the sound of him climbing out the window. Did he use some kind of skill card to eliminate the sound? The Illusionist squinted, stood by the window, and found a fresh footprint when he looked carefully.　　

"I really look down on you." The Illusionist angrily strode out of the men's room.　　

At the door of the men's room, a man who was about to walk in suddenly saw a beautiful and formally dressed woman coming out of it and subconsciously took a step back. The Illusionist who passed by him smiled and confidently said, "You’re wrong."　　

"I'm sorry, I'm wrong!" The man hurriedly apologized, withdrew without looking, plunged into the opposite ladies' room, and started up screams and curses from the ladies' room. The frightened man fled in a hurry and was chased and scolded for being "perverted" all the way. He was absolutely wronged.　　

Without feeling guilty, the culprit pressed the exquisite European top hat onto his head and left calmly.　　

Once he’d confirmed that the Illusionist had left, Qi Leren, who was crouched under the sink in the men's toilet pretending to be a mushroom, was relieved for a long time. [Secretly Observing] was really awesome, the Illusionist hadn't realized that he’d been in the men's room the whole time. After all, Qi Leren wasn’t sure that the sound of opening the window wouldn’t alert him, so he simply left a footprint on the windowsill and hid himself in a corner that wasn’t easy to see at a glance while using his convenient skill card, holding his breath and waiting for the Illusionist to come up empty and leave.　　

As a result, he successfully escaped a forced "date".　　

Thank goodness.

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[sooibian]

Flambé (Preview)

poster and edits/collage credits to @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt !

🍜 pairing: kyungsoo x fem!reader

🍜 description: pull up a chair. take a taste. come join us. life is so endlessly delicious. - ruth reichl

🍜 themes: fluff, crack (ish), slight angst, a lil bit of spice (in the future), rivals to lovers au

🍜 word count: ~ 2.8k

🍜 a/n: a little preview of a chef kyungsoo story that i've been working on. while i have the plot fleshed out it'll honestly be a while before the long one/two-shot comes out since a lot of research goes into the details. and....i write at a snail's pace. thank you for your patience and lmk if you'd like a tag in the updates!

this story is inspired by a lot of random yt videos and netflix's shows - street food and chef's table.

tagging *deep breath* @j-pping and @changshapatrol (the real rotten banana is here!)

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Water bobbed in frenetic bubbles in a massive ancient stone pot that was perched atop a fort of raging wood. Amidst brutal peals of thunder, a gushing stream rose from a nearby hill, obscuring the shrill cries of the sacrificial crab.

Chanting a spell, you lifted the enormous crustacean by its pincers and lowered it into the growling, pitch black utensil. Blubbering helplessly, it lodged its claws at the rim of the pot in desperation - seeking escape. The sound of your maniacal laughter reverberated through the cave as you thrust it back into the violent undulation with the flick of a bladed-spatula. 

All of a sudden, a wave of unconsciousness swept over you. You felt your skin singe as boiling water started to fill up your lungs. 

You were alone - at the bottom of the very same utensil.

“Help!” frantic, you staggered up, gasping for air. But the bladed-spatula wielding crab, who was now free and hovering over you, roared at your defenseless form.

Maybe your spell didn't land, you thought. 

“Please, Chef!” you whimpered. 

In one swift motion, it swooshed down to your eye level. 

Bushy black brows sprouted on its forehead, just a little over a pair of big brown circles for eyes. Then came the nose, followed by a bloody red mouth that snarled at you.

zzzz... 

“Late again?” It drawled in a jarring tenor.

zzzz...

zzzz...

zzzz…

4:00 a.m., your phone blinked.

In a sleep befuddled state, your hand reached out for the wailing device. ‘Late again’, Chef’s cold, deep voice sounded in your consciousness as you wiped the droplets of sweat off your forehead.

Chef. 

Doh Kyungsoo had insisted on the title and you'd defiantly refused to call him that. What business does a man working at a Kalguksu stand in Gwangjang Market have, being called a chef. You'd seeked redressal with the higher ups. The owner. Your aunt.

"Aegiya, he has something that you don't."

"A dick?"

"YAH! He has a degree in culinary arts. It's only befitting that we give him the respect his degree deserves!"

"Imo, haven't you watched Parasite? Anyone can forge documents these days and if so then why is he here? He could very well get a job at Four Seasons like Hyun Jin. Think, Imo. Think!” 

“Exactly! With forged documents, he could be anywhere. But he’s here, no?”

“Maybe you’re just easier to manipulate.”

"Chef. You're calling him Chef."

Every time the egotistical madman opened that darned mouth of his, it made you want to knock him down with a roundhouse and beat the living daylights out of him. 

But, with a deep breath, you always resisted the temptation. 

Because one day, one glorious day, you’d take over your aunt’s business and the very first item on your agenda would be….well, the obvious. With a glimmer of hope, you floundered out of your comforter, muttering every cuss word you’d learnt...and crafted in the course of working with the devil himself.

.

.

.

“Ahh 3000 is a bit too much for cucumbers", he said to the middle aged vendor, flashing a boyish grin. 

The face of sourcing had drastically changed in the last six months since Kyungsoo’s arrival. Prior to his dictatorship, your aunt had a tie up with some of the local vendors who’d hand deliver the produce every single day, without fail. Guess Kyungsoo didn’t fully comprehend the benefits of customer loyalty. ‘There could be better quality ingredients out there, Sajangnim...economically priced, I might add’, he’d convinced your aunt using his military corporal voice. No matter if it meant awkward break-ups with the vegetables ahjumma or the prawns ahjussi. You had to do the dirty work.

And tag along for the routine 5 a.m sourcing runs. Every morning, he greeted you with an accusatory ‘you’ve killed my cat’ expression.

You groaned, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. If only he’d quit flirting with every woman in the market and hurry up! The purchases had long exceeded the capacity of your humble cart. Flailing your numb arms awake, you urged him to speed up with a nudge of the knee but he glared at you like you’d asked him for a kidney. 

Kyungsoo had a tendency to overbuy but never would he help with a single bag. ‘I don’t like to sweat’ was his excuse. Which was pretty ridiculous considering he spent over ten hours a day overseeing a scorching frying pan. But you knew better than to argue. Because as much as you loathed every fibre of his existence, he terrified you a little. The man possessed the duality of a psychopath. As fierce as he was in the Market, ruthlessly competitive even, he was quite the sweet talker. And you could bet your life on the fact that every woman - whether or not a rival - would take a bullet for him.

“Ahdeul-ah”, the woman cooed at him, making your insides violently contort, “you know how tight the market is these days. But I’ll throw in some more only for you.” 

The additional weight of three kilos on your right arm ended your sourcing run for the day.

***

“Chef”, huffing, you said to him on your way out, “I had a late night last night.”

“And I need to be privy to this little nugget of unwarranted information because?” He paced ahead of you at his usual lightning speed.

“No, I meant, could we stop”, panting you continued, “could we stop for a quick cup of coffee.”

Halting abruptly, he turned around to look you in the eyes, “No.”

“Asshole!”

“I heard that.”

.

.

.

Monday at Choi Yoonsun’s was busier than usual. 

It went by in a daze amidst a cacophony of a sizzling girdle, clanging of pots and pans and your aunt’s relentless vocalization inviting customers to the stall. Having served thousands of bowls of Kalguksu and Kimchi Mandu, you heavily relied on muscle memory to get you through a workday’s demands.

Despite its chaos and commotion, you quite enjoyed working in the Market. 

Not being particularly skilled at much and having nearly flunked out of high school, cooking was the one thing that defined you. It was your safe harbour. You’d lost your father in an accident at the tender age of ten and your mother was forced to work long hours to put food on the table. So you honed your culinary skills, little by little, because you thought it vital for your own well being as well as your mother’s. 

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.

At the end of yet another gratifying day, you left a wet towel soaking in vinegar for Kyungsoo to clean the iron girdle and proceeded to tend to the dirty dishes. 

“Yahh!” Imo called out for Kyungsoo and you, thumping her hand on the table, gesturing for you to join her.

“Ahh! Imo, there’s a huge pile of dirty dishes!” You cried, only to turn around to find that ass-kisser already at the table, schmoozing with your aunt. Hastily taking off your grubby apron, you washed your hands and wiped them clean with a rag cloth. Straightening your black shirt and flattening unruly flyaways, you rushed toward the table but she was already up and ready to leave, “We’ll have dinner together tonight. I want to have a chat with the both of you.”

“But -”

“Sajangnim”, Kyungsoo interrupted, wagging a finger in your direction, “this one’s had a late night last night -”

“Chef! So I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight. As if seeing you every day of every week wasn’t enough already!” 

An overtly saccharine smile spread across your face and his jaw tightened in response.

“Aish….you two...I’m leaving now”, she sighed, shaking her head, “see you both in two hours.”

.

.

.

Kimchi jjigae, pajeon, tteokbokki, jajangmyeon, some leftover bibimbap with sides galore from Hong Lim Banchan Stall. She clearly had something important to talk about. 

But the vibe at the dinner table just didn’t sit right with you. 

The reason could be the bespectacled black hole of negativity that was seated besides you in all black clothing but there was something off about Imo. 

She was being a little too...nice.

Fear gradually started to settle in your bones. Was she finally closing down? Was this delectable fare an attempt at softening the blow? After all, she’d settled her husband’s debts and her sons were doing well for themselves. Quite well, in fact. One of them was a banker and the other even went to culinary school and was working as a chef at Four Seasons’ Chinese restaurant. It only made sense for her to trade the Market’s gruelling ways for some much deserved peace and quiet.

“We’re closing down the stall”, she said coolly.

It was like a punch in the gut.

“Imo -”

“Aga”, she said resting her chin on her hand, “the Market’s given me everything. It’s given me a sense of pride...a sense of independence. It put my family back together. I used to think that I’m nothing without my husband and my sons...but the Market gave me an identity.”

A million scenarios cascading through your head drowned out your aunt’s voice. Would you now have to go back to Bucheon? Or invest in a stall of your own at the traditional Gwangjang that’d never accept your big and bold ways with cooking? And to start from scratch? With a new recipe? Kalguksu with a twist, perhaps? But you had no insight into your aunt’s special broth. She’d barely even let you whip up the hand-cut noodles.

You realized that you weren’t the only one caught in the eye of the storm. Kyungsoo’s eyes were scarily fixated on the bowl of jajangmyeon before him. His seemingly miserable state gave you a fleeting sense of relief and it was right in that moment that he chose to say something unpalatable.

“Sajangnim, you’ve worked too hard. It’s time for you to reap the fruits of your labour. We’ll be fine you don’t have to worry about us.”

Of course he’ll be fine. 

All the stall-owners in the Market have been vying for him ever since the day he set foot into Choi Yoonsun’s. Whereas, you had nowhere to go. The world conveniently assumes your aunt hired you only because you were her poor sister’s daughter who she sought to help financially. Not because you had what it took to be there and survive.

"Did I say I was ready to retire?” She laughed, eyeing Kyungsoo quizzically, leaving you dumbfounded. 

“Here’s the thing..I met up with a friend last month. She was looking for a buyer for her little family run marinated crabs restaurant in Gangnam. So I took out a loan, made her an offer”, balling her hands into fists she sighed, “put in the deposit...and the place is pretty much mine now!”

“IMO!”, you yelled, “why did you scare me like that! I thought I was laid off!”

“Well, it’s a big move, I’m not sure the two of you are ready to make...requires a tonne of work and I may not be able to pay half of what you earned at the Market for at least two months until we open! It’ll take us two years or so to break even and only then will I be able to afford you a pay raise. I could help you get a job at the banchan stall since you love seasoned spinach so much and Kyungsoo stands a chance at even managing one of the Pakgane stalls!”

Pakgane was the mung bean pancake stall that had gotten so popular that the owner had managed to branch out of Gwangjang. So even your beloved aunt believed that you’d make for a better “help” and Kyungsoo, a Manager. 

Ugh!

“I’m coming with you”, you said firmly, “I’ve saved up a little and Mom will gladly pitch in, if need be...”

At this point, you’d expected Kyungsoo to be ready with his luggage considering the little sycophant he was but his expression was stoic, eyes still glued to the jajangmyeon bowl. It filled you with insane hope. 

He was going to jump the ship...finally!

“Chef...”, you couldn’t resist, “you don’t have to worry about us...I’m more than enough for Imo. You may...”

He shot you an angry glare making you chew on your unsaid words. But you wanted to rile him just a little more. So you excused yourself to bring a bottle of ketchup and squeezed it generously atop the stack of pajeon while eyeing him maliciously. 

Ketchup. 

The tangy, unassuming condiment was the sole reason Kyungsoo despised you. As this dinner marked the end of his torturous regime, you celebrated with ketchup - lots of it - right in front of his nasty eyes.

.

.

.

Steam swirled in different directions and at every twenty metres a contrastive redolence tickled your olfactory senses. Experiencing Gwangjang as a customer was a far richer experience compared to the donkeywork involved in a life as a vendor. 

A proper send-off was essential lest Kyungsoo decided to stay, even if it burned a hole in your pocket. You planned on giving him a final tour of the Market where he (and you) could say his goodbyes while receiving a premium fuel of vitamins, minerals and carbs. 

A whole lot of carbs.

“Let’s start with Pakgane”, said Kyungsoo, with a skewered sausage in his hand.

You shook your head in response. You wanted to start with the best and mung bean pancakes weren’t it. This was going to be a farewell he’d never forget.

With every step you took, the aroma of scallops drizzled with butter and cheese grew stronger. You started your tour by ordering two portions of the delectable street food which set you back considerably. But you were too elated to care. You refused Kyungsoo’s offer to pay as the woman set the scallops on fire with a blow torch.

“Do you know what that technique’s called?” Kyungsoo gave a little nod in the direction of the aflame food.

Another teachable moment.

You’d made a firm resolve to not let any of his condescension bog you down so with a sweet smile, you replied, “No, Chef. I do not.”

“Flambé. But minus the alcohol. Do you know how they manage that?”

The ahjumma came to your rescue and you jumped to collect the order. You could’ve sworn that you caught the corner of his mouth twitch slightly.

***

The Market supposedly looked the same as it did fifty years ago and you quite enjoyed eating your way through it. The tour made your heart grapple with nostalgia even though your partner’s personality was akin to a mug of insipid coffee.

Although you’d spent only a little over a year with Choi Yoonsun, the goodbyes were long and hard. Some of the vendors squeezed you and Kyungsoo in heart wrenching hugs, the others gave you a little cash to help you through the transition and for some of the food, you paid in smiles and love.

After a gastronomic fiesta that entailed tteokbokki, pajeon (minus the ketchup - you did it Kyungsoo’s way), sashimi, kimbap, different types of banchan, a thousand more teachable moments, the both of you ended the day on a sweet note with hotteok. 

The ahjussi wished you both luck, making you choke back tears. 

Kyungsoo noticed.

“Are you…. Is the hotteok spicy? No, I mean it’s obviously not...erm”

The dam of your tears burst. 

You were going to miss this place. Even the less appealing aspects of it. You were going to miss the kimbap unnie who greeted you with a hug everyday, also the snooty mandu ahjumma who could hardly stand the sight of you. You were even going to miss washing dishes in the winters with water that was supposed to be ice and the sweltering summers which had you sweating through every layer of clothing. 

Hell, you were even going to miss Kyungsoo.

“No”, you sniffled, “No, no Chef, it’s nothing. Take care of yourself. As much as I’m glad that our fateful working relationship has met its rightful end, I truly, genuinely, wish you luck. And learn to smile more often, yeah?”

“Are you dying?” He gleamed.

“What? NO! What? You’re leaving. What is wrong with you?”

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“You! You’re not coming with us to Gangnam!”

“Says who?”

“Your stupid face that looked like it was hit by a freight train when Imo broke the news last week!”

“I’m not leaving?” He mused.

“This is no time to joke, Chef. You are leaving!”

“Says who!”

“Your stu-”

“Stupid face? I wasn’t planning on leaving at all. I’ve even found myself a place close to the restaurant. Oh yeah, sorry for having misled you. It was really just - my stupid face.”

[crystalrequiem]

The Voice that Urged Orpheus

[Part 5/9(?)] [TRC]

Summary: Kurogane feels a lot of ways about things and accidentally goes shopping Tags: Kuro/Fai, Canon Universe, Post-Canon, Warnings:  suggestive thoughts (nothing graphic), paranoia, so much fluff, Is it still slow-burn if they’re already in a relationship? because that’s basically what this is.

[Part 1] … [Part 4]

*Edited 12/22/2019

Well this one’s a bit of a slower chapter but it needed to be established and bundling it with the next part just made it too long so.... what can you do. 

apologies for a very introspective chapter but we’re going places. 

The next three days pass in a haze. He drifts from moment to moment, bored and fatigued. He has zero idea what to do with himself while they drag him hither and yon to stare at magic he doesn’t understand, and the desert heat disagrees with him on a level he hadn’t expected. Worry for Fai is the only thing that distracts him from the monotony; he catches glimpses of Fai’s darker moods in the quiet spaces between stints of teaching and study and he wonders whether he shouldn’t ask Mokona to hurry their teleportation along...

Still, he can’t begrudge them this world. People treat Fai with a rare and well-deserved respect, watching anything he demonstrates with rapt attention. Scholars reach out to explain things to Syaoran and praise his aptitude for learning. His family comes back to the apartment chattering excitedly about theory and completely engaged at the end of each day, and he would never dare to take that away. He only wishes he had more to do.

Of course, he can always practice his skills. He always has something to improve, and he needs to keep in shape if he wants to keep everyone safe… Only the apartment doesn’t have that much space, and so far any attempts at using the courtyards outside have been miserable affairs. The heat doesn’t relent for as long as the sun sits in the sky, and neither do the stares.

He hoped that after the newness of Fai’s magic wore off he’d have to contend with fewer watchers, but he has no such luck. Apparently his unintentional sword demonstrations and lack of magic both single him out as an obvious outsider if not an object of outright academic befuddlement. Occasionally a researcher looks his way with an interest and intent that makes his skin crawl. So far none have actually approached him. He suspects, but can’t prove, that Fai might have threatened them off. They certainly seem to disappear whenever Fai makes his presence known.

Worry and paranoia wreak havoc on his mood, only worsened by the fatigue that settles in like the portent of a bad cold. He feels wound up and tired all the time. He tries to blame it on the heat and the boredom and on constantly waiting for something bad to happen, but he starts to wonder whether he hasn’t just managed to catch some kind of illness. Feeling like this… he doesn’t have a lot of patience for Mokona’s antics, even when the manjuu means well. And as much as he loves seeing the Kid and Fai engaged and well-respected, there’s only so much sitting around he can take. So, that morning, amidst all the chatter of the rest of the group as they get ready for yet another day of magic, he escapes to wander the market instead.

He doesn’t want to find anything in particular, but the need to learn some kind of perimeter burns like an old instinct. Besides… he needs to clear his head. Even amidst everything, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about all the questions he wants to ask Fai—not once. Is he just complicating this needlessly? In this world, anyone who so much as looks at them assumes they must be married, and it’s led to more embarrassing incidents after Caldina. They must see something that ties them together—magic or hitsuzen or whatever that might be. Maybe they’ve already made it. Maybe trying to force a more formal name on the whole thing will just ruin something really, really good.

On the other hand…

“People like me don’t deserve nice things,” The mage had told him in the dark, earnest and honest and Kurogane wants to prove him wrong so badly he can feel it like a physical pull. Normally, he’s not one for ceremony or overblown gestures of affection, but he thinks of Fai’s stupid self-derision and suddenly he wants to build the man a damn castle. He hates the fancy clothes and the meaningless traditions and Tomoyo’s brand of wedding, but he’d shoulder through all of it if for even one second he could get Fai to see how much more he deserved—how much Kurogane wants to give...

Ugh! This is idiotic. He keeps cycling through the arguments in his head as he storms through the market, barely noting the persistent stares and taking even less stock of the items for sale at their plethora of stands. He stomps down the full length of the central street before he manages to realize what he’s done and start doubling back, thoughts still driving themselves in circles. Kurogane has never been the type to linger long on any decision, so why does this one in particular present such an insurmountable challenge?! He could strangle himself for it in frustration, but well… he knows why, doesn’t he? Because it matters. Because it’s Fai.

“Oh, Hello! Fancy seeing you again.” Kurogane shakes free of his circuitous mind and finds himself blinking beneath the market shade at the pink-haired shopkeep from a few days ago, tense and ready to strike. His head aches distantly. He needs to get a grip. He can’t keep spacing out like this—what if something happens? An enemy could have—

No enemies here, he reminds himself, and tries not to think too much about the fact that his personal voice of reason has started to sound a little like a certain magician.

“Yes,” he hazards, focusing on Caldina as he sets himself back to rights. He lets his false arm relax, all too poised to pull his sword free from Fai’s charm. The area around him is entirely unfamiliar, and he realizes with embarrassment that he wandered far enough in his distraction to get lost. Caldina stands before him expectantly, but he doesn’t see her shop’s façade anywhere nearby. With the city’s tall, cramped buildings, he can’t see the academy on the skyline. He has nothing to orient himself with, but consoles himself with the realization that he can still understand the chatter around him—he can’t have strayed too far from Mokona…

“Not one for small-talk are you?” She teases with a wink, openly laughing when he only shrugs in response. “How did things go at the Academy?”

“Fine. Thanks for the directions.” Kurogane manages to stumble through an attempt at gratitude. He feels the lack of Fai or Syaoran here keenly—they know how to talk to people far better than he does.

To her credit, Caldina takes his awkward communication in stride. She simply laughs again, letting the buzz of those shopping nearby fill the stretch of silence.

“Oh, it wasn’t any trouble. I was happy to help! Don’t see foreigners too often.” The woman admits with a smile, fanning herself absently as she talks. “So, visiting the market for anything in particular? Or did the academics toss you out on your own?”

Kurogane eyes her sideways and tries to gauge her intentions. She probably means well? She helped before and he doesn’t know of any reason she might have to trick him now.

“I’m looking for sake,” he lies, giving her the same excuse he gave Fai when he wandered out this morning. The idiot had sent him out with half their money and a knowing grin. "Buy me something too, Kuro-sama?" He'd teased, eyes half-lidded, and Kurogane had to storm off to the tune of laughter before the blush on his face could show. Just another thing to try not to think about.

“Well, I can help you find that! What do you say, need a guide?”

Normally, Kurogane might have tried to turn her down, but he has nothing to do, and he's lost anyway. He hazards a nod, already apprehensive at the way she brightens. When she tucks herself into his side and loops her arm through his, he very nearly shoves her sideways. Somehow he manages to contain his reaction to a flinch and a look of disdain.

"Oh, please," she hums, laughing. "I'm not gonna try anything strange, but how else am I gonna haul you around without looking weird?"

‘Haul’ is certainly a word for it. She marches him through streets and between stalls and alleys at pace. Her constant running commentary makes focusing on their position difficult, and before he knows what’s what, he’s heard a hundred useless factoids about the market and its vendors and feels somehow even more lost than before. He keeps checking in and out of focus, making sure her words still sound like words and he hasn’t strayed too far from Mokona just yet. He doesn’t know yet what he’ll do if the spell stretches to its limit….

Luckily, he doesn’t need to find out. Caldina leads him to a nice looking stand before long, babbling about changes in tax codes and merchant drama all the while. If he weren’t so bored in this world, he would never have put up with it, but she has him as a captive audience. Besides, her knowledge comes in handy when the time comes to haggle on the pricing.

The drink she persuades the stall-keeper to let them taste is interesting, but it won’t make a list of his favorite things any time soon. None of the samples Caldina acquires are as strong as he usually drinks, but at least they warm his throat like sake should. Most of it tastes far sweeter and fruitier than he prefers… maybe that’s for the best. Fai never admits it out loud, but he thinks the mage enjoys this kind of drink more than Kurogane’s drier favorites.

He winds up grabbing two bottles of the too-sweet drink and tries to tell himself he doesn’t just do it for the chance to see Fai smile his way. 

Caldina does all the bargaining for him, so he makes sure to hand her a few coins as well when they turn away. He certainly couldn’t have saved so much on his own. He doesn’t have the energy to interact with people like that. Even without anything to do today, even with Fai’s still-active cooling charm threaded into his cloak, he still feels exhausted. Between that and the dull aching of his head, he worries that he really is in for a hell of a cold... Or maybe the constant squinting has just started to take a toll.

“Aw, you don’t need to do that!” she cheers as she palms the currency, even though she’s already stashing the tip into her own wallet. Kurogane rolls his eyes at her antics… and catches sight of a glittering stall across the way.

It’s all jewelry, he thinks. More precious metal and shining stones than he’s ever seen in a single place at once. Just looking at it makes the part of him used to providing security to the Princess uncomfortable… It really says something about this world that a stand like that can exist here with such minimal protections. Whether the value of gems is low, or people here are simply well-off, he can’t decide.  

“Ah,” Caldina follows the line of his gaze, mouth quirking in a grin he doesn’t like the look of as she processes his behavior. Kurogane tries to ignore her, watching as the vendor behind the table engages a customer in a rousing round of haggling. The desert sun sees all the stand’s wares gleaming, even beneath the market shade. Delicate detailing and elaborate engravings are lost in the lighting, so bright he can hardly tell them apart. Still… he does manage to spot the thin, white-gold bracelet inlaid with a single blue gem. The way its design flows and doubles back on itself…  He can’t help thinking of Fai and the looping designs of his old coat.

“Thinking about proposing sometime soon?” The pink-haired shopkeep leers, staring him down sideways with a terrifyingly mischievous expression.

“What?!” He nearly knocks backwards into the liquor stand in his shock. How in the worlds—

“Come on! You’re looking at the engagement sets, right? I could tell.”

“Engagement… sets?”  Caldina’s self-satisfied smirk skews toward confusion.

“Yes… you know, the kind you buy as a gift when you propose?” They stare at each other in blatant bewilderment before something dawns on her. “You folks have that where you’re from, don’t you?”

“No,” Kurogane chokes. He bites his tongue and looks away for a moment, regaining his composure. It’s bad enough that the whole damn world assumes them married when he hasn’t figured out how to ask. He thought somehow she’d learned to read his wavering intentions too. But if the jewelry simply serves as an engagement tradition here, then it’s just an odd coincidence. He tries to relax, resting a little easier knowing his thoughts aren’t magically on display for the world to see.

“Oh.” Caldina sighs with dismay, tapping one foot and sending the gentle chime of her own jewelry echoing into the market air. Her eyes glitter as mischief makes its return and Kurogane begins to worry for his continued sanity. “Well, is it a tradition you’d like to start?”