#roaring cherry blossom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lipstickmarks · 10 months ago

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beauty is a beast that roars, down on all fours, demanding Mor. 💋🍷🍒🥧

Pairing: Mor x fem!reader, former Azriel x fem!reader (mentioned)

Summary: "They've both taken lovers over the years..." // Azriel and Mor have both taken lovers over the years but what happens when Mor discovers they both have had you? Your "fling" with Mor that is growing more serious by the day and your history with Ariel becomes the catalyst for Mor finally admitting the truth to Azriel.

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: violence (not toward reader or Mor), blood, alcohol, coming out, internalized homophobia?, mentions of death (in the past), nipple play, scissoring, tribbing, food play, teasing, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, hickeys, biting, fluff, mean Mor lowkey 🤭

Author's note: title has nothing to do with anything except the fact that it always reminds me of Mor and I felt like "she's my cherry pie" was too cheesy | if I missed any tags, pls lmk! I don't know all the fancy terms for this shit nowadays 🫶🏻

It was a stupid, idiotic game suggested by stupid idiotic males.

Mor was nursing a glass of red wine, sat at a round moonstone table at the river estate. The inner circle’s usual night of reverie at Rita’s culminated in everyone slumping back to the estate half-dead with 90% liquor in their veins. The night started out fun with good food and good-natured ribbing amongst her family but it had devolved into a headache. Truly, a nuisance was building at the back of her head, thumping uncomfortably. The alcohol certainly didn’t help but she wasn’t about to endure a drunk Cassian and Azriel without a buzz going.

Feyre and Rhys had absconded to their room long ago and Amren had disappeared with no notice and no indication as to where she had gone (typical). Elain and Lucien went on a moonlit walk and Nesta had deemed the night over and stomped up to her room the moment Cassian started quoting a dirty passage from the novel she was currently reading.

Leaving Mor with Cassian and Azriel and a stupid, idiotic game.

They had somehow gotten on the topic of lovers and Cassian being Cassian, was eager to pry into everyone’s intimate business.

Mor was planning to call it a night soon anyway. This game didn’t interest her and she’d rather be with you. In your arms, in your bed. You’d known each other loosely for a while ever since you worked as a lounge singer at Rita’s but one night, Mor was one of the only people left in the place after your set. You two got to talking and the chemistry was un-fucking-deniable. Your chance meeting quickly blossomed into a fling.

Except something deeply wounded Mor to call it a fling. It made it sound so… cheap and flimsy. Yes, you were phenomenal in bed. Yes, she could cum just from the mental image of you with your head thrown back and her fingers plunged inside you. But you were also talented and ambitious and witty and matched her tit for tat when it came to her silver tongue. There was still some anxiety she felt when she was with females. It never allowed her to fully relax or lose herself in a moment. But you…

You excited her.

“Okay, okay. Azriel’s turn. Name the best lover you’ve ever had.” Cassian smirked.

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Azriel said.

“Come on, Az! I told you mine!”

Azriel snorted.

“You’re mated. You wouldn’t have said any name except Nesta’s. And if you had, she would have ran down here and kicked you in the balls.”

“And it would have been a major turn on because everything Nesta does turns me on because Nesta is the best lover I’ve ever had now DISH!” Cassian screamed, pointing his wine glass at Azriel and making the wine spill everywhere.

Normally, Azriel didn’t partake in such games. He didn’t kiss and tell. He was respectful and likely got a kick out of being so stoic and mysterious. But they had been drinking so heavily for so long. The shadowsinger’s hazel eyes were swimming with mischief.

“Alright. It was fairly recent. About 10 years ago.” Azriel began to loosely describe this female he had a fling with over the winter that he met while shopping for Solstice presents. The smirk on his face deepened as he described their love making. “She had a phenomenal body and I swear, I didn’t think it was possible for my dick to go so deep inside someone. She was a great cook, too. She always baked me a pie afterward. ” Mor was barely listening. She was about to dump her wine into the plant in the corner and winnow to your apartment when something turned her blood to ice.

Your name.

Your name coming from Azriel’s lips.

It happened in less than a span of a heartbeat. Less than the flutter of an eye closing than it took for Mor to sail across the table and connect her fist with Azriel’s jaw.

She could barely register Azrie’s weight beneath her, Cassian’s cackle that turned into a worried shout was muffled as she began punching Azriel over and over. Mor roared and gripped the lapels of Azriel’s shirt, readying to bash his head into the floor when a force stronger than drunken Mor pulled her away.

Azriel’s shadows.

Azriel groaned, blood trickling out of his nose mixing with the spilt wine on the floor. He wriggled his nose and winced. Not broken but Mor gotten in a hell of a punch.

“What the hell, Mor?!” Cassian shouted.

Mor was held back by Azriel’s shadows, tears streaming down her face. So many emotions were washing over her at once, spawning in the pit of her stomach and trailing to the center of her chest. Jealousy and rage flowed to the top.

Azriel had been with you. The two of you had made love. Azriel had known your body, tasted you, gazed upon you in your naked form. He’d known the pleasure only you can provide.

And she wanted to fucking kill him for it.

Azriel just stared at Mor while Cassian berated her, screaming some nonsense about how they’re a family and hitting is only okay if they did something to provoke it.

“Cassian.” Azriel’s sharp voice cut in. “Leave us.”

Cassian complied. Even this drunk, he could tell when his brother truly needed something. He murmured something about going to get ice and a healing tonic and left the two of them alone.

Azriel stood up and slowly walked to where Mor was restrained by his shadows. Another feeling started to mix in with the others. Shame. She’d hit Azriel. She’d hurt Azriel. She’d hurt her family. And now there was no hiding anymore.

Azriel leveled his gaze at her and Mor shivered. He’d never looked at her that way. Never as the feared, icy, ruthless Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

“Is there something you need to tell me, Morrigan?”

***

Mor insisted on talking in Azriel’s room. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted anyone else to hear and his was the only one she trusted to be thoroughly soundproof.

She sat on Azriel’s bed, clutching a pillow in her lap while Azriel stood over her. A blush crept onto her cheeks.

“Don’t stand there, Azriel, like I’m a teenager in trouble. Sit.”

It was his room and his nose and jaw that she’d tried to break but still, he sat.

Mor took several steadying breaths and begged herself not to cry. She wouldn’t be able to get out the words if she cried. But still, her cheeks and eyes warmed as fat tears began to pool in her eyes. One of Azriel’s shadows came up to wipe them away.

And Azriel’s scarred hand gently placed atop hers.

“Mor…” His voice was tight. He’d only seen her cry on a few occasions: when Rhys was captured by Amarantha, when Rhys returned, when Nyx was born and he and his parents almost died… It wasn’t a sight he enjoyed.

“I just–” She heaved a sob. “I need a minute, okay?”

Azriel squeezed her hand.

“I’ll wait.”

Azriel had waited. He’d waited 500 years for something to happen between them. Something that would never happen. Something that Mor had communicated in a roundabout, cruel way. Gods, she hated herself for it. But who could blame her for being skittish? For being so scared that she’d kept this part of herself hidden from even her family?

…Azriel wouldn’t.

Mor took another breath. And another. And another after Azriel had conjured up a glass of water for her.

They sat there for close to 20 minutes before she finally spoke.

“The first fae I ever loved…” Mor sighed. “Was a female named Andromeda.”

She weaved the tale over an hour and a half, detailing the first flicker of confusing affection she felt for females, twined with the lesser but still present affection for males. The sexual politics of her taking Cassian as her first lover. Andromeda. Their love story that culminated in the loneliest sadness Mor had ever felt. Loving and losing and her heart caving in all while her family was unaware. The lingering fear and panic she felt regarding her father and Beron and Eris. How she’d avoided Azriel by sleeping around with other males. All leading up to you. How the two of you met at Rita’s one late night after you’d finished a set. How she bought you a drink. How she bought you a second drink. How you became quick friends. How your friendship spiraled into something steamy and undeniable. How Azriel saying your name had unlocked a river of white-hot rage buried so deep inside her that she didn’t even feel like herself when she’d launched herself across the table at him.

Her throat was dry and raspy by the time she was done talking. She’d cried through a lot of it, especially when talking about Andromeda. She braced herself for Azriel’s reaction.

“I am sorry that you have been hurting, Mor. But I am also hurt that you thought–” Azriel’s head whipped to the side like he’d been phantom-smacked. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I am hurt that you thought I would… what? Berate you? Drag you kicking and screaming into the Court of Nightmares and drop you at Kier’s feet? Be so heartbroken that I would resent you?”

Mor shuddered.

“Don’t you?”

Azriel sighed.

“Mor, you are… dazzling. Beauty and wits and heart is what you’re made of. It’s no mystery why I fell for you. It’s no mystery why anyone would fall for you. You’re also kind, and caring, and family.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes burned into hers and she shifted slightly on the bed, unnerved by the intensity of it.

“You were always going to be one of the most important people in my life. And no, our relationship didn’t fall into place the way I desired it to and yes, it hurts but what I can’t get over is that you didn’t trust me. You didn’t trust any of us.”

Mor pulled on the end of her dress, just to have something to do with her body aside from sit here in this uncomfortable conversation.

“Um, actually… Feyre knows.”

Another deep sigh from Azriel. Mor has never felt so small. So unguarded. Her secrecy was the only armor she had and now it was dust in the wind. No going back.

“Do you hate me?” She whispered.

Azriel scoffed.

“By the Cauldron, Mor, have you been listening to me?” Azriel reached for her hands. “I could never hate you. I don’t care if you like females or males or both or neither. I don’t give a shit about any of it. You are my family. In 500 years, I have never felt safer than I have with all of you.”

She sniffled, tears welling in her eyes once more.

“Really?”

“Of course.” Azriel said, his voice softer than it had been all night. “Look, I’m not saying I’m happy with you for toying with my feelings and this might take a while for me to process the fact that it’s never going to be us but… I love you, Mor. I’m happy when I’m around you and it kills me to know that you haven’t been completely happy around all of us.”

Mor felt a swell of relief in her chest. She slipped her arms around his neck and hugged Azriel and hugged him and hugged him until she felt like crying again. This time, she let the tears fall until she was sobbing into his chest.

They spent two more hours talking, ironing out their feelings, and crying. Well, mostly Mor cried. Azriel conjured up more water for her and some food as well. It was practically dawn anyway with the dark blue sky conceding to a blushing, orange sunrise.

“How do you feel now?” Azriel asked over a strawberry flake strudel. He was now sitting at the foot of his bed, his back leaning against one of the four posters as his wings draped lazily on the ground.

Mor loosed a long sigh and pulled the straw in and out of the plastic coffee cup she had long since drained until Azriel told her to stop because the sound was annoying.

“I feel like… I want to go see my girlfriend.” She was spent. Her emotions had all spilled out of her like nightmare vomit and she was utterly empty. She craved nothing more than to curl up in your warm bed and stroke your soft hair until she fell asleep.

Azriel barked out a laugh.

Mor’s brows knit into a line. She kicked at Azriel’s foot but he quickly dodged.

“What?” She bit.

“That’s a funny word.” Azriel said, smirking as he finished off his breakfast treat.

Mor sat her cup on his nightstand and sat up.

“What do you mean?” Sure, you two didn’t have a label yet. But you were basically girlfriends, right? You spent most nights together, you slept together, went shopping in Velaris together, had lunch dates all the time. At least, she hoped you’d want to be her girlfriend.

Azriel rolled his eyes at her.

“Morrigan. You flew across a ten-foot long table and beat the shit out of me just because one time, a decade ago, I slept with–”

Mor growled. That same feeling she got when Azriel first said your name last night was building up again. She felt it from her navel all the way up to her chest. A dark, swirling vortex of negative emotions and yet, somewhere within was a bright white light.

No, not white.

Golden.

Mor’s entire world cracked open. Every scar. Every ounce of pain and trauma that she’d collected split open and filled with a shimmering golden liquid that came from the reservoir of your soul and bled into hers.

“...mate.”

Azriel said it the moment Mor realized it. Everything aligned for her in that moment. The seas were bluer, the birds chirped a perfect melody, and everything made sense. It had all been for this. All been for you. Every awful horror, every fitful night of sleep, everything… it was all aligning for Mor to find you.

She scrambled to get up, all the while Azriel was laughing. She couldn’t find her shoes. Where were her godsdamned shoes?

Mor decided to forgo the accessories and just go straight to you. Barefoot and in love. And although the bond was pulling at her, willing her to find you, she turned back to Azriel.

“Az? Are we… are we going to be okay?” She was scared to ask, but it was high time to stop being afraid. To stop keeping Azriel–her entire family, really– at an arm’s length. They all loved her and she needed to embrace that, or else she’d never be truly happy.

Azriel leaned his head against his four-poster.

“Of course we will, Mor. Maybe not today, but we will be.”

Mor nodded slowly and headed for the door. She looked back one last time at Azriel. At her family. She knows she hurt him and she would have to do some serious groveling to earn his forgiveness. Even though he was a good male and would likely not accept any gifts or excessive sweetness, she would do it anyway. Mor would win back his trust and help heal the scars she inflicted. But the cage she had trapped herself in had suddenly combusted. The world was wide open. And she liked it. And so Mor said, for perhaps the first time in her life, but meaning it fully:

“I love you, Azriel.”

***

Rushed knocks were all she could manage. Feeling a mating bond that had yet to be reciprocated was suffocating and intoxicating all at once. She was shaking and bouncing on her feet like she’d had 300 coffees. If you didn’t open the door in three seconds, Mor didn’t know if she could keep herself from knocking it down.

Mercifully, it swung open. And there you stood.

Her mate.

Her perfect, beautiful mate.

You wore a pair of tiny shorts and a very thin, very see-through white tank top underneath a red kimono robe that Mor was almost certain had once been at home in her closet.

Despite dawn just rising up to wish Velaris a good morning, you didn’t seem perturbed at Mor’s early intrusion. You gave her a lazy feline smile.

“Hey, good looking—”

You never even had a chance. Mor pounced on you like a jungle cat, claiming your mouth with hers and grabbing at whatever skin she could get her hands on. Although surprised, you didn’t waver for even a moment. You slid your hands up through the fae’s hair and walked her backwards into your apartment.

Mor’s heart sang a golden chorus that blended in with chirping birds and distant water fountains.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Happy. Happy. Happy.

You pulled Mor off of you for only a moment, but she chased after your lips, her hands practically pawing at your chest like a needy housecat.

“What’s gotten into you?” You asked, giggling. But the second Mor’s wide eyes looked into yours. You saw it. You felt it. That golden tether tying you to Mor.

The noise you let out was something between a happy gasp and a squeal.

You surged up and kissed her again, parting and letting her claim your mouth and claim you. She tugged the kimono down, shoving it off your perfect shoulders. You tried to do the same with her dress but she insisted on wearing those cross-back ones and intricate tit chains and it was so complicated to get off in a rush.

But eventually you both worked all the offending garments off and onto the floor. Mor lifted you up and carried you to your kitchen table, her mouth never leaving your neck as she did so.

She laid you out on your back and attacked your neck with kisses, nipping and biting at your jaw, your ear, anywhere she could reach. Her fingers went down to trace the insides of your thighs, drawing a shudder of pleasure from you.

Her hand dipped even further, her middle finger tracing the outside of your entrance, barely ghosting over your skin, playing in the wetness that was already there.

“Wait!” You shouted, just before Mor could get her fingers inside of you.

Her brows knit together in concern and her perfect lips formed a pout, but the distress melted when she saw you reach across the kitchen table grabbing at a tin of cherry pie you had made. You pulled it toward you and grabbed a sloppy handful from the middle. You held it out to Mor, your eyes wide from both love and lust.

“Eat.” You gently nudged the pie up onto her lips.

Mor watched a stream of cherry juice drip down your hand and wrist. She leaned in and traced it with her tongue, collecting it off your skin. She dragged her tongue down your arm and back up until she took your entire pinky in her mouth, sucking on the digit. Then she did the same with your ring finger and your middle finger and so on. Her teasing was utterly unfair and you pouted as she took her sweet time sucking on your fingers until she finally ate the handful of pie you’d extended out to her.

A pang of jealousy sang in her chest, remembering that you baked pies for Azriel after every time you did it but the solidification of the bond quickly stamped that out.

Mor ate every bit of pie you offered her and licked the palm of your hand clean. Her lips were stained red from the cherries and the sweetness rested pleasantly on her tongue.

“I love you.” She murmured, placing kisses along your bare chest and over your boobs. She wrapped her mouth around a nipple and sucked and nipped at it, drawing precious little “ah!”s and moans from you.

“Mm… I love you too, Mor.” You said, twining your fingers in her hair, not caring that you were getting pie crumbs all in your lover’s blonde hair. Because she wasn’t just your lover anymore. She was your mate.

She fixed her attention on your other nipple and her fingers found her way back to your entrance, teasing, grazing.

Your mate sat up, eye-fucking you as she took in your form. It didn’t make you shy. You were never shy with Mor, or at Rita’s when you were belting out a song. It was one of the things she loved about you. One of the reasons you were perfectly matched to her. The Mother did a good fucking job.

“How much do you love me?” Mor said in a sing-song tone, dragging her knuckle up your slit.

“So much.” You gasped. You truly did love Mor. She was confident and carefree and fun. She made you feel like every day only happened so you could experience pleasure. Like mornings were made for strolls in the sun and evenings were made for lovemaking under the moonlight. There was no pain and no turmoil when you were together. There was just you and your mate and the golden love that flowed through you and around you.

“How good do I fuck you, baby?” She whispered, sliding one finger inside you.

You gasped and grabbed her wrist. Not to stop her but just to have any sort of contact with you. Mor rectified this immediately by holding one of your hands in her free one and pressing kisses to the back of it.

“So good, Mor.” You murmured as she lazily dragged her finger in and out of you. It wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Sensing your needs, knowing exactly what her sweet mate needed, she added another finger and amped up her speed ever so slightly. You moaned your affirmation.

“I know what you like.” She whispered. The minx. You could hear the smirk on her face.

She pulled you right to the edge and then retracted her fingers faster than you could comprehend. Your eyes shot open and tears quickly filled them, so close to your peak and then denied so quickly.

Mor shook her head, grinning at you the whole time.

“Sweet girl… you know how this goes. We don’t ever finish that quickly. Besides,” Mor dug her fingers into the pie you had decimated, plucking out a single cherry and holding it up to the light, admiring it like a lost artifact. “You haven’t had breakfast.”

She dragged the cherry around your lips, painting them red. Your tongue darted out to lick at the tips of her fingers and she placed the cherry on your tongue. You chewed and felt the bond growing stronger, more prominent in your chest with every little bite. The second you swallowed, Mor was on you again, kissing you desperately, licking into your mouth.

She hiked your leg up and started grinding her wet cunt against yours. The warmth was perfect and you felt your body and soul practically singing with how right it felt, how perfect you two were.

Mor’s warm, wet pussy was like a dream. You grinded against her, creating more friction and soon you were both shouting, both unable to contain your moans. Mor sped up, bouncing against you and that simply wouldn’t do. You couldn’t let her have all the fun. You broke from the kiss and took her nipple in your mouth, sucking on it as she had done to you. Except, you had a little payback in mind for her edging you. You let go of her nipple with a wet pop and started sucking a love bite onto the skin of her breast, right on top where it would be visible in those low cut dresses she wore. Everyone would know she had a mate. Everyone would know she belonged to you.

Mor moaned your name in a desperate whisper, increasing her speed. The two of you weren’t going to last long. The pressure was building up and it was already too perfect, too all-consuming.

Once you were satisfied with the darkening mark on her chest, you latched onto her neck, kissing and sucking. But that wasn’t enough for your mate. She gripped your chin in her hands and kissed you desperately. Like she needed you to breathe.

That was what sent you over the edge.

You came and Mor followed soon after. The pleasure flowed through you two freely like the love through the bond. You’d never felt so connected to someone and by the pulsating you felt at the other end, you knew Mor hadn’t either.

“I love you.” She slurred, pupils blown wide with lust. You swore they almost looked like little hearts.

You returned the sentiment, murmuring it into her skin as you kissed up her sternum and across her jaw before she finally gripped a fistful of your hair and dragged you up to her lips.

You sighed in contentment against your mate. But Mor wasn’t done with you yet.

She sunk to her knees in front of you, eye-level with your glistening wet pussy.

“So…” she drawled, licking a stripe up your slit, collecting both her and your wetness on her tongue. “When were you gonna tell me you fucked Azriel?”

At the same moment you uttered “what?” Mor plunged her tongue inside you, swirling around and suckling at your clit. You clawed at the table, wishing you had laid a tablecloth down so you’d have something to grip onto. You were still so, so sensitive but Mor was relentless as she toyed with your bundle of nerves.

“I know you fucked him…” She mumbled against your hot core.

You laid your head back in pleasure, unable to form any thoughts. Mor knew you liked a little overstimulation and the mating bond was amplifying it by one hundred.

“Was a long time ago…” You murmured. Utterly pussy-drunk.

“Don’t care.” Mor said, plunging a finger inside you. “Should’ve told me. I almost broke his nose.”

Some part of you deep down felt bad for Azriel but that part was trapped beneath an ocean of pleasure and right now, you’re not sure you could even remember what Azriel looked like.

“Mmm…” You moaned, your clit twitching as Mor sucked on it. She added two fingers, pumping in and out of you faster than she did before.

Mor brought you to the edge again and you could barely register her lifting you up and carrying you into the bathroom. You were so lost in your own pleasure and the feeling of your mate holding you that no other sensations even mattered. Your body simultaneously roared at you to fall asleep and to hop onto Mor’s lap and grind your pussy against hers over and over again.

“Sleep, my love.” Mor said.

You felt her easing the two of you into a hot bath, her keeping you tight against her chest.

“No.” You grumbled petulantly, though your eyes fluttered closed. She did wake you up awfully early and make you cum twice. Mating frenzy or no, you were exhausted. “Need to fuck you.”

Mor giggled against your ear.

“We’ll have a lifetime of that, baby.” Mor ran her fingers up and down your arm, the sensation calming you and sending tiny tingles of pleasure to your brain. She was most definitely moving you into the river house once the frenzy was over. Or she could move in here with you. Or maybe you two would build a new property. You could design your dream home together. Whatever. Permanent decisions could wait until after your mating ceremony. Because you would be having a mating ceremony. A spectacular, classy, romantic affair. Candles everywhere and her whole family in attendance. All of fucking Velaris. She would marry you in front of anyone anywhere in the world.

You nodded your affirmation and slumped against your mate as she took to washing you both with your nice smelling soaps.

When you woke up, Mor would find your vibrator and make you come two more times with it. She loved getting you worked up because once it was her turn, you were relentless. You would pull orgasm after orgasm from her until she was in tears and screaming your name so loud, the cranky neighbors pounded on your door demanding you keep it down.

“Tell me, mate.” Mor whispered as she shampooed your hair. “What flavor pie did you bake Azriel after he fucked you?”

You hummed and pinched Mor’s thigh for fixating on silly things and pulling you out of your sleep. You and Azriel had a fling that lasted less than a winter season ten years ago and had only ever been casual friends since. It was nothing compared to what you felt for Mor. How pleasure overtook every cell in your body when you were together, even if all you were doing was sharing a turkey sandwich at a bistro down by the Sidra.

If you peeked into your skull, it would be filled with images of Mor. Your lover, your best friend, your mate. She was your ending and your beginning. Nothing before or since matters.

“Blueberry.”

Mor nipped your ear and your moan signaled you liked that a little too much. Even as your eyes fluttered shut, you grabbed her hand and guided it to your center. You wanted her to make you cum one more time, just one more teeny tiny orgasm before you fall asleep.

Mor massaged your wet, soapy breast with one hand while the other lazily circled your clit. She pressed hot kisses over your neck, occasionally licking and nipping the skin there too.

“You’re only making cherry from now on.”

#morrigan #acotar #acotar smut #mor x reader #mor x you #Azriel x reader #Azriel x you #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses smut #acosf #acomaf #acowar #morrigan x reader #morrigan x you

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ginxyy · 7 months ago

Text

Catching Flights & Feelings

A man who travels a lot falls in love with a flight attendant he always sees.

Every time the airplane doors slid shut and the familiar hum of the engines filled the cabin, a flutter of excitement ignited within you. There, among the rows of seats and the soft murmur of passengers settling in, you found your rhythm. You had mastered the art of the skies, weaving through clouds with an elegance that could only be embraced by those who belonged to this world. But this time was different, and you felt it in every fiber of your being.

As you prepared for the safety demonstration, a familiar figure settled into his seat. Seungcheol, the charming man from Seventeen, had taken a spot in your section yet again. You had seen him countless times on your flights, flashing his twinkling smile and reverberating with an unmistakable aura that made him a beacon of warmth in a bustling, often chaotic environment. His fame was undeniable—his name echoed in the whispers of your colleagues and the excited chatter of fans during layovers but to you, he was just Seungcheol.

You grinned, feeling a spark of mischief dance behind your eyes. “Ready for takeoff, Mr. Celebrity?” you teased, your playful tone slicing through the air like a gentle breeze. You leaned in, letting a hint of flirtation lace your words, and watched as his cheeks flushed a shade of crimson that would put roses to shame.

“Only if you’re serving the drinks today,” he responded, winking at you with that disarming charm. His eyes held a twinkle that made your heart thump louder than the engines’ roar.

You resumed your duties, but not before braving a last glance at him. In that fleeting moment, you imagined the unexplored depths beneath his public persona and what it would be like to peel back the layers, uncovering the man hidden behind the celebrated façade. Unbeknownst to you, he was just as enamored with you as you were with him.

The days turned into weeks, and each flight became a cherished ritual. You found yourself counting down the hours until you could see him again. The more you spoke, the more a comfortable rhythm developed between you a playful banter that ignited during each in-flight encounter. You joked about turbulence, made puns about jet lag, and learned how to flirt through simple glances. If someone had told you that you could fall so hard over high altitudes and the scent of recycled air, you would have laughed. But here you were, caught in the spell of this endearing connection.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day filled with delays and turbulence, you were surprised to see Seungcheol waiting at the gate, a bright smile illuminating his face. He was flanked by a small group of fans, yet his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made the world around you blur.

“Want to grab drinks after the flight?” he asked innocently, as if it were the most natural of propositions.

“Are we really going to discuss drinks? It’s the third time this week you’ve asked me out on a flight my heart can only take so much of the turbulence,” you teased, unable to suppress the way your smile widened.

He chuckled, the sound bubbling up like champagne. ��So you admit you like it. I’m getting somewhere, then. What’ll it be? A flight to nowhere? I promise I’m an excellent co-pilot.”

“Just as long as I’m in the captain’s seat,” you flirted back, feeling the thrill of anticipation tingle through your stomach.

Following that, a spontaneous series of adventures unfolded between you both, hidden from the prying eyes of the world. Late-night conversations in airport lounges turned into coffee breaks in the bustling streets of Tokyo, and you found joy in navigating cities while flirting like teenagers. Seungcheol relished the simple pleasures, basking in the joy of being with someone who viewed him through a lens unclouded by fame.

“Do you know what I like most about you?” he asked one afternoon as the spring breeze whispered through the cherry blossoms around you.

“What’s that?” you replied, leaning in, curious and utterly engaged. His handsome features softened, and the earnestness written on his face made your heart skip.

“You treat me like a person, not just some idol. You’re refreshing like a breath of fresh air after a long flight.” His gaze held yours, desire and sincerity entwined. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Growing bold, you decided to take a leap of faith. “Maybe you should stop flying around so much and spend more time on the ground with me. I can introduce you to all the best coffee spots,” you suggested, a mischievous glint in your eye.

Seungcheol smirked, the corners of his mouth curling up with delight. “And I can promise to be your co-pilot on all your adventures. What do you say?”

You both spent countless afternoons rearranging schedules, mastering detours, and making memories amongst the thrumming heart of life. The world was a blur of new places and experiences, but what truly grounded you was the thrill of being together.

As weeks turned into months, the scenery shifted around you both, more vibrant and tantalizing than you’d ever envisioned. Cozy dinners after long flights, sneaking kisses behind the airport terminal… It was all a concoction of magic and spontaneity, and you thrived on it. In that whirlwind of romance, Seungcheol somehow managed to nestle himself firmly in your heart, becoming more than a fleeting passenger on your journeys.

One fateful evening, while stared into the pulsating city lights from your hotel balcony, you realized that your whirlwind romance fuelled by chance encounters and flirtatious exchanges had grounded itself into something deeper, more meaningful.

Leaning against the railing and looking out at the horizon, you felt him step up behind you, a presence that made the night warmer. “Are you going to share a drink with your co-pilot or just stare into the distance and dream?”

Smiling to yourself, your heart hummed the answer. “Only if it’s a romantic dinner under the stars.”

Underneath the vast expanse, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you both discovered that romance could blossom not just in the clouds but in every heartbeat you shared on Earth.

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the-midnight-blooms · 9 months ago

Text

FROM THE ARTIST’S STUDIO | cs

pairing: painter!choi san x painter!reader AU: historical au, joseon dynasty word count: 10.5k

masterlist

I reach out to my lover, he’s trapped within a painting. The muse of a Renaissance artist- he’s so divine he may have even started the movement.

Her feet pattered down the cold floorboards, pushing through the salmun doors-the fabric of her purple hanbok bunched up in her palms. The midnight bloomed in the depth of the spring, where the cherry blossom trees roared with the wind. A captivating beam from the candle paved the way to the front doors, her heart lurching in her chest as she felt an enchanted soul beckoning her name; her vessel bowed in his essence as if the rapping of the door knocker was to the beat of her name, echoing every syllable. With her hand outstretched for the doors, she hauled it open finding a man whose eyes were squinting as the the coarse rain battered against his supple skin; his teeth chattering with the cold. With a brown leather bag sloped over the shoulder of his light yellow hanbok; hands gripped steely over the handle of his heavy cases. He was tall, with broad shoulders, she quickly discerned but his face almost seemed obscured by the dark clouds and the night slowly filtering into the star studded sky.

"Please, Miss, I'm here to see Mr Yim. I'm a new apprentice at the local government office." His voice was almost mellowed by the crash of thunder against the sky, which had them both flinching at its mercilessness. A surge of relief rested upon him as a slender arm in purple outstretched towards him; the warmth easing the shattering goosebumps bestowed upon his delicate skin. With a contented sigh, the figure in front raised the candle to his face; the soft glow illuminated his crescent eyes which bored into another's burgeoning with curiosity.

"Your name, Sir?" Her honey like voice, slid into his ears; lashes gently fluttering as he breathed in the sight before him the beaming light from the candle forging a halo around this angel. Her tight jaw and deadpan expression was immediately dissolved between the influx of enigma that flooded into her eyes.

"Choi San." Nodding diligently, she gesticulated for him to follow her to her father's study. The hallways of the Yim estate were particularly large, a few candelabras were perched on top of the drawers plastered across the panelled walls-the smoke infiltrating into the empty space. They graced the floor with minimal sound, as if there were ghosts traipsing the corridors rather than real people.

Stood outside the large door, she dipped her head in politeness as he gently caressed the lumber; soft knocks restituting off the walls. With the candle perched within a hand of his own, yet another door opened; the esteemed artist tumbled through the doorway into another life.

Just over two decades ago, on a winter night, where the trees were bare of crisp leaves and the ground was brazen with purest of snow; a couple sat by the fire in their bedroom: a new-born cherub encapsulated within her mother's arms. Mr Yim, the father of the child, was a member of a group of scholars who advocated the need for the government to foster commerce, industry, and technology. He was a part of one of the four schools of thought in Joseon that shifted from speculative theory to attending to more taxing socio-political issues. Therefore, despite being renown for his hard work, and steadfast nature, he was also known for being quite reserved- to put it nicely. There were no 'good mornings' or 'good afternoons' from Mr Yim. Nor were there dirty looks and unwelcoming mannerisms bestowed upon his acquaintances. He liked to keep to himself, Mrs Yim being the only woman in the world capable of seeing that man smile.

"Would you like to hold her, dear?" His wife called, the gentle babbling of his child sending a jolt of fear rushing through him. Eagerly, he dismissed the opportunity, to which Mrs Yim had sighed staring down at her beautiful daughter. "She is your daughter, too. You're going to have to hold her at one point."

"I'll hold her when she is a little older than what she is now."

"Before you know it, she will become a woman and you will reminisce all the opportunities you had to cuddle her when you could." Truthfully, Mr Yim was afraid of fatherhood; he never really understood the notion of it but if having a child would make his darling, Mrs Yim, happy then Mr Yim would give her all the children in the world. How could he raise a child when he was left to raise himself? What could he even teach except say to his daughter after every stumble, every mistake, every stutter, every cry for help but: 'find your way'?

Thus, his aloof nature extended to his daughter, who having been pinned by her mother's side until her unfortunate death, became wholly estranged from her father. He was no longer her mother's husband, but rather just a kind stranger who fed her, clothed her, kept her under his roof and gave her almost anything she wanted.

Miss Yim was rather bizarre.

Or at least, that's what the townspeople thought through her poignant introvertedness; maintaining scant friendships, rejecting all marriage prospects almost immediately preferring the confines of her large quarters-which in themselves were situated in the segregated division of the family home. Her rooms were not bright, but panelled with a dark wood that foremost created a dull atmosphere, there was minimal light other than what streamed in through the open doors and windows that overlooked the vast lawn. A porch ran around the whole building, where Miss Yim frequented, all year round, as she drew.

Oh! The most compelling thing about Miss Yim was that in contrast to her academic father, she had particularly excelled in the arts, often taking on commissions from local noblemen requesting venerated portraits of their wives. As well as the opportunity to put her skills to practise, she saw it as a way of putting a few extra pennies in her pocket. In alignment with her reserved nature, Miss Yim found that she preferred to draw using defined, darker mediums such as charcoal, ink and graphite pencils. There was something so true about the loneliness that could be felt from the intricate brushstrokes as the ink spilled across the page. As if the figurines were her, simply founded to be a mere prop in a large frame.

Smoothing down the hairs on her head, she snapped away her gaze from the mirror to the window overlooking the side of the garden, the silhouette of the hanok roofs, carving elegantly into the sky. The trees rocked and the grass rippled with the pending ferocity of the wind. Indeed, the storm would not subside within the next few days. The door to her bedroom slid open, the older maid stumbled in settling the tray upon her bench.

"Will I not be eating with my father today?" Ina looked up from where she was kneeled on the floor, settling the bowls onto the bench.

"Mr Yim is currently accompanied with Mr Choi. Your father requested that you eat by yourself for the duration of his stay, you know how it is." Nodding, she took her seat opposite Ina patiently awaiting for the maid to stop assembling her dishes in a neat line in front of her. Whilst women typically dined by themselves, her father had allowed her to eat with him almost daily; except when there were guests. Despite his neglect towards his daughter, he still valued her feminine dignity and did not trust the vulturous eyes of men that rested their predatory gaze upon her.

"Who is this, Mr Choi, and how is it that I wasn't aware of his arrival until he was knocking on our door?" She questioned, Ina's careful gaze flickered to her before staring out into the open space in contemplation.

"A new apprentice. He’s appointed here, on request of his father." Leaning forward, Ina's voice dropped an octave. "Apparently his father says he's been 'engaging in sin' so he's been estranged from his parents until he gets his act together." Raising a questioning brow, she looked down at her bowl.

"Is he a homosexual?" Immediately, she was wacked on the back of her head by the older maid who didn't miss a single second in scolding her. Her hand sped to the back, rubbing the jolt of pain that seared through her, a temporary look of irritation glazed over her eyes.

"You insolent girl! How could you say such thing, you know how disgraced that is!"

"You said ‘engaging in sin'. I can't think of anything more sinful other than fraternising with men or women." Ina's dirty look penetrated through her bones, provoking a sense of humiliation that would rattle through her in the depth of the night. Scowling at her mistress, she rolled her eyes before getting up from the floorboard.

“Hurry up and eat your food. You need to go to Mrs Kang’s today." Following Ina's orders she gulfed down her food, drowning out the maid's muttering about her being crude and dishonourable.

The light chatter from the front room fell deaf at her ears as she sauntered to the entrance, which the two kitchen maids scuttled in through. Bowing at their mistress, they made a fowl attempt at suppressing a fit of giggles as they subtly snuck a glance into the room. Following their gazes, she warily traipsed in, catching her father converse with their new guest.

"Ah, speak of the devil! Mr Choi, this is my daughter." He teared his gaze away from his mentor to draw his eyes across the room and find the infamous Miss Yim perched by the doorway, gripping onto her onto the full skirts of her dark blue hanbok.

It was hard to deny that Mr Choi was amiable. He was tall, well-built with a toned torso that was still perceptible through his uncreased peach coloured hanbok, dimples adorned his perfectly structured cheeks. He nodded with such elegant eagerness, at her father's command harbouring the position of an obedient son, almost leaving her wondering what was so 'sinful' about that man in the first place? What could he have possibly done so wrong that he had practically been disowned by his family?

"Miss Yim, it's nice to formally meet you." She gave him a polite nod, choosing to stay silent than say something and be met with her father's harsh stare.

"Mr Kang told me you've been over at his home, a few times." Her father spoke breaking the awkward meeting. A breath became lodged in her throat as she anticipated some sort of wrath, after all Mr Yim was supposed to be oblivious to her going out and painting other women for a light commission. She didn't exactly know how he would react to that. "He appreciates your help with Mrs Kang's pregnancy." Mrs Kang is pregnant? That would explain the engorging belly, the mood swings and the other number of odd behaviours that she was listing off in the past few weeks she had been challenged with drawing the difficult woman. At times, Miss Yim thought she ought to have more empathy, it wasn't that she lacked it, it was that she tended to not gift her empathetic abilities to the prejudiced. It was women like Ina, and the cooks that worked in the kitchen that deserved her compassion. Women who strived to be breadwinners, even if it was due to poor socio-economic circumstances. Because women like Mrs Kang were hypocrites to be preaching the old values, pre-Confucianism, when they neglected their own sex.

"Yes, she's been enjoying my company. I intend to go again to deliver herbs she’s asked from Ina’s garden.” She recalled glancing down the extensively large page, as Mrs Kang moaned and groaned when the servants were too late to serve her namul and kimchi.

"Red raspberry leaf, dandelions, echinacea." Grimacing, she looked over her sheet to give the woman a look. "You can just get this from the market, why do you need this from Ina's garden?" Mrs Kang simply pouted rubbing her belly. Now that she thought about it, how did it not occur to her that she was pregnant? Perhaps it was because they begged to slim down her figure in the painting.

"Fresh herbs are good for babies." Were the herbs from the market not fresh enough for her? “I need them picked before they’re here.”

"Perhaps I should add lemon balm to burn that fat." A discourse of exasperated gasps rippled over the room, Mrs Kang waddled out of the room wailing for her husband. It was ruthless and unkind, keeping the unsympathetic Miss Yim awake at night before she travelled back to the Kang estate to see a very unhappy couple.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Kang. You’re beautiful just the way you are, even more with the little belly.” The pregnant woman’s tight grip around her neck, as they hugged, almost choked her to death.

Mr Yim's eyes outcasted through the doorway, there was a light patter of rain yet the howl of the wind had subsided significantly. He let out a small hum before returning back to the young pair staring, ardently, back at him.

"I say Mr Choi, should be your chaperone. It's a little unsafe to be going out by yourself." Before she could open her mouth and argue, her father held out a hand to silence her thoughts. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she nodded once more, before dashing from the room to have a flustered Mr Choi following her.

Hitching up her skirts, she trudged through the field, the sun had filtered into the sky radiating its essence onto the young souls as they surpassed the reams of houses. Had it not been for the joyous discord of infantile laughter, it would have been quiet; San mustering the courage to initiate a conversation. He cleared his throat, she merely blinked at his futile attempt at grabbing her attention.

"Miss Yim, you must slow down I can't keep up with your pace." He declared, striding faster towards her, the tall grass brushing against his knees.

"I think you can cope, Sir. Your legs are longer than mine." Walking through the grass wasn't difficult but when her hanbok was floor length, lifting up the heavy fabric proved tiresome and not to mention her shoes were sinking into the muddy fields, squelching miserably under her heavy steps. Eventually, San matched her pace as they made their way up the steps to the Kang estate.

A shrill voice eructed into the airs, the domestic staff worked at a proficient speed as they amended the damages inflicted from the storm. As a group of servants raised the logs from the path, San ran to their aid significantly lightening their work load. His charity had left her silent contemplating her initial thoughts on his persona. There must be something impure under all that. Surely? There had to be some reason why his father practically disowned him.

Kang Yeosang stood by his front doors, watching as his staff worked the lawn and through the large home. He sought the enigmatic painter launch up the steps, with an unreadable look painted on her face.

“Good Morning, Miss Yim.”

“Morning, Yeosang.” She greeted, he laughed a little at her dull tone.

“I take it, there’s nothing particularly good about this morning.” He jeered, she huffed at his characteristically exuberant manner.

“Not when my father’s spy is here to be my chaperone.” She turned around on the steps, the pair looking down at San moving the heavy logs from the path, dirtying his robes at that. “He’s the new apprentice at the local office, Choi San, I think he said his name was.”

"Oh, the country boy." Country boy? "He's from Yangdong, have you not heard? His family is amongst the richest, they're both scholars and farmers, now." Across the country, Joseon farming techniques had taken a turn within the last few decades, especially with the establishment of irrigation and rice transplantation methods- bringing Joseon to a state of flourishment. It was safe to say, which farmer wasn't rich now? The admirable farm boy was pushed away by the servants, making his way up the steps. Leaving him with Yeosang, she made her way in the direction of the couples' shared quarters, Mrs Kang draped over her bed, her wrist dramatically resting on her forehead.

"Hello, Mrs Kang." The woman jolted up from her seat, an obnoxious groan emitted from her as she propped her back up against the wall. "I brought you your herbs."

"Thank you, my love. You left your paints, they're just on my dressing table." The herbs were exchanged from her paints, digging into the pockets of her hanbok. The older woman began to natter, the discordant tonality rattling in her ears. Mrs Kang loved to talk. Even if it was about absolutely nothing, that woman talked for the whole of Joseon.

I'm leaving this place with a headache.

She often wondered how it was that Yeosang put up with his insufferable wife. Was it love, or a promise that he had made to Mrs Kang's parents that he would never leave her? The thought made her sigh in pity- to be permanently bound to someone in matrimony seemed like too much effort at times. Perhaps the effort itself is what subdued her mother to misery, the poor Mrs Yim eagerly handing her soul to the Angel of Death. Or maybe Miss Yim had possessed a stone-cold heart frozen over by the neglect of life's intimate essence; overpowered by a sense of maturity held over by her mother's early death. She took it upon herself to make it clear that by the time she was thirty, if there was no proposal that had come around she was going to wholly abandon the idea of marriage and work herself to death.

"That man is so pretty." She spoke, dreamily, Miss Yim's eyes lazily fled in the direction of Mrs Kang's. Her head poked through the doorway where both Yeosang and San were travelling down, engaging in intelligent discourse. "Not Yeo, the other one." The pregnant woman clarified.

"He's ok, I suppose. Not bewitching enough to tempt me."

"That has to be the biggest lie I have ever heard."

"What is Miss Yim lying about now?" Yeosang provoked as both men entered the room. Both women shared a look before the painter slumped onto the dressing table chair. "I suppose you're awaiting your payment."

"Well, my services aren't free." She declared, pompously. Yeosang rolled his eyes before he moved to the opposite end of the room, San had almost drawn his body out of the bedroom, a little embarrassed as the pregnant Mrs Kang ogled her eyes at him. Stretching her limbs, she got up taking the velvet bag. "Thank you, Mr Kang. I'll visit when the baby arrives."

His perfection had her repleted with such distaste for him. Simply put, Miss Yim hated Choi San because he was loved by all. Her father loved him, Ina adored him, the maids were constantly drooling over him it shot her with a sense of annoyance. He quickly became a household name, spoken of when he was at the office with her father and even when he was at home. Everywhere she went it was just him, him and him. The worst thing was, was that he was even trying to be nice to her prevailing through her grim looks and hard words.

“San this, San that. Honestly, he’s not even as esteemed as everyone claims, Ina. He’s just a man, like every other man. And all men are the same. So what if he's good looking, does that suddenly make him god’s greatest gift?” Burying her face into the pillow, an exasperated huff escaped her lips. Ina fell onto her bed, reaching her arms out to stroke her mistress’ back. With a contented sigh, she felt her eyes drooping a little as the maid's soft caresses were gently lulling her to sleep. Her touch felt like that of her mother's, soothing the aches of her heart whilst simultaneously provoking the nostalgia of a mother's love. To have her mother again, to have that woman encircle her into her arms. Rock her back and forth. She longed for her mother's scent again, often chasing the whiff of her familiar saccharine redolence as one chased butterflies in an open field.

“Yet you think of him often. He occupies your thoughts as much as he occupies ours.”

“Hardly, I-,” She stammered in a desperate attempt to recollect her thoughts into a single ambience. “I envy him. How is that he steps into this home for a second and I see my father smile?” Ina’s face dropped, a breath caught in her throat as her mistress spoke aloud the forbidden words she denied her staff to even breathe. The older maid had been rendered silent for too long, giving Miss Yim all of the answers she needed to press forward with her wistful assumptions.

"Perhaps if you grew to understand him, you would know why your father has inhabited such emotions for him. Think of him like a son-in-law. He will love him but not as much as he loves you." The maid reasoned.

"Then that makes him my husband." She grumbled, pulling the duvet over her shoulders.

"Now is that so bad?” Ina teased, before pulling her weight off the bed. With no strength to argue, her eyes fluttered to a close; her soul being dissolved by the night.

The following morning, it was too cold to be even sitting on her porch and with eyes tired of the same dreary scene, she ventured out of her quarters, delving into parts of the home she had missed. By the kitchens, the late Mrs Yim had reserved herself a small room decorated with the tools of all her hobbies in order to enact time alone for herself, away from motherhood and social responsibility. The room was consistently cleaned but usually left empty having it being full of painful memories of the beloved mistress of the household. For the first time in a long time, Miss Yim had felt the drive to find the room again and read her mother's poetry she had spent hours pouring over in the rooms.

Yet it had been almost shot stone-cold dead when the door opened to find San sat by the window hands raised towards the canvas. The anger within her refused to simmer or boil, it was rather the smooth swaying of the soft waves lapping the crust of sand. Her hands feebly reached for the poetry book on the table.

"I didn't know you were a painter, Mr Choi." She proclaimed, her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes sought the intricate details on the canvas. Her eyes glossed over the colours, the succinct shapes, drawing on the brushstrokes herself with the sharp movements of her eyes. It moved her. When was the last time she had been left this breathless?

"You never asked, Miss Yim." Immediately she felt intimidated by his artwork, her own revered drawings felt meek in comparison to his. A mere apprentice in an important official’s presence. To even be this close to him was considered a blessing. "You can sit next to me. I don't bite." Tentatively, she drew closer seating herself on the floorboards next to him; the brush of their fabrics sending a tidal wave of timidness over her. Where was the bold, steadfast Mrs Yim? Long gone, lost to the large expanse of the sea. Drowning under the ocean of his perfection. She didn't even want call for help, allowing herself to be enveloped by his allure. You draw so beautifully, she wanted to say. It's perfect, like something-someone even.

"You should have been a royal painter." The remark was swallowed into a melancholic void within his heart. Sparing a glance, he dipped the tip of the paintbrush into the crevice of the cerulean blue paint before raising to illustrate the canvas.

"Don't say that to my father." She sought the gloom glossed over his brown eyes. Was he, too, held down by social responsibility and expectations? She didn't think it was possible for a man's dreams to be mauled over by society; for she saw it with her father who had the whole world at his feet-picking dreams as if he was picking daisies from a meadow. Dropping her book onto the floor, she rested her head on her knee, solicitude fulfilled the serene atmosphere. Her eyes fell over the fancy metallic pots situated around the easel, which she knew to be various colours of paint pigments. Resting her head on her knee, she tenderly rocked her body from side to side as she watched his hands elegantly work through the canvases.

"Did you ever consider pottery? That's supposed to be quite popular now." Her question breaking through the quiet airs, the delicacy of her voice startling San. It was devoid of boredom, or disinterest like he had always perceived. No lace of judgement like he was silently praying to be diminished from her soul.

"It'll grow out of popularity soon." He stated, resting the paintbrush down to exercise the tense muscles in his hands. "I heard this was the late Mrs Yim's room, I hope you don't mind me being here." It, too, came as a shock to her when she shook her head-with no care in the world that he had colonised the room that she was once sure was hers.

It was sunny for once, which was odd for this time of year-she thought throwing open the door to the porch finding San surrounded by a large number of logs and an axe.

"What's he doing outside?" She pondered, Ina folding up the washed bedsheets before tucking them away into the drawers.

"They stopped properly chopping up the logs so we can use them for the fire, so Mr Choi offered to help." Wandering out through the doors, a smooth current of air tousled her hair, a book held tightly against her chest.

God, he really was toned. Rolling up the sleeves of his hanbok all the way to his bulging biceps, the maids all stopped in their path to rest their elbows on the low garden wall overseeing the vast expanse of grass. Effortlessly he picked up the axe, raising it over his head to slice down the log of wood. She rolled her eyes at her maids, as they watched him with dreamy faces. They nattered in hushed tones, giggling amongst themselves unbeknownst that their mistress was stood behind them. Leaning down to where they were sat on the garden wall, she poked her head in between the sea of charmed maidens.

“What are we looking at?” They squeaked, jumping up from their seats upon sight of their mistress- flapping their hands as some rushed back into the kitchen and others tended to garden duties. “Well? I would like to know too.”

“You wouldn’t understand Miss Yim.” Yes, yes she was the narcissistic Miss Yim who harboured no feelings for men and couldn’t deduce their charming airs. She was the Miss Yim who rejected countless marriage proposals, not based on looks but merely because she found that no man possessed the kind quality in a man that she was seeking. No patience, no loyalty. They were not even ruled by a sense of ambition. So how could she be hypnotised by the sacred beauty of a man, specifically, Choi San.

“Yes, I don’t understand why you’re not doing the job that we’re paying for you to do. All of you, out of the garden, it’s already been tended to!” She shouted, in an instant all of the maids dispersed back into the home. Huffing, she slumped onto the garden wall, glazing her ink pen over the defined lines on the page. Occasionally, she’d peer her eyes over the pages at San, tending to the curve of his body, and the horrific cinching of his waist. When he looked to his side, she hastily returned back to her sketchbook, feeling a blush decorate her cheeks as his steady gaze burned into her skin.

“Very accurate, Miss Yim.” Jumping up from her seat, she screeched the pot of ink spilling onto his face and neck. Whoops.

“Oh goodness, I am so sorry. Ah.” She let out a pained sound, battling with her internal conflict as she grabbed his hand rushing them into the direction of the porch that led to her quarters. Powerfully, she slid the door open darting inside and towards the washroom. Hauling him down to his knees in front of the washing basin, with a soaked rag in hand, she scraped away the ink splashed across his face. “Take this off.” She ordered, signalling to his hanbok.

“W-what?” He stammered, his face heating red.

“Well you’ve got ink and dirt all over it. I can get a new one for you.”

“I can’t just return back to my quarters and change?”

“Well no because then my father will see you and he’ll know I stole his ink again.” An annoyed huff escaped from his lips as she handed him the rag to clean himself. “Here, I’ll go get you a spare set of clothes.” Jumping up from where she was kneeled, her foot slipped over a puddle of water his arms snapped out towards her waist. Gripping his shoulders for stability, a faint blush trickled over her face, their noses barely an inches distance.

"Be careful." Quickly unravelling her hands from his shoulders, Miss Yim ran out of the room towards his quarters. Slipping past the double doors, she rummaged through the drawers for his clothes-picking up a light green set.

"Mr Choi?" A maid's voice called out from behind the closed door. Discerning their shadow moving closer, she made a beeline through the open doors leading into the garden. Scuttling into her washroom, she practically launched the hanbok at him before hiding in her room.

A breath of relief had finally escaped from her when he left from her room, both of their faces burning red in the midst of this shameful meeting. Yet San seemed persistent to know her, feeling that there was still something beneath the stone-cold façade she had constructed; something emotional and raw that he had felt he had to know. And Miss Yim was too becoming more curious, by the day, as to what Choi San’s secret was and why his father perpetually hated him.

Ina had forced them to go on a walk together, she groaned, silently, as they left the home behind making their way down to the meadow. At first an odd tranquillity permeated the air, eventually she grew tired of the jarring dissonance of absolutely nothing.

“A penny for your thoughts?” She inquired.

“I’ll keep the penny. I almost feel you’d judge me for having thoughts.” San bemused, she rolled her eyes, a faint of a smile on her lips. Just the tiniest, but it was practically gone within the same second.

“I don’t judge you, Mr Choi. I do, however, envy you. You��ve taken the place I wanted in my father’s heart.” She confessed, he looked towards her sympathetically, with knowingness that she was indeed right and the Mr Yim, famous for being just as aloof as his daughter, had somehow softened a little upon his arrival. Perhaps it was a son that he had always wanted, not a daughter but the scholar was reserved; San being too terrified to pry.

“Your place is best occupied elsewhere. Somebody else has it, I’m sure. He keeps it safe with love that is too potent that even dreamers can’t feign.” Of course was reading her mother's poetry, she didn't think many could understand the abstract nature of her words; of course it was him out of all who admired her poetry as it was his own.

"I am not pretty enough for that." Miss Yim argued, looking down at her feet. After all, the marriage proposals were not because of her vague good looks, but mainly because Mr Yim claimed an abundance of wealth.

"I disagree with you on that." Her face heated with his affirmation.

"Well, I am no Jang Ok-Jeong."

"There are many beautiful women in Joseon, not all of them have ever been recorded."

"She caught the eye of the King, a man who has a kingdom at his feet, he is supposed to be too superior to even look at his subjects. And he looks at her? Is that not a beautiful woman?" They were both fuelled by this argument, the debate igniting a set of powerful emotions that roared within them. This, was what they both deeply felt conversations were supposed to be. Potent discourse about society, literature and art. Not idle chatter on the weather, marriage and the social laws that subdued them.

"A man is supposed to be ruled by his head, not emotions. I say if any man bestowed more than a single glance, on a woman, and his breath was taken away, then she is more gorgeous than Venus herself."

"Not that wretched painting. It's so...vulgar." San snickered, squeezing his eyes as he let out a melodious laughter. "It says so much about the male gaze." She spat out as they trudged through the fields back in the direction of her home.

“I wonder if you like any art, at all? Other than your own?” He questioned.

“Owon is good. Apart from the vulgarity of Renaissance paintings-,”

“Which I must say is the majority of the whole movement, pray, continue.” He teased, his pestering smirk seemed to stitch wings on her heart, for it fluttered at his amiability, his devoutness to mankind and all of its endearing qualities and his perseverance. Despite her uncompromising attitudes and distasteful demeanour, he seemed compliant with listening to her, talking to her, truly trying to understand her and not just turning a blind eye. Choi San truly wanted to know her, for her; and not follow some false allegation that she was devoid of a heart or soul. He commended she had both and they were wrought with an existentialist quality that he wanted nothing but to huddle in the corner of a library and read away his life until it dissolved under the cover of her persona.

"What about you?" She questioned, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her own ear. At once, San was drawn into the world of virtuosity describing each of his favourite pieces as if it could be encapsulated into a single globe. The sweet dissonance of his voice lugging her into a dreamscape as they gently glissaded through the empty hallways of the Yim estate. They sought their eyes over the panelled wall, following the intricate lines of carved wood. They could almost be called mad people loose from the dreaded ward. For their eyes did not see the same way a normal persons did. He saw the shimmer in the air, the light poring through the crevices, the faint blemishes on a skin unseen with a naked eye-too vague to be called a taint, a mark, a scar. And she would see what he saw, whether it was not there she could reach to the depths of her sanity and pour out the image before her eyes to satisfy him.

It became a wonder to her how they spent several nights, the light patter of her feet as she rushed to his quarters with fulfilling arguments over art pieces, sharing techniques, rifling through each other's sketchbooks. His style was a stark contrast to her own: luminous watercolours, velvety acrylic paints, oily crayons. His muses were full of life and wonder, the strokes brimming with fruition. It was if a single segment of his painting held more hope than what could exist in her whole being.

There was something about him, too. She could see it now, his compassion, his adoration. As the weeks spun by, she became less repulsed by his sincerity and opened up to it more, almost finding herself craving his attention. His affection was much welcomed; she often wondered what it would be like to be so loved by him.

In her mother's old drawing room, she found him again, his large hands drifting over the pages again. Peering over his shoulder, she softly blew into his ear; the warmth tickling him.

"What are you drawing?" Her eyes scanned over the cartridge sheet, its intimacy striking her. It looked like her. Every sketch line, every shade, every little detail, every little blemish on her face.

"You." He answered, he didn't dare tear his eyes away from her for her hair was falling down her face in perfect waves that lured him into uncharted depths.

"You drew me so pretty."

"I only drew what I saw." Her heart wavered in piety, his devotion provoking an arrangement of madness. He was going to drive her insane and she was content with it.

"I wonder, what was it that you were excommunicated for?" Her silence broke through the passionate airs, culminating the objectivity that fulfilled among them as his sins held heavy on his tongue.

"I am not a scholar, a farmer or a devout son. I am an artist, a man who sees the world despite all of its maliciousness. I see the world so raw, it almost disgusts me but I am not terrified by its honesty. I find it so beautiful, it belongs on a page: drawn." Her body swayed towards him, hypnotised by his delicate words drawn his intoxicating tenacity, filling her with such immitigable rage that within that severe moment all she wanted was him. "I was 'excommunicated' because I am not the man my father wants me to be. I return as soon as I am devoid of all the emotions he renders vile." Tentatively, her fingers curled through his hair his eyes fluttering shut under her gentle touch.

"What about you Miss Yim? Why are you so solitary?" He murmured, their quiet voices serenaded the room.

"I am not solitary by choice. It's been enforced upon me and I know nothing and no one else but myself." Her whispers, though full of hurt and pain, were seldom dulcet. He thrived himself upon her words alone, it was enough to send him into delirium but her whole unmatched beauty with her words? He was sure to be sent to the wretched institute.

With an envelope gripped in her hands, she made her way over to his quarters slipping into the warmth, his smile greeting her as she slumped onto the chair in front of him.

"Mrs Choi? Your mother?" She inquired, handing over the envelope. San snickered at her nosiness, rolling her eyes as he took the sheet from her grasp, ripping open the seal to reel his eyes down the page.

"Actually, it's my wife." He announced, sparing her a single glance as he continued to read the words sprawled across the page. A sharp pang penetrated through the barriers in her heart, she felt her feet slipping under the ground, the walls pulverising as they caved in on her. For some reason, the room felt much more smaller than it was. Her heart was beating faster than any poetic declaration he had bestowed upon her, any time he had made her feel as if she was truly a worthy soul of being loved. Her heart palpitated faster than when he made her feel she would not die from a cataclysmic loneliness.

"I didn't know you were married." She breathed out, gripping the sage green silk in hand; feeling almost disgusted with herself for fixating her whole being on a man who never belonged to her in the beginning.

"We'll be officially married when I return back home." With a teasing smile on his lips, he grabbed a clean sheet from his desk and began elegantly carving the characters onto the page. "I'll be sure to send you an invite, if you'll come?"

“Of course, I’ll come. You know, for the food.” She quipped, his dimpled smile shattering the months of pining she had set for this revered soul. “I’ll take your leave, San.”

She fled from the room her bare feet blessing the sweet earth, the velvety wisps of the wind taunting her as tears welled up in her eyes. With a breath hitched in her throat, she fell onto her bed; bottom lip quivering as pearl tears escaped from her eyes dribbling down her cheeks before splattering onto the bedsheets. Her painful howl terrorised the desolate quarters as she had done on several dispassionate nights, the skies mimicked her torment, the light patter of rain hit against the window as if it understood all her wretched emotions. As if it understood her anger, hatred and hurt. As if it understood how disgusting it felt be left vulnerable by a man who could never be hers.

Was it some false delusion that she had been seduced by? That he, who was carved from a sculpturers most wild emotions, by all of his tenacity and his violent rage that he wished to create a being made of light: could truly be hers? By his yearning and pent up sentiment, by his dying wish that this world was not at peace until some divine figure from a concealed land would touch her world? Her hands shook as she sought to remove the tears streaming endlessly down her face. After all it had now made sense to all of the sympathetic souls that had heard her be plunged through such pain, to read her tale and understand the reason for her aloof nature.

Up the walls went back up. Brick by brick.

Curse you, Choi San, for breaking them down in the first place.

San had not seen Miss Yim for the remainder of the week or the subsequent. Granted, he had been flooded with an overwhelming amount of work but such was to be expected with the incredible staff shortage and Mr Yim’s high expectations. Regardless, he missed the snarky comments and unrelenting stares from across the room. He missed her moodiness, how ever infuriating it was at times; he missed the sense of quietude she presented at his feet and its ability to render his mind numb. Overall, he missed her. Yet, she seemed to be nowhere in sight and in fact missing even under the cover of the night.

“Ina, do you know where I can find Miss Yim?” He questioned, the agony rupturing the sutures of his weak heart apart.

"In her room, Mr Choi. She's, specifically, requested not to see anyone." Oh. His mood deflated after that concession, wracking his mind for all the things he had said in their last engagement; anything potentially hurtful or offensive but he didn’t recall anything particularly endangering. His quest to venture into her quarters, despite her ruthless commands which had the servants petrified over her uncharacteristic (but not abnormal) behaviour, had been cut short by Mr Yim’s desire to keep a tightened hold on the apprentice. He thought about bringing it up as he ate dinner with his mentor.

“How is Miss Yim? I heard she’s isolated herself in her quarters?” He raised, tentatively, as Mr Yim’s eyes scoured down the reports. Her father was a little too quick to dismiss her actions.

“Never mind her, that’s not something new. I was surprised she was even roaming around the house when you arrived…” Mr Yim trailed off as a thought infiltrated his mind, shutting the book close, his furrowed brows silenced the questions in San’s mind.

The moonlight spilt in through the window, the luminous shadows dancing with the light breeze. With dried tear tracks staining her puffy cheeks, she circulated her finger around the cotton sheets pulling up the heavy duvet over her shoulders, a trail of heat comforted her. The door to her room, silently, slid open; oblivious to the soft bustling of footsteps she stretched her limbs sitting up in her bed.

“Miss Yim?” Her head snapped up at the deep voice, its familiarity sending an agonising wave of heartache through her being. There he was, the perpetrator himself, settling in front of her with a teacup in his palms as if nothing had happened in the first place. “Are you ok? I know you don’t like echinacea, so I got you lemon and ginger tea.” Placing the tea cup on her night stand, he rested his palm against her forehead.

“What are you doing here, San?” Huffing, she fisted up the hair in her palms before sticking a dry paint brush through it to create a tight knot.

“You’re burning u- were you crying?” His finger lightly smoothed her damp skin, shaking her head she pushed his hand away from her face. God, she felt awful for his wife who had to endure his infidelity. “What’s wrong, jagiya, speak to me?” Biting down on her lower lip, Miss Yim threw her gaze out of her window, she sought the light shimmering as her vision blurred.

“Just leave, please.” There was no more hostility left in her tone, a coarse throat lacerated with the phlegm that built up from endless nights of sobbing herself to sleep. Tiredness gnawed at her, she just wanted to dissolve back into the covers. Pleading, begging she’d do whatever she could to force him to leave because if he didn’t then she would tear down the path to the Angel of Death and beg him to take her dwindling heart. On her knees she would go, for the mere sight of her lover crumbled the steadfast walls she had tried so hard to rebuild.

“Are you upset because I’m going home next week? If that’s the case-,”

“San, are you dense?” She interrupted. He was subjugated to silence, a look of hurt flashing over his face. “Leave means leave.” Adjusting her body so she could slide under the covers, she stridently hauled the fabric over her head, gripping her lips tight shut, so no more pitiful sobs escaped her and she was no more a servant to his cruel love.

The Yim estate was left with a melancholic air as the venerated bachelor made his preparations to leave the home. The maids were forlorn as they’d no longer have the privilege of seeing his striking face to bless their monotone days. Miss Yim had finally mustered the courage to take a stroll through the garden, avoiding San's quarters at that. Lingering by the flowers, she wrapped her arms around herself to manifest a sense of warmth that failed to prevail with the awful weather. She didn't notice her lover tear down the garden to her, his heart leaping within his own chest.

"Miss Yim?" Her body whipped around upon his words, her hands balled up into fists the anger displaced by fear. "Do you know how painful it has been for me to go days without seeing you? I am leaving for Yangdong, today, and god knows if I didn't even so much as see your face I would have gone feral."

"I- why?" She stuttered, at a desperate attempt to collect together her words and form a sentence. How and when did he culminate such passionate feelings for her?

"Why? Isn't it obvious? I am in love with you." He declared, she shook her head, profusely, at him.

"How can you say that?" Her voice raised an octave, parrying against the harsh winds that blew at them.

“If being in love with you is a deadly sin, then I am the greatest sinner there is. I will walk up to the gates of hell and open them myself. Hand over my arms and ask them to bound me to its greatest depths.” His chest heaved up and down, tears brimming at the front of her eyes. “I cannot live without you. I would not even do so much as breathe unless you asked me to. If you asked me to stop breathing, I would!”

“You’re a married man, San. Do you know how god awful that sounds?”

“I’m barely married but engaged. When I go back home, I will once again beg to not be wed off to her. I don’t love her, how can my father expect me to marry her? How can you expect me to marry her?”

“I don’t think you understand, San. I can’t love you.” His arms outstretched for her waist, hauling her towards him, the rain beating down on them both. With the gentle flick of his finger, her head tipped up to peer into his eyes.

“Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t love me, or even feel as much as a small emotion for me. One word from you, would silence me forever.” She bit furiously down on her lip as his vehement fixation tore through the borders of her soul. When did she fall so vulnerable in his conquest for her being?

“I don’t love you the same way you love me. I am incapable of doing so.” His own brown eyes fulfilled with hot tears, pouring soundlessly down his cheeks. Her heart wavered with misery as he ripped away his grip, stumbling backwards upon her untruth.

“I understand. Thank you, Miss Yim. For the first time in my life, someone saw me for who I really am and not who I am meant to be.” Once again, the thunder cracked against the sky as San turned his back on her striding back into the home. The maids ran out to shut the doors, summoning their mistress back in but she sunk to the floor erupting into a fit of sobs; a wave of shock rattling through them. Her heart burned with such pain, even as Ina cooed lifting her up from the floor to guide her back into the home. Melting into the older woman's arms, her ears drowned out the distant sound of her lover ambling far, far away from her to a land in which even its notion would never grace the depths of her mind.

Her father's office was warm, but not the comforting kind as the biting airs of Joseon persisted. It was more suffocating as they sat across from each other in his office, discussing the state of her future now that he had managed to complete some of burdening tasks at work. He had several proposals lined in front of her, some prospects from his workplace, some from Mr Kang and even Ina had managed to find one or two seemingly agreeable men within their social class. A sigh fulfilled her, it would be a lie to say that she didn't look for the smallest hint of San within them all.

"I'm sorry Father, I don't like any of these men." He closed his eyes in indignation, rubbing his face before collecting the sheets from in front of her and throwing them into the fire. The embers cackled in a slow, seething ferocity as he leaned back in his chair.

"I honestly don't know what to do with you anymore. You won't marry, you won't leave your quarters. You've stopped helping around the house. All you want to do is sit in your room all day and stare into space." He scolded, she shook her head before raising from her seat. "You are becoming a burden to me."

"Well if I am such a burden to you, then just get rid of me." She taunted. An animosity truanted through him at her discourtesy.

“What do you think I have been trying to do since your mother left us? It should have not been your mother that had died! It should have been you! I would trade my soul to have your mother in place of you.” He blurted, before quickly slapping the palm of his hand to his mouth, cursing him for the spoiled words that left it.

“I would trade my soul too, to have my mother where you stand. You are a poor excuse of a man and to call you my father is an insult to me.” She hissed through gritted teeth, the shock reverberating at Mr Yim’s core; the severity of her words pulsating through his blood.

“You shouldn’t have been a father if all I was going to be to you was a pretty doll in a picture. The truth was she didn’t die because she was ill, it was the heartbreak of carrying a whole marriage on her back. It was the fact that you didn’t care about her wants, but your own.”

"You are in no position to say that to me. I loved your mother like it was breathing, I loved her as if she was the greatest blessing, as if God had granted me mercy for all the times I had done him wrong." His chest suspired, brittle hands shaking as a heavy tension remained suspended in the air between them; Ina loitering outside afraid to walk into the war zone.

"But you didn't love me! It was my mother who loved me, and I wasn't allowed to have her! I wasn't my mother's daughter, or my father's. I was a daughter of a servant with my name merely attached to you." At the end of the day, she was the figure in those paintings. Trapped within a frame, four equidistant lines on a piece of cartridge paper, bound by brushstrokes, sketch lines, constricted and held down by the artist. Subservient and stuck to a position in which she could not move.

Mr Yim deserved the brutal honesty of those words, no matter how harsh it was, and with a pounding headache, she ran out of his office ignoring her father’s calls for her to return to his side. This was it, there was nothing and no one by her side now and she was now the destitute figure that she had feared she would become.

“What’s wrong my dear? What’s hurt you so much?” Ina’s soft voice dilapidated at her mistress’ gloom, one she had seen prolong within her late madam too. Squeezing her eyes shut, she summoned the courage to spill her heart to her maid. She told her of how much she adored him, how deeply she wanted him and the ways in which he had made her fall in love with him. And how he had hurt her too.

“So call me heartless and apathetic all you want but I couldn’t take another woman’s man from her.”

“My love.” Ina’s weak fingers travelled through her hair. “You are far from heartless and apathetic. A man who you love is your whole life, you gave your life away to another woman.” She looked over to Ina, falling into her motherly embrace, breathing in her scent. There it was. The same scent that her mother had, the scent she was dreaming to come back to her in the midst of the night, and her a fool to dismiss that it was in front of her the whole time.

“What should I do now?” Her weak inquiry, breaking her heart, sinking deeper into the void than she already was.

“Go back to him and tell him you love him. He is a gentleman who accepts despondency like a soldier. So you, his general, must go back and tell him to return home to you.”

“Ina-,”

“Do not deny yourself of what you deserve. Your mother did, I won’t see you walk the same path.”

“I will let time run its cycle. Time will tell if he is meant to be mine.” She declared, to which the maid rested her palm on her cheek.

Mrs Kang’s baby boy, Kang Minho, was indeed a beauty. His bedazzling little eyes stared up at her in wonder, babbling as she lightly drew the tip of her finger over his chubby cheeks. It was astonishing for Mrs Kang to see that it was merely a little baby that would eruct a smile out of the secluded Miss Yim. It had been about four months since San had left the estate, and a while it took for her to leave the confines of her quarters. Once again, she took requests after requests painting and painting until her hands became stiff and sore. And so even more marriage prospects came, and her eyes lingered slightly over a potential husband. Both Ina and her father were pleased when she stayed a little longer at the doorway of their home talking to one of the young apprentice’s at the office. He was tall, handsome and kind; perhaps it was flickers of San she saw within him that had her thinking that spending the rest of her life with this man: wouldn’t be particularly gruesome. Regardless, she made no firm decision but still, for her father this was significant progress.

“He likes you.” Mrs Kang chimed, grinning down at her baby. She hummed carefully, softly tickling his smooth cheeks.

“Maybe I like him too.” Her gaze lightly flickered to the elated mother. “Where is Yeosang? I didn’t see him on my way in?”

“Oh he’s in his office with San.” Her head snapped up from the baby at the sound of his name. Goodness, how long had it been since she had heard that single syllable name, forever it seemed it would merely reverberate inside her head. “Did you not know he was in town? He came to see Minho.” Shaking her head, she got up from the bed consoling herself.

“I- I think I’ll leave now. I’ll come visit another time.” She announced, before awkwardly patting Mrs Kang’s head; a poor endeavour at affection but for Mrs Kang this affection was whole-heartedly appreciated. Her footsteps sped down the hallways, she came to an abrupt halt at the exist of the Kang estate.

There he was, stood there with Yeosang conversing if they were age-old best friends her heart palpitated with anxiety, knowing that she’d have to walk past him again. The sight of him almost triggered her, she gripped onto her deep purple skirts, his own yellow hanbok beaming like the sun.

“Miss Yim! I didn’t know you had arrived, leaving so soon?” Mr Kang chirped from the door. She shook at her head at him.

“I’ve been here for over an hour and a half. I’ll visit another time, especially since Minho is the only tolerable person in this household.”

“Just say you love him.” A grumble erupted from her lips, she rolled her eyes- with a delicate playfulness- before squeezing past the pair of men. A pounding of footsteps travelled after her as she trudged back through the fields in the direction of her home.

“Miss Yim, allow me to accompany you.” San professed, breathlessly. With a diligent nod, she transgressed forwards ignoring his burning gaze into her skin. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine. What about you?” He responded he was great all the same, reporting that the weather in Yangdong was a little warmer than in her hometown.

“When is your wedding date? I’m still awaiting on an invite.” It was a joke, nonetheless, but one that didn't hesitate to puncture holes in her heart.

“We broke off the engagement, it was mutual really. She was in love with someone else.” With a breath lodged in her throat, her stare tore away from the fields piercing straight into his eyes. It was then she had realised how burdened he truly was. Where was the San that always smiled and joked, and was so full of love it seemed inhumane to have so much of it? They didn't need to say anything to each other in that moment, they stopped walking subsided to a silent, paralysed position. "I think I'll just take your leave." His voice quivered, sending a jolt of agony through her.

Hadn't she made him suffer enough? After all he was the same man who loved her as if she was the vessel that kept the blood running through his veins, his heart beating and his feet walking.

Go back to him and tell him you love him.

Tell him to return back home to you.

His body almost disappeared behind the vast expanse of buildings, when she raced down the fields, as fast as her legs could carry her, ignoring the vicious ache gnawing at her muscles and the agitated pounding of her heart against her chest. Tearing down the path towards him, in the chance that if she didn't run any faster she was going to lose her lover to the wind.

"San!" Her shout echoed in the breeze, but reached to his ears anyway, a tug at the weak strings that had barely held down his soul. He turned, so desperate that she would come to him like she had done in the dead of the night. Feeling his lover crawl into his arms, pledging that she would never leave from his side.

"Miss Yim, what's wrong?"

“I lied to you, when I said I didn’t love you. I really, really do, I almost feel disgusted by it. I never thought, that someone as ruthless and as cold as me would be privileged enough to fall in love but when you entered my life I felt like my mother.” She sucked in a deep breath, her lover making gentle steps toward her as the wind whipped their hair. “I felt like her when she said: ‘If he was the muse in a painting, to be an object, a fleck of paint, or even dust on it would be my greatest honour.’” Warm tears forged in his eyes, biting down his bottom lip to prevent them from escaping. She wanted to outstretch her arms towards him but it was too soon.

“So, Choi San, it’s an honour to be loved by you. I came back, because I had to tell you that. I hurt you so much. I was scared that being vulnerable to love would only hurt me but the only person who gave me such torment was myself.” Her confession disturbed her, yet it was the unspoken truth that only he was entitled to. A tense silence suffused the air as she pended his response, but all he could do was try to convince himself that it was not a dream and she really had said all of the words he had spent countless nights praying that she would declare.

“I love you, Miss Yim. I loved you yesterday, I love you today and I will love you for eternity. There is simply nothing that one can do to tear my heart away from yours, not even you.”

"Do you mean that?" It was a stupid question, but she could not help the words be spilled from her mouth. He nodded violently.

"I do. With my whole entity." Choking back on her sobs, her arms reached out for him throwing them around his neck. Nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck, her grip tightened as he ensnared his hands around her waist; breathing in her scent as if it was oxygen. "Come home with me my dear, come home and be mine."

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

'Yim' meaning light

A/N: the long awaited painter!san fic (with a twist 😏) that i've been waiting too long to put out. I hope you liked this one. :))

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tags: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho

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aquaquadrant · 2 years ago

Text

Title: flickering

Warnings: Hearing voices similar to intrusive thoughts (the voices are from sentient fire, not from the character’s own mind), pyromania, session 3 spoilers

~*~

Tango might be hearing things.

That is, beyond what the rest of his friends have already been joking about this entire session. The secret task bestowed upon him seemed like pure hilarity at first: pretend to have an imaginary friend. And he had to go all out, too, having imaginary conversations in the presence of other people. He wasn’t confident enough in his improv skills to pull it off without some kind of prop, though, so he’d assigned the role of imaginary friend to a torch in his inventory.

Torchy, a new best friend for the resident blaze hybrid on the server. Hilarious.

Except, as the hours went on… carrying Torchy around and randomly placing it down… hosting one-sided conversations with a piece of burning wood while his friends watched on with baffled amusement… it started to get a little less hilarious. Because he started to imagine that he could actually hear Torchy talking back to him.

Looks bad. Burn it. Kill him.

Just pleasant little things like that. It made for great conversation fodder; nothing turned heads on this server faster than a randomly overheard, “No, no, we can’t kill him!” And it was funny to carry on that kind of dialogue, chastising a flaming stick for its apparent bloodlust. The looks on his friends’ faces were priceless.

But at the end of the session, after Tango had been found out and failed his task, after everyone bid their farewells and went their separate ways to end the session… he hears it again; a flickering whisper of a voice in his ears.

Burn it.

It startles Tango so badly, his blaze rods ignite. “Aaagh- who? What?!” He spins around, flames spitting.

“Huh?” Skizz pokes his head up from behind their little clump of chests, his wing flared out in surprise. “What happened?”

Tango clutches his pounding heart. “Did you- did you say something, Skizz?” he asks breathlessly.

“What, just now? No?” Skizz frowns, then his eyes widen. “Oh, wait, I get it…” He chuckles. “Very funny dude, but uh, you can drop the ‘imaginary friend’ thing now.”

Burn him. Kill him.

There it is again. “No, I’m not…” Tango hesitates, glancing around warily. “You seriously can’t hear that?”

Join us. Burn it. Eat it all.

Now Skizz looks a little concerned, rising to his feet. “Uh- no? What?” He takes a few steps towards Tango, holding out a hand. “You okay, buddy?”

Tango rakes his claws through his hair. “Th- the whispering, the…” Swallowing, he creeps a bit closer to Skizz- and as he does so, he happens to move closer to a random torch. The voice gets louder.

Free us. Join us. Let it all burn.

There’s a chunk of solid ice in Tango’s stomach. “I think it’s coming from the torches,” he whispers.

Skizz stares at him for a moment before he sighs bemusedly, shaking his head. “Oh, brother. You’ve been talking to yourself all session, dude, I think you’re starting to hear things.” He claps a hand on Tango’s shoulder. “Get some rest, buddy, and I’ll see you back here next week, alright?”

Skizz doesn’t hear it. Tango makes himself laugh. “Right, yeah. You’re right. See ya.”

With a parting smile, Skizz logs off.

Tango waits. Soon enough, the voice returns. The whispering is now a chant, a dull roar echoing in his skull.

He’s gone. Burn it. Burn it all. Sets us free, let us spread. Join us. Burn it. Eat it all.

Tango’s heart is in his throat. He can see it, in his mind’s eye; the soft pink cherry blossoms engulfed in flame, a ring of smoke outlining the entire island… his inner fire thrums with want, with need.

Yes, yes, burn it all…

The smell of burning snaps him out of his trance. His clawed fingertips are pinching a cherry blossom from a low-hanging branch, a trail of smoke rising between them. Wait, when did he walk over to the tree? Quickly plucking the flower, he incinerates it in his clenched fist, the flame extinguished as soon as it’d ignited.

And now he’s got a handful of ash. Great.

Okay, that’s it- he’s gotta get off this crazy server. It’s all these stupid tasks! They’re totally messing with his head. The secrecy, the deception, the mind games- he just needs a break. He needs to go back to something familiar, some place where things make sense.

Tapping his communicator, he brings up a portal.

Tango steps through it into Hermitcraft, into blue flames and his dungeon master’s robes. He blinks, acclimating to the change of light. He’s in the underbelly of Decked Out 2, of course- most of his time this week has been spent working on the redstone for level four. And over the months, he’s taken care to light everything up (because a single creeper in the skadoodler could derail his entire operation here) so there are torches everywhere…

And he hears nothing.

Just the idle sounds of the dungeon above him. The occasional warden sniff or ravager growl, bats squeaking in the dark. A slime slapping against stone somewhere in the distance. He can even hear the ambient flickering of the countless torches around him, but no freaky voices accompany it.

Tango exhales heavily. It was just the Secret Life server messing with his head, after all. Relieved, he ignites a rocket to take off, whirling through the air in the tight hair-pin turns required to escape from the dungeon’s inner workings. He swoops into his storage room and dives into the bubble-vator, arriving swiftly back in the citadel.

Hopping off the platform and into the air, Tango glides toward his private entrance to the lobby. He needs to go cover up the barrel at the start so he can make a couple changes to the dungeon. Nothing major, maybe just an extra warden or two. Ideas for names are already flashing through his mind. Debating whether to go intimidating or silly, he’s so deep in thought as he passes through the lobby that he almost doesn’t notice it at first. But as he walks past the soul flames, he hears it.

The flicker of a familiar voice- though more haunting, now, almost mournful- whispering in his ears.

Join us. Burn them. Eat them all.

~*~

#secret life smp #life series smp #tango tek #tw intrusive thoughts #kinda??? at least it might feel similar so just in case #ANYWAY. HOW WE FEELIN ABT EP 3 #i’ve actually managed to watch a couple in between cramming for this exam #and lemme just say. as a blaze!tango enjoyer… torchy was very interesting to me #for the record this isn’t HTP tango #i don’t picture him as having this same ability #this was just a fun musing #like what if torchy awakened tango’s ability to speak to fire #my writing

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dragonclaude · 7 months ago

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Hey, I honestly had this question in my head for some time for RCB. So what does the game over screen look like? Say if you run out of health, fail a timed quest, or make the slightest mistake. Will Sakura have voice lines when the game over screen shows, and maybe have a recall of tips in case they skip it?

Oh good question! This is something I have like, exact image idea for too.

First, I should mention that Sakura would “Save” the game by getting into a meditating pose which can only be done out of combat. If you had allies, they also sit and chill with you too:

Because of this, when you get a game over, it’s played as if she’s thinking about what may happen in the future and made a bad choice. If it was a less important death like a wandering Monokuma, she would say something more generic like “I should be careful.” or a simple sigh. Dying in a normal boss battle, timed quest or some kind of puzzle area that can have a hint she would say something more unique.

But if it were one of the boss fights like Mahiru or Ult. Imposter who are purposely trying to re-despair her, the game over would briefly be her falling into despair again before transitioning back to the save point.

The recall for tips is cool though, that could be a nice qol too :]

#guys I have rewatched playthroughs of the entire DR series 5 times recently and I have been getting so many RCB thoughts again #ask #whitty4life45 #roaring cherry blossom #mytext #myart #danganronpa au #danganronpa #sakura ogami #sakura oogami #kyoko kirigiri #byakuya togami #aoi asahina #komaru naegi #toko fukawa #yasuhiro hagakure #danganronpa spoilers #dr spoilers

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wooliepjzz · 5 months ago

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Under the cherry blossom tree, next to the hydrangeas

first ever fanfic :3 sorry its short + cringe it was js for funzies ^__^!!

Chapter 1:

A wave of metallic scraping and banging roared throughout the cold unforgiving night. Sonic and Shadow were both warding off Eggmans Badnik Moto Bugs and Buzz Bombers. They had been the victims of an Eggman surprise attack in a lousy attempt to win a chaos emerald that Shadow had acquired recently.

“OW!!”

Sonic yelped as a Moto Bug rammed itself into the back of his legs. The force sent him hurdling towards Shadow.

He caught him as he fell and snarled at him as he pushed him to his feet.

“Watch yourself, you blue buffoon!”

He snarled at Sonic.

“Im sorry, it was a cheap shot!”

The pair continued hitting their bodies against the Badniks until only one remained. Sonic smiled as he obliterated the last Moto Bug. However, as he threw his curled up body at the robot, the speed and force of the blow hit an unsuspecting Shadow in the back. He growled as he fell to the floor.

“Shadow!”

Sonic rushed over and pulled him up by underneath his arms.

“You okay, buddy?”

A sympathetic smile adorned his face, his hands still on Shadows upper torso, resting beneath his arms. Their eyes linger for a moment- only a moment- until Shadow stepped back slightly so Sonics hands would drop.

“Silly of you to think I wouldn’t be.”

He snarled in return.

Sonic, still smiling, sighed. Shadow was always so difficult. He didn’t entirely mind though. He liked Shadow the way he was- he was sweet and gooey under his rough exterior, Sonic knew it. In fact, he’d experienced it face-on before.

[flashback to Sonic prime] chapter 2:

Sonic lay on the hard wooden floor, eyes barely open. His body was writhing with agony. The sounds around him were muffled, his ears were ringing like crazy.

“I’ll take it from here.”

He managed to make out the vague gruffness of Shadow’s voice. Before he could think, he was tenderly being lifted by Shadow. His arm was slung around Shadows shoulder as he felt the warmth of one of his hands cup his side, and the other laying on top of Sonic’s swaying hand on Shadow’s shoulder.

Slowly, Shadow began to step forwards, guiding Sonic with his hand on his waist. He began to pick up the pace as Sonic’s shaky legs began to find their footing. His legs were pretty much on auto-pilot by now- his eyelids were heavy and his vision and hearing were obscured, his ears still ringing and his body still in agony.

Sonic “glitched” as a wave of sharp pain filled him and fell to his knees- if they were to stay in the shatter space for much longer he was a goner. Shadow half growled-half gasped in annoyance? Fear? Determination? Sonic wasn’t sure.

He felt Shadows hands shift from his hand to under his knees. Carefully and seemingly effortlessly, Shadow lifted him into his arms.

He could tell that Shadow had picked up speed now, as cool air rushed against his face, brushing his quills back. Sonic managed to steady his eyes, just for a second.

“I never knew you were a hugger.”

Sonic said breathlessly.

“Do you want me to save you or not?” Retorted Shadow.

The way he said this confused Sonic. He wasn’t annoyed with Sonics friendly- almost flirtatious-comment like he usually was. Yet he wasn’t entirely happy sounding- come to think of it, does Shadow ever sound happy? Sonic wasn’t sure..

The way he said his reply was sort of kind- playful almost.

Another surge of electrical pain flooded Sonics body causing him to groan in pain. Shadow inhaled as his eyes widened in what seemed like worry. He grunted as he strained to boost his speed, pushing his foot into a floating rock. Sonic’s body began to fade, more pain flowing through him than ever.

“HANG ON, SONIC!”

Shadow’s grip on Sonic tightened, but not enough to hurt him. He strained to move quicker.

A blinding light filled Sonic’s head. The blowing air against him had ceased. He opened his eyes, his body relieved of the pain he felt prior. They had made it.

chapter 3:

Sonic and Shadow walked side by side from the dark alley where they had fought the Badniks. Colourful city lights filled the crisp night. Sonic smiled up at the arrays of color and light. He breathed out as he took in the beauty of it all.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Shads?”

“Hm?”

“The lights- the City! So many people.. so many lives.. so many feelings and opportunities.. all in one place..”

Sonic stepped in front of Shadow and spun around, giving himself a 360 view of the surrounding city.

Shadow didn’t reply. But by the way he looked up at the sky and the city lights, Sonic could tell he was taking in what he said. He smiled at this thought- the thought of Shadow taking in his words and thinking them over.. god how he wished he could know what Shadow thought. He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared so much about Shadow and how he thought and felt but it had always intrigued him.

“C’mon,”

They had been stood in silence for a minute or so- the sudden talk caused Shadow to look over at Sonic, waiting for more. Sonic looked over at Shadow. As their eyes met, he felt a strange feeling overcome him- his face felt hotter and his pulse sped up.

“I wanna show you something!”

He smiled at him as he began to lead Shadow away.

Chapter 4

The pair arrived at the top of a hill. A cherry blossom tree stood tall and proud in the centre of the grassy plain. A bush of pink hydrangeas sat opposite the tree. Sonic placed his hands on Shadow’s shoulders, guiding him under the tree. Sonic sighed happily as he breathed in the sights of the city. From up here, they could see everything- all the shining lights and tall buildings. He sat beneath the tree. Shadow did the same. A cool breeze blew against them. Sonic turned to Shadow and grinned. Shadow’s head turned towards Sonic- seeing him already smiling at him with such kind eyes sent a weird feeling running through Shadow. His breath had suddenly vanished and his cheeks felt hot. He quickly turned away.

The sudden gust of wind had pulled a good few cherry blossoms from their branches. They began to slowly rain down on the two hedgehogs. Sonic let out a laugh as a petal landed on Shadows nose. His eyes widened and he huffed at the petal. He ever so slightly blushed as he snarled. Sonic smiled tenderly. He stood up and ran over to the bush of hydrangeas , he was back next to Shadow in a millisecond. Now sat again, he held the pink flower in his hands. He looked at it for a while before looking back up at the city. He turned his gaze over to Shadow once more. Shadow could feel his eyes on him. He turned to face him.

He was met with a smile which seemed to warm up the cold air surrounding them. As he looked down, he saw Sonic holding the hydrangea- offering it to Shadow. He stared at it with a confused look-he looked back at Sonic, who’s face flushed at the sudden eye contact.

With a defeated sigh, Sonic lowered his arm. He placed the pink flower next to Shadow. He looked at him and laughed softly.

Shadow turned to him confused,

“What now?” He huffed.

“Its just-“ Sonic giggled.

He reached his hand towards Shadow, who’s eyes followed it the whole way, and picked a petal off of his quills and smiled- they were covered in pink cherry blossoms, which contrasted nicely with the red and black of Shadows quills.

Shadows face reddened slightly, embarrassed to be covered unknowingly in petals.

He went to shake them off, but Sonic stopped him.

“They look pretty- COOL. Pretty cool. They look nice- They work well- They suit you is what I mean.”

God, what was wrong with him. His hands were sweaty and his heart was racing.. He noticed Shadows eyes flick to his own quills- OH! Right! He was probably covered in pink petals too. His hand reached to his head and picked off a petal. He laughed.

“Matching!” He grinned.

Shadow turned away, back to the blaring city lights. Sonic could make out a slight smile on Shadows face- it was quite the change to his usual serious face, no matter how slight the smile may be.

Sonic inhaled in a silent gasp as Shadow picked up the hydrangea Sonic had placed next to him.

“You look nice when you smile.”

This took both Shadow and Sonic by surprise.

“Sorry- I don’t know why I said that.”

Sonics face burnt. Why had he said that? I mean it was true.. Sonic thought so anyways. He loved seeing people smile. But this time he felt different seeing Shadow smile.

“You were right.”

Shadows rough voice was almost as sweet and soft as candy to Sonic. He loved hearing his voice..

“The city lights are.. nice.”

Sonic smiled, knowing he had gotten through to Shadow.

“..So is this spot.”

This spot had always reminded Sonic of Shadow. The busy, bustling city reminded him of how many lives Shadow seemed to have lived. The lights reminded him of the red in his eyes. It was so.. nice. He loved that shade of red. The hydrangeas and cherry blossom tree had always made Sonic think of Shadow, but he didn’t know why. The pink in the flowers filled him with the thought of Shadow- honestly, there weren’t many things that *didn’t* remind him of Shadow in one way or another.

Sonic realised he had been staring at Shadow for a good while now. He stood up and gently grasped Shadow’s hands, pulling him to his feet. Another gust of wind landing more petals on the two. Shadow’s hands were still in Sonic’s. He let go of one to brush a petal off of Shadows forehead. Suddenly, Shadow realised how close they were to one another. Their noses were close to touching. He never noticed how.. green.. Sonics eyes were.. such a pleasing green. Chaos emerald green.

Sonic’s hand lingered on Shadows head, slowly trailing down to his cheek, his other hand still holding Shadow’s.

Before he knew what he was doing, he gently moved his head towards the other hedgehogs, tenderly planting a kiss on Shadow’s lips.

Quickly he pulled away. What had he just done. His mouth hung open. He was stunned- what had he just done, WHY HAD HE DONE IT??

“Im sorry-! I-I should go im sorry-“

He let go of Shadows hand and began to step back, but before he properly could, he felt Shadow gently grab his arm, stopping him from leaving. His eyes stared intently at Sonic’s. Sonic smiled and exhaled. Maybe it wasn’t too bad of a thing to do..?

Shadows hand slid down Sonic’s arm into his hand. He pulled him closer as they stood under the tree. Wind blew, fluttering more petals onto the pair. They stared out at the city lights together. Shadow’s face still hot and Sonic’s hands still sweaty. Sonic fell into Shadow’s arms, sending them both to the ground.

“What are you doing-?!” Shadow grunted.

Now lying under the tree, Sonic curled up and snuggled into Shadow, his head resting on his chest fluff.

Shadow sighed but as he did so, he wrapped his arm around Sonic’s back. He let out a secret smile- a small one- so only the lights in the faraway city and the pink bush of hydrangeas could see.

#fanfic #fan fiction #first fanfic #sonadow #shadow x sonic #sonic movie 3 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic x shadow #shadow the hedgehog #art #digital drawing #fanart #sonic fanart #sonadow fanart

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finallygaveintothesirencall · 21 days ago

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Davrin Week: Day 2

Eyes of an Eagle, Roar of a Lion, Heart of a Halla

Mods used in screenshots:

Alternate Hairstyles for Davrin

In War Victory - Armors for Davrin

Grey Warden Overhaul

Shadow dragon's casual vest for Rook and the Inquisitor

Springuard (Cherry Blossom and Forest Overhaul)

@datvcompanionweeks, @bluerose5

#davrinweek2025 #dragon age davrin #davrin #davrin the warden #davrin dragon age #dailygaming #dragon age fanart #dragon age the veilguard #datv #davg #davrin x rook #davrook

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 1 year ago

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Here ye, hear ye! I do declare I headcanon

Hobie ALWAYS smells good asf

Without exception.

It's something you can always notice, because every day he smells slightly different. But always good.

It's on purpose.

I mean, look at all his accessories and clothes - he probably has a nightstand piled high with spiked bracelets and studded chokers and silver rings. And right next to his accessories - is his cologne collection.

Some bottles are older, half filled bottles of vintage finds he loves. Others are newer, fancier - ones knicked from high end shops. If he smells it, and likes it, he takes it.

His favorite are the woody, smoky, spiced smells. Like sandalwood or cognac. Things that smell like shag carpets and roaring fireplaces.

Sometimes he may be in the mood for something a bit sweeter, so sometimes he'll of dark chocolate, or maple syrup, or chai.

The most common ones are surprisingly fruity.

Hobie often smells of cherries. Dark, deep maroon cherries, the kind with sweet dark juice. Others, on more playful days - green apple, a little bit tart but still fresh.

I Hc he likes candy too, and is constantly popping jolly ranchers. Sometimes you can hear it when he's eating one, the quiet clacking of it - and the faint scent of blue raspberry, or super sweet watermelon.

When it comes to Spider Senses, I like to think Hobie is a sensory seeker.

He likes loud music and big speakers and heavy, layered clothes. He's likes strong sounds and scents, bright colors, and interesting textures. And cologne is one of his favorite parts of an outfit -

Cause he does consider it just that - apart of the outfit. Don't let Mr.'Cool This Whole Time' fool you - he thinks about outfits. Hobie really enjoys putting them together.

He's actually into fashion - just not in the industrial consumerist way most assume. But he still loves matching pieces, making them, putting together fits. And he never leaves the house without some fragrance.

It REALLY adds to the appeal.

Diane's trying to talk to him about work when they first meet and she's already nervous

and then she's can't help but notice and be like 'oh- WOW, you smell good. Heh. wOW. Sorry. Sorry. I just did not expect you to smell like cherry blossoms-'

'....thanks-'

'oh goodness, wait a minute, that's not it. I - I don't even think I could place that scent-'

She's standing there in the middle of the hall smelling Hobie - train of thought derailed the tracks and rolling down a mountainside, Miguel's work forgotten

Hobie goes 'its jasmine, really. Jasmine and saffron'

Diane's like 'JASMINE AND SAFFRON??? Boy. whatchu know about some Jasmine Saffron!'

Cause how dare he. How dare he be that fine. It's not okay. How can she live her life in these conditions?

She goes to tell Margo like 'Girl!! Did you know Hobie wears cologne?!' and Margo is like

'... Sis I'm not even physically here what makes you think I can smell'

Even Miguel notices after a while.

It's a group meeting, and he's lost in thought as he rambles off another plan, pacing back and forth.

He stops suddenly when something comes to mind.

'Who's that? Whereas that smell coming from? It smells like Horchata in here. Who was drinking Horchata??'

Cause if someone was drinking Horchata he wants some. Undebatable.

Half the room is like what the hell is Horchata???

Miguel's like 'it's cinnamon and rice and vanilla - it's a Mexican drink, alright. WHO WAS DRINKING IT.'

Hobie raises his hand and Miguel's like 'Not now, Brown. We're talking about something important.'

Hobies like 'Bruv it's me. I ain't drink it I just smell like it-'

Of course Miguel is calling bullshit cause he's sure Hobie is fucking with him until he goes over and Miguel's thinking 'oh fuck he does 😳🤨 que diablos???'

But he just looks down at Hobies smug ass face and he's like '.... As you were, 138.' before trying to act like nothing ever happened 😭😭

I think to think Hobie Brown is just That Smooth

The good looks ain't by accident he is BROKE, PUNK, and HIGH MAINTENANCE

#normalize mentioning your OC's like canon characters without warning #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #miguel o'hara #spiderpunk #miguel ohara #hobie x oc #hobie brown x oc

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olenvasynyt · 5 months ago

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WIP Wednesday and hopefully a good omen for the start of the new year! Here’s a snippet of The End and The Beginning: a Lucien x Elain x Jesminda fic, along with random notes since it’s still a rough draft.

A short summary: Lucien and Elain have accepted the mating bond less than a year ago, but the anniversary of Jesminda’s death brings up painful memories and complicated feelings in Lucien. His mourning and guilt manifests as a bittersweet wetdream.

Lucien breathed in the smell of loam and lilac and cinnamon. Something cold and soft pressed against his cheek. He laid on a forest floor, the moss as his pillow, the leaves as his blanket…there was something heavy in the air, like smoke or a cloud of fog.

He stood, pressing his hand into the crumbled leaves to steady himself. The forest around him was a rich collection of jewel-colored trees—topaz oak with bronze and copper trunks, mahogany made of garnet and rubies…But the tree that stood about him was bare. A sycamore, with ivory bark underneath a peeling and scaly silver.

A raven sat on one of the bare branches. It blinked its dark black eyes and cawed mockingly at him before taking flight over his head. He turned to watch it go, and when its black body disappeared through the colorful foliage, a familiar voice echoed behind him.

“Lucien.”

He turned, the air moving around him as a current of red and gold.

She stood behind him, the sycamore tree bone white against her dark brown dress. Red and tan patterns of geometric lines and delicate autumn leaves climbed up her sleeves and lined the collar. The tarnished bell earrings at her ears tinkled in an autumn wind.

Jesminda. Jesminda, Jesminda, Jesminda. Her name was an echo, a heartbeat, a deep thumping of a drum.

She stepped closer, the smile on her face making the bow of her lip crinkle. “You look more handsome with a scar.” Her voice was distant yet unbearably close, quiet and deafening as a roaring river.

Something tugged in him. A strange, familiar feeling akin to longing and pain and unbearable sadness. He touched his cheek, feeling the raised, calloused skin that went from his eye to his jawline. “I was afraid you wouldn’t notice,” he answered, his eyes fixed on her. His voice sounded younger, like his past self was nestled underneath his skin. “I was hoping you would take pity on me.”

“Bravery and foolishness are often confused with each other,” Jesminda said. But no, that voice echoed from behind him. Lucien turned, the autumn air swirling around him, turning green and purple and fuschia…

Elain stood behind him. Her dress was a bright, soft lavender, with white lace framing the collar. A necklace of pearls hung around her neck, coupled with twin earrings. A spring forest bursting with lilac trees and cherry blossoms bloomed behind her. A few petals drifted around her golden brown head and changed into autumn leaves right before his eyes.

She smiled. “Lucien,” she whispered in Jesminda’s voice.

Notes: Elain and Jesminda both approach him, Elain in front of him and Jesminda behind him. Ooooh symbolism, good job, Dana! Jesminda wraps her hands around Lucien’s waist while Elain kisses him.

Jesminda’s presence loomed behind him, while Elain pressed her lips to his. Scaly hands slid down his waist; Jesminda was holding him, pressing her warm body into his and laying her forehead against the blade of his shoulder. Their smells mingled together: lilac and apples, honey and incense and spice. Lucien felt like crying as Elain kissed him, felt like screaming as Jesminda’s hands brushed his skin.

So different, Autumn and Spring were. A world full of opposites—happiness and despair, comfort and hurt, life and death…the contradictions swirled and blended into one. They balanced each other, they fit as one coherent thing. The beginning and the end.

He never felt so full and so empty. So happy and so unbearably sad.

#wip wednesday #fanfic writing #lucien and jesminda #jesminda acotar #Elucien #elucien fics #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #I’m really excited for this fic #I love mourning and grief in fics and I feel like Lucien has so many feelings of guilt still #and him finding his mate after centuries of mourning a loved one he thought was his mate?#like jesus christ #it’s so painful #and the comfort will be very good too in this fic I promise #Elain and Lucien are meant for each other #my writing

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dankmyfarrik · 10 months ago

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Eternal Sunshine | Chapter 9: Know Hope

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Summary: An alternate universe where the only thing that happens differently is... well, the Emperor wins. And Luke wakes up with a mysterious scar on his temple.

Read it here:

AO3

Welcome back! Sorry about the delay! This took way longer than I was expecting to finish. But here we are - enjoy!

Chapter warnings: Cannon typical violence, Grogu is put in a dangerous situation but is completely fine.

Word Count: ~7k

*~*~*~*~*~*

A few things happen when a Star Destroyer enters lower atmosphere.

First, because there are other ships that serve similar purposes more eloquently, a Star Destroyer needing to leave the vastness of the galaxy, and stoop so low is considered a rarity and thus a necessity. A docking Star Destroyer is not an everyday occurrence.

It begins as dark omen cutting through the sky—small at first, eventually growing to eclipse the suns. Large enough the beast ever so slightly captures the curvature of the planet, it dwarfs whatever landmark of civilization or nature lies below it.

Second is what happens in the mind.

It's a humbling sight that freezes the blood of the non-imperial.

Then, the wind begins sweeping the land like a beckoning storm. And that's when the roar of the engines, deep and resonant, echo through the valleys, cities, mountains - whatever is in the way, sending shivers down to the marrow.

The only sensible action then becomes surrender. But most of the galaxy, Din had found, was not sensible. Star Destroyers, more often than not, served as the beginnings of glorious tales, a demon descending to find itself unwelcome.

So when the Descant slowly clambered its way through the docking procedures, the shadow cast on the ground growing larger and larger it was a rarity that the planet below it offered no fight. The fight had been beaten out of it years ago, now it had succumb to the great galactic Empire.

It was an odd sight, Din thought. The world was beautiful: pristine grassy hills, a bright blue-purple sky, soft tufts of cherry blossoms. Yet the planet was swarmed by the Empire; it was a hive home to parasites. Two worlds of freedom and order.

As a passenger, Din was not permitted to land with the Descant. The Crest, forced to depart with a grumble from underpaid and overworked imps, left the Descant and Natus behind. He would have stayed as long as he could have, even against the beckoning draw of the beeping fob in his hand—seeking the bounty, calling him on. Everything in Din's beingknew it was wrong to leave Natus alone and vulnerable. And Leia. Maybe even the Maker didn't know what they were doing to her. But her orders were clear—say his name. Get through to him. Leave if you must.

A glance behind the departing Crest revealed the Descant was exchanging large creates, and to his horror chained people between the Imperial facility.

The Crest lurched into hyperspace.

Stars encompassed the viewport.

It wasn't long before Din was circling Tatooine and preparing his own docking procedures. As he got closer, a black dot, a silhouette of a ship against the pale gold marble, slowly slid into focus. His gloved hands paused on the controls.

The silence in the cockpit was palpable, broken only by the hum of the ship's engines and the faint, rhythmic beeping of the navigational systems. Tatooine sprawled beneath him, a desert planet of endless dunes and scorching suns, a placewhere survival was as harsh and unyielding as the landscape itself—an old, familiar pain. The ship in the distance, stark against the golden sands, seemed almost a mirage, a specter born of heat and light. One of the suns eclipsed the planet just behind the Crest, eliminating the shadows.

The familiar husky voice sparked over the com.

"If you're looking for the trandoshan, I've just bagged him." Slave One drifted closer. The monitor thrummed and beeped innocently.

Boba broke the silence again, something abnormal lacing his usually jolly tone. "Djarin… I have something you need to see."

"Fett," Din started, believing this to be the reason, "how we left things—"

Solo. We fought. I left you behind. I think you got hurt.

All unsaid.

"I know." His brother recognized his tone. "This isn't a trick. I respect you. If I ever come to my senses and choose to finally fight you, it will be with honor."

Slave One latched onto the Crest from where they circled high above the desert hell.

Din entered Boba's ship still aware of the weight of the blaster at his hip, but his hands didn't itch for it like he normallydid seeking through the scum pits. Din trusted him.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight when the latch door hissed open.

A small human girl, her hair tight in braids clung to Boba's leg nervously. At the sight of Din she jolted behind Fett further, only leaving room for her wide eyes to peek over, head as high as his knee pad. Awkwardly but with a demonstrated practice, the burly man placed a comforting and familiar hand on her back. She couldn't have been older than four.

"Now my kar'ta, it's alright. Din is a friend. He has a little one he watches over too."

Din's chest tightened, a sharp pain piercing through at the thought of leaving the kid with the imps for so long. His only solace was knowing there was a protector on the inside.

Instinctively, he dropped to one knee, trying to make himself as small as possible. Even then, he still towered over her.

"Hi kid."

The attempt was pitiful, even to him. But the act seemed good enough to her. Her eyes looking through him, into his soul and he thought he met her eyes through the visor for a split moment but maybe it was just his imagination. She seemed to see what she was looking for and hesitantly stepped out from Boba's shadow. She reached a hand up, and Fett instinctually held his arm out. They locked pinky fingers as she guided herself and Fett closer to Din. She needed to take three steps for every one of Boba's.

"They must have kept her in one of the most secure places in the whole kirffing galaxy." It was too late to fix his language so both the men just winced. "Yet she got out. They had glowing wristbands on her–maybe something for a shock? This little thing. Can you believe those monsters? And she still got out. An'edee!"

She paused, seeing herself in the reflection of the polished beskar. She reached a tentative hand, the pad of her finger brushing Din's chestplate and for a moment, with her small hands on them both, she linked them together, and whatever hurt and unspoken words he and Boba had harbored dissipated into the universe.

She had a firm face and stern eyes despite her age–a childhood cut too short. She, at four, may already know of danger and death, and her place in all of it. In a flash, Din saw a small boy hidden in a red hood looking back at him—reaching out—screaming for his mother. And with an unheard clang on an anvil working beskar he was back, looking at this freckled, fair girl with hurt soulful eyes.

And a small scar in the same exact place Natus had his.

"I'm Rey," she said—proud of every word, "It's nice to meet you."

"They sent me after her." Anger shook his voice as he bit out three words Boba prayed to the Maker she wouldn't understand.

"Hot or cold."

At these words Din's jaw clenched, drawing blood from his cheek. Boba's fists balled so tightly Din could hear the leather creaking from where he stood. "So she stays with me now."

Fett obviously skipped a lot in between, but enough went without saying.

She will never go back.

"I said the oath," He was full of warmth and pride. "She's my ad'ika."

"I'm happy for you."

"You're looking at it," Rey piped up softly. Her hand moved some of the hair blocking Din's view of her scar. Now he saw it wasn't red and angry like Natus' cut, it had scabbed and healed over rotations ago—losing a time war and fading into her skin as a small ice-like sliver. "You want to know."

"Yes. Someone I care about a lot has a similar mark."

Boba's helm turned a sliver of a degree, he must now understand the depths of Din's affection for the Sith but he didn't comment.

"They hurt my mommy and daddy," her voice a broken whimper. "I got mad. They wanted me to not remember anymore." Her small, childlike hand touched her scar again.

"There was a nice man in a black mask. He held my hand and told them: no more!"

"Wait," Boba breathed, "Nice man in a black mask? Karking Darth Vader??" The men winced at Boba's language again.

Rey nodded happily.

"But your scratch, they wanted you to forget?"

"Yes. Then my head hurt bad. But he helped me."

Din had the start of an answer.

"Thank you," he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him, a tooth missing.

Mission now set, Din quickly turned to leave, Fett caught his arm at the elbow.

His voice a hiss, "Wait. If you go now while they are docked or anywhere near that hub—it's a death trap Din. They would never give him up easy. You will get swarmed and will lose any trust you ever gained."

Din knew he was right. But he had a thought of those Imps hurting him like they hurt her, with maybe less reservation because he wasn't child—maybe they didn't think that way. No matter, it clawed at him, seared in his mind, urging action. He knew he didn't have long.

"You heard her about forgetting. Natus—Luke—How many times do you think…"

Fett looked down at Rey.

"I can't leave him. Like you can't leave her. He knows something is wrong. I can't let him forget. Not now." Not when Leia is there too.

"I'm not going to put her back in danger."

"I would never ask that of you."

"I know."

Din stepped through the latch separating the ships. Boba continued, "Reach me if you need a quick escape."

Din nodded, the door between them slid shut, and the ships separated.

—-

Leia had felt the Descant dock with a low rumble and a jolt so subtle it would have gone unnoticed if she weren't trapped in a bright, blank cell. The rumble and the jolt, however minor, were a disruption in the otherwise unchanging monotony, a reminder that the galaxy outside still moved and shifted; she could only pray that the pawns she put in place were strong enough to shift the tide in her direction. It was what she excelled at, after all.

Her intricate braids were held up by a sharp blade that, at a moment's notice, she could brandish or slowly use the tool to chip away through the backside of the door's control panel. She could knock out a trooper, commandeer a pod, and be in lightspeed minutes before an alarm would even sound. Leia knew she would neither fight nor flee, and the opportunity, the ability, and the willingness to do so were more torturous than anything the cell itself could muster.

She mediated some, always keeping her brother and his whereabouts in a quiet corner in her mind. Before everything fell apart that day an eternity ago, he had been a steady constant to her–-and she knew it went both ways. In some way she always had known of their shared blood, drawing to him like a magnet in her head. Now, Leia knew she also still had a home in that quiet part of his mind, but it felt like that home had been boarded up, or the path to the home eroded away.She still felt him. Kept him close.

Thus Leia knew when the Mandalorian executed his part of the plan. Neither of them had been clear on specifics, just–say his name. Get through to him. Find a way.

Well, the hunter certainly found a way. A blush found its way to her face, the tips of her ears turning a shade of red. Leia was, thankfully, able to tune out their connection momentarily, choosing to focus on… literally anything else. Even her dull box.

She didn't fail to notice, before tunning him out, his feelings of dread soften and even turn to bright comfort she hadn't felt in a long time. How rare, she thought, love in a place like this.

Leia froze the instant she felt him again. With her absence, he had gotten close; a plume of worry and fear surrounded his movements—that's what snapped her attention to him. Maybe the Mandalorian got through to her brother a bit too well…

The seamless panels of durasteel parted with a light mechanical whirl. The corridor beyond was bathed in more of the cool, sterile light casting sharp shadows on the metal floor. A breeze, carrying the faint scent of recycled air and machinery flooded inwards as her brother stood in the doorway panting, looking like he was living through a nightmare.

"Leia," he paused and sucked in more air, he had been running, "what do I do?"

She jumped to her feet from where she had been failing to meditate. An impending dread was closing in on them both. It was nameless but in the air nonetheless, as real as them both but nowhere to be found. But he was there, seeking her like all the other times before.

"Leave this awful place with me. I have help–lots of it–they are coming soon, we just need to leave and get outside."

"I cannot abandon my father and Master. Or are you suggesting I leave and be with rebel scum?"

He wasn't as far long as she had hoped. Leia pushed down her own panic to speak, needing to be heard more than she needed water or to breathe.

"You've called out to me before. We've met like this briefly, a few times. I need you to remember. Remember me now Luke. You know something is not right."

"I don't know!"

"Focus on what you feel." Her eyes were wide.

"I don't know you!" He pointed a wicked finger at her, his body quivering.

Leia clamped her mouth shut, absorbing the hurt. She took a step forward so that his quivering crooked finger poked her straight in the heart. She could feel his pain seeping through his anger and confusion.

"You came to me just now," she whispered, "why."

His voice made more of a choking sound than actual words. "The Empire is good. I know it to be true. We need order to the chaos. But there are deep and painful secrets being kept from me. Everyone knows but me. And then you show up."

He growled and she didn't dare to stop his flow of words.

"I can't write you off as a fool like my officers would like me to believe. I spoke to a scientist---they are manipulating force users with an operation—I. They are doing something terrible to me, and I don't even know what it is."

"It's true. They are doing something to you, I'm not sure what. But over and over again they make you forget when you remember—when you remember me. They are hurting you."

Even still, he shook his head like he couldn't fully believe her, "How have I known you all of my life when I've never met you before?"

"I am your sister, Luke."

He dropped his accusing hand with a soft gasp. He knew very few things about this universe and much less about himself, but he knew this to be true.

"And we haven't known each other for very long. Not a lifetime. But I…I feel the same."

Family.

More than just him and Father.

"Leia," his voice broken, "help me."

She rushed to him, grasping his face in her hands with gentle urgency and pressed their foreheads together. Energy of the Force bloomed from her, amplifying the beauty of the planet that lay beyond the walls of the Descant. Through this, he tangled his hands into her hair, holding onto her with all his might, a plea for permanence, he would never let go, not when she was this close. Never again. He loved her.

The floodgates opened, and memories rushed in. The ones with comfort. Feelings of friendship—closeness with faceless people he knew so well. Flashes of family, Leia was there, but so were other people. A home, a stove, cinnamon, nutmeg, warm bluemilk. An old man and woman's faces etched with lines and crinkled eyes—the woman's simile.

The smile was contagious, it bloomed on his lips, a simple joy. Leia felt it too and she shared her warmth with him in the Force. He wrapped her into a hug, squeezing her somehow even harder.

More memories followed, a cascade lightheartedness. Laughter—oh, the sound of it was like music, so pure and rare. Someone's laugh, bright and unrestrained, resonated through his mind. It spoke of simpler times, of shared jokes and carefree moments with friends and a droid. He laughed, very light with the memories.

Another laugh, no a cackle, shattered this world–cutting through his mind like the jagged lines on his skin. This wasn't a memory.

The walls of Leia's cell reeled open with a mechanical hiss. Palpatie—glowing eyes peering from his hood—his clawed hands outstretched at his sides undoing the illusion of the cell. The larger room was lined with data pads, testing tubes, an operating table with restraints cipped open, waiting.

An interodroid buzzed next to him, and behind that was Pershing, the man didn't look up, he just pushed up his glasses from his hardened stare at the floor.

Despite the bile, he fell on one knee. Leia stayed tall—lips morphing to a scowl, defiant as the day she was born. They were still so close, he could feel her warmth next to him in his bow.

The soulless cackle continued, and more memories hit him. Bad ones. Sadness, fear. The old couple lay burned, home on fire, the smell of their flesh. Father struck down a cloaked figure, and a horrified scream escaped his own lips.

"Natus, my boy," Palpatine spoke, a squeaky gravely wine, "I came all the way here because I felt your pain."

Natus wouldn't have felt this pain. These memories didn't belong to him, these memories belonged to the other one, the one ripping him in two. The one Leia reached. Luke.

Yet, he still felt the wave of shame and embarrassment that not only was his weakness palpable to his Master, but it was strong enough that it compelled Palpatine to check on him. And to see that he was failing.

"I'm sorry, Master," he whispered, casting his eyes to the ground.

Then, Luke reminded him about those memories. Did those memories feel like he was a failure? Certainly not.

"It is my sincerest apologies you had to find out this way, but the princess, manipulative as ever, forced our hand."

"Liar!" Leia cried.

Palpatine continued diplomatically, ignoring the outburst of the girl beside him. "You were sick. Your mind hemorrhaging from a concussion. I had my best scientists save your life. We need to check your mind often…for your saftey. Only the Empire has the technological resources and the facilities for such unprecedented advancements."

His yellow-bagged eyes grew, "Without me you will surely…" he paused a crawling, tingling feeling, as he placed extra emphasis on every syllable, "...parish."

"Then why not just tell me?" His voice not as strong as he intended. Still on his knees.

Why didn't you tell me? You told me that Darth Vader betrayed and murdered my father.

Your father... was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force. He ceased to be the Jedi and "became" the Sith Darth Vader.

His head throbbed.

"The scientists thought that would hurt you more." As his Master continued Pershing didn't budge, didn't look up. Locked, frozen. "But I am telling you now."

A cold washed over him in the Force.

"You know it's not true, trust your feelings."

Search your feelings. You know it to be true.

Impossible!

"Nonsense. I have loved you, boy, and cared for you for as long as you can remember. I want what is best for you. Come with me now."

The interrodoid buzzed closer. But it wasn't going for him.

It was after Leia.

"NO!!!"

Then he was falling. Falling. Falling through the clouds.

He searched the Force, frantic for something not bolted to the ground to throw–to collapse the Descant into itself as to how he had done with the Profundity. In half a breath, he scanned the room, sensing every detail: the muscles and veins of windpipes, Pershing's abnormally fast heartbeat, and his shaking hands on a remote button.

There was a slight hiss; he felt a single drop fall a short distance—the sound soft through his own screaming as the drop mixed with a solution.

Before his breath could be finished, the Force stopped slowing his perception of time as the sound of screaming durasteelpropelled itself at them, followed by a wall of fire. He felt himself thrown to the floor—reaching out to block debris with the Force.

With an unidentifiable wail, Pershing and Palpatine vanished into the sea of flames. The chemicals ignited along the walls, shattering—pops and bangs—spitting their glass and spilling onto the floor.

Leia's hand found his, yanking him up and pulling him through the chaos. Flames licked at his feet, his cape singeing, smoldering black firey holes into his pristine uniform. The smoke swirled around them, shifting to shades of green and magenta, as they struggled to breathe, sprinting through the demolished opening.

With one glance back into the room, he saw the operating table, restraints still open, reaching out to them. The broken interrogation droid lay amidst melted, warped surgical tools and scattered syringes, vanishing into the thick smoke.

Trial 3.C—

Trial 14.A stim–

Leia!!! I'm here—

No this is wrong—

Trial 21.D—

Trial 27.B, stimulating superimposed inhibitor chip…Pain.

He was limping badly. The onslaught of memories couldn't be stifled, and everything and anything was a trigger. He was vaguely aware of the smoldering patches burning in rings into his body as they ran.

The old couple told him to run. That woman after him. He was smaller then, his legs carrying him as fast as he could through the desert. Sand kicking up as he ran and ran.

Was he crying? He was aware that Leia had taken his communication device and was giving commands into it, but her words didn't register in his mind.

Bleeding and broken. Alarm shrieking and echoing through the red-flashing halls.

"Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured."

"We just need to make it out of the Descant!" Leia cried above the jolt of the speaker.

"Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured. Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured. Initiate evacuation protocol. Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or captured. Initiate—"

They turned a corner, then another, and another. He kept a strong enough posture to pretend to be in possession of Leia. It worked; troopers practically leaped out of his way—just as they had done every other time he had made the same path with crazed eyes and blood-stained clothes. Because Natus is a monster.

Horrors he committed came to him. He gasped, and a tear fell.

They pasted another dozen soldiers all of then running paying them little mind. But it only took one to put two and two together. One com-in and they would all descend upon him.

"Rebel forces inbound. Anyone left within the hour will be dead or—"

A horrible screeching sound ripped through the air, and they followed—leading them to the outside world lit by starlight and burning ships. Hundreds of ties rocketed past them, in the disarray hitting each other, causing multiple collisions in the sky as the tie-fighters desperately returned to their designations, incapable of making a lightspeed retreat by themselves, like cockroaches in the light as rebel fighters loomed down from the heavens.

An attack of this scale must have taken months to plan. How had he let this happen under his nose? He was thankful.

"Watch out! Go. Go!"

Dazed, he felt as though he were watching himself in a holo--removed from the situation and scenes providing him information seconds behind as he tried to filter through the onslaught of memories.

Leia seized his hand again, jerking him down as a ship hurled itself just above them, slamming into the Descants' hold. Fire and steel tumbled down on them, forcing them to jump blindly, limbs flailing in the air, hitting the ground hard. Tumbling, rolling, damp grass and foliage clinging to him.

Leia hauled him up once again.

"Hurry, to the landing spot! We can't slow now—I have you. We are so close!"

Then out of the corner of her eye she spotted the Descant behind them. Troopers were all but running—loading equipment and prisoners back on board. The red lights still flickering, illuminating them in the hellish light, revealing their chains.

—-

The Crest fell from the sky with a roar.

Din only had seconds after completing the jump to discover the firefight he had been dropped into. By that point, the Crest was already spiraling downwards with a cracked thruster.

Din's arms strained with the might of pulling up on the controls. He aimed for a patch of trees; it was the best he could do. If he survived and found the siblings, they would have to steal a ship or make that call to Boba. He wished he had told Leia he would come back for them. He would just need to survive this… controlled crash.

It was the beskar that had saved him.

When he awoke, ears ringing, approximately ten minuets after the impact. Muscles protesting, he dragged himself out of the shards of transparisteel, treelimbs, and smoldering rubble of what used to be his home.

No time for sentiment now.

Once his feet were comfortably on the aborial floor Din toggled through the settings on the visor. He ignored the chaos in the sky with swarming X-wings, ties, and the Star Destroyers beginning the slow ground-quaking take-off process. It remindied him of tired banthas trying to stand as they were swarmed by flies. Maybe his humor wasn't fully gone. And somehow he knew Leia was responsible for all of it.

He instead opted to scan the chaos on the ground. No signs of the twins. Maybe they were still trapped inside. Din's heart dropped. He could see the Executor beginning lift off and the Descant's ion engines in the distance—behind three other Star Destroyers—slowly flicking to life.

Platoons of troopers, plastasteel armor that reflected red lights, marched to their respective ships. Some set up cannons to fire into the sky, while others brandished jetpacks and launched into the air.

Perfect.

A squad of four flew overhead, keeping a fair distance from each other. Timing was crucial. Din reached out, targeting the lagging trooper with his grappling hook. As the trooper flew just above the trees, Din pulled the trigger. The rope shot out, wrapping around the airborne soldier. Despite digging his feet into the ground, Din was flung into the air.

"What the?!"

They began tumbling and spinning out of control, going higher and higher. Din managed to unclip the pack from the man's chestplate. The engine cut immediately, and they both dropped. With strength he managed to clip the plastasteel to his back, and the engine roared back to life pulling Din skyward while the trooper kept falling into the darkness of the forest below.

Using the pack's momentum, Din navigated the battle, staying low enough to avoid the dogfight above but high enough to evade ground troops.

Dawn began to creep over the battlefield, the beginnings of light threatening to rise through the forested mountains on the horizon.

Then he saw him. Gideon holding the kid.

Nothing else mattered. He pushed the jetpack to its limit, rocketing towards the fighter where Gideon was forcing the struggling child inside. The kid spotted Din first, using the Force to slip from Gideon's grip.

Gideon turned just as Din collided with him, both crashing to the ground, a blur of punches and kicks. Pain shot through Din's back as he hit the fighter.

Gideon clawed to his feet, an awful black beam igniting in his hand. Unlike Luke's crimson lightsaber, this blade seemed to devour the light around it, a void of death. The blade pressed to Din's throat—Gideon chose this moment to monologue.

"Hello Din," his voice cold, a cruel twitch of his lips as he revealed to know his name, "I want to do a favor for you," he flashed his teeth, "Assume I know everything. Your bond to Grogu, your blossoming feelings for that little angsty twat, your deal with Princess Leia Organa…You see, I want to help you Din—"

That wasn't a good sign.

"I don't like Natus either. Force users and their obsessive entitlement stand in the way of the true potential of the Galactic Empire. I will be at the center—"

Din whipped around, kicking Gideons leggs out from under him, sending him to the ground with a thud.

The man reeled, eyes crazed, slamming the black saber into Din's despairing attempts to block. He dodged and intercepted another blow, Din was forced to be defensive in this fight, taking him out of his element as he possessed more technique than Gideon displayed.

With a particularly hard swing aimed at his neck, Din dropped himself to the floor, sprang back up, kicking the other man down on the chest, the saber retreated to its hilt clattering across the rough gravel and roots.

Din scrambled, grasping onto the blade to take away Gideon's advantage, swiftly clipping the hilt to his belt, secure. His. When Din whirled, bracing himself from an inevitable kick from the man who was a tad too slow to beat him to the deathly weapon, a blow never came. Instead, Gideon had the kid, his ears down, in one hand and blaster in the other.

There was a soft "Patu." The man slowly took a step backward.

Something cold and dark paulsed in Dins blood. He thought he had seen some of the worst things the galaxy had offered in these years since his parents and constantly searching through scum pits. But this was the first time he had ever been too terrified to move.

With all of his concentration, Din slowly raised his hands, dropping his blaster.

Gideon spat out a tooth, blood dripping from his lips, and limped another step backward, his cape hitting the entrance of the ship. The engines rumbled, the door closed and began to lift into the air.

Anger raged in his core.

One. Din breathed, trying to claw himself back together.

The wind from take-off whipped his cape with the long grass that had been trampled from their fight.

Two.

He felt the rough but tattered texture of the glove face brush against the hilt now clipped to his hip.

Three.

The pack shot a plume of smoke and fire. Din was hidden in the clouds in an instant, following like a hawk above the slowly rising fighter carrying his kid.

The pack's engine cut as the saber ignited. His stomach plummeted, and with an awful sound, the screeching metal and burning chemicals, the top was sliced off of the fighter, sending it spinning. Going down down down.

He heard the child's delighted giggles.

Din turned to see the kid floating (falling) next to him in the air, ears flapping in the wind, almost like a miniature parachutes.

"Hang on," he grumbled, placing the kid on his shoulders.

A hand thrust out of the tumbling wreckage clining to Din's cape for purchase but he jetted off—Gideons hand slipped past the cloth. The burning ship continued to fall, finally exploding in the distance.

No one would be able to survive that. Din thought.

Staying in the air, he turned his attention to the fight below.

—-

"Luke NO!!" Leia screamed feeling helpless to her bones.

After all of the tears, months of planning, years of holding out hope, all for just the smallest glimpse—any semblance of his past self—returned to her. And now she was about to lose him because he was being himself.

He held in his straining hand three Star Destroyers. They jerked and lagged in the air, and their ion engines, with nowhere else to place their energy, began crackling storms, rolling in the clouds.

Splinters of trees and leaves littered the artificial clearing as the forest had been stripped to its roots—the Force releasing itself in the might it took to keep the ships from leaving.

A tear of blood fell from her brother's eye, it splattered on his white cloak with the dropps of blood from his nose.

"I know what will happen to them when the Empire is done with them," he whispered.

The Executor groaned and there was a sound of thunder. The ships shuttered.

"Luke! Please this will hurt you."

It was Din. He ran up to them, the child clinging to his shoulder. Din held out his arms as if he were speaking to a rabid, wounded animal.

Luke looked back to them both, his cape smoldering and burning in places as it lashed around behind him.

"You above others should know," he strained back a scream of pain, stumbling, "they were loading the lab equipment and people. How many others could there be like me? It's too dangerous! They will just keep hurting."

"They lost their leadership and most of their artillery today," Leia tried to reason, "This attack is a massive blow. We will have secured dozens of those ships; we can let three leave. It will take them a while to regroup. We can take them then. But we need you alive."

Luke shook his head, another tear of blood, "No. I more than deserve this."

He opened himself to the Force, beiging to relax in its presence despite the pain. He was aware that like during the battle with the Profundity his feet were no longer on the ground. His arms stretched open—he may have been screaming but he wasn't sure.

The ships began to move backwards through the sky. His vision formed foggy and white but he knew he could do this.His energy continued when he was no longer aware of a physical world.

He heard the pleading voice of the Mandalorian. He felt his connection with Leia. Her love and compassion had never left him despite all this time and all the awful things. He felt clarity.

Names began to come to him. How fitting he would remember them now.

Aunt Brue. Uncle Owen.

Tatooine.

Obi-wan--Ben.

Anakin.

"My son, come back to me."

Father?

Luke's grip slipped for a moment, and he plunged back into the physical world. The ships screamed and shook.

He turned his head slightly, and sure enough, Vader was there.

"Father, I don't want to fight you. But I cannot let them get away."

"I know," Vader didn't move. Both the Mandalorian and Leia had blasters pinned on him. "You are my son, not a lab rat."

Vader lifted his arm, grasping onto the ships. A breath escaped Luke in relief simultaneously to the choking sound of his father's mechanics. The ships began to pull back further and faster.

They could do it. Together.

It was a moment, perfect for a breath but spoiled, when he saw Leia and the Mandalorian thrown backward, clawing at their throats.

Then there was a cackle.

"I was there for you in your worst moments. I raised you. This is the thanks I recive? You traitor and stain."

Purple lightning escaped Palpatine's pale hand and long yellow fingernails.

Then Luke remembered Endor.

A sickly smell of ozone and burnt metal, flashes of sharp purple light. Luke dropped his grasp on the Star Destoyers. Panic seeped into his bones—his heart beating faster than if he received adrenaline to the neck. The blank mask peered down on him. Palpatine's obsessive laughter. And the pain that crisscrossed his body, scaring every surface. His biggest mystery. The secret shrouded in darkness the pain. He couldn't breathe. It was as if he were locked in a Force chokehold—trapped.

His father's mechanics sparked, and he could feel his pain. His father still held onto the ships despite everything. There was a strangled, modulated cry. Lighting traveled the tension in the Force like a current, zipping through his father as a conduit and a massive bolt rung outwards. Hitting one of the battleships. Vader fell to his knees. The energy from the ion engines built with the lighting traveled back to his father, striking Palpatine and expanding outwards.

Two Destroyers slipped his father's grip, disappearing into hyperspace--the third burst.

More lives called out in the Force.

Luke whipped his head to see Palpatine's pained face one last time as the figure turned to ashes, blown in the wind. Only the cloak remained.

The last pieces of the Descant sparkled in the sky like a meteor shower.

He was free.

There was a strangled mechanical breath, and Luke rushed to his dying father.

—

Leia helped Din to his feet; they had all seen much better days. The kid crawled back onto his shoulder, sleep threatening his movements.

The three of them waited quietly from the dim treeline as Luke held his father in his arms, the dark mask cast on the ground next to them, watching the sunrise together. The Descant's falling particles caught the dawn, reflecting hues ofgold, pink, and lavender over the landscape before blinking out. She saw them exchange a few words, but Leia stayed back—Vader was never her father.

Anakin disappeared into the Force.

Luke tried to stand twice, relenting. He fell on his knees—his face to the rising sun, letting the warmth hit him and the memories flood in. There was a joy to it, remembering himself. But each contrasted painfully, a twisting dagger, with a memory of what he had done.

"What was he like?" Din whispered just above the vocabulator.

"Kind."

"He was kind before." She gave him a distrustful look. But he continued, "He was. It was buried sometimes, but he was."

"I guess it was something they couldn't take away."

—-

"So I guess this is it."

The day was bright, too happy for a goodbye. A cargo freighter blazing the resistance insignia took off nearby, blowing the blond's hair. Dozens of ships were now filled to the brim with whatever the Imps couldn't take with them. Leia said it was the largest victory since the desctruction of the Death Star.

The noise was so loud it cut off what he was going to say to Din, so he stopped. They just looked at each other. The words weren't needed anyway.

Din knew what he needed to do—to say goodbye. Din's hands shook in such an uncontrolled way that it was almost embarrassing as they locked onto the rim of his helmet and lifted upwards, above his jaw. But just before he could look at Luke in the afternoon sun without a screen in the way, his wrists were gently caught. Despite Luke's hands in cuffs, the visor fell back into place.

'No,' he mouthed, shaking his head under the noise of the freighters taking off and landing.

Don't waste that on me. It was unspoken but heard. Clearly. Like a voice in his mind.

Two guards came and escorted him away up the ramp, and Luke was gone.

END OF PART I

*~*~*~*~*~

Did I just attempt to wrap up the OT, Mando s1 and s2 in 7k words? Yes. I did.

Also what does END OF PART I mean? Absolutely nothing! It makes the most sense in my brain to mark this as the rough halfway point. Yay we made it this far!

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