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quanruionechancepls · 2 months ago

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The Albatross - Chapter 4: Forwards Beckon Rebound

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

For more information, check Masterlist

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It’s been two years since Inho became your Frontman, a role heavily discussed in meetings between you, Inho, and your dad. It was necessary for Inho to begin work right away due to your dad’s frequent headaches that keep him bedridden for days. For some reason, he refuses to get it checked out, despite persistent persuasion from your brother, leaving you to pick up the pieces while also trying to keep the inexperienced Inho in check.

In reality, you had never done any of the work either, so you had to bullshit your way through. You refused to show any weakness in front of Inho. Inho, ever distant and distrusting, would take any stumble of yours as a sign to rebel. As a result, you spent long nights in your office, barely holding on with your 5 shots of espressos and your hair falling out from stress. You couldn’t even ask your brother for help, as he wanted nothing to do with the Squid Games.

Today was one of the rare days your dad was well enough to get out of bed and actually do some work, not that he did any. He waived all the paperwork off as work he would hand to you to prepare you for your role as the next Host. What a load of bullshit. He was just trying to get out of work. Even so, keeping your curses under your breath and your eyes at the front of your head instead of rolling them back in exasperation, you read, signed, and sifted through the paperwork diligently.

Out of the blue, you received a text.

Nerd: Dad wants to host a family dinner today.

Nerd: Be there at 7pm.

You: What’s the special occasion?

Nerd: Celebration of the 31st Squid Games.

Nerd: He invited all the high-ranking staff.

You: Celebration?

You: The Squid Games ended a month ago!

Nerd: Don’t complain to me, this wasn’t my idea.

Nerd: And you already know how dad’s health is.

Nerd: I’m sure he would’ve hosted this sooner if his headaches weren’t so bad.

You: What’s the location?

Nerd: My place.

Nerd: You know how dad’s been living with me for a while now.

You: Okay.

Nerd: Also, I have some of your old stuff to give to you.

Nerd: My mom tried to throw it out when you moved out.

Nerd: You’re lucky I stopped her before she completely trashed it.

You: Okay.

Nerd: See you there. (Read)

You sighed, your pen falling onto the desk with a clack as you buried your face in your hands. After the frantic and messy planning of the Squid Games for the past two years, you felt as though you aged 10 years. Looking in the mirror a month later, your dark circles and gaunt cheeks were evidence of the immense stress you were under. In a sense, it was as if you had to present your PhD thesis— except it was every year— and you needed to perfect it everytime.

Peeling yourself out of your chair and walking to the room next door, you knocked twice. “Come in,” you heard from inside, and you opened the door slowly.

“Do you need anything?” Inho asked curtly, not bothering to turn around to face you, intently typing away on his laptop. His exhaustion was evident on his face as well, shown by the stubble on his face.

“There’s going to be a dinner party tonight at 7. Apparently, it’s to celebrate the games.”

The news caused him to face you, his eyebrows slightly scrunched. “It’s been one month since the games have ended, though?”

You shrugged. “Don’t shoot the messenger. My brother only texted me a minute ago. Just clean yourself up a little for tonight.”

It was around 3pm, just enough time for you to take an everything shower, style your hair, apply your makeup, and softly perfume your skin. You sighed as the steam humidified the room as your foot stepped onto the marble floor, wrapping a towel around your body and styling your hair into a blowout style. You couldn’t remember the last time you had the chance to take such a thorough shower.

As you finished your makeup and got dressed, you stared at your perfume collection dauntingly. At times like this, you almost wished you weren’t such a shopaholic, as you really had no idea what to choose. Floral? But you didn’t like pure florals that had no depth. Gourmand? It didn’t seem suitable for a formal dinner full of other rich people. Fruity? You didn’t want to seem too flirty and juvenile at a party your family was attending.

While you contemplated, Inho tapped on your shoulder to get your attention. “What are you thinking so hard about? We have to leave soon,” he pointed to his phone, the time reading 6:30pm. He cleaned himself up nicely, with his stubble completely gone, wearing a navy blue suit, a fancy watch on his wrist, and his hair gelled back.

“I’m wondering what perfume I should wear,” you replied, turning your attention back to your collection.

“Is that really necessary? We’ll be late if we don’t leave in the next five minutes,” he argued, and you noticed he wasn’t wearing any fragrance either. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head.

Reaching for Maison Francis Kurkdijian’s Oud Satin Mood, you took a few steps back and sprayed it on his suit, motioning for him to turn around before spraying again. “It’s not bad,” he commented as he sniffed himself while you sprayed your hair and your chest.

“Let’s go to the car,” you declared as he nodded and followed you.

Inho opened the door for you and took your hand as you stepped out of the car, escorting you inside your brother’s penthouse in Gangnam. As soon as you opened the door, you were greeted with Gongyoo’s handsome face and pearly white teeth.

“Saving the best for last, hm?” He teased with outstretched arms, and you giggled as you gave him a brief embrace. His fragrance was nice, some kind of combination of fresh woods and a powdery floral.

Gongyoo led you two to the dinner table, where your dad, brother and stepmom waited for you. The food hadn’t arrived yet, likely out of courtesy because of your lateness as your stepmom gave you an unapproving glare. Oddly enough, your brother stared directly behind you, and when you turned around, you realized he was staring at Inho.

The dinner was pleasant, while very awkward other than your conversation with Gongyoo, who sat right across from you. You never had any problems with the food, as your brother was very picky and thus only hired Michelin star chefs, a true rich kid at heart.

“What did the VIPs think of the people I recruited this year? Were they entertaining to watch?” Gongyoo asked, as if begging for your approval.

You took a small sip of your wine. “I think they enjoyed it. They were quite surprised when Player 075, an old woman, won the game.”

Gongyoo’s eyes widened. “Oh, really? I think this is the first time I’ve heard of someone elderly winning the games. In the past, it was always someone middle-aged or a young person.” He turned to Inho and smiled, “You were a previous winner, yourself. How did you feel about it?”

Inho shifted slightly in his seat and cleared his throat. “It’s all the same to me. I’m only there to watch so I can prevent unfairness.”

Gongyoo threw his head back, laughing. “Looks like you learned from last year’s mistake,” he replied, a hint of a taunt in his voice. Inho’s face hardened as his jaw clenched, his ears blushing slightly.

You patted Inho’s shoulder and smiled at Gongyoo. “Now, now, there’s no need to make the atmosphere so tense. Last year was his first time managing most of the games on his own, after all. There’s always room for improvement.”

“Speaking of improvement, are there any people you particularly want me to recruit? Perhaps someone with a drug addiction? Or maybe someone who’s crazy?” Gongyoo turned his attention back to you. Your brother was having his own side conversation with your stepmom, presumably not wanting to hear about the games.

“Are you trying to make me do your work for you?” Your smile dropped as you set down your fork on the plate, watching as Gongyoo’s expression slowly matched yours, his body stiffening. “I’m kidding! I trust you to recruit the right people. You’ve never failed us after all these years, you know,” you teased, giggling as you made a heart with your index finger and thumb.

He immediately relaxed, sinking into his seat ever-so-slightly as he breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that! I thought you were going to fire me!” He laughed, and you giggled with him.

The dinner ended with you feeling slightly tipsy, having had a few glasses of wine by then. As you and Gongyoo said your goodbyes, your brother pulled you aside. “Follow me, I have something for you.”

As you began tailing him, Inho traced your footsteps like a lost duckling. You followed your brother up a few flights of stairs, finally reaching his office. “There’s a box on my desk with your name on it,” he explained, and you stepped inside. Before Inho could go in, your brother blocked his way with his body and closed the door behind you.

“Hwang Inho, come with me,” he ordered, the two men walking away and leaving you to your own devices.

You approached the box cautiously, slowly lifting the lid with a piece of scotch tape and your name written on it off and putting it aside. Your eyes widened as you discovered a photo album, a USB, and a sticky note.

I printed out everything the USB has and put it in the photo album, if you prefer it that way.

Flipping through the photo album, your eyes immediately started tingling and watering when you laid your eyes upon your childhood photos with your mom. Your mom, who you barely had any memories with other than her muffled cries in the washroom when she assumed you were asleep, her constant bemoaning about her lack of money, and her waking up early in the morning and returning late at night after a long day of work. Your meals were eaten alone, consisting of food she prepped at dawn so you wouldn’t go hungry. You rarely ever saw her eat when she came home, instead, she would shower, brush her teeth, and collapse onto the bed.

Even so, you two were happy. She couldn’t afford to buy books for you, so you frequented the local library every week where she borrowed and returned them. Her Korean, as a Chinese immigrant, was also not great, so she had to specifically scrounge through the limited Chinese sections to find books she could read to you at night. Eventually, you ran through all the children’s books, and all that was left was magazines and academic textbooks.

Lowering your head, afraid of ruining your lashes, you let your tears drip directly onto the desk. A part of you wanted to throw the photo album into the fireplace and never think about it again, but another part of you wanted to keep going. There were more memories you’ve surely forgotten. Dinners, birthdays, your first day of school, they were all in this photo album, neatly printed out by your brother.

Fanning your eyes, you flipped the page and stumbled upon a set of unusual photos. You appeared to be around 7, your eyes slightly red and swollen, in the arms of a young, handsome policeman in a police station. In each photo, he smiled brightly. In one, he was wiping your tears off your face. In another, your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck as he appeared to comfort you by patting you on the back.

“Hwang Inho,” you gasped, dropping the photo album as the memories flooded into your brain.

You sat on the bench, your little legs swinging as they hovered over the ground, staring down at your frilly pink dress. Families, couples, and elderly folks passed you by as you sniffled, none of them paying you any mind. You were supposed to finally have a chance to play outside with your mom, to go to the park with her instead of running boring errands like groceries.

With your emotions too overwhelming to feel any shame, you sobbed on the bench, wiping your tears with the back of your sleeve. You weren’t sure how long you'd been sitting there for, but your stomach began growling with hunger, and a disheveled man with long hair and an unkempt beard stared at you in a way that made you want to run away and hide behind your mom— if she was here.

You had no idea how you even managed to lose her. One minute, your mom was buying you a crepe at a local food truck while you eyed a stray cat, and the next, you followed the cat behind a bush and ended up on a completely different path.

Footsteps approached you, and for a moment, you stopped crying, cautiously lowering your hands from your face as you lifted your head. You were fully expecting to get kidnapped by that weird man, but instead, you were met with a policeman, who crouched down to make eye contact with you.

“What are you doing here alone, hm? Where are your parents?” He asked with a gentle smile, cocking his head in curiosity.

Your waterworks immediately started up again. “Mr. Police… please help me..” you cried in Mandarin, reaching for his sleeve.

Taking out a tissue from one of his pockets, he began wiping your face, bringing it to your nose so you could blow it. “I’m sorry, I can’t speak Chinese. Can you speak Korean?” He asked, speaking a little slower this time. “I really hope you’re not a foreigner, because that’s gonna make this really complicated…” he mumbled under his breath.

“I can’t find my mom,” you instantly switched languages, speaking in perfect Korean, and his eyes widened a little.

“Oh, I guess that answers my question.” He chuckled to himself. “What’s your name?” He asked, and you pouted.

“I don’t like my Korean name. No one calls me by it anyways.”

“Even so, I still need your name,” he reasoned, and you shook your head stubbornly. He sighed and gave in. “Still, you’re lucky I found you. It’s dangerous for a kid to be alone in a park,” he stood up, holding his hand out for you. You took his hand and began walking with him, not sure where he was going to take you.

“I’m technically on break right now, so I can go wherever. Are you hungry?” He asked, and you nodded timidly. “What would you like to eat?”

You weren’t really sure, as your meals were primarily cooked by your mom, and as a result, you didn’t have a taste for Korean food. “I want dim sum.”

“Dim sum? I don’t know if there are any places like that nearby. If I can’t find any, do you mind having kimchi instead?” The police officer appeared a little stressed at your request.

“Okay. I like kimchi,” you agreed, and he sighed in relief.

“Oh, by the way, my name is Hwang Inho,” he declared, forgetting to introduce himself earlier.

You left the park with him, your hand in his as he strolled along a busy street, searching for a Chinese restaurant. You walked for around two blocks before he paused and crouched down again. “Sorry, I don’t think there’s any dim sum here. I’ll get you some kimchi, okay?” You nodded.

Sitting down at a restaurant, he studied you as you ate your kimchi, helping you wipe your cheek when you got messy. Being a kid, you could only eat so much, and once you decided you were full, Inho finished the rest of the meal for you. Checking the time, he smiled at you as he paid for your meal. “I still have some time left. Do you want a popsicle?”

“Yes!” You cheered, and he walked you to a convenience store to pick one out. You didn’t really have the luxury to have ice cream or any sweet treats, so you didn’t know which ones tasted good. “I don’t know which to choose,” you admitted to him.

He bent down, scanning the ice cream for you. “What about Haagen-Dazs vanilla?” He asked, and you nodded. You didn’t hate vanilla, but you didn’t find it particularly interesting. Your mom drilled the idea of being grateful into you, so you didn’t peep a word as he bought a mini tub of vanilla ice cream and opened it for you.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you began eating, watching him check the time again.

Out of the blue, he lifted you up into his arms. “My break is nearly over, I’ll drop you off at the police station, okay?”

You hesitantly nodded as you continued eating, trying to finish it before it completely melted, your body swaying with every step he took. The police station wasn’t very far away, and he called over his superior, telling him about your situation.

“Little girl, you can stay here with us for as long as you need. We’ll figure out how to find your mom, okay?” Another police officer told you, and you backed away, hiding behind Inho. He was much older than Inho, burlier too. He looked like he could kill you with one swing.

Inho nervously chuckled as you clung onto his pants, your ice cream long gone and thrown away. He bent down to meet your eyes. “My break is over. I have to go back to work. My coworkers will take good care of you, okay?” He reassured, but something inside you was screaming at you to not let him leave.

So, you pulled out the best weapon you had: your tears. Your eyes watered as your tears dribbled down your cheeks, your nose and eyes equally prickly. Inho wiped your tears away and pulled you in for a hug, but when he tried pulling away, you clung onto his jacket like your life depended on it.

“Inho… don’t leave me…” you cried into him, and you could tell it was working with the way he pulled you in tighter and patted your back, lifting you up and swaying you as if you were a baby.

Over your shoulder, Inho glanced at his superior helplessly. His superior sighed loudly. “Stay here, we’ll send someone to cover you. If we let you leave, she might scream our ears off. You know how some kids are.”

“Understood,” Inho responded as you buried your face into his shoulder, smiling to yourself in victory. When your sniffles quieted down, Inho walked to a chair and sat down, placing you on his lap.

“Do you know your home phone number?” He asked, and you shook your head. This was a time where people mostly used home phones and landlines. You did have one at home, but your mom bought it for cheap and it wasn’t effective most of the time, so it ended up being another item she hoarded. Either way, you didn’t know the number even if it was in use.

Inho sighed and sunk into his chair, holding you steady with his arm. “How am I going to find your mom if you don’t know anything, hm?” He teased, gently flicking your forehead.

After an unknown period of time, Inho must’ve gotten bored with staring at the wall, because he carried you into his arms and jumped off the chair, walking around the police station searching for something. “What are you looking for?” You asked curiously.

“Hair ties. Maybe I can try styling your hair to make this waiting less boring.” Of course, in a male-dominated job field like being a police officer, there were no hair ties in sight. It’s not like any of the officers needed any in the first place.

“I don’t think you’ll find any,” you said while Inho was digging through a pile of pens in a drawer. Many of the other officers were starting to side eye him due to all his shuffling, although you assumed they refrained from yelling at him because they didn’t want you to start crying.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he mumbled dejectedly, sitting back down on a chair.

It seemed Inho was quite eager to keep you entertained, even with his lack of resources. At first, it started with simple hand games like rock, paper, scissors. When that became boring, he grabbed a pen and a scrap piece of paper to play tic-tac-toe on. Eventually, it turned into the two of you drawing together, albeit very poorly. Inho was certainly not made to be an artist.

When the sun slipped into the shadows and the moon illuminated the night sky, many of the officers began packing up to return home. There were obviously officers that patrolled the streets at night, but Inho worked the day shift, so he needed to go home too. Your collective anxiety seeped through the floors and walls of the police station. You hadn’t provided any useful information, refusing to even give your name, and it was practically impossible for ordinary police to help you find your way home if you didn’t cooperate.

You sat on a bench as Inho hung up his police jacket in the locker room. “Hey Inho! What’s with this kid? You have a secret love child or something?” One of the officers teased, wrapping his arm around Inho’s neck and playfully squeezing.

“Of course not!” Inho laughed while he struggled out of his grip, “I found her alone at a park.”

“And she’s still here? Her parents haven’t come to fetch her yet?”

“It’s kind of a complicated situation. She hasn’t told us anything, so I don’t know if we can even find her parents,” Inho explained, and your bottom lip began to quiver at the idea of never seeing your mom again. Noticing the tears welling up in your eyes, Inho rushed to comfort you. “Wait, don’t cry! We’ll find your parents, I promise.”

As the rest of the officers clocked out and left, you were left alone with Inho. He sat down beside you, gently patting your head and running his hand through your ebony hair. “You know, I have a little brother at home. He’s around your age, maybe a year or two older than you,” he hesitated, trying to find a way to put his thoughts into words. “What I’m trying to say is… if you can’t find your way home, I’m happy to bring you home and let you into my family. I think it would be nice to have a little sister.”

Before you could respond, Inho’s superior bursted into the locker room. “Hwang Inho, come out with the girl! Her brother is here to pick her up!” He claimed, and Inho immediately scooped you into his arms and ran out the door.

A young man with square glasses, voluminous hair styled into a middle part, wearing a white blouse and a grey vest greeted you. He had a camera hung around his neck. At the time, you didn’t know he was actually related to you— you only knew him from his frequent visits to your apartment claiming to be your mom’s family friend. Even so, a wave of relief washed over you as you finally saw someone you recognized.

“Youngil!” You called out to him as tears streamed down your face, and he held his arms out so Inho could pass you over to him. He rocked you side-to-side as he held you tight, sighing.

“What’s your name?” He turned to Inho, who was probably relieved he wouldn’t have to actually take you home.

“Hwang Inho. It’s nice to meet you,” he replied, shaking your brother’s hand.

“I’m Oh Youngil. Can you write down your name somewhere for me?” It was an unusual request, but Inho scribbled his name on a piece of paper and passed it to Youngil, who folded it and shoved it in his pocket. “Thank you for finding her.”

“Oh, no, of course! It’s my job as a police officer to protect civilians! I think she would’ve been kidnapped if I didn’t find her when I did. She’s a very cute girl,” Inho sputtered, his ears blushing from embarrassment.

“You’re a good police officer, Inho. I’m glad you found her in time,” Youngil praised before he turned to you. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Inho? Your mom is waiting for you.”

You were a bit hesitant, your hands reaching out for Inho so he could pull you in for another hug. Behind you, your brother’s camera shuttered and flashed. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m taking these pictures to show to her as a keepsake in the future.”

Inho laughed. “Yes, of course,” smiling at the camera before wiping your tears with his thumb motioning for you to turn around. You resisted the urge to blink every time the flash hit your eyes. You got in a lot of trouble for doing that during picture day, so you learned your lesson.

You waved one last goodbye to Inho as Youngil carried you out of the police station and into a fancy car. Sitting in the back, he gave the driver the location of your apartment, and 15 minutes later, you found yourself knocking on the door, waiting for your mom to answer.

On the other side, you heard frantic shuffling and stumbling, and your mom practically burst the door open as she heard the knock. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, as she wrapped you into her arms and kissed you all over your face. “Thank you, Youngil, truly. I don’t know how I can repay you for this,” she bowed deeply to him, still holding you tightly in her arms.

“There’s no need to thank me,” Youngil replied before waving goodbye to you, your mom closing the door as she escorted you to the dinner table where a feast waited for you.

Inho sat uncomfortably on a velvet couch as your brother popped open a bottle of wine, pouring a hefty amount into two cups. Your brother pushed one closer to Inho as he took a sip. “I think it’s time we have a talk, Hwang Inho.”

Inho gulped, straightening his posture to appear taller. “What is there for us to talk about?”

Your brother laughed, although it didn’t sound very sincere. “You don’t recognize me?”

Now, Inho was truly confused. First, he’s forced to attend a dinner party full of snobby rich people, sitting through an hour of subtle insults from that smug son of a bitch, Gongyoo. When the dinner was over, he followed you thinking that if he helped you finish your business quicker, the two of you could go home and he could collapse onto his bed. Finally, this CEO of a chaebol empire is holding him hostage in an unfamiliar building, spewing bullshit he doesn’t have a clue about.

Squinting his eyes, he noticed that in between the slight weight gain and the wrinkles on his face, your brother did seem familiar somehow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he was positive he met him somewhere. “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he admitted after a moment of contemplation.

“Oh Youngil. Does that name ring a bell?”

Inho’s eyes widened immediately, and his mind was flooded with memories of that one peculiar day he found a young girl sitting on a bench in a park. While she was an adorable kid, he couldn’t deny that her stubbornness made his job way more difficult than it should’ve been. At one point, he genuinely started to worry about how he would support his stepmom, Junho, and a new little girl he added to the family all at once.

“You’re the older brother of that little girl who got lost right?” Inho recalled, snapping his fingers. “I never got her name because she refused to tell me.”

“Yes,” Youngil paused for a moment, “Was the money I gave you not enough?”

Confusion returned to Inho’s features. “Money?”

“I gave you 50 million won a few days after you found her. Surely, you would’ve seen it in your bank account.”

Inho recalled that month when he went to the bank to deposit his paycheck, his jaw dropping when 50 million won miraculously appeared out of thin air. He nearly turned himself in for committing fraud, although he wasn’t even sure what kind of scheme he found himself in. The only thing he knew was that the large sum of money sitting in his bank was far from natural.

“That was from you?! I thought I somehow committed fraud!” Inho exclaimed, his hands flying to his face as Youngil casually took another sip from his wine.

“Yes. It was your reward for finding my sister,” Youngil explained, "Was it not enough?”

Inho lowered his gaze, grabbing his glass and taking a large sip of wine. It was shameful to admit that such a large sum of money didn’t at all cure his financial woes. At the time, he had just graduated from university, wracking up a ton of student debt. Junho was still young, and needed his financial support on top of paying for tutors to help him keep up in class. The 50 million won disappeared within 3 months.

“No, it wasn’t. I had a lot of student debt and I needed to hire tutors for my younger brother,” Inho admitted quietly, refusing to meet Youngil’s eyes.

“You know, after you saved my sister, I truly wished you well. I hoped that you would live the rest of your life as a crime-fighting police officer, dedicated to protecting citizens, like you told me that day,” Youngil paused to drink out of his glass, “I never would’ve imagined you’d end up getting sucked into this kind of life.”

Inho balled up his fist and clenched his jaw at Youngil’s words as he slowly raised his head to make eye contact. “I don’t want this life either, but I didn’t have a choice. My wife was sick and I needed quick money. Who would’ve known that even after I won the Squid Games, there were still VIPs chasing after me, wanting to take a bite out of me for entertainment? My only options were to become the Frontman or fall victim to the VIPs.”

“I am aware. I looked into you after I heard my dad mention your name in a conversation.”

Inho stood up, slamming his hands on the table as his glass toppled over, the burgundy contents splattering all over the table, some dripping onto his leather shoes. “What’s the point of you bringing me here, then? To mock me? To show how much power you hold over me?”

Youngil calmly shook his head, unafraid of Inho’s bravado. “No. I simply want you to stay away from my sister.”

“What? I haven’t seen your sister since that day.”

Youngil sighed, chugging the remainder of his wine. “Seriously? Saying that after you tried to follow her into my office like a lost puppy?” He stood up to refill it to about a quarter of the entire glass.

Inho flopped back into the couch, feeling like the stupidest person alive. He followed you into your family dinner, sitting silently as he observed them interacting with each other for an hour, and then having a conversation with your brother about a past encounter you had. And the whole time, he still didn’t connect the dots!

After he was done wallowing in his self loathing, he straightened his posture again. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I work directly beside her. Our roles require us to interact with each other frequently,” he replied, leaving out your conditions. He wasn’t about to tell the whole world that you made him your fucktoy— if it wasn’t necessary.

“Then keep your distance emotionally.”

Youngil’s insistence was odd. Inho knew he couldn’t fully listen to him because you would catch on quickly and throw a fit, but his stubbornness did stir up some curiosity in him. “Why do you want me to stay away from her?”

Youngil stood up again, grabbed another glass, refilled it with wine for Inho, then handed it to him. “I don’t want you to get into a relationship with her.”

Inho scoffed loudly at his words. Relationship? He’d rather drop dead tomorrow than get into a relationship with a woman nearly 20 years his junior, especially now that he knew he previously met her when she was a kid. “What kind of degenerate do you think I am? I’m not interested in the slightest.”

“Inho, did you know that proximity affects the type of person you will marry? This means that the more often you see them, the more likely you are to like them because familiarity breeds affection,” Youngil smugly revealed while swishing around the burgundy liquid in his glass. “Why do you think people marry their coworkers and classmates? It’s because of proximity and familiarity.”

He walked towards Inho, leaning close enough for Inho to make out every pore. “Now, guess who has the closest proximity to my sister?” He questioned, sliding out Inho’s tie and tugging it.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Inho denied, “Our relationship is purely work. There’s no room for emotions.” At least, he didn’t have any room for emotions.

“You say that now, but who knows when you’ll change your mind? My sister is a charismatic woman, she knows how to get men wrapped around her finger,” Youngil let go of Inho’s tie and walked back to the couch behind him. “Inho, you can’t fool me. I already know you have something going on with my sister.”

“I’m not going to. I still love my wife,” Inho declared through gritted teeth. “And there’s nothing going on. Nothing will ever happen.”

“Well, now that you mention it, that’s another reason why I want you to keep your distance. I don’t want my sister to marry someone who can’t love her fully. Someone like her isn’t meant to be another person’s replacement— she’s meant to be the original.”

If Inho was even a tiny bit more immature, he would’ve pummelled this guy on the spot. A man who’s never had to work hard a day in his life, insulting his wife and implying that she’s nothing compared to his younger sister, who he mistakenly thinks will end up marrying him. It all sounded preposterous.

Instead, all he could do was silently fume as his face flushed red with anger, gripping the fabric of his pants hard enough to wrinkle them. “This conversation is pointless. You’re talking purely out of speculation and fiction.”

Youngil laughed. “Perhaps I am. Perhaps all my worries are for naught, and nothing will happen. In fact, you could even completely ignore everything I said today. I don’t have anything to offer you that you don’t already have, so my words are simply a request, not a demand.”

Inho grabbed the glass of wine Youngil refilled for him, tipping his head back and raising it to his lips, drinking all the contents in one gulp. He set it down into the table with a loud clack as he wiped off the remaining liquid dribbling down his chin. “Are we done here?”

Youngil did the same. “I’ll lead you back to my office.”

You sighed as you closed the photo album, covering the box with the lid and sliding down a wall you didn’t realize you were leaning against. All you wanted to do was lay down and sleep it off, hoping that everything was a dream and you would go back to your daily life the next morning. You didn’t know how you could face Inho after seeing his younger self in your photo album.

Out of the blue, someone knocked on the door. Grabbing the box, you opened the door and stepped outside. “Have you had enough time to flip through it?” Youngil asked.

“Too much time, actually,” you grumbled. You didn’t even want to think about how you looked after that crying session.

“Let’s go, it’s nearly 9pm,” Inho held out his hand for you, which you took hesitantly as he carried the box from your hands and escorted you out of your brother’s penthouse.

You were staring out the window of the car in a daze when Inho’s voice snapped you back to reality. “Your eyes are red,” he pointed out, rubbing the corners of your puffy eyes.

“And you seem like you drank more than usual,” you snapped, turning around to ignore him.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.”

“You haven’t looked at me for the past ten minutes. You’re very obviously avoiding me.”

“You’re imagining it.”

Grabbing you by your chin, he forced your face to turn around and face him. The stark contrast between his past and present self almost made them seem like entirely different people. Other than the wrinkles that showed his age, his entire demeanor had shifted. The glimmer in his eyes vanished, replaced by an endless black void of nothingness. His touch no longer felt like gentle caresses, but rather commanding imprints. Even his hair, which was once carelessly tousled back by his hand, was now meticulously gelled back, not a single strand out of place.

Even during his time as a participant in the Squid Games, you swore you still saw a fire in him, something courageous and full of hope. There was an innocence in him that hadn’t been corrupted no matter how horrible life was, a part of him that still believed in the good of others. It was unwavering and untouchable, something even the games themselves couldn’t change.

Until he met you.

You were the serpent, slithering away in the background and scheming for his downfall. You placed the apple in his hands and forced him to take a bite, giving him all the power, glory, and money he could ever need, but for what? All you did was rip the wings off his back, causing him to fall from grace before dragging him to the depths below. You managed to corrupt the purest of them all.

You had thoroughly ruined this man.

How could you do such a thing to someone who'd treated you with such kindness— someone who saved your life? Would you be sitting here in this car with him if he hadn't found you that day? Or would your 7 year old corpse be discovered in a river?

Your lip quivered as tears streamed down your face, his grip firm on your chin even as you attempted to struggle out of his hands. Finally, he sighed, enveloping his arms around you as you sobbed into his chest.

“Were the contents of that box that bad?” He asked as he played with your hair. You could only gasp for air in between the cascades of sadness that washed over you, your nails digging into his chest with how hard you were hanging onto him.

When you arrived home, Inho had the driver help carry your belongings upstairs as you remained in his arms, tipping him generously as you watched him drive away. Setting you down a chair, he bent down to remove your heels, placing them back on the shoe rack before removing his own. The entire time, your eyes remained glassy as tears continued to well in your eyes. You didn’t have much room for anything other than crying.

Inho carried you onto the couch, placing you on his lap as he wiped your tears away. He pushed your head closer to his as he leaned down for a kiss, his lips melting into yours without hesitation after the many long nights you’ve spent together. You entertained him, wishing for anything that could possibly distract you from the knot forming in your stomach, but you pulled away as his hands ghosted away from your face, down to your breasts and ass.

“Not tonight. I’m not in the mood for it,” you dismissed, about to get off him as he tightened his grip on you.

“I won’t go further than this,” he promised as his lips found yours again, your body instinctively turning towards him as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

The rest of the night was a blur, with some more wine poured and drank as you two continued to make out on the couch, only pausing in between sips. It was some sick, lustful way of giving each other some much needed comfort after a stressful time.

You were drowning in emotions unfamiliar to you, your head surfacing momentarily during kisses before you were dragged down again, bubbles of oxygen forming at your lips as you gasped for breath in the water. But if you were going down, Inho would come with you.

If you went down, then you’d go down together.

#Spotify #hwang in ho #player 001 #squid game #fanfic #squid game fic #the front man #frontman x you #frontman x reader #reunion #memory lane #policeman #policeman inho #guilt

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ibarkatpeoplewoofwoofbitch · 1 year ago

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So I'm pretty sure lucifers real name was Samael. His original name before he left Heaven.

"Samael, from the amoraic period onward the major name of Satan in Judaism. The name first appears in the account of the theory of angels in the Ethiopic Book of Enoch 6, which includes the name, although not in the most important place, in the list of the leaders of the angels who rebelled against God."

Who knows I could be 1000% wrong but like imagine if the other archangels especially michael call him samael to rub it in his face(he's always the one that's seen as the asshole in a lot of media privacy because he's the angel of "an angelic warrior, fully armed with helmet, sword, and shield, " "He is considered a champion of justice, a healer of the sick, and the guardian of the Church." "mentions of his name are in third- and second-century-BC Jewish works, often but not always apocalyptic, where he is the chief of the angels and archangels")

And if michael is the "mentions of his name are in third- and second-century-BC Jewish works, often but not always apocalyptic, where he is the chief of the angels and archangels"

Adam was the leader of Exorcist. But was it michael who taught them how to attack?. Because as much a warrior adam in most media represent him as head strong. And impulsive, also very arrogant.

The Exorcists' fighting styles pointed out by Carmella carmine "out for blood" and NEVER focus on getting hurt only on hurting others.

And "Gabriel is the herald of visions, messenger of God and one of the angels of higher rank."

Even the seraphim who are the "in the highest rank in Christian angelology and in the fifth rank of ten in the Jewish angelic hierarchy." Are powerful, and yet NEITHER of them knew how someone got into heaven. Is it gabriel that tells Sera to not question it. Especially when she was younger so she wouldn't fall?

And Sera carried that to Emily?

(Im sorry I know most of this don't male any sense I just saw six angels point angelic weapons at lucifer and I wanna know which ones)

These are all archangels I am certain. And I looked up how many arch angels are there and it says Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Chamuel (Camael), Raphael, Jophiel, and Zadkiel

We all know the first two.

Michael- He is considered a champion of justice, a healer of the sick, and the guardian of the Church.

Gabriel-Gabriel is the herald of visions, messenger of God and one of the angels of higher rank.

Now the others

Uriel- archangel of wisdom, light, and the truth of God.

Chamuel (camael)-Archangel Chamuel's mission is to help bring peace to the world. The Archangel of Love

Raphael- Archangel Raphael is often called upon to help with physical healing. travelers, the blind, happy meetings, nurses, physicians, medical workers, matchmakers, Christian marriage, and Catholic studies.

Jophiel-Widely known as the angel of beauty, Jophiel represents the beauty of God, and he plays a great role in helping you see your inner beauty

Zadkiel- In Jewish mysticism and Christian Kabbalah, Zadkiel is associated with the classical planet Jupiter. The angel's position in the sephirot is fourth, which corresponds to Chesed "Kindness".

Are we gonna see this? Because their gods main seven angels. Maybe we'd see Azrael the angel of death?

(Sorry tho when I'm into something I do research for hours)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel fanart #alastor #lucifer x alastor #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #radioapple #appleradio #duckiedeer #hazbin hotel thoughts #hazbin hotel theory

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bwat5-blog · 1 month ago

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Letting Go... Going Home: Chapter 6

**Non-Canon Arcane Fanfic**

**Warning for blood/gore**

Piltover – 7:00 AM

Ambessa Medarda stands quietly as the sun rises over the city, her eyes locked on the diminishing but still-present trail of smoke rising over the wreckage of the Kiramman gardens.

The crumpled report from Lt. Shaim in her right hand falls from her grip over the balcony, caught by the early morning breeze, floating gently out of her sight.

“Where have you gone, Commander?” she whispers through clenched teeth before turning and walking back off her balcony into her office, closing the doors.

None of this makes sense. She knows better than to believe Caitlyn’s ploy of accusing her of treason. While, of course, it is true that Ambessa has been acting behind the scenes, she knows that if Caitlyn had actually figured that out, she wouldn’t have acted so rashly. She would have gathered evidence, gone to the council, and prepared an arrest. No, this is something else.

Sitting down at her desk, her fingers steepled, she replays weeks of field reports, interrogations, and interviews from the early days of the occupation. And she thinks back to Shaim’s report.

Pale green light

Her eyes harden. She digs through the stack of correspondence on her desk until she finds what she is looking for: a report from a few weeks back made by a security patrol at one of the checkpoints. Her eyes scan—

"In the course of attempting to take the offenders into custody for transport to Stillwater, we were set upon by the Firelights. The only thing we saw before they were on us was the green trail of their hoverboards from the cloud cover."

Ambessa’s hand slams into the desk with such force that the wood splinters slightly.

Zaunite rebels, helping Caitlyn Kiramman.

Her eyes widen, and she stands, going toward the door to call for a messenger.

An explosion from outside shatters her focus.

Screams.

Running out in the hallway.

She moves forward and throws open the doors to the balcony.

Plumes of colored smoke rise all over the city. Citizens scream as Noxian soldiers rush toward the various impact points, and Enforcers try to move the people to safety. Ambessa shouts to the closest guard out on the street.

“Soldier! What is happening?”

The man turns to her. “Jinx, General. She’s here! She’s attacking the city!”

Jinx’s Hideout – 2:15 AM

“You’re insane,” Caitlyn says, her mouth hanging slightly open and her eyes wide.

Jinx laughs. “And here I thought we were talking about new business.”

Caitlyn shakes her head and stares at Jinx sitting in the chair across from her at the table. Sevika and Ekko sit in the other seats, Lorris watching quietly from the corner while Isha busies herself doodling on the grip of his blunderbuss.

She turns to Ekko. “And you are okay with this?”

Ekko shrugs. “It makes the most sense. We have to keep them off of us long enough to get to Stillwater.”

Caitlyn sighs. She looks to Sevika, who is simply grinning in anticipation.

She looks back to Jinx. “Very well. How do we attack Piltover?”

Piltover – 7:10 AM

Ambessa steps out into the main thoroughfare, pulling down her mask and wrapping her calloused hands around her weapon.

Piltover is in chaos.

Everywhere she looks, colored smoke is rising over the streets. A young woman runs into her and falls to the ground in her panic, scrambling away without even a word.

Ambessa sneers in disgust.

She turns to a group of Noxian soldiers jogging toward her and calls out to them. “Men, to me!”

They fall into formation behind her, and she turns as another explosion goes off closer to them—close to the Hexgate. She hears a shout.

“Jinx! I saw her! She’s running toward the Hexgates!”

Ambessa grabs the closest Noxian. “Break loose and get word to Stillwater to shore up their defenses right now, soldier. Whatever this is, there is more going on. Let no one stand in your way.”

The man snaps off a salute and turns on his heel, launching into a run through the streets.

Ambessa turns back and breaks into a measured jog, the footfalls of her men behind her in formation.

“Today, this ends.”

Jinx’s Hideout – 3:00 AM

Everyone is moving. Ekko is already out, on his way to gather his people. Sevika is readying her pack while Jinx sits, checking her pistols and even strapping down several knives to her person. Caitlyn watches quietly.

“I’ve never seen you use a blade,” Caitlyn remarks.

Jinx smirks. “Someone recently showed me they can be a nifty surprise when you need it.”

Caitlyn sighs. “I shouldn’t have done that…”

Jinx shakes her head, and Caitlyn doesn’t miss the whisper of shame that flits over the younger woman’s features. “No sweat, princess. Let’s stay focused.”

Caitlyn nods. “So these devices of yours. They can really do this? I mean, it sounds—”

“Crazy?” Jinx says, smiling genuinely. And for a brief moment, Caitlyn cannot help but grin.

“Impossible, I suppose.”

Jinx stands and walks over to Isha, ruffling the girl’s hair fondly. “They will work. I tested them on a small scale a while back.” She leans down and grabs her pack, making adjustments.

Caitlyn stands, her legs still stiff and shaking, and walks slowly to where her rifle leans against the wall. She leans down and swears under her breath, lifting the weapon and laying it gently on the table.

“What are you doing?” Jinx asks as Caitlyn sits slowly back down.

Without breaking focus as she starts to dismantle her weapon to clean and prepare it, Caitlyn responds. “I should have done this already. It’s the only weapon, aside from the knife I came away with, but we are leaving soon. I need to check it over.”

“You aren’t coming,” Jinx says firmly.

The room goes quiet.

Caitlyn stops and sits up straight, locking eyes with Jinx, her hands clenched into fists. “And why would you think that is your decision?”

Jinx raises her hands to her sides, palms open, and speaks gently. “Just hear me out. You’re incredibly injured, and you’re exhausted. We are gonna be moving fast. You are the opposite.”

Caitlyn glares. “I can provide support from a distance.”

Jinx shakes her head. “And once you start blasting with that thing, they’re gonna be on you before you can blink. It’s not exactly subtle.” Jinx smirks, waggling her metal replacement finger.

Caitlyn runs her hands through her hair, swearing at the fact that even that movement makes her wince.

“This is my fault. I’ll take the risk, Jinx. I have to help her.”

“With respect, Jinx is right,” Lorris says from the corner.

Caitlyn turns to him in surprise and starts to respond, but he shakes his head.

“Just listen. Controlling you is the reason Ambessa took Vi. Jinx being there is bad enough, but if Ambessa ends up in the fight and you are there, she is gonna burn down anyone in her path to get to Vi and use her to force you to end it. Not to mention you betrayed her. She hates you.”

Caitlyn scowls and shakes her head. “This is going to be a fight regardless. My being there—”

“You’re slow, you’re hurt, and you’re gonna be enemy number one aside from Jinx. You said you’ll take the risk to your own life. Are you willing to risk the whole mission for your pride?” Lorris asks softly.

Caitlyn looks at him, stunned. Her eyes fall. She wipes away a tear and shakes her head gently.

“No. I won’t be the reason she isn’t freed.”

Jinx sits down, this time dragging her chair closer to Caitlyn but still not too close. “We all hurt her. And without you, I wouldn’t even know she was in trouble. All we can do now is bust her out of there… You bled for her already. Now it’s my turn”.

Caitlyn looks up at her and is shocked at the gentleness in Jinx’s eyes. She starts to respond and feels a tap on her arm. Looking down, she sees Isha standing there holding several sheets of paper and some crayons.

Caitlyn smiles, and Jinx laughs “Besides, I think I have a job for you anyway”.

Piltover – 7:30 AM

“On the roof! On the roof!” Shouting greets Ambessa and her warriors as they round the corner into the square.

Just as Ambessa looks up, she sees the figure for only a moment before they throw something down right into the middle of them.

“Cover!” Ambessa orders, diving behind a statue.

There is a tremendous pop and flash of light, and pink smoke thick and gagging overwhelms them. But as Ambessa stands, covering her mouth and surging forward, she realizes—

They aren’t bombs at all. No one is hurt.

“There!” One of the men behind her calls.

Ambessa whirls, spear in hand, and even through the smoke, she sees her target sprinting over the rooftops, cloak streaming in the wind behind them.

She throws.

They scream.

Ambessa runs and grasps the lip of the rooftop nearest to them, mantling over it with her warriors behind her. Walking to the dying figure before her, she laughs.

“This has been a good game. But Jinx? I don’t think so.”

She pushes the hood back with her boot, and instead of the feared Zaunite terrorist, she beholds a Chirean male, a Firelight mask on his hip. His eyes are glassy, and his mouth moves without speaking.

She leans down over him, his blood staining her boots.

“What was the purpose of this deception?” she asks softly, twisting the haft of her spear gently.

He snarls and spits, the pain bringing a surge of awareness to his body even as it shuts down. “I regret that I won’t see you die.”

She laughs. “Fortunately, I will have to suffer no such regret.”

She stands and ends his suffering with a sickening rip of the blade from his body, twisting it, ravaging the already terrible wound as he goes still.

She turns back to her men. “This has been nothing but a smoke screen. Our quarry is not here. We need to move at once. We rally all forces to Stillwater Prison.”

Their spears slam into their shields as one, and they line up behind her.

A thunderous explosion sounds at the other end of the city.

Then another.

Then a series of them.

The screech of steel being rent asunder. The screams of fear renewed.

Ambessa looks. So far away they are almost invisible—three figures are high in the air over the river. The only thing she can see is the faint green trails under their feet.

An Enforcer, drenched in sweat and covered in dirt and grime, charges up to them, eyes wide and face pale.

“General! The bridges! They… t-they blew the bridges! They’re taking them!”

Ambessa roars over the chaos. “To the ships!”

The Southern Shore Facing Stillwater Island – As The Bridges Blow

Jinx stands in the light of early dawn over the bay. She hears the chaos of the explosions and the city and smiles. The plan was crazy, even for her. But inside, she feels that old buzz of electricity. She leans against the basket of her war balloon, eyes flitting over the massive mounted gun.

Become what they fear.

Footsteps and murmured voices come from behind her. Lots of footsteps. Without turning, she calls out.

“That you, Lefty?”

Sevika’s gruff voice calls back. “Who else?”

The footsteps and voices all stop behind them. Jinx starts to turn but hesitates. Sevika comes to stand beside her.

“I told you they’d come when I said it was you calling.”

Jinx shakes her head, laughing. “I don’t understand why anyone would fight for me. I’m not a hero.”

Sevika laughs. “This is Zaun, kid. Our heroes aren’t knights in shining armor. They’re grimy and bloodstained and more than a little crazy. As far as I’m concerned, you’re right out of a damn storybook.”

Jinx smirks but says in a softer voice, still not turning to the crowd, “I don’t know what to say to them.”

Sevika shrugs. “Tell them the truth.”

As she says that, there is a crackling from the speakers installed all throughout Zaun by the occupation. Everyone goes quiet.

A voice, strong and weathered, starts chanting in a low, rhythmic tone. Jinx doesn’t recognize the language—not at first—then manages to pin down that it’s Shuriman.

She looks at Sevika, who looks downright stunned. Jinx turns to face the crowd and takes a step back.

A sea of her people stands behind her, ready to bleed beside her. To fight.

The voice grows stronger. Some older people in the crowd start to join in on the chant, thudding weapons into the dirt. Jinx looks at Sevika, whispering, “What is happening?”

Sevika answers in a tone gentler than Jinx has ever heard from her. “It’s a prayer… to Janna.”

The voice grows stronger, proud, melodic. It fills Jinx with fire as the crowd behind her sings out, and as the prayer rings out strong and true, it rises to a fever pitch.

The sound of great beasts cresting from the water echoes from around the bend. Propelled by Jinx’s creations and piloted by the Firelights high above them, the great bridges of Advancement, Progress, and Change come into view.

The prayer ends.

The crowd is still.

High above, the Firelights yell back and forth, guiding one another, until with a great, bellowing impact, they all fall into place.

Ekko zips by, raising his weapon overhead and nods at Jinx as the crowd roars.

Jinx vaults with ease into the basket of her balloon and turns to the assembled army.

“They turn us into monsters and then chain us up in the dark for being what they made us. Let’s go be monsters!”

She ignites the flame and soars into the air as the army of Zaun thunders forward beneath her. Beside her, Ekko and his warriors fly, proud and strong.

“We are coming, Vi. We are coming!”

#arcane #caitlyn kiramman #jinx arcane #vi and jinx #loris arcane #arcane ekko #ambessa arcane #arcane fanfiction #arcane isha #sevika arcane #ashes and blood #non canon

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nekohime19 · 6 months ago

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Heart behind the lie # 57 : The King's fear

Okay so we caught up with all the chapters already published on AO3 🎉🎉. That means from now the chapters published on Tumblr will have the same rate as the one published on AO3, which is once a week (don't have a particular precise day). It happens that I can't publish one week but that just means you'll get two chapters next week.

So see you next week for next chap 😉

The whole team was huddled inside the lounging room, all pressed together around the mahogany table holding the three scrolls. The messenger birds took flight the moment they were free of their duties. Leaving in the endless azure expanse. Wukong lifted one hand and took the gaudiest scrolls, the one carefully etched with various embroideries. He untied the golden ribbon and unraveled the scroll, skimming over the neatly written words. He raised an eyebrow at the occasional taunts his self-proclaimed sworn-brother scattered around the lines. Truly, Cheng never missed an opportunity to piss him off. Yet he couldn't help but let his lips slightly curl upward, for some reason the gibes humored him, it reminded him of younger days when he would blithely banter with the members of the brotherhood.

Wukong shook off his thoughts and put the scroll down. He glanced at the ones holding the other scrolls and noticed they also finished their readings. Mei looked quite pleased with what she read on her great-grandfather's scroll. Her face was brightened with something akin to hope. As to Red Son, his face was genuinely harder to read, but by the slim upward curl of his lips, he seemed quite content too.

Mei was the first one to speak, she seemed as if she couldn't hold in the information she was just given.

“So my great uncy listed some craftsman he worked with but he said if you want someone nearing Laozi's level you gotta go see the Jeweler.” Wukong perked up at this particular title, precisely because this cryptic character was also mentioned by Cheng.

“The bird-brain also mentions this Jeweler.” Hummed Wukong. “After raving about the lantern's pieces sensitivity he said that only a nimble craftsmen of the highest skills could handle them, and not a lot of people had those skills. He listed some known craftsmen but said that their prices would be very heavy, and the Jeweler was one of the only skilled craftsmen that gave quick , efficient work and affordable prices for their services.”

“My parents also bring up this person. They said that even though they never worked with them, Ou Xue, the blacksmith they often commission, know them quite personally. According to Ou Xue the Jeweler is a being capable of naturally crossing the layers between the mortal realm and the Diyu, as such they can freely travel between them without any restrictions. With their ability, the Jeweler learned a lot of techniques from the dead themselves, making them a skilled craftsman.”

Tang looked up at this tidbit of information, he put one hand over his chin, eyes glazed over by swirling thoughts. “Didn't we already come across someone with the same ability?” His input made the whole team look over. Wukong frowned, trying to jag up his rusty memory. Perhaps because of his old age, he was quicker to forget things he didn't concern himself with.

“Did we?” Mumbled MK, he rubbed his temples in hope of suddenly remembering what the scholar was referring to, in vain, of course.

“When King Yama was disclosing the origins of the rebels, he said the one who brought the lantern piece in the Diyu was someone able to naturally cross the layers between the mortal realm and the Diyu without having to use magic, someone who is not written in the Book of Life and Death.” Defogged Tang. Wukong's eyes shone with remembrance, he opened his mouth, the name on the edge of his lips-

“The Red-Buttocked Horse-Monkey, he gave her the nickname Mahou.” Cut Macaque. They all remembered at the name's mention.

“You think this Jeweler person is Mahou?” Hummed Pigsy, it wasn't that far-fetched to think this, after all the natural ability both the Jeweler and Mahou possessed wasn't that common.

“Are we going to meet another celestial monkey!?” Chimed MK, excitement overflowing his gaze. Tang straightened up at the mere idea, looking every bit like a hound in search of wisdom. Wukong sweatdropped at the scene. He remembered when the scholar hounded him with a barrel of questions and he silently prayed for Mahou, apologizing in advance.

“No matter if they are the same person, do we all agree to go seek this Jeweler?” Chimed Red Son, his intervention refocused them on the urgent matter they were faced with. Right. No matter who the Jeweler was as long as they were able to help. They all agreed easily.

MK put the compass on the table, even if they weren't certain of the Jeweler's identity, as long as they had a vague idea in mind, the compass would point the way. Nonetheless, Red Son did remind them that, due to the limited information they had concerning the Jeweler's nature and physical appearances, the compass capacities would be hindered and not as precise as before.

After they decided on what to do, Sandy stood up to heat up the engines. Wukong trailed him with his gaze. Perhaps, he should bring up the feral state matter now more than ever. The great sage didn't believe that he could sort out his every issues with one measle session but he also didn't want to embark in a brand new adventure without doing anything about the feral state. Considering their track record, it was more than likely that they would encounter some sort of problems while searching for the Jeweler, and Wukong didn't want to relapse in the feral state because of a sudden spike of stress. Yet Wukong also couldn't help but hesitate. He already asked so much of Sandy, of his time, of his understanding, would he bother him if he added the feral state on top of the growing pile of issues he was working with him?

He was tugged out of his thoughts by a light tap on his shoulder. Wukong looked up and crossed eyes with Macaque. The black-furred monkey smiled at him, something soft meant to be encouraging, before strutting away to the showers, eager to wash off the grim of his early training. Wukong felt better. The mere idea of having someone backing him up was enough to push him forward. The great sage thus followed in Sandy's wake, Sock trailed after him the second he left the lounging room.

Wukong didn't often come into the control room, he didn't know how to steer the ship after all so there was no point in him stepping foot in here. It was quite spacious. An encompassing window was at the front, clearing the view for the one steering the ship. Sandy was leaning over the control panel, heating the engines with a flick of finger. The ship purred at each of his gestures. Mo was sitting on one corner of the panel, lounging lazily with one paw swinging in the void, he looked every bit like a spoiled pet. Sandy perked up when he heard the door creaking open, he turned towards the sound and smiled at the sight of Wukong.

“Hey.” Wukong awkwardly rubbed his neck and approached the tea-lover. Sock jumped on the panel and pawed at Mo, the blue-furred cat huffed but let her do as she pleased. Once she was content, Sock lay down next to him and tidied herself, licking her snow-white paws clean. Wukong smiled at the sight.

“Something’s the matter, Mister King?” Sandy tilted his head in inquiry, wondering what the great sage wanted.

“Yeah, huh… I was wondering if we could do some sort of solo session for the feral state? If it doesn't bother you.” Explain Wukong with a sigh on his lips. Sandy considered the matter for a short second before returning to the panel.

“Yeah, of course. Let me just put the ship on auto-pilot.” Hummed the gentle giant. Wukong nodded, he peeked over Sandy's bulky shoulder to see how he was controlling the ship. The tea-lover was carefully watching the compass (which was put on the panel) and entered the coordinates in the ship's computer. The ship immediately whirred to life, it shook and creaked, the metal humming with power. Sandy pushed the lever placed on top of the panel, at once the ship purred, the fire roared, and the beast left the soil.

Once the ship flight was stabilized, Sandy hummed in satisfaction and patted himself on the shoulder in a small form of congratulation. Wukong smiled at the gesture. Then, the tea-lover turned towards the great sage and inquired :

“Do you want to do this in your room, Mister King?”

“Yeah.” It was the place he felt the safest, and thus the most convenable place for this type of confrontation. Sandy nodded, then they both left the control room side by side. Both cats followed their tracks.

Wukong sat on his bed, the mattress dipping a bit under his weight, welcoming him like a long-time friend. Sock jumped on his lap and made herself comfortable, her warmth was so familiar at this point Wukong didn't even know how he managed to spend a single day without burying his hand in fluffy russet-fur before. Sandy took a portable gourd out of his pocket (it was of medium size with drawings of cats scattered all over it). He uncapped the lid, which turned out to be a cup, and served the sage a cup of tea. It wasn't his favorite purple tea but it was delightful nonetheless. Wukong took a sip, loosening the bitter feeling taking hold of his throat. No matter how many times he did it, breaching a new topic in therapy always demanded an egregious effort.

Sandy let him brew in silence, as always waiting for him to find his mark. Once he finishes his cup, Wukong sighed before jumping right at the heart of the matter.

“To be honest, I know this sole session is not going to solve everything and it'll probably take a lot of time before I'm fully healed but… I really want to take care of this feral state, I don't want Macaque to worry.”

“And so you believe sessions are in order to help you heal?” Kindly hummed Sandy.

“Yes. The feral state is not a physical issue…” It was a bit embarrassing to admit it, even if by now it was obvious to everyone and anyone. A wound gained in battle, no matter how ugly, was a proof of braveness, a proof of surviving. But a wound on the mind… wasn't it an admission of weakness? Somehow, the feral state felt different than his other issues, perhaps because this particular wound triggered a physical reaction, proof that he was scarred deeper than he was willing to believe.

“Do you have any idea what might trigger the feral state?” Asked Sandy. Wukong played with some of Sock's strands, twirling them around his finger. He did have an idea…

“Stress. Pressure…” He dug deeper in his memories, trying to see what exactly made him relapse in the Diyu. All at once flashes of images appeared in his mind. Macaque being threatened. Macaque being attacked. The not-mayor coldness. Her shadow behind the puppet's body. Without even thinking he blurted out : “her.”

Sandy raised an eyebrow, he waited a few seconds for him to distance himself from the disturbing images appearing in his head before inquiring : “Who do you mean by ‘her’”

Wukong tightened his hold over Sock, as if he was grabbing a rock in the middle of a stormy sea. The lil lady turned his way, she leaned over one of his hands and began to conscientiously lick it. The great sage hummed, relaxed by the grooming. “The Lady Bone Demon.” Answered Wukong.

“You thought of her?”

“I guess the not-mayor reminded me of her.” Sighed Wukong, he didn't like to talk about LBD. Even if he wasn't tormented by her image anymore (thanks to Macaque and Sock's presences) he still felt agitated at her mere mention.

“Both times you fell in the feral state the Lady Bone Demon was involved, do you think it might be linked?”

“Yeah… The first time I just… I was just broken out of the possession and I..” Wukong bit his lips, he averted his eyes, not wanting to look Sandy upfront. “I was afraid.” He admitted in a quiet voice. “The second time, I saw Macaque being threatened by her puppet and I… I was afraid of losing him.” Sandy nodded at his explanations, he then softly added :

“It seems as if your fear is the main trigger of the feral state….especially-”

“My fear of her.” Cut Wukong with a solemn face. In truth, it's not as if he didn't think of it, but the idea of being controlled by his own fear wasn't something he liked to consider, as such he always pushed the subject away, sealing it deep within him.

“Can you discern when this fear of the Lady Bone Demon began?”

Wukong opened his mouth, ready to say that it began when he was possessed, but the deeper he thought about it, the more he realized it wasn't very true. “... If I have to be honest… probably on the journey.” He stopped talking for a few seconds, each word passing his lips were as heavy as iron. “She was the first enemy that I couldn't beat with my bare fists. I… I had a lot of pride back then and I didn't lose a lot. Even when I lost against the Jade Emperor, I gave him some damages… but her…” The great sage closed his eyes, he could feel a ghostly chill climb up his spine. “She… she wasn't something I could punch, she just lied and lied and lied and they all believed her and I felt so… helpless.”

“How did you vanquish her at the time?” Wukong snorted in depreciation at the question.

“I wasn't even the one to defeat her, Master sealed her.” Scoffed Wukong, this stain always followed him, it felt like he never truly won even centuries after. Even if she was imprisoned. He felt like he was the one who lost that day.

“Do you think the possession could have reinforced that fear?” Carefully asked the gentle giant. Wukong flinched. The mere mention of the possession made him tense. It has been one of the worst experiences he lived through. Yet he didn't want to flee from its memory. Not anymore.

“The possession was…” He searched for words, a way to explain what he felt at this moment. “I have many wounds. I went through many battles, I even cut my own head once but this…it… s-she took my body. She stole it from me… I… I felt helpless. Like I couldn't do anything. Like I was weak…” He pursed his lips and gripped Sock tighter, he felt like he was at the edge of a cliff, one wrong push and he would be engulfed by his own memories.

“Did you want to hide?”

“Yeah… I…” It was bitter. He was a fighter. He loved battles. He loved the thrill of the fights, the blood, the sparks, the adrenaline. He never ran because he loved to challenge himself, he loved to test his strength. He never ran. But against her… “I hated it. I hated the fight. I never hated a fight so much before. I just wanted to run away.”

“So the feral state could be the consequences of this desire to run away?”

“It's likely.” Sighed Wukong. “Ah, what a joke, the Monkey King running away from a fight.”

“You know, Mister King. You being a legendary hero doesn't mean you're not allowed to run away sometimes.” Wukong's eyebrows twitched at that. “You seem to hold yourself to very harsh standards because of your status as a hero. But I want you to know that it's okay to be afraid. You don't have to bear everything alone. Me, MK, Mister Maquawke, we can share your burdens. If you feel… helpless, it's okay to hide behind us.”

Wukong felt his throat tighten. It felt daunting to be told this. That he could depend on others. Yet it felt good. “Thanks big guy… I don't really know how to deal with this fear of mine though…”

“I personally believe that your feral state is very close to a more intense form of PTSD, and there are some exercises possible to help with these kinds of situations.”

“Really?” Asked Wukong, a bit hopeful at the idea of doing something that could ease this fear of his.

“You're already familiar with one of them, meditation.” Smiled Sandy. “Maybe we can begin with this one. And… if anything, remember that you can stop the exercise at any point and that I am here to assist you.”

Wukong nodded, it's been a while since he truly meditated. Last time he did it, it was less to clean his mind and more to tune in with his magic. The great sage wanted to do it right. He conjured incense sticks with a piece of hair and lit them with a flick of wrist. The comforting smell of sandalwood drifted in the room, the smoke dancing above the sticks like the ribbons of dancers. Wukong removed Sock from his lap and arranged himself in the lotus position. He closed his eyes and slowed his breath, focusing on his inner self.

He knew he wouldn't be able to clear his fear with just one meditation session, but it was a step in the right direction.

As Sandy often repeated, they didn't need to go fast, and every little step mattered.

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#shadowpeach #lmk #lego monkie kid #shadowpeach fanfic #lmk shadowpeach #heart behind the lie

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nidhi-writes · 8 months ago

Text

CHAPTER - II | BEAST OUT OF HIM

MASTERLIST

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As nightfall blanketed the kingdom of Mahishmati, the tension among the rebels grew palpable. Mahendra Baahubali gathered his closest allies around the campfires. The palace loomed in the distance, which had to be breached to rescue Shiya and bring down Bhallaladeva.

Devasena stood beside her son, her heart heavy with worry for Shiya and Sanga, who were back in the Village praying for their victory; how she would let down the poor mother who made sure to save and protect her child Baaubali is all Devasena could think. Though her resolve was unshakable, the fear of what Bhallaladeva might do to the girl gnawed at her. Avantika, ever vigilant, kept a close watch on the palace, her mind working through how they could rescue Shiya without jeopardizing their mission.

Mahendra turned to Kattappa, the seasoned warrior who had faithfully served his family for years. "We need a way in," Mahendra said, his voice firm. "We must free Shiya, but we can't rush in blindly. Bhallaladeva will be expecting us."

Kattappa, his face etched with the wisdom of experience, nodded. "The palace is a fortress, heavily guarded and nearly impenetrable. But there are ways that few know about—secret passages built long ago for emergencies."

The group leaned in closer, listening intently as Kattappa continued. Trying to see if they can find a way to reach the sister of Baahubali

***

Shiya paced restlessly around the lavish chamber that had become her prison, her mind racing with thoughts of escape. The ornate walls and luxurious furnishings did little to comfort her; they only served as a stark reminder of her danger. Bhallaladeva's unsettling presence still lingered in her mind, his touch and words haunting her thoughts.

She glanced around the room, her eyes darting from the heavy wooden door to the high balcony that offered no escape route. Frustration welled up inside her. How could she let herself be captured like this? How could she have allowed herself to feel anything but hatred for the man who held her captive? She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. There was no time for self-pity or confusion; she needed to think clearly and find a way to get word to her brother, Shivudu.

As she scanned the room again, something caught her eye—a flutter of wings above. She saw a pair of pigeons perched on the balcony's roof. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed the small bolts tied to their legs. These weren't just pigeons but messenger birds trained to carry messages long distances.

A surge of hope coursed through her veins. He would know where to find her if she could get a message to Shivudu. But she needed something to write, and the room had no ink or paper. She bit her lip, thinking quickly. Her eyes fell on the torn edge of the curtain hanging near the window— it could serve as makeshift paper.

Shiya pulled out the sharp nail she had hidden in her hair earlier, her fingers trembling slightly as she pricked the tip of her finger. A drop of blood welled up, and she winced at the pain but quickly pressed her finger to the fabric, writing out a message as best as she could with her blood.

She worked quickly, the urgency of her situation driving her hands to move faster. Once the message was complete, she tied the bloodstained fabric securely around the leg of one of the pigeons. Taking a deep breath, she whispered to the bird, willing it to understand the importance of its task.

"Please, find him. Find my brother," she whispered, her voice filled with desperation.

The pigeon cooed softly before taking flight, its wings cutting through the night air as it soared away from the palace. Shiya watched it until it disappeared into the darkness, her heart heavy with hope and fear. She could only pray that the bird would reach Shivudu in time and that her brother would understand the message and come to rescue her before it was too late.

As Baahubali and the others prepared for their final assault on Mahishmati, they gathered around a small fire, strategizing to breach the palace's defences. The air was thick with tension, the weight of their mission pressing down on them. Each person knew the stakes—they were not just fighting for revenge but for the liberation of their people and the rightful return of the throne.

Suddenly, a soft rustling interrupted their discussion. A pigeon landed near the group, its wings fluttering as it settled on a rock beside them. Mahendra Baahubali's sharp eyes immediately noticed the small piece of fabric tied to its leg, darkened by what looked like ink—or something else. He quickly reached for the bird, carefully untying the message.

When he unfolded the fabric, his brow furrowed in confusion. Instead of clear writing, the message was a crude drawing, barely legible. The shapes were rough, the lines uneven, but something about it seemed oddly familiar. He showed it to Devasena, Avantika, and Kattappa, hoping for some insight.

Kattappa's eyes widened as he studied the drawing more closely. The old warrior's hand shook slightly as he recognized the scene depicted in the crude, blood-drawn image.

"This... this is the chamber that overlooks the river," Kattappa said, his voice low but firm. "I know this place. It is one of the secluded rooms in the palace, hidden from the main pathways and nearly impossible to access."

Baahubali looked at Kattappa with a mix of relief and urgency. "Are you sure, Kattappa? Is there any way we can reach it without being detected?"

Kattappa nodded. "It won't be easy. The chamber is heavily guarded, and the entrance is well-hidden."

Baahubali clenched his fists, feeling a surge of protectiveness for the sister. Shiya, though not bound to him by blood, was still his sister by heart, and he would not let Bhallaladeva use her as a pawn.

This time, Bhallaladeva's cruelty would not go unanswered.

***

Shiya winced as she tried to stop the bleeding from her finger, realizing too late that she had pricked herself harder than intended. The makeshift bandage she had created from the torn curtain was quickly soaked with blood, and her attempts to stem the flow only seemed to make it worse.

Suddenly, the door to the chamber swung open, and Bangaru Amma entered, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the scene. The elderly caretaker had been tasked with looking after Shiya, but she hadn't expected to find the young woman injured.

"What have you done, child?" Bangaru Amma exclaimed, rushing to Shiya's side. Without waiting for a response, she called out for assistance, her voice filled with urgency.

As the night deepened, Shiya sat alone on her chamber's balcony, tears streaming down her face. The once vivid hope that her message might reach her brother had faded into a gnawing despair. The bleeding from her finger had finally stopped, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional torment she endured. She desperately yearned for any sign indicating help was coming, but the silence was deafening.

The cool night breeze did little to comfort her as she stared out into the darkness, her mind replaying the terrifying events of the day. How could everything have spiralled out of control so quickly? How had she ended up in the clutches of a man as cruel and relentless as Bhallaladeva?

Her sombre reflection was abruptly interrupted by Bangaru Amma's soft, concerned voice calling her from the doorway. Shiya quickly wiped her tears, attempting to compose herself as the elderly woman approached.

"Come, child," Bangaru Amma said gently, her tone laced with concern. "You need to eat. The King is waiting."

Shiya's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Bhallaladeva. Confusion and dread twisted her insides as Bangaru Amma led her out of the chamber and down the dimly lit corridors. Her thoughts raced, wondering what fresh torment awaited her.

Shiya's breath caught as they entered the grand dining room. At the head of the long, elaborately adorned table sat Bhallaladeva, his piercing eyes fixed on her. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine.

Shiya hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot as she took in the sight of him. He looked almost regal, an imposing figure exuding an air of absolute authority. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, giving him an even more menacing aura.

"Sit," he commanded, his voice low and commanding.

Shiya reluctantly moved forward, her heart pounding in her chest as she sat at the far end of the table. She glanced nervously at the servants meticulously laying out a sumptuous feast before them. But before she could fully process what was happening, Bhallaladeva's voice cut through the air.

"Leave us," he ordered, and the servants instantly obeyed, hurrying out of the room without a word, leaving the two of them alone.

The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the soft clinking of Bhallaladeva's utensils as he began to eat. Shiya, however, remained frozen, staring down at the untouched food before her. How could she even think about eating when her thoughts were consumed by the dangers her family and friends were facing outside these walls? They were out there, risking everything to save her and bring down the very man sitting across from her. The mere thought of it made her stomach turn.

"What's the matter?" Bhallaladeva's voice, cold and laced with mockery, broke the silence. "Is the food not to your liking?"

Shiya's heart raced as she swallowed hard, struggling to find her voice. The food was the least of her concerns, but how could she explain that to a man like Bhallaladeva, who seemed to revel in her discomfort?

Her eyes darted nervously to the doorway, hoping for an escape, but she knew none. She was trapped here, and he was well aware of it. Every second in his presence felt like a dangerous game, one where she had no control and could only hope to survive.

Bhallaladeva's gaze remained fixed on her, waiting for an answer. When she didn't respond, he leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his lips. "You seem distracted, little bird. You should eat. After all, you'll need your strength."

Shiya's hands clenched into fists under the table as she forced herself to meet his gaze. His words were meant to unsettle her, and they succeeded. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her break. Taking a deep breath, she replied, her voice trembling slightly, "I'm not hungry."

Bhallaladeva's smirk widened, clearly amused by her defiance. "Not hungry? Or perhaps you're too worried about your little friends out there? I assure you, they won't be able to help you."

Shiya's stomach churned with a mix of fear and anger. She hated how he toyed with her, how he seemed to take pleasure in her suffering. But she couldn't let him see how deeply his words affected her. Instead, she forced herself to remain composed, even as her heart screamed with anxiety for those she loved.

"They'll come," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper but with a conviction that surprised even her. "They'll come for me."

Bhallaladeva's eyes flashed with a mixture of irritation and amusement. "We'll see about that," he murmured, his tone dark and ominous.

As the tense silence stretched on, Bhallaladeva continued eating, his sharp eyes occasionally glancing at Shiya, who still hadn't touched her food. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, and the flickering candlelight cast shadows on her pale, worried face.

Suddenly, Bhallaladeva broke the silence, his voice deceptively calm but laced with malice. "You know, Shiya, I've been thinking," he began, leaning back in his chair. "About your brother."

Shiya's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her brother. She forced herself to remain still, unwilling to show him how much his words affected her. But she couldn't stop the slight tremor that passed through her.

"Tell me," Bhallaladeva continued, almost casually, "is he truly the great brother you believe him to be? Or does he take all the glory and attention, leaving you in the shadows, aching for just a sliver of love?"

Shiya's eyes snapped up to meet his, her gaze filled with confusion and defiance. What was he trying to do? Was this just another of his twisted games, or was he trying to sow seeds of doubt in her mind?

Bhallaladeva smirked at her reaction, clearly pleased that he had struck a nerve. "I've seen it before, you know," he continued, his voice smooth and taunting. "Siblings who their more 'heroic' brothers overshadow. It can be... suffocating, can't it? Always being the one left behind, the one who has to fend for herself while her brother basks in the glory."

Shiya clenched her jaw, refusing to be drawn into his twisted narrative. "My brother loves me," she said, her voice firm despite the turmoil inside her. "He would never abandon me."

Bhallaladeva chuckled darkly, leaning forward slightly as he studied her. "Ah, love. It's such a powerful word. But love doesn't always mean equality. Sometimes, love means sacrifice. And sometimes, it means being left alone in the dark while your brother stands in the spotlight."

Shiya's chest tightened, her mind flashing back to memories of her childhood with Mahendra. He had always been protective of her, always the one to shield her from harm. But Bhallaladeva's words gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, twisting them into something dark and insidious.

Seeing the flicker of doubt in her eyes, Bhallaladeva pressed on, his voice a low whisper that seemed to echo in the vast dining hall. "Tell me, Shiya, when was the last time you truly felt seen by your brother? When was the last time he looked at you and saw you for who you are, not just as his little sister, but as a person with her own needs, her desires?"

Shiya's hands trembled slightly as she gripped the table's edge, struggling to maintain her composure. She knew what Bhallaladeva was trying to do, yet his words struck a chord deep within her. Mahendra had always been the hero everyone looked up to and destined for greatness. And she had always been... just his sister. The one in the background, the one who followed, the one who...

No. She wouldn't let Bhallaladeva manipulate her like this. She wouldn't let him poison her mind against her brother. Shiya took a deep breath, forcing herself to meet Bhallaladeva's gaze with newfound resolve.

"Mahendra is a good brother," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "He's always been there for me and always will be. You can try to twist things all you want, but you won't succeed."

Bhallaladeva noticed the tension in Shiya's posture, the way her hands gripped the table so tightly that her knuckles turned white. He could see the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the way her resolve wavered with each word he spoke. Sensing he was getting under her skin, he slowly rose from his seat and walked around the table, standing beside her.

"You know," he said softly, his voice a deadly whisper that curled around her like smoke, "it's not a crime to admit that sometimes you feel... overlooked. You wish you were the one your mother adored and who received all the love and attention."

Shiya's breath hitched, her eyes widening as his words hit too close to home. Memories from her childhood began to surface—moments when she had felt so alone, so overshadowed by her brother. She remembered how her mother's eyes lit up whenever Mahendra was near, how she seemed to pour all her affection into him, leaving Shiya with just the scraps. No matter how much she loved her brother, she couldn't deny the ache in her heart, the longing to be seen and loved just as much.

Bhallaladeva watched her closely, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he saw the tears begin to form in her eyes. "Yes," he murmured, his tone almost gentle now, "you've always been second, haven't you? Always in the background, always the afterthought. You've had to fight for every scrap of attention while he takes it all without a second thought."

Shiya's vision blurred as tears welled up, her heart twisting painfully with each word he said. The truth in his taunts was like a knife to her soul, cutting deeper than she ever thought possible. But even as the tears fell, her love for her brother remained steadfast. She loved him with all her heart, even if she had always been in his shadow.

But something inside her snapped. The pain, the frustration, the years of feeling like she was never enough—it all came boiling to the surface in a white-hot rage. With a scream of fury, she stood up abruptly, the chair clattering to the floor behind her. In one swift motion, she grabbed the plate in front of her and smashed it to the ground, the sound of breaking porcelain echoing through the room.

Before realising what she was doing, her hand closed around a knife set on the table. Driven by raw emotion, she lunged at Bhallaladeva, her eyes blazing with anger as she aimed the blade at his face. But he was quicker. With a smirk that showed just how much he had been waiting for this moment, he effortlessly caught her wrist, stopping the knife just inches from his skin.

Shiya struggled against him, but he was far too strong. He twisted her arm behind her back, forcing her to drop the knife with a clatter. She gasped in pain, her tears flowing freely now as he used his other hand to grab her by the throat, tilting her head back so she was forced to look up at him.

"Ah, there it is," Bhallaladeva whispered, his voice filled with cruel satisfaction. "The fire I knew was inside you. But look how easily you break, little bird. How quickly you lose control."

He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers, his grip on her throat tightening just enough to remind her of his power. "Did you think you could hurt me?" he taunted, his smirk widening as he saw the fear in her eyes. "Do you see now how futile it is to fight me? How easily I can crush you, just like that?"

Shiya's breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she struggled to hold on to what little strength she had left. She hated him—hated how he had manipulated her, how he had pushed her to this breaking point. But more than anything, she hated how powerless she felt in that moment, entirely at his mercy.

Bhallaladeva's eyes gleamed with a predatory light as he studied her, his smirk never fading. He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "You can scream, you can cry, you can fight all you want, but in the end, Shiya, you belong to me. You always will."

With that, he released her abruptly, letting her stumble back, her hands instinctively flying to her throat as she gasped for air. She fell to her knees, her body trembling with a mix of fear, anger, and despair. Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest.

Bhallaladeva looked down at her, his expression one of cold satisfaction. "You're mine, Shiya," he said softly, almost tenderly. "And there's nothing you can do to change that."

As Bhallaladeva turned to leave, Shiya, still on her knees, felt a surge of desperation mixed with confusion. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation, of the torment he was putting her through. Why her? Why was she the one he had fixated on? Gathering what little strength she had left, she called out, her voice shaky but determined.

"Why me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper at first but growing louder. "Why do you want me, Bhallaladeva? You could have anyone—someone who would willingly stand by your side. Why are you doing this to me? It's senseless... all these things you say, all this torment. Why?"

Bhallaladeva paused mid-stride, his back still facing her. There was only silence for a moment, the tension in the room so thick it was almost suffocating. Then, slowly, he turned around to face her, his expression inscrutable.

He approached her again, his footsteps slow and deliberate, each echoing ominously in the quiet chamber. Shiya's heart pounded as she watched him, her fear and confusion mixing into a chaotic storm of emotions. When he finally stopped in front of her, he looked down at her with an intensity that made her shiver.

"Why you?" he repeated softly as if contemplating the question himself. He lifted her chin with one finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Why not you, Shiya? Why not someone like you—so full of fire and spirit, yet so fragile beneath it all?"

His words sent a chill down her spine, but she didn't look away. "That's not an answer," she replied, trembling. "You're making no sense. You don't know me. You don't even care about me. So why...?"

Bhallaladeva's expression darkened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. "You're right," he admitted, his voice low and dangerous. "I could have anyone. But it's precisely because I can have anyone that I choose you. Because you're a challenge, Shiya. Because you fight back. And because, despite everything, you don't bend easily to my will."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And that intrigues me. It excites me. You see, it's not about love or care, Shiya. It's about power. It's about breaking that spirit of yours and making you mine, completely and utterly. That's why you, Shiya. Because the harder you resist, the more satisfying it will be when you finally submit."

His words struck her like a physical blow, her heart sinking as the full weight of his intentions became clear. It wasn't about her, not really. It was about control, about domination. She was nothing more than a prize to him, a conquest to be won.

Shiya felt tears welling up in her eyes again, but she fought them back, refusing to let him see how deeply his words had wounded her. "You're a monster," she whispered, her voice shaking with fear and defiance.

Bhallaladeva's lips curled into a dark smile as if her words only confirmed his already-knowledge. "Perhaps," he said calmly, "but you're still mine, Shiya. And no amount of fighting will change that."

Before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out of her mouth, fueled by a mixture of anger, desperation, and a desire to regain some sense of control over her life, even if it meant surrendering it.

"Why wait, then?" Shiya's voice, though shaky, rang out clear and sharp in the chamber's silence. Bhallaladeva froze with a look of mild surprise and interest. She could see the curiosity in his eyes as he observed her, but she pressed on before her courage could fail her.

"Why waste time?" she continued, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "If you want to break me, to make me yours, then do it. Show me who you are. Show me your power. Do whatever it is you want to do, Bhallaladeva. Because I'm tired... tired of waiting, of fearing what's coming next. If you want to break me, then break me. Just... get it over with so I can finally be free."

Her heart pounded as she finished, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She wasn't sure where this sudden courage had come from, but it was there, burning brightly within her. Perhaps it was the only way she could fight back—by confronting him head-on, calling out his bluff, and showing that she wasn't afraid of what he might do.

Bhallaladeva stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Slowly, a dark and dangerous smile spread across his face, somehow pleased.

"You think you can handle that, little bird?" he asked softly, his voice dripping with malice and amusement. "You think you can endure what I have in store for you? You're braver than I thought, Shiya... or perhaps just more foolish."

Shiya's pulse quickened, but she held his gaze, refusing to back down. "It's not about bravery or foolishness," she replied, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. "It's about survival. If you're going to break me, then do it. But know this—I won't make it easy for you. I won't give in without a fight."

Bhallaladeva chuckled, a low, sinister sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Oh, Shiya," he murmured, his grip on her chin tightening just enough to make her wince. "You truly are a fascinating creature. So determined to hold onto your pride, even in the face of your own destruction."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered in her ear, "But remember, this was your choice. You wanted to see my power... and I'll show it to you. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Bhallaladeva watched her for a moment longer, his smile never wavering. Shiya stood there for an eternity, her body trembling with fear and resolve. She had no idea what was coming next but knew one thing: she would face it on her terms, no matter the cost.

Bhallaladeva's gaze locked onto Shiya's lips, his eyes darkening with a mix of desire and something more dangerous. The tension between them crackled in the air, thick and suffocating. In the heat of the moment, before Shiya could process what was happening, Bhallaladeva closed the distance between them and smashed his lips against hers. Her breath ignited a fire that burned hotter than ever before. He effortlessly lifted her off the ground and placed them on the table, his grip firm and possessive.

The kiss was fierce, almost brutal in its intensity. Shiya was caught off guard and initially stiffened, but something within her snapped. All the anger, fear, and frustration she had been holding onto erupted, and she found herself kissing him back with equal fervour. Their lips clashed, a battle of wills as much as a physical connection, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Their tongues tangled in a passionate battle for dominance, teeth clashing with an intensity that mirrored their desire.

Bhalla's hands roamed freely over Shiya's body, tracing the curves of her waist and hips. The sound of their moans filled the room.

Shiya squirmed beneath Bhalla's touch, torn between surrendering entirely to his desires and clinging to what little control she had left. Her mind screamed for him to take charge, to ravage her senseless and leave no inch of her untouched.

As they finally pulled apart, their breathing ragged, Shiya's mind struggled to catch up with what had just happened. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths, and she realized with a jolt that her saree had become dishevelled in the chaos, barely covering her anymore. Bhallaladeva's eyes roamed over her, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, smudged lips, and the tears welling up in her eyes.

For a long moment, neither spoke; their laboured breathing was the only sound in the room. Shiya could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but she blinked them back, refusing to let him see her break. But the evidence of their passionate encounter was all too clear—her trembling body, the disarray of her clothes, and the lingering taste of him on her lips.

Bhallaladeva's expression was unreadable, but his eyes were filled with a hunger that terrified and enthralled her. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle given the roughness of what had just transpired.

"You truly are something, Shiya," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. His gaze flicked down to her heaving chest, then back up to her tear-filled eyes. "So much fire... so much spirit."

Shiya's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she wondered what would happen next. But instead of continuing, Bhallaladeva stepped back, his hand falling away from her face. He gave her one last lingering look, his smirk returning as he took in her dishevelled appearance.

"You may try to fight me, little bird," he said softly, almost as if to himself, "but in the end, you belong to me. No matter how much you resist... you will always come back to me."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Shiya standing there, her body still trembling from the intensity of their encounter. As the door closed behind him, the tears she had been holding back finally spilt over, and she sank to the floor, her hands covering her face as she struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

***

Shiya's moans grew louder, a symphony of pleasure that echoed through the room. Bhalla, with his warrior's arms, held her in place and from moving away as his mouth worked on their sweet cunt of hers. His tongue worked its magic, exploring every inch of her cunt with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

Shiya writhed beneath him, her naked body arching as waves of ecstasy washed over her. Sweat formed on her forehead and trickled down the curve of her neck, evidence of the intensity of their passion. She doesn't remember how and why she got into this situation, but all her thoughts in her mind vanished when he placed his mouth on her to drink away her soul.

"Please...Ple.." Shiya whimpered, trying to form a sentence; her body couldn't take any more pressure, and everything was new. Bhalla could feel the heat radiating from her, fueling his own arousal.

But as he buried his face between Shiya's thighs, a fleeting hesitation flickered in his eyes. He pulled away slightly, looking up at her with a mischievous smirk. The sight caused Shiya's breath to catch in her throat, but she couldn't deny its effect on her.

"Is that all you've got?" Bhalla taunted playfully, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I expected more from my little queen."

Shiya squirmed beneath him, frustration mingling with desire. Her body craved his touch, but there was still a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

"Looks like your brother who couldn't finish his fight ow with me and only to be killed by mine. His sister is too weak to take the pleasure that a King gives to her" Bhalla's words caused SHoya to freeze. Her eyes flickered to the figure beside her—Baahubali, her beloved brother, lying motionless on the cold stone floor. His once vibrant eyes, full of life and determination, now stared lifelessly at the ceiling, blood pooling around his body.

"No..No!" Shiya screamed, which only agitated Bhalla as he laughed out loud.

Shiya awoke with a start, her breath shallow and uneven as her eyes looked around to find herself alone in the chamber, and it was all a dream. Bhallaldeva's touch lingered, his hands searing her flesh as if he had never left. She could still feel the way he had consumed her entirely, leaving her hollow and broken. She also could feel the pool of wetness that was in between her thighs; she bit her lips to whimper and to erase the sight of how her dream portrayed the death of her brother.

It's like Bhalla is the devil, and he is slowly consuming her. But the scary part is she liked and wanted more of him in her.

TO BE CONTINUED

____________________________________________________________

taglist: @mahi-wayy @ahamasmiyodhah @whippersnappersbookworm @harinishivaa @mayakimayahai @gloriouspurpose01 @jkdaddy01 @whyishekinda @salaarfanindia @aprofoundrickmaniac @toomanyfanficsbruh @willkatfanfromasia

#bhallaldevaxreader #bhalladeva x fem!oc #bhallaladeva x oc #baahubali #baahubali fanfic #baahubali the conclusion #rana daggubati #desiblr #desi tumblr #indian fanfic #smut #sounth indian fanfic #desi tag

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sleepy-sirin · 2 years ago

Text

Incarnation (Honkai Star Rail x Child! Herrscher! Reader)

Summary: In which Y/n, the creation of Will of Honkai, successfully defeated her own creator with the help of her friends. After defeating the Will of Honkai, for using too much of her power she goes into a deep sleep.

Next chapter

A/n: Reader will be based on Jyahnar from GGZ

Prologue

Third POV:

They finally did it.

They finally defeated the Will of Honkai.

She finally defeated her own creator.

Back then, Y/n didn't care about humanity when she was born. Her creator simply told her to destroy humanity. Y/n woke up and considered the planet to be a fit world for her to rule, especially the vast blue ocean of the world.

Overseeing humans, Y/n concluded they are not worthy of being her slaves and used her Houkai energy to destroy the sanity of all humans alive at the time and especially whole empires to destroy themselves, ending the culture of mankind and destroying every creation made by man. After 5,000 years making the world in her image, she fell asleep in the pacific ocean

But it all changes when a certain white-haired female convinces her about humanity. She'll never forget the kindness that she receives from her no matter how Y/n almost destroys the Earth.

Y/n asked Kiana to destroy her. After the destruction, Y/n used the last remaining strength to shape a human body, expressing her longing for thousands of years.

When Houkai created her, in addition to genetically engraving the mission of exterminating mankind like other Houkai creatures, it also included other information. That is to let her come to this planet to find the trace of Kiana and to destroy humanity together with Kiana as the Messenger of the Houkai.

At the end of her life, Y/n hopes to become a human in the next life. Kiana didn't want Y/n to die like this and used the power of the saint to completely integrate the core into Y/n's human body. Y/n survived but fell into a deep sleep. Y/n promise Kiana that she will help defeat her own creator, the Will of Honkai, if they are ready to defeat it.

Right now, they all celebrate defeating the Will of Honkai and grief of the death of Seele and Sin Mal for their sacrifice.

Y/n couldn't help but feel sleepy all of a sudden, maybe because she uses too much of her powers. Bronya and Ninti notice you are sleepy and they try to wake you up.

You couldn't help but let the darkness consume you and block everyone who is calling for your name.

Y/n's POV:

Where am I?

Why is it so dark in here?

I look around to see nothing but darkness. Is this how death looks like? Is this how I die when my creator is gone, I disappear too... Maybe I shouldn't rebel the Will of Honkai with the humans if I disappear too.

But I didn't regret it. I only did it for the person that I admire, Kiana Kaslana. She's the reason why I want to save humanity, even though back then I try to persuade Kiana to destroy with humanity with me. Maybe I will get reincarnated as human, and find Kiana like I always do whenever she gets reincarnated.

I see a light above me, is it time for me to wake up now? Am I finally going to be a human? I reach out my hand to the light...

I open my eyes to see a ceiling above me, I sit up on the bed I was in and look through the window to see that I'm in space. I have no recollection sleeping through space since I always sleep in the ocean.

I saw two humans talking not far away from me, a woman who looks awfully familiar to me has bright red hair, and gold-colored eyes. She wears a white toga gown with red along the inside. A tall brown-eyed man with matching brown hair that has a small white streak. He wears a gray and white dress coat with a scarf and black armor on his chest. He also wears glasses, dark brown pants, black shoes, and a black glove on his right hand. The two humans saw that I am awake and walk to my direction.

"It looks like you're finally awake, child." The red-haired woman said.

"We have few questions for you to answer." The brown-haired male said and ask me few questions.

"What's your name?"

"Y/n."

"How old are you?"

"I don't know my age."

"Where are you from?"

"Nowhere."

"Who's your parents?"

"I don't have parents."

The old man was done asking me questions but I knew there's something he wants to ask me in private, so he told the red-haired lady that he wants to talk to me in private. The red-haired woman listen and gave us some privacy.

It was now only the two of us, the brown-haired male ask me with a serious tone in his voice:

"You're a Herrscher, aren't you?"

I smirk at the question he asks, what a smart human he is to figure out who I am.

"Yes, I am a Herrscher. What a smart human you are."

The old man backed away from me and summoned his weapon, ready to engage battle with me.

"You Herrscher shouldn't exist anymore since the Will of Honkai is gone!"

"The Will of Honkai may be gone but you have forgotten that I am the creation of the Will of Honkai! I'm the most powerful Herrscher in the universe!"

As the two of us are ready to fight, 3 new humans have entered the room and noticed that the old man is literally fighting a "human" child.

"Mr.Yang, what are you doing?!" The pink-haired girl asked in a panic voice.

The red-haired woman came back to the room who looked shocked at the scene she witnessed.

"Everyone stay back! This child is not a human but a dangerous Herrscher!" The old man said.

"Don't you get it? I'm God! I'm beyond your understanding! You can never defeat me!"

#honkai #honkai x reader #child reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr himeko #welt yang #dan heng #march 7 hsr #hsr stelle #platonic #herrscher #jyahnar #ggz

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artist-issues · 1 year ago

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Hypothetically speaking, if you were part of the team who worked on "Wish" (or any other Disney animated films that you consider as bad), what are the major changes you would make?

Hey, this is my favorite question so far! 😀 I’ll make a post about it and tag you. But bare bones, for Wish?

Change the Main Idea of the Movie from “Keep wishing; you’re powerful enough to make it come true.” to “Have faith, and you’ll get more than what you wished for.”

Then, because the Main Idea’s been changed, every character needs to change so that they support the new main idea. 🤷‍♀️ (You should always make characters that support a main idea, instead of trying to wedge characters you “like” under main ideas they don’t actually support.)

Get rid of the idea of tangible wish-bubbles. Wishes are intangible, like fears and affection and a feeling of hope.

Make the stars an otherworldly kingdom, where fairies and magic come from. (But keep it vague, so that it can still be associated with Neverland and Evangeline somewhere in the future.) What’s not vague is that the each star is a powerful being, but some are younger and less tested than others. The younger ones are messengers. The Kingdom of the Stars is ruled by the Council of the Stars; maybe the sun, the moon, something like that. The Kingdom of the Stars watches from above and chronicles the stories of mortals, and sometimes, when mankind needs it, they lend a magical hand that changes everything for the better.

Change the culture of Rosas to…an actual culture instead of a bunch of people standing around in a harbor castle. Make the whole kingdom a kingdom of inventors and explorers who used to have an alliance with the Kingdom of the Stars—their inventions would be magically blessed, and they’d be told where those inventions were needed most—but now they invent nothing and hide from the world and the stars because of a great betrayal and siege that destroyed their first home.

Change Magnifico so that he’s obsessed with keeping Rosas hidden and under control, because he believes their old ways, ( making inventions and the “meddling” of the Kingdom of the Stars) only brings attention from dangerous, greedy people. But on the outside, he hides his control-freakishness with a protective fatherly-like persona.

Change Amaya so that she agrees with some of Magnifico’s worldview: she thinks that their inventions will bring attention from dangerous, greedy people, but she doesn’t believe that the stars would meddle. She thinks they’re totally unhelpful and distant. She actually wants dangerous people to try and find them, so she can get her revenge—she’s been hoarding magical inventions and learning how to control them.

Change Asha’s whole family: her dad believed that the kingdom shouldn’t hide, then got sick and died. Her mom believes that even though the kingdom is in hiding, Asha would be happier if she found a way to do more than her current job. Her grandfather is basically a rebel and wants Rosas to go back to the way it was, and he’s always trying to get Asha to believe in the stars, or look at old inventions and spell books they’re not allowed to use anymore. Basically, the whole family wanted more for Asha than living in a hidden kingdom.

Change Asha: She’s not an adorkable, vaguely good shallow character. She’s more like if you took Rapunzel’s excitement about the world and buried that under layers of hopelessness after her dad died. Now she’s like the young teenage girl version of Nick Wilde from Zootopia. She no longer believes that her dreams can come true, or that the Kingdom of the Stars has any part in her life. That Rapunzel-excitement part of her is still there, deep down, and the movie is about how it gets brought back to the surface.

Change Valentino: I’d make Valentino 100% reckless, leap-first, look-later. He’s a baby goat, the only one Asha’s family was allowed to keep from their herd when they moved out of their cottage, and therefore Asha is very overprotective of him. He’s basically a manic ball of energy who gets into everything—like she used to be, as a little girl before her dad died. Valentino has zero fear and nothing but wonder and fun in his eyes.

Change Star: yeah everyone’s doing this but I think Star should’ve been kept as a person, with the ability to talk. Not because I’m sold on the idea of him being Asha’s love interest—but because I think a character who has lost her faith in magical, benevolent stars needs to have a personal relationship with one that actually cares about her, and proves it. Plus it’s about 1000 times more interesting. So he's one of those young stars I mentioned: supposed to be just a messenger, but once he gets down to Rosas, there's something keeping him from getting back up to the heavens—and he doesn't want to leave anyway, because he's convinced he's supposed to be helping Asha.

A more in-depth post coming soon! Might even have a little art.

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illuminatedquill · 10 months ago

Text

Story Summary: A quiet mission for the Spectres retrieving medicinal supplies on behalf of the Rebellion leaves Sabine and Ezra without much to do. While perusing through the Holo-Net to pass the time, Sabine receives a message from Shana Tavorri - a Fulcrum agent and Ezra's former childhood best friend - with an unexpected attachment: a questionnaire usually reserved for couples. Sabine is, predictably, annoyed by the agent's antics but Ezra becomes intrigued and convinces his best friend to participate in the questionnaire. What starts off as an innocent distraction turns into a deeper introspection on the nature of their relationship . . . and what awaits both of them in the years to come.

"Anything ping your scanners yet?" came the voice of Kanan over the comms. Sabine reached a hand out, pressing the button to reply on the Ghost's main control dashboard. She was sitting in the main pilot's seat, a rare event, necessitated by the delicate nature of their current mission. Beside her in the co-pilot's chair was Ezra, legs propped up on the console, arms crossed in a relaxed position. He glanced over at her and shook his head.

"Nothing yet, Kanan," she replied. "How are things on your end?"

"Same as it's been for the past thirty minutes," said Kanan. "Hera's trying some new search patterns. The containers containing the supplies should be around here somewhere."

"You want us to join you?" asked Ezra. "An extra pair of eyes couldn't hurt."

"No. Asteroid field is too dense for the Ghost. Hera and I are doing just fine out here in the Phantom II. You guys keep watch out there and alert us if you see anything suspicious."

Sabine sighed. More waiting, she thought. I hate that.

She caught her friend's eye and saw her own thoughts mirrored in his expression. But Ezra just answered with a simple, "Copy that. We'll be on standby."

"Thanks. Oh, and Ezra?"

"Yes?"

"Hera says to take your boots off her dashboard."

Sabine grinned. In a flash, Ezra dropped his feet to the ground, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"How did she - can they see us?" Ezra muttered. He stared out the main canopy, but only saw the same sight they'd been staring out for a while now: a floating field of asteroids and space dust. If the Phantom II was skulking out there close by, then they were hidden well.

"Hera's always had a sixth sense regarding the Ghost, goober," Sabine reminded him. "You should know that by now."

Ezra rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. "Right, right."

The latest mission for the Ghost crew was a relatively simple one: retrieval of medicinal supplies lost in an asteroid belt. Word had reached Rebel intelligence that a convoy of smugglers had ditched their cargo while on the run from an Imperial patrol in this area of space. They had been tasked from Rebel Command to find the missing supplies and bring them back to Atollon Base.

The asteroid field was dense, requiring quick maneuvering and a deft hand at piloting. The Ghost was too big, hence why Kanan and Hera had opted to use the Phantom II to locate the supplies. Sabine and Ezra were entrusted with command of the Ghost, hovering outside the asteroid field as back-up.

Chuckling, Sabine reached down into the knapsack by her chair and took out a data-pad. Connecting to the Holo-Net, she started to scroll through the news page trying to glean information from the thousands of articles regarding the Empire's current movements . . .

Her data-pad chirped. A notification popped on-screen: she had been sent a message. Tapping the pop-up, she frowned at the messenger ID, feeling a slight twist in her stomach at the name.

Shana Tavorri. A Fulcrum agent, and former childhood best friend to Ezra. Their last meeting had left Sabine with mixed feelings, unsure whether to call the young woman a friend . . . or a rival.

With a heady sense of dread, Sabine opened the message.

Have you told him yet? If not, maybe this will help get you started.

That was the whole message. But there was an attachment . . .

Sabine opened it. Immediately, a female voice blared out from the data-pad's speakers.

"Hello, young lovers! It is I, your esteemed love specialist, Dr. Eros. Are you feeling like the spark has died in your relationship lately? Then worry no more! I've concocted a series of questions - "

Sabine threw the data-pad onto the ground. The voice squawked and died out.

Ezra jerked in his seat at the commotion. "What the kriff was that about?" he asked, eyes wide with concern.

Sabine rubbed at her temples, feeling a headache coming on. She could imagine Shana's face, giggling at her discomfort.

Beside her, Ezra gingerly picked up the data-pad and scrolled through the message's contents. He looked back up at Sabine, a bemused smile on his face. "Interesting reading material," he said, a casual slant to his tone.

"Don't start," Sabine warned him. "Your friend Shana has an odd sense of humor."

"She does," he admitted. "What is she talking about, by the way? Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

Her heart flew into overdrive. She snatched the data-pad from his hands. "Nothing. Don't worry about it," she snapped.

Ezra's hands flew up in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay. I won't ask, if it's something secret between you two."

An awkward silence descended between them both. Sabine grimaced, feeling a slight sense of shame at her actions. Things between her and Ezra remained . . . uneasy since his incident with the Sith Holocron. They had agreed to start patching things up since then, but it was not easy navigating through the complicated feelings that had sprouted up.

Not looking at him, Sabine spoke up to break the tension. "Sorry."

Ezra shrugged. "No harm done. You want to try it?"

"Try . . . what? The message from Shana?"

"Yeah," said Ezra. "Looks like she sent a questionnaire of some sort. Could be interesting. And we have nothing better to do in the meantime."

Now she turned to look at him, feeling incredulous. "Ezra, you know it's a questionnaire made for couples, right?"

"Right."

"We're not a couple," she pointed out.

"Also correct," he replied. "But what does it matter? We're bored, and I miss talking to you."

Ah. I'm not the only one who has been struggling lately, she realized.

Ezra looked at her, his bright blue eyes so earnest and sincere . . . Sabine couldn't resist. Despite her misgivings, she felt a smile forming.

"Alright," she relented, handing over the data-pad. "Let's give it a whirl."

Ezra beamed at her, clapping his hands in excitement. He downloaded Shana's message attachment into the Ghost's main console and, once it finished, the ghostly blue holo-image of a female Twi'lek, adorned in a professional doctor's outfit, appeared from the holo-projector.

"Greetings, young lovers," said the holographic Twi'lek in a syrupy sweet tone. "I am, as you know, Dr. Eros, love doctor extraordinaire. I've written many acclaimed books on the subject of relationships and am now here to juice up your ailing love life with a series of specially honed questions to probe the depths of your feelings towards each other!"

Sabine gagged. Ezra snorted at her reaction.

"If you're both ready, let us begin the questions!"

Ezra glanced at her, a lop-sided grin on his face. Pressing a button to pause the holo-recording, he asked, "Still want to continue?"

"Can I get a bucket to puke into?"

He laughed and resumed play with a quick button press on the console.

Question 1: What do you think I'm hiding?

Sabine leaned back in her seat, thinking. The holo-recording froze, putting itself on an automatic pause for the participants to answer each other. Ezra gazed at her and asked, "Guess I should go first?"

She gestured at him to do so. "Go ahead, goober."

He squinted at her hard. Sabine felt beads of sweat begin to form on her forehead. Ezra was already perceptive before his Jedi training took effect, sometimes annoyingly so, but as his abilities increased in the Force, he had gained an uncanny ability to guess what others were thinking or feeling. Kanan had the same ability, despite his recent blindness.

"Any day now," Sabine said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Her best friend crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful. "Honestly, my thoughts on this question haven't changed since we first met."

"Oh? How so?"

"I think you hide your feelings, Sabine. Despite your rebellious, devil-may-care exterior, I know you care deeply about people. It's a part of you I admire immensely, and I wish you were more open about it."

Sabine was quiet, absorbing all this. "I - look, most of us in this fight care about people," she replied, feeling a blush heat up her cheeks from Ezra's compliment. "I don't think I'm unique."

"You're unique to me," Ezra countered. "After all you've been through, I wouldn't lay blame if you turned away from it all and just focused on surviving for yourself. Instead, you continue to care. That is remarkable, in a galaxy that can be cold and uncaring at times."

"I did do that though," Sabine pointed out. "With Ketsu, after I ran away from the Imperial Academy."

"For a short time," Ezra replied. "And then you chose a better path. And, later on, you helped Ketsu to choose better, too. Even after what she did to you."

Sabine looked away, scratching at her cheek in a sheepish manner. "Yeah, well, when you put it that way . . . I guess it sounds pretty good."

"It is good, Sabine," insisted Ezra. "I just want you to show everyone else what I see all the time."

She could not meet his intense stare and settled for just looking down at her lap. "Yeah, okay. I should open up some more. I got it," she said quietly.

"Okay, well." Ezra's tone suddenly turned awkward, as if he realized that he had perhaps been too intense with his positivity. "I guess, uh - I guess it's your turn. What do you think I'm hiding?"

She thought about it some more and then came up with her answer.

"Guilt," she said.

Her best friend didn't say anything. She chanced a peek at his face and saw only an inquisitive look. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Sabine blew out an anxious breath. "Well, first of all: guilt that you've been hiding for a while that you actually don't like the haircut that I gave you."

Ezra's jaw dropped open. She arched an eyebrow at him. "What? You didn't think I would notice?"

In a reflexive motion, Ezra reached out to brush his hand across his scalp, the hair still brutally short after Sabine's handiwork. "Look," he admitted, "it's not that I don't appreciate it, but I distinctly remember telling you to make it shorter. Not short."

She crossed her arms. "There's a difference?"

"Yes, there's a difference," he stressed. "I didn't want a buzz-cut!"

Sabine shrugged. "Then you should have said so, goober."

"Also, it's hasn't been growing back like it should," he said. "Did you do something else while you were busy shaving away at my scalp?"

She rolled her eyes. "I should have gone for the eyebrows also while I was at it. Then you would have something legitimate to complain about."

Ezra's cheeks heated up, his mouth opening to make some sort of scathing retort - and then he closed it shut. Taking a deep breath, he narrowed his eyes at her. "You're messing with me."

Sabine stuck her tongue out at him. "Too easy."

"You're not going to take this seriously?" he demanded. "I gave you a serious answer."

"So did I," she retorted. "I was just getting started. Let me finish."

"Okay, well go ahead!"

"You're still feeling guilty over what happened with Ahsoka! And with your family, and with Kanan's injury, and getting reckless causing everyone around you to worry, and with every other bad thing that has happened to the people you care about!"

That shut him up. "I don't - we talked about this," he said, confused.

"So? Nothing was fixed, Ezra. We talked about it once. Doesn't make everything right."

Sabine leaned forward. "I can still see the guilt eating away at you. You've got to stop."

Her best friend's face smoothed into an expressionless mask. "And how I am supposed to feel about any of that?" he asked quietly. "Because it doesn't make sense to not feel somewhat responsible. I was there. I could have done something. And what I did afterwards made the situation worse than it already was!"

"Yeah, you did do something. And it pushed you to a scary place, mentally and emotionally."

"I know it was wrong! You've made that point already. I almost lost myself in the ordeal - and, even worse, I damaged our friendship. How much worse do you want me to feel about it, Sabine?"

She shook her head. "That's the point, goober. I don't want you to feel bad about it - any of it. You need to let it all go. I understand, really, I do, why you are so guilt-ridden. But you can't help everyone, Ezra. You can't save everyone, even as a Jedi Knight. Trying to do so, as you found out, will tear you apart. So, stop feeling guilty and move on."

That caught him off-guard. "I - what? You want me to move on?"

"Yes," Sabine said patiently. "Forgive yourself. You made a mistake. You learned from it. At least, I hope you did. Everyone else has already forgiven you and moved on."

He gazed at her. "Even you?"

She matched his stare. "Yes."

"Why? I think I hurt you the most."

Sabine considered her answer carefully. They were veering awfully close to emotional territory that she was not ready to tread . . . yet.

Thanks for the message, Shana, she thought sourly. Fun, fun, fun.

In the end, all she said was: "That's not one of the questions on the list, I believe. Which means I don't have to answer."

Ezra's stare became baffled. "You're kidding."

In response, Sabine reached out to the console and pressed play. "Next question."

Question 2: What do you think is my favorite part of my body?

The recording paused once more.

"I'll go first," Sabine announced, ignoring the exasperated look on Ezra's face. "I think the part of your body you favor most is your mouth, actually."

Mine too, came a heated thought, unbidden. She immediately shoved it back towards the dark corner of her mind that it came from.

Ezra's eyebrows rose in amusement. "Really? And what makes you say that?"

Her answer seemed to ease him out of his earlier mood, and she let loose a tiny sigh of relief. "Other than the fact that you're a natural born yapper? You love talking to people, Ezra."

He snorted. "Gee, thanks. You give the best compliments."

"You're welcome," she responded sweetly. "Also, you're a Jedi. You guys love to solve things diplomatically, I've heard."

"A Jedi only raises their weapon in defense," Ezra replied, the often-quoted mantra repeated to him via Kanan countless times. "Yes. Violence is a last resort, and the worst possible outcome to any Jedi."

"Yeah, but more than that . . ." Sabine scrunched up her face, trying to finish her statement. "More than that, you just know how to talk to people, at their level. You make everyone you meet feel welcome and seen and understood. That's a rare talent."

Ezra shrugged. "It's a Jedi thing, I imagine."

Sabine shook her head. "No," she corrected. "It's an Ezra Bridger thing."

He smiled at her. "I liked that compliment better than your earlier one."

"Just stating a fact, goober. Anyone with working ears and eyes knows that to be true about you."

Ezra nodded. "My turn now, I think."

"Sure. Go ahead and tell me."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Your hands, obviously. Not a hard guess that they're your favorite part about yourself."

Sabine beamed at him. "Not bad."

"Like I said, it was an obvious guess. You do everything with them. But I think your mind is the actual answer."

Sabine's smile grew wider. "I'm impressed."

He gave her a mock bow. "I aim to please."

His face turned serious. "You're fiercely intelligent, Sabine. One of the cleverest people I've ever met. Not just in technological aptitude, but in how you handle situations. 'The skill of a person's hands does not matter, if the mind controlling them is inept.'"

Sabine kept her face impassive, but felt her insides turn to quivering jelly at his professed admiration of her abilities. Why the kriff are you so good at making me feel this way, Ezra Bridger?

She coughed loudly to hide the crimson flush spreading across her cheeks. "Let's, uh, get to the next question, shall we?"

"Sure," Ezra replied, grinning.

Question 3: What is something you would never give up?

"My armor," Sabine said instantly. "No doubt about it."

Ezra nodded in agreement. "If we're talking about material objects, I guess my collection of helmets would be my choice."

She blinked at him in surprise. "The ones I painted for you?"

"Yeah."

Sabine pointed at his lightsaber, hanging off his belt from its clip. "What about your lightsaber? I hear Kanan preach all the time about it being - "

Ezra smirked and said in an impersonation of Kanan's voice, "The weapon of a Jedi is their life, Ezra. You must not lose it, ever."

"Well. Yeah. Isn't it important?"

"It is," Ezra confessed. "But I can always build another one. As a reminder, this is my second lightsaber."

"Okay, so what makes the helmet collection more important than a Jedi's weapon?" Sabine asked, curious.

Ezra sat back; eyes lost in thought. Sabine waited for him to give his answer.

"I started it when I was young, and by myself," he said quietly. "After my parents . . . well, you know."

She nodded, not saying anything. Ezra's parents had died not too long ago, after an escape attempt from an Imperial prison had led to the successful release of all the prisoners held there - except for themselves. They had been listening to Ezra's broadcast across the galaxy, urging for those oppressed under Imperial rule to fight back.

Ezra's words had been the last thing they heard before their death. Sabine couldn't imagine what her best friend had felt upon discovering this.

"It was a way of distracting myself; keeping my mind from dwelling on the situation I was in. The loneliness I felt was sort of kept at bay whenever I scored another helmet. Every time I scored another one, it felt like I was hurting the Empire, silly as it sounds. It wasn't a fun hobby, but it kept me going. It wasn't much, but it was all I had."

His gaze fell to hers, his blue eyes focusing on her brown ones. "And then I met everyone here. You guys added to the collection. Zeb, Kanan, Hera - and then you. You made them special. You made them my own, with your wonderful painting. Turned the helmets from symbols of tyranny into works of art. Something I could be proud of owning - and, maybe, someday leaving behind."

Sabine's gaze turned watery. She swiped a hand across her face, clearing it of the tears falling down her cheeks.

"You had to make it personal," she muttered. "I feel like my answer sucks in comparison."

Ezra laughed. "Your armor is an heirloom, Sabine. It's very important to you. And this isn't a contest, you know."

"Yeah, but my armor is mine. I don't share it with anyone else. What you just said about your helmet collection . . . it wasn't about you, Ezra. It was about everyone that added to it, made it grow, made it unique."

He cocked his head at her. "Your armor is the same way, isn't it? Forged by the history of your clan, and all those who came before you?"

"Forged through bloodshed and war," she responded bitterly. "That's not a history to be proud of. Your helmet collection is a work of love. It's not the same."

Ezra was silent for a few moments. Then, he said sincerely, "I love the designs you put on your armor, Sabine. They're beautiful."

She crossed her arms, feeling that irritating sense of vulnerability whenever they talked like this. "I did it an attempt to make it something more than what it originally represented."

"You put a lot of effort into them, I know. I've seen you work late at night, maintaining the colors."

"What's your point, Ezra? What are you getting at?"

"I'm saying it's a labor of love. Just like my collection is. You don't color inside the lines. You don't want to be the same as your ancestors from the past, I get it. That armor doesn't have to define you, Sabine. You spend so much time fretting over making it something more, but I don't think you realize that it's not the armor that matters most."

Sabine stared at him. "Then what does?" she whispered.

He leaned forward. "The person wearing the armor."

Ezra poked her lightly in the chest. "You, Sabine Wren, are what matters most. The armor may be your past, but it does not decide your future. You do."

Her vision started to get blurry again. Sabine swiveled the pilot's chair away for a moment, wiping furiously at her eyes.

"Let's move on to the next question," Ezra suggested gently.

Question 4: What do you miss most about us?

They looked at each other for a long, tense moment.

"It was simpler, somehow, when we first started as friends," Ezra pointed out. "I guess that's what I miss the most. The ease of knowing where we stood with each other, and . . . just being able to talk about anything."

Sabine reached out and grabbed his hand. "We'll get back there, goober. I promise."

He nodded, his eyes misting over with tears. Inwardly, Sabine felt a tiny sense of satisfaction. Good, she thought. Someone else's turn to cry today.

"I really messed things up, Sabine. I know you just told me not to feel guilty about it, but I can't shake this feeling like we can't fix this," he said miserably.

"We can absolutely fix this," replied Sabine. "Look - you can feel bad about it for five minutes, okay? Five minutes, and then you move on with your day."

He let out a shaky laugh. "It's that easy, huh?"

She smiled at him, squeezing his hand affectionately. "Easier with a friend."

Question 5: What is your favorite food?

"Thank the Force," Ezra said, relieved. "An easy one."

"Spice-infused noodles in meat broth," Sabine answered instantly, on his behalf. "Paired with a fizzy lime-twist drink. For dessert, slices of ripe meiloorun and hot chocolate."

"Wow." Ezra applauded her, grinning as he did. "Outstanding. You are well-schooled in the topic of Ezra Bridger."

Sabine blushed. "I just pay attention, that's all."

She pointed at him. "And now it's your turn, I believe. Go on - what's my favorite food, Ezra?"

"Uh," he said. "Meat?"

Sabine narrowed her eyes at him. "Meat? That's all?"

Looking lost, he added pitifully, "Cooked meat?"

She punched him in the arm. "Ezra! Are you serious?"

"You eat by yourself all the time in your room! I don't have x-ray vision, you know!"

Sabine threw up her hands in annoyance. "Whatever. Next question!"

Question 6: Who wears the pants in your relationship?

Sabine stared at Ezra, who was sweating slightly.

"Go on, goober," she challenged. "Who do you think it is?"

Rubbing at his arm and wincing, Ezra replied quietly, "You."

She leaned forward and patted his cheek affectionately.

"That's right," she said cheerfully.

Ezra gave her a shaky smile in return. She leaned over and pressed the button for the recording to resume playing.

Question 7: If we never meet again, what would you want to take away from us meeting?

Sabine frowned. "Next question," she said.

Ezra looked taken aback. "You don't want to answer this one?"

"No," she said firmly. "It's a stupid question."

Ezra let out a deep sigh. "And why is that, Sabine?"

She folded her arms and glared at him. "Because you're not going anywhere. The question is presumptive."

"Nothing is certain," Ezra pointed out. "We're at war. None of us can guarantee the future."

"It won't come to that," Sabine insisted. "I'm guaranteeing that, on my honor."

"Sabine . . ."

She slammed a fist on the console. "No, Ezra! No compromises with the Empire, or the Rebellion. If either of them comes asking for you, they're going to get my blaster as a response."

He looked at her with a small, sad smile. "Can I give you my answer?"

"No."

Ezra snorted. "Too bad. I'm going to give it anyway."

As he leaned forward, Sabine fought the urge to look away. She forced herself to meet his bright blue eyes.

"If - if, mind you - should the event come to pass where we part ways, I want you take away from our friendship that . . . well, it means the galaxy to me. The Force works in mysterious ways, but I'm fortunate that it led me to meet everyone on the Ghost. Especially you. Our friendship is one of the best gifts I could ever hope to receive in this life. And I wouldn't exchange it for anything."

Sabine's face twisted in grief. "Then why won't you fight for your life? Why are you so accepting of an end that is yet to come?"

"I'm not. Of course, I'm going to fight with every last breath in my body: for you, for Kanan, for Hera, for Zeb, for Chopper - for everybody!" Ezra's blazed with passion; with surety of himself and what he stood for. "The Empire will never rob me of that need to fight back for what I care about."

"It doesn't scare you?" she asked. "The idea of dying?"

"It does scare me, Sabine. It's not that I'm bigger than the fear, but that I don't want it to consume me. I have to choose hope - that one day, we'll see the end of this war and live to brighter days. And if that doesn't happen . . . I have to hope that the place I make my final stand in, I can make a difference. No matter how small it may be."

Sabine's arms crossed over her stomach; it felt like she was trying to keep everything important inside her from spilling out. "You're never small to me, Ezra Bridger," she said firmly.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes melancholy. "But I'm just one spark, among so many lights. The fight needs to go on without me. And I'll be counting on you to do that."

One spark, among so many. His words echoed inside her, ripping open a hollow space that ached with the pang of future loss. Her loss.

Of him.

Ezra thought that if his spark went out, others would fill it. That the combined light of the Rebellion would illuminate the space he had been in.

Sabine did not accept that, she realized. She would always be aware of the void he once occupied. It would loom large and terrifying, like a black hole. It would gobble up everything around it, warping time and space - crying out endlessly to be filled.

Something shifted in her thoughts and a realization struck her sharply.

I'm in love with you.

Hiding it would be difficult, she knew. Sabine decided to take her own advice - she would allow herself to acknowledge her feelings, to feel them fully, for at least five minutes every day.

Then she would gently bury them until the next day. And so on. Go back to maintaining the friendship she held so dear between them both.

The complicated feelings that had tangled in her mind for a long time finally resolved themselves into a crystal-clear picture. But it was not a cathartic release; it was not a joyous revelation.

Sabine Wren was not a gracious loser. And if the galaxy was her competition for Ezra Bridger, then so be it.

The comms crackled to life from the Ghost's main console. "Look alive, you two," said Kanan's voice. Ezra and Sabine jerked slightly in their seats, suddenly remembering their surroundings. "We've located the medicinal supplies and will be bringing them out shortly."

Ezra's arm snaked out to press the button for a reply. "Copy that, Kanan. We'll be ready."

Sabine shut down the holo-recording and began maneuvering the Ghost into position for the incoming cargo.

From beside her, Ezra asked quietly, "I don't suppose I'll be hearing your answer any time soon?"

She paused, taking the time to consider a reply.

Finally, she shook her head. "I'll give you my answer someday, Ezra."

He gazed at her softly for a moment, then said, "Okay. I trust that you'll do the right thing, Sabine."

She smiled at him in a reassuring way. But, deep down inside, her answer burned in the furnace that stood in place of her heart.

If the galaxy tries to take you from me, Ezra, then the galaxy will lose.

#sabezra #sabine wren #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #star wars #sabezra fanfiction

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ran-orimoto · 3 months ago

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[ For all the Chiaki fans in my inbox who have requested for this MTTCI (May the thunderstom come in) chapter to be cross-published here, there you go. I appreciate your support like always and I hope I can continue MTTCI as soon as possible to share more Chiaki💕💕💕. But I also want to write more about her in both AUs and my main timeline. And draw her, DRAW HER AS MANY TIMES AS I CAN💙. And why not…More Chiapei…💛💙 Too. ]

Of course, there’s Junzumi in this (they are 18 and 19 here), and there’s also a fatphobia trigger warning just like I said in the past! ]

XXX

In front of the glass of an aquarium

{ Those aquariums we refuse to turn to, unconsciously afraid of discovering they have transformed into an eloquent mirror. }

The boat he had been imprisoned in ceased to swing thanks to no one else but the person always reminding him of peculiar scenarios: of tree crowns being ruffled by invisible yet passionate cuddles; of the placid stream of a river being exhorted to hurry up by the voice of some caring specter; of the dozy sea being harshly woken up by frosty howls, messengers of a tacit sky against which it will start throwing annoyed waves, higher and higher columns of water trying hitting that ceiling of ice.

A beautiful paradox, the most beautiful one that could ever be created.

“ Hey, how is it going ? Is it as bad u thought it’d be?”

His back suddenly straightening its crouched position, his hands risking to drop his phone before he found the courage to look at it again, Junpei struggled not cracking an amused grin. After years, he had got used to receiving SMS from Izumi-Chan, but not so frequently, almost everyday and ,most of all, not to just chat about their lives, the most disparate topics they could come up with. Actually, whenever her name showed up on his desktop after such long intervals of time, it would along with a cheerful << How are u?>> followed by a very predictable invitation to some kind of gathering. Better than nothing, of course, especially if that nothing was equivalent to his inability to initiate a simple conversation with her. He could actually remember so clearly the day they had come back from Digiworld; the intense, almost immediate need to use the phone number she had given him, -and the others, obviously-; the resigned thud his weighted head had eventually produced on his desk.

“ Yeah, definitely.”

He managed to type in those words after a minute of hesitation, only those two words. For a fleeting second, in front of them, he felt proud of his accomplishment, smiling with repetitive nods of approval. Well done, Junpei , His satisfaction went up and down once, twice…Until he felt like a lightning had been hurled from the ceiling right into his disconnected brain to make him realize.

It’s drier than a desert! Are you stupid?!

Prey of mischievous electric jolts making his whole sitting frame shiver, his fingers landed on the keyboard again and started pressing random letters with haste, as they let their panicking owner brainstorm about a possible continuation to that cold beginning. Theirs was a chaotic dance, without direction, harmony, grace, one that was rebelling to the meticulous perfection of a sequence of muffled notes slipping through the pulsing walls.

“ FYI I’ve got no time to read one of ur papyri , thx.”

The rampant steps abruptly halted their undaunted stomping, as if it had been part of an obscure ritual summoning fearsome natural entities, legendary winds.

“ U can tell me about ur adventure later, tho. Or should I call it ur misadventure? SNS ahahah”

“Later ?”

He passed a caress through his mahogany strands due to a bunch of impalpable gusts of air messing with its tidy, or, at least, decent appearance. They found some special way to gain access to his soul too, because he felt a snap in his bosom, some force shaking it with a violent tugging and making it impossible for him to react in the way he would have in other circumstances: with utter shock, layers of incredulity suffocating an imminent explosion of enthusiasm. At the moment, on the contrary, he was just…Perplexed, confused before the sight of white bubbles coloured with vivacious smiles. That was Izumi’s own charming style, transpiring even from the mute screen of a phone.

“ Yes, later. U’re in Shibuya, right ?”

“ I am. I’m at the NNTT. At the

New National Theatre Tokyo .”

If only he turned to the glass behind him, he would be able to get an approximate glimpse of his extremely accentuated wince, of that stronger and stronger squeezing his puffy features were attempting to resist to. But he wasn’t going to…He wasn’t…

“ I don’t think I know where this NNTT is,

but I’ll search for it on Google Maps. NP.”

He was glad she wasn’t quite done with her turn yet because moving, shifting to the side and even making his index twitch were progressively becoming tremendous feats to him. Pearls of sweat would have started making that scorching sensation on his cheeks feel even more unpleasant, if the naughty yet benevolent breeze hadn’t returned to speak again, hadn’t blown on their path to convince them to go back.

“So, let’s meet out there in an hour or so.

I’ve got another photoshoot in my schedule and I’ll be done for today.”

“Grazie al cielo!”

“I’m tired and I want to eat something sweet.”

“We could try that cafe everyone has been talking about.”

“How about it?”

He blinked and reread the chain of messages with a hallucinated stare. The explanations were two: either he was still sleeping and he still had a whole excruciating day ahead, or she was teasing him like usual. He could foresee she would make him trip, making him crash his chin and teeth against hard bricks, after having lured him so skillfully with that spell she would cast on him without being minimally afraid of failing. She was Izumi, after all. And he was Junpei…The easily fooled Junpei, -only when it came to her, though!-. Yet, at the same time he couldn’t deny lately he had been feeling like something had changed in her, something he couldn’t identify, something he wasn’t sure what it might be. He was just aware she felt different , tremendously different, and he…Couldn’t help sighing relieved about it, no matter if she had thrown another enigma in the pile of the wonderful mysteries of her existence.

”Junpei? Are u still there ?”

“ Don’t tell me u’ve fainted.”

He furiously blushed at her remark, rough reaction that pushed him to be rapid in his reaction, agile. However, again, he didn’t take too long to gasp at a frigid, even rude << No>>, devoid of any sign of intonation, emotion and punctuation.

A girl, -and not an ordinary girl, no!-, was asking him if he wanted to drink hot chocolate together and he was acting in such a detached way! Well, Izumi hadn’t really specified she would order hot chocolate, but he couldn’t imagine himself wanting anything else at the moment. Only that delicious beverage could soothe his exhausted senses after that mess of a day; that and, of course, Izumi’s soft, gentle, cradling voice molding any story in pure poetry. Taking in account he liked considering chocolate as sacred food, its divine taste and the ethereal melody Izumi’s lips could weave would be enough for him to feel like he was having a snack in Heavens.

It was necessary to right that terrible wrong because he couldn’t allow that chance to fly away. If he screwed it up, he swore to himself he would never be able to forgive himself or avoid groaning at his reflection. Therefore, pulling his tongue out to give himself a boost of focus, -which, needless to clarify, was an exaggerated decision in that context-, he created a companion for that lonely <<no>>… Which happened to be a more lively, slightly more talkative, yet still very timid and solitary << yes>>.

No, yes, you sound like a preschooler, for Heavens’ sake!, At the nth silly mistake, he couldn’t keep himself from throwing his phone to his right with utter irritation. As outraged as he was feeling in the regards of the innocent technological device without a logically acceptable reason, he wouldn’t have minded if it had ended up on the floor, -with the screen facing the tiles, certainly, because his bad luck had no end-. Nevertheless, against all odds, it miraculously bounced on soft cushions and halted its soft hopping one or two millimeters distant from the edge of the bench. Disgruntled, he instinctively reached out before some new vibration could scare that giant fluke away.

<<I would be happy…So happy…>>, No, this would sound so…So…Stupid. <<I accept with great pleasure, Izumi. I would be <<honoured>>, This sounds embarrassingly despaired, instead, and, what a surprise, stupid. Again. He frowned, diverting his gaze from the dull yet eloquent surface and gluing his upset irises onto the plain white of a wall, the spot their rotation had to petrify on because they were unauthorized to push themselves further, onto a long barrier dividing two rooms, two areas, two worlds that were separated from each other. << Sure, Izumi, sure! Why not! I’m looking forward to it>>, This sounds better. Maybe she would hate how loud it would get in a real situation, she would put her hand on my mouth to hiss at me and tell me to shut up, but…But…Yes, I’ll go with this. Let’s settle things once and for all.

It seemed a crumb of his confidence had finally responded to his distress call, after having enjoyed itself making him wait, boil in his dense awkwardness.

” Sure, Izumi, sure!”

Raising his eyebrows, he stopped: did that initial exclamation look, feel like this in his mental draft? Really…? Then, why was it making his nose wrinkle? The truth was that it was a terrible reply! His thumb remained suspended on that arrow which might give his life an interesting turn, or so he wanted to believe at least, despite a little voice inside him suggesting he should keep his feet on the ground. That one was a lesson he should have learnt thanks to the amount of experience gained in almost ten years of friendship, -and in almost ten years of something else-.

What if I removed that second <<sure>>? Why didn’t I think of it first!?

After the nth time he had got himself trapped in his tangled, nonsense concerns, like a big marine turtle having been caught in a net while chasing a plastic bag, he tired someone checking his buffoonery from up there.

Actually, a door whose existence he had forgot about opened with a scary slap, startling not only him, but also that incessant hum that had been singing in his ears for almost an hour. When the two dimensions collided, one carried an alienating silence into the other, the impression a violent descent of some meters had happened in less than an instant. Despite the utter mess he was making while chatting with Izumi, he couldn’t deny she was still making him feel like he had been taken up to the sky she adored so much, had been walking on dreamy clouds for who knew how long. Now, though, some aggressive noise had accidentally made him let go of Izumi’s grip making sure he wouldn’t fall from such a height.

But he had. He had down into a place as immense as the expanse where he came from yet colder, much colder than that one.

“Nakamura-San!”

She marched out of the frozen room without looking back, decelerating only to bring her fingers behind her head. With a single gesture, an undulating motion of her wrist, she unraveled her low chignon in a cascade of dark chocolate, her long pail neck leaning forward in a liberating reflex.

She totally ignored his presence, just like the one of a skinny young man trotting after her.

“Nakamura-San, wait! You have been fantastic! Today I told myself we could really be the best duo out there. You, a top soprano. Me, an etoile. Imagine…Us starring in the most famous theatres in Europe, at New York’s Metropolitan too.”

Oh no, dude, you’re so pathetic, please, In the background of that mushy romantic film he didn’t absolutely want to be an extra of, Junpei found it impossible to grimace. And it’s not only because of those ridiculous tights I thank Heavens I could never wear in my life. She’s not interested, indeed, she detests you. She is repulsed by you. She isn’t even looking at you in the face, man!

Not even impulsively grabbing the girl’s hand to force her to turn helped him in his intent, until…

“Chiaki, listen…!”

At his touch her shoulders had already tensed, but that physical response affected her whole body once she heard what Junpei soon discovered it was her first name.

Dumb move. How can you be so stupid?, Junpei asked himself, slowly opening his bag to find a book into which plunging his disinterest . That was such an ashaming spectacle: he wasn’t going to give his eyes that unfair treatment. They didn’t deserve it. Still, surely, it would be so nice if they acknowledged he was there and they were showing a stranger their mutual lack of respect and tact. If he had worn one of his coveralls, they would have undoubtedly seen him. It would have been flashier than the lame blue salopettes he was wearing on a simple orange sweatshirt.

“It’s Nakamura. Nakamura-San for you, to be precise,” She stared into her interlocutor’s restless orbs, her face stuck in a stern arrangement, a detail Junpei casually grasped while searching for a specific page of his music sheet.

“Su-Sur-“

“And, sorry to tell you,” She insisted, cutting him short, impassive. Junpei’s focus would usually take a while to get used to reading and studying, so it was normal he was keeping on getting distracted, wondering how her eyebrows weren’t minimally curving because of her distress. “We haven’t been fantastic. You were too tense and distracted. You…Were out of step, your arms looked like noodles on your partner’s hips and you would have also stepped on her foot, if I hadn’t coughed on purpose so you could stop looking at me.”

“T-Then…You have been fantastic, Nakamura-San?”’

Junpei’s thinned irises travelled through the lines of the same stave back and forth, hopping on the scribbles occasionally warping the notes’ circular shapes, dwelling on those more than on what he was supposed to be working on. The environment had grown too taciturn for him to animate that mute paper in his mind, so he got unavoidably led to diverting his intellectual efforts on some other topic, on the trembling muscles of the black-haired lad and the statue in front of him.

A statue ready to flee from her despised pedestal.

“I’m sorry, Kobayashi-San,” She sighed, closing her spheres whose shade was still unknown to Junpei. Incredibly, he perceived a minimal turmoil in those features, maybe just a fruit of his fervid imagination.

He also sensed a pang in his stomach at the sight of the young woman, of that Chiaki, leaving her dance partner there , without adding a clarification to that apologize holding so much else in itself. Junpei couldn’t understand why he had got that hunch, -and he wasn’t interested in finding out the reason behind it, no!-, but he could confess to himself it was hurting, somehow. Cautiously observing the profile of the dejected ballet dancer, the tremors of his lips, the abandoned dangling of his limbs next to his hips was having a certain effect on him.

But ,again, he didn’t know why.

He didn’t…

The young man stood in that same spot for a whole minute, losing his dismay in the undefined shadows projected in the near corridor. Then, he found the strength to forge steel fists of frustration and viciously send a glare to the uninvited spectator. That was a decision Junpei should have expected at some point, but he had foolishly grown convinced he had become invisible. Thus, he had lowered his guard and consequently had- he had to admit it, regrettably-, minded about someone else’s business, someone else’s disgrace.

“What are you looking at, eh? Tell me. Don’t you have anything else to do, fatso?”

“Hey,” So, they were starting like that, weren’t they? It was typical. “Since I’m a fatso, you should have noticed I was here. Don’t I occupy this entire bench?” In spite of the heat the young man’s comment had generated in his throat, he wasn’t going to yell in a refined ballet academy, but that didn’t mean he would allow him to disrespect him. “Joke’s on you, man, if you have decided to talk about private matters here.”

“Whatever you say,” The young man replied, displaying his interior weakness once more. Judging from that little he had managed to analyze in the previous confrontation with the girl, he could state he was a spineless and submissive kind of dude. The only thing he could do was to look down on others, as if he had the right to do so. Probably, in his life he had met people giving him the freedom to act in such a superb way, but in that case he could do that just because Junpei was sitting and he was standing. “Looking at you, I wonder how much you have eaten to become so fat.“

“Excuse me…?” Even if he had muttered that question while concealing his shame under his bangs, those words stained with poison had still been spat on Junpei’s appalled face.

“Yes, in the photos on Facebook you look so different. And thinner. What has happened to you?”

It happened that I’m not the same person, easy, He reminded himself, painfully clenching his jaw as a photo of a slightly older opera student materialized in his memories: sliced back hair just like his yet much darker, cocky grin challenging the camera and flash, a stately poise, a handsome, an exceptionally handsome raising star of the lyrical singing panorama.

“Uhm…It’s a bit hard to explain,” The commotion in his tone had faded, his fiery spirit had been tamed by an imposing energy. And he hated that.

“I don’t care ,don’t worry. I’m just laughing at the fact the girls were so excited about this beautiful tenor who was supposed to come. Not sure if Chiaki was too…Oh well, better for me. Now that Chiaki is mad at me, I still can try with Kikuchi-San. She is the third girl in the second row, can you see her? She is not as curvy as Chiaki and can’t sing at all, of course, but-“

“Kobayashi dude, whatever you’re called, now I’m the one telling you I don’t care, man,” He snapped at him, but still turned. He did not because he was curious about who this girl was, what he looked like: when he said he didn’t care, he was serious about it since there only was a girl on Earth mattering to him. He did because Fate had decided that morning would be troublesome to him and had to keep on being such until the end, until he would escape from that chicken coop.

If he had to be honest with himself, however, that definition didn’t really feel that fitting once he found himself surrounded by minuscule shimmers directly pointed at him, on his lumbering silhouette. He was feeling more like if he had become the visitor of an aquarium being contemplated by a shoal of fish that had gathered and attached their mouths to the glass, their thoughts incomprehensible to the human on the opposite side.

Yet, Junpei had experienced the same emotion even without a glass in the middle of his life, even a second after he had put foot in there, had bowed before a displeased audience, had continued smiling despite anything.

Despite being aware he wasn’t the one everyone had been waiting for.

I’m so sick of this place, Izumi-Chan. For real.

#junpei shibayama #izumi orimoto #chiaki digimon #junzumi #digimon frontier #junpei #izumi #chiaki #MTTCI #for once it feels good to say I like how something turned #FOR ONCE #not true there are other stories of mine I like—-#be your first supporter!#zura writes

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