#tcf moments

[blueteller]

Random Things Cale Henituse had done Without Context

adopted 14 children in a month

threw money into lava

stole cookies from royalty

scammed a vampire to give him an allowance

ate a rock

set a lake on fire

bribed a prince with poison

impersonated a priest

fed a hobo

stole a tree

dived into a mummy lake

wished to cough blood elegantly

hand-embroidered outfits

served a freaked-out dragon tea

forced a prince to make an MMORPG account

made his enemy wash the dishes

beat up a guy with a rock

fed a tree

commiserated with a god over work-related sleep deprivation

let his kid eat poison

sang creepy hide and seek song

tried to dig a hole in the ground and failed

gave away bones as a present

converted a barbarian with the Power of Friendship

blew up an island (twice)

stripped in front of his bff's uncle

blew up a whirlpool

hugged his arch nemesis

defenestrated a man

got compared to a haystack

strangled a guy with his bare hands

ate a battery

fought a lake

stabbed himself with a stick

...Feel free to keep it going. The weirder and more random the better. Let's see if we can catch all the references lol

[shrimpfriedeggs]

i love alberu and raon's dynamic so much,,

[themaymoth]

the crown prince and the hero are going on a date✨

he zoned out 10 minutes ago...

[noxiousgrace]

Kim rok soo gives up everything he thinks he doesn't need if the situation calls for it

His whole explanation for his very clear self sacrificial tendencies is the fact that whatever he's sacrificing, he believes he can go without

I'm currently re-reading the god of despair arc and his conversation with jang man soo caught my attention

Krs slept in the corner of the shelter where rain kept leaking in, at first i thought it was because park jin tae absolutely hated him but then jang man soo says "you chose that spot."

And it just kinda clicked that he doesn't consider anything besides the basic things to stay alive as a necessity

He thinks any sort of comfort is a luxury

He wants it, but he doesn't exactly need it

And doesn't mind giving it up if someone else needs it more

I feel like he sleeps in the corner on purpose because jang man soo is already clearly suicidal and krs doesn't want him to actually keel over from getting sick because of the leak, he knows jang man soo wouldn't complain about his illness until it was too late. He's old and his body is weak, idk if he'd survive being sick during the literal apocalypse. krs doesn't joke around with anybodies life

I also think he easily chose the spot with the leak because (this is my headcanon at least) he doesn't really feel temperature. I feel like krs was affected more by the white stars curse than he admits, sure he had some sense of taste and feel but his senses were probably dulled to the point he could easily ignore the discomfort

So whatever doesn't kill him, he can deal with it

He grew up like that anyway

He's used to being deprived of comfort, it's natural for him to be uncomfortable even if he complains and says he doesn't like it

What other people consider suffering is just an inconvenience for him

He's never had anything to take for granted ever since he was a kid

Reality absolutely crushed his standards of living ever since his parents died and we see that through everything he does

He doesn't falter at being overworked and underfed, that has been his natural state for 15-16 years now

In fact, transmigrating as cale henituse is more of a vacation to him than anything

Everyone thinks he's suffering but he just considers it as "working hard", it's was his job to starve while keeping his people fed when he was the team leader, because there was never enough to go around at first.

Once Korea was restored to some extent and scarcity was less of an issue due to ability users who had crop related abilities or something of the sort, he let himself indulge in the luxury of eating more often. It wasn't a big change, but still.

My heart breaks every time i think about the fact when he had his first meal as cale henituse, it was the most he had eaten in one sitting in 15-16 years. He usually doesn't comment on things but he was so insistent on the fact that beacroxs' cooking was good despite being absolutely terrified of the guy says a lot.

[caleism-1]

Ok. Here me out.

I need an au where no one has heard them talk before until now. Like, people probably assumed they were mute because of this and were shocked when they randomly say something while… I don’t know.. The fam was having an argument or can’t decide on something. They don’t even say a lot too-

(Kinda like this)

“He can talk!?”

Tcf ver

After his hyungs died krs spoke less and less until he just didn’t. He still lead great though (signals, arm movements, power points kinda, notes, actions, etc). It’s just, by the time the switch happened, it didn’t seem weird for him to not speak.

Speaking of which (pun kinda not intended).

After Jour’s funeral, Cale had also started speaking less. BUT DON’T THINK THATS GONNA STOP HIM!! He has a pretty mean glare-

By the time he was around 11 - 12 he stopped (a slow process like Roksu).

You know that noble meeting that explained why he had a black set? I can just imagine him darkly smirking.

Anyways-

The first time someone would here him speak would probably be the touching moment Choi han and Cale had to boost morale (hug <3)

(But before that, Cale would probably whisper in someone’s ear and they would probably think that person is crazy if they try to tell someone else. lol. This doesn’t have to happen)

DP x DC ver

Everyone was there. The whole fam was there. A pretty big argument was happening. Probably Batman and Jason.

Danny walks in drinking a smoothie, says something, and walks out.

And everyone was like “???!!”

Because Danny-

Has been there for at least 11 months almost a year.

Danny who has never spoken all this time just-

Huh???

[youngyoo-apologist]

“Kids what’s wrong-WHAT.”

Quick comic for a future scene of [In the Borderline], everyone is having a bad time, at least Cale isn’t dead !

[wanderershu]

Just remembered how prior to finding out the real truth, Alver had thought that even if it was someone else in Cale Henituse's body, he didn't care because he liked and cherished the current Cale, whomever he may be and now I suddenly feel unwell.

"If the body possession part was true, then it would be very sad for Duke Henituse's household but not for Alver. It might seem cold, but those were Alver's honest thoughts."

-Lout of the Count's Family, Chapter 475

[fallen6253]

I had this theory once that the original Cale didn't like Beacrox's cooking because of a poisoning incident. I'll explain:

That doesn't mean the Molans tried to kill him.

I thought that since his mother was drew/jour thames (unhinged, slightly ajar even) then she would want to prepare him for the bad things. Which were many in number that didn't always end with petty nobles and normal assassins. So what else would she do except request the assassins she took in help her son out?

I imagine Cale found out, or she told him, and while he listened to his mother, that didn't mean he'd like it.

Which would explain why Cale had such high tolerance to alcohol (apart from drinking constantly) and why, despite all the reasons Cale would have enemies, he hasn't been poisoned by the food he picks up randomly. Sure, he's got plenty of people that would detect it or deter it, but there hadn't been any indication that attempts to poison him were made at all (unless i missed something, would totally believe if i did). Which means there is either a huge lack of hostility towards cale friggin henituse for some reason, or they don't worry about it because he's got some resistance nobody talks about.

And I do mean this in reference to before the vitality of the heart, and before anybody found out about it. And before kim rok soo (but that's obvious, I just mean all of it).

Anyway, I thought he started disliking Beacrox because he didn't like poison, and when he started his trashy escapades, it was the perfect excuse to mess with him and insult his cooking.

I don't know if this makes sense anymore but I still think it was funny.

[illusionsofdreaming]

birds without feet;

Notes: I return to the blog with this monster of a ficlet. This was actually written for @nin-deer who very graciously allowed me to share it on the blog as well. A small imagine that grew out of control haha... enjoy~ Ft: Beacrox

It was but a subtle shift of air that caused him to abandon his project. In an instant, he whipped around, knife in hand, its sharp blade poised just above the intruder's jugular, ready to cut deep with the slightest pressure.

Despite the threat of a blade at your neck, your smile was relaxed as you lifted the roll of parchment in your hand. “Delivery!”

His eyes quickly scanned the kitchen, noting the shifted curtains he pieced together your point of entrance. Only when you wiggled the paper impatiently did he finally drop the knife and swiped the parchment from your hand, ignoring your huff of laughter as he scanned over its contents.

“It’s nice to see you too Beacrox. How have you been?” 

Your attempts at casual banter were ignored, but the moment you began reaching for the food on the table, his gaze snapped to yours, promising pain should you attempt further.

You were wise enough to heed his warning as you stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “Sheesh, you’re not going to make any friends if you keep acting this way.”

Crumpling the piece of paper, he threw it into the fireplace as you clicked your tongue in mock annoyance.

Had he cared for your opinion, he might’ve been annoyed, alas it was easy to dismiss as he threw a pouch in your direction, the clink of gold muted as you caught it from the air. He watched as you tossed the bag a few times before pocketing it.

You must have caught the confusion on his face as you glanced up with a grin. “I know you won’t cheat me of my payment.”

Though it was the truth—Molan’s motto was always to repay what’s due���such blatant admission of trust from someone working in the dark underbelly of society puzzled him, and without meaning to, he’d let his displeasure slip through. “It could’ve been filled with rocks.”

You blinked, head tilted as if you’re considering the possibility, then you laughed. “Then I suppose I’ll be a few pretty rocks richer.”

He scowled and returned to his work, grabbing his knife to hide the flush of annoyance he felt by your flippant answer. You knew such responses would annoy him, and he refused to give you the satisfaction of being correct.

One does not survive long in the underworld with their morals and innocence intact. Your deliberate pushing of buttons was another tactic to wheedle information from your targets, and he wasn't inclined on revealing anything. You already know far too much as is.

“Leave,” he ordered, his limited patience well and truly spent. 

“Always a pleasure talking to you, Bea~”

He threw the knife in his hand, but by the time he turned around, you were already gone. The only evidence of your visit was the lingering echoes of your laughter and a missing tart from the plate of desserts he'd prepared earlier.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

As you kept the package just out of his reach, he couldn’t help but think: for a grown person jaded by the underworld, you sure liked acting like a child at times.

“You just thought of something rude didn’t you?”

His gaze snapped to yours. “You forget who you’re dealing with.” he warned coldly. The Molan household might have fallen from grace but just because he had traded his daggers for kitchen knives, they were no less lethal in his hands. Was it confidence or foolishness that made you dare to test his patience?

The silence in the kitchens was deafening as your eyes met across the counter. 

“I haven’t,” You said finally, “not once.” Your smile was wry and lacked its usual cheer but the heaviness in your tone bore the weight of many secrets, of someone who knew far more than what they’re letting on. He’s faced with an uncanny sense of unbelonging and emptiness that seemed eerily familiar. 

But with a blink of an eye, the mask that had slipped had righted itself. “I have a change of mind,” You sat on the edge of the counter island, tension and somber mood shaken off, replaced with an all too sunny smile. “I’d like another form of payment for the information I’m selling.”

He felt anger lick up his throat as his fist clenched above the table. “That was not part of our deal.”

“An amendment to the agreement then, if you will-”

“I refuse.”

Your peals of laughter filled the room, “You didn’t even let me finish!”

“I refuse.” He repeated sternly. Knowing your personality, it would be an amendment that would greatly irritate or inconvenience him. 

“I’d like you to cook a dish for me.” You continued, ignoring his words. 

There was a sharp snap as the corner of the table cracked under his hand as incredulity stole over his face. 

To begin with, payment for your services had never been cheap, each bag of gold was worth more than several months’ worth of food. If all you wanted was a decent meal, then you’ve already been charging enough to dine at any of Roan kingdom’s finest restaurants.

“It’s not a dish that can be found on any menu in the kingdom.” You tutted as if you knew the thoughts that were going through his head. “It’s not something that can be bought with gold.” 

You’re pulling his leg. “And why do you think I’d care to create a dish no one’s heard of?” Beacrox asked through gritted teeth.

“I know you don’t.” You laughed, lips slanted with a smile. “It’s something I’ve tasted a long time ago but have no idea how it’s made. I’ll describe what I remember and if you believe it’s impossible to recreate or not worth the hassle,” you shrugged in an exaggerated display of nonchalance, “then I’ll take the usual payment like nothing’s changed. It’s a good deal for you right?”

Nothing about this deal made sense. You’re essentially offering your services for free while he’d benefit regardless of whether he succeeds in recreating the dish or not. His expression was stiff as he crossed his arms.

You set the package down on the table gently and slid a piece of folded paper next to it. “Take your time to think about it.” You offered as you pulled your hood up. You left the kitchens as quietly as you’d arrived, leaving him to brood in the silence left behind.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

“Here.” he sets the completed project on the table with the reluctance of a person who would rather be anywhere else but in the kitchens at that very moment. He folded his arms, pinning his hands to his chest, resisting the urge to snatch the plate and throw it in the trash, calling off the deal.

Beacrox had no expectations of being able to recreate a dish he had never heard of. Yet, from the moment he set the plate down, you stiffened in place, your pleasant smile melting away, replaced by shock.

“Well?”, You flinched as he prompted impatiently. You pulled the dish closer, your smile weak and crooked. 

“I was just a bit surprised that’s all..” your voice trailed off.

He filed your reactions away in the back of his mind.

Your grip was uncertain but eventually you picked a piece from the plate and placed it in your mouth.

You froze in place, and he immediately slid a cup of water and bowl over. 

But you surprised him when you kept it in and swallowed. “It…” He watched as your face straightened slowly, all visible emotions ironed away into one of careful neutrality. 

“..tastes nothing like it.” 

When vague subjective descriptions on a slim piece of paper were all that he had to work with, he’d expected this outcome. The bag of gold he had prepared in advance was tossed onto the table as he reached to retrieve the dish, only to be deterred when sharp pain sprang across the back of his hand. The surprise he felt from the fact he’d failed to catch your movements was swiftly replaced by irritation when he realised you’d slapped him. 

His eyes narrowed, “What are you-“

“I’m taking it.” you said and to his utter confusion, went on to shove another bite in your mouth.

“You just said-“

“I know what I said.” you huffed, “I never said the dish had to taste right did I? It’s a good first try-“ His eyebrows lifted as you suddenly lost the ability to maintain eye contact with him. “Anyways, I’ll be the judge of what’s accepted and I say this passes.”

You've always been an eccentric character, but just when he thought you couldn't faze him further, you managed to render him speechless yet again. Till now, he’s yet to figure out your intention behind your request, if taste was not a priority then what use was creating the dish you’re looking for? 

“Get out of my kitchen.”

“But I haven’t-“

“Out.”

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

Of all the informants in the kingdom, none possessed skills that could surpass yours. It was why, despite the many headaches you induced, Beacrox had chosen to suffer your pestering for so long.

Not one of his sources has ever confirmed how you acquire your information or seen you in action. Yet the intelligence you provide, which has, at many times, sounded unbelievable, had been proven to be true time and time again. 

Perhaps the strangest thing of all was that, despite the ease with which you uncover others' secrets, the same couldn’t be said vice versa. Little to no information could be found regarding your background, whatever was found was obviously doctored, being far too mundane for someone of your skills. You were either incredibly thorough at covering your tracks or an experienced fraudster, and Beacrox was inclined on believing the latter.  

Your unpredictable behaviour made it hard to judge whether you’re an ally or foe, so it was only natural that he’d sought for leverage to hold against you in case there’ll be a day you’d decide to betray them and sell their secrets to their enemies. 

That was the only reason he would consider playing along with your games.

Though he knew not the significance of these dishes to you, he had hoped they would provide some insight on your background or places you’ve been to where other sources have failed to narrow down. 

But of course even the meals you’d request would be harder if not just as difficult to trace as well.

It was only a matter of time before you caught onto his intentions, after all, he’d never kept his investigations a secret. Yet instead of pulling back like he’d expected, you had become bolder in your requests, eyes sparkling with mischief as if you understood the frustration he was going through and still remain one infuriating step ahead of him at all times. 

He’d considered the possibility that you could be pulling his leg, but there was something about the nostalgia in your eyes as you taste each dish that made Beacrox believe in their authenticity. 

He glanced at a small box hidden by the side, within held a small but steadily growing pile of recipes of unknown origins. Not for the first time, Beacrox found himself questioning if all these peaceful days have turned him soft after all.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

A familiar, unwelcome figure was sitting in his fresh crate of produce.

A quick scan around the area confirmed that you were alone and he walked over to assess your state. A splatter trail led up to the crate you sat on and his brows furrowed in distaste. The darkness made it difficult to immediately see any obvious signs of injuries and when you made no reaction to his presence, he kicked the crate below you.

“Ow.” you stirred, complaining with a soft laugh. 

Conscious. 

“Why are you here?”

Your unannounced visit broke one of many unspoken rules governing their kind. As people maintaining a delicate facade, unexpected visits were not merely discouraged but deemed perilous. No one would fault him should he choose to silence you then and there - such was the severity of your faux pas - yet he stood, only mildly irritated, at the disruption you’ve brought to a peaceful night.

It took a moment longer than he liked before you gathered enough strength to speak. “Sorry,” you apologised and for once, actually sounding it. “I just need a little rest. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Your laboured breathing and unfocused gaze suggested otherwise and he folded his arms as the dreadful feeling of his plans for an early night slipped through his fingers like fine sand. 

“How bad is it?” 

Impatiently he waited for you to process his words, your sluggishness a strange contrast to your usually sharp wit and quick retorts. 

“It’s been treated.” 

The smell of blood was sharp and acrid, he would have to clean the stains soon if he wished to avoid its scent lingering in the area. “I will not ask again.” He warned.

You were exhausted, it could be seen from your posture and expression. Though he understood the instinct to hide one’s weakness, from the moment you chose to rest here it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ the truth comes out but a matter of ‘when’ and Beacrox would preferred if it happened sooner rather than later.

Just as he was contemplating the benefits of leaving you to your fate, your lips loosened. “Stab wound on the left, missed vitals. I’ve been tended to but some of the stitches might have opened up.”

That would explain the bloody trail you left. He should count his blessings that it didn’t sound too bothersome, assuming you hadn't foolishly downplayed the severity of your injuries. Your arms came up defensively as he began moving towards you, eyes widening with surprise, “Wait-“

His arms slipped under and around and with barely a grunt of effort, he lifted you up. The sudden motion drew a muffled groan from you and he allowed you a brief moment to collect yourself before he began moving. From this position, he could acutely feel the heat radiating from your skin and the tremors that wracked your body. 

Your confusion and trepidation were clear and it was with some hesitation before you decided to open your mouth-

“Save your breath.” He advised and you obediently swallowed your words.

He moved you into the storage shed behind the kitchen. Though dark, he navigated through the small space easily, setting you on the surface of several boxes, he stepped back to note that you’ve lost consciousness. The walk hadn’t been far but you must have exhausted your reserves traveling here.

From the darkness he brought out a small knife and paused, looking at your face, sweat slicked yet slack from tension, having found an escape from the worries troubling you - however temporary. He recognised that this moment might be a rare opportunity to unveil the secrets you hide, yet as quick as the notion flitted through his mind, it was dismissed just as quickly. With methodical precision, he cut open the side of your shirt where red had stained through.

The wound was as you’d described, if not a bit irritated and swollen. Basic first aid had been applied, though the messy stitch work left much to be desired, it did its job in holding your injury closed. A few stitches had come loose and will need to be reworked but nothing that he’s not capable of handling even with his limited medical knowledge.

As his gaze roamed to your face checking, yes, you were still unconscious, he left and returned moments later with a candle, clean water, cloth and a clean shirt. 

A dusty shed and mere candlelight were far from an ideal setting to perform any kind of wound care, but he doubted you’d care at this point. Pristine, white gloves snapped on, he made short work of cleaning, restitching and bandaging your wound. 

He was about to tilt a bottle of potion into your lips when you mumbled. He paused, waiting to see if you were regaining consciousness. You mumbled again and he frowned. It took him few moments before he realised two things: you weren’t waking up anytime soon and the words you’re mumbling, weren’t in a language from Roan or even any of the neighbouring kingdoms. 

As a master assassin, he had learned many languages, so the fact that you spoke one that he couldn’t place piqued his interest. He watched your lips, intent on studying and memorising the unique intonations and pitch, however, it seems your instincts finally kicked in, and though still unconscious, you’d stopped mumbling. 

Even out cold, you’d find a way to be bothersome. There was nothing more he could do, he left the folded, clean shirt he brought along by your side and with one final glance at your still form, he closed the doors behind him and locked it.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

He returned the next morning to a broken lock and an empty shed. In place of where you’re supposed to be was instead a piece of paper and a bag of coins. 

“Thanks for last night. Sorry about your spuds, I’ve replaced them for you :)”

A glance to the side confirmed the presence of a fresh crate of potatoes and a slip of paper containing the description of a dish never heard of before in the kingdom.

And for the first time ever, a name to go alongside the unfamiliar dish.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

You never mentioned what happened that night and he didn’t pry. Still, something seemed to have shifted between the two of you.

He no longer chases you away the moment you appear, while you've learned to place yourself to avoiding getting in the way of his cooking. He pretends not to notice when you arrive with injuries and you feign surprise at finding mysterious salves appearing nearby. 

“Aw, did you miss my company?” you teased when you caught his gaze assessing you after dropping by from one of your longer absences.

Beacrox made no attempt to conceal the dry scowl on his face. “Like one misses a rat infestation.”

“Charming~” you beamed.

Some things, still don’t change no matter what. 

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

In the end, it was the one question he couldn’t figure out. 

“Why me?”

The dishes you've shared are simple, you could've hired any other chef, given the same descriptions and they would’ve achieved similar results. But you chose to badger him, an unknown chef working for a humble count's family instead.

You paused in your devouring of yet another strange dish, blinking as if surprised that he would be the first to initiate conversation.

“Why Bea! You should have more confidence in yourself, you’re one of the best chefs in Roan!”

It was as obvious a deflection as he ever saw. His fingers tightened around his arms and he took a slow breath. So you’re going to be stubborn. Well, two can play that game. He tried another angle. 

The words tasted foreign on his tongue, but they were something that turned over and over in his mind since that night. He’d probably horribly butchered the pronunciation but it seemed the meaning was successfully relayed from the way your eyes widened and your pupils shook with recognition. 

The utensil held in your hand clattered to the table and Beacrox kept his eyes trained on you, taking in your paling face. When it didn't seem like you would offer an explanation, he continued.

“It’s what you kept repeating that night.“

A myriad of emotions crossed your face: shock, confusion, fear, and finally, resignation. 

In the silence, you slowly repeated those same words. Sharp, crisp and wholly foreign. 

"“Home,” your voice was soft, but it was the loudest thing in the kitchen. “‘I want to go home.’” you swallowed thickly, a wavering smile on your face. “that’s probably what I said.”

There was a lot to unpack from that revelation. 

He was suddenly reminded of how you’d react to the dishes each time, savouring each one, scouring the plates clean despite the differences in tastes. You ate not to fulfil the hunger of the body but to satisfy a craving of the mind. After receiving the recipe with a foreign name, it had confirmed one suspicion of his, that wherever these dishes came from, whether it was a place or a person that you're reminiscing about, they're likely no longer accessible.

You're reliving memories through dishes you barely remember. Chasing ghosts in your memories in search of some semblance of normalcy. 

Trust was a limited and rare currency in the underworld, hoarded jealously and coveted by many. You’d handed him the leash he’d sought since he agreed to your little game yet he felt gutted by the weight of the revelation, his shoulders burdened.

“Why me?” He repeated softly.

You watched him. “I don’t know.” Your voice sounded small and so tired. “I thought maybe, if it’s anyone, you’d probably understand.”

What does the concept of home and person mean when they no longer exist? Who are they but displaced people playing roles too big or small to hold their histories? Bearing memories of a place and person, but unable to find an equivalent?

It was a mistake. He shouldn’t have asked.

“But I wasn’t lying you know?” you added suddenly and he looked up in confusion, the smile you wore was weaker than usual but it was genuine. 

“You are one of the best chefs in all of Roan.” You declared in that same, familiar confidence which you use to share all those impossible, far-fetched sounding intel that always, turns out to be fact. 

For some inexplicable reason, it was that simple statement that dispersed the tempest building within.

Beacrox sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and exhaled through his nose.

And perhaps, there was a small, exasperated chuckle.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

“Bea please marry me.”

It wasn't often, but on rare occasions, he would nail the taste of a dish right.

He didn’t bother with a response but moved to refill your plate nonetheless.

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━

“Thank you.”

He paused while wiping the dishes. “For what?”

“Just,” Your gaze dropped to the plate before you as your fork tapped lightly against the edge. “Thank you for the food.”

Beacrox watched as you returned to eating, mind filled with memories of all the dishes he's made, of greatswords and bladed edges, and thought of what home and belonging is. 

We’re not so different. The idea of it wasn't as horrifying as he had thought. Once, perhaps he would’ve been unnerved by the sentimentality. There are still so many things that remain a secret when it comes to you, and yet, as you close your eyes to savor each bite, he feels as if he knows you better than most.

You ate in comfortable silence. He rolled his shoulders and allowed the tension in them to drop off. 

This might not be ‘home’ but for now, this moment was as good a resting place as any for people like them.

“You’re welcome.” he said softly. 

━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━ 

BONUS:

Once again, it begins with a ridiculous request from you.

“Bea please, you have to prepare this for Choi Han. I’ll even sell you my kidneys, I really need to know his reaction.” 

What value would owning your kidneys have? That you’d blatantly suggest such things to an assassin like himself was laughable, stranger still was his playing the fool and following along anyways.

He didn't question how you knew about their mansion's new guest, though your sudden interest in the visitor when you’ve shown no such interest in past guests was worthy of note. Even he had unconsciously tensed when the young master had introduced him. Something about the newcomer didn’t seem right. They were strong, but their potential was untapped and raw, like an uncontrollable beast on the verge of lashing out at any moment.

The glimmer of something in your eyes further confirmed his suspicions. You knew something about this stranger though you refused to reveal more, only promising that he’s not a threat to him or Ron. 

He frowned at the pot of red he’s stirring, the pungent smell wafting through the room. Footsteps from the doorway had him looking up, but the person that crossed the threshold was not the person he’d expected. 

The young master stepped in with a cautious look in his eyes. 

“I thought I smelled..” brown eyes narrowed at the pot he held. “What’s that?”

Beacrox glanced down at the strange dish he was asked to prepare, wondering why of all people that could’ve come, it would be Cale Henituse. 

“A dish a friend taught me to make.” Then for some reason unbeknownst to him, he offered. “Would the young master like to try?”

Cale hesitated, but eventually slid himself onto a seat, choosing the one farthest away from him. At least the young master seemed sober. Beacrox felt no fondness for the young master he served, even if it was true that he had begun to change recently, raising even the interest of Ron. 

Spooning a small portion, he set the dish and utensils down before Cale, ignoring the young man’s flinch as he gauged Cale’s strange expressions. 

The young master stared at the dish as if it would leap up and attack him, his strange wariness reminded Beacrox of your reaction when he first presented that first unfamiliar dish to you. 

“.. there’s no way..” Cale muttered to himself as he poked and prodded until finally, he tried a bite. 

“What.. the hell?”

Beacrox had never seen the young master's eyes bug out like that, and he decided it was quite an entertaining sight, even if the dish’s original target wasn’t meant for the redhead. Still he stifled an irritated sigh as a thought crossed his mind when the young master exclaimed.

“How the hell did you learn to make kimchi?!”

“What the hell did you make me do this time _______?”

Notes: I've had lots of thoughts while writing this imagine turned fic. Nin-deer gave me a simple prompt of "cooking" and I went and turned it into lore- OTL even I don't understand the intricate workings of my brain. I've had to cut out some chapters details as it was growing out of hand so I hope everything's links together properly. I've reached that stage where I've reread a piece of writing so many times, nothing makes sense anymore. I've deliberately left the dishes 'cooked' vague so you're free to imagine whatever cuisine you'd like that Beacrox helped butcher 👍🏼

[calethescammer]

Thinking about the soos currently.

Thinking about how seemingly selfish it was of lsh and cjs to leave krs alone; how selfish it was of cjs when he said that he wanted krs to live; and yet, that was the best they could do for him–to protect him and let him live the life they wouldn't be able to.

Thinking about how, even in the face of a destroyed world, they believed that surviving, living was the best, and how all of them wished for the other to live.

Thinking about how utterly betrayed Krs must have felt, not by his hyungs, but by his own inability to do anything, and to just stare at the lifeless corpses of lsh and cjs.

Thinking about how it must have been for krs—the betrayal of his own abilities, and the burden of the new life he never asked for.

Thinking about how krs knew he would've done the same, if he were in their position, and how that was the fact that hurt the most. That their selfishness, that their betrayal was only wanting Cale to live, and the fact that their selfishness was nothing but their love for him.

[murasaki-cha]

Tcf part 2 chapter 156

Good Faction: *fighting with evil faction after telling Cale he's in the evil side*

Cale: Am I evil?

GF and EF: *still fighting"

Cale: I mean my actions aren't always righteous

*screaming on the background*

Cale: Tho I am here to help these guys

*windows shattering people screaming*

Cale: Tho I'm siding more with the demon cult

*molotov cocktail gets thrown*

Cale: *nods head* I'm on the side of money

[blueteller]

Cale (NOT) Being A Dragon

Litana: …Is he the Dragon of the Legend? Cale: (smiling) No, I am not a Dragon Obante: T-that aura! Sir, are you a Dragon?? Cale: (confused) …No, I'm not a Dragon Jeet: That scent of nature…! Are you perhaps-?! Cale: (frustrated) I am not a Dragon! Eruhaben: You must be of Dragon Slayer lineage, I see Cale: (exasperated) No I am not Dragon Half-Blood: …A Half-Dragon like me! Cale: (shocked) What the hell, no! White Star: A perfect Dragon Slayer candidate, then! Cale: (furious) NO! Bakehe: The leader of Dragons… Must be a Dragon! Cale: (tired) For the last time, I am not-! Blood Cult Barrier: Dragon Recognized. Passage Granted! Cale: ………

[fandom-puzzle-peaces]

Just a Thought about Cale

So I was thinking about a certain beloved redhead and the fact that he is on one hell of a crash course to godhood and it got me thinking.

No way in heck does he want to be a god (as we all know), but I'm not sure he's gonna have much of a choice in not turning into something more than just human by the end of everything. But then again its Cale, so he'll probably find some way to finagle himself out of the situation. However, regardless of what happens it will never disregard the fact that he has a ton of power and always will whether he becomes a god or not. So it got me thinking into what he could possibly turn into or be compared to.

spoilers for those in part 1 / new readers below!

I'm gonna get a little philosophical here.

What is it exactly that you would say Cale embodies? What concepts and such? To me it is 2 things:

Hope and Love

I am mainly going to talk about hope since that is the most important part for this post (if ya'll want to hear about the second point let me know and I'll make second post about it)

For those of us who have read a good chunk of part 2 know of the god of hope's interest in Cale. The god literally showed him (and by extension us) the hope Cale has instilled in those around him.

Cale himself is a very hopeful person. He lives off of it. It is literally the reason he is still alive. It's what has kept him going, made him able to survive, through the literal hell his life has been. Sure you can say he survived cause he's smart and knows what to do, which is true, but what is the point in surviving if there isn't a reason to do so?

What's his reason you may ask? He tells us all the freaking time. He wants to live a slacker life. He wants a nice house in a nice peaceful place with a ton of money so he can live out the rest of his days in bliss (which is a gosh dang mood). Sure Cale words it as "slacker life" and he does want all of those things I mentioned, but we all know what he actually means. (That and something is missing in the list I mentioned, but its part of the second point so I won't touch on it in this post)

Which is "the bad will end and everything I have worked so hard for, survived for for so long, will finally be mine." That thing, of course, being his long awaited slacker life. But I don't think that's his only reason, his only hope, for surviving so long and through what he did. At least at first.

(I would go deeper into this, but Good Lord this post is becoming an essay, so maybe I'll write on this more in the possible second post if ya'll want)

In other words, Cale is full of Hope and it spreads to others from him. So now that that part is out of the way, where am I going with this exactly? I'm glad you asked!

People place there hopes in a variety of things, from deities to objects and everything in between. However, what is something a person does when they want to place their hope in that thing? There are multiple answers to this question such as:

Pray to whichever deity you believe in

perform a ritual of some sort

create a bunch of something (like that thing with the paper stars or paper cranes)

etc.

There are plenty of other answers out there, some of which are personal and some that everyone does or has done. I am talking about that latter possibility. What is something that most likely everyone has heard of and done since we were kids?

wishing on stars

There is no way Cale would ever be a god, he would for sure find a way out of becoming one (F to the god of hope and Clopeh's delusions). He can't be an object since he is a living, breathing human being. And there is no way in heck Worlds, the gods, and literally everything else would let multiple Cales exist in an area at once.

But he can become a Star, or at least be compared to one.

For those of us in part 2, we already know that Cale's plate has/is becoming a World Plate (which is wild, way to go idiot). And what is a Star but another world seen from very far away? I don't think Cale will become a World, at least not fully, but I think he might become something pretty dang close.

Something along the same vein as Raon, who can remain himself regardless of whichever world and its rules he pops into. Who can bend said rules to his will. Raon is Raon and always will be, screw whatever tries to say otherwise. Cale is very much the same way, they mirror each other. I personally like to think that Cale will remain human after everything, but much like Raon he is his own world, his own guiding light, his own Star. And much like the stars, we cannot change them, only look at them from afar and wonder what they're like. Only able to make a wish. Only able to place our hopes and dreams in them in the hopes that it will be heard. Sounds a little familiar right?

In other words, in a shocking twist of events, Cale became the White Star

Anyways, I think I've rambled long enough. Hope this really long post made some semblance of sense. If you all want me to talk more about what I think Cale embodies let me know, and I'll do my best.

Hope ya'll enjoyed!

[zorlovinghue]

... Angry Violan in my mind definitely give off the impression of a mother who'd took a seat on their most comfortable chair and declared, "I shall exorcise your ignorance for I am your God today."

She'll smile ever so subtly, sipping her tea with her right hand while maintaining eye contact to caged the frame of her misbehaving son, "The harvest of failure sometimes engage in pointless battle and you, my dear son, is reduced to ashes before the glimmer of knowledge could bestow your undeserved salvation."

... Cale, you're dead.

[samberrybay]

Every time i remember this emotional scene where Alberu was opening up to Cale about this dumb prophecy and his insecurity of "Can i actually be a king", letting himself be vulnerable and sincere because he truly trusts this crazy bastard

it makes me wanna scream because of how after all of this Cale just casually drops on Alberu "Oh, hyung-nim, you knew that your ancestor was a criminal?"

And I'm simply 😭😭😭 my guy, this isn't the moment, please read the room!!

I was so heartbroken in the process of this misunderstanding... Yeah, it was fastly resolved but still!!

Was nearly bawling on Alberu's inner monologue of "I thought he was different..."

LIKE NO BABY BOY!!! PLEASE LISTEN TO THIS DUMBASS FIRST!!!! HE IS DIFFERENT!!! HE IS!!! JUST A LITTLE STUPID WITH SOCIAL CUES!!!

BABY PLEASE JUST HEAR HIM OUT!!!!

[valdeswan]

Cale and his family are so fucking touch starved that it is not even funny. Give them all the platonic physical love they need.

Hugs anytime, because why fucking not? Let the kids run in their room and give Cale hugs at random times in the day. Make him try to awkwardly hug Rosalyn to congratulate her for her achievements. Allow Mary to receive all the hugs from the wolves when she lets them ride the skeleton dragon.

Good greeting cheek kisses and goodbye kisses: This is a tradition that started with the tiger, but everyone adopts it when they see each other after a long time or if someone is going to be far away from the Rock Village.

Forehead kisses, mostly from Lord Sheritt, who shows affection to the kids, but also to Cale because he has this cute and weak appearance.

Nap time with all the wolf kids because they are just big dogs and everyone has a weak spot for them and their puppy eyes. In the nap time, Beacrox puts soft blankets and pillows in the grass and sits with the kids while reading; he says it´s because someone needs to take care of them, but everyone knows it's a lie.

Rosalyn making hairstyles and taking care of Cale's hair. Loving how soft and easy to brush it's.

Cuddling with the tigers—that is just all of them sleeping under the sun in the garden. Cale not very secretly love this moment of the day because is literally big cats with fluffy and soft fur to lie with.

Basically, he and his family fixing and taking care of all the touch-starved lives they had. Alberu, Choi Han, Rosalyn, I bet nobody touched them nicely too much I'm their fucking lives.