#can you believe you made me smile enough that i forgot who i was;kiheon & zhijian

[mythvoiced]

@theimpalpable | the GBEP

---

Waves crash.

Tsunamis are made from crashes.

When something bursts at the bottom of the ocean, it creates massive waves that stumble over themselves and keep moving. The momentum of breaking once their roots hit the ground as it becomes steep to reach the shore allow the water to wash over land it had never touched before.

Or hadn't in a few hundred years.

If witnessed from afar, the waves of water move slowly. The viewpoint has too much to look at, after all, doesn't put into perspective just how quickly it happens, how fast cars are turned into blaring sirens floating aimlessly through streets and alleys, how houses come apart under the strongest nature has to offer.

It's similar to watching Zhìjiàn when he crashes into Kiheon's arms.

He is only moved away from them because Kiheon is moving.

From afar, he's but a man with unorthodox long hair, a character straight out of a wuxia perhaps? Moving swiftly, as if in a hurry, through a sea of people, causing small ripples and stumbles, but never enough to be worrisome for the crowd isn't thick enough to make him dangerous.

Because dangerous he would be, if the crowd had tried to stop him.

It's in his eyes.

There's no time, no space to stop.

There are images flashing in them, he's hyper-focused on the sight before him, and miles away at the same time, he sees their silhouette, he sees them move along beaten paths without cement, he sees them smile privately in a way so unique to them, he associates them to soft breezes and calm reassurances and the distinct settling of a feeling resounding like 'it'll be all right' mumbled into his hair.

Just a man power-walking through a crowd.

But up close, Zhìjiàn is frantic, frantic when he's pulled in, taut like a wire threatening to snap as he tries to drag himself into Kiheon's arms as much as Kiheon into his own. He grabs, on for dear life, releases again for dear life. He's a mess of limbs, trembling slightly under the quaking inside his chest.

Tears fill his eyes as they helplessly roam Kiheon's features and it can't be real, can it? Distinctly, perhaps, his ears are ringing. Distinctly, he's so relieved it's starting to ache again, distinctly he sobs a sound of relief he can't describe at the sound of Kiheon's voice and presses his fingers into their cheeks, shushing them, trying to stop the stumbling of their words, trying to mark their skin with the sight of his hands on their face, is this real, is this true, is this fact, is he allowed?

He rips his hands away again.

He doesn't know what to do with them.

He hasn't figured out how to speak again. He's whispered Kiheon's name again into a moment of silence because that's all his brain can compute.

At the offered hand, he barely notices his own falling into it as if had waited for this moment only, for centuries past.

Then he closes his eyes.

It's all going way too fast.

Is this okay? Is this real? Is he allowed?

"Hold on, five seconds, hold on," a whispered plea, and wasn't there a crowd? Was there really? Does it matter? Does anything beyond Kiheon matter?

#theimpalpable #the fortune;zhìjiàn #can you believe you made me smile enough that i forgot who i was;kiheon & zhijian #THEY'RE BACK THEY'RE BACK I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG MY MUSE FOR ZHIJIAN JUST--- #GOSH DIDDLY DARN DARN IT BUT HERE HE IS AGAIN HERE THEY ARE AGAIN AND I AM #LISTEN EVEN IF MUSE DIES?? MY ADORATION FOR THE SHIP NEVER DOES IF ANYTHING #I START THROWING THINGS AT THE MUSE AS PUNISHMENT FOR NOT ALLOWING ME TO DO THE THING WITH YOU >:/ #the iconic myulmang rp resources creator created a FUCKLOAD of gifs of this actor ALAS i wrote up a scenario #i couldn't fight a gif for I'LL BRING GIFS AGAIN IN THE NEXT INSTALLMENT #;queue

[mythvoiced]

@theimpalpable​ | "I like seeing you smile." (Kiheon to Zhìjiàn 🥺) 400 RANDOM DIALOGUE PROMPTS

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Now, what exactly is he supposed to do in response?

Dal doesn’t seem particularly inclined to give him an answer, even while Zhìjiàn freezes near their head, staring into their deep set poetry-worthy eyes, and wondering if they’re hiding any judgement within them.

He doesn’t think the hooved companion capable of enough rudeness to see Zhìjiàn’s predicament and consider it in need of a judgemental look, but he also wouldn’t exactly blame them for it. One moment they’re being cooed at, gentle whispers of appreciation for their general existence washing over them along with the brush of his semi-soft hands along their sturdy neck, accompanying his small assessment of their undiscussed presence and beauty with his typical smiles, those he reserves for moments like these, when the world moves a little slower and they may just be allowed to pretend they’re not stuck on it forever; the next Kiheon’s voice eases through the tranquillity with the kind precision of a tailor, adorning royals and legendary beauties with soft fabrics resembling clouds and lillies.

He hadn’t forgotten they were there, how could he? He’s here because he knows Kiheon is here. Sure, they still put in half the effort of pretending to be walking into, stumbling upon the other. But for that he should have been unaware of their back moving through the crowd, should have been unaware of Dal’s appearance to make a beeline for it whenever he’d recognise the horse, should have actually bothered to not steer directly towards the gentle wind he always thinks to feel coming from Kiheon’s general direction.

But the silence that had fallen had been amicable and gentle, a blanket over shoulders in much need of rest, Kiheon too. He can’t imagine what goes on when they don’t meet, don’t know the intricacies of the worries they may face, but there’s something beneath their gaze that makes it difficult to hope for a life completely devoid of troubles, no matter how often he looks to the sky and wonders if he can ask it to look out and make sure that all Kiheon must face is the next reason for that gentle smile Zhìjiàn loses all of his thoughts and conclusions in.

He hadn’t expected said silence to be interrupted like this.

He can feel his fingers grow numb as the blood in his veins gathers itself from wherever it can to shoot directly into his cheeks and now Dal must see the fool in him, if anyone was quick-witted enough, who but this trusty companion?

His hands twitch, mid-air still, drop a little lower, lift again, as if he doesn’t quite know what to make of them, and ends with pressing them against his neck, as if he needs to suppress the warmth being emitted by the blush slowly climbing along it.

He spins around to face Kiheon, doesn’t stop to wonder just how ridiculous he looks. “I like seeing you smile,” he sputters, more of an explosion, than a simple statement, a compliment to return the one delivered. It sounds more as though Zhìjiàn needs Kiheon to be aware of this, now that they themself had breached this topic, had walked into it confidently enough that Zhìjiàn too found no reason to hold back all those feelings he was slowly working through in regards to the other.

Then the eye contact gets a little heavy to handle and Zhìjiàn finds nothingness in the air to quickly glance at, his hands falling from his skin, absentmindedly entangling with his hair and fixing it along the motion as if he’d intended for that.

Ah, hell, what is he doing.

“I like seeing you smile,” he says again, firmer this time, without the urgency of making sure Kiheon knows it, loud and clear, but the gentle confidence of someone who’d gladly say it a hundred times more. “I like seeing you.”

#theimpalpable #the fortune;zhìjiàn #can you believe you made me smile enough that i forgot who i was;kiheon & zhijian #my hand is stuck i can't get it off my chest i can't stop clutching it i need medical assistance pls help-- #oh god you can tell which tags i write before i start and which are the ones i write after i'm finished with writing because #the ones that are from after i wrote are the ones that you can find written on my tombstonE WHAT HAPPENED #OH GOD I HOPE THIS IS OKAY??? HE JUST REALLY... HAD A WHOLE MOMENT THE KIHEON EFFECT PEOPLE HOW-- #HOW IS BABIE RABBIT HERE MEANT TO JUST SURVIVE SUCH A LINE Dal pls look after us #ALSO I HOPE IT'S OKAY THAT DAL IS FEATURED HERE? PLS LET ME KNOW IF YOU'D RATHER I DIDN'T #OR IF YOU NEED/WANT ME TO CHANGE ANYTHING AT ALL I'LL DO IT INSTANTLY #AND ALSO IF ANYTHING MAKES NO SENSE IN REGARDS TO THE INTERPRETAION OF BOTH DAL AND KIHEON if i got #way too ahead of myself and such AND YEAH I HOPE FDKLJHKLG YEAH OMG SORRY ROTTED MY OWN BRAIN #THANK YOU SO MUCH OH MGOD #holy shit Wuji started playing on my shuffle the MOMENT i added the gif i need to go LAY DOWN-- #;queue

[mythvoiced]

Would it be too shameless if I also sent a smash or pass for Kijian, I-

@theimpalpable | SMASH OR PASS

---

Zhìjiàn wasn’t born an idiot nor meant to grow into an ignorant.

He was brought up like a son who’d one day need to raise his own sons, brought up like someone who’d be there for others, someone who would listen and someone who might have seriously considered - given the opportunity now robbed from him due to the morals he himself nurtures - having a large family.

He knows what you need to do to get there. And he’s old enough that he wouldn’t have avoided finding out even if he hadn’t known before... Well... You know.

But that doesn’t mean it’s a simple topic to discuss when he’s a subject of it. Consider sex as its mere concept and you’ll have an available conversation partner in Zhìjiàn. Ask him if he wants to... Uh... Well, if he’d consider. If he’d consider Kiheon attractive enough to potentially consider them...

Wouldn’t it be? Wouldn’t it be odd? Especially without Kiheon around, he’d...

But, well, Kiheon has very nice hands. And a very kind, small, special, and wonderful smile. And such warm eyes. And...

“Well, it... I don’t know how respectful it is to discuss this... Like this, behind their back, so, how about we leave it at it’s not pass, hm?

#theimpalpable #the fortune;zhìjiàn #can you believe you made me smile enough that i forgot who i was;kiheon & zhijian #me whenever i get to use a dynamic's tag [INCOHERENT BLUBBERING] #NEVER TOO SHAMELESS IT'S ALL FREE REAL ESTATE PLEASE KNOW THIS IS ALEX NATION #EVERYTHING IS THE RIGHT THING TO DO FKHLGJKFLGH #AM I INTERPRETING THESE too sexually I don't know I'M-- I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED #WHY ARE MY MUSES LIKE THIS EVERYONE'S JUST SAYING SMASH-- #I'm not surprised here I was just curious to find out how he'd PUT IT and this is... I'm sorry I LOVE THEM SO #I LOVE OUR DYNAMICS SO MUCH Kiki hey A-Jiàn likes your hands and smile and eyes- #;queue

[mythvoiced]

And Thus Spoke the Immortal’s Heart

🦁 & 🐇

1600 Words + 10 Drabbles = 1610 16.10.2021 HAPPY ALEX DAY~ | @theimpalpable / @jeoseungsaja

When it comes to travels and the novelties they allow, he’s truly no stranger. He’s seen so much and yet, just by judging the scope of all he’s gotten to discover, learn, and stumble upon, by virtue of that amount alone, there must be at least ten times as much, or perhaps as much of a number he doesn’t even know, out there for him, or others like and unlike him, to discover.

That is the true nature of the world, the true nature of people, the true nature of having a nature at all, there is so much foreign and unfamiliar that it will never be exceeded by the number of things you know, and for that alone, for that reason and the other of kindness, for those two alone, travelling forever might not be that bad of a concept.

That bad of a plan. If you could even call it such, considering he never really planned anything.

He lets himself be led, guided by whims and turns and paths he doesn’t know where they lead, by people who need his help and he’s happy to give, by a song he can hear in the distance or a language he doesn’t understand, by anything that pulls his head into its direction, by anything that strikes him as different than before, or completely and downright new.

And sometimes, by a little bit of heart.

Because that little thing is most definitely in it, too. He’s perhaps the biggest perpetrator of this seeking, if it can even be called as such, for he’s usually finding rather than searching.

His mind is a companion on his journeys, it judges the outside and learns what is delivered to it – not always, of course, he’s no scholar, and he simply takes what comprehension he’s allowed to capture, no matter the diligence put in beforehand.

It is his heart, though, that truly leads this endeavour, the continued chain reaction of his existence, of his life, as odd as it feels to attribute that name to it.

His heart is the one with the whims, with the curiosity, and with the attachment.

The affection. Memories that resurface more often than others, things that remind him of others, of people, the heart leads the mind onto the path it must take its decisions on, it is the true one behind his desire to take a turn here and head back into the city, past the gates once more, walking by people he’s just greeted goodbye, stands he’s perused one last time, and views he’s by now incorporated.

There are trinkets woven into braids, long hair cascading over shoulders as if not a care as to who might see, who might grab, who might dare, because he can’t imagine someone actually would reach out and pull at such gentle locks, not when the features of the owner promise nothing but respect so long as respect is given.

Or at least he hopes, that’s the case.

Not so much in regards to character, but rather in regards to other’s reactions to it.

Because there so much gentleness coursing gently like a tranquil stream beneath the surface of a thicker skin, features hardened but not steeled, guarded but not shut, features and a voice that speak volumes of the weight on their shoulders, but don’t necessarily desire to blame the entire rest of the world for a weight it didn’t put upon them.

Wisdom of the likes stories only reserve to the likes of him, who’s been roaming this earth for far too long and far too diligently at that… as if he had a different choice and simply chooses to not pursue it.

It’s not too bad, really, when he gets things like these.

Calm hands capable in the craft of holding and leading and brushing, evident in the splay of their fingers, dedicated to the art of life and the art of giving life its beauty, of doing what is right, pursuing that idea, discovering the light behind it, trying to understand on which side the shadow is cast, how to best help the people around them, around all of them.

That’s the kind of person he assumes them to be, thinks them to be, sees them to be. Someone who is kinder than perhaps the world would reward, for it is usually such kindness that makes itself difficult to be shown, considering how often it is ripped apart before your very own eyes.

It is the sound of their voice, he wouldn’t exactly describe it as mellow, but how does one truly describe a voice with the abilities theirs has? To simply put all of the seas in his veins at ease, to turn winds into breezes, to be soft in a way that isn’t literally so at times, perhaps, or too evidently, but simply in the way it lingers on his soul when he doesn’t hear it a while.

The privacy of their smiles, a little hidden, a little guarded, most likely protected, kept safe as they should be, not quite as blinding as the one usually plastered on his lips, but ten thousand times more beautiful in contrast, because a sun is truly nothing in contrast to a moon, nothing at all.

Or rather, it simply pales in comparison. Fades out of its own mind, like it had happened to him, like it is happening as he walks the soiled roads through markets and side-streets, eyes darting here and there, even as his steps remain light and carefree, his gaze is too attentive to complete the illusion of not a care in the world, too seeking for a familiar shape of a being in appearance human but divine in soul.

They entertain his whims, they entertain his moods – as constant as they may be, they still entertain, it’s the notion, the thought, the idea – they entertain his discussions and his attention span. They entertain the desire to vanish to seek out an animal companion for just a moment and they entertain the inability on his part to truly put into words what it is that makes him so unlike any of the faces he’s passing, any of the faces that isn’t theirs, any-

Even their step is to admire, he notes as he catches their figure, the outline of their body growing familiar, the lines of their palms he’s begun to trace unconsciously whenever he’d undoubtedly drop his gaze upon them, as if he’s mere hesitations apart from reaching out and asking if it would be okay to hold onto it.

He’s grabbed their sleeve and he’s wrapped his hands around their gifts, because that’s another thing, they gift, they care, they see, and they wonder. They are goodness, they are kindness, they are all the things one should protect on this world yet finds so much difficulty truly shielding from everything else that continues to try and rip them out of their own existences, and attempt to trample upon them.

But, in spite of all those musings, and their back slowly inching closer as he speeds up, quickens his pace to catch up to them, as if a fear had begun instilling itself into his very core that one day, just maybe, or perhaps rather most definitely, he will lose this. He will lose them. They’ll fade out, either taken by existence as it tends to do to all beings but him, or simply by distance, by time, by fading out of sight because he moved, or because they move, or because they simply missed each other, one wrong turn and one odd step and they’re miles apart and he will never get to wrap his hand around their sleeve again.

When he does now, it’s almost desperate, clinging, as if trying to capture a ghost before it slips back into its own realm. When he looks at them, though, he smiles, because he can’t let them see that. Can’t let them see that he has a few clouds to show, too, only those he can’t help but see every now and then, when he allows his mind and heart to turn against him.

And because he can’t help himself. Can’t help the sunlight and can’t help the beaming and can’t help the tension fading out of his shoulders, his chest and limbs relaxing, easing under their attention, whenever he gets to perhaps catch a glimpse of it for himself.

He doesn’t try to be all too greedy, he’s not the kind to simply go out and take what he thinks he deserves, is rightfully is, neither of the things he considers their attention and their smile and their warmth to be. He’s not the kind to demand it even while knowing it’s not his own, that he is absolutely the least of all.

But he’ll gladly take what is offered, he’ll cherish the stone resting so gently against his chest, dangling from a necklace hanging from his neck that somehow distinctively reminds him of touch of the like not meant to trap but to ground, as if perhaps more of them than he realises keeps him attached to life as he’s coming to forget.

He feels alive, rather than stagnant, when they brush their calloused fingertips against his ever-smooth cheek, when they listen on with the silence of someone dedicated to comprehend and take in, when he gets to walk by his side, through streets growing familiar, wondering how they’d react if he were to give in to budding boldness and hook his pinky around theirs, if they’d hold his hand, if they’d continue walking by his side.

#theimpalpable #jeoseungsaja #can you believe you made me smile enough that i forgot who i was;kiheon & zhijian #not... not me giving them a tag before zhijian's even had his first in character post on this blog OH GOODNESS THE STAN CULTUR- #THIS IS THE OTHER ONE WHERE i based things on what we'd discussed about these two so far ;W; #THIS DOES NOT MEAN THO that i'm fault-free if yoU SEE ANYTHING THAT i misinterpreted or godmoddy OR ANYTHING AT ALL PLS LMK #SUPER DUPER HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM YOUR LOCAL IMMORTAL~ #;queue