#han: ...blindness is one side effect

[37-drc89]

take yourself home; han jisung

chapter I.

trope: teenager love

warnings for this part: cursing, family problems, mention of vomiting and sex, underage drinking (don’t!!!)

reader is referred to in female pronouns.

word count: 5k.

part II hopefully coming soon.

note: part two is expected if this one goes good! i'll appreciate any feedback, reblogs and comments <3 also, english is not my first language so i apologize for any typos or grammar mistakes! x

masterlist

House parties were never exactly your thing.

The whole concept just never seemed appealing nor any interesting to you. Screaming, drunk people bumping into each other at every step, floor sticky from all the spilled drinks, air thick as poisoned with sweat and alcohol and loud music blasting out from the speakers so noisy you can feel your heart shaking in your chest. It’s barely possible to move an inch without causing any unwanted contact with strangers or witnessing someone vomit outside the window. Everything just making you feel dirty like you were pushed into a pigsty surrounded by no humans but animals, alcohol effectively robbing people of any manners and awareness of personal space. Some people you saw two times at most, probably in your school hall, trying to bring you on the said "dance floor", only murmuring about how boring you are when you decline. This was always enough to make you end up on the couch, lazily sipping on your drink and cringing while watching people’s animalistic behaviour. Or, if you were lucky enough to push through the crowd, find your place at the balcony and finally getting taste of anything else than the disgusting odour filling up the house. That’s why you’ve always desperately tried to stay away from partying, if you could even name it that way.

Fortunately or unfortunately, one Saturday you ran out of excuses you would usually throw at your nagging school seatmate and they succeeded to drag you to a house party that Chan organised. Chan is popular, like, a lot. How could he not? He attended last grade which already was enough for some girls, desiring for an older boy. What’s more, he was extremely respectful towards everyone, very well known for treating women right and fitting perfectly into every group with his witty personality. Everything he touched, he ended up succeding in, both sports and school - always more than happy to help everyone who needs it. Not to mention his unnecessarily attractive appearance, muscles poking out of fitted shirts, skin glowy, smile so bright it could blind everyone passing by him in school. Perfect, perfect man. You like him as well, of course, positive that it’s really impossible not to. However, no matter how much you liked and admired Chan, you despised parties. You weren't even sure whether he knew about your attendance as he just let your seatmate bring a partner with him. You were whining, complaining and being annoying, anything just to get out of this unfortunate situation. But as it suprisingly turned out, this was the very first time you did not regret going. Because this was the first time you got to meet Han Jisung.

Back off, maybe not the very first time. You’ve seen him a couple of times in the hall, clinging onto Chan’s side, always more than happy to keep him company on his way home or goof around in the library. But in the hall he never really stood out, just mixing with any other students. Maybe a little bit noisier than others; it was a challenge not to overhear his laugh spreading across the floor.

But this was the first time you actually noticed Jisung.

The party itself started just as shitty as you imagined it to be. When you and your seatmate arrived at Chan's place it was already completely stuffed with people that were spilling out on the backyard. As soon as you stepped your foot in the house, blasting out music shot into your ears like a nightmare and you immediately knew you can forget about properly communicating with anyone. Few glances are thrown in your direction before everyone came back to their tasks as they realized it's just you. Not paying too much attention to it, you just informed your friend you'll be on the couch, though it seemed like she was already too caught up in some heated conversation with random kids from school. Sneakily, you grabbed a beer from the counter and plopped down on your usual spot. Maybe gaslighting yourself into thinking this party will be different than any other was an absolute shit idea. How long should you stay so you don't come out as rude or boring? Two hours? That would be solid two hours taken away from your life without any use, though. An hour? Maybe that's too short and wasn't even worth going all the way here.

Your eyes observed as people kept coming, occupying every possible corner of the room and with that, making you lose sight in anything. All your eyes could reach was dancing figures, occasionally bumping into your legs, making you feel trapped in your little space.

That doesn't make any sense.

You pulled up from the couch, barely making it outside of the room. You held your drink up, careful so none of it gets on your tshirt. But in the end, some of it ended spilling down your arm, anyway. Your body pressed itself onto the door frame, taking as little space as possible and you took a look around, searching for a way out. Gaze stopped at the stairs leading to second floor and it seemed like no one has occupied it yet as the lights were off. You squeezed shoulders to your body and quickly sneaked between the crowd of sweaty bodies. Every touch and rub left on your body a burning feeling like someone just smeared it with acid, your face scrunching in disgust, just wanting it to be over as quickly as possible. Finally making it to the stairs, you released a breath you were holding, shoulders going slump as you made your way upstairs. You left the light off, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to your actions. Blindfolded, you try to find any doors with touch only and when your fingers finally met a handle you pushed the doors open with no hasitation. Some might think its nosy to walk around someone's house like this, but sooner or later, you know someone will be fucking in one of those beds, anyway.

Supposingly, the room you ended up in was a bedroom, moonlight shining through huge windows decorating the area in a delicate silver glow, exposing it's silhouette just slightly. Using your poor vision you walked past huge bed, ignoring the strong urge to just jump onto it and let in sink you in until morning comes, when everyone is gone. You could've sworn there was something yelling to you, ushing you onto the matress, already making your eyelids heavy on your eyes. It all made up kind of comforting atmosphere, muffled music coming from downstairs, only floor shaking lightly with every bass and you almost could feel it in your guts. Hundreds of conversations were going on just below you, but they all mixed in one, composing a steady hum.

You found your place on the floor, back pressing against the bed, knees bent under your chin. Facing the big balcony door, your eyes observed blinking city lights and traced small cars passing by the streets, just to disappear mere seconds later. You could feel your body sinking slowly into the pitch black as your eyelids started to give in under their weight. It took only two minutes for them to close completely, weight now resting on your head, so you hide in your arms, forming a ball of yourself. Mind focused only on sounds coming from the party, though they started getting quieter with every second, your ears losing track on the screams and laughs. Peace overtook your previously restless body, leaving you all to yourself.

All you saw was the city. You saw the last joyful day you remembered, from summer few years ago. Your father was back to your country at that time, just to get some time with his loved ones for once. Your mother was holding a camera in her free hand, taking pictures of her sweet child, of her treasure, of you. You were wearing your favourite yellow dress that day, decorated with designs of plenty different flowers. You named them all, in honour of the dress being your absolute favourite. Hair loose, long back then, falling on your shoulders and back, on top of your head rests a cute hat you declined to take off, even if it was already evening. Wind was blowing slightly on your young face, making you laugh squeakily.

Your father hands you your favourite ice cream, caramel flavoured. The ice cream he promised you as your birthday dessert, a gift, so simple yet it made you happier than you've ever been. Being ten is no joke, he once said, when admiring his only child, suprised about how much you've grown when he was abroad. Each time he visited your hometown he made sure to measure your height, giving you a present every time, for growing so strong and tall.

Your mother holds your birthday present out of your sight, patiently waiting for you to finish your dessert. You, being the curious and impatient child, gulped it down almost immediately in urge to open your gift. She only laughs at your determination before handing it to you. When you eagerly try to pull the ribbons off the box, your parents send each other a fond smile. Excitement in your eyes slowly starts turning into irritation as the ribbons seem unable to untie, no matter how hard you pull them. Your muscles tense, making your hands shake in your useless attempts. Just when your eyes start welling up with angry tears and you raise your head to seek any help from your parents, your voice hitches in your throat, seeing no one is sitting by your side anymore. You blink, and blink, and blink, trying to get your vision back, but everytime your eyes open, everything around gets even more blurry. You try to call for help, to shout for your mommy and daddy, but the only thing coming out of you are hurtful whimpers.

Your father is far gone now. One day when he left the country after joyful holidays with your family, he never showed up again. You and your mother were waiting on the airport since morning that day, only to come back home with flowers almost dried out and cake completely melted from waiting in the sun. After that day, you can't even remember when was the last time you saw your mother's smile, now a stone-like expression glued to her face permanently. That was the first birthday you didn't get your ice cream treat. Now your favourite flavour has changed, you can't stand caramel anymore. Now your hair is much shorter, as no one is there to braid it for you. Now your favourite yellow dress is somewhere in the basement, dirty and dusty, probably not even looking any similar to yellow anymore. Now your birthday is the worst day of the year.

Your body jolted up almost entirely off the foor, horrified gasp leaving your mouth, followed by unsteady, heavy breathing in any attempt to catch any air in your lungs. You can feel your body trembling under the weight of your nightmare, but you don't cry. You don't cry because there's no use of crying. Nothing will change no matter how many tears leave your eyes. That's all you've learnt for past six years.

"You okay?"

You jumped slightly in place and turned around to see the source of somehow similar voice coming from right behind you. Your gaze lands on a silhouette sitting on the bed, gently hovering over your shaking body. You squint your eyes but can't catch a glimpse of the stranger's face. Voice deep and familiar, you seek through your brain to recall it's owner, but the canvas stay blank.

"I get them too."

"Huh?"

"Nightmares. I get them too."

He plumps his body down onto the floor, keeping a safe distance between the two of you. However, the position helped you take a closer look at his face. Moonlight now slightly shining its glow into the round cheeks, big eyes, and barely visible smile plastered on Han Jisung's face. He gifts you with an understanding look, as if he was trying to bluetooth some comfort into you. You only shake your head, brushing it away.

“It wasn’t a nightmare.”

“That must’ve been a solid dream then, you were turning and tossing in your sleep like crazy,” Jisung nods his head slowly, eyes fixated somewhere far away, outside the window, “What was it about?”

You shot him an annoyed look, brows knitted together.

“A rollercoaster ride.”

“That’s fireee…” he sounds genuinely impressed, and you seek for anything in his face that could tell you if he’s being fucking for real. “I’ve never been on rollercoaster. Unless we’re including the emotional ones.”

Jisung chuckles audibly to himself but quickly tone it down after noticing your dead silence. His eyes look back from your face to some random spot outside. “Were your parents in this dream?”

Spit stills in your throat at his question but you refuse to turn your head towards his. You slowly let air leave your nostrils in tensed huff.

“Why?”

“You talk in your sleep. You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t.”

Your empty response signaled Jisung not to continue on the topic, so he only nods and points at half-empty beer bottle settled down by your hip.

“You shouldn’t be drinking, you’re sixteen, no?”

“I can smell wine from like three miles away from you, Mr. Policeman.” you returned, earning a quiet laugh from him, throwing his head back gently.

“Guilty.”

Incredibly awkward conversation. Incredibly awkward and simple but easier than any random chat with your seatmate, or Chan, or anyone else you got to talk to, ever. Jisung’s aura felt warm, familiar, slowly inching its way towards you and embracing your body. Something about it made it seem like you don’t have to be extra or put any much effort to talk to Jisung. He wasn’t really expecting you to talk to him, either. It’s not like he was unfamiliar with people ignoring his poor attempts of making a conversation. But you didn’t run away from him, like anyone else would. You sat there, with him, when you could've just brush it off.

“And why are you here?” you quirked an eyebrow at him, expecting Jisung to be glued to Chan like he always did.

“I’m not a fan of crowded spaces. They make me feel like I'm in chokehold.”

Jisung’s response take you aback a bit, your eyes blinking few times at him in surprise. You’re positive that everyone who at least heard of Han Jisung once in their life would associate him with need of constant attention, being in centre of a crowd. His personality is so bubbly and bright it could easily outshine everyone in the room. You supposed his loudness was intentional, to pull people towards him.

“Are you sure you’re the Han Jisung I walk by in school everyday? The one who won a competition in taking shots just to get some stupid title among those losers?”

“Sometimes you gotta take a step back and stay in the crowd so someone else can be the best. I can’t be a winner every time, I'm basically doing them a favor.” Jisung laughed at his own words again in obvious attempt to brush the topic away. So you let it go, getting up from the floor with slight struggle caused by your previous position that made your legs sore. You opened the balcony door and stepped outside, cold breeze welcoming your poorly dressed body. Jisung followed you out like a puppy, leaning on the railing just beside you. Current location allowed both of you to observe the wildlife going on below you, in the backyard. Beer pong, truth or dare, even a whole ass concert performed by a group of drunk girls. It all created a disgusting mess.

“They look possessed.” you commented, internally very happy you actually have a person you could complain to, knowing your boring and judgemental attitude won’t push Jisung away.

Dead silence creeped in for good two minutes.

“Maybe that’s what normal teenagers do?” he murmured into his palm, not looking at you, “Maybe they’re ordinary people and we are the weird ones?“

You sent him a pitiful look, genuinely amused by the fact that he dared to compare you to them.

"You want to be like them?"

"Sometimes it seems easier, no?"

You raise an eyebrow at Jisung.

"To be ordinary, I mean. Do you ever wonder how does it feel not to get those glances? Or not to be judged? You're just a part of the crowd wherever you go because you fit in. With everyone. Doesn't that sound cool?" He tilts his head at you, however, you notice he avoids eye contact, staring at some random spot on your cheek. It's obvious this topic bothered Jisung’s mind for a while, many thoughts spinning between his gaze, but you can't decode any of them.

You take a minute to analyze every light reflecting in his pupils.

"No, I don't think so. You won't find your spark in the crowd, not when it's constantly hiding between others," Jisung remained silent, but this time his eyes met yours, a sign that he's listening. "But once you find it, right people will come to you themselves."

"How do I recognize them? The right people?"

"You just do." Your body turns towards his entirely.

"Don't look for yourself in others, Jisung. You'll spend your entire life being lost. And by the time you wake up, your life will be coming to it's end."

"Are you happy with your life?"

"You ask too many questions, has anyone ever told you that?" Your eyes roll, but Jisung doesn't take his off you, visibly waiting for your response. You sigh. "Someday I will be. We both will be."

You never showed up at any house party again. But neither did Jisung.

That night you felt heard for the first time in six years, even though you didn’t have much to say. Jisung seemed to understand what remained unspoken, knowing the right time will eventually come, someday. Some sort of invisible string connected you and him, pulling you to each other whenever there was no one else to be there for you. And you never complained, Jisung may say odd and stupid things at most times, but that might be the part of you that you needed, the one where perspective on life is a bit gentler. Jisung noticed the rough shell you put around yourself throughout the years and started off with brushing its spikey surface, hoping one day he'll crack it open, for you.

And he feels the same. Having a genuine friend was an unfamiliar experience for Jisung. Whenever his eyes land on you he swear he feels like his body is freed, even if it's only for a few moments. Like tight ropes loosened on his body, softening the grip so he can expose another part of himself to you. You never laugh, you never make fun, never judge. Sometimes you don't even say anything but he knows it's equivalent to I accept you. And he feels accepted. Like he finally found a shelter that would protect him from a storm, no matter if it's only for now, Jisung knows he's safe with you.

-----

Shoot.

A noise spreads through quiet, pitch black room, then it goes silent again. You shift in your bed, face scrunched in focus not to get discracted by it so your current progress in falling asleep doesn't go to waste. Legs pulled up tightly against your chest, completely wrapped up in the covers, finally giving your muscles some proper rest they've been yearning for. A minute passes.

Shoot. Shoot.

You pull the blanket above your head. It doesn't take too long for your lungs to beg for some fresh air, but you stay covered up from head to toes, relishing in silence so loud you could feel blood flowing in your ears. However realisation hits quickly and you know it won't work without suffocating yourself to death, so you let just the tip of your nose outside through a small hole, breathing in some cool air.

Shoot.

What the fucking hell.

You sit up angrily, irritated groan coming out of your throat as you pull youself up and seach for the source of the noise that disturbed your only almost succesful attempt to sleep. You furiously look around the room, listening carefully for any hints.

Shoot.

Your body turns itself towards the window in a hearbeat, ready to murder the doer. Swinging it open, your eyes land on not anyone else than Han Jisung, standing just below your window with the stupidest grin on his face, already waving to you.

"Oh jesus fuck." you're already disappearing inside again when another muffled thud reaches your window in attempt to stop you, along with Jisung's quiet "Hey, hey, hey!" being heard outside. You swing your head down once again. "You have 30 second to explain yourself or I'm never talking to you again."

Because what exactly is happening right by your window is Han Jisung standing by his bike tossed in the grass, with very poorly looking muffin in his hands, a single light up cangle stuck in the middle. It glows the smallest shine on his face covered in the darkness, allowing you to see the silhouette of his smile so wide it almost gave you a cheek ache just by looking at it.

"How long does it take for you to wake up, god," he drops his head for a second, shaking it, before looking up at you once again, searching for your face in the night. "Dumbass even forgot it's her birthday today."

Yeah, your birthday.

Of course you didn't forget. It was the very first time in good 3 months you went to sleep before midnight, purposely, just to avoid this horrible day appearing on the callendar, again. This time you were falling asleep praying to heaven to let you sleep through today and wake up when it's over. Not to add that this year specifically meant less than ever to you as you were turning eighteen, suddenly everything reminding you about how a grown up woman can't gather her life together, not in the slightest.

Apparently, Han Jisung was born to ruin your plans.

"It's a little bit cold down here so if you don't mind getting your ass over here and bringing me some jacket, that would be fantastic." Jisung gets you back to earth and you only throw him an angry scoff, disappearing in your room for no longer than 2 minutes before jumping carefully out the window and closing it as quietly as possible, not to wake up your sleeping mother that would probably slip into a coma if she witnessed you sneaking out. With a boy especially. You face him with your brows furrowed in annoyance and he gestures you to blow the candle that already was dripping down the muffin. Your eyes roll.

"Happy birthday, y/n."

"You're insufferable. I wish myself a better friend next year," you blow the candle in one puff and hand Jisung your jacket he already claimed as his due to the numerous amount of times he borrowed it from you.

"You know damn well no one else would befriend you," he chuckles and hides the candle in his pocket.

As you walk past him you can't help the corners of your lips forming in the tiniest grin. No matter how much you despised your birthday and celebrating it, if you could even call it this way, your chest felt warmer knowing that there's someone in this world that doesn't hate it as much as you do. Just like last year, Jisung is the only one to remember. Who else if not him? Your mother practically crossed out this date out of her life, your father never called, beside that no one else has ever asked. A year ago you were so sure by your eighteenth birthday he will be gone, either by getting some new, fancier company or simply growing out of you. Yet here he is, standing by your window at midnight, still the same way he was a year ago. He really hasn't changed at all.

You ended up sitting on a cold kerbstone by already closed store and its parking lot, completely empty and quiet like it's never been. Knees hugged to your chests, jackets wrapped around your bodies tightly. Silence maintenances between you and Jisung, but it's not uncomfortable, quite the opposite, actually. You share occasional glances at each other while swaying back and forth. Eventually your eyes land at the cake lookalike he placed between your bodies and you examine its messiness. The frosting clearly not mixed well, spilled on top of the muffin as if Jisung was in a hurry and some old, probably expired colorful sprinkles on top of it all. Somehow you found it pretty. Yes, it looked like a total disaster, but picturing Jisung tries and effort he put in it made it look better in your eyes.

"Shall we taste the masterpiece?" he grinned, catching you staring at the cake. You nodded and he proceeded to clumsily part the muffin in two pieces.

"One, two, three..." Jisung counts and both of you bite in. You chew, feeling occasional crunches here and there, sprinkles rock hard between your teeth. He observes you carefully, searching for your reactions as you take your time swallowing it.

"It's pretty bad," you comment after a while, shaking crumbs off your hands. Jisung whines, hiding his head between his knees.

"I know! I suck at baking. I should've just buy it-"

"But I like it."

Jisung's head shoot up and he's looking at you, startled. The muffin is still filling up his cheeks that create two perfect globes decorating his face. You giggle to yourself.

Silence. Jisung continued to chew on the food, quietly, eyes glued to his feet. Yours remain on your hands. You clench and unclench them, observing nail prints on your skin disappear everytime you stick them inside it. Your bottom lip is stuck between your teeth, now all red and swollen.

Weird feeling built up inside of your guts. You don't exactly feel... older. It just feels like everything suddenly started to matter. Everything you did and everything you did not do. You try searching for any other emotion in yourself, but the only one left is guilt.

"I don't want to grow up, Jisung."

He doesn't look up this time, lips forming in a tight line.

"I know. I don't want to, either."

Jisung rests his arms on his knees, laying his head on them, turned in your direction. You mirrored slowly, gaze meeting his. You blinked at each other, not any particular emotion written on any of your faces. You scanned his, tracing every curve of it with your eyes, stopping by every mole and scar. He's so far from what he used to be. His nose and jawline much more visible, his hair grown, just an inch, but it did. Looking at him now, you see he matured. A lot. And it's amazing how you've watched him grow out of this stupid, irresponsible boy he used to be. But you know this boy is still hiding inside of him, in the deepest corners, Jisung effectively trying to suppress him. Sometimes, you just wish he would let him out. Just to go back.

"Have you ever thought of running away from here?” you blurted out suddenly and you swear you could see Jisung’s breathing stop, response building up inside him, carefully thinking about his next words.

“I have, I even tried. But I guess I’m afraid to go. Or maybe I’m afraid of being left all to myself,” he answers slowly, sigh leaving his lips right after.

“Wouldn’t that be great? I mean, aren’t you tired of the city? Of people, your family, sometimes even of yourself,” he blinks at you silently before turning his head, looking at the lantern ahead of you, and you do the same. “Because I feel stuck here.”

“That was the reason I ran away. I felt like I wouldn’t move on if I stayed here. I think I was searching for something to look forward to.”

It really seemed like Jisung spoke words for you.

You move closer to him, pressing your side onto his. Your head finds its place on his shoulder and he doesn't tense up or move away. Jisung melts into the position, like his shoulder was designated for you to lean on. His lips press to your hair and sigh leaves them.

"Did it work?" You ask and he shakes his head no, lips formed in a line once again. Your tongue pokes inside of your cheek. "Would it work if we went together?"

Jisung looks at you, question written on his face and you push yourself off his shoulder, locking your eyes. The words left your mouth so easily Jisung couldn't find any hesitation or joke in your face. "I don't know."

"Imagine this. We could be wherever we want, doing whatever we want. No one would know us. Maybe we could... find something. To keep us going. I don't know."

"What about our families?"

"Do you really think any of them would bat an eye?"

Jisung goes silent. He is silent because you're right. As far as he remembers, he was no one's special concern. He never thought about whether it's work's fault or just lack of love, but it separated his family members effectively throughout the years. That was the main reason he has spent past years in your company - both of you could sneak out, stay up late, skip school. Freedom, some might say. But honestly, never in two years he saw pure happiness in your eyes. And neither you did in his. You really are the only thing Jisung has left. He treasures you more than himself and the night you met, he promised himself to let you experience life once again.

So fuck it.

"Okay. Let's do this."

Your eyebrows furrow suspiciously, scanning his face features, looking for any signs of joke. You go quiet for a minute, expecting him to break his character, saying you lost your mind and that he's not going anywhere. But that doesn't happen.

"Wait, really?"

"Mhm. Consider it your birthday present, I guess."

#skz #stray kids #skz au #stray kids fanfic #skz angst #stray kids x reader #han jisung #skz jisung #han x reader #han jisung x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung stray kids #han x you #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios

[idontknowmyownmind]

Twin AU

Reincarnator Rok Soo

In original world, during the war, Cale form a bond with the heroes, the Molans, Lock, Rosalyn, and Choi Han, and Alberu

They become quite close like a family (it's different from LCF because they are more into the rough side but equally geniune)

Since Cale is younger than the heroes and Alberu, they are quite protective and like to tease him by babying him

The twist is, the heroes and Alberu regressed

So, we have Rok Soo with his knowledge of the original world that the heroes and Alberu doesn't know and them who went through it

None found out much later, maybe in the middle or after the war

Their relationship is quite shaky at first because Rok Soo resemble WS

Rok Soo is overprotective toward his younger twin

(Adding AlCale for the drama)

Another twist, as a side effect or some miscalculation in GoD's part, Cale will started to get the scars he received in original world when he turn 18

Yes, it's not the memories but the scars

The process is how a scar suddenly appear new, as in it happens to him

For example, the scar he got when CH beat him up (the one on his side because of the broken chair (or was it table?) broken leg), he was fine, talking with the kids or do something, but, out of nowhere, his side started to bleed heavily and he feels pain as if he got stabbed by something

The pain is temporarly, but on that brief moment Cale feels twice the pain he should feels

And it will always 'healed' and only leave scars the next day

The scars doesn't follow Cale's age when he got them in the original world, but happens randomly

That one the first scar he got and one of the severe one and followed by small scars out of nowhere

But there are time when it was a fatal 'wound', such as a hole in a stomach as if he just got stabbed with a spear, one arm seems like just got blown up, etc

He lived in a war, so it's not surprising

The heroes and Alberu started to notice the wounds after the fifth fatal wound Cale 'received', they realized that it was what Cale got during the war

I think it's when they come clean to Rok Soo about their regression

And at some point, Cale lost his eyes

Another aspect from the original world is, nearing his demise, Cale got blind

The reason he still able to participate is because of Rosalyne magic help

That was the last scar Cale receive before WS kille him

And then it dawned to the heroes and Alberu that Cale might also get burn like last time

Chaos happen and during the new timeline, Cale is just so confused where all this wounds came from because no one tell him shits

#og!cale henituse #cale henituse #trash of the counts family #au #trash of the count's family #kim rok soo #og!cale au #alberu crossman

[irenic-max]

anagapesis

Angst Prompt: “I don’t think I can look at you and not think of how you killed every last bit of love I had for you.”

Reader x Jisung // Jisung x Minho

Angst, Heartbreak, Cheating, Jealousy, Unrealized Feelings, Not A Happy Ending, CollegeStudentsAU, Not idols

_____________________________

Another weekend, another party. You fought to keep the scowl off your face and to keep your features neutral.

You took a sip of your drink and ignored the sharp bite the liquor left as you looked around for your boyfriend. He dragged you to parties every weekend and almost always disappeared into the crowd and with his friends.

Particularly Minho.

You huffed angrily at the thought of your boyfriend’s best friend and threw back the rest of your drink, hoping the alcohol would dim the irritation radiating through your body.

You and Minho just didn’t get along; you two had a completely separate sense of humor, different style, different likes, different taste in food and in music, everything. The only similarity the two of you shared was the adoration for Han Jisung. You would both hang the moon for the playful, energetic boy.

Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem. It hadn’t been an issue for such a big part of your relationship. But since Minho moved into an off campus apartment with someone else in his department, you felt like you were constantly begging and competing for time with Jisung. Your boyfriend began to act like seeing his best friend was a rare event when, in fact, he saw Minho more frequently than ever. He got so easily wrapped up.

You tried to be understanding at first and gave Jisung the time to adjust and figure out how to balance his time without feeling like you were nagging him about plans or dates. But that only sparked arguments when a few weeks had passed and nothing changed. Fights, tears, conversations, yelling, pleading, crying, ignoring - nothing changed Jisung’s blindness to how much time he spent with Minho and how often you were brushed off to the side in favor of the other.

Finally, Jisung decided to invite you out every weekend with his friends. “Why not both?” seemed to be his solution to splitting his free time. Except it wasn’t a solution and it wasn’t split; he always ended up gravitating towards Minho.

You stayed in the kitchen for a round of shots with a few mutual friends before setting out to find Jisung. He was going to spend time with you, you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

You looked around the living room and first floor for a couple of minutes but couldn’t spot your boyfriend anywhere. Or Minho, for that matter.

You recognized one of Jisung’s friends talking in a hallway with a handful of people from a class they shared. This friend was one of the few you could actually tolerate. It was impossible to hate him, really.

“Felix, hi,” you greeted warmly when there was a pause in conversation.

“Hi, y/n,” he responded, smiling at you and offering a tiny wave. “Are you here alone today?”

His words stirred the anger in your belly, but you kept composure.

“No, I came with Jisungie but I lost him somewhere and can’t find him. Do you know where he might be?” You feigned a pout for effect and Felix laughed lightheartedly.

“I haven’t seen him, but Jeongin brought his pen, so maybe they’re taking a few hits? I’d try the basement; Jeongin usually hides down there to smoke.”

You squeezed Felix’s arm gently and thanked him before heading down to the house’s basement. Chatter faded away as you navigated down the hallway and then stairs. The basement was pretty big and divided into a few sections, almost making them different rooms. You knew Jeongin was smart enough to move away from the base of the stairs and hide away as to not get asked for hits all night. You spotted a few guys sitting and sharing the pen, but no Minho or Jisung to be found.

You exhaled, frustrated. You were about to give up when you heard giggling further back, towards the washing machine and water heater. You went to investigate.

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt your stomach lurch. You had to grit your teeth to keep yourself from vomiting on the spot from shock. You heard blood rushing in your ears but couldn’t do anything but stare.

Stare as Minho pinned Jisung to the wall in between his arms and kissed him hungrily. When they parted for a breath, Jisung chased his lips and kissed him back feverishly. Drunken giggles floated in the space between them and you felt the air being punched from your lungs.

You didn’t realize a broken noise cracked from your throat until the boys broke apart and Jisung’s head whipped up. Instantly, the color drained from his face and the tipsy euphoria that was there seconds beforehand was gone.

“I- y/n, uh, we-”

You looked from him to Minho and saw almost no emotion etched into his face; no guilt, no shock, no worry. The bastard almost looked smug. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than a galaxy of space between them and yourself. You turned on your heels and all but bolted away, back through the basement and up the stairs. You heard commotion behind you but kept moving. You weren’t entirely sure when the tears started, but suddenly, your vision was blurring and it was impossible to make out much of anything in detail.

You could tell there was a mass of bodies near the front door and decided to steer towards the back patio. You threw the door open without any care and stumbled out.

How could you be so stupid?

How could you be so blind?

He’s in love with him. He’s fucking in love with him.

Not you. Not you.

Your stomach lurched again and you lost balance, falling forward onto your knees into the grass. Sobs kept bubbling up in your chest, but they would stop before they came tumbling out. They were being drowned out by fury.

“Y/n!”

You lifted your head to see Jisung climbing out the back door onto the patio with Minho trailing close behind.

“Stay away from me!” you snarled, legs still weak and shaky. You still couldn’t get up.

“Y/n, will you just listen to me for a second?”

“I don’t want to hear a fucking thing from you!”

“I love you! I do! You’re one of my best friends,” Jisung shouted out desperately, holding his hands out in a pleading manner. “You know me and I know you. It...It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I didn’t even know what I was feeling, what I was thinking, what I’ve been going through. I’ve been trying to figure it out without hurting anyone. But you’ve been my best friend for so long and you’re more than my girlfriend because of it. We share a special bond, not even one Minho and I have.” Jisung hesitantly took a few steps forward. Minho was smart (for once, you thought angrily) and stayed back.

“Can...can you just look at me? So we can talk?” Jisung asked with a shaky voice. You could hear the emotion behind his words and it only set fire to the rage you felt.

“Why?” You asked, a wet laugh interrupting. “Why? What could talking possibly fix here, Jisung?” You took a second and let out a shuttering breath. “I don’t think I can look at you and not think of how you killed every last bit of love I had for you.

“You chipped away at it, piece by piece over time. You wore it down and when it was at its weakest point, you ripped it out of me. Stomped on it. You’re watching me bleed out and then asking me why I’m not patching you up.

“It’s over. We are done. I...I fucking hate you, Jisung. And I fucking hate you more, Minho.”

You took the moment as Jisung stood stunned from your words to finally stand and break away from them. You clenched your fists, digging your nails in until they pierced your palms and used that pain to ground yourself as you walked away from all of it. You let your tears and cries fall freely as you mourned life as you knew it with Han Jisung.

#stray kids #skz #skz angst #x reader #han jisung #jisung x reader #jisung x minho #breakup #heartbreak #cheating #unknown feelings #just not straight #skz fanfic #lee minho #lee know #han #sorry for the ending #i do not know how to end stories #trying to clear my writer's block

[running-with-the-feels]

Can we please have Tomas back? We all miss the guy ;-;

I miss him too, why not

So whatever they do to bring Bi-Han back to humanity (leaving him with black ice cryomancy as per that one ask) also has the unintended side effect of bringing Tomáš back.

So he's lost in the modern world (bc lets be real, change happened quickly and he's been dead at least 2 decades, he doesn't know wtf is going on) and has no idea if anyone he knows is alive or not

Then he gets found by the SF who reach out to Kuai Liang and tell him that Tomáš is alive and well

Kuai Liang rushes over, Hanzo right behind him for moral support, and is overjoyed to see Tomáš alive again (Bi-Han would be there if he were well enough to get out of bed but sadly his resurrection was more taxing), hugging him as soon as he sees him

It takes a while for Tomáš to settle in to the new Lin Kuei, but he tries really hard and for the most part is welcomed. Frost is the only person wary of him and that's mostly on principle. As the second in command, it's her job to make up for any oversights on Kuai Liang's part, and his relief at seeing Tomáš alive again is an oversight, blinding him to reality and potential risks

I think Tomáš and Hanzo would actually end up getting along, as both are sweethearts with a vicious streak

#tomas vrbada #kuai liang #hanzo hasashi #frost mk #mortal kombat 11

[rae-gar-targaryen]

I’ve fallen down the mickey garcia rabbit hole thanks to your sunshine!reader hc post,,,,, 👀👀👀 would you happen to have more of those by chance

Thank you so much for this request, my love! I have an ENDLESS amount of HCs for these two. And now that I'm working on a full fic for them (in addition to "take me by the heart, take me by the hand"), so a lot of these may pop up again by reference in that story, so there will be some overlap... But to tide you over until I'm done with the fic, please have more HCs! 

part one here. [full fic coming soon!]

Some are slightly nsfw, with references to sex, so 18+ pls. This got kinda long so pls excuse the readmore. 

It’s canon to me that he calls you, his sunshine!gf, “cielo.” Fanboy and Cielo have an entire life together in some coastal town where they’re walking distance from the beach.

They take their dog, a golden retriever named Artoo, down to the water for walks. Mickey is definitely a dog-person, and when he's home, Artoo doesn't leave his side.

Mickey and Cielo met on a rarely-seen-but-always-appreicated successful Hinge date. They went to an arcade bar after flirty-texting for a few days, and she kicked his ass at StreetFighter, and it was love at first button-smash. It gets a little flirty, with her bumping her hips against his as they stand next to one another at the machines. He can't stop himself from grinning ear to ear that night, smile blinding against the neon light of the bar and the arcade games. She falls in love a little then, hoping she'll get to be the cause of that smile evermore.

His opener was definitely something Star Wars themed -- “Be the Leia to my Han? I’m so tired of being Solo.” She definitely rolls his eyes at him when he’s corny (but let’s be real, she loves it.) 

Thanks to Cielo, Mickey is all about self-care. She teaches him some basic components to a skincare routine when she can’t stand to see him wash his face with basic bar soap one more time, and it sticks. It’s a nightly ritual together -- she gets him into sheet masks, which she sends to him while he’s overseas as part of a care package. 

He gets Payback to try one once, and now he asks for extras in his care package so that Payback can have some, too.  

To the point that when they all have game nights, Payback plays too, headset and sheetmask on in full effect....

She’ll paint his nails, and all the guys know not to say shit about it. 

Rooster is their biggest fan. (I believe that Rooster knows all the wives’/girlfriends’ favorite flowers). 

When Mickey gets back from a deployment, he makes sure to have fresh flowers to give to her when he gets off the plane. And Rooster is like, “Come on, man, she likes daisies and marigolds.”

When they get to the airport, Payback is nonstop teasing -- “You’re walking a little taller than usual. Excited to see anyone in particular?” 

The squad is smitten by how smitten he is with her, and loves to tease him endlessly, especially if she calls him “amor” in front of them. “Amor? Your callsign should have been Romeo!” 

When he comes home, she holds him tight, wrapping her arms around him and dragging her fingers up the back of his neck and along his scalp, scraping against the buzzcut and whispering how much she misses his curls, and that he has time while he’s back to grow them back again. 

They go to the beach sometimes to watch the stars. "I missed you," she murmurs, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I'll make it up to you," he replies, million-watt grin that she loves so much blooming in his face as he loops a finger under her chin and brings her in for a kiss against the backwash of a purpling sunset.

Matching minimalist sun tattoos on the inside of their wrists. An anniversary idea from several years in. At first she thinks it's silly, but he tells her he wants something of her wherever he goes, his personal sunshine.

They go for coffee on Saturdays as a treat -- Cielo always gets hers with an extra shot, no sweetener or syrup.

“I don’t know how you can drink coffee that’s so bitter,” Mickey says, laughing as she sighs into her first sip.

“I have all the sweetness I need right here,” she replies, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He rolls his eyes at this, but is so smitten.

Every time she says something endearing or remotely romantic, or gives him a kiss, or holds his hand in public, she’s not-so-secretly pleased at the flush that blooms its way across the peaks of Mickey’s cheeks and the tips of his ears, loving the contrast along his skin.

They’re definitely a couple that’s touchy in public, but in a way that just is indicative of how complete they are together -- walking in step, his arms slung over her shoulders, smiling into her cheek before pressing a kiss there; her nuzzling his neck when they go to a movie together. Fighting the urge to just climb into his lap at said movie.

Sci-fi movie nights -- they binge the “Predator” series, and make a game out of tossing popcorn into one another’s mouths and taking drinks at the corny lines the other person can quote along to. 

Cielo is a graphic artist. As a gift, she gives Mickey a handmade comic book about the space-exploring misadventures of a rogueish pilot (and his pilot friend) -- called “The Adventures of Fanboy and Payback.” 

Every letter she sends, she adorns with a little cartoon of him with Artoo in the corner.

Speaking of gifts, every year as a gag, she gives him a Mickey Mouse t-shirt on his birthday (along with a real gift, of course). He keeps them all, and usually wears one on Christmas morning, surprising her with it while she's making breakfast, prompting her to turn around and laugh at the selection of t-shirt for that year.

One year, on a milestone anniversary, they go to Disneyland together for the first time, and she buys him a Star Wars-themed Mickey shirt in the park that he pulls on immediately, over the shirt he’s already wearing, grinning like mad. 

“This is the best one yet, mi cielo.” 

Theyre that couple that swaps clothes. He loves her oversized, soft hoodies, and she wears his joggers. 

Their first night home together after he returns from a deployment or an assignment, Cielo always tries to cook something special for him, usually a family recipe from one of their respective relatives. She's an ace at chicken molé.

When they spend the night together his first night back, it’s soft, sleepy, sweet. She surprises him with some pretty lace and a sweet smile on her lips as she surges forward to kiss him and beckon him to bed.

Mickey is a pro at dirty talk.

“Does it feel good, amor, when I touch you like this?”

“I’m wild for you...”

And it always gets a little sweet -- “Every time I see you, I fall in love all over again.” 

Always very attentive and precise with his fingers, he knows exactly what to do and say to make her miss him that much more the next time he leaves. 

She loves the way he touches her -- honeyed fingers over soft skin, full of sweetness, she swears she can feel the trail of them over her neck, shoulders, and arms, even while he’s away... akin to the first sip of orange-sweetned honey, or the pleasant tingle of sugar dissolving on your tongue. If you could feel that sweetness in your heart every moment, so real you could taste it, wouldn’t you indulge? 

After, she draws her finger repeatedly along the curve of his nose, pressing kisses into his neck and begging him not to move.

Mickey loves the summer. The sight of Cielo in her sundresses, days packed with beach dates and paletas... He'd spend winters longing for the summer sun and the desire to the sun and sea air on his tongue. Though that longing paled in comparison to the reality of her before him -- now that he knew what true sweetness could be. Everything else is synthetic by comparison.

He’s an insane kisser.

He hmms into her neck through the smile she knows to be there –  sweet and honeyed little noise, like the tufty soft buzz of bee's wings. And there, now … she feels his lips part, warm, silken and amorous, before pressing against the column of her throat. Loving the feel of his kisses along her skin, as though only his could feel. Radiant and true.

When he has to go next, they spend the morning in bed, just holding hands with their most recently-generated playlist going softly in in the background. And he says he doesn't want to go, and she says, "Of course you do. You've always got your head in the clouds, Mickey." And he starts to tell her that he doesn't love it more than her when he tells her, "But you're in the clouds with me, you're mi cielo."

Sorry, this probably got kinda stupid and too much. The full fic will be better, I promise! 

---

Tagging: @withahappyrefrain @spidervee @andallthatmishigas @thegirlwhowritesfics @xbamboowishesx @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @abibliophobiaa @anna-phora @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @thematthewmurdock @mrshipsmcgee @p3mybeloved @decadentpaperduck @letmeplaytheliontoo @vestrangel @moonlight-prose @aphrogeneias @realspideyspice @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @2clones-1kamino @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @ilovepretttystuff @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @shakira-sasha @siriusfahey @hopefulinlove

#mickey garcia x reader #mickey 'fanboy' garcia #mickey 'fanboy' garcia x reader #mickey garcia #fanboy garcia #fanboy x reader #fanboy garcia x reader #top gun maverick fic #tgm fic #fanboy top gun #danny ramirez #danny ramirez x reader #fanboy x cielo #fanboy x sunshine gf hcs #fanboy hcs #mickey 'fanboy' garcia headcanons #danny ramirez fic #top gun fic #top gun: maverick fic #top gun: maverick #mickey fanboy garcia #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #mickey fanboy garcia x you #fanboy x you

[fantastic-nonsense]

one of the things so many people miss is that the Ravka-Fjerda war is a terrible parallel to Nazi Germany and the Holocaust because it's a fundamental misinterpretation of the Grisha's role in the conflict

The Holocaust was a genocide perpetuated against innocents; there was nothing except blind hatred and political opportunism spurring that persecution. But the Fjerdan obsession with persecuting Grisha, while partially out of blind hatred and prejudice, is also at least partially happening because they're in an active war against a country that uses Grisha as soldiers...soldiers who are uniquely destructive, use that destructive capability to kill Fjerdans, and are canonically praised for doing so. Soldiers who are recruited to come to the Little Palace from all over the world based on the premise that they will be safe...as long as they fight for Ravka in the Second Army. Remember that Ravka largely doesn't care about the Grisha's wellbeing either until after the civil war is over and the Triumvirate is in power; their interest in 'protecting' Grisha lay in their ability to use them as soldiers in their ongoing wars against Fjerda and Shu Han.

You CANNOT do a one-to-one comparison to something like the Holocaust when the whole point of the Ravka-Fjerdan conflict is that there's massive suffering and war crimes being perpetuated on both sides. Nina and Matthias's chapters hammer home the point that they both have very good reason to be terrified of each other due to the situation they've been forced into, but that the hatred and prejudice they were both raised with is wrong. We mostly focus on the persecution of the Grisha becasue we're already primed to identify and sympathize with them, but there's several instances where we're explicitly shown that there's more to this war (which is principally a territory/border dispute) than just a senseless genocide.

The bit where Nina realizes that Zoya, her mentor, is to Matthias what Jarl Brum is to her. Nina forcing Matthias's heart to speed up on the Ferolind for no reason other than to scare him. Learning that the whole reason Matthias ended up as a druskelle in the first place was because his village was burnt to the ground and his family (including his "baby sister") were murdered by Inferni soldiers. Nina effectively murdering a couple hundred druskelle while on parem at the Djerholm harbor. "We are all someone's monster." And so many more.

Matthias is not a Nazi (the druskelle are much more analogous to a fundamentalist religious cult than anything else, especially when you consider the specific indoctrination Matthias was subject to). Leigh Bardugo (a Jewish woman born in Israel with direct family members who died in the Holocaust) has firmly stated that she "would never write a Nazi-Jewish romance," and we as a fandom need to be extremely careful when drawing real-world parallels to fictional conflcits. Nina and Matthias are both soldiers caught up in a centuries-old war, not an oppressor engaging in mindless ethnic persecution against a helpless victim. Matthias has a lot further to go than Nina to unpack and grow out of those mutual prejudices, but they're very clearly present in both characters.

Yes, there are parallels between the Grisha experience and the Jewish experience, and we should talk about that! It's an interesting discussion to have. But Leigh has explicitly cautioned people not to say "this is a mirror to a real-life conflict" because she purposefully built into her world that in some respects, many Grisha (especially Ravkan Grisha) have power and privilege and are actively utilizing it. It's dangerous to try and say something like "the Fjerdans are Nazis and the Grisha are Jewish people" when discussing that conflict because it can unintentionally perpetuate the idea that the Jewish people deserved what happened to them, which is something we obviously should categorically avoid even implying in our discussions.

#six of crows #soc meta #matthias helvar #nina zenik #helnik #tw: holocaust #tw: genocide #long post #the Ravka-Fjerda situation is honestly much more analogous to how Fullmetal Alchemist utilizes state alchemists in their border wars tbh #not all Grisha are Ravkan or Second Army but the ones who are are frankly terrifying

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #18: A Raven's Shield

Prompt: fish out of water || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers through Patch 6.4: The Dark Throne. Probably could be considered a sequel to "An Apple a Day (Does Not Keep the Paladin Away)" from earlier this FFXIV Write.

--

The chaos of the Final Days had ushered in a wave of adventurers to Radz-at-Han, the Satrap authorizing the hiring of the Guild’s finest to supplement the Radiant Host, and as such Zero attracted little attention despite her black armor and heavy scythe. Even her bafflement over mortal norms could be easily explained away as a foreigner interacting with Thavnair’s culture for the first time. It was the best possible way to avoid any awkward questions, especially since her association with the Warriors of Light would inevitably draw more attention to her.

Though, Dancing Heron thought, it helped when one of those Warriors of Light wasn’t immediately recognized.

Heron was nearly always recognized because of her ubiquitous red and black armor, a set she had taken to wearing in the days after the first Garlean offensive at the Ghimlyt Dark. Combined with her sword and shield and her natural height, there was little question about who she was with how quickly stories were spread about the Warrior of Light. She had taken to dressing down whenever it was feasible to avoid much notice; eyes slid more easily off a roegadyn woman when she was in simple blouses and trousers rather than armor.

A dressed-down roegadyn and a heavily-armored adventurer walking together was a bit of an unusual sight, but not enough to garner more than a second glance.

Today, Heron and Zero wandered one of the bazaars in the northern part of the city, the road wide enough to accommodate a pair of gaja walking side by side even with stalls lining each side of the street. Most of the merchants here were hawking food and produce and cookware: spiced and grilled hamsa served on skewers, barrels of starfuit and langsat and persimmons, beautifully shaped ceramics and shining bronze pots. Locals and adventurers alike were out shopping, and Heron and Zero effectively vanished into the crowd.

Zero had even deigned to leave her scythe behind, which Heron had quietly cheered about in the privacy of her mind, though she had graced Zero with a blinding smile when she’d seen the other woman exit her rooms in Meghaduta without it. Zero had merely blinked and ducked behind the safety of her hat’s brim. Heron knew better than to push.

As happened most often, they walked in comfortable silence. On some of their excursions, Zero would ask questions, but today it seemed she was content to merely observe the people and things around her, sharp eyes missing nothing even as she nibbled with obvious relish on spice-laden meats or fresh mango. It was clear the half-voidsent enjoyed anything strongly flavored, from the lava-like heat of Mehryde’s special curry to intensely sour buttermilk from Corvos to the cloyingly-sweet payasam that she and Synnove would genteelly fight over, and Heron sneakily spent her gil at random stalls to treat Zero to some new taste.

She quite enjoyed how it lit up Zero’s eyes.

Horns suddenly caught their attention, and both stopped to swivel their heads to face east; more than one other adventurer in the crowd did the same. Faintly, Heron could pick out drums, too, and the jangling of bells.

“Oh, hells, that’s today, isn’t it,” the shopkeep at the pottery stall they had halted next to, sighing heavily, but a rueful expression on his face.

Heron put two and two together. “Wedding procession?” she said.

“Aye,” the shopkeep said. “Children of two of the wealthiest merchant families in the city, and all the pomp and gold that entails.”

And that was when the first of the drummers and dancers rounded the corner far down the street.

There was a sudden surge as the crowd realized they needed get out of the way, the adventurers bewildered and the locals either smiling or shaking their heads in frustration. As the press of people grew around them, Heron sighed herself, and let instinct kick in.

“Excuse me,” she said, and wrapped an arm around Zero’s waist.

“What—” Zero didn’t have time to finish her question before she yelped as Heron yanked her off her feet and moved.

Heron was the daughter of two former Sultansworn, the granddaughter and niece of many a bodyguard, and escort missions were her forte in the Adventurers’ Guild: she knew how to get a client out of danger in damned near any situation. And while this crowd was quite different from a panicking mob, some techniques stayed the same.

Zero was by no means a small or slight woman; there was muscle in that lithe frame of hers, well-suited to swinging that monstrous scythe of hers like it was a bamboo practice staff. But Heron was over seven fulms tall and when she planted her feet, not even Tyr could get her to budge. It took no effort at all to heft up Zero, turn to the side, and go shoulder first to push through the heavy throng. Zero, thankfully, seemed to realize Heron knew what she was doing, and let herself be half-carried along with a frustrated breath that huffed over Heron’s collarbone.

There was no point in trying to get off this street entirely: the stores and houses had been built right atop one another, with no room for alleys between, and the next cross street was too far ahead. So, just need to find a free spot out of the crush…there!

A tall stack of crates was set between two stalls, and Heron unceremoniously elbowed her way through. It took but a moment to lift Zero up to sit her on one of the crates just above eye level of most of the crowd. Zero huffed again, ducking behind her hat brim, but she moved sideways and Heron easily pulled herself up to sit next to her.

“Such ridiculous spectacle,” Zero grumbled as she crossed her arms, her cheeks faintly pink.

“Wait until you see what the Ul’dahns can come up with,” Heron drawled. “The Hannish love their reds and golds, but at least wedding colors here aren’t tacky.”

As the dancers and drummers and horn-blowers neared, a white gaja turned the corner far down the street, bedecked in red and gold barding and carrying a palanquin on its back. Even from here, the tiny forms of the bride and groom waving and tossing coins and sweets out to the crowd could be seen. A cheer was going up, and. Yup. There was the gulal, in all the colors of the rainbow.

“Why red?” Zero finally said.

Heron hummed thoughtfully and said, “I know it symbolizes health, in Thavnair.” She started tapping her feet against the wooden crate. “I think it also symbolizes love and purity?” She shook her head. “I don’t know enough to say for certain. Perhaps Varshahn can tell us more, once we get back.”

Zero tilted her head to look directly at her, unblinking. “Red for health,” she said finally. “Is that why you partially color your hair red?”

Heron laughed softly. “Nah,” she said. “Nothing so grandiose. It’s just my favorite color, and I thought I looked good highlighting my natural black.” She reached up to gently tug one of her feathery locks, idly making a note to visit an aesthetician for a trim. “Just never got out of the habit.”

“You do,” Zero said, almost blurting it out. The pink flush was back on her cheeks and Heron couldn’t help but notice just how it softened her features. “Look good with the red, that is.”

Heron felt a flush creep up her own cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, her voice only a tiny bit high-pitched.

After a moment, another set of tapping heels joined Heron. Heron grinned and bumped her shoulder against Zero’s. She grinned wider when she caught a glimpse of a tiny small tugging on the other woman’s lips.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

#ffxivwrite2023 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #zero #zero x wol #zero x heron #oc: dancing heron #dt's writing

[daswarschonkaputt]

modern au fem!hanwenzhou

okay so like, pretty much all my art is someone else's fault. i stand by this. this is the fault of @antique-forvalaka (henceforth siv). blame or thank her. she just showed up unprovoked and was like, "fem!wkx has a flat ass and fem!zzs is big tiddy tomboy," and i was like, "umm???" what was i meant to do? NOT draw them? it's a modern au because i don't fuck with drawing hanfu.

most of these were drawn when i was too sick to write and lemme tell you i 100% underestimated the effect of a cough on drawing art. the lineart on wkx's piece took me so fucking long. i even had to go back in and redo bits of it. that's why some of it looks wonky but shhhh don't look.

assorted headcanons beneath the cut:

fem!zzs

this was the first one i started drawing, and then i nearly gave up because zzh's face is the fucking worst to draw. like, i even tried tracing a still and it still didn't look like him. okay, thots:

f!zzs has long hair that she takes relatively good care of but she pretty much always just ties up and ignores

she keeps it long because she sometimes does infiltration missions and it's helpful to appear super feminine

she knows how to be pretty and well presented but she literally never gives a shit

left alone she will happily sit in a sports bra and panties and eat ramen

oh yeah when she's lying low after leaving tc she disguises herself as a male vagabond. @luckydragon10 is very attached to f!zzs's fake stubble.

the hoodie look is an adaptation of my favourite zzs look from woh which is the meili look. look i am a simple woman, put the characters in a veiled hat and my brain just goes hrrrrnnnnng.

fem!wkx

oh hello other actor in this drama who is incredibly fucking hard to draw. luckily i had already drawn modern wkx before so i was a bit more used to his face. okay, some more thots:

the first one i drew was the big profile which is labelled in the csp file as tiddies out wkx

in my head f!wkx has a flat ass and flat chest bc siv said so, but she wishes she were curvy like wkx

she's very much styled after a femme fatale, emphasis on the fatal

she's pretty much always immaculately turned out, perfect make-up, perfect clothes, all very expensive

i had to draw her in stockings and garter belt. i just had to. also that lace texture killed me and took me like half of wanda//vision (which i was watching in the background) to get right

part of the reason i even did modern au was because i wanted to draw wkx with a sniper rifle

on that note the sniper rifle is traced from a photo bc i am lazy and at that point was very ill

"oh? so you have chosen death~♡" -- that's her vibe

fave wkx is angery wkx up in the top right corner. i drew her last.

one big regret that i didn't draw her splattered in blood and smirking like lelouch from code geass. i just think that would be neat.

fem!hy

thank u han ying for having a face that i can draw. thank u actor for having distinguishable features for my face blind self. thank u. thots:

this was the last set of these that i drew and i had to think long and hard about what to do for her. i knew i wanted her to be shorter than zzs but curvier than wkx but that was literally it

originally when i started drawing f!hy i gave her short curly hair, like close to a pixie cut, but i couldn't make it look right, so i went back to siv and extracted her suggestion of a side cut or undercut

in my head, hy and zzs run two-man missions all the time, with zzs as front woman and hy as tactical support/getaway driver

siv said to me that she sees wkx playing dress-up with hy bc hy is more receptive to it than zzs and i was like oh yes so that's why there's a little classy hy over on the right

also the more i drew f!hy with her little undercut and sweats i realised she looked like a fuckboi and i was here for it

special shout out to my favourite tac gear item: the throat mic. they're just so sexy. don't come at me.

shout out to fancy dress ass-kicking hy. the backstory here is that wkx put her in a pretty dress for a nice evening out only for it to devolve into a battlefield so hy takes off her heels and just starts blasting.

oh yeah special shout out here bc my brain was just like "play with the colours" so i did and now there is no consistent colouring for this set.

anyway i love hy's little button nose. so cute. love drawing it.

ok i'm done.

standard disclaimers for my art: all of it was drawn in clip studio paint (my beloved). i use pose references using the built-in 3D models and assorted poses i've downloaded from the store. faces are drawn using stills from the show i've founded on google images. when i draw fashion there's a high change it's from runway collections, in this case hy's dress is from the paolo sebastian moonlight serenade collection, specifically this one. and the fancy han ying look is adapted from ashi studio fall/winter 2017, specifically this look.

#kaputt suffers in art #fem!hwz #idk what the woh fandom tags are but #woh #hanwenzhou #at this point i should probably make a master tag for all my gender swaps bc i am apparently not done #neither am i restricted to kp #fem!zzs #fem!wkx #fem!hy #modern au #i wasn't actually planning on posting this #it was just for siv and co #but siv told me the woh girlies would want to see it #so i'm posting it for them #all of you can thank her for this #this is part of a greater effort i am undergoing to relearn how to shade faces #when i was at uni i just used block shading bc it was fast and looked decent #but before i did not #so i am relearning

[stromuprisahat]

Malina, the formidable force to be reckoned with

AKA when your heroes with negligible fighting training somehow have skills comparable to seasoned soldiers

Let’s be mean and count a little. The basic First Army training isn’t even a year. After that Alina draws maps, Mal tracks without really encountering the enemy untill the Stag. Alina has some four, six months of basic Summoning training under her belt to add to it. She’s not exactly top of her class and due to her psychological issues, she wouldn’t be even among beginners.

Yet somehow they’re able to effectively resist the Darkling’s elite soldiers.

While I suffered with Baghra, the other Grisha were studying advanced theory, languages, military strategy. Apparently, this was all to prepare for when they left the Little Palace next summer. Most of them would travel to the Fold or to the northern or southern front to assume command positions in the Second Army. But the greatest honor was to be asked to travel with the Darkling as Ivan did.

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 9

Those kids were around Alina’s age. If their school ended same year she joined the Army, they’ll have at least two years of officer training before they’re sorted out. They’re learning to use their powers as soon as they move to Little Palace. They have badass Shu mercenary to train them to fight with any and every weapon.

The training rooms were next to the stables—large, empty, high-beamed rooms with packed dirt floors and weapons of every variety lining the walls. Our instructor, Botkin Yul-Erdene, wasn’t Grisha; he was a former Shu Han mercenary who had fought in wars on every continent for any army that could afford his particular gift for violence.

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 9

We’ll learn most of Second Army tried to get to the Darkling. He couldn’t go after Alina immediatelly, he’d need some time to regroup, plan and heal, so it’s safe to assume his little task force isn’t exactly a bunch of amateurs.

Siege and Storm- Chapter 1

Alina can do two things with her light:

Blind you (with the right tools). or

Slaughter you.

The best part being she’ll make do with these two (plus invisibility) till the end. If the story was written as subversion- her defeating the opponent with basics- but it’s just things conveniently working out for her.

Good to know all it takes to overpower trained amplified Heartrender with martial arts training is some boy’s elbow into side... Next time perhaps punch him in the face, or step on his toe?! It’s not like some escape attempt is unexpected with these two...

Okay, I get it! Ivan- the stoic, terrifying, cruel, Darkling-loving robot is also an idiot!

Sure he did. The knife probably jumped there. Because of how scared it was of the Darkling, or Ivan just handed the knife to Malyen to make it more interesting...

Also a huge fan of Alina “Can barely light a candle” (Wait, no, she has an amplifier now!), longing for gloves to focus her light few pages before she can safely blind specific people in closed space and form the Cut she did once before. Then spent several weeks with no training at all. AND NOW SHE CAN DO SEVERAL! One after another!

Is it still called plot armour, if it’s not even making them win, just look less lame?

#Grishaverse #Grisha trilogy #Siege and Storm #S&S Chapter 1 #grishanalyticritical #V #Alina Starkov #Malyen Oretsev #Second Army #Grisha loyalists #The Darkling #Ivan Kaminsky #S&B Chapter 9 #Little Palace #Botkin Yul Erdene #books #quotes #Leigh Bardugo #anti Malina #but not really #anti Leigh Bardugo

[film-in-my-soul]

“I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?” “You’re not doing anything.” “But… I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?”

Paring: Gahan

(Sometimes it's just nice to give Yo-han and Ga-on nice things.)

Something about accomplishing your years-long mission, killing the people who created some of the worst parts of your life, faking your own death, and then heading off to Switzerland with your niece and the love of your life (a few months too late and after one too many instances of beratement from said niece), makes having moments like the one Kang Yo-han is currently having worth the bloody struggle required to achieve them.

He and Ga-on are in the study, a much smaller space in comparison to the Kang mansion, sitting next to one another and drinking simply for the sake of loosening up after a long day. 

The comfortable atmosphere reminds Yo-han of the first time Ga-on had seen the room. The younger man had said, only a few weeks ago now, as he paced around and traced the spines of Yo-han’s precious books with his fingertips, that it felt more intimate, less intimidating than its predecessor. Comfortable.

It had warmed Yo-han to have Ga-on say as much. For him, outside of the accessibility for Elijah’s wheelchair and eventual crutches, it had been the selling point of the home. When Yo-han had replied with that in-kind Ga-on had lit up so brightly it felt blinding. Then he’d been kissed by that same smiling mouth and Yo-han would have been perfectly fine never seeing again in exchange for it.

Apparently making it three tumblers into some of his best whiskey makes him sentimental, at least in the presence of the other man, but Yo-han can’t muster the energy to care all that much. He’s relaxed, the weight of Ga-on across his side a familiar tether as he lets his eyes close, nodding along softly to the record they have on.

He feels Ga-on shift against him and there’s the clinking of ice on crystal and a sloshing sound followed up by a surprised “oh…oops,” that has Yo-han letting his eyes crack open. He notices the liquor on the wood grain of the coffee table first and then follows the obvious path up Ga-on’s body to the glass, still dripping with spilled alcohol, pressed to his mouth as he takes a long drink. Yo-han watches in satisfaction as Ga-on’s already flushed cheeks grow pinker under the scrutiny of Yo-han’s raised brow, his silent question. Ga-on places the remainder of his drink down a little too quickly, whiskey threatening to climb over the edge, limbs clearly loose and uncoordinated.

“I’ll... uh, I’ll clean it up.” He looks a bit chastised and the whole effect of an obviously drunk (perhaps just on the far end of tipsy) Ga-on, pouting at the mess he’s made, is too precious not to chuckle over. When he goes to stand, he sways just a little, and Yo-han is quick to circle a hand around his arm and pull him back down. Ga-on falls gracelessly, and if it weren’t Yo-han’s own fault, he might be more upset over the elbow jammed harshly into his gut. Instead, he breathes through the jolt of pain with a laugh and tucks Ga-on against him.

“Don’t, you’re drunk and are just as likely to make a bigger mess.” Ga-on seems to pause, listening, before he struggles to get upright, glaring at Yo-han. He’s looking down at Yo-han from how he’s kneeling on the sofa while Yo-han himself is still draped, almost bonelessly against the backrest.

“‘M not drunk.” Yo-han can’t fight the disbelieving smirk from his lips, far too amused as, somehow, Ga-on’s pout and glare combination makes his heart feel ten times bigger, threatening to burst.

What had he ever done to deserve this kind of peace?

Yo-han’s brain doesn’t get to trail down that rabbit hole, wanting to bring up all the reasons he doesn’t deserve it, because Ga-on is suddenly leaning, precariously balanced, into his space. Not that Yo-han minds the proximity all that much.

“I’m not drunk.” A lie, but Yo-han can tell that Ga-on isn’t finished and doesn’t want to risk interrupting whatever is about to happen. “Can a drunk person do this?” He asks with a flourish, leaning back so quickly that a flash of fear zips down Yo-han’s spine. He reaches forward just in case Ga-on goes careening off the couch. Ga-on doesn’t. Instead, he’d apparently moved back so he could get one of his hands stretched out fully to press directly against Yo-han’s chest, fingers warm where they touch him. The v of Yo-han’s partially unbuttoned shirt exposes some of the skin, allowing him direct contact. Ga-on’s eyes shut so tight his face scrunches up.

Yo-han waits for a beat and then another, anticipating something more. When Ga-on does nothing else, just continues to press his palm over Yo-han’s heart, eyes closed, the older man coughs.

 “Darling,” Ga-on winks open one eye, and Yo-han smiles as though he’s greeting him. “You’re not doing anything.”

Ga-on opens his other eye and blinks, alternating between looking at his hand where it’s laying against Yo-han’s chest and Yo-han’s face. He looks genuinely confused and it’s taking everything within Yo-han’s power not to laugh.

“But…” Ga-on seems to flounder, finally pulling his hand away to look at his fingers like they’ve betrayed him before looking back to Yo-han. “I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?” Yo-han has to swallow the honest-to-God giggle that wants to crawl out of his mouth, and it’s only because of the way Ga-on appears very upset at the notion he hadn’t, Yo-han manages.

“Ah,” Yo-han says, shifting up a little before taking Ga-on’s hand to place it back over his heart. “I wasn’t paying enough attention, try again?” He doesn’t know if a drunk Ga-on will humor him, but it seems the atmosphere is just right for this brand of ridiculous sentiment, because he presses his hand down and scrunches up his face again. Yo-han wants to play along as well and closes his eyes too.

Instinctually his focus hones in on the warm touch to his bared chest, Ga-on’s pulse under his fingertips, and he gets lost in that, the gentle ‘thump-thump-thump’ and the subtle twitching of his partner’s hand. It makes Yo-han smile because he can feel it, Ga-on’s love, in a simple gesture like this.

When he opens his eyes again Ga-on is looking down at him, his lips curled up in Yo-han’s favorite smile, one that he can’t help mirroring.

Yo-han uses his grip on Ga-on’s arm to tug him down until the younger man is sprawled over his lap, hand still firmly in place. Closer now, Yo-han takes the opportunity to kiss the remaining whiskey off of Ga-on’s lips and sighs just as Ga-on does, somehow relaxing even further into the gentle back and forth of this easy affection. There’s no heat, no need to deepen it to something more, and Yo-han lets Ga-on retreat for breath and curl up on top of him like Elijah’s damned cat (his cat really…).

Unconsciously, Yo-han brings his free hand up to Ga-on’s hair and strokes through the soft strands.

“I always feel your love Ga-on.” It’s sappy, ridiculous, something the Yo-han of a year ago would never think to utter out loud, but so fundamentally true. He feels the love Ga-on gives so easily in the meals he makes, in the way that the younger will set out clothes for him sometimes, or how when Yo-han falls asleep in his reading chair, will set his book aside, marking the page, before draping a blanket over his lap to keep him comfortable. Yo-han will always wake up with a crick in his neck and a grumble, but then Ga-on will kiss him gently and replace the learned discontent with something so gentle Yo-han feels like he could fall to his knees from the strength of the emotion that flows into him.

“I know,” Ga-on mumbles against his collar bone, and Yo-han doesn’t chastise him for being a brat, just hugs him a bit closer on the off chance Ga-on might miss him sending his own love in return.

Thank you for reading.

MASTERLIST

#gahan #lawful husbands #the devil judge #dialogue prompt #prompt film #kim gaon #kang yoohan #kdrama prompt

[velvetineblue]

To Taiyang Theodore Tseng.

Good evening. Ten minutes, the Minister of Justice, Kang Sungwoon, will have the news interrupted for a last minute press conference. Will be displayed on TV shocking images of an ongoing riot in Seogyo-dong. I for a fact do know this information is not in your possession : nothing has been exchanged by the authorities nor the force, they do know you are listening which makes a statement about your influence. It is a stage. Kang orchestred the operation in order to arrest a gang of kids he paid for the mercenary work of harming citizens for the glory of his government. I believe your organization stands against such masquerades. I do, too. I offer you the intel to prove my good faith and will to collaborate. With your strength and our resources, we should work hand in hand. If interested, do not hesitate to contact us back. Playing God stands as the ultimate act of human hubris.

      Mr. Han. Revolving Lantern Corporation.

" 'playing God stands as the ultimate act of human hubris' . . . " he reads the final line aloud, a thoughtful yet almost mocking tone in his voice. " deep, " he comments, subtly sarcastic. hm . . . his fingers move quickly against the glowing screen of his telephone;

I disagree. every man with a corporation thinks they're special. every one of you thinks you're smart enough to rule the world, like gods. you want to talk about the ultimate human hubris? it's how they fall for your crap. they worship other humans like they're god I don't.

Taiyang scoffed at the message, seeing this man as no different from the other God-Pretenders, an exact example: flaunting his money, because he thought Taiyang would covet it; offering his 'resources' to gain favor with someone he had deemed a powerful ally. he'd use whatever Black Fang could give him, to claw his way to the top, expecting the same god-like worship as every other power-obsessed creep before him. he disparaged the Minister of Justice, but would gladly switch places with them. well, he'd misjudged Taiyang if he thought the leader would bend the knee in reverence of the 'power' this man could bring to him. no, Taiyang didn't care for being GIVEN respect he didn't earn, and he didn't bow down to anyone; not for all the resources in the world. the word of God doesn't interest Taiyang Tseng. he does what he wishes; worships only what he deems sacred. still, he stares at the strange message illuminating the screen of his phone, filling the dark car with blue light. it had peaked his curiosity. . . but what does he care, if some kids paid to work for the minister of justice were betrayed by the very institution they were were STUPID enough to trust ? they should have picked better allies; been on the right side . . . Mr. Han was right about one thing, though; he hates the masquerades of the so-called 'righteous'. from their position of power, they lock up the unlawful, but turn a blind eye to their own misdoings. revealing people like that for the twisted, corrupt CROOKS that they were; true, that was what Black Fang lived for . . . of course, this message could very well be some sort of set-up; a trap . . . but a trap was only successful if it ensnared you. hunters often underestimated their prey: they laid their traps, not realizing the animal was too agile and quick to be caught in between the mechanical jaws. confident in his ability to evade, the leader penned a second round of replies:

i'll be at the riot. if you mean what you said about standing with us, you should be there too i don't trust ceos who work from the shadows and are too afraid to show their real faces

TEN MINUTES , though . that left him no time to plan an effective counterattack against the ministry . . . on a time-crunch like that, there was only one thing to do: call in the professionals. a team of two who thrived in the spontaneity and chaos, who didn't need a plan to succeed in the battlegrounds of the streets. who didn't need anything, only each other . . . he quickly dialed Quinn's number, a smirk on his face, voice warm and rich with a fiery eagerness to see her; and see her in action against their enemies— ( with him fighting by her side, of course ! ) " hey, you up for an impromptu date at the Hongdae art museum? I got a surprise for you. I promise it'll be fun ~

#the surprise is little mousies from the justice department; for her to bat at with her claws : 3 #yaoogui #AHHHH I LOVE THIS ASK THO I LOVE GEUN I LOVE TAI & GEUN HEHEHE #im screaming internally and running in circles w/ excitement for this arc akjshjaj

[insolitus-academy]

♚ //  Face Claim Full name Face Claim: Han Jisung Group/Band/Occupation: Stray Kids Nationality: Korean Faceclaim age: 22

♚ // Character ;  Basic information

Quote: “Teenagers scare the living shit out of me”

Full name character: Han Amos Nickname: N/A Realm of birth(if earth, nationality): Demon realm Age: 67 Date of Birth: 1956/06/06 Gender: Male Preferred Pronouns: He/him Race: Demon Sexual Orientation: Pansexual What is the level of Korean and how did they learn to speak it (For non-Korean characters from other realms & other earth-countries): Fluent

♚ // Character ; Appearance

Skin Color: Slightly tanned Eye color: deep brown, turns completely silver when using magic Scars: Has a long scar on the left side of his neck Piercings: eyebrow piercing on the right side Tattoos: none Hair color: dark brown, nearly black Abnormalities: the veins on his arms somehow seem.. darker and more prominent than normal Horns/ wings/ etc.: Black horns that twist backwards, only appearing when he is using magic or enraged Transformed form: none

♚ // Character ; Personality

Six personality traits:

Short-tempered, chaotic, persuasive, arrogant, vain, distracted

Likes: Horror, creativity, art, instrumental music, rich smells Dislikes: Sob stories, teenagers, boredom, mornings, nosy people Manias: none Phobias: none Animal: centipede Religion: none Favorite song: “I yearn to feel” by None Vice: Wrath Virtue: Diligence

Personality description: A wicked man with a wicked tongue, Amos can be a force to be reckoned with. However, Amos is also smart and witty and will hardly be boring company if you can handle the rest that comes with him. Because of his condition with being bound to another’s soul, he can become quite distracted or forgetful in situations where that soul disagrees with what he’s doing.

Amos has always been a man of his word; if he tells you he will do something, he'll go through stone to do it. He can be very convincing and hardly feels bad for twisting narratives to fit his own agenda.

♚ // Character ; Powers Magical Powers:

Amos has poison based powers. Major power: Poison Sealing: The user is able to seal poison within objects/beings and release it when needed, causing it to have various effects on the target.

Secondary power/ powers related to major power:

Pain, torment, & momentary paralysis inducement

Non-magical Powers:

A maker: he is quite crafty with his hands though he mainly uses his skills on creating magical tomes.

Potion creation: skilled in creating potions, his specialty being different types of poison. For this he utilises not only his own powers but also experiments with venomous and poisonous creatures.

Good social skills: Amos is quite skilled at manipulating others and changing the narrative.

Weaknesses:

Blind while using magic: When he uses his magic, it creates a sort of silver layer over his eyes and renders him momentarily blind

Bound to a soul: he finds this the worst curse that could be laid upon him - his soul has been bound to another’s after their passing and that soul’s conscience is constantly bugging him Corrupted veins: while creating new potions he has sometimes tried them on himself in hopes of gaining immunity, which has not happened so far

Strong emotions: Amos is not only short-tempered but his other emotions are also stronger than a human’s would be.

Amos also cannot enter blessed places/churches and is weak against blessed objects.

♚ // Character ; The Villager

Job/Occupation: Owner of “AMENDS” Enchanted Tomes Lives in: Fogatas Lives in: Vivir 002

♚ // Character ; The Past

Date of Birth: 1956/06/06 Date of Death: none Crime Record: none

Has your character attended Insolitus Academy in the past? Yes/No Background:

His entire life’s work was ruined by one thing; teenagers. For over 60 years Amos had lived in the demon realm with others of his kind, in a community that specialised in torturing beings of light for information or powers they themselves didn’t have. Amos was considered one of the most ruthless; he was cunning, frightening, and merciless. He specialised in testing and creating new kinds of poisons, the perfect specimens for that being the ones they had captured.

It was during one of his trips to the human realm that he entered the wrong place at the wrong time which was going to change the rest of his life. He felt magic in an abandoned building and hoped to find someone to bring with him back to his realm when he was about to learn just how much more awful teenagers could be compared to him.

They had set up a summoning circle, gotten their hands on a book of spells and were about to sacrifice someone to Satan. Amos had found the whole sight nothing but amusing at first, ready to massacre the entire room and take the tome when the spell they used worked; not how they had intended it to work but it did, in a way. The soul of the person who was sacrificed was bound together with Amos, giving him a conscience he had never had before.

None of the people in the room lived to tell the tale of how they bound a human’s soul to a demon’s but afterward, he began to feel a nagging in his chest. He went back to his regular routine of torture but the feeling in his chest didn’t stop. The more time went on it turned into a voice rather than a feeling and his work turned out to be quite a lot of torture for himself as well, having someone constantly scold him for the things he did.

His reputation was in ruins. Life’s work flushed down the toilet. To make sure nothing like this could ever happen again, he created a new kind of business for himself; the magical sealing of tomes. He would experiment with how to keep information safe within bindings and create poisonous surprises for anyone who tried to snoop.

After he had embarrassed himself in his realm, he left it behind to pursue a new future. That’s how he ended up in Ciudad de Fogatas, ready to build himself a new reputation.

#han #iacharacter #demon #amos #fogatas #villager

[wondereads]

Personal Review

Guardians of Dawn: Zhara by S. Jae-Jones

Summary

Zhara gets by as her stepmother's servant and a apothecary's assistant, but it's more than she could hope for as a magician in a land where magic has long since been outlawed. Han is prince and heir, but all he wants to be is normal, and certainly not married off to a northerner he's never met. They meet by chance, but it couldn't come at a better time as magicians start disappearing and transforming into monsters—abominations.

Plot 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

The plot had no glaring issues, but it wasn't anything special either. In fact, it reminded me a lot of Song of Silver, Flame Like Night by Amelie Wen Zhao; (a form of) magic is forbidden, a girl has a special capability for it, she encounters a secret society dedicated to preserving it and its history, which have been nearly eradicated by invading forces, only to find out an ancient evil is waking up and must be battled. There were plenty of things distinguishing them, but it just stuck in my mind while reading this how...unoriginal the plot was.

I will say there were a couple of twists at the end that took me by surprise, but for the most part the plot moved sort of aimlessly and predictably. Even the twists I mentioned sort of had no lasting effect on the plot; betrayals were forgiven and mistakes were mended with seemingly no consequences.

The worldbuilding concerning specifically the magic of this world was probably the most compelling part of this book. Zhara's powers are very intriguing, and I feel like enough is given in this book while still preserving a lot of information for future installments. However, the actual worldbuilding, as in the physical world around them, is pretty underdeveloped. I can't get a grasp on the political situation, and many other lands are mentioned but they are rarely elaborated upon. I wish some of the time Han spent pining after Zhara was replaced with the actual details of his position. Also, there was one thing in particular that absolutely ruined my immersion that I will discuss more in my writing section.

Characters 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

Zhara is a character with a lot of potential, but she isn't really properly developed in this book. She is obviously plagued by insecurities and in a constant state of fear thanks to her upbringing, but it seems that we often lose focus on that thanks to the unending focus on the romance. Han...honestly just holds no interest for me. I initially thought he was sweet, and he is, but he has very little depth. He cares for his little brother and Zhara, and he's ridiculously ignorant/innocent, and that's it.

Which brings me to the romance which, while very cute, was sickeningly so. While there is technically a period of some mutual pining, this feels very like instalove in that there are almost instant romantic feelings and then it feels like all either of them can focus on. I'd probably be more invested in their relationship if it weren't everything anyone ever talked about. If they didn't prioritize it over much more important things. If Zhara and Han didn't forget about major occurrences in their lives in favor of developing their relationship. It was just very frustrating.

As for the side characters, they were one-dimensional. Xu is flirtatious and almost motherly to Han, Jiyi is cold and grumpy, the adults are there to...lore dump? I felt virtually nothing concerning any of them. Except maybe Sajah. That's the cat. I will also note that there is disability rep in this book; Zhara has a stutter and her stepsister, Suzhan, is partially blind, but I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm not disabled, but it felt wrong that they are belittled for their disabilities all throughout the book—and often thought less of themselves for it—just for Suzhan to have one throwaway line about accepting herself and Zhara to...never mention it again? I don't know, it doesn't sit right with me.

Writing Style 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

Oh, dear, the writing. Now, Jae-Jones gave a very nice explanation of their use of language in this book at the very beginning, one I very much appreciated. It made me a lot more forgiving of the use of terms like "masquerade ball" which feels very western for an East Asia-inspired world. However, it doesn't change that this writing feels like it's meant for a middle grade audience at best. The content is obviously meant for YA, but the actual writing feels very juvenile. For example, Zhara is afflicted with Good-Looking Giggling where she uncontrollably giggles around attractive people. Not to mention the truly insane amount of suggestive jokes throughout the whole book. It was just weird to read.

And then we get to the most egregious offense of the book that completely ruined my immersion. The Bangtan Brothers. Now for those of you who don't know, popular kpop group BTS is also known as Bangtan Sonyeondan (it translates to Bulletproof Boy Scouts). At first I thought this was a throwaway joke to be mentioned once as a little inside joke, but no. BTS—sorry, the Bangtan Brothers, are active members of the Guardians of Dawn who are supposed to help Zhara escape the city. There are multiple, obvious references to the real world BTS, and it got painful to read. As an ARMY, it was without a doubt the worst part of the book.

Overall 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10

While this review has been primarily negative, this book is not irredeemable. The plot is unoriginal but not nonsensical or boring, the magic is super interesting, and Zhara has a lot of potential as a character. However, most of the characters are one-dimensional and uncompelling and the writing is...not good. I was pretty disappointed by this read, which sucks because I think it had a lot of potential. Feel free to give this book a try, but I don't recommend it.

Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for providing a free eARC in exchange for a fair and honest review.

The Reviewer

My name is Wonderose; I post a reading update every week and reviews every once in a while. I take suggestions! Check out my pinned post for more!

#books #reviews #guardians of dawn zhara #s jae-jones #fantasy #ya #high fantasy #east asia inspired #disability #bts

[rebrandedbard]

Good morning, I had an idea and I wanted to share (could be a prompt if you want): So, Jaskier definitely, absolutely wants to learn Geralts potions and which to give when. But they aren't labelled at all and you've got to discern by shapes and colours. I firmly believe Jaskier writes a little ditty for that and maybe it spreads or maybe Geralt wakes up after a hunt with vague memories of that song after Jaskier saved him...

Jessi you know exactly what to say to get a fic out of me. Invoke my musicality! Just for you, not one, but two songs Jaskier uses for Geralt's potions!

-

Witcher's Brew

wc - 2476

Geralt wakes up after a hunt gone wrong and finds himself patched up in bed. He waits for Jaskier to arrive and overhears him singing a strange song to himself as he fusses with Geralt's potion supplies.

-

Rabbit stew, warm and fresh from the pot. It was the first thing Geralt could remember upon waking. They’d had rabbit stew at midday, just before the hunt. He almost imagined he could taste it on his dry, cut lip, but the lingering bitter taste of White Raffard’s Decoction chased the last of the memory away. He could not recall taking any potions. In fact, he had trouble remembering what it was he’d been fighting. His head was vague, all the details swirling at the edges in a haze. Someone had been speaking to him, he thought. Was it the chanting of a kitchen maid, timing her baking with a prayer? Or was it a song?

A song.

Geralt sat up with a grunt. “Jaskier,” he called, voice rough and catching in his throat. He looked around the darkness of the room, but he was alone. He scented the air. Jaskier had been near in the last hour or so, his smell not yet faded. It tasted bitter on his tongue, like the decoction: bitter like the musk of fear. The tang of salt hung in the air as well. Tears. But there was more. From the table at his side came an earthy scent and he discovered a bowl of mushrooms upon it. Sewant mushrooms.

That’s right. They’d been in the caves. The vision of the beast rose to the forefront of his mind and he remembered that they’d been fighting not a wyvern as hired, but a slyzard. It had been a deadly miscalculation, for the beast could breathe fire over a great distance. Geralt felt the fresh burns on the back of his neck, smelled the poultice pasted there. He remembered pulling Jaskier behind cover. He’d not had the chance to see whether he’d been burned as well. There had been too much to distract him; he did not even know if he’d slain the beast.

There had been mushrooms in the cave. Someone had to have brought them. Jaskier would be foolish enough to return to the caves, even if the beast still lived. But for mushrooms? Geralt could not imagine why.

“Sewant from the sewer caves, crows’ eyes, fang of beasts; blood from all the nasty things, and myrtle pure as priests.”

Geralt turned to the sound of Jaskier’s singing beyond the door. It cracked open and there the bard stood, arms hidden beneath a mass of white flowers. He had, too, a leather pouch dangling from around his wrist. Unloading his burden upon the table, he flipped through the open bestiary, still singing under his breath. It was not his usual kind of song; it was lifeless, simple rhyme and meter without passion. He did not even glance Geralt’s way as he set to work, grinding ingredients together in a mortar.

“Mistletoe and mutagen, aloe leaf of wolf; green mold, han, and celandine, then in the flame engulf.”

Jaskier poured the concoction into a potion bottle and hurried to the fire. He bent to light it, cursing as the matches failed beneath his shaking hand. He cursed louder, his hand slipping again. His voice began to shake as he continued his chant.

“Remember Raffard’s recipe and count it by this rhyme; be ye neither quick nor slow to measure out the time. Once the brew has bubbled and its color turns to red, let cool and cork then brew again to raise him from—”

Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat as he failed to light the match once more. He gripped the potion bottle in his hand and wiped at his eyes, unable to finish the line. “To raise him—”

“From the dead,” Geralt concluded.

Jaskier whirled around, dropping the bottle upon the floor. It shattered, spilling its contents into the hearth and over his boots. But he didn’t pay it any mind. He ran to Geralt’s side and knelt before the bed. His hands were everywhere at once, prodding gently, examining him.

“Geralt,” he breathed. Then everything came out in one great rush, each new thought interrupting the last. “Oh fuck, I was—! You weren’t moving. You just dropped to the ground the minute your sword—! I had to carry you back, and you only had one vial left. I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to make more before …”

“One vial is enough,” Geralt said. He nodded toward the supplies on the table. “Is that White Raffard’s?” he asked, knowing it could be nothing else.

Jaskier nodded, silent.

“What was that song just now?”

Jaskier bit his lip, looking guilty. “I … didn’t meant to pry,” he murmured. “I promise never to share trade secrets but … I had to know how it was made. It’s one of your most important potions. If you couldn’t make one, and if we were ever in a situation where we couldn’t find a healer, I needed to know that I could save you. So I watched, and I wrote it to remember.”

“You wrote a song to remember how to brew a potion?” Geralt asked. He looked at the ingredients. They were all correct, and well-measured from the look of it. Jaskier had prepared three bottles, two still sat empty on the table. Before them, their ingredients lay in even piles, waiting to be ground in the mortar.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his, pressing his forehead to it. “I can brew Raffard’s, White Honey, and Swallow. I know you need Swallow with Raffard’s, for the toxicity. And … if I ever brewed a faulty potion, I would have the Honey.”

“You know what potions to take,” Geralt said. It was less of a question, more an expression of awe. He’d never taught Jaskier about the potions, merely asking for them as needed if Jaskier were in reach to fetch them. And from that, Jaskier had learned what was needed when.

“I wrote a song for that, too. All of them: what they’re for, the ones to take before a battle, and the ones to take after.”

Geralt blinked.

“All of them?” he asked.

Jaskier looked up. He once more turned his head away in shame. Witchers’ potions were not for men to know, let alone theirs to brew. But he nodded. There was no denying it now.

“Sing it to me.”

The look on Jaskier’s face was nothing short of complete and total astonishment. Geralt never requested songs. “You … right now? You want me to sing the song?” Jaskier faltered.

When Geralt gestured toward the lute, Jaskier smiled.

“It hasn’t got music,” Jaskier said. “It isn’t meant to be sung, really. Not in that way at least.”

“But you could put it to music, I bet.”

Jaskier flushed. There was a bit of praise in there somewhere—an admission of skill. At Geralt’s request, he stood and fetched the lute. “You seem to be doing much better,” he said, sitting at his side on the bed.

“Raffard,” Geralt replied. “Are you in tune?”

Jaskier strummed the lute slowly, emphasizing each open note with pride. “Always am.”

“Sing, then.”

It only took a minute of experimental plucking before Jaskier had a set of chords prepared. He strummed them twice in succession, then began his song:

Before one fights vampiric beasts

Drink Black Blood down to spoil their feasts

And if there’s acid on the rise

First taking Bindweed would be wise

When fighting something swift and cruel

Down Blizzard quick before the duel

And if the brawl takes place at night

Take Cat to see in dimmest light

Geralt watched with open admiration as he listened. Jaskier had learned it all on his own. He’d made a careful study of the potions without any help, and what Geralt heard was thus far correct. There were trainees who’d not kept such simple things in order, even with proper instruction.

When fighting wraiths one cannot spy

De Vries’ Extract evolves the eye

And wolves will howl in perfect tune

When given life by the Full Moon

At the play on wolves, Geralt rolled his eyes. Even so, he was impressed. He’d only encountered two wraiths with Jaskier at his side. He would’ve had to pay very close attention to remember De Vries’ Extract’s purpose.

The bit about the wolves did not escape his notice either. There was a little crook in the corner of Jaskier’s mouth as he sang the words. Of course the potion made for jokes among the witchers of the school of the wolf, but they weren’t the only ones who used them.

But if one’s poisoned first, let’s say

Oriole takes the sting away

And when one bleeds, to stop the aches

A simple Kiss is all it takes

If long the task you must endure

Then take a dose of Maribor

And if one’s signs aren’t up to snuff

Then Petri’s Philter is the stuff

If one cannot avoid a hit

The vengeful Shrike takes care of it

And if you’ve time while under cover

Swallow aids a slow recover

If the battle leaves you tired

Tawny Owl may be required

And while weak one cannot parry

Thunderbolt will make foes wary

When hope is lost and at its end

White Raffard’s revives your friend

And if while brawling stunned you be

Then Willow is the remedy

For power in your every blow

Take Wolf to strike against your foe

And though it makes one wobble blind

With Wolverine their fate is signed

Remember this what else you do

White Gull is base for every brew

And when the potions start to strain

White Honey lets you start again

“You ended with White Honey,” Geralt remarked.

Jaskier lay a hand over the strings of his lute, quieting them. “It lets you start again, does it not? Once you swallow a dose of White Honey, it nullifies the effects of all potions,” he said in his most academic voice. “I thought it would be fitting to end the song there; it certainly helps to remember the purpose.”

“And you know how to brew it.”

“I find it ironic that there’s not a trace of honey in it whatsoever. In fact, far too many of your potions involve the use of vinegar, the very opposite of honey. Would it ruin the potions beyond use if I were to add a bit? A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, they say.”

Geralt smiled. He waved his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to come closer. He put a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “I think whatever potions you brew for me in the future will be made sweet enough by that sentiment,” he said. “So don’t fuck up my recipes, bard.”

Jaskier stammered, then laughed and batted Geralt’s face. “You cheeky thing! For a moment, I thought you actually intended to compliment me.”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” Geralt asked. “I did.”

“Not a compliment if you insult my cooking right after. Or—well, eh—brewing, as it were.”

“Alchemy.”

“Oh, yes, that’s much more flattering. Assistant Alchemist! I do like the sound of it.”

Geralt chuckled. “You’re my assistant now, are you?”

“But of course,” Jaskier replied, waving a dramatic arm in the air. “Always have been. I only needed a proper title.

“Then tell me, assistant: what became of the slyzard?”

Jaskier grinned and leaned over to grab the leather pouch from the table. He tossed it for show and caught it with one hand before emptying its contents. A collection of sharp, bloody teeth fell onto the sheets, some with bits of pink gum still attached to the yellow base.

“I believe Raffard’s called for fang of beasts in the list of ingredients,” he said. “And there was no other beast nearby to take from. Your sword was still lodged in its back; all I had to do was give it one last thrust through the heart.”

Jaskier winked and produced another bag from his doublet, heavy with coin. “Needed proof anyway,” he said, setting it alongside the teeth. “I needed some distraction while you were out, so I checked off the list: put you on the mend, finish the hunt, get the pay, replenish supplies.”

For a moment, his cocky expression faltered. “I was just finishing up when I got a little …” he trailed, bundling up the teeth once more. “Well, it’s easier to get lost in worrisome thoughts when doing quiet tasks like foraging. But you woke up, and now there’s nothing left to fear. I’ll have a new set of potions ready for you by the time you’re well enough to get out of bed.”

“… You … killed the slyzard?” Geralt said.

“You did most of it. I just gave it the last push. It barely twitched. Honestly, its innards made more of a fuss when I went to bottle them. I think you’ll be well stocked for some time.”

Jaskier killed the slyzard. He stooped to rummaging in its bleeding corpse for the most vile and disgusting of ingredients. For his potions. Which Jaskier brewed. Which he knew how to brew by merely observing, putting it all together in simple songs to remember. And still he’d found time to collect his pay.

“Fuck me,” Geralt said in wonder.

“Maybe once you’re healed,” Jaskier laughed, ears a touch pink.

“Then kiss me,” Geralt amended. He lay his hand over Jaskier’s arm, leaning forward, enraptured. It was a simple revelation and he wondered just how long the idea had been bubbling in the back of his brain. “Kiss me,” he said. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Jaskier blinked twice, his cheeks flushing as he took in the seriousness of Geralt’s tone. “Did … you put too much White Gull in that last batch of Raffard’s?”

Geralt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. “Will you kiss me?” he asked again.

“I …”

“You killed a slyzard for me.”

“Yes.”

“And you memorized my potions. In case I needed them.”

Jaskier nodded.

“You love me,” Geralt concluded. His heart gave a leap at the notion. Yes. Yes, this was something he never knew he wanted. No, not wanted—this was something he needed. If all that didn’t add up to love, he didn’t know what would. It was such a simple thing, and he was a very simple man in every meaning of the word.

“Love me, Jaskier,” he said. “Love me and kiss me, please.”

But Jaskier already did. And before the final plea could escape Geralt’s lips, Jaskier did.

I’m going to take care of you, Geralt thought. He would take care of Jaskier just as Jaskier had always taken care of him. Good care.

“I do love you,” Geralt corrected.

Jaskier chuckled. “Don’t need to think about it?”

“I don’t think I ever really did.”

#asks #my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #you know i wish that i had jessi's tag #actually let's tag this as a ficlet too it's a bit longer than usual #ficlet

[ameliajessicawilliamspond]

There he was.

Hung on a wall like a damn display.

Luke Skywalker, the ultimate prize.

.

.

Luke had gone out on a mission alone which always worried Din. Sometimes he would run a little late but he always came back in one piece, most of the time without a scratch on him. The more time Din spent around the Jedi, the more real this power, this Force, of the Jedi became.

He wondered how strong Grogu would become...

This mission was supposed to be two days. Maximum. Luke had laughed and said he'd be home by dinner.

That was two weeks ago.

Which was concerning on its own. But then, the wanted posters on Luke began to dissapate. Han hoped it was because they decided to stop trying, but Din knew better. The only reason a bounty would be taken down is if...if the bounty was fulfilled.

Din followed Luke's trail and realized, unfortunately, he was right. The Jedi was taken to Kessal.

"Did they kill him?" Din asked his informant, voice even, being careful not to portray the fear coursing through him.

"No." The woman said, and Din's heart flipped. "Not yet." She continued. Din leaned forward. "The bounty hunter brought the jedi to Moris Asz, a Crime Boss amongst spice traders. He was to deliver the jedi to Mos Gideon. Word is he decided the jedi was too valuable to waste on Gideon's "experiments", too big a prize to dispose of. Word around here is he has the jedi strung up somewhere on display. A testamony to his power."

Din had a hard time believing that. He had seen Luke hurt in ways thst would keep even the strongest being down and still win an entire battle. There was no way some gangster had him somewhere -alive and awake- without already having been destroyed.

Still, the image that invaded his mind terrified him. Luke Skywalker, strung up somewhere like a morose art piece, bleeding, dying, scared---

No. No, he wouldn't dwell on it. He couldn't. Din shoved the invasive thought from his mind.

The informant sent him Moris Asz's location, a palace in the middle of Kessel surrounded by spice mining camps.

Not a problem for a Mandalorian.

Din spotted a grouping of droids. Reprogrammed battle droids from the Clone War, turned into bodyguards.

Din shot his whistling bird, taking down two at once. He hopped the fence, shoving his way past two more, taking one out with his blaster, the other with his fist.

He turned down a hall. Two humanoids, three droids. The droids fired and the Mandalorian ducked behind a wall, thumping his arm against it. The gaurds called to the droids to stop firing and ran forward, hoping to find an injured intruder. Din leapt up, grabbing one bodyguard by the neck and turning him around, using him as human shield. The other gaurd hesitated, swearing under his breath. Din used the hesitation to shove the meat shield at the other gaurd, knocking them both into the wall.

Turning his attention to the droids, Din pulled out the Beskaar staff, knocking the blasters from their slow metal hands, then piercing through their circuitry.

Behind him, Din heard shuffling. Din stood stock still as the shuffling became a full run. The gaurds behind him had woken up. Din settled into his stance, still facing away from them.

Closer.

Closer.

Now.

Din swung, managing to brain one, and in one quick motion, pierce the other's heart. They both fell, dead.

Spinning on his heels, he saw the door they had been outside of. Two giant, carved wooden doors that seemed to lead to some grand hall.

That would be a good display room, Din thiught grimly.

Din shoved the doors open and sure enough, there he was, Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, hanging on the back wall, two lights pointing to illumate him, frozen in Carbonite.

Luke indeed looked like a morose painting. His head was raised, mouth slightly ajar. His left hand outstretched, as if he was about to use his power, -or ask whoever was doing this to stop- his eyes, though grey and flat thanks to the carbonite, were blown wide open.

"Kriff." Din swore. Luke would most definitely be dealing with carbonite induced blindness and would be coughing up carbonite for at least a week thanks to whoever did this to him without preparing him correctly.

Din stepped forward, testing for any trip wires. Tentatively, he reached out to touch the carbonite, just to see if there was any trap. But his hand touched Luke's outstretched fingers and...

oh...

He was so still, so cold, like a statue. The little control Din had over himself, his determination to make sure he saw this as just another mission to spare his sanity shattered like glass.

"Oh, Luke..." Din slid his hand fully into Luke's unmoving one. His other hand touched Luke's face, tracing his jaw as he studied the unmoving jedi. This close Din could see it; the terror Luke was frozen in. "What did they do to you?"

He pulled himself from his thoughts, knowing time was certainly of the essence now that he had wasted valuable time. Din dashed around to the side of the box and typed in the release code. Luke began to glow red as the Carbonite melted away. Din looked around again, waiting for the sound of approaching gaurds. Why hadn't anyone else shown up yet?

Luke fell from the device like a pile of bricks. Din rushed forward, catching him just in time, but the jedi shoved him away. Confused, the Mandalorian tried to grab him again but Luke pitched forward, shoving him again before vomiting up grey and Din recognized it as the Carbonite that had entered his mouth coming back up with a vengeance.

Luke trembled above the pile of grey bile below him. He pushed himself back on his knees, his arms wrapping around himself as he desperately tried to look around the room with no success. "I can't see...Why...why can't I see?" Luke begged the air.

Din reached out tentatively. "Luke--"

Luke shot himself backwards at the touch with a rasped "no" and Din pulled his hand away like he had been burned. "Who are you?" Luke asked through chattering teeth. "What happened to me?" He asked.

"You were frozen in Carbonite." Din answered honestly.

Luke's demeanor shattered. Whatever he had left of that jedi mask crumbled before the Mandalorian's eyes. "No, no no no no, I'm not...I can't be...He...He won. He got me. It's over I-I'm gunna be forced to Turn or He's going to kill me. I can't turn to the Dark Side! Please no--no, Vader please-!" Luke panicked, curling into himself.

Din didn't know how to respond, he had no idea what Luke was talking about, trapped in some memory from his past. Brain fog and jumbled memories, another side effect of Carbonite Sickness. He knew he had to calm the jedi down fast before someone heard them. "Luke, Luke listen to me. The war is over, Vader is gone. I'm Din Djarin, I'm here to rescue you."

Luke's head shot up, turning to his general direction. "Din..." He whispered, trying to make sense of his jumbled mind. "Why can't I feel you?" He asked, and Din's heart skipped.

The Beskar made him a nearly blank space in the Force. Luke couldn't sense him. Din removed his glove, grabbing Luke's hand, causing the jedi to gasp, his trembling grip tightening around Din's hand like a lifeline.

"I'm so cold..." He whimpered, curling further into himself. Din was reminded of the story Luke had told him about his time on Hoth and how much he hated the cold. With one hand he pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around the jedi. Luke pulled the matierial tight around him.

"Come on." Din said, as gently as he could. They couldn't wait here any longer, it had been too long since someone had come to find them and that was concerning. Surely someone should have come for them by now...

Din pulled Luke to his feet, never letting go of his hand. "Can you walk?" Luke shuffled from one foot to the other, testing it himself before stiffly nodding. Din squeezed his hand. "Good. Come on."

They got down two halls without a soul in sight. Din was beginning to hope that the universe had finally given him a break.

He should have known better.

Because standing there at the end of the third hallway with a smirk, surrounded by two bounty hunters and a half dozen battle droids, was Moris Asz, arms folded, Luke's lightsaber hanging off his hip. Din yanked Luke behind his back, his free hand hovering over the Dark Saber.

"Oh, little Jedi, that's not where you're supposed to be." the gangster mocked. Luke pushed in closer against Din's back.

"This bounty has already been fulfilled." the Twi'lek bounty hunter mocked.

"He's coming with me." Din responed blankly.

"No, he's really not." Moris Asz said.

The jedi let out a yelp and Din felt Luke's hand ripped from his own. Din spun, Dark Saber ignited. Luke was being held, one hand curled tightly in his golden hair, the other arm wrapped around his throat, by another bounty hunter, the cloak a discarded heap on the ground beneath his feet. Din cursed himself for not hearing the Rodian approach.

"Well well, the Mand'alor himself come to rescue his precious little jedi. My my, how the mighty Mandalorians have fallen." The gangster mocked. Din spun, saber aimed at the gangster's throat, but he simply waved him off. "Don't bother with the pagentries, Mand'alor. Every gun in this room is trained on his little blond head. You so much as flinch, and he's gone. You wouldn't want that, would you, your Majesty?"

Din turned back to Luke, who was struggling against the arms holding him. Din had no idea what to do, how he would save the jedi.

Luke's sightless eyes found Din's helmet and something in them flashed.

Oh.

Oh....

Din shut the Dark Saber off and put his hands in the air.

"Good boy. " the Human bounty hunter next to Moris mocked.

"Kick that over here." the gangster said and Din obliged, kicking the Dark Saber over to him. Moris Asz picked it up to examine it before turning his attention back to Din. "Kneel."

Din hesitated, and the Rodian's grip tightened in Luke's hair, pulling an involuntary whine from the shivering jedi and Din dropped to his knees.

Luke is handed off to the Human bounty hunter and forced to kneel next to Moris Asz as well.

"You are going back on my wall, little jedi. You're too pretty a decoration. Although," he said as he grabbed Luke by the jaw and forced his head up, tilting the jedi's face from one side to the other. "You look real pretty like this too." Luke's eyes wandered, failing to find the man's eyes. Moris Asz released Luke's jaw, the jedi's head falling to his chest, exhausted. "This is the mighty jedi everyone was so scared of?" He waved his hand in front of Luke's face with no response. "Blind as a bat. Pathetic."

Din laughed.

Every head turned to him.

Din looked up, waving his hand in a dismissive way. "Sorry, sorry, continue."

Everyone in the room looked around at each other.

Moris Asz crossed his arms, seemingly growing bigger with rage. "What's so funny?" He demanded.

"Sorry, it's just...you really don't know who you captured, do you?" Din asked.

The gangster looked around the room, bouncing on his heels. No one seemed to know what the Mandalorian was talking about. "What do you mean?" Moris Asz asked.

Din shrugged. "It's just that...sorry, you really don't know?"

The gangster huffed in frustration.

"Spit it out!" The Rodian demanded.

"Jedi don't need their eyes to see."

The room barely had time to process what the Mandalorian had meant before Luke's hand was shooting forward, pulling the lightsaber off the gangster's belt with the Force. Without so much as standing or turning around, Luke ignited the blade into the human bounty hunter behind him who was reaching for his blaster. Luke rose, the bounty hunter still choking around the intrusion in his chest. Luke turned, pulling the saber from his chest and he slumped over. Luke turned to face the rest of the room. He tilted his head slightly.

"SHOOT HIM!" Moris Asz screamed.

Every blaster went off at once and not one came even close to touching the Jedi or the Mandalorian. Four bounced off his blade dead center of four of the droids circuit boards. He reached out and crushed another droid with the Force, throwing the discarded machine into another droid, crushing it as well. He sprang from his spot, attacking the Rodian bounty hunter that had moved his blaster from Luke to Din, cutting off the hand holding the weapon first, before stabbing him in the chest. The Twi'lek bounty hunter next to him dropped his weapon, hands in the air. Luke lowered the lightsaber and lifted his hand towards the man. With a little wave, he muttered "sleep." The Twi'lek crumpled to the floor.

Luke made his way back to stand before his captor, holding the lightsaber towards the now trembling gangster on the floor.

"Now- now, listen, I-I-I didn't mean you no harm. Cone on now, you've won, little jedi, you've won. Why don't you just leave? See, I-I've admitted defeat. I may not know much about jedi but I know they don't seek revenge. Now, you can't kill me. Why don't you just walk away?" Luke stayed stock still, unseeing eyes boring a hole into the gangster's head, unreadable. "Come on now, I thought jedi don't hold no grudges?"

A blaster bullet went straight through the gangster's head. Moris Asz fell to the ground, dead.

Din reholstered his blaster. "Yeah, well I do."

Din moved past Luke and yanked the Dark Saber off the dead man's body, placing it back where it belonged. Then he went back and grabbed the discarded cloak. He approached Luke, Din's hand hovering over the one that still held the ignited lightsaber. He pressed gently on the grip with a soft "hey." Luke took a deep breath and shut the laser sword off.

"You will never cease to amaze me." Din said, wrapping the cloak around his shoulders again before fixing the back of Luke's hair that was tangled from where the Rodian had grabbed him. "Are you alright?" Din asked, his hand finding the Jedi's again, anchoring him.

Luke looked up at him, something distant in that blinded stare. "I'm so tired." Luke mumbled, leaning forward into Din's chestplate.

Din wrapped his free arm around Luke's back. "Then let's go home."

[ TAGGED: @rookshaisbi @lukespieceofjunkponcho ]

#dinluke #star wars #luke Skywalker #din djarin #the mandolorian #fanfiction #whump #bamf luke

[aminiatureworld]

Affection

Characters: Albedo, Beidou, Keqing, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,705

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Sometime we know something is impossible from the start. But still we walk towards it, even if we know it will hurt us. It’s only flirting, only a smile or a hug or some food. Even if nothing comes of it, there is nothing to regret. Even if it hurts.

In which the reader gives affection, expecting nothing in return.

Author’s Note: More “new” characters! I’ve been neglecting Keqing and Beidou, they deserve some love. I hope as always their characterizations live up to expectations! This was very fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it!

I couldn’t tell whether to make this melancholy or fluffy, so I guess I half-and-half-ed it. Best of both worlds, right? Although the tone feels definitely lighter.

Albedo

Your friends never could figure out why you were flirting with Albedo.

“That alchemist has nothing on his mind but work,” one of them once told you, “he’ll never reciprocate your feelings you know.”

“I know.” You’d replied, smiling the sort of smile people put on when they’re trying to show they’re not annoyed. “I know he doesn’t like me in that way, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because I want to.” You’d shrugged, shifting the conversation to some other topic. In all honesty, it wasn’t as if your friend was lying. But neither were you, not really. There wasn’t any good explanation for why you were flirting with Albedo after all. You knew that he’d never take it seriously, knew you weren’t good enough for it anyways. Maybe that’s why you flirted with him. Maybe it was better to make the slightest fool of yourself than drive yourself mad thinking about something that could never be.

So you continued on your merry, if slightly self-destructive way. Every time you saw Albedo, which was quite a bit considering the fact you were often posted around Dragonspine and spent a lot of your free time in the square right outside his office, you ran his way, asking him what he was doing, or telling him about your own day. You’d developed this habit of leaning in a bit whenever he spoke to you, and the slight pause he gave as his smile grew wider whenever you did made your heart soar.

Not that you ever started thinking there was ever a chance. I mean, come on. Albedo was Albedo and you were you. There was a great deal of distance between the two of you, as if you were standing on opposite sides of a bridge which was liable to fall at any moment. You could shout across at each other, but never did you attempt to walk over to him, knowing it’d surely result in disaster.

Still, why did you flirt with Albedo? The question sort of haunted you at times. You enjoyed his company, you’d even told him you enjoyed his company. He’d smiled his sedate smile, pausing for a moment to look away from the painting he was working on. “I enjoy your company too.” He’d said, before turning back to his work. It was a quiet, calm, even sort of response, just the sort you’d expected. And yet you kept going, and though you made no attempt to push the boundaries or go any farther, you still wondered at times what the point of it was.

Perhaps following that line of thought was a bit dangerous. You found the more you asked yourself what you expected out of your closeness with Albedo, the more absent you seemed to be. It wasn’t as if you were trying to avoid him or anything, no quite the contrary. It was only that you tended to want to be alone when you were thinking about something like this. Reaching out was hard, especially to the person who you were thinking about.

“Are you alright?” You glanced up from the lunch you were pondering over to see Albedo leaning over you. Feeling your cheeks redden you jumped slightly.

“Albedo! Oh I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings! Sit down!” You gestured vaguely to the spot on the bench next to you. Albedo smiled politely, sitting down as directed. He seemed to sober however once he was sitting, scanning your face for something, though you weren’t sure what that something was.

“You seem… absent recently, I was wondering if something was the matter.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly fine!” You shook your hands out in front of you. “I guess I’ve just been sort of busy recently, or maybe a little tired I guess. You know that the festival is coming up, right? Well Acting Grand Master Jean is really running us ragged! But I promise I’ll be back to normal soon!” You laughed awkwardly; it wasn’t as if you weren’t telling the truth per se, just… not the whole truth. But you’d rather not put all your troubles on Albedo, not when he was reaching out to see if you were okay. Smiling once more you attempted to switch topics. “How’s your research? Have you found something new while I’ve been gone?”

“Yes, I’ve begun to study the reaction between macrophage and eukaryotic cells in contrast with prokaryotic cells, and how adding elemental effects to reactions either speeds up or slows down the reaction. But I’m glad to hear you’re alright,” Albedo seemed to relax a bit, leaning backwards slightly on the bench, “everything has been much quieter with you gone. It’s unnatural, I can’t focus as well. I keep finding myself distracted by little things. I look forward to participating in our conversations once more.”

“Well I’ll be there soon!” You promised, heart fluttering slightly. Did he really mean that? I mean sure, it didn’t mean anything more than what was on the tin. Your situation hadn’t changed that much. Still, it meant something to you that Albedo wasn’t just tolerating your presence, that he was actually somewhat involved in your friendship. “I promise I’ll have some very interesting topics of conversation when I come back.”

“Good.” Albedo nodded once more before smiling slightly sheepishly. “My workspace is currently going through a cleaning and the lab isn’t supposed to let any foreign substances in in; would you mind terribly if I ate with you?”

“Not at all!” You responded. “I love spending my free time with you. What have you brought?”

Why did you flirt with Albedo? Why did you seek out his presence despite you and everyone around you knowing full well that it was never going to come to anything? What did you even think of Albedo? Well you could answer that last one at least. You loved him. You loved him very much. And even if he didn’t reciprocate the way you did, even if your friends told you it was pointless and your mind chastised you for putting yourself through the ringer, even if all that was true, you weren’t going to stop. Because you were Albedo’s friend and he was yours. And for now that was enough.

Even if a part of you continued to hope that one day this would change.

 Beidou

Beidou was utterly out of your league and you knew it.

It wasn’t exactly a difficult conclusion to come to after all. Brash, outspoken, good with a sword, Beidou embodied that sort of restless, self-reliant spirit you wish you yourself could emanate.

It didn’t hurt that Beidou had essentially rescued you from destitution, having found you languishing in a corner of one of the seedier docks of Liyue, and having taken you in quickly after the fact. You owed her a great deal, and was glad to do so. After all you’d fallen hopelessly in love with Beidou.

Life aboard a slightly illegal ship was bound to be an intimate one. Everyone knew everything about everyone else, and it was very difficult to find someone that hadn’t heard about your crush. Someone who wasn’t Beidou, that was. Although it wasn’t like you attempted to hide it; you just never brought it out in the open. And who could blame you? How could anyone who’d nearly died of starvation waiting for some sort of divine help compare to the bravest captain you’d ever met?

So you two settled into a routine of sorts, at least in your mind. You ate every meal as close to her as possible, something which had been difficult at first but as the “secret” spread around became almost comically easy, you discussed your plans with her first, gave her various trinkets you’d found in your travels, asked her opinions about your weapon then asked her to train with you. The training sessions had almost killed your resolve not to tell her, nothing was so intimate as having someone constantly checking your posture, moving and arm here a leg there, closely monitoring how you moved and acted.

All the while you said nothing. It felt selfish after all to even think about it. Beidou had many a time told her crew that they were one big family. On top of the obviously platonic motives behind her love for you, you weren’t about to impose on the crew by trying to take the spot as favorite or partner. It’d make you feel sleazy.

But damn if sometimes your resolve wasn’t tempted. It was the night after a particularly successful raid, and everyone was drunk out of their minds. Even you were tipsy, although compared to the rest you were positively sober. Sitting next to Beidou, who was walking up and down the tables making speeches of various levels of comprehensibility, you thanked the archons above that this woman had saved you. It was all worth the pain and suffering, if only to see her smile, which was blinding at the moment.

“You were brave, my dear compatriots! Distinguished! Honored! Positively courageous!” Beidou let out a slight “hic”, her vocabulary always did turn a bit grand when she drank too much. “Indeed, I’m sure not even the greatest of emperors had an army which could rival the visage of our band of brothers! Storming the deck, why we all might’ve perished! Damned visions, they’re for cheaters! For fraudsters! You all fight without them, and in doing so you prove yourself far more valiant, far more exemplary than they do!” Evidently Beidou had forgotten she herself was a vision wielder. Then again, so had everyone else.

“On this night of victory, of perilous and prestigious triumph, I wish to congratulate the greatest of warriors! This! My proverbial right hand man, the distinguished…” Beidou turned around towards you, gesturing in a very flamboyant sort of manner. You stood there, shocked by the sudden attention, blushing deeply, brain so filled with awe that you only half realized Beidou couldn’t remember your name.

“Yes! This person, this noble scalawag!” Beidou lifted you up so you were standing next to her, archons was she strong. “Now I don’t believe in laws, but if I did I’d marry them I would! You all ought to be more like them, mark my words I want to see some shaping up! There are no levels on this ship, but if there were they’d be higher than you all! Pay attention to my words, they are final!” And with that, speech apparently over, Beidou planted a soft, if slightly messy, kiss on your cheek.

If it weren’t for the people around you, you might’ve fainted.

The next day announced itself with a headache, though as the least hungover of the group you were put in charge of dishing out the medicine and water. The whole ship appeared to be groaning, and though the crew was usually quite active and excited at almost any hour of the day, you could tell that most of the men and women just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep.

“Captain wants to see you when you’re done with your rounds.” There were a few other people helping you out, and the one that informed you about this raised an eyebrow as you promptly turned white as a sheet, before a splotchy shade of red covered your face. What was she going to say? Had she remembered what had happened the night before? You admitted to yourself that maybe banking on Beidou forgetting was a doomed cause from the start. Beidou was perhaps brash and a lover of alcohol, but her memory was sharp, and she somehow managed to never drink herself to total incompetence. If you challenged a drunk Beidou to a duel your chances were going to be about the same as if you’d challenged her sober. Hell maybe they’d be even worse. With that grim thought in mind you distributed the last of the medicine, wiping your hands needlessly on your clothes before walking towards the captain’s cabins.

You loved Beidou’s cabins, they somehow seemed both incredibly grand and inexplicably homey. With furniture made out of a plush and luxurious red sort of material, it was nonetheless crowded by knickknacks; drawings, carvings, and other such paraphernalia littered the shelves and the dressers. Beidou had once told you almost all of it was from current or former shipmates. The luxuries they stole had no use in her home.

“Captain Beidou?” You ventured. The captain was at her desk, scribbling out something, probably a plan. She loved to plan in her free time, whether or not the plan was something doable or a total fantasy. Now she looked up, setting her pen down and smiling her classic, cocky grin.

“Ah, my favorite shipmate. How’re we feeling today?”

“W-well!” You managed to get out, a bit distracted by the nickname. Ah, it seemed she had remembered at least part of it. “Um, captain, I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Yes, I did. I’ve been thinking since last night, thinking a great deal, and I was wondering, what would you think to becoming my partner, in a, well, romantic sort of sense.”

“So suddenly?” You replied, eyes widening but nevertheless cracking a smile. Beidou’s confession had been blunt, devoid of all the usual flourishes. And yet it was what you wanted, what you’d always wanted.

“Well why not?” Beidou shrugged nonchalantly. “After all considering how you’ve been acting towards me for the past few months, I figured why not become my partner. Unless I’ve been reading you wrong of course.”

“No!” You exclaimed. “I mean yes, I mean, well yes to the first and no to the second. I’d love to become your partner, and you haven’t been reading me wrong.” Your gaze dropped to the floor. “I just figured I wasn’t good enough. I mean you’re… you. And besides, you said we were all a family. I figured you wouldn’t want me as a partner.”

Beidou raised her eyebrow slightly as her smile melted into a smirk. Shaking her head slightly she approached you, raising your gaze every so slightly. “Well I can tell you right now I’m not too good for you. Not only are you good with a weapon, but you’re about as tough and fearless as they come. I don’t want to hear about how you’re secretly scared or whatnot. Everyone is that doesn’t matter. But you fight well and without second thought. And I admire that. And as for the speech about family, well a romantic partner is family of some kind. Besides the crew won’t mind, they’ve been talking about it for ages.”

“I guess they have.” You blushed; apparently Beidou hadn’t been as uninformed as you thought.

“Any last words before you’re my partner?” Beidou’s smile was as wide as you’d ever seen it and just as infectious; you grinned back.

“I love you.”

“Good. Now,” Beidou smiled, planting a soft kiss on your cheek and then a peck on your lips – something which left you grasping for coherent thought “let’s tell the others.”

 Keqing

Working with Keqing was an experience akin to slowly dying inside.

You’d become somewhat enamored with the Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing ever since you’d first met her. Her brusque and honest manner was refreshing, and when listening to her talk about the archons, about Liyue, about how the past and the present tied together, you never really seemed to question her. She always gave off the impression of intelligence, and, unlike some others you’d met, she had the brains to back it up. And what could you say? Before you knew it you had a crush on her.

Yet working with her showed other sides of Keqing too. She was very self-conscious when it came to compliments. Not that she minded them per se, as one time you’d asked her if your constant praise was a bother. “I just never know how to respond.” She’d admitted, and to be fair you understood that. But as long as she told you she liked them you’d compliment her.

Of course you knew it could never go beyond that. Keqing was your coworker; she was your superior in almost every way, both in occupation and in character. She never lost her cool or found herself off guard when fighting treasure hoarders or when dealing with rowdy citizens. She was efficient, capable, and aware of her incredible abilities. And she didn’t feel the need for a partner, something she had told you every time someone else worked up the courage to ask her out. You couldn’t bring yourself to impose on her like they did, not when you knew what her answer would be.

It was a slightly disheartening existence, and indeed sometimes you wondered what the point of it was, wondered if you shouldn’t just quit. But that wouldn’t be fair, not to Liyue, and not to Keqing herself. She relied upon the other members of the Liyue Qixing  to work efficiently and without sudden disruption. And the sudden quitting of someone who was hardly at the bottom of the ranks would’ve certainly done just that.

Besides, Keqing was first and foremost your friend. It was a bit of a fragile friendship, yes, but it was friendship nonetheless; and you valued that friendship well above your own infatuation. If you had to bottle your feelings up so be it. You owed it to Keqing to keep it together, to not impose on her what she obviously didn’t want and to not punish her for it by drawing away. So it hurt, so what? A lot of things hurt, doesn’t mean they aren’t worth doing or experiencing. And this was certainly one of those things.

It was late evening, and most of the cubicles were dark. You sat, writing the last few sentences of a report, trying to ignore the headache that had been developing since earlier that day. A friend had attempted to set you up on a blind lunch date, and though you appreciated their motive the whole thing had been a chore, and now you were late on your work.

“Almost done?” Keqing’s voice broke through your mental grumblings. Looking up at her you nodded, and Keqing smiled in satisfaction. “Good. Can’t have one of our best workers getting sick on account of working too hard.”

“I won’t get sick.” You assured her. Finally stamping the paper you let out a sigh leaning back in your chair.

“A difficult day?”

“You could say that,” you admitted, “a friend went on a slightly appreciated but incredibly unnecessary mission to get me to go out on a date. Honestly, I’d rather her just treat me to lunch.”

“I can understand the feeling.” Keqing frowned in sympathy. “People are too obsessed with the idea of romance, so much so it blinds them. There are more important things in this world.”

“I’d say most people consider love pretty important.” You commented. Keqing shook her head in response.

“Perhaps, but aren’t ideals better than individual wishes? Romance may be fun, perhaps, but there are other things to consider. Besides, I find your company far more enjoyable than I would any date.”

“You do?” You responded, heart fluttering slightly; you hoped Keqing didn’t notice the blush spreading across the bridge of your nose and coloring your cheeks. Luckily it was slightly dark in the office.

“Oh certainly,” Keqing waved her hand dismissively, “you’re the best coworker and friend I’ve ever had. No significant other could give me advice like you do, or help me so much when I’m struggling with work or with my thoughts, and dates are so formal and boring and awkward compared to spending an afternoon with you. Really I’m perfectly content relationship wise with our friendship. Relationships are full of pitfalls, people keeping this little thing from their partner, or omitting that little act. No, better to have an open and supportive friendship like we do.”

“I’m glad you think so.” You replied, and really you did. You’d known since day one that a romantic relationship was off the table. So if you could stay by Keqing’s side and support her, if only a little longer, then you’d be perfectly content.

Even if a part of you still wished that things could’ve been different.

 Zhongli

To be fair to Zhongli you weren’t sure how much he understood of any type of human relationship. The fact that the Geo Archon had befriended you in the first place was an achievement in itself.

And yet he had befriended you, and soon you’d found yourself falling in love with the slightly aloof, slightly out of touch geo archon. Zhongli was much more than that of course. Surprisingly open, the ex-deity took to finding out information about humanity with zeal. Always eager to ask you questions and to hear about how your day had gone or how you felt after something particularly happy or sad or gratifying, Zhongli had morphed into a pseudo confidante for you. Someone you found yourself relying on more and more. His gentle nature didn’t hurt either, or his looks for that matter; all in all Zhongli seemed like the perfect sort of person, and though you knew that you’d never be able to measure up to an archon, you found yourself unable to suppress the overwhelming love you felt for him.

Zhongli didn’t seem to mind your openness at all, indeed he sort of relished it, or at least he seemed to. Every time you reached out to grab his hand he gladly slipped it into yours, and whenever you ran up and hugged him after a long period of not seeing one another he always hugged you back. He’d eat lunches with you, and sometimes dinners, and sometimes weekends were spent running around Liyue, or at home listening to one another’s stories or reading one another’s books. It’s truly a magical sort of feeling to share a book with someone. But then again with Zhongli everything seemed magical.

Of course affection aside the whole matter never crossed the line of friendship. You never told him of your affections, and in return Zhongli never initiated anything further than conversation. Not that it bothered you; you felt there was a bit of a gap between you and Zhongli. After all surely it was idealization which caused you to recognize that someone like Rex Lapis had no want or inclination towards engaging in a relationship with a mere mortal. Facts are facts, and there’s no changing them, no matter how much you wanted to.

And yet how odd fate is.

“What is being in love like?”

You looked up at Zhongli, trying desperately to act as if you hadn’t felt your heart rate spike to unhealthy levels.

“Uhm… what do you mean what is love like?”

“I’ve noticed mortals are very enamored with love. I have to admit, my experience with romance is minimal; archons and adepti seldom see romance as something that affects them. But I want to know, as a human, what is love like to you?” There was no mockery or sense of superiority in Zhongli’s face. Not that you expected there to be. Zhongli never looked down upon humans as unequal. Many times he’d told you he admired them. Taking a breath you thought of your answer.  

“Well… hmm. Love is very different for everyone. To some love is like an inferno; it’s very sudden and very intense. It sort of burns them up, it’s all they think about. I think that’s less love, more infatuation, but to some that is indeed love. To others love is sort of… staid. It’s being able to rely on them, to talk to them about anything and everything without feeling embarrassed or like you have to put on some sort of show. It’s knowing that there’s someone who will always side with you or help you realize what’s right, or be there when you feel terrible. To them love isn’t passionate, it’s comforting.”

“And to you?” Zhongli interrupted, a look of thoughtfulness on his face.

“Well to me it’s somewhere in the middle, I suppose to most people it’s somewhere in the middle. And this is only romantic love after all. Love is so big, so all encompassing, I think it’s hard to pin down. But to me romantic love is both; it is the passion that causes people to do crazy things and espouse crazy sorts of ideals, and it is the staid comfort of knowing there is someone who will always understand you, and always support you in that understanding.” You paused, realizing you’d been prattling on a bit. “Why, may I ask? Is there a reason you want to know.”

“Yes,” Zhongli admitted, voice slightly less calm than usual. “I, I’ve been thinking about my feelings towards someone a great deal recently; they’ve been alien, although not distressing per se. They feel as if I’m always on some sort of edge, but I don’t feel upset by it. Instead I want to approach it, want to be around the person who makes me feel that way. I wanted to understand that emotion more. I wondered if it was love. Thank you for answering my question, it was most enlightening.”

“That person must be very lucky.” You replied, keeping your tone as light as possible, trying to ignore your emotions, which had risen and dropped so very quickly. “I suppose I’ll have to lay off on the affection now. Part of love is sometimes being a little bit jealous, at least in the beginning, at least for some people. It’s silly, really, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Zhongli’s tone was surprisingly wry, as if there was a joke somewhere you’d missed.

“Why?” You asked, brow furrowing slightly.

“Because the person whom I was enquiring about is you.”

Honestly you would’ve been less surprised if Zhongli had told you that he was going to run away from Liyue and join the circus. All you could manage to sputter out was: “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Zhongli chuckled slightly. He raised his hand, gloved fingers ghosting your cheek as he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ve suspected it for some time, but I wanted to be sure. Are you alright with me telling you this?”

Alright? You were over the moon! Had you ever been this happy before? You weren’t sure, but you were happy now.

“Of course it’s alright. Zhongli, I’ve liked you for months now.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Zhongli tilted his head slightly in confusion. You stared down at your hands, slightly embarrassed.

“I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. I mean you’re an archon and I’m a mortal. I’m hardly different from the other people of Liyue, and I just, I don’t know, I was scared of rejection, I was scared you’d think I was overstepping and that our friendship would crumble. And I didn’t think I could stand that.”

At first Zhongli said nothing, instead he held out his hand. You gladly placed your palm in his, comforted by its warmth.

“You shouldn’t hold yourself so cheaply,” Zhongli spoke softly, “there are a great many extraordinary things about you. Your affectionate nature, your determination to live even when the world is dark and dangerous, your willingness to open your heart to some ancient archon who knows little of humans. If that’s not extraordinary, I don’t know what is. I don’t feel towards anyone as I do towards you, at least I haven’t in a long time. So don’t think of yourself that way anymore, please.”

“I won’t.” You replied. And it was true. You knew you wouldn’t be able to, not anymore. Zhongli would make sure of that, already you could tell.

To some love burns like fire in the mind, to other it wraps you up in a blanket of comfort. You felt incredibly lucky, for you despite yourself demanded both, and somehow fate had bestowed it upon you. And for that you would be forever grateful.

#is damn a swear word? #I tagged just in case #I have sort of triumphed over my computer #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #albedo #beidou #keqing #zhongli #albedo x reader #beidou x reader #keqing x reader #zhongli x reader #scenarios #my writing #requested