Notes: Whilst browsing through my WIPs, I found this piece which had no title, no notes. I have no idea where I wanted to go with this one but I must've been in some mood when I wrote it
Ft: Cale
His entire life goal was to live and enjoy life, melting down into an inhumane puddle that does nothing but eat, breathe and sleep.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you want to go to sleep?”
“Yes.”
He was and wanted all of those but having you in his arms was first and foremost.
“Cale-“
He consumes his name from your lips, stealing your breaths as he leans into your softness.
hi pookie its been years but i still miss you, hope youre doing okay <3
Well hello there! I'm a few days late to replying but thanks for checking in on dusty me. All's hale and hearty - aside from my writing brain, that's been fizzled out for quite some time. I did write a little something the other day but since it wasn't on a series that I post on this blog usually, I wasn't sure if I wanted to post it.
How's everyone doing these days?
Hihi!! It's misha :3 (idk if U even rmb me HELO) but HEYOO!! How have you been? You haven't posted anything in a while and I was so excited to see U post in my notifs lolol
Do you have any new interests? Maybe you can find more motivation if you have new stuff to write Abt y'know yknow
How could I ever forget a frequent visitor of the blog? (≧∇≦*)
I hope you've been doing well! Any new fandoms you've been into lately?
It seems I've yet to completely escape the hole I've found myself in - good news is that ever since posting Birds without Feet and Choi Han's imagine I've started several more imagine WIPs. Bad news is yeah. They still remain WIPs.
I haven't had time to absorb a new fandom/interest lately - aside from SSOASK (which I've also some WIPs for)
Imagines take a long time to finish and polish which is part of the reason I struggle I suppose haha I have many opportunities between starting and finishing a piece to lose inspiration or be stuck with a block.
On the other hand, while headcannons are far simpler and easier to finish, I haven't had any inspiration for headcannons lately ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
After two years I have finally decided to catch up to the updated TCF chapters to reintroduce myself to the personalities of the characters - imagine my surprise to realise that there's a PART 2???
I only read up to the end of Part 1 and needed a break to process everything haha-
so spoilers below- Don't read further if you do not wish to be spoiled regarding Sealed God's Test and after!!!!!
WHAAAAAT THE HEEEEECCCCK HAPPENED-
I've resumed my reading at the end of the Sealed God's test when Cale finished his rounds and decided to block everyone to the hallway-
but before that-
that one paragraph about White Star's curse: “That bastard should have lost a lot of precious things as his life reincarnated without an end. As long as he is human, he can’t help but cherish something or show someone affection, even if by accident. And numerous people had to die because of that bastard’s curse. I’m sure even the God of Death is regretting creating such a curse.” Ch.757
-got me thinking about White Star again. Maybe I should write that reincarnating reader x White Star tragedy. The potential angst, longing and deep, deep, well of despair and love and slow, agonising descent to madness. hmmmm...
anyways- back to Cale who took out a the ✨dagger✨ and did the thing- and everyone watching in brilliant ✨8K resolution✨. Cale vibing with his new healthy body while everyone just watches in disbelief and shock-
Cale "I'm fi-" "NO YOU'RE FUCKING NOT"
All the digs at Clopeh.
Zed Crossman lore??
FAINTING VIA BEING SLAPPED BY A BOOK????
GoD REVEAL??????
LEE SOO HYUK IS RETURNING????????
everything and everyone piling up to award merits to the commander and the man feeling chills running down his spine every other second-
I bet Cale's feeling quite like a clown right about now
I probably need a few more moments to fully process all the HUHs the WHAAAs and the EEEEEEEHs after reading the end of Part 1. but wow 776 chapters- that's a doozy. AND THERE'S MORE!
Notes: If anyone still remembers Cale's version, here's Choi Han's version - though it's a bit more nostalgic haha. Pt.3 Alberu coming up soon.
Ft: Choi Han
Choi Han
As always, a perfectly normal day gets sidetracked by a surprise attack.
An enemy mage leapt out from the shadows, spouting vengeance and the usual villainous spiel everyone’s sick and tired of, magic shooting out their hands. Everything happened at once as everyone acted upon the unspoken but unanimous decision to protect the weakest in your group: Cale.
As the others rushed the mage, you and Choi Han leapt to push the aghast young master away, just in time to bodily receive the blast yourselves.
The world spun sickeningly as you were flung away, breath knocked out your lungs as your back collided with a tree.
You groaned as you fought to keep your breakfast down. There was an annoying ringing in your ears, and your limbs prickled with the sensation of pins and needles.
“________?” You looked up at Choi Han’s soft query, surprised to find his expression pinched with discomfort. “Are you alright?”
“Yes…” You answered slowly, mentally assessing your own body’s state. It would take more than being thrown across the clearing to take you down but the tingling on your skin made you hesitate. As you made to stand, an overwhelming wave of dizziness swept over you, and pain lanced through your consciousness, sending black dots swimming in your vision.
You would’ve fallen again had Choi Han not stepped in to steady you. Two realisations hit you in quick succession: one, you were definitely not injured enough to feel so terrible, and two, the moment Choi Han made contact with you, the nigh unbearable pain you felt was relieved almost instantly.
What…? You glanced up and finally noticed your companion’s sickly pallor, the beads of sweat against his forehead and the tremors in his hands as he steadied you. As you met his gaze, Choi Han’s grim expression seemed to confirm your worst suspicions.
Something was really, really off.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
A curse of distortion targets one’s mana and twists it against itself. Rampaging mana would eventually tear its hosts apart. Fortunately, in a strange twist of fate, when both of you were hit, the magic split between two sources of mana seemed to have reached an uneasy balance - though just barely. Although neither of you were at immediate risk of imploding, the moment either of you moves too far away from each other, the fragile balance of your unstable manas would collapse, causing unimaginable pain.
After some trial and error, maintaining some sort of physical contact seemed to neutralise the worst of the side effects. It was decided you’d hold hands until your manas naturally settle with time.
You glanced down at your linked hands, you flexed your fingers in his grip.
You quickly learned that constantly maintaining a firm grasp on another’s hands presented its own set of challenges. Unused to your suddenly narrowed range of movement, you’d often pull each other off-balance as you headed in different directions or moved before the other was ready. Even performing simple tasks became a hassle as you struggled with only one usable hand and your non-dominant hand to boot. Menial chores took twice as long to complete and anything that required any degree of dexterity was off the table.
To make matters worse, Choi Han seemed uncomfortable with physical touch. He couldn’t seem to meet your eyes directly and twitched every time you moved your fingers. You didn’t blame him, being stuck alone in the Forest of Darkness for tens of years does things to people. You’d give him some distance if you could but the curse seemed to affect you more than him as you’d discovered when you separated briefly to tend to nature’s calling only for Choi Han to rush to your side when you nearly blacked out from the pain that overwhelmed you. Swordmasters must be built differently since the distance only caused Choi Han a massive migraine and nothing more.
You sighed forlornly, stretching your fingers and closing them, gracefully pretending that you didn’t notice Choi Han shiver beside you. How was it possible that two unparalleled warriors, each an expert in their own field, when put together, would result in less than one fully functional person? You could only imagine what havoc it’d cause if you’re suddenly forced into combat.
“Maybe we’re not so compatible after all.” You mused aloud, thinking perhaps this was a good time to reflect on changing your training techniques. It’s true most close ranged fighters would usually pair up with mid to long ranged partners to cover each other’s weaknesses. Maybe you could give spear handling a try? You hadn’t noticed how Choi Han stiffened beside you.
“I just need some time… to get used to it.” You glanced at him, wondering how getting used to being attached by the hands would help cover each other’s openings but you managed a nod in response to his sudden determination. Swordmasters probably knew what they’re doing, right?
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Swordmasters do know what they’re doing after all.
Though it started off rough, after a few more collisions, stumbles and painful falls, you’ve started to piece together the patterns of your partner. You began to recognise the minute shift in his movements that indicate direction and have a better grasp on how much ‘space’ he actually takes. You were moving more efficiently, able to gauge where he would step and shift accordingly to avoid impeding his movements or yanking him. Choi Han, too, began to relax. His grip used to be light and weak, as if wary of his strength, now his grasp is firm and comfortable in yours as you walk side by side.
One thing about being stuck next to another person in close proximity for an indefinite amount of time meant conversations you wouldn't typically have time for soon filled the air between you. You traded insights on favourite colours (such as the flash of light as dawn breaks and the iridescent blue shine of lakes), preferred fruits (he liked strawberries, while you’d prefer citruses), and even contemplated on potential career changes once everything settles. The conversations delved into seemingly insignificant details, which, when combined, shaped the people you’ve become.
You fed another stick into the fire and glanced at the starry skies, leaning into Choi Han’s side. The camp was quiet, everyone else had retired to their sleeping bags as you and Choi Han volunteered to keep watch.
“Do you miss home?”
The fire popped and crackled as he prodded the coals. “It would be a lie to say that I don’t.” he answered eventually.
You resisted the urge to turn around and see his expression. “Would you go back if you could?”
It was a question that was on everyone’s minds that no one dared ask and perhaps even in the silence of the campsite, and even with your close relationship with him, you still weren’t worthy of asking such a personal question. You wouldn’t push and Choi Han knew he wasn’t obliged to answer either.
It meant the world to you, when he did, regardless.
“It’s a place that has probably moved on without me.” he said. “Even if I could, I don’t think it’s my place to return and disrupt the peace anymore.”
“Besides,” you turned to see him watching you with a wistful smile, “I have found a new home. I don’t mind leaving relics where they belong.”
A bittersweet feeling became lodged in your throat as you turned to watch the fire, hoping it would hide the sudden wetness in your eyes. “As if we’ll let you leave.” you scoffed, “Even if a portal suddenly opens and sucks you in, I’m going to drag you back here kicking and screaming.“
Choi Han’s laugh was warm and comforting and his grip tightened on yours.
let me interrupt this blog briefly with my most recent (and recent as in yesterday) hyperfixation: Survival Story of a Sword King in a Fantasy World (to be shortened to SSoaSK).
A list of reasons why I'm in love without spoiling anything:
• man vs nature, man vs people, man vs self
• man vs fate/gods
• my fists and my bigass sword will solve all my problems! (no)
• muscles
• underestimated mc but seriously OP
• weaker found family protects tormented mc hyung
• adopted family love, bros
• also, takes eyes off mc for two seconds - chaos happens
• ANGST????!!!?? ??!!!?
• comedic humor
• dragons
• the art. please the art. its-
I have a habit of keeping a list of rotating mangas/manhwas/webcomics to read as I often find myself starting new stories while waiting for others to update. I've started SSoaSK a year ago and finished all 60 chapters it had back then and left it sitting in my bookmarks until yesterday when I realised it's reached 204 chapters.
Since it's been a year since I've read the first 60 chapters I've forgotten pretty much everything about its plot, background and who the main characters even are. Relying on only vague recollections from rereading the 60th chapter, I thought I'd have to give up eventually and reread all 60 chapters to get the gist of what's happening again - only to find myself crying within 5 chapters.
I didn't expect myself to get emotional when I barely remember the story, but I think the artists/author did an amazing job of keeping the plot relevant and heartwrenching, that it didn't take long for me to be hooked.
5 chapters guys. 5 and I was crying for characters I was just reintroduced to.
Obviously, bits and pieces of the story came back to me the more I read + I happen to have picked up the story when it was nearing the climax of one of its story arcs - still, I didn't expect myself to be so invested.
I spent a whole day + morning catching up to the most recent chapter and I can tell you all that I've cried at least another 2 times.
I am now experiencing the effects of manhwa withdrawal and have been looking high and low for content to slake my thirst as I wait for more chapters BUT!
THERE AREN'T ANY- HOW???????
Therefore I turn to tumblr seeking for fellow readers of SSoaSK - if not convince some to join me on this adventure- because if no one's going to talk with me about Ryu Hanbin and his misfit god defying group-
-rolls up sleeves-
I'm going to have to take some drastic measures. (or curl up and cry)
Notes: I return to the blog with this monster of a ficlet. This was actually written for @nin-deer who very graciously allowed me to share it on the blog as well. A small imagine that grew out of control haha... enjoy~
Ft: Beacrox
It was but a subtle shift of air that caused him to abandon his project. In an instant, he whipped around, knife in hand, its sharp blade poised just above the intruder's jugular, ready to cut deep with the slightest pressure.
Despite the threat of a blade at your neck, your smile was relaxed as you lifted the roll of parchment in your hand. “Delivery!”
His eyes quickly scanned the kitchen, noting the shifted curtains he pieced together your point of entrance. Only when you wiggled the paper impatiently did he finally drop the knife and swiped the parchment from your hand, ignoring your huff of laughter as he scanned over its contents.
“It’s nice to see you too Beacrox. How have you been?”
Your attempts at casual banter were ignored, but the moment you began reaching for the food on the table, his gaze snapped to yours, promising pain should you attempt further.
You were wise enough to heed his warning as you stepped back, hands raised in surrender. “Sheesh, you’re not going to make any friends if you keep acting this way.”
Crumpling the piece of paper, he threw it into the fireplace as you clicked your tongue in mock annoyance.
Had he cared for your opinion, he might’ve been annoyed, alas it was easy to dismiss as he threw a pouch in your direction, the clink of gold muted as you caught it from the air. He watched as you tossed the bag a few times before pocketing it.
You must have caught the confusion on his face as you glanced up with a grin. “I know you won’t cheat me of my payment.”
Though it was the truth—Molan’s motto was always to repay what’s due—such blatant admission of trust from someone working in the dark underbelly of society puzzled him, and without meaning to, he’d let his displeasure slip through. “It could’ve been filled with rocks.”
You blinked, head tilted as if you’re considering the possibility, then you laughed. “Then I suppose I’ll be a few pretty rocks richer.”
He scowled and returned to his work, grabbing his knife to hide the flush of annoyance he felt by your flippant answer. You knew such responses would annoy him, and he refused to give you the satisfaction of being correct.
One does not survive long in the underworld with their morals and innocence intact. Your deliberate pushing of buttons was another tactic to wheedle information from your targets, and he wasn't inclined on revealing anything. You already know far too much as is.
“Leave,” he ordered, his limited patience well and truly spent.
“Always a pleasure talking to you, Bea~”
He threw the knife in his hand, but by the time he turned around, you were already gone. The only evidence of your visit was the lingering echoes of your laughter and a missing tart from the plate of desserts he'd prepared earlier.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
As you kept the package just out of his reach, he couldn’t help but think: for a grown person jaded by the underworld, you sure liked acting like a child at times.
“You just thought of something rude didn’t you?”
His gaze snapped to yours. “You forget who you’re dealing with.” he warned coldly. The Molan household might have fallen from grace but just because he had traded his daggers for kitchen knives, they were no less lethal in his hands. Was it confidence or foolishness that made you dare to test his patience?
The silence in the kitchens was deafening as your eyes met across the counter.
“I haven’t,” You said finally, “not once.” Your smile was wry and lacked its usual cheer but the heaviness in your tone bore the weight of many secrets, of someone who knew far more than what they’re letting on. He’s faced with an uncanny sense of unbelonging and emptiness that seemed eerily familiar.
But with a blink of an eye, the mask that had slipped had righted itself. “I have a change of mind,” You sat on the edge of the counter island, tension and somber mood shaken off, replaced with an all too sunny smile. “I’d like another form of payment for the information I’m selling.”
He felt anger lick up his throat as his fist clenched above the table. “That was not part of our deal.”
“An amendment to the agreement then, if you will-”
“I refuse.”
Your peals of laughter filled the room, “You didn’t even let me finish!”
“I refuse.” He repeated sternly. Knowing your personality, it would be an amendment that would greatly irritate or inconvenience him.
“I’d like you to cook a dish for me.” You continued, ignoring his words.
There was a sharp snap as the corner of the table cracked under his hand as incredulity stole over his face.
To begin with, payment for your services had never been cheap, each bag of gold was worth more than several months’ worth of food. If all you wanted was a decent meal, then you’ve already been charging enough to dine at any of Roan kingdom’s finest restaurants.
“It’s not a dish that can be found on any menu in the kingdom.” You tutted as if you knew the thoughts that were going through his head. “It’s not something that can be bought with gold.”
You’re pulling his leg. “And why do you think I’d care to create a dish no one’s heard of?” Beacrox asked through gritted teeth.
“I know you don’t.” You laughed, lips slanted with a smile. “It’s something I’ve tasted a long time ago but have no idea how it’s made. I’ll describe what I remember and if you believe it’s impossible to recreate or not worth the hassle,” you shrugged in an exaggerated display of nonchalance, “then I’ll take the usual payment like nothing’s changed. It’s a good deal for you right?”
Nothing about this deal made sense. You’re essentially offering your services for free while he’d benefit regardless of whether he succeeds in recreating the dish or not. His expression was stiff as he crossed his arms.
You set the package down on the table gently and slid a piece of folded paper next to it. “Take your time to think about it.” You offered as you pulled your hood up. You left the kitchens as quietly as you’d arrived, leaving him to brood in the silence left behind.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
“Here.” he sets the completed project on the table with the reluctance of a person who would rather be anywhere else but in the kitchens at that very moment. He folded his arms, pinning his hands to his chest, resisting the urge to snatch the plate and throw it in the trash, calling off the deal.
Beacrox had no expectations of being able to recreate a dish he had never heard of. Yet, from the moment he set the plate down, you stiffened in place, your pleasant smile melting away, replaced by shock.
“Well?”, You flinched as he prompted impatiently. You pulled the dish closer, your smile weak and crooked.
“I was just a bit surprised that’s all..” your voice trailed off.
He filed your reactions away in the back of his mind.
Your grip was uncertain but eventually you picked a piece from the plate and placed it in your mouth.
You froze in place, and he immediately slid a cup of water and bowl over.
But you surprised him when you kept it in and swallowed. “It…” He watched as your face straightened slowly, all visible emotions ironed away into one of careful neutrality.
“..tastes nothing like it.”
When vague subjective descriptions on a slim piece of paper were all that he had to work with, he’d expected this outcome. The bag of gold he had prepared in advance was tossed onto the table as he reached to retrieve the dish, only to be deterred when sharp pain sprang across the back of his hand. The surprise he felt from the fact he’d failed to catch your movements was swiftly replaced by irritation when he realised you’d slapped him.
His eyes narrowed, “What are you-“
“I’m taking it.” you said and to his utter confusion, went on to shove another bite in your mouth.
“You just said-“
“I know what I said.” you huffed, “I never said the dish had to taste right did I? It’s a good first try-“ His eyebrows lifted as you suddenly lost the ability to maintain eye contact with him. “Anyways, I’ll be the judge of what’s accepted and I say this passes.”
You've always been an eccentric character, but just when he thought you couldn't faze him further, you managed to render him speechless yet again. Till now, he’s yet to figure out your intention behind your request, if taste was not a priority then what use was creating the dish you’re looking for?
“Get out of my kitchen.”
“But I haven’t-“
“Out.”
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
Of all the informants in the kingdom, none possessed skills that could surpass yours. It was why, despite the many headaches you induced, Beacrox had chosen to suffer your pestering for so long.
Not one of his sources has ever confirmed how you acquire your information or seen you in action. Yet the intelligence you provide, which has, at many times, sounded unbelievable, had been proven to be true time and time again.
Perhaps the strangest thing of all was that, despite the ease with which you uncover others' secrets, the same couldn’t be said vice versa. Little to no information could be found regarding your background, whatever was found was obviously doctored, being far too mundane for someone of your skills. You were either incredibly thorough at covering your tracks or an experienced fraudster, and Beacrox was inclined on believing the latter.
Your unpredictable behaviour made it hard to judge whether you’re an ally or foe, so it was only natural that he’d sought for leverage to hold against you in case there’ll be a day you’d decide to betray them and sell their secrets to their enemies.
That was the only reason he would consider playing along with your games.
Though he knew not the significance of these dishes to you, he had hoped they would provide some insight on your background or places you’ve been to where other sources have failed to narrow down.
But of course even the meals you’d request would be harder if not just as difficult to trace as well.
It was only a matter of time before you caught onto his intentions, after all, he’d never kept his investigations a secret. Yet instead of pulling back like he’d expected, you had become bolder in your requests, eyes sparkling with mischief as if you understood the frustration he was going through and still remain one infuriating step ahead of him at all times.
He’d considered the possibility that you could be pulling his leg, but there was something about the nostalgia in your eyes as you taste each dish that made Beacrox believe in their authenticity.
He glanced at a small box hidden by the side, within held a small but steadily growing pile of recipes of unknown origins. Not for the first time, Beacrox found himself questioning if all these peaceful days have turned him soft after all.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
A familiar, unwelcome figure was sitting in his fresh crate of produce.
A quick scan around the area confirmed that you were alone and he walked over to assess your state. A splatter trail led up to the crate you sat on and his brows furrowed in distaste. The darkness made it difficult to immediately see any obvious signs of injuries and when you made no reaction to his presence, he kicked the crate below you.
“Ow.” you stirred, complaining with a soft laugh.
Conscious.
“Why are you here?”
Your unannounced visit broke one of many unspoken rules governing their kind. As people maintaining a delicate facade, unexpected visits were not merely discouraged but deemed perilous. No one would fault him should he choose to silence you then and there - such was the severity of your faux pas - yet he stood, only mildly irritated, at the disruption you’ve brought to a peaceful night.
It took a moment longer than he liked before you gathered enough strength to speak. “Sorry,” you apologised and for once, actually sounding it. “I just need a little rest. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
Your laboured breathing and unfocused gaze suggested otherwise and he folded his arms as the dreadful feeling of his plans for an early night slipped through his fingers like fine sand.
“How bad is it?”
Impatiently he waited for you to process his words, your sluggishness a strange contrast to your usually sharp wit and quick retorts.
“It’s been treated.”
The smell of blood was sharp and acrid, he would have to clean the stains soon if he wished to avoid its scent lingering in the area. “I will not ask again.” He warned.
You were exhausted, it could be seen from your posture and expression. Though he understood the instinct to hide one’s weakness, from the moment you chose to rest here it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ the truth comes out but a matter of ‘when’ and Beacrox would preferred if it happened sooner rather than later.
Just as he was contemplating the benefits of leaving you to your fate, your lips loosened. “Stab wound on the left, missed vitals. I’ve been tended to but some of the stitches might have opened up.”
That would explain the bloody trail you left. He should count his blessings that it didn’t sound too bothersome, assuming you hadn't foolishly downplayed the severity of your injuries. Your arms came up defensively as he began moving towards you, eyes widening with surprise, “Wait-“
His arms slipped under and around and with barely a grunt of effort, he lifted you up. The sudden motion drew a muffled groan from you and he allowed you a brief moment to collect yourself before he began moving. From this position, he could acutely feel the heat radiating from your skin and the tremors that wracked your body.
Your confusion and trepidation were clear and it was with some hesitation before you decided to open your mouth-
“Save your breath.” He advised and you obediently swallowed your words.
He moved you into the storage shed behind the kitchen. Though dark, he navigated through the small space easily, setting you on the surface of several boxes, he stepped back to note that you’ve lost consciousness. The walk hadn’t been far but you must have exhausted your reserves traveling here.
From the darkness he brought out a small knife and paused, looking at your face, sweat slicked yet slack from tension, having found an escape from the worries troubling you - however temporary. He recognised that this moment might be a rare opportunity to unveil the secrets you hide, yet as quick as the notion flitted through his mind, it was dismissed just as quickly. With methodical precision, he cut open the side of your shirt where red had stained through.
The wound was as you’d described, if not a bit irritated and swollen. Basic first aid had been applied, though the messy stitch work left much to be desired, it did its job in holding your injury closed. A few stitches had come loose and will need to be reworked but nothing that he’s not capable of handling even with his limited medical knowledge.
As his gaze roamed to your face checking, yes, you were still unconscious, he left and returned moments later with a candle, clean water, cloth and a clean shirt.
A dusty shed and mere candlelight were far from an ideal setting to perform any kind of wound care, but he doubted you’d care at this point. Pristine, white gloves snapped on, he made short work of cleaning, restitching and bandaging your wound.
He was about to tilt a bottle of potion into your lips when you mumbled. He paused, waiting to see if you were regaining consciousness. You mumbled again and he frowned. It took him few moments before he realised two things: you weren’t waking up anytime soon and the words you’re mumbling, weren’t in a language from Roan or even any of the neighbouring kingdoms.
As a master assassin, he had learned many languages, so the fact that you spoke one that he couldn’t place piqued his interest. He watched your lips, intent on studying and memorising the unique intonations and pitch, however, it seems your instincts finally kicked in, and though still unconscious, you’d stopped mumbling.
Even out cold, you’d find a way to be bothersome. There was nothing more he could do, he left the folded, clean shirt he brought along by your side and with one final glance at your still form, he closed the doors behind him and locked it.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
He returned the next morning to a broken lock and an empty shed. In place of where you’re supposed to be was instead a piece of paper and a bag of coins.
“Thanks for last night. Sorry about your spuds, I’ve replaced them for you :)”
A glance to the side confirmed the presence of a fresh crate of potatoes and a slip of paper containing the description of a dish never heard of before in the kingdom.
And for the first time ever, a name to go alongside the unfamiliar dish.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
You never mentioned what happened that night and he didn’t pry. Still, something seemed to have shifted between the two of you.
He no longer chases you away the moment you appear, while you've learned to place yourself to avoiding getting in the way of his cooking. He pretends not to notice when you arrive with injuries and you feign surprise at finding mysterious salves appearing nearby.
“Aw, did you miss my company?” you teased when you caught his gaze assessing you after dropping by from one of your longer absences.
Beacrox made no attempt to conceal the dry scowl on his face. “Like one misses a rat infestation.”
“Charming~” you beamed.
Some things, still don’t change no matter what.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
In the end, it was the one question he couldn’t figure out.
“Why me?”
The dishes you've shared are simple, you could've hired any other chef, given the same descriptions and they would’ve achieved similar results. But you chose to badger him, an unknown chef working for a humble count's family instead.
You paused in your devouring of yet another strange dish, blinking as if surprised that he would be the first to initiate conversation.
“Why Bea! You should have more confidence in yourself, you’re one of the best chefs in Roan!”
It was as obvious a deflection as he ever saw. His fingers tightened around his arms and he took a slow breath. So you’re going to be stubborn. Well, two can play that game. He tried another angle.
The words tasted foreign on his tongue, but they were something that turned over and over in his mind since that night. He’d probably horribly butchered the pronunciation but it seemed the meaning was successfully relayed from the way your eyes widened and your pupils shook with recognition.
The utensil held in your hand clattered to the table and Beacrox kept his eyes trained on you, taking in your paling face. When it didn't seem like you would offer an explanation, he continued.
“It’s what you kept repeating that night.“
A myriad of emotions crossed your face: shock, confusion, fear, and finally, resignation.
In the silence, you slowly repeated those same words. Sharp, crisp and wholly foreign.
"“Home,” your voice was soft, but it was the loudest thing in the kitchen. “‘I want to go home.’” you swallowed thickly, a wavering smile on your face. “that’s probably what I said.”
There was a lot to unpack from that revelation.
He was suddenly reminded of how you’d react to the dishes each time, savouring each one, scouring the plates clean despite the differences in tastes. You ate not to fulfil the hunger of the body but to satisfy a craving of the mind. After receiving the recipe with a foreign name, it had confirmed one suspicion of his, that wherever these dishes came from, whether it was a place or a person that you're reminiscing about, they're likely no longer accessible.
You're reliving memories through dishes you barely remember. Chasing ghosts in your memories in search of some semblance of normalcy.
Trust was a limited and rare currency in the underworld, hoarded jealously and coveted by many. You’d handed him the leash he’d sought since he agreed to your little game yet he felt gutted by the weight of the revelation, his shoulders burdened.
“Why me?” He repeated softly.
You watched him. “I don’t know.” Your voice sounded small and so tired. “I thought maybe, if it’s anyone, you’d probably understand.”
What does the concept of home and person mean when they no longer exist? Who are they but displaced people playing roles too big or small to hold their histories? Bearing memories of a place and person, but unable to find an equivalent?
It was a mistake. He shouldn’t have asked.
“But I wasn’t lying you know?” you added suddenly and he looked up in confusion, the smile you wore was weaker than usual but it was genuine.
“You are one of the best chefs in all of Roan.” You declared in that same, familiar confidence which you use to share all those impossible, far-fetched sounding intel that always, turns out to be fact.
For some inexplicable reason, it was that simple statement that dispersed the tempest building within.
Beacrox sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and exhaled through his nose.
And perhaps, there was a small, exasperated chuckle.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
“Bea please marry me.”
It wasn't often, but on rare occasions, he would nail the taste of a dish right.
He didn’t bother with a response but moved to refill your plate nonetheless.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
“Thank you.”
He paused while wiping the dishes. “For what?”
“Just,” Your gaze dropped to the plate before you as your fork tapped lightly against the edge. “Thank you for the food.”
Beacrox watched as you returned to eating, mind filled with memories of all the dishes he's made, of greatswords and bladed edges, and thought of what home and belonging is.
We’re not so different. The idea of it wasn't as horrifying as he had thought. Once, perhaps he would’ve been unnerved by the sentimentality. There are still so many things that remain a secret when it comes to you, and yet, as you close your eyes to savor each bite, he feels as if he knows you better than most.
You ate in comfortable silence. He rolled his shoulders and allowed the tension in them to drop off.
This might not be ‘home’ but for now, this moment was as good a resting place as any for people like them.
“You’re welcome.” he said softly.
━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━
BONUS:
Once again, it begins with a ridiculous request from you.
“Bea please, you have to prepare this for Choi Han. I’ll even sell you my kidneys, I really need to know his reaction.”
What value would owning your kidneys have? That you’d blatantly suggest such things to an assassin like himself was laughable, stranger still was his playing the fool and following along anyways.
He didn't question how you knew about their mansion's new guest, though your sudden interest in the visitor when you’ve shown no such interest in past guests was worthy of note. Even he had unconsciously tensed when the young master had introduced him. Something about the newcomer didn’t seem right. They were strong, but their potential was untapped and raw, like an uncontrollable beast on the verge of lashing out at any moment.
The glimmer of something in your eyes further confirmed his suspicions. You knew something about this stranger though you refused to reveal more, only promising that he’s not a threat to him or Ron.
He frowned at the pot of red he’s stirring, the pungent smell wafting through the room. Footsteps from the doorway had him looking up, but the person that crossed the threshold was not the person he’d expected.
The young master stepped in with a cautious look in his eyes.
“I thought I smelled..” brown eyes narrowed at the pot he held. “What’s that?”
Beacrox glanced down at the strange dish he was asked to prepare, wondering why of all people that could’ve come, it would be Cale Henituse.
“A dish a friend taught me to make.” Then for some reason unbeknownst to him, he offered. “Would the young master like to try?”
Cale hesitated, but eventually slid himself onto a seat, choosing the one farthest away from him. At least the young master seemed sober. Beacrox felt no fondness for the young master he served, even if it was true that he had begun to change recently, raising even the interest of Ron.
Spooning a small portion, he set the dish and utensils down before Cale, ignoring the young man’s flinch as he gauged Cale’s strange expressions.
The young master stared at the dish as if it would leap up and attack him, his strange wariness reminded Beacrox of your reaction when he first presented that first unfamiliar dish to you.
“.. there’s no way..” Cale muttered to himself as he poked and prodded until finally, he tried a bite.
“What.. the hell?”
Beacrox had never seen the young master's eyes bug out like that, and he decided it was quite an entertaining sight, even if the dish’s original target wasn’t meant for the redhead. Still he stifled an irritated sigh as a thought crossed his mind when the young master exclaimed.
“How the hell did you learn to make kimchi?!”
“What the hell did you make me do this time _______?”
Notes: I've had lots of thoughts while writing this imagine turned fic. Nin-deer gave me a simple prompt of "cooking" and I went and turned it into lore- OTL
even I don't understand the intricate workings of my brain.
I've had to cut out some chapters details as it was growing out of hand so I hope everything's links together properly. I've reached that stage where I've reread a piece of writing so many times, nothing makes sense anymore.
I've deliberately left the dishes 'cooked' vague so you're free to imagine whatever cuisine you'd like that Beacrox helped butcher 👍🏼
Hi!! Nonny from earlier!! I actually didn't mean writing or anything TT I was just wondering where you've been cause U haven't posted even any blog posts for a long while T0T but I get that writing is difficult huhu I can't exactly understand since I'm not a writer but I genuinely hope things become better for you soon!!
Nonny it's okay! In fact I'm quite grateful for the inbox, I'd like to think of it as great restarting boot for the blog as well.
When it comes to maintaining a blog, I'm not much of a reblogger I'm afraid. So unless I've written anything or get inbox, I don't usually have anything to post - hence the great drought.
I can promise one thing, if there comes a day I decide to stop writing, I won't delete this blog. It'll serve as a graveyard, archive of my old works if anything - even if there aren't new works, people are still free to access the old fics.
Thanks for thinking of this dusty old blog now and then.
Mate, I still hope for your Fire Emblem writing lol
Mate... you've suffered. May I ask which era of FE you're from- Are you waiting for a request response? Do I owe you anything? Oh my god. It's been a while, thanks for hanging on for so long-
