#Eclipse shadow judgment

[yhebrew]

2024 Judgment: Dubai, Oman, Brazil (Darian Gap) - Timing, Location, Consecration

One-Third of Emirates Offered Up. One-Third of Brazil Remains. TIMING LOCATION CONSECRATION In Real Estate the phrase is LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION! In God ‘TIMING’ IS EVERYTHING! He will NOT be late! Leviticus 8:33  You are not to go out from the entrance to the tent of meeting for seven days, until the days of your consecration are over; since Adonai will be consecrating you for seven…

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: Your favourite things about your future spouse ✮⋆˙

✧˚. How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

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✧˚. My Masterlist🫶🏻

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE I

Cards Pulled: High Priestess, the Chariot, Judgment, Justice, Knight of Wands and oracle cards

Okay, honey, welcome to this pile 1!! Let’s see into what you’ll be lowkey obsessed with when it comes to your future spouse hehe. Before I start this reading, I just wanna mention something really crucial here, UHM......... y'all are LUCKY AF. 😭😭like TF. Also for people who chose this pile, the person described here is sooo similar to the character of Sang Yan from the C-drama The First Frost. I haven't even watched that drama yet, just saw it all over tiktok and insta reels and it's soo crazy how I was constantly thinking about him throughout writing this. The way he carries himself in that drama and SPECIFICALLY HIS EYES. THIS PILE IS LITERALLY HIM. PERIODT.

First off, this person? Mysterious AF.

Like you know when someone doesn’t post on social media but when they do, it’s in black-and-white with a cryptic caption and you’re like “HELLO? What does it mean??” Yeah, that’s their entire vibe. The High Priestess is the main character here, and this person is dripping in silent depth. It’s not that they’re quiet, NO NO, they’re intentional. Everything they do feels like a sacred ritual, even if it’s just tying their shoes. You’re gonna love how they somehow make you slow down and listen more, not just to them but to your own damn intuition. I’m getting this image of you two sitting on the floor, legs touching, and you’re rambling about your day while they just watch you like you’re a rare eclipse. And they’ll say something like “You feel like the ocean right before a storm,” and boom. You’re ruined. Forever.

And OMG don’t even get me started on the emotional depth… because wow.

Yeah, I got CHILLS. Literal chills. ? Bestie, your future spouse doesn’t just love you, they DROWN in you. There’s a softness to them that feels ancient. Like they’ve lived a thousand lives and chose you in every single one. Their love language? Definitely some spicy combination of telepathy, forehead kisses, and knowing your exact comfort food without you saying a word. And yet, they’re not soft in the doormat way. HELL NO. Baby, this person moves. When they decide they want something? Game over. They’re a force. You’ll love how they’ll be gentle with your soul but a literal wildfire for your protection. Someone stares at you weird? They’ve clocked it. You’re nervous to speak up in a group? They smoothly redirect the convo so you shine. It’s that ride-or-die loyalty with a spicy side of “Don’t mess with what’s mine.”

Your future spouse has transformed by the time they meet you. Like… phoenix out of the ashes levels of rebirth. I’m seeing someone who may have had to break out of their own cycles, maybe even some shadow work that slapped, but they did the work. That’s something you’ll absolutely adore about them: their self-awareness. You’ll be so drawn to how they hold themselves accountable. They’ve probably been the villain in someone else’s story, and instead of playing the victim, they faced it. Shadow work? Check. Therapy? Likely. Apologies? Given when needed. They’ve done a full spiritual exfoliation, and now? They’re GLOWING. AND they treat you with such intentional fairness. They don’t play games, they don’t breadcrumb, and they sure as hell don’t ghost (WHEW. thank god cuz i hate that shit) What you’ll cherish most is how they show up for you, consistently. Every little action feels like, “I see you. I honor you. I’m choosing you, even on the messy days.”

And um, can we please talk about how HOT they are when they’re PASSIONATE??? Because the Knight of Wands is coming in LOUD with main-character energy and It’s giving “I’m dragging you into the hallway to make out because I missed you for two hours.” FJNIDNSBTRVIH There’s a bit of chaos in their passion, but like… the fun, flirty, seductive kind. You’ll catch yourself staring when they’re focused on something they care about, eyes lit, words flying, and it’ll hit you: “Damn. That’s my person.” Like they could be talking about some weird niche topic, idk, the ethics of time travel or why a band’s debut album was superior, and you’re just sitting there like, “Okay, philosopher.” It’s hot. It’s brainy. It’s unhinged. And it’s so them. (did i just describe my type here?) 

But here’s the real one, your potential most favorite thing? It’s how they love you through your shadows.

It tells me that they don’t just love your highlights, babe. They’re the one who knows about the parts you try to hide, and loves them deeper. You’ll feel so safe being raw with them. Like crying-on-the-floor-at-2am kind of safe. They’ll be the person who doesn’t try to fix it, they’ll just sit with you in it. You’ll finally feel like, “Oh. I don’t have to perform here.” Also, minor side message that just smacked me: they might help you release a generational wound. Yep. It’s giving “breaking ancestral chains with one good relationship.” I’m not saying they’re your healer (you’re healing yourself, boo), but they are a safe space that lets the healing happen. And the ocean symbolism? BABY. Their love is like the tide, constant, natural, overwhelming in the best way. You might not even realize how deeply they’ve rooted into you until one day they’re not there for a few hours and you’re like, “Why does the air taste different???”

Okay, a few more spicy psychic messages which I got throughout the reading I'll drop here before we close because the tea is still hot:

You’ll love their hands. Like, obsessively. Spirit keeps showing me images of their hands wrapping around yours, brushing your hair back, gripping your waist, yeah, you’re gonna be down bad. They have a “hidden” creative side. Music? Poetry? Painting war miniatures? IDK 😭but it’s something they keep private until they trust you, and once you see it? Prepare to melt. 🫠 They’re a consent king/queen. In the bedroom, in arguments, in making plans, they’re always checking in. Always making sure your voice is heard. It’s HOT. You’ll laugh together in the weirdest moments. Like cracking up during a serious movie or turning a grocery run into a full-on comedy sketch. The emotional intimacy? Unreal.

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𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE II

Cards Pulled: Death, Ace of Cups, Four of Cups, Five of Pentacles, Knight of Cups and oracle cards

OKAY BESTIE… buckle the HELL up. This pile??? This pile is literally a love letter from the universe, and it’s about your future spouse in a way that’s got me gasping and screaming into the void. Like, if you’ve ever wondered what it would feel like to be truly chosen, truly adored, and truly transformed by love??? this is THAT reading. I’m already sweating more because the cards are kinds big ones as you can see😭 . This ain’t a crush. This is main character's energy meets divine rebirth through love . And your favourite thing about this person? Oh honey... it's EVERYTHING they awaken in you. But let me explain because DAMN it gets DEEP. 💀

this pile is all about how utterly devoted and obsessed he is with you, but in that controlled, sexy, lowkey psycho but make it romantic way. He doesn’t say much, but when he does?? It cuts straight to your soul. He makes you feel like the only person that’s ever existed. And when he touches you? The world fades.

Okay so first of all, this love is not soft-launch energy. Actually there’s no soft energy here. It’s not the kind of love where you post a blurry arm on IG stories and call it a day. No no. This is Death + Ace of Cups type of sh*t. This person literally drags you out of a fog you didn’t even know you were in. Like, imagine going through life feeling fine, maybe kinda meh, autopilot vibes, and then BOOM. You meet this person and suddenly, colors are brighter. Food tastes better. Music hits differently. You’re like, “Wait, am I ALIVE again??” Yeah. That.

You don’t just fall in love with them. You fall in love with yourself through their eyes. Because they see you in this way no one ever has before. They don’t pedestal you in some weird, unreachable way, but they mirror back your rawest essense. And you start to remember who TF you are. ✨ Like, you start off this journey feeling a lil rejected, a lil disillusioned (Four of Cups + Five of Pentacles energy… hello loneliness my old friend), but through this love?? You rise. You blossom. You reclaim your power. The crown was always yours, you just forgot. They don’t give you your power back, babe. They just remind you where you left it. And that?! That is your favorite thing about them: they activate the version of you that had been buried under years of rejection, doubt, and disconnection.

Bestie, I’m not gonna sugarcoat, this is NOT some sunshiney, fluffy past you’ve been through. You’ve known the ache of being left out in the cold. Maybe you’ve been the one always giving, always chasing, always hoping for scraps of love from people who didn’t even deserve to speak your name. You’ve had your heart cold-stoned and ghosted and breadcrumbed, and you were probably starting to believe that maybe love just wasn’t in the cards for you. Enter: this person.

They don’t just walk in with roses and pretty words (though they absolutely do that too, Knight of Cups energy is full-on poetic simp vibes 😭). But more importantly?? They SHOW UP. When you expect abandonment, they stay. When you push them away, they lean in. When you flinch at love, they don’t take it personally, they just hold you through it. You’re not their project. You’re their equal, their mirror, their muse. And you’ll find yourself sobbing randomly, “Wait… this is what it’s supposed to feel like??” Because for the first time, love isn’t a battlefield. It’s a sanctuary. It’s not conditional. It’s safe. I’m not kidding when I say this person is the Knight of Cups in every form. So with this person prepare to also see the perfect blend of this combination. prepare for random voice notes at midnight because they saw a cloud that looked like your side profile. Prepare for forehead kisses, poetic ramblings, playlists that sound like your soul. But also?? It’s not performative. It’s not just vibes and aesthetics. It’s intentional.

They speak your love language fluently, even the ones you didn’t know you had. You like thoughtful gifts? Boom, they kept the receipt from your first coffee date and made it into a bookmark for your favorite book. You like acts of service? Baby, they’re doing your laundry and ordering your comfort food on a day you can’t get out of bed. You like words of affirmation? They’re sending full monologues about how divine you are. Honestly, at some point you’re gonna be like, “Can you STOP being obsessed with me for five seconds?” But also you’ll be like, don’t stop. Ever. 😭

Let’s circle back to that Death card because whew… this is the CORE. Your favorite thing about this person isn’t just what they do, it’s who they are and who they inspire you to become. You literally go through a soul transformation in their presence. They don’t fall in love with your mask. They fall in love with your shadow. With the parts you thought made you unlovable. With your mess, your moods, your madness, and suddenly, those parts stop feeling like flaws and start feeling like facets of your magic. And in turn?? You’ll start holding them that way too. You won’t be idolizing each other. You’ll be liberating each other. This love isn’t about being perfect, it’s about being real. It’s about death and rebirth. It’s about watching each other burn and saying, “I still choose you.” They are going to be your favorite revolution.

"Wear your power proudly and unapologetically" is not just advice, it’s what your future spouse pulls out of you. You’ve spent so long shrinking. So long waiting for permission. And this person? They’re gonna hand you the crown and go, “You were born royalty. Act like it.” And the best part? They don’t do it for clout. They don’t flaunt you like a trophy. They cherish you like you’re made of stardust and war paint. Your softest parts are sacred to them. Your weirdness? Worshipped. Your power? Encouraged. Like babe... you will feel both feral and safe in their arms. Do you know how rare that is????

Okay this is so random but it came through SO clearly, I’m getting this image of you hating Mondays your whole life, until this person shows up and suddenly?? You’re excited for the week. You’re looking forward to slow morning texts, coffee runs together, messy buns and “just 5 more minutes” cuddles before they leave for work. They re-sensitize you to the beauty of everyday things. And that is so underrated. They make your life feel like poetry again.

 Final random Favorite Things You’ll Obsess Over:

The way they say your name like it’s a prayer. Youll love listening to your name from them. Their ability to sense your moods before you speak. That would be their superpower, honestly. And also the contrast of their softness in private vs their strength in public.

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𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE III

Cards pulled: Six of Swords, The Empress, The Fool, Five of Wands, Ace of Swords amd oracle cards

OMG This pile wow. This is “you didn't know you were starving ‘til they fed you” energy. Wow that was deep LOL. They LOVE the full spectrum of you. Your sensitivity, your rage, your need to cry during commercials, he eats it up. Encourages you to take up space. He celebrates your chaos. And the banter would UNMATCHED.

So first off, let me just say this: I legit felt like I was watching one of those dramatic K-drama slow burns when I started reading this pile. Like ep 1 is you emotionally limping out of some messy chapter of your life, and ep 16 is you soft-smiling while they brush hair from your face and I’m crying just thinking about it 😭 but I digress—

Now let’s start peeling the layers of this absolutely BONKERS beautiful energy: your fave things about this person, Oh honey. It’s not just their looks (although, side note, the way they carry themselves, that quiet “I know who tf I am” swag? Oof. HOT). But no, what melts you? What gets you twisted in the sheets, It’s their consistency with their expression of emotions, their emotional maturity, and the fact that they’re lowkey your safe space after a lifetime of chaos. Yeah, I said it. The trauma you didn’t even realize you were still carrying, they help you walk that.

And listen. This person doesn’t swoop in and fix you, don’t get it wrong. They don’t love you despite your wounds, they love you with them. Like “hand-in-hand with your demons” type love. They don’t run when things get messy. You’ll sit there anxious and they’ll hand you a coffee mug and be like, “Keep talking, I’m not going anywhere.” THAT kind of presence. Yeah, bestie. That’s what you’re gonna worship. But don’t think this is some therapist in a man’s body situation either lmao. There’s a whole wild side to this person too, like, this person challenges the fck outta you.😂 They’re gonna debate you for fun, tease you just to make you roll your eyes, push your buttons not to be toxic, but because it turns them on to see you all passionate and fired up. The intellectual banter is chef’s kiss. Your fave thing about them is that you never get bored with them. They don’t just nod along, they’re present. They got opinions, they got a backbone, and they’re not afraid to go toe to toe with you when you are acting up (and honestly? You love it).

This pile is all about liberation. Your fave thing about them is how they remind you of who you are before the world made you smaller. They give you permission to laugh too loud, cry too much, and dream too big. And they're gonna do it all right beside you.

Now The way they see you… like, you're not just a person to them. You're a literal universe. The way they look at you when you’re ranting about something random, Or doing your skincare, Or just existing in oversized pajamas, They’re gone. Fully GONE. And because of that, you start to see yourself differently too, which is honestly the best part. Like, your favorite thing about this person is how they love you into softness, into full self-worth. They speak to the parts of you that felt unworthy and whisper, “More. You deserve more.” You start walking different because of how deeply they hold space for you.

 😩 Baby This person is your reset button. You’ve been carrying so much emotional weight from past relationships, maybe even from family crap, old fears, toxic exes, and here comes this person like… “Why are you still dimming your light?” this is literally them encouraging you to live a little, say yes more. Take the leap. Splurge. Cry. Yell. Make a mess. Be too much. They LOVE that you're extra. They don't flinch when you're chaotic. They jump off the cliff with you, giggling. (that one was a little exaggerated but nvm😭)

Like, your favorite thing about them is how much they let you take up space. Not just tolerate it. They encourage it. “You are worth every desire, every dream. Demand what is yours.” And this person believe in that. They fight for that. And I’m telling you right now, they’ll probably be the one who drags you to that dream vacation you were too shy to plan, or who makes you apply for the job you think you're not good enough for. They see your power. They know your value. And it becomes your favorite mirror. 💅

And YESSSS, there’s a sexuality to this pile too 😏.This person? They worship your body like it’s art. Like a damn temple. And it’s not just hot passionate nights, it's playful, explorative, curious, FUN. That “I can’t keep my hands off you but I also wanna laugh in your neck while doing it” kinda vibe. 😭That alone could’ve been the whole reading LMAO. But here's the secret sauce: the emotional intimacy hits harder than the physical. It's the way they look at you when you’re vulnerable. When you’re quiet. When you’re in your dark. They just get you. Like intuitively. You’ll be like “I didn’t even say anything” and they’re already making you soup or running you a bath or telling you to block that toxic friend. HOW DO THEY KNOW??? Idk, babes. Soul contract things. 💀

OH and one more image i saw, you're going through a rough time emotionally. You're bawling, maybe imposter syndrome, maybe an old wound opened up, idk, but this person, they stop everything and hold your face and say something brutally honest but loving like: “You forget who you are. Let me remind you.” And it floors you. Floors. You. 🥹

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[readersregrets]

How about some headcanons about William x reader and Jackson x reader? (romantic relationship, characters from the butchery)

P.s. that request was written by eclipse

🌕 Hillwalker brothers x Gn reader 🌑 Romantic head-canons (TW: implied gore, religious delusion, obsession, etc.)

Used the eclipse as a theme for this reader because I've got 7 requests for the brothers and none of them specify what kind of reader they want. :p

If William is the moon, and Jackson is the sun, you're the eclipse. Jackson is vibrant, loud and always has a smile but can disappear into the dark whenever he wants to. William is quiet, but always easy to spot even in the dark of their farm because of his size and judgmental comments. You are both, switching between moods like masks, happily trading them for whatever suits the situation. Sometimes you'll pretend you're being hunted by the brothers to play with the survivors some more.

🌑William🌑 🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

🌑

When he first noticed you, it wasn’t because of what you did, it was what you didn’t do. You didn’t flinch at Jackson. You didn’t run from him. You simply existed beside them like you belonged. That unsettled him. Then it intrigued him. Now it consumes him.

he is not a man of many words. He watches. Evaluates. He also flirts… terribly.

🌒

He calls you “Inti” more than your actual name, Its part insult, part an endearment. “You ever settle on which face you’re wearing today, Inti?” You’ll grin and say, “Why settle?” He acts annoyed, but he watches you more than he should. The way you can navigate both him and Jackson, passing through each other’s orbit… that fascinates him. He likes that you’re unpredictable. That you’ll go from giddy and taunting to hushed and calculating, like flipping a switch. You’re the only one who can dance around both him and Jackson without getting caught, and you know it. You are equal parts light and shadow. Not passive. Not reactive. You choose when to glow and when to fade. Survivors never know where you stand. Sometimes you guide them. Sometimes you drag them back into the dark. You like the guessing game.

You aren't loud like Jackson. You aren't imposing like William. But you are calculated, and in that way, you can be the more dangerous of the three.

🌓 you and William don’t speak much, but your communication is flawless. One look. A tilt of the head. A shared understanding of exactly how a kill should play out. You’ll stand beside him after a slaughter, your fingers gently tracing the blood on his gloves. He won’t stop you. You don’t flinch when he slaughters a pig, or when he drags a screaming survivor into the cellar. In fact, sometimes you lean against the wall and critique his technique, offering sarcastic commentary. He doesn’t say it, but he likes the way that you play along. That maybe you're even worse than he is when no one’s looking. He won’t say he loves you. But if anyone touches you? Doesn’t let them go quickly.

🌕

William didn’t fall for you all at once.

It was a creeping fascination wrapped built on confusion. One moment you were mirroring a man's terrified face while he was chasing some poor sap through the fields, and the next you were standing in William’s shadow, whispering something cruel and cold that even made him pause. That duality? It was intoxicating.

William watches you sleep. Not even romantically, more in a study-the-phenomenon way. He once said, “You don’t breathe like normal people.”

You catch him staring often. Never blinking. Never ashamed.

He doesn’t smile. But when you're near, he does pause. That counts for something.

🌗

You carved him a small wooden bear once. Just left it on his windowsill. You never brought it up. A week later, he tied one of your discarded hair ribbons to his belt. When Jackson asked, William ignored him. But you saw it, and you knew that was the closest thing to a confession you were gonna get.

🌘

you match William in the cold-blooded calculation he prides himself on. He admires that, even if it annoys him when you outmaneuver him during a hunt.

He hates Jackson’s theatrics, but if you choose to mimic them? Suddenly, it’s “tolerable.” he’ll deny favoritism with a dead stare.

He once told you, flatly, “You see too much.” you smiled and whispered back, “So do you.” since then, you’ve become his shadow.

🌑 when you pretend to be a survivor, William plays along in complete silence. He’ll even won't even bother trying to “miss”, letting the fear rise.

But the moment another survivor threatens you during your act? The cleaver is in the air before they can blink.

Afterwards, he’ll murmur, “Don’t do that again.” not because you fooled him, but because it almost made him feel something.

William’s more affectionate when the sun’s down. He likes the hush of the farm at night, the low creak of wood and distant cries, the way your eyes gleam in the dim like fire. If he say anything about it thought, you'll tell him to shut up, and then kiss him hard enough to bruise.

🌕Jackson🌕 🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

🌕

Jackson doesn't just fall for people. He fixates. The first time he saw you, unblinking, calm in the face of his chaos, he knew the lord brought you to him for a reason.

He calls you nicknames like “crescent,” and “tiger” or when he's being your hype man to the folk unlucky enough to wake up in the farmhouse? “A divine shadow.”

There's a duality in you, cold silence one moment, blood-dripping grins the next, it has him captivated. It reminds him of a solar eclipse: rare, sacred, amazing.

🌖

Jackson genuinely believes you are a sign, an omen of something divine or apocalyptic. He gets quiet about it sometimes, thinking things to himself he's not sure if he'd even share with William. “the lord said he’d send someone with dark in their bones and light in their eyes… and here you are.”

There are symbols carved into the walls that represent you, black circles surrounded by jagged rays, sometimes painted with real ash and blood.

🌗

You’re his favorite “survivor” in the farmhouse. You and Jackson have made whole performances out of games with survivors. You’ll sometimes pretend to be hunted, crying out and begging, until the moment boredom strikes, and you turn and say, “Wasn’t that fun?”

He lives for your theatrics. You mirror his flamboyance so well, but where he’s fireworks and rodeos, you're masks and music. The combination is pretty lethal.

He lets you take the lead sometimes, just to watch. He gets this dreamy look when you work like he’s witnessing scripture in motion.

🌑 Jackson talks to your shadow when you’re not around. Just sits in the barn, cleaver in hand, mumbling “They’ll be back. They always come back.”

He’s tried to catch your shadow before, pressed his hand to it on the floor, whispering nonsense prayers.

You’ve woken up to him resting beside you, just staring.

🌓 Jackson’s volatile, but with you? He hesitates. Not out of fear, he knows you chose him for a reason, but reverence. You’re the only person whose judgment he actually considers other than his brothers.

If you’re angry, he gets real still. If you’re laughing, he joins in. but if you’re silent and want something? He might kneel, kiss your wrist, get a room ready for your wrath, might just ask straight up, “Tell me what you want, Tiger.”

Sometimes he swears you’re the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. “You’ve got those eclipse eyes. Darker than me. Brighter than any star. Prettier than sin.”

🌔 You’re one of the very few who sees past the carnival bark and glittering madness. You call him out when he’s pretending to be stupid or petulant.

You never flinch when he gets volatile. That unblinking gaze? It makes his hands shake, not from rage, but anticipation.

He’s carved up victims while speaking sweet nothing's to you like he’s reading you poetry. You listen, your eyes gleaming like crescent slivers of light, offering soft affirmations or counter-philosophies.

🌕 he prays with you, even if he’s the only one speaking Jackson often insists on a quick prayer before a big hunt. You light the candles. He preaches. You just stare.

When it’s over, he presses your forehead to his and says, “We’re chosen. You and me. Sun, moon… and the lord in-between.”

[yoonmetogether]

chapter 2. take it

pairing: bodyguard!Yoongi x CEO!fem reader - brother/mob boss!Seokjin, brother/mob boss!Jeongguk genre: mafia, e2l, sloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow burn, age gap summary: jin is gone and it’s up to you and jeongguk to start running the city. d is right behind you. warnings: angst, arranged marriage, drug addiction/rehab, family drama, parental loss, alcohol, smoking, crime, drugs and weapons trading, guns, references to murder, reader’s future-FIL is a d*ck, reader's fiance gets a little touchy, namjoon is judgmental but supportive, boxing, 2seok if you squint, surprise cameo minors pls dni wc: 10.8k oof my bad i'm incapable of keeping shit short apparently @glossdebut my girl aqua ate this banner upppppppppp do yall see this??????? she had a vision and she brought it to lifeeeeeeeeeeee i only gave her a little idea and she just turned it into a work of art!!!! I look at it about 20 times a day 😅 her mind is so sexy for this MWAH and then on top of that she beta’d this chapter (twice!!) she’s really just a queen thank you aquaaaaaa ily!! <3333333333333333333333333 another huuuuuuuuuuuuuugeeeee shoutout to @moochii-daisies for also giving my rough draft a read ughksndn words cannot express how much her enthusiasm and interest in this story means to me thank you my lovely!! <333333333333333333

masterlist

Jin leaves in the middle of the night.

Your breath comes out in thick, white puffs as you tiptoe out of the house at 1am where there’s a black Santa Fe SUV idling in front of the stairs.

The shadow you despise waits for you at the bottom, and not a single word or look is exchanged as he opens the rear door, although faint remnants of his cologne and cigarettes follow as you slide onto the leather seat, opposite of your brother. While you buckle up, a morose ambiance fills the silence between you, Jeongguk’s hand finding yours and giving a gentle squeeze that grounds him.

“So he’s heading out on a fishing boat?” you ask to crack the sullenness after the SUV speeds out onto the road towards the highway.

“Mhmm,” he responds in a dull tone.

“He’ll enjoy that.”

“Yeah.” He turns his head to swallow a bittersweet expression. “A while ago, I caught him looking up his chances of getting into NASA. That was always his dream.” A smile breaks out onto your face, eclipsing the force of intense gravity weighing in your chest.

“He’d make a good astronaut.” A lump in your throat, you look out of the tinted window, frowning at the sky blocked by pollution and the fog of an oncoming snowstorm. “Maybe on the boat, he’ll get to see more stars. Can’t see shit in the city.”

“Remember when we tried to buy him that star for his birthday?”

“Oh, yeah!” You half-laugh, brightening at the memory. “He wouldn’t have been so pissed it was a scam if you hadn’t stolen his card to pay for it.”

“It was your idea!”

“Well, you were the one who spent all the money we both saved up to buy that jacket for-” You close your stupid mouth when Jeongguk’s expression drops and hardens.

“I’m sorry.” Remorse builds in your gut at the way his teeth gnaw at his lip ring, a dent between his brows, and that distant glaze in his eyes takes over. You grab his hand again before he can drift too far away.

“Don’t go there, okay?”

To try and keep him with you, you pull his arm to rest over the console, and start tapping your fingertips over his jacket to a tune you hear in your head, visualizing black and white keys.

“‘Merry go round of life’?” he inquires after you get through the first few phrases of the intro.

You smile, happy that he was able to pick up on it so quickly. “Your favorite.”

“When’s the last time you played?” The shakiness in his voice dissipates.

“It’s been a while. But Jay has a nice Steinway in the living room that I’m pretty sure is just for show, so I’ll play that whenever I have time.”

“Hm.” The car hums in silence for a few moments.

Now that you’re back home, things won’t ever be the same as before but at least you’re on the same side of the world as your brother. You won’t be in the same house, but you’ll be in the same city, doing the same things - in a way.

Most importantly, you’ll be there for each other. And that’s what gives you hope that everything will be okay. Even if Jin won’t be here, at least you have- Oh!

You sit up straight, turning to face Jeongguk fully, suddenly remembering what you’ve been itching to ask him about.

“Do you think something’s going on with Jin and Hope?”

“Huh?” his eyebrows raise as if you caught him off guard, but a small smile follows. “Oh. Yeah.”

You gasp excitedly. “Spill!”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Then how do you know?”

He shrugs. “Hyung’s not as subtle as he thinks whenever Hope comes around.”

“You never tried asking him?”

“You know he doesn’t talk about anything like that.”

Yeah. Jin has always had a penchant for dismissing or deflecting any talk of his relationships outside of work, instead turning the conversation back on you and Jeongguk. Not once has he mentioned friends beyond the capos in his circle, and it’s always made you sad just how much he’s missed out on because of circumstances out of his control.

“Maybe now he’ll have some more freedom to make connections.”

“He’s on the run, Angel. He won’t get to stay in one place long enough.”

“Mm.” You almost retort that you know very well what that’s like, but decide against it. Jin is going away for a completely different reason. Still. Neither of you were left with a choice.

“I wish we could go with him,” you whisper with a tug in your heart. It’s been ages since you’ve all been together, but now Jin is being ripped away. It’s not fair. You just want your family.

Why is the universe hellbent on keeping that out of reach?

“Me too,” Jeongguk replies quietly. “But we have duties to fulfill.”

“You really think this is what we were born to do?”

Jeongguk’s eyes flit between you and the back of the seat.

“It’s what hyung and I were born to do.”

That’s a small punch to your gut. So just like everyone else, your brothers think you weren’t supposed to be here at all. Which is why your father never paid attention to you. Although that Lee Dongwook prick was right - your brothers were merely pawns in his empire and had no real connection to them otherwise - they were planned. 

They weren’t a mistake. They were wanted, if only for business. It stings, that your brothers have been used by your father, even now from the grave. It should be a good thing that you were almost always invisible to him.

So why doesn’t it feel that way?

A faceless woman flashes in your mind. Your mother left before you developed a memory. Like she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t remember how she didn’t want you, either.

Would she want you now?

“Hey,” your brother says, breaking the silence and the dissonance in your head. “It’s good that you’re here.”

“Well, yeah.” You muster a smile, turning back to him. “Can’t let you mess everything up all by yourself.”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing and shoves your shoulder. You snicker and lean back over, holding up your fist.

“Ride or die, remember?”

He tries to maintain his scorn but ultimately sighs and knocks his fist against yours, and you do the handshake you made up when you were kids. It ends with a mutual slap on the side of the neck and finger guns, and you wear matching smiles as you sit back against the leather seats, the air becoming a little lighter between you.

“Y’know, that shit you pulled with Dongwook last night, hyung’s been bragging about it.”

“Really? He’s not… mad?”

“Are you kidding? He’s proud of how you handled that.”

“Oh. I thought you both would be upset that I stirred up trouble.”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “Nah. You just proved to them that you’re one of us.”

You tense. There it is again.

One of us. Cut from the same cloth, capable of spilling blood without consequences. And without getting your hands dirty.

You glance to the front where D’s sitting in the passenger’s seat, back straight as he focuses on the dark road ahead.

He’ll probably be the one to keep your hands clean.

I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.

Well. What did you do to deserve it?”

You pick at your nails as you speak with false nonchalance.

“Y’know, I almost came back home a few years ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I missed you guys, and I thought Jin would let me come see you, but you weren’t doing well and-“ you stop yourself.

“Anyway, I was at this bar, and I may or may not have played some poker and won a whole bunch of money to get a flight home. It really pissed off a bunch of the men, and this one dude actually ended up following me to my hotel to steal back 500,000 won. Isn’t that pathetic?”

Jeongguk’s head snaps to you, a perturbed expression taking over.

“What? Why didn’t you say something?”

You shrug. “He was just a desperate, low-life, sore loser. He wasn’t worth it.”

Still isn’t, you wish you could say.

“Did you get his name?” He asks ominously enough to make you feel a tad nervous.

So who knows how the man you secretly speak of is feeling.

“Um,” you pretend to think. “It was something insignificant, so I don’t remember.”

“That was dangerous, Angel. If something happened to you…”

“I know. It was a reckless mistake and it won’t ever happen again.”

“Good.”

D has not moved or shifted once and you wonder if he even heard you.

The car finally turns down a road lined with a chain-link fence, enclosing the expansive marina filled with fishing boats. After weaving through a narrow maze of warehouses, Jin suddenly comes into view, standing in front of an empty dock with his arms crossed and upon seeing the SUV, he quickly strides over.

Before the driver has had a chance to brake, Jin grabs the handle, swinging it open with a huge smile on his face. You slide out and into his arms that wrap you up in a tight hug.

You breathe in the smell of him; of homemade makgugksu and bungeoppang after a long day at school; of leaves falling on your evening strolls along the river banks as the autumn sun set on the horizon; of food cooking over a crackling fire while frogs and crickets chirped among the pine trees.

The smell of home.

“Can I get out?” Jeongguk demands behind you, boot nudging the backs of your thighs and you stagger forward still in Jin’s arms, turning around to ram yourself against the door.

Jeongguk is strong, but your will is stronger as he pushes against it, and you snicker at his muffled, “you annoying piece of shit!”

“Yah, language!” Jin exclaims, tugging you away from the door.

“She’s the one trying to trap me in here!”

Your oldest brother rolls his eyes as he pulls you to the side so Jeongguk can step out.

“You two can’t go 5 seconds without fighting?”

“We’ve gotta make up for all these years!” You defend.

Jeongguk glares at you as he straightens and slams the door behind him and you just hide yourself in Jin’s embrace.

Seconds later, another door opens and shuts, and Jin’s muffled voice rumbles above your head.

“Hey, D. Thanks for bringing them to me safe.”

You don’t hear a response and assume he just silently acknowledged your brother, his swift footsteps against the gravel growing farther away. You peek away from Jin’s chest to watch him join the other guards across the yard.

Upon observing all of them surrounding the perimeter, you’re a little heart-stricken that you can’t spend these final moments with your brother alone.

“We’re good out here,” Jin assures you, taking your scanning of the docks as paranoia. “Cops are on the other side of town. Hope made sure of it.”

You can’t stop the teasing quirk of your lips as you tilt your head up at him. “Hope, huh?”

“What?” he asks, looking between you and Jeongguk as you sneak a glance at each other.

“Nothing.”

By the slight uptick in his brow, it’s obvious that he’s curious about what you know, but time is limited, and you figure he doesn’t want to waste time finding out when this is about just the three of you.

“Oh my god, is that a hoodie?” you ask in a teasing manner, changing the subject as you fully look at your brother’s casual, comfy outfit under his big coat. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in one since I was nine. And that was because bro threw up on you after going on that roller coaster twelve times in a row.” 

Jeongguk shoves you roughly to the side and you laugh, the sound echoing in the old harbor. “At least I was tall enough to even get on the roller coaster. Or any of the rides for that matter that weren’t for little kids.”

“You surpassed the height requirement by the time you were 5, you extra large kangaroo!”

His eyes narrow and he holds up his fists, bending his knees in a typical fight stance. “Come at me, bro.”

You mirror him and circle each other while pretending to spar, neither of you flinching when your fake punches get close to being real.

“Oh, lord,” Jin laughs, running a hand down his face as he stares between you again with a soft gaze when usually he would be telling you off for bickering and play-fighting. “You made it past a minute this time.”

You jut a thumb back at your brother, ignoring his air punch to your shoulder. “He’s gonna bully me way worse now that you’re leaving.”

“No, he won’t,” Jin says, fixing Jeongguk with a semi-stern stare until he holds his hands up in mock defense.

“Sure. As long as she’s not a pain in my ass,” he harmlessly spits, mocking the way you stick your tongue out at him.

“You two are the most dangerous people in the city now, you know that, right?” Jin muses.

A lull breezes past as that reality winds around this small bubble cradling you and your brothers, tightening until it pops with the truth that there is no time for fun and games anymore. Not outside, not where people can see.

Now you notice the bags that sit in a small pile just paces away from where you stand with your brothers. A couple of medium-sized suitcases, three duffels, and two totes. All of Jin’s worldly belongings, all that he can bring, are packed up in those bags.

Fuck. This is torture. To have to watch him carry his life on board but leave you behind.

Noticing that you’ve been staring, Jin turns back to grab the totes, and you and Jeongguk walk up to accept them.

“Here’s some food, it should last a few weeks,” he says, the heavy insulated bags containing various packed containers. “And I left all the recipes in there for whenever you get around to missing my cooking.”

“It won’t be the same,” Jeongguk pouts.

“It’s better than nothing,” you point out.

Jin smiles at you appreciatively, then reaches into the pockets of his big coat and pulls out two square white velvet boxes, passing one to each of you.  

“And this is something a little extra special.”

You both open them at the same time, eyes widening when stunning Hermès rose-gold and steel watches that match the one on Jin’s wrist twinkle under the yellow light from the scattered lampposts.

“I’ll keep mine set to your time, so no matter where I am, I’ll know when to call.”

You gawk at it as tears cloud your vision, so much so that you can’t blink or move lest the dam breaks. Jin’s feet step into view and you don’t look up as he takes out the watch, gently lifts your arm, and clasps it comfortably on your wrist.

“There,” he murmurs. “Pretty.”

He moves on to do the same with Jeongguk, and you can only watch the second hand tick around the expensive silver face and white-gold numbers.

Jin grasps your arm again, holding it next to Jeongguk’s, simply staring down at all of your matching watches. The bands are not too big for your wrist, but not too small for your brothers’. Just right. And it doesn’t hide the tattoo of Jeongguk’s initials sitting next to yours on the inside of Jin’s forearm. 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t do better, that I couldn’t prevent this,” Jin whispers, broken crack in his voice. He squeezes your wrist and your heart crumples. “You know that if it was up to me, both of you would be out there doing whatever you want, without worrying about anything. I promise that when all of this blows over, I’ll come back so that you can go out and live your best lives.”

“It’s not your fault,” you croak. “I don’t blame you, I’m sorry if I made you think I do. The only person I’ve ever blamed for any of this is him. He’s a bitch for forcing this onto us.”

You pray Jeongguk knows you’re not talking about him.

As you gaze up at Jin, you see the features he shares with the man partially responsible for your existence. The similar face shape, nose, strong chin, height and broad shoulders.

But his eyes are what set him apart. Jin has so much warmth and kindness and love in his beautiful brown eyes, things he holds for you and Jeongguk, things you’ve never seen from your father.

The dam breaks and you cry for Jin. For the burdens he carries, not just for your father’s syndicate but for you and Jeongguk. For the responsibility he assumed to be your protector, your caretaker, when he should’ve just been your big brother, your best friend.

You’re soon engulfed by his tender hugs so you can bury puddles of tears into his sweater.

“Birdie, don’t cry. You’re gonna make it harder to leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave. I just got back.”

“I know,” he whispers, rubbing between your shoulders. “But it’s not forever. We’ll be a family again someday.”

“We didn’t even get to have a girls’ night,” you pout sadly.

When Jeongguk entered his teen years and suddenly became “too cool” to hang out with his little sister all the time, Jin started setting aside days on the weekend for just you, sending cool guy off with his friends.

He took you shopping, treated you to boba and takeout, and then back home, brought out his own expensive face masks and did your hair while you watched your favorite movies. As you got a little older, he sometimes let you have a sip of his whiskey sour, and coached you on different poker strategies after you told him it was your goal to win against Jeongguk. And thanks to Jin, you did.

“Maybe you two can start having girls’ nights.”

“Ew,” you and Jeongguk say at the same time, in the same inflection. Jin just rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, you can’t just pretend you like each other in front of me?”

“Why would we do that?” Jeongguk quips, earning him a death glare from you.

“Yah, you little-” Jin scolds and lunges to give him a harmless swat but Jeongguk just jumps out of reach, already expecting it.

“Come here!” Tears drying, you laugh as Jin breaks away to chase him around, and it becomes their turn to wrestle, much to your delight seeing Jeongguk get put in a headlock for a change.

Eventually, Jeongguk taps Jin’s elbow, calling for a truce, and they’re both slightly out of breath. You stare as they straighten and face each other, and something gentle floats down on them that has Jeongguk hugging him tightly. Jin starts rubbing his back and you duck your head when you hear him warble,

“I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, hyung.”

“Hey, look at me,” Jin demands, pulling back to dip fingers under Jeongguk’s chin and lift his head up. 

“The only way you could disappoint me is if you run away or don’t let yourself get better. You’re here now, three months sober, and that’s all that matters.”

“But I-” Jin waves his free hand frantically in the air.

“I don’t want to hear it! You just need to focus on tomorrow and every day ahead of that. The past is the past and you’ll learn to let it go.”

Jeongguk hangs his head again but Jin brings it right back up.

“I have the utmost confidence in you,” your oldest brother declares, setting firm yet comforting hands on Jeongguk’s cheeks. “I know it’s been hard, but you’ve come so far. You are nothing like him, okay? Just stay off the stuff and everything will be fine.”

Jeongguk nods solemnly and Jin engulfs him, whispering more affirmations that he needs to hear as he holds him.

“I believe in you, bun. Don’t forget that.”

After a few minutes of watching your brothers’ moment in the dark freezing cold, Jin pulls back again, smoothing down Jeongguk’s mussed bangs.

“Look out for her, will you?” Jin asks him, nodding back to you.

“Do I have to?” he jokingly complains, finally accepting the noogie to the top of his head. Jin laughs when Jeongguk pushes him away to fix his mussed hair and then looks past him at you.

“And you,” he calls. As you step forward, Jeongguk steps back, giving you and your oldest, dearest brother space.

“My beautiful little sister,” Jin coos, brushing your cheek. “I am so incredibly proud of the woman you’ve become. I’ve always admired how you stuck it out all these years, and even though you were building a life for yourself, you came back for us.” He smiles through a shaky breath.

“You don’t know how much that means to me. This business won’t be easy, but I know how strong and capable and resilient you are that you’ll be able to handle it.”

“I got it from you.” A diamond drop plummets down his cheek.

“Oh, birdie,” he murmurs, wrapping you up in the warmest bear hug. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“No one could’ve raised us better than you, Jinnie,” you whisper into his neck, and he hugs you tighter.

“But I’m sorry I snapped at you the other night.”

“It’s okay,” he says, smiling down at you softly as he adjusts your scarf to fit more snugly around the collar of your coat. “It just showed me you’re not gonna take anyone’s shit without a fight.”

“Duh, I grew up with Megatron over there.”

He chuckles, shoots a brief glance over your head and then pulls you a little closer, speaking a lot quieter.

“He won’t be able to help you at the casino, so no one will be nice,” he reminds you seriously. “But don’t let any of them scare you. Give them hell, you hear me?” 

You nod your promise which eases his tense expression.

“Like I did with Dongwook? I heard you’ve been bragging about me.” His frown flips into a grin, and he reaches up to adjust your beanie further down your forehead.

“Of course! I’ve always bragged about you. Not just when you stand up for yourself and your brother by stabbing a crazy drunk dude with a lit cigar. Cute little badass,” he coos, pinching your cheek and you scowl, whacking him away.

“No, but really,” he continues, raising his voice a bit. “You’ve always been a tough cookie, and not just because of that domesticated T-rex I raised.”

“I’m standing right here, y’know!” Jeongguk hollers and you giggle when Jin acts like he didn’t hear.

“And I know the situation with D isn’t practical, little miss independent.” He boops your nose. Smile faltering, you do your best to keep disdain off of your face.

“But I don’t want anything to happen to you and I trust him the most to keep you safe. So if you have a problem with anyone, go to him and he’ll deal with it, okay?”

You can’t doubt or question your brother. And that means you have to trust D.

(But the last time you did that, you woke up alone with some of your money gone. You remind yourself that this is D. Not Yoongi.

Min Yoongi is dead to you.)

“I shouldn’t have dropped that on you like I did, though, and I’m sorry.”

You hum. “We’re all throwing a lot of apologies around tonight. I think that’s a record.”

“That won’t be beaten again.” Your laughs harmonize in the frigid breeze.

“What are you guys laughing about?” Jeongguk asks as he walks up to join you.

“How funny your face looks,” you crack, causing Jeongguk to plop his hand on the center of your face, tipping your head back in a muffled cackle.

Before you can start another squabble, Jin tugs you both into him in a family hug, one that you and Jeongguk have always pretended to complain about but give up your childish tendencies for the sake of the moment. Who knows when you’ll get to hug Jin like this again.

“You two are my entire world. Take care of each other for me, okay? I love you so much.”

A horn blows loudly over the water - a signal that time is up.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Jin isn’t one to curse. “I have to go.” Many tears slip between the three of you and he squeezes you before letting go.

“Help me with my bags?”

You and Jeongguk each pick up two and carry them to the dock where a man wordlessly takes them on deck of the large, old fishing boat.

Jin turns to you once again, lingers kisses on your foreheads, envelopes you in one last firm hug, and you cling onto each other like that’ll keep Jin rooted in place so he can never leave.

“If either of you get hurt, I’ll burn this entire fucking city down.”

And then he lets go.

Jeongguk throws an arm around your neck as you watch your brother board the boat that will take him too far away, both of you laughing when he turns around once he reaches the deck and dramatically blows a kiss in your direction.

Head plopped on Jeongguk’s shoulder, you stare and stare as Jin bustles around, helping the crew launch off the dock. Once the boat starts drifting away, Jin rushes to the stern, standing there with his arm held up in an endless wave that you and Jeongguk return with a variation of hearts.

Neither of you moves from the edge until the boat becomes nothing but a dot of light on the dark sea.

The ride home is quiet, except for sniffles and swiping of tears from cheeks. When the SUV pulls back up to your house and D gets out to open your door, Jeongguk hugs you, holding on for longer than you expect.

“I couldn’t do this without you,” he whispers with an undertone of sincerity. But you catch fear in there too.

“I know,” you whisper back, smiling at his small huff as he pulls back. “But you got this, bro. Like Jin said.”

A smile lifts the corner of his lips when you hold out your fist and you do the brief version of your handshake. Just a gentler tap on the side of the neck and finger guns.

“Night.”

“Night,” he murmurs as you grab the handle but the door opens for you.

You don’t give D the same farewell as you get out of the car. Neither does he as he shuts the door behind you.

The sky is grey with heavy flakes of snow as you step out onto the porch. D is standing by the car like he did the first night he picked you up. Hands clasped, glasses and long coat on. Except this time, he’s waiting by the back door.

“Good afternoon, Miss Jeon,” he greets as he opens the door before tipping forward in a subtle bow. Your only reply is a cursory glance his way.

D drives you into the city, and you’re relieved when Jeongguk texts you because it distills some of the anxiety unfurling in your pores.

megatron🤖: Kick ass today you: Gotta practice so i can kick yours on friday! megatron🤖:🙄 yeah good luck with that

You grin at your brother’s sarcasm and find a gif of Rocky boxing, pleased with the fact that the theme song will be stuck in his head all day because of it. The middle finger emoji he shoots back confirms your theory.

Stay Gold casino isn’t massive like your brother said. It’s colossal. Foreboding. As you stare up at it in all its glory and lights and noise and glamorous patrons, you feel as if at any moment it could collapse and crush you to pieces.

“Ah, my future daughter-in-law, welcome!” A booming voice startles you out of your slow descent into unmanageable stress, belonging to Jay's father as he stands at the top of the stairs, Namjoon beside him wearing a comforting smile. “I was expecting you a bit sooner.”

You pause in the midst of taking a step into his handshake.

“Am I not on time?”

“You are, but since it’s your first day, I thought you might show some initiative and arrive earlier. You know, make a good impression.” He says this in a sincere tone, but his smile is anything but.

Fuck, you haven’t even set one foot inside the building, but already you’ve messed up? You just fucking got here, why is being so hard on you? You glance over at Namjoon who’s staring at Jay’s father with a small frown and slightly quirked brow.

“She had another appointment prior to this, so she wouldn’t have been able to come any earlier,” Namjoon announces evenly. You say nothing as he lies since you’d only been at home staring at the wall for a few hours.

The older man turns to Namjoon. “Oh, have you been brought on as the assistant?”

“No, sir,” your savior politely shakes his head. “I’m here to help until she finds one, so you can come to me about any issues with her schedule.”

“Ah,” is all Namjoon gets in response before you’re gestured to enter the place that will one day be under your name. Well, the name you’ll be claimed by.

Jay’s father takes you to your office first, all of you squeezing into the employee elevator with D situated himself in the corner behind you. The doors rumble open on the fourth floor, and it’s only one turn around a short corner before a large oak door comes into view with a small desk sitting to the right of it.

“The main office is up a few floors, but that’s mine. You’ll use this one for now.”

It’s small, to say the least. And the wood panelling looks as if you time traveled back into the ‘80s. The entire room even smells as if the carpet hasn’t been cleaned since then, embedded with the stench of stale cigars.

The one redeeming quality is that behind the desk is a glass opening in the floor that allows you to peer over the blackjack and roulette tables, all the money that passes from the hands of tourists and locals with nothing to lose, that will end up in the casino’s safes and your brother’s pockets.

The tour continues all around the casino, Jay’s father showing you every room on every floor like this is your one and only chance to get familiar with the environment.

From here on out, you’ll be here pretty much every day of the week, so you don’t know why he’s rushing through this tour on your first night. It’s almost hard to keep up. And you feel bad for Namjoon who’s matching the pace alongside you, diligently taking notes as your FFIL rattles off all of your potential duties. All of which Namjoon has briefed you on already.

It’s a lot to absorb.

Monitoring games and slots and the revenue that follows. Overseeing the floor at the beginning of the night. Engaging with important guests and board members.

You’re introduced to managers, dealers, and various members of the staff, and despite the polite greetings you give them, followed by promises that you’ll work hard alongside them, they eye you with uncertainty.

Doubt creeps in.

As he guides you through more slot games on the other side of the casino, a presence suddenly steps up between you and Namjoon, forcing the latter to move aside, and your heart sinks when you turn to Jay beaming at you, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back.

“Oh, what are you doing here?” you ask, recovering a stutter. He leans in to kiss you on the cheek, and tamping down nausea, you feign a smile and remind yourself that this is just for show.

“Came to support you on your first day. How’s it going so far?”

“She still has a lot to learn,” his father answers for you. Jay just nods and smiles at you, clearly not detecting the condescension.

“She’ll get the hang of it.”

Jay never leaves your side as his father goes on with the tour, fingers lightly but noticeably touching over the small of your back, the center of your shoulders, your elbow, and it’s the most he’s touched you thus far. It’s just like the kiss. He’s showing people (and you) that he’s the reason for the heavy rock on your ring finger. He’s claiming you. And it makes your nerves bristle.

His father goes on to tell you about the private gambling rooms, but doesn't take you in.

“I’m not expecting you to know how to gamble or play poker, but it might be a good idea to at least get familiar with the games.”

Namjoon leans forward, opening his mouth to no doubt inform him of your acute abilities, but you shake your head, quietly stopping him.

“That’s a good idea, I’ll get right on that.” It’s hard to keep the sarcasm out of your voice, but Jay’s father doesn’t seem to notice as he’s too busy smugly leering at you.

“I can teach you,” Jay says close to your ear. Next to him, Namjoon is side-eyeing the interaction like he just ate something sour and it helps to put a smile on your face as you give your fiancé a confirming nod.

“Okay.”

As you continue on, you glance back to Namjoon cracking his neck and subtly shaking his head, and you have to press your lips together to contain a laugh.

“Ask about the counters,” Namjoon then reminds you in a whisper.

Crossing your arms, you face your patronizing supervisor. “I want to meet the counters.”

“Ah, that’s not something you have to worry about.”

“That’s exactly what I have to worry about,” you state firmly. “I want to know who’s counting my money.”

“Your money?” He scoffs. “I know my son put that pretty ring on your finger, but I’m afraid that until you tie the knot, nothing in here is yours.”

“I think my brothers would disagree.”

“The alliance isn’t secure yet, young lady. This is a trial run, remember?”

You take a deep breath, calming your building rage, and speak as evenly as you can.

“I’m here to take care of my brother’s side of the business, and the counters are part of that. Take me to them now.”

He shares a silent exchange with his son but you sense that they will have some words about you later and they won’t be upholding. In a reluctant spin, he takes you back the way you came and you ask Namjoon a random question about his notes so Jay can’t comment on how you just spoke to his father.

He leads you to a stairwell on the west side and you skid to a stop, stomach dropping.

The stairwell. You don’t know if it was this one, so you want to avoid any of them at all cost.

You jut a thumb over your shoulder. “I’m gonna take the elevator.”

Jay and his father look at you questioningly. Namjoon bows his head, hiding his minute frown.

“But it’s just one flight down.”

You shake your head, wearing a discomfited smile. “I’ll meet you there.”

Not giving either of them a chance to argue further, you turn for the elevator. And for one brief second, you’re relieved that the only person following you is D. Because he won’t say a word or ask a question, which is the last thing you need in this moment.

The three men are waiting in the hall once you exit the elevator, Jay and his father whipping themselves out of a whispered conversation once your heels click on the floor.

The room they bring you to is small and brightly lit, with 5 or so men in white button-downs sorting through lockboxes of money, counting it, exchanging it with bills from silver briefcases, and placing them in drawers that slide into a large safe on wheels for transport.

This is where the cash from the businesses protected by your brother will be laundered, that you’re in charge of collecting. The cash that will make you complicit in the Crow family crime syndicate.

Nausea lays down with the doubt.

Still, you press forward.

On your way to where the vaults are that Jay’s father seems reluctant to show you, you pass by a room where staff donning red blazer, black ties, and wires behind their ears are filtering in and out. Your fiance’s father doesn’t apologize to a staff member he bumps into as he pauses and turns around, looking past you, Jay, and Namjoon.

“D, is it?” Stilling, you glance back to D who’s focused on Jay’s father through those dark glasses as he nods. “You’ll be in charge of the security team?”

“I already am, sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“They all know that they will report to me.”

The older man looks appalled and, frankly, so are you. D’s apparently twelve steps ahead of you, having already established himself and his role here as the chief of security.

“Alright,” Jay says, sitting his hand on your waist and you force your muscles not to tense too much. “I’m gonna get going, so I’ll see you at home.” He places another kiss on your cheek and Namjoon looks away, but behind you, there’s a pair of hidden eyes on your back that won’t leave.

After Jay’s father gives you room to breathe by escorting his son to the garage, Namjoon joins you and D in returning to your office, phone out texting who you assume to be his girlfriend as he walks.

“Did they talk shit about me?” you disrupt the somewhat comfortable silence.

“No,” he shakes his head without breaking attention from his phone. Man can multitask. “I’m sure they would’ve if I wasn’t there. The silence was loud.”

You hum, a bitter taste in your mouth, and Namjoon shuts his phone off and pockets it.

“But don’t pay him any mind, you’re doing fine. I would call him a name, but he’s about to be your father-in-law.”

“I want to call him a few names,” you mumble, and Namjoon lets out a comforting laugh. This is a reason why you think you could get through everything with Namjoon by your side. He’s so easygoing and real with the ability to make you feel better through his playful nature. But this is only temporary because his actual role is to take care of your brother’s affairs. You’ll just be stuck with D and whatever assistant he finds.

“Why didn’t you tell them you can play poker?” he asks after you step into the elevator and D presses the button for the 3rd floor.

You shrug. “They want to keep underestimating me, who am I to stop them?”

“So you’re gonna act like you don’t know how to play and then completely wipe the floor with their asses?”

Grinning, you flicker an impulsive glance at your bodyguard, who’s standing so still he could be a wax figurine.

“I’ve done it before, it’s really fun.” 

“Can I please be there? I’d love to see that.”

“Yeah, I’ll pencil it in on your schedule.”

“Sweet!”

Back in your office, Namjoon follows you inside while D stays in the hall, next to the door as you shut it. His phone is back out as you sit down at the desk, inspecting the worn corners and stained surface with repulsion.

“So, Meg’s on her way to pick me up, are you good?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you nod, lugging your bag onto the desk so you can start organizing your books and papers. “Hot date tonight?”

“Always.” He winks, and you laugh at his cheesy grin.

“Alright, well, seriously, you’re doing great so far and I think you’re going to continue to do great.”

“Moon, all I’ve done is walk around and shake hands.”

“And put up with his condescending attitude!” Namjoon exclaims, dramatically throwing up an arm. “You showed him you’re not here to play games and that you’re capable of everything he’s going to expect out of you. That’s a damn good start.”

“Thank you, Moon.”

“You’re welcome,” he says in a huff, like he thinks you should’ve already known that. You chuckle at his expression as you get out your laptop.

“And just by the way, D was watching that dude Jay like a hawk because he kept touching up on you.”

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard, and Namjoon misses the way you thickly swallow as he checks a message on his phone.

“So if he ever tries anything fresh, D will, y’know, deal with him.”

You clasp your cold hands. “I know. That’s his job.” 

“Yeah, no one will get in your way with him around. Your brothers made a good choice in him.”

So you’ve gathered.

If only they knew.

“You know what, speaking of D, I was looking through the files again and I didn’t see one for him.”

Namjoon glances up to the ceiling in thought.

“I don’t think there is one since he was vetted by your brothers.”

“Well, I’m his boss now and I’d like to see his background.”

He nods. “I think I can come up with something.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem, I’ll have it ready later this week. By the way, any word on your assistant?”

“Not yet,” you sigh. “I guess D’s having a little trouble finding one who’s not a guy.”

Namjoon nods. “Well, in the meantime, I’m happy to help out.”

“I appreciate it. Actually, there was something else…” 

You dig through the mess in your bag until you find your black journal that has names of businesses and their owners within the city, monetary numbers and dates lined next to them. You flip to the page you marked because some of the information is unclear.

“I noticed this clinic up north is on the books, but there’s no payment expected?”

Namjoon looks it over and nods. “I think your family owes them a favor, so they don’t have to pay for protection.”

Huh. Interesting.

He pulls out his phone as you search through the rest of the book for any other notes you made to mention to Namjoon. But he announces that his girlfriend just pulled up.

“Thanks for your help tonight. Tell Meg I said hi!” He beams at you and waves as he heads for the door.

“Will do, boss. See you tomorrow!”

The rest of the week consists of your future father-in-law micromanaging you, hotly breathing down your neck as you get yourself familiar with the inner-workings of the casino.

When you finally get some of your own furniture moved into your “office” (you couldn’t stand that tired ass couch and scratched up, cigarette burned desk!) Jay's father laughed off your request to get a drawing desk in there so you can work on some renovation ideas.

“I think you should hold off on doing your little designs until I feel that you’re ready to oversee things without my supervision.”

Despite that, you make tons of mental notes of all the places you find need improvement.

The casino carpets will be the first to go. They’re purposely designed to be ugly - a psychological trick to keep eyes on the tables - but the one you’re walking over now is far too outdated and gaudy for your tastes.

The tacky red uniforms that staff and security wear will be next, and because the majority of clientele that the casino attracts are men, you think you’ll make the outfits the waitresses and female bartenders wear a little less revealing.

You’re not looking forward to finding out how much of a fight Jay’s father will put up against that. You have a feeling that he’s going to be very resistant to your ideas, stubborn brute that he is. Oh well. You can be just as stubborn, if not more, and you promised Jin you would give them hell.

You will make your mark around here, whether they like it or not.

Starting with those ugly ass carpets.

Towards the final stretch of your hours on Thursday night, Namjoon meets you in your office where you’re on your laptop reviewing the company’s budget and making calculations for the upcoming monthly report (per the request of Jay’s father), he places a manila folder on the edge of your desk.

“D’s record,” he tells you quietly, even though the man in question is on the other side of the door. You flip open the folder, bracing yourself.

There’s no picture, just one sheet of paper outlining his skills and qualifications for the job, and at the very bottom is a line that reads:

Spent 3 years in Seoul Detention Center. Crime: Miscellaneous charges

“‘Miscellaneous’ is kind of vague.”

“I know. He’s pretty secretive-“ Namjoon continues. Yeah, no shit. “And Atlas is the one in charge of background checks, so that’s all there is. If you want more details, I think you’d have to ask D.”

Like hell.

All you know is his full name, birthday, and blood type. And that was only because you had the fleeting chance to look at his dog tags. Are your brothers privy to that? Namjoon clearly isn’t, and he knows Jin and Jeongguk almost better than they know themselves.

“Thanks for putting this together,” you say, hiding the folder in a drawer.

“No problem. If you want, I can talk to D for you.”

You wave at him dismissively. If anyone’s going to have that conversation, it’s going to be you.

Friday is when you wake up to a text from Namjoon saying Hope wants to meet up for a quick chat and it’s honestly a breath of relief, but you’re not really sure why. You’re not too hyped in meeting with another one of your brother’s men so he can check up on you, making you feel like he believes you can’t handle yourself. But maybe Hope will be like Namjoon. You could use more of that.

You relay the information to D, and he drives you to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant uptown. Since you’re working out with your brother, Namjoon scheduled you for a later shift, so you meet Hope just after lunch, the customers scarce and scattered. He's already there sitting in a booth, a half-eaten plate in front of him, and as you pass D holding open the door, the bell ringing overhead, he says lowly,

“Sit in the booth next to him so you’re back-to-back.”

“And you’ll be at the counter?” Because he’d better not sit across from you.

Hope lifts his phone to his ear once you casually slip into the booth, and as you pretend to look over the menu while D sits on a barstool across from you at the counter, he begins talking to you as if answering a call.

“How’s your first week been?”

Kind. His voice is kind and it eases you. You sit back against your chair, exhaling a bit of stress.

“It went as well as it could’ve, I guess,” you reply neutrally. You’re not about to turn this into a therapy session.

“But I don’t have anything to report. This feels like a waste of your time.”

“Not at all, Miss Jeon. I’m happy to hear any updates; good or bad. Well, hopefully less of the bad.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

A lapse in conversation occurs as the server comes over to take your order of a drip coffee to go, giving you time to mull over how you want to word the question you’ve been debating these past few days.

“I know you work for my brothers, but I was wondering-”

He gently interrupts you. “I work for you too, Miss Jeon.”

You need to get used to that.

“This might be a long shot but…” you nervously pick at your cuticles. “I wanted to look for my mother. Do you think you can help me?”

“I’ll do what I can.”

His soft tone indicates that he means it. He really lives up to his name.

“I appreciate it.”

As the server sets down your coffee and you exchange it for cash from your clutch, you spare a glance over your shoulder to see Hope dig out a notepad and pen from his briefcase.

“Is there anything you can tell me about her?”

“Um, all I know is her name and that she used to own a coffee shop downtown. I don’t know which one though.”

He nods as he scribbles some notes.

“And she left when I was two,” you say quietly. Pained. “That’s it.”

“I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll do my best.”

“Okay. I really appreciate that but, um, could you please not tell my brother about this?”

“Of course, Miss Jeon.”

You smile. “Angel is fine.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, but I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done to help us. Especially my brother, I know he cares a lot for you. I hope you two got to say goodbye.”

He stays silent as you slip out of the booth, grabbing your coffee along the way. But when you pass him, the tips of his ears are extremely red, and you have to suppress a smile as you exit, D not too far behind.

you: Omw to beat your ass!! megatron🤖: Don't bet on it! you're toast

By the time you stride into the gym, D in tow, your brother is already there, warming up with a trainer in the ring. You call his name and he takes a few seconds to pull himself out of the zone, doe eyes lighting up upon seeing you.

He dismisses the trainer and walks over to the side where you’re standing, leaning on the ropes with a smile, panting heavily, bangs stringy with sweat.

“Bout time you showed up,” he says, catching the water bottle a gym attendant throws from below. “Why aren’t you changed?”

Rolling your eyes, you lift up your small duffle that carries your workout clothes.

“I just came from a meeting. Y’know, work?”

He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgment, taking a long swig of water before dropping the bottle with a satisfied gasp, and turns his attention to the man you wish wasn’t standing behind you.

“Sup, D. You gonna box me in your suit?”

“I could, and look cool as fuck knocking your ass out.” Jeongguk laughs and your eyes twitch as you try not to join him.

“Alright, I’m gonna hit the treadmill. Am I allowed to work out by myself? Or does D have to supervise that too?” you ask your brother in a slightly sarcastic tone, ignoring D’s side eye.

“You’re fine. Just stay in the room next door.” It takes a lot not to childishly mock him as you hoist your bag on your shoulder.

You turn around to where D’s removing his coat, revealing a glimpse of his holster. Something puts an uneasy whirlpool in your gut, forcing you to look away. You know it’s a necessity for the guards to have guns on their person at all times, yet you can’t help feeling uncomfortable.

“Oh, it needs to be cleared before you go in there,” Jeongguk says before you can start to walk away.

You lock eyes with D for a second as you realize that D is, yet again, going to follow you.

The workout equipment room is occupied by 7 or so men who immediately drop what they’re doing and scurry to exit into another part of the building when D bellows in that dark, gruff voice, “Everyone out!”

The AC is what sends a shiver down your spine.

Once they’re all out and D locks the door behind them, he turns to tell you in a much quieter tone, “I’ll be right here.”

“Don’t care,” you mutter, promptly turning away to head for the empty women’s shower room, positive that you’re the first one to use it.

His eyes stay on your back until you disappear.

Every movement of yours echoes in the empty bathroom, including the plunk of your bag on a wooden bench that stands in front of a wall of lockers. 

The tote with his sweater and chain sits stuffed in the bottom of your duffle. Staring at it for a moment, pensively, you consider how you should return it to him. You refuse to hand it over directly because you can’t predict what his reaction will be and that scares you.

You have to be sneaky. But how can you do that with a man who can show up and disappear and not make a sound?

When you come back to the ring, you falter in your tracks upon catching the sight of your brother sparring with D who’s dressed down to a white tee, black joggers, and a grey baseball cap on backwards.

But the casual outfit isn’t what makes you stiffen.

It’s the light dancing over his face. The light that comes from a hint of a smile as he throws punches with Jeongguk, ducking and dodging and returning every one of his swings.

They haven’t stopped moving since you re-entered, so you take the opportunity to set your duffle next to D’s, and as long as Jeongguk’s back is to you, coolly transfer the tote from your bag into his, zipping it up as if nothing happened. You perch on the end of the bench and check your phone. Other than an email from Namjoon about tonight’s itinerary, your messages are dry as hell. You scroll on social media to distract you from the fact that you miss your friends but you can’t do anything about it.

“Hey, you want a turn?” Jeongguk pants after 10 minutes or so. You smile, leaving your phone on top of your bag, and stand.

“Yeah, I’ve been looking forward to beating you up all week.”

“Well, then you should’ve come earlier. I’m past my limit.”

He does look exhausted; meanwhile, D looks as if he’s barely broken a sweat.

“You just don’t want your boys to see you take hits from your little sister.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it.

“Just work with D, I need to sit down for a sec.”

A heavy feeling in your stomach sinks all the way down to your feet, rooting you to the floor as you fight not to show how very much not okay you are with that.

The universe must really be out to get you.

You glance involuntarily over to D standing in the middle of the ring, staring down at the floor with gloved hands on his hips.

“Go on,” Jeongguk goads, holding up the ropes for you to step under and into the ring.

“Sounds like you’re getting old, bro,” you casually comment as you pass him. He lands a punch on your shoulder and you grin devilishly.

“Don’t go easy on her just ‘cuz she’s a girl, D,” Jeongguk calls over his shoulder as he steps down on the floor, cackling when you flinch at him with your glove.

Your heart is running a damn marathon as you turn and face the man whose eyes are now locked on you, all that light he had in them with your brother completely fizzled out. Just blank. Soulless.

What will it take to bring anything palpable in his eyes when he looks at you? You’ll be damned if you don’t try and find out.

“Yeah, don’t go easy on me, D,” you say mockingly as you turn back to him, gloves held up shielding your mouth from everyone but the sinister man in front of you.

“I can take it.” Tilting your head, you bat your eyelashes, hoping to incite something out of his blank expression. “You should know that.”

But there’s nothing. Not even darkness appears. It doesn’t phase him.

So you lunge forward with a retaliating, vengeful punch but his gloves raise in a split second to block.

Every strike, every punch translates into the anger, betrayal, fucking heartbreak this man left you with 3 years ago. And now he’s doing it all over again by acting like he has goddamn amnesia. You hope he can tell you want to do so much more than throw hits at him with some boxing gloves. But he doesn’t let you back him into a corner. He moves like he did with your brother, just without the smile. Without the light. And it makes your hatred for him fester and spread like a poison.

The poison pricks tears to the corners of your eyes. You drop your gloves and pull yourself out of your self-inflicted torment, twisting around with a raise of your arm to feign dabbing sweat from your forehead so they can’t see the tears clouding your vision.

Fuck, you have to stop!

Tears are weakness. You can’t be weak. 

Don’t let him make you weak.

“Damn, sis,” your brother exclaims as he stands to approach the ring, grabbing your bottle of water from the bench. “Tough week, huh?”

Your labored breathing prevents you from answering, so you opt to lift your eyebrows and nod as you catch the bottle he tosses you. Tilting your head up to drink and will the tears away, Jeongguk leans against the ropes and starts rattling out pointers, mainly focusing on your footwork.

But you’re not in the mood to refine your technique. You just shake your head and move to climb out of the ring.

“Wait, didn’t you wanna-“

“Nah, I’m done,” you say as you grab your phone and bag again. “I should probably get going anyway.”

Jeongguk’s confused gaze follows as you head back out towards the bathroom. The shower camouflages the tears you can’t fight off, and if your brother asks, the steam is what made your eyes red.

The heat on your skin and under it turns your anguish into anger.

Your throat is tight as you pass by D in the doorway to return to the ring, now dressed for work, and you try to relax because your brother is watching and you don’t want him to be concerned about your abrupt departure.

When you glance back, D is nowhere in sight.

“I thought you wanted to beat my ass,” Jeongguk says in a playful tone as he walks up to you.

“I do, but I didn’t realize how old you’re getting and it wouldn’t be fair to beat up on the elderly- Jeongguk, stop! I just showered!” You shriek and hold up your hands as he lunges for you with sweaty biceps and a soaked tee.

Instead of ignoring your plea and head-locking you anyway, he angles you with narrowed eyes and you realize your mistake.

“I mean Sol. Sorry.”

He waves you off just like Jin did the other night and sits down on the bench, elbows on his knees as he unwraps the white protective fabric around his knuckles.

“Before you go, I want to tell you about this diamond trader you’re gonna have to meet with in the next couple of weeks.”

“Why me?”

“Because he’s in your vicinity, and he and I don’t exactly get along.”

“You don’t get along with anybody.”

“Shut up.” You shrug because did you lie?

“Anyway, he’s at that club ‘Halazia’ downtown and he goes by Captain. D will set everything up.”

You cross your arms as the prospect of this new responsibility puts another weight on your shoulders. Jeongguk seems to notice this because his manner towards you softens.

“Hey, this’ll be a good way to assert yourself, y’know? Show him who’s boss.”

“Isn’t that you?” Your eyebrow raises as he shakes his head.

“You’re in charge in this case, sis. And if he has trouble accepting it, D’s there to back you up.”

As if on cue, D strides back in wearing the suit he had on before, glasses shielding his eyes.

“You think I need him to be taken seriously?” D slows to a stop but you don’t look his way.

“You need him to make sure people respect you because they won’t at first. You know that.”

Then why hasn’t he said a damn thing to Jay’s father this entire week? Will he only act if you prompt him to? How far will he let things go before stepping in? A bull-headed part of you wants to put that to the test.

You sigh. “Fine. Can I go now?”

“It was nice seeing you, sis,” he says sarcastically since you’re annoyed.

“Whatever,” you wave at him, swinging on your coat. “Bye. You stink by the way.”

Jeongguk’s laugh rings in the gym as you make a beeline for the exit.

“See ya, D,” is the last thing you hear from your brother before you hastily open the door, not bothering to hold it for your guard.

Snow is falling again when you make it outside. D handed the car off to a valet earlier and now you have to wait on the curb with him standing next to you.

“Still smoke?” you blurt because you could really use some fucking nicotine.

He nods shortly and, without facing him, you hold out your hand.

“I know I owe you a cigarette, but I think my 500,000 won you took should’ve covered that, right?”

He briefly side-eyes you and hesitates before reaching into the inside of his breast pocket, pulling out a lighter and a carton. He flicks open the top, revealing only one cigarette.

“Last one again, huh?” You observe, pulling out the final stick. "Oh, but you owe me for some plan b, so maybe that cancels it all out.”

Staring out at the white dusting the sidewalk across the street, you prop your elbow on your wrist and let your fingers holding the cigarette tip in his direction. You’ve counted a total of 17 steadily falling snowflakes when the lighter clicks and a flame pricks your periphery to emblaze the end of your cigarette.

He drops the lighter and you take a drag, blowing smoke up into the darkening, snowy sky.

“What were you in prison for?” you finally ponder aloud the question that’s been buzzing in your mind since Namjoon handed you that folder.

“I looked at your file, and it said you were there for 3 years.” He doesn’t reply. You huff out air that mimics the white wisps of smoke.

“I mean, since you’re working for me, I deserve to know. And don’t lie to me, I’ve had enough of that.”

Still not a word. You turn to him again, tilting your head because you really want a fucking answer.

“Was it for stealing?”

Several beats pass before he finally, darkly, mutters, “Murder.”

Your breath freezes in your lungs. So. You didn’t just fuck a convicted felon. You fucked a murderer.

That doesn’t scare you like it should.

“How’d you do it?” you find yourself asking out of morbid curiosity.

If you thought there was a wall around him before…

“How, D?”

“I stabbed him.”

“What, with chopsticks? Is that your go-to method? Kinda sloppy, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer your questions as if they’re rhetorical. The Elantra approaches, and with a final drag, you drop the cigarette and dig it into the snowy curb with your heel. The valet steps out and passes D the keys, and you don’t wait for him to open the door but his hand on the side and the entrenchment of his cologne suspends you from getting in.

“Have you killed before, Miss Jeon?”

Your heart stops, completely flatlining when that question forces you to look at him. He’s looking right back from behind those glasses.

“No,” you say shortly, taken aback. Who does he think you are? “But if you didn’t mean something to my brother, you would’ve been my first.”

You keep your eyes locked on him for a beat so your words sink into his bones. And then you get in the car, slamming the door shut and pulling out your phone as if you didn’t just threaten his life.

For the entire night, you act as if he is nothing but a shadow.

You don’t get home until 2 in the morning, and as you unpack your gym duffle to do laundry (because if you don’t do it now, it won’t get done), you find a finely rolled wad of new, crisp bills tucked under your gym clothes.

500,000 won.

Bastard. It’s too late for that.

.

.

.

it's finally heeeeeere thank you for waiting!!! shoutout to the kdrama "bloodhounds" (on netflix starring my man woo dohwan) bc without it i would've never known that in korea, locals aren't allowed in any casinos except for one. so in this story we're going to pretend that Stay Gold casino is the exception lol. to get inspo, i've been watching a lot of movies about casinos and casino with robert de niro is where i got the idea for the scene with the counters. i just wanted to make the disclaimer that i did not come up with that on my own lol. there are other movies that i've pulled scene ideas from so i will make sure to point those out in the future.

thanks for being here!! please let me know what you think now that things are really getting started!!

chapter 3 is already in the works

xxx - claret

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taglist: hmu if you want to be added/removed

@viankiss @polarnightmyg @taegijns @rinkud @ktownshizzle @busanbby-jjk @wonh0oe @mar-lo-pap @kiki-zb @futuristicenemychaos

[beomiracles]

𝓣𝐡𝐞 𝓥𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝓞𝐟 𝓐𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐚

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄… In a land far far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky, and the water sparkled under the glowing sun. Where mountains rose high and in which long, deep caves ran. Where the sea met shore in a collision of tall waves. Where the undead walked among the living. Where the winged flew above the finned. In a land where things beyond any reason and rhyme existed. And amongst those very beings, within the veils of Aethera, there was…

map drawn by the very very talented @hyukascampfire

⸝⸝⸝ 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 ― 28th February

The Veils Of Aethera follows the eight different stories of the mythical creatures who inhabit the lonesome and mysterious island. Each tale delicately told as it explores everything from Aethera's dark and murky waters to the tall and looming forest and menacing mountains. Stories that combine both dark and light, embracing everything quirky and unnatural. ― Which tale will your heart seek?

𝓞𝐅 𝓢𝐍𝓞𝐖 𝓐𝐍𝐃 𝓢𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝓔𝐑𝓔𝐃 𝓦𝓘𝐍𝐆𝐒 by @beomiracles — 𝓹𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 dragon!taehyun x human!reader (f)

Foolish girl. You should know better than to wander up the snowy and cold mountains all by yourself. Yet you march onward, not caring for the biting frost as you draw your coat tighter around yourself. The tales told by your old grandfather had been enough to fuel your curiosity, to push the bounds of danger as you sought to see the dragons for yourself. — Perhaps you got more than you bargained for when you suddenly stumble across the one everyone thought to be extinct; the ice dragon.

READ OSASW HERE

𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓢𝐈𝐑𝓔𝐍'𝓢 𝓒𝓐𝐋𝐋 by @thetxtdevil — 𝓹𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 Siren!Soobin x Human/Fish!Reader

The siren couldn’t do it, he latched onto your body with different intensities. His instincts wanted his talons to tear your soft flesh until the sapphire water turned into a murky red. However, something in his chest scorched every time his grip on you tightened with harm. The siren couldn’t commit to his kill.

READ TSC HERE

𝓦𝓘𝐓𝐇 𝓦𝓘𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝓞𝐅 𝓦𝓐𝐗 𝓐𝐍𝐃 𝓣𝐇𝐑𝓔𝐀𝐃 by @biteyoubiteme — 𝓹𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 angel!hueningkai x demon!fem!reader

In the kingdom of Aethera, an angel is pushed from the heavens. Wings torn and feathers spilling, he finds himself in the den of a demon who wishes to have never been found. Long having lived with your own fall from grace, wingless and bloody just as he is now, you help stitch back up what once was.  Can nurtured understanding be crueler than nature?

READ WWOWAT HERE

𝓑𝓞𝓤𝐍𝐃 𝓑𝐘 𝓑𝐋𝓞𝓞𝐃 𝓐𝐍𝐃 𝓥𝓔𝐍𝐆𝓔𝐀𝐍𝐂𝓔 by @luvsicktyun — 𝓹𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 witch!hunter heeseung x witch!reader

In the kingdom of Aethera, the shadows whisper tales of revenge, betrayal, and forbidden magic. A cunning witch with a flair for deception, has spent years honing her craft for one purpose: avenging her parents’ deaths at the hands of the King. Disguised as a visiting princess from a distant realm, She charms her way into the castle, weaving lies and illusions to mask her true intent—murdering the king. Her plan is flawless, or so she believes, until she crosses paths with Heeseung, the brooding captain of the royal guard. Tasked with protecting the "princess," Heeseung finds her insufferable, too sharp-tongued and confident for his liking. But as they’re forced to spend time together, her wit begins to spark something deeper in him, despite his better judgment.

READ BBBAV HERE

𝓐𝐋𝐓𝓐𝐑 𝓞𝐅 𝓣𝐇𝓔 𝓑𝓤𝐑𝐍𝓘𝐍𝐆 𝓞𝐅𝐅𝓔𝐑 by @liverspaghett — 𝓹𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 vampire!sunghoon x sundragon!reader

Legend has it the sun and the moon were star crossed lovers. They spend their days circling the ecliptic, chasing each other in an effort to be together. Every so often, the strength of their love brings them together in an eclipse, proving that no love, no matter the distance, is not impossible.

READ AOTBO HERE

𝓕𝐈𝐑𝓔𝐒 𝓞𝐅 𝓕𝐀𝐓𝓔 by @jakedustry — 𝓹𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 demon prince!Wonwoo x fire fairy!reader

You can’t put out fire with fire. But you can combine them, and watch the place burn down in front of your eyes. The demon king realized that when he watched his son dethrone him. He should have never sent him on the mission in the first place. If he hadn’t, he could have kept his son’s fire under control.

READ FOF HERE

𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓣𝓔𝐑𝐑𝓘𝐁𝐋𝓔 𝓗𝓐𝐋𝐅-𝓣𝐑𝓤𝐓𝐇𝐒 𝓞𝐅 𝓣𝐇𝐄 𝓤𝐍𝐃𝓔𝓐𝐃 𝓚𝓘𝐍𝐆 by @hyukascampfire — 𝓹𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 revenant!yeonjun x fem human!reader

The undead walk among the living for one reason, and one reason only. The Kingdom of Aethera is no stranger to this certainty, not unused to a world of whispered tales come true, and certainly not to the strange and wicked. But, there are none more wicked than The King Undead. Leader of The Wild Hunt and answering to none other than himself, what are you to do when Yeonjun’s curiosity lands on you?

READ TTHTOTUK HERE

𝓓𝓐𝐑𝐊 𝓦𝐀𝐓𝓔𝐑 by @prince-jjae — 𝓹𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 cecaelia!beomgyu x merman!reader

The rules were easy to follow, really. Simple, concise. Don't swim through bubble circles, keep a spare bag of shells in case of emergency, and stay far away from the drop off point. ― The Pearl of the Sea, you were called. A pretty little prince, beloved by all within the city. You followed the rules. Plans had been made for your whole life, all you had to do was stick to it. Beomgyu was never part of those plans.

READ DARK WATER HERE

We all hope you guys are just as excited for this event as we are ! It's something that we have/and are working very hard on, it has taken a lot of planning and discussing back and forth but in the end it'll all be worth it. All fics will take placing in the same au but they do not have to be read in any particular order for them to make sense !

― to be tagged in this event reply under this post (note that this means you'll be tagged in all 10 fics). if you wish to be tagged in only a specific fic reach out to the author of said fic !

[naffeclipse]

Always A Hunter

Reader x Cryptid!Eclipse

Commission Info

I have another lovely little request from @counterbalance with the little hunter adjusting to life after F.E.I. and learning how to hunt on their own. There's a setback and discouragement, but it's nothing the cryptid boys can't handle. They will remind their heart what a great hunter they are despite all the changes and challenges.

———

A branch snaps under your foot. You wince as you fear the sound echoes through the dense trees. The forest thickly crowds around you, pressing close as if to suffocate you within its embrace. The shadows stretch blue and little starlight touches the moist earth. 

“Are you alright?” Moon rasps just behind you. His presence is a constant cool against your back, confirming without a word that he is still with you.

“I’m fine.” You glance around and then stare down at the detector. “Just afraid I’m spooking the hidebehind away, that’s all.”

The green dot only picks up the demonic cryptid within the animatronic vessel, not the monster you hunt this very night. You sigh and lower it back down. The screen flashes green. You stare out into the thick columns of tree trunks, wondering what may lurk behind each one.

Moon’s hand ghosts over up your arm. His fingertips press into the flesh along your shoulder and you close your eyes briefly as he tenderly works the muscle. You hadn’t noticed how tight it’s become since you stepped foot into the woods. 

“You’re anxious,” he says. His hand brushes over the nap of your neck to reach for your other side but you straighten and step forward.

“I’m fine.” You glance down at the detector and try to bite back a scowl. “The hideaway is notoriously difficult to document. Though it’s blamed for causing people to disappear in thickly wooded areas, like this, no one can properly describe it except for its hands which wrap around the tree, peeking out from behind—hence the name. It’s said to be animal-like with thick, dark fur on its arms like a sloth, with three long talons on its hand.”

You’re hoping Moon’s presence will cause it to show itself, struck by fear of the demonic cryptid. The unfortunate thought of your sweetie’s presence triggering the exact opposite effect brushes your brain before you shove it aside and stomp forward.

It’s here. It has to be here. You did your research. You collected the best evidence you could find through the internet. 

“It’s shy,” Moon says, then rumbles a deep laugh. “A coward.”

“We’ll take care of it.” You turn back briefly to smile at Moon but it doesn’t quite touch your eyes. Immediately, you feel a wave of cool judgment from the possessed animatronic.

Touching the strap which allows the crossbow to hang on your shoulder, you continue forward.

“No one has ever looked at it directly,” you continue, lowering your voice as you step over a log. In the corner of your vision, Moon steps over it with ease using his long, lanky limbs. “It conceals itself quickly behind anything it can find, including the observer. It takes its victims by surprise.”

“It must be weak.” Moon’s arms hang heavy by his sides as he reaches you. He stares down at you with wide, pale eyes. “We’ve been walking a long time.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” you huff, exasperated before inhaling deeply. “It’s here. I know it’s here.”

You make your way around a tree. A rustle of leaves sets your heart on edge. You stop, eyes darting to what may be movement, but you spy only a lone deer darting through the underbrush. You sink slightly where you stand.

Moon’s hand falls on your shoulder.

“I can’t sense anything unusual,” he murmurs. He stares down at you. The end of his patched nightcap falls over his shoulder, silent despite the bell at the very end. “You need to rest.”

Disappointment snakes through you, leaving you writhing where you stand as you stare down at the detector. It gives no sign of any other presence despite the one in front of you.

“It might not have a heart you can sense, like the vampires,” you say, but it doesn’t sound convincing even to you.

“Maybe,” Moon says softly. His fingers knead softly into the meat of your shoulder that he didn’t get yet. “Take a break. Your heart is fluttering like a bird.”

“Sweetie,” you sigh deeply and rub your temple, not helping your image, “I can’t. The hidebehind has been reported in this area. There was a news clipping about a man who went missing when he went out to cut some lumber, and stories are dating back twenty years ago of something hiding behind trees in this area.”

You step out from under Moon’s reach. You ignore his hand still outstretched, still wanting to touch you as you march forward into the darkness and tree-littered maze. 

Unless you missed something. How does F.E.I. do it? Without fail, they have sent you towards a cryptid using their findings and research. What if you don’t? What if you constantly chase hoaxes and rumors and find nothing but emptiness while real cryptids are out there, terrorizing and killing people? But you had the reports and the stories. You have a missing man. 

Your body heats up as your breath quickens. You squeeze the handle of the detector. Looking out between the trees, you hope against hope to see claws and a wicked creature lurking, ready to attack when you least expect it, but there is nothing. Only quiet shadows.

The first hunt without Vanessa and since leaving F.E.I. should go better than this. What are you doing wrong?

You hear a soft, thick sound of a footstep. Claws sinking into the earth. A presence most unholy. The coldness of a demonic cryptid’s presence washes over you. Before you can turn around, two pairs of arms surround you. 

A limb wraps over your shoulder and another clings to your chest. The lower pair hugs your waist, squeezing softly until you stop. Claws of scarlet and deep blue softly pet over your clothes, not severing one fiber despite the wicked edge that has cut through meat and bones.

“I’m fine, sweetie.” You pat at what you can reach. Their body is oozing and dark, as thick as shadows at midnight. Their large hands easily contain you. You try to wiggle free but they stay firm. 

“Take a break,” a voice, low and demonic, rumbles. You vibrate with the intensity of two voices speaking at once. “We can carry you back.”

“No,” you breathe. “The new snippets were credible. The man is missing and no one has found him yet. It’s been a week. Many locals testify of sensing something in the woods—but never seeing it, only fearing that it’s there, watching them.”

“If it’s here, you can hunt it tomorrow.” Long, inky fingertips roam over you, tracing your hip and caressing the length of your collarbone. “Heart, you’re exhausted.”

You blink. Slumping slightly, the arms support you. A cool breath yawns against the nap of your neck. The softest flick of a tongue swipes the sensitive skin there, and you close your eyes, brow furrowing.

“Maybe the local story was just sensationalized,” you admit. You deflate like a balloon left over from a children’s birthday party. “Maybe I just… got it wrong. Maybe I can’t be a cryptid hunter without F.E.I.—”

“Enough,” the growl at your back nearly makes you jump out of your skin. “That is not the truth.”

“Eclipse,” you say, perhaps in protest or argument, but it sounds tired. You are tired.

“Listen to us.” A dark mouth presses behind your ear, whispering into your hair. “You are a great cryptid hunter. F.E.I. has nothing to do with the aspects of your love for people and your will to face dangers. It’s alright, sweet heart.”

They lower their rumblings into a purr-like vibration that fills you to the brim, soothing the anxieties bouncing off of the inside of your skull.

“This is your first hunt starting anew. It’s alright.”

You lean back into their touch. Their teeth wetly touch the shell of your ear until you shiver. 

“It’s alright if you make a few mistakes.” A red claw softly pats your chest, right where your heart is tucked underneath your sternum. “That does not damper your abilities. That does not take away from who you are, little hunter.”

“Eclipse,” you say much softer. A thickness gathers in your throat. You can’t cry. Perhaps you were on the road for too long and maybe you did walk through the woods most of the night. The exhaustion is sinking into your bones, infecting your marrow. 

“You are strong. You are kind.” A kiss touches your temple—as much as a creature without lips or flesh can kiss you. “You will find a cryptid. Perhaps this one is a hoax or in hiding but regardless, you can keep searching tomorrow. It’s time to rest.”

“But if it’s here—” you start.

“You will find it tomorrow.” Eclipse gives firmly.

You stare out into the darkness. The trees thickly crowd one another, and though there are plenty of spaces for a hidebehind to, well, hide behind, you see nothing. Your detector doesn’t beep. Your skin doesn’t crawl with an unwelcome presence.

Maybe it is here, hiding, or maybe it’s not. It’s okay. You pull in a deep breath as a blue hand wraps around your waist and caresses your side. There’s tomorrow. One bad hunt isn’t the end of your career. 

The heaviness in your chest eases.

“Okay,” you finally give in. The air leaves your lungs and you feel lighter, catching the rich scent of the earth and the crispness of the green leaves caught in a late-night breeze. Your tongue fumbles for one moment, an old, crippling fear returning as you cling to the demonic cryptid hands holding you. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, heart?” A nuzzle burrows into the crook of your neck. You are gently moved as they press deeper against your throat, and a stray flick of a tongue finds the pulse in your neck.

“I thought I would be better at this by now.” You sigh deeply, staring down. “I thought I could do it without faltering.”

“Every winter has a spring,” they murmur gently against your jawline. “You will do your best. You will have mishaps and mistakes, and you will try again. That is the kind of human you are.”

You make a soft noise when they nuzzle against your shoulder, not unlike a cat wanting affection. You reach up a hand to find their flat, dark cheek. You slip your other fingers between the claws of a deep blue cryptid hand. A soft rumble follows, and you close your eyes.

“But we should keep looking,” you murmur. You’re both here. What if the hidebehind attacks someone when you decide to leave? 

In answer, Eclipse nuzzles deeper against you, roaming over the back of your neck and pressing their teeth gently against your skin. You shiver, feeling the graze of their horns and spikes but never once being cut by the sharp edges. Held gently in large, dangerous arms, you find yourself releasing the anxiety within you that whispers of tragedies and fears, of failures and blood. Tears gather behind your eyes.

One drop spills out of the corner of your eye. A scarlet claw catches it against your cheek, wiping it away delicately. 

“Okay,” you say finally. “Let’s go. But we will come back tomorrow.”

“Of course, little hunter.” Glinting teeth once more kiss your hair, clicking softly against a black hairpin you wear, before releasing you. “Give us a moment.”

Four arms slip away from you, reluctantly trialing over your wrists and hips before finally lifting away. You wait. Looking up between the brief breaks in the green canopy above, you stare at the night sky as stars twinkle with a promise. A familiar sound of footsteps, metallic but lighter, returns to your side. 

Moon’s pale eyes hold your gaze as he takes your hand within his.

“You take care of the scary things,” he reminds in a gentle rasp. 

You smile, almost about to cry. He tugs on you gently, and you follow him out of the forest.

[ser3nityst4r]

Leona’s Backstory

Leona was born with a rock in his heart, a heavy burden stemming not from birth defects or physical limitations, but from the simple fact that he was not the firstborn. Born second, he was destined for the role of the shadow, eternally eclipsed by his brother, Farena, the First Prince. 

The whispers of the palace servants followed him like a shroud: "The First Prince Farena is so cheerful...," they would sigh, "It's a pity his younger brother Prince Leona is so difficult..."

Leona wasn't difficult; he simply couldn't understand the world's obsession with firsts. Why was it that Farena, a prince who spent his days napping and lazing about, was showered with love and adoration while Leona, who toiled endlessly at his studies and honed his magic, was met with indifference?

The servants would continue, "And he uses magic that turns everything he touches into sand... How frightening!"

Leona would hear these whispers, and his heart would clench. He knew his magic was powerful, perhaps even more potent than Farena's, but his control over it was still fragile, prone to bursts of uncontrolled energy that manifested as sand. He hated the fear in their words, the judgment that clung to him like a shadow.

"If I were the First Prince," he would mutter to himself, "I'm sure they would say things like, 'The First Prince Leona is so prudent and can use such strong magic. He's completely different from his carefree younger brother.'"

But the reality was stark. He was the Second Prince, and the whispers followed him: "Everything the second prince does is sloppy, and the First Prince is left to clean up after him."

The chasm between them widened with each passing day. Leona witnessed the adoration Farena received during his formal introduction to the kingdom, a ceremony of pomp and celebration. He wasn't even invited. He watched from the shadows, his heart a burning ember.

"Leona, why did you skip the ceremony?" Farena asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Ceremony?" Leona retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, the doting parent party you hosted so you could show your son off? How rude of me. I ended up going back to sleep."

"Today's an important day for our people to see their future king," Farena said, his tone turning serious.

"It's a day to celebrate indeed," Leona sneered, his voice heavy with bitterness. "It's the day that their loathed second prince lost his right to the throne."

"Stop talking like that!" Farena snapped.

"People who were born first sure are special, huh?" Leona continued, his voice rising. "You can become king even though all you do is lie around and sleep all day."

"Leona... Even though you can't become king, you are very smart," Farena said, trying to soothe his brother's wounded pride. "There are so many things you can still do for this kingdom."

"I would have done what I could if this kingdom really needed someone smart," Leona said, his voice hollow.

"Leona, stop right there!" Farena protested, his voice rising. "Leona!"

The rock in Leona's heart grew heavier. He couldn't understand why he was born second, why he was destined to live in Farena's shadow. He had strived to be better, to perfect his magic, to prove his worth, but no matter what he did, his efforts seemed futile.

"Why did I have to go through all of that just because I was born a few years younger?" he cried out, his voice echoing in the empty corridors of the palace. "No matter how hard I studied, no matter how much I perfected my magic... From the day I was born until the day I die, my brother will always be looked up to, and I can never be king. Why was I born second? Why can I never become number one...? Why? Why? Why?!"

His voice cracked, his heart shattered. He slumped to the floor, tears streaming down his face.

"Life is unfair," he whispered, his voice lost in the vast emptiness of the palace, a testament to the unspoken pain of a second-born son, a shadow forever condemned to walk in the light of his brother.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Return of the Inagrotten

This fic is also available on Wattpad or AO3, if you would prefer to read it elsewhere.

⸻

@heya-there-friends Here’s to another fic—since I remember you mentioned that you wanted to be tagged in the future. Cheers!

If anyone else would like to be tagged on my fics, just let me know!

Further, you might be surprised to know I’ve referenced this fic before, in this post and in this post, and that it is no longer a one-shot but two chapters long.

Additional fun fact: Some of the fic’s narration was probably slightly influenced by how I sometimes feel like I’m watching a surreal play, as a passive observer in front of other humans when they interact.

NO CONTENT WARNINGS: The violence is largely canon-typical.

And now, without further ado—I hope excessive eye contact and almost nothing entertain you.

Summary:

Rafal becomes what he hates most to “save” Rhian at a steep cost—himself.

Or

Rafal puts on a grand “production” for Vulcan.

⸻

CHAPTER I: Eclipses, Ellipses, and Lapses in Judgment:

Right as Vulcan and Rhian stepped into the shaded clearing from opposite sides, an inkblot-like portent appeared on the horizon. Neither of them noticed.

Rhian looked chary, eyes welling with tears that threatened to fall, as his substitute swaggered up to him. What had he agreed to? And why—why a Trial that could potentially endanger one of his charges. And all because he wouldn’t submit and roll over for a takeover by his once charming traitor.

And now, his Evers would see him risk losing everything to, to this—this impostor School Master, this great boor of a man whom he never should have trusted! And Rhian hadn’t even been granted the chance to parley much further with the vile opportunist the last time, due to Vulcan’s burgeoning popularity among Evil’s students.

But Good always wins, he told himself. Simple. His side would win. It had to. He’d known all along and always would. He’d seen Good win the last few tales.

But he had everything to lose, a darker voice of sharp-edged rationale joined the chorus in his head. His opponent had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

He did not feel any better. 

Swallowing bile and his pride, Rhian reached out to shake Vulcan’s hand when a tidal wave crashed onto the shores of Good, sloshing onto the lawn, dousing Rhian and everyone else, and forming a heavy fog.

Rhian dropped Vulcan’s hand like it had burnt him, and the two competitors froze as the fog began to subside, neither daring to move from where they were rooted in place.

Indeed, Rhian’s boots had already begun to sink into the grass, drowning in the muck. Muck! His white boots and swan-feather doublet would be soiled by muck!

He exhaled heavily. There was nothing he could do about it now.

The seawater chilled Rhian, dripping down from his collar, and his spine hurt, as if he had lost his balance and fallen—and yet, he didn’t feel afraid.

Vulcan on the other hand looked as if the living daylights had been knocked out of him, but shortly recovered.

Even the students backed up a bit, and some of the cowardly ones scattered away. Several remained and held their breaths, even the Nevers.

Rhian and Vulcan’s heads swung to the newly-arrived, amorphous… whatever-it-was, alien through the veil of fog.

It docked right before them, banging into the shoreline, as waves hauled it up and retreated, letting it skid further across the lawn, upturning sod and carving out a shallow trench.

It turned slightly, its long side facing everyone, and settled with a thud, halting just inches away from where Rhian and Vulcan watched.

It stood at an imposing height, a hulking block of pure onyx—upon closer inspection, a ship.

A ship that eclipsed them all with its broad starboard, its ever-darkening, looming shadow, that obliterated the sun, swallowed the students gathered around the warring pair, and eclipsed the clearing whole.

The ship stood still, as if watching for the School Master and his substitute’s next moves.

When no one moved, it lifted off the ground, levitating above the wet grass by about an ell.

Jaws dropped at the marvel, and more than a few students wondered if it would float higher or coast over their mute, little pates, and take off into the sky after this odd detour at the Schools as it surely had to be an unidentified flying object.

Instead, the ship righted itself, deftly rotating so its bow faced the clearing. It plunked down with half a hollow thump on the craggy, stone shore and half a squelch in the grass as it rocked and tipped forward marginally, mast angled, jutting out like a magician’s bow.

Cheeky, Rhian thought—assuming he were right in knowing what to expect from the vessel. Yet he still couldn’t stop his involuntary shaking.

It was the cold, wasn’t it? In response, his stomach lurched and roiled like the dark waters.

The ship boasted diaphanous, black sails and itself was rather solid-looking with an ebony hull, encrusted with sleek onyx and obsidian.

The clearing stood dead still, fragile. It was silent, except for the water lapping the shoreline with great, constant slaps. The only movement was the flapping of the sails, snapping, stiff against the cutting winds.

Would it leave? The students mused to themselves. Would it leave them be and return their daylight? Return them to delight in their sunshiny Ever picnics and resume their Never picket lines at the encampments?

No, it seemed.

Beyond them all, lighting split the sky, crisscrossing erratically, fracturing the silence like the shattering of glass—right on cue, as if orchestrated by a willing conductor.

Many students startled, already having anticipated the swell before a storm after such dreadful, broken silence.

Several more jumped and fled for their lives, hiking lengths on foot, as fast as mortally possible towards the cover of the treeline or Good.

They didn’t want to stay when everything fell to ruin, but Vulcan and Rhian remained firm despite the fog and the dark.

Rhian cringed. He couldn’t bear his own impotence. But he couldn’t do anything without assessing the threat at hand. Something or someone had changed the game.

Then, the last of the fog cleared, rolled away and swept to the side like the parting of theater curtains, as if creating an open channel for the bow of the great, anchored vessel.

The Inagrotten seemed to be commandeered by a boy nearly as alabaster-pale as his otherworldly crew.

Rhian squinted. He and Vulcan were forced to crane their necks up to meet the icy eyes of the visitor, unnerving eyes that skewered cleanly through Vulcan’s soul. Vulcan turned away, shaken, but did not flee.

Rafal? Or was he not—

Even in the supposed privacy of his own thoughts, Rhian faltered—his brother’s stare, it bore straight into him.

Yet Rafal looked as if he weren’t seeing. It was as if he were staring through, at the nothing beyond.

And after he’d been gone for so many months—it was approaching six months—Rhian knew. And—

He could only rub at his eyes and hope, hope that this sight, this apparition-like boy wasn’t a mirage, that this was his brother.

Rhian’s voice caught in his throat while Vulcan stared bemused at the Evil School Master, perhaps, a School Master no more.

He did… certainly, look as youthful as ever, Rhian assured himself. He had not aged. One less fear to harbor. They were still immortal. Probably.

But, the shadows carved into his face were deeper, like in his time apart from his twin, he’d seen a ghost or unspeakable, maritime horrors.

Yes—he seemed… rougher, somehow. He carried himself differently, standing there, at the bow, with a haunted look. His eyes seemed sunken, or perhaps it was the way the sun cast over him from above, the dark cast it produced, at his height far above the clearing, a clear-sighted gaze.

It was his usual hard-eyed countenance, the same as always… except not.

He was eerily still, more disarming than usual, creepier, Rhian dared think, as if he’d picked up the traits of his comrades, those creatures—from months at sea with them.

His movements, if any, were too languid, like his bodily systems had shut themselves down, constricted like ice. And he looked gaunt, veins and collarbone more prominent, and his face, angular, more so than ever, with those shadows lining his face, like he didn’t have a heart pumping blood left to speak of. Like he ran cold, colder than the rest, colder than ever, as a specter, a shade of his former self.

The iron stench of blood clung thick in the air, clung to Rafal’s strange, new garments.

Craning his neck even further upward at the barque, Rhian could’ve sworn his brother’s clothes smelt of blood, but he couldn’t see a trace of blood on them. Just, smears of—blue—a strange, deep, sapphire blue on his clothes, tinting spikes of his hair, a spray of the inky substance speckling his jawline and the side of his face, and streaks of blue on the… Night Crawlers, assembled in rough formation behind him.

By the Storian’s grace, were those real Night Crawlers? He’d never seen them outside of storybooks. It was like Rafal had dredged himself out of a storybook, out of the deep undersea, like a myth among myths.

Night Crawlers. Bad idea. Rhian winced and closed his eyes, starting to develop a migraine. Not Night Crawlers! Not Night Crawlers at Good!

Rhian would have concluded it was blood, but it couldn’t be, could it?

He opened his eyes in a flash. Yes, they were still there…

They flanked Rafal, falling behind him, like sentinels, even paler than their leader’s bloodless pallor, eyes ever-watching, roving, moving, momentarily eying him in his sodden doublet, spattered in muck, before sweeping from side to side, from person to person, as if in search for something more, or someone from the sparse crowd in particular.

All Rhian’s mind could grasp was the sensation of eyes, Vulcan’s glare, the Night Crawlers’—and his wet socks.

Then, finally, the last set of eyes flicked too-quickly over everyone in sight and once again settled on the restless pair below. Rafal’s.

But Rafal just as quickly lowered his gaze to a sash at his waist and then his black, cavalier boots.

Why yes! Rhian hadn’t noticed. His brother was shod with tall, new boots. It was a miracle in itself that Rafal wasn’t wearing the same, old boots as always. Albeit, these ones were rather scuffed and dripped blue ink.

Rafal tapped his foot impatiently, exhaled, as if waiting for something, then casually scraped one boot on the edge of the ebony deck, attempting to clean it off and dislodge a glop that had practically fused itself to Rafal’s sole.

Vulcan huffed and muttered, “Stupid snowman,” under his breath.

Rafal ignored the trespasser, and shook his booted foot tetchily until the indistinct gobbet of blue flew off his boot and smacked Vulcan in the bat tattoo, just missing the lout’s eye.

“Oops. Didn’t see you down there, peon,” Rafal breezed, blatantly lying. He swept his hand through his snow-white hair, cresting it with more of the blue from his hands without realizing it.

Rhian quelled his mysterious, rising sense of nausea. At what? The rich, blue stains that he thought should be laundered sooner rather than later?

If he hadn’t known any better, Rhian would’ve been sure that something smelt of rust, of blood. He had to be imagining things. He blinked at the Night Crawlers.

They stood motionless, stolid like statues.

Rhian frowned harder and realized that he had been frowning all along. And this new Rafal was slovenly! And blue!

Rhian glanced at the grisly gob sliding down Vulcan’s face as the man swatted at it blindly.

Squid ink, he decided, again, trying to set his nausea aside to no avail. Saliva coated his gullet. Rafal must have stepped on a squid. That was it. The substance was a squid with, with… ventricles. Ventricles? Wait.

The lurid, inky blob resembled some creature’s innards, Rhian reflected, sickened. Had Rafal—

About to burst from curiosity, Rhian started, “Wha—”

Rhian must’ve been addled. Rafal cut him off. “You must know, I have returned to reclaim my post,” he enunciated evenly, as if Vulcan were deaf or dumb, projecting his voice as if he were playing the lead role in a theater production.

Rhian shook his head vigorously, hand slicing the air at his neck, trying to signal to Rafal to stop talking in front of Vulcan!

Rafal paid his brother no heed and examined the blue underneath his ragged fingernails, having resumed tapping his foot on deck, stalling. He didn’t have a watch, but knew he had arrived on set early.

Even the birches stared at him accusingly as he looked out on everyone else.

Forget it.

Bah. Now he had to wait for everyone else to catch up, the blasted imbeciles. Nothing like—nevermind.

Vulcan fumed, his ears turning red, a pugnacious grimace crossing his face.

Right on schedule. Rafal nodded at him imperiously, eyes turned to slits, furtively glancing at the man’s ill-concealed pocket lump.

Placidly, Rafal rolled up his sleeves. He loathed this frilled tunic. It was too baggy, and therefore too impractical for his taste. How did the filthy, drunken idiots stumble around without catching themselves on their own cutlasses? The same critique went for the pantaloons—and the fussy sleeves easily soiled, but they were already soiled, so no matter. He could burn these ‘pirate’ clothes later and forget about the whole incident. Besides, his proceedings would be civilized, unlike those pests’ sorry excuse for discipline.

That was when the midday sun at last emerged and reached its summit. His next cue.

Finally. Rafal looked at it directly and smiled like a loon, frost-blue eyes glowing in the light.

Meanwhile, Rhian worried for his brother’s mental state as Vulcan grew more agitated. Why wasn’t he moving?

Rafal spared a glance at his incapacitated, seafaring crew. Unfortunate that they didn’t fare well under the sun. Now was not the time to lose composure—but it didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. Yet.

The Night Crawlers—all of them veiled in such a funereal way, decked in wide-brimmed hats—hissed, and others recoiled into their cloaks, blinded by the brilliance of Good’s lit glass castle.

Rafal observed Rhian’s feather-adorned clavicle rise up and down as he heaved great gulps of air, the fool practically navel-gazing, contemplating the blue-tinged muck of all things.

Coward, Rafal thought lightly, suppressing a sigh.

Rafal gave a subtle hand signal, dismissing the students, who responded to his gesture eagerly.

A few waved back gleefully like they had their heads screwed on the wrong way. Pah. Children.

They ran for their lives, no longer a captive audience. But he hadn’t truly done them a favor. He had other plans in store to sort out the bad, rotted-through apples later.

The others, the better-shielded Night Crawlers, clustered together, like a malignant pox, and grinned, revealing fanged-toothed smiles, stained blue, that gleamed like slivers of upended crescent moon.

They stared greedily at Vulcan.

Rafal shook his head slightly, not wanting to err, and kept his eyes fixed on Vulcan. Almost.

A few slumped, and the rest rearranged themselves idly, like predators evaluating prey.

Not yet.

⸻

CHAPTER II: Salutations, Immolations, and Confrontations:

Expectant, Rafal continued to peer down at them, his makeshift puppets, his brother and the enemy—as if he were sitting in an audience, awaiting a grand performance from the mezzanine.

Then, he took note of Vulcan, shaping up to be quite the aggressor, and his lip curled at the cur in disgust.

“Well. What is it that you are waiting for?” Rafal coaxed sibilantly. “Stage directions?”

Rhian turned back and discovered everyone but he and Vulcan had left the clearing. Not a single student in sight.

“Rhian, it’s your move. And the show must go on. How ever will you deal with this dastardly stranger? Or is he not a stranger at all?” Rafal mocked.

On cue, Rhian immediately flushed red. He had frozen in place, holding his right arm bent at his side the whole time, wrist hanging limp! His hand dropped to his side instantly. Rafal hadn’t known about the Trial agreement? And the handshake! Had he?

Rafal addressed his brother again. “What are you doing, Rhian? Something rash? Something you'll come to regret? I suppose it's almost prophetic that I returned when I did, or else, you'd let our School fall to ruins, wouldn't you?”

Vulcan inched forward to face Rafal, straining his neck, not that could’ve stepped any closer to the Inagrotten without plastering himself to the hull like a figurehead. “Hah! Cold, Evil Master back, Duckling?” he boomed. “What does Duckling do now? Evict Lord Vulcan?”

Rafal’s scowl deepened at the term of endearment. Duckling? What conversations had he not borne witness to? Forget it. He gritted his teeth, setting his jaw.

His head was already devolving into a cradle for a pulsing headache due to this Vulcan character slamming down on his last nerves like a guillotine. This was exactly why he hadn’t hired the man the first time.

He turned to Rhian. “You liked this numbskull?” he called out.

Rhian, who still seemed queasy, shrugged and gave a little, diffident smile.

‘Lord’ Vulcan sneered, maniacally whisked his hands around in the air, then feigned some sort of hideous mock-terror, all while his eyes rolled back into his skull so the whites showed.

It must be amateur hour, Rafal groused. What a poor man’s impression of a true Never. A pathetic final performance. And such low production value.

“Or, will brother save Duckling and Duckling’s fat cats?”

Fat cats?

Rafal quickly dismissed the aberrant image of Rhian with cats, and turned his back for just a moment.

Through rustling fabrics and veils, and low, slurred, susurrated murmurs that approximated speech, Rhian made out something like: “You’ll get your prize soon enough, after I deal with the trespasser and my brother. Just fall back, and I’ll do the talking as always.”

It was as if his brother meant to-to pacify these killers, these man-draining monsters.

But the Night Crawlers never posed the problem, Rafal well knew.

And, naturally, problems the first and the second were still watching him confer with his crew from below in the clearing.

The Night Crawlers shuffled around, rearranging themselves once more, skulking behind Rafal, chastened but petulant. Most slipped below deck, several adjusting their hats.

The intrepid few kept watch. One in particular, with his black-gloved hand, pulled out a silver pocket watch and flipped its face open before clapping it shut.

Rhian couldn’t puzzle out the strange sight. At least they weren’t swarming.

Just then, Rafal leapt down from the side of the ship and stalked over to face Vulcan, stopping at a spot a few yards away, looking blasé.

Not yet.

Vulcan shoved a hand into his pocket.

Not yet.

Vulcan made to attack, eyes probing Rafal, dagger gripped in hand.

Not yet.

Rhian’s eyes widened as he caught on. He opened his mouth, about to call out and warn his brother to move—

But Rafal, as if stone deaf, reached into the depths of his long, coal-black, wide-cuffed greatcoat, and tugged at something.

A collection of bone-dry matches that had once been wrapped up spilled out of his pocket onto the wet ground.

At last, he pulled out a white handkerchief, flecked with the barest hints of blue, and raised it skyward, dismissing his brother’s shouts, brushing off Rhian entirely.

With the handkerchief, a few more matches spilled out of his pocket, skittering into the path of Vulcan’s forthcoming advance.

Vulcan raised an eyebrow at the gesture.

Not yet.

The lowly cheat stepped forth to check the limits of Rafal’s surrender, or rather, his resistance to pain—completely insubordinate to the universal gesture Rafal had just executed. He wanted to test the so-called Evil School Master. School the coward himself.

Not yet.

Vulcan feinted once with the dagger.

Not yet.

Moored in place, Rafal did not move, did not flinch, his neutral expression unwavering and handkerchief tossed aside.

Twice.

Rhian gasped.

Not yet.

NO, Rafal mouthed to Rhian.

There. The viper slung the dagger, aiming for Rafal’s heart the third time.

Now.

The Good School Master valiantly intervened anyway… He took off and dove, but overcorrected, launching himself too far, and straight into a patch of muck to Rafal’s far right, the sludge blinding him.

Rafal, for his part and parcel, simply stepped aside, two paces to the left.

The dagger whizzed by.

Silence.

Then Vulcan roared with the vengeance of a thousand suns and thrust forward with the intent to clobber Rafal.

Hurry up, clod, Rafal carped.

Vulcan slipped on the wet grass, and careened forward, landing onto the scraggly bed of matches.

Rafal laughed and laughed until his stomach started to ache and flicked his wrist in Vulcan’s general direction, scorching him to death by white-hot incineration.

The kindling was meager but effectively fueled.

His proper pay-off! And Vulcan’s send-off! Good riddance! At last.

And all at half past twelve on the dot—praise Adela’s soul! He almost regretted killing her with questions.

Ashes cascaded to the ground, and blew off, carried away by a sorcery-induced wind.

Deceitful designs paired well with dishonorable foes.

Disoriented by the sound of the blast, the puissant odor of charred flesh, and his brother’s psychotic laughter, Rhian groped blindly and used Rafal’s fallen handkerchief to wipe at his eyes. What in the Woods—

Rhian blinked back acrid, grey tears.

Plumes of smoke, cinders still asmoulder, raining down from the sky, and the odd, new Rafal in pirate garb swam into Rhian’s vision—a Rafal curled in on himself, still convulsing with laughter, silent spasms racking his narrow frame, until he straightened up and inhaled deeply.

All that remained of Vulcan was one blackened, steaming tract of lawn.

Rafal sunk into a bow, arms outstretched behind him like a wide ‘V,’ like the wings of a tainted, blue swan, hair glinting brilliantly beneath the sun.

The Night Crawlers broke into rhythmless applause from their places.

And Rhian? Rhian gawped, sat in his puddle, almost catatonic with shock, spitting blades of grass, taking in the scorched clearing and… his brother, the actor.

That squid dye or whatever-it-was would never wash out, Rhian mourned without a second thought for his once-substitute.

The Evil School Master strolled further into the clearing, irreverently stepped over his would-be usurper’s spot, and strode past Rhian, greatcoat flagging. He left his Night Crawlers be on the Inagrotten, fixed his sleeves, and headed towards his School, towards Evil.

Dealing with everything else would be trifles.

He paused in his half victory lap, half impromptu inspection-to-be of student quarters, and glanced over his shoulder at Rhian—poor, feckless Rhian—still agape and paralyzed by shame and the prospect of his own mortality.

Rafal smirked. “Rhian? Now that our Schools, plural, it seems, are settled, why don’t we have a chat? You still have escapades to tell me about, to catch me up on what’s gone on while I was away, don’t you?”

Rhian gawked at Rafal vacantly.

Three…

Two…

One—

Rhian shook himself, wild, golden curls bobbing, and clambered to his feet.

His blue blur of a brother continued across the walkway to Evil.

Rhian gathered his wits about him and wisely decided not to mention the deadly Trial he’d been about to agree to. His soles suctioned up some of the muck and sod as he frantically chased after Rafal.

Before Evil’s raised portcullis, Rafal came to a dead halt, and looked back at Rhian sprinting across the clearing as it sank with the seawater. It’d have to be drained another day. A pity his brother couldn’t fly.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” He crossed the threshold and peered at Vulcan’s great hall. How garish. He’d have to alter all of it.

Rhian arrived, panting, doubled-over in front of Rafal.

Rafal waited for him to catch his breath. “Good.”

Righting himself, Rhian began to enter the dim antechamber, but Rafal held out a hand.

“Wipe your feet outside. I don’t want Vulcan underfoot,” he said pointedly. “And I don’t want his presence tracked anywhere near my castle, much less within it. Oh, and here’s a lesson: I take care against inviting strange men in.” He eyed Rhian’s now-drooping, feathered doublet. “Indeed, you’re rather strangely dressed, but today, I’ll make an exception. Just this once—knowing it won’t bring about ruin.”

Rhian sighed and obeyed.

Rafal hastened down the hall, and Rhian sped past his brother to face him.

“It’s not what you think! Vulcan was a temporary replacement—no, not a replacement!” Rhian rushed to correct himself. “No one could replace you! An inferior. An inferior figurehead—he occupied the position of Dean, originally! I never meant for him to campaign to become a School Master, but the students! It was them! The students were so taken with him that he snaked his way into their hearts and, and—” he rabbited on, “Or, Hell! It may be what you think, but I can explain!”

Rafal tilted his head, vaguely amused, and thought to himself that the situation was looking to be exactly what he thought had happened. He knew his brother well enough to guess that Rhian had succumbed to a misbegotten bout of infatuation. If not that, then Rhian had run afoul of the Rules in some way—that was for certain.

And Rafal knew better than even Rhian’s slip into old patterns from his taste of Seerdom. He’d had to wait around for Vulcan, to sufficiently irritate and thus, provoke him, so the cad struck first—all so Rhian wouldn’t blame him for an unlawful Attack.

That way, he’d just be parrying back—however disproportionately the man’s fate had turned out, it’d needed to be done. And besides, Rafal thought the scoundrel had deserved worse.

He also made a mental note to ask Rhian for the names of the Nevers who’d backed Vulcan, who’d favored a weak-willed imposter of a Never over him, those traitorous, little ingrates.

All the while, Rhian kept jabbering about strawberry salads, and Marialena, the conwoman, and bats.

Rafal shut his eyes and inhaled, trying to regain some semblance of sympathy for Rhian, but couldn’t take the prattling anymore. “Rhian.”

His brother jolted to attention, wide-eyed, like a scolded child.

Rafal sidestepped Rhian and continued down the hall, a purpose in his step. “I swear, not another word, or I swear I’ll sell you off to Bluebeard. At a discount,” Rafal deadpanned, a hint of mirth in his eyes.

Rhian gasped and spluttered, highly affronted. “N-No!”

Rafal bit back a smile and shook his head. “It’s that or a fair trade with the Night Crawlers for their services. Your pick. What will it be?”

“No,” Rhian held firm, glaring murderously at the back of his brother’s partly blue-clotted scalp.

Rafal swanned further down the hall. “Well—I doubted you’d assent to that. Proves you’ve got more than cats under that crown of yours. Fussy, fussy, in all your frippery, hmm? Regardless, if blue or piracy are what you’d want in a companion or savior, I suppose you’d best stay here, with the Night Crawlers and me,” he offered with mock-gallantry.

“JUST LISTEN TO ME!”

Rafal stopped abruptly on his course, and spun on his heels to face Rhian, wet boots screeching on the tiles, as if for mercy, his soles slapping down, echoing. “I already know most of what went on without me here.”

“Oh, really? For Storian’s sake! Why did I ever want you back?”

“Well, it’s what you once wanted, wasn’t it?” Rafal accused sharply. “You despaired when I left. And let’s just say: I’m never leaving you again, if this, this revolting disorder, is how you running the Schools by yourself is bound to turn out.”

“Fine! Good even!” Rhian agreed far too quickly with vestiges of vitriol. “That’s fair and absolutely fine with me! I’ll gladly put up with anything as long as you stay,” he vowed, attempting to appeal to Rafal’s Good side. He didn’t bother to consider that he’d presently rue the words he’d just spoken ere long.

Rafal grinned roguishly. He’d extracted all that he’d needed to proceed with his plans.

His pace became more brisk by the second as Rhian hurried to match his brother’s gait and racing mind. “Lovely. I suppose you won’t mind it if I make some changes. I’d thought I’d have a harder time convincing you, but it seems you won’t break your promise. That would be dishonorable. And Evil.”

Hostage to his word, Rhian swallowed his retort. Rafal would hold him to anything he said from here on out.

“Now, the first of the changes I plan to implement is a curriculum around discerning Good from Evil. With challenges. We’ll rank the classes from one through twenty. Disguises are far too prevalent these days, and I don’t trust you or your students to know any better. Besides, you are in need of remedial lessons.”

Rhian tried to interject, but Rafal held up a blue-stained hand to shut him down, and continued staunchly.

“Not only that—I require a moat. It’d be another line of defense against trespassers. Higher ground, too, of course. Also, a place to bury our dead.”

“What dead?”

“I don’t expect all the students to last long. The Evers almost expired under Vulcan’s reign, it seems to me, from the state of them, quivering like that, and the Nevers won’t last long under me. You can be sure now that some Nevers will perish—even once they’re out from under my regime—there are always failures in the tales, every now and then, no matter how well they’re trained. Ah, and let’s replace Humburg with fresh blood. I can imagine that dolt did nothing to stand against Vulcan, did he?”

Rhian’s eyes had grown wide now, and he was effectively silenced by shock.

“Also, I was thinking of a torture chamber,” Rafal added as if it were an afterthought.

His brother let out a questionable, strangled sound, but Rafal paid him and his antics no mind, and kept outlining his plans.

Rhian couldn’t expand his airways any further, but again, tried to steel himself, tried to marshal all his verve to contradict Rafal now. No, wait, what was he thinking? Opposing Rafal? He couldn’t! Not after Rafal promised to stay. Who knew if Evil upheld promises? Rhian himself certainly hadn’t, when he’d hired Vulcan against Rafal’s wishes that had been expressed long ago, and he was Good.

But before he ever got the chance to summon up the will to challenge Rafal, he lost his chance.

Rafal spoke up, “That should consolidate my power, don’t you think? It’s worked itself out neatly—the arrangement I have in mind. The Night Crawlers will be paid with the blood they’ll have drawn from our mutinous, young charges. No need to hire the Man-Wolves after all, at the high rates they’re demanding. It’ll all be self-contained, and we’ll spare fewer expenses in the long run.”

He continued on blithely as Rhian paled increasingly with every word, complexion turning bloodless.

Rhian swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat.

“And, remind me to replace that Marialena, won't you? I just know—ahem—suspect that she'll sow more chaos if we don't keep a close eye on her, and I'd rather get rid of the potential complication altogether. If we don't rid ourselves of her soon, she could cause a rift between us.”

No, Rhian thought tartly, lungs burning, the new Rafal was doing that all on his own.

“Fortunately, I’ve removed the other variables that could come between us,” Rafal assured himself, picking at the congealed, inky blue at his wrists. “And I know now: the best solution is the proactive one. We'll be far better off without her, trust me. All Seers are meddlers at their cores.”

Determined, Rafal nodded at his new vision for Evil and all that he had armed himself with for the future, and set his hands clasped behind him.

Rhian nodded along weakly, a thin smile gracing his lips, following several paces away from Rafal’s heels, like a puppet tangled in wire, almost running to match Rafal’s ever-accelerating pace.

SLOW DOWN, Rhian desperately wanted to shout. Slow down with all these ‘improvements.’ But he couldn’t get overly excited over these matters—Rafal might call him ‘hysterical.’

He locked his jaw, numbly. It could always be worse.

Then, at last, the twin School Masters reached Evil’s rear entrance, which looked out onto the seaside beyond.

Huffing and florid-faced, Rhian leaned on the doorframe and coughed—what sort of Storian-ordained exercise had his brother done at sea?

He was glad his brother was back. Really. He was grateful to be alive, grateful they were both alive. Yet, he still feared the worst for Rafal's students.

But that was a problem for another day. Best to just give up for now.

Rhian plodded down the polished, black-granite steps, onto the ashen sand after Rafal, who stood facing the shoreline of the Savage Sea, and then, finally took in Rafal’s new attire as a whole, during his first moment of calm in hours.

He really did resemble a swashbuckler. In fact, Rhian almost didn’t recognize his brother. Almost.

Gone were fine, scholarly, gold-trimmed robes of days past, the olden days—an open, militaristic coat in their stead.

Gone were the starched, white shirts—now replaced with a poet’s shirt, no, a pirate’s shirt, loose-fitting, with flaccid sleeves, laced-up with string.

Gone were the crisp, pressed suits and triple-mantled cloaks. The iron-creased trousers and slim, elegant boots had been banished, replaced by pantaloons, tucked into high, bucket-top boots.

And for the first time, Rhian found he didn’t want a pirate. Not this pirate, setting the ‘ship’ the Storian had entrusted them with on a warpath. This one was more like the warden of a brig besides—keeping him prisoner! He just wanted the old Rafal back. His brother, the School Master, his equal.

But the new Rafal… this was the new Rafal… he was here to stay.

Rhian tried to clear his head.

The Inagrotten was docked at shore, no longer blighting the clearing in front of Good. How considerate of Rafal.

See? The new Rafal wasn’t that bad.

Rhian ambled down to the shore, where Rafal had dropped down to kneel with a twig in hand, black greatcoat splayed over the pale sand, like a flag of oncoming death… or a penitent’s mourning robes.

After his ordeal, Rhian thought he deserved at least one proper question, and yet… what changed? seemed… too complicated. He didn’t want to pry, if anything had gone wrong while Rafal was gone. Perhaps—“Rafal, why are you dressed like a pir—”

The twig snapped. “Not a word, Rhian,” his brother choked out drily with warning in his voice. “My old clothes had blood on them, this was all the Night Crawlers had, and that’s all. End of story.”

Rhian needn’t know about his brother’s recently-acquired status as a Woods-wide felon. Rafal inhaled shakily and returned to leaning over his sand drawing.

Rhian watched, silenced for a moment. “But—”

Rafal sat back on his heels. “Rhian. Nevermind all that. I’ve had a thought. Look.”

Rhian stared down at the twin swans Rafal had etched in the wet sand.

A School crest. And he was part of it.

Was this proof? That the new Rafal still cared about him?

Yet something still needled at Rhian. Leave it be. No more detective work. Rafal’s trip is done. It’s over, he urged himself.

It was low tide though. The tide drew in and washed the sketch away, forever.

But Rafal didn’t care about the sketch. Another thing of his was ruined. Probably broken. For all his spectacle and pride about being early, he had probably been too late. Rafal frowned, hands cold as death, now flattened against the sand.

The tide receded again.

He didn’t say anything for a long while, staring out at the waters, washing in and out, his eyes unfocused, seeing nothing but blue.

Rhian placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “O Captain—” he baited.

Rafal’s voice revived itself. “Shut it.”

But he smiled nonetheless, truly, and slowly rose to his feet.

Rhian looped his arm through Rafal’s and Rafal locked hands with his brother. One more thing he wouldn’t be caught dead losing.

The Good School Master leaned into the Evil one’s side for support, and the Evil brother slackened for once, tension draining from his muscles.

For now, Rhian was just glad to have his twin back. Safe and in one piece.

That was all that mattered in the End.

Right?

⸻

Note:

I think this fic probably has the most “understory,” compared to all the others I’ve written. But you know more than Rhian does as a narrator here.

More accurately, this fic could likely have been entitled: "Rafal Is Essentially a Primo Uomo, Murdered Three (3!) People, and Treats Rhian Harshly > 70% of the Time." Yet, I wanted the title to sound serious in tone, so ideas such as these had to be scrapped.

If anyone wanted to know, I referenced this short poem: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45474/o-captain-my-captain

Of course, it cannot be taken literally or in its original historical context, but the captain being cold and dead fits Rafal having hardened more inside lately, and become more deadened/more like the probable undead, like the Night Crawlers themselves.

It’s some sort of “heroism” at a personal price, I suppose. Had to be done.

I’d love to play the audience (and respond to) to any feedback you have—any thoughts, feelings, reactions, or concrit you have.

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m always willing to elaborate!

Did anyone catch any of the other references I made? Anyone catch wind of my… implications?

I imagine that you’re probably wondering: What happened to James?

Rafal sealed the deal and allowed the Night Crawlers to kill James, but James’ death started off so harrowingly slowly that Rafal decided to intervene and “mercy-kill” him before the Night Crawlers got any further in their feasting. He couldn’t retract his orders. Not after he’d gone this far. Not after James was bleeding out beyond the point of no return. So he let it happen. All to get back to Rhian.

It’s the closest thing to a Face-Heel Turn Rafal could undergo, given that he’s already Evil/grey, I’d like to think, while not being completely amoral and having lost his mind.

Also, please be sure to correct me about anything, if I got anything wrong. I suspect I overly manipulated the setting to fit story purposes, if I did forget certain details.

⸻

Playlist:

“TICKING - SLOWED VERSION” - TIN

This one is like something emerging into your line of vision, gradually? At least the start of it conveys that. I thought it could mimic the beginning effects and the tension. Or slow, dawning horror.

“Darkness Falls” - UNSECRET, Cece And The Dark Hearts

Similar to the atmosphere.

“Natus Vincere” - Future Heroes

The title translates to “born to win.” Seems fated. Also, gives off a time-is-running-out and triumphant, overcome-it-all vibe.

“Future Heroine” - Ecca Vandal

Some lyrics, not all, fit, I thought. Admittedly, the tone doesn’t fit well.

“The Albatross” - Taylor Swift

These lines were particularly relevant (partly ironically with “angel”):

“Devils that you know / Raise worse hell than a stranger”

“Spread my wings like a parachute / I'm the albatross / I swept in at the rescue / The devil that you know / Looks now more like an angel”

“He’s a Pirate” - Klaus Badelt

“Haunted” - Taylor Swift

“i am not who i was" - Chance Peña

Potentially, some parts fit Rafal’s unwritten, internal monologue, to an extent.

“Behind the Sun” - Helgi Olegov

Strikes me as epilogue-esque music.

[q8qwertyuiop8p]

Silco's Eyes Analysis

The fact that silco's eyes are completely opposite is a genius part of his character design that further reflects the story of opposites theme. The white and blue of his right eye are opposite on the color wheel to the black and orange of his left eye. The way his right eye is so heavy lidded contrasts with the other eye, which is always wide open. 

The lack of a white sclera and the inability of it to blink gives the eye an inhuman, animalistic appearance. Unlike the other characters, he does not try to hide his montrous nature- he flaunts it for the world to see.  

The unblinking eye, which he chose as the symbol of his empire, historically represents wisdom, awareness, and truth. His eyes are opened to the need for change, on top of the corruption and suffering that Piltover/Vander are blind to. The eye is also a symbol of judgment, authority, omniscience, and surveillance. In the sense of government, the unblinking eye describes surveillance that is resiliant and does not fatigue, but is also unable to recognize or identify threats itself, like how Silco has difficulty knowing who to trust. Eyes may also have religious significance in Zaun, as we see the locals offering eyeballs to the image of a human/turtle creature. 

In act 1 especially, his eye strongly resembles a solar eclipse- a symbol of mystery and deception. Silco is a deceiver, but is ironically deceived himself, by himself. His vision is eclipsed by the shadow of his own trauma, drowning out the light necessary for perception, twisting his worldview. 

As you can see in the latter acts, his eye degrades over time as he loses focus on his vision for Zaun. He puts makeup around it to hide his monstrosity from his daughter and Piltover. 

[non-binaryweirdo69]

Hello, if I may ask, have you thought of evil cheeky new abilities, and I may have some idea if you don't mind... Core Theme: "Radiant Abomination" or "Divine Horror Ascension"

Abilities Breakdown

1. Luminblood Consumption

Effect: Drains blood and soul, replacing it with purifying light. Victims disintegrate from the inside out, screaming as their sins are "burned away."

Passive: Feeds on both life force and spiritual energy, growing stronger against corrupted beings.

2. Divine Aberration Form

Effect: Transforms into a horrifying radiant beast—wings of searing gold, glowing tendrils, and exposed holy marrow.

Buff: Gains massive strength, regeneration, and aura damage. Light physically reshapes its monstrous flesh constantly.

3. Sunveil Corruption

Effect: Emits a divine sun aura that blinds enemies while warping reality around it. Shadows melt, and the ground becomes sacred corruption.

Passive Debuff: Causes madness or holy-induced hallucinations in mortals and undead alike.

4. Blight Halo Reversal

Effect: Absorbs dark energy attacks and converts them into radiant bursts. Shadow spells heal instead of harm.

Counter: Can reflect necrotic energy back as holy fire.

5. Lightborn Parasites

Effect: Releases angelic parasites that infect hosts with radiant plague—twisting them into light-zombies who explode after death, releasing bursts of divine flame.

Spread: The infection spreads like wildfire in cursed or shadow-infested zones.

6. Aberrant Judgment Beam

Effect: Fires a focused light beam from its chest or third eye that fuses flesh and soul in pure agony, purging impurity through torment.

Damage Type: Hybrid of radiant, psychic, and unholy.

7. Halo of Wretched Mercy

Effect: A radiant, spinning halo of bone and light that grants regeneration to allies and warps enemies into tortured "blessed" husks.

Duality: Heals allies, horrifies foes—those with guilt suffer the most.

8. Celestial Blood Resonance

Effect: The abomination’s blood glows with divine essence. If spilled, it sanctifies the ground, but also corrupts those who touch it with unholy revelations.

Bonus: Can self-ignite its own blood to cause radiant shockwaves.

9. Light-Eater Maw

Effect: A hidden mouth devours beams, spells, and even suns—turning light into weaponized anti-life energy.

Ultimate Use: Can absorb the light of an entire area, plunging it into a twisted radiant eclipse.

10. Seraphic Horror Choir

Effect: Emits voices of damned angels that paralyze enemies, inspire zealotry in allies, or rupture minds.

Flavor: Sounds like a choir of broken seraphs singing hymns through shattered throats.

I LOVE THIS. whoever sent this in, your idea is now canon

[anghraine]

A WIP Wednesday snippet for the femslash Spirk AU, in which S’paak’s lesbian yearning encompasses interior decorating judgment:

S’paak had entered the captain’s personal quarters many times in the four years, five weeks, four days, and 7.3 hours she had served as first officer on the Enterprise. Even S’paak did not consider the exact number of occasions worth counting. Nevertheless, she always felt illogically disoriented by entering the captain’s quarters yet again, and finding herself in so vacant and uninteresting a space. It wasn’t literally vacant, of course, in terms of physical objects: only of character. Almost everything in it was standard—bed, blankets, computer terminal, chairs, shelves, clothes. Even the lone potted houseplant gave the distinct impression of an item placed out of some incomprehensible obligation, not as its own end. Jess’s personal belongings extended to the chess set S’paak had given her for her thirty-third birthday, a few other gifts she’d received throughout the years of the mission, and a photograph of McCoy grinning at a forgotten being out of the frame while Jess and S’paak stood warily to the side. In the photograph (later discovered to be taken by Chekov as part of some human challenge S’paak did not try to understand), Jess and S’paak each had their arms crossed and faces set as they glanced at each other, their annoyance visible to S’paak’s eyes even in reproduction. That chance photograph was about as near as anything in Jess’s quarters came to art, despite her love for it; she displayed no significant visual art, no music, none of the physical books she owned, no weaponry, no cultural signifiers of anything beyond the most generally human. S’paak knew Jess was religious in some fashion—at least, she’d said that she believed in a god “more or less,” and more firmly that she believed in only one—but the most observant eye could not have guessed the fact from her living space. She kept it so tidy as to leave little stamp of herself, as well, which S’paak approved of in one sense, and not at all in another. Culture, conviction, beauty, distinct emotion: this place was a void of them all. And its bland neutrality struck S’paak as all the more remarkable—or rather, unremarkable—when she considered the force and vitality of the captain herself.

Sure enough, Jessica sprang up as S’paak entered, her mouth breaking into the ready smile she so often directed at S’paak, devoid of practiced charm. Amidst the mediocrity of everything around her, she gleamed more than ever, the quarters’ dull green and beige entirely eclipsed by the glints of gold in Jessica’s eyes and pinned hair and the braids of her rank sewn onto her clothes. And the vibrancy of her appearance was still only a shadow of S’paak’s sense of her mind, indistinct as that was without another meld.

But then, the yearning of the mind and body were always inseparable when it came to Jessica Kirk.

It would have been their eighth mind-meld, none of them difficult to initiate, and each easier than the last. But they were easy for more reasons than S’paak’s own irrational emotions: the brilliant, receptive warmth of Jessica’s thoughts encouraged the blending of minds, overriding any need for the usual phrases or aids to concentration. It was so very simple to join their thoughts, and so difficult to force them apart once more—but because of the captain’s mind rather than S’paak’s. She felt sure of it.

“Oh, there you are!” Jess said, unnecessarily striding over to greet S’paak. “I wondered if you’d gotten delayed by Sulu’s misadventures in botany.”

She only brushed S’paak’s arm through multiple layers of clothes: not enough to erode the barriers between their minds, not today. But enough to remind her.

“He hoped you wouldn’t hear about that,” said S’paak, deliberately avoiding any expression but a twitch of her mouth.

Jessica looked delighted and arched her brows. “Oh, did he? Hope truly springs eternal.”

[dankmyfarrik]

Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind | Chapter 8: Happy Is The Blameless

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Summary: An alternate universe where the only thing that happens differently is... well, the Emperor wins. And Luke wakes up with a mysterious scar on his temple.

Read it here:

AO3

Chapter Warnings: Surgical torture, (very brief) thoughts of past self-harm.

Welp, I finally went overboard. This chapter contains the longest spice scene I have dared to write (as of yet). Please 18+!!

Word count: ~5.5k

-----

Darkness all around empty, black soulless. Finally, his senses are returning to him. Not another misplaced dream. He looked down at his hands, no sand, only black. But then he could just about make out the shadow of his hand in the darkness. A dim light shone from off in the distance and against his will or maybe just his best judgment—he followed. The world tipped upside down. In an instant, it felt as though the blackness was chasing him.

Dragging him down. 

Pulling him under. 

Drowning. 

Fear. 

"Yes, use the fear," Father had said. "Channel your anger. Let it flow through you." But it all felt wrong now. 

It's all so terribly wrong.

"Help!"

He screamed towards the light. Voice cracking, turning into a life or death panic. "Help, help me please! Don't let me stay here!" His voice was shaking and cracking as he ran towards the light as fast as his feet would carry him. He tripped and scrambled back. Desperate. 

"Take me away from here!" 

"Luke!?" It was that woman. Leia. 

"Luke, take my hand." She was there just in front of him. Kind eyes. A face he had always known as if it were his own. He reached out, straining, but something twisted around his ankle, dragging him back. 

"Leia!" The pads of their fingers scrapped against each other but not enough to gain purchase. He was pulled further away.

"Help me! Save me! It's all wrong, don't forget me please!"

No no no. 

He jolted up, eyes bloodshot, hair stuck to sweat on his forehead, chest hammering. 

"Leia!!" He screamed into the blinding light. 

"Don't let me forget again!! Not again! Please!!"

Bright light shone directly into his eyes and behind it eclipsed a black soulless droid. A droid holding a spinning surgical blade inches from his forehead. He reached out in a panic to swat it away, but his hands were restrained. Feet restrainedaround his ankle to an operation table. Luke kicked and thrashed, hyperventilating.

"Leia! Leia! Help me!" He force-slammed the droid to bits against the wall with a buck of his head. Another entered the room, and he lifted his hand but was stopped by the restraint. Stupid move. That split-second delay was all that was needed for someone. A human. To press a mask to his face, gas flooded his nostrils and his eyes drooped before he could even resist.

It was forgotten.

Natus woke in his bed, head pounding, eyes felt like they were sunk into his skull. A smeared drop of blood on his temple. An empty space noticeable next to him on the bed. The Mandalorian won't be back with the bounty for at least another week. He felt the loneliness like a hole in his heart. Natus ran to the fresher to vomit up nothing. 

------

The Crest landed softly on a bed of wildflowers. The Naboo sunrise lightened the sky with streaks of pinks and oranges, and clouds lit from the bottom with a warm, fiery glow. The colors lightly reflected off of Din's armor, and even with the visor, he knew it was quite a vision. He missed the feeling—when the sun first kisses the skin—seeping deep into his pores. The leather strapped tight to his body was all the more suffocating. 

The fob beeped in his hand, and Din began the trek to the top of the sloped hill. The petals around him turned to open to the morning, dew catching on their leaves, popping with color with every inch the sun rose.

Despite the beautiful scene encompassing him, unease remained present within him, as he knew, or maybe it was that he didn't know what awaited him when he got to the top.

Din saw her white robes first. But it was undeniable in a moment she was indeed the woman from the broken, dusty holo.

At last.

Hope.

Like Luke, time had not been kind to her, but despite it all she stood tall, strong, courageous, wind adrift in the few strands of hair allowed to be free from her intricate braids. 

"Hunter, why do you hesitate?"

Din had vowed to not repeat the mistake he had made with Solo. But now that he finally had her, he didn't know what he could say. She filled the silence for him.

"This is where my mother grew up and fell in love. I know so little about my mother. An old friend told me to look here. I thought I should visit at least once, young love, the beginnings of a family. I can feel it. Can't you?"

He could.

"Given that my brother is the reason why you are here, this dream in the flowers didn't end so well."

Brother. 

Din jolted a pause, waiting for his thoughts to catch up to his racing blood. It made perfect sense; he could see it within them both now. They were part of each other.

She just stared intently at him. The only other person who could see straight past the visor and into his eyes. How was that even possible?

"You care about him," she whispered, the sound disappearing into the wind like a secret for them both.

Din shifted nervously, the flowers brushing against his leg. 

He decided there was no better time than now to jump off the metaphorical ledge, the one he had been inching closer and closer to, subtly with questions to Natus, but now it was time for action. He had no true loyalty to the Empire.

"Leia, I need your help."

The flowers lightly fluttered around them. The horizon was much brighter now. A warm light.

"And it seems I am in need of yours as well. What remains of my family I will fight fiercely for. Luke was the last person in the galaxy I ever thought would turn…" She bit off her words and glanced down. Silence broken only by the light breeze filled them both. When she started again, her tone changed.

"You recently captured Han Solo."

Din held his breath, this could be his only shot. They needed to trust each other, and how could she ever trust him now? He was a villain to her. 

"Is Han still alive?" But the words were not aquisitory; she was just stating a fact, that she knew. She didn't hold malice against him. Even though she should.

"I don't know," he swallowed hard, regret filling him up and flooding him, suffocating him. "I'm so sorry."

She nodded quickly, "Thank you."

"Don't—"

"No," she said, "I mean it," Leia worked to compose herself. She morphed subtly, straightening her posture, holding her head higher. 

"Now, enough chit-chat. You won't need those," she gestured to the binders dangling at his hip, "Comon', hurry up." And she strode straight past the fumbling Din to the Crest. "We have a galaxy to save."

–

Deep, somewhere in the heart of the galaxy, the Crest's ramp lowered, the ship—his home—consumed within the belly of the Descant. Two figures, instantly recognizable, stood on the other side, like demons, greeting their guests to hell. 

The first, Natus, as expected. Dressed as stiffly and blindingly white as the lights reflecting off of the troopers' armor. 

The second rivaled the vacuum of space itself. 

It took everything within Din to keep his pose, to not outwardly twitch a muscle. But Leia, in all of her courage, marched straight past him once more without a glance behind her, leading the way to whatever nightmare was before her. 

Her boots clicked against the ramp, changing in sound when she made it onto the polished, barren floor. She marched straight through the middle of Natus and the tall, evil figure next to him. 

"Out of my way," she hissed at the first imp who dared to stand in her path. The trooper before her looked as though he genuinely considered following the order of their new prisoner. 

"Not so fast, Princess." The sound, as deep as the thrumming and groaning of tectonic plates, shook the very ship in its orbit to the bottom of the universe.

"Lord Vader," she sounded exasperated, "as much as this routine, as with our conversations, amuse me, I would rather just get to the heart of the matter now. And you wouldn't risk doing that in such a public location."

"We are happy to accommodate," Vader said, tilting his visor to Natus. His sparkling golden eyes transfixed to Leia,without taking his gaze from her face, he clipped binders around her wrists. 

Din stood helplessly at the edge of the Crest's ramp, watching as the troopers parted like a sea. Leia, flanked by Natus and Vader, marched onward, her head held high with unwavering will. The three moved through the sterile, jagged halls, disappearing from sight. A bravery akin to the old heroes his mother spoke of in bedtime stories long ago. Tales that had filled his dreams with fearlessness and a call to the stars. That spirit hadn't died in her. And he wondered if it hadn't died in him either.

—

"Boys," she huffed, "don't you think this is overkill?" Leia knew they could have sent any trooper to sentence her to a cell, sure if it was just two she could have escaped, she could even handle around five before hesitating at a small battalion, but nevertheless they proved they had the resources. This special escort was more than a power play. But why?

Her last real conversation with her brother before all hell broke loose was just the two of them with bugs chirping and fireflies swirling around them on Endor, Luke told her Vader was their father.

Although a fact, it could never be true. Bail would always be her real father. But as she looked at the two robed figures, one in all black and the other white, she knew, however twisted, this special treatment whether conscious or not, was a familial one and possibly the first time they were all in the same place in this way.  

She thought back to the whispering flower field on Naboo, how could this, more machine than man—a creature next to her, be the one who fell in love with her mother all those years ago. 

But for now, she had to focus on the matter at hand. Leia eyed daggers into Vader as they stopped outside of a cell. The entry slid open to a small and simple room, just like all the others she had been temporarily held captive in over the years. 

She stepped in without looking back, and the door closed behind her with a snap and hiss. 

Natus looked up to his father as they shared a moment of quiet behind the other side of the cell door. 

"My son, you know what to do. Search your feelings."

And Vader kept walking down the hall, leaving Natus alone with this beautiful, familiar and mysterious woman on the other side of the door. 

"Search your feelings," he whispered to himself. It sounded so simple but there was a war behind his eyes, so much shrieking and crashing, burning and confusion. Hallways that twisted around each other, leading to nowhere, and nowhere had answers. 

"Search your feelings. I know what to do." He said louder this time, but there was no confidence in his cadence. 

Everything was so loud. He balled his fists, gloves creaking. He could do exactly what happened with Solo, after Father had helped him, he wouldn't make more mistakes, he would feel enlightened by doing what is right for the Empire. He could do that again with her.

"I know what to do." He rocked on his heels, back and forth ever so slightly, gaining momentum, pushing forward to a step. Natus pressed a button on the panel, and the cell door slid open. 

She turned to face him, their eyes met. Her brown eyes were so full of care seeing into his soul and he felt all the gold drain from his own eyes. All the malice and revenge left him like a kick to the gut. He could double over and gasp raggedly for air but he just stood motionless, unable to move a muscle. 

"Is Vader gone?" She also seemed stunned and breathless.

"Why would I ever tell you that?" His lips barely moved to form the words. His voice foreign and distant. Embarrassingly quiet. 

Yes.

"Luke."

Natus shook his head vigorously, bangs whipping back and forth. He was physically unable to bring words past his throat. He stepped back, the will to escape this shrinking box clawing at him, but the will to stay, be with this woman just a second longer, rung through every fiber of his being. 

"You called out to me," she said in a rush to get all the words out before he disappeared, either from the room or from his mind. "Don't you remember? It was through the force. A dream. You asked for my help?"

A pause, he yanked his eyes away from the door back to her.

"I'm here Luke. Just like you said. I'm here."

"You—" his voice was so dry and it cracked heavily, barely making a sound. She stepped closer, they were nearly touching. In the calm, he searched his feelings. "You have kind eyes."

She put a hand on his lifelessly pale cheek. The world stopped spinning. Her hand was so soft. A tear fell against his will. He pressed a white-gloved hand to his face, and it came back damp from the single tear. Silently, he looked back to her.

Shocked from the display of emotion, his blue eyes wide, he ran from the room. 

As soon as Natus was a fair distance away from her, his emotions screamed around him, turning to chaos, slamming into his ears. Even if he ran back to his room with the door closed behind him, the fresher shower on, beating into his back, scalding hot or frozen cold, meditating for hours and hours, bringing himself to the brink of death, Natus knew nothing would be able to drown out the noise this time.

I'm here. Search your feelings. Through passion I gain strength. Just like you said. Through strength I gain power. You know what to do. Through power I gain victory. A dream. Through victory my chains are broken.

Just like you said.

I'm here. 

Though the medical droids have pieced him back together again and again, there is only one other being who he feels comfortable being vulnerable to. Only one place he could go, even if it was against his better judgment. Troopers marched, and ships took off around him, sweeping his cape as he made his way through the hanger, focusing on a signature that had not yet left his consciousness. The screaming noise of the ships were dull in comparison to the chaos in his mind.

"Mandalorian." Natus spoke formally, knowing his voice carried. 

Sure enough, his helmeted head appeared from where he was working on a panel of the ship—an unnecessary fix to fly—his hunter was stalling. And Natus couldn't be more relieved. He could focus on this. The voices in his head quieted to a background hum.  

The Mandalorian jumped to the floor from atop the ship with a grace that revealed decades of practice. 

"I have an urgent matter in which I need to inspect your ship." Natus coughed slightly; on top of all of the other emotions, he felt like a fool. 

"If it's urgent." The hunter towered over him, helm tilted down, grazing over Natus before turning. "Then follow me."

Natus realized despite being in the ship's proximity countless times, he had never actually stepped inside, and for a moment, he worried he had crossed a boundary. But the moment couldn't linger because the second they were bothshielded from outside eyes and security cams, the Mandalorian crossed several feet in a flash to be closer to him, scanning him for injury. 

"Are you alright? What happened."

Natus released a shaky breath, relaxing to the proximity. He was here. He was safe.

"I'm fine."

The helmet titled and stared.

"It was that woman, she just had one look at me and told me things I don't believe, and I fell apart. I'm a weak fool. Who lets their prisoners interrogate them! Father would be so disappointed."

"Why?" Din gently pushed. Not sure of what he was hoping to uncover. 

"He told me to search my feelings. But I don't have feelings, only voices crying out in my head. I can never extrapolate anything that makes sense. It's clouded."

In a single movement, Din scooped the Sith into his arms, resting his head atop the other man, applying a pressure and comfort that he knew was so rare. 

"Now that can't be all true," his deep voice rumbled; every one of Natus' senses filled with the man before him. Smoke and woodchips. A surprising softness despite the armor. He focused on this, letting the waves wash over him, taking him far away from the Descant, far away from this damned galaxy. He wanted to be closer to this strange source of dependability, companionship, and comfort. To feel him more. And he knew the other man wanted that as well. What an odd pair they are, indeed. "You can feel this and the floor beneath our feet," Natus released a shaky exhale in his arms, "you can feel me."

Din leaned backward, resting against a wall, bringing Natus with him, letting the weight of the man fall even more on him. Natus nestled into him, slotting their arms and legs together and burying his face in Din's neck just so that he could feel the warmth of his breath through the cowl. Din's hand followed random paths and circles along the blond's back, feeling him relax even more. Natus responded in turn, moving his hands all across Dins' body, his back, his shoulders, arms. Through all of this, Din's pelvis was in a wonderfully close position to the other man's in between his legs where they half stood half lay, learning each other once again but with so many layers of clothing and armor in the way. 

Din didn't dare move or initiate despite the uncontrolled feeling his pants were beginning to feel too tight. Natus was in a very vulnerable state, and Din wanted to help him, which meant letting the blond lead in whatever action he was comfortable with. 

Sure enough, as if Natus read his mind, he guided Din's hand to the swell of his ass. Din gripped the skin and clothes with a wide grasp and earned a whimper in his ear. Understanding the message, Din lifted the man up, lightly dragging him along the bulge in his pants, feeling the other man was just as hard as he was. Din started a slow rhythm. The friction dueto the clothes catching between them in all of the right places.

"Mh, this okay?" Din asked, dazed already by just a few lifts.

"s'Yes please."

Din could already tell this was going to be ragged and desperate...and leave a mess. Despite knowing it would also be mind-blowing and cataclysmic, that's not what he wanted with this man right now. 

With a particularly drawn out thrust he asked, "Do you want me to take you to my room?"

The other man, now clinging to him for purchase, nose having wriggled it's was through Din's cowl, hot breath on Din's neck, their only skin touching, "Please." 

"So polite."

In a flash Din turned them around, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist, and walked them only a few feet to the side, where he strung open the cloth revealing the small dim bunk with hardly enough room for them both to fit.

"Oh," the blond let out a small light chuckle, a warm smile crossing his features—possibly the rarest sight in the galaxy. He leaned his head back on Din's breastplate, admiring the view before him. "My room is slightly bigger. But I like yours more." 

The room was small, yes, but it was warm, and quiet. It didn't show the vastness of space or have magically always pressed flat sheets that were blinding white and vast empty spaces that faintly smelled like disinfectant. No, it was rough and it was home. 

"I'm glad," Din rasped, leading the other man in and closing the curtain behind them. The room became dark, but Din could just about make out the features on the man's face before him. Soft relaxed smile, pupils blown. 

He felt hands on his belt and heard a click, his holster and all fell to the floor. Followed by Din's pauldrons, and chestplate. Din started working on unclipping the Sith's cape, unpinning the black flap over his heart, revealing the plain white jumper. Until, of course, he took that off too. After a sufficient amount of clothing and armor had been removed, Din laid the blond on his bed, then crawled his way on top of the other man. 

Their hands drawing over each other, the blond sucking marks into Din's skin as Din rolled his cock into the man's upper thigh, hand below messaging an opening, earning small hums and gasps from the lips occasionally pausing their endeavors. 

When it was time, Din sat up, bringing the blond with him, and turned him around so that the Sith's back was to his chest, Din's cock twitched next to his ass earning a small grind backwards. An arm went below the bed, patting around a few times before grasping the small bottle and bringing it up to them, Din flipped the lid open. Then, he reached in front of him to grab Natus' neglected member, and began stroking him, spreading the wetness so that his hand ran smoothly along him. Din's forearm and bicep, as his arm worked, locked the man in place as he wriggled on his lap. Din aligned his member to the other man's opening and ever so slightly putting his tip into him. 

With his free hand, Din reached upwards, heart pounding with nerves, but once again, he thought to Leia and her courage and unclipped the latch on his visor, releasing a hiss.

Natus gasped, his stomach filling with butterflies and fear—" But!" Din tightened his grip on his cock while his hand worked. The helm dropped on the bed with a dull thud. 

"Keep looking forwards Mesh'la. I trust you." And he slid the rest of the way into the tight warmth and wetness.

They both released a gasp. And oh, how Din should have done this ages ago. This was… hardly bending the rules of the creed. A mere oversight really. He breathed in fully the other man's scent, dragging his tongue hot across the man's neck as he set a slow, brutal pace. 

I trust you. 

Everything swirled, senses maxed out. All six inches of him buried deep, his hand working his cock, but stars, his voice—his real voice—without the visor. So pure and soft and he stored it in a secret place in his mind and heart that could never be forgotten. And oh, he has scruff. Natus didn't try to think about what his lover looked like below the helm—an invasion of privacy—he knew he would never be given the opportunity. Besides, after their first encounter, his curiosity surrendered to a fierce respect. But the light scratching along his shoulder and then neck indicating a bit of facial hair suited the man he knew well. Above all, what dizzied him the most—trust. This was the Mandalorians' most sacred religious tradition, yet his helm lay hollow on the bed. For him. He trusted him. Those lips glided along him, leaving marks he would cherish for rotations to come. Soft gasps and moans that were otherwise lost to the vocabulator. Natus kept it all, storing it in a secret place in his mind that could never be touched. The galaxy long forgotten in the best of ways---

"Luke."

An unfiltered voice—a low pleased grown. It was barely above a whisper. A secret. A confession of a sin. Natus' whole body tensed. Was that word a mistake? He couldn't be thinking of another lover...was it intentional? Why did it make him feel such a way? Why did it feel like a child learning to use a naughty word for the first time without knowing what it meant, just that it was wrong.

But Din purposefully ignored the other mans reeling mind and pressed open-mouthed kisses and licks to his neck, grasping his cock slightly harder.

"Say—," Natus' jaw painfully clamped shut, a desperate attempt to stop himself. Hellfire and holy water—the temptation too great.

"Say it again," He got out through gritted teeth. 

He felt the small bite on his neck morph into a smile.

"Luke." A faint voice, hot breath, the subtle scratch followed by teeth, then a kiss. A particularly deep thrust.

A darkest secret. Fit for a shadowed, tucked away room such as this. No one could ever know... particularly Father and Master. And, as far as Natus was concerned, if no one ever found out, maybe, just maybe, they could both lose their religions—at least for as long as they could hold each other. 

His heart kicking against his chest, all wrong in all the right ways.

"Again."

A hard thrust, nearing pain.

"Luke."

Natus cried out, barely forming the words, choppy and broken from the rhythm. "A-gain."

Instead of immediately obliging, the Mandalorian scooped the sith up once more, releasing his grip around his member, leaving him with an obscene noise—a feeling of emptiness and cold—and pinning him flat on his stomach. The blond lay sprawled. Tight lean muscles, small waist, taking up what little space there was on the mattress, slick and waiting for him. 

"Please." Natus whimpered softly, blowing hair that was sticking to his forehead. How could Din refuse?

The Mandalorian crawled on top of him, grabbed a fistful of the blond's hair not to pull hard but to guide away from accidentally getting a glimpse of his face, and nuzzled back to that space on Natus' marked neck. 

It was during that moment when six inches were sliding back into him without a single hitch or helpful guide when Natus, dazed and with rolled back eyes, registered the discarded helm laying immediately next to him on the mattress. It took everything in him not to cum then and there.

"Luke." The voice rasped, grabbing his hair even more firmly. With the new angle, despite Natus not being able to do more than wiggle and prop his ass higher for easier access, his hunter certainly had considerably more leverage. And he knew how to use it.

He pounded again and again, "Luke–Luke–Luke…"

Natus clung to the sheets below him, eyes squeezed shut.

"Ah! A-gain!"

His hunter slid all the way out only to slam back in, jolting him forward on the mattress. 

"L-uke!"

Natus came with a cry, and the Mandalorian wasn't far behind, pumping out his release before collapsing all his weight onto the man below him. In contrast to his last touches, he gently found Natus' ear, nibbling the lobe and whispering one last time before the word could be demonized again.

"My Mesh'la Luke."

They lay together for what could be an eternity, neither of them speaking, because speaking required asking questions and finding answers, and it was better if they pretended Din didn't just do the most forbidden thing in the galaxy. For as long as they stayed in the safety of the dim light, Din could keep his helmet off and could keep licking, and kissing, biting, and using his mouth to feel and live and pleasure for the first time in his life.

He treasured every texture and wanted more and more. He nipped and kissed and licked downwards, following a trail, heheard the blond moan above him. He had never done this before but stars, has he always wanted to try. To return the favor. To enjoy and pleasure his partner in a new way. He slid to the edge of the bed, pinning the blond from looking up with a strong, muscular arm.

He continued downwards, licking the last of the release, enjoying the taste and the smell of these new sensations. Din was pleasantly surprised how easy it was to coax the man back to full hardness. He slipped his swollen lips over the head of the cock, slowly bobbing, swirling, and tugging with his free hand. 

The Sith, out of instinct, reached out, placing a gentle hand in Din's hair. Like a burn, the Sith recoiled, feeling Din's curls, regretting learning more about what lay behind the helm. But Din reached up, finding the man's hand, placing it back in his hair, letting him guide, enjoying the tug and pull of his hair like a drop of water in a desert.

When the man came in his mouth, he licked up everything and made his way back up, to continue to worship the other man's body with his mouth. His chest, arms, neck, face, near his lips, but a spike of nerves hit him, and he opted to kiss his nose, going higher…

Until finally, Din dragged his tongue along the small slice of a scar over Natus' temple.

The sheets moved as Natus abruptly sat up, careful not to see the other man's head.

"I have to leave. There is something I need to take care of."

And as quickly as they were able to reassemble themselves, he was past the curtain, running down the ramp into the shiphold and gone.

—-

By the time Natus reached Pershing's office, he was already fuming, the force vibrating through every tendon and nerve, setting his skin alight. 

The door flung open and he burst inside. 

"Alright Pershing," he said as a entered, "I'm suddenly very curious about your research. Please, tell me more."

Testing vials and data pads lined the walls and the room rank of disinfectant. The man at the center of it all jumped, turning straight as a board mid-air, then scrambled to adjust his glasses, pushing them upwards on the bridge of his nose.  

"Lord Natus! It's an honor. Really, it is! But—I um, but I." Natus gave him a look that inspired motivation. "As you know, we have been collecting force users for sampling and trials. I specifically oversee the physical manipulation, as you know with the binders test." A long pause, some piece of equipment let out a harmless beep, "I don't want to bore you with the nuances…"

"Are there any other forms of…persuasion? Like mental instead of physical?" 

"Well, Moff Gideon is rather adamant that I don't share about…"

Natus stressed every syllable, fire sparking in his eyes. "I implore you to reconsider."

"Sir, you don't have the clearance to—"

"TELL ME!" The lights in the room flickered and beakers shook with their liquids on the shelf.

"We. We. Well. There is a procedure," Natus' eyes widened in disbelief as Pershing ran a finger along his temple in the exact spot as his scar. When he said "procedure," the other man's eyes wildly searched his own, praying he understood. 

His goggled eyes darted around with the caution of a man whose every word was monitored. "It has shown to be successful. With results better than I had anticipated, so there is no concern there… for force users no matter where they fall on the Metaclorian Scale or spectrum from light to dark." 

Their eyes met again, "Incorporating the latest neuro-synergistic feedback inhibition," he went on fluent and sophisticated, his words bleeding into the soft hum of the machinery. But everything that needed to be said had already been spoken, now the scientist drowned on, trying to dilute his treason in jargon.

Thank you Pershing, you are a good man. 

—

ADVANCED SCIENCE DIVISION

REPORT #912577-B3

}}

<CHIEF SCIENTIST = {REDACTED}

ISSUE: "UPDATE"

SPECIMEN ID: 000002

NAME: "NATUS">

ULTERIOR: "LK SKYWLKR">

}}

<LOCATION: IMPERIAL RESEARCH CENTER 23-B>

<NATUS has once again reached STAGE THREE under directive: diverging from suggestive protocol: A392D. Resembling self-awareness.> 

<RESPONDENT CONNECTING>

…

<MESSAGE LOADING>

…

…

<This is the fifth time STAGE THREE has been reached. Do you believe it is of any concern?>

<I believe extra precautions are warranted. It is my recommendation that the specimen should not continue to interact with Princess Leia Organa. That has been the primary cause of reaching STAGE 4 previously.>

<MESSAGE LOADING>

…

…

…

…

<Lord Vader has permitted their interactions on the account of strengthening loyalty to the Empire.>

<With respect, it is my and my team's belief that continued proximity is unwise. Even with this goal in mind.>

<MESSAGE LOADING>

…

…

<Without loyalty, your research is meaningless. Treat the specimen's fate as your own. Progress will resume as normal.>

<RESPONDENT DISCONNECTED>

-----

Chapter 9 will be out in 2 weeks.

Reblogs help my story grow 🌱 <3

[v-ividus]

29. Beyond the Algorithm: Rediscovering Humanity in a Digital Age

“All human beings are somewhat ludicrous and grotesque simply because they are human. ” — Friedrich Schlegel

Is our reliance on screens numbing our sense of what it truly means to be human? In an age governed by digital distractions and simulated experiences, humanity has been eclipsed by the luminous glow of digital delusion. Stripped of realness, we find ourselves navigating a labyrinth of carefully curated façades, each a desperate attempt to garner validation—a cruel parody of genuine connection. Friedrich Schlegel's assertion resonates here; our ludicrous and grotesque nature, serves as a poignant commentary on our plight. We fashion masks of perfection, concealing our true selves in the shadows of our digital avatars. This is the arena of algorithmic determinism, where one's worth is measured by likes and shares, overshadowing the intrinsic qualities that define our character.

The scientist within us seeks to dissect this phenomenon: motivations driven by recognition, affirmation, and the unsettling thrill of instant gratification. Each scroll, each click becomes a ritual of validation, yet the emotional residue is one of hollowness—a yearning for connection swiftly muted by pixels and code. We must interrogate why we surrender our inherent humanity at the altar of virality. Perhaps the grotesqueness Schlegel identifies is not merely a characteristic of our existence but a condition bred by a society that prioritizes engagement above empathy.

Yet, this introspection must extend beyond self-judgment; we must confront societal structures that perpetuate this cycle. How is it that algorithmic recommendations weed out diversity of thought, leading us into digital echo chambers where self-righteousness festers? As we reinforce our biases, we strip away the moral fabric required for meaningful relationships, reducing the profound essence of human connection to banal soundbites.

Undeniably, the statistics are harrowing. Reports of anxiety, depression, and social isolation are on the rise, driven by a culture that rewards superficial engagement over genuine relationships. Can we bear to acknowledge our complicity in this downfall? When we choose to engage with a curated version of reality, do we inadvertently mold ourselves into grotesque caricatures of our true selves?

In the face of these realities, the humanizing power of empathy stands as a beacon amidst the digital fog. How can we assuage the loneliness echoing within our screens if we do not first confront the relationship we have with ourselves? The absurdity of our condition demands that we not only understand our motivations but also embrace the messy, beautiful complexity of our beings.

Ultimately, the challenge lies in rejecting the digital illusion without romanticizing the inherent grotesqueness of human existence. Embracing our flawed nature—seeing it in others—may be the first step toward reclaiming our humanity in a world that seeks to define us algorithmically.

Moral Disintegration: Cultural Hatreds in Algorithmic Society

To dissect the moral disintegration in contemporary culture, we must recognize the insidious ways algorithms shape our perceptions, reinforcing biases and cultivate cultural hatreds. The curated streams of information serve as psychological opiates, anesthetizing our capacity for critical thought and empathy. Every swipe reinforces a dangerous rhetoric that demonizes the 'other,' feeding an engine of animosity that echoes louder than the voice of reason.

As we surrender to this torrent of polarized narratives, we inadvertently endorse a form of moral nihilism—the belief that ethical structures no longer hold value in a world governed by tweets and trends. Schlegel's insight into the grotesque becomes grimly pertinent; our ability to acknowledge the shared absurdity of our existence dims with each vitriolic post we consume. The consequences are dire: once essential societal bonds fray under the weight of divisive rhetoric, leading to a fractured world where hatred masquerades as righteousness.

The urgency of self-reflection is paramount; can we, as individuals, recognize our role in perpetuating this cycle? This confrontation is painful, a raw and emotional reckoning with our own biases and preconceived notions. We romanticize outrage in the name of justice, blinding ourselves to the deep-rooted humanity that connects us all. The nurturance of our moral compass has been sacrificed on the altar of social media engagement, and only through diligent introspection can we hope to reclaim it.

The notion that 'the personal is political' acquires a new urgency in this context. Our interactions online serve as a microcosm of societal trends—each statement reflecting broader currents of hate, fear, and alienation. When every post is laced with moralistic fervor, we must ask ourselves: does this truly serve to elevate discourse, or does it merely cement our positions within echo chambers?

As algorithm-driven content narrows our scope of understanding, we confront a stark reality: the road to rediscovering our ethical foundations necessitates a dismantling of these echo chambers. We must dare to engage with opposing viewpoints, to witness the grotesquerie of human existence in its myriad forms—recognizing that within those differences lies the potential for genuine connection and unimaginable change.

In doing so, we open a pathway toward reconciling the tensions within our fractured moral landscape, moving toward a collective understanding that transcends algorithmic determinism. In acknowledging our shared absurdity, we reclaim the power of dialogue—the antidote to the cultural hatreds propagated by our digital environments.

The Empathetic Revival: Humanizing the Algorithm

In the wake of pervasive digital delusion and moral disintegration, a movement toward empathy beckons—a revival that seeks to humanize the algorithm. The paradox of modern existence lies in our simultaneous desire for connection and the estrangement wrought by algorithmic control. Schlegel's observation about our grotesqueness becomes a rallying cry to embrace vulnerability as a strength, driving us to look beyond the screens that separate us.

Empathy serves as a radical antidote to algorithmic determinism; it requires us to challenge the filtered reality presented before us, to connect with the humanity behind every pixel. The algorithms may guide our interactions, but they should never define them. To humanize the algorithm, we must actively seek out narratives that foster compassion and inspire genuine love—stories that connect us to our shared experience as imperfect beings.

This endeavor calls for a re-evaluation of how we consume digital content. Rather than passively scrolling, we must engage actively with the world, seeking out diverse perspectives often obscured by the tailored feeds of social media. The grotesque can be beautiful—a reminder of the complexity inherent in humanity—and it is this complexity that forms the bedrock of meaningful connections.

All too often, we shield ourselves from the emotional weight of others' experiences, retreating into our comfort zones. Yet, it is precisely this discomfort that cultivates growth; acknowledging the pain and joys inherent to life fosters a sense of kinship that transcends algorithmic barriers. By daring to explore the intricate tapestry of human existence, we dissolve our preconceived notions and allow empathy to flourish.

The call to redefine our relationship with technology is urgent and essential. As we grapple with the implications of digital existence, we must reconsider our engagement with social media platforms that thrive on divisive content. Individual responsibility becomes a collective charge—choosing to uplift voices and narratives that foster understanding rather than dissonance.

Only through this empathetic revival can we begin to dismantle the barriers erected by algorithmic culture. By embracing our absurdities and the grotesque elements of our humanity, we can forge authentic connections that stand resilient amid the cacophony of the digital age. Ultimately, the path forward lies in the recognition that empathy, rather than hate, must steer the course of our interactions.

Reconstructing Identity in a Morally and Ethically Fractured Reality

As algorithms shape our perceptions and deepen divisions, the search for identity in this fractured reality becomes essential. Collective identity faces an existential crisis, driven by an incessant quest for approval through curated personas. This fear of revealing our true selves leads to a troubling conformity, as individuals become caricatures, fashioning identities that mirror the shifting trends of the digital world.

The psychological impact of this identity crisis is profound, inducing self-doubt and feelings of alienation. The conscious self wrestles with the conflict between genuine motivations and algorithmically imposed identities. This creates a paradox: in our pursuit of connection, we risk losing sight of who we truly are. Schlegel’s reflections illuminate this struggle, revealing the ludicrous and grotesque aspects of being human as we attempt to reconcile the digital with the real.

Reconstructing our identities necessitates a sincere exploration of our inner worlds—a reevaluation of values and beliefs that transcend algorithmic constraints. This journey entails confronting the superficial nature of our digital selves and embracing the complexity of our existence. Each person, with their unique absurdity, adds to the rich tapestry of humanity; recognizing this shared experience empowers us to reclaim our identities.

By refuting the pressures of conformity dictated by algorithms, we enable ourselves to engage with life in a genuine way. The grotesque becomes a source of liberation, encouraging us to celebrate the imperfect and the complex aspects of our beings. Reclaiming our identity is not merely an exercise in self-indulgence; it nurtures a collective understanding of what it means to be human.

Conclusively, we must face the uncomfortable truth that to reconstruct our identities means to embrace the contradictions and grotesquerie within. The journey may be arduous, yet the rewards of genuine connection and self-discovery carry the potential to transform our collective reality.

Conclusion: Cultivating Compassion in a Digital Era

As we navigate the complexities of our digital existence, the imperative to cultivate compassion emerges as a guiding beacon. The grotesque nature of humanity, as identified by Schlegel, must no longer incite ridicule but compel us toward understanding. In the algorithmic abyss, compassion can illuminate the path to rediscovering the fundamental connections that unite us.

Compassion requires intentionality—it drives us to engage willingly with the vulnerabilities we all share. Rather than shying away from discomfort, fostering an environment conducive to genuine dialogue and understanding is vital. Every interaction—each comment and each post—becomes a choice, a reflection of the moral principles we wish to uphold. What legacy do we wish to leave in this digital age?

The pervasive cultural hatreds that plague our society can only be dismantled through the conscious choices we make. It is incumbent upon each of us to harness our capacity for compassion, recognizing that the grotesque nature of humanity is not a source of shame but an opportunity for connection. Within the vast expanse of differing perspectives lies the potential for growth, provided we are willing to engage with sincerity.

As we reflect on our roles as stewards of our digital environments, we must recognize our power to influence the trajectory of communication. Each connection can serve as a seed of compassion, capable of rippling outward to foster understanding and acceptance in a seemingly fractured world.

Thus, the road ahead demands courageous introspection and unwavering dedication to cultivating a sense of shared humanity. We must endeavor to combat the forces of division through acts of kindness, understanding, and empathy for our fellow beings. Only by embracing our absurd, grotesque nature with open hearts can we navigate the turbulent waters of our digital reality.

In conclusion, the quest for authenticity in an algorithm-driven world requires a concerted effort—a willingness to confront the facets of ourselves that perpetuate disconnection. As we strengthen our bonds through engagement and compassion, we find solace in our shared humanity, forging a brighter future steeped in understanding. The grotesque becomes not a source of ridicule, but a celebration of life’s rich complexity, opening the doors for healing and unity in our digital era.

[randomheros]

Sonic movie 3 spoilers (again, cause I got more to say)

I love that this movie just immediately goes to the prison break. Like this movie really said "we know your here for him, we're not gonna make you wait." XD

The entire break out scene is so good. The lighting, the stasis tube thing is cool, the animation of Shadows little sleepy twitches. The subtle build up to the fact he's waking up (cause if he's twitching, that means he'd be in REM sleep, a stasis should be deeper, right?) The heart monitor alerting the guards to him waking up. Then there's the scene of him leaving the island, where he races across the water, and maybe I'm just imagining it, but I SWEAR you can see a learning curve in his initial animation. Like it looks like he takes a moment to figure out how to race across the water, which makes sense cause he's never done that before. It's some subtle but good animation and I appreciate it.

I love that he isn't immediately on a revenge spree, he's just kind of unsure what to do with himself. Like he hates GUN certainly, but like, yeah, he should. I wouldn't advise someone to trust the people that attacked his home and killed his best friend. Dude has every right to be defensive, and it was FULLY GUN's idea to attack him in a highly populated area.

I like that Shadow wasn't really too intent on harming Sonic and the gang, he was mostly trying to avoid and prevent them from following. I also like Shadow not being really cocky and arrogant, cause frankly I'm not sure that ever fit his backstory.

I like that it was Gerald who put the revenge idea in his head-annnnd as I say that, I understand that it was a way of doing the memory alter thing but in a less complicated way. NICE. I love the little haunted house moment in mountain base, loved seeing ma boi Casper. XD

I love Super Sonic's fight with Shadow. I love love LOVE Shadow's super form being more white gold, I'm sure that's not new, but he's real pretty. XD It's also really funny cause like...he has no idea what's going on but just goes with it. He has no idea what the chaos emeralds are, has no idea why Sonic is gold now, no idea why he's now gold, but is still unfazed. He is the epitome of the John Mulaney bit; "This might as well happen today."

I love that Shadow just kind of wants Sonic to kill him. Some good character writing. He wants justice/revenge for Maria, but he also just wants the pain to end. He just wants it all to go away.

tHE LIVE AND LEARN MOMENT WAS GREAT. NO NOTES. JUST PERFECTION. (The little genuine smile Shadow gets is so nice. Oh my god. It was hype)

HE TOOK OF THE POWER CUFFS! IT WAS NEVER STATED, THEY JUST FULLY TRUSTED THE FANS TO UNDERSTAND(at least...i don't recall the power cuffs ever being explained in the movie...)

While part of me misses the whole "Gerald made Shadow to cure Maria" thing, it doesn't really take away from the movie, and it does make it easier to do a Black Arms story line in the future, if they wanted to. Like they left that door WIDE open.

I think the only thing in this movie that I wasn't sure I liked was Gerald...we didn't really get any scenes of him before the 50 year imprisonment, so I kept having to remind myself that he likely wasn't this weird 50 years ago. But I also know they had to make him weird cause it's fucking Jim Carrey. XD Regardless, I think it ever so slightly took away from the emotional impact of the Eclipse canon scheme, cause I can't take him seriously for even a second. I'm also not sure how I feel about Keanu Reeves voice acting...like, he suits Shadow, but ...sometimes it feels like it's lacking some emotion. But maybe that's just the intended direction? Idk, I'll have to watch it a second time before I can really make a judgment. Maybe I'm just not used to it. XD Regardless, it would be the fans fault and not Sega cause yall asked for Reeves XD

I CALLED THE END CREDIT SCENE! I KNEW IT WAS GONNA BE METAL SONIC! Eggman has had that quill thing forever, it's been established that his quills can power things, it only makes sense for Metal Sonic to appear.

I did not suspect MANY metal sonics however, or AMY!?! YOOOO??? Never have I been so hyped to see Amy XD

I had a blast at this movie X3

[lutethebodies]

Hello! Would you mind answering 7, 16, and 24? The d8 rolled a 3!

OC Asks That Reveal More Than You Think (Faded Folk Hero Edition)

Rolling a 3 on the LTB-Tav-d8 gets you a shifty Shadow Monk! Drem Sion, the Relentless Defender, is my original 2e character from circa 1991, revived briefly as a 5e PC/NPC and then as my 3rd BG3 Tav. I haven't played him much, but he's on the list for another go-round sometime after Patch 8. Basic links for him: Tav Tuesday, Minthara's Judgment, Mood Board. Answers below the cut:

Drem's original aesthetic inspiration, the Final Fantasy 1 Monk (left), and his Heroforge render (right).

7. Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

I would say "legendary," "resilient," and "heroic" because in my homebrew world's current canon, that's how he's remembered. A lost folk hero from a past age, whose name graces tumbledown villages and the past-their-prime establishments still standing but long ignored by the Important People of Today. Whose surviving companions keep themselves to themselves and resist attempts to either whitewash or downplay their deeds together.

In that vein, he would choose "loyal" but also "compromised" and "overrated." As someone whose life was defined by doing what his more honorable royal patron could not—espionage, dirty tricks, and various other skulduggeries—his wins would be necessarily anonymous and losses would be humiliatingly public. And since his life seemingly ended as a wash, his in-world reputation neither suffered excessively nor eclipsed those he served.

16. If money wasn’t a limit, what would they wear?

I think he'd still pretty much stay utilitarian instead of flashy—functional clothes that allow the breathability and freedom of movement a monk's discipline would require—but maybe with some bling around the edges. Expensive (if not shiny) or precious sapphires in his headbands or wrist guards. Tactful silver threads woven into his robes. I may be the only one who likes the vanilla BG3 monk robes, but they work well for him when dyed.

Drem doesn't shun magic items or colors, but since he usually relies on the pure utility of such things, that actual ostentation would feel like it's drawing too much attention to him. As a spy, that's a no-no. As a servant of royalty, that's a big no-no. It's important to convey power and importance to get things done, sure—but maybe more important to not show up your patrons with bigger britches than you can wear.

Drem's entry in the appendices of my first self-published homebrew fantasy atlas.

24. Honesty or charity?

Easy: honesty. For Drem, the world is already too full of deceptions of all types to needlessly toss more onto the pile. "Honesty" may be a contradictory quality for a spy—never mind a shadow monk who relies on the dubious benefits of darkness—but "honesty with oneself about oneself" has never steered him wrong. He's never succumbed to the kind of hubris or pride that precedes a fall; when he was defeated, it was truly due to the superior capabilities of his foe.

I enjoyed making a more brutal honesty part of his story in my 5e homebrew world—when my players finally encountered Drem, he was an undead semi-thrall of the death cleric who'd "defeated" him. Part of the players' mission was to use a macguffin (which just happened to be his ancient magic quarterstaff) to release him to eternal rest, which they did (allowing the party's Light Cleric to do, and that guy was admirably in character with a bit too zealous of a Destroy Undead impulse). It was a good way to figuratively put my 2e past to bed in favor of new and different 5e adventures with other characters. But then BG3 came along and I thought playing a shadow monk would be fun, so…

Thanks to my asker (whose answers are here)! Especially for choosing a character that is, very slowly, becoming a real boy and less of a cipher, ancient though his origins may be. I hope this counts as revealing!

[itz-pandora]

56. Misc Eclipse

43. Canon Adjacent Shadow

56. How do they go about making decisions: do they consult a particular individual, rely on a trusted group, consider input from anyone willing to share or solely trust their own judgment — Misc. Eclipse

Eclipse often asks the Dark Arms for help but he more or less does the thing where you flip a coin you choose whichever side you wanted anyway. He's so used to taking the lead that he never had the opportunity to rely on others. He kinda goes "Fuck it we ball" with everything even if he's scared as all hell, because that's what he's supposed to do as the oldest figure! Though when he joins the main crew he is the youngest LOL. He still tends to rely on himself and is horrible at cooperating and communicating bc the Dark Arms follow him + hive mind. He's a follower thrust in the place of a leader.

43. With whom or when do they feel most authentic and true to themselves — C.A. Shadow

Shadow feels the safest with Rouge!! Omega is second to that. He catches himself being vulnerable with Rouge much more than anyone else, since she has a way of seeing through him. She's exceptionally keen in social situations and charismatic, so his subtlety speaks volumes to her enough, and she knows how to navigate feelings without being patronizing. She's a bit manipulative but she uses it just to break down his barriers LOL. With Omega, he and Shadow have similar experiences. They're both blunt, and Omega can empathize with Shadow's doubts about himself. It's more subtle, since neither are very emotional appearing, but it's a subtle and distinct feeling.

Bonus reads on Amy and Sonic for 43! He feels like he needs to prove himself to both of them and so he isn't as comfortable being authentic. With Amy, he wants to be the best version of himself, he wants to be the person who Maria cared about, and he sees Amy as what Maria would've adored about Earth. Amy brings out a heroic and kind side of Shadow, and he tends to be emotional. Not necessarily a front but it's more his emotions are on kinda an overdrive. With Sonic he's absolutely putting up a front though LMAO he wants Sonic to see him as a strong person who never gives up and always feels the need to impress him. He tends to act over confident and more mysterious. He hates being vulnerable around Sonic for a long time despite knowing Sonic would be a safe person to express himself in front of, just because he doesn't want that power imbalance, or any awkward sap between them. He likes being the strong "Ultimate Lifeform" in front of him that he was designed to be.

Ask game