#Especially because I put way more effort into the first two panels before the tone shifted to be more in my comfort zone

[browniesnivy]

The above statement is… A) True B) Valid C) Both true and valid

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 38

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 17.1k (._.) ➻ rating: m ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: blood, fighting, violence, weapons, choking (not the sexy kind sorry), self-inflicted injury, some psychological torture, graphic depictions of death, drowning but not really? someone being held underwater, implied suicide (but no graphic depiction) ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act five ➻ part five

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Stepping onto the bridge with Wooyoung in tow is an experience to say the very least. Mostly because it is eerily quiet when you arrive, so startlingly empty that you pause the second you step into the room. Hongjoong sits still as a statue in his usual place even though he has truly no need to be in the captain’s chair since you aren’t going anywhere quite yet. The only movements he makes are to cross one leg over the other back and forth every few seconds like he can’t stay put for too long. Other than that, he makes no effort to acknowledge your presence at the edge of the bridge, which would be expected if not for the crucial nature of your mission.

The effects of Soojin’s little concoction are still weighing heavily on your muscles and bones, but you are at least able to keep your eyes open now. Jongho refuses to let go of your waist, and you might complain if you didn’t think you would crumble to a useless heap on the floor once he let you go. You don’t trust your muscles to cooperate that much.

“I see you’re bringing good news,” Hongjoong states as you draw closer to where he’s seated. One quick glance at the observation window tells you he’s carefully watching your every move, including the pair behind you that consists of Yeosang and Wooyoung.

“Aye, Captain,” Jongho says through a smile. Hongjoong finally shifts to look your way, eyes hesitating on your slumped form for a moment before moving to where Wooyoung stands.

“Glad to see you back on board, Wooyoung.” His tone won’t commit to showing how he truly feels, but there is a certain light in Hongjoong’s eyes that he cannot hide, and you find relief in his features as he looks over Wooyoung. It’s brief and temporary, but the obvious warmth that his countenance holds as he and Wooyoung make eye contact is enough to show you how heavily this has been weighing on the young captain as well.

“Glad to be back, Captain,” Wooyoung answers in haste. You can hear the smile in his voice even if you cannot see it.

“Were there any issues with the mission?”

“No, just… a small hiccup.” Jongho glances down at you, and the slight shift has Hongjoong redirecting his focus to you as well. You steel yourself for some sort of lecture, a backhanded comment about staying focused on the task at hand, or maybe even just a comment about you being a weak link. Hongjoong’s gaze never hardens though. Instead, he offers a small nod then —

“I see. Be sure to check in with Yunho in that case.”

Something else nags at the edge of your thoughts then, mostly due to the absence of one certain person on the bridge at the moment.

“Where is Jisung?”

Hands squeezing hard around your throat, shoving you under bloody waters.

Cold, cold, cold. Red in your vision, hands on your throat, and everything is cold.

“In the brig. We — I decided it would be best to keep him there until the situation changes.” Hongjoong’s answer is spoken through a stiff and uncomfortable tone, and you expect that he was met with some resistance when it came to such a decision. But of course, that begs another question about the other person who is not on the bridge or by Hongjoong’s side like he typically would be.

“And Seonghwa?”

“Also in the brig.” Hongjoong presses his lips together, and he shifts to glare holes into the floor. The shift in his demeanor is slight but unsettling nonetheless, especially as he forces a tight grin onto his lips a second later. “Wooyoung, after you’ve settled and taken some time to recover, I’d like to chat. I won’t ask anything too invasive, but I need to know a little bit about the places you were held and where San and Mingi could possibly be. And Yeosang, a mission debriefing is needed as well.”

“We can talk now, Captain. I’ve got some news that should be helpful anyway!” Wooyoung steps around you to talk more directly to Hongjoong, Yeosang lingering at his side the whole time, and you pull back to give them more space. “I’ll go see our dear doctor after we chat. He’ll talk my ear off anyway.”

“Do you need to see Yunho?” Jongho asks, stepping back with you.

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Right now I… I think I just need to see Jisung,” you murmur. How are you going to stomach looking at him without thinking of his hands around your throat and trying to kill you?

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“If he’s in the brig being watched by Seonghwa, how much damage can he do?”

Jongho falls silent at that, mostly because your point holds strong, but he still stays by your side during the walk down there. And arguably yes it is your first time heading down to that part of the ship; the only times you’ve wandered in that vague direction are when you went to the cargo bay with Jongho. There is a different kind of tension in your muscles now though, one that feels much more like walking to your inevitable doom than anything else. That feeling intensifies with each step closer to the small hatch leading down to the brig, a ladder with metal rungs taking you to a place you aren’t sure you want to be. A quick glance over your shoulder shows you a minor portion of the brig, only enough to see three cells lined up on the left then a sharp corner that no doubt leads to more cells in a narrow hallway. Typical of a ship of this caliber. They aren’t built to house prisoners, and any slave trades made with such a vessel would only carry that precious cargo in the cargo hold. They would only need roughly twenty of these cells — five by five squares with just enough space for the average person to stand up comfortably but nothing more than that.

Yet when your feet hit the cold paneled floor and echo a hollow noise, your gaze falls upon Jisung and only Jisung. He is safely tucked away in the middle cell, walls of bars surrounding him and separating your body from his, but that’s hardly noticeable compared to Seonghwa’s absence near his cell. Hongjoong had claimed that Seonghwa was down here with Jisung, and the initial lack of his presence immediately sends your brain into danger mode.

“What did you do with Seonghwa?” You inquire without hesitation, leveling the man you used to admire so fucking much with a glare full of heat you didn’t even know you were capable of. Jisung laughs from the spot where he is curled up on the floor. He has his back pressed to the only solid wall in the cell, knees pulled up to his chest and elbows draped overtop them so that his hands hang loosely down in the space before him. The huff of air that passes through his lips almost sounds like a laugh. It does nothing to quell your nerves — if anything it makes your anxiety spike a bit higher, causing Jongho to lay a hand down on the small of your back in attempts to calm you some no doubt.

“Shouldn’t you be asking your dearest captain that?” Comes Jisung’s scathing reply, complete with a sneer and curled lip. The disdain in his tone isn’t hard to miss at all. His chin tilts. Eyes blaze with some fury. Then he presses his tongue against his bottom lip and forces the skin there to stretch under the pressure. “To think you escaped my cruel clutches just to fall into the filthy hands of a scourge who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. A beautiful irony, don’t you think?”

You don’t give him the pleasure of hearing any response from you.

“Don’t worry, doll. You’ll be safe in my hands soon enough,” he says, tone almost bordering on teasing rather than being serious with the threat. “What’s it? Got one back, no? Not the one you care about though, am I right?” Jisung brings his head forward again, staring down the line of empty cells before him like he’s taunting something nonexistent there. “Poor, poor lieutenant. Denied by both the people he loves. How much bending can an Elitist take until he breaks? I’ve always wondered that… never did get to see Hyunwoo snap after all. Perhaps now I’ll get to witness it with my own two eyes.”

“Don’t speak on things you know nothing about.”

That stops you dead in your tracks, your whole body lurching as you are midway to stepping closer to Jisung’s cell. The words don’t come from your lips, nor do they come from Jongho’s, but the tiny voice in the back of your head tells you that no one snuck down behind you and Jongho. And that Jisung’s staring isn’t coincidental or meaningless at all. A cruel smile curls the corners of his mouth. He prods at one side with the tip of his tongue and releases a laugh that is more hollow than anything else.

You force your legs into action and push yourself forward, although this time you don’t head for Jisung’s cell like you originally intended to do. Instead, you round the sharp corner leading to the remaining cells in the brig with bated breath and a growing sense of dread in your gut.

As it turns out, that dread is not misplaced in the slightest.

Because the moment you stare down the row of metal cages perpendicular to Jisung’s own holding cell, your gaze falls on something heart-wrenching and horrid to see. And Jongho might be confused — a bit beyond merely confused, you’ll admit — but you? You recognize this to be the cruel picture your mind conjured up the day Hongjoong told you that you would be going on the rescue mission for Wooyoung.

“I don’t know how much or what exactly you saw in Seonghwa’s memories. I do not need to know either. But something you need to know is that we have been back to Lynder exactly once since I met Seonghwa there. And that one single time, two years ago, we had to lock Seonghwa in the brig for six days straight to keep him from breaking out to kill his mother. Seonghwa tore cuts into his arms and shoulders so deep that Yunho had to come to stitch him every night until we finally chained him to a wall to get him to stop. When he finally gave up on trying to break out, I went in and took the cuffs off, only for Seonghwa to choke me hard enough to fracture my neck and leave bruises that lasted for several weeks.”

It’s Seonghwa who sits far in the back of the brig, curled in on himself in the very last cell in the block with what feels like leagues stretching between you and where he is. Chains cuffing his wrists together and a shackle hanging so heavy on his neck that he can barely lift his head. You’ve never seen a man look so small and insignificant in your life; the knowledge and realization that it’s none other than Seonghwa under those chains burn so deep in your chest that you forget how to breathe properly until Jongho shatters the weighty silence by joining you in front of the row of cells.

“Lieutenant?”

“The mission, Jongho. Did you recover him?”

How dare Seonghwa look so gentle and confident even while being chained and held in the brig of his own ship?

“I — yes, Lieutenant, we recovered him but — but you—”

“Good,” Seonghwa interjects. He gives a heavy nod that makes the iron hanging from his neck rattle. “Then there is no reason for you to be down here currently. I’m sure our captain would have much better use for you now than I do.” Seonghwa’s dark eyes remain fixated on you as he speaks, but you’re too far away to even try to discern the emotion concealed in them.

Jongho turns back to the ladder leading out of the cellblock. He doesn’t put up a fight or argue about the matter; merely looks the other way and follows the order like nothing is possibly wrong with the scene unfolding before him.

You, on the other hand, hardly consider yourself the kind of person who gives in so easily.

Thus, against better judgment no doubt, you step around the wall of cells separating you and Seonghwa, then take the steely walk over to that far corner of the brig.

And against better judgment, with Hongjoong’s words of warning ringing in your ears of how dangerous Seonghwa was the last time he was in such a position, you get as close to the cell as humanly possible. You curl your fingers around the bars as you sink to your knees in front of him, eyes unable to find a comfortable resting place anywhere on his body and instead finding purchase on the sliver of the floor still exposed under his knees. He, like Jisung, has his back pressed to the cage, bars digging harshly into his typical billowing black coat. He can’t extend his legs all the way in the cell and is thus forced to keep his knees bent at an awkward angle that will surely hurt after some time has passed. Hands are held together by that short chain and stretched as far as possible over his knees. You would never go so far as to say Seonghwa could ever look pitiful, but this brings you pretty damn close.

“I do not wish for you to see me in this position, Y/N,” Seonghwa whispers without looking over at you. He maintains the same honed stare on Jisung, and now that you’re closer to him you can see that flames of anger that lick at his dark eyes. Despite his words, you can’t bring yourself to move. The weight of your bones suddenly feels heavier than ever and even if you wanted to get up and leave, you don’t think you could. “It was shameful enough to ask Hongjoong to put me here.”

“You… you asked him to do this?” You inquire through a whisper of your own.

“He didn’t want to, of course, but—” Seonghwa cuts himself short and you watch his chest heave as he inhales sharply “—I’m ashamed to admit that I know how to get what I want from him. And thus… I made him put me here.”

“Seonghwa, I — you — why?” If only eloquence could be your strong suit.

“I cannot trust myself. I am not needed for these missions. I am a liability. Anything I do must be under careful watch and instruction, otherwise, I could risk the safety of the crew and the success of our missions.” Seonghwa swallows around nothing and drops his chin to his chest. His mop of black hair falls forward to cover his eyes. You hadn’t realized how long it had gotten in recent days as he pressed it back constantly, but now you can see how the ends caress his eyelashes and near the bottom of his temples. “I pose more of a threat than anything else in this state.”

“Says who?” You insist, pressing your face so far forward that your cheek squishes against the bars. Seonghwa seems startled by your sudden fervor. His eyes go wide and dart over to your face, but they linger for only a second before turning back to his lap. “Was it Jisung? Did he say something? Before he was locked up? Or maybe after? He’s — Seonghwa, you can’t believe anything he says. He wants to cause discord and issues in the crew, he wants trouble because he’s an enemy.”

“He has nothing to do with this, Y/N. Absolutely nothing.” The skin around his eyes crinkles as he squeezes his eyes shut, almost as though he’s in pain. “Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

“What did you do? No, what happened while we were gone?”

The chains around Seonghwa’s wrist rattle so suddenly that it startles you, and his abrupt movements send you back from the cage in a rush without thinking twice. You merely acted out of self-preservation and instinct, and yet —

And yet the damage is already done.

Your eyes dart up to look into Seonghwa’s. He looks more lost and confused than anything else, like a child who can’t find his way home. From the way his lip trembles to the wobble in his gaze and how his hands clench and unclench as though in an unknown ceremony of their own. The man seems — is harmless.

“Go, Y/N, before I truly hurt you.”

This time, you don’t fight him on the matter. You force your legs into action and push yourself up from the floor where you just unceremoniously sprawled in an effort to get away from Seonghwa’s cell. The walk away from him hurts something awful in your chest, like each step you take to get away from him causes a new piece of your heart to break off, but still, you walk until you reach the end of the hauntingly short hall. You can’t keep yourself from staring down that corridor to look at Seonghwa’s crumpled form one more time.

In that moment that couldn’t have lasted more than half a second, you believed that Seonghwa would hurt you, and he believed the same. It only took that much time for the line of trust you thought could be unbreakable to shatter and give out under you. Was it not only recently that you told him you were willing to place your heart in his hands and trust him with it?

“Are you content with yourself yet, Spectre?” Seonghwa’s voice rings clear in the room, echoing off the metal walls with more venom than before. You don’t think that venom is directed at anyone other than himself right now.

“Not even in the slightest, Lieutenant,” Jisung laughs in response. You don’t intend to make eye contact with him, but it happens nonetheless and once it does, you are transfixed on each of his movements. He drags his tongue over his lips before tucking it between his teeth and biting down hard on the tip. “I know plenty about making people break. And I can guarantee that by the time your dearest captain loses his will and decides to let you out, I will have broken you in ways you fear to even imagine. Let’s see how well you can play my game, Lieutenant of Death.”

The urge to reach a hand between the bars and strangle Jisung where he sits is so overwhelming that you see red. Somehow you find it in you to turn away, using some shred of reason and logic because you know you need Jisung as much as you wish you didn’t — until San and Mingi are safely back on the ship, you cannot risk killing him.

And to your surprise, Jongho is not waiting outside the hatch when you surface in the corridor again. It falls shut with a loud bang, trapping Jisung and Seonghwa both in their little prison once more.

The pressure around your head is mounting and becoming hard to ignore, even through the lingering effects of Soojin’s concoction. It seems the drowsiness wishes to win out, however, seeing as you pull yourself to your bedroom without much thought and more like it’s some form of muscle memory instead. Between all the things happening around you at the moment, it’s hard to pinpoint just one thing and focus on it.

San is still missing.

Seonghwa locked himself in the brig.

Han Jisung is terrorizing you and your crew out of some odd desire to claim you.

Mingi is still missing as well and at risk of being reprogrammed back into the Brute of Kebos.

Wooyoung, in the very least, is safely back but no doubt suffered new and awful traumas that he’ll have to deal with in the coming months.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa fought for what feels like the hundredth time.

You found Soojin in a brothel then promptly got confirmation that your memories were indeed wiped a second time without you knowing. Delightful, truly.

All that swirling back to the mounting headache that pierces the left side of your head so hard you see little flashes in your vision. And despite the need to most likely think through things, weigh your options, try to do something other than just sitting around and waiting for someone else to plan, you merely curl up under your sheets in the darkness after wiping away your leftover black lipstick and changing into some more comfortable clothes.

Alone again. It’s odd how you went from being on your own almost constantly for three years to now being so dependent on having someone by your side. Maybe it was the knowledge that you had no one back then that kept you sane. Now, however, you know there are people around you, close to you, people you would almost dare to say you can rely on for safety and trust. An image of Jisung’s cruel smile flickers in your mind before you close your eyes to sleep.

Trust got you nowhere before.

Would it be foolish to make the same mistakes again?

…

There’s a cold hand wrapped tight around your own, but even as you look down at it you can’t figure out who it belongs to. Another hand is folded over your eyes, blocking every ounce of your vision and leaving you shrouded in darkness. You have no idea where you are or where you are heading, and though your first instinct is to fight, you feel somewhat safe under the hand that holds yours.

“Kan han ceso, Umiko. Nu an nadu. Un cu nu, Umiko, un nukon.” The words grate against your ears, a soft-spoken voice whispering the foreign language to you through the darkness, and you blink hard against the hand covering your eyes.

“I-I don’t know what you’re saying,” you whisper back, only to be answered with more confusion and unknown words.

“Nadu, nadu. Sosun hen.”

The hand around your head slips away only to shove hard at your back. You don’t have time to turn to face your companion before a door is slammed shut on your back. You whip around to face the wall of metal, seeing nothing beyond the dark.

“Wait! Don’t — don’t leave me here!”

“Kidehon u Nurun, Umiko.”

Despite not knowing what any of the words mean, a chill rushes down your spine and leaves goosebumps all across your skin. Then a shrill scream tears you away from the door and back to the reality swirling together behind you. It’s moreso the contents of the scream that catch your attention because through the sudden swarm of yells and shouts, you catch one recognizable word.

“Yeosang!”

It’s like a veil is torn away from your eyes and you can suddenly see the world around you with so much clarity and brightness it hurts. And the first thing your gaze lands on is the sight of Wooyoung being dragged by the waist back into what seems to be a spitting image of the House of Lilies. His captors are hooded figures, unimportant and insignificant compared to Wooyoung who flails around desperately in their arms to get out. And across from him, running and running but never once catching up because a massive crowd of people blocks his path, is none other than Yeosang. You push your way forward as well in attempts to reach the Elitist. Each step is harder than the last with the way faceless figures shove your shoulders and force you back until his blond head of hair is out of sight. You can’t see Wooyoung’s face any longer either; all you can hear are a few distant shouts and screams that are unintelligible by now.

You have no choice but to let the crowd guide you to an unknown destination, shifting to follow their hasty steps before you get trampled to the ground. They’re too tall for you to see past their shoulders, all shrouded in black coats and suits with masks covering their faces as well, and you are only left with confusion the more you try to get a closer look at them. That confusion lingers for a while, and as you walk, the shouts and yells around you morph into cheering. It’s deafening, growing louder with each second, but the hoards simply continue into what seems to be the source of the sounds.

Once you finally reach that destination, your heart drops through your stomach because it’s tall colosseum walls that rise up around you. They are painfully recognizable, and you can almost guess what you’re about to witness given what you just saw transpire with Wooyoung and Yeosang.

The confirmation, albeit unneeded, hurts worse than you thought. As the crowd ushers you into the arena, you stumble up familiar stairs and come to a halt at the railing looking over the heart of the colosseum.

Mingi stands at the center of it all, donned in leather and copper armor like a gladiator of olden times that have long since become mere myths for children’s stories. Red streaks down his cheeks and covers him in a bloody glow under the sun. You watch him as though in a daze. Each movement he makes is like a dance between the way he swings a longsword in one hand and an ax in the other. The beauty of Mingi’s swings dissipates into a cloud of panic and horror when his opponent comes into sight across from his tall form.

“Jongho, Jongho, no!” You scream through the din ringing into your ears. A hand stretched down to the pit below in vain because there is no way for you to even attempt reaching them.

There’s a flash of red again, this time one that reaches across Mingi’s blade and spreads onto the sand below their feet. You clasp a hand over your mouth to silence the blood-curdling scream that tears through your lips.

“It’s not real, Y/N, it’s not real,” you murmur to yourself, not daring to look back down even as the cheers continue to swell around you. “It’s just a dream, you need to wake up. It’s not real.”

The most obvious clue that this is not real is the fact that you see Jongho — another Jongho — stepping out of the gates into the arena just seconds after Mingi cut him down. The body hasn’t even dissipated into thin air; it still sits at Mingi’s feet, a lifeless corpse that will continue to haunt you for god knows how long. The second Jongho comes forward to replace the last, standing completely still before Mingi like he’s nothing more than a training dummy for Mingi to kill over and over.

That is exactly what you are forced to witness too because the tall figures surrounding you refuse to let you budge or turn. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut each time Mingi lifts his arm. This hell is almost worst than the last. Seeing Yeosang and Wooyoung being torn apart burned deep in your chest but this?

Mingi killing the person who cares about him perhaps more than anyone else? Like it’s only a game or a sport to be played for entertainment?

That leaves a different pain in your chest. One that cuts deep and tries to sever your heart from your body.

You lose count of the bodies down in the area, and counting them would only hurt more so it’s a foolish plight to even imagine right now. Your limit comes soon enough, however, and in a fit of desperation, you shove so hard at the figures behind you that they topple over like dominos.

The mantra of reminders of how this isn’t real still runs on repeat in your head, but even forcing your way out of the crowds grants you no reprieve.

You can still hear the cheering, the way the crowd shouts for more blood then delights in another kill. And now that you know it’s Jongho being cut down by none other than Mingi, it makes matters much worse. You don’t make it three steps out of the arena before you’re stumbling to the ground on your hands and knees. A dry heave wracks your form, forcing up nothing but air. The contents of your stomach are nonexistent in this hellscape yet your body continues to convulse until bile drips from your lips.

“Please make it stop, make it stop, please, please, please,” you beg to the sand under your form.

“Y/N?”

Normally the voice would fill you with a sense of relief, but given what you’ve seen thus far, it only fills you with incredible dread.

You lift your chin to look Yunho in the eye nonetheless. He stands several feet away from you, unmoving and nearly statuesque with his pose. That peace lasts all of four seconds. He chokes out a cough. It sounds far too thick and wet for it to be merely a normal cough. Your fears turn to reality when blood coats his bottom lip after the next cough.

“Y-Yunho, no, n-no, not you too, please.”

Another cough and Yunho is on his knees like you are.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I… I wasn’t good enough to keep this from happening.”

“No, no, no, p-please, no, Yun—”

“This was the only thing I could get right.”

Your chin drops to your chest.

“You’ll be okay, won’t you? Our little Ghost…”

“No more. Please, Daichi, if this is your doing, then end it! End it please, please stop this!”

The response to your pleas is a hand clasping hard at the back of your neck. It shoves you to the ground with little effort until you are sprawled out on your stomach. You release a weak cry into the dirt, thrashing hard under the stranger’s grip. Another hand closes around your ankle. You aren’t given any time to prepare as it yanks you forward, dragging your body over the scratchy ground. You can feel your skin splitting under the impact yet as much as you twist to get out of it, the best you can do is flip onto your back and let the abuse continue there. Your new position allows you to at least see your attacker, a tall and lanky figure with sweeping black hair. You can barely see the outline of her face, but she looks strikingly familiar, like a person you’ve seen once in your dreams. It isn’t until you have been pulled all the way to a new destination that you realize exactly who she is.

“Mother.”

Seonghwa stands in the center of this barely lit room you’ve been dragged into, gun in hand and shrouded in a black cloak.

This is Seonghwa’s mother. Of course it is. This nightmare is not only yours but both Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s as well, the thing that has been so glaringly present for a while now. And in your inability to stop thinking about it, it has landed you here to live out this unending nightmare.

Seonghwa lifts the gun to aim it at his mother’s skull. He doesn’t spare you even the slightest glance, so dead-set on this mission that nothing else exists in his mind. You don’t have time to react before the gun goes off and echoes through the room. You scramble back on shaky legs when the woman in front of you crumples to the ground. Scarlet ebbs from her skull in mere seconds.

You think that’s it — hope would be a better word actually. You wish for the nightmare to end here with Seonghwa killing his mother, but it gets worse as Seonghwa turns the gun to his own skull and places the barrel against his temple. Despite already knowing that nothing you do in this dream will make it stop, you rush forward practically like an animal to stop him.

Something — or someone, rather — beats you to it.

A force hits you so hard that you are sent sprawling to the floor again, landing somewhere near Seonghwa’s mother, and upon looking up to see your sudden attacker, you find Hongjoong standing before Seonghwa instead. He’s in the middle of trying to wrestle the gun from Seonghwa’s hand, aiming it high at the ceiling before Seonghwa can hurt himself.

“Stop it, Seonghwa, I won’t let you do this!”

“Let me die, damn it, you were supposed to keep me from doing this!”

All you can do is watch as the fight unfolds before you with a growing sense of horror because you know where this is going to end. It will end the same way it has for everyone else in this nightmare. The thought of watching Seonghwa die and not being able to do anything to stop it is almost too much of a burden to bear.

If that was the worst scenario your mind could come up with, what actually happens minutes later is far far worse. You don’t see where it comes from but you don’t need to either; all you see is Seonghwa barreling into Hongjoong’s smaller form with all his strength until both are them are pressed to the nearest wall. The silence that overtakes the room is deafening. You don’t realize that there is anything wrong until you see hear the soft pitter-patter of blood dropping to the ground.

There’s a pointed metal spike sticking out of Seonghwa’s back, dripping blood from not only Seonghwa’s body but also Hongjoong’s.

“I’m sorry, my beloved.”

In a cruel twist of fate, you see the metal joining their bodies together, watch the way their chests rise and fall in shaky patterns that show their diminishing strengths. Hongjoong’s chin is the first to fall, dipping down to his chest as his eyes fight to stay open. Seonghwa is crying — no, sobbing with all the effort he can muster and pressing his lips to the edge of Hongjoong’s hairline through muttered apologies.

You know your limits, and you know you are not nearly strong enough to witness them die like this, even if it’s together and at Seonghwa’s own hand.

Thus, you push yourself up onto shaky legs and stumble out of the dark room as best you can with Seonghwa’s shaky cries ringing so loud in your ears that you fear you will never escape it for a second. There is a lingering sense of dread curling in your gut at the moment, however, because you have witnesses horrors happening to every single one of the crew except for one. And arguably, it is the one you fear the most, the one you wish to avoid the most, yet every attempt to force yourself awake before you can come across him fails miserably. The next room you stumble into is another familiar one, much like the distant memories you have of being strapped to a cold metal chair, but in this room, the chair is occupied by a man with jet black hair and a tuft of white at the front. You can’t manage more than a pained whimper as you step close to the chair.

Rounding the metal brings you face to face with him, although his eyes are shut as though he is asleep. For a fraction of a second, you think the worst has happened and throw your hands down on his chest to lean over San’s reclining body. He jolts at the contact, a sharp gasp tearing through his dry and cracked lips when he comes back to the land of the living.

“San, oh S-San, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, you’re safe, I promise,” you babble like a woman possessed. Your hands come up to cradle his face and brush a few long strands of hair away from his eyes. It takes too long for him to fully come to his senses, eyes blinking against the harsh light that filters down from the ceiling, and you wait with bated breath for him to say something as he registers your face. “Hi.” You’re too lost in the moment to remember this is a nightmare, too enamored with the mere sight of San’s face. When the reverie is torn away from you, it hurts worse than you could ever have imagined it would.

“H-How do you know my name? Who are you?”

Your chest tightens to the point where it hurts to breathe.

“It’s Y/N, San, don’t you remember me?”

“I don’t know who you are,” he whispers back, pulling his face away from your hands as best he can in his current position. You withdraw your hands as though burned and fall back onto your ass so hard you bounce a little. It should hurt, but the pain in your chest outweighs that by far. San sits up and slings a leg over the side of the chair, the other following shortly after. He steps down off the metal to come closer to you. His head is tilted in question, and his eyes search your face like he’s attempting to recognize you.

You hardly realize what’s happening before he’s bending over you and latching his hands around your neck. When he shoves you down to the ground, you aren’t met with the cold floor but rather a splash of water. It’s murky and an almost copper shade, like someone has doused you in blood and water. San’s grip on your neck tightens until you’re forced to choke up a few air bubbles.

“Did you think you were someone worthy of remembering?” San speaks to you through the water, voice coming to your ears in a muted tone. His features fall into a blur, and he squeezes at your skin so hard you see spots dance across your vision. You cry out in the water even though you know it won’t do you any good. “Did you think you earned that right? What use are you to me? Someone who couldn’t even do the bare minimum and protect me when I needed it… useless.”

San huffs out a loud laugh that echoes around you.

“You are completely and utterly useless to me.”

Sleep might have come easy to you but it does not claim you for long. Rarely are you ever awoken by nightmares; your body tends to just continue on with sleeping until the morning, but tonight is one of those oddities where the nightmares wake you up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. With the end of dream San’s cruel monologue, you startle awake, gasping for breath like you had been holding it the entire time you were asleep. A quick glance at the clock on your bedside table shows that it’s nearing one o’clock in the morning, so you were hardly asleep more than four hours.

You almost wish that Jongho stayed by your side through the night, if only to provide the comfort you want so desperately from someone who isn’t here. It wasn’t even an offer he posed or one that you asked for, but you find yourself wondering if it would have been better to seek out that comfort. And maybe it’s selfish of you to crave that peace that Jongho claims to have brought him for so long, but the appeal of not waking up alone is too tempting. Being able to have that with Seonghwa — the ability to go to bed at night and wake up in the morning with the knowledge that someone was there if anything went wrong — is something you took for granted. On nights like these, it’s all you could ever ask for. And while you and Seonghwa made the mutual decision to sever the more intimates parts of your relationship, it’s become glaringly obvious to you that you don’t have anyone to rely on for physical comfort anymore, even just the smallest action of holding a hand or sleeping beside you. Did you dream of him? Jongho might ask, hand outstretched to offer some sort of relief from the anxiety tugging at your heart. Either that or to try to take it away as best he can.

Yes, and it was wretchedly awful and horrible, you think. Something wet slips down the side of your temples before you can stop it. I feel I might lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

Why, why, why did this happen?

Surely you’ve been through worse in the past, but this feels so much more potent than those times, either because those memories are tucked away or because you’ve never felt this strongly about needing to protect someone before.

You roll onto your side and let the stray tears slide across the bridge of your nose now.

Staring at the bed does absolutely nothing (even though you knew it wouldn’t); neither does reaching out to put a hand over the cold sheets there.

These days you keep finding your mind slipping back to the memories of Echidna. They’ve become so much more vivid since the entire kidnapping situation, yet oddly enough you cannot bring yourself to recall the actual torture you and San suffered together at the hands of Cara. Rather, you keep coming back to a monotone hotel room with a creaky bed and fluffed pillows.

“I won’t leave this time,” you mutter. You can feel heat radiating from San’s cheeks even though you can’t see the flush to his skin.

“I’ll hold you all night to make sure you don’t,” San whispers back. Hot breath fans over your lips. You aren’t sure what comes over you but you lift the hand resting against San’s chest to trace over the outline of his lips with two fingers. He smiles into the touch.

It brings a startling realization to your bones when you find yourself reaching out to the nothingness before you like he will be there because how could he be gone, why is he gone, he isn’t supposed to be gone.

“I’m scared to let you in,” you admit, bring your gaze back up to San’s eyes. He’s looking back at you with a gentleness in his eyes that catches you off-guard.

“You don’t have to let me in yet. Just try to trust me.”

“Okay… okay. I can do that.”

“Then that’s more than enough.”

You should have never let go of the hand he outstretched towards you. It’s a hefty realization, one that weighs down on your body so much you struggle to breathe because you would do anything to have him back. And perhaps you didn’t appreciate him enough while you had him, perhaps you took that time where he was safe for granted and didn’t think it could happen again. Because even though you had told Yunho back around the time of the incident that you would never be able to look at him without worrying something bad would happen once more, you let your guard down and believed him to be entirely safe.

A huff of air passes through your lips, then you sit up in bed to throw your legs over the side of the mattress. Your gaze lingers on the bedside table for a moment, only to recall what’s been hidden inside there since you returned from Echidna. You haven’t forgotten about the pardon papers per se; your mind has understandably been elsewhere and things took a turn during that mission with San. Before then you were so dead set on leaving without a word.

It wasn’t Hongjoong who convinced you to stay back then even though you left you with several pretty threats and propositions.

It wasn’t Seonghwa with his comforting words and touches that burned your skin.

Nor was it any other member of the crew outside of San. It was always Choi San, the Spectre with a cat-like grin and pretty eyes, and he wormed his way into your heart with such little effort that it still scares you quite a bit. If you had absolute certainty that what you remember from your time in the military was true and real, you might say that the only time you felt this way towards another person was with Jisung, but you doubt that now with recent revelations.

How much easier would life be if you could simply roll back into bed and find San there waiting at your side, all warm smiles and gentle gazes as he urges you to sleep once more?

Unfortunately for you, life is far from easy and that is not an option, so you do the only other logical thing that comes to mind and that is to stand up and leave your bedroom without looking back at that cursed bedside table. If you can’t have San or anyone else to calm you down at the moment, perhaps a short walk around the ship will do you some good.

It is that very thought that lands you on the bridge and in front of the observation window. Despite the late hour, some workers are milling about in the hangar bay Hongjoong has landed you all in, doing their duties without cease. Some are cleaning and sweeping at the floor even though it looks spotless to you, others are polishing other ships in the bay, and you’re sure that if you could see near the bottom of The Horizon, you would find them doing the same there. There are a few others who don’t quite look like the workers do — perhaps people from the other ships — who sit on boxes and offer each other seemingly menial chatter based on the way their gestures remain casual. They seem so calm and at peace compared to what you have been experiencing with this crew where trouble seems to be around every corner and you can’t get a breath of peace for more than a day.

Briefly, you picture yourself in their shoes one day. It’s something you can only wonder about because you aren’t sure whether that’s even a possibility for you, but the image of sitting on one of those boxes with Jongho sitting on one side and Wooyoung on the other floats to mind. And maybe Yeosang would be wedged between Wooyoung’s legs with hands held tightly together like even a breath of air could separate them. You imagine Mingi would be lingering near Jongho rather than anywhere else, draped over the other Berserker and pressed as close to him as possible because it grounds him and keeps him in one piece for the time being. Yunho would probably be doing something like reading a medical article or book and muttering to himself about the contents of the writing, nearby but never too far from the rest of you. In that daydream, Hongjoong and Seonghwa would come around the corner of the ship side by side, and the captain would have a hand pressed to the small of his lieutenant’s back because he can’t bear to be any further than that. Then San — darling San — would rush around them with a smile on his lips and dimples flashing to barrel straight into your chest with a resounding laugh. You dare to let yourself imagine the peace and serenity of the scene, dare to picture San pressing his forehead to yours as he exhales a laugh over your lips, but every image your mind conjures up hurts worse than the last.

You may want that desperately, but it’s not something you can achieve.

The daydream ends with hands around your neck and bloody waters clouding your vision. And thus, you startle yourself back to reality and tear your gaze away from the hangar bay below as not to let the images come back.

The peace you wish for is not one you can ever hold in the palm of your hand the way you wish. The crew cannot have it either so long as you are present in their lives. The next sound to tear through your consciousness nearly makes you believe that they wouldn’t be able to have that peace even if you weren’t around to mess it up. There’s a resounding shout of frustration followed by something loud thumping against the wall off to your left and behind you a bit. You whip around to stare at the door to Hongjoong’s quarters, the source of the sound, and wait with bated breath for something else to happen. You aren’t sure what exactly you’re waiting for — perhaps for the captain to step out in a huff of anger or something like that — but nothing happens for the next thirty seconds, which is what causes you to pull closer to the door. It’s hardly your place to eavesdrop on whatever is happening inside, although that doesn’t stop you from doing so anyway.

“I shouldn’t have had to put him in that fucking brig in the first place!” That clearly comes from Hongjoong; you can tell just from his voice, but he must not be alone in there as it sounds like his rant is directed at someone. “This isn’t the same situation as last time! He knows that the mission is our priority, that the goal is to get San and Mingi back, he wouldn’t let himself lose sight of that. The Seonghwa I know wouldn’t do that!”

“Then you shouldn’t have listened to him when he asked you to put him in there, Hongjoong! You were the one who bent over backward for him yet again.” It’s Yunho’s voice that rises through the door next, and that is equal parts shocking and unsurprising because you aren’t sure who else would possibly be in there with Hongjoong at this hour. “Your only two options are to either leave Seonghwa where he is or let him out to do as he wishes. If he chooses to go out there and kill his mother, then so be it!”

“That’s not what he wants, Yunho,” Hongjoong refutes without missing a beat. “And it’s not what I want either — I don’t care for either of those options. I want to let Seonghwa out and have that be that, nor for him to go off and murder someone! He hardly wants to kill her, it’s just what he thinks he ought to do as an Elitist but — you… you wouldn’t understand it, Yunho. You wouldn’t understand what goes through Seonghwa’s head or what he wants.”

The next sound to fall from Yunho’s lips is a scoff, and you can almost picture the way his eyes roll with the noise.

“You can’t pretend like you understand what all Seonghwa wants either, Hongjoong.”

There’s another clatter and something smacks into the wall again.

“I’m trying my fucking best! I am trying my best to know what he wants right now. All I know for certain is what he is afraid of, and I know that he fears turning into the kind of person his father was and he fears losing himself. This would—”

“You can’t know whether this would make that happen, Hongjoong, that’s the point I’m trying to make here.”

“Are you encouraging murder all of a sudden? When have you gone a minute without chastising me for taking an innocent’s life?”

“And when have you ever hesitated to let your precious Lieutenant of Death kill someone? How many people have you killed yourself? How many have you asked Seonghwa to kill? How many innocents have bled under your hands, Hongjoong?” Yunho fires back, seeming to grow louder with each question he poses. “Is his mother innocent of all crimes? Does she not deserve to die? Because Seonghwa sure talks about her like she deserves a fate worse than death!”

“And if she deserves death then I will bring it upon her myself!” Hongjoong accentuates his words by slapping his hands down on his desk, letting the sound echo after he speaks, and Yunho doesn’t respond for a bit.

“How angry would Seonghwa be if he found out then?” Yunho inquires, tone so low you can barely pick up on the words.

“He wouldn’t need to, Yunho. He wouldn’t need to find out. He could just hear that she passed away in her sleep a long time ago because of age or illness.”

“You’re so ready to base your relationship with him on lies when doing so was what caused things to go to shit between you in the first place. I can’t fix you a second time, Hongjoong. I can’t do shit if you are the one making things intentionally worse. You need to sit your ass down in that fucking brig like a god damn man would and take responsibility for your mistakes. Then you need to ask Seonghwa what he wants and hear it from his own damn mouth rather than assuming what Seonghwa wants and hoping for the best. Fucking listen to him and trust him for once instead of making every decision in his life for him. Why do you think he ran off to Y/N in the first place?” That causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and you seize up as though both men inside know you’re standing outside the door as they speak. “He at least got to choose her.”

“He chose to join my crew, he asked to join my crew, he chose a fuckton of things in his life, Yunho! You want me to be a man? I am his captain. Is that not enough for you?”

“No, it’s not, Hongjoong. You being captain doesn’t mean shit to me unless you have the balls to back it up, and from where I’m standing, you aren’t going to step up anytime soon. There are only two people on this ship who can put you in your place. That includes both me and Seonghwa, but Seonghwa stopped doing it a long time ago because you changed the dynamic of the relationship without stopping to ask him how he felt.”

“Are you trying to act like you’re in control now?” Hongjoong counters, but his voice has lost a bit of the edge in it.

“Act?” Yunho releases a tiny hum. You can almost feel the way the mood inside the room shifts despite not being inside yourself. “Now you’re just trying to rile me up so you get what you want and I forget about this conversation.”

“That would only be the case if it works, Yunho.”

You pull back from the door, having a slight sense of where this conversation is headed and realizing that you probably shouldn’t stay any longer. As you move to exit the bridge, however, you can’t help but wonder how much of what Yunho said is accurate.

Would — could Seonghwa really want to kill his mother? Maybe for a sense of closure and peace? To put that part of his life behind him for good perhaps?

If Hongjoong truly were to kill the woman behind Seonghwa’s back, then you don’t doubt that Seonghwa would be enraged, to put it mildly. Everything you have seen from him thus far since meeting him has shown you that he prefers to do things himself than to rely on others to do it for him. Yet… even if his mother passed of natural causes, you are not sure that Seonghwa could have his closure unless he saw her body with his own two eyes. So maybe that is why his inner voice is as desperate as it is for him to kill her.

You cannot speak for Seonghwa himself, but you do know a fraction about such closure. Not seeing Hyunwoo’s body after the execution and having to dig an empty grave was one of the most painful experiences of your life, even if you cannot remember much of it or if it was completely fabricated, the pain you were left with from said memory is still sore to the touch. You would have given anything to have his body to bury but instead, you were left with absolutely nothing, not even something small and of value to him in life. You were denied closure then. It causes you to think back to those pardon papers again. If you had been granted that closure, would you have even sought the pardon papers in the first place? Would you have gone off and settled down somewhere no one could find you?

Seonghwa has mentioned craving peace before. You know you will never have yours because of your lack of closure, so perhaps if he were to achieve his, then things would end better for him.

That thought stops you dead in your tracks, midway down the corridor leading away from the bridge.

Although… Seonghwa mentioned begging to be put in the brig. If he truly wanted this, then why the hell would he ask for such a thing?

“Please leave. I do not trust myself in this state, and if I hurt you on top of — on top of what I’ve already done, Y/N, please. I won’t forgive myself if I ever lay a harmful hand on you even in the slightest.”

You make a spur of the moment decision right then and there, spinning on your heel in the middle of the corridor and inhaling sharply as you head back to the bridge with a new thought in mind. You wish to hear from Hongjoong himself what transpired before Seonghwa was put in the brig and the reasoning as to why Hongjoong agreed to such a thing. Sure, now might not be the opportune time for such a discussion, but you have already made up your mind and it’s unlikely you would be able to sleep with this plaguing your thoughts anyway.

Less than a minute passes before you are back at Hongjoong’s door, this time rapping your knuckles as hard and loud as you can on the metal. You hear nothing more of a conversation inside — neither his nor Yunho’s voices filter through the door until after your knocking ceases. Then a bit of shuffling resounds followed by some mutterings that vaguely sound like complaints of some sort. That could not have prepared you in the slightest for the sight that greets you when the door finally slides open.

First of all, it is not Hongjoong who stands before you, but rather Yunho.

And not only that little shocking tidbit because Yunho is very much standing half-naked with pants hung low around his hips and absolutely no shame or insecurity in the way he leans against the doorframe to greet you.

The inherent shock from the sight causes you to sputter and choke on air, gaze darting off to the side and away from the healer as quick as humanly possible. You truly do your best to ignore the very obvious trail of bruises along the column of his neck and collarbone, along with the ones traveling lower.

“Oh? Looking to join us, Y/N?” He asks. An amused grin paints his lips, you can see that much out the corner of your eye.

“Abs-Absolutely not, Yunho, are you mad?” You refute through a stutter and dare to focus back on his face (and his face only). Yunho arches an eyebrow, not at all shy in the way he drags his gaze over your body from head to toe. You ignore him with a scoff then ready to duck around his stupidly tall form. He seems to catch that before you can though because he darts a hand out across the doorway and effectively blocks your path inside.

“You certain about that? You seem a bit eager to come in.” Your only reply is a pointed glare. Thankfully, Yunho picks up on the hint in that look after a second and shifts his tone. “Is it an emergency?”

“I need to ask Hongjoong something, it’s important. About Seonghwa.” You see movement just past Yunho’s shoulder and glance beyond him. Hongjoong stands back at the other edge of the room in the doorframe to what must be his bedroom. You nearly don’t recognize him right them because of how… incredibly fragile he appears to be. A blanket wraps around his shoulders and torso, dwarfing his already small figure and making him almost come across as something delicate. If someone asked you to point out the horrifying and menacing pirate captain in the room, you would glance over Hongjoong without a thought.

“I take it you’ve been down to the brig then?” Hongjoong pipes up. His voice bounces off the walls to reach your ears, confident and knowing.

“I have.”

Hongjoong ducks his chin to his chest, and the way his breathing shakes his form almost makes him seem like he’s laughing at your response. Then he comes closer to join you and Yunho where you stand. You hardly miss the way one of the captain’s hands darts out to touch Yunho’s bare waist before he brushes a soft kiss over the back of Yunho’s shoulder. It’s a rare — no, more than simply rare, it’s frankly a sight you have never seen from Hongjoong before in that you have never witnessed him be so openly intimate with anyone in the crew in such a way. Perhaps the closest he has gotten was when you were left in the medbay with him and Seonghwa, but even that was not as… openly blatant as the way he touches Yunho before you now. Yet it does not seem to be meant to tease you in any way; you moreso get the sense that it’s almost a threat in a way. After all, you are still the newest on the crew and you aren’t sure you have fully gained Hongjoong’s trust. If this is a challenge, you aren’t sure how it is meant to test you.

“Go back to the bedroom. I’ll be there shortly,” Hongjoong murmurs against Yunho’s slightly flushed skin. The healer steps away with nothing more than a nod. Hongjoong waits until the taller man disappears into that room he just emerged from before turning back to face you. He still seems smaller in your eyes like this even though he is closer; the two of you are more evenly matched when he’s not wearing his typical heeled boots. The blanket around his body strains as he pulls it tighter. He, like Yunho, is very clearly not wearing much in the way of clothes underneath, but at least he covered himself mildly even if you can see a deep v exposing his chest through the folds of the fabric. It is enough for you to see numerous bumps and ridges along that strip of skin, all discolored and mismatched lines that mar an otherwise perfect canvas of tanned skin. Even if expected, it’s an alarming amount of scars for such a small expanse of skin. And if you look past the points where scars are, you can make out the barest hint of black ink accompanying the marks — it spreads over him like a constellation, connected by lines and threads of varying thickness to meet each other in other corners.

You tear your gaze away with great effort, clearing your throat as you blink up to look the captain in the eye.

“Seonghwa mentioned that something happened while we were gone on the mission. He asked me to leave before I had the chance to ask further about it but…” Your voice dies in your throat then, and nerves suddenly curl in your stomach. When you speak again, it’s in nothing more than a whisper. “What happened?”

Hongjoong hums.

It’s the only sound he makes for quite a while too, and you think he has no intention of continuing the conversation until he shifts his blanket all of a sudden and exposes the lower half of his body. Just as before with Yunho, you are swift to look in the opposite direction before you spot anything you do not wish to see.

“That’s hardly appropriate, Captain,” you grit out, finding a newfound interest in the wall to your left. Hongjoong exhales a laugh that’s so soft it sounds more like a sigh.

“Seonghwa stabbed me.”

Now that has your head jerking back to examine him, and thankfully, your eyes settle on pants around his hips rather than nothing at all. One of his hands slips down to tap what looks to be a bandage. He peels it back as gently as possible and reveals a narrow yet long slice along his abdomen, almost parallel to his side. All in all, it doesn’t appear to be too gruesome or gnarly, no doubt held together by liquid stitches of some sort.

“We had a small argument after putting Han in the brig,” Hongjoong continues. As usual, his tone is near impossible to read with no clues as to what he is feeling as he recalls the memory.

“Did it involve discussions of Seonghwa’s mother?”

“Yes, yes, of course, it did.” Hongjoong returns the bandage to its original placement then tugs the blanket back around his body. He brings a hand up to run through his mess of fading blue hair. “It didn’t start that way though. He accused me of caring more about him appearing to be an Elitist than anything else. Threatened to tell Jisung that he is a Siren along with the rest of the crew. I doubt Jisung even cares about Sirens in the slightest given the way he is hyperfocused on you instead, but Seonghwa has always been so adamant about being wanted by others because of what he is. And I know that we were both acting rashly and out of fear rather than reason, but it doesn’t — that does not excuse what we said to each other. I told Seonghwa that perhaps he might feel better killing me rather than his mother, and that obviously did not go over very well. That’s when he stabbed me, well, it was more a glancing blow than a stab. Hardly even deep enough to cause significant damage, but Seonghwa damn near acted as though I was fucking bleeding to death though. He called for Yunho to get me patched up them begged that I put him in the brig. As much as I wanted to deny him that, I complied.”

“I can talk to him,” you offer without a second thought.

“Talk to him? What is it you think to do, Y/N?”

“I was denied my closure, Captain, and that has haunted me every day for the past several years. You… you are a person who achieved that already; I don’t need to know the details of your backstory to understand that because it is more than clear in the way you handle yourself and matters around you. But Seonghwa? He hasn’t gotten his closure either. At least allow me to talk with him and see if this is what he truly wants before you rule anything out.” Hongjoong regards you with nothing more than a lingering stare for a bit. You take it as a cue to excuse yourself and leave, yet the second you turn to do so, he catches hold of your wrist and pulls you back to be face to face with him. The jerk of his arm sends you propelling forward more than you expect because it tugs you close enough to nearly smack foreheads with the captain.

“I am willing to trust you with this and with Seonghwa, at least for now. Take care to remember that, especially when it comes to Seonghwa’s heart. For if you mislead him in the slightest, there will be hell to pay.” Your subconsciousness has you straightening your back at those words, reading the thinly veiled threat with ease.

“I won’t do anything to influence his decisions. They should all be his own anyway, so I won’t try to change that for him. You have my word. Besides, you no doubt plan to talk with him again soon, right?” Hongjoong’s gaze falls into a pointed glare at that comment, and you catch yourself a little too late. “At least, I’m sure he would appreciate that either way.” That soothes the captain enough for him to release his grip on your arm, and he lets you step away from the door after that.

“I pray for both our sakes that his mind is kind enough to have a reasonable discussion with you. But… don’t — don’t get too close just in case the worst happens.”

“Understood, Captain,” you whisper back. The warning is a bit haunting albeit necessary; it’s moreso unfortunate that Hongjoong has to even usher the warning in the first place because the Seonghwa you know would never willingly harm someone he cares about. Especially not Hongjoong.

As you walk away from Hongjoong’s quarters and off the bridge for a second time tonight, you have to remind yourself that it is still Seonghwa down there. He isn’t a different person, he’s not some monster even if there is a bit of fear curling through your gut as you walk down to the brig. He remains the same Seonghwa that you know and care about so much. Perhaps you have just been blessed enough to only witness the pretty sides to his character in the time you’ve known him. Thinking all the way back to the way you met — how you knocked him out cold in front of an airlock — he was not cruel or heartless then either. In fact, every ounce of evidence up until recently made you wonder how such a compassionate soul could possibly be such a deadly and fearsome pirate.

“Perhaps it’s time for me to go home and face my demons after all,” Seonghwa whispers, letting his smile stretch a bit wider. It falls away a second later, and something dark takes over, something you decide you don’t want to see cross Seonghwa’s features again. Because in that moment, you see something sinister and cruel, and all the legends you heard about the man come to life before you. The stories of a man in a black cloak bearing a silver scythe in one hand with a gun in the other, the fearless killer who stands beside the Scourge of the Black Sea rearing death in his wake. When Seonghwa turns on his heel and leaves the room, you see it. The dark shadows billowing behind him curl outwards and sweep across the floor, crude shapes built by the light in the hallway, and that cloak of darkness sits on Seonghwa’s shoulders. It’s like the Lieutenant of Death has crawled his way out of the dark abyss of hell that Seonghwa kept him buried in, and the face he rears horrifies you.

That thought keeps you occupied the whole way down to the brig, and it continues when you climb down the ladder with hesitant steps. As before, Jisung is the first thing you see when you reach the bottom, although this time he is curled on his side and facing the wall. He must be asleep given his position, yet you’re hesitant to write him off as so without knowing for certain. You don’t dare stop to find out, however, and instead just move past his cell as quietly as you can.

You find Seonghwa still sitting upright in his own tiny prison. He has shifted to put his back to Jisung now though, and his head hangs at an angle that is uncomfortable to look at. Whether he was already awake or merely sensed your presence, you have no way of knowing. Nonetheless, he shifts to glance back at you when you approach, chains jingling and rattling in the silence of the room.

“I asked you not to return,” he murmurs once you are close enough to hear him. You don’t kneel before his cell in the same way you did last time. There’s a bit more distance between you and the bars now, enough to be just out of harm’s way but near enough for you to reach out if you so desired.

“You know I’m no good at following orders,” you reply with a melancholy smile. Seonghwa’s gaze softens a bit at that. He tilts his head back to rest on the bars, still staring at you out the corner of his eye. He seems exhausted beyond belief — muscles lax and with no strength to them, eyelids drooping every time he blinks, breath huffing out in deep sighs rather than even exhales. Despite that, you don’t get the sense he wants to rest at all.

“Why aren’t you resting? I’m sure you’re tired from the mission.”

“I rested enough earlier.” But couldn’t stay asleep because of the nightmares. Nightmares in which you killed both yourself and Hongjoong. Ones where San took the serum and forgot me. “I’m okay.” That seems to be more for your own ears than for Seonghwa’s. He hums a bit anyway, acknowledging your words as his eyelids flutter some.

“You don’t need to come keep me company, you know.”

“I can’t just see you because I want to?”

“Y/N…” Seonghwa faces forward before finishing the thought. Something seems to overcome him, if the sudden spike of distress that rolls off his shoulders is any indication at least, and he curls in on himself some more. Your first instinct is to move closer to him and offer some sort of physical comfort, but Seonghwa only pushes further into the corner of his cell when you move. “Don’t.”

“I trust you, Seonghwa,” you utter back. You heed his words though and stop dead in your tracks.

“That would be your first mistake.”

“Why?”

“What?” Seonghwa’s counterattack sounds nearly incredulous.

“Why would it be a mistake to trust you?”

“You are at a greater risk than Hongjoong, yet I still hurt him. Just like last time.”

“How am I at a greater risk, Seonghwa?”

“I don’t — I fear… I fear my mind mistaking you for someone who should die simply because you are a woman.”

“Ah…” you exhale. The implication is there: he’s afraid of mistaking you for his mother in the craze that his head is putting him through. You hadn’t even thought that to be a risk before honestly. From the memories you saw of her, you don’t think you look anything like said woman, but you also have no idea of what Seonghwa’s demons are capable of convincing him to believe. If they’re strong enough to make him harm Hongjoong, then no doubt they would be capable of that too. Seonghwa reaches down to rub at the skin around his ankles, where the flesh has already turned red and bruised from repeated abuse.

“I can’t stay here, Y/N. I’ll lose my mind. I almost wish that fool behind me would do more to antagonize me, but it’s my own head that refuses to let me come up for air.” The chains rattle once more as he reaches up to massage his hairline. The thin black strands of hair cling to his skin like he’s sweating buckets, and under the little bit of light in the brig, you can see a sheen of sweat on his body.

The room is deathly cold.

“Hongjoong mentioned… he said you believe he is forcing you to masquerade as an Elitist.” The words are spoken quiet enough to where you don’t think Jisung could pick up on them even if he were awake.

“I don’t. That’s the thing — I don’t believe that. I know he’s not. I don’t know what came over me when I said such a thing. It isn’t his fault that I-I am like this, and he shouldn’t even have to b-blame himself for it. I’m the one who chose this and demanded the masquerade before he even knew my true identity.”

“But—”

You stop the thought in your throat, cutting off with a small grimace and sigh of air. Seonghwa jerks to look at you anyway. He waits and waits for you to finish the thought, and under his intense gaze, you have lost much of the confidence you had in saying such a thing.

“From what I saw of your memories, and what you told me of your childhood, you were not the one to decide that,” you say after some deliberation. “It was her.” Admittedly, part of you fears the reaction you might garner from Seonghwa in mentioning his mother directly, so you try to keep it as vague as possible. “You never asked to be kept a secret.”

“My worst crime then was being born,” Seonghwa murmurs more to himself than to you. “Now what is it? A son who wants nothing more than to kill the woman who brought him into this world? The more time goes on, the more I… I-I lose myself. I don’t know where my line of morality is, nor do I know how to adhere to it. Y/N, I’m—” Seonghwa falls silent, tongue caught between his teeth, and when he looks to you, there are tears shining in the corners of his eyes. “I’m so afraid.”

You don’t think you have ever heard Seonghwa utter such words, at least not with the raw conviction he says them with or the wrecked pain that radiates off his body.

“Are you afraid of what might happen if you do kill her or what might happen if you don’t?”

Seonghwa doesn’t answer right away; instead, he hangs his head between his knees and you can only watch helplessly as the man’s shoulders tremble under an invisible weight.

“The right answer… what a good person would say is that I fear killing her. But I’m more terrified of what happens if I don’t. How much longer do I suffer if I don’t take this opportunity now? Can I justify risking your safety, Hongjoong’s safety, the crew’s safety for being a good person? I know the blood on my hands is already immeasurable, the infamous Lieutenant of Death shouldn’t fear one more life ended, and I don’t. I just can’t figure out if the Seonghwa who isn’t an Elitist believes that or if it’s the Seonghwa I’ve pretended to be most of my life. Maybe part of me fears how you all might view me if I do kill her.”

“I can’t say it wouldn’t change anything, but I don’t know if anyone would view you as a bad or evil person because of it.”

Seonghwa huffs out a weak laugh and pushes his hair back with the hand he’s not keeping clenching into a tight fist.

“I think Hongjoong is convinced I’ll turn into some sort of monster.”

“He believes that you don’t want to do it,” you counter. “He thinks that your definition of losing yourself lies in killing your mother.”

“I thought it did too.” Hopeless. That’s the word you would use to describe Seonghwa’s current tone, and it burns you from the inside out to hear such desperation on his lips. “If I keep pulling away simply because I’m afraid to hurt any of you, then what right do I have to call myself a lieutenant? To work as Hongjoong’s right-hand? I-I should have some semblance of self-control rather than continuing to distance myself. I thought back then that my mind was crying for her blood bec-because it wanted me to go insane, but now it sounds more and more like a cry for help. When this is all said and done, when it’s time for me to rest, I don’t want to have lost any of you along the way. And I certainly don’t want to be the cause of it either.”

To you, that sounds like a decision. And so, you echo his words back to him with a resolute tone.

“If you tell Hongjoong that, he would take you there, Seonghwa.” You aren’t strong enough to push the full meaning into your words, but it lingers between you. He knows what you mean. “He’s adamant that the decision be yours, as am I. Even Yunho wants you to do what you think is the best course of action. And should you get there and not be able to carry it out, no one would force you to, and no one would do it for you unless you asked that of them.”

“I could never ask anyone to take that burden for me, Y/N.”

“Then you have your answer.” You muster up the courage to slide closer to Seonghwa’s cage and slip a hand between the bars. You don’t push your luck and touch him quite yet, merely letting your hand rest on the bed of metal for Seonghwa to regard with a terrified stare. Although it’s slow progress, he inches his hand down to rest a little ways away from your own. “I promised Hongjoong that I would do nothing to influence your decision, and I plan to uphold that promise. I just… want you to know you are loved today just as you were yesterday, and you’ll be loved tomorrow as well. Whatever kind of that love is, it’s love nonetheless. These people — the family you have built and chosen yourself — will continue to love you even if you get a little lost along the way.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound so certain of something before.”

It’s your turn to exhale a little laugh, although yours is merely one of faux amusement.

“I wish you could see the way they look at you, Seonghwa. The respect they hold in their eyes when they see you, the admiration and love and affection — I don’t need to feel what they feel to know how much they care. It’s not a matter of thinking you are strong because they know you are. You don’t have to force yourself to show restraint or continue to be the thing your mother wanted you to be for them to know you are strong. You have already been with them through some of the toughest moments of their lives, you have been at Hongjoong’s side and you have led just as much as he has. I firmly believe that is not a bond that could be so easily severed.”

Seonghwa’s fingers are so close to yours, so close to curling around your palm and holding you at last, taking that last step of the fickle little thing called trust. At this point, you are throwing yourself headfirst into it with reckless abandon. While there might be some hesitance hiding away in your bones, you would rather see Seonghwa take this step forward in trusting himself.

In the next second, that precious thread of peace snaps and frays at the edges.

“Bravo, Y/N, bravo.” You withdraw your hand from Seonghwa’s cell with a start, lips pressing into a thin line as you turn to regard the man who spoke with a glare. Jisung smiles back at you. It’s all poison and menace. His chains ring to an inaudible song as he claps his hands together. “Oh, you must be so proud of yourself for that one, little lady. Absolutely riveting and… encouraging and… inadequate, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you ever tire of hearing yourself speak?” You hiss back without answering the question.

“I don’t think I do. Because every time I speak, I just dig my way under your skin a little more, and that? That amuses me to no end.”

“Don’t humor him, Y/N,” Seonghwa mutters. His hands are now withdrawn to rest in his lap again and curled into tight balls as he stares down at the floor. “I’ve found he wears himself out if you ignore him.” You can hardly imagine being trapped here for more than five minutes with Jisung, but Seonghwa has been in here for hours. Unfortunately, you don’t hold the same resilience that Seonghwa does.

You push up to your feet and stalk towards Jisung’s cell with no clear intent in your mind.

It feeds right into what he said though, it’s proof that he has gotten under your skin and bothered you to some extent, yet you don’t stop even with that knowledge.

“Don’t you have what you want? Haven’t you wreaked enough havoc in your stay here?”

“Oh? And what is it I want exactly, Y/N? Let me hear it from your pretty lips instead of my own.”

“You want me,” you spit back, leaning over the bars like it will intimidate the man behind them.

“And? Do I have what I want?”

“And you fucking have me. I made the deal, I did what you wanted, can’t you quit now?”

“Such foul language from my little lady’s mouth. A shame, truly.”

“I’m not yours to be clai—”

“Incorrect! You said it yourself: I have you. As far as I’m concerned that makes you mine. I really wanted us to find a nice peaceful place to settle down after all this, but you… you are so violent. Angry. I really would rather not be forced to deal with such behaviors, but if you continue to do so, then maybe we can try that method they’re using on the Spectre. What was it? Regression… therapy? I hear it’s quite effective in breaking someone’s spirit. Shall we try?”

You know better than to fall into that trap again. It’s all for show; Jisung is merely saying and doing these things to bother you because he knows how best to do so. He hasn’t yet even proven that he has the balls to follow through with anything he’s threatened, but he also understands that he doesn’t need to. Whether he proves it or not, he wins merely by garnering a reaction from you. It was a tactic you learned about years ago, something they taught your unit before you engage in high-risk intelligence-gathering missions.

“You don’t get to talk about San,” you fire back, right into the trap Jisung laid before you.

“San, is it? He’s the one you worry about most, no?” The smile painted on Jisung’s lips nearly seems genuine. It probably would be if not for the gleam in his eyes. “You always got too attached too quickly. I suppose that hasn’t changed.”

Jisung sits up on his heels and traces a finger over the bars separating you. Whatever the reason in doing so is a mystery to you, but you stand transfixed by the gentle movements.

“I bet you haven’t even told him how you feel. That’s the scary part, isn’t it? The part where they leave? Die? Or worse… forget everything about you? When the doctors go in to reset his brain, they won’t even think to keep those memories of you. If it makes you feel any better, I can take your memories of him away too.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

The laugh that tears through Jisung’s lips echoes off the walls and bounces off your ears.

“Is this so amusing to you?” Seonghwa is the one to pose the question, voiced raised a bit so it carries over to where you and Jisung are.

“I haven’t even begun to have my fun yet. I do so adore seeing relationships crack under the slightest bit of pressure though. I suppose that’s one thing dearest Y/N and I have in common. I’m not sure she’s let you glimpse into the cruelest parts of her yet.” His smile drops with such haste that it causes you to visibly flinch. “I’ve seen them all, Lieutenant. Oh, the fun we’ll have once together again, doll~”

“Fuck you, Han,” you spit through the curling fear in your gut. Your words have no effect and offer no respite, however; all it does is bring the smile back to Jisung’s lips and another laugh from his throat.

“You should be grateful that Hyunwoo spared you from living with the weight of your worst crimes. I wanted to let you live with them but he said you would be too guilty and too much of a liability if we left you with them. He had to be the one to take the weight of those crimes after all. I wonder how many of those broken memories will still be intact when I go back into that pretty little brain of yours again. Since Hyunwoo won’t be around to keep me from playing this time, that is. Which ones should I release first, Y/N?”

“Shut up.”

“You saw our lovely whore in Lynder didn’t you? Don’t tell me she forgave you for what you did… perhaps we should start there.”

“Shut the hell up, Han Jisung, if you want to keep your life.”

“Oh?” Jisung presses forward and gets to his feet without batting an eye. You hadn’t realized how close you had gotten to his cell until he comes face to face with you behind the bars, so close that the heat from his body radiates onto your skin. “I would be careful, Y/N. I’ve spent years learning how best to toy with brains using the military’s serum. If you want to keep your sanity, then I suggest you play nice like the good little doll you are. You wouldn’t want to be left with any horribly traumatic memories, now would you?”

Jisung’s lips fall into a faux pout, and you take a hasty step back from the bars in disgust.

“I told you: I know plenty about making people break. All I have to do is tell you the smallest white lie for seeds of doubt to take root. I can make you believe that you killed thousands of people without even taking a single step into your head. Take that into account before you attempt to threaten me.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but we… we’re merely two halves of a whole crazy, Y/N. You need me to survive because if you didn’t, you would have forgotten all about me a long time ago, wouldn’t you? Isn’t it funny how someone who doesn’t even have any true and real memories of her past clings to it so desperately?”

“You know, from where I’m standing, you aren’t doing shit to help us find the others, so I have no reason to uphold my end of the bargain,” you deflect, turning the conversation on its head to escape his pointless scrutiny of your reasoning. It works to your advantage perfectly because Jisung huffs air through his teeth and rolls his eyes.

“We’re on Dorado, no? Your Berserker is in the Lower Echelon of Lynder near the Smokehouses. Large warehouse preparing for reprogramming no doubt. You won’t be able to get him out. Your best hope is to wait until after the reprogramming as my crew will take him back to our ship, then we can play tradesies and bring him back while you come with me.”

“Or you can go to that warehouse and tell them the deal is off and there’s been a change in plans.”

You squat down beside Jisung’s cell, hand slipping over your waistband and dipping underneath it to pull the sheathed knife you keep there out. It glints under the low yellow lights above your head.

“Scourge was right in saying that it’s hard to threaten a man like you. But one thing fucks your plans up, Jisung. If I’m dead, then what do you get out of this?”

The playful gleam in Jisung’s eyes fades like a candle being snuffed out. His smirk falls, expression growing grave in mere seconds, and you crank up the heat a little further as you dance the knife over the inside of your wrist.

“If it means ruining your plans, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my crew. You should know that by now.”

“You haven’t fucking changed in all these years.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You fucking wish, you harlot. Do you really think—”

You cut him short by digging the knife harder into your skin, just enough to break through and cause a stream of red to slip out. He falls silent with a sharp inhale of air.

“I hope you agree before I run dry, Jisung. You want me to be a psychopath so badly? Let’s fucking play. Ten seconds until I cut again, and this time it’ll be vertical, so I sure hope you realize the stakes now.”

“You think your boy toy in the corner over there will sit still as you kill yourself to prove a point?”

“From where I’m standing, it seems like neither of you is in any sort of position to stop me. Five seconds, Jisung.” A drop of scarlet falls from the tip of the knife to the floor. Jisung watches it splatter, eyes calculating and careful as it moves, then he blinks back up to look you in the eye.

“I’ll tell them to cancel the reprogramming and send your Berserker back to my ship.”

“That’s not good enough,” you reply without missing a beat. The knife careens back towards your arm, and Jisung lunges forward in his cell as you shift, a desperate attempt to stop you from continuing the damage. He can’t fit a hand through the bars with the shackles around his wrists though, and he’s left to hiss out a complaint when the knife penetrates your skin again. It’s closer to your elbow this time, a deceptively shallow slice the runs parallel to the bone. Red blossoms over the line immediately. “You go in there, get them to cancel the reprogramming, then bring him out yourself to deliver him to this ship and this ship only.”

Jisung doesn’t respond right away, prompting you to lift the knife again in threat, and he snaps into action at that. Scarlet trails down the blade.

“Fine! You can even send some fucking lackeys with me to make sure I get the job done.”

“I’ll save you the trouble of trying to fuck it up while out there; I will go with you, along with our Berserker Jongho just so you don’t forget what you’re supposed to do out there.” It’s hardly your place to make such decisions or plans in place of Hongjoong, but since he’s otherwise preoccupied at the moment and you have this chance before you right now, you are going to do the most with it. And if Hongjoong has any issue with that? You’re willing to take the consequences of your actions later.

“If that’s what will make you happy, then so be it. My intention has always been to help you recover your lost crewmates.”

“Even though you were the one who kidnapped and sold them in the first place?”

“Did you think I would make things easy for you, Y/N? Come now… don’t let my kindness fool you. You haven’t even thought to ask about the other one — the Spectre, was it? Here I thought he mattered to you. You were oh so concerned when I spoke of him before.”

“I’m fucking getting there, Han. You’re in no position to be impatient,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. Jisung merely laughs at the fire in your tone.

“I’m hardly impatient, doll. In fact, I have all the time in the world. However—” he hesitates to lift one of his shackled hands and points a finger directly up “—that Spectre has a countdown looming over his head, does he not? Countdown to the hard reset? I wonder what stage of regression therapy they’re at by now. Or maybe he’s already given in? My men told me that he was… so responsive whenever your name was mentioned. I wonder if he’ll beg like the mutt he is when it comes time for him to break.”

That tips you over the edge you’ve been teetering on since entering the brig for a second time. You drop your knife to the ground, letting it clatter and fall away from where you’re squatted in front of Jisung, then you thrust your bleeding arm through the bars to close your fingers around his throat where the band of his collar can’t reach. The strain and pull on your skin burns and causes the wounds to split a bit further. It doesn’t stop you from squeezing Jisung’s neck until his face turns purple.

“Run that by me again, Han Jisung, and see what happens.”

It’s that slight insanity creeping back up your neck and into your mind — the same craze that overtook you when Taskmaster Cara stabbed San back on Echidna.

“What? Is this not a fun game for you? You were enjoying it so much not too long ago. Do you not enjoy it not?” You taunt as you twist the blade in her.

“Y-You’re a fucking – fucking psychopath.”

The smile returns to your lips. You pull the knife out of her leg with haste then move forward so that you can squat down in front of her.

“I’ve heard that before too,” you mutter as you twirl the knife in your grasp. The smile coating your lips dissipates. “But only by the people who deserve their fates.”

It terrified you then, made you fear who you were and what you could become. Now? Your mind fights the urge to kill Jisung as best it can, but it’s a losing battle, because no matter how hard you try, you cannot peel your hand away from his neck. It’s like a voice is playing on repeat in the back of your head, saying ‘kill kill kill’ over without cease.

Your ears ring with the blood thumping through your veins. If you squeeze just a little tighter then—

“Enough.”

Your hand pulls away from Jisung’s neck with such haste that you slam it hard against the bars as you’re trying to withdraw it from his cell. You scramble back from the cell full of a terror that can only be directed at yourself because you don’t know what came over you in that moment. The figure creeping up on your left doesn’t even register until he is in your space and squatting beside you. A hand overlays one of your trembling ones and pulls your arm out until your injured forearm is exposed.

“Reckless. What else should I expect from you?” It’s then that you finally decide to look up at the owner of the voice, finding none other than the captain standing over you like you’re nothing more than a petulant child who can’t learn a lesson. Still, his tone holds far more softness than anger, and you don’t get the sense that he’s truly enraged by your actions. “Go see Yunho and get these cleaned, hm? You’ll need to be in top condition if you’re heading out on yet another mission tomorrow. Though we’ll have to discuss your tendency to jump the gun on planning things without orders in the future as well.”

Ah, so he’s been present for a while if he overheard that bit as well. Then he had every opportunity to stop you from harming yourself or making any propositions with Jisung the entire time. It’s almost touching in a way knowing that Hongjoong allowed you to have that moment of control — a moment to take matters into your own hands — even if he’s all but told you that there will be consequences for said moment.

You offer a hesitant nod in response, glancing over at Jisung one last time before Hongjoong helps you to your feet. You are about to step past the captain when he yanks you back by the elbow in a similar fashion to your earlier stand-off with him outside his quarters. He presses so close to you that you smell the distinct musk of a fresh shower on his skin.

“Yunho’s still upstairs so don’t bother dropping by his room.”

You don’t understand why he had to whisper that fact to you like it was a closely guarded secret, but you are not going to point that out either. Instead, you murmur a quiet thank you and turn to climb the ladder out of the brig. Just before you reach the top, you dare to cast one more glance down to Hongjoong. He has moved to assume your previous position in front of Jisung’s cell, squatted low enough to be eye level with the man, and he holds your forgotten knife between two fingers. The scene is telling enough, but you can’t help but wonder what Hongjoong saw when you had your hand wrapped around Jisung’s neck. If he saw the way you started to pull apart at the seams and become slightly unhinged, that is. An even larger part of you wonders if perhaps what he saw was frightening enough to cause him to step in when he did.

The thought does not dwell for long; you put the brig behind you and leave Hongjoong to his own devices in there, deciding it better to not think about whatever he plans to do or say until he inevitably mentions it later to the crew. And even if he deems it unnecessary for the crew to know, you would accept that as well. Either way, you wish to leave what just happened behind you, bury it in the recesses of your mind like it’s a memory that does not belong because you wish it didn’t.

Your hands continue to tremble by your sides for the entirety of the walk back to the Hongjoong’s quarters.

I fear I will lose my mind if I cannot bring him back safely soon.

✧✧✧ a/n: here we are again i really played myself and said yeah this will be under 10k so i LIED to mYSELF um yeah wow okay i never know what to say after finishing a chapter i just go brrr i have a lot of energy tho feeling good about this chapter bringing back the survey bc it’s been a minute and i’d love to hear how we’re feeling nowadays and as always let me know how you feel in the comments replies whatever you wish just bring it on let’s GO hit me with the theories and thoughts!

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[shin-city]

Damage Control [Katsuki Bakugo x Reader]

pairing: prohero!bakugo x sidekick!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut

word count: 3.7K

tags: sexual content, oral sex (female & male receiving), praise kink, semi-public sex

a/n: well that’s one way to overcome your fear of elevators

~

“Fifty-thousand dollars in damages!” you reiterated to the fiery man in front of you, who made no effort to mask his indifference towards what you were saying to him. He didn’t even bother looking at you until you’d thrown the invoice from the city on his desk, offering you a stale, blank stare. That look usually served as your warning that you were on thin ice, but you were too agitated to heed it.

“Are you even listening to me right now, Bakugo?”

The blonde rolled his eyes before setting his brows into that signature frown. “It’d be damn hard not to with all the yelling you’re doing.”

You let out a sardonic laugh, not believing that him of all people had a problem with yelling. Working with him for so long was the reason you even yelled so much in the first place. “Well, don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Bakugo grunted lowly, glaring as you chastised him. He hated when you reprimanded him like this. He hadn’t put in all of that hard work over the years to become a pro hero, just to have to answer to others for his actions. Especially you- his sidekick. While he didn’t treat you as his lesser just because of your title (not as much as he used to, anyways), he still expected you to treat and speak to him respectfully.

“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?” he scoffed. “Just send the invoice to All Might; he’ll take care of it. He always does.”

“We can’t just keep expecting him to cover the costs of you being irresponsible. And even if we could, it isn’t just about the money. It doesn’t look good. What if you get in trouble with the Hero Public Safety Commission? What if your hero ranking goes down, or worse- you get demoted entire-”

Bakugo’s jaw clenched as he slammed a fist on his desk to shut you up, your body jumping and your eyes widening consequently. He didn’t mean to startle you so much, but he did relish in the submissive way you looked at him as a result.

“Do I pay you to bitch at me about how I look to the public?” he challenged.

You blinked at him, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

“Pay me? You don’t pay me anything! I’m your sidekick, not your publicist.”

“Exactly,” he retorted. “So why don’t you quit acting like one, and leave it to the people who are supposed to handle it- like a good little sidekick.”

This particular comment had you fuming, and he could tell as you stood there with your arms crossed and a frown on your flushing face.

Cute, he thought, before dismissing the rumination.

“My quirk is explosion,” Bakugo continued. “Shit is going to get blown up. If you don’t like it, then maybe you should’ve applied to work under a different hero. There are plenty of sidekicks who would kill for the opportunity to be where you are right now.”

He was only bluffing. He’d never say it to you, or even himself, but Bakugo wouldn’t want you working with another hero; nor would he want to work with another sidekick. His hero office had plenty, and yet he chose you. He always chose you. Though, clearly you weren’t confident in his loyalty to you, because his words had tugged at your heartstrings more than he intended.

It wasn’t like you only cared about how he looked to the public. You cared about him in general, which was why you were so hard on him about things like this, but clearly he didn’t realize that.

“M-maybe I should’ve!” you snapped, desperately hoping that he hadn’t seen the glint of moisture in your eyes. “I would’ve taken Izuku up on his offer if I’d known you’d be so difficult to work with!”

Bakugo blinked at you, his head tilting to one side as he registered what you’d said. Midoriya had asked you to be his sidekick after graduating from UA, and several more times after that. You’d never mentioned this to Bakugo before, and you were smart not to. Anything that had to do with your green-haired friend triggered Bakugo to some extent; which was why saying that was the perfect ammunition to retaliate his comment- even if you didn’t realize it.

“What the hell do you mean you would’ve ‘taken Izuku up on his offer’!” he called after you, but you were already turning on your heels, storming out of his office and toward the elevator. You hated taking the elevator, and on any other day you would’ve taken the stairs; but at that moment you needed to get as far away from Katsuki Bakugo as fast as you could. You weren’t sure you’d be able to live with yourself if he saw you cry.

Over the pattering of your rushed footsteps, you hadn’t even heard him exit his office in pursuit of you. All you were focused on was getting out of there, and you were grateful that the elevator was already there on the fifth floor when you pushed the button to summon it. You wiped a stray tear from your eye as you stepped in, pressing the ‘1’ button, followed by the button used to close the doors; but they only managed to close halfway before a hand appeared between them, halting the process.

Before you knew it, an irate Bakugo was stalking into the elevator. He glowered at you as the doors shut behind him, though his expression eased when he noticed the tears that threatened to spill onto your cheeks.

“H-hey...why the hell are you crying?!” Bakugo stared at you incredulously, not believing the sight in front of him. He’d never seen you cry before.

You wiped furiously at your eyes, turning your back toward him as you did so. You made no effort to respond to him, especially once the elevator finally started moving. He frowned as you ignored him, glancing at the elevator’s digital display of what floor you were on. He watched anxiously as the numbers passed.

4...

3...

2...

 He couldn’t let you get to the first floor. He worried that if you left in this state, you might not come back. Or worse: you’d go running to Deku. He couldn’t have that.

Bakugo clenched his hand into a tight fist and before he could stop himself he was punching through the control panel of the elevator, ripping out some of the wires as he retracted his fist. The elevator immediately screeched to a halt, stopping just between the second and first floors. He turned to face you, who was now looking at him with sheer panic etched on your features. You were scared enough of elevators already, and this was like a nightmare come true.

“Have you lost your damn mind?!” you yelled as the ominous sparking of the control panel died down.

“Have you? What’s with all...this? Over an invoice?” he matched your tone, gesturing wildly at your distressed state.

You exhaled an exasperated sigh, shaking your head at him. “You don’t get it, do you? It isn’t just about the invoice.”

Bakugo took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down for your sake. He knew he could be difficult to talk to at times and he didn’t want to say anything that might scare you off. Though, it wasn’t like you could go anywhere anyways. “I don’t. Tell me so that I can fix it.”

You gave him a quizzical look, perplexed at the sudden decline in the volume of his voice. It almost made you want to give in and tell him what was on your mind but in fear of inciting another argument, you decided against it. Besides, you were now focused on the illusory feeling of the elevator walls closing in on you. You stood in the corner farthest from Bakugo, trying to increase the distance between you two. He noticed this and began to slowly creep toward you.

“Y/N.”

His firm tone coupled with his intense gaze had butterflies erupting in your stomach; of course now of all times.

“It doesn’t matter,” you uttered. “Could you please just get us out of here?”

“Is it what I said about you working with another hero?” he asked, completely ignoring your request but hitting the nail right on the head.

You didn’t answer him, instead crossing your arms and staring at the floor. Your body language was more than enough to confirm that he was correct, though, and he took one more step to close the gap between you. His close proximity had your head reeling as his scent enveloped you; it was almost comforting. You were so caught up in it that you hadn’t even noticed his hand cautiously reaching toward your face until he was already gripping your chin, tilting your head to look at him.

“Answer me.”

You let out a shaky breath as your eyes met his. Bakugo had never touched or looked at you like this before. Yes, he was frowning as usual; but it was out of concern instead of anger. The expression softened once you nodded, answering what he already knew. Still, his fingers never left your face.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he grumbled. “You know I didn’t mean that.”

“Do I?” you retorted, cursing yourself as your voice broke. “You think I don’t already know how expendable I am? How easy it’d be for you to replace me? You don’t have to throw it in my face.”

“I wasn’t trying to-”

“I’m sorry for always nagging. I’m sorry for caring. But if you don’t, someone has to, Bakugo,” you vented. “If we’re even close enough for me to call you that. Sometimes I feel like I should just address you as Ground Zero like everyone el-”

Bakugo’s grip on your chin tightened before he pressed his lips to yours, his other hand moving to the wall to support his weight as he leaned into you. You were far too stunned to kiss him back, but that was to be expected. The man in question had never even shook your hand before, let alone kissed you. He broke the kiss shortly thereafter, pressing his forehead against yours as his breath fanned over your lips.

“Don’t. Don’t ever stop calling me by my name,” he articulated, pulling away a little to gaze into your eyes and make sure you understood how serious he was. “You hear me? I’ll always be Bakugo to you. I don’t give a fuck what everyone else calls me. You’re not everyone else. I...just wanna hear you say my name.”

Your eyes began to tear up again, but this time out of relief. This was all you ever wanted from him: to act like he cared. To show you that he cared, and that you were more than just a sidekick to him.

You bit your quivering lip, nodding as you looked up at him. You meant to keep eye contact, but your gaze dropped to his lips. You desperately wanted him to kiss you again, and you weren’t doing the best job at hiding it.

Bakugo chuckled and leaned in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. He wanted to do much more, but not before making sure that he’d made things right with you. “I’m...sorry, okay?”

As simple as it was, his apology meant the world to you; especially since he wasn’t exactly known to be someone who ever apologized. It was actually quite humorous.

“You’re sorry?” you quizzed, stifling a laugh.

“Shut up, dumbass,” he retorted playfully before pressing his lips to yours again.

If someone told you just a few minutes before now that you’d be kissing Kastuki Bakugo, you’d have thought they were severely deluded. But you couldn’t deny how right it felt.

He caressed your cheek and lowered his other hand to your waist, clutching it softly. He was so delicate with you, touching you as though you’d break if he didn’t restrain himself. It was such a strange contrast to how he usually was, but you didn’t mind one bit.

“Bakugo,” you whimpered into his lips as you clutched his shirt, prompting him to slip his tongue into your mouth as a response.

He groaned lowly into the kiss as your tongues danced. You slipped your fingers underneath the material of his tank top, raking them along his soft abs and relishing in the warmth of his skin. He decided to match your pace, dropping his hands to your ass and squeezing it with much less caution than he’d touched you before.

His lips left yours, pecking them once more before attaching them to your neck. Your small moans were music to his ears as his tongue laved at your throat.

“I want you-” he groaned into your skin. “-need you.”

He hooked his fingers into the loops of your jeans, pulling your hips into his. And after feeling what pressed up against your thigh, it became very evident just how much he needed you.

“I’m yours, Bakugo. Please.” You sighed as he rolled his hips against you: so tantalizingly slow.

He kissed his way back up your neck, across your jaw and to your lips, kissing you once before gripping the hem of your top. He dragged the material up, your arms automatically raising to aid him in removing the garment. He was grateful that you’d forgone wearing your costume that day, knowing it’d be a pain in the ass to remove; though he’d worn his, save for the mask, gloves and grenades.

His rough hands slid up your torso and cupped your breasts through the material of your bra briefly before reaching around to unclasp it. He threw it to the ground before reaching for you again, calloused fingers tweaking your hardening nipples.

You grew exponentially wetter when he enclosed his lips around one, his fingers tugging at the other, and then alternating. He did this back and forth until you were a whining mess.

“Katsuki,” you mewled, subconsciously grinding your hips into his. “Please touch me.”

“Aren’t I?” he murmured into your chest, and you could feel his smirk. Though, he didn’t torture you for long, dropping his hand to the waist of your jeans and undoing them. He lowered himself onto his knees as he dragged them down your legs before throwing them atop the pile of discarded clothes. Your panties were torn off before joining the pile.

You squirmed as Bakugo’s eyes raked your naked body; his mind memorizing every inch in case this was the last time you’d ever let him see you like this (though he was confident it wouldn’t be). He traced his fingers up the length of your leg before gripping your thigh and lifting it to hook your leg over his shoulder.

“So pretty,” he breathed as he looked up at you, eyes lowering to meet your dripping core. “Even down here.”

Your mouth fell open as he flattened his tongue against your core, groaning as he tasted you. You whimpered as he licked you slowly, stopping to kiss your folds every so often before increasing his pace, devouring you like his life depended on it. You entangled your fingers in his hair, alternating between pulling at his roots and rubbing circles into his scalp.

He’d grunt every time you tugged particularly hard, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel heavenly against your clit.

“Bakugo~” you moaned out once he sucked harshly, sensing that you were already almost there. “Ngh- feels so good. So close...”

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my mouth, princess?” He pushed his tongue into your cunt, burying his face between your thighs as he pressed his thumb against your clit and rubbed circles into the swollen bud.

“Oh my god, yes,” you squeaked, fingernails scratching at his scalp as you neared you’re release. “Coming!”

Bakugo growled into your pussy as you came, the vibrations from his mouth intensifying the sensation tenfold. He watched in awe and adoration while you writhed above him, licking you clean. Once you came down, he rose to his feet, kissing you to allow you to taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

He pulled away to hastily undo his harnesses, pulling off his shirt in the process. You eyed him hungrily as he stripped. Your mouth practically watered at the sight in front of you. You waited until he reached for the button of his pants, catching his wrist in yours to stop him before sinking to your knees. He panted as you groped him over the fabric, rolling his erection into your palm.

“Off,” he groaned, his hand coming down to rest atop your head. “Take them off.”

You obliged, popping open the button and dragging his pants down to around his thighs. You looked up at him as you pressed your tongue against his shaft over his boxers, causing him tug at your roots.

“D-don’t tease me, dumbass.”

You bit your lip as you hooked your fingers into the band, pulling his underwear down slowly. Your heart rate quickened as you revealed his length, inch by inch as you pulled them down his thighs. He was big; so girthy, and the precum that leaked out of the tip only made him look that much more appetizing.

He hissed as you took him in your hand, pumping his length slowly before licking the head of his cock. You lapped up his arousal before taking him in your mouth and sucking as your tongue swirled around the tip. You quickly grew eager for more, taking him fully into your mouth until you were sputtering around him.

“Shit,” he swore, petting your head. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

Bakugo’s words encouraged you and you began to bob your head up and down his cock, humming around it. He gathered your hair into his fist, pulling it as you deepthroated him.

“Ngh, so good. So fucking good,” he moaned, thrusting into your mouth.

As good as it felt, if there was one place Bakugo wanted to cum more than your mouth: it was inside you. Therefore, as he felt himself nearing his release, he reluctantly pulled out of your mouth, groaning at the sight of the saliva that connected your lips to his cock.

“I need to fuck you now,” he informed you as he pulled you up by your shoulders. “Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

You did as he said, turning to press your hands and face against the wall of the elevator. You chewed your lip in anticipation as you heard him stroke his wet cock behind you before pressing the tip against your folds.

“Katsuki,” you moaned, pushing back against him in a desperate attempt to feel him inside of you. “Please.”

“Please what, princess? What do you want?”

Whimpering as he ground the head of his cock into your clit, you responded. “I want you to- ahh~, fuck me. Please Bakugo.”

You must’ve appeased him, both of his hands coming up to grip your ass and he slowly pushed into you. His name fell from your lips in a long, drawn out moan as he filled you. He stilled once he was entirely in, relishing in the feeling of your warm cunt contracting around him. He could probably cum from that alone.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he commented, pulling out halfway before pushing into you again. He did this over and over until you’d stretched enough to his liking, beginning a steady rhythm as he thrust into you. The elevator filled with the sound of his skin slapping against yours, drowning out your moans. His fingers dug into your hips as he increased his pace, slamming into you as he fucked you.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck yeah,” he moaned out, and you had to grab hold of the elevator railing to steady yourself as he pounded you. “Look at you taking my cock so fucking well. You’re such a good girl.”

Your heart fluttered at his praise, crying out his name as he angled his cock to brush against your g-spot with every thrust. He thrust into you like that just a few times before pulling out of you.

You were about to protest but he spun you around to face him, guiding your arms around his neck and picking you up by the backs of your thighs. He pushed your back against the wall to support you in the new position.

“Wanna see your pretty face when you cum,” he mumbled through clenched teeth, slipping back inside you.

“B-Bakugo,” you whined, finding it difficult to speak with how he was slamming into you. “So close.”

He reached a hand down between you two, rubbing furiously at your clit. “Cum for me, princess. Cum around my cock. Fuck.”

You threw your head back in sheer pleasure as your stomach tightened, digging your nails into his back as you reached your climax. You clenched around him, your pussy getting impossibly tighter as you came around his cock.

Bakugo’s thrusts grew sloppier but quicker, exerting the last of his energy as he finished inside you. Thick ropes of his warm cum painted your insides, filling you up along with his cock. He groaned out your name as he let out the last of it, burying his head in your shoulder as he caught his breath.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments before he pulled out of you and let you down slowly. His cum leaked uncomfortably down your thigh, and suddenly he regretted ruining your panties, wishing he had them to help keep his cum inside of you.

You were caught by surprise when Bakugo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as he embraced you.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized to you once again. “I need you, and...I don’t wanna do this hero shit if I can’t do it with you.”

 “Me neither,” you assured him, softly kissing his shoulder.

*

“Bakugo?”

“Yeah?”

“How are we getting out of here?” you inquired, remembering that you and him had been the only people in the office on that Sunday night.

“Shit.”

~

[moonlitceleste]

Elevator Love (Ch. 1)

A/N: Welcome to my first multi-chaptered fic! This was supposed to be a one-shot but I kept writing and here we are. I’m not super happy with this, so I’m probably going to rewrite it eventually. Staring at my document hasn’t seemed to help so far, so I’m probably gonna take a break on this and work on requests. For now, just sit back and enjoy :D

Marinette gnawed on her lip nervously as her fingers toyed with the ladybug keychain on her white crossbody purse.

Her eyes were glued to the towering Wayne Enterprises building before her. The big “W” atop it seemed to stare her down, issuing a silent challenge for her to walk past its doors.

“You got this, Marinette!”

The heroine smiled weakly at Tikki’s assurance—although she did appreciate the sentiment, Marinette wasn’t quite sure she could agree.

She was not prepared to meet Tim whatsoever.

Sure, they had been friends for nearly two years—but regardless, Marinette couldn’t help but stress.

It had all started when Tim decided to commission MDC for a few pieces, offering a large sum of money in exchange for her efforts. Despite being doubtful of whether or not he was truly who he claimed to be, Marinette accepted the request.

Soon enough, back-and-forth emails progressed to casual texting, which led to an eventual friendship. The two seemed to click naturally, which was evident in their smoothly-flowing conversations.

Tim knew everything there was to know about her (barring her identity, of course), yet they had never met in person.

He was the co-CEO of a multi-billion dollar company and she was a prominent designer that moonlighted as a superhero—finding time to video chat one another was hard enough.

But now that Marinette had finished université, she had nothing tying her down to Paris. 19 was a young age to be done with school, but her life wasn’t exactly normal.

That’s why a few weeks before graduation, Marinette decided to email Bruce Wayne.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision; Tim had made an offhand remark about how he wished he could be there for her graduation, and the cogs in Marinette’s brain began to turn. Maybe he couldn’t come to Paris, but she could go to Gotham.

Once her mind was made up, it was only a matter of planning.

It was surprisingly easy to get ahold of Tim’s father; from then on, everything else fell into place.

Perhaps attempting to surprise someone as smart as him went against her better judgement, but it was too late to turn back now.

Marinette’s phone pinged, and she scrambled to press her thumb to its home button. Speak of the devil.

Mr. Wayne

It’s ready.

Tell your name to the receptionist at the front desk, and she’ll give you a lanyard with a pass into Tim’s office as well as a set of directions.

I apologize again for not being there to guide you; unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to.

Marinette tucked the gift box she was holding under one arm, freeing her hands to type out a response.

Marinette

Thank you so much for your generosity, M. Wayne!

I really appreciate all your help in planning this, and for allowing me to surprise Tim in the first place.

Despite your busy schedule you’ve gone through so much trouble to help me. I really can’t thank you enough!

Once she pressed send on her last message, Marinette inhaled deeply.

Her hands moved to smooth down the soft fabric of her blush pink dress.

It was an admittedly simple ensemble, but the billowy sleeves and fluttery skirt gave it a delicate flair. Her white strappy sandals, circle purse, and wavy half-up braided hairstyle tied it all together nicely.

Marinette checked herself over one last time to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. She tucked her phone into her purse, grabbed the box containing Tim’s gift, and turned to look at the imposing building with a burst of newfound confidence.

Here we go.

-

“To the right…” Marinette muttered. “Or was it to the left?”

The designer scrunched her nose in confusion, turning around in a circle to better survey the building.

She had already obtained the lanyard and directions, but decided to make a last-minute detour to the bathroom. It shouldn’t have been a problem since Marinette was a few minutes early, but now she was lost. Sure, the place had a fairly open floor plan, but it was enormous! She couldn’t be expected to navigate this.

In hindsight, maybe deciding to deviate from her original schedule had been a mistake.

Marinette sighed and started walking. She didn’t want to disturb anyone, so wandering aimlessly was her only other option.

Well, it wasn’t her only option—she could easily use her Ladybug magic to give herself a push in the right direction, but Tikki would disapprove. Oh, and it was wrong to use her powers for selfish gain. Marinette totally remembered that.

Turns out she didn’t even need to use her Ladybug powers, though; it only took  a few minutes of searching for her to stumble across what she was looking for.

About 10 meters away was a set of elevators lined up against the wall. A glowing “up” arrow was visible on the panel beside a pair of open steel doors.

Marinette’s eyes widened at the sight of the open elevator. She promptly broke into a jog, careful to keep her speed somewhat appropriate for the environment. The doors started to close, and Marinette’s heart raced faster. There was a shadowed figure inside, but due to the angle they likely couldn’t see her.

“Wait!” she called as loudly as she dared.

It was almost funny how similar the experience was to her lycée days.

Marinette pushed the thought to the back of her mind—she would rather not taint her day with memories of that dumpster fire.

She turned her attention back to the elevator, whose doors had retreated. Thankfully, the person inside heard her. Marinette slowed her pace as she covered the last few meters, but was mindful to not walk obnoxiously so.

As she approached her destination, it became increasingly apparent that whoever was inside was remarkably tall.

Ugh, she could practically hear Tim’s jest in her head—are you sure it’s not just because you’re short? He loved to poke fun at her height with short jokes, even though he was only 8 cm taller than her.

Anyways, despite her petite stature, Marinette was sure the person inside would be considered tall by any standards.

She prepared a friendly smile, a “thanks” on the tip of her tongue when they finally came into view.

The first thing she saw was a pair of worn black men’s work boots on what was an admittedly toned body.

Marinette didn’t let her eyes linger on the muscles there, rather opting to trace her gaze from the man’s body up to their face. And wow, was that a gorgeous face.

She wasn’t the type to fall for someone based on appearance alone, but Marinette would be crazy to think this wasn’t the most attractive person she’d ever seen.

He had messy black hair with a pure white streak in the front, tousled to perfection in a way that would make a supermodel jealous. His brilliant green eyes were pools of emerald, richer than any shade she had seen before. Marinette would gladly drown in them.

Speaking of his eyes, he was looking at her with his captivating gaze and mesmerizing face...

Marinette would forever deny swooning at the sight. She would never swoon.

(She totally did.)

Say something! she scolded.

“Uh, than-thank you.”

Oh no. It was the stutter.

Not just a stutter, but the stutter. The one that only appeared when she was nervous and/or talking to hot guys.

Marinette had long outgrown it—or at least, she thought she had—but apparently now it was back with a vengeance.

Her face heated up, and she moved forward to press the button to her designated floor before taking her place some distance away from the man. She turned her head away in embarrassment, hair shielding her face so he couldn’t see her flushed cheeks.

If she had been looking up, perhaps Marinette would have been prepared for the flood of incoming mass. But she was too busy cursing herself to notice the group of people entering until she felt a nudge on her right side.

Marinette squeaked at the stack of boxes that was suddenly in front of her face and looked up to see a small group of workers entering the elevator, pushing a large platform truck stacked with packages. She shuffled on instinct to make more room.

The cart seemed way too big to fit, especially with the capacity of the elevator. Someone would have to contort themselves, or at the very least they’d be squished up against one another uncomfortably. 

Marinette watched as they pushed the platform truck in all the way. It left the tiniest bit of wiggle room, just enough space for someone to squeeze past.

The designer found herself slowly edging towards her left each time another person wiggled their way past the load.

The elevator wasn’t too crowded, and the process went relatively smoothly—that is, until the last worker attempted to get inside.

He had a build somewhat similar to her Papa: tall and large, so his struggle was understandable. It took a minute of grunts and loud sighs, but he managed to slip past the obstruction and into the elevator.

His large frame, however, meant less space for everyone, and Marinette felt the sudden impact of being shoved.

She couldn’t help the soft yelp that fell out of her mouth as her feet stumbled, and before she knew it her left side was firmly pressed up against someone.

Oh god. It was Hot Guy. Of course it was him.

She pressed her lips together in mortification, arms squeezing Tim’s gift to her chest even tighter.

“Sorry.”

Marinette nearly jumped as the husky voice spoke quietly next to her ear. Her head whipped towards the direction it came from, which wasn’t exactly hard to place. There was only one person on her left side.

She turned her head to face the man with the white streak. She had to crane her neck awkwardly in order to properly see him, which really put into perspective their height difference.

His green eyes were sincere, and Marinette could see the apology in them.

The lack of space wasn’t his fault whatsoever, but it was nice to see someone care about her boundaries.

“U-um, it’s okay.”

Marinette smiled at him shyly, then diverted her eyes away. Her brief burst of courage could only take her so far.

Before she knew it, the ride was over. The elevator stopped with a ding, and coincidentally enough, everyone was headed to the same floor.

Marinette fished out the set of directions Mr. Wayne had written from her purse, skimming over them once more. Her stomach filled with butterflies at the thought of finally meeting her best friend.

She barely noticed the workers pushing out the platform truck or Hot Guy walking away, the outside world long forgotten.

Marinette’s body went on autopilot, following the instructions on the paper until she found herself stopped in front of a sleek door. She didn’t know what it was made of, but she was glad it wasn’t glass like many other things in Wayne Enterprises. That would make her surprise a lot harder to pull off.

Above the key card security system on the left was a name plate, nearly identical to others she had passed on her way here. The name Tim Drake was written in elegant silver cursive letters, the metal gleaming as if it were brand new.

Marinette’s chest tightened in anticipation as she pulled out the lanyard Mr. Wayne had given her. She took a deep breath before knocking twice.

There was a short pause before a familiar voice responded.

“Who is it?”

She scanned her card and opened the door.

“Marinette?!”

-

A/N: For reference, Marinette is 5’3” (160 cm) and Jason is 6’4” (193 cm), so there's a 13" (33 cm) difference. I tried to use French terms and measurements so it'd feel more like Marinette's perspective.

And yea, I'm not super proud of this so I'm probably gonna rewrite it in the future. I have a bunch of other WIPs to work on though, so sorry in advance for my wacky updating schedule!

-

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad @h1sss @nathleigh

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt.7)

Well, Natsume's really in it now! Today we'll be talking about what lengths Natsume will go to in order to protect the people he loves. He's not a normal boy with a normal first crush, after all. He has no intention of wooing her or flirting. In fact, his instinct is to distance himself, and going forward we'll see that instinct is motivated by more than just a low self-esteem.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Natsume has some major character flaws. He’s kinda a jerk in general and is rude and abrasive. He’s chronically selfless and seems to be drawn to situations where he can sacrifice himself for others, which is a very unhealthy way to be. He’s also terrible at keeping his word.

Natsume only made this decision on his own, but he’s pretty bad at carrying through with it. He’s the one who told her to stay away, but Natsume will have more and more trouble staying true to such an agreement.

At first, he makes an effort: Mikan is being bullied for her stupidity and sees Natsume. He glares at her, another discouragement from coming any closer. He doesn’t argue with her or join in on the bullying.

But in no time at all, the whole class is riled up in study mode because of Mikan’s example, and for many kids in Class B, the best person to turn to for tutoring help is Natsume, who is actually quite smart when he actually does the work--though he’d prefer not to. And he does help, though not with any kind or supportive words. He’ll leave that to Mikan. Maybe to him it feels a bit like a cheat, like he can afford to give in a little bit. He later walks alongside her after an exam, like he’s part of her circle, and although he’s not really engaging with her like the rest of the kids are, it’s enough that he’s near her.

And it’s enough for the ESP and Persona to notice.

We can see the ESP looking down on them from his headquarters room, still covered in shadows to maintain his mystery, but his figure is familiar enough for a reread. Natsume has been caught and he will have to face the consequences.

Persona subs in for Makihara-sensei (and we must wonder if Makihara was really unable to proctor his exam or if he was ordered to stay away so that a point could be made to Natsume), and despite his disguise, Natsume can tell it’s him instantly. After all, he was supposed to recognize him. Natsume looks horrified.

So far, Natsume has had to more or less balance two very different parts of his life: a more light-hearted life in Class B and his life as a spy and black ops agent. They’ve been difficult to juggle because of how different they are, but they’ve been pretty separated. Here, the lines are blurring. Was there really any divide at all or was that just an illusion? Persona can invade on his happiness any time he wants, on a whim, and nobody else will notice that anything is amiss. Only Natsume will be bothered, and that’s enough.

Natsume later catches up to Persona, asking him what the hell all that was about.

Permy and his fans aren’t the only ones to notice that Natsume has been softer lately--he and the ESP have noticed as well, and he’s been ordered to put a stop to it. He mentions a “kitten of a different color” who has been of interest to the ESP too, and Natsume plays dumb, his last-ditch attempt to protect Mikan from being drawn into this.

Persona comments on the strangeness of seeing the infamous Black Cat that he trained himself, who he’s supposedly only ever seen in action, sitting and taking a test like a normal kid. He reminds him that he’s not a normal kid. There’s no point in trying so hard. He won’t make it to ever see his family again, so why even bother?

And then Persona makes a point to discourage Natsume from getting close to that “kitten of a different color”. Natsume argues that they’re the ones who made them partners in the first place! And he might as well be giving himself away. Again, Natsume seems convinced that the partners thing was a decision from pretty high up, but I don’t think it was. Here, it seems like Persona is trying to clean up the mess Narumi made before it gets too out of hand. Natsume is a perfect tool and anything messing with that is inconvenient. They can’t unmake them partners (yet) so the most they can do is threaten Natsume.

And now we can see what kind of alice Persona has. It's a real threat, killing that plant. It's a reminder to Natsume what he's capable of, that his friends and loved ones could end up just like that plant.

And so Persona does.

Natsume is anguished here, because he’s been trying his very best to avoid this situation, but he should have known that Mikan was already in the academy spotlight and his feelings would be quickly caught. It was too late from the start and he was doomed all along to add Mikan to the list of people he will do anything to protect.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next chapter opens with Mikan being confused and hurt by Natsume’s sudden new coldness. She has no idea what’s brought this all on, but we do. Natsume has no choice now but to completely try and cut her off. It’s for her own good, after all. If he’s not careful, she could get hurt. Protecting her is worth it, even if it means he has to be even more of a villain than usual.

We don’t see a lot of Natsume in this chapter, actually, because he’s trying really hard to stick by his word this time. We see him trip up a little, staring at her in class. When she catches him, he turns away coldly, but from this we can see that Natsume really doesn’t want to be leaving her alone like this. If he had it his way, in an ideal world, he’d be much nicer to her. Unfortunately, Natsume doesn’t waste his time thinking about his ideals, so he keeps at it, pushing her away.

The next time we see Natsume, it’s after we’ve been thoroughly introduced to the concept of the life-shortening alice. This is one hint of many that he has such an alice, several chapters before we get a real confirmation.

The scene where Natsume struggles on a bed full of pills is perhaps more dramatic in the anime, but it’s no less potent here. It’s like a sucker punch. You don’t want it to be true. He’s ten years old, for heaven’s sake! TEN YEARS OLD! And he’s suffering, hunched over, face red, gasping for air, clutching his chest, next to the biggest bag of medicine I’ve ever seen. It’s the biggest hint we’ve gotten so far, especially in the context of Kaname’s illness.

It's heart-breaking to imagine that most of the time, Natsume is simply pretending like he's not in absolute physical agony.

Kaname stays at the hospital for long stretches of time, staying for weeks and sometimes months at a time. He’s hospitalized more than he’s able to walk around free. There’s a lot to consider when that treatment is compared to Natsume’s. Natsume is the DA favorite and is sent on many missions. His trips to the hospital are never for weeks or months at a time, not because he doesn’t need the rest, but because the school can’t stand to go so long without their prize fighter. Natsume might be in even worse condition than Kaname, but there’d be no real way to tell unless we got it from him, because he has no choice but to put up with it and pretend like he’s not living in constant agony. And on top of being terribly and terminally ill, he gets physically beaten somewhat regularly… this school beats sick children and then threatens them when they find any inkling of happiness.

There is a bittersweet tone about Kaname’s story. He’s already sick anyway but he will probably die if he keeps using his alice, but he wants to, because he wants to bring people the same happiness that making Bear brought him. It’s tragic and heart-breaking, but it’s touching too. That sweetness is missing from Natsume’s appearance. His situation feels miserable and helpless in comparison, because not only does he have no way out, but nobody even knows the extent of his struggles.

He only lets himself feel this level of pain when he’s all alone in his bedroom. He’s been having a horrible past few days, having to ignore Mikan when she’s all that’s made him happy in recent memory. All that together, and we know that this night was a rough one for him.

The next day, we see everyone saying good-bye to Kaname. Once again, Natsume is completely separated from the rest of them, all alone in the classroom, sitting and looking as miserable as one can expect. It’s strange seeing him now after we’ve seen what his nights look like and just how painful they can get.

I just want him to be okay. Why is that too much to ask?

There’s some text on his panel: “I want the future I spend with the ones I love to last just a little longer.” Yet another hint that maybe his illness is more than just that. He has very little time left, and very little time to spend with his loved ones, but even worse: he can’t even spend time with Mikan because doing so would put her in danger. Even with Youichi and Ruka the amount of time he can spend with them is limited. They have their own lives and he doesn’t want to hold them back or hint in the slightest that there’s something up with him. He doesn’t want to worry or burden them. And so he sits alone in the classroom, looking despondent and lonely.

And now we know more than ever that this was never his choice: he has to be like this.

No, he’s not the asshole he makes himself out to be, somebody who doesn’t care about others and cuts others off because he thinks himself above them. All he wants is to protect people from getting too entrenched in his dark life. Natsume being this level of a jerk is a method to protect people, a method an adult would have to take.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I’m quite relieved to have finally passed the point where the anime adapts the manga. From now on, I can focus entirely on the manga. I passed 22k words on this essay too! This whole thing will be sooooo long. I hope it’s an enjoyable read so far. It’s quite fun for me to write.

This chapter is the beginning of a long and dramatic arc. There’s been incidents of people losing their alices. The academy is withholding information about the gravity of the situation, lying that the students have not been affected so far.

But even with the little information the kids have, Class B is full of concern. Everyone is discussing these incidents, debating whether losing one’s alice would even be a bad thing. After all, they’d be able to go back home and see their families. Nonoko brings up a great point, that her alice is a part of her identity, something she loves about herself. It’s not something she’d ever willingly part with. Furthermore, she doesn’t want to leave all her friends at the academy either. Ultimately, the kids all agree that they wouldn’t want to lose their alices.

At this, Natsume stands up and leaves the room. He’s heard enough.

Natsume doesn’t just have complicated feelings about his alice--he feels hatred for it. After all, if it weren’t for his alice, he could live to a ripe old age. He could still be with his family. He could be happy, not used as a weapon by the academy to fight until he dies. He can’t relate much to the conversations about fondness for an alice. From what we can see, he’d be over the moon to be rid of it for good. This is a concept brought up now, because it will be incredibly important later on.

Not to spill about my personal life or anything, but I’m an English major (in an anglophone country so my focus is literary analysis and writing). Writing literature papers in school was a love of mine that I translated to my other interests. I’m writing what I can here about general themes and even visual parallels. I want to write as thorough an analysis as I can. Unfortunately, I can’t effectively pick apart word choices and phrases when they’re translated from another language and when so many conflicting translations may exist.

I’m saying all this as a disclaimer because I want to analyze word choice now and I am aware that this might not carry to the original Japanese or even to other versions of the English translation. (For reference, I’m using the TokyoPop versions for my analysis for the first 15 volumes and then I’ll be using whatever I get my hands on for the rest. The pics I use are from scans, but the main source I use for now is TokyoPop.)

"Nowhere!".... hmm let me read way too much into this.

Natsume leaves the room and Ruka chases after him, asking where he’s headed. Natsume responds, “Nowhere.” This might be a nothing point to make, but it stands out to me whenever I read this part. It’s a reassurance to Ruka, sure, but there seems to be more to it. On the surface, we can tell that Natsume doesn’t have a destination in mind; he just doesn’t want to be in the classroom anymore, listening to all that upsetting talk. Deeper than that, he really is heading nowhere. He’s stuck there, at the academy, unlike the rest of them who will eventually leave to go back home once they’ve graduated. Natsume will probably die at the school, trapped within its gates. He will probably never see his family again. He is, in that sense as well, going nowhere.

The rest of their conversation is just as packed with meaning. Ruka can tell something is up and he wants Natsume to talk to him, to let him in, but Natsume knows that Ruka has made a pact not to smile if he’s not smiling. So even though Ruka is asking and wants to know what’s wrong, Natsume won’t give anything away. Being miserable is one thing, but letting Ruka know that something is worse than usual would only make Ruka miserable too, and he can’t have that. The bottom of one page has him frowning, maybe steeling himself, and then at the top of the next page, he turns around with a grin to tousle Ruka’s hair.

Don't mind me. I am simply crying.

“It’s nothing,” he says with his smile, looking so gentle, and Ruka still looks concerned, but he can’t argue anymore.

In reality there’s a lot going on with Natsume. Later, when we are introduced to Tono, he mentions being concerned about Natsume’s health, having heard that he was making frequent visits to the hospital. We already know he’s sick and going on ceaseless missions, and on top of all that he has to ignore and be cruel to the girl he likes. It’s a terrible situation. But Natsume can’t tell Ruka any of this without worrying him, so instead he will keep it to himself. After all, it’s nothing that can be helped or changed. It’s something he feels he has to cope with on his own. To him, spilling his secrets would be selfish and only cause suffering.

Chapter Thirty

Iinchou has finally returned from his visit to his hometown. He’s brought gifts and anecdotes and everyone is quite happy to see him, until Iinchou attempts to use his alice and finds himself unable to.

It’s a shock to the whole class that a kid at their school has lost his alice. They had been so relieved that at least it wouldn’t affect kids like them, but now one of them is a victim too. It makes the fear much more real. If it could happen to Iinchou, it could happen to any of them.

Things get tense when Iinchou returns to class and says that this might have been the fault of a woman he encountered outside of the school, someone who was probably affiliated with Z. Everyone who was involved with saving Natsume when he was kidnapped is shocked to hear about Z again, but none more than Natsume himself. He gets up and leaves, just like he did last chapter.

He’s thinking about the proposal Reo gave, that Natsume should join Z and fight against the academy he despises. But he’s not alone with his thoughts, because Ruka followed him again, and so did Mikan this time.

She tries to ask him about Z, see if he has any more idea about what’s going on. She’s confused and he knows more than anyone what happened during that incident, but he’s refusing to acknowledge her presence, let alone answer any of her questions. He’s keeping up his charade of cruelty to keep her safe, but it’s driving Mikan crazy. She finally breaks, screaming at him that he should pay attention when people are talking to him, and further that if he has any issues with her he should just say it to her face.

Just like last chapter, we see a panel of Natsume steeling himself, ready to do the selfless thing to protect the other person. Only this time the next panel has him glaring at her, saying he doesn’t like anything about her. He hates everything about her.

Natsume has no choice but to lie all the time about how he's feeling, because everyone else must always come first.

It feels different, but in reality this is the same thing he did to Ruka last chapter. He can’t be honest about his feelings when he’s feeling upset, and he can’t be honest about his feelings when he’s actually starting to fall for a girl. He always has to hide his true feelings, repress and bury them, lie about them in order to protect everyone around him. It’s hard for him to do, but he thinks it hurts him more than it could hurt her, so he manages it.

What adds even more layers to this is that Ruka is observing the whole thing. He sees Natsume’s actions as selfless but misfires on the motive a little--but only a little.

He recalls eating strawberries with Natsume and Aoi, with Aoi cheerfully discussing her newfound love for the fruits. And so Natsume gives his to her. Aoi is surprised, because strawberries are his favorites. He responds easily, “I hate them now.”

"For you," Natsume says.

Ruka knows what kind of person Natsume is, that Natsume would reject something he loves so that his loved ones can be happy. They’re both aware that they like the same girl, and Ruka can’t help but put the math together and assume that perhaps Natsume is doing this for him, hurting himself and bringing himself pain so that Ruka can be happy and pursue a girl he has a crush on guilt-free.

He’s even more convinced of the theory with the tiny panel that reminds us of when Natsume shoved Ruka into Mikan so they could dance. Natsume loves Mikan too, but he wants Ruka to be happy, so he will give up and even ruin his own chances to help out his best friend over himself.

When I say it’s a misfire, I mean that Natsume has a lot of other things going on, including Persona and his imminent death. It’s not that he definitely isn’t doing this for Ruka, it’s just that it’s not as major a factor as other things. He’s mainly doing it because of the threats from Persona. If Ruka is involved in his thought process, it’s mainly a bonus. Ruka’s theory is definitely not unfounded; just not completely accurate.

In any case, it does add extra substance to the dynamic between the three of them, where they all walk away from the moment with completely different kinds of misery.

Before any of them can sit with their sadness, though, they receive word that an intruder from Z is at the school.

Conclusion

In this section, we explored how Natsume has no choice but to distance himself from everybody, and even how the methods he uses to distance himself look different depending on the person. Ultimately, despite the fact that he isn't the sweetest kid you'll ever meet, Natsume being cruel to this extent isn't a quirk of his personality: it's what he has to do. If he didn't have so many things being held against him, he might be much kinder to Mikan, or more honest with Ruka, but he has no choice in the matter.

In the next edition, we're getting more involved in the Z Arc and going into how come Natsume goes from telling Mikan he hates her to backing her cause and going on a dangerous mission with her.

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[pateldevs]

Hi! I hope I'm not bothering you, but I love your mood board edits and was wondering if you could explain how you go about making/colouring them? I see lots of places to find gifs but turning them into a set is so hard. Thank you in advance!

hi! first of all thank you so much and second of all it’s not a bother at all! i am happy to give some of my own tips even if my explanation probably isn’t super helpful. i won’t give like a ps tutorial but below the cut (since i included example gifs, it’s VERY long) is my process for my latest jily aesthetic:

i keep track of all my ideas/sets in a spreadsheet (which i won’t show bc there’s a lot of info i’d have to blur/black out) but i always have a list of what scenes i need to gif/what gifs i’m editing and where i’m getting them from. i also include a couple extra ideas in case the gifs i have planned end up being too hard to color or don’t fit in the set. i’ve found it’s best/easiest to start w the list bc there is literally nothing worse than spending hours on a set and then not being able to complete it.

as for actually finding the material, i have a pretty healthy number of scene packs saved in my giffing folder, esp. for things i know i will gif frequently. most of the time i will peruse youtube, vimeo, and instagram for any aesthetic scenes. i also have a lot of gif packs saved specifically for the purpose of making mbs (usually i mix my own gifs w gif packs), if you msg me i’m happy to direct you to some gif packs i use regularly or you can check my #resources tag. a couple tips for finding material: 

always opt for download when possible, i used to screen record and the difference when i switched to downloading was astronomical. (it’s easy to lose quality and esp if you’re on mac, quicktime duplicates frames so either you have to manually delete those extras or you get sort of choppy gifs when you load them into ps.)

always use 1080p or better, 720p will work in a pinch for 268px or 177px gifs since you can make up some of that resolution loss with sharpening, but don’t go any lower than that, just love yourself. 

for pale sets, look for the right colors. i tend to look for scenes w high color contrast especially if it features poc so it’s easier to color without whitewashing, ie if the subject is a person then i look for light colored or blue/green/violet/white backgrounds. it’ll make your life wayyyyy easier. this also means if you’re making a set try to find scenes with already similar lighting bc you won’t have to work so hard to make it look cohesive.

here’s a quick rundown of what i do before coloring:

import all frames and save all the files in a folder together!!

play around with frame delay so all the gifs are moving at about the same speed, usually keep it between 0.03-0.05s

crop and resize gifs (i use 268x145 most of the time)

convert to timeline

when it comes to coloring it can be really hit or miss, i’ve recently gotten back into my groove but i was having sooo much trouble earlier this year. in general, don’t stress yourself out!! sometimes it’s easier to just find a new scene/gif (hence my list of extras!) than to try too hard to fit a gif into your set. i color all my gifs by scratch (ie no psds) but i tend to follow the same pattern, i’ll explain using these gifs/psd as an example since then i can also explain how to fix white-washing:

first off when you’re coloring gifs with poc always always always make a layer mask so you can compare the edited and unedited skin tones directly! i use the marquee tool to make a selection in the middle of the character’s face, select the folder of my adjustment layers, and hit ‘add vector mask’ (the third button from the left on the layers panel, it’s a white rectangle with a circle in it). 

i almost always begin by using hue/saturation layers to highlight and delete certain colors. here i highlighted red and raised the lightness on yellow by a lot since it’s a very yellow scene. then i use a combination of brightness/contrast, levels, and curves layers to brighten the scene. here’s what i have now:

i add a gradient map set to black/white, change the blending to exclusion, and lower the opacity to between 5-10% (depending on the scene) to lighten the contrast further:

then i add back a little depth with selective color in neutrals and blacks:

now i have two main goals: 1. add contrast between the background and the subject, and 2. brighten the scene into a pale gif. to do this, i use color balance to tweak the color of the background, taking out the yellows. this step works best if there’s at least some shade difference between your subject and background, otherwise isolating the two will be impossible. here’s what i have after adding color balance:

i use hue/saturation to selectively highlight the background color. in this case i chose to adjust magenta and used the color picker (the first eyedropper on the left) to identify the exact shade i wanted to lighten. now i have a fairly neutral background and a colorful subject, which gives a sort of pale effect:

and now i use a curves layer and a selective color (white) layer to brighten further:

before i go further, i start fixing white-washing. keep in mind that some variance is normal since you are naturally changing the lighting of the scene; this gif shows it rlly clearly bc of how yellow and dim the lighting is, so some lightening is to be expected. however, both because the vector mask shows a lot of whitening and because i’ve giffed dev patel before and have a general idea of what he looks like in this type of lighting, i know what needs to be fixed, so i go back in under the psd/adjustment layers with a combination of selective color (red and neutral) and hue/saturation layers to darken his skin again:

now that some more contrast has been added in, i can go back to working on the psd and use curves and selective color to play around with the background again:

i use another hue/saturation layer and a black/white gradient to tone down oversaturation:

usually i leave those layers on top, so if i want to make any adjustments (like lightening the background more), i go in under those two. in this case i tweaked the whites and reduced the contrast a little to get this:

again, you can see his skin tone has changed from the original, but variation is to be expected given how much brighter the room is, the fact that i took out a lot of yellow lighting, and the brightening effect of the computer screen in front of him. some other things to keep in mind when coloring:

when you add layers to correct white-washing, you’re likely to end up with overly red/orange skin tones (red-washing). this can be fixed by upping cyans in the reds, desaturating/darkening the reds, or adding b/w or desaturation later on.

when in doubt, it’s better to be darker than lighter (the issue with white-washing is that it promotes colorism, and there is nothing inherently wrong with a darker skin tone) but really. just put in the effort to color poc correctly.

when changing the lighting a lot it helps to look at pictures of the subject in natural/bright lighting, since you get a better idea of what their normal skin tone is. 

don’t try to squeeze all your selective color layers into one. you’ll get less grainy gifs if you separate them out and work one by one. 

TURN OFF NIGHT SHIFT/NIGHT MODE! yes i KNOW it’s bad for your eyes (especially if you’re like me and gif at night, when the lighting outside isn’t changing every 20 seconds) but your gifs will look VERY different under f.lux or night mode compared to daytime screens. especially if you’re giffing at different times of day, blue light filters can really change the way your coloring appears. best to keep it consistent.

my sharpening settings vary depending on what i’m giffing but in general i do two layers of smart sharpen (500% with radius between 0.2-0.4, 10% with radius at 10px) and then gaussian blur at 2.5px and adjust the opacity so it’s somewhere between 15-20%. i try to strike a balance between smoothing out the graininess from selective color, and sharpening details like clothes and hair. here’s what i ended up with for the gif above:

then i rinse and repeat for the rest of the gifs in the set! i tend to start with the gifs that i know will be hardest to color, which is usually the darker ones (coloring is limited by how much i can brighten the scene) and those that include poc (again, limited by how much i can brighten and adjust the scene’s lighting without white-washing). then i check set cohesion as i go, using those first few gifs as benchmarks. once i have all 8 (or 9 or 10) gifs, i play around with composition and try to balance and vary the subject, colors, and composition of gifs next to each other. i go back and make a couple of adjustments here and there according to what i observe and what i think might improve the overall appearance.

and that’s pretty much it! i hope this was helpful, if you have other questions feel free to message me and i’d be happy to help/troubleshoot. happy giffing!

[xmint-conditionx]

《the emperor’s dagger》 ch3 | myg

❦ pairing: emperor!yoongi x concubine!reader ❦ w/c: 5.3k ❦ summary: after being caught, you and the emperor decide to let some distance come between you. after a week of being along with your thoughts, you finally meet each other again. this time, he has something special in store for you, but by the end of the night, you both find yourself doing something daring. ❦ tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, lots of angst in this one, pining, lots of backstory here, outdoor sex, penetrative sex, knife (sword?) play, very brief oral sex (f receiving). ❦ a/n: after literal MONTHS, i have finally added another chapter. this is actually me releasing it for a second time tonight because clearly the first time, tumblr hated it so much that it wouldn’t let it show up in searches. i really hope you all enjoy, and i plan to be uploading a new chapter every three weeks, my schedule permitting. anyway, enjoy the filth! luv yas! and let me know if you’d like to join the taglist; i’d be glad to add you ^_^

- minty <3

taglist: @jiminisnotavirgin @aretha170 @btstrash2013 @bbykoos @aquaalanah​

“Your Majesty?” you hear a voice call from the end of the corridor.

It’s Jin.

You both freeze for a beat, and then simultaneously take a step back from each other. You avert your eyes; it feels like you might be spared a harsh reprimanding if you just look in the other direction, for some reason. You’re sure your guilt and embarrassment at being caught is displayed plainly on your face, though, despite your best efforts. You allow your eyes to rake up from the floor, over to Concubine Mother Kim, as he stands firmly in the panel of moonlight shining on the dark wooden floorboards. His hands are placed firmly on his hips and his face is stern; this isn’t a good sign. You gaze up at your emperor, whose embrace just moments ago made you feel so protected and hidden away from the problems of the real world. Who made you feel safe.

And his face is as shocked as yours. 

“Concubine Mother,” the emperor says cooly, recovering more quickly than you, though you can see a tinge of pink flush his cheeks. He’s also blinking far too much. Jin regards him for a moment and then turns to speak to you.

“Please tell me that I did not make an exception for you to stay late, only for you to fool around with the king in secret.”

“Concubine Mother,” Emperor Min says, “I was just walking her back to the wing so--”

“Emperor Min, forgive me,” Jin says, not truly asking for forgiveness by the tone he’s carrying, “but you cannot truly believe I don’t see what I see.”

Emperor Min looks down and clenches his jaw. 

“Off to bed,” Jin says firmly to you. The sting of forming tears tells you to avoid their gaze as you bow lightly to Jin, and then offer a slightly deeper one to the emperor. Quickly and quietly, you padd off to the bedchambers, not wanting either of them to catch the tear that spilled over. You want to look back so badly, but you stop yourself. You can’t even begin to imagine the trouble you’re both going to be in. You stop behind the archway of the shared bedroom and listen in on the hushed conversation.

“Concubine Mother,” the emperor begins, “she really did stay late at the market. She was walking back through the throne room and I stopped her so that we could speak.”

Jin scoffs, “Speak? Please. Surely you don’t take me as a fool. It has been noticed by a number of certain royal officials that you call on her often…”

The emperor sighs.

“I’ve been careful, Jin,” he assures him.

“Good. One more thing,” he says, “I told her that the guards would be briefed on her situation. There was no need for you to walk her to the dormitories.”

“I… I just wanted to,” the king muttered; you were barely able to hear it.

“I see,” Jin says, with a heavy pause, “Truly. Make no mistake, Your Highness. I see everything. And I understand more than you know.”

Silence.

“I see the way you look at her. The way she looks at you,” he continues, “It would behoove you, Your Majesty, to request some of the others more frequently. Other people… influential people may begin to notice…”

“Understood.”

You don’t know why but suddenly, the thought of the king being with his other concubines makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. This is part of your job; something that you are well used to by now. Or... you were.

“Concubine Mother?” the emperor asks, “Please don’t think she is causing trouble. This is on me.”

“Alright,” he says, “but I have to tell you that I love that girl like she’s my own family. Be careful with her.”

“As long as I am alive, no harm will come to her,” he says more firmly than anything else he’s said so far, “that is a promise.”

“Glad to hear it, Majesty.”

You walk as quickly and as silently as you can back to your bed, grabbing your night clothes from underneath and quickly changing into the loose gown. You put your daytime concubine clothing into the other basket for used clothing beneath the bed frame, and climb into your sheets. Casting a shadow in the moonlight draping on the side of the wall, you see Jin’s form pause for a moment at the open door frame before walking onward to his own private chambers. You really hope you aren’t going to be scolded badly for this.

You don’t sleep well.

The next day, the emperor keeps his distance from you, as expected. He normally keeps himself at arms length from you, but today he spares no suggestive and flirty glances. You can’t possibly be upset at that, given what happened last night, but your stomach does drop a little when you pass him and he purposely avoids your gaze. It looked like he was with officials again; he so easily wears his stress in the creases between his eyebrows. 

It’s like this for several days, and you learn to swallow it. The distance is a healthy reminder of what reality is, and it makes the heartache easier.

As before when you wanted to have some distance from everything, you decide to spend your day reading out in the North Gardens. He hasn’t called for you in almost a week, and you’ve temporarily decided to halt lessons as well. It pains you, the separation, but it’s better this way. Safer, this way. The thick novel you hold is helping you escape your own circling thoughts. Although they’ve calmed dramatically over the past few days, they are stirred easily by being busy in the palace. Having to stay vigilant of where the king is at all times, lest you give too much away is exhausting. Seeing the places in the palace that remind you of him is heart-wrenching. Reading next to the soft trickle of the fountain is always a comfort, and it allows you to put your guard down and breathe. You’re deep into your book when the head of the palace guard strolls by.

“Jungkook, hi,” you say, “lovely to see you.”

“Likewise, miss,” the young man says, “I was hoping I would find you out here. I have something for you.”

“Oh?” you ask, leaning forward and marking the spot in your book before putting it down.

He discreetly hands you a scrap of parchment, folded neatly into a small triangle. You know who it’s from, so you slip it into a flap of your dress and tuck it underneath your waist sash without batting an eye. He never sends notes, you think to yourself as you look back up at Jungkook. The only other one you’d received was the first one that he himself had slipped to you.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you say, after realizing that nobody can hear your conversation over the splash of the fountain and the chirp of the birds playing in it. He smiles back down at you, wisps of dark hair falling into his face. He is very young to be head of guard, especially for someplace as important as the royal palace, but he is exceptionally bright and extremely skilled in combat. If anyone had ever deserved a position, Jungkook deserved this one.

Jungkook has been an aide to you and the emperor for weeks now, in secret. He walked unannounced into the emperor’s bedchambers late one night, in an attempt to inform him of an urgent palace security matter, only to find the emperor instructing you with your practice sword how to properly parry to the air. 

You had both been struck dumbfounded when the head of the royal palace guard had stopped in his tracks, mouth agape, digesting what was occurring in front of him. You were sure you were as good as dead. 

You’ll never forget the feeling of relief when he spoke.

“She’d learn better if she were able to actually physically parry a sword, Your Majesty,” he had said with a cheeky smile.

It seems that more people than you had realized believe that a woman should have the right to defend herself, the head of the palace guard included. Jungkook was more than happy to help the two of you find a place to practice without worry of the noise escaping and exposing you both. You needed a way to practice outside of the palace walls, so that actual sword to sword contact could be made. It was Jungkook’s idea to change the guard routes to provide you both with an easy exit out of the back, but it was the emperor’s idea to meet in a small clearing in the woods, behind the palace and beyond its tall walls. He had confided to you the first night you were able to practice there that this is where he would come as a boy to practice alone. His father never liked for him to disappear, but he hated being watched all the time. This field was the only place he could be himself without the eyes of the whole kingdom on him. He had said it only felt right to teach his first student in this same place.

The first time your practice blade clashed with his under the stars had felt incredible. It was like you were truly learning to fight.

Now, in front of you, Jungkook doesn’t linger. He nods respectfully and continues strolling through the gardens as if he hadn’t come out here looking for you. You’re outside in broad daylight, after all. The man might be the head of the palace guard, but he still doesn’t take chances if he doesn’t have to. You decide to finish the chapter you’re on and then go back inside the palace to read your note, just to ensure you keep suspicion at bay. Even though you’re aching to see what Emperor Min has written to you.

He’s been under so much scrutiny lately that he’s been extremely stressed. That much is visible from his face alone, but there are whispers within the palace among the concubines about how his temper is getting shorter and shorter. You’re afraid of what that might mean for you, and the contents of the note.

What if he’s calling everything off? Could how he cares about you be a shadow to his overall responsibilities and appearance? It wouldn’t be unexpected, you’d just hoped… maybe it was different.

You’re on the end of the Northern Wing balcony when you find yourself alone enough to take the note from your waist sash and read it. 

“My dove,” it says, “I hope you’re looking forward to practice this evening. I’ve got something exciting planned for you, since it has been so long since we’ve last practiced. Make sure you drink plenty of water.”

Quickly folding the paper again, you return it to your sash. You run over the possibilities in your mind, trying to imagine what he has thought of for you. A million scenarios rush through your head, each one more exciting than the last. Is he going to challenge you to keep a hand behind your back? What if he starts teaching you disarming techniques? Does he think you’re ready for ground fighting?

Really, none of that matters. You’re just glad to return to your nightly routine. You’ve missed him.

You go back into the concubine wing and conduct the rest of your day in preparation of whatever it is you’re going to have to endure tonight. You go through your tasks almost shaking with excitement. Sending a note is risky, so whatever he has planned must be intense. 

You arrive at the clearing a little earlier than usual; your nerves are so on edge that if you had stayed in your bed any longer, you feel like you would have exploded.

You take the moment to enjoy the light breeze and the sound it makes as it rushes through the tall grass and the even taller trees. The sky is beautifully clear, and the moon, though not full, is bright enough to light up everything around you. In the far distance, above the top of the pines, you can just make out the very top of the royal palace. The gold ornamentation gently glimmers in the night. 

It’s not long before you spot your emperor’s pale skin as he walks through the clearing. As he emerges from the treeline, you can just make out that he is carrying a large bundle. The way his long cloak sways around him as he walks is enrapturing, the grass parting and bowing to your king as he steps forward.

“I’ll admit,” you say as he gets close enough to hear you speak, “When I read your note, countless scenarios went through my head. None of them involved a package.”

“You’re a bright woman, dove, but I still have tricks up my sleeve,” he says with a wink as he tosses the wrapped bundle lightly onto the grass between you. It’s like nothing at all has changed in the past week. He takes the two sheathed practice swords off of the canvas and drops them down onto the ground at his side.

“Well,” he says, “are you going to open your present?”

“Oh, it’s a present?” 

“A reward. You’ve impressed me with your hard work, and you deserve it.”

You stand there dumbfounded. 

“Open it, dove,” he says quietly.

Bending down, you remove layers of the tough canvas until you feel something softer. It’s a strange array of padded cloth, in various odd shapes. You look up at your king, standing over you with his hands behind his back, chewing on his lip. Is he… nervous? You dig into the package further and pull out the largest piece. You hold it up and it finally hits you; it looks like a sort of jacket, with two pads on either top side… for arms?

“It’s…?” you start.

“Armor,” he says, almost too quickly, and then hesitates, “for you.”

You’re frozen where you crouch, blinking at the armour set in front of you. The white fabric is edged and trimmed with a fine gold thread, and the padding in the quilting is firmer than one would expect. You give it a good squeeze, and despite its lightweight feel, it’s extremely resilient. It doesn’t bend at all, no matter how much you try to warp it. It’s the best gift you’ve ever received.

In one swift motion, you drop the torso piece into the pile and throw yourself over the package and up onto him. He stumbles back, clearly not expecting the embrace, but it’s only a moment before he melts into it. His arms around your back pull you in tight, and you realize that you’ve missed the way he smells. You almost wish you would have purchased the scent you’d found at the market booth last week. You would have, had you known that he would be gone from you for so long.

“You better hurry and put it on, dove. We don’t have all night,” he says into the shell of your ear. Reluctantly, you pull away and pick up the mound of cloth. You trot to one side of the clearing where there is a particularly large bush. Behind it, you change. Even though the king has seen every last inch of you, it still seems appropriate to change out of sight for this. You don’t even have to remove your gown, but you want it to be a surprise.

Once you have the set on and tied, you walk back out into the clearing. He has his back turned to you, clearly having the same idea, so you call out to him.

“Your Majesty?”

He turns around and takes his time looking at your form. His eyes slowly rake over you, from top to bottom, and a small smile gradually spreads across his face. You wish you could know what he’s thinking, but more than anything, you want him near to you again.

“Aren’t you going to come see how it fits?” you tease. He lowers his gaze and walks slowly to where you stand in the tall grass. He lifts up one of your arms and holds it delicately as he makes a show of examining it. 

“Is it too heavy?” he asks, lowering your arm and reaching around your back, barely touching it. 

“I don’t think so, Your Highness,” you reply, turning fully around once so that he may see.

“And you wear it well,” he says, landing a peck on the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, “of course you do. Come, let’s begin. Let’s see if it works.”

The night is spent as the other nights in the clearing are. You goad each other into a type of dance, explosively throwing strikes and deftly dodging them. You do feel a slight encumbrance at the addition of the light armor, but it also makes you more bold. You take more chances as the night progresses, knowing that the padding will lessen the blow of the dull practice sword that he swings in your direction. The contact still hurts, though, and you quickly begin to tire. It doesn’t help that you haven’t practiced in over a week, either. Other than pure love for the art, stamina has to be another reason the emperor practices as much as he does. Without constant practice, you can expect to exhaust yourself quickly. And you’re absolutely already there. So you start making desperate moves, just so the match will end and you can rest a moment.

You take the opportunity to use your padded forearm to parry away an overhead strike, and he uses your open body posture to his advantage. He lunges forward, and you find yourself crashing onto the soft ground below, his weight fully on top of you. The practice blade falls out of your hand and topples into the grass. You’re both panting wildly, and you look up into his angry eyes.

“Have you forgotten that a sword has a blade, dove?” he asks, not even trying to hide the anger in his tone. 

“No, I…” you begin, but can’t find the words. You know what he’s getting at, but you’re too tired.

“If you were to pull that move in a real fight, with a real blade, you would be missing an arm,” he says coldly. He grabs the forearm you used to block.

“This isn’t metal. It’s cloth. Do you think a real sword could not pierce it?” he asks harshly. You don’t answer.

“Do you?!” he repeats, more forcefully. 

“It... could, Your Majesty…” you say, almost in a whisper. You aren’t sure why he’s so upset about this.

“Never do that again. Do you understand? You will never use your own body as a shield.” You can’t take it anymore. It’s been an entire week with not so much as a word, and now that you finally get to see him again, he’s fussing at you.

“I won’t ever have to,” you spit back at him, “I will never be in any real danger. I will never actually wield a true blade against another. Unlike you, I will never have to. This is all just for fun, and you know it. There’s no point in me pretending it’s real when it’s not. There’s no reason for me to treat this seriously when at the end of the day, it’s just a game. This is all just a game. This means nothing. Nothing real will come out of this, you know, because it can’t. It can’t matter. It can’t be real.”

He stands up and walks a few paces away from you. His fingers run through his hair, and you hear him sigh.

“What if it were real?” you barely hear him ask.

What?!

“Your Majesty?”

“Would you like to wield a real blade?”

There’s no point in lying. There’s no reason to hide what you want.

“Yes. I do,” you say. He sighs. Reaching for his own sword in the grass.

“Then do it,” he says, slowly closing the distance between you. He unsheathes his sword, holds the shining blade in his two open palms, and extends it out to you.

“But that’s your blade, My King…” you begin.

“Yes, dove, I am aware,” he replies, “I want you to use it. Tonight. Against me.”\

No. This isn’t fair.

“What will you use, then? It’s not fair if I have a blade and you do not. What if I… kill you?”

The king just chuckles.

“My dear, you have yet to land a strike to me, and you are worried that you’re going to kill me?” he says, rolling his eyes, before looking into yours again. You’re unconvinced. He just sighs.

“I promise, I’ll be fine.” 

You take the blade, and tighten your right hand around the tang. Your knuckles turn white under the stress. It’s lighter than you thought it would be. You step back and give it a few swings to test the balance and weight. You look at the glint of the moon on the blade, and then look up to meet the eyes of your king. He’s got the practice sword at the ready, and puts his left foot back into a ready stance. There’s not a drop of fear in his eyes. 

In fact, he looks more excited than he’s ever been. You feel a boldness rising through your belly, and you hoist up the blade. Each one of your strikes are met with the clang of his practice blade, and the shrill scrape of blade against metal rips through the night air.

He blocks each of your attacks with precision and ease, and before long, your body begins to betray you. Your dodges become much slower, and soon, you find it hard to take another step. He shows no signs of exhaustion; in fact, his blocks become even more forceful. You let the sword fall gently to the grass at your side, a clear sign to your opponent that you’re done.

He grins and slowly steps to where you stand panting and holds out both of his hands, palms up. You place his sword back into his possession, and crash onto the ground below. You catch your breath as you study the stars. You hear the metal as the emperor sheaths his blade, and you feel the grass shift as he sits next to you. 

“How did it feel?” he asks.

“Like…” you begin, before settling on the right word, “I was unstoppable.”

“Oh, I assure you,” he says with a chuckle, “you were quite stoppable.” 

“Yes, but that’s not how I felt!” you say, playfully hitting him on the arm.

“Yes, that is one of the blessings and curses of learning this discipline,” he says, running his fingers through your messy hair, “You gain confidence, but it can often be miscalculated.” He lets that sink in. He continues. 

“I would be doing you a disservice if I were to simply teach you the technique and forgo the attitude one must have. You see, dove, having the skill to wield a weapon in practice is different than an actual survival situation. Even here, your senses heighten and you feel your body strengthen with nerves, but in a real battle, that heightening of your senses can hold you back. It can cost you a limb. It can cost you your life.”

“Even though you will never see a real opponent, I have an obligation as your teacher to share with you everything I know,” he looks up at you, “I won’t allow for your knowledge to be single sided. A sword’s strength lies in it’s two blades, does it not?” Several beats pass as you take in everything he’s said.

“Thank you,” you say, “for everything. It was exciting to wield a true blade. The danger was… exciting.”

“You know, I had a feeling that you would feel that way. Perhaps I have one additional new thing to introduce you to this evening…”

He reaches over to your arm, where the light armor is fixed in place. He starts to untie the knots at your wrist, kissing the skin once exposed. With every time his lips meet your skin, your heart threatens to come up out of you. But no matter how much you missed him, you can’t stop the brat inside of you from coming out.

“I think I can remove my own armor,” you tease, pulling your arm away from him.

“Yes, but it’s much more fun when I do it,” he replies, grabbing a hold of your other arm. You let him slowly take off each piece of armor, and then your dress, and then your undergarments. He removes his own robe and tosses it to the side, leaving only his undershorts in place.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, wondering what your king has in store for you. 

He reaches over and unsheathes his sword, and everything you thought was going to happen melts away. 

“The danger excited you, dove?” he asks, casually examining his blade in front of you. 

“Yes, My King,” you reply cautiously, and then feel the need to explain yourself, “I...  didn’t know if the blade would cut… If it would slash you, or if I would make a mistake and nick myself…”

He slowly inches his blade closer to you, and stops right before making contact with the skin on your leg.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. You nod carefully, and he grins. “Be very still.” He turns his sword so that the flat side of the blade is facing you, and he slowly presses it against the hot skin of your thigh. The cool metal shocks you, but you are able to remain perfectly still, captivated by the danger of the blade. Every inch he drags the blade unearths something deep within your belly.

He finally removes it from your thigh, and places it in the grass to the side of your body as he kneels down. Now between your legs, he takes the tip of his nose and runs it up to the apex of your thighs, warm breath ghosting over where his cool blade had just been. He arrives at your cunt, and takes the tip of his nose to your clit.

“Mmm, you’re already wet… I knew you would enjoy that,” he says into your folds, “Maybe we should do it again.” Even though it doesn’t come out as a question, his eyes look up at you from his place in between your legs as if asking for permission. Mouth agape, you nod your consent.

“Excellent,” he says, licking a stripe up your slit.

He reaches for the sword at your side, and gives your clit one more sloppy kiss. You watch as the edge of the blade glimmers as he lifts himself up. You allow yourself to fully drop to the soft earth below, your messy hair strewn about the grass. He sits above you, and lowers his blade down so that the flat side of the tip barely touches your forehead. He removes it and places it again, but lower, cold and weighty on the pillows of your parted lips. 

He removes the blade and presses it lower still, at the dip in your clavicle, and begins to gently drag it down. As the blade slides down your chest, the chilling touch of the metal makes your pussy clench in anticipation. He slides the entire length between the mounds of your breasts, letting the tip trail down to your belly button, and as soon as the tip is about to reach your clit, he picks up the blade. He rotates it tip-side up, so that the hilt is to the ground. He takes the knob of the tang and presses it on your clit, moving in small circles against your bud. The king moves the shaft of the handle down until he’s teasing your entrance with it. 

He adds pressure, toying with inserting it into your eager slit. You buck your hips up and throw them in circles, desperately trying to get more friction against the hilt of his sword.

“Do you want something, dove?” the king asks nonchalantly, though his eyes betray him.

“Please, Your Majesty,” you whine, “please fuck me.”

“Hmmm,” he teases, “should I?”

“Please,” you whisper, on the verge of tears. It’s been an entire week. Even though you tried your hardest to push him out of your mind, your nightly dreams betrayed you. 

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he says, tossing his sword onto the grass to your left and pulling himself out of the top of his shorts. He runs his thumb over the tip, spreading the drops of precum that bead there. He rubs his length up your folds, taking the slick that’s there, before pressing into you. 

He doesn't allow you time to adjust to the stretch before he’s thrusting hard into you, but he knows by now that you like your pleasure with a drop of pain.

You buck your hips up into him to meet his thrusts, and reach up to touch his chest. A thin coat of sweat forms under your hand, and you slowly trace your hand down his torso until it meets his cock. He feels better than your dreams depicted, but you want more.

You use the last bit of your strength to sit up and push him down onto his back. The change in position pushes him deeper into you, and you grind hard onto him. 

“I think I like when your confidence is boosted, little one..” he says, “But don’t think you’re going to get away with that.”

He grabs your arms and pulls you down onto him, locking you in by wrapping his arms around your back. He pushes his hips up and begins snapping them up into you relentlessly. He moves his arms from securing your back to palming your ass cheeks, spreading them slightly to bring the shock of cool air.

He allows you to sit up, and you support your weight with your knees so that he can continue his pace. It’s not a difficult task, since you have grown in strength. The new angle has him hitting your most sensitive spot, and in seconds, you’re hurtling toward your climax. He reaches up and hooks one of his thumbs into your mouth, and that alone has you tumbling over the edge.

It’s not long before he finishes as well, spilling his seed inside of you. You collapse on top of him, having spent every ounce of energy you have. 

You both lay there for a moment, just holding each other. Taking in every detail you can about this moment. His parted lips, how his chest is still rising and falling as he catches his breath, the soft waves of his long, golden hair, how the muscles of his arm flex as he gently rubs your back. 

In the arms of your king, the only man in the world who isn’t permitted to love you, you feel at home.

Like a ton of bricks, you remember that you shouldn’t allow yourself this feeling, so you pull away from him. The last time you allowed yourself this luxury, it could have cost you your life. He slips out of you, and his seed begins to spill out as you stand. You go to retrieve your clothes, grabbing the cloth that was used to wrap your armor and using it to clean yourself. 

“We should go back,” you say, glancing back at him. His brows are slightly furrowed, and his face drops as you speak. 

“Yeah,” he says, focused on the ground and picking at some of the strands of long grass that poke at his arms. Distracting himself.

You turn back around so that he can’t see that your eyes are filling with tears.

 “Yeah.”

[estherwritess]

Recipes 2

Pairing: Single parent!Sakusa x Teacher!reader

wc: 1,2k+

genre: fluff, cute domestic stuffs

pt1

A/N: bc some people asked me for a pt two, here u goes, I love writing these sm

It’s been a while since your interaction with Sakusa, keeping contact through text every once and a while. It seemed he was quite the busy man, so the fact that he made time to send you a text every once in a while actually surprised you. You’d never gotten this lucky that a nonetheless cute bachelor would put in the effort to message you despite having a busy schedule instead of brushing it off and ignoring you for days on end. You still saw him or one of his friends pick up Eiji from class every once in a while; his friends were definitely an… interesting bunch to be around. The first time someone else came to pick up Eiji, it was a white and orange haired duo, they were extremely chaotic to say the least and you felt a bit guilty letting Eiji go home with them. They were nice but the only reason you weren’t worried sick was because Sakusa had warned you via text.

They stuck around for a while, probably because they wanted to know more about the girl who had been occupying their teammates mind as well as his time. Eiji seemed to adore them though, possibly because they were so energetic together, at times resembling the innocent joy of a child; especially the orange-haired one.

The second time it was a different person, a blonde with a dark undercut. He had a strange accent, you’d observed that as soon as he opened his mouth. His tone was flirty whenever he talked to you but you chalked it up to his personality as Sakusa had told you over a quick text message, once again to inform you someone else was picking his son up.

You definitely weren’t willing to admit it so easily to other teachers who sometimes co-taught with you or would stand next to you while you monitored the playground; but you were definitely waiting for that text from Sakusa to come over and bake those cookies with him. They caught on after a while, the subtle looks, the flirty undertone; it was painfully obvious to bystanders.

---

You finally get that long-awaited text on the weekend, laying around on your couch jolting up as you hear the sound of an incoming text. Your hands are slightly shaky as you try and find your phone that had to be somewhere on the couch; you mentally reprimand yourself for having basically recreated the pavlov experiment except it was with the sound of a text message this time.

‘If you’re free, come help out with me and Eiji please?’

He doesn’t have to ask you twice as you’re rushing off the couch, forcing yourself to squeeze into close that were more presentable than the worn down sweats and oversized t-shirt you had previously been wearing. It didn’t take very long before you were off to the address he’d texted you a bit later.

---

You had to admit, standing in front his house was quite intimidating to you and pressing the doorbell was quite the achievement if you had to say so yourself. You hear the pitter patter of bare feet sprint to the door, Eiji staring at you from behind the glass paneling next to the door, his tiny hand pressed against the glass as his eyes are trained on you a big smile across his lips. You could hear his high pitched voice urging his dad to come over because “the pretty teacher” was here. As the door opens, Sakusa seems to freeze a bit in place, hand tightly gripping the door handle while his son is eagerly pulling at his pant leg whining for his dad to let you in.

Luckily he seems to snap out of it and invites you in, your eyes curiously wandering through the narrow stretched walkway dividing the rooms.

“I should probably wash my hands first right?” you smile weakly, lifting your hands up.

He nods, “that’d be nice, thank you”.

You timidly follow him to the kitchen, Eiji trailing behind you, excitedly blabbering on about something new he learnt. You smile at the boy who was now hopping next to you, excited to have his favourite teacher help out. You walk yourself to the sink, washing your hands, eyes concentrated as you open your mouth to speak up.

“did you buy the ingredients i sent to you?” you hear a low hum behind you as well as some rummaging.

“papa! can I help out?” Eiji pops in, hands clasped together while he pulls the most convincing puppy eyes you’d ever seen. You can’t help but mutter a soft ‘aww’ under your breath as you see Sakura's expression crack, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips; He was clearly enchanted by how adorable his son was and you couldn’t help but melt at the cute interaction between a father and his son.

“I think you’d be a great help!” you chime in while drying your hands off with the designated towel hanging from the hook; bending through your knees to look at eiji you gave him a thumbs up.

“let’s wash your hands first alright buddy?” you motion towards the sink, he’s quick on his feet as he pulls out the little stool specifically for him that stood to the side. It was quite uncomfortable at first but you quickly felt that tension easy away as time passed on. You felt a surge of confidence as you leant against the kitchen island, eyes curiously looking at Sakusa.

“So, do you just invite every teacher over to help you bake?” your tone is light as you chuckle at your own statement; what you didn’t expect however, was that he’d actually reply to you.

“Only the ones I think are cute,” he pauses, wiping a strand away from his face, “which would be a grand total of one”. The sheer embarrassment that flashes across your face is enough to make you turn around for a second, w blush rapidly making its way onto your cheeks and neck. You choose to dismiss the comment as Eiji is rapidly approaching, you give sakusa a small nudge to make place for you and his son.

“Alright, let’s get started then, everyone has washed their hands?” you look around to be met by two nodding heads, one more excited than the other.

You’ve taken a bowl in hand, carefully handing Eiji an egg: he’s standing atop of his stool next to you so he would actually be able to see what was going on on the counter. He looks at you expectantly and points at the bowl,

“Can you help me crack it?” and so you do, you hold both his wrists and help him with the movement of cracking an egg, you didn’t blame him for not wanting to get egg everywhere because he got a bit too excited and you were sure his father wouldn’t have been very happy with it either.

While you’re preoccupied with the task of not making a horrible mess in the kitchen, you fail to see how Sakusa is leaning against the marble slate of the kitchen island, supported by his hands as his eyes are watching you. He however doesn’t fail to notice how his sons eyes light up in your presence, how he feels his own mood brightening and most of all; he feels like his family is complete for once.

Cheesecult taglist: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @mlkytobio @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji  @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma  @kawanisshi @milkandc00kiez @thiccbokuto @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq @badlywritten-hq @mochibeaa @oinkanna @chxrry-wxne @spudicide @airybby @asranomical @karmasuna @nekoglasses​

Taglist: @hihiq @heccingdead @mitzwinchester​ @izzyphantomgamer @clauclaustar @idiot-juice-enthousiast @kara-grayson04​

[immortalonus]

Where You Belong: Chapter One.

So in case you guys were wondering where I vanished off to, the answer is mostly work. This chapter also took way, way more brain power than I really intended, so I didn't really have the energy to post much else.

I could probably edit this more, but I swear if I spend one more hour editing this I will go insane, so here it is, chapter one of my first multi-chapter fic in, *checks calendar,* four years!?

Jeez, time really does fly, doesn't it?

Read on AO3

If I were Where I Would be, Then I Would be Where I Am not. But where I am, There I must be. And where I would be, I cannot.

-American Folk Poem.

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As soon as Valerie had flown out of sight of Plasmius’ portal, she made a point to dump everything he had given her for the trip.

First, the communication devices. She had no desire to talk to anyone, much less the creepy, lying, traitorous ghost-thing masquerading as Vlad Masters. She gave the DALVco edition headset her best fast ball, taking no small satisfaction in watching it break piece by piece as it clattered against the frames of one floating door after another before finally vanishing into the mists below.

If Plasmius wanted to talk to her, he could crawl out of his portal and find her himself. Which he wasn’t going to do, because he had a cover to maintain. After all, what kind of delicate, elderly gentleman would throw himself into a dimension of rarified death? Not Mister Masters, oh no.

Especially not when he had a willing pawn to do it for him.

The more surreptitious listening devices went next. Fat, disgusting, bloated insects they were, bugs in function as much as form.And they were everywhere.

She found them wedged between her armor joints, the soles of her boots, in the crevices of her guns, and, after putting her systems through an intensive self-diagnostic, her hair.

When had he touched her hair?

She made a point to crush them all. Either plucking off the parasites directly, or, in the case of those lodged beneath her suit, pulling them into her storage unit and spitting them back out again into the open atmosphere where they could be destroyed.

She removed everything else Plasmius had given her immediately after: Several days worth of food, a large pop up tent, a sleeping bag, a map, several spare weapons, a well thumbed biography on Vince Lombardi and more spewed out of her storage units like a sickness, purged in gouts down to the waiting abyss.

Any thing he'd handled, all his supplies, every “present” he'd ever bestowed, she made a point to dump them all.

But God, when had he touched her hair?

Once she was finished, it felt almost like a victory. With no material proof of her obligations, it was easy to imagine she was already free.

She would finish this mission on her own. No outside aid, no puppet-masters, no regrets.

------------------------------------------

/Sorrysorry-soverysorry!/

“Shut up!”Valerie had regrets.

/sorrysorrysorry/

So many regrets.

“I said shut up, you stupid bug!”

She emphasized her point by kicking the target of her ire right in the soft parts of its creepy, eye studded thorax.

This was stupid, she was stupid, but more than anything, she was pissed.

Valerie took a few steps closer to her target, gait slightly uneven for the lack of both her usual boots. While she wasn't going to die anytime soon, as the black leather that fit snug as skin across her body, the true barrier against the toxic atmosphere of the Zone, remained fully intact, it didn't stop her from being mad about it.

The bug, which had finally stopped gibbering in that vile, hissing tongue that had become more and more common the deeper she ventured into the pea-soup hellscape otherwise known as the ghost zone, took the opportunity to cower against the calciferous outgrowth that had halted its pitiful attempt at flight from Valerie's relentless pursuit.

She had hunted ghosts stronger and faster than this every day back in Amity, and could not help the faint sensation of disgust that came over her at the sight of a figure so unexpectedly pathetic. Did she appear so weak that this creature, along with the half a dozen or so of its less successful, but no less kleptomaniacally inclined ilk see fit to prey upon her? Did she seem so low indeed, that even the meanest, most beggarly of the Zone's inhabitants should see her as some object to pilfer and mock?

It was the work of a moment to summon her laser cubes, pulling them from the pocket dimension from which they resided to slide noiselessly over to the insect lying prone before her. With a thought, they flew forward, two each to press down on the thing's chitinous skull, heightening the artificial glow of her suit as she did for that extra sense of intimidation.

It was an ability she'd never had the need for back on earth, only to find herself putting it to use with unhappy frequency not a day after she'd set off on her journey.

Everything in the realm of the dead glowed, and the capacity to put off and manipulate one's own aura was a hallmark of the creatures that 'lived' within it. Those that didn't stood out strangely, casting shadows upon themselves and the world in a way that made them an obvious anomaly in the otherwise antumbral reaches of the Zone.

While Valerie didn't enjoy wasting her resources on glowing like she was her very own spook, she also hated wasting time, which advertising her humanity to every ghost that glanced her way very much did; a lesson that she'd learned after fending off an entire assault squad of ghost police, who had chased her for ages while screaming about her criminal possession of so many 'real world objects' within their territory.

That it also made sure any enemies never anticipated her ability to phase through objects came in handy from time to time as well, such as when a would-be thief, for example, tried to duck into a thicket in an effort to snarl its pursuer.

As expected, the bug shuddered in response to the cold touch of the barrel against its skin, curling into itself as it looked up into the dark panel of her faceplate.

Valerie leaned down, pinning it between herself, her guns, and the stony trunk of what, on this particular island, seemed to serve as some kind of tree.

/Alright, Manbug, one more time./ Her voice crackled and popped through her translators, adding even more intimidation to a tone already modulated down to something lower and crueler than her natural snarl. /Where. Did you. Put. My Stuff. /

The insect whimpered a little harder, oozing something suspiciously close to snot from the hole above its writhing mouthparts. It remained otherwise silent, however, as it shook.

Valerie pulled back her leg and kicked it again.

The imitation flesh buckled beneath her toes, causing the creature to squeal, a nonverbal expression of pain peaking just beyond her range of hearing as it flickered invisible, writhing in a hopeless gambit to escape the weapons still clamped against its head.

Funny how ghosts kept so many features they really shouldn't need anymore. Like joints, for example. Was it a subconscious matter, or some kind of deliberate choice, Just one more means to mock the living, their very forms a cruel parody of everything they once had been?

She silenced the voice which whispered how she should know by now, that it wasn't that easy. There were more important things to focus on.

/P-please./

The bug focused its myriad gaze on the huntress' visor, all six limbs twisted over themselves, wrapped tight over its oozing midsection.

/In error, Milor- Milord. Your place, held, not neutral. Shall honor, please. /

It was leaking from the eyes too, now, viscous fluid pouring from its dozens of eyes, wetting it bodily, puddling down onto the dark purple earth, adding to the halo of scattered goods and tchotchkes that had spilled out from the overstuffed bags that it had clung to for dear life even as they toppled, overbalanced from a too-fast turn, dragging the creature headfirst into ruin.

/Mer- mercy./

This wasn't fair. This miserable thing, begging in the dirt like it hadn't gotten anything more than what it deserved.

Valerie grimaced, rubbing the heel of her palm against her faceplate. Phantom's visage, not long past, looked up to her from the depths of her memory, face just as desperate, just as indisputably, distressingly genuine as when she'd first seen it.

“Valerie, You don't want to do this.”

“Like I have a choice, spook.” She muttered.

She took a deep breath, sucking in the same recycled exhalation she'd been breathing for nearly a week now, and took a moment to actually think her situation through.

She wasn't lost. She had no idea where she was, but she wasn't lost: That would imply a level of helplessness she could not bring herself to admit. What little food and water she had brought with her had been eaten a while back, reducing her to scavenge among the portal droppage scattered through those areas not patrolled by mad policemen, hoping she could find something sufficiently sealed against ectoplasmic encroachment to remain edible.

She reconsidered her captive, still trembling on the ground. A ghost zone native, utterly at her mercy, and, by the looks of things, a serial hoarder of goods.

/You want mercy? Fine. But you do what I say, exactly as I say it, M'kay?/

While the guns pinning its head in place were something of an obstacle, the bug did manage a spasmodic sort of jerking motion, forebody pushed back and forth with desperate, eager haste.

/(Enthusiasm,) (enthusiasm,) assent! Lord, generous, gratitude, respect./

“Good, now-”She held out one hand, palm expectant.

/Give 'em back./

It responded slowly, still slobbering at the maw, all eyes fixed on the huntress as it unwound its uppermost limbs, which reached up towards those tattered bundles still clustered fungiform over its heaving thorax, rifling between twine-like bindings for what seemed an age.

Patience had never been a skill of Valerie's, and she found herself torn between wanting the moment to last forever and wishing go faster instead, tightening her mental grip over her laser cubes, fingering the internal triggers in anticipation of some sudden, traitorous motion on the part of her captive.

Ghosts were deceptive, dangerous creatures, except, of course, when they weren't.

Without any ability to tell the difference, she could do nothing but pace at the bars of her patience, waiting for the moment to act.

Finally, a claw submerged itself into one of the parcels, pulling out one boot, and, just beside it, a single leather fold.

This was it. Valerie snatched the wallet from its pincers. The boot was replaceable, her construct engines could make another now, if she wanted to waste the resources for it, but her wallet-She flipped open the small leather parcel, noted immediately that the contents were not any state remotely akin to how she had left them.

/Milord?/

The bug was still subtly trying to wriggle its way out from under her guns. Her systems noted, then deleted, increased energy expenditure from her laser cubes as they were forced to adjust to its motions.

Useless data. A ghost of so low a caliber could never hope to escape so easily.

Debit card-broken, bent until the plastic whitened from an excess of pressure; Dollar bills balled together and crammed into a single pocket, still damp with a kind of ectoplasm that looked disquietingly similar to the slobber still dripping from the mouthparts of the bug before her; Plastic wrappers, spare coins, a concert flyer for a band she'd always wanted to see.

/Ah, Milord? Pardon, Excuse?/

All of it. This vile, twisted excuse for an insect had messed with all of it. It had played with her most important cards and documents like they were toys, then shoved them back in with utter disregard for any sense of their value once it was done.

/Goods, returned, trust?/

Dread crept into her heart as she reached into the backmost pocket of her billfold, the place where she kept the picture of her.

/more goods? Information? Information on goods? Release, please?/

It was shoved in the very bottom of the wallet, balled into the crease where the two halves of leather were joined into one. She pulled it out, fingers shaking only slightly as they smoothed it back into a more flattened form.

The Red Huntress had no face, and never had Valerie been more grateful for that absence than in that moment, when she beheld the true extent of the damage done to Polaroid before her.

Soft white creases were everywhere, shattering the image into isolated fragments of its former self. It had been torn, too, at the edges, a grip too hard, twisting too far, integrity compromised as a result.

The worst of the damage by far, however, were a series of punctures, scattered at random through the center of the photograph, small to medium perforations forming little absences where there had once been trees and grass, where there had been a woman's face. A hole sat primly above her dark neck, arched back into nothing, a yawning gap where once there had been laughter.

The Huntress turned her blank visage back to her captive, who froze in the act of trying to pry her weapons out of position. Cowardly, but expected. Trusting a ghost was a fools game she had no intent on playing.

/Ah, haha, (nervous) (nervous,) (respect.)/ The target pulled its claws back up against itself, fiddling with the tips as it looked up to her absent regard.

/...Milord?/

The Red Huntress had no face, could betray no emotion, could reveal none of the cold black welter that rushed up through the depths of her breast and pressed against her throat. An impassive machine, possessed of a will stripped free of feeling.

No sliver of her intent showed through, no shudder passed from her shaking fingers to her gauntleted hands, not even the psychic senses of a ghost could hope to detect the lava that boiled up from her guts, pressing against her skin in an sheet of living fire even as the pits of her stomach chilled to ice.

The bug was still looking up at her, eyes all expectant, when she commanded her one of her guns to fire.

A bright streak of energy shot through the top of its head, hard pink flash cutting through a wave of green.

It squealed, jerked all six limbs towards the missing portion of its skull in a hopeless effort to stop the thick chunks of ectoplasm from slopping down the side of its face. Valerie brought her foot down at the same moment, crushing its forelimbs down into the dust. Forelimbs tipped with little claws, just large enough to fit the holes in a certain photograph.

/Why!? Ancients, why, why!?/

Why?

“Why the hell not?” she snarled, “Ain't that how it works here?”

If a different ghost wanted to rob her blind every time she tried to sleep, they could. If Valerie wanted to chase down the one that finally succeeded, she could. There were no laws here, there were no rules, there weren't even morals. There was nothing to stop anyone from doing anything, so why should she be the one to hold herself back?

She lifted her foot off its claws, then swung it once again into its thorax, only just crusted over from where she had kicked it before.

It squealed, just like she imagined another ghost would, red eyes wide and frightened, vampiric teeth shattered against her fist, choking as she wrapped her fingers around his blue, blue, skin.

He deserved this, it deserved this, she was in the right. She had been tricked, mislead, mistaken maybe, but she wasn't wrong, she was in the right.

And if there was some dark curl of satisfaction there, a self righteous flame alighted just where she'd been coldest in that moment of hate, then that was proof, wasn't it? Of just how right she was.

She bent down to her target, which had started drooling all over again, ground speckled green and wet as it heaved against itself. It was disgusting enough that she would have shot it in the mouth instead of the head, but she still needed information, which meant it still needed to talk.

It's upper set of antenna had survived the cranial blast, making for an easy handhold as she yanked its drooping head up to face her once again. At the same time, she sent her guns down to its chest, where its energy levels peaked their highest.

Ghosts, much like the cockroaches they resembled, could survive well enough without a head, but none, not one could ever hope to make it without their precious ghostly core.

“Listen up spook.” She hissed. /Here's how this is gonna work. You lie, I shoot. You run, I shoot. Got it?/Its head twitched up and down, the smallest possible motion of assent.

/Good./

This was what it took, when it came to ghosts. Cooperation proceeded pain, loyalty from the threat of it, and mercy not at all.

/We'll start with the questions./

She allowed her guns to charge power, deadly, scintillating hum filling the air with the sound of her malintent.

/I like what I hear, maybe I let you keep talking./

Author's note: If Sam is more pride than wrath, then Val is more wrath than pride, IMO. I've done my best to write her accordingly

[obaby-me]

Rooftop Rendezvous

Leviathan x Reader

Right trope, wrong genre.

Author’s Note:  I tried something new for me, trying to be gender neutral in a smut.  It was difficult and I may not have conveyed it all right.  If ya’ll got any tips, hit me up.  Some constructive criticism on this one is definitely accepted.

You’d told him you had something special planned for him.

It started with breakfast.  You gave him toast with jam and told him to hurry on his way or he’d be late.  You’d recommended that he eat while he run.

He found a love letter waiting for him in locker.

You’d saved him a seat at a window at the back of the room.

You gave him a bento you had made for him.

By the third-class period he’d caught on to your special surprise.

You had pulled out every stop in giving him a simulated experience of a protagonist in an anime!  What the specific genre was, he was yet uncertain, but you had planned out a whole story for him for his day.

Was it a simple slice of life?  Or was it supernatural?  Would there be magic?  Maybe it was simply a romance?  After all, you two had been together for some.  Regardless, he was giddy beyond measure!

For lunch, you invited him up to the roof.  Another staple trope of any story with a school setting.  It’s where all the key events happen:  where close friends gather for a place away from it all; where characters develop with heart-to-heart conversations or through brooding monologues; and of course, where romantic confessions and quiet dates between lovers take place.

“Don’t be late,” you had warned him, with a coy smile and finger of your lips.  “I want every second I can with you.”

He couldn’t stop smiling in the class just before, daydreaming of the possibilities that awaited him.  And the minute the teacher dismissed the class, he practically sprinted to meet you. He thought that perhaps he would get a love confession, or you’d be feeding him bites from his special bento.

When he’d opened the door to the roof, you greeted him with a peck on his cheek, an action that still made him blush no matter how many times you did so—but at least he’d stopped protesting as opposed to when you first began dating.  He’d learned if he put any sort of unwillingness you would stop immediately.  He could never tell if was because you were teasing him or if you were trying to be considerate.

“I found the naughtiest book peeking out from your bed,” you hummed, pulling from behind you book he knew too well.

His body went cold, his muscles rigid as the gears in his head slowly turned at the

His hentai.  The mangas he’d removed from his shelves and hidden away under his bed since your arrival to the House of Lamentation—you’d found them! He was a yucky otaku, but he didn’t want you to know he was a pervert too.

But now you did now. And he was mortified.  The only noise he could make was drawn out scream as he stumbled back against the door he’d closed behind him.  “I-I—” he tried to explain, but no good excuse came to the forefront of his mind.

“I was so excited when I did,” you cooed as you approached him, practically predatory.

“E-excited?”  He asked with confusion.  He’d thought for sure you were going to be upset.  But your tone and that look in your eye said otherwise. He gulped audibly unsure this was even happening.

“Oh, yes very.  I was especially fond of the little rendezvous on the rooftop here.”  You told him, opening the book to a page you had dog eared.  He’d have to be mad about that later.

Instead he could only attempt to gather air into his lungs as his mouth opened and closed while small noises that were attempts at words seemed to flow out.

“I was hoping, we could re-enact a something from it,” you whispered, a finger trailing up his shirt, eyes flitting up to him.  You bit your lip in the most enticing way, the way he knew you knew he liked.

The only thing he could do was nod frantically as you slowly fell to your knees, a wicked glint in your eye.

“You can stop me at any time,” you assured him—to which he wildly shook his head no.  No, he didn’t dare to turn this opportunity down.  Frantically he searched for the door handle behind him, locking the door as his signal that he was more than ready, despite his embarrassment and his incredibly reddened face.

Pleased, you unbuckled his pants and pulled them down only half way down his thighs, only just enough for you to get your face flat against him and rub against his cock against your soft cheek, peering up at him.  With a shaking hand he stroked your hair, as you began to kiss up his shaft to the tip, and lick a long stripe down again.  With kitten licks, you teased him, and his legs began to shake—mostly from nerves as much as impatience.  In an attempt to soothe him, you ran your hands up his thighs stroking in circles.

When you finally wrapped your lips around his cock, you took him inch by inch, each time pulling back and coming down for just a little bit more.  Warm, soft, and slick.  He bucked his hips and found to his surprise that you gripped his thighs and pushed him hard against the door as a way to stop him.

Your eyes held a warning, and he whined.  “P-please… You’re teasing!  I-it’s not fair…”  His hands moving up to cover his mouth from further noises to escape him.

You moan around him, and he feels his cock hit the back of your throat, your hands pumping what you had yet to put in your mouth.  You had more to go, and he couldn’t stand the wait.

But the more you worked him, the less he thought of the door, of being heard, and the more he seemed to loosen up the muscles that had tightened in his nervousness.  His face remained red, and he still bit at his hands to stifle some of his groans, but he no longer choked on them in attempt to hold them back completely.

Pulling back you gazed up at him, eyes lidded.  Gently you pulled on his arm down and then his hands into your hair.  “You know how it goes, don’t you, baby?”  You cooed, eyes glancing at the book and his eyes widened.

His mouth watered, and he gulped it back as he paused to think it through, biting at his lip nervously considering it.  “You have to tell me if it hurts.”  He asked, as he stroked your hair.  You nod and smile, returning your mouth to the tip, your tongue flicking against the head in an effort to entice him.

“This taste, this smell,” you quoted as you rubbed your cock against your cheek, “it makes my head spin.”

His hands fisted into your hair and despite your pushing against his legs, he roughly shoved forward into your throat.  You gag around him, and rake your hands down his thighs to give yourself a more stable hold.

Just like the panels. You really were letting him live out every fantasy and he couldn’t thank you enough.

He pulled your head back as you take a breath and then immediately thrusts again, feeling little less resistance the more he used you, until you laxed completely, eyes rolling to the back, cheeks red from the exertion.

What was the line?  “This is right where you belong,” he groaned, “you were made perfect for me.”  And by god, you really were.  From the way you loved him to the way you sucked him.  You were perfection.  He couldn’t adore you more.

Against his cock he could feel your lips tighten and your cheeks raise with a smile on your face. And somehow, the thought alone was more than enough than even the way your tongue lapped at the underside of his cock.  That familiar tense in his gut and the way his cock pulsed, he knew he was close.

“Drink it down,” he commanded, though his voice held very little authority.  Levi simply didn’t have it in him to be, as much as he wished to be.  He came hard, groaning loudly, your name on his lips.  You made it a point to swallow loudly, your throat closing around his now sensitive cock, causing him to shake.

When he yanked you off, you coughed and gasped for air, but you couldn’t stop smiling.  Opening your mouth to confirm you had taken in every last drop.  He trailed a finger over your sloppy lips.  As the story goes, you should turn and beg for more.  But something felt out of place.

Levi kneeled, gently cupping your cheek.  “I love you,” he whispered in a gentle kiss.

“That’s not in the book,” you chuckle against his lips.

“Nevermind the book.  I want to kiss you, okay?”  He muttered.  “This is better.”  His arms wrapped you pulling you against him as he sat back against the door.

Kiss after kiss, tongues dancing as his hands wandered on your form.  “Whose teasing now?”  You whine and he grins devilishly.  His grope at you mercilessly, slipping a hand under your clothes, and down into your underwear to insert a finger into you.  But he paused as he felt something already taking his place.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find a toy waiting for him, given that you had prepared to re-enact everything in the story, but to actually feel it was a much different experience.  In his excitement, he quickly flipped you on your back, removing your clothes to see it too. “H-hey!”  You yelped in your surprise.

Had you been wearing that all day?  The very thought made his cock twitch.  “No way,” He said with awe.  His fingers gripped the toy that sat inside you rotated it experimentally inside you, angling it to rub against your walls.  You moaned loudly, your face contorted into absolute bliss, and your body trembled beneath him.  He rotated it once more, picking up speed with every turn, and pulling it out to spiral it back in.

“Oh, god, Levi, please,” you begged, “I’m gonna cum, Levi, I’m gonna cum,” you chanted as your hips rocked back into the toy.  You reached a hand to find something to hold on to and he leaned forward to at least give you his shoulders to grip.  But despite your pulls for him to reach you for a kiss, he kept himself upright, his hands only working on you faster.  He wanted to see it.  He needed to see your face when you came, his eyes determine and trained on you.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, and your body arched as you came, coating you both with your cum. You panted quietly as you came down, and he slowly pulled the toy from you, and lining his hard cock up in its place.

He pushed the head in gently, but went no deeper, leaning down to give you another kiss, another thank you.  “Levi, if you don’t put it in me now, I’ll never forgive you,” you groaned into him. He laughed and more than happily complied, thrusting in slowly, stretching you in ways the toy simply couldn’t.

“I love you, Levi,” you breathed against his ear, “I love you so much.”  It was the most beautiful phrase he could ever hear.

You loved him.  You wanted him.  You were all his, and he was all yours.

Levi’s pace quickened, the sound of wet skin hitting wet skin coming together in a lovely chorus to your moans.  “I love you,” he returned to you, his forehead laying against yours.  Between panting breaths you kissed, only leaving for the air that you required.

“I—I’m close,” Levi warned. He hated to cum before you, but sometimes it simply couldn’t be helped.

Your hand moved to stroke yourself as to catch up to him, and he thrust harder but slower into you as if to delay himself.

“Levi,” you gasped, losing your strength to rock against him any longer.  Now you were at your limit too.  He bucked faster once again, hands gripping into your sides and jerking you on to him cock instead.

Your body went limp and shivering, as you came, though you were tightening around him in the most delicious way.  With your name on his lips, he came into you, pumping a few more times to get every remnant out and into you.

The was quiet as you to desperately replaced the oxygen you lost in the exertion.  He heard you laughing slightly in your content bliss and he smiled as well.  As he pulled from you he watched his cum drip down, and thinking quickly he retrieve the toy and swiped what cum that leaked and pushed it back into you.

You gasped, still incredibly sensitive, but Levi only smiled at you.  “I want this in until we get home.”

“Levi, I don’t think I could make it the day like this,” you whine.  “I might just—”

“If you cum you’ll have to make it up to me at home,” he said with a peck to your forehead and a cheeky grin.  “It’s what happens in the manga after all.”

“We didn’t re-enact it exactly anyway,” you retort.

“I like our way better. It’s better than anything any anime, game, or manga.”

You smiled back at him, brightly as you reached up to hold him close again until the bell rang signaling the end of the lunch period.  Quickly the two of you attempted to adjust yourselves to hurry to class.

“Ah!”  Levi screamed suddenly as you unlocked the door to begin down the staircase.

“What is it?”

“My bento!  I never ate my bento!”  He cried miserably as he followed after you.

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

Let's say that there was no tianshan and zhanyi. Could you see a situation where zhang and mo would be together romantically? And he tian and jian yi?

Hello, dear anon!

Before I get to my answer, let me apologize for keeping your ask waiting for so long. To make up for the wait, I thought I would do some edits inspired by your question. I hope those will add some extra.

Also, I have talked about the relationships between HT/JY and ZZX/MGS a couple of times before:

My thoughts on HT & JY and ZZX & MGS (platonic)

Did HT get bored of JY?

HT’s behavior with JY vs. with MGS

Could ZZX interact more with the other boys?

ZZX’s opinion on HT?

Mostly those are about platonic friendships, though. I’m always interested in the boys interacting outside of their canon ships but I can’t really say I ship them. I can see where people shipping HT/JY, for example, are coming from but I can’t really feel the ship in my heart.

So, your ask, dear anon, was quite a challenging one. The canon ships were too distracting for me to really get to the bottom of this. Finally, I decided to try and pretend like Zhanyi and Tianshan didn’t exist at all. I dropped them and built stories for HT/JY and ZZX/MGS to make it a bit easier. So, this answer will be somewhat of a mix of canon pondering and creative fanon.

I’m going to cut this here because this turned out to be quite a long post.

“Could you see a situation where zhang and mo would be together romantically?”

I think seeing a romantic connection between ZZX and MGS was definitely more difficult than between HT and JY. ZZX doesn’t really interact with MGS that much, and what little he does, it’s usually very neutral in tone. We know he cares about MGS as a friend, but it seems that’s just how ZZX is outside his relationship with JY.

To be honest, even if Zhanyi wasn’t a thing, I couldn’t see MGS and ZZX being romantically involved in canon. In a way that felt natural and fluent, at least. I feel like the story (and even the characters) would have to be quite different for these two to be romantically interested in each other.

Putting ZZX and MGS in a romantic context raises a laundry list of all kinds of questions. Would JY still be ZZX’s best friend? Or would ZZX have some kind of childhood history with MGS? If not, how did they cross paths? Would MGS still be in gangs? Did ZZX develop romantic feelings first? Are they unrequited or would MGS eventually feel the same? How would ZZX’s love and affection guide MGS?

I feel like canon-wise MGS and ZZX are too “far” from each other to really have a romantic connection. Sure, they have their little bonding moments, but I can’t really see those carrying them all the way to romance. They are also quite similar characters in the sense that when left alone, they are both rather quiet and keep to themselves. For a romantic relationship, I think ZZX would have to become the one who takes the initiative and perhaps even chases after MGS in his own way.

I also struggle to see MGS’s character development in that relationship. If he was still a delinquent and involved in gangs, what would push and pull him to change the direction of his life? I’m not saying ZZX couldn’t have that influence but I kind of have to squint to imagine it. Rather I could see it be an angsty love story where ZZX watches MGS get in fights from the sidelines and MGS refusing his help but also feeling guilty about disappointing and troubling ZZX yet again.

And that is what I took as the basis for my little edits for ZZX/MGS. The canon panels offered at least some interesting moments that could build a story when tweaked a little.

In this scenario, ZZX and JY are still best friends but MGS is his childhood friend from kindergarten. ZZX remembers MGS as an adventurous boy always eager to follow a random path. He never backed down when the older boys bullied him which often landed him in the principle’s office. To the grownups, he might have come across as a wild kid but ZZX knew he was also kind and caring.

When ZZX reunited with MGS in the last year of middle school, he recognized MGS immediately from his red hair (ch. 177):

But compared to their childhood, he seemed more hostile. He glared at people and spat curses and threats. None of his child-like curiosity and caring heart seemed to be left. It didn’t take long for him to get involved with the school gangs where he was known as a bit of a mad dog.

When ZZX heard MGS had gotten mixed up in assaulting some girl, he knew immediately it was a lie. MGS would never do something like that. Seeing him in the principle’s office was so hard for ZZX (ch. 184):

When MGS was released from the office, ZZX followed him. That’s when he found him getting in the face of one of the biggest delinquent leaders. ZZX could hear him screaming about something not being the way they had agreed. When one of the gang members attacked MGS from behind, ZZX’s legs moved on their own. He ran over and threw himself in the fight not really thinking about what he was doing. All he was aware of was that he needed to keep swinging for both of them.

The faculty eventually broke up the fight. MGS had gotten quite badly hurt and was taken to a hospital. ZZX spend a few nights there, too. After the fight, JY was relieved beyond words. (ch. 150):

But ZZX knew he had to do something. Things couldn’t keep going like this with MGS. So, he went to see MGS at the hospital (ch. 248): 

MGS said he had recognized ZZX at school almost right away but hadn’t approached him. They were from different worlds now. ZZX fell silent at that but he couldn’t accept it. He wanted things to go back to how they had used to be and get his friend back.

After MGS got out of the hospital, ZZX refused to back down even though MGS resisted his efforts. ZZX waited for MGS in the morning at the school gates and he and JY would stick to him as much as possible throughout the day. ZZX didn’t want to let MGS out of his sight, but MGS’s reluctance weighed on him. (ch. 196):

And that pretty much wraps up what I could come up for ZZX/MGS. As I said, I had to change the canon somewhat. I felt like I needed a premise of some kind for them to have a (romantic) connection.

“And he tian and jian yi?”

Now, HT/JY on the other hand was easier. As I said, I don’t ship them personally but I can see where people who do are coming from. I didn’t interpret HT’s interest in JY in the beginning as romantic feelings but I do think the opposite readings are also valid. So, I will utilize those vibes for them.

Canon-wise, I think HT and JY have enough contact where you could continue to build a romantic interest quite naturally. HT has a naturally flirty disposition that would spark butterflies in JY’s stomach easily. He also feels protective of JY, especially given the fact that HT doesn’t want JY to get involved in the mafia world.

JY would be a good counter for HT’s darkness and inner angst. His airheaded, oblivious energy could end up comforting and reassuring HT without JY even knowing about it. JY also trusts HT judging by the way he often consults him about relationships. I think those heart-to-hearts have opened a special bond between them in canon which could be easily continued as a romantic pull. Kind of like JY being the only one to whom HT has revealed his true thoughts about relationships and the world. JY had seen those glimpses.

The scenario I came up for HT/JY didn’t stray as far from canon as did ZZX/MGS, so it was easier to manage. The comic also had more material for them to work with.

In this scenario, JY and ZZX are still best friends but JY has unrequited feelings for HT instead. Even ZZX doesn’t know about them or that he likes men. They are similar to the secret “light on the outside, heavy on the inside” kind of love JY had for ZZX before kissing him and confessing to him. When ZZX found out about all this, it was similarly dramatic as in the Zhanyi canon (ch. 144):

The unrequited feelings JY has are quite painful for him. He’s afraid of confessing them. What if HT will be disgusted? What if he just plays around without actually meaning the things he says? What if he rejects JY and he loses their friendship? ZZX becomes the only person who knows about JY loving HT.

What makes JY’s position even more difficult is the way HT likes to naturally flirt with people, JY included. (ch. 104, 108, 115, 122, 323):

He touches JY nonchalantly and JY’s stomach and heart make little flips. He says things that make JY blush like an idiot. Being around HT makes JY both nervous and excited.

But it still hurts. HT is quite popular among girls which hasn’t escaped JY either (ch. 186, 102):

Sometimes a careless question or choice of topic can deliver a blow of heartache. Sometimes JY hates HT for a reason he can’t even name himself. He hates him for being so smooth and handsome and cruelly playing with JY’s heart.

But there are also times when JY can have HT just for himself (ch. 132,133):

Those times when it’s just the two of them, JY feels special in HT’s eyes. It feels like every touch, joke, and tease is just for him and only he knows about them. JY finds himself laughing a bit easier, leaning into the touch, and enjoying the butterflies.

But the truth is HT is actually aware of JY’s feelings for him. He knows. And they’re not as unrequited as JY believes. HT cares about him a lot, and those moments they share are also precious to him. He wants to protect and cherish JY which is why he’s reluctant to acknowledge the pink blushing elephant in the room. He’s a part of something that he never wants to reach JY. The last thing he wishes is for JY to know about all the messed up darkness HT carries and is involved in. So, he teases and flirts to get some kind of “in-between” satisfaction.

However, there are times when he can’t help but lean into the comfort JY unknowingly offers (ch. 260, 227, 228):

Those are the times when HT wishes he could just tell JY that he knows and that he wants it too. Fuck the rest of the world, let’s just be us. That he will never let anything happen to JY. That he sometimes wants to hear his voice at 2am, so is it okay if he calls.

And that concludes the little story for HT/JY. If compared to ZZX/MGS, I don’t think it changes the canon as much and it flows more naturally to me. But I did enjoy writing both scenarios, don’t get me wrong.

I hope this little extra material makes up for the wait! Thank you for your questions, dear anon!

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

WIP Wednesday, kind of!

for @grandthorkiday this year, I really wanted to finally finish the fic I started for it last year, but that didn’t happen because literally everything is happening at the same time this October and also it’s hard to focus on writing in general right now. but then I thought of this older Sakaar fic that has been vaguely on my “I’m almost positive this is practically done if I would just put some time and effort into finishing it (but it’s also totally possible it’s nowhere near as close to being done as I think it is)” list for ages, and I realized it totally fit the definition for Grandthorki, and I thought maybe I could finish that real quick instead!

...I couldn’t. there’s a lot more to this one that needs to be written than I kind of thought, in part because it’s so old I wrote it before Ragnarok ever came out, so it was based purely on the trailer (and then inspired by some speculation by @theotherodinson, I think), and to finish this fic I would first have to decide if it would be more straightforward to just keep going with my pre-Ragnarok speculation or change the setup a bit to fit the film. also I would have to turn a bunch of bullet points into an actual conversation that would have to...make sense? and, like, establish things? and that’s hard even when my brain isn’t busy constantly screaming.

but! I can post most of what I already wrote, just for fun and because at least this is something Grandthorki-related that I haven’t already posted elsewhere! knowing me this could backfire because then I won’t have as much motivation to try to finish it but on the other hand it’s been sitting at this exact level of unfinishedness for like three years so it’s probably not going to hurt.

warnings: I kind of don’t know what to say here because nothing actually happens but there’s a lot of discussion of rape and graphic violence, so...warnings for that!

[the basic premise/assumption here was that Thor ended up on Sakaar at some point in his search for the Infinity Stones, was forced into the Contest, and gradually gained more of the Grandmaster’s favor and attention because he’s Thor and he’s great at fighting. it’s probably been months at this point, he’s one of the Grandmaster’s champions, and that earns him a reward that he extremely does not want: a few hours with a sex slave, basically.]

The Grandmaster calls them his pets, sentient beings he keeps because they are pretty rather than for their fighting prowess, but the term seems only partially accurate given that it implies both ownership and some level of exclusivity. The latter, at least, seems to apply on a purely arbitrary basis according to the Grandmaster’s whims. There are other appropriate terms, certainly, and Thor has heard plenty from the guards and his fellow warriors. “Pleasure slave” seems to be the most accurate while still remaining within the bounds of marginal politeness.

“Grandmaster must like you special,” the guard says in a confiding tone as they walk. “This one used to be one of his favorite pets, all personal like—didn’t share him much, real picky about what anybody could do with him. Guess the mouthiness lost its shine. Oh yeah, that reminds me—” He digs into his bag and emerges with a handful of metal. “Boy’s really got a mouth on him, so use this when you get tired of it. Or if you wanna make sure he won’t bite; he still hasn’t learned his lesson on that either. Up to you though; walls are soundproof, so whatever you get up to won’t bother nobody else.”

It’s a gag, Thor realizes, reminded with a jolt of the muzzle he fastened on Loki before bringing him back to Asgard, and he cannot afford to think about Loki now. “Thank you,” he says as politely as he can, “but I have no need of…that.”

“You do, trust me,” the guard says. “Only way the boys have found to shut him up and stop him biting. Never met somebody who runs his mouth like that. Dunno why the Grandmaster liked him so long. Oh, and it opens, see—” He twists something at the side of the gag and part of the mouthpiece folds inward. Another twist and the opening widens, and it takes very little creativity to imagine how the mechanism would force the wearer’s jaw wide. “Careful with that, by the way,” the guard adds. “Two turns gets him open, three or four is good, keep going and you can dislocate his jaw—which is fine, fixed that before, it’s just the kind of thing you probably want to know you’re doing, right?”

Thor’s stomach turns over. When he is free of this place, he will come back to help the other slaves. He forces a smile. “I assure you, I do not need such an instrument.”

“You’ll thank me when you change your mind later,” the guard says, shoving the gag into Thor’s hand. Thor gives up and takes it, because if he has learned nothing else in the last few years he has at least learned the importance of picking his battles. “He hasn’t been fed today, either, so no worries he’ll puke on you. Might get him to cooperate if you promise him food after, but that never really works with this one, so, probably a waste of time. All up to you though. Anyway—” He puts a hand over the locking panel and the room’s outer door slides open. “I’ll lock you in, come get you in a few hours. Comms are open in case you need something. And ‘cause we get bored.”

“And if I prefer not to have an audience,” Thor says.

The guard snorts. “You been here this long and you don’t get how things work? In you go.”

Thor sighs and does as he’s bid. The outer door hisses shut behind him and the inner door slides open, revealing a modestly appointed bedchamber. The bed is the largest thing in it, a sturdy-looking wooden construction with prominent bedposts, but Thor’s attention is drawn immediately to the figure kneeling on the floor. He is facing away, though not by choice; his wrists are shackled behind his back and bound to a metal loop in the floor with a short length of chain. Thor has no doubt the positioning is deliberate, just another way of reminding the slave of his powerlessness. His shoulders are rigid, his fingers curled into fists—blue fingers, Thor notes, with black nails, and blue skin at the back of his neck under black hair. Probably Kree, then, which makes it a little odd that he is not being used in the arena, instead of…this.

Thor grimaces and moves to put himself in the slave’s line of sight.

[aaaaand naturally the slave is Loki, miraculously alive after dying in Thor’s arms on Svartalfheim! also he doesn’t recognize Thor at all and in fact remembers nothing prior to waking up half-dead on Svartalfheim and being scooped up by the Grandmaster somehow! this is all very upsetting for Thor! it gets more upsetting when, in the conversation I haven’t written, Loki starts working really hard to goad Thor into a temper and Thor realizes what he’s trying to do!]

“You want the gag,” Thor says finally.

Loki jerks back, his mouth snapping shut. He recovers quickly, his eyes crackling with anger, but he’s not quite fast enough to keep Thor from glimpsing a flash of fear underneath. “What I want is irrelevant. This is about what you want, that is the entire point, and I know your type, dozens of times over. You’re a warrior. You want to win. You want to hear me beg you to stop, to show mercy you delight in withholding. And I am telling you now, you can do anything you like but you will not hear me beg, not for anything. So use the damn gag.”

And with a flash of nauseating clarity Thor gets it, why Loki’s working so hard to goad others into forcibly shutting him up, because it’s the one tiny piece of control he has left. Unbidden, the image forces itself into his mind: Loki, eyes squeezed shut in pain, screaming into the gag and clinging to the very last scraps of his pride with the knowledge that if he breaks and begs for it to stop, no one will know—clinging to those scraps even though his defiance hurts him, because he has been left with nothing else that is still his.

[Thor gets real upset! upset enough to unlock his lightning powers without access to Mjolnir? yep!]

Loki’s red eyes widen, his bravado visibly wavering, and his voice shakes just a little as he says, “Well done, that’s actually a new one.”

“I’m sorry,” Thor says, “this will hurt, but I will be quick,” and he reaches out one crackling hand for the collar.

[Loki’s eyes widen etc. here instead probably] and he cringes away, raw panic breaking through his bravado, but if the guards are not already on their way they will be soon, and there is no time to spend on reassurances Loki will have no reason to believe anyway. Thor steels himself and lunges, seizing the chain at Loki’s wrists with one hand and his collar with the other, and Loki’s body snaps taut as lightning floods into him.

Once, over a century ago, a journey with Sif and the Warriors Three went disastrously wrong, resulting in Thor and Loki stranded alone on Muspelheim, relentlessly pursued by a dozen Fire Giants and unable to get far enough away to safely call on Heimdall. By the time the giants truly cornered them, they’d been running for three days straight without water or sleep, Loki’s magic was nearly depleted from several aborted attempts to hide them and open a pathway between realms, and Thor couldn’t draw down a storm from the painfully dry desert air. With no options remaining to them, Loki convinced Thor to channel the last dregs of Mjolnir’s lightning through Loki himself, in the theory that doing so might amplify what little remained of Loki’s magic and grant him the power needed to escape. It was a mad, desperate gamble that could have easily killed him and nearly did, but it worked, leaving Thor with—among other things—an unsettlingly precise knowledge of how much lightning Loki’s body could take without dying.

He has not thought of that incident in years, but he is glad of it now, especially without Mjolnir to help him control his power.

 When everything clears, Loki is sprawled on his back, staring up at Thor and breathing hard, freed of all his bonds. His expression shifts through pain and fear and shock into confusion and then, finally, a faint glimmer of recognition, and he says hoarsely, “…Thor?”

Thor exhales, relief and battle-lust tangling inside him, and holds out his hand to help Loki up. “Come, brother. It’s time to get out of this place.”

Loki stares at him for a moment longer, his throat working, and then he reaches back and takes Thor’s hand.

[thanksjro]

More Than Meets the Eye #1- Meeting All Our New Friends

Okay, let’s see what happens when you give one man way too much power over a franchise, and he doesn’t use it for evil.

Before we get into the story, let’s take a look at the cover art! MTMTE, as well as its sister series, Robots in Disguise, started off IDW Phase Two, a brand new run of main comics to replace the by-then completed The Transformers (2009). To celebrate this momentous occasion, each comic’s first issue got FOUR separate covers, which could be combined to create a large, overarching image. MTMTE’s looked like this when all the covers were put together.

The cover art here is by Alex Milne, who is on as the main artist for the series, but he’s not on issue #1- no, for our foray into this comic run, we see the return of Nick Roche.

The last time Roche and Roberts worked together was on Last Stand of the Wreckers, and other than MTMTE #6 and the Revolution one-shot, they won’t be teaming up again within the IDW run.

On a potentially-related-but-more-of-just-a-humorous note, it seems that Roberts is a huge stickler with his scripts, going into what sounds like an honestly horrific amount of detail for each individual panel. The average comic script is either between 20-23 or 28-30 pages long, not counting title and credit pages. Roberts has been cited as sending in comic scripts that approached 50 pages.

Which, if you know anything about the scriptwriting process, is a little… yeah. It’s a very good thing Roberts seems to be able to take criticism.

ANYWAY.

IT’S TIME.

The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye- Liars, A to D Part 1: How to Say Goodbye and Mean It- holy fucking shit that’s a long title- starts off with the Story So Far, a comic book classic to catch readers up on what’s happened prior to the issue. The very nature of a Story So Far will become plot-relevant much later down the line, but as is, it’s just reminding us what happened during Phase One, in as basic a point as it can.

And then the credits are right underneath.

I can’t even imagine how friggin’ good seeing this printed must have felt.

So, what’s going on in the premiere of the sad, gay, space comic?

Not my phrasing, by the way, but the Wiki’s.

So, the war’s over. What does that mean? Well, a lot of things, honestly, but the first thing we’re given in terms of what changes to expect with everyone’s favorite space robots is in relation to their wardrobes. Yeah, without a war to fight, what’s the point in having relatively identical blocky armor that protects all your insides? It’s time to get skimpy.

Rodimus has switched out his toned calves and discernible ankles for the Uggs that are now positively iconic to his character. Drift’s mass has almost completely gravitated to his thighs, making him the curviest thing this side of the Milky Way. Ultra Magnus didn’t get the memo about not needing to be in uniform anymore, I guess, but somehow I doubt he owns anything casual.

Rodimus, Drift, and Magnus are holding a rally to invite Autobots to come on their party-barge to find the Knights of Cybertron, in an effort to heal the planet, because Rodimus took one look at post-war Cybertron and said “no thanks.” Honestly, I think most would, if these properly colored characters are any indication.  

Just the Autobots, by the way. We aren’t ready to be friends with the ‘Cons just yet. Swindle did some major damage on that front.

Prowl and Wheeljack are off to the side discussing this turn of events, and while Wheeljack seems to think that a lot of folks will be boarding the ship and getting the hell out of dodge, Prowl’s expecting nothing to come of it.

So, that was yesterday. What’s going on today?

Inside Kimia, there’s a dead guy. He wasn’t dead when he was brought in, but he is now. Who is he, anyway?

Oh, he’s one of the NAIL protesters, and he died because he was protesting by way of transforming on the steps of Autobot HQ, until his transformation cog burn out. Yep, that can kill you. Ratchet’s the one who performed the autopsy, as per Metalhawk’s request- he only wanted the best of the best on this.

Too bad the best of the best is starting to slump. After a brief scare with Rigor Morphis- the stiffening of the corpse into the body’s preferred mode- Ratchet explains to Bumblebee that his hands have started seizing up, and that’s why he’ll be leaving on the Lost Light with Rodimus. He just can’t do the work anymore.

This news is not well received by Bumblebee, who’s just about had it with everyone up and leaving him all by himself with the mess that is Cybertron.

Phase Two will not be kind to Bumblebee.

Bumblebee accuses Ratchet of having been insnared in Rodimus’ siren song of reclaiming the Golden Age, but c’mon, this is Ratchet! He’s too cynical to fall for that. He’s more interested in finding the Autobots who’ve been lost over the millennia to the war. Ratchet’s already well aware of the true purposes of this little galactic road trip, almost like he’s read the plot outline.

It’s about helping people, and adventure, and being unapologetically gay and sad in equal measures.

Up in the sky, Cyclonus is displeased. He spent six million years in the Dead Universe, under the control of a madman, waiting for the moment he could return to his beloved homeworld, and what does he get? A ball of half-baked primordial cookie-dough, and it’s not even chocolate-chip like he was expecting; it’s fucking oatmeal raisin.

Mmm, that is some tasty panel-breaking right there.

Of course, the I/D chip might not have worked anyway, seeing as Cyclonus got a little bit of a boost when Vector Sigma ejected everyone during the Matrix incident. It’s doing some weird stuff to his body, on top of whatever nonsense existing inside the Dead Universe does to a person.

Cyclonus is about to head over to the Lost Light- apparently he and Rodimus made a little deal off-panel- when he detects a familiar life sign and decides to see what that’s all about.

Over in Prowl’s office, things are tense. He and Chromedome can’t even look at each other, as Chromedome reveals that both he and Rewind are jumping on the Lost Light. Prowl doesn’t like this, not one bit. He needs Chromedome, needs his skills, his expertise. He tries to appeal to Rewind, knowing who wears the pants in this relationship.

Or, well, he tries.

Prowl, they’ve been married for over 250,000 years.

In all seriousness, this is slightly before the first tentative steps Roberts took towards making the franchise as gay as he possibly could, at least when going by the story’s chronology. The thing about professional comic script writing is that plotting/planning goes for a ways beyond the current script one’s working on, so that everyone knows where everyone else is. Considering the somewhat congruent nature between MTMTE and RiD, planning ahead was especially important.

Chromedome and Rewind were originally (like, first draft originally) meant to be best friends. This was to fill a void in the department of close relationships Roberts felt within the Transformers franchise. Then Roberts saw how handsy he’d been writing them during plotting and realized he’d made something a little different happen. Which still sort of went with what he was going for, just in a slightly different fashion. Chromedome and Rewind are a rare case of a writer NOT leaning into the “they’re just bros, bro” mentality and just letting the characters be together as romantic partners.

Also keep in mind that it would be another three fucking years before the United States would legalize same-sex marriage, which is where the IDW offices are located. You gotta ease that sort of change in, that way nobody realizes what you’re doing until it’s already been done, then you can go hog-wild. We won’t be hitting critical mass on the homonormative civilization that is IDW1 Cybertron for a solid year or so.

So this bit of dialogue is just the start of the setup, and the “best friend” line is either a leftover from earlier versions of the script, or Prowl really just is that big of an asshole.

Rewind is, of course, recording everything taking place on his handy-dandy little head-mounted camera, because history is his business, and he’s not going to stop recording for the likes of Prowl.

Rewind doesn’t like Prowl very much.

It would seem that the feeling is mutual.

Chromedome suddenly remembers that trying to reason with Prowl is like talking to a brick wall, and the two of them leave. Prowl responds to this slight by yelling in the hallway and then flipping a table.

I sure hope y’all like running gags.

Of course, Prowl wouldn’t be Prowl without having a few contingency plans in place for when things don’t go his way, and he makes a call to his inside guys to “load the cargo.”

That’s not ominous in the slightest.

Six million years prior to all this nonsense, a tiny little dude fell in a hole and broke his legs trying to get to work.

This is Tailgate, and he’s seen better days. Not many, mind you, but at least a couple. He was making his way to the launch of the original Ark, when he decided to take a shortcut that would change the course of his life forever. Hence the whole “stuck in a hole” thing. Still, he’s got to get out of here, because without him, the entire expedition is doomed!

For being an idiot, Tailgate’s pretty smart- he figures that if he sets off his energon rations, it’ll blast up through the roof of the cavern he’s in and someone will be able to find him. Good thing energon’s so incredibly volatile.

Speaking of volatile, let’s jump back to the present and check on our buddy Whirl.

It looks like Whirl also got a makeover between series, because he’s now sporting a much sleeker, angular frame, complete with long, tapered head.

Whirl’s currently busy thanking his new friends for spending so much time with him. It really meant a lot to him, their patience. Not many folks have been patient with him before.

Of course, it probably helps that all these guys are dead as hell.

It’s time for another Roberts’ staple- the suicide attempt. We won’t be using the robot-equivalent to Multiple Sclerosis though. This go around, we’ll be using a classic: self immolation!

Title drop! Bet you weren’t expecting it to have such a dark connotation, huh?

Cyclonus interrupts Whirl’s monologue and suicide attempt. He thought he’d seen his best buddy, Scourge, on his tracker, and his immediate response is to lurk in the shadows looking like a night demon wearing a party hat.

Fun fact: a group of Sweeps is called a Spring Cleaning.

Scourge isn’t here, and he won’t ever be. Scourge most likely died off-panel, never to be seen again, assumedly because nobody wanted to write for him. I think it’s the nails, puts people off.

Whirl doesn’t take kindly to the intrusion, and responds the only way he knows how.

It’s always embarrassing when your self-immolation gets interrupted, but maybe try taking a first deep breaths before committing to more war crimes, Whirlybird.

While these two morons fill the post-Bay movie explosion quota, Red Alert’s hard at work screening the passengers on the Lost Light. Currently, he’s checking Brainstorm, who’s making it as difficult as possible, both legally and emotionally. Red Alert waves him on with a grumble, without even getting a peek at what’s inside his mysterious briefcase.

Up next is Swerve.

His legs are so jacked, it makes me a little uncomfortable. Glad to see Swerve’s body reformat went swimmingly- seems he went for the classic “tires in the shoulders and ankles” model.

Oh hey, it’s Rung! Hi Rung!

This series will not be kind to Rung.

While Cyclonus and Whirl terrorize the folks just trying to get on board the dang ship, Rodimus is feeling rather pleased with himself with the turnout. Drift strokes his ego a bit, because they support each other, but things are still weird because Drift doesn’t know who he is as a person anymore, and Rodimus has a guilty conscience mixed with being the Matrix’s golden child, which really fucks with a guy’s head.

Ultra Magnus goes through the list of the folks joining their quest, and starts running through all their demerits and crimes like it’s his job, because it is. We get a little peek into Magnus’ world view and then it’s back to the Whirl and Cyclonus show.

Also, Drift doens’t have a nose right now. He’ll get it back in time for the next issue, don’t worry.

Over with the flyboys, Cyclonus has decided to land and attempt to reason with Whirl. Not that he couldn’t totally kill Whirl if he wanted to.

He just doesn’t want to.

No, Cyclonus is far more concerned with his meeting with Rodimus, the one that he’s already friggin’ late for thanks to the detour he took checking that life signature. Whirl doesn’t care, far more worried about the fact that Cyclonus saw him talking to desecrated corpses and, far more importantly, vulnerable.

Look at this jackass’ ensemble- demon helmet, a crop top, a skirt and bellbottom pants. What an icon. He and Eugenesis Wheeljack should trade fashion tips.

Whirl still isn’t done with him, even after scraping him across the side of a mountain. Feeling especially artsy, he scoops Cyclonus up and jumps into the air, since he apparently has a hundred-foot vertical leap.

Back in the past, things aren’t going so well for Tailgate.

More cool panel stuff going on here- every time the panels have had rounded corners, it’s been when the scene takes place in the past. Now that the last panel has proper right angles to it, Tailgate’s in the present with everyone else. That middle panel probably covers a couple million years, at least. Poor guy.

Up on the surface, Ratchet’s met up with Chromedome and Rewind, and they’re all walking over to the launch site, Chromedome bitching all the while about how they’ve got to use their legs since Rewind’s alt-mode isn’t a vehicle, but a USB.

Chromedome seems to have forgotten that his tiny husband is small enough to probably just ride on top of his alt-mode, if not directly inside, most likely due to his larger-than-life personality.

Whirl and Cyclonus fall out of the sky before Chromedome can say something that’ll get his ass divorced. Cyclonus gets knocked out cold, having taken the brunt of the impact. Unfortunate, seeing as Whirl’s taking the time to make up lies about him.

You thought I was kidding when I said the armor was skimpy, but here we are, with a shot of Whirl’s battle thong.

Ratchet, who knows Whirl, because he knows everybody, tries to talk him out of straight up murdering Cyclonus. Whirl doesn’t like it when people try to talk him down, and is about to turn on the good doctor, when Tailgate enters the scene, by way of explosion.

Whirl doesn’t handle explosions terribly well. Probably why he was going to use one to kill himself.

With Whirl knocked out, Ratchet and the power couple pull Tailgate out of his hole, where he manages to ask about the launch before freaking the fuck out and fainting at the sight of a rather dead-looking Whirl. To be fair, I can’t think of a whole lot of folks who’d survive getting their tits blown off with enough force to clear a tunnel in solid rock.

You said it, Rewind.

Ratchet grabs Tailgate and Whirl and brings them onboard the ship, seeing as Tailgate seems to want to be there, and Whirl’s too dangerous to be out of sight. They just kinda leave Cyclonus on the ground. I doubt the two guys who were on Kimia last month really want to deal with him.

Rewind breaks off from the group to see his dealer. This dealer isn’t selling the good kush though. He’s got something far more incriminating to offer.

But we don’t get to find out what the fuck Rewind just bought from Swindle for a few more issues. Rest assured, it’s nothing good.

On the bridge, Rodimus is in his captain’s chair, ready to captain it up. The Lost Light raises into the air, as Bumblebee and Prowl watch on, about to exit the atmosphere and begin a adventure filled with hijinks and mild peril.

And that’s a series wrap on everyone! I hope you enjoyed this wonderful one-shot written by James Roberts.

What do you mean there’s 56 more issues?

Alright, let’s see where this goes.

Back on the bridge, there’s alarms and sirens out the wazoo, as things have pretty much immediately gone to shit. The quantum engine the Lost Light’s outfitted with apparently went off prematurely, rocketing them into a completely random quadrant of space.

Also, there’s a hole in the ship, and vacuum physics are doing their thing.

This series will not be kind to Rodimus.

The Lost Light touches down on the planet they popped back into existence over to start looking for all the guys who got sucked out of the ship. They don’t have to look long, seeing as they’re all burning up in the atmosphere.

Welcome to the Lost Light. It’s a friggin’ mess.

Back on Cybertron, the aftermath of the explosion is seen, as Bumblebee and Prowl listen to a message that seems to imply a lot more heartache in the future.

Prowl, you could at least pretend to give a shit.

That’s the end of the story, but not the end of the issue. In the back of the book, we get a welcome letter from James Roberts himself, thanking the reader for taking the time to read the beginning of MTMTE, and holy shit does he really try to sell it to you. This is a guy who wants you to be excited about the story that’s coming your way, because he’s excited about it. He’s a big dork who loves Transformers, and he gets to write about them for the next six years! That’s awesome. 

[peonybane]

STAR-CROSSED: Chapter 1

Pairing: Jackson (GOT7) x Reader

Word Count: 9.6 k

Genre: Science Fiction, Angst, Fluff, Crack, Smut (much… much later, maybe...)

Summary: Being a Jack was all you had ever wanted. And now you were— one of the youngest Jacks Earth had ever sent out. It was the adventure of a lifetime. But what do you do when you lose sight of the mission: can you remain… objective?

Notes: All italicized dialogue is in Gaganis. 

A/N: So... the first two chapters of this are going to be extremely world building heavy. I promise though it will pick up after that.

Let’s see… Cephaloids, Ovitcari, Mengolki… Ah! There they were— the Ingan. Tapping on your tablet, you opened up the latest uploaded document on the newest (hopefully) allied planet, Gamma Tau 7— or as the locals knew it, Jigui. 

Just as you opened up the file to see what the local holiday was going to be when you’d finally arrive, your annoying partner (strictly platonic, mind you, despite everyone’s best efforts) plucked your tablet from your hands.

“Hey! I was reading that.”

Jaehwan looked down at you, lifted the tablet well above you head, even as you jumped for it. Fucking beanpole. “Do you ever not work?”

“Hey! I’m preparing for the mission.”

“For five months?!”

You huffed crossing your arms. “I just like being prepared, ok?”

“Yeah, and what’s there to prepare for? You do realize that you and I are the first of the ambassador program? Right?”

You looked away from him, embarrassed. Damn bastard was right.

The two of you were chosen as cultural ambassadors for Earth. 900 years of exploring space and with every new species humans met, it was the most effective means of avoiding a potentially hostile conflict. Miscommunications, as it turns out, could be kept to a minimum if species were introduced to each other slowly. Your mentoring Jack while you were in training used the analogy of introducing two pets that were going to live together: give them neutral ground and let them get to know each other slowly. 

“I know, I know. I’m just nervous.” 

Jaehwan handed your tablet back to you. “You’re worrying too much. We’ll be just fine.”

“I know.” You sighed. “It’s just… they’ve never sent anyone as young as us before.”

He made a face as he sat down in the chair across from yours. “True, I guess. But you also got to remember: this is the first humanoid like species. These are not the usual circumstances.”

You hummed your agreement. He was right. These were not normal conditions. 

The intercom system buzzed to life, the mechanical voice of the ship’s commander, LightWater, called your last name, followed by Jaehwan’s, Lee. “I’m letting you know that we will be rendezvousing with the Ingan vessel, Bandisbul within four hours. Would you like to come up to the bridge to see its approach?”

Jaehwan smiled at you before pushing the communication panel. “We’re on our way, Commander.”

Putting your tablet away in the cabinet above your bunk, you paused for a moment, looking around the room (more like a closet between you and Jaehwan) you’ve spent the last five months calling your home. 

Sure, it took a mere few days to get through the Fold Node gates, the natural phenomena that made inter-system travel feasible. The problem was that plant bearing solar systems were very rarely anywhere near the Nodes, with Earth being a very rare exception with it being in relatively close proximity to Jupiter, the only known Node found in a planet. 

Most solar systems had a Node near them… near being defined as a few lightyears outside of their outer limits. While the Mengolki had technology that allowed ships to travel faster than the speed of light, it still didn’t mean that the journey didn’t take time. Four days from Earth to Jupiter. Less than two days from Jupiter to the Gamma Tau Nebula through five Nodes. Almost five months from the Nebula to the inner rings of the Gamma Tau system. 

Leaving your room, you nearly bumped into one of the Azikil crew members. You looked up into the eyeless (well, eyes as you’d know them) face of the crew member. “Oops. Sorry. I didn’t realized you were there.”

It made a small noise of acknowledgment, the gas glands deflating a bit. The translation implant allowed them to speak in your language. The mechanical voice translated the series of gaseous exhales and clicking, “It’s alright. I understand that we’re nearing the rendezvous point?”

Jaehwan answered for you. “Yep. Can’t believe it’s already over, huh, hyung? You gonna miss me?”

You had to bite the inside of your mouth to keep from laughing. Even though you both were suppose to be using the chosen human language decided by the Interspecies Ambassadorial Program, he’d sometimes fall back into his native language, often confusing your poor crewmates.

The Azikil— a species that would best described using human descriptors as a sentient fungi— let out another puff from its gas sacs, this time dispersing a few spores, usually a sign of some sort of distress. What distress though, you weren’t sure. 

Because they were sexless, Jaehwan always liked to switch between hyung and noona, certainly not helping with their confusion. 

“I suppose I will miss you. Even though you seem to be determined to confuse us with your strange words.”

Jaehwan laughed, his eyes crinkling. “Fair enough. Anyways, official farewells are not until later. And we better get up to the bridge.”

The Azikil crew member bowed, getting out of your way. 

It was a relatively short walk and a couple of floor jumps to the bridge. Opening the hatch, Jaehwan offered you entrance first. “After you.”

You rolled your eyes, climbing up the ladder, before pushing off as you felt your weight decrease. 

Zero-g. Your stomach flipped, still not used to the sudden shift in equilibrium, despite being in it so many times.

The U.I.S. Hermes, like all human created ships, was built based on centripetal force. While the outer rings of the ship spun, creating artificial gravity (though the gravity was less than that of Earth’s for the safety of the Azikil and Ovitcari) the center, the bridge, of the ship was stationary. This mainly allowed for fewer bodies on the bridge, since the master multitaskers, the Cephaloids, could work to their full potential.

Floating in zero-g, you pressed the Cephaloid communication button the your wrist. “Permission to come on to the bridge, Commander LightWater?”

As you spoke, the holographic screen in front of Commander LightWater glowed with words written in Cephaloid script. A moment later, the mechanical voice, the voice that spoke for their species, droned, “Granted.”

You nodded, pushing off the wall and let yourself float towards the Commander as he floated in his self contained hydro-station, his arms on several different consoles, making sure that different functions were running smoothly. 

The Cephaloid were unlike any other species humans had met. They were certainly the most unique (though the Azikil certainly gave them a run for their money). 

They were similar to the cephalopods of Earth, cuttlefish, octopuses, etc. Like their genetic long-distant, Earth-bound, cousins, they were mainly soft, with only a solid beak and they needed to live in water. Unlike their cousins, they were… far more advance. With a dozen suckered arms and a pseudo-shell (protective but still rather pliant) like a squid, they were by far the most visually unique. Given the fact they had adapted to survive in the dark waters of their home world, commonly known as Atlantis, they had unique characteristics. To communicate, they used body language (changing colors and skin texture) and a form of telepathy, a form of communication that could only be used between themselves.

It was because of the Cephaloid that humans realized that there needed to be a program, a system, put in place to help guarantee peace. It took hundreds of years, but eventually, your species were able to communicate— humans would speak and the written form of their language (Cephaloid script) would appear on a monitor near them, and so long as the Cephaloid had an implant (a device provided by the Ovitari) their thoughts, mostly, could be converted to an auditory form of communication. 

You floated up to the observation window, next to LightWater as he started initiating slow down procedures. Jaehwan floated to the other side of LightWater, startling him (if the sudden defensive stance and flash of red and white stripes, textured by his skin tensing into short spines were anything to go by). 

“Lee, you are suppose to announce yourself on the bridge.”

“Yeah, Yeah. I’m sorry.”

While the sarcasm was obvious to you, you weren’t sure if LightWater could sense it as the words displayed themselves on before him. LightWater addressed you. “While tone is lost when we communicate, I believe that there was… sarcasm to his answer? Correct?”

You laughed as Jaehwan just shook his head in defeat. LightWater turned his emotionless gaze at you. Perhaps to others he would seem unfeeling, but having grown up on a human outpost on Atlantis, you could read their body language rather well. The slight shade of yellow, different from the neutral orange he mainly took on, told you that he was seeking some form of approval. “Yes, that is correct, LightWater.”

LightWater made a motion of acknowledgement before turning back to his console, his color turning to a muted cool brown. “We’re beginning slow down procedures already. I have yet to receive communication from the Bandisbul about docking procedures.”

You hummed your understanding, staring out into the endless void as Jaehwan made light conversation.

When traveling at speeds greater than light… there was no light. It was dark. Just pure blackness. It was lonely. So lonely. Sometimes, you weren’t sure how LightWater and the other Cephaloids did it. It had to be lonely up here most of the time, especially in the black. But you supposed that since their eyes were shaped differently from your own, it wasn’t too much to imagine that he didn’t just see eternal blackness. What they saw though… that would always remain a mystery to your kind, you were sure.

At about the two hour mark before the rendezvous, off in the distance, a single prick point of light slowly started to glow: the Gamma Tau star. As time went on, more and more stars regained their sparkle in the endless sea of darkness. Slowing down even further, planets and their moons added their own glows, some brilliant white, others varying hues.

“Entering the system’s outermost orbit. We should be getting the docking instructions soon. I suggest making your farewells and gathering your things.”

You reached through the hydro-barrier that contained LightWater. In return, LightWater took your hand in one of his arms. The sensation was odd, the suckers pinching at the skin of your hand and wrist affectionately. “I’ll stop by here again before I leave… old friend.”

As you withdrew your hand from the water, LightWater used his siphon to playfully shoot a small stream of water at you. The water, having just enough to force to break through the low resistance hydro-barrier, hit you squarely in the face. Jaehwan laughed at your expense as you wiped the water from your face. LightWater had the gaul to change to a deep vibrant green. Cheeky bastard.

“And I will miss you. Especially since you’re the only human that does not scream when engaging in a little squirting.”

You cringed on the inside. Jaehwan and several of the other Jacks you had trained with over the past few years took a rather accurate and naive term that you grew up with and turned it into something… else. You made a mental note to yourself to work on finding an alternative word to add to the Cephaloid-International Human Language (IHL) dictionary.

You and Jawhwan bid LightWater a final farewell before pushing off towards the ladder that would lead you out of the bridge. 

Once you were back in the low level gravity rings, you both headed back to your room. “Stop it, Jaehwan.”

“Stop what?”

“I know you’re smirking.”

“What? How?”

“You get weirdly quiet.”

“What? I can’t help it. You’re the only human I know that that’s close with the Cephaloid.”

You rolled your eyes at that as you opened your room. “Like you’re one to talk. Who’s the one who was flirting with the Mengolki twins not too long ago?”

Jaehwan shot you a dirty look as he went towards his bunk, opening the cabinets below and above his bunk. You did the same on your side as you continued, “Besides, LightWater and I grew up together. I’m… I’m going to really miss him.”

Jaehwan didn’t miss the way you paused. “You’re worried that this will be the last time you see him, huh?”

You turned back towards Jaehwan. His gaze was soft and sympathetic. He may be a bit of an attention seeking man-whore, but at the end of the day he was one of the most empathetic, kind souls you knew. “He’s getting up there in age and distinction. When he returns to Atlantis… he’ll be offered the right to breed… and he’ll be gone. Forever.”

Jaehwan pursed his lips, dropping one of the bags on his bunk. Stepping over to your side of the room, he pulled you into a hug. “I know. But at the end of the day, that’s the way of his people. There are certain things that can’t be changed. You know that.”

You sighed angrily, returning Jaehwan’s hug, your fists twisting at the fabric of his muted teal jumpsuit. “Still doesn’t mean I can’t be upset.”

“I know. I know.”

You stayed like that for a moment before pushing off him gently, turning back to your stuff. Jaehwan did the same. As the two of you finished getting your things together, Jaehwan said, “You know… if you need some comforting….”

His tone left his meaning open ended. Either he was propositioning you for sex… or he was offering to use his ‘cute attacks’ that he’d use to get his way with others. Typically, making them feel good about giving into him, but that was besides the point. 

Shaking your head, you called out, “ARGUS, engage privacy.”

The computer system, ARGUS, make an electric noise of acknowledgement, before it engaged the privacy screen that separated your side of your shared quarters from Jaehwan’s. Its hydraulics whirring as it disengaged from within the wall. “Get dressed, Ken-doll. We gotta look smart in our uniforms.”

You could hear Jaehwan grumbling from the other side of the screen. He hated that nickname. Chuckling to yourself, you began changing into your Jack blues. 

While not a military program, the Human Ambassadorial Program (HAP) realized early on that the best structure and the best training could be achieved by combining civilian and military tactics. 

You reminisced some of your earlier years as you pulled your uniform out of the only enclave that was designed specifically for dress blues. Training was hard. They pushed your physical limits, needing to make sure that you could physically handle any inhabitable planetary environment imaginable. 

As you undressed out of your jumpsuit, your eyes landed on the small depressed scar on your right thigh from where you had your nano-antibodies injected. Your stomach clenched at the memory. It was the only time you ever considered dropping from the program: you body fought the anti-bodies for a lot longer than it should’ve. You weren’t sure if you were going to survive that month from how hard your body tried to get rid of them.

Once down to your underwear, you began dressing in your blues. 

It wasn’t necessarily a military uniform, not in the conventional sense. When dressing, it didn’t have to be perfect, there were no dress checks, your hair could touch your collar, and make up was allowed, though you knew few Jacks who actually wore any. Instead, you just had to be professional in appearance. 

You wore a white button up, with black buttons. Over it, you wore an intense navy blue asymmetrical vest, making sure your lapels were pressed down firmly as you attached your Jack insignia (a four-pointed star with a ‘J’ covering the intersection of a paint brush, a back hoe, a graduated cylinder and a pen) to the left one, right over your heart. Once you were satisfied with it, you slipped on a pair of comfortable black tights, then shimmied into your matching blue skirt. Once your were satisfied that the skirt didn’t rotate too much as you shimmied into it and twisted yourself to reach the zipper, you slipped on your issued black loafers. ‘Practical, not sexy,’ you reminded yourself as you slipped them on, remembering the phrase your first mentor drilled into you when there were complaints about uniforms in training.

Before putting on your jacket, you quickly styled your hair into a fashionable bun. ‘Practical, but a little attractive,’ you mused to yourself. Being a Jack, you had to learn quickly that being attractive was a secondary thought when it came to appearances. The first was professionalism. Making sure your hair and the light makeup you wore were all in order, you grabbed your blade from the confines of under your bunk, your fingers making contact with the cold leather of its sheath first. 

Officially, the blade was ceremonial— a symbol of status, that you’d graduated from being a novice to a full-fledged Jack. Each blade was unique, designed by the Jacks that trained you. A welcoming gift of sorts.

In your hand, you withdrew the blade from its sheath, setting the knife down on your bunk. You took a moment to admire the black leather sheath, letting your fingers smooth over the subtle filigree that decorated around the Jack oath ’Amicus— Autem Semper Praesidium.’  

‘A friend— but always a guardian.’

After a moment, you took the sheath and attached it to the loop at the top of your skirt designed for it on your dominant side. Once you were sure the sheath was secure (it was difficult to attach it with the blade in it), you grabbed the knife. 

Your blade was Damascus steel, the sharp, curved edge and the ripples in the metal gleamed in the harsh artificial light of your room. The blade itself was not particularly long, only spanning the length of your palm. But it didn’t have to long— just effective.

You couldn’t find anything wrong with the blade itself since the last time you checked it, moving on to the hilt. The finger guard was simple, but a little more prominent than what you’ve seen on other Jacks’ blades. At first it made you ashamed, thinking that it was an indirect way of saying you were clumsy. But now— now, it just meant you could defend yourself for longer, if the need arose. The handle was just as beautiful and as practical as the blade. The hilt was the perfect length for your hand. The smooth, black lacquered hilt was covered in an azure cord wrap, reminiscent of the ancient Earth katana. Practical, yet beautiful. 

Once you tested the balance, you deemed it in perfect condition and slipped it into its sheath at your hip.

Once you were sure your knife was attached securely to your hip, you finally put on your navy blue jacket. Most of your pins were already on it, but a few, you took on and off constantly, those were the most precious— you didn’t want to risk losing them unnecessarily. Once you added the rest of your pins, you called out, “ARGUS, disengage privacy.”

ARGUS once again made a noise of acknowledgment before retracting the privacy screen. As the screen retracted, you turned around to see Jaehwan also ready, leaning against the side of his bunk, the chrome sheath of his own knife at his hip twinkling in the light. His uniform was similar to your own, with a few key differences. 

For one, being male, he instead wore a pair of slacks in the same shade of blue as your skirt. The collars of his vest and shirt and lapels of his jacket were replaced by mandarin collars, a design element to distinguish between places of origin: you being from the U.A.F., and him being from G.A.L. His own Jack insignia was placed on his collar.

You both looked each other up and down. 

“Spiffy. Ready to go, Savant?”

You rolled your eyes, barely keeping the small curl of a smile from your lips.

You supposed you deserved that after calling him his dreaded nickname. He just had to call you yours from your training days. 

Picking up your bags, you headed towards the door. “Can it. Just remember: I out rank you.”

There was no real bite to your tone, but if he was going to call you Savant, well, you might as take it a step further and remind him that while younger, you out rank him both in merits and time-based seniority. He only outranked you in age and height. 

Jaehwan laughed as he was quick to follow you on your heels with his own bags in hand. “If that’s how we’re gonna play, I’m going to put everything I can as high as I can in the residence once we get planet side.”

Without missing beat, you replied, “Try that and find yourself quickly taken out at the kneecaps.”

Jaehwan only laughed, making you smirk as the two of you continued to lug around you bags. Luckily, the two of you didn’t get too far before you ran into a couple of the human crew. You smiled. 

“Ahh, Lieutenant Carter!”

Lieutenant Carter looked you over, returning your smile. “I see you two are ready for departure already.”

Jaehwan replied, “Believe it. I can’t wait to have a bath. A real bath.”

You sighed blissfully in agreement. “And sunlight. Actual sunlight. No more vitamin D transfusions.”

“Noise— anything other than that drone of the ship,” Jaehwan mused, his gaze far off in the distance. 

“Food… real food….”

Being Jacks, you and Jaehwan weren’t necessarily meant to stay space side for long. You trained on all sorts of terrain— connecting with nature in a way that you were sure most, humans or otherwise, wouldn’t appreciate.

Ensign Tanaka laughed. “It sounds like the two of you can’t wait to make it planet side.”

Jostling one of your bags back onto your shoulder, you replied, “There are Jacks that go their entire lives without ever even hearing of a Phase 2 mission, let alone actually going on one. The fact that we can do this… it’s a once in a lifetime mission.”

Ensign Tanaka’s eyes softened as she smiled. Lieutenant Carter coughed. “If you two would like, we can take your bags to the transfer hold. I’m sure you guys want to see the Bandisbul as soon as possible.”

The pair of them were already taking your bags as you replied, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

As he slung Jaehwan’s heavier bag over his shoulder, Carter replied, “It’s no trouble at all. If we were you, we’d probably want a first look, too.”

Jaehwan grabbed your arm, dragging you behind him towards the bridge as you shouted your thanks back. 

A few minutes later, you and Jaehwan found yourselves floating in zero g on the bridge. Sarcastically, Jaehwan asked, “Permission to come on to the bridge, Commander LightWater?”

The mechanical voice replied, “Permission granted, Jacks. We should be in visual range of the Bandisbul soon.”

You and Jaehwan made your way to the Commander, looking out into the blackness. Well, not pure blackness. The stars were bright and the blue-purple haze of the gas planet, Gamma Tau 4 illuminated the eternal blackness. The sight was unbelievable. 

“It looks like you two have joined me just in time. The Bandisbul should be breaching the planet’s horizon… now.”

He was right. Emerging from the haze of the gas planet, over the horizon, there was a small object— nothing more than a spec. But it grew larger and larger, its shape becoming more distinguished. It lost it’s reflective glow, initially making it white. Instead, it turned into a more of a grey-red. And its shape— it first, it was hard to distinguish— you weren’t sure if the light refractions were playing with your mind.

“Jaehwan… are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“If you’re seeing an… angular ship. Then yes, I’m seeing the same thing.”

Chills started going up your spine. “Didn’t the records say that they had gravity on their ships? Shouldn’t it be round? Even if it’s just internal rings spinning, it should be still round.”

LightWater answered, “Yes. The files the mining base shared said that they were capable of artificial gravity.”

Jaehwan muttered, almost to himself as he held out his thumb and squinting, getting a rough idea of its size, “It’s not big enough to have to internal rings to produce gravity… no matter how I look at it. And it be impractical….”

ARGUS chirped over the intercom, Cephaloid script appearing on the console in front of LightWater. LightWater said, “The Bandisul is now in close enough range for visual communication. Shall I open communications?”

Your heart rate spiked. Your mouth went dry. Your first contact. Swallowing, you nodded. “Yes, please.”

LightWater turned a calming yellow as he opened the channel. 

The face that appeared on the holographic panel at the top of the observation window surprised you. You knew the Ingan were very similar to humans, practically genetic cousins. But you didn’t appreciate just how true that was. 

She was rather beautiful, her face hardened by life experiences but beautiful nonetheless. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed she had come from Earth. 

She had a strong jaw and an angular nose. Her red-tinted skin was relatively pale from the obvious lack of sunlight except for the darker lines that etched her skin, almost as if she had been sketched, the artist wanting to emphasize her contours. You could tell that on Jigui, where her skin could be warmed by sunlight, her skin would glow. You were a bit jealous actually. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a series of complicated braids, a few strands of silvering hair peaking through that mass of braids. Her charcoal grey eyes studied you, just as you had her.

Clearing your throat, you introduced yourself as the Senior Jack in Gaganis, the dominant language of Jigui. “And this is Lee Jaehwan, my fellow Jack from Earth. This is Commander LightWater from Atlantis. We are please to have meet you.”

Your words weren’t nearly as eloquent as you had liked them to be. You had spent nearly a year learning the limited Gaganis inputed into the interplanetary language library, but even so, it wasn’t an easy language to learn— with sounds that you as a human had no vocal range for and a vocabulary far more expansive than any other species. The written language was easy, an alphabet of sorts and a grammatical structure similar to the structure of the IHL. But pronunciation was a completely different matter entirely.

There was a pause after you had finished your introduction— spacial delay— before she quipped an eyebrow. “I was told that the Senior Jack was gifted with languages. But I had not expected you to be able to grasp as much of our language as you seem to.”

You were elated at her compliment, but you were careful not to show it. She continued, “I am Captain Vadovas of the Bandisbul. We look forward to hosting you on the journey back to Jigui.”

Smiling, you replied, “We look forward to it very much. And thank you, Captain, for came to pick us up.”

Another pause, then she nodded. “We should be arriving shortly. You should’ve already received out docking trajectory. Bandisbul out.”

She glanced off screen and nodded, the feed going dark immediately.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, completely deflating and slightly pushing yourself backwards in zero-g. Jaehwan began clapping. “Well done.”

Rolling your eyes, you replied, “I guess we should start making our way to the docking bay.”

Jaehwan nodded sadly. “I’m going to miss this place.”

You patted his arm. “Me too. But we’ve been wanting this forever.”

He hummed in agreement. “We… We really should be getting back there.”

Jaehwan had already pushed himself off one of the walls towards the bridge hatch. He looked back at you when you didn’t immediately follow. “You go on ahead. I gotta say goodbye.”

LightWater eyed you curiously, his whole body lightly changed to a paler color, his nerves getting to him. As soon as Jaehwan was through the hatch, you muttered. “I’m going to miss you.”

“As am I. You are the only human I know that is tolerable.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

LightWater flashed a defensive red. He may not have been able to understand your tone, but he’s clearly picked up on one or two things about human body language. “I am reaching the end of my life cycle. I either die passing on my genes to the next generation. Or I die without completing the greatest mission one of my kind can do.”

“I know!” You sighed in defeat. “I know…. I just don’t want this to be our final farewell, old friend.”

He didn’t respond immediately. His coloring turned a more muted shade of orange— almost brown. A moment later, he extended one arm out towards you, breaching the barrier of his oversized water droplet. It took a moment before you realized what he was doing. Your eyes grew large, realizing what he was doing.

You took off your jacket and rolled up your sleeve. You offered up your hand to him. He grabbed your arm gently, the suckers pulling you towards him. Your hand entered the water and you made eye contact with him.

This was… an act of trust. Typically performed at a formal event, this was a test. A test of trust and friendship. Very few Cephaloids trusted any of the other races to touch them— they weren’t a particularly affectionate species to begin with. And for humans, at the very least, Cephaloids scared us on an instinctual level— they were predators, dangerous. Alien. 

He wanted to use this act as a good-bye.

With your arm elbow deep in the water, you watched as LightWater wrapped his arm around your own, the suckers gripping your arm even more tightly, preparing for you to reflectively fight him. You wouldn’t deny it— letting your hand being dragged closer to his razor sharp beak was… a little terrifying. But you trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

His mechanical voice startled you. “This may be the last time we meet in this life— but we will meet in the next. Our bond is proof that.”

You smiled gently at him, eyes watering a bit. Always the sentimental. Your gaze fell to where your arm was wrapped in his, watching as your hand made contact with the smooth, hard surface of his beak. He opened his mouth, bringing your hand to it. Your heart rate spiked, every instinct in you tell you it was dangerous like this. But in the back of your mind, you had to remind yourself, he was probably scared: his own instincts telling him that you were a threat. 

His hold on your arm let up, letting you move your hand freely. You let him enclose his beak slightly around your finger. The feeling reminded you of when a bird bit at your finger, probably thinking it was a worm or something other food. The only difference was that this beak was much larger and the touch much gentler. 

A moment later LightWater let go of you completely, letting you slip your finger from his beak as you blinked, your tears floating away in zero-g. Just before you were about to slip your hand out of the barrier, you affectionately squeezed his arm. He didn’t flinch, nor did he flash a bright red in warning. Instead, he shifted to a gentle green, his skin completely smooth and relaxed. He trusted you completely. 

You shook the fine layer of water that stuck to your arm away, letting the droplets fly around in the bridge. Inspecting your arm, your could already see the circular bruises from where his suckers pinched your skin. Your arm would be tender for a while, but the red splotches were strangely beautiful— artistic. 

Reaching for the sheath at your hip, you withdrew your knife. You brought the knife to the back of your head, your free hand pulling a single lock from your bun at the base of your hairline. Carefully, you cut the lock. Re-sheathing your knife, you offered the lock of hair to LightWater. 

“I don’t have… a telepathic image I can give you like your people would in final good-byes. Instead, I offer up a moment of our childhood.” You laughed. “You and the others would often pull out clumps of my hair if I ever got too close to you on Atlantis. I had always thought you hated me. It took me a while but I finally learned that it wasn’t to bully me. But rather it was just some dumb children who were curious and didn’t know their strength. So… I give it to you.”

LightWater gazed at you blankly for a moment before reaching out through the barrier once again, taking the lock from you. “I will… protect it. Until we meet again in the next life. I will… miss you.”

You could barely control the sniffle. “And I’ll miss you.”

“I may not be able to join you at the docking bay, but I will watch from here. And know that I will always watch you.”

“I feel safer already. Thank you, LightWater.”

LightWater flashed an array of colors, greens, purples and brown. No more word needed to be exchanged— it was too hard. 

Grabbing your jacket, you pushed off towards the hatch for the last time. As you floated past the hydro-barrier, you let your fingers dance across them, creating ripples. LightWater watched you until you were completely through the hatch.

Back on the gravity rings, you cleaned up your face a bit and re-dressed yourself properly. Crying would come later. You had a job to do. 

It took longer than you had meant, but you finally made it to the docking port. Jaehwan, along with a few other crewmen were there, waiting for you. 

“You’re late.”

“They haven’t clamped on. I’m fine.”

“You’re a shit liar you know that, right?”

You glared up at Jaehwan, getting ready to shoot him a snarky reply when the klaxon sounded, signaling that the Bandisbul has latched onto the Hermes’ docking port. After the klaxon has sounded three times, the doors, separating the two ships opened. 

Your heart thundered in your chest. Your first meeting, face to face. As the doors opened, your gaze fell first on Captain Vadovas. She was… shorter than you thought. Then you realized that the small entourage behind her was also shorter than you expected. ‘Higher gravity world,’ you reminded yourself. 

Both you and Jaehwan bowed (something the Jacks discovered was universally non-insulting) as Captain Vadovas stepped onto the Hermes. 

“Welcome, Captain Vadovas to the U.I.S. Hermes.”

She nodded. “I am glad to be on board. It is good to finally see you both in person.”

Vadovas looked over the two of you, her gaze piercing. You noted that she looked over Jaehwan far more incredulously than she did you. And honestly, you couldn’t blame her. Even amongst humans, Jaehwan was on the taller side. With angular, expressively eyebrows arching over dark, mischievous, almond eyes and full, pink lips that quipped up cutely, he was beautiful. You always thought it was odd but his large nose balanced out the rest of his face— rather than taking away from the rest of his features, it enhanced them. 

“The same, Captain.”

Turning to her right slightly, Vadovas signaled for the man behind her to step forward. “This will be your guide Jigui.”

She then said his name. You knew that you would eventually run into this problem sooner or later… you just didn’t expect it to come so soon. His name was a series of sounds— sounds that came in vastly different pitches and in such a quick concession that a human could never hope to be able to pronounce it. The male at Captain Vadovas’ side smiled kindly at you, probably noting the brief moment of panic of your face— you were never good at masking it according to Jaehwan. 

His voice was rougher, deeper than you thought it be. “For now you can just call me, ‘Guide.’”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jaehwan gape at him. “You speak IHL?!”

Captain Vadovas smirked. She clearly didn’t speak IHL, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t read the situation. “Yes, he speaks your language. When your… library was sent over, he studied it, making sure that he could communicate with you and to help clarify things.”

“Thank you…” you paused, considering to make an attempt at his name, but quickly chose against it. “Guide. That will help greatly.”

“Of course. I look forward to our time together.”

His gaze was intense— the smaller pupils of his eyes making the russet color of his eyes more intense, just adding weight to his already heavy gaze. The only word that you could think to describe his gaze was… bright. It made you feel nervous… but not necessarily in a bad way. 

Captain Vadovas cleared her throat, gathering your attention. “Now that you’ve been officially introduced, I’d like to make way. I believe most of your equipment was sent when you were initially suppose to arrive.”

Your guide confirmed, “Yes. Your equipment is being stored at the Science Institute of Shistanp. Are these bags yours? Is this all you’re bringing on board?”

“Yes. We ca—“

Before you finish your sentence, let alone reach for your bags that had been neatly put away against the wall, your new guide grabbed all four of the bags. As you sputtered, trying to explain that he didn’t have to carry them, he just smirked at you and was already on his way back through the hatch, the rest of the entourage following behind him, almost chasing after him. As if they intended to stop him.

Vadovas chuckled, muttering something under her breath that you did not catch. She turned back to you. “Forgive him. He’s always been a little… over zealous. I ask that you make you final goodbyes before we depart.”

She followed your guide back through the hatch, waiting for you just beyond it. 

Jaehwan broke the short revery of silence. “Interesting people.”

You glared at him. “You followed only every other word, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m surprised I got that much. Given that,” he brought his fist to his mouth, making an exaggerated cough. “I failed my rudimentary language test, like what, three times.”

You scoffed. “You’ll pick it up in no time. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Thanks. Anyways, you got anyone you need to say goodbye to?”

You showed him your hand, the circular bruises already blooming purple from the back of your hand and trailing around and up your wrist and arm. “I’ve said mine. You?”

Jaehwan smiled sadly at you after looking back at the few crewmen who had gathered to see the Ingan. “Already did. Let’s not keep them waiting any longer than necessary.”

You nodded in agreement as the two of you headed for the hatch.

Just before making that step first step onto the Ignan ship, you looked back. The docking bay was empty (the crewmen already having dispersed now that they had to prepare for detachment)— sterile— but it held so many memories. For just a short while— this was home. 

“You coming, Savant?”

You sighed, stifling a laugh. “Yeah. I’m coming, Ken-doll.”

Pulling the docking door shut, you secured it, sealing your future. Turning back around, you joined Jaehwan and Vadovas. It didn’t hit you immediately until after you shut the hatch, but the artificial gravity was higher here, the increased pressure constricting your lungs a bit— your first taste of what it would be like on Jigui. 

“Your guide has gone to drop your bags off at the cabins you will be staying for the remainder of the voyage. If you would like, we can do a tour of the Bandisbul. And then dinner in the captain’s mess.”

You nodded. “That sounds wonderful, Captain.”

She smiled, nodding. “This way. We’ll make our way to the bridge first to watch the detach.”

You nodded your understanding before repeating what she just said, to Jaehwan. To which he immediately nodded his head excitedly.

Following the captain towards the bridge, you took note of how similar the inside of the Bandisbul was to human ships. Jaehwan was like a kid in a candy shop, his gaze large and starry-eyed taking in every detail. 

The three of you stopped when a voice called out for the Captain. Turning you were met with the sight of your guide joining you. He was a little out of breath but otherwise, fine. “Your bag are in your cabins.”

“Thank you very much. The Captain was just about to take us on a tour.”

“Great! I’ll join you.”

Captain Vadovas exclaimed, “Excellent.”

She continued to lead the way to the bridge. Following behind her, you now had the chance to sneak a couple of good glances at your guide. 

Your guide had a slightly stocky build with wide shoulders, filling his uniform (a garment that seemed similar to a jumpsuit like you wore on the Hermes) out nicely. He wasn’t particularly tall (not like Jaehwan was), but he also wasn’t short, still standing quite a bit taller than Captain Vadovas. And he wasn’t quite as pale as the Captain either, whether that was his natural complexion or if he been recently exposed to sunlight, you weren’t sure. His skin was also lightly tinged a red tone.

Like Vadovas, his skin was covered in patterns, except… his were lighter in color and you could only see them peaking out from under his sleeves and collar of his uniform. Since the marking stopped at the underside of his jaw, you would have almost thought he was human. 

Emphasis on the almost.

Following the contour of his high cheekbones and temples, along his sharp jawline, were lines of iridescent skin. As they reflected the sterile light of the corridor, their color, the way they shifted slightly with color with his every step— from blue to green to purple to white and back again— reminded you a little of the abalone shell your father found on one of his geological expeditions. It was… odd. But incredibly beautiful.

The blue of his markings complimented his round, russet eyes. Long eyelashes (Mother Nature was cruel: readily gifting long eyelashes to the males of any species) hid the deep creases of his eyes. Strong, angular eyebrows balanced the gentle curve of the markings along his temples. You thought his nose was round, like a button nose from the front, but from the profile, it was straight as an arrow. Below his nose, his lips were thin, but surprisingly soft looking given then he’s been in the extremely dry environment of a spaceship.

His umber brown hair was cut in a style that the closest analogy you could find was an undercut. The hair left longer was tied back in a topknot, giving him a clean, but almost aggressive appearance.

You glanced away sheepishly as he looked your way, probably feeling the weight of your glances on him. After a moment, you hesitantly glanced back up at him again. He was smiling a bit, smile lines emphasizing the contour of his lips and jawline. You couldn’t help how your cheeks flushed red briefly as you realized he had caught you staring at him.

Sooner than you expected, you arrived at the bridge. As you entered, the crewmen, a total of three that you could see, turned to stare at you and Jaehwan. You swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous under the weight of their curious stares. Captain Vadovas introduced the two of you to the crew. Once introductions were in order, she ordered for them to detach. You and Jaehwan were led over to the observation window. The pair of you watched, wide-eyed. 

It was a strange feeling. The Hermes had been your home for almost half a year. As the Bandisbul detached, it hit you just how fast the rings of the Hermes rotated as the Bandisbul detached in a straight trajectory. The two of you stood there is awed silence as the Hermes became smaller and smaller, the further out you flew towards Jigui.

Once it was out of sight, the two of you rejoined Captain Vadovas and your guide. “Shall we begin the tour?”

“Yes.”

Captain Vodovas led you all around the ship, her and your guide explain everything the best they could. Like most other spaceships, it was compact and designed for efficiency. Slightly different though in purpose from what you were used to. The Bandisbul was built to transport miners to and from the astroid belt back to their home planet once they’ve completed their circuit.  

Some stops were short, such as finding the head of the ship, very important, especially since you felt like you’d need to relieve yourself soon. Other stops were longer… much longer. Jaehwan was in heaven in the engine room, staring at one of the greatest invention neither of you knew existed— a cold fusion reactor. 

After much prodding and reminding him that there was food at the end of this, Jaehwan finally allowed you to pull him away from the ‘magical’ engine room. The tour continued on a little longer before you ended up at the captain’s mess. 

Entering the room, you were surprised by how… intimate it was. It wasn’t overly decorated, but there was a tapestry on the wall. You walked over to it, admiring the weave. It was a simple scene, a cliff, crashing waves, and Jigui’s twin moons. “It’s beautiful… the detail amazing.”

“Thank you. It’s been in my family for several generations. Shall we?”

Captain Vadovas indicated for you to sit down as she took her own seat. It was a square table, each of you taking a side. As the four of you waited, your friendly guide made some idle small talk.  You had often worried about your guide being stiff and cold like you had read about in the journals of past Jacks, but it seemed like you were blessed with that being false in this case. 

While the conversation was a little awkward at first (idle chitchat not necessarily translating quite as nicely as you thought it would), you welcomed the distraction. Especially for Jaehwan.

Neither you nor Jaehwan were looking forward to another meal of dehydrated, packaged food— the gloriously named MRE (meal ready to eat), especially when it would be compromised of foods neither of you had ever seen.

A knock at the door caught your attention. As the Captain bade them to enter, a wonderful smell hit your nose. A wirey, small male entered, followed by a young female, each carrying a plate. As the plates were set down in front of you, you said your thanks to who you assumed was the head chef of the ship in Gaganis. The food in front of you was so familiar and yet, so different. 

Steam rose from the roasted cutlet of meat— some of sort of poultry if the texture and shape were anything to go by. Covered in some spices, it smelled delicious. Next to it was a small pile of vegetables, also roasted and covered in herbs from the looks of them. The vegetables reminded you of some that you’d seen on Earth: turnips, peas, rhubarb, and onion. There was also a piece of what looked to be a flat bread with some unmilled grains of some kind that looked similar to oats.

As if yours and Jaehwan’s stomach shared one mind, they roared their demands in sync with each other. Your cheeks flushed red and from the corner of your eye, you could see the way Jaehwan’s ears turned scarlet as the four Ingan turned to stare at you. Sheepishly, you tried to explain, “It’s… been a while since we saw real food.”

Your guide was the first to laugh, relaxing the atmosphere of the room immensely, getting the others to join in. Captain Vadovas smiled and said, “I was going to apologize for the similicity of your first Ingan meal… but it seems that I should never have worried.”

She turned to the male and asked him for something, you weren’t sure what though— you were too busy drooling over the food in front of you. As he and his assistant left, Captain Vadovas and your guide began eating. You and Jaehwan mimicked them, grabbing the utensil that looked like a fork, except that it was two pronged instead of four, and the great universal tool: a knife. 

As you ate the first bit of meat, you couldn’t help but moan happily. It was so… good, the flavor being a cross between chicken and the tanginess of red meat.

Your guide laughed again. Turning red, you couldn’t help but shoot him a pointed look, forgetting for a moment that you were suppose to be cordial. He just gave you a lopsided goofy grin. “You act like you’ve never eaten food before.”

Mouth stuffed, Jaehwan answered, “After months of nothing by MREs this is like the food of the gods.”

Your guide inquired, “MREs?”

Between mouthfuls you explained, “Dehydrated, freeze dried food— Meals Ready to Eat. Exploratory vessels like the Hermes aren’t big enough to house a hydroponics bay, a cryo-static freezer, nor a real kitchen. So, we’re issued MREs instead. Disgusting but nutrient packed.”

Your guide made a face before going back to eating own meal, clearly much more… content with his meal than before.

Soon the crewmen from before returned, this time with bottles in hand. He handed each of you one and disappeared out of the room once more before you could express your thanks. Opening the bottle, you were glad to find it was water and not something else. You weren’t sure if your stomach could handle a new liquid on top of new solids. Especially after only eating MREs for months.

The conversation flowed easily and Jaehwan was becoming more and more confident, slowly picking up bits and pieces of Gaganis, just like you said he would.

As the dinner wrapped up, your guide asked, “What does ‘Jack’ mean? I cannot find it in the library.”

You replied, “It comes from an old Earth phrase, ‘jack of all trades, master of none.’ Jacks, as ambassadors of sorts, need to be skilled numerous different areas. Kind of as a means of not only being able understand numerous different parts of different cultures, but give perspectives that specialists might not see otherwise because they see the universe through just one lense. It’s also the best method of introduction. Having as few… aliens as possible on your planet at one time in the beginning has been the best course of action in the past when the Interplanetary Alliance meets new species. By only sending two representatives, but skilled in multiple areas, it’ll allow for easier and perhaps quicker integration if your people choose to join the I.A.”

His brows knit together, listening to you intently. You could tell he didn’t understand everything you said, but he seemed to understand enough. “A rather interesting phrase, I like it very much.”

He smiled at you and you returned the gesture. Captain Vadovas interrupted. “You must be tired. It will be a few days before we reach Jigui. Your guide will take you back to your cabin.”

As the four of you stood up, you said, “Thank you, Captain. Lead the way.”

Your guide smiled once more at you, holding out his hand, indicating for you and Jaehwan to leave first. Once out into the corridor, your guide led you through several halls until you arrived at a hall with four doors. “Since this is normally a mining transport vessel, each of you get your own room. Lee is over there,” he pointed to the door kitty corner from the door you stood in front of. “And you will be here.”

He pointed to the door you stood in front of. “I will be in that one if either of you need anything or wish to speak.”

Your guide pointed to the door directly opposite of your own and next to Jaehwan’s. 

You smiled at him. “Thank you very much.”

“Of course.”

He bid you both goodbye before he entered his cabin. As soon as his heavy door closed, both you an Jaehwan relaxed. Jaehwan was the first to break the silence. 

“He seems… nice.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew that tone. It only meant trouble. “Why would you say it like that?”

Jaehwan hesitated before replying, “Male instinct. Goodnight.”

Before you could stop him to question him even further, he was already in his cabin. Under your breath you muttered, “Little shit.”

Entering your cabin, you noted that it was rather homey… for a space cabin that is. It was still nothing but a metal box. But there was an actual bed, not a mattress put on a set of cabinets to maximize space like you were used to. You could actually stretch out a bit. You could only imagine how excited Jaehwan must be not to have to sleep either on the ground if he wanted to stretch out, or in a fetal position on his bunk because of his height. There was a wooden desk tucked away in the corner. 

Behind the desk was a beautiful tapestry of a dormant volcano, the slopes of it covered in green but the crater at the top of it remained ashen in color. The sleeping fiery titan sloped down across a valley filled with flowers you had never seen before. The valley ended abruptly with the sudden drop of a cliff, giving away to violent waves crashing up on it. In the sky, the sun hung high in the sky with the ghostly gleam of one of the moons hanging on the horizon. 

You ran your fingers over the fine embroidery. So much detail and patience went into it… it was absolutely amazing. 

Jostling yourself out of your admiration, you reminded yourself just how uncomfortable you had gotten in your uniform. Grabbing one of the bags your guide had placed on your bed, you pulled out your old t-shirt and cotton shorts. Both of them were Jack issued, but the t-shirt held a special place in your heart. 

It was covered in little messages from your fellow Jacks— your friends. You traced over Miranda’s elegant hand writing, telling you how much she was going to miss you, how proud she was of you. You couldn’t help but smile at Jin’s blocky ‘chicken scratch.’ Rather than telling you he’d miss you, he just gave you a list of all the things you needed to remember to do to take care of yourself. Forever the mother hen.

As you read over each and every message, you eyes welled with tears. All the emotions that had been building up in you over the last few months finally gave way. Between saying goodbye to LightWater, leaving home, the stress of making a good first unofficial impression— the floodgates opened. 

Clutching the shirt to your chest, you cried, letting all of it out. It was cathartic, just letting it all out in such a primal way. After what felt like far too long, you finally calmed down. Wiping the snot and tears from your face, you felt so much better. You felt like you could finally relax, like you could really breath for the first time today. 

Once you had changed out of your uniform and dressed in your pajamas, you stood there, looking around the cabin that would be your space for the next few days. In a burst of restless energy, you felt incredibly awake. There wasn’t much do to in your cabin, so you slipped on your work shoes— the eternally useful tennis shoes— and left your cabin with tablet in hand.

You wondered around the ship, taking in every detail, making sure that you kept track of where you turned and when so you could get back to your cabin. After a while, found yourself in one of the few places on the ship with a view into the great blackness. It was like an observation deck of sorts, a bench was placed against a wall, the perfect height for viewing out the four feet across circular window.

As you sat there, you felt drawn in by the sight before you. On the horizon of sorts, you could see the astroid belt. The line of rock split the near blackness in two. Off in the distance, the only other identifiable body in the darkness was the Gamma Tau star, illuminating the astroid belt, making it sparkle.

Jigui wasn’t observable yet— the light of the star drowning it out at this distance.

It all looked familiar and yet… so different. 

2,500 days— seven years before you’d be on your way back to Earth again.

You felt so small by the thought of being so far away from home for so long. And yet, you couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of the unknown.

Chapter 2 <ACCESS DENIED>

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[hunnybadgerv]

Fly High, Fly Free | Far Cry 5 | Leah Rook

Summary: John extends an invitation that Leah cannot resist, but nature intrudes, presenting a detour that isn’t entirely unwelcome.

a/n: I decided that it might be a lot of fun to give these two the first tastes of a relationship before they end up at odds. Again, my deepest and most sincere thanks to @amistrio and @chyrstis for betaing this for me. Their insight and suggestions have been so helpful, and really helped me gain confidence with this piece and with writing John, especially.

Full Story on Ao3

Fly High, Fly Free

-1-

The sun hung high in the clear sky as the afternoon pressed onward. Adrenaline pumped through Leah’s veins as she watched Helena slip away beneath them and the mountains poke through the trees. There was no place more beautiful, she thought. Shifting from side to side, she stared out of the cockpit of John’s plane. The area, familiar as it may be, took on a whole other nature from this altitude. The glassy surface of a lake reflected the puffy clouds in the blue sky. Pale dirt roads spidered over the hills to destinations unknown as they disappeared into thick stands of dark green evergreen trees.

The offer to fly her home for the weekend seemed a little over the top at first, but the tone of his voice when he suggested the idea made it impossible to turn down. Plus, the opportunity to cut her commute from 3 hours to 30 minutes made the proposal as tempting as the man making it. She had to admit that giving him her number had been the smartest decision she made in the last six months.

John Seed was tall, lean, and handsome with a pair of baby blue eyes she could just drown in. Even better, he proved to be a gentleman and a breathtaking kisser. Leah sat back in the rear seat of the antique plane and shifted; a part of her was sure she could feel the condom she’d stuffed in her pocket before she headed out to her truck. Maybe she was jumping the gun, but she was into him. And he seemed to like her, too.

The awe and elation that came with the flight did nothing to quell her clashing feelings; the enthusiasm and anxiety battled within her over what might happen later. She didn’t know if she read too much into the way things were going between John and her. Sure, she’d been raised in the church, went to Sunday School and services every week with her family, but John’s religiosity far outstripped hers. To top it off, his brother was a pastor from what she’d been able to glean from their talks. Of course, there was also the chance that she’d misread every sign that seemed to hint that he might be ready to go to the next level.

With a shake of her head, she rolled her eyes at her own adolescent thoughts.

“Leah.”

God, I love the way he says my name, she thought.

“Leah!”

With a start, she sat up straighter in her seat. “Yes, John. Sorry. I was … distracted.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” There was a hint of glee in his voice when it filled her ears again through the headset. “It’s beautiful up here.”

Little did he know she wasn’t distracted only by the scenery beneath them. Her attention flicked forward, catching a hint of his face in the small rear-view mirrors near the control panel in front of him. She had no idea what it might actually be called, but that seemed as good a term as any.

Damn those sunglasses, she thought. She would have loved to know if he might be sneaking a peek at her, like she was at him.

“It really is,” she agreed.

“See that stick in front of you?”

“Yeah,” she said, scrunching her eyebrows together.

“Grab it.”

“Why?”

“Just hold it steady.”

She did as he asked, but only because she had an inkling about what he might be planning. “John, I do not know how to fly.”

“It isn’t difficult. Just keep the position fixed.”

“John.”

“It’s fine, Leah. I have faith in you.”

Guess it’s great that one of us does, she thought as she stared down at her hands. Her grasp was so tight on the yoke that her knuckles were turning white. The possibility of moving it the wrong way and sending them into that glassy lake they’d passed scared the shit out of her. “John?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know how to fly, John.”

“Flying is the easy part,” he told her in a relaxed tone. “Actually, the trickiest thing is getting into and out of the air. Once you’re up here, though, it’s a total dream. Just keep your heading.”

“John! Don’t you dare let go of that stick!” Leah yelled.

“Let go?” he said. Damn him, she could hear the smirk in his voice. “I haven’t been flying this plane for at least three minutes now.”

“What?”

His hands rose high enough for her to see them from her seat. “See? It’s so easy, you didn’t know you were doing it.”

“You put your hands back on those controls,” she admonished, aiming for stern castigation that came out more like stark panic.

John, unperturbed by her tone, threaded his hands behind his head. “But this is so relaxing.”

“For you, maybe.” She could feel the tension building in her shoulders. A quake trickled down her arms to her hands, which telegraphed into the movement of the aircraft. “Christ,” she hissed under her breath. Leah tried to correct every single little tremor.

“Ease up a little. Not so tight,” John instructed, his voice buttery and soothing. “You don’t drive with a white-knuckle grip. You shouldn’t fly with one either.”

Leah Rook knew stubborn when she saw it or heard it; hell, she could be as bull-headed herself. Despite his reassuring tone, she recognized the fact that he bore no intention of rescuing her from this fresh new hell. No, John would not give this up until she tried to fly the plane, actually tried. Leah sighed and summoned up the will to address the anxious tightness creeping through her upper body.

“If you push away from you, you’ll tip the nose downward. Pull back and our altitude will rise. If you want to bank left or right, do it gently. If you bank hard, you could take us for a real fun spin though.” He said it like the move might be something worth trying.

“I don’t think so,” she said flatly, disagreeing with every fiber of her being.

“I thought you said you were adventurous,” John chided.

Leah laughed tensely. “Adventurous is rock climbing or base jumping. Putting your plane in the hands of someone who has never flown—that’s just foolish.”

“I disagree. You’re doing a great job.”

“Not sure your insurance carrier would agree.” She could feel the shaking of the muscles in the front of her shoulders, but a slow, smooth movement of the yoke kept it from being quite as obvious.

“Well, then they’re fools. I trust you with my plane and more,” he admitted.

Leah’s eyes shot up toward those mirrors. He didn’t look like someone who had said something they didn’t intend. Of course, that observation didn’t make her brain restart in a timely manner. She just blinked, once, twice. “Glad you approve,” she managed to mumble around her own myriad of thoughts.

John chuckled; hands still folded behind his head like he was just enjoying a relaxing Sunday afternoon as the world slipped by beneath them. He was silent for a time, then spoke up again. “Take a look at those dials in front of you.”

Peeking up at him in the mirror again, she noticed he’d slid his sunglasses back into his hair and looked right at her. Her green eyes lowered once more, skating over the panel with the ease of someone held at gunpoint. John proceeded to talk her through a basic understanding of the dials and knobs, then directed her through an easy bank onto a new heading.

Flying got easier after that. It still intimidated her, but Leah felt the tension easing gradually. She piloted the plane for about ten more minutes before John finally sat back up again. “Want to try your hand at a landing?”

Fuck no!

“I’ll pass,” Leah told him a little tightly.

“All right then. Let me take her,” he said in a smooth tone.

“All yours.” She let go of the stick like it suddenly burned her, holding both her hands up in surrender as she sank against the back of the seat finally.

He landed them at a grass covered dirt strip carved out of a thick section of forest. It was bumpy, but she blamed that on the locale, not his skill. Once he’d taxied toward the hangar, they disembarked, and Leah waited to get both her feet back on solid ground before she hauled off and punched him in the shoulder—it wasn’t hard, but it was more than just playful.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Leah lectured, wearing a bit of a pout as she crossed her arms over her chest.

John chuckled and pulled her toward him. “You’re a natural.” His arms folded around her in a gentle embrace

“Don’t try and butter me up with compliments.” Leah narrowed her green eyes in a failing attempt to be upset with him.

He brushed her chestnut hair behind her ear, then let his fingers trail down the length of her neck. “I would never.” The seriousness in his tone didn’t match up with the mischievous look in his blue eyes.

“Uh-huh.”

John pressed a gentle peck to her pouting lips.

For the moment, that appeased her reproving gaze. Of course, John Seed was quick on the uptake; reading people seemed to come naturally to him. He did it again, letting his lips linger on hers with each subsequent chaste peck.

Eventually, Leah leaned into his embrace and slipped an arm around him as she cast a curious glance around them. “Where are we?”

“About halfway between Helena and Fall’s End.”

She raised her eyebrows at him in an effort to get him to be more forthcoming.

“It’s a little duster strip. Doesn’t see a lot of use these days.”

“Mmhmm. And you just happened to stumble across it?”

“Or,” John replied in a sing-song tone, “the owner’s a friend.”

He kissed her on the tip of the nose, and she pressed her hands over the soft blue fabric of his vest. She liked being in his arms, feeling him close.

“So, what are we doing here?” she asked tugging at the top button.

John’s index finger curled under her chin, lifting her lips to his again. “I told you we’d get dinner.” His words were as slow and gentle as his touch. He took her hand in his and led her toward the hangar.

“I don’t see any restaurants,” she said as they strolled across the ground.

“Nope.”

“Then how do you propose to get dinner? Little late in the day for hunting,” she joked. “And I left my rifle at home.”

“There’s a pond not far off.”

Leah’s pace slowed. He can’t be serious.

John grinned at her as they neared the building. In disbelief, she looked away. She could fish, but it wasn’t really something she enjoyed all that much. That’s when she noticed a picnic basket sitting atop a workbench on the back wall.

“John?” Her voice came out somewhere between curious and surprised.

“I’m kidding.” He gave her another crooked, beautiful smirk, squeezed her hand, and led her deeper into the hangar. “For someone who likes adventure, you ask a lot of questions.”

Leah giggled. “Blame the training,” she chided with an easy shrug.

“Here.” John picked up a thick blanket and handed it to her. She had to let go of his hand in order to carry the weighty coverlet.

John went to the refrigerator in the corner and pulled out a dark bag with a long handle that he slung over his shoulder. Leah leaned toward him and raised her eyebrows trying to catch a peek in the fridge and see if there was anything else of note tucked away inside.

“You know they say curiosity killed the cat,” he teased, closing the door again quickly.

“They also say that the future belongs to the curious. The ones who aren’t afraid to try life. Explore it, poke at it, question it, and turn it inside out.”

John’s gaze on her held a gentleness as he leaned against the table. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that one.”

Leah grinned at him. “Well, I also had a teacher in middle school who told us that curiosity was the wick in the candle of learning.”

He laughed softly. “Take it I’m not the first person to point out that trait.”

She smiled widely, with a healthy trace of pride, and shook her head at him. “Not even close.”

Picking up the basket, John held his empty hand out for her to take. Leah did and laced their fingers together, but she curtailed her questions for the moment in order to just enjoy the quiet, the landscape, and the company.

Read the rest  on Ao3 

[crqstalite]

wip whenever.

just for me because i really, really got back into writing this weekend. should really get some more kaidan/kodee content out, makes me happy. especially fluffy stuff.

no content warnings. post...me1 i think? i wrote this months ago. i have no idea where it was going because i got burnt out towards the end of it.

-

Were flowers too much? Would she even appreciate them? Was she allergic to flowers?

Kaidan sighs, deciding against the carnations, and the attendant looks relieved when he steps away. Whether she was even the type of woman to like flowers, he didn't know. In fact, other than that she had an unhealthy tendency to get herself hurt and a possible caffeine addiction, there wasn't much he did know about her. Kaidan wasn't about to assume something that could make her like him any less. He gives the pink bundle a second look, before continuing to the elevator. He'd been checked out of the hospital within a week of the Geth attack, mostly minor injuries that ended with his forearm in a cast. The same had gone for the rest of the crew, worst being a suit rupture from Tali that gave her a fever. The same couldn't be said for Shepard, unfortunately. Taking the brunt of Sovereign's corpse when it'd come down, she'd been kept for observation and further treatment. She kept assuring him the whole time on their way out of the mangled council chamber that she felt fine, and that she was more worried about him and Garrus.

He'd remind her of that a few years from now, if they still kept in contact, how she'd passed out on the transport back to the hospital. And still, even with her floating in and out of even being able to see apparently (Anderson had to ask her three times how many fingers he was holding up, and even then it took her a solid two minutes to answer with 'four' instead of three), she kept asking where the rest of her crew was. That wasn't unusual considering the past few months aboard the SR-1, she'd grown close to everyone, but it proved difficult for the doctors who actually came looking for him and the others a few hours later. Apparently just to put her mind at rest and let her be sedated long enough for surgery. According to Dr. Chakwas, Shepard wasn't about to take no for an answer, even with shrapnel in her side. The woman was a trooper.

He steps out of the elevator, careful to check every number written beside each door.  He wouldn't lie, his heart had sunk so far when C-SEC officers and Anderson had come to find them after the fight with Saren's corpse and he hadn't seen Shepard. Maybe out of concern for his commanding officer, maybe out of devastation to lose a friend like her. More than a friend, he wasn't completely sure how she wanted him to recognize her.  Yes, there were regulations, but he'd never met someone quite like her. Someone who saw past his defective biotics, and instead saw someone she thought was worth her attention. Was worth spending a night together, was worth laying her life on the line to save over another soldier. To think she might've died before they got to know each other any better, he'd felt empty. Then she'd appeared again, clutching her side with a triumphant grin on her face, and everything had been set right again. She'd lived to fight another day, and after Chakwas had informed him she'd be ready for visitors in a few days, he'd been able to sleep a little easier.

He pauses beside one door, then backtracks three. Hesitating, he's not sure whether to knock or not, to do anything to announce his presence first. His hand hovers over the control panel, pressing open.

He's greeted by laughter, genuine laughter from Shepard and someone else sitting by her bedside. There are already flowers on her nightstand, bright yellow and pink in a glass vase. Kaidan thinks about leaving, wondering if he was intruding on a moment between friends or something more. He's not quick enough to make the decision himself, because Shepard's eyes light up as soon as she notices him, her tone soft but loud enough to carry, "Alenko, didn't expect you to drop by. Good to see you."

The other person still has the remnants of a grin on her expression when they turn to him, a curly mess of hair tied up in a bun at the base of their neck. Their eyes glitter green and blue, an eyebrow raising at his arrival. His words are caught in his throat before he responds, "Good to see you're awake and well, ma'am."

"Ma'am? Jeez, how old are you?" There's a giggle in the feminine voice as she gently jostles Shepard, only pulling another smile onto his friend's scarred smile. He strides further into the room, lingering closer to her bed so that the door closes behind him.

Shepard shakes her head, a loose afro of dark hair standing out against the stark white pillows. Other than just before Ilos, he'd never seen her hair loose from it's regulation bun before, nor had he actually seen a full smile from her. He sort of wishes she'd do it more often, "Oh shush, Lali. That's what you say when you actually respect someone higher in the chain of command than you."

"Just because you always had first pick of bunks when we were kids, doesn't immediately mean I'm gonna call you ma'am wherever I go, Dee." The other woman sticks her tongue out at Shepard, and she rolls her eyes, her attention returning to Kaidan, "So pretentious. Ma'am."

"Kaidan, I told you about my sister?" She asks, ignoring her sister for the moment, and he nods, "Citlali Velasquez. Citlali, Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko."

"So you'll give him the title, but not me? I see how it is." Citlali crosses her arms, mock pouting at her older sister before he can greet her properly, "Flight Lieutenant, actually. Recently promoted."

"Flight Lieutenant Citlali Velasquez, then," Shepard deadpans, "Look, you've been here all morning, don't you have duties to get back to?"

"I'm on leave for the next two days, you really think I wasn't going to come check on you, my dear older sister?" Citlali asks sarcastically, pulling her jacket from off the back of her chair. Her eyes dart to Kaidan, looking him over surely, "Trying to get rid of me, huh? Here I thought I was funny."

"And you are, but I'm pretty sure you scared Tali and Liara off when they were here earlier," Shepard responds, reaching over for what he thinks is an omni-tool to hand to Citlali, "Stop forgetting this in here, would you? Pulled that up thinking it was mine the other day."

"Yeah, yeah," She snaps the band around her wrist, the orange UI lighting her face before she swipes it away, "Don't have too much fun without me, dad still wants to see you before you go back on duty."

"I'm still not going anywhere, not for at least another week, Lali. I'll see him then." With a sound of agreement, Citlali nods at him, and then leaves. Shepard looks nearly relieved, her features softening and gesturing for him to sit where her sister had been, "She's been here since I got admitted properly. My mom's still out on tour right now, my stepfather's trying to jailbreak me. At least Mason keeps his distance."

"Family problems?" He asks.

"No, far from it. I stay in here any longer, I'm either going to lose my mind, or this room is going to be filled with flowers. I don't hate the things, but this is like the sixth bouquet someone's brought me. I asked Mason to take a few, I'm not sure what he did with them," She acknowledges his confused expression, "Mason. My younger brother?"

"Right." He'd have to make a better effort to keep all the names in her family straight, "Feeling alright, ma'am?"

"Fine, honestly. Apparently they're just waiting to remove the stitches, then I can get out of here. Good thing, my stepfather might actually make good on his threat." She says, adjusting the pillow propped up behind her so she can face him, "What brought you all the way here? Not saying I haven't missed your company as of late, but I figured the crew was still recovering themselves."

She's eyeing his cast with a look of concern she really should've saved for herself, "It's fine, really. Just figured I'd come by when you weren't too out of it."

"Thanks. It's been a little lonely with only what I think are Citadel sitcoms. If my sister doesn't, they'll drive me crazy first," Shepard gestures to the set up on the wall, "It is good to see you, Kaidan."