#It's important for me to know and to hear

[taliabhattwrites]

"Reinventing the Gender Binary"

CWs: Rape, fetishization, impregnation by assault, dehumanization, transmisogynistic degendering, misappropriating the language of racial justice, objectification, and worst of all, "infighting". I'm going to do something stupid---post about transfeminism on Tumblr again. The following is transcribed from two Bluesky threads:

I have a story.

About how "transfeminists reinvented the gender binary". About how "every trans person is subject to transmisogyny". About how "we're all faggots, deviants, perverts, so why demand specificity?" It begins with a transmasc individual saying "chicks with dicks" isn't offensive.

See, this individual identified as a chick with a dick. Or a man with a vag, depending. They revealed a lot about themselves over the course of the argument with a trans women. They were 19, married, a parent, and never availed of any transition care. They didn't consider this term dehumanizing.

When the trans woman they were arguing with told them that they didn't have the authority to deem whether a term fetishizing her was dehumanizing or not, they got very nasty. Trans women did not have any special claim over 'chick with dick', and to say so was to practically misgender them.

So justified, they talked about how trans women *are* just a sexual identity, a kink identity, and we did not have any special authority over transphobia or transmisogyny. Unlike them, who experienced real oppression. This is where they strongly implied that they had been impregnated by assault.

That's deeply traumatic, and violent, and something no trans woman will experience. So therefore, of course, we have no epistemic authority over misogyny. Or transphobia. Or sexual assault, and fetishization. Our suffering is always going to be a subset of "real" misogyny, see. Because no wombs.

This individual is young, and they do not know they are a TERF. Trans identity, to them, is a mask, a way to "escape being gendered". Oppression to them is intrinsically linked to reproductive exploitation, which is synonymous with misogyny, and trans women don't experience that. We costume.

Every time I hear someone say that "we've reinvented the gender binary", I sigh deeply. We never needed to reinvent it. Trans women, in the midst of the most queervoid-y of spaces, have always keenly been aware that our claims of oppression and experiencing misogyny are rarely believed.

You can say this was a young individual---but where are they going to learn better? Who is going to tell them that trans women's oppression isn't a costume, isn't a stigma for a kink, is more than just a mask we put on? That we are, meaningfully, women? Even without the wombs?

The gender binary is already there. The queervoided social spaces always cease to be queervoided when a tranny walks in, because these spaces recognize true trans people yearning to be free from (re)gendering and oppression, and "male pretenders who want to be gender I wish to escape, the freaks".

I am not the one who made the gender binary important. I am not the one who tolerated TERFs in my spaces, who encouraged the uncritical adoption of naturalized sex split from gender, and promoted a model of misogyny intrinsically tied to reproductive injustice.

I am the one who is offal.

Trans women are women who cannot be reproductive exploited, and we are too tainted to be allowed to be men ever again. So we are trash. Even to queervoids, because their "beyond the binary" ends at the threshold of a tranny demanding respect.

You think you are beyond sex? You think you have eliminated the need to divine what kind of gendered violence an individual is subject to?

I don't believe you.

I don't believe you, because I have seen gendervoids enact this violence on trannies, time and time again.

I don't believe you are beyond gender.

[Red, in a different post]:

I don't believe you are beyond gender.

I don't believe you are beyond gender.

YOU MARK ME AND MINE IN THE SAME WAY THE CIS DO, IN THE SAME WAY OUR MOST DEDICATED EXTERMINATIONIST FOES DO, AND YOU HAVE THE SHEER, UNREPENTANT, UTTER GALL TO PRETEND YOU ARE IN ANY WAY MORE ENLIGHTENED THAN THE GUTTER OF THE PATRIARCHY YOU EMERGED FROM?

You are not beyond gender.

Fuck your pronouns. You treat a tranny like this, your gender is fucking "sexist". Piss on your "gender abolition". It's worth nothing.

I will, in fact, be even blunter:

Trans women are not trying to say transmisogyny is "the worst oppression". We gave up on trying to stress the severity of it a long time ago. We are, at this point, trying to communicate that we *are oppressed at all*, to people who refuse to believe it.

I have seen fifty-year old men pull out the "I was a woman longer than you, tranny" card. I've seen people of every identity and experience go "I'll always be more of a woman than you, tranny, and don't you fucking forget it." Trans women are surveilled, scrutinized, targeted, and not believed.

The most gender-enlightened of us all refuse to deign to recognize trans women as meaningfully impacted by misogyny, as anything but second-class citizens of womanhood and feminism, as meaningfully oppressed because we are woman-gendered, sure, maybe, but we are not FEMALE.

And we notice that.

Then when we notice that even fellow trans people are more willing to self-regender to talk over us than BELIEVE US ABOUT OUR OWN LIVES AND OPPRESSION, or GRANT US THE PRIVILEGE OF SPEAKING AS THEIR EQUALS IN THE STRUGGLE AGAINST PATRIARCHY, we are called "divisive".

Fuck that.

Hear me, here and now: You will get nowhere but a singularity of a "gender-enlightened" movement collapsing in on itself because for all the yearning for a post-gender existence, no one is willing to grant the tranny the dignity of womanhood, to admit that she, too, suffers AS a woman.

If you want to tie the core of misogynistic oppression to reproduction and deem transness as nothing more than "gender-play", fine. I wish you luck.

Cassandra has spoken.

[lavandulawrites]

could you write honkai star rail men with an escaped darling just like the genshin one but hsr version?💗

Yandere HSR Men with an Escaped Darling

Characters: Anaxa, Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Caelus, Dan Heng, Dr. Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Moze, Mr. Reca, Mydei, Phainon, Sampo, Sugilite, Sunday, Welt (all separate)

I had already started on this when you sent me the request anon:) This was so fun to write:) Yandere hsr scenario requests are open. Though I can’t promise I will do all the characters. Which part is your favourite and why? If you want to be apart of my taglist, let me know!<3

Masterlist

Genshin Impact version

Warnings: imprisonment, abduction, murder, violence, gore (Blade’s part especially), threats, drugging, manipulation, stalking, delusional behaviour, Stockholm syndrome, some yanderes are more unhinged than others, mind break, female reader (though only briefly mentioned in some parts), some parts are longer than others

Word count: 9646

Anaxa

The summer breeze welcomed you with a warm embrace as you set foot outside of Anaxagoras’ home. You were finally free. You let out a silent, but gleeful laughter. Finally. After all this time. Had you told yourself from a few months ago that you would manage to escape the professor a few months later, you would have thought you had gone mad. Maybe you had? Though that hardly mattered. All the things you could do flooded your mind and your nerves buzzed with adrenaline and excitement. The possibilities were endless. First you would have to lay low as you found a way out of the city. Going under the radar of the most intelligent person on Amphoreus was no easy feat, but you would have to think of something. You would have to scrape together enough money and you would have to change your appearance, get new clothes and maybe change your hairstyle. It would be extremely difficult, but you had no other choice.

You stretched your legs out in big steps as you stepped down from the stairs that led up to his home. The stone was cold underneath your bare feet, but you didn’t care. When you reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke the tranquil silence. You shot your gaze towards the sound and let out a strangled gasp. There by the iron gates, stood Anaxagoras. His posture was rigid and his hands slightly clenched before they relaxed.

You both started at each other’s for a while, before he broke out into long strides towards you.

“What are you doing?” it wasn’t really a question as one could easily see that you clearly had attempted to escape. It was obvious he just wanted to hear you admit it. Admitting your misdeeds was something he found important (especially when it came to you). He eyed you up and down with a narrow eye, clearly displeased.

When your voice failed you and you only managed to let out a tiny sound, he sighed. “Get back inside. Now” he commanded. “It seems like I might have to teach you a lesson” he clicked his tongue. “A pity really. Here I thought that you already understood that stepping a foot outside is prohibited” he guided you inside with one hand on your lower back. He locked the door with the other hand. “This will have grave consequences. You truly don’t understand how dangerous Amphoreus has become.”

“Go to my study, I will be there in a few minutes.”

Argenti

The petals of a thousand red roses rained down upon you, covering you in their embrace almost choking you. They were a sign of love, a type of love you did not want. The little stream had turned a frightened red colour and if you stared long enough into the murky surface, you were sure you could see the souls of the people he had slain with his lance. For a Knight of Beauty he could be rather ferocious towards those he deemed a threat to your beauty. They never saw it coming as even as he started at them with hatred, his words still sounded like beautiful poetry one could find in ancient texts. Argenti was delusional and his delusions clouded his judgment. Your complains and cries fell on deaf ears as he continued to shield you from the ugliness of the universe. When it came to you, he saw you through his rose coloured glasses and everything he didn’t agree with he ignored. Ignorance was bliss they said and it was some truth in that. You hated yourself for falling for his carefully crafted compliments and his romantic style. You had fallen into his web and it was all too late to get out. You were stuck.

He called your name with his melodic voice, your name sounding like a prayer. You were the closest thing he could get to Idrilla and he was convinced the goddess had personally blessed you themselves. “Oh, my love. Why won’t you respond to me pleas? Why won’t you show yourself? The world is so bleak without you. All colours have drained and the flowers have withered into nothing but ash” his desperation was like no other. Had he not forcefully taken you away from your home in the name of love, your heart would have ached for him.

You sunk down into the stream, the water cold against your skin. Your white clothing soaked up the red like a sponge and you looked more like a ghost than a living person. You had no energy left nor hope. You were but a shell from your former self. All you could do was wait for him to come with his white horse, saving you like he always did.

The rose petals clung to your skin just like he did. The thorns were scattered across your form, changing you in.

He kneeled before you with a hand over his heart. Devotion was clear in his action and his emerald eyes filled with the horrible thing that was love. Argenti would rather burry the world in roses than loose his hold on you. This was true love.

Aventurine

“Please please please! I beg of you! Don’t kill me! I will do anything you ask of and more! Just- just don’t kill me!” the man kneeled before the Stoneheart whose face was cold and devoid of emotion. He was like nothing you had ever seen, his usual self gone and replaced with something sinister. Something more akin to a monster than a human. His blonde hair still looked as soft as it always did, but you could almost see two horns sprouting from beneath the locks. The more you watched him, the more you realised that the rumours you had heard about the Ten Stonehearts were true. They were devils.

You cowered behind the divan in the hotel room. Fearing for what’s about to come. “Aventurine, please” you pleaded. You didn’t want anyone to die because of you. You shifted your gaze from Aventurine to the man who had helped you escape. He was a kind middle-aged man. He would never harm you, though Aventurine didn’t believe that. He had said that he knew men way better than you and he knew how vile their thoughts were. Your pleads fell on deaf ears as Aventurine stalked towards the man. His beautiful multicoloured eyes narrowed and his jaw tight.

“He will pay for his misdeeds. Betraying me like this. How dare you” he sneered through gritted teeth.

“I just wanted to help her! Keeping her locked up is wrong! Please you must understand this!” the man cried bowing his head as fat tears rolled down from his eyes and plopped onto the ground. “I have a wife and kids! My daughter’s weeding is next week! I can’t miss it!” his voice broke into ragged sobs. His eyes flickered up to meet yours in a silent plea. Your heart tightened and sorrow consumed you. You were just about to open your mouth when Aventurine shoved his sleek dark brown designer shoe in the man’s face.

“Don’t look at her” his usually collected tone was fiery and deadly. He turned to you as he slipped his hand in his dress jacket pocket. “Close your eyes” magenta and blue eyes softened for a second before they turned away.

“No! Don’t!” you rushed forward from behind the divan and grabbed his arm.

He only shook your grasp off him as he said “Close your eyes. Now.”

Tears were overflowing your eyes and you were shaking so violently you thought you would pass out. You sunk down to the wooden floor as you tugged at his pant leg. “Please. He doesn’t deserve this!”

“Nonsense” you couldn’t see anything through your tears, but you could hear the sound of Aventurine loading his gun. The sound was sickening. “I will make sure to send your daughter your remains.”

The bang was piercing and you could feel it in your heart. You sobbed uncontrollably as you heaved for air. You weren’t the one who was shot, yet you felt like you were dying. Aventurine crouched down and pulled you into his arms. He shushed your sobs as he gently stroked your hair. “You are okay, I promise” he whispered. Your tears soaked his expensive shirt, but you didn’t care. The only thing you felt was guilt and you were certain it would kill you.

Blade

Many thought that the Stellaron Hunter when mara struck was the most frightening version of him, but you begged to differ. The most terrifying version of Blade was when he was his usual self. His lucidity was far more disturbing than when he was clouded with the need to destroy. Blade was a man that was near impossible to negotiate with, his stubbornness unyielding. When he had made up his mind there was absolutely nothing that could change it. You had long lost count of all those who had died because of him, because of you. He was a ticking time bomb.

The air was filled with the thick and heady scent of blood and rot. The grounds were filled with more corpses than you could count. The harbour on the foreign planet was painted in red, the blood still warm. Screams were everywhere and it made it difficult to orientate yourself. With the sounds of hell ringing in your ears, you made your way towards what you thought was the way towards a ferry. Nausea washed over you in waves with every inhale and you had to force yourself to not vomit.

Something shattered underneath your sole and you gulped before hesitantly looking down. Up stared the blank eyes of a man. The left side of his skull was completely shattered and your foot was inside the hollowness were his intact brain once was. His mouth was forever frozen in a silent scream, most likely a plead to spare his life that had undoubtedly fallen upon deaf ears. It was straight from your nightmares and you wondered for a second if you had died and found yourself in hell. The rest of his body was mangled to such a degree you wouldn’t have known it was a human body unless you had seen his head. You let out a shirking scream before you quickly scrambled to the side, clutching your stomach. You head was swimming and tears flowed freely from your eyes. You looked down at your shoe that was covered in brains, blood and some skull fragments.

You ran as fast as you could. He had by no doubt heard your scream and was right behind you. You couldn’t see him in the darkness of the night, but you could hear his maniacal laughter. Blade was getting closer and closer and you felt as if you were a helpless lamb getting chased by a vicious beast.

You stumbled over a severed arm and your body came into contact with the cold ground. Your head had smashed against a slab of cement in the process, causing it to crack slightly open. Warm blood ran down your skin and down onto your hands. It hurt and you were dizzy.

Bandaged fingers reached for you and you could feel yourself sinking into the abyss of hell. Like a venomous snake they wrapped around you, forever binding you to him. Wherever you went, death were sure to follow unless you accepted his deadly love.

Boothill

The gunslinger had kept you by his side as he moved from place to place. He was madly in love and even though his flirtation gave you butterflies and his silly romantic gestures played at your heartstrings, you still wanted to get far away from him. Boothill was a man who wore his heart on his sleeves, he had been through a lot and you almost felt bad when you snuck away.

Your guilt was short loved when wherever you went, you were met with corpses with more bullet holes that you could count. The sight was horrifying and disgusting, but it followed you no matter what you did. It was clear that Boothill was not pleased with your escape and took up it out on anyone he deemed deserving.

The music that was playing in the worn down bar was a romantic jazz song. The singer sung with yearning, in a way that reminded you of the cowboy. The lyrics were desperate and pleading, a classic that was well known throughout the cosmos. You sighed as you sipped the drink in your hand. Cheap red wine. The taste wasn’t satisfactory, but you didn’t care. You didn’t really like alcohol, but you needed to get your mind of things.

You knew he was the one who entered without looking behind you. The warmth of the alcohol turned into fire in your mouth as you braced for the worst.

“Hello darlin’” his voice breathy. “Duck” was all he said. Despite being slightly confused, you did as he said. After you ducked your head against the countertop, a gunshot could be heard. It echoed through your skull and you let out a yelp. A loud thud came from in front of you and you slowly looked up. The bartender who had been previously cleaning some glasses were now slumping against the countertop, a bullet hole had pierced straight through his skull, causing his brain matter to paint the cabinets behind him. The colourful bottles were now covered in red and pink-ish grime. You froze as you tried to scream, but no word came out.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Just can’t have men looking at what’s mine” he blew the smoke from the barrel of his revolver. “Let’s get goin’. We have a long way ahead of us.”

Caelus

“Come back! [Name] I love you!” Caelus screamed somewhere behind you. You had lost your sight of him as you quickly manoeuvred through the labyrinth like hallways of the hotel. You had to quick, lest the crazed Nameless would get his hold on you.

You pushed your legs as hard as you could and you ran faster than you had ever before.

Images of the nights you had spent together and the sweet memories you had made with him flashed through your mind. You tried to shake them away. Now was not the time to go down memory lane.

A foot came out from around the corner and tripped you. You watched in slow motion as the floor came closer and closer. A hand came under your midriff and pulled you up, just in time.

He pulled you into his embrace and his arms snaked around your waist tightly as he burrowed his head in your hair.

“Don’t ever run away from me. It’s dangerous. You will get hurt” he rambled frantically against your hair. “To think I almost lost you.”

You were completely frozen as the young man continued to go on and on about all the dangers of the universe. You were so tired and you couldn’t help the few tears of exhaustion that welled up in your eyes. Unsurprisingly, Caelus mistook your tears for anxiety of caused by all the frightening stories he had told you and he began to hush you.

“Shush, it’s okay. I got you. I will never let any harm happen to you. I promise” he gently stroked up and down your back in a soothing manner.

“I love you, I love you, I love you” his mantra echoed through your skull and you couldn’t help but feel defeated. You would never escape from him, all you could do was lose yourself to the sweet dreams that came to you at night.

Dan Heng

The water was akin to a black void as it swallowed everything except the pale moonlight. The waves were harsh as they crashed into the shore, splashing water everywhere. The smell of saltwater strong as you walked against the waves. The sand stuck to your bare feet, but you did not care. You were exhausted after days of running. You had managed to escape Dan Heng’s clutches as you had stopped on a foreign planet. You had decided for a midnight walk as you looked for your next shelter. Your muscles were aching and screaming for you to rest, but you couldn’t risk getting captured. You could only imagine his light cyan eyes filled with worry as he turned the entire planet upside down looking for you. You wanted to laugh at the image, but you couldn’t muster up the energy.

You thought back at all the time you had spent together with the Nameless and your heart ached. It fluttered within your chest like a dying star and you clutched your hand over it as if to comfort it. You couldn’t let your emotions take the steering wheel. Not now. A lone seagull flew over the shore as it looked for a place to rest its wings. Your eyes wandered from the bird and onto the dark night sky. The stars were endless and you envied them as they gazed down at you, carefree and free. You could almost hear his voice as he told you about all the constellations.

“That’s the Orion’s Belt. Beautiful is it not?”

Your eyes widened at the sound. Your imagination was good, but it could not possibly be that good. “Dan Heng…?” you called out with a smaller voice than you had intended.

He didn’t answer for a while as he continued to stargaze. Horns adorned his head and his hair gently swayed in the wind. “I found you. Finally” he sighed. He sounded exhausted and you almost felt bad.

“How?” you asked.

He turned his face towards you. “Your necklace” was all he said as his gorgeous eyes flickered down to the silver necklace that rested against the upper part of your sternum. Of course. Of course he had installed a tracker in your necklace. How could you be so foolish?

“Oh.” “Why did it take you so long?” you returned your gaze to the stars. It was almost as they pitted you as they blinked down at you.

“I suppose I wanted you to know how dangerous it is without me. And considering your bruises and cuts, I succeeded” Dan Heng’s voice was as gentle as the breeze that carried the scent of the sea. It gently ruffled your hair and stroked your cheek.

“I suppose you did” you admitted defeated. There was no point fighting it.

Dr. Ratio

The famed genius was away on a seminar which had left you with the opportunity to escape from his elegant home. You had managed to break the intricate locks on the heavy front doors with the help of some good old technological malfunction. Your heart was hammering so fast against your ribs as you swung the doors open that you thought you would die from heart attack (though the doctor would without no doubt bring you back to life). You knew the security cameras would get you on film, but you did not care. Not when you were so close to getting your old life back.

Oh how you missed your boring lazy days by the window of your living room, just lazing the day away with a silly romance manga and a stupid movie on in the background. You missed the days that Veritas had called unproductive and a waste of time and brain power. There was a time you had pinned for him from the distance at the small cozy cafe you both had frequently visited. You had been over the moon when the handsome man had taken a seat at your table and struck up a conversation about the classic you were reading. He had told you it was one of his favourite for years (however you weren’t sure if that was a lie or not).

You cast a glance back at the empty manor, the newly polished hard floors reflected the orange light of the soft afternoon sun. The same colour as his beautiful eyes. The eyes that always saw through you. Should you really run?

No! How could you think such things? You shook your head as you took off in a run. You had to be quick. He would be back. You knew that the location where the seminar took place was not far away from his home. Your home, but not anymore. Your lungs screamed as you ran. The sun was warm against your bare arms. The wind played with your hair like a lover would, raking its fingers gently through your strands. It reminded you of him. You clenched your teeth together. Now was not the time for reminiscing.

You don’t know how long you ran for, but it had to be hours. Your legs were aching so much they were shaking. Blood were rushing through your head so fast you could only hear the stream off blood. Your face had reddened and cold sweat stuck your t-shirt to your skin. Your vision was blurry and your breathing shortened as you wheezed. You had only gotten so far. Ratio’s house was on the outskirts of the city and you weren’t familiar with the area. You had ran in circles and despair had started to bloom in your chest. It was an ugly feeling and you wanted nothing more to throw it up together with your lunch. You contemplated to back home, but then he would by no doubt strengthen the security. But maybe you could convince him to give you freer rains? You groaned out loud as your thoughts were at war with each other’s.

You didn’t know how you found yourself before the gates of Ratio’s estate, but there you where. He was standing in the door way, his muscular arms crossed and his handsome face unreadable. With a bowed head you made your way over the gravel and up the small steps to him: your captor. You were nothing but defeated and you wanted to turn away and run, but for some reason found yourself unable to. Something was wrong with you, that was for sure. When you were only an arm’s length away from him, his arms uncrossed and he reached on off them out.

“I am glad you took to logic and returned home to where you belong. I was worried about you” his deep voice had softened and you felt sick. “Stay with me and I will keep you safe from everything” Veritas pulled you into an embrace “I love you [Name]. Remember that. Everything I do is for you.” You however missed the smug smile that tugged on his lips.

Gallagher

Gallagher was an enigma. Everything about him was a mystery that you could only hope to unravel. His past was a puzzle with pieces you couldn’t piece together. Why you became his subject of his obsession was nothing but a mystery. He had treated you kindly, but when you voiced that you wished to return to reality, his face had turned uncharacteristically hard, his warm red eyes turned cold and dark and his lips turned into a strained line. He had only said “no” with such finality you were taken aback. After that you had spent days planning your escape. Gallagher was a smart man and despite his supposedly carelessness he was always watching.

You had managed to slip through the cracks of the window and down onto the cold ground of the Dreamflux Reef. You were wearing soft slippers in order to make as little sound as possible. You slipped past the streets quietly, making sure none of the residents saw you. Everyone knew each others and everyone trusted Gallagher, if they saw you they would without doubt tell him and bring you back to his arms. You were still unfamiliar with the streets of the Dreamflux Reef and you tried to orientate yourself as you made your way towards where you thought the lift to where the “surface” might be. You passed multiple black hound statues and you tried to shake of the unease they gave you.

You let out a sigh of relief as you reached the elevator. The lift was nowhere to be seen and you could only wait for it to come back down. The shaft was empty and you stared down at the gaping abyss. The minutes ticked by and cold sweat had begin to coat your temples. The hinges started to screech as the lift slowly but surely made its way down. You cast a look over your shoulders to be sure you were all alone. Time was running out. The lift let out a soft ding and you turned your head back towards it.

Your blood froze and your eyes widened as a pair of blood red eyes stared back at yours. Fuck. You tried to turn on your heel and make a run for it, but the gate of the lift opened and out sprung a strong hand. He pulled you back and held you still with such strength that shouldn’t be possible for a human. “Where do you think you are going?” his tone was cold and hard. Gallagher’s usually sleazy voice was completely gone. “You are not leaving me. Ever” strong arms caged you in and all you could smell, see and feel was him.

Gepard

The snowy landscape of Beloborg was unbearable. Your boots sunk into the snow making walking hard and running near impossible. The harsh wind whipped against your cheeks. Your eyes were teary due to the cold weather. Thick snowflakes fell down from the grey skies enveloping everything in a thick white blanket. It was impossible to see more than a few meters in front of you.

A yell came from somewhere behind you in the dense snowfall. You could recognise the raw and desperate voice anywhere. The captain of the Silvermane Guards, Gepard. The same man who held you imprisoned in his home for your protection.

Cold air gripped your lungs in a searing hold every time you inhaled as you started to sprint. The snow was like the quicksand in the ancient books you had read in the library when you were younger. Your earlobes were raw and icy and you were sure they would fall off. The tip of your fingers were pale and under other circumstances, you would have been worried, but now was not the time.

You rounded a corner of an abandoned house with smashed windows. A figure appeared out of the snow storm in front of you. The silhouette leaped forward and dragged you closer by your hand.

“Why on earth are you running away? Don’t you know how dangerous it is out here?!” Gepard’s voice was loud and laced with panic. His blue eyes were wide as the quickly raked over you, looking for any injuries. “You could have been killed! Do you understand?” his voice died down as he pulled you into a tight huge. “You are going back home with me. It seems like I will have to upgrade the locks” he whispered against your hair as he kissed your head. “I love you.”

Jiaoqiu

The foxian was a cunning man who was overly cautious regarding you. He had experienced much pain and suffering, which explained why he treated you like porcelain doll and why he refused you to leave his home. He had put in a lot of thought when it came to preventing your escape. He had however, not thought of the possibility that you would smash the living room window and climb out.

The sharp edges of the broken glass had pierced through your forearms and sliced them open, causing warm red rivers to run down your skin and soil your clothes. You clenched your jaw tightly shut as you jumped out and landed rather graceless on the soft grass underneath. You should stop the bleeding, but freedom was calling. A call that you couldn’t ignore.

Your legs ran as fast as they could and the pain in your arms had dulled to nothing but a sting in the back of your mind. Your eyes were wide as you scanned your surroundings for the familiar pink hair. Being caught now would by no doubt bring you more punishments than you had ever experienced and that was something you wished to avoid (naturally). Your traditional Xianzhou- style slippers slapped against the cobblestone as you rounded corner after corner. You needed to either find a Cloud Knight or a Starskiff. You abruptly stopped in your tracks as you heard the approaching footsteps coming from around the corner of the alleyway. The hairs on the back of your neck rose and you knew who was approaching. You spun on your heal and were about to take off when you heard the all too familiar gentle voice.

“Where do you think you are going?” his tender voice had a biting edge to it. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was furious. All your resistance vanished and your feet were stuck to the ground. Fury and disappointment was oozing from the foxian behind you.

You slowly turned around. His handsome face was twisted into a deranged smile. His ears were slightly pinned back and his fangs barred. You gulped at the sight.

“Not going to explain yourself?” He tilted his head slightly. His smile widened further as he took a step forward and reached for your arm. Even though he was unable to see you expression, he was able to hear your frantic heartbeat. “I won’t ever let any harm fall upon you. Ever. I cannot bear to lose you. You understand, don’t you? You wouldn’t let an old man like me suffer again, am I right?” his arms wrapped around your arms, trapping you. He inhaled your scent like a ravenous beast and you felt like those who had had the misfortune of being his prey and suffered the strike of his butcher knife. You were trapped.

Jing Yuan

People were going to die for this. People were going to die because of you. Blood would be on your hands. You would have to live with it for the rest of your life and there was nothing you could do about it. It was too late. It was too late when you had stepped foot out of the sanctuary you and the general shared. The general who was so in love with you it made him mad. He was a dangerous man.

You could hear the blood splattering in the not-so-far distance. He was close, almost breathing down your neck. You regretted ever asking for directions. You regretted escaping. The screams grew louder and the sickening sound of a claymore slicing through flesh became more audible. You prayed to whatever Aeon that might listen that he wouldn’t find you. You had hid behind a closed kiosk in the rather empty and forgotten street. You closed your eyes tightly together as you tried to steady your breathing. The cries stopped and the air fell eerily silent. Your hairs stood on end and your instincts told you to run. But where could you run? The alley was a dead end.

“[Name]. I know you are there. Please come out. I won’t hurt you.” Jing Yuan. He sounded oddly calm and it only made you more anxious.

“You are safe. I promise. You know I keep my promises, don’t you” no he didn’t. He hadn’t kept his promise when he told you, you would be able to roam freely outside of the house and away from him. It was all a lie, a lie he had crafted in the name of protecting you.

You didn’t scream, you didn’t hide and you didn’t run when he crossed the corner of the kiosk where you were crouched behind. He gently smiled down at you, revealing his charming dimples. “There you are my love. Let’s get you home” if he was angry, he didn’t show it. Jing Yuan’s soft white hair was speckled with crimson and his clothes stuck to his form soaked with blood. The scent of iron clung to him, but he didn’t seem to care. He noticed your frightened expression as your eyes raked over him and his face softened. “My apologies, you shouldn’t see me like this. How tactless of me” he scooped you up in his arms like you weighed nothing, and to him you probably did. “Let’s take a nice bath, shall we?” he kissed your cheek, blood smearing your skin and tainting you.

Luocha

Your eyes raked over the blackboard menu. The cafe had a great variety of tea and coffee and a lots of different cakes that looked mouthwatering. What to pick. You ended up with getting a cup of apple and cinnamon tea and a slice of chocolate cake. You found a table in to corner of the restaurant, hidden away but with clear view of the entrance. In case he decided to show up. You lifted the beautiful tea cup up to your lips. It’s floral design pink and red with hints of green. You tried to take a sip from the steaming hot tea, but your lips burned and you hissed out in pain. You gave it a few blows before enough sat it down again in order for it to cool. Your attention turned to the cake. It wasn’t too big nor was it too small. It was just right in size. The buttercream was fluffy and the cake spongy. You pushed the fork into your moth and sighed at the taste. It was truly delicious. You needed this. You deserved this after all the days you had been on the run from the travelling merchant.

You needed to unwind, only if just slightly. Your muscles were stiff from all the anxiety that constantly ran through your veins. If Luocha had been there he would have made your soreness disappear. He would take care of you, but that wasn’t enough. You wanted to be free, not chained to a man whose line of work was even more enigmatic than Mythus themselves. You were young, with dreams and a future ahead of you.

You held the tea had cooled down slightly and you lifted it to your lips once more. The sweet and round aroma of apple and cinnamon filled your nose as you inhaled. You took a big sip of the tea. It was just as good as you had imagined. You leaned slightly back in the vintage sofa as you continued to sip your tea. After a while you cake was finished and your tea cup empty. You decide to sit for a while to let the food digest. The minutes flew by and your eyes grew blurry. Your head started to drop, but you weren’t tired. Your arms had lost most of their strength and you struggled to grip the table as you tried to steady yourself. The cafe and the guests in, it all blurred together and all sound muffled.

In your hazy state you didn’t notice the approaching figure nor did you pick up on what he said.

“Thank you. This favour will be remembered.”

The footsteps came to an halt by your table. Your eyes were open, but your mind was somewhere far away. You had been drugged. Despite your weakened state, panic had taken over you and your breathing had turned rapid.

“Are you feeling sleepy, darling?” a soft chuckle followed. Cold long fingers brushed away a few strands from your damp and feverish forehead.

You let out a strangled whine. “You drugged me.”

“No no, I didn’t. It was the lady who owns this lovely cafe” he shushed you. Your eyelids pulled back slightly as you took in his face. He was akin to an angle, whose beauty made your heart ache. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds as he gazed down at you. “I have been following you since your little escape” he kissed your forehead, seemingly uncaring about your sweat. “You are so adorable. Sweet dreams” he kissed you one last time before he gathered you up in his strong arms. His soft hair gently tickling your cheekbones. Sleep awaited you and you could feel yourself slipping away slowly but surely, you could only dread what you would wake up to.

Moze

The shadows reached for you with boney hands. They were hungry for your flesh. You could feel him, even though you couldn’t see him. Just like he wanted. He was stalking you like a hungry wolf stalked a helpless lamb. You had rented a little flat. It was rather shabby with wires sticking out from the ceiling where lamps had hung before the landlord decided to take them down for whatever reason. The floor was creaky and you got splinters if you walked on it barefoot. It was a hellhole, but everything was better than being held prisoner by the assassin. He said it was for your own good, for your protection, but you found it hard to believe him. You weren’t anyone special so you doubted the dangerous men he spoke off would be after you.

Walking alone at night had always been dangerous (with Moze in your life or not). The Mara struck, gang members and men with evil intentions were all something to be cautious of. Though now you had to worry about the grey haired man. The streets were dark and the lamps flickered slightly. It was a shady place, one that you happened to live by. It was idiotic to be walking alone at night, but you had no choice. You were terribly hungry and all your food in the fridge had turned bad so you had no choice to take a trip to the only store that was open at this hour.

Footsteps sounded from the other end of the street, in the direction of the store. A heavy lump in your stomach formed at the sight of four haggard staggering men. The were all bigger and appalled than you and could without quickly overpower you should they want to. They had spotted you and one of them let out a low teasing whistle. It made bile rise up in your throat and fear spread through you. You had to act fast or this would be the end of you. However, before you even got to make the decision to fight or flee, a mist of black and purple appeared before you.

Faster than what your eyes could pick up, he had leaped forward and slashed through the men. Crimson blood spurted from their necks like a fountain and it rain down on Moze like warm summer rain. The sight made you sick and you had to bite your tongue in order to not throw up. He turned to face you with a determined expression. His hands were soaked with blood and the red coating coat the dim light in its reflection.

Suddenly he was in front of you. He gripped your face with his hands, for once not caring about the mess. “It’s dangerous without me” was all he said as he dragged you home. You should have known better. You would never escape him.

Mr. Reca

Escaping a Memokeeper was nigh impossible, but you would be damned should you not give it a try. It was no secret that the famed director Mr. Reca was insane. However, it was not known how far his insanity ran. He was nothing if not obsessive and his obsession with documenting memories was nothing like the obsession he had for you. Though he didn’t seem intimidating, save for his crazed eyes and unhinged behaviour, he was far from harmless. Even after all those long months of knowing him, you did not know about the true extent of his powers. Therefore you had to be extremely cautious when coming up with an escape plan. He had access to your memories and he could alter them at will (though he seemed to prefer not to as he wanted you to be just yourself, which was something you appreciated).

Your breath was ragged as you ran across the streets. You ran over the crosswalks without looking and you nearly ran multiple people over. You didn’t have time to look back. Not when freedom was waiting for you with open arms. Before you knew it you found yourself in an ally that led to a dead end. The sudden sound of a camera shutter going off sliced through the silence like a sharp blade.

“Brilliant! Truly magnificent! You are beautiful even utterly helpless! Oh am I glad I got this on camera” the energetic voice of the brown haired director made your blood freeze. In the blink of an eye he was in front of you, showing a black vintage camera in your face. “Smile darling! You are on video!” The shutter went off with the speed of lightning. “I shall call this documentary: “The Failed Escape Attempt”! What do you think my love? Isn’t that fitting?”

Mydei

The roars of the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos echoed across the ruins. The moon hung high in the black night sky, watching over you. You wanted to reach towards it, to feel her feather light touches. You envied her freedom.

Another battle cry sounded through the ruins and you picked up your pace. You had to get out of Kremnos before Mydei found you. You were running out of time, Mydei was after all a demigod whose strength far surpassed any human. He was fast, extremely so, and if he found you he would reach you before you even managed to blink.

Screams of dying titankin was getting closer, meaning your pursuer was hot on your tail. Your lungs were screaming at you to stop and the taste of blood filled your mouth. You jumped over lose stones and broken walls and you ducked between openings in the broken façade.

A red crystal appeared before you like a spear sent from the heavens above, stoping you in your tracks. You spun on your heels to run the other direction, but you collided in the hard chest that belonged to no other than Mydei. His hands were quick to take a hold onto your shoulders. The talons of his gauntlets burrowing in your flesh. You hissed out in pain as you tried to escape his grasp. He looked down at you with a deadly stare. His eyebrows were furrowed and the corners of his mouth pulled downwards in a frown. To say he was mad was an understatement. You could feel the fury radiate from his toned body, choking you in its intensity.

He didn’t say a word as he dragged you back to the room where he kept you. He steps were long and determined and you had to jog in order to keep up with his long legs. His back was tense and his muscles were strained. Multiple veins were popping out from his neck and arms, but he still controlled his grip on your forearms so it wasn’t too hard. Bruised had already started to form and it didn’t seem he noticed (or cared for that matter).

He flung the door open and threw you in. Mydei just stared at you silently before he closed the door. The lock clicked signalling the end of your short lived freedom.

Phainon

“Please come out” a twig snapped “I know you are there!”

You shrunk further into the bush. You hoped that the big boulder would be able to conceal you. Your ears were on alert and they picked up every little sound. You eyelids were peeled far back as they scanned your surroundings.

“[Name]! Where are you?” his was getting closer. His voice was loud and frantic. You could clearly hear his worry that bled through his words. You knew he would stop at absolutely nothing in order to get back what was his.

Phainon was a possessive man and his possession spiralled further out of control for each day that passed. His sweet caring façade had started to crack and underneath lurked a madman. He was still overly sweet, so much so that it suffocated you. His overprotective behaviour was overwhelming and you felt as if he was breathing down your neck every second off your waken moment, always making sure you were alright. You were confined to his home in Okhema, the holy city. His house were rather spacious, yet you felt the walls creeping in, squeezing you against their weight.

The boulder that cowered the bush was thrown away with enough force that it shattered. Deranged icy blue eyes stared unblinking down at your pitiful form. His clothes were ripped from running through the dense woods and his face was littered in small cuts. Though it didn’t seem he had noticed them. For his attention was only on you. As it always was. For Phainon it was always you. No one else could even hope to rival the intense love he held for you. His nostrils were flared as he inhaled and exhaled fast. He leaned down and kneeled in front of you. He mad himself smaller as he reached a hand out towards you as if you were a scared animal (though there was some truth in that).

“I won’t hurt you” Phainon’s voice was soft. A small smile tugged on his lips when you hesitantly took his hand. “Good girl” he gently stroked the back of your hand.

You stared down at your hand in his much bigger one, and you could see the chains tightening around your interlocked hands, forever chaining you to him.

“Let’s run us a nice hot bath. We can use your favourite soap if you would like” he spoke to you, but his words went unregistered by you. You could only watch as your freedom became further and further away from your out stretched hand.

Sampo

“Oh how I have missed you my dear!” arms leaped out from the shadows, knocking the air out of you. Your throat ran dry. How did he manage to find you in Penacony? You had left Jarilo-IV as soon as the planet opened up for interstellar travel. You had thought you would be safe. Safe from this lunatic.

You tried to wriggle out of his hold, but he was way too strong. “Let me go” you sneered.

“Nah ah! No can do! Not when I finally have you in my arms again” Sampo tightened his hold on you like a snake and he buried his head in your hair and inhaled. He let out a moan like the freak he was. Anger boiled within you.

“Let. Me. Go. Now!” you sneered louder this time. He only tsk-ed as he placed a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re so adorable when you’re angry” he snickered. He let go of you with one of arms as he reached up and pinched your cheek. “So cute!”

“I told you I never wanted to see you again. Why can’t you get that into your thick skull?!” you pulled back from his grip.

At your harsh words his smile fell and his expression hardened. His usually bright and mischievous eyes narrowed and the hand that been pinching you fell to his side. He swallowed slowly “Oh really? Is that so…” His eyes flickered from yours down to his feet and up. “You really should be kinder to good ol’ Sampo.”

“And why should I? You kidnapped me! You fucking psychopath!” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Because your family is still in Belobog. I know where they live. I mean, of course I do, I know everything about you after all” his voice were more serious than what it usually was. He lowered his tone “It would be a shame if anything were to happen to them.”

Colour drained from your face as you stared up at him in horror.

“Just kidding! Haha you should have seen your face!” he gave you another kiss, this time longer lasting and more possessive. “But seriously though, don’t do anything stupid” he whispered.

Sugilite

The maid walked with hurried steps as she dragged you through the magnificent hallways of the mansion that belonged to one of the Ten Stonehearts. Her hold on your wrist was tight and it would by no doubt leave bruises. Her heels clicked against the dark mahogany flooring and it was a stark contrast to your hushed steps. Your socks were slippery against the newly polished floor and you had to concentrate in order to not slip and fall. Your heart was drumming against your chest.

She said nothing as she pulled you closer and closer to the awaiting wolf. The wolf who didn’t seem to ever get enough of you. He was a monster. A true beast that took on the skin of a human and lived along side them. Sugilite was a man many feared and that with good reason. He took pleasure in ruining people’s lives and he often told you about those instances over dinner (much to your dismay).

She swung the tall doors open that lead to the main living room. She bowed deeply before she fully entered. “Here she is, my Lord.”

She yanked your hand and you followed her inside. The room was dimly lit by only candles and a violet lamp that stood by the corner. The curtains of large windows that overlooked the garden was drawn open, letting the pale moonlight through. The master of the house himself was sitting comfortably in a deep velvet arm chair. His tapped his fingers against the deep purple armrest as he looked up at you. His legs were crossed and he reminded you of a king sitting upon his throne.

“Running away?” he chuckled “Not the wisest decision really…” He turned to the maid. “You are dismissed” he waved his hand.

With a bow she hurried out of the room as fast as she could without running. Sugilite’s attention was yet again on you. “Did she drag you?”

You swallowed before you shook your head. “No” you muttered. The maid had been nasty, but you didn’t want her to face any consequences. Not by the hands of someone as eager as Sugilite.

“Oh yeah? Then why is your hand all red?” he rose his brow.

Your mouth ran dry “It’s nothing.” You quickly hid it behind your back.

“I don’t believe you. Not that it matters. I needed some new staff anyway. Consider this you doing me a favour” a grin spread across his face. “Aww don’t look so beat up. You got yourself to worry about, no need to worry about her”. “I won’t take your little stunt so lightly. I have spoiled you too much” at your fearful expression he laughed. “Take a good look at the outside, because it’s going to be a long time till you will see it again.”

Sunday

You were strapped to a sky blue embroidered chair. It was antique and looked like it belonged in a museum. “You have wounded me” Sunday’s melodic voice sounded from your left. He was behind you, slightly leaning down. His hands were clasped behind his back, his back straight. You tried to tug on your restraints, but the white fabric only dug into your skin, making it red with irritation. The pleasant scent of his refined cologne (one that without doubt cost more than what you had earned in a month when you were still allowed to work) filled your nose as you breathed short breaths. The normally calming scent had now turned into nothing more than the stench of impending doom. The feathers of his wing gently brushing against your cheek and you were once again reminded of the tale of the helpless bird he had saved when he was a child. He had often referred you to said bird and he often mused over your likeness.

He had kept you in a gilded cage (both metaphorical and literally), but he had understood the need for you to stretch your legs. Boredom was the killer of the mind. Sunday had preached to you about the paradise he was building he promised you that you would get the best treatment of all. Everyday he drilled into you the dangerous of the outside world, the weak could not survive on their own after all, and for each day that passed by, the more you believed him.

Had it not been for a careless newly employed servant who had left the door open by a mistake, it would not be certain that you would ever try to escape. You had been terrified, but the allure of the outside world was too strong. You had only gotten a few hundred meters from the Dewlight Pavilion, when the familiar feeling of being watched crept over you.

It had all happened so fast. Rainbow shapes flooded your vision and something familiar yet foreign invaded your mind, taking control like one would a puppet. His voice echoed from within your mind, speaking words you could not understand. Then blackness took over and your body fell into his arms.

“I have been perfectly clear that wandering outside of the walls off the estate it strictly forbidden. Any transgressions against this rule will be punished” you couldn’t see him, but you could feel his presence like the blade of an executioner. You had been clinging to your sanity for so long, but you could now feel it slowly slipping between your grasp. An invisible blade pierced through your mind and thoughts alike, making you whine in agony. The pain was unbearable and breathing became difficult. You slumped forward as much as the bindings let you, the fabric cutting into your chest like a knife.

“It’s time you learn your place. I have shown you so much kindness, yet I get nothing back in return” Sunday was now in front of you with his hands folded in front of him. The dim lighting of the office made his face eerily beautiful. You tried to say something, but your words got stuck in your throat. His brows furrowed as if he had heard your protests (and knowing him he probably could). His mouth flattened into a thin line. “I have been nothing but mercifully, but you have ignorantly ignored it and only given me coldness in return. It is only in due time that I do this” his voice was icy and completely devoid of humanity. “Relax and the pain will be brief. I am doing this because I love you.” The familiar darkness swept over you once again.

Welt

The scent of coffee from the small coffee shop you and found yourself in was overwhelming. You had been quick to escape the Express after it had stopped on a small planet for some errands. Your eyes scanned the soundings for your captor and you sighed in relief when he was nowhere to be seen. The familiar sight of red hair made you pause. Himeko? Hope washed over you and you made your way towards her with quick steps. She was sitting at a corner table, sipping a cup of black coffee. Her eyes widened when they spotted you and she waved you over.

“[Name]?” she tilted her head in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Himeko! You’ve got to help me! It’s Welt. He has gone absolutely mad!” the words had already spilled from your lips before you had blinked.

“Mad? I don’t think I understand…” she rose her eyebrow.

“No please believe me! He has held me captive in his room for all this time! He is fucking insane!” you took a seat upside of her and spoke with a frantic hushed tone. You looked over your shoulder from time to time, looking for the familiar brown eyes.

She sighed. “[Name], it’s Welt we are talking about. I want to believe you, but he is the kindest man I have ever met. He is my best friend and I doubt he would ever do such thing.”

Why didn’t she believe you? You blinked at her with disbelief. “I swear I am telling the truth! You have to help me!” you plead. Tears stung behind your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

She chuckled defeatedly like a mother would when her child told her about their imaginary monsters. She gently patted your hand that was curled into a fist in the table. “Don’t worry too much, Welt is a good man.”

“Listen to me! I swear I am telling you the truth!” you cried out in anger and frustration.

Her golden eyes flickered up at something behind you before they flickered back down at you.

“Thank you Himeko. I owe you one” a deep baritone rattled through your chest. Cold sweat coated at your neck and you couldn’t get yourself to turn around. If you did it would all be too real.

A big hand rested on your shoulder.

“Of course. This is the least I could do. I am sorry [Name], but I can’t help you” Himeko gave you a pitiful look.

Filled with betrayal you glared at Himeko. “How could you” you sneered though it was no more than a broken whisper. Despite your hurtful tone, she only softened her gaze.

The hand on your shoulder gave you a gentle squeeze as his thumb drew circles. “Let’s go back, love. You have had enough adventure for today” a soft kiss was pressed to your cheek.

You glanced back at Himeko as Welt led you out of the cafe. His arm was secure around your waist as if he was afraid you would fly away with the autumn wind.

Taglist:

@dimestrella @hoo-hoo @yae-yu127 @deathrespect @1mlilith @pinkvoidfishcash @justboredforreal

[rain-spice]

Happy disability pride month! I can say why all of that happens for all of these, as a subtitler/transcriber, and the reason is always ✨late-stage capitalism✨ (in most cases)

Bear in mind that I am also disabled, I also need subtitles, and I don't work in the US, and despite being a transcriber, all of these make me angry as well, on top of AI stealing my job, but that's a whole other can of worms.

I'm also not saying that all subtitles are good. There are some genuinely bad subtitlers out there. Not naming names but one of my colleagues was asked if his were written and placed by an AI (they were not, and I know that as we were in the same co-working space).

"fuck the [speaks foreign language] instead of actually transcribing the words"

In my country, you're not allowed to write this sort of subtitle in both "classic" subtitles and SDH (subtitles for the deaf and hard-of-hearing) - as, no, they're not the same.

But for countries where it is allowed, just like every industry, we're not given enough time to properly research what a character is saying before we're supposed to hand in the subtitle file, and it's often the best solution to avoid sending in an incomplete file.

The one I don't get is [music]. Yeah. There's music, buddy. And that's also not allowed. At least where I come from.

If there are lyrics, then they must be written down as a subtitle. If it's a song that was not written for the movie, look up lyrics online. If it's a song written for the show and they're not written down as subtitles, then the subtitler/transcriber didn't do their job and their boss failed to send them a script.*

*We're supposed to get scripts when we subtitle a show/documentary/movie/etc. I've worked on about 15 projects so far: two had scripts and they were some of my best work. Six had AI voice-to-text transcriptions they had the audacity to call "scripts" (which were not useful in the slightest). The rest? I'm still waiting for their scripts and the projects are done and shipped.

If there are no lyrics and you're writing SDH, you can't just write "[music]." If it's not a known song (which you would write as "[On Green Dolphin Street - Miles Davis]" in my country--yes the color is important), and the music is central to the scene (like the Psycho music in the bathroom scene) then you need to add a little bit of description. "[Shrill music]", "[calm music]", "[techno music]", etc.

"fuck shortening sentences and changing whats been said for no reason,"

There are a few rules we have to follow as subtitlers/transcribers:

you're not allowed to go over a certain number of letters per subtitle, based on the length of the subtitle and the average reading speed.

(^ This changes with every contract. I was used to 12 letters per second and 37 per line, but my last contract was 10 letters per second but 40 per line, punctuation included, and never more than two lines.)

You're not allowed to leave a subtitle onscreen for more than two cuts, unless a cut in the middle is less than 20 images long.

You need a few images between two subtitles. (I was used to 4, with 3 images before and after a cut, but my last contract was 8 with 4 images before and after a cut.)

Why do I talk about images? Because every professionnal software in my country (EZtitles being the industry standard) work with image-based timecodes and not millisecond-based timecodes, as they're more precise. So a timecode that's written as 00:12:15:07 reads as 00 hour, 12 minutes, 15 seconds, and 07 images.

As you can imagine, with so little wiggle room, we have to modify sentences to convey what is being said but shorten it to an acceptable length.

Length isn't the only reason why we modify some sentences. Sometimes a joke only works in the source language, so you need to find another joke that fits in the target language. Or adapt an insult (those are always fun but more on that later). Etc.

"fuck censoring swearing in captions but not in audio"

Capitalism strikes again! We're not allowed to write what we want in our own subtitles and platforms (TV and/or streaming) don't always have the same censorship rules.

This one makes me the most angry. If you're watching a show with profanity, just use profanity. "Oh think of the kids--" tell them to go play in their room or something. Not my problem.

But no. Platforms censor us!

In a nondescript example, I had to transcribe the word "bitch." If I was allowed to say whatever I wanted, I would have used "chienne" or "connasse" (one is a direct translation but less intense, the other has the same intensity). But no! This TV channel was like "ummm... the only word you can use for that is "garce." ("Hussy")

Ok fine I'll use garce I have bills to pay and a hamster to feed.

They also had strict rules regarding proper terms for genitalia, even in documentaries, which is basically them insulting their audience's intelligence :/

"fuck anyone who says youre being 'too sensitive' for being upset about a lack of accessibility"

You have every single right to be upset and angry about a lack of accessibility! 🤝

Final words:

Subtitlers/transcribers don't receive proper training anymore (the university I went to closed down and it was one of the best in my country) and with AI it's hard to find companies willing to train students.

We're severely underpaid and overworked, please keep using subtitles so my colleagues and I can pay rent.

If anyone has any questions I'd be very happy to answer them!

Tl;dr: The issue is, and always will be, late-stage capitalism and censorship.

*Aside from a few creative liberties due to a limited number of letters on screen and cultural differences between the source and target language(s).

Anyway, happy disability pride month! We're here to stay ✨💪

happy disability pride month and once again, FUCK lazy subtitles. fuck the [speaks foreign language] instead of actually transcribing the words, fuck shortening sentences and changing whats been said for no reason, fuck censoring swearing in captions but not in audio and fuck anyone who says youre being 'too sensitive' for being upset about a lack of accessibility

[friskalicousbiscuits]

Don’t tell me this is the end of it?

Yes. It is. I’m so sorry. Hold up.

Neglected The Mask!reader x platonic Yan!Batfam

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Epi

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, it’s “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Epilogue

The yelling all stopped as everyone zeroed in on you.

“Wait wait wait, Barbara’s right?” Dick sounded extremely confused.

“Uh… yeah. I found the mask a week ago and have had it on every night since.” You muttered.

(“[Nickname], the suns about to set, so like, just say the word— er put me on and we can get outta here.”)

“Nah, I think I kinda have to talk to these guys about this.” You said to the mask with a resigned expression.

Everyone looked to you confused before Mr Constantine spoke up again. “I’m sorry, are you speaking to the mask?”

“Yes?”

“And it’s talking back?”

“Yes? You guys can’t hear it? Ace can.” It was your turn to sound confused. The dog in question barked and trotted over to sit beside your chair.

“…the dog can hear it?” Constantine asked incredulously between you and Ace, probably remembering the pizza you all ate together and how he’d literally eaten together with the mask.

“Yes…?”

“Wait, was that who you were talking to that night.” Dick asked confused. You’ve talked to Masky many times at night, you didn’t exactly know which incident he was talking about. You stared at the mask once more, going through everything that was said all at once.

“Damian, you said Skillit was exorcised?” You asked. Did that mean the older boy(?) (Man? Skillit was older but had the mind a body of a child. Was now really the time to think about this?”

The boy seemed surprised, or at least displaying a level of it, at suddenly being addressed. “I thought his name was Sid. Related to that Maria friend of yours.”

“That— That was a fake name. His name was Skillit.” You paused. “Did you say exorcized?”

(“Yeah kiddo, he’ll be back in like December. I think.”)

“Oh.” Was the only thing you could muster.

Everyone looked at each other. “Oh what?” Bruce asked.

“Nothing.”

A loud silence passed through the room before Bruce spoke up once again. “You didn’t answer my question, you know. Why didn’t you come to me, to any of us, when you nearly drowned in the harbor?”

“You almost drowned?!” That was Jason. He’d said something about vigilantes? You’d really rather not unpack that.

“Yes? But I survived, isn’t that more important?” You really, really didn’t want to be talking about this. You heard Bruce mud or something along the lines of “so similar” but decided to ignore it.

“Yes, but also no!” Jason spoke again, waving his fork around.

Man, you really, really did not want to talk about this.

(“Come on… put me on. Let’s ditch these losers!”)

You considered it, but then it was almost snatched away by Mr Constantine. You thankfully pulled it close to your chest. The man ended up still trying to grab it from you before you kicked him in the shin. “Get off!”

“Ow—” He stepped back. “And no! That is an extremely dangerous weapon, especially in the hands of a teenager!” He tried to lunge for it again.

(“Put me on, [Nickname]!”)

You did.

When you came to it later, the sun was rising, you were sitting on a roof, and you were extremely dusty. When you tried to stand, you found out you couldn’t. Why? Well, Orphan, the vigilante, was draped on one leg and Spoiler was draped over the other. There was someone else’s back to yours and you were sure there were other people laying around you too.

What the hell?

That was how you found out your family were vigilantes.

That was how you also (begrudgingly, Bruce wanted to bond more) joined.

A real happy ending, huh?

.

.

.

The end.

For real this time!

Taglist: @yourtypicalhuman09 @cupid73 @yhin-gg @galaxypurplerose @xxgrimripp3rxx @hai-there-how-are-you @suckmyballzfr @yarn-mony @patatasolitaria @deathbynarcisstick @depressed--therapist @eyeless-kun @mary-jinx @natllo @d4rkf10w3er @mintynilla @whognuthis @bat1212 @blapbloep @vanessa-boo @randomlyappearingartist @otakusimp1 @iansimpsforeveryone @like-thechocolate @cruzerforce4256 @sirenetheblogger @mrmacwaffles @p1nkh3artz @23xfgg @venomsvl @ceramic-raven @conqcakes @flightless-magpie @numbu5 @moon0goddess @itsberrydreemurstuff @inyourmomsbussy @mybones537 @xxangelxxsblog @inayouboo @wishiwaswritingrn @spacecoffeebean @amandjslpz

[sparrows4bats]

So, I love the idea that Damian tries to hide his relationship with Jon. Not for any neferarious reason, he just doesn't want his family and the overprotective loon that is Dick Grayson in his business, and Jon agrees because he is convinced Batman will make an exception to his no kill rule.

The boys decide they want to keep it private for a while so they can figure out how to be in a relationship without outside pressure and expectation.

To accomplish this, Damian tells 3 people.

The first is Alfred, obviously. The Butler knew he was in love with his best friend before he did.

The next is Cassandra because Damian knows he can not hide anything from her, and any secretive endeavour in this family will need her co-operation.

The last bat he tells is Duke because he is pretty chill and helps Damian come up with excuses and escapes to see Jon, and for some reason, no one questions him.

They have close calls such as the time Dick notices him wearing a Metropolis Jersey or that time Jon stayed over and almost got caught by Jason the next morning.

Luckily, he can fly fast enough that no one notices his missing shirt when Jon literally jumps out the window in panic.

Stephanie starts to get suspicious when Damian comes back from 'errands' giddy and smiling.

But overall, it's been peaceful, and Damian finds himself falling in love in the quiet moments he and Jon snatch together.

It's not without its issues, especially when people start trying to flirt with either of them. Jon almost loses it in the Watchtower when another hero asks Damian out right in front of him.

Jon all but drags his boyfriend to his side for the rest of the meeting.

They decide to tell their families when they move in together in a few weeks because Damian really is running out of excuses to go to Metropolis.

They have speeches prepared and dinner reservations, and Damian even hid the kryptonite.

It's a plan.

Unfortunately, they forgot to factor in Talia.

Damians mother shows up one evening and barges into the Batcave in a fury.

"Damian Thomas Al Ghul Wayne!"

Damian pales "Mama?"

Talia crosses her arms "Am I your mother? Don't you tell your mother important things Damian?"

Damian gulps. "Mama I was just-"

But Talia is having it. "You are engaged and didn't bother to introduce him to your mother!"

The rest of the bats start shouting questions at Damian as well. Dick is clutching his pearls while Stephanie is shaking in excitement over potential gossip.

Damian is gaping at his mother now. "We're not engaged!"

Talia raises a brow. "Don't lie, the Super bought a ring!"

Damian feels his brain melt out his ear while he hears Steph shout, "You're dating Jon!"

His father is scarily quiet.

All of his siblings are screaming now, save Cassandra and Duke, who are smirking.

They are interrupted by a blue blur entering the cave.

Jonathan Kent is suddenly on one knee in front of a very red Damian.

He takes a moment to glance at Talia. "Thanks for ruining the suprise."

The woman tsks remarkably similar to her son, but Jon doesn't pay her any mind all his focus on his wonderful boyfriend.

"Day, I swear I had a way better plan than this, but I love you and can't imagine a world without you at my side. Will you Marry me?"

Damian grabs him in a kiss while says yes over and over again.

And despite the suprise, the cave is silent while they take in the scene until Talia starts talking about a League combat ritual he will have to complete before the engagement is approved while Bruce listens intently beside her.

Steph starts interrogating Cass while Dick and Jason start looking for the hidden kryptonite.

Damian and Jon ignore them lost in their own little world until another blur enters the cave.

"Jonathan Samuel Kent!"

[sleepy-little-stars]

andy speaks: maybe caleb feels ooc idrk i dont beta my works but !!! silly girl dad caleb :P

“i’m gonna marry uncle zayne when i grow up.”

she—caleb’s sweet girl who just turned six—said it so casually. over breakfast, too. at seven in the morning, it’s the most important meal of the day and yet caleb feels like he already wants to wretch all that he’s eaten.

his heart breaks, spoon clattering to the table dramatically as he stares at his daughter, wide-eyed and jaw-dropped. his head turns toward you in disbelief—are you seeing this? are you hearing this?—feeling even more betrayed when he sees you laughing at his misery.

she didn’t even say she wants to marry zayne. instead, she worded it like she’s actually going to marry the man.

caleb clears his throat, trying to calm himself.

“marry…” he coughs once more. you hand him a glass of water. “uncle zayne? why him? i thought you said you wanted to marry daddy?”

“ugh,” she groans, as if it’s painful for her to even talk about it. “i was three, and you made me say that!”

"i did not! you said it because you meant it."

"no, i didn't!"

“i mean,” you quip, “zayne is a good man.” you grin at caleb, knowing damn well his mind is about to blow up. his two girls ganging up on him? this was not written in your vows.

“don’t encourage this, pip." he points a finger at you, his eyes narrowing. "you’re supposed to be on my side!”

you shrug with a teasing smile. “i don’t know, caleb. she has good taste.”

“good taste? he’s like—he’s so—” caleb gestures vaguely, trying to conjure up the perfect insult for zayne, but he’s got nothing. because even caleb, at his most bitter, has to admit zayne is a decent guy. irritatingly decent. frustratingly admirable. the worst kind of competition.

“he saves lives, daddy,” your daughter says in that small as a matter of fact voice. “you just press buttons and stare into space.”

“excuse me?!” caleb nearly sputters his coffee. “those buttons could change the course of interstellar flight and exploration for the next hundred years! i stare at space because i’m observing complex quantum variables in real-time—”

“boring,” she cuts him off, swinging her legs under the table and picking at her strawberries.

he gasps. greatly offended. hand on his chest and all.

you’re covering your mouth to hide your laugh now, barely holding it together as caleb collapses back into his chair like the tragedy of this morning has physically drained him.

“he’s too old for you, anyway,” he grumbles, defeated. “zayne’s like... over thirty.”

“you’re only two years apart.”

he ignores your comment regarding his age—gentle implications that he, too, is in his thirties and has just called himself old.

“ancient. he’s got gray hairs and his back hurts every minute of every day.”

he once again ignores the teasing glances you direct at him.

she hums, unconcerned. “that’s okay. i’ll just marry his son.”

caleb goes still.

his soul leaves his body.

there and then, he blows up. explodes like dynamite thrown into the sea. erupts like an angry, raging volcano.

“no! baby, you can’t do that! he—he doesn’t even have a son!” he exclaims, in complete agony.

you stifle your laughter to place a hand on his back, like that can comfort him.

“he doesn’t even have a son!” he repeats, like that’s the final nail, or maybe his 13th reason. caleb doesn't know anymore.

your daughter just blinks innocently at him and pops a blueberry in her mouth. “yet.”

and caleb, poor caleb, lets out a long groan and slumps face-first into the table.

you pat his back gently as he mumbles something about betrayal in his own home, cursing zayne, how dare his daughter turn against him, cursing zayne again, how he will never allow her to marry until she’s fifty, and cursing zayne one last time.

“you’re still my number one pick,” you whisper in his ear before kissing his cheek as consolation.

“tell that to your traitor daughter,” he groans, voice muffled by his own arm.

and just like that, breakfast ends with caleb’s dignity shattered, your daughter planning a wedding that doesn’t exist, and you—well, you’re just having the best morning of your life. (and caleb sending zayne threatening emails for the next two weeks.)

masterlist here!

[inhumanbeing]

I think there's a mistake alot of people make (myself included) where we (tell ourselves we) want to know which gender norms were forced upon you. What expextations did you break free from, what childhood conditioning are you trying to surpass. It shouldn't matter, because who you are now is what's important, and if you trust me enough to let me know who you were, you'll tell me when you're ready. It just digs at my brain that I want to KNOW. It doesn't matter what the answer is, I just want to KNOW it. I want to empathize with "oh, you were told not to cry as a boy", or "oh, you were told to be nice to everyone no matter what as a girl". It's hard wrap my head around empathizing with something outside of that binary, because like you I was conditioned into a world of binary. It's my failing and it's the world's failing to us both. And personally, unrelated to topics of gender OR sex/uality, it's really hard for me to put away a deep seated need to know the answer to things, to have knowledge. Even if I've been explicitly told NOT to know something, I've gone out of my way to discover it, and then tuck it away in a corner of my brain and act in my daily life as though absent of the knowledge.

Sidebar, it's also like one of the rules of "small talk" that we osmosis learn. 'If a person brings up a personal detail, ask them politely to expand on it.' There are exceptions to that rule, but human history has given us the 'rule of thumb' expected pat answers for those things already, they're cliches.

For alot of people, the terminology of THIS is new. The "expected continuation" of the small talk isn't known, so the first thing you can think of is "your life is like this right now, what was it like before." We're just all garbage at the tact for it because the abbreviation is known and easy to say. It's wrong to say, but it's all we know. It's the only muscle memory we have.

TV tells you that when a friend loses a loved one, you should say "I'm sorry for your loss", and even if you've never said it before, your brain will automatically try to say it, even if you know for a fact that it isn't right and that's not what your friend wants to hear from you right now. But it's all your brain will give you. It's on you to force your brain to bond with them more creatively than a writers room just phoning it in. It's on me to discover and celebrate your life, without needing to know your past.

*wokely* tell me what genitals you have, stranger i just met

[madebycloud]

STAY

rumi x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: workaholism is practically her middle name. rumi works to the bone day in, day out, always putting her work before everything else… and that includes you. (requested by @remmia) warnings/themes: light angst and fluff, argument, happy ending words: 2.0k

Rumi was supposed to come home at 9pm, according to her.

11:14pm. She's two hours late.

You tried calling her, but it just rang endlessly. No answer. Texting her was no use either, as she rarely replied to your texts these days.

She's busy.

She's just busy.

Too busy for you, at least.

Too busy to spend time with you. Too busy to pay attention to you. Too busy for the person she's supposed to come home to every day. 

It wouldn't bother you so much if it hadn't happened so often... late nights, lack of responses, missed calls, canceled dates. Sometimes it feels like Rumi puts her job before anything else. The fans, the fame, the work, the music. Everything, except you.

You've been patient. You've been understanding. You've tried to support her in every way. You've tried to be the best partner you could possibly be. 

It's not like you're asking for much, is it? just a text to say she's running late or a call to say she missed your call. Anything would be better than the silence you're constantly met with. 

Rumi promised. She promised she'd make time for you. 

And yet...here you are. Sitting alone in the apartment, waiting for a girl who's always too busy to give you any of her time.

And waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Eventually, you hear a click as the door opens slowly, spilling light from the hallway to flood into the space.

“Oh... babe, you're still up.”

You scoff in response, not meeting her gaze. “I am. been waiting for you to come home.”

Rumi closes the door behind her, taking off her coat and shoes. She then turns towards you, sighing. “Babe... please, let's not get into this right now...” she says, stepping cautiously into the apartment. “I'm tired, okay? It was a long day—”

“A long day, huh?” you interrupt, standing up from the couch.

It's always the same excuse. 'Too tired.' 'Work was busy.' 'We'll talk tomorrow… I'm sleepy...' Yet, here she is again, showing up late and expecting you to simply accept it without complaint.

Rumi walks over to you, reaching out to take your hand in hers, but you bat it away. She frowns. “You know how it is. The company's got a lot of big projects coming up… I had a lot of things to take care of today.”

You look at her incredulously. “And how many times have you said that exact same thing in the past month— in the past three months?”

“I… I just… I can't always control my work schedule, you know? Babe—”

You cut her off again, pointing a finger at her. “You know you can control when you answer my calls. You can control when you send me a freaking text back—”

“I was busy, okay? I tried my best to respond whenever I could, but work—”

“Work, work, work! That's all you ever care about these fucking days. You never have time for me. I'm not asking for much, just a call or a text or ANYTHING!”

“Why are you so angry about this?!” she snaps back, throwing her hand to the side. “You know how important my job is to me. It takes a lot of my time, and I'm trying my BEST to juggle everything— the company, the comebacks, the fans, and you! I'm trying to do it all, and it's not easy—”

“Not easy?” You laugh bitterly. “Is it difficult for you to send a ten second text to your partner? To give them a quick call just so they know you actually remember they exist? What's so hard about giving a few minutes of your time every once—” You swallow. The knot in your throat tightens. “When was the last time we even went on a date, Rumi? when was the last time you even told me you loved me? Is that how you prove you're 'trying?'”

“Then what do you want me to do?!” Rumi's voice suddenly rises over yours.

You step back instinctively, eyes brimming with tears. “I just want some of your attention, Rumi. Is that really too much to ask for...? Just show me that you CARE about this relationship— that you CARE about ME. I just want—” You pause, inhaling deeply, wiping away a tear that rolls down your cheek with a trembling hand. “...I just want to feel loved... by you.”

Her features soften instantly. Guilt creeps into the corners of her eyes when she sees your tearstained face, noticing the vulnerability that you rarely showed.

Rumi exhales slowly, steps towards you, and pulls you into a tight hug. You rest your head against her shoulder, arms remaining limp at your sides. 

“I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry...” she whispers. “I don't mean to neglect you. I just get really caught up in my work. There are music shows, performances, fans, and a million things happening at once... it's not easy, babe.”

You don't hug her back. Her words don't comfort you; her touch doesn't ease your worries. She's just saying what she thinks you want to hear, what she has to so you'd forgive her.

“If it's not easy for you, Rumi... if you find it that hard to make time for me. Then maybe... maybe we should just... end this... whatever this is.”

It's not that you actually want to leave Rumi...but you can't keep living like this. Constantly ignored, constantly feeling unloved. You deserve better than this—to live in a shadow, to feel so little but to give so much. 

“No. No, wait, no— babe, please... please don't say that.” Rumi pulls back to look you in the eye, grasping your face between her hands. “You're just upset... you don't mean that.”

“I am upset, Rumi. I'm tired. I'm hurt. I'm so fed up. I just feel like you've forgotten that I even exist. I can't keep going like this, Rumi... and I don't think you want to either.”

The words seem to stab straight into Rumi's heart. Her hold on your face trembles. “You're not thinking straight right now...I'm tired, you're tired, and it's late. Can we just go to bed, please? we can talk about it tomorrow, I promise.”

She's right about one thing: you are tired. Not just from the late hour or the emotional strain of the argument. It's the weariness of putting up with this situation for so long, hoping that things would somehow change.

So you don't protest as she leads you towards the bedroom, gently pushes you onto the bed, and don't resist as she climbs on top of you, laying on your body, not wanting to be apart from you. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'm so stupid, so selfish. I'll be better. I'll—” Her voice falters. “I love you. I love you so much... I'm so sorry.”

You lift your arms as if to push Rumi off, but your gesture changes midway, folding around her quivering frame, cradling her against your chest. The warm wetness seeps from her eyes onto your skin.

There you stay. Rumi sobs into your neck, hands tightly clenching fistfuls of your clothes. She'll probably be back to ignoring you when the sun rises. 

But for now, for just these few stolen moments while she clings onto you with all her might...

...you want to believe her and hope that come morning, things will feel different.

───────────

Morning arrives. Your mind slowly pulls awake, but your eyes stay closed. Hands instinctively reaching out to your side in search of a familiar warmth. Except... the only thing your hand manages to find is a cold, empty space.

Wait. Cold? Empty?

Your eyes snap open, the sleep clearing from your vision in an instant.

There's no Rumi. No warm body, no messy hair on the pillow, no comforting weight pinning you down in place. The covers beside you are ruffled but already cold.

Sitting up, your eyes drift to the small clock on the bedside. 9:15am.

You throw the covers off yourself, standing up. The hardwood floor is cool under your soles as you leave the room. 

The apartment is silent. No sounds of water running or the hum of a hairdryer.

No sign of Rumi.

What were you expecting? for her to actually keep her promise? ...How pathetic, desperate, stupid, and gullible you are. 

Just when you're about to wallow in your own self-loathing, the sound of the front door opening suddenly catches your ears.

There, in the doorway, stands Rumi, dressed in sweatpants, cropped hoodie, holding a plastic bag filled with groceries. “Morning..,” She then shuts the door and walks towards the kitchen, setting the groceries on the counter. “I went to the supermarket early to avoid the rush. Got us some things we needed, a few extra snacks I thought you might like—”

“I thought you'd be at the studio right now.”

Rumi pauses, stalling as she begins unpacking the groceries. She doesn't turn around when she says, “I took a break...for a month.”

You blink in disbelief.

She continues as you approach the kitchen. “I told Bobby that I needed some time off, and the company agreed. I won't be going into the studio for a while or having any schedules. So we can spend some time together.” 

“What about the girls?”

“Mira and Zoey are also taking time off to take care of their own things. It's just you and me. No work, no studio, no interruptions to deal with. Just us. For an entire month.”

Did you hear her right? Rumi, who's always working, always busy, always has no time to answer her phone, took a whole month off? For...you?

“Where do you want to go? I was looking online earlier, and I think going to Jeju would be nice. We could get a small rental car there and just drive wherever, or if you'd rather stay in Seoul, we could—”

You don't realize you've closed the distance between you until you're standing right behind her, arms encircling her waist, resting your chin on her shoulder. 

You've missed this. Holding her, feeling her, being with her like this. It's like...you can breathe again. 

Rumi stiffens at the sudden contact, hands freezing around the milk she just grabbed, then lowers it back into the bag before slowly melting into your embrace, leaning back as her hands cover yours on her stomach, thumb tracing over your knuckles. 

Neither of you speaks for a while, simply content to stay in the other's arms after such a long time.

A month off. 

No distractions. No late nights. No schedules. 

Just the two of you. 

To try. To fix things. To fall in love again. To make up for lost time. To simply exist in each other's presence. 

“I'm sorry.” Rumi tilts her head to rub her cheek softly against yours. “I know I wasn't the best girlfriend to you...and— and I messed up. A lot. I've hurt you. A lot. I can't promise I won't screw up or be able to fix the mistakes I've made, but...I promise I'll try. For us.” 

You don't reply. Can't reply. Not when your heart is stuck in your throat and the words are choking you from within.

So instead you hug her tighter. Hold her closer. Hoping that this time it'll be enough. That after all the hurt, heartache, tears, pain, things will finally work out as long as you both try.

It's then that your stomach decides to make its presence known, rumbling loudly. Rumi laughs, her own stomach following suit, gurgling as if on cue, earning another laugh from both of you.

Your laughter dies back into a chuckle, Rumi turning in your hold to look at you with a small smile. “Do you want an omurice?”

You nod, mirroring her smile. You haven't had her omurice in so long.

She then presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Rumi.”

Both of you end up making omurice for breakfast, and despite the fact that the eggs get slightly overcooked and you make a bit of a mess while rolling the omelette, your heart is lighter than it's been in months.

[pome-seed]

I Won't Leave You ★ Bucky Barnes

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes x Doctor!Reader

Summary: You make the Winter Soldier hesitate to get the job done, shining a light on his biggest weakness. When his handlers decide to make an example out of you, the Soldat is pushed over the edge, and forced to act.

Word Count: 5.8k

Tags: Yearning, emotionally confused Bucky Barnes, protective Bucky Barnes, possessive Bucky Barnes, violence, gun violence, mention of blood, torture, mention of urine, gunshot wounds, angst, escapes.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: Kind of a throw back to the Soldier's Keeper captivity days. A little messy, but this kind of AU always gets me out of my writing rut. Enjoy! If you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Masterlist

You hear the gurgling screams from several doors down. You hear it before you turn the corner. 

You hear the sobs, the begging, the pleading for mercy. 

You stagger down the cold corridor, medical bag in hand, fighting to keep yourself from plugging your ears. Ahead, several locks shift open, armed guards standing frozen on each side. One reaches for a button on the wall, and the door slides open.

You smell the blood before you see it.

A man sobs, shouting through his gag, further in the room. You’re pushed forward, into the dark abyss. You have to swallow the bile rising in your throat, the stench of iron and urine mixing with the shadow of death. 

The Soldat looms over a squirming man, locked into a metal chair. His dark hair shields his face, hiding his cold expression. He doesn’t see you at first, may not even know you’re there.

“Bastard clocked him in the head, he stopped responding for over a minute, said he couldn’t see anything.” The man behind you informed, nudging you forward again. 

The Soldat’s body stiffens, like an animal caught in the wild. When he finally turns, finally pins you to the floor with his intense gaze, his stomach sinks to his feet. Dread and shame boil together, concocting something sickening.

You don’t mean to look, but your eyes drift to the man strapped down. To the manic look in his eyes. To the blood wetting his skin. To the used tools sitting on a cold tray. 

“Okay.” You shift your bag, meaning to step forward, to do your job. But there’s blood on the floor. There’s blood everywhere. 

Leather creaks, and then his thick boots edge your vision. You look up and shiver beneath the weight of the Soldat’s stare. He carefully takes the bag from your hand, holding it for you. You feel something wet stain your fingers, where they brush his.

“What-What happened?” You ask him, shakily unclasping your kit. 

“My-”

Desperate screams cut through the Soldat’s words, making you jump. A gasp tears from your chest, something sick pooling in your gut. Your gaze snaps to the prisoner- he's watching you, sobbing, begging. 

You feel the guards against the wall observing your every move. You know there’s nothing you can do. You know you can’t save this man. You know you’re helpless.

But still, those eyes, those cries for help- they carve at your very soul.

The Soldat takes a slow step to the side, blocking your view of the man. 

“My vision spotted, my legs went weak.” His rough voice makes you flinch, calling your attention back to the task at hand. 

“Where did he hit you?” You gulp, pulling on gloves. Metal fingers point to the side of his head. He leans down for you as your fingers slide into his hair, gently feeling the tender spot. Your thumb grazes a healing scar, stitches still sewing the skin together. 

For the Soldat, Operations were often. You never really knew what they were all for. That was a secret, way beyond your level of importance. 

His last surgery was only a week ago- but with his rapid healing rate, he was up after only a day. You feel blood slick against the wound, caused from being hit in such a tender place. But the incision looks fine, swollen, but fine. 

You tilt his head back up by his chin as you grab your small flashlight.

You can barely focus beyond the screams. They never stop. They only get louder.

“Focus on my ear,” you whisper, shining the light into his eyes, watching his pupils dilate. His lashes flutter, but he obeys your instructions. 

You finish your quick exam and tuck away your supplies.

“You’re-” you clear your throat, your cheeks souring from the smell of the room. “You’re fine…I think you just need a little more rest, something more to eat. I think the pain to your incision shocked your system.”

You spare a glance at the blood staining the floor. “You should probably…finish up soon.”

A scoff makes you jump. “Alright, he’s useless anyways. Soldat, finish it.” The command makes you gag, a hand sliding over your mouth. Gloved hands yank you back, away from your charge. 

You stumble out of the figurative splash zone, your body stiff. 

The prisoner begins to sob harder, his wails scraping at your eardrums. 

Dread pools in your veins, spreading like poison. You have to look away. You have to close your eyes. But you just can’t, because that man is looking at you, desperate, thrashing in his seat. You expect to see his brains paint the wall, followed by the crack of a gunshot. 

But the sound never comes. 

Your stagnant gaze shifts to the Soldat, where tortured blue eyes bore into yours. The look there startles you, a cold shiver racing down your spine. The pain, the earnest doubt. His steel fingers stay balled up, hovering beside his holster. But unmoving.

The prisoner weeps, panic muffling his pleas for mercy.

“Soldat, finish it.” The handler snaps, his voice rough and irritated. 

But the man doesn’t move. He doesn’t waver. His gaze sticks to you, to the shake of your hands, to the horror on your face. 

He can’t do this.

He can’t let you see this.

The handler grumbles under his breath, then snatches your arm by the elbow. You trip on your own feet as he drags you towards the door, but your eyes stay locked with his. 

He reaches for his gun.

You blink back tears, turning away as you’re shoved into the hall. Your supplies slip from your fingers, clattering to the floor in a mess. 

A gunshot goes off before the doors can fully close. 

You yelp, your body shuddering as your hands slap around your ears. 

This was the dirty part of things, the part you never saw. This was death and torture and captivity. It was reality. It was the Soldat’s purpose, and in a way, yours too. It’s your job to care for him, to polish their tool, keep him ready. It’s your job to stay quiet, stick to the shadows, and remain unimportant enough to not bother harming.

But as the soldier's hands pull you down the hall, dragging you towards the lab, you feel you’ve made a mistake. 

You feel you did something wrong. Stepped out of line- right into the light. But this wasn’t you, this wasn’t your fault. It’s the Soldat’s- because he made a fatal mistake.

He showed them his weakness.

You.

He didn’t mean to do it- he didn’t even really notice it, until it was too late. The Soldat didn’t understand you, or your kindness- but he understood your position, he always will. He knows your fear, your trepidation, your practiced calm. He sees it when he looks at you. 

And maybe he sees a bit of himself in you, in that fear. Though, he’s long buried that feeling. He no longer feels that timid anxiety, that tearful dread. He just feels full. Heavy. Weighted by his duty, and the impossibility of escape.

He thought that would be all he ever felt, until they brought you to him, with orders to obey.

Until he saw that look, that pain.

He almost threw up the first time you touched him, the first time he felt the tremble of your fingers against his skin. Because he never wanted this- he never wanted to see the reality of his situation, forced upon someone else. Someone kind, someone untouched by cruelty, and watch them fall into the darkness. 

He just wanted to spare you. 

He just wanted to shield you from what nobody could shield him from.

But he failed, in that moment, in that pause. He knows it, as they drag him towards the lab, where you’re waiting. 

He knows he’s ruined everything, the moment those doors open, and you’re staring blankly at the electric chair, eyes red rimmed. “You can prep her,” a man says from behind him, smacking a rough hand against his shoulder.

The Soldat feels what’s left of his soul leave his body. He feels the ice cold prick of terror rip through his body. 

You turn to him, your gaze falling to the blood staining his leather suit. 

Self loathing spreads beneath his skin as you look at him.

“What’s-” you swallow, your voice pitching, “what’s happening?”

The Soldat is shoved forward again, into your space. You don’t flinch, you don’t move- your hands jerk up to catch him. The Soldat’s words die on his tongue.

You watch as a machine operator brushes past you, taking a seat at the control panel of the chair. The Soldat’s sharp intake of breath draws your attention back in- then you see that look again. 

That pained, guilty look. The kind of look that bore the weight of centuries. 

The Soldat swallows, staring down at you. “It’s a punishment.”

You blink back tears, your body wracked with tremors. “What-?”

“For me.” He whispers, his voice broken, rough and scarred. “Because I hesitated.” He tracks the tear that slips down your cheek, sticking to the curve of your jaw. “Because of you.”

You frown, your arms wrapping around yourself. “They’re punishing you for-” your breath hitches, your body stiffening, as if struck by electricity. You shake your head, staggering back a step- the soldat twitches, as if stifling the urge to steady you.

“They’re gonna hurt me, right?” You choke, your nails digging into your arms. 

He says nothing, his jaw fluttering as his teeth clench. He nods. 

“I’ll-” you furiously swipe tears from your cheek. “I’ll be better I’ll-” you gasp, staring desperately over the Soldat’s shoulder, at his handler. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I’ll-”

“It’s because of me,” the soldat whispers, his metal fist creaking as his knuckles clench. “Not you.” You stare up at the man, your arms wrapped around your body. “Because I hesitated, because of you.” He repeats. The words fall like cinder blocks at your feet. Weighted and cold. You shake your head, not understanding. “Because I didn’t want you to see it…”

You instinctively glance down at the blood sticking to his leather chest. To the stains on the tips of his boots. You remember the sound of the gun shot. 

“Because I care about you,” Tortured blue eyes spear right through you, heavy and uncontrolled. You can’t make sense of this- of what's happened, of what he’s saying, of what is about to occur. 

You can’t make sense of any of it. 

“You…?” Your words trail off, your throat closing up. You flinch at the sound of metal clashing behind you- of sharp tools being spread out across a tray. 

With only a few inches between your bodies, you swear you can hear the Soldat’s teeth clenching. He watches your expression, as if memorizing your features. He knows what's about to happen; what they’ll do. 

He watches you with this helpless look, like his body physically won’t let him help you. Like he knows there's nothing he can do to change this. 

The longer you look at him, the worse the feeling in your stomach gets. “The chair isn’t for you, is it?” You whisper, a cold feeling rippling down your spine. 

His throat bobs, emotion welling inside his body. Emotion he isn’t allowed to feel. Emotion that will ruin everything. 

Emotion he feels for you.

“The best way to punish you-” you pause, “is to punish me…”

“I’m so sorry…” he grits, his shoulders winding tighter.

If this were any other circumstance, you would think this may be the most he’s ever said to you. The longest conversation you’ve ever been allowed with him. Something about that makes this worse- like he’s trying to get in as many words as he can. Like he knows how badly this will end. 

The Soldat’s eyes snap away from you, directed over your shoulder. You can’t move, terror paralyzing your body. You don’t want to know what’s caught his attention, or what’s made the color drain from his face. But deep down, you already know. 

You shouldn’t be surprised this is happening. You shouldn’t be shocked- you should have prepared yourself. You knew the closer you grew to the Soldat, the closer you grew to danger. You knew that any bond forged between you would only bring you pain. 

And still, you knew the moment you set eyes on him that you wouldn’t be able to stop it.

A large hand wraps around your bicep, yanking you back a step. You gasp, caught off guard. Your feet slide beneath you as you try to pull back, but you’re far too weak, and far too outgunned. You refuse to look back as your gaze falls on the Soldat, who watches you with a pained look. 

“Oh god-” you choke, your shoulders drawing up to your ears as you tighten up. 

Those blue eyes stay locked on yours, unable to look away. You can imagine he wouldn’t be allowed to, even if he could. Part of the punishment was to see what happens to those he hesitates for. To see what happens to those who get in the way of the mission.

The man dragging you back shoves you into the cold leather seat. You blink through tears as you stare forward, your limbs being manoeuvred into their respective restraints. 

“I’ll do better-” You whisper, a mantra you’ve repeated over and over through your time with your captors. “I’ll be better…” you gasp, unable to catch your breath as the raw panic sets in. “I promise,” you sob, tears dripping from your sweaty skin. 

The Soldat watches you, metal plates shifting in his bionic arm. His hands tremble at his sides, clenched so tight they could shatter concrete. But his feet stay planted to the floor. His body stays frozen. That agonized stare pierces through you, carving beneath your flesh. 

He can’t watch this. 

But he has to. 

He flinches when a lock snaps shut around your throat, pinning you in place. He nearly looks away, but the domineering presence of his handler behind him keeps him in check. Reminds him of his job.

Watch.

Watch, and remember.

She doesn’t matter.

You don’t matter.

Anything, and everything, belongs to us. Protection. Safety. Her. You.

Watch.

And remember.

He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, a dark, cold feeling twisting beneath his skin.

Your voice scratches at the deepest corner of his soul, your helpless pleas for mercy, your ragged sobs, the fear catching in your throat. It all melts together, blending into one torturous moment. One he can’t escape.

“Please,” You sob, blinded by the way your lashes stick together with tears. Your chest burns for oxygen, but you just can’t seem to grasp it. Your lips crack, your tongue goes dry. A gloved hand grips your jaw bruisingly, prying your mouth open. 

A rubber bite guard is shoved between your teeth. 

You thrash helplessly, metal cuffs locking every joint in place. 

All you see is the Soldat. All you see are those blue eyes. The pain there, the agony you’ve always wished you could take from him. But sometimes, there are things too large to bear. Some slates are too bloody to wipe clean.

Your slate was once clean. 

Your life was once yours. 

You can barely remember those days now, so far removed and buried. Beneath years of pain and torture, months of imprisonment and conditioning.

The Soldat’s body physically locks up when he hears those switches flip, those dials turn. He flinches back as the machine shifts, something mechanical lowering over your head. 

You scream through a locked jaw, begging for mercy, for understanding, for a savior.

For anything.

Your vision spots, your head growing light as your chest staggers without oxygen. 

You can’t breathe. 

Your eyes lock with his. You can swear that even for a moment, you see his eyes gloss over. 

Another dial turns.

Electricity charges. 

Most people seem to believe that in a moment of true and utter panic, the world slows down. That your heart stops and time freezes. But that’s wrong, in every way. 

In what feels like the end of the world, time speeds up.

Like a flash of lightning, gone before you realize it ever happened. 

So when the Soldat watches your eyes squeeze shut, tears trailing down your flushed skin, your jaw screwed shut around rubber, he just moves. 

His body moves without thought, without fear, without reason. He just moves. 

His elbow connects with his handler's nose. The holster at the man’s side is empty, the gun sliding easily between the Soldat’s fingers. 

He squeezes the trigger as easily as breathing. 

You shriek, your body jolting in terrified anticipation.

But everything’s moving too fast for him to notice. 

He points the barrel at the man with his finger on the dial. The gunshot ricochets of concrete walls, the sound ringing in your ears. Something warm and wet splatters against your skin. It sticks to your cheek and drips from your eyelashes. You taste it on your lips.

Your eyes snap open in horror, but still, time doesn’t freeze.

The Soldat is moving, his body quick to dodge the oncoming rain of bullets. He empties his clip into the nearest soldier. You scream, your vision blurring with tears and shock. His black suit flashes in your periphery, and then his metal fist is slamming down on the controls of the chair. One by one, the locks around your body snap free. You don’t have time to process your freedom, because you’re being yanked out of your chair.

You shriek as a fist coils in your hair, dragging you up. A doctor, one of the many prepared to torture you to get a point across, holds you in front of him. But before he can even point his scalpel to your throat, a bullet slices between his eyes. 

He drops with a squelch, into a pool of another man's blood. You topple over, your shoes slipping in the slick substance. A sob catches in your throat, sticking there, blocking air from reaching your lungs. 

The Soldat drops his gun, his cold hands yanking you up by the elbows. 

The smell of blood stains the air, making bile rise in your throat.

When you finally stare up at the man, you can see the panic in his eyes. Pupils blown wide, lips parted on ragged pants. Calloused fingers press against your lips, forcing your mouth open. He discards the bite guard, then shakes you firmly. 

But the shock has already set in. 

You tremble, your legs giving out as you take in the bodies dropped around you. 

There’s so much blood. 

In all the time you’ve been here, captive and prisoner, you’ve never really seen what the Soldat can do. What he’s made for. 

You only ever see the aftermath, the scars and wounds and broken bionic arm. 

You’ve never really been privy to just how dangerous the man is. Just how bloody he’s willing to get. 

But this time, it isn’t for a mission. This time, it’s for you.

And everything’s changed.

The Soldat realizes immediately that you’re in shock. He also realizes just what he’s done. What he’s never done before; disobeyed. He huffs out gasp of dread, his gaze snaps to the door. 

Soldiers will be coming. And this time, he won’t be able to shield you from them- from himself, when they say those words. When he looks back at you, you’re staring wide eyed at your hands- stained with the blood you’ve wiped from your cheek. 

“More are coming,” he grunts, his own voice sounding far away to him. “I need you to listen to everything I say, do you understand?” You blink up at him, your lips parting helplessly. He shakes you firmly, “Do you understand?”

You nod, choking on a sob. 

He leans forward, his hands sliding to your waist. You feel weightless as he drags you over his shoulder, his metal arm locking around your hips like a chain. You grunt, his shoulder pressing hard to your lower stomach. 

He doesn’t take the time to explain as he continues moving, picking up fallen men’s weapons. Your fingers curl in his cold leather suit, your cheek pressed to his back. 

He’s moving again, around the lab- quick and focused. He swipes his hands over the counters, knocking over everything in his path. Medical supplies and testing equipment scatter to the floor. But he only needs one thing. 

Cotton Balls.

He snags as many as he can and shoves them deep into his ears, one, then two, deep enough to hurt. Deeper, until he can’t hear.

Until those words bounce off him like nothing.

You can’t see anything. You can’t hear. You can’t feel. All you smell is blood. 

All you know is fear. 

The doors slam open. The Soldat’s breath evens out beneath you. His hands steady. Fingers lock around his weapon. This isn’t the Soldat you know. This is the Winter Soldier. 

This is a man with nothing that will stand between him, and his mission: getting you out alive.

He moves with purpose, his boots dragging across polished concrete floors silently; a practiced art. Shotty lights flicker overhead, casting shadows beneath you. The Soldat moves through the hall like a ghost, quiet and waiting. He pauses around every corner, using the reflective pad of his metal palm to see if anyone is there waiting. 

A shot sparks off the curve of his steel thumb. He snaps his arm back, his jaw clenching.

Voices shout from every direction, commanding and shaken. The Soldat doesn’t hear it. He raises his gun and shoots out the lights, causing sparks and glass to rain down from above. 

You flinch as the man lowers you to the ground, your body slouching against the cold wall.  

Gunfire bounces off the walls, cacophonous explosions of smoke and light. You freeze up, terror burrowing deep in your bones. Your hands smack over your ears, a scared shriek ripping from your throat. 

The Soldat doesn’t glance back. One after another, he drops bodies- your throat closes up at the sight of him bludgeoning a man's skull into the cold concrete wall.

The man's body collapses in a heap, blood pooling beneath him. You stare in horror, your gaze caught on his dead eyes. 

You jolt numbly with every screaming gunshot, with every cry from the damned. 

And then it all goes quiet. You don’t have time to process it, as the Soldat circles his arm around your waist and hauls you up. You gasp, your stomach turning as he carries you with each step. 

“What’s-” you heave, staring at the bodies he easily steps over. Your voice vibrates against his touch. “What’s happening-? Where are we-”

“Stay quiet,” He shifts you over his shoulder, holding you steadily in place. He has to keep you close, he has to keep you up and moving. On your own you can barely stand, and you’re far too slow to keep up with him on normal terms. 

He needs you still, one with him, so he can move for the both of you. 

You don’t question him. 

Instead, you latch onto his body and squeeze your eyes shut. Loud speakers at the corners of the hall buzz to life, a monotone russian voice repeating a mantra loudly. You flinch, your hands smacking over your ears. 

The Soldat curses beneath you, his voice deep and panicked. He presses his ear against your hip at his side, his eyes squeezing shut. “Shit-” he pants. “Hold- I need you to hold your hand over my ear-” he grits. You don’t hesitate. Your right hand cups the ear not pressed to your hip, adding an extra barrier to his senses from the trigger words being shouted over the loudspeakers. 

You duck your head back down against his back as he kicks open door after door, clearing the rooms inside. You try not to take count of how many bodies drop. Of how many corpses you’ve walked over. If you do, you might throw up. 

The Soldat’s jaw screws shut as he focuses, his finger steady against the trigger. 

The next door he barrels through is one you’ve never been through before. You glance up to see large crates filled with cargo of all kinds lining the walls, filling the space. The catwalk to the large steel roller door is suspiciously clear. 

Empty.

The Soldat grits his teeth and creeps slowly along the wall, hidden behind large shipping containers. He can’t kill every person in this building, not with you at risk. So the only real way out is the helipad, right through that large door. 

And in the few minutes you two have been in that room, not a single soldier has stepped through the doors behind you. Meaning something is waiting for you in that room. Behind these crates. Guns and death. 

Your fingers press firmly into the side of the man's head, nerves making your touch a little rougher. 

He takes a careful step around the nearest container, his gun raised and pointed ahead. This isn’t right. It’s too quiet- you could hear a pin drop. He releases a slow breath, scanning the room with each step. 

The Soldat barely has time to turn his head before something heavy and hard is slamming into his back, sending you both barreling to the floor. You yelp, your head bouncing off the cold catwalk. He grunts beside you, rolling with a loud crash. On top of the Soldat, is a man with similar stature, an electric baton in hand. 

From the side lines, dozens of men rush out with guns raised. You cry out as a pale man drags you back by the ankle. “Get off!” You gasp, kicking at his bony hands.

You scramble away, your bruised knees skittering across the floor towards the Soldat. The super soldier is stuck writhing beneath the hands of several men, electric batons stuck in their hands. 

“Soldat-!” You choke out as a hand curls in your hair, dragging you back. You shriek, your scalp burning as you’re dragged up to stand. Wide blue eyes snap to you, a slur of Russian curses falling from his lips. 

A sharp gasp tears from your throat as you watch an electric charge be delivered to the man's neck. His body seizes up, his eyes rolling shut. “Stop-!” You scream, thrashing under the strong hold of the man behind you.

You reach back and snag your nails against the man's eyelids, digging your thumbs back. He hisses and throws you to the ground. You yelp, your shoulder popping awkwardly against the hard floor. While the pale man cradles his face in his hands, you scramble forward and yank the gun from his holster.

You close your eyes and squeeze the trigger. 

Blood splatters against your skin, sticking in clumps in your hair. You gasp, staring at your hands in shock. Boots pound to your left, a bullet sparks inches from your hip. You shuffle back, the gun in your hands raised. 

The closest man drops to a heap at your feet, without you having to fire another shot at all. Your head snaps to the left, where a panting Soldat stands above you, a stolen rifle loaded in his arms. He holds the trigger down, gunfire raining down on those ahead of you. 

His large boot nudges into your side as he gestures for you to move. You crawl shakily behind a large crate, the gun still clutched in your fingers. 

He drops down beside you, his chest heaving in ragged pants. “You need-” he gasps another shallow breath of air. 

You cut him off, your slick hand pressing to the curve of his throat. “Are you okay?” You blurt, your thumb ghosting over the electrical burn carved into his flesh. 

He swallows hard, reading your lips. The cotton shoved deep in his ears intensifies the ringing in his head. He pants, glancing around the corner every few seconds.

You only have a few moments. 

He looks back at you, at the gun in your hand, at the blood staining your hair. “I’ll clear a path, you need to make it to the helicopter.”

“What about you-?” You choke, your body shivering with eclectic adrenaline. 

“I’ll keep them distracted, they care about me, so you just have to be fast,” He glances back around the corner, his gun raised. “Move along the walls, shoot first. They won’t hesitate. Do you understand?”

You shake your head. “I can’t- I-I cant! How will you get out there?” Panic burrows heavily beneath your skin, seeping into your veins. You can’t fly a helicopter. You can’t make it without him. And you can’t leave him behind.

“Just do it, okay?” He insists, his eyes shining with terrified insistence. 

You grit your teeth and swallow back tears. “Okay- okay I’ll do it.”

He gives you one firm nod, then a slow once over- memorizing. He’s out numbered, out gunned, and totally screwed. But he has to try. He can’t let you die like this- not because of him.

“You meet me out there, I’m not leaving without you.” You grit.

He swallows, his fingers tightening around his rifle. “Go,” he whispers.

You push up and slip around the corner of the crate, towards the wall. Fear carries you with every step. You force yourself not to jolt when the sound of gunfire continues. You refuse to look back- already knowing what's behind you. 

The Soldat throwing himself into harm's way to pull attention away from you.

You crawl along the wall, behind the cover of the cargo containers. You just have to get to the door. You just have to make it out. You follow the wiring along the wall to the doors control panel, which you jimmy open at the expense of your fingers. 

It snaps open- but you have no idea which switches do what. So you flick over each one from left to right. A generator shutters, lights shut off, and metal creaks. A flicker of light pools along the catwalk as the giant metal door slowly raises.

Your attention snaps to the left, where several soldiers are now leveling their weapons at your head. Behind them, the Soldat opens fire.

“Go!” He shouts.

You drop to the floor and roll beneath the slow moving door. The bright afternoon sun burns against your neglected skin, blinding you for a moment. You groan and skitter forward, glancing back over your shoulder. 

Ahead, a sleek black helicopter lay in waiting. You bite your tongue and bolt for the closest door, your hand raised to cover your head. Bullets spark the ground beneath your feet, spurring you on. You yelp, your momentum driving you hard into the large vehicle.

Loud voices shout from behind you, Russian mixing with accented english.

You yank the door open and throw yourself inside. But the minute relief you feel is immediately cut short when you see the control panel.

“Holy shit…” You huff and drop your gun, your trembling hands hovering over the many buttons and lights. 

Your attention shifts to the tinted windows, where you see the Soldat launching a large container at a trio of soldiers. He drops and rolls as gunfire rains in his direction. He snags a gun from the floor and shoots off running. 

“Open the door!” He screams, firing behind him. You shove the helicopter door open and lean out of the way as the large man jumps into the machine. “Close it!” He shifts into the seat, his hands moving quickly to flip switches and turn dials. 

You yank the door closed and duck below the window, your heart pounding heavily in your chest. “Oh my god, go, go, please go!” You sob, smacking your hands over your ears.

You can feel the helicopter vibrate beneath you as the blades rumble to life. “Hold on,” Soldat grits, pulling back a thick lever. 

You roll back against the door as the vehicle hastily lifts from the platform. Bullets ping against the exterior, catching in the thick metal. You drag yourself into the right hand seat, where you yank straps over your body. 

Everything melts together as you take off. Your eyes roll shut, your throat bobbing nervously. Beside you, the Soldat is still, his fight or flight taking over to steady him. 

Metal fingers reach into his ears, plucking out wads of cotton. “Are you hurt?” He shouts over the roar of the machine. 

You shake your head. “No-” you glance out the window, watching as you climb higher and higher into the air. “Are you?” For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his furrowed gaze set on the control panel. Your gaze shifts to him. “Are you hurt?” You repeat, straightening. 

“I’ll be fine,” he pants, glaring out the large windows. 

You sit up, dragging your eyes over him. Sweat beads along his scalp. Blood spatters his leather uniform, dripping over his chest and large arms. The holster of his belt sits empty. His pants stick to his thighs, his right leg soaked through with dark red blood. 

“Is that-” You gulp, staring down at the dark black material. 

“I’ll be fine.” He grits, his leg twitching. You unclip your seat and crawl behind it, searching the walls for a first aid kit. “Hey-”

“Fly the thing!” You shout over the noise, yanking down the loaded red pouch. You didn’t think anything could staunch the unbelievable joy you should be feeling right now- nothing except the possibility of the Soldat dying. 

While flying the vehicle standing between you and death.

You stagger back into your seat and drop the bag in your lap. “Don’t move!” You reach over and yank open his belt. He glances down at you, a frown pulling at his lips.

“I can’t feel it!” He tries. 

“That’s the adrenaline!” You shout, pulling his belt from his pants. You pull his legs open and quickly tie the belt around his upper thigh. You yank it tight, ripping a groan from his throat. He flinches, his body seizing up.

The helicopter jolts to the left, ringing alarms through the machine. You yelp, gripping onto the man for support. You grit your teeth and dig through the red bag. You find the closest roll of gauze and press it down hard on the wound. 

“Shit!” The Soldat grits, his fists curling tight around the controls. 

“Just-” you wince in sympathy. “Land as soon as you can!”

“It’s clear through,” he groans, his blood seeping between your fingers.

“You’re still bleeding!”

“First clearing I find, okay?” He responds.

You nod, dropping your head against the side of his seat. The first clearing, and you’ll touch the ground.

It finally hits you- hard- just what’s all gone down. So for the first time in years, you can finally say you’re free.

You’re out.

A/N: Messy and bloody and a little confusing/stupid. But I enjoyed writing this. I listened to the OG Winter Soldier theme song on repeat to get in the mood, and it was so intense...and anxiety inducing. But yeah, hope you enjoyed protective Winter Soldier breaking decades of mind control to protect you.

Taglist:

@a-world-with-pure-imagination @frog-fans-unite @1967barracuda @akkklys @cherryheairt @lonelyghosts-stuff @mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes @devilslittlehelper @miss-chuchu @dollface-xoxo @natalia42069 @thuul-box @local-crazy @justachillgirllui @pleasecallmeunhinged @cookies-and-music @fallen-w1ngs @unicornqueen05 @bloodmocha @sleepysongbirdsings @fadingcollectivenightmare @hosshihusshi @sharkylalala @overwintering-soldier @splooshdooshploosh @saucysasha2035 @vicmc624 @ordelixx @fadingcollectivenightmare @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @the-once-and-future-bitch @cherryandsugar @thefandomplace @nicolesholes

[maopll]

"I was able to submit my assignment on time!"

you beam, swivelling on the cushioned chair in the computer lab class, whisper shouting to him who is sitting right beside you, that's your annoyingly favourite boyfriend.

"Oh? Is that so? How?"

he feigns ignorance in hopes that you wouldn't know who you messiah was. but you're just so oblivious to this fact that you also just go with the flow without questioning his bland ahh reply.

"yeah! I don't know who they are but they've been a huge help this semester to me" you push your notebook to his table, flipping each page filled with completed assignments "see? now I won't have to hear the professors or the assistants' howling at me" "...what a great help they are..."

and so this goes on. he always make sure to stay the previous night awake completing both yours and his assignment, because he KNOWS you're gonna end up forgetting about it until he reminds you. since reminders don't work.

he has tried every method to make you remember, sticky notes, messages, phone calls, alarms, events marked on mobile calenders, even going as far as to beat down your door in the middle of the night to remind you. alas, maybe you forgetting your homework and/or upcoming exams is a canon event...

so this is how he helps you stabilise your GPA... cheat sheets on the upcoming exams, probable questions, pages marked down, or important lines highlighted. assignments completed or homework done by someone with a very familiar handwriting....

"I can't believe it's YOU who's been doing this!"

you ran to his door disheveled and still in your unicorn pj's with a hello kitty top, one hand holding your phone and the other holding the assignment copies and cheat sheets. "Bingo! It took you so long to figure out"

you try to tell him that he doesn't have to do thus since it also makes him spend extra time on something that he has already done which hinders his progress but he always replies with "Hush love, i do this because this will help you. I know that you go through these later during lunch break on at the end of school day"

yeah it has become a hobby for him, so as a compensation, you've promised to cuddle with him (point made by you) and treat him to his favourite street food (also proposed by you). it's endearing really, you are so adorable

"Just try to keep your grades good and that's reward enough for me"

CHILDE, AYATO, THOMA, NEUVILLETTE, SUNDAY (you'll know its him cause of the clear cut cursive...), PHAINON (bro the spelling errors...ily tho), ANAXA (thx prof.), MYDEI, JING YUAN, DAN HENG, JIAOQIU, ACE, DEUCE, RUGGIE, SILVER, MALLEUS, ZAYNE, CALEB, YUUJI, SUGURU, NANAMI, DIAVOLO, BEELZEBUB, SIMEON+ your favourites !

modern!au for the games stuck in the past!! but anon you're really selfless my greedy and selfish ahh could neverrr

© 2024 maopll. do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[amynchan]

hold on, I know that I reblogged this, but my brain was kinda awake, but not enough to make my comment. So now I'm back. XD

In my class, I teach 4 different essays. All of them do their best to teach some form of analytical thinking or observation, but the applicable one here is evaluation. There are five elements of evaluating a source to make sure it's good:

Authority: Does this person have the authority to talk about this or the audacity? Does this person have the experience (tradesperson/person in the job) OR the education (a degree in a relevant field) OR the knowledge of how to find the pertinent information and the reputation to report it fairly (reputable reporters)? Like, does an English instructor have the authority to talk about car mechanics? Of course not! Not unless she's got the experience of car work to back up whatever she writes down.

Accuracy: Is this work built upon previous, verified work? Did the authors actually do their research, or did they pull the results out of their ass? If this is a scientific-based paper or report, are they transparent about their methodologies, their results, their limitations? Can this work be imitated or verified with similar results? This is literally the basis of the scientific method. If this is a far out there result without the backing of more research, think twice before using it for important shit like fucking policies.

Bias: What is this piece of work pushing? There are usually agendas being pushed (it's just the world we live in). Follow the money, figure out the funding, or be aware in general of why this work was published in the first place. For example, if you're doing AI research, are you getting your information from Microsoft or Google? Those tend to be selling the idea of AI, so you've got to be aware of what type of information you're getting from them (like, are you just swallowing their bullshit mindlessly, or were you looking to see if the people who push it are actually stating limitations/oppositions to their point?). You also need to be aware of if the person's personal feelings get in the way of their objectivity. Even if you agree with the underlying sentiment, pathos does not create a lasting argument, and you'll need a more objective piece to help you prove your point.

Currency: Figure out when this thing was published if that's important. Sometimes, ideas are timeless and it doesn't really matter, but I swear to god if you wanna cut me open with a scalpel, you better keep your grubby paws off until you do the relevant, recent research on how to cut a person open properly. If you wanna talk with authority on mental health, I better not hear you refer to PTSD as shell shock unless you're referring to the historical understanding of it.

Relevancy: Is this source you're using actually about the topic? There are times where people will pull quotes from sources that have nothing to do with the topic because "it sounded good" or they said one thing that supports whatever they're saying with literally no regard for what the original piece was saying. It's just a smokescreen, and it happens at times. Be aware of what is happening.

This is usually used when you want to use sources for your argument, but these are good ideas to use when you wanna figure out if a book or source is worth your precious time to read in the first place.

Anyways, take this information and use it to your hearts' content!

A good rule of thumb whenever a non-fiction author has "Dr." or "Phd" next to their name on the cover is to check if:

Their doctorate is real and from an accredited institution

Their doctorate is relevant to the subject matter of the book

[zee-rambles]

Yo yo yo! It’s not too late to start working! Start creating! Start prepping posts and spreading the word! Even if you can’t make art, you are JUST AS IMPORTANT! Tell people! Make posts! Text posts count too! Reaction posts! Act as if it’s the first time you’re watching the show/movie. Make sure to watch the movie/show on that day!

And if this is your first time hearing about this event, check out my pinned post to see what we are talking about!

I want Nickelodeon to look at social media and be TOTALLY CONFUSED as to where all this Rise love comes from! Who knows! Maybe your post, your art, might bring Rise to someone who needs it! This show helped me get through a lot, maybe it can help someone else too.

[foxtrology]

ALANAAA CAN YOU WRITE PROMPT 43???? YOU ARE CARRYING THE HARRY CASTILLO NATION ON YOUR BACKKK LIKE

dad! harry castillo

prompt 43: adella finds out about harry’s “old life” before her. she asks if he was famous. he says he was important. “now i’m yours.”

prompt list

⸻

It was a Tuesday.

The kind of weekday that felt soft around the edges—sky pale, clouds barely there, the sun slow to stretch. Harry had dropped her off that morning like he always did. Coffee in hand, tie slightly askew from her tiny fingers tugging on him mid-breakfast, and Adella in her ladybug backpack and mismatched socks, chattering about how today was “library day” and how Mrs. Fletcher let her check out three books last week because “I was extra polite.”

She kissed him on the cheek before she ran in. Just a quick little press of lips, like a routine. And he watched her go—like he always did—hand in pocket, jaw tight, eyes warm in that way he didn’t let happen with anyone else.

What he didn’t see was the way two of the moms near the gate leaned in to each other as he walked back to the car.

“That’s Harry Castillo,” one said. Voice just low enough to pretend she wasn’t gossiping. Just loud enough for a child nearby to hear.

“The hedge fund guy? From the articles?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Lives up in that big house on the cliff.”

“Didn’t he date that matchmaker once? And then disappear?”

“Married someone younger. Heard they have a kid.”

“They say he used to be ruthless. The kind of man who made people cry in boardrooms.”

Adella didn’t mean to listen.

She just heard her dad’s name. And then… the words stuck.

Used to be. Ruthless. Made people cry.

It was strange. Because her daddy was the man who cut her toast into hearts and let her wear tutus to the grocery store. He did the silly voices when he read bedtime books. He painted her toenails and pretended not to know when she snuck an extra marshmallow.

That man didn’t sound like hers.

So when school ended, and she spotted him waiting near the pick-up gate, she walked a little slower.

He looked up from his phone when he saw her. Smiled.

But she didn’t smile back right away.

Just reached for his hand and held it tight.

He noticed the difference immediately.

She was quiet the walk to the car. Quieter still when they pulled into the driveway. He helped her out of the car, handed her the paper crown she’d made in art class that day. She didn’t put it on. Just carried it. It didn't seem like her.

She was thinking.

Harry didn’t push.

Not until they were inside, shoes off, snack bowl full of grapes on the counter. She sat on one of the stools, legs swinging, her little brow furrowed the way it did when she was trying to figure out if invisible meant see-through or not there at all.

He leaned against the counter. Arms crossed loosely. “Alright, sweetheart. Out with it.”

She looked up at him. “Were you famous?”

The question didn’t land the way she expected it to.

Harry blinked once.

Then pushed off the counter. Slowly. Walked over to her.

“Who said that?”

“No one. I just heard some moms at drop-off.”

His jaw clenched.

She saw it.

“But they weren’t saying bad things,” she rushed. “I think they were just… surprised. Like, like they knew you before.”

He crouched in front of her. Looked her in the eye. “I wasn’t famous.”

She tilted her head. “Were you important?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I was important.”

She chewed her lip. “Like… to other people?”

His voice got quieter. “Yeah. For a while.”

“Were you mean?”

Harry looked down.

His hands braced against his knees. He exhaled. Thought about how to answer that in a way that didn’t lie.

“I was…” He paused. “I didn’t care what people thought. I didn’t care if I made them uncomfortable. Or if they liked me. I wanted to win.”

She nodded slowly, even if she didn’t fully get it. “So… you were kind of scary?”

“Sometimes.”

“But not to me,” she said quickly. “Never to me.”

He smiled, small and soft. “Never to you.”

She looked at her crown.

Then at him.

“So what happened?”

Harry sat down fully. Cross-legged on the floor in front of her like he wasn’t sixty and that wouldn’t hurt later.

“You did,” he said.

She blinked. “Me?”

“You happened. Your mom happened. This house. Our life. I stopped needing to be important to people who didn’t love me.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then she slipped off the stool.

Sat in his lap.

Curled into him like she used to when she was smaller.

He held her instinctively.

And after a long, quiet second, she whispered—

“But you are important.”

His voice was rough now. “To you?”

She nodded.

He kissed her hair. “Then I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

They stayed there for a while.

When his wife came home later, purse slung over her shoulder, hair messy from the wind and cheeks pink from the chill, she found them like that.

On the kitchen floor.

A bowl of grapes half-eaten on the counter.

Adella asleep in his lap, crown tipped sideways on her head, little fists curled against his chest.

Harry looked up at her, something unreadable in his face.

She didn’t have to ask. Just knelt down beside them, her hand sliding into his hair, her lips brushing his temple.

“You okay?”

He nodded.

Then, quieter—

“She asked if I used to be famous.”

Her mouth quirked.

He looked at her. “I told her I was important.”

“You were.”

He shook his head. Looked down at the girl sleeping against him. “Now I’m hers.”

Her hand tightened on his shoulder.

“You always have been.”

[girlinterupptedsblog]

☆ Relationship between manipulative Rafe and soft reader

Pairing: redflag!rafecameron x soft!reader

Warnings:

Toxic relationship dynamics, manipulation, obsession, emotional dependence, coercion, light BDSM overtones, rough sex, possessiveness, red flag behavior, blurred consent, controlling tendencies, obsessive love, psychological control masked as affection.

Velvet Cage

You never really knew when it started.

When he started.

You were just the quiet girl. The soft, sweet thing who never raised her voice, never broke the rules, never asked for too much. People didn’t really notice you, not like they did him.—he wasn’t the kind of guy who ended up with girls like you.

And yet.

He saw you. Picked you out like something delicate on a shelf. And from the moment he did, it was like you stopped breathing on your own. Like he exhaled, and you inhaled. He took, and you gave.

You never questioned it.

It started slow—just glances. Then long conversations where he asked you everything. What you dreamed of. What you feared. Who hurt you. Who didn’t. He listened, eyes narrowed like he was trying to memorize your every heartbeat. And you talked, like a flower unfolding under sunlight, because no one had ever cared to ask before. No one had ever made you feel like that.

He made you feel important. He made you feel special.

And so when he started pulling you closer, piece by piece, you didn’t even notice.

It was little things.

He didn’t like you wearing mini skirts out. "Too many people looking at you, angel."

He didn’t like you walking alone at night. "You don’t get it, this place is full of creeps. I’m not letting anything happen to you."

He started showing up to your work, just watching, smirking.

Started texting you constantly. "Where are you?" "Who are you with?" "Come over."

And you always did.

You never noticed the way your world started shrinking until it was just him.

But God, he was good to you.

He bought you anything you looked at for more than five seconds. He'd drag you into boutiques and sit you in the dressing room, tossing clothes in with a smug, "Put it on, baby."

He filled your bedroom with fresh flowers when you were too anxious to leave the house.

Told you that your voice was his favorite sound—“Say something, anything, I just like hearing it.”

When you were sad, he'd kiss the tears off your cheeks like they were holy.

He’d cradle your face in those rough hands like you were glass, just before ruining you all over again.

You didn’t even notice how he rerouted your time.

Friends started texting less. You forgot to reply sometimes—Rafe was always tugging at your hand, pulling you into his truck, into his room, into his lap. You’d laugh and say you didn’t mind. Why would you want to be anywhere else?

He called it love. You believed it.

But it was more than that.

It was how he always needed to know where you were.

How he got cold and quiet if you didn’t answer fast enough.

How he’d get that look—dark, jaw tight—if someone even glanced at you too long.

How he’d take your phone sometimes and scroll through it without asking, tossing it back to you with a crooked grin. "Just making sure no one’s trying to mess with you."

You liked being his.

The thing about Rafe was—he was sweet. When he wanted to be.

It started in bed. He could be so gentle, so slow and reverent like worship. But sometimes, there was something behind his eyes, something mean. You never really told him no, not fully—you didn’t want to. He made you feel wanted, consumed, like you were the center of his universe. But there were times he’d pull your hair too hard, push your face into the pillows, grip your thighs until bruises bloomed like violets, and whisper, "You like it when I wreck you, huh? You like being mine like this?"

And you’d gasp and nod, even when your body screamed at the edges.

He’d kiss you after like he was sorry—“Did I go too far? Tell me if I did, baby. You know I love you.”—and you’d smile with glassy eyes and say, “No, I’m okay.”

You wanted to be perfect for him.

There was a time you tried to pull away.

You told him you needed some space. That maybe you were losing yourself.

He laughed.

Not cruel, just amused. Then quiet. Then scary still.

“Losing yourself?” he echoed, stepping closer, touching your face so gently it made your skin crawl. “Baby, I found you. You were just floating before me. Don’t you get it? I saved you.”

And you—so small, so soft—just blinked up at him, nodding.

Because maybe he was right.

Maybe you were floating.

And he had found you.

He didn’t like when you cried.

Unless it was for him.

One night, he came home angry—about something else entirely—but he saw the way you flinched and changed. He held your face and murmured apologies. “I’d never hurt you. Never you.”

He pulled you into his lap and rocked you until you fell asleep, murmuring that you were his favorite person in the whole world.

“I’d die for you, you know that? You’re everything to me. You’re my girl. You don’t have to think, baby. I’ll do that part. Just be pretty and let me take care of you.”

Because loving Rafe was like drowning in silk—soft and suffocating. Warm and impossible to escape.

Slipping right through your fingers.

[rhube]

They're also doing this because the prisons are overflowing and the court system is collapsing due to chronic, decades long underfunding.

Don't misunderstand me, I think mandatory chemical castration is monstrous, and its hard to see how it cannot be coercive in the space of incarceration, but a lot of people only know about the headline and not the details, and the details are multi-faceted and important.

In no particular order:

1. There are different options on the table. Mandatory castration is one, but it's not the primary option being explored.

2. Some inmates want this. We don't like to think of sexual offenders as people, but they are. And sometimes people feel compulsions to do things that they don't actually want to do. In this context, the hormones are not meant to be a punishment, but a treatment - one that would be available to these people if they were not incarcerated. The matter of rights is extremely complicated here. These people have the same right to treatment as everyone else in the UK. It is wrong to bar them from it just because they are incarcerated. But it's also hard to see how they can freely consent to permanent bodily changes when they are incarcerated, when the treatment has health risks, and when it's what the state wants them to do it. Because:

3. There are too many people in our prisons. Way too many people. We do not have room to put new people away. Yes, yes, dismantle the carcereal system, but how are you going to do that? What are you going to do about sexual offenders who still experience the desire to repeat their crimes? This is an experiment to see if hormonal treatment could be an answer to the problem whilst also enabling these people to live more normal lives, not driven to commit crimes. The headlines talk about 'chemical castration' but that is not the intended consequence. It is a *possible* side effect. That said:

5. Of course it opens the possibility for abuse. Let me be clear on this website where we routinely piss on the poor: in providing perspective here I am not defending the experiments, but I am asking you to tone down the knee jerk reaction of 'they're doing this because they want to castrate trans people'. I get it. And I agree it opens the door towards abuse by bad actors, and that's a strong reason against it. But that's not actually the aim. This is not a grand plan by Labour to exterminate trans and non-binary people (although, yes, I know, there are people in Labour who would want that); it is honestly about saving MONEY. Because if you could offer a treatment that made these people not a danger, they could leave prison, free up space, and reduce the burden on the tax payer, which, idk if you noticed, but Labour care more about than justice, ideology, or anyone's lives and liberty.

6. What happened to Alan Turing was horrific and should never happen again. It is a national shame. That is not what is being proposed here. Conflating the two issues does not help anyone.

TO REPEAT: while I do think inmates deserve the option to access the same treatments that would be open to them as free people, and that if people WANT to do this, that should be an option, I do not see a realistic way to enable incarcerated people to make a free and uncoerced decision about this.

Moreover, I do not want to open the door towards future potential abuses by bad actors, which could include transphobes and binarists and homophobes, which we know do exist in the Labour party.

I am NOT defending it. I just don't think it helps to muddy the water with misinformation that builds fear and mistrust.

Unfortunately, I can't provide sources and my info comes from an in depth radio programme I listened to on the subject. But when you hear about something like this, I strongly encourage you to get informed on the details rather than being allowed to be led by headlines and assumptions made my users on Tumble.com.

[fiendsgf]

Soulbound

V. Siren's Song

sylus x reader, rafayel x reader

Summary: You didn’t mean to be seen. But Rafayel was already waiting. A quiet beach, a slip of truth, a hand that shouldn’t have felt familiar. Back in the N109 zone, Sylus doesn't push–but he waits. You tell yourself nothing changed. But the air feels different. Like something important has already begun to unravel.

content: non!mc reader, angst if you squint, isekai, love triangle(ish), shady raf, it’s a lot going on tbh

1 2 3 4

Dinner had come and gone, but the heaviness in your chest hadn’t. You’d smile when Luke cracked jokes. Tried to laugh when Kieran handed you a drink with an exaggerated wink. But your mind wasn’t in the safehouse anymore.

When the dishes were cleared and the rooms grew quiet, you slipped out. No one stopped you.

You made your way down the slope barefoot, the wind cool on your skin. The sea stretched wide and quiet, its breath steady against the sand. You walked until the water kissed your toes and the dunes were a blur behind you, then sank into the damp shoreline, pulling your knees to your chest.

The silence felt good.

You stared out at the horizon, letting the tide lap closer. Letting the thoughts come.

Then–

“Cutie, you always sneak off this quietly, or am I just lucky tonight?”

You’re kidding.

You flinched, startled. Turned.

Rafayel stood a few steps away, barefoot, boots dangling from one hand. His coat hung open, and the sea breeze played at his hair. The moonlight caught on the pale skin of his collarbone and the gleam in his watercolor eyes.

He gave you a crooked little smile.

“I’ve been accused of showing up uninvited,” he said. “But I prefer to think of it as good timing.”

Just pretend everything is okay.

He won’t know.

You huffed softly, looking back toward the water. “How did you know I was here?”

“I was wandering,” he said, coming closer. “You happened to be where I ended up.”

Without asking, he lowered himself onto the sand beside you, elbows resting on his knees. Not too close – but closer than anyone else had dared to get lately.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment. “You seemed kind of… far away earlier.”

Don’t panic.

You didn’t answer right away. The tide crept closer, dark and slow.

He looked sideways at you, his voice softer this time. “You don’t have to talk about it. Just felt like something was weighing on you.”

Something about the way he said it – not prying, not performative – cracked something open in your chest.

You wish you could tell him.

You sighed, eyes on the ocean. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

A pause. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to fight the instinct to stay silent.

“I just feel… out of place,” you said finally. “Like an imposter, I guess.”

Very subtle.

What are you doing?

He didn’t look at you. Just nodded slowly, like he was waiting for more.

“It’s like…” You exhaled. “I don’t know… sometimes it feels like,” You paused. “I’m not where I’m meant to be.”

He let the quiet sit for a moment before answering. “Yeah,” he said. “I know that one.”

You blinked. “You do?”

He shrugged, almost to himself. “Sure. Doesn’t matter where you go or how long you’re there. Sometimes it feels like there’s another place, calling your name. But you can’t hear it clearly anymore.”

You didn’t respond right away. His voice had changed, still calm, but no longer playful. Like something had shifted just under the surface.

Of course he understands. He’s not supposed to be here either. Not on land.

You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to take someone’s place. I didn’t even ask to be—” You stopped. Realized too late how close you’d come to saying the wrong thing.

He looked at you, still and steady. “Someone’s place?”

You didn’t move.

“I meant…” you scrambled, “...sometimes it feels like someone deserves my place more than I do. Imposter syndrome, I guess.”

He didn’t press. Just studied you for another moment, then looked back out toward the sea.

“You know,” he said after a while, “some people spend their whole lives trying to make sense of where they landed. Trying to make it feel right.” He shifted, leaned back on his hands, letting his legs stretch out in front of him. “Maybe you don’t need to understand everything yet. Maybe it’s enough to just be. It’ll make sense eventually.”

You glanced at him – the cut of his jaw, the light in his eyes, the ease with which he sat in his own body.

You two are talking about entirely different things. He doesn’t even know who he’s really talking to.

But you feel seen.

“You make that sound easy,” you said quietly.

He smiled faintly, still not looking at you. “It’s not.”

The waves pulled closer again. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

You weren’t sure what was happening, only that it felt strange and quiet and important. And that there was something about Rafayel that made your skin feel warm in places you hadn’t felt human in for days.

He didn’t ask anything else. Just sat beside you like he’d been there before. Like he’d known this exact kind of silence.

And for now, that was enough.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there. The moon rose higher, dragging the tide with it. At some point, your hand had dipped to your side, fingers trailing faint lines in the sand. You hadn’t even noticed how close he’d gotten.

Then, Warmth.

Rafayel’s hand brushed lightly against yours, just enough to nudge away a bit of wind-scattered grit from your knuckles. His touch was casual, unhurried. But precise. Like he’d been waiting for the exact moment you wouldn’t flinch.

“Sand’s got a mind of its own,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You glanced at him.

He didn’t meet your gaze. Just let his fingers linger a second longer than necessary before pulling back.

Your heart stuttered.

It wasn’t the touch. It was the way he made you feel like he already knew what you were feeling, before you’d even figured it out yourself.

And the worst part?

You didn’t hate it.

You stood a few minutes later, brushing the back of your legs off. Rafayel rose with you without a word. The air between you felt... heavier. Not in a bad way. Just full – like something unspoken had passed between you and was now hanging in the salt-heavy air.

“Don’t disappear cutie,” he said, voice quieter now, but still with that amused edge. “Or at least leave a trail.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out soft.

“Alright.”

He gave you a lazy two-finger wave, then turned back toward the dunes, disappearing into the shadows like he’d always belonged to them.

You didn’t follow right away.

You stood there in the dark, waves lapping at your ankles, your heart still tangled in the warmth of a hand that shouldn’t have felt like home.

The walk back from the beach felt heavier than before, even though the night air was cool and the stars were scattered like secrets overhead. The sand under your shoes shifted with each step, but your mind was miles away, twisting and turning on itself, unable to settle.

You shouldn’t have let yourself stay out that late. You shouldn’t have let Rafayel get that close. You shouldn’t have let yourself pretend, even for a moment, that you were someone else. 

The truth gnawed at you–sharp and relentless–that she was out there somewhere, and you were an impostor tangled in her life, her people, her world. The thought made your throat tighten and your chest ache. You wanted to run back, to undo what had already happened, but there was no rewind.

Back at the house, the quiet felt different now. Thicker. You slipped inside, careful not to wake anyone. The creak of the floorboards underfoot was the only sound accompanying your restless steps up to your room.

You collapsed onto the bed, the weight of your own thoughts pinning you down harder than the mattress ever could. You clenched your fists at your sides, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Why did I let it happen?Why do I feel like I’m betraying her – or worse, myself?

What else could I have even done?

A part of you longed for something steadier, something honest. Sylus.

You wanted to see him, to tell him everything. The fears, the guilt, the confusion tangled in your chest. Maybe with Sylus, it would be easier to breathe.

But for now, you lay there, caught between the truth you carried and the secret you couldn’t share.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The elevator hisses open, and the cool, familiar air of the base spills out into the corridor. You’re carrying your shoes in one hand, the faint scent of salt water still clinging to your clothes. The silence is comfortable–but only just.

Luke is the first to break it.

“If I find a single grain of sand in my bed, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

You glance back at him, lifting a brow. “We all shared the same beach.”

“I didn’t roll in it like a happy seal.”

Kieran grunts behind him, shifting his duffel over his shoulder. “We get it. You’re delicate.”

Their voices fade into the upper level as they split off toward their rooms, and you linger in the hall for a breath longer than you need to.

You’re not ready to be alone with your thoughts.

Not yet.

Your gaze flicks toward Sylus’s quarters. 

You pad toward his door and hesitate.

Then you knock softly.

A beat.

“Who is it?” His voice is low, muffled through the panel.

You crack the door open and step into the dim light.

“Can I talk to you?”

Sylus turns slightly from where he’s standing at the edge of his desk, arms crossed. His eyes narrow, just barely. “What’s wrong?”

You shift your weight, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about Whitesand.”

He motions for you to come in. You cross the room and sit on the couch, fingers lacing tightly in your lap.

“I ran into someone,” you begin, heart already beating too fast. “Rafayel.”

Sylus’s brow lifts, but he doesn’t speak. Just waits.

“I wasn’t looking for him. I was panicking when I found out where we were going, told myself I wouldn’t see him.” You take a shaky breath. “He bumped into me in some shop.”

You glance up at Sylus, then quickly away.

“He called me ‘Miss Bodyguard’ and I realized he thought I was her. I just played along and tried to stay calm.” You swallow. “But then he grabbed my phone. Sent himself a message before I could even say anything.”

Sylus’s jaw tightens just slightly.

“Then he just left.” You exhale hard, pressing a palm to your forehead. “Later that night, I was sitting on the beach. Alone. And he found me again. Like he knew I’d be there.”

Sylus finally speaks. “What did he say?”

You hesitate. “He said I looked like I was far away. That I seemed off.”

“And?”

“I don’t know why I did it, but… I told him he was right.” You laugh once, bitter and breathless. “Not the whole truth, obviously. Just enough that he thought I was her, having a rough week.”

Sylus is quiet, eyes unreadable.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you say quickly. “I was just…so tired. I feel so guilty. I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

“Did you tell him anything else?”

You shake your head. “No. But he got my number. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes something is wrong. What if he already knows I’m not her? What if I made things worse?”

He moves closer, sits next to you. “Take a breath.”

You do. Barely.

“I can’t stop thinking about how easy it was for him to look at me and assume I was her,” you whisper. “And I just… let him. I played along. It wasn’t even deliberate, but it happened. And now I feel like I betrayed her.”

Sylus’s gaze flicks over your face. “You didn’t betray anyone.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You’re not impersonating her.” He pauses. “At least, not with bad intentions. There’s nothing else you could have done.”

You bite your lip, trying not to let it wobble.

“I should’ve said something. I should’ve shut it down.”

“But you didn’t. And you can’t undo that. So let’s just figure out what’s next.”

His voice is calm, even. But you can sense something under the surface. Tension, a flicker of emotion he’s swallowing down.

You search his face. “You seem… tense. More than usual.”

He leans back slightly, folding his arms.

“I went on a mission with her.”

You go still.

“It was fine,” he adds quickly. “Nothing we couldn’t handle. But something felt off. She was quiet. Followed every order to the letter.”

Your brows furrow. “What felt off?”

He takes a deep breath, eyes unfocused. “Our resonance. It was weak.”

There’s a weight behind his words that makes your chest ache.

“Maybe she’s dealing with something,” you offer. “It might not mean anything.”

He nods, but there’s doubt in his eyes.

You move before thinking, heart fluttering as you reach out and place a hand over his.

“You’re right.”

His fingers curl gently around yours.

“It just…reminded me of where we started.” He sighs. “How she saw me.”

You frown. “You’re a good man Sylus. She knows that. She’ll see it.”

He huffs, a small sound of amusement and disbelief.

He squeezes your hand slightly. “...Thank you.”

The corners of your mouth tug a bit.

“Course,”

And for a moment, there’s nothing else. Just the quiet hum of the base and the heat of his palm against yours.

A part of you wishes that he was reaching for you the same way he reaches for her.

But you don’t have the right.

The comfort lingers longer than you expect.

And when he lets go, it’s with the softest kind of reluctance.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Your hand still buzzes with the lingering touch as you lay in bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling.

You want to run.

From Sylus. From this world. From the way everything keeps getting more complicated.

But where would you even go?

You really thought you could handle it. That staying close to Sylus wouldn’t affect you. That you could exist near him without feeling anything.

And for a while, you believed it.

When fear and confusion still ruled your every thought – waking up in a foreign world, overstepping and ruining the story, accidentally wearing her face and name.

But time passed. You settled in. Fell deeper into Sylus’s world. Saw the man beyond the screen.

And what kind of fool would believe they’d never feel something?

He’s gentle. Kind. Far more human than anyone gives him credit for.

You tried to get away. Thought the ocean would clear your head, center you again.

Instead, it handed you a new problem.

Him.

You looked at Rafayel. Talked to him. Let him believe you were her.

Everything you promised yourself you’d never do.

And now? Now you can’t stop wondering what’ll happen if–when–he finds out. Will he hate you? Call you unwell? Think you’re some delusional girl chasing a fantasy? 

Will he think you wanted this?

You think about your world again. How quiet it was. How safe. How ordinary.

You weren’t thriving, but at least things made sense there.

Here? You’re starting to feel like you’ve long overstayed your welcome.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You wake with a dull ache behind your eyes, like your thoughts were fighting through the night.

You roll over and grab your phone, expecting some nonsense from Luke and Kieran.

But it’s not them.

Maybe: Rafayel

hey cutieeee

dun tell me you forgot to call again :(

im working on a new painting, need inspo

come take a walk w me?

Fuck.

Fuck.

It’s fine. Just tell him you’re busy.

Or ignore him.

Yeah. Ignore the man with abandonment issues. Great plan.

You sigh and type quickly:

Hey. Sorry, a bit busy today. Association is swamped. Maybe another time?

You watch the typing dots form.

booooo

ill just come to u then

see u at work cutie

Well. That was the worst possible response you could have hoped for.

No need! My captain actually just said she’s letting me off early today! I’ll come to you.

yay

meet me at [location sent]

You groan, tossing the blanket off. You drag yourself out of bed, half-limping toward the hallway. You don’t even look in the mirror.

You make a beeline to Sylus’s study.

“Sylus, help me.”

He glances up from the tablet in his hand, one brow slightly raised. A corner of his mouth twitches.

“What happened? Did Mephisto steal your earrings again?”

You shoot him a flat look.

“No. This is serious,” you huff, stepping inside. “Rafayel texted me. Asked to meet. I panicked. I said yes.”

You drop your face into your hands.

Sylus leans back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. “So much for laying low.”

You glare at him through your fingers.

“He said he’d go to the association! What was I supposed to do? He gave me no room to back out. I didn’t want to agree, but–”

You cut yourself off with a groan.

Sylus doesn’t laugh. But there’s something fond in the way he looks at you.

“I know you’ve been careful. Trying not to stir things up,” he says. “But… maybe this isn’t the worst thing.”

Your hands fall to your sides.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe if you meet him, it’ll be enough. Might buy us time to figure out the rest.”

“Or it might make things worse.”

Sylus shrugs gently. “Possibly. But I trust you’ll handle it.”

You hesitate.

“…You really think I can?”

His gaze holds yours for a beat too long.

“I do. And I don’t think you have much of a choice, either.”

You sigh.

You steel your nerves and brace yourself like a prisoner awaiting their verdict.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You walk through the park Rafayel said he’d be waiting in. You try not to look nervous as you search for his figure between the willow trees.

“y/n!”

You spin around.

“There she is,” he says. “Cutie, I was starting to think you bailed on me again.”

You give him a half-hearted glare, hands clasped behind your back. “I should have.”

“Too late now. You’re stuck with me.” He closes the distance, hand outstretched to you. “C’mon. Walk with me.”

The streets are warm, the late sun setting everything in gold. You fall into step beside him, letting the quiet stretch. Rafayel doesn’t fill it with needless chatter, just swings his hands loosely at his sides, occasionally nudging you gently with his elbow when the silence gets too heavy.

It’s weirdly… relaxing.

You’re still on edge, every cell humming with what you know – what he might know – but he doesn’t press. Doesn’t interrogate. Just walks.

He leads you toward a small gallery nestled into the side of a stone building. There’s no sign, just a copper door and a quiet hum of music bleeding from within.

Inside, it’s cooler, dimmer. The scent of varnish and citrus cleaner lingers in the air. Paintings line the walls – coastal landscapes, abstract shapes, portraits that seem to watch you as you pass.

One catches your eye.

It’s a person, maybe a woman, but blurred, almost dissolving into her surroundings. Something about the way her shoulders tilt, the way her eyes are fixed just slightly left of the viewer. She looks… lost.

You stop walking.

“She looks like she doesn’t know where she is,” you murmur. “Like she stepped through the wrong door.”

Rafayel stops beside you. His voice is softer now.

“Maybe she stepped through the right one,” he says. “She just hasn’t realized it yet.”

The words settle in your chest like an echo.

You glance at him.

He’s already watching you – not intensely, not like he’s waiting for a reaction. Just watching. Calm. Present.

The moment stretches.

Then he breaks it.

“Come on,” he says, slipping his hand into his pocket. “I wanna show you something.”

You end up at the beach.

The sun’s long gone, and the sand is cool beneath your shoes. Rafayel kicks his off immediately, padding barefoot toward the waterline like he’s done it a hundred times. You follow, slower.

It’s quieter here than the gallery. Just the waves and the occasional cry of a distant seabird. You can hear your pulse in your ears.

You try to keep your guard up. Try not to let your steps betray the way your thoughts are racing.

“I knew,” Rafayel says suddenly, voice low, just above the hush of the tide.

You freeze.

You blink. “Knew what?”

He glances at you, half-smiling. “That you weren’t her. From the start.”

Your breath catches. You stop walking.

His tone is too casual – like he’s talking about the weather. That only makes it worse.

“Then… why did you invite me out?” you ask, voice wary. “If you already knew?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe curiosity. Maybe instinct. You looked like someone who needed a night off.”

You stare at him. “How could you tell?”

“There’s something about the way you looked at me,” he says, raising a brow. “Not like a stranger. But not like her, either.”

You don’t answer. You’re too busy trying to figure out if this is a setup – a test – a trap.

He turns his gaze to the sea, hands slipping into his pockets. “I told myself maybe she had a twin. Or I’d hit my head. But when I called your name earlier, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. That’s when I knew.”

You look down. The sand shifts beneath your feet.

“I’m not–” you begin, then falter. “I’m not trying to fool anyone. I didn’t ask for this.”

“I figured,” he says gently. “Still. I had to know who you were.”

You glance at him, wary. “Why?”

“No reason that matters,” he says. “Just wanted to understand. For myself.”

A pause.

“Where did you come from?” he asks.

Your chest tightens. You didn’t want this conversation. Not like this.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” you admit, voice low. “It feels impossible.”

“Try me,” he says, softer now.

You hesitate. Then you exhale, slowly.

“I’m from a different world,” you say. “A different reality.”

He doesn’t react.

After a beat, he says, “Really?”

You nod.

“Guess that explains the way you looked at everything,” he says, like you just confessed to being from out of town. “You’ve been walking around like nothing quite belongs to you.”

You blink at him. “That’s it? No freak out?”

“I mean,” he gestures to the waves, “weirder things have happened. Probably.”

That earns the smallest smile from you.

He looks at you again, head tilted. “But you knew who I was. Back at the shop.”

You sigh. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

You hesitate. Then: “In my world… you were part of a video game.”

He blinks, then grins. “That’s a new one.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous. When I first ended up here, I thought maybe I’d been dropped inside it. But this place – it doesn’t feel like a game. It feels real.”

“Maybe it was a window,” you add. “Or a trick. Or I’ve just completely lost it.”

He hums, thoughtful. “You don’t sound crazy.”

“You sure? Because I definitely feel it.”

He glances over at you, amused. “Cutie, I talk to the ocean and name my pigments after sea creatures. If you’re losing it, at least you’re in good company.”

You laugh – small and breathy – but it’s real.

“I could’ve just ignored it,” Rafayel says. “Pretended I didn’t notice. But you looked like you could use someone who didn’t ask you to explain yourself. Someone who didn’t expect answers.”

You swallow. “Why would you want to help me?”

He shrugs. “Because you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one people get when they’ve been carrying a planet on their back.”

His words hang in the space between you, unspoken weight meeting quiet understanding.

A breeze brushes past, lifting your hair. You hear the soft retreat of waves against the shore.

Rafayel reaches his hand out to you.

“Come paint with me.”

His studio smells like salt and turpentine and rain-dried wood. The ceilings stretch high above you, and the walls are crowded with half-finished canvases. Strange, lovely things, some turned away like secrets.

Rafayel moves through the space like it was built around him.

He sets two stools before a blank canvas and hands you a brush.

“No rules,” he says easily. “Just paint whatever’s stuck in your head.”

You hesitate. “That’s the problem. I don’t even know what’s in there anymore.”

He grins. “Perfect. Start with that.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The brush feels awkward in your hand, and the colors run too fast, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel hums something tuneless and soft, flicking pigment across his own canvas in sweeping arcs of color.

Eventually, he breaks the quiet. “So… you said you knew me from a game?”

You glance over at him.

“What was I like in it?” he asks, voice light but curious.

You try not to smile. “Honestly? You weren’t that different from how you are now.”

He hums like he’s pleasantly surprised. “What kind of game are we talking about?”

Your face warms. “…A dating game.”

Rafayel laughs, leaning back with exaggerated delight. “A dating game? Cutie, you’ve been holding out on me.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Don’t make it weird! It’s not like I chose it just for that. You were just–part of it.”

“Part of it,” he echoes. “So I wasn’t your favorite?”

You groan, trying to dodge the question. “You were the favorite. The face of the game, actually.”

He smiles, a little smug, and turns back to his painting. “Mm. Glad to hear I had good taste in timelines.”

“You knew about her too, was she in the game?’

You nod to yourself. “Yeah, we create her. Play the story as her.”

He hums. “I see. Same name, same face, makes sense now.”

You huff. “Does it?”

He chuckles. “I’m trying to be understanding here, cutie,”

You laugh despite yourself. For a while, you both return to your work, the silence between you easy now.

Then, more softly, he asks, “So. How long have you been here?”

“A few weeks. Maybe longer. It’s hard to tell.”

He nods like that makes perfect sense. “You remind me of myself,” he says. “When I first left home. Everything felt too loud and too far away.”

You nod. “It’s been… strange.”

He leans his elbow against the edge of the canvas, watching you from the side. “Where’ve you been staying?”

You hesitate. “I… ended up in the N109 zone.”

His head turns fast. “Seriously?”

You can’t help the laugh that slips out. “Yeah. I didn’t exactly get a choice. One of the love interests lives there.”

Rafayel blinks once, slowly. “One of the–wait.”

You nod. “Sylus. He’s the one who found me.”

There’s a flicker – a shift behind his eyes. His fingers pause mid-stroke on the canvas.

“Ah.” His voice is still smooth, but quieter. “So you’ve been with Sylus.”

“I sort of talked my way out of being seen as a threat. I’ve been staying at Onychinus since.”

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, then smiles again, easy. “Cutie,” he murmurs, “you might be the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

You grin, a little bashfully. “It’s not that crazy.”

“If we made a movie out of it, no one would believe it.”

You pause, your brush lingering at the edge of the canvas. “Do you think I’m… awful? For not saying anything? For pretending to be someone I’m not?”

Rafayel sets his brush down.

“I think,” he says, “you did what you had to. No one drops into another world with a guidebook.”

You glance at him, surprised by how gentle his voice is.

He leans back on his stool and gives you a quiet smile. “Besides… I was pretending, too.”

You blink. “What?”

“I acted like I didn’t know. But I saw it in your eyes. You weren’t confused, you were trying to protect yourself.” He shrugs. “I get that.”

A pause.

He adds, “And now that I do know a little more… well, you’re still here. That has to mean something.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. But your chest feels lighter than it has in days.

You look back at your painting – the chaos of it, the strange colors, the way nothing really fits – and for once, that doesn’t feel so terrible.

The paintbrush starts to drag in your hand. You don’t notice until your strokes turn uneven.

You blink, realizing how heavy your limbs feel. “I should probably go,” you murmur, setting the brush down. “It’s late, and Sylus is probably wondering where I am.”

You don’t catch the shift in Rafayel’s posture.

He leans back slightly, elbows on his knees. “Back to the N109 zone at this hour?” His voice is casual, but his knuckles flex once, slow and deliberate. “You’d only be halfway there by sunrise.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, though you’re not sure you believe it yourself.

“You just got comfortable,” he says, glancing toward the wide windows, the ocean glowing faintly beneath a fractured moon. “No one’s going to mind if you take one night off from survival mode.”

You hesitate.

“I don’t want to intrude,” you offer, though your body’s already aching at the thought of making that long trip back.

“You won’t,” Rafayel replies gently. “I’ll take the couch. You can have the bed, clean sheets and everything, promise.”

You glance at him.

He lifts a hand, mock solemn. “Swear on my best brush.”

A beat.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“Good.” He stands, stretching. “Bathroom’s down the hall. The door with the chipped koi on it.”

You nod and step away to wash the paint off your hands.

When you’re out of sight, Rafayel runs a hand through his hair and exhales, slower than necessary.

The studio feels different now. Like something in the air shifted.

He moves quietly, dimming the lights, rinsing off brushes, setting canvases to dry. It’s muscle memory by now, the motions smooth, effortless. But his thoughts aren’t as still.

You said Sylus was probably waiting for you.

Of course you’d say that. And of course he is.

His fingers press briefly against the edge of the worktable, a knuckle whitening before he lets go.

He casts a glance toward the hallway where you disappeared, then to the couch.

You’d been exhausted – trying so hard not to show it. The weariness in your voice, the weight in your shoulders… he’d seen it. Felt it, like something echoing in his own chest.

Offering you a place to rest had been instinct. But there’s more to it than that. And he knows it.

Still, he doesn’t say it out loud. Not even to himself.

This isn’t the time.

Not yet.

For now, he leans back against the counter and closes his eyes, letting the ocean breeze slip in through the cracked windows. It smells like salt and clean air and the faintest trace of the citrus soap you used.

He stays there a long while.

Just listening to the waves.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The study is too quiet.

Sylus leans back in his chair, arms folded, eyes unfocused as the soft hum of the base’s systems fills the silence. The time glows steadily on the screen in front of him.

You’ve been gone for a while.

He told himself not to hover. You weren’t stepping into danger – just meeting someone. Someone familiar. 

Still… his fingers tap restlessly against the desk.

No message yet.

He eyes the comms panel. Mephisto’s idle. He could send him, just a quick check-in.

But he doesn’t move.

Rafayel wouldn’t hurt you. He knows that.

Probably.

He grabs his phone, thumbs hovering for a second before typing:

Everything alright?

The reply comes fast.

he knows.

His jaw tightens. He barely has time to process it before the next message follows:

but it’s okay. i think. turns out you’re not the only understanding man around here?

i’ll be back in the morning

Sylus stares at the screen.

His first reaction is relief, the kind that hits too hard, like a wire pulled too tight finally snapping loose.

You’re safe.

You’re not panicking. You’re joking.

It should be enough.

He sets the phone down but doesn’t look away from it. There’s a strange pressure behind his ribs. Something unsettled. Restless.

He tells himself it’s concern. Simple as that.

You’re not exactly predictable. And Rafayel… well, Sylus doesn’t know what he wants.

He told you to go.

He said it might buy time.

But now that you have – now that Rafayel knows – he can’t quite shake the feeling that something’s shifted. That something slipped out of his reach before he realized he’d even been holding it.

His fingers curl slightly against the armrest.

He’s just concerned. Maybe you’re too trusting.

He just wants to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.

He exhales quietly, then picks the phone back up.

Be safe.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The morning creeps in quietly, slow sunlight filters through the linen curtains, casting soft golden bars across the paint stained floorboards. It smells faintly of ocean air and drying pigment.

You wake curled beneath unfamiliar sheets, the bed bigger than it looked the night before. It’s too quiet. Peaceful in a way that makes you hesitate before moving.

You sit up slowly, the comforter sliding off your shoulder, and pad into the studio barefoot.

Rafayel is already awake. He’s perched on a stool by the open balcony, sipping something from a chipped mug, one leg folded beneath him. His hair is slightly tousled. The wind lifts it from his face.

He glances over when he hears you. “Morning, cutie.”

Your voice is hoarse. “Didn’t mean to sleep in.”

“You needed it.” He nods toward the hallway. “There’s coffee, if you trust my taste.”

You find the cup waiting in the kitchen, not perfect, but warm, and kind. You sip it quietly beside him.

After a moment, he speaks again, gaze still on the ocean.

“If you ever need to get away again… you know where I am.” He taps a loose rhythm against the railing with one finger. “The door’s always open. Doesn’t have to be a crisis.”

You glance at him.

He meets your eyes briefly. No pressure. No insinuation. Just… calm.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That means a lot.”

“Good.” He gives a crooked smile. “Now go before the vampires start wondering where their sunshine went.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The N109 zone feels darker than usual when you step back into it – all the steel and shadow, the buzz of faint neon against the gloom. Your body still carries a lingering warmth from the coast, a calm you’re not used to.

You make your way inside the base. The twins are arguing over a drone part in the hallway. Kieran offers you a lazy wave, Luke flashes a grin.

You don’t see Sylus right away, but when you step into the common room, he’s there – arms crossed, standing by a massive digital map spread across the wall. He turns when he hears you.

His expression doesn’t shift much, but his eyes skim over you like he’s scanning for bruises.

“You’re back,” he says simply.

“Didn’t mean to stay out so long,” you offer. “We ended up painting. I lost track of time.”

A pause.

Sylus nods, slow. “You seem… relaxed.”

You blink. “Yeah…” you trail off. “It was nice, I was so worried going into it, but it went better than I expected, I guess.”

Another pause. His gaze sharpens just slightly.

“He seemed trustworthy?”

You catch it – the way his voice dips half a degree, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say. “Honestly, it was nothing dramatic. He was just nice.”

He looks at you a second longer than necessary.

Then: “Good.”

You move past him, toward the hallway. “I’m gonna drop my bag off and go change,”

He doesn’t stop you. But you feel his attention linger like a pulse at your back until you’re gone.

Your room is just as you left it – dim, cold, a little impersonal. But after the surreal calm of Rafayel’s studio, it’s grounding.

You drop your bag on the side table and sink onto the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly. For the first time in days, your pulse isn’t clawing at your throat.

It went better than it should have.

So much better.

You had imagined every worst-case scenario: confrontation, exposure, betrayal. But instead, Rafayel had just… listened. No tense interrogation. No fear. Just that easy warmth of his, disarming without even trying.

You shake your head slightly.

Strange, how simple it felt to be around him.

Not safe, exactly – you know better than to believe that already – but seen. Like you didn’t have to fight for every piece of yourself to be understood.

You stretch your legs out and lean back, glancing toward the small window. The skyline of N109 looms jagged against the artificial dark.

But in your chest, there’s still a faint echo of wind and sea air.

Maybe it makes sense. You’ve always sought the ocean when things get heavy. The salt, the endless blue, the quiet rhythms, they’ve always steadied you.

Of course you felt calmer there.

You hum softly to yourself, some tune that's lived in your mind longer than you can remember – airy and strange, like a half-forgotten lullaby.

You don’t hear the footsteps outside your door.

Sylus hadn’t meant to stop.

He was just passing by. 

But the sound catches him. That humming, faint and familiar, threading through the air like a memory.

And just like that, something in him breaks open.

The hallway dissolves.

He’s somewhere else – somewhen else.

A chapel. Shadowed and quiet, filled with the scent of stone and herbs.

He’s on the floor, barely conscious, blood drying along his ribs. The pain sharp, but distant.

That tune – that same tune – floats to him through the haze. Hummed softly, steadier than his heartbeat. A balm against the ache.

And then another detail,

The smell. Something sharp and herbal, like salve pressed into a wound with trembling hands.

His chest tightens.

He’s not alone.

There’s someone there.

He feels them – kneeling beside him, smoothing his hair back. He can’t see their face. But they’re humming. And they’re warm.

Sylus exhales sharply, blinking hard.

His hand is braced against the wall, jaw tense. The humming has stopped.

Reality seeps back in.

He stays there for a moment, heart beating fast.

It was clearer this time. More vivid than any fragment before. Not just a dream. Not some trick of memory.

But even now, he pushes it down.

Is she remembering?

Why do these memories keep coming back to him?

Why now?

He leans against the wall outside your door, still caught in that strange whirl of memory and tension, when suddenly a pair of energetic footsteps come barreling down the hall.

“Boss! You gotta see this!” Luke’s voice echoes, a little too loud and urgent.

Kieran follows right behind, grinning widely. “No, seriously, you have to check it out.”

Sylus exhales sharply, pushing off the wall and straightening up as the twins approach.

“What is it this time? The vending machine finally decided to eat your money?” he asks dryly.

Luke chuckles. “Better. Some dumb kid in N109 tried to rob a corner shop with a plastic knife.”

Kieran snorts. “The shopkeeper chased him down with a broom. Epic defeat.”

Sylus can’t help the small smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “That’s… hardly critical.”

Luke grins. “Can we go check it out?”

Sylus shakes his head. “Not necessary. Let them learn their lessons.”

Kieran elbow-jabs Luke. “Come on, boss, you love the chaos.”

“Love it or not,” Sylus says, voice low but steady, “I’d rather not deal with it right now.”

Luke and Kieran exchange a quick look, sensing his mood, and then fall back into their usual banter as they walk off.

Sylus watches them go, then lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He leans back against the wall, the sound of their laughter fading behind him, and quietly runs a hand over his face. 

If she does remember…

If that’s true… it changes everything.

He turns away from the door and disappears down the hallway, footsteps quiet in the dim light.

a/n: godddd this chapter was hard to write omg. i hope u guys like it… <3 everyone is avoidant… who knows wtf raf is up to… at least the twins are having fun. i have so much planned for this story, i have to think like 40 steps ahead for every line i write lmao. everyone pray i stay hyperfixated on this before i fumble🙏🏻

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