#and again that phase was inconsistent as hell to!

[bajaja-blast]

ik we’re all entitled to our own opinions, but ngl some of y’all are making me feel like a wanted criminal for liking Cracker Island, Song Machine & Humanz :/

[sehodreams]

cherry blossom scars

TW and tags: tattoo artist!Wonbin x insecure!reader, surgery scar, pierced nipples, nipple play, mutual masturbation, tons of overthinking and word vomiting, corny as hell, fluff, kind of dom reader but not much.

WC: 9.3k

Comment: hi guys, I made brief descriptions of the scar, to be honest, I don’t have one or ever had surgery, so I’m not exactly sure how one would look, I just saw a couple of pictures on the internet and wanted to write something about it, hope it’s okay. I didn’t sleep at all to finish it because I knew I’d leave it in a draft if I didn’t write it in one go. Probably has mistakes and inconsistencies. I don’t know anything about piercings, tattoos, or early education.

While growing up, as weird as it sounds, summer was your favourite season. You remember a lot of things about it, how your parents would drive to the coast to spend the day at the beach, playing in the water with the friend your parents had agreed to take with you, and eating the most boring sandwich your mother could make in a busy morning that felt like a feast in your mouth after swimming for hours.

It was all good, until you started to grow up. Your parents had no time to take you anymore, your friends had better things to do, and you had entered the phase of your life in which you hated the idea of wearing a swimsuit if you weren’t perfect.

Perfection is, as you thought after a particular summer, simply not you.

Perhaps your mother hadn’t said it with bad intentions, she was your mother after all, and you were sure she loved you, but that little phrase had impregnated your head like the gum on your head one of the boys in class thought it looked good smeared on your hair.

‘’I don’t think you should wear this blouse doll’’ she said, showing you her selection instead.

‘’Why? I like it, and it’s too hot to wear normal shirts’’ you replied, feeling your arms sweat just with the simple action of changing into the clothes you were wearing.

‘’It’s just… the scar is showing’’ she said, pointing at the line that went from the start of your shoulder to the middle of your chest.

It was a long line, thick, slightly red and purple, noticeable from the way it would get deeper into your smooth skin, surrounded with thin little lines that looked like roots expanding to grow. You were just fourteen, not thinking much of it; actually, not even thinking about it until she talked about it.

You spent the summer with short-sleeved shirts, leaving all the dresses with thin straps and anything that showed your cleavage behind. You could, never again, wear anything that did.

It didn’t matter how many creams your mother bought, or how many treatments in clinics you received, it stayed there with you, like a mark of how fragile your body was, and how easily you could break with a simple fall.

You had gotten hurt after biking with your friends and making a wrong turn. You fell with a strong thud, and you don’t remember much about what happened that day anymore, because when you were conscious again, you already had the scar there. Less to say your parents banned you from riding a bicycle ever again.

So, it’s not difficult to guess why you hate summer now. You can’t wear the clothes you want, you’re a broke college student living alone with no AC, and you have to walk everywhere with the fear of getting a heatstroke.

To your luck, or disgrace, today you run out of clean t-shirts acceptable for the weather, and you simply refuse to wear a long-sleeved one, resolving to grab one of the thin straps that you usually wear when you’re alone in your room.

You don’t think much about it. You’re going to your friend’s place, and she should have a shirt to lend you around there. Still, not even the thought makes the journey bearable.

You’re anxious in your seat, listening to some podcast you had found about old music (you don’t know if to call it old since it’s the 90s, but your friends didn’t even watch programs that weren’t from your century, so to avoid all explanation you simply say you like old music), when you feel weirdly observed.

Looking in front of you, a mother is carrying his child in her arms, who is looking intensely at you. You smile because the kid is cute. He has big eyes, almost black, and chubby cheeks. He must be at least four years old, and when you wave your hand to say hi, he points at your chest. You know what he’s pointing, and you nod as if you explained everything with that move.

When the mother turns at you, directing her eyes at what her son is watching, and sees you, she smiles and then her face falls, almost as abruptly as you did that day from your bicycle, and she apologizes for her son.

‘’He didn’t do anything’’ you say, and she denies it.

‘’He shouldn’t be looking at you like that’’ she answers.

‘’Why?’’ you ask.

‘’Because…’’ she can’t finish her sentence. You kind of know what she refers to. Because you’re hurt, and we can all see it. You almost want to correct the words she didn’t say because the kid doesn’t look at you as if you were a monster, he’s just curious, while she is the one doing it.

‘’He’s cute’’ you say instead.

‘’Thank you’’ she answers.

‘’Be careful when he grows up’’ you say. ‘’Because…’’

Because he could look like me it’s implied, and the mother looks at you horrified, as if you had just cursed his son. She quickly gets up and presses the button to get off the bus with such desperation you feel bad for having talked more than necessary.

When you go back to your own thing, you notice something weird again. You lift your eyes, finding the seat in front of you, in which the mother had been sitting just seconds before, empty, and a man beside you. When you meet his eyes he smiles at you, a big grin with no teeth, he’s obviously older than you, with lines of age on his face, normal looking, almost kind, and then, in front of your face, he moves his eyes down to your chest.

Great, now you didn’t have to deal with people staring at your scar, now you had to deal with old men staring at your tits too.

You feel so creeped out by it that you get up and press the button for the next stop. It’s not your stop, but now you can understand why the mother was so desperate to get off. A creep, as normal as they look, it’s still a creep.

Walking the streets at a fast pace, you try to arrive at your friend’s place as soon as possible. You feel even more observed, perhaps it’s because you’re almost running at 36oC and you’re sweating your ass off, but you think it’s because of your uncovered cleavage.

The minute you arrive you start telling your friend everything, from the cute kid to the disgusting man, and she tells you that people usually act dumb, doesn’t matter how you look, people are just people.

‘’It’s their nature, they’re programmed to act like fools, especially men’’ your friend says.

‘’Well, they’re fucking disgusting’’ you answer, grabbing one of her t-shirts and sliding into it to cover yourself like you usually do.

‘’Boys will be boys’’ she finishes, and then she rushes you to finally leave.

You have to go to a pool party (a private party he has clarified), and you honestly would’ve refused on any other occasion, but Sungchan, the owner of the house and your friend’s boyfriend, was cool enough to not force you to go in when you said you weren’t fond of swimming, nodding in understanding as if you had told him the entire story tale of your life, which was kind of comforting.

Also, since he lives with his parents, he has AC.

At the party, a couple of hours later, when almost everyone is outside enjoying the water, you’re left alone in charge of the snacks and drinks, mixing shit as if you knew what you were doing.

‘’Could I have some of that?’’ one of Sungchan’s friends asks, pointing at the jug you’re holding. You nod, you have no reason to say no, and when he takes a sip of it his eyebrow frowns for a second before he smiles. ‘’Wow, that’s… good.’’

You know it’s not, it’s just rum coke with too much rum and almost no limes, to which you decide to add a bit of sprite to see if it does the gig. It doesn’t, but it could punch anyone into not asking for more and you nod content at the result.

‘’Thanks, I should probably make a career of it’’ you answer.

He flashes you a smile before he grabs a can of Coke to sip it. ‘’Sure, if your goal is to hook more people into going to A.A meetings’’ he says while opening a bag of salt and vinegar chips. ‘’I’m Wonbin’’ he smiles.

You tell him your name and serve yourself a cup too. You try to secretly add more ice to your drink, and he laughs louder when he catches you feigning you were getting ice for the whole jug.

‘’I’ll be honest, I feel like I’ve seen you before’’ he says then.

‘’Well, we’re kind of connected through the couple there, perhaps we crossed each other’’ your finger directs at your friend over Sungchan’s shoulders, laughing and screaming something you can’t understand with the music on out there.

‘’True, but not only that… weren’t you last week at the tattoo shop right next to the bookstore that sells old books no one reads?’’ he takes a sip of the drink with more ice, and he denies, adding the rest of the can of coke he had opened.

‘’Do you mean the Rip Tree? I mean, it’s not Barnes and Noble, but it does the job. I got a nice copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray for four dollars there, and they gave me a bunch of bookmarks for free. Of course, they had the publicity of a nursing home in the back, but I’m sure it’s a completely respectable place to read books at’’ you answer immediately, adding rum to the jug when he laughs so hard his head falls back and his eyes close.

When he leans more to the front and you see his arms flexing, you can’t help but suddenly feel conscious of how much you’re talking to a boy you have just met so freely. Maybe you’ve had too many trial drinks while you were mixing and it had started to get in your head without noticing, it wouldn’t be the first time, and sure wouldn’t be the last time.

He smiles at you with a closed mouth, just like the man you had met on the bus many hours before, but you like this smile. Wonbin, unlike the older man, looks at your face without trailing down.

‘’Well, were you?’’ he asks.

‘’Where?’’ you ask too, because half of the conversation you were having just disappeared from your head when you saw his necklace, almost as pretty as him, glint.

‘’The Ink, the tattoo shop’’ he repeats.

‘’Oh, well yeah, but I just went in because I was curious.’’

You’re lying. You hate lying, but again, you didn’t feel like telling someone you just met your whole life.

You had seen on the internet how some people covered their scars with tattoos, which honestly, seemed like a great solution to your esthetic situation. However, when you crossed the door all your bravery went to hell, especially when the gorgeous admin asked you to see it and then the next time told you that a skin-colour tattoo wouldn’t be possible in your case since the scar was too dark, and that a much better option would be to get one with colours. Obviously, she didn’t know your parents or your career, because who the hell will want to hire a preschool teacher with a colored tattoo? You could already hear the comments, you being so silly to try to cover a scar with a new one, and how improper was for a lady, a teacher, to have one.

He nods at your answer. ‘’Well, was it worth it?’’ he asks.

‘’What? Going in? I guess so, it’s a nice place, a bunch of colours and great walls, they have some interesting draws too’’ you say, also leaning and grabbing a few chips to eat while talking.

Your hand almost meets his when you reach the bag again, and you look at each other’s eyes. He smiles again and you get shy at being that close to him again, pushing your hand into the bag to pretend you didn’t feel your stomach flutter with that silly interaction. He lets you put your hand in first, and then he grabs a couple more, eating them slowly, looking as if he was thinking about something else.

Michael Jackson starts to sound in the background, and you bob your head as instinct to the rhythm.

‘’Didn’t take you for a Thriller girl’’ he says, tilting his head and grinning.

‘’Because I’m not, I’m a Rock with You girl, sometimes a Dirty Diana one too’’ you answer, happy to talk a bit about music you like. Your friends don’t like him that much, but they let you sneak a few songs into the shared playlist, and that’s enough for you.

However, you didn’t choose Thriller for this playlist.

‘’I guess you’re the Thriller guy then’’ you say.

‘’Yeah, I’m a failure’’ he stands, grabbing his cup and sipping before he continues. ‘’But I’d like to hear you teaching me something about him, so I stop being one.’’

Smooth Criminal, you think, letting him guide you to the couch.

While talking, you don’t even realize how much time has passed until you hear the laughs fall and some of Sungchan guests start leaving. The day is well behind, an orange sky out there at 6 pm, and you don’t want to go home.

Your friend had come with Sungchan to say goodbye to some people, and when she asks you if you’re tired, you say that you’re okay, just a little hungry. She nods and orders a couple of pizzas with Sungchan’s phone since hers is connected to the speakers outside.

There are only like 7 people left, including you and Wonbin, who decide to stay on the couch with you when another boy, Sohee, tells him that going to the jacuzzi to submerge his feet should be fine.

You don’t think much about what Sohee says, but you’re too cosy with Wonbin to even think at all.

‘’Won’t you ask why he said that?’’ Wonbin says when you’re alone again.

‘’None of my business’’ you say.

‘’I’m a bit curious though, if you don’t mind me asking why you would prefer to stay here in charge of the bar, because as much as I like your drinks, I don’t think you’re used to staying still in charge of things like this at parties.’’

‘’Well, you’re wrong about that, I enjoy being in charge a lot, and I can do it for many hours’’ you say, not noticing how odd it sounds. He looks a bit shocked at first, and then laughs hard. You can’t go back in time to correct yourself, so you laugh with him.

You start to think that maybe you can tell him, it’s not the end of the world, but you can’t even think about revealing something that deep to him. Well, it’s not that deep, you showed it to your friend literally the day you met her. You were in the cafeteria when you spilt your milkshake over your sweater, so you had no option but to change, and you somehow knew she would be your friend when she laughed and told you to grab her sweater if you were that cold, so you showed it to her.

Still, Wonbin is so pretty, even his teeth when he laughed were pretty, and you couldn’t imagine what he would think if he knew.

You don’t imagine a whole relationship with him to think about his opinion too highly, but there is interest, and you want to keep it there as long as you can.

Being your age and haven’t fucked a boyfriend under the light, you simply couldn’t feel comfortable enough to show it to a boy you barely knew and kind of liked.

‘’Just because’’ you say.

‘’I see’’ he says, knowing there’s something you don’t want to tell him. ‘’Well, a win for me anyways, I’ve learned a lot in just an afternoon’’ he says, making you sigh, glad he changes the subject.

‘’I’m glad I was able to tell you everything Wikipedia has about the most known person in the world’’ you haven’t even stayed on the topic for too long for him to learn something, you just said what songs you liked, then showed him some playlists and laughed when you had songs in common, mentioning little moments you remember while listening to them, like not being able to remember your lines in a school play when they suddenly put Beat It as background music, or playing The Way You Make Me Feel in the speaker when one of your friends wanted to confess to a girl (she rejected them so it’s banned from every shared playlist). You shake your head with a smile, not looking at him when one of his hands gets closer to you, resting behind you on the couch.

Oh, you say in your head. You don’t know how close you’ll let him get, but it feels so right.

You haven’t talked (kind of flirted, but you don’t want to get ahead of yourself) with a boy that long in years. You kind of remember Anton from your Art, Music & Movement course with whom you went on a couple (unofficial) dates until he took an exchange program and had to leave for a whole year. Then you remember talking to Seunghan, a guy who gave you his spot in the queue for the bathroom at a concert and with whom you exchanged numbers after he bought you a really overpriced burrito, but he lived two hours away, and you had no energy or time to really be something. And then, then you got no one else.

The room is quiet, you notice. He’s not talking, and neither are you, so you fall into a comfortable silence. You hope he’s not tired yet, you’re not, but maybe your social battery has just died, so you lean into his side a bit more, letting your body relax and your head touches his arm behind you.

He looks at you with a small smile, and you start to inspect his face like you feel he’s doing with yours. He has dark eyelashes, thin, but they’re enough to mark his eyes, and they go well with his black hair. You also notice that his hair is shorter on the back and longer on the front, letting some locks fall around, creating little shadows over his face and covering the end of his eyes. He looks really good with the haircut, but you’ve seen him in pictures with Sungchan before, and he honestly always looks good.

Your eyes fall to his chest because you don’t want to make the moment awkward.

What he’s wearing is simple, a black shirt without sleeves that shows his well-toned arms, skin smooth, almost too perfect, and you can’t help but remind yourself how you’re not as perfect as him.

You doubt he has any flaw like yours, and you don’t mean a weird-looking mole or a scar that anyone could have from childhood, yours is different, too noticeable, impossible to ignore. His whole body was an uninterrupted harmony you couldn’t relate to.

Wait, you stop yourself from thinking too far away. What’s that?

You notice that there, in his chest, under the fabric of his tank top, there’s a bulge you haven’t noticed before, and it’s not his nipples, you’re completely sure of that.

Boys will be boys, and the words of your friend start to echo in your head.

You always hated that phrase. How could they all be so brute and inconsiderate of everyone else that weren’t themselves? The lack of respect to stare at your chest without a care of you disgusted you just hours ago.

And now, you start to ponder if, perhaps, in the end, you’re as brute as the man you met on the bus.

Poor Wonbin is finally filing the silence with something about how he had found a new band not long ago, giving you the exact same charming smile he’s had the whole afternoon, flirty but respectful, making you feel almost guilty from not being able to concentrate on the conversation, too busy trying to not stare at his chest.

You blink twice, trying to look at his eyes again.

It doesn’t work. You can’t ignore it.

It was impossible. They were there, standing under his shirt, calling for you to look at them.

Coughing, you move from the touch of his hand behind you, almost as if it burned you, and drink the almost pure water from the ice that melted in your cup.

You scold yourself. I’m not better than a man, you say in your mind before finishing the opaque result of water, rum and coke in your hand in one go, and then, not having anything else to distract yourself with, you bite the inside of your cheek to distract yourself with the pain.

‘’Sorry, am I boring you?’’ he says not much later, feeling the change in your behaviour.

‘’Eh?’’ you say, turning your body in his direction again.

You notice that his cheeks have a pretty reddish flush, and he stays still, letting you stare, waiting for you to talk. Without a doubt, he was one of the prettiest boys you’ve ever met, and in that moment, you were too dazed into him and his stupid pierced nipples to talk to him as easily as you’d been doing when you didn’t know about their existence.

‘’No’’ you finally say. ‘’I’m sorry, that was rude of me, I had other things on my mind.’’

‘’Like what?’’

You don’t expect him to lean even more into your space and show more interest in what you’ve been thinking about, making you more nervous for not being able to concentrate on another thing that wasn’t him and his pierced nipples so close.

It’s stupid, you can’t help but think. You’re treating him differently. You’ve changed after finding out he has pierced nipples, and it’s exactly what you don’t want to happen to you when people find out about your scar.

‘’Your cheek’’ his hand moves to your face, startling you since he hadn’t touched you that directly the whole night, and with his thumb he caressed the cheek you were obviously biting from the inside. ‘’Doesn’t it hurt?’’ he asks.

You gulp. ‘’Not really.’’

He hums, smiling even more when you move your eyes from his face to his chest, and then, after awkwardly blinking a couple times, looking down to your lap.

A strand of your hair falls out of the lame excuse of a hairstyle you tried to do (not daring to use a ponytail to a party and loose hair with the hot weather) over your face when you look down, and his hand moves on its own to accommodate it behind your ear, the pad of his finger slowly brushing a spot you didn’t know you like, making you melt with his touch like a popsicle in the street at 2PM.

 ‘’It doesn’t hurt either’’ he says. ‘’If you were curious.’’

Not understanding what he’s referring to, you give him a confused look.

‘’What doesn’t hurt?’’ you ask him.

‘’The piercings’’ he answers, laughing when your cheeks get red, and you shake your head to say no.

‘’I-‘’ I wasn’t looking at them, you want to say. It was just untrue, and denying something you’ve clearly been doing since you noticed them would make you look even more pathetic. So, deciding to be different from the shameless man who never apologized to you, you prefer to be honest. ‘’I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have looked at them like that’’.

‘’Why?’’ he asks, and you feel a sense of deja vu.

‘’It’s rude, to stare at your chest’’ you clarify. ’’At least, uninvited.’’

He looks as if he’s enjoying seeing you that embarrassed, almost as pleased as when you bravely talked to him at the bar, when you remember applauding your mind for creating fresh answers. At that moment, your brain seems to have suffered from all the rum you’ve had since you arrived, so it can’t change the subject or give you a quick joke to make the moment less humiliating.

‘’It’s okay, I don’t mind’’ he denies with a breathy laugh, hand moving down from near your face to your arm, sliding until he finds yours, interlocking fingers when he does. ‘’I invite you to do it, then.’’

‘’What?’’ your eyes become bigger and everything around you, mute.

You see his mouth moving and saying something like, I can show them to you, if you want, before he, not waiting for an answer, makes you stand with him. You can’t see what he says after that when he looks back to the crystal door separating you two from the others outside, and then without doubt he makes you follow him.

It wasn’t his place, yet he moved with enough confidence as if it was, dragging you by the hand to the second floor, a place you had never seen even with your constant visits to the place of your friend’s boyfriend. You always stuck to the first floor, not wanting to cross any boundaries with Sungchan, so you feel as if you’re seeing something you shouldn’t when on the second floor, after walking upstairs, you’re received with tons of family portraits showing you his childhood.

You don’t say anything, you let him move you until you both enter a bathroom you’ve never been to. Closing the door, suddenly you can hear again when you recognize the faint sound of music coming from downstairs and some people laughing.

‘’We have to be quick’’ you hear him say after he presses the secure of the door.

The bathroom is smaller than the one on the first floor, almost tiny. There’s only a sink and a WC besides, with a towel hanger under the light and a mirror over the sink. You can hear the vents working when he turns on the light, but you’re too distracted with his whole body trapping you between him and the sink, not giving you opportunity to put any space between you two, to care.

When he shows you a cheeky grin after you lean more into the sink to put a centimetre more between you, nervous of being there with him, close, and obviously about to do something you’re not used to do with people you’ve just met, you don’t care anymore.

His lips are pink and glowing after he licks them, and he’s too pretty for you to say no.

He moves your left hand to his covered chest, and you have to contain the surprised whimper your throat almost lets out when you feel the little thing that has caught your interest since you recognized it.

One of your hands is gripping the marble of the sink with force to maintain you sane, and it works, until he sighs when you flick it.

His face still has that cheekiness that you had understood, from your time talking, characterized him, but it was now mixed with desire, leaving behind the whole courtesy, making him look even better in front of your eyes.

You become needier, if he looks that good with just a flick, you can’t imagine how would he look if you two did more.

‘’Take it off’’ you urge him, not caring that the tone of your voice makes it seem almost an order.

The hand previously glued to the cold surface moves to the border of his shirt, feeling like a punch the warmness of his skin, pushing it up so he does what you asked faster.

‘’Shit’’ he grins, lifting his arms and allowing you to take it off for him. ‘’What happened to the timid girl from before?’’

‘’I’m not usually like this, I swear’’ you say. You want to tell him that no one had made you that eager before, even less with just a look, but again, you had never met anyone, especially a man, with pierced nipples, so he should understand your curiosity when you admire his naked chest and lick your lips before you look at his eyes again.

Growing up as a woman, you have seen firsthand how a good pair of tits could make the smartest and most respectful man a complete asshole. Even the most respectful men that you had gladly called your friends, have been caught by your always wary eyes looking at other women’s chests.

You don’t wear cleavage, so it doesn’t happen to you that much, but just that day a man did it on the bus, like a primitive caveman, a beast, and it’s so embarrassing that you’re acting like one of them in that moment.

Surely, Darwin would be especially disappointed with your regression as a human, but, in your favour, everyone becomes monkeys with the quantity of alcohol you’ve had that afternoon. Also, the weather has a lot to do too, because if it wasn’t that hot, Wonbin wouldn’t have been wearing a tank top, therefore, he wouldn’t have left his ample chest on your eyesight, and that has nothing to do with you. It was all climate change, so perhaps even Darwin would’ve forgiven you for wanting to lick some man’s nipples.

The rum in your system makes your mind babble nonsense and you have to shut your mind for a second. But you want to lick them so bad. You never thought you could fall that low, but there you are, in a bathroom only used to shit at, trying to not moan just from the sight of those pink nipples with little silver beams pointing at you.

‘’I believe you’’ he sighs with a smile, moving further to the wall behind him so you could see his chest better.

You can’t believe your eyes.

You can see the metallic object break through the pink flesh, two tiny spheres on each end of it to not let it move from its place, and you can officially say you have never seen anything that hot in your life.

Hypnotized by the way the object sparkles with the warm light above you two, you timidly move your index fingers to flick them again, making him breathe through his nose and bite his lip to contain himself.

‘’Do they feel good?’’ your curiosity, instead of getting satiated, is growing, and you have tons of questions appearing in your mind.

‘’Per se… sometimes, when I get conscious of them’’ he admits. ‘’But I usually have to touch them if I want to feel something’’.

You flick them again, to then grip them with your index and middle finger and, slightly, almost with fear, twirl them. ‘’Is this okay?’’ you ask, gulping the saliva accumulating in your mouth.

‘’Yeah, that feels good’’ he assures you, both of his hands going to your hips to maintain you in place while his head falls to the wall behind, and he closes his eyes.

You keep doing the same motion, loving the sighs that he leaves out and how a frown of pleasure starts to install on his face. At some point, his own chest is moving with how hard his breath has become, doing the work for you of tugging them while you hold them still.

His eyes are closed and his tongue salutes you when he wets his lips, pressing his hips against you. His boner is appearing there, pressing the mount of your abdomen, but you’re so concentrated on the image in front of you that you can’t care less about him using you to stimulate that area every time his hips push softly into you.

He looks so good like that. You can’t stop yourself from asking when, after twirling them harder, a particular moan leaves his mouth, making you wet. You’re not being touched at all apart from his hands marking your hips with his strength, but your sex was clenching with the pleasure you were giving him, as if those touches were gifted to you too.

‘’Can-Can I lick them?’’ you ask nervously.

‘’Fuck, don’t do that to me’’ his eyelids flutter and you stop all your movements, afraid you’re asking for too much. Shit, perhaps even he thinks I’m crazy, you tell yourself.

‘’Can’t I?’’ you ask, sad of him denying your question, or at least, what you understood as a denial.

‘’Don’t fucking stop’’ he says, one leg going between your thighs and bending it to touch you more. ‘’Do whatever you want honey, I know you’ll do it with care’’.

You don’t need anymore, and moving down your face to his chest, you look up at him with deer eyes, afraid of him stopping you again.

He nods at you, giving you the certainty you want to start doing it.

You’ve never licked another person’s nipples before, so you were unsure of exactly what to do, and remembering what your couple of partners have done before to make you feel good, you press the tip of your tongue over one of them, damping the pink tip and tasting the combination of the flavour of his skin and the metallic object.

Your pussy feels even better with the sensation of it in your mouth, stealing a moan from you.

‘’Shit, you like them that much?’’ he asked, obtaining a nod from you as a response. God, what would your friend say if she found you in that position? You feel sick for a second, but you quickly ignore that thought with the shake of his laugh inside his chest making you look at him instead.

‘’They’re really pretty’’ you say between laps, maintaining eye contact.

‘’Not as pretty as you baby’’, he praises you back.

You moan again with his words, and your eyebrows frown when you feel his knee pressing your cunt, feeling yourself dripping inside your shorts.

‘’You’re doing good baby, keep going’’ he smiles, making you happy with the idea of doing a good job for him.

It’s all so weird. The last thing you expected that day was Wonbin to have pierced nipples, even less, that you would be licking them in a bathroom. However, there you are, moaning while humping his knee and playing with one of the piercings while your mouth continues tasting the other.

Wonbin tastes and smells so good, you’re getting dizzy, as if his whole body was made from the sugar you needed to get completely drunk.

It’s all a bunch of frantic moves, you’re humping his leg while his hands push to the sink behind you, biting his lips hard at the sensation of your mouth drinking his chest.

‘’Fuck- that’s so good’’ his voice sounds in pain, and you bite the little mound in your mouth as you do with your cheek, controlling yourself to not hurt him, to what he shudders before his mouth falls open and a choked sound escapes his swollen lips. ‘’That’s enough, stop’’ he pushes you away, gaining a whine from you because you don’t want to stop, you want to continue, to see his gorgeous face break apart.

‘’Why?’’ you complain. His knee digs into you harder, and you move your hips more to the front as a response. He’s trying to control his breath, and you like how he’s looking at you, as if he was as bad for you as you are for him.

‘’I was about to cum’’ he reveals, and you can’t believe he just told you that, because the idea sounds so good you clench around nothing.

‘’Please, please’’ you beg.

Just minutes before you thought you were crazy for wanting to lick his nipples, but now you realize that you’re insane for wanting to see him cum like that. For needing to see it. You’re sure his cock is fucking pretty as well, and you want to see it spurring with cum so bad you don’t even ask before your hand starts to pull his belt open. He lets you, going to the hem of your shirt, and there’s when your whole euphoric state stops, and panic arises.

‘’No, wait, stop’’ you push his hand away and he lets you go immediately.

‘’What’s wrong? I thought-‘’ he doesn’t finish the sentence, clarity coming back to him too. ‘’Did I read things wrong?’’

He didn’t read anything wrong. You wanted to get even more intimate, but you’re scared. The light is on, and you can see him, which means, he can see you too.

‘’No, it’s just…’’ how could you say, please don’t get scared, or disgusted, I have a huge mark that goes from my shoulder to my chest that will never leave me alone, without sounding odd. You don’t think he’s ever heard or seen anything about surgery scars, from what you can see, he’s perfect in more ways than you can even explain. He’s handsome, yes, but his pierced nipples had added a touch of surprise to him, making him insufferably hot. He wouldn’t understand.

‘’What?’’ he asks, shaking you out of your mind vomiting sentences that make your insides stir with anxiety.

The moment is already awkward, the emotion and lust overpowered by your discomfort.

‘’I shouldn’t’’ you say, your words not making any sense since you can’t force yourself to tell him.

‘’You don’t want to continue?’’ he asks confused. ‘’I mean, you can change your mind, but I don’t get it, did I do something wrong?’’

‘’No, of course not’’ you say. ‘’It’s not you, it’s me.’’

Perfect, now you sound as if you were breaking up with him.

You can’t find the correct words. You’re sure what you’re feeling is perfectible understandable with how your parents had taught you that you shouldn’t just show it around, making you ashamed of it until you reached your vast age. But, you were a grown-up now, and you were about to be a teacher, how could you let your life be controlled by something you couldn’t change, even more, by something as banal as your physique.

You would be in charge of so many little lives in just a couple years, and you would never want one of them to feel ashamed of who they are solely because of their bodies.

You know what your mother did that day was wrong, but you know even more that you should start to change how you feel about it.

Also, you’ve talked the whole night, and if you were about to (probably) fuck him, you should at least make sure he wasn’t an asshole that found you disgusting by a mark.

Looking at him with pleading eyes, he stays silent, letting you take as much time as you need. You grab the hem of your shirt, and you want to sprint out as soon as your head starts playing the exact words you’ve heard every time you’ve gone shopping and tried on something that showed your skin. You shouldn’t.

To be fair, you correct that same voice, you’ve done a lot of things you shouldn’t, like entering a tattoo shop when your whole family and career were conservative as hell, or accepting a burrito from a complete stranger in the middle of the night in a concert, and you’re still alive.

His shoulders become smaller, and one of his hands goes to his shoulder, covering himself while his biceps show more.

‘’If it’s the piercings, I assure you I don’t have one down there, I’m not that brave’’ he laughs.

‘’What?’’ now you’re even more confused.

‘’Well, I know many don’t like them, I thought you did, but I could be wrong’’ he blinks like you do when you’re nervous, and you have to shake your head before you talk again.

‘’Wonbin, I was moaning while licking them just a second ago, I think that’s enough proof of how much I do like them’’ you say suddenly surprised with the way the confident guy you’ve been talking to the whole party has changed to a shy version of himself. You can’t seem to let him feel the problem is him, so you take all the courage you have, pull up your shirt and toss it to the floor, just like Wonbin did.

You’re wearing the top of a swimsuit, because even if you weren’t going to swim, you didn’t want to stay out of the theme. The thin straps don’t hide anything from you, and you leave the insecurity of your life on full display.

He looks at you and blinks.

‘’So, you want to continue?’’ he asks.

You blink, not believing that he’s not making any question about it. Your first boyfriend asked you desperately what had happened to you, expecting a sad story with tears, and you didn’t feel like receiving that pity look again, so you never fucked him, or anyone, in daylight ever again.

You also broke up with him after fucking two times.

‘’I mean, I want to, but don’t you have any question?’’ you ask unconvinced. Was he ignoring the elephant in the room or were you to pretentious to think everything was about your mark and everyone would focus on it your whole life?

‘’About what?’’

You start to feel stupid (which was probably right).

‘’Is my scar… okay to you?’’ you ask then.

‘’Why would it not be? I’ve seen it before’’ he says.

You lift your hand to stop him. You have to stop everything from moving forward in that exact same second.

‘’What do you mean you’ve seen it before?’’ you can’t believe it. You’ve hidden it so well some of your friends have never seen it in years of friendship. You’ve hidden it so well that you have family that has never heard of your fall when you were a dumb child who obliged their parents to take off the training wheels before they learned how to fully drive a bicycle.

‘’I’m a tattoo artist at The Ink. The admin sent me a picture of it to check if I could do the nude tattoo. I told you that I saw you there. I wanted to talk to you to convince you to a coloured one, but you had left when my other appointment ended.’’

He says it with such calm you can’t help but feel calm too, even if incredibly dumb at the same time. He didn’t look like usual tattoo artists, he had his arms empty, like blank canvases waiting to be painted, and you had to be honest, you imagined them all to have no empty space in their bodies.

Where was the tweety you imagined them all to have?

You nod, understanding. You’re such an asshole, you’ve done to him everything you didn’t want people to do to you. You’ve judged his appearance, his career, everything out of the stupid traditionality of your ideas.

 ‘’I see’’ you say, and he smiles.

‘’Did you think I would push you away the second I saw it? As if it was a scarlet letter?’’ he says with a breathy laugh, as if he found funny how dumb you were for thinking it was a problem.

‘’First, I didn’t know you read. Second, well yes, don’t laugh at me, I’m all vulnerable and almost tits on air’’ you say, looking at his chest to distract yourself from the shame. At least, you think, it’s not because of your body anymore.

He laughs louder, getting closer to your body and leaving his head on the space of your neck and putting his hands over yours, which were gripping the surface of the sink. It feels like a hug, but you doubt it could be described as that when he wasn’t wrapping you with his arms. He was just there, close, chest to chest, pressing his hard piercings against your flimsy bikini top.

‘’I have something to admit though’’ he says after a second.

Of course, there was something, everything was too good to be true. You sighed, nodding and giving him permission to say it.

It’s weird. Looks a bit ugly. It’s hard to digest.

‘’I think it’s really pretty, especially the color, it reminds me of cherry blossoms.’’

You swear, Wonbin can’t stop surprising you.

‘’Shut up’’ you smile shyly. He moves apart and when he sees you becoming all timid again, he cups your chin and makes you lift your eyes to him.

‘’I have a scar too, although not as pretty as yours’’ he says, moving the locks of hair covering his left eyebrow and showing you the nude line there.

You press your finger there. He’s a bad liar, not because he sounds unconvincing, but because what he said is blatantly not true. His scar is prettier, so much that it looks as if it had been done in purpose to make him look more handsome.

‘’Dumbass’’ you smile, pressing the pad of your thumb over his almost perfect eyebrow. If you’re honest, it looks perfect to you.

He uses your distraction and gives you a quick peck on the lips. You can’t react to it when he’s already away.

‘’What was that?’’ you laugh loudly, finding him adorable.

‘’A kiss, I hope’’ he answers, smiling so wide you see his bunny teeth.

Fuck, I like him, you think.

You kiss him again, this time for longer, so it’s a real kiss.

His hands go play with the straps of your top and you move your hands to your back to undo the knot holding it in place.

When you let it fall, he admires you like you did to him before. His hands, bigger than yours, go to your chest, playing with your nipples, to then go higher and follow the trail of your scar.

‘’I would die to draw flowers over them’’ he comments, index drawing the line. ‘’It would be a good branch’’ he notices. ‘’The flowers would be blossoming, at their best point, full of colour’’ he sighs, eyes dropping as if he was getting hot with the mere idea of tattooing your skin. His middle finger touches the little lines that move outward, like they’re born from the thick, uneven line. ‘’It would be a perfect tree’’ he finishes.

You’re getting wet with the image he plants in your imagination. It blooms in your sex, which is getting more wet with every second that passes. In your ears, he’s singing the hottest song you’ve heard in your life, watering the seed he had buried in your mind.

‘’I want to be a teacher. I’d get fired if they saw it’’ you lament.

‘’Don’t think so, every student would think you’re the coolest person around’’ he whispers. One of his hands goes down your abdomen, cupping you over your denim shorts and pulling a soft whimper from you. ‘’Just like I do right now.’’

 ‘’Welcome to the fan club,’’ you shake your head, opening your legs a little more, unnoticeable, and then punching his chest. ‘’You’re such a simp.’’

He grabs your hand and maintains it over his chest, cupping you harder to feel how wet you’re getting. He’s not touching you directly, but he knows you’re wet under all the clothes, and he smirks proudly. ‘’What can I say baby, you rocked my world.’’

You can’t believe he’s using one of your favourite songs to turn you on. He didn’t need to. You’re so wet you’re sure your bikini bottoms are drenched and it’s probably reaching the hard fabric of your shorts.

‘’Shut up’’ you order, touching his clothed erection and unfastening his belt. The metallic sound of it echoes inside the small room, covering the sound of the vents and your throat gulping the saliva accumulated.

‘’So, you do enjoy being in charge’’ he clicks his tongue, smirking. ‘’Now I just wonder how many hours you can boss me around.’’

‘’You said we have to be quick’’ you remind him, pulling down his zipper and smirking too.

‘’You’re right, sadly we’re not alone’’ he agrees, doing the same action with you. ‘’We’ll take out time the next time.’’

His fingers finally touch you directly, sliding a finger between your lips, gathering the wetness that pools there. You almost roll your eyes, feeling the quick touch over your clit electrifying. Still, you must have the last word. ‘’Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time’’ you say like you can, hand going inside his trousers too.

He groans when you touch his cock. It jumps inside your grip, making you smile until he talks. ‘’With how wet you are, I’m sure it’ll be soon.’’

You want to say something even more cocky, but you can’t answer when his fingers press your clit again. You’re sure you’re making a mess inside your shorts and that you’ll be fucking uncomfortable downstairs, but if you’re going to go around with your clothes all dirty, he should do it too.

Playing with the head of his cock, you have to contain yourself from pulling down his underwear to catch the sight of it naked. The skin feels soft in your hand, and he’s so hard that, when you press it, you feel what he’s made. You’re sure he has a pink tip, just like his nipples, and that seems to drive you a bit more insane. The picture you create in your head is nearly orgasmic. His hard coke, with its thickness and bloody colour, angrily pointed at you for being the cause of its pain.

This is really something you shouldn’t be doing. You shouldn’t be giving a boy you just talked to that day a handjob. It’s so nasty and improper, much more than your scar or any tattoo you could get done.

When you use those adjectives, you notice, that you’re mostly referring to yourself. Could you see Wonbin as nasty and improper? He has pierced nipples, but you thought they were incredibly hot, not to be described as those words, or to be categorized with you.

‘’Your pussy is dripping so much. I want to lick it until I drown in it’’ he sighs, fingers smearing your juices and making a wet sound. ‘’You’d come in my mouth so good, I’m sure I’d be able to taste you the whole night.’’

Oh no, he is nasty and improper, just like you.

Your hand is a bit dry. The only thing helping you touch him good is the little pre-cum you’re using as lube to slide your hand. You spit in your hand while maintaining eye contact, and his grin gets wider, as if he’s glad he has found someone as sick and perverted as him.

You’re not, you try to convince yourself, but you know there’s no use. You were licking his nipples as if your life depended on it moments ago, and you’re sure you’d do it all over again.

Remembering they’re there, at your whole disposition, your free hand moves to touch one. You play with the beams, flicking it up and down, to then pull them. He groans harder when you do it, and you feel his cock get somehow thicker, but instead of loosening your grip, you tighten it and jerk him faster, touching the tip and the base so fast he hisses.

His hips move when you suddenly stop your hand, and you smile, liking how desperate he looks. He notices it, so to erase that smudgy grin, he plugs two fingers inside you, obliging you to part your lips with the sensation of him filing you and the sound of your pussy squelching. His fingers are long enough to shock you, and the pain of pleasure building is starting to hit you as much as him.

‘’Let it free, please’’ he asks nicely. He’s so polite and looks in so much pain you want to do it, but you’re sure that, if you asked the same, he wouldn’t comply your begs.

A dark spot is appearing in his black underwear. You can see it with the orange light on. He’s also sweating so bad with the temperature of the room that you see a drip fall from his damp hair to his neck and die on the bone of his clavicle.

You want to lick that place too.

‘’Don’t want to’’ you say, doing the fast motion again, making him grunt.

His fingers move faster too, pushing a bit down your shorts so he can finger you better. It sounds almost like a dessert, and you moan when he curls his fingers. Fucking tattoo artist with talented hands.

‘’Don’t be mean or I’ll be even worse’’ he warns you.

You twist his nipple harder, and he whimpers.

His hands are ferociously fucking you, two fingers deep inside you and his palm brushing your clit, making you wish you had the liberty of cumming without consequences.

You do it too, you keep his pace, moving your hand up and down, not thinking much about it, just following him. You’re the one touching him, you’re the one being mean while jerking him off inside his trousers, yet it feels as if he was the one commanding you to do so.

He starts thrusting the hold you have on him, simulating the force and speed he’s using to fuck you with his fingers.

‘’You’re so bad, the next time I’ll make you beg for me to use my tongue on you’’ he painfully says.

You’re getting closer, you feel it coming. Your pussy is already dripping what you feel as your close orgasm, and so is he with the twitching of his cock, you just know it. You frown, mouth open, and you don’t analyze your question when you do it.

‘’Why would I beg?’’ you innocently ask.

He doesn’t have to say anything. He opens his mouth, flashing you the silver ball in his rosy tongue, and you lose yourself, cumming with a silent moan and shaking legs. He does the same. Feeling your orgasm splashing his hand, he shoots his cum, marking with the marbles more than one spot in his underwear.

You finally pull down his underwear when you feel he has finished cumming, and you see, even if not as hard anymore, the prettiest cock you could’ve imagined. To fuck with him, you spread his cum along his softening shaft, and he does the same with you, sliding his fingers a couple more times before he takes his hand out. Watching it glossy and drops sliding down to his wrist, he looks at you and licks them before they get to his forearm.

You’re both a couple of nasty, improper, sick and pervert people.

Not much later, when you’re both getting decent again, he talks. ‘’Come to the studio, I’ll give you the tattoo’’ he says with a drunk voice. You’ve cleaned as much as you could with toilet paper, and you meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s behind you, knotting your bikini top for you, and looking extremely placid for doing it, as if he was still in the haze of the moment. ‘’Of course, after that, we should go on a date too’’ he says more firmly than his previous offer.

He’s perfect and imperfect in so many senses: he has rosy delicate lips, yet he has uttered the nastiest words you’ve ever heard, he has shaped eyebrows, yet a scar interrupts the harmony of them, and he has the beauty to attract anyone with all his odds, yet he chooses you.

No, he is perfect for you, just the way he is.

You’re still in the blissful state of your post-orgasm, kind of there and at the same time far away, so you don’t even think twice before you nod at his proposal.

‘’We should.’’

When you both eat the remaining cold pizza, he rests one of his hands on your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side, nodding when you tell him that cherry blossoms do sound good.

[moondirti]

7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts. 

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel. 

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them. 

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between. 

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?) 

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this. 

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing. 

Deep space, your stars – your Sol. 

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.) 

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it. 

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing. 

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies. 

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next. 

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour. 

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.) 

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened. 

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place. 

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement. 

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution. 

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror. 

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected. 

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–” 

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,” 

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul? 

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway. 

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.” 

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.” 

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.” 

“Whit is it this time?” 

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?” 

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame. 

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?” 

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?” 

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression. 

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time. 

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come. 

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws–) 

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please. 

Just this one thing. 

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut. 

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns. 

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care. 

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance. 

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you. 

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right. 

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved. 

Huh. 

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology. 

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh. 

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it. 

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side. 

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like. 

The day pass? 

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse. 

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds. 

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him. 

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion. 

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should. 

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple. 

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you. 

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?” 

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”) 

You really hate him sometimes. 

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.” 

He squints. 

(Rightfully so.) 

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass. 

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve. 

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero. 

You hope that one day, you will too. 

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues. 

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief. 

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.” 

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?” 

“You bet on my survival?” 

“Silver linings!” 

“Lyra.” 

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.” 

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving. 

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?” 

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.” 

“Explain something to me, would you?” 

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath. 

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation. 

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place. 

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours. 

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion. 

Get a hold of yourself. 

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.” 

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–” 

“You can’t control your powers, can you?” 

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options: 

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit. 

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here. 

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again. 

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.” 

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously. 

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?” 

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.” 

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud. 

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference. 

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,” 

“There was a thing with a super-collider.” 

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk. 

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.” 

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command. 

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.” 

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile. 

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced. 

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense. 

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.” 

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you. 

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how. 

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.” 

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice. 

chapter eight

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[ladyluscinia]

Izzy, Bottles, and Apologies

Izzy's arc in S2 has been a wild ride.

The S1 Izzy enjoyers are feeling vindicated as hell, many people are fully revising their opinion of him, and the people still hating him have a new criticism or off the wall theory daily. David Jenkins LOVES Izzy and is having the time of his life trying to make sure everyone else does too. They had Con O'Neill sing in drag!

And naturally I have thoughts.

This is gonna be a two part post, I think. First, as much as people are celebrating Izzy having realized his arc and come into his own - from the singing to the apparent BlackBonnet shipping - there are some threads they could pull on that might reveal more arc to come. And I am really hoping they pull them, so I'm gonna tell you why you should too!

And second, I have some minor points I dislike and concerns that this might be the end of the arc. Which would be disappointing but I think I get why, so I'm gonna discuss that too.

To start...

---

"How are you handling all this so well?"

Here's the thing about S2 Izzy - while I need to be clear his behavior is not OOC or inconsistent with S1, it is happening rather fast. I'm pretty sure that has a lot to do with out of universe reasons I'll get into later, but in-universe it stands out. Now, he's hardly the only one operating on an accelerated schedule - the timeline for this season is an insanely fast not-even-two-weeks - but Izzy's defining struggle in S1 was fear of change. That was the cause of his friction with Edward, and what made him an antagonist in the first place.

In S2 he's gone through a lot of trauma, yes, but that fear is noticeably less present than I would expect.

Izzy in 2x06 has been cleaned up from his sobbing mess phase for just over 48 hours and he faces Edward with a joke, and then that night sings a moving French serenade to the crew. The next morning he's teasing them about finally hooking up and spends the day offering both Stede and Edward relationship advice.

He's a newly realized man... shedding repression and embracing who he could be. Accepting his breakup with Edward and trying to openly support the relationship that's better for him.

It's fun!

It's also, potentially, a bit of a flag. Maybe not a red one, not yet, but... pink-ish? A bit orange?

Let's look a little closer at those frayed edges.

---

"Well, you see, I have a system..."

There's an exchange from right at the start of the Pilot episode that has echoed through the entire series so far:

"Bottle it up?" -> "No, Frenchie! No, that's the worst thing you could do!"

Not talking to other people, not addressing your traumas... that's the kind of shit that just builds and builds inside you. When the cork eventually pops, the resulting damage can be a lot. Look at the finale of S1, where all of Stede's bottled up guilt and insecurities laid waste to his relationship with Edward, and then inadvertently became the first domino in the Kraken.

S2 is quick to bring this scene back into the forefront. The first time we see the Breakup Boat crew talking in 2x01, Frenchie reveals that "Bottle it up?" wasn't just a random comment he made, but a philosophy of his:

"Ah - well, you see, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box, in my mind, and I put the things in the box, I lock the box, and then I don't open it again. Works like a charm."

Apparently, Frenchie is the only one it actually seems to be working for.

Now, the show has been drawing some interesting lines between Frenchie and Izzy. From both serving as Blackbeard's First Mate to being frequently shown as a duo - tormenting Navy guys together on Sunday's raid, Frenchie holding Izzy's hand, Frenchie leaning on Izzy's leg in the cell, Frenchie behind him raising the flag in 2x05 - it's fitting that Izzy echoes Frenchie's preferred coping method. First he frames the non-acknowledgement of harm from Edward as just... part of piracy. He's a pirate, so he's fine with it.

And then we get Izzy's little whittled shark reveal and the conversation with Lucius about his leg:

"I don't know what you're talking about. Shark did this... dangling my legs over the side of the ship. Served me right, too."

Lucius calls him out on the unhealthy behavior, and Izzy concedes his point:

"O-kay, that seems healthy. Using a bit of fiction to help cover up your trauma." -> "Yeah, well... not moving on is worse. Twatty."

And to give him credit, he's right in his advice to Lucius. Filling his sketchbook with pages and pages of Blackbeard trauma is Lucius's form of bottling it up - thinking in endless recursive circles about his tumble off the ship and everything that followed. We already know chasing revenge instead of living is bad - Jim and Spanish Jackie established it last season, and Pete just echoed them. When Izzy advises Lucius to move on, that's what Lucius does.

But what Izzy is doing with the shark? That's not the same thing at all. He's lost a leg, grazed a bullet off his own head, and was snarling drunken accusations at himself in the mirror... he's not moving on from that. He's bottling it up with a nice dose of self-blame.

Cutting the legs off the unicorn for not doing it's job right and saying "served me right" about his fictional shark? There's a real dark knot of emotions there.

(Recall, too, that Edward deflected his hurt from Stede's abandonment into a "fictional character" during his chats with Lucius, and that delayed the explosion but couldn't stop it.)

So... Izzy's definitely coping with trauma in a way the show does not advise and often circles back to. Can we see any signs in 2x06 and 2x07?

---

The Weight of Things Unsaid

At the very start of 2x06, Izzy gets the thing he spent all of 2x05 mentally bracing himself to never hear - an apology from Edward for his leg. He walks up to initiate conversation and begins talking like nothing has changed. Edward is back in his leathers. Appropriate, given that his penance onesie was nothing genuine, just "how long do I have to wear this fucking thing for?" And Izzy is ready for them not to address the obvious hurt, to just smooth over a few jabs and go back to normal... but even Edward's mumbled little "Sorry about your leg" is so significant and difficult he flees as soon as he gets it out, leaving Izzy to sit, incredulous, with the acknowledgement.

It's still almost definitely not enough.

There was so much between them in 2x01 - 2x03. The writers literally did BlackHands love confessions on both sides. An apology from Edward Teach - a man who historically does not apologize - is a huge first step but still only the first step. The real things unsaid are so much bigger than a leg.

We get something else, too... Edward commenting on Izzy's drinking.

"Jesus. Really putting that away, aren't ya?"

Izzy has had booze a lot this season. He lost a leg and pain meds aren't really an option, so not surprising, but notable. Edward, advocating for substance abuse to deal with bad feelings, calls him a lightweight in 2x01. When they are found with the dead seabird in 2x03, Izzy takes a pointed drink from his bottle, and then 2x04 he spends the entire episode completely plastered. He seemingly sobered up for 2x05 - probably to focus on sword training and his whittling project - but now the bottle is back again before Izzy disappears for several hours.

And a little liquid courage might explain his going all in for the Calypso's Birthday performance.

I do appreciate that the performance on it's face is something completely unexpected for Izzy, but when thinking about it... it does make sense.

We already know music and performance were available on Blackbeard's ship even before Stede. Edward learned to play shanties on the piano somewhere, and singing is a common and encouraged part of sailing culture. Izzy's choice of song to perform is something a lot more emotional, but this is probably not his first performance for a crew.

Makeup, too, is in fashion for men and women at this time, and OFMD has shown it as such before. Izzy has never worn fashion makeup, or tried to be beautiful, but the concept wouldn't be alien to him. Wee John's description of a dramatic party look might even have intrigued him specifically because Izzy has actually done "looks" before - of the terrifying "theatre of fear" kind. The Kraken did have his whole crew in makeup for their raids. Taking the opportunity to embody something a bit more vulnerable and try to bring joy to this crew that took care of him is meaningful as fuck.

And it's still a drag performance!

It's a good pair of moments - before and after Ned. Proof that all this isn't just coping method - that's not what I'm arguing here - and even if Izzy's still bottling up a lot of feelings he's not doing the same full pressure bomb thing as he did in S1. There's been growth!

(This is why the flags are only pink-ish / orange-ish right now.)

Episode 2x07 though... I'm not so sure he's doing good as much as pretending it's all good.

Showing up to make his joke in the morning is a fun moment. I especially enjoy Edward's little "fuck off" with no bite to it 🤣🤣🤣 Reminder they do live together on a ship, so this is likely not even close to the first morning-after that Izzy has gotten front row seats to. But, at least to me, there's also a very performative feeling about it. Izzy being very Look how normal I can be about you fucking your boyfriend, Ed - and Edward picks up on it too. That's why he turns to Stede and whispers "He's jealous" as Izzy walks away.

Izzy continues to make jokes and give advice through the day to our main couple, but he's... subdued. I think his fake chill also disguises that he and Edward aren't on the same page about what they discuss at the docks, hence his poor advice to "listen to it" when the "it" in question is Edward's immediate desire to run away from Stede and become a fisherman. They are talking again, but haven't resumed communicating.

I also think it's relevant that Izzy goes to try and support Stede after Edward dumps him, because we're still waiting for Stede to stop bottling things up. He doesn't talk about Badminton or feelings of inadequacy or even the babiest little olive branch to Edward about "hey my dad kinda sucked too." Edward's two exes are sitting in the bar corner together, thinking about all the shit they won't talk to him about until it kills all three of them. Exciting!

The pressure is building. It has to circle back to Stede in S3. I'm hoping at the same time, it circles back to Izzy, too.

Hoping we get to explore some of his anxiety, and his internalizing negative self-image and blame. At the moment, I think Izzy might have less gotten over his anxieties and more just let go of the wheel of his life entirely, and fortunately had people around to steer him in okay directions. It would be really interesting to explore that more.

(Even if I have some concerns they may not.)

---

Subtle as a Cannonball to the Face

Izzy's character arc was always going to be a long journey - not because he was somehow morally worse than everyone else, or required particularly painstaking growth, or even because there was going to be some great need to "hold him accountable" for S1. No, it was going to be a long journey from an antagonist start for the same reason I mentioned earlier: Izzy's core struggle is fear of change.

OFMD opens with two protagonists recklessly pursuing change in ways that harm themselves, their relationships, and others, and a primary onscreen antagonist resisting change in a way that harms himself, his relationships, and others. There's no easy morality here - they all fuck up. And they all require the entire show to actually figure out the correct balance of change and growth and facing the past.

"I think the three of them are on an arc together that's pretty inseparable." - David Jenkins (Source, 9 Oct 2023)

So... why is there a chance that everything I've mentioned above is going absolutely nowhere and Izzy's arc has been wrapped up with a bow in S2?

Well.

It's late March 2022, the fandom's age is still only countable in weeks, I personally haven't even watched the pilot yet, had only even heard of the show 3 days before... and one of David Jenkins first post-finale statements is telling people to pay attention to Izzy's POV and his and Edward's love story on rewatches (Source, 25 Mar 2022), and then soon after comparing Stede to a homewrecker in Edward and Izzy's toxic marriage (Source, 15 Apr 2022). Lots of links because this stuff was available to the fandom from the start.

By the first half of May 2022 (while poor Mr. Jenkins is still anxiously trying to get his series renewed for S2, since the confirmation won't come until June 1) the takes on Izzy have soured a lot. It's not a "homophobic gay" joke anymore. Now it's "Izzy is the embodiment of colonialism who enforces a racist and homophobic ideal of Blackbeard on Edward" and "pretending Izzy could be canonically gay is homophobic" and "Izzy bought Edward as a slave from the British". Harassing anons have already started on tumblr. No first hand experience with Twitter but I've heard horror stories. These takes are spreading like wildfire through the fandom, with a heavy backing of white fans accepting and spreading anything that sounds vaguely racially-conscious as something they just missed in their privilege and need to listen to POC about. Or listen to other white fans that say they've been listening to POC.

The anchor hoist in 1x09 (that was a complete directing coincidence, as the crew confirmed in late May) is being taken as incontrovertible proof that Izzy is a violent racist, and the relatively small Izzy fandom pushing back against any of these reads is being likened to toxic fangirls declaring Kylo Ren a poor widdle victim because they think violent white guys are so hot their brains fall out. This is happening loudly and in the public forums of social media.

Can you imagine being David Jenkins right then?

This is one of your favorite little guys, who you wrote a silly little homoerotic pirate jealousy arc for. He's kinda cringefail and tends to be a dick, but you cast a guy who you think embodies him with so much sympathy and genuine emotion. You're so excited to explore his direct relationship to the main couple of your series even more. Unfortunately, you and a lot of the cast and crew are also engaging maybe a bit too much in fandom spaces, which very few of you have much familiarity with navigating as creators. AND there's still renewal stress!

If I were him, I too would consider that perhaps my intended Izzy arc was a bit too nuanced and drawn out, and maybe I needed to clear up some misconceptions as soon as I got the opportunity.

Enter S2.

MAX reduced the budget for the season significantly and it shows - particularly in the whole thing having to squeeze into 8 episodes - and I wouldn't be surprised at all if worries over a S3 renewal / S3 budget impacted S2 writing as well. Character arcs got pinched, goals had to be prioritized... and from the looks of the season, "make sure everyone knows Izzy is not a homophobic villain tormenting Edward as fast as possible" came out as a big goal.

I mean they open with a dream sequence that literally mocks the idea of a heroic Stede rescuing Edward from the dastardly Izzy. It's not subtle.

And the lack of subtlety is kind of what's concerning me.

Izzy's arc is (I think) leaving enough threads that they can extend it into S3 with the reveal he's not actually fine and done developing, but they also seem to want his S2 arc to end in a place where maybe he is. Lots of giant signs pointing to him and saying "Look! Everyone likes him!" or "Look! He's also gay!" at the expense of some of his cringefail or dickish charm. My guy had anxiety he dealt with poorly in S1, and I do think they are trying to frontload or adjust the arc so he's basically (or at least seemingly) over that before the next hiatus.

The best way I've seen it described is that the show no longer trusts the audience to pick up what they are putting down, and so they feel the need to really hammer it in. Not necessarily OOC, but definitely de-emphasizing any of his rough edges that were originally just written to not be any worse than the other characters.

This is why Izzy gets shot by Edward in the very first episode for a bunch of complicated reasons that are really good character work and not super hard to discern, but then later they have Izzy point out to Stede why he got shot twice. It's all very "look into the camera and say the themes", because to some degree they are afraid everyone is going to get easily convinced Edward shot him for calling him a namby-pamby that one time.

It makes me worried they are too afraid of misinterpretation to commit to the arc they originally conceived of, even with the finish line in sight in S3.

And, again, I get it, Mr. Jenkins. In October 2022 he made a funny quip and a boner joke on a tweet about Edward's blanket fort and the hordes descended to scream victoriously about how he was cutting down the Izzy stans for their racist infantilization crimes of thinking Izzy would *checks notes* help hold up a blanket. It's a very reasonable conclusion that this fandom cannot read and needs to be spoonfed Izzy's arc.

It just sucks that a toxic section of fandom's misinterpretations appear to have undercut a strong - and, honestly, not that complicated - character arc so much that S2's BlackBonnet arc can be about fuck ups and backsliding, but Izzy needs at least the illusion of having no flaws left come hiatus time.

[sabyart]

Now these are like, old. But I was recently thinking about doing palette challenges again. I did these around 2015 during my Penguins of Madagascar phase. Ah yes, good times lol. Did you know that I went through that phase twice? I used to rp Rico when I started rping on tumblr waaaay back then. He is among the old-as-hell muses I sometimes still think about bringing back, only to go 'hmmm naaah'.

Anyway, I still really love the orange one with Skipper a lot. And I like the color use on King Julien, but the drawing itself feels wonky af now that I look at it almost 10 yrs later lol

I actually thought I uploaded them here already, but I didn't see them when I went through my Fanart tag. But then again, my tagging here is inconsistent af anyway xD

[starcrossed591]

CDrama Year in Review 2023

I'm still very much a CDrama beginner--I just started watching them in the summer of 2022--but since this is the first year I got into them in earnest, I figured I might as well do a year in review a la @dangermousie (whose lists I have found incredibly helpful in deciding which CDramas I really, really need to go back and watch as part of my CDrama education--so thank you!). So, without further adieu, here is my ranking of 2023 CDramas, in order of least enjoyed to most enjoyed*.

(See also: KDrama Year in Review 2023)

*Disclaimer: *not* a measure of objective quality

10. Royal Rumours: This drama was not great? Meng Zi Yi and Jeremy Tsui were fun, but the story started out messy and got messier. For some reason I still finished it, I think because I had a lingering cold and it was all my brain could handle at the time *shrug*

9. Gone with the Rain: I actually really enjoyed this one! The pacing was inconsistent, but Zhang Nan was fun as the irreverent Mo Xi, and we love a grizzled general. Special shout to the teacher who was not actually evil, just a sad lesbian whose gf disappeared on her

8. Love You Seven Times: Intriguing concept, not a strong enough FL to carry it through. The reincarnation stuff really worked for me at first, especially in their first mortal tribulation (as people, not CGI animals), but I got tired of it pretty quickly. I admit, the gifs of Ding Yu Xi as a sexy cat demon *did* pull me back in, but not enough for me to actually finish the thing, alas

7. Destined/Chang Feng Du: Started out really strong, and then stalled out on me. I think I only got up to about episode 22 or so, after their epic desert crossing and new start in a new state--they lost all narrative momentum for me there. I stopped watching and then just...didn't start again. I do, however, remain a big Bai Jing Ting fan, and will be keeping on eye out for whatever he does next

6. Hidden Love: (Contemporary) Age gap romances are hit or miss for me, but Zhao Lu Si absolutely stole/carried the show for me in this one. Although more fun imo when the main couple are in the the will-they-won't-they phase than in the family melodrama after they get together, still the only contemporary CDrama to get me to give it a go this year--and I'm glad I did

5. My Journey to You: Featuring my favorite murder girlies Esther Yu as Yun Wei Shan and Lu Yu Xiao as Shanguan Qian! Gorgeous costumes and sets, sweeping cinematography, and plot that kept me on the edge of my seat. Full disclosure, I have not actually watched the last two episodes because I got busy and then saw weird chatter about them, so I have no comment on the allegedly weird ending

4. Till the End of the Moon: Look, I know the ending wasn't ideal, but for the majority of its run, this drama owned my entire soul. It also introduced me to Bai Lu as Li Su Su, who inspired my first actual tumblr post (that wasn't a reblog) because I was so obsessed with her. And everyone knows that Tantai Jin is the CDrama ML of the year. 10/10, no regrets at letting it take over my life (and the OST my Spotify) from April to May of this year

3. The Story of Kunning Palace: More Bai Lu is always a good thing, and she's extra fun here as the transmigrated former evil empress and totally-over-your-nonsense Xiang Xue Ning here. The reverse haremness of it all totally shows why Bai Lu is the chemistry queen, especially with the princess (Liu Xie Ning) and cranky, morally grey, would-fail-gym-class strategist Xie Wie (Zhang Ling He). So glad this drama made it out of the CDrama vault and didn't languish indefinitely in censorship hell

2. A Journey to Love: Finished this one two days ago as of this writing and am still not normal about it. Ren Ruyi (Liu Shi Shi) and Ning Yuan Zhou (Liu Yu Ning) lead an exceptionally strong ensemble cast in this wuxia that explores the complicated relationships between love, duty, loyalty, loneliness, and companionship. Ruyi and Yuan Zhou are far and away one of my fave OTPs of the year, but just as compelling are the relationships between friends/brothers/fellow assassins Yu Shisan, Yuan Lu (ugh my heart), Qian Zhou, and Sun Lang. This drama definitely has one of the strongest ensemble casts of the year. And the character growth of Yang Ying from little princess abandoned in the cold palace to who she becomes by the end will stick with me for a long time. Plus another 10/10 OST!

1. Lost You Forever S1: I'm not normally a reverse harem girl, but the longing, loss, and hard resolve portrayed to perfection by Yang Zi as Xiao Yao really did it for me here. This whole drama struck an emotional chord for me, and where TTEOTM consumed my soul, LYF took over my heart. Xiao Yao's relationships with her power hungry, overprotective cousin Cang Xuan; hot snake demon Xiang Liu/playboy archery shufu Feng Feng Bei; and perfectly devoted Tushan Jing are all equally compelling to me, and while I may know who she ends up with in the end, who I *think* she should be with changes based on who's on screen at any given time. And A'Nian, my favorite bratty princess who really just needs some strong parenting, holds a special place in my heart. I know we may never get S2, and even if we do, censorship means it probably won't be what the drama makers are capable of, but I'm so glad for this little piece of absolute perfection. And, again, a top notch OST!

Fave Drama: Lost You Forever, by just a hair over A Journey to Love. See above.

Least Fave Drama: Royal Rumours--truly why did I finish this, what was past me thinking

Biggest Disappointment: 2023 is also the year I read Dreamer in the Spring Boudoir, my very first CNovel! But then I didn't even bother checking out its adaptation, Romance of a Twin Flower, because it got rid of everything that made the novel such an addicting read, including a brilliant, strategic, ice cold FL and an ML who actually kind of sucked at the beginning, only to grow on you very, very slowly over time. I'm grateful that the chatter around the drama is what brought the novel to my attention, but other than that, hard pass.

Favorite Male Character: Lots of good ones this year, but I'm gonna go with Cang Xuan (Zhang Wan Yi) from Lost You Forever. The conflict he faces between getting enough power to protect the people he loves the most and that power making him incompatible with those loved ones is so compelling, and his yearning for Xiao Yao even when she's right in front of him is wrenching. Full disclosure, I also just really love the sound of his voice

Favorite Female Character: This could easily have gone to Li Susu (TTEOTM), Xiao Yao (LYF), or Ren Ruyi (AJTL), but I'm gonna go with Bai Lu's Xiang Xue Ning in The Story of Kunning Palace. Something I really loved about this character was just how jaded Xue Ning really was, even in her second go round at life. Yeah, she wants to make amends for the harm done in her previous rise to power, but that has hardly turned her into a good--or even pleasant--person. Instead, she's incredibly skeptical and still plays most things ice cold, especially with her family. As a bonus, we got plenty of Bai Lu's fantastic side eye as she basically had to do high school all over again when she gets called into the palace despite her very best efforts not to be.

Favorite Ship: Ren Ruyi and Yuan Zhao from A Journey to Love have got to be it. They balance each other out so well, and over the course of the drama, learn to communicate effectively with each other whenever they have a problem. They also recognize that not all problems can be solved by ~love~, which makes their relationship even more compelling when they decide to prioritize each other in a way that respects what the other wants from life.

Favorite Secondary Ship: Little princess Yang Ying and Yuan Lu absolutely broke stole my heart in A Journey to Love. Doomed love even more than the main OTP, these two's youthful romance was such much fun to watch, especially as they egged their respective mentors on in their own romance. Yang Ying's recognition that her first love did not have to be her only love is also something I always love to see, even as it broke my heart that (spoiler) she and Yuan Lu never really had a chance at an HEA. Their relationship really exemplified a key theme of this drama: that you should love the people you love while they're still with you because tomorrow is never promised.

Non-2023 Dramas that I Watched: Two non-2023 dramas I watched that deserve a special shout out are Love and Redemption and The Sword and the Brocade. Love and Redemption prepared me to really appreciate the big swings that Till the End of the Moon took, and The Sword and the Brocade went a little way to filling the Story of Ming Lan shaped hole in my heart. The Sword and the Brocade also had absolutely searing critique of the concubine system, even as it featured one of the most genuinely good-hearted FLs I've seen. Would recommend both!

Most Looking Forward To: Yes, I'm a sucker and the censors (not to mention the characters) will probably break my heart, but I'm still crossing my fingers that Lost You Forever S2 will live up to the promise of part one. See above: still a CDrama beginner, have not yet had all the optimism knocked out of me. Sue me.

[rindomness]

hello hi tell us about mementos and the security level

OH HELLO. Welcome to my personal hill to die on. This post is long. It's one of my out-loud rants in text form. Sorry in advance. There's a cut down there somewhere.

Thesis statement of whatever's about to come next is that Mementos fucks actually as a concept its execution was just horrible and also Yaldabaoth is a terrible final boss. OKAY LET'S GET INTO IT

First things first I really do think Mementos should have gotten a security level. The game plays "Mementos is the public's Palace" very straight, all the way to the end, insisting that Yaldabaoth is created by the public's desire for a status quo yadda yadda yadda. So like. Here's the screenshots actually

I didn't get the whole conversation mostly because I think I was streaming at the time and complaining out loud but like. He just straight-up says this? And then they do nothing with it???

Imagine this with me. Enter the imagisphere or whatever.

It's October. You've just defeated Okumura, and you just watched the mysterious black-masked figure you've been told cryptically about for a while now kill his Shadow. You watch Okumura have a mental shutdown live. It's horrific! It's worrying! What happened? What's going to happen to you? The Phan-Site meter starts dropping rapidly. You go to Mementos to prepare for the next Palace.

There's a security level.

NOT ONLY did this act make the public lose faith in you, but now you're enemy #1, and it's reflected in the collective unconscious. This Chekov's gun that they set up back in May goes off. You have to be much more careful in Mementos because if you aren't, you could get kicked out. The stakes are higher. Mementos, the public view of you, has changed. It's not just doors opening for you anymore.

THAT WOULD BE SO COOL. RIGHT? RIGHT??? BUT NO! No we don't get a security level until the depths, which contradicts itself, actually, because once you get to the depths, the whole POINT is that the public ISN'T reacting to you or your actions! Why the hell would they care that you're In There!

The obvious answer is that it's because the security level belongs to the Holy Grail/Yaldabaoth/the fuckass cup/whatever you personally call him. And okay, whatever, but the game goes out of its way to establish that the Grail isn't really a separate entity from "public desire," he IS "public desire," the status quo incarnate, so once again, I ask, why is this the only time you have a security level! (I know it's because this is the home-stretch to the final boss and mechanically it has to act like a proper Palace. I still think it's stupid.)

And now that I'm talking about the Grail. Hi. Hello. If you've talked to me on Discord you already know this but I fucking hate the Grail. I think it's stupid. I think it's thematically inconsistent. I think its only purpose is to be the "Let's fight God!" final boss. I truly believe that if I hadn't gotten into Persona 5 through Royal, I would not still be into Persona 5, because I would have gotten so frustrated with Yaldabaoth that I would have dropped the game. I regularly complain for half an hour straight about this thing in voice calls. One person once told me the only thing they knew about Persona 5 was that this cup sucked because I wouldn't shut up about it.

I've somehow managed to not do this on Tumblr but I can't really talk about Mementos without talking about it so I guess we're talking about the cup

Narratively: Yaldabaoth just sort of comes out of nowhere??? The whole game is building up to Shido. The whole game. And you do it! You defeat him! And then... there's this other thing??? Apparently??? I was genuinely really confused when I got to this part of the game the first time because I was going ok we beat the final boss complete with eight hundred phases! Hooray! And now there's this other fucker. Going back through the game there's some foreshadowing for him? But it's kind of all concentrated in the start of the game, around Madarame's Palace, when you're just getting used to Mementos, and then it all sorta just disappears.

YOU KNOW WHAT IS FORESHADOWED, THOUGH? MORGANA.

Imagine with me x2 because this is where I thought the game was taking us when it went "btw we need to tackle the depths now"

Morgana has no memories. Morgana knows there's something in the depths that explains who he is. Morgana assumes it's because he's human, and will become human again if he finds out what it is. The WHOLE POINT of exploring Mementos was for Morgana's memories! And then he starts getting these really unsettling dreams, right, where he's a Shadow, or has a Shadow, or whatever. And then you get to the depths.

What I thought was about to happen was that we were going to find out that Morgana was more or less what the Grail claims to be(a being created by the wishes of the masses) and that Mementos was going to be Morgana's Palace. "Oh but Morgana has a Persona-" Morgana's already a weird case I could easily see him having a Shadow or being a Shadow himself while also having a Persona. I'm ignoring Maruki because we're talking about vanilla and Maruki didn't exist yet.

I thought our final boss was going to be Mona's Shadow and that by defeating him(the part of Morgana(as a Shadow/Metaverse being/etc) representative of what they were trying to make Yaldabaoth: wanting to let the status quo handle everything, more or less, the desire to let the system do what it's designed to even if that thing is "crush everything in its path") we would reaffirm that change is possible as long as we all work together. Morgana getting to be this very physical symbol of rebellion and force of will and getting to go NO I want to try even if it hurts me.

What actually happened was... a lot more underwhelming.

What we got was, in a game where one of the primary themes is "rebellion against systemic injustice, you can't just get rid of the One Guy and fix Everything," a final boss who was... one guy who if you got rid of him you'd fix everything?

And I get it Atlus doesn't want to actually shake the boat that much but at the same time Yaldabaoth comes out of nowhere and says absolutely nothing of substance in a game that, over and over again, gets SO CLOSE to saying something really powerful and then sinking back into what's comfortable. It's the aesthetic of rebellion without the teeth of it.

Anyway now that I've complained for an essay's worth here's some positive stuff

I really do like Mementos. It gets a lot of shit for being repetitive and boring and like I sort of get that but on the other hand it is a JRPG. I'm not sure what you expected from the area that is, mechanically, "Here's where you go to grind." I don't see a problem with having this area. I think the special floor events manage to spice it up enough that it's not all that boring. I like Jose being there in Royal, I think he adds a lot, actually. The implications of everything Jose says are fascinating to me. The fact it's impacted by the weather! Like, as a world component, Mementos is so so cool actually guys. I know it's a Persona game so "world impacted by cognition" is sort of the bare minimum but it's really cool!!! The aesthetics fuck! The only layer I really don't like is.. fuck, I think it's Kaitul? Whichever one gets unlocked after Kaneshiro's Palace, I haven't gotten there in my current playthrough yet. It's just... too dark to see, all the time, imo. Mementos feels(except for... 90% sure it's Chemdah) very oppressive and spooky and I honestly think that's great. It's a depressing place to be! For a game about how corruption and systemic violence hurts everybody, it's really good!

In conclusion... don't ask me about Mementos unless you want an essay LMAO in seriousness I understand why Mementos gets shit but I think it should get less of it. And also that I could have fixed it(the cup. The cup is the big bad part of Mementos. Not the grinding you're going to get that with a JRPG no matter what you do you signed up for it when you launched the game.)

[chicaotaku-fanfics]

There’s Three of You?! Pt. 4

Lilly and Jay talk after the bounty news is shared. Their days don’t go exactly as planned from there.

Warnings: foul language, might be some medical inconsistencies.

CHAPTER 4

Next day arrives and I send a quick text to Dr. Salazar, asking him if I could come in an hour late since I had to deal with some family stuff, he said that I could arrive two hours late, to get everything sorted out and not to worry, I thanked him and off we go -both Jay and I in our cars- to the station.

Once there we greet Sergeant Platt and my brother rings us up. Everyone was talking, and I do mean EVERYONE. Jay made it to the breakroom, me right behind him, when Antonio, Ruzek and Alvin walked in too. He handed me a cup of coffe and then he prepared himself one.

“I'm just saying, Jay, you got a target on your head and you don't seem too phased.” said Ruzek.

“Overseas, my unit and I, we always had a bounty on our heads.” said Jay. I was just holding back, not saying anything, because I knew I would just scream at my brother and I didn’t want to argue with him so early in the morning.

“Most gangs only pay 10 g for a cop. If you're really worth 100, I should take you out myself. Pay off my mortgage.” said Antonio, I hold my breath at that, they had all gone out of the break room. I stayed, trying to wrap my head around the situation.

“Try it.” said Jay teasingly, I just closed my eyes, wanting to disappear.

“Coke dealer one time put a million dollar tag on me and voight.” said Alvin, I was listening from the breakroom.

“What?” asked my brother.

“How'd you handle that?” asked Ruzek.

“Well, you dust yourself. Never go home the same way twice. Run red lights. If a car follows you through one, you chamber around and you handle business.” said the senior detective, I held my breath, I was so quiet it was Voight who got everyone’s attention on me again once he entered the breakroom.

“You ok kid?” he asked me, startling me a little, making me jump.

“Yeah… just, stuck in my head a bit.” I said, Voight gave Jay a look and sent him into the breakroom.

My brother entered and closed the door behind him. He tried to approach me, but I flinched away.

“Lilly…” he started, I cut him off.

“You’re awfully calm for a man with a 100,000 dollar bounty on his head.” I said neutrally.

“Don’t see the need to worry about it.” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. I let out a sigh.

“So, how did this all happen? And don’t you dare say «it was just another day at the office», cause I swear to God Jay, I’ll strangle you.” I said, demanding an explanation.

He went out to tell me what happened. I could feel the shock and disbelief seeping into my expression, and when he finished his explanation, I was dumbfounded.

“So let me get this straight. You had a bust, shot a guy who fired shots at you, killed him, and now the older brother of the guy you killed puts a 100,000 dollars bounty on your head?” I asked him, crossing my arms infront of my chest and turning to look at him.

“Basically, yeah.” he said, shrugging his shoulders. I let out a hollow laugh.

“Out of all the stupid things you could’ve done…” I start, he cutted me off.

“Don’t come to me with that.” he said. My temper flair up for the first time.

“Then what the hell Jay?!” I exclaimed, anger and worry the warring emotions inside me.

“He pointed a gun my way, it was either him or me. You know that!” he exclaimed, raising his voice for the first time.

“I know!” I raised my voice too.

“Then why are you acting like this?” he asked, getting in my space.

“Because I care, Jay!” I yelled at him, he froze. “You’re my brother first and foremost. Before being a cop, before being an army vet, you are my brother. I love you, and I look up to you.” I added, he just turned around, not looking at me, and that just hurt me more.

“I appreciate it Lilly, I really do. But we both know the risks of my job. I know the risks, and I’m okay with taking them.” he said, I let out a sigh.

“You’re being stubborn Jay. And inconsiderate. You’re acting like an ingrate bastard.” I said, he turned to look at me with anger in his eyes.

“Oh, I’m an ingrate bastard? Well you’re acting like a spolied brat!” he exclaimed.

“I’m not a spoiled brat! Like I said I worry about you! What part of worrying about you makes me spoiled?!” I yelled.

“The part where you don’t get to stay out of my business!” he yelled.

“Stay out of your business? Your life on the line and you want me to sit back and do nothing?!” I yelled again.

“YES! I’ll handle it. God, why can’t you just chill?” he yelled.

“CAUSE I DON’T WANT TO PUT DOWN ANOTHER MEMBER OF THIS FAMILY!” I yelled, talking about my mom.

Jay and I were panting, but Jay’s next words really hit me hard.

“You know how it is out there, on the streets… as well as you know that I’d gladly give my life to keep this city safe.” he almost whispered, I could feel tears forming, but I wasn’t gonna let them fall just yet.

He’ll die. That mentality gets people killed.

I walked over to the door, bumping into my brother’s shoulder aggressively with mine to shove him out of the way, he looked defeated.

“Lilly…” he said, trying to gain my attention, I just opened the door and walked out, I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. “Lilly.” he tried again.

“You know what Detective Halstead, when you get your common sense back and stop trying to play hero, I’ll be at the hospital.” I said, my tone cold and angry, sounding venomous when I called Jay by his rank. I didn’t yell, but the silence that that sentence created was deafening.

“Lilly.” Jay tried to call for me again, I just kept walking. “Lilly!” I was already down the stairs of the bullpen.

I made it out to my car and started driving to Lakeshore for my shift, but halfway there I had to stop and park on the side, my vision blurred by the tears I was holding back. Once safely out of the main flow of traffic, a loud sob left my mouth, tears cascading down my cheeks. All my anger, frustration, but most importantly, my fear and worry flowing out in the tears and sobs I was letting out.

JAY’S P.O.V

The second the door to the bullpen closed, all eyes were on me.

“What in the world did you say to her to deserve such harsh words?” asked Ruzek.

I look down, knowing that my answer crushed Lilly.

“I put my job over her.” I say truthfully.

Many things happened at the same time.

Erin gasped.

“Oh man.” Ruzek and Atwater say at once.

Alvin and Antonio are as quiet as church mouses.

And Voight slaps me in the back of the head.

“Out of everything you could’ve said to her…” he started, I let out a hollow chuckle, making everyone look at me again.

“She said almost the same thing… and I blow it by telling her that I’d gladly give my life to keep the city safe.” I say.

“That I can understand. But have you ever thought of how she feels?” asked Antonio, I turn to look at him. “Think about it, she’s a civilian, not a cop, and even if she sees horrible things at work, because she’s a doctor, she doesn’t understand that sentiment.” he made a pause, and Alvin took up after him.

“She’s also your younger sister. Think about how worried she gets everyday when you come in to work.” he said, I look down, ashamed of what I’ve done.

“I know… I guess I just… took it for granted” I said honestly.

A hand landed on my shoulder, I look up and see Voight staring into my soul.

“You screwed up, but you can still fix this.” he said. “Let her cool down and call her later on, apologise to her.” he said after a pause.

I nodded and we got back to work.

LILLY’S P.O.V

Throughout the day, I tried to keep my emotions out of my face, managing to hide how hurt I was because of Jay’s words, still the sting remains. Dr. Salazar had to leave because of a family emergency and would be gone for the rest of the shift.

“Gorgon, with me for a consult.” said Dr. Richards, the other attending called Anna.

“Be right there Dr. Richards” she said to the man, then she turned away from him. “Crap, I’m not wearing my lab coat, he’ll kill me if I’m late.” she whispered to me.

I took off my hospital ID badge from my lab coat and handed said coat to her.

“Use mine, I’ll head to the lockers for yours and when you’re done, we switch back.” I said, pushing the coat into her hand, and Anna towards Dr. Richards in the process.

“I owe you my life Halstead.” she said, putting on the coat and entering the treatment room with the attending.

As soon as I saw them disappear behind the curtain, I turned to go to the doctors lounge when suddenly…

BANG. BANG.

Dr. Richards fell to the ground, ripping the curtain in the process, a pool of blood forming underneeth him. Anna was being grabbed by the guy who had said wasn’t feeling well to one of the nurses.

“Alright everybody listen up! We don’t want any trouble, we just came here for Dr. Lillian Halstead, now that we have her, we’ll get out of your hair.” said the other guy.

Anna was holding her upper thigh, trying to stop the bleeding. Dr. Richards wasn’t moving and the red pool under him was just getting bigger by the minute. I tried to go to him, but the guy holding Anna pointed his gun at me.

“Don’t move!” he exclaimed.

“You have the wrong doctor.” I said, they both turned to look at each other, chuckling darkly.

“The coat says «Lillian Halstead»… I think we have the right girl sweetcheeks.” the guy next to him, the alleged brother said.

“That coat’s mine. She’s Dr. Anna Gorgon, I gave her my coat before entering the treatment room. I have my ID badge to prove it.” I said, slowly reaching to grab said item to show it to them.

I reached my badge and raised it so the idiots could see it. “I’m Dr. Lillian Halstead.” I said, sealing my fate with that sentence.

The guy holding Anna dropped her to the floor, and she let out a pained grunt, I went to go to her, but the other guy grabbed me.

“Don’t think so doc. You’re coming with us.” said the one now holding me while pointing the barrel of his gun to my head.

“Please. At least let Anna and Dr. Richards get medical attention. Dr. Richards is loosing a lot of blood and need to go into an OR, and Anna-” the guy holding the gun pressed it harder to my head.

“Don’t care. We’re leaving.” said the other guy.

“You don’t want to be charged with murder, do you?” they both froze on their spots. “If you leave and anyone dies, you’re both going to jail for both kidnapping and first degree murder.” I say confidently. I was hopping anyone at the nurses station had already notified a Code Silver.

They both looked terrified.

So stupid, they shot two people, have me held at gunpoint, and never thought of that?!

“You!” yelled the guy behind me, calling the attention of Jannet, one of the nurses. “Help the girl, and get someone to help the other doctor.” she just rushed to Anna while nodding her head to another nurse to go for Dr. Richards.

He’s not gonna make it. According to the size of the blood pool, and how pale he is, he’s gone.

The nurse seemed to notice the same thing, because she just placed her two fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse, but pulled them back with a sad look on her face. I turned to the idiot holding me.

“Congratulations. You just killed a man.” I said dryly and as coldly as I could.

Both idiots shouted their names, Tony and Ray, blaming the other for this. Sensing how distressed they were both getting, yelling at each other, I could only pray for the police to come soon… for Jay to come soon.

He might not even come and save me… we argued pretty bad this morning. I don’t even know if he’ll come for me.

JAY’S P.O.V (AFTER LILLY LEFT)

The rest of the day had gone fairly well, except for when my landlord texted me saying someone had broken into my apartment.

“Oh man.” I said, Erin, Adam and Alvin turned to look at me.

“Everything ok?” asked Al.

“I-I gotta go. Someone broke into my apartment.” I said, grabbing my jacket while standing up.

“Want me to come with you?” asked Erin.

“I’m good.” I said. Going down the back to get to my car and drive to my apartment building.

Once there I took the stairs two at a time to get to my floor, the door had been kicked down, probably what alerted my landlord and he was standing on my living room.

“Figured since you're a cop, i don't got to call 911. They skipped the good stuff.” said the man, I was just looking at the mess I’d have to clean up later.

“Any other apartments broken into?” I asked him, trying to see if the burglar could still be in the building.

“Just yours.” he said, I nodded and told him I could handle it from here, he nodded, said he was sorry this happened to me, and took his leave.

I started going trough the apartment, checking what the person who broke in could’ve been looking for, the only missing thing I found was a picture of Lilly and I some months back at the park, we had our days off match that time and decided to have a big bro-little sis outing. During our time there, Lilly had taken her polaroid camera and asked a woman passing by if she could take a picture of us, once it was revealed, I asked Lilly if I could keep it. That’s the picture that’s missing.

Weird… why would a robber steal a picture? Could they want something with Lilly? Oh man, Lilly!

Heading back to the station was done fairly quick, I arrived and had just entered the back entrance and was literally taking off my jacket, when the radio picked up a signal that made me tense.

“All units, we have a 10-32 in progress. Shots fired at Lakeshore Hospital, we just got the Code Silver notification. I repeat, all units 10-32 in progress at Lakeshore Hospital.”

I dived for my radio, activating it.

“Dispatch this is 5021 George, do we have more information on the Code Silver?” I asked, praying to a God I hardly believed in that my sister was alright.

“Apparently two guys went in claiming to be brothers, as soon as the doctor and intern walked into the treatment room they shot them. The doctor bled out, the girl is being treated…” said the man on the other side of the radio.

“Do you have any idea of why they did this?” I asked, we were all holding our breath.

“Yeah, the nurse who’s giving me the details says they came looking for one doctor in particular.”

“Who?”

The line went silent for a minute. It was the longest minute of my life.

Please. I’m begging you, God don’t let it be her. Please.

“Nurse says the perpetrators were after Dr. Lillian Halstead… they have her held at gunpoint as we speak.” said the officer.

My world froze.

“Next day arrives and I send a quick text to Dr. Salazar, asking him if I could come in an hour late since I had to deal with some family stuff, he said that I could arrive two hours late, to get everything sorted out and not to worry, I thanked him and off we go -both Jay and I in our cars- to the station.

Once there we greet Sergeant Platt and my brother rings us up. Everyone was talking, and I do mean EVERYONE. Jay made it to the breakroom, me right behind him, when Antonio, Ruzek and Alvin walked in too. He handed me a cup of coffe and then he prepared himself one.

“I'm just saying, Jay, you got a target on your head and you don't seem too phased.” said Ruzek.

“Overseas, my unit and I, we always had a bounty on our heads.” said Jay. I was just holding back, not saying anything, because I knew I would just scream at my brother and I didn’t want to argue with him so early in the morning.

“Most gangs only pay 10 g for a cop. If you're really worth 100, I should take you out myself. Pay off my mortgage.” said Antonio, I hold my breath at that, they had all gone out of the break room. I stayed, trying to wrap my head around the situation.

“Try it.” said Jay teasingly, I just closed my eyes, wanting to disappear.

“Coke dealer one time put a million dollar tag on me and voight.” said Alvin, I was listening from the breakroom.

“What?” asked my brother.

“How'd you handle that?” asked Ruzek.

“Well, you dust yourself. Never go home the same way twice. Run red lights. If a car follows you through one, you chamber around and you handle business.” said the senior detective, I held my breath, I was so quiet it was Voight who got everyone’s attention on me again once he entered the breakroom.

“You ok kid?” he asked me, startling me a little, making me jump.

“Yeah… just, stuck in my head a bit.” I said, Voight gave Jay a look and sent him into the breakroom.

My brother entered and closed the door behind him. He tried to approach me, but I flinched away.

“Lilly…” he started, I cut him off.

“You’re awfully calm for a man with a 100,000 dollar bounty on his head.” I said neutrally.

“Don’t see the need to worry about it.” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. I let out a sigh.

“So, how did this all happen? And don’t you dare say «it was just another day at the office», cause I swear to God Jay, I’ll strangle you.” I said, demanding an explanation.

He went out to tell me what happened. I could feel the shock and disbelief seeping into my expression, and when he finished his explanation, I was dumbfounded.

“So let me get this straight. You had a bust, shot a guy who fired shots at you, killed him, and now the older brother of the guy you killed puts a 100,000 dollars bounty on your head?” I asked him, crossing my arms infront of my chest and turning to look at him.

“Basically, yeah.” he said, shrugging his shoulders. I let out a hollow laugh.

“Out of all the stupid things you could’ve done…” I start, he cutted me off.

“Don’t come to me with that.” he said. My temper flair up for the first time.

“Then what the hell Jay?!” I exclaimed, anger and worry the warring emotions inside me.

“He pointed a gun my way, it was either him or me. You know that!” he exclaimed, raising his voice for the first time.

“I know!” I raised my voice too.

“Then why are you acting like this?” he asked, getting in my space.

“Because I care, Jay!” I yelled at him, he froze. “You’re my brother first and foremost. Before being a cop, before being an army vet, you are my older brother. I love you, and I look up to you.” I added, he just turned around, not looking at me, and that just hurt me more.

“I appreciate it Lilly, I really do. But we both know the risks of my job. I know the risks, and I’m okay with taking them.” he said, I let out a sigh.

“You’re being stubborn Jay. And inconsiderate. You’re acting like an ingrate bastard.” I said, he turned to look at me with anger in his eyes.

“Oh, I’m an ingrate bastard? Well you’re acting like a spolied brat!” he exclaimed.

“I’m not a spoiled brat! Like I said I worry about you! What part of worrying about you makes me spoiled?!” I yelled.

“The part where you don’t get to stay out of my business!” he yelled.

“Stay out of your business? Your life’s on the line and you want me to sit back and do nothing?!” I yelled again.

“YES! I’ll handle it. God, why can’t you just chill?” he yelled.

“CAUSE I DON’T WANT TO PUT DOWN ANOTHER MEMBER OF THIS FAMILY!” I yelled, talking about my mom.

Jay and I were panting, but Jay’s next words really hit me hard.

“You know how it is out there, on the streets… as well as you know that I’d gladly give my life to keep this city safe.” he almost whispered, I could feel tears forming, but I wasn’t gonna let them fall just yet.

He’ll die. That mentality gets people killed.

I walked over to the door, bumping into my brother’s shoulder aggressively with mine to shove him out of the way, he looked defeated.

“Lilly…” he said, trying to gain my attention, I just opened the door and walked out, I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. “Lilly.” he tried again.

“You know what Detective Halstead, when you get your common sense back and stop trying to play hero, I’ll be at the hospital.” I said, my tone cold and angry, sounding venomous when I called Jay by his rank. I didn’t yell, but the silence that that sentence created was deafening.

“Lilly.” Jay tried to call for me again, I just kept walking. “Lilly!” I was already down the stairs of the bullpen.

I made it out to my car and started driving to Lakeshore for my shift, but halfway there I had to stop and park on the side, my vision blurred by the tears I was holding back. Once safely out of the main flow of traffic, a loud sob left my mouth, tears cascading down my cheeks. All my anger, frustration, but most importantly, my fear and worry flowing out in the tears and sobs I was letting out.

JAY’S P.O.V

The second the door to the bullpen closed, all eyes were on me.

“What in the world did you say to her to deserve such harsh words?” asked Ruzek.

I look down, knowing that my answer crushed Lilly.

“I put my job over her.” I say truthfully.

Many things happened at the same time.

Erin gasped.

“Oh man.” Ruzek and Atwater say at once.

Alvin and Antonio are as quiet as church mouses.

And Voight slaps me in the back of the head.

“Out of everything you could’ve said to her…” he started, I let out a hollow chuckle, making everyone look at me again.

“She said almost the same thing… and I blow it by telling her that I’d gladly give my life to keep the city safe.” I say.

“That I can understand. But have you ever thought of how she feels?” asked Antonio, I turn to look at him. “Think about it, she’s a civilian, not a cop, and even if she sees horrible things at work, because she’s a doctor, she doesn’t understand that sentiment.” he made a pause, and Alvin took up after him.

“She’s also your younger sister. Think about how worried she gets everyday when you come in to work.” he said, I look down, ashamed of what I’ve done.

“I know… I guess I just… took it for granted” I said honestly.

A hand landed on my shoulder, I look up and see Voight staring into my soul.

“You screwed up, but you can still fix this.” he said. “Let her cool down and call her later on, apologise to her.” he said after a pause.

I nodded and we got back to work.

LILLY’S P.O.V

Throughout the day, I tried to keep my emotions out of my face, managing to hide how hurt I was because of Jay’s words, still the sting remains. Dr. Salazar had to leave because of a family emergency and would be gone for the rest of the shift.

“Gorgon, with me for a consult.” said Dr. Richards, the other attending called Anna.

“Be right there Dr. Richards” she said to the man, then she turned away from him. “Crap, I’m not wearing my lab coat, he’ll kill me if I’m late.” she whispered to me.

I took off my hospital ID badge from my lab coat and handed said coat to her.

“Use mine, I’ll head to the lockers for yours and when you’re done, we switch back.” I said, pushing the coat into her hand, and Anna towards Dr. Richards in the process.

“I owe you my life Halstead.” she said, putting on the coat and entering the treatment room with the attending.

As soon as I saw them disappear behind the curtain, I turned to go to the doctors lounge when suddenly…

BANG. BANG.

Dr. Richards fell to the ground, ripping the curtain in the process, a pool of blood forming underneeth him. Anna was being grabbed by the guy who had said wasn’t feeling well to one of the nurses.

“Alright everybody listen up! We don’t want any trouble, we just came here for Dr. Lillian Halstead, now that we have her, we’ll get out of your hair.” said the other guy.

Anna was holding her upper thigh, trying to stop the bleeding. Dr. Richards wasn’t moving and the red pool under him was just getting bigger by the minute. I tried to go to him, but the guy holding Anna pointed his gun at me.

“Don’t move!” he exclaimed.

“You have the wrong doctor.” I said, they both turned to look at each other, chuckling darkly.

“The coat says «Lillian Halstead»… I think we have the right girl sweetcheeks.” the guy next to him, the alleged brother said.

“That coat’s mine. She’s Dr. Anna Gorgon, I gave her my coat before entering the treatment room. I have my ID badge to prove it.” I said, slowly reaching to grab said item to show it to them.

I reached my badge and raised it so the idiots could see it. “I’m Dr. Lillian Halstead.” I said, sealing my fate with that sentence.

The guy holding Anna dropped her to the floor, and she let out a pained grunt, I went to go to her, but the other guy grabbed me.

“Don’t think so doc. You’re coming with us.” said the one now holding me while pointing the barrel of his gun to my head.

“Please. At least let Anna and Dr. Richards get medical attention. Dr. Richards is loosing a lot of blood and needs to go into an OR, and Anna-” the guy holding the gun pressed it harder to my head.

“Don’t care. We’re leaving.” said the other guy.

“You don’t want to be charged with murder, do you?” they both froze on their spots. “If you leave and anyone dies, you’re both going to jail for both kidnapping and first degree murder.” I say confidently. I was hopping anyone at the nurses station had already notified a Code Silver.

They both looked terrified.

So stupid, they shot two people, have me held at gunpoint, and never thought of that?!

“You!” yelled the guy behind me, calling the attention of Jannet, one of the nurses. “Help the girl, and get someone to help the other doctor.” she just rushed to Anna while nodding her head to another nurse to go for Dr. Richards.

He’s not gonna make it. According to the size of the blood pool, and how pale he is, he’s gone.

The nurse seemed to notice the same thing, because she just placed her two fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse, but pulled them back with a sad look on her face. I turned to the idiot holding me.

“Congratulations. You just killed a man.” I said dryly and as coldly as I could.

Both idiots shouted their names, Tony and Ray, blaming the other for this. Sensing how distressed they were both getting, yelling at each other, I could only pray for the police to come soon… for Jay to come soon.

He might not even come and save me… we argued pretty bad this morning. I don’t even know if he’ll come for me.

JAY’S P.O.V (AFTER LILLY LEFT)

The rest of the day had gone fairly well, except for when my landlord texted me saying someone had broken into my apartment.

“Oh man.” I said, Erin, Adam and Alvin turned to look at me.

“Everything ok?” asked Al.

“I-I gotta go. Someone broke into my apartment.” I said, grabbing my jacket while standing up.

“Want me to come with you?” asked Erin.

“I’m good.” I said. Going down the back to get to my car and drive to my apartment building.

Once there I took the stairs two at a time to get to my floor, the door had been kicked down, probably what alerted my landlord and he was standing on my living room.

“Figured since you're a cop, i don't got to call 911. They skipped the good stuff.” said the man, I was just looking at the mess I’d have to clean up later.

“Any other apartments broken into?” I asked him, trying to see if the burglar could still be in the building.

“Just yours.” he said, I nodded and told him I could handle it from here, he nodded, said he was sorry this happened to me, and took his leave.

I started going trough the apartment, checking what the person who broke in could’ve been looking for, the only missing thing I found was a picture of Lilly and I some months back at the park, we had our days off match that time and decided to have a big bro-little sis outing. During our time there, Lilly had taken her polaroid camera and asked a woman passing by if she could take a picture of us, once it was revealed, I asked Lilly if I could keep it. That’s the picture that’s missing.

Weird… why would a robber steal a picture? Could they want something with Lilly? Oh man, Lilly!

Heading back to the station was done fairly quick, I arrived and had just entered the back entrance and was literally taking off my jacket, when the radio picked up a signal that made me tense.

“All units, we have a 10-32 in progress. Shots fired at Lakeshore Hospital, we just got the Code Silver notification. I repeat, all units 10-32 in progress at Lakeshore Hospital.”

I dived for my radio, activating it.

“Dispatch this is 5021 George, do we have more information on the Code Silver?” I asked, praying to a God I hardly believed in that my sister was alright.

“Apparently two guys went in claiming to be brothers, as soon as the doctor and intern walked into the treatment room they shot them. The doctor bled out, the girl is being treated…” said the man on the other side of the radio.

“Do you have any idea of why they did this?” I asked, we were all holding our breath.

“Yeah, the nurse who’s giving me the details says they came looking for one doctor in particular.”

“Who?”

The line went silent for a minute. It was the longest minute of my life.

Please. I’m begging you, God don’t let it be her. Please.

“Nurse says the perpetrators were after Dr. Lillian Halstead… they have her held at gunpoint as we speak.” said the officer.

My world froze.

“5021 George? You still there?” asked the man.

“I’m on my way there, have the officers at the ready, I’ll need a vantage point.” I said, everyone just looked at me.

“Copied 5021 George.” with that the line went silent.

I grabbed my jacket again and started to head out to the back when Voight stopped me.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“Didn’t you hear? My sister’s been held at gun point by two idiots who, I’m pretty sure, broke into my apartment. I’m going over there to save her.” I say.

“Absolutely not-” I cut him off.

“THAT’S MY SISTER BEEN HELD HOSTAGE!” I yelled, worried beyond belief. “We’re talking about Lilly here. The girl I’ve watch over since she was born, who I swore to protect as soon as I had a sense of reason. Yes, we fight and call each other names, but I was there during her first period, the first dance recital, school plays, helping with homework, scaring away the bullies and non-fitting sutors…” I pause, take a deep breath and look my boss in the eye. “She’s my baby sister. The light of my life. If anything happens to her… there’ll be no prison cell able to hold me back from killing the idiots who dared touch her.” I said, everyone looked shocked.

“I was gonna say you’re not going without backup. Suit up, we’re going.” everyone stood up and we went grab our stuff.

I’m coming Lilly, please hold on a little longer.

LILLY’S P.O.V

I was debating if I should try free myself and avoid getting hurt, but when I tried to wiggle out of Ray’s grasp, he just pressed the gun harder to my head.

“You’re not going anywhere sweety, you’re coming with us.” he said, Tony had moved and he called Ray’s attention.

“Man the cops are here!” he yelled, panicking again.

“WHO THE HELL CALLED THE COPS?!” Ray screamed, but eventually that happened to be in my ear.

“It’s protocol. As soon as someone identifies a person with a gun, a Code Silver is activated. You idiots did this to yourselves.” I say to Ray. “Look, wanna get out of this alve? Let me go and turn yourselves in. If you don’t, SWAT gets called in and you leave in body bags.” I say seriously.

“Man listen to her, this isn’t worth it.” Tony said.

“100,000 dollars is worth it!” Ray said, I froze.

“You’re after Detevtive Halstead’s bounty.” I said

“We are, and now that we have his wife, he’ll come to us.” Ray said, I wanted to laugh, but I just shook my head.

“You two are even more stupid than I thought.” I said. “I’m not his wife.”

“Says the hostage, we broke into his apartment, he had a picture of you two together.” said Ray.

Just then, I noticed two little flashes of light coming from on of the windows. I froze.

You came to save me.

“That’s because he’s my brother you dumbasses.” I said, right before the sound of a window breaking and a bullet impacting a body was heard.

Ray’s body fell and I just moved away from it, Tony was shocked and frozen in place, just then CPD officers entered and arrested him. I was slightly shaking and obviously shocked, but I was glad to be alive.

“LILLY!” my brother’s voice was heard all over the ER. I had never felt more relieved to see Jay in my life.

“JAY!” I exclaimed, running up to him and practically threw myself into his arm, he caught me flawlessly and squeezed me tightly. I clung to him and tears started flowing down my eyes. I felt something wet my hair, I realized Jay was crying.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I’m so sorry for all that I said, and the way I acted at the precinct Lilly.” he said, then he separated us enough to make eye contact. “You’re right, I’m your older brother, and I shouldn’t take you for granted. Will you ever forgive me?” He asked, tear trails on his face and his eyes red-rimed.

I lifted a hand to his face and wiped at one stray tear that had fallen from his eye, and then he did the same for me. “It is I who should apologise. You deal with this situations more than me, you have the experience to do so. I’m sorry for the hurtful things I said at the station.”

“You had all the right to act like that Lilly. You’re a civilian, not a cop nor an army vet. We have different points of view. You have nothing to apologise for.” he said.

“Can we agree that we’re both sorry for our behaviour earlier today?” I asked him, he hugged me again. “You came for me.” I whispered in his chest.

“Of course I did Lilypad, you’re my baby sister. I’ll always be there for you.” he said, and then kissed my forehead. I squeezed him tighter.

“We are not telling him about this, are we?” I asked, he chuckled.

“No idea what you’re talking about.” he said, I just giggled.

Finally, this nightmare’s over.

Just a couple weeks later, Jay had convinced me to start the paperwork for a licence to own and carry a gun, as well as promising me that he would teach me to use it… as well as he had showed me a flyer for Chicago Med, and another one for an apartment complex three blocks away from his.

“Please. For my peace of mind.” he said, while we were at his apartment watching a Blackhawks game.

I let out a fond sigh, took the flyers and then look at him.

“I’ll check it out, only if we go to the apartment building together.” I conditioned, he smiled and pulled me into a side hug.

“I’d be honored.” he said.

We shifted and ended up cuddling on the couch.

We’re good.

Another two weeks and I had a new lease, a brand new gun, and a new job at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center.

I’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.

FINALLY! This has been the longest I’ve taken to post, next chapters will be out shortly!

Again, thanks for giving my story a shot, I’m also crossposting on AO3, I’ll post the link later!

Chica Outaku out 😉!

[ms-scarletwings]

Media Musin’ Monday, #7:

Screw You, Nickalodeon: Making Fiends Deserved Better

I have no idea how anyone could seriously believe that the entertainment industrial complex™ even tries anymore to hold the illusion of a just or meritocratic realm. No holds barred, I have my issues with about every company still clinging like barnacles to the tragic, sinking ship that cable TV has become, but if you want me to point to a network that’s given me an entire skeleton of bones to pick by this point, and I’m underlining Nickelodeon in red at the top of my list.

It’s not because they host some bad shows, no. It’s not a sour grapes reaction to the untimely end of some of my favorite shows either, and though the entire rotten apple situation with creators like Dan Schneider and Butch Hartman certainly added to barrel’s spoilage, I would still feel every bit of my disdain for Nick’s tv group for the one cardinal sin they have committed again and again and again to ad nauseum- their ongoing phase of running a talent slaughterhouse.

It sounds hyperbolic, but I’d call it a fair observation: Spongebob is widely aknowledged as legitimately both the best and the worst thing to happen to this corner of kid’s media, hands down, but I don’t blame the little yellow guy one bit. He’s only another victim to the mess, and as much as I would love to go on a whole dossier spiel of the history of Nickalodeon from the 90s “golden age” to a full list of the dozens of shows and creators their execs have royally fucked over in the name of chasing the ratings dragon… for one, that’s been done a hundred times by other people at this point, and much better than I could. For two, that would take all freaking day. Just off the top of any cartoon savvy person’s head you’d vaguely recall the assassination of Legend of Korra, El Tigre, or Invader Zim, but that can is filled with so many “blink and you’ll miss it” smaller shows that were barely given two steps out of the starting gate, it pads down an entire TVTropes article on the subject. Dozens of them, shows that Nick all but basically set up for failure before quietly shipping them to the peaceful farm upstate- by which I mean shuffled off to inconsistent time blocks and lower priority channels so they could burn out their final approved episodes in hospice. Nicktoons alone garnered a hell of a reputation for exactly what I’m talking about, but that’s show biz, or… something.

Their worst and probably most audacious offense of all? Let me tell you about the fate of the charming world of a little girl who made fiends.

There’s no better place to talk about the end than the beginning.

Making Fiends, I mean, the original Making Fiends was a series of flash-animated shorts among a handful of other early 2000s web cartoons made by Amy Winfrey.

✨ Just, in case you didn’t recognize or feel something for that name, Amy Winfrey is one of the utter beasts of cartoons in general, not purely kids’ media. Songwriter, directing, animation, screenwriting, voice acting… you name a part of the process, and she’s probably dipped her toe in there at some point. Professionally, she broke into the industry contributing work to earliest season of South Park, and while she personally is most known for and associated with Making Fiends, the likely most prominent body of work she’s been a part of would be Bojack Horseman, wherein she’s credited as a director for many of its strongest episodes, including (but not limited to):

- “Free Churro”

- “The Telescope”

- "Sunk Cost and All That"

- “The View from Halfway Down”

- Amy Winfrey and her spouse (Peter Merryman) making a cameo appearance in the BJH episode “sunk cost and all that”

And even before all of that, she’s been at this animation stuff since the 90s and it shows in a loaded up portfolio of accolades and projects, both professional and personal.

The relevance of this information is to help put in some perspective to just how rotten of a deal she comparatively got with Nickelodeon, when one of those passion creations got a chance to join the network’s airing list.

But to sum up the idea of the web series proper, it independently released 24 short episodes in total, each centered around the antics of two girls engaged in both a completely one sided friendship and nemesis-ship. The show’s namesake refers to the single action the evil little Vendetta is most known for- creating a variety of servant monsters, many of which she uses to secure her rule over the port town of Clamburg, and all its inhabitants. Charlotte, on the other hand, is the quintessential “children’s show” character: near inhumanly kind, cheerful, and naive. So much so that she’s oblivious to her “best friend’s” near daily attempts to murder her, or the fact that she, you know, despises her.

In 2006, Nickelodeon took an interest in Winfrey’s toon and the prospect of adapting it into a TV series, reportedly because a daughter of a studio employee was a huge fan.

And fun fact btw, this was actually the first time that Nick did this approach of turning an indie web animation into one of their shows, but it certainly wasn’t the last if you remember this was also the origin of Breadwinners.

And as far as the audience was concerned, it was quite the successful transition! The TV version pretty much kept all of the major beats and vibes of the original, with polished animation, the same voice actors, and some stylistic upgrades to the art/environmental designs. For a brief time, it was the highest rated thing on its release channel too. Someone I don’t quite recall the name of once endearingly referred to the show as “baby’s first grimdark” and I adore how fitting of a summary that is. It sports a charmingly unique art style, memorable soundtrack, and I can swear to y’all, the humor aged like a fine wine.

“Why don’t you pretend to be dead?”

“:) ok!”

*slam*

(Also, sidenote, the entire series is still up on your tube, in HD, completely free to watch!)

So, if it’s such a neat little show, then why on earth does barely a soul seem to remember it existing? And even fewer scare who recall knowing about the show during its 2008 release?

Because Nickelodeon Studios, without hyperbole, set this show up for failure at every single turn before it even got a fighting chance.

People know of some shows that Nick treated like garbage, but this one they treated like absolute shit for reasons I can’t fathom.

Making Fiends, for one, never actually saw the light of day on the main network channel, as per the original plans. It was actually instead delegated over to Nick’s sister channel, Nicktoons, by a last minute decision.

Nicktoons, fyi, was not carried by most cable packages. I obviously lived on it as a kid, and it was functionally to Nick what I remember Boomerang being to Carton Network- the cable block where reruns of much older but loved shows were shoveled off to once they finished their days on the main channel.

Second, it was quietly premiered with barely a couple farts of advertising, too. I remember maybe seeing one preview as a kid, on Nicktoons.

And I guess, not keeping either of these in mind, Nick then abruptly pulled the plug on the whole thing, citing the tried and true “low ratings” explanation and leaving it at that.

Not counting years of post-cancelation reruns, the show actively ran from October 4, 2008, to November 1, 2008.

That is roughly a month between premiere and the end production date.

One season. Six entire episodes.

Seven whole additional completed scripts abandoned on the table.

Yeah.

I’m a touch salty about it still.

And with the shutting down of the Nicktoons network social media in 2018, any additional acknowledgment of the show from Nickelodoen themselves has kind of vanished to my knowledge. Like, it’s almost no wonder you already had to be part of the cult following to know about it, when Nick has been quiet about the calf they sent to auction since. Worst part is, they still hogged the rights to the show instead of idk, wild idea, giving it back over to Winfrey. I can only imagine people get away with entire reuploads of the series under the otherwise very IP protective Nick’s nose as another display of how low and bastardly those execs really view Making Fiends.

And that sucks! Wow! But I guess in a “be happy it happened, not sad it ended” way, I’m kind of glad for the fact that we can still enjoy and pass around the show that we did get to experience at all, rather than see it fade into true lost media territory.

Even today, about 16 whole years later, I know for a fact there are still plenty of other fans that remember and cherish the splash this tiny show made in that big, brutal pond. So, in that manner, you can’t truly call Making Fiends dead and gone.

A bittersweet story to think about, and only one of many down a long list, but ultimately one I’m happy to be able to tell at all.

Even if all the while still raising a giant middle finger to the network for the ending.

[teeth-cable]

You want to know how stupid the Helluva fandom is?

People still think Loona is a teenager. Like even if you missed Vivziepop's age confirmation they: sell sexy merch, nobody thinks Tex is a teen, Loona can drink alcohol in a show made by Americans, is at I.M.P. during the day and she has been adopted for at minimum 5 years.

Like did people legit forget about the sexy merch?

Though I will agree that they do write her weirdly because it seems that just by her behavior she's at max been stuck with Blitzo for 2 years.

Like she never calls him dad and is acting like she's in the phase "UGH YOUR NOT MY REAL DAD," and somehow she didn't make any friends for 5 years after she was put in a safe environment? Like Hell does apparently have an education system due to the cut Charlie comic so what's going on?

Also does that mean Loona never attempted to go outside by herself without Blitzo. I get he is overprotective but he had a job that he couldn't bring Loona too judging by the photos in his phone and mentioning he used to go after hellborns. We know she got a human disguise without Blitzo knowing somehow so....

Like what has Loona been doing besides working at I.M.P. for the past 5 years?

Like a way to fix this is something called adult adoption. Blitzo could find a homeless Loona and take her in which would fix a lot of plot holes.

And like when they write her in a way that makes sense they always find a way to undercut it. She shows up to hang out with Vortex which tells us the audience they are still on good terms despite Loona having a crush. They are mature about it and its her social awkwardness fucking her over with other people. Then Bee shows up who is being genuine and kind to her Loona acts like a bitch for no reason. I think we are supposed to think she's jealous but like its not clear. And even if it is she knew Vortex had a girlfriend ahead of time and even if she didn't know Bee was gonna be there one would assume Tex would bring his gf to a party. Even if you didn't know she was Bee. Like Loona is allowed to be slightly jealous but she isn't allowed to treat Bee like that.

Like Vortex is Loona's only friend and she isn't at least going to try to be nice to someone important to him.

Like Vortex never even told Loona to cool it or defend Bee so I'm confused about what's going on with him. Like realistically if I brought someone to come hang out with my friends and they acted like Loona we would be having a serious conversation or I'd drop them because like your giving this person a chance and they disrespect your loved ones immediately. If the show had good writing Vortex would pull Loona aside immediately.

Like Loona literally is acting like a child in this.

Then Loona acts like one again because she cares more about having fun than checking if her father is ok. Like Bee had to threaten her to check on Blitzo. I know Vortex probably doesn't know her situation but if I was him I'd think Loona and Blitzo hate each other or something.

Then Loona has the gall to act like she cares about Blitzo at the end suddenly? Its even more ruined by Seeing Stars. Like I feel there's two versions of Loona and the writers can't pick which one is the actual one. Like sometimes Loona actually acts her age and seems like a character with a hard shell but a softie but other times she doesn't act like an adult and is just bitchy for no reason. And it sucks because i love the former characterization but it gets dragged down kicking and screaming due to the latter.

I did read fan theory that Loona was originally a teenager but they changed it so they could use her as furbait and sell sexy merch.

And you know what a lot of plot holes and issues would be solved if she was around Octavia's age.

Like she can't go to the human world because she's a kid

Explains Blitzos protectiveness

Makes her bitchy attitude less egregious

Also explains why she's not in a lot of eps because she's at school

Would get rid of her inconsistent writing

But it would have to be before the pilot when this concept happened because they literally had her drinking and possibly get syphilis (im aware it can be inherited but since the show is a raunchy comedy...).

I actually don't blame the fandom for thinking she's a teenager. The lewd side of fandom is just a small part of it. As someone who is critical of HB, I easily forget too, Loona is supposed to be 22 and not a teenager because of how much the show treats and write her as one.

Almost all of her actions can be explain by trauma but I am very hesitant to say this because the times Viv has used trauma is to excuse characters’ terrible actions and she never hinted at Loona's trauma in Season 1.

But still, it can explain why she only stays with Blizto, never straying, it t’s because she doesn't feel comfortable being in public by herself. She had to stay in a crowded pound with Hellhounds who were jerks and mean to her through her life until she was 17. Loona doesn't like hanging around people because she's scared they will hurt her plus Blitzo can protect her. Blitzo is a person she can retreat to for safety so it’s important she has him around if something bad happens. People who have PTSD and trauma from abusive households tend to stay away from crowded areas because it's unpredictable and triggering for them also people with trauma tend to be closed off and distant towards others. The only reason why Loona went to the party is because Tex was there, another person she can rely on. If he wasn't there, Loona would have stayed home. It also would explain why Loona treated Bee like a bad person. Trauma can cloud your perception of others and second-guess them. Or maybe Loona got scared that Bee would take Tex away from her for the whole party, making her lonely in an environment and with people she doesn't know and she didn't feel safe with. Trauma make people act out and think irrationally to protect ourselves from experiencing the same form of trauma again or dealing more of it.

I wish Viv did relate Loona's actions in this EP to her trauma instead of making her jealous of Bee because she still has a crush on Tex. It downgrades her character into a petty teenager and doesn't make sense because Loona knew Tox for a few hours before he told her he had a girlfriend so she already knew and time has passed, why would she still have crush? Also if Viv did hint at Loona's trauma in this EP, it could be use as foreshadowing for Loona's pound scene in Season 2 and wouldn't make her trauma come out of nowhere.

It's very obvious, the writers have different versions of Loona and they can't pick a single one to stay with. I rather take this EP version of Loona who acted like a petty teenager and randomly felt affection for Blitzo than Seeing Stars’s Loona where she was an abuser to him.

[demigodofhoolemere]

Oh, ScreenRant, do not make me do this again…

~~~

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Um… we know the reason. Thanos sent him.

… narrative gaps? The only gaps we’re dealing with are the ones where they’ve refused to elaborate on him being used by Thanos. They set it up and did nothing with it. That’s the only gap.

Huh??? The reason is in the movie. Literally just watch the movie. He is clearly acting under orders.

*trying not to explode*

A) That is MASSIVELY simplified, and barely true. He was mad at Odin, sure. He was jealous of Thor but all of his motivations in the previous movie that continued into The Avengers were about Odin. He wasn’t exactly angry with Thor, he hadn’t done anything to merit it. He was made to feel as if he hated him thanks to the scepter, but they were a magical exaggeration of his real feelings. And I’m not sure where holding NYC hostage is coming from. An attack and a hostage situation are not the same thing.

B) Even if Loki (or the Loki of this series, at least) sees the events this way, that doesn’t mean it’s accurate and should be taken as a complete explanation. There’s a difference between what a person may think and what really happened as objective fact. Again, I find it darkly amusing that whenever he tells the truth, it’s taken as a lie, and whenever he’s lying or at least just being an unreliable narrator, it’s taken as the truth, because it’s nice and simple to believe that any good things regarding him are questionable and anything that sounds bad must obviously be legit and doesn’t need critical thinking.

… he didn’t make a deal with Thanos. Need I remind what Tom once said about what happened to Loki between the first two movies? He said that in the void Loki ended up in a sort of seventh circle of hell where there were the worst sorts of villains and evil in the universe and that he had to navigate surviving that. We see clearly in The Avengers that he’s ended up having no choice but to do this for Thanos if he wants to survive. What he was thinking about was living.

A) THEORIES? Marvel confirmed on their own dang website that there was a level of influence from the scepter. The first Avengers actively shows Loki being forced to report to The Other who in turn reports to Thanos. In Infinity War they literally had Bruce say out loud that Thanos sent Loki to New York. There’s no “theories” about it.

B) Again, I wouldn’t call that teaming up with him…

C) Sure, emotions were certainly involved. He had understandable problems with his family. More than that I’d say a desire to live was the predominant emotion. But to say that he did it just because he let his emotions get the better of him? That he more or less threw a tantrum? No. Go watch Phase 1 again. When you do I think you’ll find that the inconsistencies in his character are in the recent projects.

@ Marvel and ScreenRant:

[over-the-time-flow]

Back to gameplay, it may feel tempting to run up to the enemies at the north, but the right course of action here is actually to stay put.

You see, all the Daughtresses have 5 movement and a post-move 4-range attack, meaning if you simply don't move, all the Daughtresses will attack you on the first Enemy Phase. If you're new to SRW, you may think "but why would i want them to attack me?".

Raul: "These fairies have a bad attitude!" Raul: "Run wild, Fairies!"

Why, so you can obliterate them on the very first turn, of course!

The next Daughtress actually manages to hit us.

But it gets Fairy'd.

And so do the remaining two Daughtresses. The two Jenices won't move until turn 2, so it's once again the Player Phase.

Raj and Mizuho aren't exactly comfortable in the cockpit, but there's no way around it; the Excellence is a single-seater, after all. No choice but to try and ignore how cramped it is, since there's still enemies out there.

Note that our HP is now fully recovered. Not only that, but our EN is at 106, despite firing the 30-EN cost Fairies 4 times. By all means we should have 50 EN, yet we have 106!

This is because we're standing on the moon base's tiles, which grant us 20% HP regeneration and 20% EN regeneration on top of the Excellence's built-in 10% EN regeneration. If we landed, we'd also get a 30% boost to our armor and evasion, but...

The Cosmodriver has an abysmal C Terrain Aptitude rank for the ground, which would overshadow any bonuses from the terrain.

By the way, you'll notice we're flying, and this isn't a space stage, so you might think we're under the effects of our B-Rank in the air, but moon stages work differently; flight-equipped units will work as though they're in Space terrain on them. I've been told moon stages are rather inconsistent, and across games (and sometimes even within games) they often change how they work... but in R, it seems like they consistently work as described.

Anyway, we move 4 tiles ahead, so that we're within counterattack range for both Jenices. You might assume we could have afforded to only move 3 tiles, but the Jenice on the left's movement is impaired by the huge crater it's stuck on, so this is indeed the correct spot to be.

Hell yeah!

Each of the fallen Jenices drops us a Repair Kit for our troubles. The Repair Kit is a consumable item that heals your mech's HP fully. Enemies can use consumables too, so if we'd gotten the Jenices to red HP on our turn, they would have used these at the beginning of their turn and locked us out of getting them. Not that that'd be a huge loss, this game give you more Repair Kits than you'll know what to do with.

Shooting down the second Jenice also pushes Raul into Level 4, gaining him the Pilot Skill Support Defense (援護防御). It's one of the simpler ones, so i'll just explain it here: Support Defense allows you to take a hit for an adjacent teammate. Since Raul's a Super pilot, and all the Excellence frames essentially have an extra life thanks to the Argent Fighter, so it synergizes fairly well with him. Right now he just got level 1 of the skill, so he's currently capable of doing it once per turn. The skill goes up to a maximum level of 4, allowing for, you guessed it, 4 activations per turn.

[fnalguy]

15.  the devil  :  is your muse addicted to any substances ? is there anything that could possibly make them quit ? // @softersinned 

Tommy has a very complicated relationship with the substances he puts into his body. Since childhood, he's been on a long list of antipsychotics, antidepressants & other mind-altering drugs. He's been overmedicated in a lot of situations. A very careful cocktail of medications dictates Tommy's mental state. He has extreme reactions to danger, anger & his PTSD is triggered very easily & frequently. He takes a lot of things to regulate his mind & to keep it from straying too far into the past. Though not all of it is necessary, a lot of it is.

It's difficult for him to find a happy medium between too much & not enough when it comes to his medication. It drives him to go long periods without taking it & then he'll try to make up for the lost time when his symptoms flare up again. It leaves him in this vicious cycle of feeling too much or nothing at all. You can tell when he's not taking his medicine because he is literally off his rocker, convinced that someone somewhere is after him & is going to drag him straight to hell. That usually leads to him eating a handful of antipsychotics & passing out because he ate too many, which doesn't always go entirely well as he is prescribed a lot of medication. Too much for him to be irresponsible. When he's in the Unger Institute, it's something that's really heavily regulated because of his past inconsistency. Though he's over-medicated, it doesn't erase the fact that he is not someone who can raw-dog his mental illness. He has a complicated relationship with substances because he doesn't want off medication; he wants to be medicated correctly.

I will add that I think he picks up smoking after the massacre at Pinehurst & he becomes reliant upon it. He tries to quit a few times but honestly? Tommy doesn't care enough about quitting to quit. Tommy has always expected that he would die young & it would be a grand joke if smoking took him out by the end of it. His truck is crammed with empty packs of paul mall red 100′s --- Tommy goes through about a pack & a half of cigarettes a day when he has the resources to do so. He is also absolutely the person who will lose their mind when he's out of cigarettes. Even without the nicotine factored in, he would get used to the action of smoking & find a lot of comfort in the familiarity, the consistency of how it makes him feel.

While talking about smoking, I will also add that Tommy has tried weed. It's not something he often does, as it interferes with his antipsychotics & a handful of his other medications. When he runs away from the Unger Institute & goes off of his medication, he starts smoking more frequently. He's still paranoid & on edge most of the time, but it helps put him to sleep at night. He doesn't smoke recreationally so much as to keep himself from running into a 7 / 11 with his truck. He lights up a joint when he starts to care too much about something. It doesn't really hit him in a 'funny ha ha 'way so much as it helps him drift away from how much he cares, if that makes sense.

Will I say I think he goes in & out of phases of heavy drinking? Yes, I will. It's a private vice. He went through most of his youth without even considering consuming alcohol. He associates it with parties & thus, he associates it with the kids that died next door when he was a kid. When he got out of Pinehurst, he went through a light 'party boy' phase though he wasn't socially adept enough to go to any actual parties. It was more of an 'I'm going to drink a couple of beers in my truck in the Walmart parking lot & then pass out for the night’ kind of deal. Tommy wanted to try some of the things that were unavailable to have in the facilities he grew up in... Unfortunately, they don't mix well with his antipsychotics/antidepressants, so he doesn't always indulge in drinking. It's sort of the same sort of inconsistency we see with him taking his medication. 

I think that Megan introduces him to the concept of drinking with a more positive association. He doesn't necessarily know how to regulate himself when it comes to recreational substances & takes it too far. To Megan, I think drinking is pretty regular. She comes from a small town with not much to do but get drunk at bonfires & vibe. On the other hand, Tommy hasn't had much experience with it at that point. In my timeline, it sets him at about 20 when they meet in f13 pt 6. He likes to drink enough cheap beer that he ends up crumpled over a toilet, his body begging to get rid of it. I think the heavy drinking hurts him & Megan's relationship. It leads to their first falling out because he cannot drink on a functional level. It causes him to draw a line for himself that he abides by most of the time. To anyone who knows him personally, it's pretty clear when he picks up drinking again, though. 

So I guess the shorter version of this is Tommy has a few vices. It's difficult for him to regulate the things that go into his body in a healthy & consistent way, regardless of whether or not he needs them to function. He doesn't always take his medicine right. When he drinks, he drinks too much & he smokes like a freight train. I have more thoughts on this that I might expand on later, especially about him not taking his medication correctly / what happens when other substances interfere with it, but that's a post for another day. 

[sadtuneslover]

3. Why am I doing this?

I’ve been a disciplined person. I have proper time management and a clear mind. I wake up at 2–4 am with an unwavering amount of discipline to execute the amount of work I do. Uninterrupted. Efficient. I can finish a lot of work within a few hours. I finished working while the rest of the world just woke up.

But it all changed after Nay came back into my life. I'm not to blame her, but she’s the exact opposite of my life here. She can’t even breathe without an interruption. Her schedule is very inconsistent and haphazard. 

Eventually, her stress went into me as well. It’s been 3 days, and I’ve been as stressed as she is. 

When people think about an affair, it looks like the forbidden fun Hollywood has been portraying. 

But not with us, while for a moment, it was interesting. And yes, she sent me photos, although not exactly provocative.

It all changed after she spent 2 hours retelling how much she loved me in the past and such. Like, girl, please, I know how much you love me, and guess what?

You are married to someone else. You spend the majority of your time being the housewife they want you to be. What've you been bringing to me? A lot of uncertainty and a lot of brain space in my brain that I could’ve used for working. 

I mean, all this headache could be forgiven if one of these were true:

We are having ‘fun’. Like a guilty pleasure kind of fun.

You’re somebody with some hopes. Anything. Maybe you’re planning your way out. Maybe you take a look at the many possibilities ahead.

Fun? Ha! The only interaction we have is the slow text you always send while being interrupted constantly, resulting in a half-baked thought or long interval between the messages. and some occasional pictures. Which again… regular picture. We don’t even talk, spend time, or have any sort of fun.

And hope? You sound so helpless and defeated. The attitude I can’t afford to have in this phase of life. 

Why the hell am I doing this? 

*sigh*

Alright, maybe I need to take a deep breath. maybe I need to give her time. let’s see how it goes. 

But please, girl, for my sake, get your shit together.

I’m usually patient with women. 

But know your place: you’re a married woman. I have to move the bar really high to make it worth the trouble. Please understand.

[ciaossu-imagines]

Numbers 7, 12, 16, and 21 for KHR from the choose violence ask game🔥🔥🔥? Don’t hold back

Ohh, thank you so much for popping into the ask box, though I fear you’re going to get me into some trouble, my lovely anon! I’ll do my best to answer honestly and hold nothing back though!

7. What character did you begin to hate, not because of canon, but because how the fandom acts about them?

Honestly, I have gone through phases with all of the super popular characters, save for Gokudera who I have always adored. It’s mostly because I’d end up getting so many requests to write for one specific character for so long that I’d just eventually grow to hate them because Jesus, if I had to write one more thing about them, explore the same idea with them one more time, I’d go mad. Nowadays, people are actually really good about balancing things out, and I just generally love all the characters.

12. The unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them?

Shamal. Iemitsu. Longchamp. Adelheid. Nana. Luce. Skull. Basically, hand me a hated character and I will tell you why they deserve love and how many interesting, fascinating aspects there are to the character. Seriously, I love all of them so much, especially Shamal and Iemitsu, who I think are really complex and interesting men underneath of these very deliberate facades that they throw on. Also, I’m just putting it out there, but I really hate it when females characters get nothing but hate thrown at them and all of KHR’s female character’s needed to be better utilized, most fucking definitely, but they weren’t bad characters in and of themselves and they deserve love too.

16. You can’t understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc.)

I don’t think it’s nearly as popular as it used to be, thank god, but there was a time when a really popular question in fandom, including KHR, was ‘if you could rewrite the canon, what would you fix?’ and the answer in the KHR-verse was honestly rarely ever things that needed to be fixed (all over the place pacing during the arcs, inconsistent characterization, retconning out of nowhere) and almost always was ‘well, I’d make it so that Tsuna was more bad-ass, stronger, and much more ruthless and that he wouldn’t be such a wimp about taking over’. And hey, cool, that’s an option but that’s what fanfiction is for, to explore those what if’s. If that was canon, we wouldn’t have anything at all like what we have for characters, story points, relationships between characters, etc, because our protagonist would be the exact opposite of what we had. We wouldn’t have KHR at all because someone like the ’dream Tsuna’ wouldn’t have made the friendships he did, wouldn’t have forged the bonds he did. The entire story would have been much darker, without much in the way of comedy, and would have been gritty seinen because I’ve read other manga with pretty much that premise. If we made those changes, we wouldn’t have KHR. We’d have an entirely different series and I honestly don’t know if it would have had the impact on all of us it did end up having. And I also don’t agree that Tsuna is weak or a bad character for being so reluctant to take over the Mafia, even after everything. I really enjoyed that part of his character. If I wanted something different, there are other stories for that – hell, if we’re talking about Mafia Bosses who were initially very reluctant to become a boss and really wish they had been able to do something else with their lives, but who stepped up and accepted their hand in life, we have Niccolo from Servamp. There, solid example of someone who’s wimpy and doesn’t want to fight, but will step up and be the leader of his Mafia family. That’s the dream Tsuna – an entirely different character. And again, I’m not shitting on the alternate reality type Tsuna idea, where he is that ruthless Mafia boss. It can be a fun AU, I see the appeal in it, the idea has a lot of merit, and it’s one I’ve seen fanfic do well but that’s exactly what it is – fanfic, which is made for that. Saying that the entire protagonist needs to be completely rewritten into his polar opposite to make the canon ‘good’ instead of just being like ‘wouldn’t it be cool if…’ kind of means that maybe this wasn’t the show and manga for you, or at least that’s my opinion on the whole thing.

21. Part of canon you think is overhyped

Hibari. Hibari Hibari Hibari. I love the character, I find him fascinating, I truly enjoy him so please don’t hate on me thinking that I don’t. It’s the way canon treated him. Hibari’s only really been defeated early on in the manga, and in canon he does come across as almost infallible as a fighter and that makes zero sense to me. Yes, I get a character being strong but Hibari comes across, at times, as almost overpowered and what I hate the most is that, for the most part, he really does remain largely stagnant. I get that, as the Cloud, he’s the least focused upon Guardian because he’s off and doing his own stuff, but I feel like every time he pops up in the story, I know exactly what to expect, what’s going to happen without fail, he never gets his own real arc, he seems to have zero struggles at all throughout the manga, and that bothers me. I feel like Hibari, had more time been spent on him or had he been more fleshed out as a character, could’ve been something truly spectacular, one of my favourite characters of all time, and I’ve seen fanon of him that almost reaches those levels but he just wasn’t utilized as well as he could have been. Another thing? Bel and Siel, the twins. Such a great build-up, such a great reveal showing Siel was alive and then…nothing. I wanted a show-down between Bel and his brother so bad but there was really nothing there and I still feel like both Siel and Bel were robbed of what could have been incredible moments for the both of them by the mangaka just trying to speed along an arc that had already dragged on for quite a while.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Lying (Next) To You (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for violence + language Warnings: Blood-drinking/general vampiric shenanigans Summary: There is no goal other than escape. You want out of this castle, no matter what you have to do, no matter the consequences. At first, the solution seems to lie with one of the very women you want to get away from. But what happens when you find yourself genuinely caring for her? Length: 5,934 words

Merely surviving had never been your intention. From day one in this foul place, this unholy castle, you had strived to escape. No matter what, you refused to allow such dismal grounds to be your grave. But leaving wouldn’t be as simple as walking out an unlocked door. It required manipulation, agility, and the willingness to screw over anyone who got in your way. Even those who you would have once called friends, or the closest thing you had to that among the servants. Was that something you were willing to do? Absolutely, without a shred of doubt in your mind. Someday, somehow, regardless of what it took, you’d get out and never look back. For now, though, all you can do is scheme…

—————————

Three targets, each incredibly difficult to get your hands on, each presenting their own unique challenges. Which would be easiest to charm? You were still debating that answer.

First was Bela: The eldest, most responsible, forced to be the “role model” for her sisters. A bookworm (a trait the two of you shared) who spent a fair amount of her freetime in the library. While not overtly cruel, she was still rather violent, especially in cases where she felt her family had been insulted. However, there were whispers that she had a secret weakness: Anxiety. None had caught her in the open throes of an attack and lived to tell the tale. But she had been overheard, more than once, quiet cries or shaking breaths. Trying to talk to her during one of these occasions could lead to gaining her affection- if you managed to do what no other had been capable of doing, that is.

Second was Daniela: The youngest, most excitable, eager to please and desperate to be pleased. Easily interacted with more maidens than either of her sisters, though not always in a good way. Getting her attention could mean getting pulled into her room in the middle of the night, for some “fun”, or it could mean getting drained of all of your blood. Sometimes she did one after the other. Like Bela, she was a bookworm, though she preferred romance novels as opposed to her older sister’s educational texts. As for her weakness? To you, Daniela seemed to be the definition of “undiagnosed ADHD”. Less exploitable for sympathy than her sister, but possibly useful in helping you trick her. At the end of the day, the largest concern with her was her inconsistent behavior, her tendency to flip moods at the drop of a hat- and a drop of the hat with her could feel a helluva lot like a drop of an axe (onto your neck).

Then came the third… the one you didn’t think was worth the risk, whatsoever: Cassandra. Middle child and acting just like it, she was hungry for her mother’s approval, attention, and respect most of all. Bloodthirsty as could be, with a mean streak eight kilometers wide, the truest monster you had ever met. Even her fondness for the arts manifested in malevolent ways. Supposedly, she painted in blood, and made sculptures from the bones of her victims, displayed proudly in her room as trophies. What could you possibly do to earn her affection? What could you ever be to her, other than a plaything or mid-afternoon snack?... Nothing, you assumed, and so you figured you might as well remove her from your list. Somehow you’d have to make do with one of her sisters. As for which one?... You decided to let fate decide, and go for whomever you found yourself with an opportunity to court.

—————————

Free time was a rare commodity in Castle Dimitrescu. While every servant did technically get one day off every week, it wasn’t uncommon to end up helping with something unexpected, even if one tried to hide away in the private quarters. For you, it was an opportune time to try and get closer to your targets. So far three weeks had passed since your “decision” to focus on Bela and Daniela, without a single interaction with either of them. Still, hope held fast in your chest, as you made haste towards the library. On this free day you intended to read as much as possible. ‘Twas a two-pronged goal: First, you would increase your chances of running into one of your preferred employers. Secondly, you could possibly learn something through what content you consumed, perhaps to be utilized in later conversations.

Or such was the hope. In truth, you did not make it to the library, nor even anywhere close. A quarter of the way there you were interrupted by an ever-dreaded noise; buzzing echoed throughout the hallway, first far off, but getting closer with every second. There was a particular ferocity to the vibrations that you knew meant danger was approaching. According to the other maidens, this was a distinction that everyone learned over time, assuming that they survived long enough. The smart thing would have been to duck away into an adjacent room in the hopes that whatever sister it was would ignore you. But your endgame weighed heavy on your mind, then forced your feet to the floor. For better or worse, you would be in the woman’s path, ready for whatever she may ask of you.

“You-” a voice snarled, as a hooded figure phased out of the swarm and into your vision. Her head was held high, eyes narrowed as they stared down at you, a snarl twisting her lips. Of course it was her. Cassandra Dimitrescu. The one daughter you didn’t want to encounter. Inside, part of you writhes in self deprecation, feeling as if you should have known better. How often did the other two buzz about so angrily?... Well, certainly a fair bit, but nowhere near as much as Cassandra. Fuck, you think, I’m probably doomed. “I’m hungry. Come here real quick,” Cassandra demands, beckoning you towards her with a single finger. In another life you would have blushed bright red at the sight. A life where she wasn’t a vampiric monster, that is.

Nonetheless, you are quick to obey, masking your anxiety as best as you can. Doing so gets much harder once your gaze meets Cassandra’s, and you see her lick her lips before smirking at you. As soon as you’re within her reach, she’s surging forward, grabbing you by your shoulders, then pivoting, pressing you hard against the wall. You can’t help but gasp at the sudden movements, which only widens her grin. Before you know it she’s running her tongue along your neck. Once more you gasp, this time softer, hating the way your body urges you to lean into her touch. Why couldn’t she simply get straight to the worst of it? Instead she takes her sweet time, slipping a finger beneath the collar of your shirt, slowly, carefully tugging it to the side. When she finally bites, it is terribly sudden. The pleasure comes before the pain, stronger than you would have expected, eliciting a sharp inhale from you that sounds more satisfied than you had intended. Even as a rush of pain follows, you can’t help the red that tints your cheeks.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” Cassandra asks, after licking away at your blood for a few moments, pulling back but not releasing you. Something in her eyes makes you need to respond.

“Y-yes, more than I’d like to admit,” you mumble, barely able to make eye contact. But she seems pleased by this, gently cupping your chin while she looks you over.

“Well then, if you survive… I might just have to drink from you again,” she whispers, before diving right back in towards your neck. This time her touch is far, far softer than before. It feels more like she’s kissing you rather than drinking from you. A strange, irritatingly familiar feeling springs in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t help but make more of those noises she seemed to enjoy so much. Hell, your eyes drift closed as you take in the surprisingly welcome sensation. When they reopen, however, you give a yelp of surprise, spotting a very awkwardly waiting servant. They were blushing, clearly not having expected to come upon this particular sight. Cassandra perks up at your shock, turning to follow your gaze, then giving an uncharacteristically resigned groan. “Damn it, Ava, is it urgent?” She asks, to which the servant gives a silent shrug. “I’ll be done in a minute. Now, where were we?”

Once more she resumes feeding, casting aside all traces of sweetness, sucking on your wound with reckless abandon. Behind her, Ava gives you a thumbs up before turning away. As embarrassing as the moment felt, you were grateful to xer, glad that xe seemed to recognize your desire for privacy. More than that… if xe hadn’t come along, would Cassandra have remembered to stop before your bloodloss became fatal? There was no guarantee either way. Yet xer intervention felt like a godsend, and you made a mental note to thank xer later. Soon enough Cassandra removes herself from you, pausing only to cup your chin for a moment, meeting your gaze with a smirk. Then she was turning away without another word, following Ava to some unknown destination.

A deep breath, then another, more frantic, the familiar sense of panic growing on the edges of your mind. Now that the feeding was over, you were left trembling with all the fear you had been so adamant about not showing before. How close to death had you come? How close were you now? Only feeling slightly more faint than you had earlier, it felt safe enough to assume you would be fine, if only physically. Inside your mind you were struggling with racing thought after racing thought. How the hell am I supposed to do this with either Bela or Daniela? You think, trying to breathe past the lump in your throat. And why did I have to enjoy that so much? They’re nothing more than means to an end, monsters undeserving of my kindness, of my joy. Your only comfort was the knowledge that this may very well have been the opportunity you had been waiting for; but only if you could shift your aim.

—————————

The difference was subtle, almost microscopic, to the point where it took you a full week to notice. But once you had? Everything felt different. You couldn’t spend more than three seconds in the same room as Cassandra without her eyes following you, watching your every move, sending a rush of both fear and excitement down your spine. Meeting her gaze only made her give the tiniest fraction of a smile. As soon as something (or someone) else caught her attention, however, you were forgotten in the blink of an eye. Yet it was nerve wracking nonetheless. This was roughly what you had hoped for, but you had underestimated the mental toll it would take on you. There was no way to tell whether Cassandra wanted violence, something softer, or her usual brand- a cruel mixture of both. Every second spent in her presence was a roll of the dice, a flip of a coin, either one weighted to put the odds against you.

But you persisted. Escape was not a dream, nor a fantasy, nor some far off cryptid. It was inevitable. Again and again you would swallow your fear until you reached your long-sought destination. No matter the cost, you think, no matter the consequences. Over time, that cost, those consequences, would grow. For now, it was a slice of your sanity. Next? More blood, it seemed.

“Casserole wants you to stop by her art studio,” the note said, cursive hand-writing ever-so-fancy and ever-so-difficult to read. Clearly from Ava, the mildly mysterious (but incredibly helpful) castle servant known for never speaking a word. From what you had gathered, xe was a confidant of sorts for the Dimitrescu family, trusted far more than the average worker. Alas, xe was loyal to the center of xer being, and was rumored to be impeccable at preventing escape attempts before they had even started. If you wanted out of this damn place, you knew you’d have to be careful around xer. Hopefully xe won’t interrupt this time, you think, before tucking the note away in your pocket.

Cassandra’s infamous studio wasn’t terribly far from your quarters, thankfully, though you weren’t even sure if you were supposed to arrive at a specific time. What if she wasn’t expecting you until later? Worse, what if she had been expecting you an hour ago? It’s a dangerous thought, one that could easily spiral into something far more drastic, and you try to reassure yourself, reminding yourself that Ava would have mentioned a time if it was important. In the end, you still found your heart racing as you stood outside the room in question. Pausing to take a deep breath, you center yourself, before raising a hand to knock. To your surprise, you get an answer before your hand even gets close to the door.

“Come in already,” Cassandra chimes from inside. Unsure of what terrible fate you were about to meet, you entered the room, somewhat reluctantly. Despite the myriad of unsavory rumors regarding the studio, there were no immediate signs of brutality. At the worst, the space was fairly messy, though not due to any, ahem, “misplaced” body parts. No, just an overflowing garbage bin, a few unfinished projects placed haphazardly wherever they’d fit, shards of glass in one corner, and tile floor splattered with a Pollock-esque layer of paint. In one word? Chaotic. Such was the type of environment that seemed to suit Cassandra best, the sort in which you imagined she would thrive. But you didn’t have time to examine anything as closely as you would have liked to. “Are you going to keep me waiting?”

“No, Lady Cassandra,” you reply, hurriedly, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. Then you’re quickly crossing the room, to what looks like a cross between a storage cabinet and a paint mixing station. In Cassandra’s hands, however, you find something less welcoming than a paintbrush: A needle and an empty blood bag. Well, you think, I guess I know why I’m here. At least there’s only one bag, right? “What do you require of me, my Lady?” While the answer was fairly obvious, you didn’t know the specific steps necessary, and it never hurt to be as polite as possible with the Dimitrescu family.

“Just sit down, roll your sleeves up, look pretty, and stay still. Try not to make any noises this time- as cute as they were last time, I have a headache,” Cassandra explains, gesturing towards the room’s only chair. Ignoring the way your cheeks heated up, you did as she asked, trying to get relatively comfortable. It was somewhat difficult to relax, considering who you were with. “Calm down, pet, I’m only going to hurt you a little. That’s more than I can say for most people who end up here.” Why did she have to use a nickname for you? Weren’t you already flushed enough without her teasing you further? Though your flustering does turn to confusion after a moment, as you wonder how she knew how afraid you were. You were under the impression that you were hiding it fairly well. Noticing your reaction, Cassandra rolls her eyes, before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I can hear your heartbeat. Normally I’d find this… exciting. But my head hurts and I wanted to finish this damn painting yesterday. So take a deep breath, little pet, and let me take what I need from you.”

Of course she had to say it like that, and put herself so close to you. You’re pretty sure that your heart skips a few beats in response, though Cassandra doesn’t react beyond a hint of a smile, merely returning to her prep work. First step was cleaning your skin. Admittedly you hadn’t been sure if that step was necessary, seeing as the blood was (seemingly) for art as opposed to testing, but it didn’t exactly surprise you. Besides, there was a chance she’d drink the leftovers, right? Next she double-checked that the needle was properly connected to the blood bag, and that the latter was resting securely on a small stand. With that out of the way, it was time for her favorite part.

“Since your heartbeat has slowed down a little… I’ll let you whimper if you want to- but only once. Consider it a reward for good behavior,” Cassandra purrs with a familiar grin. One hand gently cups your chin, while her eyes look right in yours, just long enough to turn your cheeks bright red. The moment ends as quickly as it started. Before you know it she’s turned stoic again, feeling along your arm for a vein. This isn’t the first time you’ve had your blood drawn, but Cassandra takes no time at all to find the perfect spot, likely from a mix of practice and, well, her vampiric nature. It’s not long before she’s gently gripping your arm with one hand, briefly making eye contact before pushing the needle into your skin. Does it hurt? Hardly. Do you take a shaky inhale, hoping to please your employer, the closest to a whimper you were willing to give her? Oh, absolutely. And does she react? Oh, absolutely. Her eyes light up for a second as she bites her lower lip. There’s something else in her expression that you can’t quite read, however.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” You ask, smiling, voice soft in the hopes of not aggravating her headache. It’s a risk, and one that pays off more than you’d ever expect. Cassandra giggles a tad, eying you with the least mischievous smile you’ve ever seen from her. If not for the needle still in your arm, you might have found the moment charming, or even… romantic. But you pushed the thought away as soon as possible, reminding yourself of your one true goal: Escaping. This was a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s what you had to keep telling yourself. Even as Cassandra ever-so-gently removed the needle from your arm, even as she carefully placed a bandage over the entry-point, even as she gave you a nod of approval.

“This should last until the painting is done, at the very least. I might need you to make another ‘donation’ next week, though. Except, hmm… your blood is quite nice,” Cassandra says. Her tone is smooth, almost sultry, but her gaze is focused on her work as she starts mixing the blood with… something? You weren’t familiar with this particular artistic process, nor did you want to be. “Maybe I’ll set up a nice schedule for you. Once a month you can be my darling little muse, and once a month you can be a refreshing snack. I’ll even make sure that my sisters don’t do anything that might spoil our fun. Assuming you continue to prove entertaining, that is.” You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. In the end you settled for the former, chest thrumming with excitement as you felt yourself getting one step closer to your goal.

—————————

Three months pass by in an easy blur. Just as Cassandra had suggested, you find yourself in her company more often than before. Only twice a month does she take blood from you, for your own safety (which she pretends not to care about), but more and more you find her lounging around where you’re working, obviously by “pure coincidence”. Sometimes she even spoke to you! Teasing here and there, or asking you to do things that she normally did for herself, or scaring you just to hear you make one of your “lovely noises”. Honestly, you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by how attached she had gotten to you, or by how quickly it had happened. Of course, you didn’t even know if she enjoyed your personality… or just your blood. Either way, you found yourself enjoying her presence more than you’d ever openly admit.

Eventually, when the benefits of your budding “friendship” became more clear, you started to enjoy it even more.

It was early in the morning, right when the castle residents tended to go to sleep, and when the night shift officially ended. Minutes prior you had been conversing quietly with Cassandra, dusting some shelves as you did. Now, with your duties done only slightly later than usual, you were making your way back to your quarters. Along the way you were caught off guard by the sound of distant crying. ‘Twas a sound you’d heard many times before, from many different maidens, but this time felt… different. An odd feeling of sympathy sparked in your chest, and you made the brash decision to approach the source of the noise. When you rounded that last corner, when you made eye contact with the trembling figure, you knew that your kindness could very well be the death of you. To think that you had once hoped for this encounter.

“Who’s there?” Bela Dimitrescu snarls through chattering teeth. She’s moving forward, phasing in and out of swarm mode, reaching a hand out to clutch at your throat. Well, you think, at least she’s stopped crying? More so out of being distracted, instead of feeling any comfort from your company. It’s not a terribly reassuring thought, but it’s soon replaced with a mental string of ???? as Bela pauses, grip loosening as she holds you up in the light. “You’re Cassandra’s new favorite. Damnit!” With that she drops you rather unceremoniously. Then she’s turning her back to you, sniffling before wiping the tears from her eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about this, or I won’t hesitate to string you up, no matter what my sister says. Now get lost.”

Except you can’t force yourself to move. There’s a small piece of you that remembers your original plan, another small part feels a twinge of sympathy, and a majority of your brain sees this as an opportunity. What was a little more risk?

“Would you like me to bring you some tea, Lady Bela?” You ask, attempting to keep your tone neutral, lest she think you were judging her. In response, she turns to look at you slowly, eyes narrowed, thinly veiled rage only outweighed by the remnants of her anxiety. Then she’s stalking forward with cautious, deliberate movements. For a moment she searches your eyes for any hints at your motive. Hoping to ease her worries, you elaborated on your offer, and the reasoning behind it. “I’ve read that holding something warm in your hands, like a mug of tea or coffee, relaxes the brain. I believe it had something to do with mimicking human touch?... Forgive me if I’m overstepping your boundaries, my Lady. I… I felt compelled to ask, to help in whatever way I can.”

“Oh?” Bela hums, the majority of the anger draining from her face. There’s a hint of genuine surprise behind her bright eyes. “Very well, if you say it might… help.” Before you can turn to leave, you hear her clear her throat, and say one last thing. “A little softer than I would have expected from a pet of Cassandra’s.” She certainly had a point. But you don’t bother responding, instead focusing on your self-given task. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you were really Cassandra’s “pet”, or if there was more to your dynamic. Why did you feel so weird about the idea of being a mere “distraction” to her?... Something to think about while you made that tea, you supposed.

—————————

When you assisted with serving lunch the next day, Bela refused to make eye contact, even as you set a plate in front of her, or when you refilled her wine glass. There was a stiffness in the room that you weren’t familiar with. For the most part, Cassandra is more welcoming, giving you a small nod when you meet her gaze. By the time the family is done eating and moves to leave, the sisters are grouping together to speak in hushed voices. While you clean up after them, you cannot help but wonder if they’re discussing the previous night, or if Bela was as adamant about keeping quiet as she had seemed. Regardless, you felt rather good about how the conversation had gone. Hopefully she’s feeling better, you think, surprising yourself. Not that it matters… unless she tells Cassandra, I suppose.

You don’t see her for the rest of the day. It’s a double-edged sword, in a way. On one hand, you find yourself missing her, unused to not interacting with her at all. On the other hand? All the sudden you’re realizing just how involved she’s become with you. Certainly that meant something? Progress towards your eventual goal of escaping? God, you sure hoped so. Thinking about the future, about your plans, lasts you the entire night, thoughts following you all the way into bed. Sleep feels a million years away, and you find yourself staring silently at the ceiling. Unmoving. Damn near unblinking. When there’s the sound of footsteps outside your room, you are more than welcome for the distraction.

“Wake up, little pet,” a voice calls, as your door opens, and someone quickly slips inside. Before you can even sit up, you feel them slide into the bed with you. “It’s too cold in my room. You’re much warmer, aren’t you?” Clearly your darling Cassandra come to entertain herself. Considering how late in the day it is, you feel like you should be upset, and yet you feel yourself daring to wrap your arms around her. For a moment she goes stiff, but she soon relaxes into your touch. “You’re getting so good at knowing what I want from you. Mmm, I think I’ve trained you well,” she teases, shifting onto her back so she can pull you onto her chest. Although you’ve been this close to her before, this is the first time you’ve realized just how cold her skin is. No wonder she wants to sleep with me, you think, blushing at your unintentional wording.

“Fuck, you’re freezing,” you mumble, curling up against her nonetheless. She’s laughing then, without any hint of her usual malice, and you can’t help but laugh with her. When had the two of you gotten so warm with each other? Why did it feel so natural? There’s anxiety gnawing at the base of your skull, threatening to build up into a headache, tugging you away from the softness of the moment. If Cassandra notices, she’s quicker to act than you would have expected. It feels safer to believe that her next actions are a coincidence. Feels… better, when you remember that you are playing her for cheap, that any friendliness is a mockery made for the most bitter of betrayals to come.

“That’s why I’m here, dear. Now hush, I need some rest. With how comfortable you are… I may even let you sleep in,” she teases, before pressing the gentlest kiss to the top of your head. Your throat dries up in response, blush overtaking your cheeks, and you are left unable to speak. The thundering of your heart seems to somehow lull your would-be lover to sleep, while you find yourself growing to love the contrast her chill provides. Somehow, someway, you end up sleeping more soundly than you have in years.

—————————

Another month passes. No opportunities to escape, no grand moves to make in this 4D game of chess, no clever plans to entangle yourself in. Yet you find yourself content. Happy. The work keeps you as busy as ever, but Cassandra often steals you away for her own desires. When she goes to drink your blood, she does so gently, with many soft kisses leading into the big moment. Afterwards she cleans your wound herself, touches as light as a feather, eyes sparkling with unspoken affection. At night, you find her coming to you for warmth almost every day. At first she provides little more than teasing excuses. But in time, she becomes more open, even being so bold as to kiss you on the lips every time, greeting you with quiet “dear”s and “darling”s. It gets to the poin that you cannot sleep without her presence.

Day after day, you find it harder and harder to remember why you were doing this. Was it so bad to enjoy your time with her? Was it so bad to find yourself leaning into her touches, kissing her back, gleefully awaiting your nightly rendezvous with her? Sometimes the thoughts were overwhelming, guilt and shame alike dancing inside your chest. Those days were the hardest to get through. Somehow, again and again, you go to her for comfort. To the very source of your conflict. Every last feeling was driving you towards an inevitable point. A conclusion written in stone, one that had been decided from the very first time Cassandra dug her fangs into your neck.

—————————

Screaming. Horrible, horrible screaming, somehow more pained than that of any maiden you had ever heard, echoing throughout the castle halls, achingly familiar in tone. You had never heard her scream before, and yet you knew that the sound came from Cassandra. Before you can even begin to process your realization, you are thundering through the corridor, towards the noise that rattled your mind so desperately. How could anything possibly hurt her? How often had you seen her push her siblings around, each of them taking hits that could break bones as if they were light shoves? As if the punches tickled? Horror overtakes your thoughts, imagination far worse than reality had any right to be.

When you at last reach your lover, you are frozen in your tracks, eyes wide as can be. There she is, howling with both rage and pain as someone repeatedly slams the butt of a rifle into her head. Behind the fighting duo is a sight you never thought you’d see: An open door. Wide open, enticing, leading straight into the world you had sought to rejoin. You want to leave. God, you want to leave so bad. This is what you have been waiting for- Cassandra has not even seen you yet, too busy grappling with her attacker, movements too slow to be normal. What was wrong? Why were her limbs such a strange color? Was that… frost on her clothes? Or… crystal? Your gaze flickers back and forth between her and the exit, as time seems to pause, memories of the past few months racing through your mind. Goddamnit, you think, this is what I want, isn’t it? Consequences be damned, right? I said I wouldn’t stop for anything.

And so you move, automatically, on autopilot, unable to think about anything other than what you treasured most: Cassandra. One moment you’re standing still in the foyer, the next you’re grabbing a poker from the fireplace. You’ve never done anything like this before, but the movements come naturally, as you surge towards the scrambling pair. In one swift motion you drive the metal rod into the skull of the intruder, hating the sound, hating the splatter of blood against your clothes, hating the feeling of resistance followed by a terrible, terrible give. But the man slumps almost immediately, allowing your girlfriend to shove him off of herself. Still unable to think coherently, you’re throwing yourself into her arms.

“Holy shit, holy shit, oh my god, I- I, fuck. Are you…? Fucking tell me that you’re okay, please,” you ramble, holding the dangerously cold body of your girlfriend close to you, refusing to let go. She’s crying, clinging to you as desperately as you cling to her. But she’s responding in the affirmative. Over and over, saying she’s okay, telling you that it’s okay. Before you know it, she’s the one comforting you.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Okay? Look at me, take a deep breath. If anyone should be freaking out it’s me,” she says, pulling back enough to cup your cheek with one hand. There’s blood on her fingers, making your eyes go wide, but she quickly wipes it off with a scowl. Then she’s caressing your skin again, soft repeating motions perfect for calming you down. “That’s right, see? We’re fine. You’re a fucking badass, darling, and honestly? It’s very attractive.” Now you’re both giggling, you a bit more than her. Because of course she’s flirting right now. It’s an incredible softness. One that you, quite frankly, do not feel you deserve. At first it’s a tiny voice in the back of your head, but it soon grows until it strikes the smile from your lips. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Shit, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, really,” you interject, as fast as you can, ignoring the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra isn’t convinced, however, and gives you a pleading look. Knowing that you cannot resist her, you close your eyes, sighing, then admit your wretched truth. “The door. Cassandra, the door’s open. I… I came down the hallway and I saw the two of you and I saw the fucking door and I… I hesitated. I hesitated.” There’s a mighty tremble to your voice, teeth and lips shaking. In the moment, you cannot bring yourself to meet her gaze, eyes instead glued to the bloodstained floor. It’s so quiet that you swear you can hear your tears hitting the tile. The air around you is filled with a looming heartache, a shadow over the two of you, hungry for your tears. But the rage you anticipate from Cassandra never comes.

For fuck’s sake, she pulls you closer. She takes you in her arms, making you rest your head against her chest, one hand gently rubbing circles into your back. Shock makes you unable to do anything other than linger limply in her grip. Thankfully, she has more than enough words for the both of you.

“Of course you did. All you ever wanted was to escape, right? And all I ever wanted was to see how much fun I could get out of you before you betrayed us,” she admits, coolly, as if the words didn’t break both of your hearts. At first, you merely start crying harder, realizing that she had seen through you this whole time. Realizing that all of her softness had just been sharpness covered in sheep’s clothing. Except she’s not done talking. “Now look at us. Couple of idiots who caught feelings. So shut up, because we’re in this mess together, now, and I don’t intend to let you go, understood? You-” she pulls back, looking you right in the eyes- “are mine. Besides… you just killed for me. I think that more than makes up for any hesitance, yeah?” Before you know it you’re kissing her. You’re pressing yourself to her, smiling through your tears, forced to pause to laugh at yourself. How ridiculous had this whole affair been? How had you convinced yourself, for so long, that escape was all you had cared about?...

All this time you thought you wanted out. But at the end of the day… you just wanted to go home. How could you have guessed that you would have found a new home, here, in someone’s arms? Despite the surprise of it all… you couldn’t be happier.